Chapter One
Carrisford Castle
Devonshire, 1145
"By the rood, Lady Talia, that bloody Lord Rufus be the
meanest, ugliest bugger there ever was!"
Mustn't forget cruel, malicious, and stone-stupid, Talia
thought, but didn't dare say to Leod, else the dear old
warrior and his compatriots might take the matter of Lord
Rufus into their own hands.
"Mean and ugly or no," Talia whispered, swallowing the
cold panic that had settled against her heart, "in just a
few minutes Lord Rufus will be my husband."
Husband. Dear Lord, the word tasted bitter.
"Hell's hoary hound, girl, y'can't marry that Pig-snouted
bastard!"
"It's not a matter of choice, Quigley," Talia said, a
darkly distant thunder shifting her off-balance as she
stepped into the firelit shadows of her castle
courtyard. "I'm Rufus's Ward."
And this time there would be no escaping the inevitable.
No escaping the horrid ogre waiting for her to join him on
the chapel steps.
To marry him.
This time there'd be no army to come crashing through the
castle gates, like the last time.
No act of God, like the time before, no broken siege.
No royal warrant in trade for her wardship, like the first.
No escape at all from this marriage to Rufus.
"When you reach the chapel steps, my lady, stand clear of
the blighter, and I'll put an arrow through 'is empty
black heart."
"You'll do nothing of the sort, Jasper." That's just what
she needed; Rufus's men tearing her father's old archers
to pieces. She took hold of the man's bony arm. "You'll
each behave yourselves tonight, else you'll have worse
than Rufus to answerto."
Talia heard the three men grumbling as they all set off
again toward the chapel. She suffered another soul-
hollowing chill as the sky rumbled and thundered again, as
the night wind slipped over the timber-picketed
battlements, whirling together clouds of glistening leaves
and sparks from the fire baskets.
"Gor, Rufus!" someone shouted over the milling mass of
brutish soldiers. "There your lady be!"
The crowd laughed and parted only wide enough for Talia
and her old champions.
"Mmmmmm ... Tasty, she looks to me."
"'E's waiting for ya, yer bridegroom is. Stiff as a pike,
I'll wager."
On she went, through the serpentine corridor of jeering,
ogling men, stinking with drink and neglect.
So like their master.
Rufus.
There he was, strutting around at the bottom of the chapel
steps.
Her gluttonous, barely human guardian turned husband-to-
be, downing a flagon of ale and grabbing another from a
cowering page.
Rufus de Graffe.
Pillager. Waster.
Mother Mary, where was a true warrior when she needed one?
Her very own Green Knight to slay these dragon whelps and
their unspeakable master?
A man who would keep this unrelenting war at bay, who'd
keep her people warm and fed and secure in their homes.
Who'd be a husband to cherish?
Just one more miracle. And I'll never ask again.
"There she is, Father John," Rufus bellowed, his ale-
slitted eyes gleaming at her, "my little bride. All pink
and clean and ready for me."
Aye, ready to lose her stomach as the ghastly man
staggered and stumbled toward her through the drunken
crowd.
Please God, let the great ass drink himself into a stupor
long before our wedding chamber is blessed.
"Come here, girl." Rufus clenched her upper arm between
his bruising fingers and yanked her up against his barrel
chest, his foul breath flipping her stomach on end.
"Keep your bloody -- " But Quigley's outraged shout ended
behind Jasper's hand.
"Please, let's get on with it, Father John," Talia said,
easily yanking out of Rufus's reeking embrace. She took
the few steps toward the chapel, terrified that the old
warriors would draw Rufus's wrath relieved when Rufus
trailed her, revolted by his nearness.
"Ah, now that's what a man needs in a wife, eh, priest:
eagerness to be bedded."
Talia swallowed the bile in her throat and cursed the lot
of brides, of women, of royal wards who must obey their
unworthy guardians.
The thunder came again, more deeply, rumbling across the
cobbles, seeping its oddly intimate warmth through the
soles of her slippers, riding up her calves to soften her
knees.
Father John cast Talia a look of helpless distress as he
motioned toward the steps. "If you'll, uhmmm, take your
place beside Lord Rufus."
Her place. No. Rufus was far, far from the right man to
stand with her here on the chapel steps, the lord of her
beloved father's castle, her husband.
Her protector.
"No more lagging, priest," Rufus said, growling as he slid
his hand over Talia's backside. "The lady has her needs."
Rufus squeezed hard and she slapped his hand away without
thinking, hoping Leod wouldn't jump the man. "I'm not your
wife yet, Rufus."
"Be damned, woman! You'll speak when you're asked to -- "
Rufus's beefy face reddened. He drew back his fist and
Talia was about to dodge out of the way, when the force of
his swing was caught by a wide-eyed soldier.
"Trouble, Your Lordship."
Another crash of thunder, closer, grazing her heart.
"Bloody impudent sot, can't you see I'm busy!" Rufus sent
the guard sprawling into the muddy cobbles. "Now, on with
it, priest!"
Father John had wound the twine of his wooden crucifix
around his fist. "But, Lord Rufus, shouldn't you -- "
"The wedding, dammit!" Rufus grabbed Father John by the
front of his cowl and thrust him back against the
door. "Begin now!"
But the thunder came again, rocking the very steps now,
and her balance. Another shudder seemed to make the
timbered wall of pickets dance along the stone parapet.
Father John's eyes bulged as he squawked out, "Bless, O
Lord, this ri -- "