
A War of Hearts
***
Laurie Carroll


He was a soldier, and he refused to believe in ghosts! 
Jeremy placed Alicen in her own bed as Ned stood in 
the chamber doorway, face blank. The boy clutched his 
stomach, looking pale and sick himself. 
Sensing his difficulty, Jeremy moved closer and 
grasped Ned’s shoulder. “How does she treat head 
injuries?” he asked quietly. 
“I, I’m uncertain.” The boy’s chin quivered, and his 
eyes filled with tears. 
Jeremy smiled, though his stomach knotted with 
worry that the apprentice would be useless. “Think, lad. 
You must have seen her attend such maladies. What 
does she do?” 
Soak a cloth in cold water and place it on the injury. 
The voice filled Jeremy’s head just as Ned blurted 
out, “She, uhm, she uses cloths soaked in cold water.” 
Jeremy blinked, then asked the boy, “Where does she 
place them?” 
“On the injury.” 
As I said. 
Soldiers’ lives depended on awareness of everything 
around them, and Jeremy knew the only woman in the 
room was insensate. The voice was not Alicen’s, yet it 
wasn’t unfamiliar. 
You see an enemy where none exists... 
Nay! He refused to believe he heard Kaitlyn 
O’Rourke’s voice in his mind. The only thing he knew 
was that Alicen needed care. 
He turned to Ned. “Fetch what we’ll need. I’ll make 
her more comfortable.” 

To my family:
Thanks for helping me become
the person I am. I love you all.

A War of Hearts
***
Laurie Carroll



One 
The north of England, 1425 
“Close ranks,” shouted Sir Jeremy Blaine. “Surround 
the duke!” 
He could hear little else but the clash of steel on steel 
as the thunderous din of battle surrounded him. Coupled 
with the grunt of horses and the cries of cursing men 
locked in desperate combat, the metallic clang of blades 
filled his ears like gale force winds. As the battle raged, 
the volume rose until the gale was primarily comprised 
of the screams of dying men and their doomed mounts. 
The Bastard’s men must not escape, Jeremy thought 
grimly as he hacked his way through the crush of 
mounted combatants to regain his liege lord’s side. No 
time to lament the butchery taking place all around. Duty 
demanded he spill enemy blood—and perhaps his own— 
to defend his lord. 
He had reluctantly agreed with Duke William of Tynan 
that an escort of fourteen men would be sufficient for 
this trip into disputed land. Now that twenty-five mounted 
enemy retainers surrounded them and cut off any escape, 
Jeremy rued that acquiescence. 
In his nostrils, the earthy odor of a woods in late 
summer gave way to brassy smells of sweat and gore. 
“Ranks closed,” Jeremy roared again, shutting his 
mind to the grisly image of those who fell to his blade, 
oblivious to their sounds of agony. William’s troops would 
triumph or perish. There was no alternative. Resolved 
not to die without taking as many enemies along as 
possible, he girded his battle-weary heart against despair 
and let his lethal sword arm perform his will. 
Pivoting his mount, he warded off a wicked thrust, 
then cursed as another foe’s blade slashed him just above 
the steel couter protecting his left elbow. His chain mail 
stopped the blow, but the impact numbed his arm. 
“Jesu,” he hissed between tight lips. Pain lent fury to 

his strength, and he dispatched both adversaries quickly, 
then spurred his horse forward to down another and 
another. 
Jeremy had been taught at an early age to lead by 
example. Thus, he attacked ferociously, relentlessly, 
knowing the battle-hardened veterans who fought at his 
back needed but a nudge to respond. His tenacity was 
quickly rewarded. 
“For William!” came their cry. 
The bloodlust in his troops’ counterattack swayed the 
fight to Duke William’s favor as they broke the enemy’s 
ranks and went on the offensive. Several of their foes 
rode for the shelter of dusk-darkened woods. 
“Stop them! Let none escape.” Jeremy motioned with 
his sword after the fleeing enemy. 
He readied to follow, but a pained cry from behind 
him drew his attention. Turning in his saddle, he saw 
William topple to the ground, a crossbow bolt deep in his 
chest. 
“Christ’s guts!” Jeremy rounded on his second in 
command. “Taft, inform the pursuit.” 
As Jeremy slid from his charger and knelt beside the 
duke, Lieutenant Taft’s piercing whistle called a soldier 
over. Jeremy heard Taft’s orders to the man to meet them 
at the rendezvous point. 
“Yes, Lieutenant!” the soldier answered before 
spurring off after his comrades in pursuit of their enemies. 
Jeremy carefully removed William’s helmet. “My lord?” 
Seeing William wished to speak but could barely draw 
breath, Jeremy leaned down close to him. 
“The wound is deep,” the duke whispered. “I fear it 
may be fatal.” 
Though Jeremy’s throat tightened, he kept his voice 
calm. “Sherford is nigh, milord. ’Tis certain to have a 
healer.” 
“He’d best be a man of considerable skills—“ Spasms 
of pain throttled the rest of William’s words. 
“Speak not,” Jeremy cautioned before glancing back 
at Taft. “Finding a cart will take too long. Help me get 
him mounted. We’ll lash him on.” 
He did not finish his thought that William would 
tumble from the saddle otherwise, but his lieutenant’s 

bleak look told him his fears were understood. Of course 
Taft would understand—only two men knew Jeremy 
Blaine better than Michael Taft did. 
One of the two was dying before them. 
“Assist me here.” 
Three soldiers helped Jeremy lift their now 
unconscious commander into his saddle, securing him 
to the high cantle with sword belts and tying his feet to 
the stirrups. Jeremy surveyed their handiwork. William 
slumped forward but would not fall off. 
“Get the wounded ahorse and form ranks,” he directed 
tersely, grabbing William’s reins. He fervently wished it 
were he instead of his lord who’d taken the ill-fated 
quarrel. “Light torches.” 
The moment every man was astride a mount, Jeremy 
set spurs to his destrier’s flanks, and they raced toward 
the nearby town. 
*** 
Word of the battle must have preceded his company’s 
arrival, Jeremy mused as the troop rode into Sherford a 
quarter hour later. The soldiers found only abandoned 
streets and barred doors, effectively keeping them out. 
Jeremy had started to rein his destrier toward the 
houses. 
“At Landeyda dwells the best healer in these parts.” 
Jeremy heard the voice clearly, but a glance at Taft 
assured him his subordinate was looking away from him. 
“The Kent holding. Follow the Great Road south a 
quarter league. ’Tis twenty rods back. Look for the gate. 
Hurry!” 
Acting purely on instinct, Jeremy wheeled his mount 
back toward the road and, still leading William’s horse, 
pounded southward. “Follow me!” 
His men hesitated only a moment before obeying him. 
*** 
Alicen Kent looked up from sorting herbs at the long 
counter in the main room of her home. She cocked her 
head and frowned. 
Odd. It sounded as though horses approached from 
the north. That many horses could only mean...soldiers. 
Her mouth went dry, her hand automatically reaching 
for the amulet she never removed from around her neck. 

Orrick! Sweet Jesu, have they come for him? What mischief 
was now afoot? 
At the sound of a door closing off the main chamber, 
she spun from the hearth, hand clutching her throat. 
Her eleven-year-old apprentice entered from the 
infirmary. 
By concentrating hard, Alicen kept her fear from her 
voice. “Ned, bar the door. Riders abroad.” 
The towheaded boy’s forehead wrinkled in 
concentration. “I hear no—” Just then the troop clattered 
into the yard. Ned blanched. “Who could it be?” 
“We’ll know anon,” Alicen replied, hoping she sounded 
at ease so as not to upset Ned. Her heart thundered like 
a smith’s hammer as she opened the square-cut wicket 
in the heavy door and peered out. 
Two blazing torches in the courtyard, aided by a rising 
full moon, revealed nearly a dozen men. Their steel 
helmets glinted dully in the meager light, but they wore 
no discernible insignia on their tunics. One large, 
powerful-looking rider dismounted and approached her 
door. As she watched, a searing memory of premonition 
struck Alicen’s mind, stunning her with realization. 
“Tis he. The man who will change my life. 
She shivered from the force of her certainty and 
unwittingly stepped back a pace. 
“Ned, where is Orrick?” she whispered harshly. “He’s 
not about the grounds, is he?” 
The boy blinked. “Nay. I’ve not seen him in days. He’s 
not due to visit for a fortnight, I imagine.” 
Alicen nearly slumped in relief, but that moment, the 
door shuddered from a forceful blow. 
“Open in the name of the duke!” a man’s powerful 
baritone demanded, then Alicen heard him mutter, “Pray 
God this man Kent is home and not away treating some 
illness.” When she opened the door, he said tersely, “We 
seek the physician by name of Kent. Is he here?” 
Alicen found herself looking up to meet the soldier’s 
gaze, something she rarely did owing to her own height. 
Even in the half-light, she could see his determined 
expression. Misgivings again assailed her. Did he intend 
to raze the house? 
Nay, he’d have attacked, not knocked, answered her 

mother’s soothing voice—a voice she knew none other 
than she could hear. He seeks a physician. Searching out 
deserters is not his concern. 
Alicen swallowed hard and forced her voice to belie 
her fear. “I’m Alicen Kent, the physician.” 
“Christ’s guts,” the soldier exclaimed, the dim hope 
in his expression dying to frustration. “You? You’re a 
wench!” 
Alicen knew that in the dim light none could see her 
flush, but she hoped the soldiers also couldn’t see the 
uptilting of her chin or the tightening of her jaw. 
“Observant,” she returned stiffly. “What act of war 
brings you to my home this eventide?” She looked past 
him to his men. 
Whatever fear his size may have instilled in her had 
melted from the heat of affront, and the knight hesitated, 
grumbling, “Damn my misbegotten luck. A woman.” He 
pinned her with an intense stare, tone accusing. “A villager 
claimed you Sherford’s best healer. Yet you’re not more 
than eight years and ten.” 
Such animosity in a stranger immediately replaced 
Alicen’s ire with caution. His presence held danger, of 
that she had no doubt. She smelled sweat and dirt on 
the knight’s clothing, but the brassy stench of blood that 
permeated the air around him nearly blotted out those 
smells. 
“One and twenty, in truth,” she remarked steadily, 
“but why should that—” 
“We need your aid, though I’m loath to put lives into 
female hands,” he cut in. “I’ve no time to find another 
healer.” 
She gasped, flushing more deeply. “Do you wish my 
help or no?” 
“Bring him in,” the knight called over his shoulder. 
“We were ambushed on the eastern road. The duke—” 
Alicen caught sight of two burly soldiers dragging a 
man between them. Even in the dimness, she saw he 
bled profusely. 
“Jesu be merciful,” she cried, slipping past the broad-
shouldered warrior blocking her way to help support the 
victim. “Have a care!” 
“Jeremy,” William groaned. 

“Here, Your Grace,” he replied, leaning down to speak 
into William’s ear. “Save your strength.” He turned to 
bark orders. “You four, search this cottage. The rest, the 
grounds. Detain for questioning anyone you find.” 
Alicen started, gaping momentarily at the menacing 
knight before motioning William’s bearers forward. “Ned 
will guide you to the infirmary.” She shot the knight 
another look before adding, “He’s the only other person 
on the estate.” 
Praying silently that she hadn’t lied, she strode to 
her medicament cupboard. After selecting several jars 
and loading them onto a tray, she added four steel 
instruments and bandages, then hurried into the small 
infirmary just off the main room. 
“I’ll put the kettle to boil,” Ned said, passing her as 
he moved to the hearth. He cast a fearful glance at the 
soldiers now overrunning the cottage. 
With an effort, Alicen ignored them. “Good. Bring the 
brazier, candles, rush lamps...I’ll need a good deal of light.” 
Suspicious in spite of her seeming competence, 
Jeremy followed on the woman’s heels. His jaw tightened. 
A woman healer! Fleeting memories of long ago advice 
crowded in atop his doubts—”Trust no woman, my son. 
Lie with her and to her, but never, never trust her.” 
His father had proven a sage in the past. Jeremy’s 
own experience was proof of that. 
A darker image assailed him. The memory of a healer’s 
abode with shelves of medicaments much like this one’s. 
And Estelle, his wife, lying in an ever-widening pool of 
her own blood. As much blood as shed in battle, seeping 
from between her thighs, soaking the linens and the table 
she lay upon, the floor beneath. Her brown eyes wide 
and sightless, her mouth a rictus of a tortured smile... 
On a shudder of remembered horror, he pulled his 
mind back to the present. He’d watch this purported 
healer’s every action. If she tried anything amiss, she 
would regret it. 
Apparently unaware of his scrutiny, Alicen Kent set 
to work. He watched her economically efficient movements 
as she stripped off William’s cloak and cut away his tunic, 
then severed the buckles holding his steel cuirass in place. 
She looked at William’s face then jerked back, startled. 

