His Lady's Ransom. Merline Lovelace

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His Lady's Ransom - Merline  Lovelace

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at the garments still spilling haphazardly out of the wardrobe, Madeline directed her second serving woman to bring them later and slammed the lid of a small trunk.

      De Burgh had said to take with her only what she needed for the journey. It would’ve helped considerably in her packing if she’d known just how long a journey she faced, and to where. As it was, she’d stuffed clean linens, two extra robes, her jewel casket and a small case with her pots of cosmetics, her combs and the silvered mirror her first husband had given her into the leather trunk.

      Signaling to the page to shoulder the trunk, Madeline sat down to pull on an extra pair of stockings, then laced up her boots. She stood and smoothed the skirts of her warmest robe, a fine merino wool dyed a rich crimson and adorned with tabard sleeves that draped nearly to the floor. With her now neatly braided hair caught in cauls of woven silver yarn and covered by a silken veil held in place with a guirlande of beaten silver, she felt ready to face the earl. Gerda handed her a hooded cloak, silvery gray in color and lined with marten fur. Wherever their destination, Madeline decided, she would be warm enough for these cold days.

      With the maid clumping behind her in thick-soled boots, her own bundle of possessions clutched to her breast, Madeline led the small procession through Kenilworth’s halls and out into the bailey. She stopped abruptly on the steps that led down from its main entrance.

      “What is that?”

      The squire who’d stepped forward to guide her down the worn, treacherous steps, glanced around uncertainly.

      “What, my lady?”

      “That!”

      Madeline jerked her chin toward the wheeled vehicle with two horses harnessed in tandem that waited below. Its rounded roof was ornately carved and hung with thick curtains.

      The squire looked completely baffled by her question. “’Tis…’tis a litter, my lady. My lord arranged it for your comfort on the journey.”

      Madeline shuddered at the thought of being enclosed within those smothering curtains. Lifting her skirts, she descended the rest of the steps. A tall figure detached itself from the group of men who waited beside the horses and strode toward her.

      “Are you ready, my lady?” de Burgh said, courteously enough, as though he’d not mauled her in her bath but an hour since.

      The knowledge that she was in this man’s power ate like a worm inside her belly, but she would, perforce, have to go with him. The manner of her going, however, was yet to be decided.

      “Aye,” Madeline replied, lifting her skirts. “I’m ready. But I would…” She trailed off in surprise when he stood immovable before her.

      “Aye, my lord,” he corrected softly.

      Heat flooded her cheeks. For a long moment they faced each other, she and de Burgh, green eyes locked with blue. The stamping of the horses as they shifted on the hard cobbles and the murmuring of the men behind them went unheard. There was only this lean, unyielding man filling her vision, his breath brushing her cheeks.

      One of the horses teamed in harness shivered in the cold and stepped back, causing the litter to shift and rattle on the cobbles. Madeline caught the movement from the corner of one eye.

      She swallowed, and swung her gaze back to de Burgh. “Aye, my lord, I’m ready.”

      He had half turned away when her low voice stopped him.

      “But I would ride my palfrey, if it pleases you.”

      He frowned and gestured toward the litter. “You will be more comfortable within.”

      Desperate, Madeline sought some means to sway him. She would not, she could not, climb into that box. Even if she traveled with the curtains drawn open as far as they would go, the tight confines would choke her. Nor could she admit the fear that had haunted her from childhood to this man and give him a weapon he might use against her.

      Of a sudden, Madeline remembered John’s assurance that she could make any man dance to her tune did she but try. She wet her lips and forced them to curve in what she hoped would pass for a smile.

      “I’m well horsed, my lord. My mare was a gift from my first husband, and I…I would not leave her here.”

      He hesitated.

      Hating herself, but driven by a fear that made sweat bead between her breasts, Madeline stepped forward and laid a mittened hand on his arm. Tilting her head, she slanted him a look that had brought courtiers stumbling over their feet to do her bidding.

      “Come, sir, I will need my mare wherever it is I go.”

      “You go to Cragsmore, lady.”

      Well, at least she knew her destination, although it meant little to her. One of the baron de Courcey’s lesser keeps, Cragsmore had come to her as part of her widow’s dower and been managed by castellans appointed by the king during her wardship. It sat close on the Welsh border, she knew, and provided her with a steady, if somewhat meager, income in timber and wool from long-haired mountain sheep. Madeline had visited it only once, as a young bride, and had a vague memory of lichen-covered stone walls and drafty corridors. At this moment, however, he had more immediate concerns than the journey’s end.

      Swallowing the pride that lodged in her throat like a crust of dry bread, she pressed lightly against de Burgh’s mail-clad arm. “If I ride, mayhap we can have discourse during the journey and ease this…disharmony between us.”

      He looked down at her hand, his brows lifting. When he met her eyes once more, Madeline could not quite interpret the look that crossed his face. Whatever he would have said to her was lost in the clatter of booted feet.

      “My lady.”

      Madeline snatched her hand back. Will strode across the bailey, leading her bay mare. The silver bells on the palfrey’s halter tinkled as it danced to a halt a few feet away.

      Will’s golden hair was spiked with dried sweat, and his cheeks yet held the grime of the tourney, but none of that detracted from the huge grin splitting his handsome face. “When Ian told me that the king had given you into his keeping, I could scarce believe it!”

      “Nor could I,” Madeline replied.

      “I was even more surprised when he told me that you leave today for the north.”

      “Not half as surprised as I.”

      William blinked at her dry response, apparently recognizing that she was less than overjoyed at her change in circumstances. “I know ‘tis a somewhat abrupt departure, but I—I’m glad you’re in my brother’s care. He’ll hold you safe.”

      Madeline flashed him a startled look, but before she could ascertain why he thought she needed safekeeping, he smiled shyly.

      “I leave for the north soon myself. Mayhap I will find reason to journey to Cragsmore.”

      Over his shoulder, Madeline saw the earl stiffen. The lad would not come to Cragsmore, she knew, not if de Burgh had anything to do with it.

      “I had not time to find a suitable farewell gift,” Will continued, “but I beg you accept the barding that I won in the

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