Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
EPILOGUE
Praise for the Medieval Romances of Lisa Jackson
Temptress
“Jackson is an expert at building edge-of-your-seat suspense. Just when you think it’s safe to relax, she makes you jump with surprise. Thrilling from beginning to end, as romantic as it is suspenseful, this is a finely tuned novel that will capture your heart and mind and make you a die-hard Jackson fan.” —Romantic Times
Impostress
“Strong, vivid characters and bold writing style . . . adventurous and sensually passionate.” —Booklist
“Entertaining . . . a comedy of errors. Fans will relish this engaging medieval romance.” —Midwest Book Review
. . . and for her Dark Jewels Trilogy
Dark Sapphire
“Impressive. . . . Lisa Jackson shines once again in her new romantic adventure.” —Reader to Reader Reviews
“Another entertaining medieval romance. . . . Lisa Jackson paces the story well and fills the pages with intrigue and passion.” —Romantic Times
Dark Emerald
“A complex medieval romance . . . moves forward on several levels that ultimately tie together in an exciting finish. The lead characters are a passionate duo while the secondary players strengthen the entire novel. Ms. Jackson has struck a gemstone mine.” —Painted Rock Reviews
“Snares the readers in an intricate plot and holds them until the very end.” —Romantic Times
Dark Ruby
“A true gem—a medieval masterpiece. Wonderfully compelling, filled with adventure and intrigue, sizzling sexual tension and a to-die-for hero, this one has it all.”
—Samantha James
“Rich, mysterious, passionate. It’s a winner.”
—Alexis Harrington
“Fast-paced and fun from the start . . . a high-action adventure that will keep you turning the pages.” —Kat Martin
“A rich, unforgettable tale.” —Stella Cameron
SIGNET
Published by New American Library, a division of
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,
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First published by Signet, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
First Printing, September 2007 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Copyright © Susan Lisa Jackson, 2007
All rights reserved
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PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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eISBN : 978-1-4406-2039-3
To Roz Noonan.
Wow. I couldn’t have done it
without you. Thanks!
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to everyone who helped me with this book. It was truly a group effort. First and foremost, I would like to thank Roz Noonan, who worked tirelessly with the characters. Roz’s upbeat personality and persistence were a godsend. Also, I have to give credit where credit is due to my editor, Claire Zion, whose clear thinking and detailed revisions helped me through some of the difficult points of the plot.
I can’t forget my agent, Robin Rue, who insisted we could get this done and done right, and promised drinks with umbrellas when the book was finished.
At home, I have an incredible support team behind me and would like to thank Nancy and Ken Bush, Marilyn Katcher, Kathy Okano, Alexis Harrington, Matthew Crose, Niki Wilkins, Michael Crose, and Ken Melum, along with probably a dozen other people I’ve forgotten to mention.
PROLOGUE
North Wales
Winter 1273
Run, Tempest, run!
Frigid air tore at Kambria’s hair and whistled past her ears as she silently spurred her mount onward through the bare trees and snow-crusted ground. The poor mare was struggling, gasping for air as she gamely plunged forward through the scraggly thicket of yew and pine. Hot air plumed from the horse’s nostrils and her hooves tore into the hard, icy earth, but her shaggy coat was covered in sweat, and despite all of Kambria’s prayers to Morrigu, the Mother Goddess, the beast was losing ground.
Soon the hunters would be upon them. So-called holy men, dressed in black. Intent upon seeing their own twisted justice meted out upon her, they chased her with a wrathful, vengeful fire that no amount of reason or persuasion could dampen.
“Faster!” Kambria leaned over her mare’s shoulders, hearing the poor horse labor, its breath whistling. Strong equine muscles began to flag. Her mission was surely lost. Nightfall was too far off. Even then, beneath the shroud of night, the hunters would track her, follow her, run her to the ground. There was no darkness deep enough to hide her.
“Give me strength. Lay your hands upon my mare,” Kambria prayed as icy fingers of wind snarled her hair. Up
ahead she caught a glimpse of another horseman darting through the frigid undergrowth. The dark riders were everywhere.
Even as she tugged on the reins and veered west, toward the mountains, she knew with a sinking heart that she was trapped. There would be no turning back, no circling around. The five horsemen had fanned out through the bare trees, cutting off all chance of escape, all roads returning her to her home, to safety.