With a stifled gasp, she looked at Jeremy. 
“This isn’t Duke Harold.” The knight became suddenly 
very tense and very still as he watched her stiffen. 
“William.” 
“Aye. The true duke comes to reclaim his land from 
the bastard usurper.” 
His words froze Alicen’s soul, and her hand flew to 
her amulet. Three years before, William’s bastard brother, 
Harold of Stanhope, had routed William’s retainers to 
capture the shire. Sherford had burned, citizens had 
died...Her friends, her mother. 
She shrank from images of remembered horror and 
tried to concentrate. A patient lay gravely wounded. He 
needed her. She’d sworn an oath. Mother, guide me. It 
required a deep breath to help her steady her abruptly 
shaking hands and resume working. 
After breaking off the arrow a handsbreadth from the 
steel breastplate, she began to carefully remove the armor. 
Her patient moaned. 
“Mind what you do,” the knight snapped, stepping 
close to loom over her. “You bring him pain.” 
“There’s little else he’ll feel for a time, I fear,” she 
responded without looking up. She lifted the blood-soaked 
mail from William’s chest. “Ned, more bandages.” 
The apprentice hurried to bring them while she moved 
the shaft slightly to test its depth. 
William moaned again. 
Suddenly, Alicen found her wrist trapped in a powerful 
grip. “Desist,” the knight growled. “’Tis unnecessary 
torture.” 
She could feel her eyes blazing as she glared at him. 
“Get out of my way and allow me to work, or leave with 
this soon to be corpse! You meddle as he loses precious 
blood. Trust me, or he has no hope for the morrow.” She 
jerked free from Jeremy’s grasp and looked to her 
assistant, who stood gaping. “Fetch water and put the 
blades in the coals, Ned.” She gave the knight her back 
while he stood fuming. 
Gruesome memories fought with reason, and Jeremy 
was powerless to overcome his abhorrence of women 
healers. But he was also desperate. Their surgeon had 
not accompanied them, and none in his troop had 

knowledge enough to treat such a grave injury. He silently 
damned himself for not being between William and that 
crossbow bolt. Then he silently damned all women. Good 
for naught else but to take one’s ease upon. 
Of the three narrow beds in the chamber, he chose 
the one beside William’s—near enough to observe all the 
wench did. He sat, testily fingering his jeweled dagger. If 
her actions warranted it, he would have to kill her. 
No sooner had he entertained this thought then the 
jewels in the dagger’s hilt seemed to burn intensely. With 
a strangled cry of pain and startlement, Jeremy dropped 
the weapon from scorched fingers. It skidded across the 
floor and came to rest under William’s cot. 
Concentrating on her patient, Alicen was only vaguely 
aware that the duke’s henchman had encountered some 
sort of difficulty. It would have to wait. William lay pale 
and silent. Bright red froth bubbled from the wound with 
his every labored breath; flecks of red clung to lips and 
nostrils. He’d lost a dangerous amount of blood, and the 
hard ride might have shocked him beyond recovery. A 
lump of fear lodged in her heart. It would take all her 
skill—and vast luck—to see him through. 
Remove the bolt from the back, Alicen, her mother’s 
voice instructed. 
Glancing at Ned, waiting nearby, she said, “Hold his 
shoulders down while I push the quarrel through.” 
“You’ll make the wound more deadly,” Jeremy cried 
as he leapt to his feet. “Leave it!” 
She gave him a look that would have frozen the sun, 
then pushed the shaft out the duke’s back. 
William’s groan galvanized his captain. Livid, Jeremy 
grasped Alicen’s shoulder and yanked her around to face 
him. “I told you to leave it.” 
His menacing countenance almost made her step 
back. Instead, she hid her fear with effrontery and 
snapped, “I thought you a killer, not a healer.” Taking 
advantage of the shock she saw in his eyes, she pushed 
away from him and bent to resume her task. She stanched 
the flowing blood, stating in a wintry tone, “Iron barbs 
poison if left in the body. Especially the lung.” 
Methodically, she exchanged clean bandages for bloody 
ones. “The more poison, the less hope of recovery. Had I 

pulled the shaft back and the head detached, removing 
it would be fatal.” She scowled at her nemesis. 
“Comprehend now, squire? If so, get out of my light!” 
Alicen’s greatest problem was closing the holes she’d 
just widened in William’s lung before it collapsed. Worse, 
internal hemorrhaging could drown him in his own blood. 
She packed two wads of bandages into the wounds and 
checked her instruments. 
Then she turned to the soldier. “I could use your 
assistance. When his brow raised in question, she 
explained, “‘Twill go better for him if he’s completely still 
when I cauterize the wounds. Ned is too small to hold 
him.” 
“Tell me what I must do.” 
Once she had the soldier positioned correctly, Alicen 
turned to Ned. “When I give the word, remove the 
bandages.” She lifted a red hot blade from the coals. 
“Now.” 
As soon as the boy pulled away the wadding, she 
cauterized the wound. William jerked once, but his 
powerful captain easily restrained him. 
Jeremy clenched his fists as the stench of burning 
flesh filled the room. The death smells from the most 
recent carnage assaulted him, bringing suppressed battle 
visions. The pounding blows on his shield and blade, the 
sting of sweat in his eyes, the screams of the wounded 
and dying all around him... 
He shuddered, then recalled his circumstance. His 
current battle involved painful experience with a female 
healer, and he had to bury the past and think only of the 
present. This Alicen Kent woman knew well how to treat 
a grievous wound, but admitting so pained him nearly as 
much as remembrance of the fight which had led to his 
being in her home. 
Alicen returned the instrument to the brazier before 
examining her handiwork. The bleeding had stopped, at 
least temporarily. She daubed the burn with salve and 
covered it with a fresh dressing. 
“Now the back.” 
Once they’d treated the wounds, they carefully laid 
William down. Several bolsters assured his head lay 
higher than his heart. She checked his breathing. 

“How is he?” came Jeremy’s brusque question. 
Tension radiated in his tone. 
Alicen started, having temporarily forgotten her 
unwanted guest. “The lung fills, but his heart is far weaker 
than I would like.” She shrugged. “Now we wait and pray 
for the best.” 
She knew that, though the duke had survived the 
worst of this ordeal, his contracting pleurisy still posed a 
very real danger. The gravity of the wound bespoke the 
possibility. This thought, and the presence of his 
henchman, did naught to raise her hopes. She 
straightened, stretched, and turned to leave. 
“Where do you go?” the soldier demanded 
immediately. 
“That’s none of your concern, Lieutenant.” 
Large and foreboding, he took an intimidating step 
toward her. “It is my concern. And I’m Captain Sir Jeremy 
Blaine!” 
“Rank notwithstanding, you’ve no right to detain me.” 
She tossed her head in defiance. 
“I’ll do what I think best for my lord,” Jeremy retorted. 
“And I think it best you remain to care for him.” 
“I’ve done all I am able to. Ned will watch him while I 
tend the other men’s injuries.” 
Flushing, the captain snarled, “Careful, wench! Your 
arrogance will cost your life if the duke dies.” 
Instinctively Alicen recoiled. Her premonition 
returned, accompanied by intense fear, and breathing 
turned difficult. But pride intervened. She’d not allow 
him to browbeat her. She forced herself to stare boldly 
into his hostile blue eyes. 
“It won’t be my arrogance that kills him. If he dies, 
‘twill be part because the wound was too grave and part 
because you’ve handled him too carelessly.” She 
straightened her shoulders. “Threaten your men all you 
wish, Sir Squire, but I’m not one of your lackeys.” She 
glanced at her apprentice. “Fetch me if there’s any 
change.” With that, she departed. 
*** 
Jeremy stood with fists clenched and jaw tight. “You 
should be flogged for your impertinence, wench.” Glaring 
at her young assistant, he regained his bedside seat to 

do what that wretched woman should have done—watch 
over his duke. 
*** 
Shortly before dawn Alicen finished treating the 
seriously wounded men and then made her way back to 
the cottage. Two had died, but the others would survive 
to kill again. She had determined that the minor wounds, 
most of them hastily bandaged after the ambush, could 
wait until daylight for proper treatment. 
“How can such cruelty exist?” she asked herself yet 
again, numbed by the pain men inflicted on each other. 
The threat of destruction had returned. William would 
fight to reclaim his lands, and many innocent people 
would die. 
Could she protect those she loved, this time? Memory 
lashed her—desperation and futility—but she fought off 
despair. Her duty was to heal, not to bemoan human 
folly. She would check Duke William, then take refuge in 
sleep. If her mind allowed, the destruction she’d seen 
and the destruction she foresaw would momentarily 
disappear. 
Slipping into the infirmary, she found Ned asleep on 
the bed next to William’s. She gently pulled a blanket 
over the boy, then assessed the duke’s condition. He 
rested quietly, and it pleased her to note his unlabored— 
though shallow—breathing. No blood appeared on his 
lips or in his nostrils. 
A good sign, her mother assured her. Seek your own 
rest. You’ve need of it. 
“As soon as I finish here,” Alicen whispered in 
response. After adjusting William’s pillows, Alicen turned 
to leave. 
And ran right into Jeremy Blaine’s hard chest. 
Jumping back, she stifled an alarmed cry. 
“Now, where do you wander?” Hard eyes glittered in 
the dim light of two candles. 
“To bed.” 
“William needs you here.” 
“He sleeps. I can do naught more for him at present.” 
She tried to step past, but the knight caught her arm in 
a hard grip, effectively halting her departure. 
“Stay here,” he said, voice flat. “Sleep beside the boy.” 

“I’ll sleep where I please, my lord squire.” She gasped 
when his grip tightened. 
“You’ll do as I say! I’ll not allow you to seduce one of 
my men and then cry rape.” 
Enraged beyond good sense, Alicen slapped the 
knight’s face with enough force to numb her palm. 
“Despicable cur,” she hissed. “You bring carnage to 
my door, threaten me, then call me whore? Are all 
William’s minions so loathsome?” 
“I’m a peer of the realm!” 
“You’re a cold-hearted mon—” 
The last thread of Jeremy’s patience snapped. Of its 
own volition, his hand snaked out to grasp her throat, 
squeezing slightly. He watched her green eyes go wide 
with panic. Strands of silky chestnut hair had come loose 
from her chignon to be trapped beneath his fingers. Her 
neck felt slender and fragile, the mad racing of her pulse 
emphasizing her vulnerability. With very little effort he 
could end her life. But killing a woman held no honor. 
Despite his earlier vow and the threats he’d made, he 
could never slay her. Nay, not even hurt her. Yet her fear 
gave him advantage. For now, he’d use that. 
“Concern yourself with William’s health, wench, not 
with what you think me to be.” 
“Release me this instant,” she choked out, pulling 
ineffectively at his fingers in an effort to loosen his grip. 
This show of courage gave him pause. “I’ll release you 
when—” 
The hair on the back of his neck prickled as he sensed 
another presence in the room, though he heard nothing. 
He had just begun to turn and face whoever it was when 
motion from the second bed surprised him. Ned, with an 
angry yelp, abruptly hurled himself at Jeremy. The boy 
collided with the man’s shoulder and managed to cling 
there like a limpet. 
“Stop hurting her,” he cried, his youthful voice 
cracking. He swung at the knight but slipped without 
landing the blow and started to fall to the floor. “Leave 
her be!” 
Jeremy stumbled only a step, but in trying to ward 
off the lad he released the mistress. Recovering his 
balance, he swung his arm and brushed Ned off. But 

just as he stepped toward the boy, he heard movement 
behind him. He turned in time to catch two pounding 
fists full on the chest. Amazed at the woman’s daring, 
Jeremy grabbed her shoulders and held her at arms’ 
length. She fought harder, kicking and struggling until 
he pulled her tight against his body to still her assault. 
They were chest to chest, and beneath the press of 
her firm breasts he could feel the thunder of her heart as 
she fought his hold. He felt the amulet she wore grow 
warm where it was pressed between their bodies. The 
smell of herbs and mint filled his nostrils, and he was 
suddenly painfully aware of his reaction to her in the 
region below his waist. 
“Don’t harm him,” she cried, voice strangled with rage 
and her efforts to escape. “He’s a child! A true knight 
would never harm a child.” 
Her statement pricked Jeremy’s conscience. This, and 
the knowledge that he held a spirited woman but could 
not act on his sudden desire, frustrated him enough to 
shake her once, hard. 
“Cease this!” he ordered. 
But worry for Ned’s welfare had driven Alicen beyond 
reason. “Harm him and I—I’ll kill the duke.” 
Her adversary went completely still. “Nay! You’d not 
dare, if you value living.” 
Voice shaking, she nevertheless met his stare and 
retorted, “I’ve done all I can to save him and his men, yet 
you’ve brutalized Ned and me. If my best efforts displease 
you, why should I rue the consequences of my worst?” 
“I know your kind,” Jeremy taunted, trying to impel 
her into a foolish move, to show her true intent. “You kill 
innocent babes, not grown men whose allies could avenge 
them.” 
Alicen’s jaw tilted up. “You know me not at all. Life is 
sacred to me. It means so little to you that you’d force the 
one person who could save your duke into killing him.” 
Jeremy glanced to the bed where William lay. A look 
back at the woman told him she was desperate enough 
to carry out her threat. He swallowed hard. She spoke 
true—he knew naught of her. And his actions since the 
melee that had injured William had bordered on madness. 
Concern for his duke, distrust of women, and 

apprehension at leaving men’s lives in her hands had 
unnerved him to such a degree that he’d treated her 
abominably. His total loss of control disgusted him. ’Twas 
time to regain command of himself and the situation. 
His gaze met her stormy green one as he slowly 
dropped his aggressive posture and lowered his hands. 
“As William’s retainer, I am honor-bound to treat 
women with respect,” he stated rigidly, noting that she 
stiffened slightly at his statement. “I regret I’ve not done 
so with you.” He nodded toward Ned, still sitting on the 
floor. “See to the boy,” he said quietly. “And stay here for 
what remains of the night. ’Tis unsafe for a woman to be 
about among soldiers.” 
“For the woman, or for the soldiers?” Alicen muttered 
to his broad back as he strode out. 
Her words stung, but Jeremy showed no outward sign 
that he had heard. Mentally he gave himself a shake, yet 
he couldn’t relinquish the feeling that someone else had 
been in the chamber with them. 
He’d seen no one. But he’d not survived years of battle 
just relying on his eyes to warn him of danger. 

