that wise, believing the fewer who knew of Luc’s attempted assault, the better.
They had done everything they could to keep him away, even seeking the king’s interference. And King Stephen, being easily manipulated with his attention on preserving his throne from an ever-warring aunt and cousin, had ordered Luc to be banished from Cumbria. Luc’s father had been furious, but had obeyed for he knew Laon had powerful allies. But that had not been enough to pacify her father. So Bronwyn had been taught the art of killing, and learned to wield and throw a blade with extreme accuracy. But she had never used it against the living, and as she discovered today, having the ability to kill someone and doing so were two vastly different things. There had to be another way to avoid a lifetime of hell.
Giving herself a little shake, Bronwyn looked down at her hand and realized it was not a wayward hunter’s arrow she was holding, but a bolt. The short, heavy weapon had come from a powerful steel crossbow used by only highly skilled arbalesters.
Bronwyn looked up and studied the direction from which the arrow had come. The distance across the clearing would have challenged her best archers, making Bronwyn suspect its owner had not missed, but had hit his intended target. Whoever had shot the arrow was good. Very good. The dense collection of bushes she had been studying suddenly moved. Bronwyn rushed to investigate, but it was too late. She pushed back the prickly branches and evergreen leaves just in time to see someone disappearing on a massive black horse heading away from Hunswick and Syndlear. He was riding fast and with a large metal crossbow thumping on his mount’s hind end.
Whoever he was, he did not come from anywhere near Bassellmere or Hunswick. Another day, another time, she might have stayed long enough to find out just who had saved her.
Ranulf gripped Pertinax’s reins and let the horse do most of the work. The combat advantages of single-eye vision were limited to one—archery. The loss of his left eye made targeting an object easier. He didn’t have to worry about ignoring the secondary image one sees when aiming. On the other hand, the disadvantages of missing an eye were numerous and the ability to ride at a gallop across unknown, mountainous terrain was one of them. On any other horse, he would have been significantly more cautious. As it was, Ranulf aimed Pertinax back to camp, urged the pace into a gallop, and then began to berate himself for being every kind of fool.
That morning he had left his men under the leadership of his best friend to ride ahead and explore the lands that were to become his new home. And to think.
His original plan of persuading King Henry II to dismiss Laon’s dying request had failed miserably. The king had not only refused to dismiss the idea of marriage, but he had eagerly endorsed it. And to ensure that Lady Lillabet was made aware of her father’s wishes and the king’s support, Henry had dispatched two riders to ride ahead and deliver the news, forcing Ranulf to immediately begin his own journey north to not just a new home and unsolicited responsibilities, but an unwanted bride-to-be. For days now, he had been clinging to one hope—Laon’s youngest daughter would simply refuse to marry him.
He had not realized just how close he was to his new home until he had ridden by an abandoned stone keep earlier that morning. Isolated on top of a bluff, the tower and the surrounding wooden buildings had looked structurally sound, needing only a thorough cleaning and restocking of supplies. At the time, Ranulf had not suspected the tower to be Syndlear, home of Sir Laon, and pressed forward. But an hour later, the castle it guarded came into view. It was nestled against a lake at the mountain’s valley and Ranulf knew he had reached his destination.
As Laon had described, the castle’s unique layout was unmistakable once seen. Unlike Syndlear, which was a small, but orderly estate, Hunswick Castle was haphazardly sprawled along the shoreline. The mountainous terrain dictated some of the unusual design, which at a distance resembled a leather water bag being squeezed in the middle.
Along one side the lake buffered a multitude of buildings, including one that appeared large enough to be a Great Hall. Along the other side of the odd-shaped castle was an average-size gatehouse separating two towers. The one located closest to the Hall was of significant size and the other, situated on the other side of the bailey, was round but otherwise unremarkable. What was noteworthy was the stone curtain wall that connected the three structures ended there and did not encompass the whole of the castle. A feeble wooden frame continued behind the stable and other buildings where the wall stopped, and no protection at all was provided along the lakeside. The castle was totally dependent upon being forewarned.
Ranulf had ridden down to the lake to let Pertinax drink and rest and had just been about to mount and return to camp when he had overheard low moans on the other side of the thicket. Rising, he grabbed his crossbow and pushed the spiny branches aside ready to shoot if it was an animal on the attack. But he found instead a tall woman…who appeared to be singing.
Her husky voice had not been meant for caroling, and while it was by no means good, there was a haunting quality to it that kept Ranulf where he was. Neither drawing him in closer, or letting him leave. He wasn’t near enough to make out the words, but he could see her clearly.
Far from a traditional beauty, she was tall for a woman, with untamed brownish-blond hair falling far past her shoulders down to the middle of her back. The simple dark blue bliaut with its gentle scoop neckline gave the barest hint of the cleavage it hid but did nothing to disguise the willowy figure it covered. A single gold amulet rested in the graceful hollow of her throat.
A light breeze came across the clearing and caught her curls. She looked up so that her face could take full advantage of the refreshing treat and she paused. Her large dark eyes were looking directly at him, as if she had sensed his presence. Pale, her delicate oval face possessed high cheekbones, apricot-colored skin, and a generous mouth that neither smiled nor frowned. She looked like a misbegotten angel, the kind he tended to dream up naked whenever his physical need for companionship surfaced. To him, she embodied natural beauty, the kind few women—even beautiful ones—possessed and therefore made her all the more alluring.
Then she shifted her jaw.
The movement was slight, and from across the clearing, he had almost missed it. The simple twitch was not extraordinary except that it was identical to the one Sir Laon le Breton performed whenever he had been mentally chewing on something. Ranulf wasn’t staring at a village maiden; she was Laon’s eldest daughter, Bronwyn.
Ranulf grimaced and raked his hand across his head, recalling Laon’s description of his firstborn. The man had been blind. Yes, she was tall and her hair might be of a similar color, but resembled him? Laon had intimated his eldest daughter was plain, if not homely, saying outright that no man would ever desire her for a wife.
Ranulf glanced back across the clearing. She was singing again, her raspy voice still not on key, but haunting all the same. It had been three years since he had been with a woman and she was creating the most lustful thoughts his mind had conjured in all that time. Tonight was going to be uncomfortable, for Laon’s daughter was stirring within him the need that had been building every day of those years.
He needed to leave quickly before she saw him, before she looked upon the disfigured face of Deadeye de Gunnar.
But again he was stopped. This time by a man. Large, with a rugged face and thick, long blond hair styled in the way of many English nobles, he resembled what every lady of the court coveted. And the nearness of his body to Lady Bronwyn’s made it clear the two were very well acquainted, proving once again all beautiful things were tainted.
A cold frisson rippled on the surface of Ranulf’s skin and he turned around to get his horse and ride away. He had just hooked the crossbow to his saddle when a sharp, unpleasant cackle pierced his ears. Grimacing, Ranulf returned to the hedge and glanced once more at the couple on the other