Frantic, she pulled on the reins, guiding the mare to a narrow twisting path that climbed upward, through the lower hillocks toward a ridge. The territory was new. Foreign. Forbidden. But she had no other choice.
She heard their shouts.
Terror cut like shards of ice through her heart.
Tempest struggled, her hooves slipping, her flanks quivering, foam beginning to spot her gray, wet coat. “Please . . . you can do it.”
Upward, ever more slowly, the beast ran on as snow began to fall, and Kambria felt a sharp cramp. She glanced down at her skirts, bundled high, and noticed the warm ooze of blood that dripped down her leg and splattered to the ground, bright red upon the frozen snow.
Her heart plummeted.
Not only would the blood leave a perfect trail—it would also strengthen the hunters’ purpose.
“God’s teeth,” she said, placing the reins in her mouth and trying vainly to staunch the flow. From the corner of her eye she saw movement, black-robed figures upon fleet steeds climbing the ridge, flashing past a thicket of spindly trees. By the saints, they were upon her!
And all the while drops of blood spotted the ground, caught by the wind.
Somehow she had to stop this madness.
At the top of the ridge, she spurred her horse onward and the mare, finding footing, took off, cutting along a narrow deer trail. Heart pounding, skirts billowing, Kambria thought for a second that she would prevail, that her sure-footed jennetwas more than a match for their bulkier steeds, which would scramble upon this narrow mountain spine. “Good girl,” she whispered, barely believing her luck.
She prayed that the mountain would slow their steeds. If not, if they caught her, at least the dagger was safe; she had seen to that. A weapon possessed of great magick, the Sacred Dagger was destined to be in the hands of the Chosen One, as the age-old prophecy prescribed:
Sired by Darkness,
Born of Light,
Protected by the Sacred Dagger,
A ruler of all men, all beasts and beings,
It is he who shall be born on the Eve of Samhain.
The dagger could not fall into the hands of men with hearts of darkness, men like those who pursued her now.
As her horse galloped into the thin icy wind of the mountain, she felt a clutch of pain in her abdomen, a reminder of her baby, the child she’d had to leave behind. There was no pain like a mother’s loss, but she’d had to see to the baby’s safety, her child of Light.
At the crest of this hill, the trail split as neatly as a snake’s tongue and, if she was far enough ahead, she might be able to tear off a bit of bloody clothing to lead her pursuers on the wrong course. She glanced over her shoulder and saw no one, none of the dark horsemen following.
Had she lost them?
Nay.
They would not give up. Their purpose was too strong. She dug her heels into the gasping gray’s sides and wound through the trees. Blood sang through her veins when she caught sight of the fork in the path, one trail leading downward toward the village and river, the other following the backbone of these sheer mountains. Surely those behind her would expect her to take the lower path to the town. . . .
Suddenly her horse shied.
Stumbled.
Kambria’s heart clutched.
She fell forward, nearly toppling over Tempest’s bowed neck. Bristly black hairs from her jennet’s mane stung her eyes and blinded her for a heartbeat. As the horse regained her footing and Kambria’s eyes focused again, she saw him: a single dark predator upon a white steed. His head was covered with a black cloak, only the cleric’s collar visible in the darkness, but she felt his eyes upon her, sensed his hideous intent.
She tried to pull her horse around, but it was too late. The others had closed in and she was trapped upon her panting mare.
Doom, it seemed, had found her.
“There is no escape for sinners,” the horseman blocking the fork stated bluntly.
“I’ve not sinned.”
“Have you not?” His dark eyes were slits deep in his cowl as he pointed a long, accusatory finger at the ground, where blood stained the icy snow. “Proof of your perfidy, Kambria, descendant of Llewellyn,” he said. “Of your heresy and adultery. You are a harlot and a whore of the worst order, a daughter of the devil.”
She felt the other horsemen drawing closer, circling her tightly, and for a second she felt as if she couldn’t breathe. The mare beneath her quivered and Kambria laid a calming hand upon the frightened horse’s shoulder. Was there no way out? Could she force her little mare to break through this ring of soulless men? She turned her thoughts inward, to the strength that lay deep in the marrow of her bones, the faith and courage that had brought her this far. There are ways to defeat these monsters, means not physical, forces you have only to call upon.