Two 
“Thank you, miss.” The young soldier blushed and 
bobbed his head as Alicen finished applying salve and a 
bandage to his right palm. “Seems almost a waste of your 
time to tend my hand.” 
Alicen somehow managed a smile, although she felt 
numb from fatigue. “Nonsense. Blisters like those can 
easily become infected.” She released his hand and 
glanced around at the interior of her stable. “The seriously 
wounded have been tended, so there’s no reason to neglect 
any other wounds.” 
The man bobbed his head again. “Just the same, I 
thank you.” 
“You’re most welcome.” 
She stepped out into the late-August day. Pausing 
near the stable door, she placed both hands on her lower 
back and stretched, then glanced quickly around. She’d 
intentionally avoided the volatile Captain Blaine for most 
of the day, and he was nowhere in sight at that moment. 
But now she had to check on her most important patient, 
and ‘twas certain the knight would be by William’s side. 
What’s to come of us with the rightful duke here? she 
thought bleakly. 
Only time could answer that question. 
*** 
Sickened by his show of weakness—his battle 
weariness and inexcusable brutality toward a woman and 
a boy—Jeremy mastered his self-rebuke through 
industry. He’d set up a work schedule for the men and 
penned missives the rest of the morning. 
“Taft, send Tom Fairfax to Tynan with these,” he said 
as he left William’s side for the first time that day. “This 
to Warrick, this to the duchess,” he indicated, handing 
over each dispatch. 
“What if Guendolen wishes to join William?” Taft asked 
about the Duchess of Tynan. 
“Impossible! Sherford is disputed land. Until we 

determine the shire’s loyalty, we dare not reveal ourselves. 
William is too vulnerable.” Taft’s solemn look confirmed 
Jeremy’s own fears that the duke would die. He’d not 
admit such to anyone, however. “I’ve ordered Warrick to 
keep Guendolen at Tynan. Her presence here would 
worsen circumstances, either by revealing our present 
location or giving Harold an opening to attack the court.” 
He paused to survey the surroundings. Felt a dull 
ache behind his eyes. Ignored it. “We need more men, 
Michael, but fetching them could alert the enemy. I fear 
we’ve little time before Harold learns of the skirmish.” 
“He may suspect William was with us, but he’ll not 
presume he’s still near Sherford.” 
“That’s my hope. No enemy escaped, but ’tis certain 
Harold’s loyalists hereabout could discover us.” His gaze 
turned to the cottage. “Mayhap the physician herself is 
an enemy.” 
Taft shook his head. “’Twould be odd for a traitor to 
labor as she has since last eventide. Not to treat a foe.” 
With a shrug, Jeremy countered, “Pretense perhaps? 
From birth, women are skilled deceivers.” 
Taft winced at that statement but said only, “Your 
palfrey’s swiftest. Fairfax could cover the ten leagues by 
dusk and return with Warrick’s reply by morn.” 
“Tell him to mount up. Then set the watch. I wish to 
see how our wounded fare.” 
*** 
Jeremy soon had Landeyda in military order. Two 
soldiers patrolled the edge of the woods, and three 
lookouts were posted. The three remaining able-bodied 
men repaired equipment and saw to the horses. Such 
arrangements gave Jeremy a modicum of security, a 
feeling that stayed with him until he reentered William’s 
room. Then, sight of the tall, slender physician tending 
the duke brought him a rush of discomfort. The memory 
of how she had felt in his arms the previous night 
tormented him. 
He noted Alicen’s tension when he approached the 
bed. His shameful behavior toward her made him flush, 
yet he refused further contrition. He’d acted on his duty, 
though he felt certain she thought his actions 
unnecessarily harsh... 

Jeremy immediately saw no need for false contrition. 
Alicen neither looked at nor spoke to him, and he thought 
fleetingly she’d most likely walk right over his body if he 
obstructed her, so strong was her force of will. Instead of 
testing that idea, he sat on a stool well out of her path 
and studied her. 
It irritated him to admit she knew what she was about. 
His men’s wounds had been tended skillfully, and the 
fact William still lived attested to her talent. She had 
enough medicaments in the jars on her shelves to do the 
best-stocked apothecary proud. A dark thought assailed 
him: How many of those jars contained lethal potions? 
He closed his mind to that path by continuing his 
perusal of the room. A single large volume sat on a small 
table nearby. Having been schooled in Latin, he knew it 
to be a medical text. So, the wench appeared learned. 
Odd that she relied so on herbal remedies, then. As far 
as he knew, the medical school at Salerno did not teach 
herb healing. Nor did any school on the Continent, for 
that matter. Only the ancient monastic orders. 
And the even more ancient Druids. 
Jeremy shivered at the thought, but shrugged it off 
as mere fancy. Superstition held no sway with him. 
Fatigue, worry and guilt had combined to distract his 
mind from duty and send it astray. He returned to 
observing his nemesis’ home. 
’Twas plain she was no peasant. Her cottage rested 
on the foundation of an old Roman villa and was quite 
large, with three chambers off the main room and a 
massive central hearth to provide adequate heat. 
Wainscotted walls of oak clapboards adorned by rich 
tapestries surrounded him, and each two-light window 
was of glass. Rugs softened the chamber floors. A coat of 
arms, flanked by a lyre and a mandore, graced one wall. 
Apparently, her family held some minor title, and she 
enjoyed music. 
Yet he couldn’t bring himself to trust her, no matter 
her extensive talent. No woman should be a physician. 
This one was. Her defiant independence horrified his 
military sensibility. An aura of power radiated from her 
in an almost tangible force, and Jeremy regarded it as a 
threat. Ire rose afresh when he recalled her behavior 

yestereve. Arrogant wench! She acted as though no man 
could rule her. 
Taft’s entrance abruptly dispersed Jeremy’s irate 
musings, and his attention shifted to his subordinate 
before quickly returning to the woman. Finished with her 
duties, Alicen slipped quietly past the junior officer and 
out the infirmary door. Turning his attention back to Taft, 
he noticed his lieutenant’s grin. 
“She’s a brilliant healer.” 
Jeremy snorted in disgust. “Last eve she did exactly 
as she pleased, refusing to take orders from a superior.” 
Taft’s brows rose. “Women should obey your every 
order?” 
“William’s life is at risk,” Jeremy snapped. “I am 
responsible for protecting him in any manner necessary.” 
“This Kent woman must feel she’s not under your 
command, not being a soldier and all,” the lieutenant 
retorted wryly. 
Jeremy ignored his subordinate’s comment. “Her 
presumption could endanger all our lives.” 
“And she’d have to work harder to tend the wounded.” 
“Michael, state your business, then get out.” 
“All is secure. But I fear the duke is far more at ease 
than you.” A glare brought Taft’s hands up in entreaty. “I 
know you distrust females, but should that taint all 
Mistress Kent has done for us? She’s proven steadfast.” 
“Nay, she has not,” Jeremy stated as he clenched his 
fists. “Healers have means to kill, and until William is 
able to ride, I’ll trust none but the men I command. Of a 
certain, I’ll not trust some ungoverned virago.” 
Taft sat down beside the unconscious duke as Blaine 
departed. “The blind could see that man’s misease,” he 
said aloud. “He’s more like to ignore a woman, not rail 
about her. Milord, methinks Sir Jeremy chafes at the debt 
we all owe Alicen Kent.” He leaned over and whispered in 
William’s ear, “Best recover right quick and disabuse him 
of thinking a debt to a female is worse than death.” 
*** 
Though Alicen deeply feared Orrick’s unannounced 
appearance, the next two days passed without incident. 
William had yet to awaken, but he suffered no fever, and 
his lungs functioned properly. Rest would build his 

strength. The soldiers were mending nicely and, while 
she hated the danger their presence created, they had 
made Landeyda a well-organized encampment. 
Four of the ancient villa’s stone outbuildings had 
fallen into disrepair over the centuries. The men removed 
the rubble and rethatched the roofs, quickly transforming 
them into useable structures. As of old, the separate 
kitchen again smelled of cooking fat and wood smoke. 
The large stable—which housed just two horses, a dozen 
chickens, and a cow—became the soldiers’ quarters and 
infirmary. On their captain’s orders, men busily repaired 
the stone wall surrounding the grounds. 
Regardless of the restoration of her home, however, 
Alicen wished them all gone. They posed too dire a threat. 
How could she explain Landeyda’s improvements? And 
if Orrick discovered their presence, would it push him 
from the precipice he clung to? She saw no way to prevent 
his coming there if she did not find him elsewhere. And 
presently she could not walk ten paces without 
encountering men-at-arms, their wounds demanding her 
skill. 
Their leader suspecting her loyalty. 
One vow, one responsibility she would renounce only 
at her death—she was honor bound to serve these men 
regardless of the danger they represented for her. To do 
any less would be to break the promise sworn to her 
mother three years prior. 
Yet the troop’s surly leader made her wish to forsake 
her vow immediately. In all her life, she’d never been 
persecuted as she had in the days since Sir Jeremy Blaine 
arrived. Her skill brought her respect, at times even fear. 
Blaine seemed obliged to mistrust her for that same talent, 
and the cause of his hostility escaped her. 
Have a care not to provoke his temper, daughter. 
Alicen sighed. “I know that well, Mother,” she 
whispered. “Yet I can scarce constrain my temper when 
he is near...He frightens me nearly witless.” 
He feels responsible for the duke’s injury. 
Alicen had no idea how he could believe that, as she’d 
gathered from the soldiers that the captain had almost 
single-handedly turned certain defeat into a rout for 
William’s men. Why punish Ned and me for his guilt? We 

did nothing to cause the battle.
There is more to his ill feelings than mere responsibility
for William.
“I gather he resents women healers for some reason,” 
Alicen muttered. “There’s little I can do to change that 
opinion, however. And that’s what frightens me.” 
Are you more frightened of the reaction he causes in 
you than of the man himself? 
Alicen had no answer for that question. 
*** 
The man responsible for Alicen’s distress was aware 
only of the growing list of his men’s needs. Having finished 
inspecting the company’s supplies, he and Michael Taft 
planned strategy. 
“Send out hunting and foraging parties today, and 
purchase provision we can’t obtain ourselves. The men 
will pose as wayfarers. Five horses must be shod. A ‘horse 
peddler’ will take them to Sherford’s smithy. Now, what 
about chickens?” 
Deep in conversation with his subordinate, Jeremy 
quickly rounded the corner of the stable. 
And met Alicen shoulder to shoulder. The collision 
sent her sprawling onto her back in the dirt, a basket of 
freshly gathered herbs flying from her hand. 
“Mistress Kent,” Taft exclaimed, rushing to her aid. 
Completely nonplused by another mishandled 
encounter with the healer, he stood gaping while Michael 
helped her up and brushed off her clothes. Then Jeremy 
broke from his perplexed trance and bent to scoop up 
the scattered herbs. 
“Are you harmed?” he asked gruffly, shoving the 
basket, now stuffed with broken stems and dirt-covered 
blossoms, at her. 
She contemplated her ruined harvest before giving 
him a wry smile. “’Twould take more than such a paltry 
blow to injure me. But your solicitude is touching.” 
Stung by her scorn, he retorted, “’Twas merely concern 
you’d be unable to tend the duke.” 
“Of course.” Her eyes glittered. “Naught must interfere 
with our duties to William.” 
“Aye.” Her boldly defiant gaze irritated him. 
“You’ve been much about his business these past 

days.” Alicen straightened several of the tangled herbs in 
the basket. 
“There is much to do.” 
Her smile tightened. “Such as burning all my 
firewood?” 
Jeremy’s hard look held hers as he said, “Michael, 
send men to gather wood. ’Twould not do to have a cold 
hostess.” 
He saw the flare of anger in her glinting stare and 
took satisfaction in knowing he’d put it there. 
“Did searching the grounds prove fruitless,” she 
countered, “or do William’s enemies lurk hereabouts? 
Perhaps they lie hidden ‘neath straw in the stable?” 
“I’ve checked there,” Jeremy retorted, jaw tight. 
“Then, as I see no one hanged from a tree, I may 
assume your effort was wasted.” Alicen stared him down, 
hiding profound relief that Orrick hadn’t been found 
lurking nearby. What had possessed her to mention the 
stable? Again her temper had overruled her head. Tread 
carefully, she warned herself. Give him no reason to 
suspect anything amiss. 
“All in the line of duty.” 
She watched as his face showed sudden discomfort, 
but he squared his shoulders as if to shake off the feeling. 
Doing so made him wince slightly. 
This movement drew her gaze to the sleeve of his 
arming doublet. Noticing a stain, her expression turned 
to concern. This would distract him from seeking out spies 
and reaffirm her integrity. She raised both eyebrows. 
“Tell me, does duty include suffering, sir?” she asked 
softly. “Will bearing pain prove your strength and worth?” 
He scowled. “What do you mean?” 
She nodded toward his arm. “That wound needs 
tending.” 
He glanced at his sleeve, then shrugged. “’Tis 
unimportant. There were and are many more serious 
wounds to attend.” He made to move past her, but she 
reached out and touched his sleeve. 
“’Tis high time your injury was seen to.” 
“’Tis naught but a bruise, and most likely half healed 
by now,” he growled. “I need none of your infernal 
concoctions.” 

She briefly looked heavenward, then touched his 
sleeve just below the stain, examining it closely. “Your 
wound is far more serious than you know. It requires 
immediate care.” 
“You’ve not yet seen it,” he scoffed, pulling away. “Are 
you able to discern an injury’s severity before viewing 
it?” 
“That stain, and your skin’s pallor, indicate infection.” 
She paused before continuing in an indifferent tone. “If 
’tis not attended, I fear you’ll lack employment, as the 
duke will likely have little use for a one-armed soldier.” 
Taft, who had silently observed this exchange, nodded. 
“The lass is right, Captain. See to yourself.” 
Jeremy scowled at Taft then glared at Alicen, who 
continued as if he’d asked her to, “A bruise would have 
since healed, but it appears this brings you pain. Do I hit 
the mark?” 
His mouth tightened as he gave a slight nod. “Your 
apprentice may see to this for me.” 
“’Tis beyond his skills,” she replied cooly. “I must tend 
it myself.” 
His gaze locked on hers. “Then be quick. I’ve little 
desire to be in a woman’s company except to taste her 
charms.” 
Alicen ignored his deliberate crudeness and motioned 
toward a nearby oak. “Sit at the table yonder, and we’ll 
begin.” 
Jeremy stalked to the stone bench beside the 
indicated table, Alicen at his heels. 
“You must remove your doublet and shirt. Even I can’t 
heal a completely covered wound.” 
Jeremy scowled. A quick jerk of his powerful hands 
drew off the garments. 
Corded muscles Alicen couldn’t help noticing rippled 
across his chest. She briefly thought his the most sleekly 
powerful physique she’d ever seen. And handsome at that. 
He wore his curly black hair even with his ears on the 
sides, to his nape in back. High cheekbones, a straight 
nose, and a strong jaw framed those piercing blue eyes. 
Black brows and dark lashes emphasized his intense gaze. 
How could a killer look so perfect? 
She contemplated this as Jeremy found his linen shirt 

stuck to the wound. He reached to pull the sleeve away, 
but Alicen placed her hand on his to stop him. 
“Don’t,” she said, quietly emphatic. “You’ll tear the 
flesh by carelessly uncovering the wound.” 
He sneered, “What difference to you?” 
“’Tis needless suffering.” She noted his disbelief before 
she turned to Ned, splitting wood nearby. “Is the water 
boiling, lad?” He nodded. “Fetch me a panful while I get 
my instruments and fresh bandages.” 
Alicen’s hand remained atop Jeremy’s until she moved 
to enter the house. In that brief moment, he became 
acutely aware of her warmth spreading through him, 
making his skin tingle. Her gentle touch stunned his 
senses. He didn’t realize he’d stopped breathing until she 
disappeared inside the dwelling, then he inhaled, 
annoyed. Should the wench charm him from his vigilance, 
disaster would follow. 
He’d never admit to her his arm ached constantly. 
He’d thought little of the injury since the melee, but now 
allowed it truly was worse than he pretended. Yet her 
solicitous manner angered him, made his guilt over 
William’s injuries intensify. God’s teeth, he loathed bold 
women! 
In her absence he refortified his defenses against such 
an event by recalling his seventh summer. His father and 
eldest brother, Manfred, had returned from campaign with 
King Henry. Jeremy, out riding that day, saw the soldiers 
from atop a bluff and went to meet them. Then he raced 
ahead back to the castle to proclaim their arrival. 
Without exception, his father expected his sons to 
care for their mounts. Eager to give his mother word of 
Lord Blaine’s return, Jeremy thought to ask the stable 
master to attend his horse. Just this once. He burst 
without knocking into the man’s room at the rear of the 
livery. 
To find his mother abed with the wretch. 
Lizbeth Blaine’s shock mirrored her son’s, but her 
reaction turned quickly to dread. Jeremy saw the fear in 
her blue eyes before he turned and raced away... 
Remembrance ended there, as he quashed thoughts 
of the events which followed. Knowing his beloved mother 
for an adulteress had closed his open, giving heart. Other 

betrayals had locked the door completely. Now, he had a 
man’s concerns to attend. And no desire to expose his 
soul to more rending. 
Physician and apprentice returned just then carrying 
an array of supplies. Warily, Jeremy waited. What would 
this proudly defiant girl do? If she was like the vengeful 
harpies from his past, he had given her a grand 
opportunity to harm him. He breathed deeply and 
clenched his jaw. No matter what torture she inflicted, 
she’d not enjoy his pain. 
*** 
He expects you to be cruel to him, Alicen. Treat him as 
you did the wolf you found at the edge of the forest six 
years back. 
I see his reaction, Mother, Alicen thought. I must needs 
win the captain’s trust, or I’m in danger of being bitten by 
the beast I seek to help. 
Suspicion glittered in Captain Blaine’s eyes. He had 
proven himself capable of violence, and winning his trust 
would take great effort. Yet a dark sentiment told her to 
seek no such thing. She knew what soldiers were about. 
They did their duty to the exclusion of aught else. This 
man had power to hurt those she loved, and she’d seen 
firsthand the consequences of such power. A childhood 
friend with a shattered mind was only one of those. 
Why not repay Blaine in kind for mistreating Ned and 
her? Nay! You’ll not willingly inflict pain, Kaitlyn 
O’Rourke’s voice chastened her daughter. Your talent is 
healing. 
Alicen briefly closed her eyes. I’ll not betray my calling 
for vengeance on an arrogant ass, Mother. She would treat 
him, as any other patient, with gentle care. 
Turning to her task, she soaked a cloth in the steaming 
water, then removed it with a pair of tongs. After the 
excess had dripped off, she laid the cloth over Jeremy’s 
sleeve at the point where it adhered to the skin. 
His eyes flew wide, but he made no sound. She saw 
him press his lips into a straight line then suck in a breath 
and hold it. 
“This loosens the fabric and begins to draw the 
poison,” she explained softly. “It won’t take long.” 
Once the cloth cooled, she slowly rolled down the 

soiled sleeve. The exposed flesh was a fierce red, hot to 
the touch. Whitish fluid oozed from a thin cut across the 
bruise’s midline. 
She indicated the wound to Ned. “Red portends severe 
infection that must needs be drained. But first, remove 
its cause. Hold his arm steady, lad. Then watch and learn.” 
With a quick, sure motion, she drew her honed steel 
blade along the path of the cut. Jeremy ground his teeth 
and locked his jaw while, using a thin probe and forceps, 
she removed nearly a dozen bits of metal from the gash. 
By the time she had carefully soaked up the worst of the 
contagion with a clean bandage, his whole body looked 
stiff. 
Her gaze met his, this time with no hostility. “I must 
cause more hurt, Captain, but you’ll heal better for it.” 
“Do it, then,” Jeremy growled through his teeth. “I’m 
no stranger to pain.” 
“’Tis certain you’re not.” 
She squeezed the incision’s edges together to force 
out more fluid. He remained stoic, but his body stayed 
rigid as she pressed harder, then again cleansed the 
wound. 
“Should I fetch the honey?” Ned asked. 
Alicen nodded, smiling at his initiative. “Aye. We must 
draw the deep infection out.” 
When Ned returned with the medicament, she poured 
a goodly amount into the wound, covered the whole with 
a dressing, and wrapped the arm in a neat bandage. 
“This should dry the remaining contagion,” she said 
as she picked up Jeremy’s shirt. She paused, momentarily 
uncertain of how to proceed, then stated, “This garment 
is too soiled to wear atop an injury. If you have not a 
clean one, I could wash this.” 
His brow cocked, but he merely said, “Our cook also 
tends our clothing. He’ll see to it.” 
She nodded. “Very well. Rest your arm as much as 
possible today and drink all the water you can manage.” 
With that, she made a sling around his neck, put his arm 
into it, and turned to gather up her instruments. 
The physician’s gentle treatment confounded him. 
He’d expected rancor, yet she’d caused no excessive 
suffering. Already the poultice was drawing the infection, 

and his arm felt better. It irked him, though, now to be in 
her debt for something beyond the duke’s life. 
Alicen straightened, instruments in hand. “Tonight 
I’ll sew the edges of the incision together.” 
Jeremy’s eyes narrowed. “Sew the wound? 
Preposterous!” 
“Not at all. Persian physicians have done so for 
centuries. ’Tis like darning a torn garment. Wounds heal 
faster and with smaller scars when treated thus.” The 
corner of her mouth rose. “Do you fear a little more pain, 
sir?” 
He snorted in contempt. “I fear naught you could do 
to me, wench.” 
Amazingly, she chuckled, green eyes twinkling. “’Tis 
a brave man who can face the unknown so calmly. Very 
well, tonight I’ll finish your treatment.” 
“Beware of whom you taunt, vixen,” he rumbled low 
as she walked away. “None threaten or make sport of 
me.” 
If Alicen Kent heard him, she didn’t acknowledge it, 
and he continued to watch her dignified withdrawal. Rich 
chestnut hair, held back by a single leather thong at her 
nape, fell to the middle of her back, covering her plain 
dress. She was slim but broad shouldered, with a narrow 
waist and well-rounded hips. And very long legs... 
He shook his head to clear his lusty thoughts. 
Although she obviously disliked him, she’d readily treated 
his wound, and her careful tending aroused his 
misgivings. What was her ploy? She defied him. Her 
hostility cut, then her compassion soothed. More than 
likely she sought some favor, but he couldn’t guess what 
that could possibly be. He’d have to remain alert to 
treachery. 
*** 
It was long past dark that night, and the men had 
settled into their blankets in the stable. Alicen was 
finishing with the duke’s bandages when Jeremy entered 
the infirmary. 
“How does he fare?” the tall captain asked. 
She glanced up. “No sign of fever. He should awaken 
within the next day or so.” 
A flicker of relief crossed Jeremy’s features. “Jesu be 

praised.” 
Staring at his friend and lord, he ran a hand through 
his hair. William’s color was much improved, his breathing 
shallow yet steady, his bandages unstained. Perhaps he 
would recover. Forgive me, my lord, for failing to protect 
you, Jeremy silently said. He owed the duke’s life to 
Alicen’s considerable skill, and that fact troubled him 
nearly as much as his guilt over William’s wounds. He’d 
sworn years before never to be beholden to a woman. It 
rankled to find himself in debt to such as she. 
“I’ll see to your arm now, Captain.” 
“What?” He snapped out of his brooding. “Oh, aye.” 
“Come sit at the table in the main room.” 
Jeremy removed his tunic while Alicen threaded a 
needle and set it in a small bowl of steaming water. Then 
she carefully cleansed away the now sugared honey. 
“Here.” She offered him a glass of hard cider. “It helps 
with the pain.” 
“I’m certain I can bear it.” 
“Alas, I cannot,” she returned, eyes glinting with 
mischief. She drained the glass in a long swallow. “Shall 
we finish this?” 
The needle’s first prick set Jeremy’s teeth on edge, 
but the discomfort was not extreme. He would endure. 
Soon, he was concentrating on the healer’s technique. 
He studied Alicen’s hands setting stitches neatly in his 
flesh. He recalled how her touch had warmed him that 
afternoon and, amazed, found himself fascinated. 
Feminine hands with strong, tapering fingers so dexterous 
they seemed to possess magic. He studied the dark head 
bent over her work and smelled the fresh, herbal scent of 
her hair. His eyes closed, then snapped open. 
Ridiculous! He liked naught about her. How could he 
find her hands of interest, or her scent? Yet he supposed 
some men would call her a fair-looking wench. Her thick 
chestnut hair invited his touch, and though he liked 
women more buxom and rounded, she wasn’t an 
unpleasantly shaped creature. 
Bah! She wasn’t soft enough. She had a lean 
muscularity women who aroused his lust lacked. Her 
body was lithe, her waist narrow. Those he tumbled were 
soft and fleshy, with bosoms like pillows to nestle his 