As if he read her thoughts, the leader snagged the reins from her hands and dropped to the ground. “Dismount,” he ordered.
When she hesitated, he nodded to one of the others. A large hooded man with shoulders as broad as a woodcutter’s ax hopped lithely off his bay, his boots hitting hard against the frozen terrain. Though she held on fiercely to the pommel of her saddle, it was no use. The big brute of a man dragged her from her horse and pinned her arms roughly behind her back, causing her shoulders to scream in pain. She felt the blood drain from her face but didn’t cry out, determined to confront the fury of these lying thugs with a fire of her own.
The leader was the worst—a zealot who spoke of piety and divinity but was, in truth, an abomination to all of mankind.
He was known as Hallyd, and his cloak was but a disguise to hide the legacy of evil he’d inherited from his father, a man rumored to be half demon himself.
Aye, she knew this man who posed as a priest by day but was known to be quite a swordsman with women in the village by night. Had he not tried to bed her? Even threatened her when she’d refused him? But she’d seen the eerie light in his eyes. She could smell the smoky darkness of his soul. She sensed the yawning abyss of hatred that threatened to devour all light from the sky. She’d known what he really wanted, and she could not let it fall into his hands, even if she died protecting it.
If only the other hunters knew of his evil . . . but the men seemed all too willing to follow his orders as Hallyd gave a quick nod and they too slid to the ground, surrounding her.
Please, Great Mother, hear my prayer. If you do not save me, at least spare the life of my babe.
“Hypocritical spawn of Arawn,” she whispered defiantly, “go back to Annwn, the underworld of the dead. May you never see the light of day again!”
He froze, thunderstruck.
“Silence!” Hallyd ordered.
“I know you,” she whispered, holding his gaze. Even as he accused her of practicing the dark arts, beneath his Christian cloak and collar, he, too, was familiar with the old ways. Evil was apparent in the eerie, ethereal glow within his brown eyes—wild, determined eyes of a man who was not yet twenty years. “I know of your own sins, Hallyd, and they be many.”
For an instant he hesitated.
“Harm me now and you will forever look over your shoulder, chased by your own guilt and my vengeance. ” As if to add credence to her words, lightning split the sky. The forest trembled.
“Mother of God,” one of the men whispered nervously.
But the leader would not back down. Through lips that barely moved as the day darkened, he hissed, “You, Kambria of Tarth, daughter of Waylynn, descendant of Llewellyn, are an adulteress as well as a witch. The only way to save yourself is
to tell me where you’ve hidden the dagger.”
She didn’t respond, though in her mind she caught an image of a wicked little knife covered in jewels.
“You know where it is,” he accused, leaning closer.
She spat upon his face, the spittle sliding down his cheek and neck, lodging behind his clerical collar.
Enraged, he yanked a rosary from a pocket, then forced it over her head, its sharp beads tangling in her hair. “For your sins against God and man, you are hereby condemned to death.”
She saw it then, the traitorous gleam in his eye. Oh, he was a fraud, a man with a soul black as the darkest night. He was doing this, sentencing her to die, to protect himself and his true mission. Her destruction had little to do with her, but all to do with his ambition to seize the Sacred Dagger.
“No amount of killing will save you,” she said, then closed her eyes and began to chant, conjuring up a dark and deadly spell. She sensed the wind shift as it rattled the branches of the trees and swept across the icy ridge. Without seeing, she knew that thick clouds were suddenly forming, coming together, roiling toward the heavens, turning the color of aging steel. Far in the distance, thunder boomed.
“God in heaven,” one man whispered, his voice raspy, “what is this?”
“Is she really the progeny of Llewellyn the Great?” another asked, and Kambria felt their fear.
“Ignore her cheap tricks,” Hallyd said, though his voice was void of conviction. “She is using your fear against you.”
“Save us all,” the other man cried, falling to his knees and crossing himself.
Lost in her chant, Kambria barely heard their words. Pressing fingertips to her forehead, she prayed, summoning the spirits, whispering for the safety of her child and the destruction of her enemies.