head upon. He doubted this wench’s firm breasts would 
even fill his hands.... 
He blinked, pulling his thoughts from the path they 
ranged and returning them to crucial matters. He’d no 
time to engage in lustful contemplations, especially ones 
involving Alicen Kent! Duty demanded his complete 
regard. William lay wounded because of Jeremy’s failure. 
He’d allow himself no further errors. 
Within minutes, Alicen had closed the wound with 
fifteen even stitches and applied a light dressing and 
bandage. “In a week I’ll remove the thread,” she stated. 
“In the meantime, don’t o’erstrain yourself by slaughtering 
too many people.” She looked up, concern darkening her 
eyes. “Is aught amiss, Captain? Didn’t I cause enough 
pain to satisfy you?” 
“Where is your husband?” he blurted out. 
By her expression he knew the question took her 
aback, but she didn’t falter. Her brows drew together 
before she responded quietly, “My betrothed died at 
Harfleur, fighting for King Harry.” At least to me, the battle 
killed him. “I’m unwed.” 
“The boy is not your son?” 
“He’s a bit old to be mine,” she retorted, uncomfortable 
at the turn of the conversation, afraid she’d have to lie 
more. “I’m but eight years his senior.” 
“Is he your brother?” 
“Nay. An orphan who has lived with me three years.” 
“Your father?” 
“Dead these five years past.” 
“No worthy sire allows his daughter to live alone,” 
Jeremy stated bluntly. “With brigands about, ’tis 
remarkable you’ve not been attacked.” 
Recalling Orrick’s pitiful vow to guard her, she coldly 
replied, “I need no man’s protection.” She started to rise, 
but Blaine’s harsh laugh stopped her. 
“Every woman I know depends upon a man. Even 
those who... trade...need men to survive.” 
Alicen choked, then planted her fists on the table and 
leaned toward him. “I am neither whore nor partisan, 
Captain. A fact you seem incapable of believing.” 
“You are vulnerable living here.” 
“Nay, I am not!” 

“’Tis foolish to think thus. You are isolated, away from 
the town and at the mercy of any wandering rogue.” 
“I’m safe here,” Alicen insisted, chin tilting up as she 
straightened. “A freeman works my fields. The town’s 
citizens expect me weekly.” She paused, debating whether 
to continue, then rashly added, “And all who live 
hereabouts think a powerful spirit protects Landeyda. 
’Tis a belief I do naught to dispel.” 
At her words, Jeremy’s jaw dropped. She could almost 
see his mind working as his eyes scanned the contents of 
the nearby containers. Almost hear the questions he had 
about those containers. Poisons? Potions? She suspected 
he’d seen such before and sensed a prickling fear inside 
him. 
She used his uncertainty. “What troubles you, sir? 
Afeared of goblins? Dreading I’ll turn banshee and suck 
out your heart as you sleep?” Her chuckle echoed before 
her mirth faded. “You needn’t worry for your safety, or 
that of your men. ’Tis my mother’s spirit said to guard 
this place.” Before she realized, her voice had dropped to 
a poignant alto. “Every day I seek to fulfill my promises 
to her.” 
A silent moment passed, then, mortified at sharing 
such personal grief with this hostile man, Alicen buried 
her gloom and raised her gaze to Jeremy’s. “I’m pledged 
to do only good through my healing art. Though some 
fear my talent, no dark evil dwells here.” She sighed. 
“Mother did much good in the world. A pity few 
remembered when such memories were needed.” 
Amazed, Jeremy studied the healer. Alone save for a 
small boy, she feared no consequence of her vulnerability. 
Perhaps a spirit truly did protect her...Still, she’d treated 
his men fairly, and him also. Her actions befuddled him. 
One minute belligerent, the next solicitous. He saw the 
familiar mockery once again glinting in her gaze. Her 
defiance had returned. 
“Still suspicious, Captain?” 
“I don’t claim to understand women,” he answered 
shortly. “When I was very young I thought I did, but I 
was proven wrong. Since then, I’ve not bothered to try.” 
“Life is too short to spend it looking back,” she 
returned with forced lightness as she rose from the bench. 

“Some things are better left forgotten.” 
Her words ring true, he thought as she left. But 
sometimes ’tis harder to forget than to bear the pain 
remembrance brings. 

Three 
A tolling bell at dawn the next morning woke Alicen 
with a sound she’d feared since the soldiers’ arrival. Orrick 
wished to see her. Shaking from far more than a chill, 
she drew on a cloak against the damp and went out to 
return his signal. Two tolls, a pause, then two tolls rolled 
over the countryside. She turned to reenter the cottage 
but halted when the omnipresent Jeremy Blaine appeared 
in the doorway. Her breath caught in her chest. 
Does that man ever sleep? she wondered, panic rising. 
She had to brazen this out. The unthinkable could happen 
if Blaine discovered Orrick. 
“What were you doing?” The knight blocked the door 
with his large frame. 
“My services are needed elsewhere,” she stated curtly, 
pushing past him to enter. Before he could respond, she 
had rushed to her chamber and slammed the door. In 
moments, she had donned riding clothes from a coffer— 
sturdy cotton shirt, leather smock and heavy cotton hose 
preceded thick woolen socks and well-worn boots. Last, 
she tucked her hair into a chaperon hood and was swiftly 
back in the main room to gather medicinal supplies in a 
large leather pouch. 
To her relief, Blaine was gone. Bag in hand, she ran 
to the stable where Ned, also alerted by the bell, had 
saddled her gelding and stood patiently holding the beast’s 
reins. 
The boy looked hopeful. “May I accompany you?” 
Reaching out to fondly ruffle his hair, she said gravely, 
“I think it best you stay here, Ned, as there is much to be 
done. The duke requires nursing, and I leave you that 
responsibility.” 
He beamed. “I’ll do my best.” 
“I know. You always do.” She gave him a quick hug, 
then whispered in his ear, “Not a word to anyone of my 
destination. ’Tis important this remain a secret. Do you 
understand?” 

He nodded, as serious as she had become. “Yes, 
Alicen.” 
Once in her saddle, she saw Blaine leave the two 
soldiers he’d been speaking to. He strode up to seize her 
horse’s bridle. 
“Whence do you ride?” 
A shrug conveyed nonchalance she didn’t feel. It 
preceded her terse, “To serve where there’s need.” 
“I want your destination,” Jeremy commanded and 
saw her green eyes flash dark currents of anger. 
Brazen it out, Alicen ordered herself. “You’ve no right 
to detain me when I must be elsewhere.” 
“You’ll be escorted, then.” 
Sweet Jesu, no!...Brazen it out. “I’ll not bring warriors 
to Sherford’s people,” she snapped. “They’ve known the 
wanton ruin soldiers perpetrate as amusement.” Orrick 
in particular. 
By wheeling Hercules, she jerked the reins from the 
knight’s hand, then urged the horse through the gate at 
a gallop. 
“Come back here,” he shouted, then rounded on the 
nearest soldier. “Naismith, follow her no matter where 
she goes.” 
“Aye, sir!” The young man leaped into his saddle and 
thundered out the gate in pursuit of the healer. 
Jeremy fisted his hands on his hips. “Impertinent 
jade,” he spat. “You’d have been free had you but told 
your destination.” Nay, not true. She’d have been escorted 
to keep her from mischief. He glared at another soldier. 
“How dare she leave with William still abed! Her duty is 
here. The boy hasn’t the skill for this.” He stomped inside 
to check the duke himself. 
*** 
At midday, Jeremy beheld a sight that made him burn 
with bloodlust. Corporal Naismith reined in at the stable. 
Alone. Incensed, the captain grabbed the hapless man’s 
reins and reached up to yank him from his saddle. 
“Where is she?” he snarled, holding Naismith at eye 
level by a fist grasping the front of the man’s doublet. 
Naismith’s eyes rolled wildly in his head. “I...I lost 
her, sir,” he stammered. 
Although his voice was low, the fury in Jeremy’s eyes 

lanced through his subordinate. “You what?” 
“I...lost...her.” 
“You were to escort a woman,” Jeremy said tightly, 
“yet you failed. Explain.” To keep from tearing Naismith 
apart, he clenched his fists. 
“She evaded me, Captain,” the wretch muttered. 
“I can’t hear you.” Jeremy released the soldier’s tunic. 
Naismith hung his head at his superior’s anger. “She 
left the road, took a path. I tried to keep sight of her, 
but....” 
“You mean to say that a slip of a wench outrode one 
of my best men?” Jeremy scoffed. “I cannot fathom it.” 
“’Tis truth, sir. She rides better than any I’ve seen, 
yourself excluded.” He kept his gaze lowered. “I searched 
for her the entire morn.” 
Jeremy’s grip tightened even further on Naismith’s 
tunic. The man was fortunate his clothing and not his 
throat was beneath Jeremy’s hands. He forced his voice 
to remain level. “You’re aware, are you not, of the 
punishment for disobeying an order?” 
“Aye, sir.” Naismith’s eyes remained focused on the 
ground and his voice a whisper. “Execution, sir.” 
“Execution.” Tension easing somewhat, Jeremy 
studied his man. “Knowing what your fate would be, why 
did you return?” 
The young knight swallowed, squared his shoulders, 
and at last looked directly into Jeremy’s eyes. “My duty 
was to report that Mistress Kent was not under my escort, 
sir.” 
Pride in his soldier made Jeremy fight to retain a stern 
face. Ordering Naismith’s death was out of the question— 
the youngster was far too promising, the situation 
unusual. 
“You understand my position, then,” he stated. “By 
leaving Mistress Kent unescorted, you’ve given William’s 
enemies the chance to use her as a spy. That lapse must 
be punished.” 
“Aye, sir.” 
“Lieutenant Taft, take this man to the stable and 
administer fifteen lashes.” Before Naismith was led away, 
Jeremy gave him a look that left no doubt of his captain’s 
respect. 

But his ire had not yet abated. As he stoically watched 
the punishment, simmering rage made him ache with 
tension. Alicen Kent should be the one whipped. If her 
skills weren’t so badly needed, he’d consider punishing 
her for such audacity. At the very least, she’d know her 
exact place while William’s troops quartered at Landeyda. 
He would not allow her to do as she pleased. 
*** 
Outwitting the captain’s spy raised Alicen’s spirits, 
and she handled Orrick easily. She hated deception, but 
keeping Orrick safe was paramount. Now, he’d not 
venture near for a fortnight, giving her time to devise 
another lie to keep him away. There was no predicting 
what would happen if he discovered the soldiers. Pray 
God he remained ignorant of them. 
Leaving his hut, she proceeded to Sherford’s market. 
It proved a pleasant day—her first away from Landeyda 
in a week. Speaking to Orrick allayed some of the fear 
that he would catch her unaware. And she enjoyed 
escaping Captain Blaine. His scrutiny of her every action 
unnerved her. 
But her mood darkened when she dismounted at the 
stable and noted the soldiers standing at attention within. 
Simultaneously, she saw a man tied to a beam and heard 
the sound of a lash striking flesh. What devilment was 
here? When she realized the man she’d eluded was being 
whipped, fury ignited in her. 
She rushed inside, stumbling to a halt in front of 
Captain Blaine who stood, feet spread and arms crossed 
over his broad chest, observing the punishment. He 
motioned Taft to stop the flogging when Alicen rounded 
on him. 
“How dare you do this,” she cried. “My property isn’t 
a torture pillory!” 
“You’re to blame here, woman,” Jeremy retorted, 
glaring. 
She gasped, immediately realizing his logic. Brazen it 
out. “I? Whatever did I do?” 
He nodded to Naismith. “You evaded your escort this 
morn.” 
Alicen’s gaze flew to Naismith’s blood-striped back. 
The import of her actions stunned her, but she maintained 

an air of innocence. “I need no escort. Why provide me 
one?” 
“As a precaution.” 
“Against what?” 
Jeremy stood even straighter. “Word of William’s 
presence here could prove invaluable to his enemies.” 
Astounded at his conclusion, she laughed in disbelief. 
“His presence here is still secret.” 
“Is it?” Jeremy cocked a dark eyebrow. “And do none 
save we here know his true condition?” 
“If others know, ’tis not by my word.” That was truth. 
“Can that be proven? You’ve been away all 
day...alone.” He planted his fists on his narrow hips and 
glared at her. 
She refused to fear his intimidating stance. “I’m 
neutral in this conflict, no matter what you choose to 
believe.” 
“Neutral? Why flee my man if you had naught to hide?” 
Alicen stared as if he’d gone mad, grinding her teeth 
to keep from answering his challenge with complete 
hostility. “Because I could,” she stated quietly. “Because 
I don’t betray a trust. Because I cannot work with a guard 
nearby!” Eyes ablaze, she ground out, “Do my answers 
satisfy you, Captain?” 
He gave her his most accusatory scowl. “Your 
whereabouts remain unaccounted for—I’d hardly call 
your answers adequate.” 
“Yet they must suffice, as they’re all I’ll give.” Then 
outrage overcame wisdom, and she hissed, “Or will you 
flog me to extract false confession and confirm your errant 
distrust?” 
“I don’t flog women,” he bit off, ignoring his previous 
thoughts on that very subject. 
“Not even to gain military advantage?” 
Her words brought a collective gasp, then the men 
covered their shock as best they could. Except for some 
shuffling of feet, the stable was silent. 
Jeremy’s face flamed. “Understand me well, Mistress. 
Did I order it, you’d be stripped naked and whipped until 
you couldn’t stand. Perhaps then you’d not question my 
authority.” 
Alicen paled but didn’t flinch. You seek quarter I’ll 

not give, Captain. She pointed at Naismith. “That is 
barbarity.” 
Jeremy clenched his jaw until it bulged. “Gall me no 
more. My man bleeds for your insolence.” 
“A situation I’ll remedy anon.” Alicen started forward, 
but Jeremy grabbed her arm. 
“You’ll not go near him.” 
She shot him a dark look over her shoulder. “He needs 
tending.” 
“He’ll have none from you.” Hard fingers shackled her 
arm. “The men will see to him.” 
Twisting to face him in an attempt at loosening his 
grip, she cried, “He’s suffering.” 
“And as you caused it, you’ll not soothe it.” 
“Cold-blooded monster!” 
“I am a soldier,” he grated out, shaking her once. “And 
discipline is a soldier’s credo. No army functions without 
it.” 
“Discipline and cruelty are not the same things. This 
is cruelty.” 
Furious to hear her twist the responsibilities of his 
position, Jeremy backed Alicen up against a support post, 
pinning her with his hands curled in the shoulders of 
her tunic. 
Complete silence filled the stable. 
Alicen knew instantly her defiance had been a hideous 
error. Captain Blaine’s eyes sparked rage, and his 
clenched jaw made his neck cords bulge. She felt his 
white-knuckled hands shaking and thanked God her flesh 
was not caught beneath the fabric he mangled in each 
fist. Given his strength and size, he would kill her if he 
struck her. She had no doubt the blow was coming and 
could do naught to prevent it. Fear made her knees 
wobble, and the fight drained from her, just as she knew 
the color drained from her face. 
A sudden chill hit Jeremy, like the bite of falling into 
a Highland lake in spring. A blast of frigid winter wind 
that numbed his entire body. Drawing breath grew nigh 
impossible as the cold pierced him as if a pair of icy arms 
encircled him, squeezing the air from his lungs. As he 
struggled to breathe, he saw, before she concealed it, the 
stark terror on Alicen’s ashen face. She appeared ready 

to faint. Though his hands were stiff and senseless from 
cold, he felt her legs beginning to buckle. 
Christ’s guts, what have I done? Appalled, he forced 
his frozen grip to loosen. He needed to beg forgiveness, 
but his tight throat choked off speech. Unnerved by 
Alicen’s countenance, he gaped. He had never thought 
to instill such terror in a female, even one he could not 
bring himself to trust. 
“Fish, Graves,” he ordered in a voice on the edge of 
cracking, “escort Mistress Kent to her cottage.” 
As the two men moved to flank her, Alicen locked her 
knees and straightened. Staring straight at Jeremy, voice 
unwavering, she stated, “I shall thank God on my knees 
each night that I’m not under your command, sir.” Head 
high, she pushed his hands away, then forced herself 
not to bolt, instead walking slowly out the door. 
Jeremy, still chilled, stood unmoving. He had come 
within a hairsbreadth of striking Alicen Kent, and his 
wretched intent sickened him. It had taken every ounce 
of his strength to keep from hurting her. He felt nauseous. 
Ruthlessly clasping his hands behind his back to still 
their shaking, he throttled his emotions. He would show 
no doubt. Duty required he maintain discipline. She had 
defied his command...Yet, she was no soldier. And he’d 
never menaced a woman, no matter how dark his rage or 
how just his warrant. He’d not hurt Estelle when she 
refused his bed after his return from France. Nor his 
mother or sister-in-law, who took lovers when their 
husbands were away fighting for the King. 
How then to explain his treatment of the healer? 
Losing his vaunted self-control horrified him. He owed 
her William’s life! He owed her an apology. Yet in truth, 
he’d likely have to break down her door to deliver it, and 
he could ill afford another such breach of propriety. Sweet 
Jesu, he was weary of strife. 
Contemplating his debauchery, he cursed his father’s 
warning against women. And the females in his life who 
had confirmed the warning. And his office, which dictated 
he wield authority, no matter who suffered. She’d 
threatened his power. He’d crushed her resistance. 
But knowledge that he’d acted within his right brought 
him no comfort. 

Jeremy’s vicious brother Manfred had struck his wife 
for any imagined offense, thinking that an effective means 
for governing her. Soon after marrying, his gentle bride 
became a wraith, cowering in constant fear when he was 
about. Her terror had disgusted Jeremy. Now he’d caused 
that same fear in a woman. 
All in the line of duty. 
Duty without mercy turns men to beasts. What will 
you be provoked to do next in the name of duty? 
He heard the words whispered in his ear, but no one 
stood close enough to have done so. With that, the chill 
left him as abruptly as it had come. He stared wildly about, 
but only his soldiers occupied the stable. This was the 
second time he’d felt a presence he couldn’t see...Bah, 
‘twas mere fantasy, naught else. 
But how could he explain the voice’s gender? Alicen 
was the only woman on the grounds, and she’d not 
whispered in his ear. 
Rounding on his men, who stood staring at him as if 
he’d grown another head, he snapped, “Cut Naismith 
down and see to his wounds.” He turned to Taft. “I ride to 
Sherford to seek the lay of things. Double the watch, and 
don’t let that woman touch Naismith or leave the 
premises. If you need me, send a rider to the inn.” 
Without another word, Jeremy stalked outside to 
where his war horse, Charon, stood tethered. He mounted 
and galloped off toward the village. 
He urged Charon to a dead run, trying through sheer 
speed to outdistance his guilt and frustration. Finally, 
when Sherford was within sight, he eased his mount back 
to a walk. 
“Good lad,” he crooned, patting the stallion’s sleek 
neck. “You’ve earned your keep for that ride, my friend.” 
Jeremy had barely noted Sherford on his previous 
harried visit. Now he observed it closely. Far south of 
Scotland, its citizens had little to fear from the fierce 
Douglas clan’s raids in Northumberland. Yet Sherford 
was isolated, and mercenaries and robbers presented 
constant danger. 
The town’s plan reflected the need for self-protection. 
Comprised of burgage plots—thirty feet wide and four 
hundred feet deep—it had houses at the head and gardens 

behind. The plot-head houses stood side by side, fronts 
forming an unbroken wall behind which residents could 
shelter against danger. The backs of the dwellings opened 
onto a large, protected commons. 
Sherford had approximately fifty houses arranged in 
a square around the green. Those on the west fronted 
the market. A flour mill, a bakery and a smithy stood 
across from the southern frontage. North side residents 
could view English hills and forests stretching beyond 
the horizon. The east side faced the Great Road. 
Jeremy ruefully thought that under other 
circumstances he’d appreciate Sherford’s beauty. But not 
today. He’d come to spy and to forget mistreating Alicen 
Kent. Posing as a wool merchant, he was soon speaking 
with the citizens and shopkeepers, gathering information 
on the townsfolk and their loyalties. 
*** 
Alicen hadn’t seen Jeremy depart. Once inside her 
cottage, she leaned weakly against the sturdy door, afraid 
to walk farther lest she collapse. Only intense effort 
steadied her breathing and slowed her racing heart. Her 
hands continued to shake. By forgetting the captain’s 
distrust, she’d nearly gotten injured. Belatedly, she no 
longer underestimated him. He loathed her, and she 
abruptly felt helpless and alone. He could have her killed 
if the whim struck him... 
But why? He’d resented her the moment he discovered 
her to be the physician, and she lived literally at his whim. 
His authority and suspicion made her position tenuous. 
“Alicen?” 
Ned’s sudden appearance caused her to start in alarm. 
“Alicen, what is it?” The boy rushed to her side and 
seized her hand. “Come sit down. You look faint.” 
She allowed him to lead her to the table and seat her 
on the bench, then accepted the mug of tea he thrust 
into her trembling hands. She managed a few shaky sips. 
The boy’s dark eyes mirrored his concern. “What 
happened?” His gaze fixed on her pale face. “Your lips 
are bloodless.” 
Seeing the question on his expressive face, she stated, 
“Captain Blaine threatened me just now.” 
Ned leaped to his feet. “That whoreson! I’ll kill him!” 

“You’ll do naught of the sort,” she said with forced 
calm, reaching out to restrain him. “Now, sit down.” 
“But he’s terrified you.” Ned pulled away from her 
hand. 
Her brow arched. “And for that you’d slay him? Even 
if you succeeded, they’d hang you for murder. Then where 
would I be?” 
“But—” 
She sighed. “No arguments, lad. We’ll do naught about 
the incident save put it behind us.” 
At her grim look, he reluctantly took his seat. 
“Well...you’re likely right,” he muttered. “But why did he 
do it?” 
“I’m partially to blame.” She gave a brief account of 
the day’s events without articulating her fears. 
Ned threw his thin arms around her. “I’ll protect you, 
Alicen. He’ll not frighten you again. I give my word.” 
She hugged him close. “Bless you, lad, but I’ll care 
for myself. And rest more easily if you keep far from his 
path. Though I’m certain ’tis only I he loathes, I’d rather 
not try that certainty.” 
A sudden knock at the door drew both their startled 
gazes. 
“I’ll see to that,” Ned said, rising. “Perhaps you should 
attend the duke.” 
Alicen was warmed by her apprentice’s protectiveness 
but wouldn’t endanger him for her sake. “No need. ‘Twas 
my action that caused the trouble, and I’ll deal with it.” 
Seeing him start to protest, she quickly added, “I’ll not 
have you involved in this. Now, see if the stew is warm.” 
With that, she strode to the door and, drawing a deep 
breath, opened it. 
Michael Taft stood there, his felt hat in his hand. 
She glared, focusing her animosity on Blaine’s 
subordinate. “What do you want?” 
“May I speak with you, Mistress Kent?” The soldier’s 
eyes were kind, and he had a mouth that smiled easily. 
“Your captain threatened me,” Alicen said bluntly. 
“What’s to stop you from doing the same?” 
“I don’t threaten women. And until today, Sir Jeremy 
had never done so, either. He regrets it.” 
“Forgive me for not believing you.” 

Taft looked away momentarily. “The captain is 
honorable, but your eluding Naismith was more than 
could be borne. Worse yet, you reminded him of how 
distasteful discipline can be. I know Captain Blaine well. 
He’ll not harry you further.” 
“As he was so quick to point out, he acts as he sees 
fit. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m busy, Lieutenant.” 
The soldier blushed. “Please, lass, I mean, the men 
and I...we...we wish you to know we’re sorry for all that 
happened today.” 
“Do you speak for your captain, or just for 
yourselves?” 
Taft shook his head. “Captain Blaine speaks for 
himself. When he’s not furious.” 
“Does that ever occur?” 
“I’ve no words to explain my superior’s actions,” he 
replied. 
“Make no attempt.” Alicen started to turn away. 
An upheld hand stopped her. “Duty is all to him, lass, 
so much so that it obscures even compassion. He regrets 
frightening you. I saw that regret in his eyes. But to admit 
to such in front of the men would undermine his 
command.” 
Alicen blanched, remembering the flash of pain 
revealed in Blaine’s gaze after he’d attacked her. She must 
have been mistaken, his look a trick of the light. 
“I should think his men would appreciate honesty,” 
she said flatly. Noticing she twisted her apron in her hands 
as she spoke, she forced herself to stop. 
“You don’t understand, Mistress. Had you not 
challenged him, he never would have reacted in such a 
way.” 
Her lips thinned. “You believe I’ve no right to oppose 
brutality on my own property?” 
“The captain never punishes excessively.” 
“Fifteen lashes isn’t excessive?” 
“He could’ve hanged the man,” Taft stated. “We men 
respect him because we know at all times where we 
stand.” He paused, studying her. “He has far more trouble 
with women.” 
“So I gathered,” Alicen replied dryly. 
“I believe he was as shocked as anyone at what 

happened.” When Alicen shook her head in denial, Taft 
added, “Yet his men know he but protected his authority.” 
“I appreciate your candor, sir, but thrashing a man 
for being outwitted is unconscionable.” 
“Were you a soldier, you’d understand.” 
“As I told your captain, I thank God I’ll never be such.” 
Taft smiled. “We thank Him for that, too, Mistress. 
You’re too fine a healer to be aught else. You saved 
William’s life and have treated us well. Captain Blaine 
will admit his mistake, at least to himself. Whether he’ll 
admit it to you, I know not.” 
Alicen believed Sir Jeremy Blaine would rather die 
first, but she said nothing. She shook Taft’s proffered 
hand, then watched silently as he left the cottage. 
Her thoughts returned with shuddering clarity to her 
predicament. She must not force the captain into a corner. 
Like a wounded wolf, his reaction was to protect himself. 
She desperately hoped what Taft said about him—that 
he’d reacted uncharacteristically—was true. 
Otherwise, could she continue to protect Orrick, Ned 
and herself? 
On impulse, she plucked her cloak from the peg by 
the door. A brisk walk through the now repaired garden 
gate brought her to the woods behind Landeyda. She 
glanced around to see if she’d been observed, then slipped 
into the dense underbrush via a well-hidden path. Soon 
she stood in a small clearing dominated by an ancient 
oak. At its base was a weathered Celtic cross, a sprig of 
mistletoe draped over the crosspiece. 
Grasping her amulet, Alicen knelt in front of the cross 
and bowed her head. 
“Mother, I’m afraid. The soldier of my vision. He who’ll 
change my life. It’s Jeremy Blaine. What am I to do?” She 
listened carefully but heard only a gentle breeze rustling 
the oak’s leaves. Then the stones in her amulet began to 
warm. The breeze picked up, swirling around her, pulling 
at her cloak, tangling her hair. 
He has forced you to abandon your neutrality. Kaitlyn 
O’Rourke’s voice filled her daughter’s mind. 
“I’ve no intention of betraying my vows, Mother.” 
But what if those vows don’t fit his plan? 
“I won’t break my oath to you.” 

You may have no choice, Daughter. 
The wind died, her amulet cooled, and Alicen was left 
to contemplate the meaning of her mother’s words. 

Four 
He was far more intoxicated than he had planned. 
Jeremy had patronized all of Sherford’s shopkeepers, 
then taken a room at the inn. Although he had no need 
of a bed, it gave him an excuse to spend hours in the 
common room, eavesdropping. 
What he’d heard made him guardedly optimistic. No 
overtly partisan sentiments had been discussed, and no 
one eyed him with suspicion, as they would have had 
they feared his intentions. Those who’d come and gone 
throughout the evening—some alone, others with families 
or friends—had spoken only of everyday matters in an 
English village. 
Five patrons at a table opposite Jeremy’s formed the 
night’s most vocal tipplers. They pinched serving wenches, 
ate and drank noisily, and sang bawdy songs. But they’d 
said naught of Harold the Bastard, or of Duke William. 
In order to allay suspicions of his presence, Jeremy 
had imbibed quite steadily for several hours. As the night 
wore on and the conversations remained common, he 
found himself thinking more on Alicen Kent and less on 
plots against William. And each time he recalled how he’d 
mistreated the healer, he took another drink. 
Now, the inn’s common room swam before his eyes. 
He thought to ride back to Landeyda, but feared he’d not 
be able to mount Charon. Nor could he even be certain of 
mounting the stairs to the room he’d acquired at the inn. 
Mayhap a meal would clear his head. 
But when he looked up to signal the serving girl, Alicen 
stood before him, accusation in her emerald eyes. He 
choked, shamed to see fright still brimming in that lovely 
gaze. Had she followed him? Brought friends to avenge 
her? He knew he’d drunk too much to defend himself 
from a gang intent on thrashing him. Fighting instinct 
made him sit straight, alert to danger, but his reflexes 
were so befuddled his body could hardly respond, and 
he knew the effort was futile. She had him trapped. 

Blinking, he looked again. Alicen’s tall, lithe figure 
melted into a short, buxom blonde with uneven teeth. He 
vaguely recognized her...one of the inn’s serving wenches. 
She moved closer to slide her small hand up his leg. 
“Coo, yer lordship, ye look ta be lonely.” Without 
waiting for an invitation, she sat in his lap. “How’d ye like 
ta spend some time wi’ Sylvia?” She slid her hand higher 
up his thigh then placed it on his groin, sobering him 
considerably. The wench leaned against him, her crooked 
mouth pressing to his neck and cheek. “We could go ta 
yer room. Get more cozy.” 
With a grunt, he found himself lurching to his feet 
and spilling Sylvia from his lap. Had she not had her 
arms around his neck, she’d have fallen to the floor. 
“My, ain’t ye the randy buck,” she squealed in mock 
protest, then grabbed his hand to guide him out the 
tavern’s back door and onto the green. 
Once outside, Jeremy stopped moving, and Sylvia was 
forced to either stop also or let go of his hand. She stopped. 
“I’m too drunk to please you properly,” he lied. Truth 
to tell, he wasn’t drunk enough to overlook her slovenly 
appearance and odorous breath. Her touch may have 
somewhat aroused him at the table, but he wasn’t about 
to act on that arousal. He had never rutted 
indiscriminately, and—sotted or no—had no intention of 
bedding a woman who sold herself. Though beautiful 
courtesans clamored for him, since Estelle he’d been 
discriminating. 
With sudden blinding clarity, he imagined Alicen’s 
slender, supple body beneath his hands, moving to the 
rhythm of his fingers. He saw her face framed in thick 
chestnut hair. But instead of passion-filled eyes, her 
expression showed naked terror—like the fear he’d caused 
that afternoon. With a low curse, he shook his head to 
clear it of that stark image. Alicen’s likeness faded to the 
reality of the woman before him. 
“I’ll not pay you for a dalliance,” he found himself 
saying. “I will, however, pay you for information.” 
Sylvia gaped at him. “Pay me fer infermation?” 
“Aye.” He fumbled in his cloak and brought out several 
gold coins. “I’ll reward you well for any worthwhile 
knowledge.” 

“What do ye wish ta know, yer lordship?” 
Jeremy motioned with a jerk of his head. “Upstairs 
first.” 
*** 
A short time before dawn, Jeremy left his room at the 
inn, never to return. Although Sylvia had made it clear 
she’d welcome any bedsport he desired, he’d done nothing 
but interrogate her about Alicen Kent. 
The serving wench had visibly trembled when he’d 
asked about the physician. 
“The best healer in the north of England, that one,” 
Sylvia swore. “She cured me of fever once. But...” 
At the uneasy look in the girl’s eyes, Jeremy had 
prompted, “But what?” 
“There be rumors about her holding.” Sylvia’s eyes 
grew wide with fright, but Jeremy’s raised brow inspired 
her to add, “‘Tis said the ghost of Kaitlyn O’Rourke protects 
Landeyda.” 
“And who is this Kaitlyn O’Rourke?” 
“Alicen’s mother,” Sylvia whispered, as if to raise her 
voice would call down this vengeful spirit. “‘Tweren’t no 
better healer than Kaitlyn. Her daughter takes after her, 
but even Alicen isn’t her equal.” 
Kaitlyn O’Rourke must have been God’s right hand, 
Jeremy thought, if she was more talented at healing than 
her daughter. “Did Alicen’s mother ever harm you?” 
“Nay! Nor her daughter, either. Both of ‘em did naught 
but heal.” 
“Then why fear her spirit, if it does in fact dwell at 
Landeyda?” 
“Kaitlyn was killed after a battle. While trying to help 
the wounded.” Sylvia’s voice became even softer as she 
added, “Such a skilled healer would know well how to 
kill. And who but a mother who loves her child would do 
aught needed to protect that child. Even if it meant comin’ 
back from the grave?” 
Still nursing a head muddled by ale, Jeremy rode 
slowly back to Landeyda, contemplating all the serving 
wench had said. He recalled the sudden chill he’d felt 
when he’d threatened Alicen in the stable, and it occurred 
to him that the voice he’d heard could very well have had 
the hint of an Irish brogue. Lord, he was addled to partake 

in such ridiculous fancy! Too much ale and the 
suggestions of a frightened and ignorant woman had made 
him contemplate the possibility of a ghost. Loose spirits 
did not exist. Dead was dead. 
*** 
Sensing Captain Blaine wouldn’t return for several 
hours, Alicen felt compelled to aid his hapless victim. His 
orders kept well in mind, she took Ned along to the stable, 
where they found Naismith face down on a straw pallet 
with Malcolm Fish clumsily tending his lash marks. Fish 
stood hastily when he saw her. 
“Mistress Alicen, ye mustn’t be here,” the distraught 
soldier cried. “Cap’n’s orders.” 
“I’ll not be insubordinate, Malcolm,” Alicen assured 
as she knelt by Naismith. “Sir knight, I am sorry you 
suffer for me.” 
“I’ll not doubt a woman’s riding skill again,” the young 
man returned with wry humor. His laugh finished on a 
grunt of pain. 
“We’ll ease your discomfort.” 
“Please no, Mistress,” was Naismith’s hoarse plea. 
“You’ll be punished if you defy the Captain’s order.” 
“I’ll not disobey. Ned will see to your back, not I.” 
“But—” 
“Your captain’s orders were to me. Ned was not barred 
from tending you. He’ll make you more comfortable in 
short order.” 
Fish sighed in gratitude. “I’m much obliged fer yer 
help, Mistress. I’m far better at causin’ wounds than at 
tendin’ ‘em, as Johnny here can prob’ly tell ye.” 
“Aye. He doesn’t have your soft hands, either, 
Mistress.” 
“Ned’s hands must do, but ’tis certain they’re far 
gentler than Malcolm’s.” She smiled to take the sting from 
her jest. 
Naismith’s back was raw, with several deep, oozing 
gashes. Guilty anger flooded Alicen at causing his pain. 
But she would aid him. And follow orders. She and Ned 
worked swiftly, keenly aware that if Blaine heard of this 
they could be punished for skirting his command. 
*** 
Less than an hour after dawn, Jeremy staggered from 

the stable, headed for Landeyda’s well. With shaking 
fingers he grasped the crank on the winch and lifted a 
bucket of ice cold water from the depths. He stank of 
smoke and ale, and the combination made his stomach 
turn. 
Jesu be merciful, his head ached! He couldn’t 
remember the ride back from Sherford, and what he could 
recall was somehow related to Alicen Kent. Of a certain, 
he’d awakened in her stable—face down in the straw at 
Charon’s feet. It was his good fortune that his well-trained 
destrier had not trampled him while he slept off the effects 
of all the ale he’d drunk the previous night. 
Blinking didn’t immediately clear Jeremy’s blurry 
eyesight, and the vision that flashed into his head was of 
him kissing away Alicen’s fears and making love to her 
until the dawn. 
I’ve gone completely mad, he thought grimly, forcing 
from his mind the image of bedding the healer. Did I even 
wish to sport with her, she’d not let me near enough to 
touch her. 
Nor would I. 
Jeremy closed his eyes. Go away. You don’t exist. 
A very feminine laugh filled his head, but he ascribed 
that to excess drink. Or, he truly was mad. But mad or 
no, he had his duty—protect the duke, then help him 
regain his lands. Alicen Kent’s duty was to follow his 
orders and to heal William. She’d already gone far in 
fulfilling the latter. It was her not carrying out the former 
that had him grinding his teeth. 
He groaned low in his throat, his entire body 
reminding him that excess drink and little sleep came 
dear. ’Twas miraculous he’d managed to ride Charon back 
to Landeyda. 
A gulp of morning air steadied him, but shame at his 
excuse for intemperance burned. He’d sought to forget 
his appalling actions, to forget at least for a time the 
woman he’d mistreated. He could not undo his deed, yet 
this truth brought no ease. No amount of ale could drown 
his memory of Alicen’s fear. 
Gingerly, he ran both hands through his hair. He must 
regain his wits. There was much to do, much to set right, 
and he’d wasted a good deal of the previous eve. With a 

muted grunt, he thrust his head into the bucket in hopes 
the icy water would end his suffering. He stood this shock 
as long as he could before raising his head to inhale 
deeply. 
A pitchfork’s wicked tines were mere inches from his 
face. 
Jeremy’s senses cleared in an instant, but alcohol 
yet slowed him. He took a cautious step back and sized 
up his adversary. Blood red eyes widened in surprise. 
Ned stood before him, feet planted, the dangerous 
implement held firmly in small hands. The look on his 
face indicated he had every intention of using the 
pitchfork. 
“You attacked Alicen,” Ned cried, voice rising. “You 
frightened her.” He stabbed at Jeremy, forcing the man 
to take another step back. “Leave her be!” This statement 
was emphasized with yet another thrust. 
Despite the possibility of being skewered by a lad of 
three and ten, Jeremy couldn’t hold back a smile. ’Twas 
certain Ned had grit. He stepped back again and 
straightened to his full height. Then he lifted his hands 
in a gesture of truce. 
“Hold. I’m unarmed.” 
The boy didn’t lower the weapon, so Jeremy kept a 
wary eye on the threatening tines. 
“I thought to kill you, but Alicen wouldn’t let me.” 
“That was wise of her,” Jeremy replied softly. “You’d 
have hanged for murder if you had. ’Twould be a waste of 
life.” 
His words brought confusion to Ned’s brown eyes. 
Seeing the boy’s expression change from anger to doubt, 
Jeremy tried diplomacy. “Put down your weapon, and 
we’ll settle this dispute as grown men should.” He caught 
wariness flickering across the young face and added, 
“You’ve my word as a knight and an officer I’ll not harm 
you.” 
Ned lowered the pitchfork with arms that trembled 
from the effort to keep it aloft. “Why did you touch her?” 
he demanded. 
Flushing at the reminder of his knavery, Jeremy 
muttered, “She made me lose my temper.” Nay, she made 
me lose my wits. “It was poorly done of me. ‘Twill not 

happen again.” 
“If you don’t like her, why not leave?” 
Jeremy sighed. “It’s not that simple, lad. I must guard 
Duke William until he’s able to return to his court.” 
“Stay in Sherford.” 
“Impossible. I must run the duke’s affairs while he 
cannot himself. I must be constantly near should he need 
me.” Jeremy took the pitchfork from Ned’s hands, then 
set it against the well. “On my word, I’ll not distress your 
mistress again.” 
“If you do, you’ll answer to me for it.” Ned adopted a 
belligerent pose, hands fisted on hips. 
The boy’s solemn statement and determined 
expression almost made Jeremy smile. “I’m sure the lady 
is grateful for your protection and feels safer because of 
it.” 
“She’s my friend,” came the emphatic reply. “I must 
protect her from curs like you. Should you harm her more, 
I will kill you.” He strode away, leaving an amused knight 
in his wake. 
That amusement fled with Jeremy’s returning 
headache. And with the admission that he should never 
have given Ned reason to seek his life. Slowly, he finished 
washing. When he looked up again, Taft stood beside him. 
“Good morn, Michael,” he said without enthusiasm. 
“Last night was peaceful?” 
“Aye, sir.” Taking in his superior’s state, Taft smiled. 
“I could ask the same of you.” 
Jeremy grimaced. “Do not! And when next I decide to 
drink, run me through first. ’Twould be a far less painful 
end than dying of excessive ale.” 
“Breaking fast will cure the malady.” Taft laughed and 
clapped Jeremy on the back. “Cook has brandywine, eggs 
and bread on the way.” 
“I should promote you, Michael.” 
“Nay, the challenge of keeping you from roguery is 
reward enough for my pains. I know I’m doing some good.” 
“I’ll drink to that.” Jeremy winced at the image his 
statement brought to mind and hastily added, “Or mayhap 
not.” 
The lieutenant laughed again as he led the way to the 
kitchen the soldiers had repaired. 

“You’re certain naught occurred last eve, Michael?” 
Jeremy asked casually as they dished their food into 
wooden bowls. 
“Aye.” 
“Strange. I checked Naismith when I awoke, and I’d 
swear his lashes had been expertly tended.” 
“If you believe Ned to be such, then you’re correct, 
sir.” 
Jeremy’s casual demeanor vanished with his 
subordinate’s shrug. An intense glare replaced it. “Do 
you seek to protect the healer?” 
“Nay, sir,” Taft stated calmly. “As ordered, she didn’t 
touch Naismith.” 
“Yet she instructed her apprentice in the treatment 
of his wounds,” Jeremy returned with a flash of insight. 
“Aye, she did.” Silence spun out a minute before Taft 
added, “I admire her courage. She has strong convictions.” 
“Aye. And she schemes to undermine my authority.” 
“I rather think compassion drives her to risk her own 
welfare for her duty. And I daresay you think the same 
way.” 
Jeremy scowled. “Place no wager on that assumption.” 
The two fell silent as they ate beneath the oak in the 
courtyard. Ned found them thus. He ignored Jeremy, 
addressing his lieutenant instead. 
“The duke has awakened,” the boy stated. “Alicen says 
you may see him for a few moments if you wish.” 
Jeremy’s misery disappeared with those sweet words. 
“Praise God and all the saints in Heaven,” he exclaimed, 
ignoring the dizziness caused by leaping to his feet. He 
grinned and slapped Taft on the back. “William’s awake!” 
He nearly ran to the infirmary. 
A weak smile greeted him when he entered the room. 
William, propped up with bolsters, looked somehow small 
and wan amidst the bedding. Jeremy knelt beside him 
as much in gratitude to God as to show loyalty. 
“My lord.” 
“Jeremy, arise,” William softly chastised him. “There 
is no need for ceremony betwixt us.” 
“I failed to protect you,” the younger man said, voice 
gone husky. “I thought I’d never speak with you hence.” 
He rose to his feet to grasp William’s hand in both of 

his. 
“I thought the same. Yet, to my extreme good fortune, 
you brought me to a gifted physician.” Jeremy couldn’t 
meet his gaze. “What troubles you?” William prompted. 
Before he knew it, Jeremy had poured out the story 
of what had ensued since their arrival six days before. 
William looked grave at word of the whipping and Jeremy’s 
treatment of Alicen Kent. 
“Apologize at once. We all owe her a great debt. Anger 
between the two of you won’t serve.” 
“I’ll do my best, my lord,” he replied reluctantly. He 
knew he owed Alicen an apology, but how could he trust 
her not to betray them all when she contested all Jeremy 
tried to do? 
Noting William’s drowsiness, he excused himself. Had 
his messenger returned from Tynan? He hoped so. With 
the duke now alert, plans to remove him to his court 
could progress. 
*** 
At midday, Alicen fed William a bowl of hearty broth. 
It was far too soon to try him on solid food, but his good 
appetite and returning strength encouraged her. 
When he spoke, his breathy voice held a rich timbre. 
“Sir Jeremy told me of yesterday’s regrettable 
circumstance.” 
She stiffened immediately. “’Tis done. No good is 
served by bringing it to light again.” 
“I’ll not mention it hereafter. But I wish you to know 
that he regrets—” 
“Then why does he not say such?” Temper edged 
Alicen’s voice as she cut off the duke’s comment. “You all 
are certain he’s contrite, yet I’ll not believe he rues his 
actions in the least ‘til I hear such from his own lips.” 
Seeing William’s incredulous expression, she lowered her 
gaze. “I pray you, my lord, please make no excuses for 
him.” 
William’s jaw dropped. “None save the King use that 
tone to address me,” he stated. Then he smiled. “I admire 
your forthright manner, lass. But understand, such 
boldness in females raises Sir Jeremy’s ire.” 
“I’ve been made painfully aware of that already, my 
lord.” 

Wry compassion entered William’s eyes. “I’ll not 
command him to beg your pardon.” 
“Nor would I expect that. I’ve no want of empty words 
spoken only to appease a superior.” 
“I applaud your honesty,” William said with a smile. 
“’Tis my way.” Alicen winced inwardly at the lie. 
“Then tell me honestly why you so dislike soldiers.” 
She shot him a glance, but replied steadily, “My 
betrothed died at Harfleur serving the King. Father also 
fought for the Crown. He never protected Mother and me 
when we needed him. He was always away, fighting in 
someone else’s name, perhaps protecting someone else’s 
family...Or killing them. Others came first. Never his own 
loved ones.” 
Her mother’s deathbed entered her thoughts. “Vow 
n’er to take a side in any conflict, Alicen.” 
“But, Mother, Harold’s troops did this to you. How can 
I heal them?” 
“You must. ’Tis what you are. Soldiers kill. They fight 
for love of battle. Like your father. But what they do must 
not change what you do.” 
The light of recognition abruptly entered William’s 
eyes. “Your father was Phillip Kent?” 
“The same.” 
“We fought together at Agincourt. King Henry and 
his peers, myself included, considered him a very fine 
soldier.” 
“He was. But I hate the qualities that make a man a 
fine soldier.” Her voice quavered. “Loyalty, obedience, love 
of combat—all warriors have such traits, do they not? 
They slaughter on command and pillage for profit, but 
won’t stay home to see their families safe.” Swallowing 
through a tightened throat, she looked away. 
“Did your father make provision for you to wed 
another?” he asked gravely. 
The seemingly casual question chilled Alicen. Her gaze 
sharpened, but she forced a calm reply. “Father died in 
France. He had no time to make arrangements for me.” 
“You are alone?” 
“I much prefer it that way,” she replied with soft 
emphasis. 
“But all women not of the Church should be wed,” 

William returned, voice firm despite his pallor. “As your 
liege, ’tis my duty to see you cared for. You need a man’s 
protection.” 
“Nay!” Alicen blurted before controlling her sudden 
panic. “My lord, please. I could never love a man so much 
as I love healing. How unjust to tie him to a woman who’d 
care little for him.” None would understand what I do and 
why, she thought forlornly. Orrick once did, but he knew 
me from a child. No other could accept the power of my 
healing art. 
A knock at the chamber door interrupted the tense 
silence. 
“’Tis Jeremy, my lord,” came a deep voice. 
“Come.” William cast a sidelong glance at Alicen as 
she removed the eating utensils. She stiffened and swiftly 
wiped at her eyes with her fingertips. 
Alicen noted how the knight filled the room with his 
presence. His color had improved since morning, and his 
walk was again self-assured, but upon seeing her he 
hesitated. 
“If you need aught my lord, alert Ned or me,” she said 
tightly, indicating the handbell on the table. “Ring for us, 
or send a man.” 
“Thank you, Mistress,” the duke replied sincerely, still 
studying her. “You’ve been more than kind.” 
“You need a good deal of rest. Don’t o’ertire yourself.” 
She averted her eyes as she moved past Jeremy to 
the door, but he watched her with an intensity she could 
feel. 
Following Alicen’s departure, the room fell silent. 
William leaned back on the pillows and spoke to the 
ceiling. “I see you’ve yet to apologize for being an ass 
yesterday.” 
“The proper opportunity has not presented itself,” 
came the clipped reply. Jeremy suddenly realized he still 
stared at the door Alicen had passed through. He hastily 
turned to the duke. 
William glanced at him. “I try not to give advice 
concerning women, but now I must. Mend your quarrel 
with Alicen Kent before matters become untenable.” 
“She goes out of her way to subvert my command.” 
Jeremy started to sit down, then straightened and began 

to pace instead. 
“Your own actions are partly at fault. Your mistrust 
has raised her guard.” 
Jeremy clenched his jaw and, without thinking, 
fingered the hilt of his dagger. “I’ve reason not to trust 
her.” 
William’s brows rose. “Has she betrayed us in any 
way to anyone?” 
“Nay, not yet,” was the grimly firm reply. 
“Has she mistreated or neglected any of the men?” 
“Nay. She’s treated every man’s wounds...including 
mine.” 
“And saved my life. Do traitors act thus?” 
A long pause ensued before Jeremy sat down beside 
the bed. “I presume not.” 
“You suspect her because she’s a woman.” At Jeremy’s 
grimace, William’s tone softened. “I understand your 
misgivings. But all women don’t favor Estelle Hawk or 
your female kin. You can’t condemn the entire gender for 
those few.” 
“I’ll strive to remember that, my lord.” His jaw 
tightened. “But only Manfred’s Lucinda is faithful, 
because he keeps her so with his fist. Edward treated 
Blanche kindly. She sought to cuckold him with me, and 
succeeded with one of his retainers. And Estelle—“ Jeremy 
swallowed. “But you know all, having been my family’s 
lifelong friend.” 
“I’ve offended you.” William sighed. “I wish you no 
hurt. You’re as a son to me. But you must stop your 
rancor. My God, you can’t distrust half of all mankind!” 
Jeremy moved to the window and braced both hands 
on the sill. “And why not? Man fell from grace because of 
woman.” 
“History cannot be undone. But you need not think 
that women are good for naught more than tumbling into 
bed.” 
Jeremy shot a look over his shoulder. “Of course, my 
lord. Women cook, clean and sew. My kindly childhood 
nurse—” 
“This situation hardly calls for jocundity, Sir Jeremy.” 
Despite William’s abruptly formal tone, Jeremy didn’t 
relent. He turned to approach the bed, saying as he did 

so, “If Adam had felt as I do, instead of being seduced by 
the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, then Man would 
be in the Garden still.” 
“Be assured Man would have fallen eventually, my 
friend,” William replied dryly. “Even you can’t keep a 
woman abed all the day ‘round.” 
*** 
“Hercules, get your nose out of those oats and let me 
brush your face,” Alicen scolded her gelding as she 
groomed him late that afternoon. “You think of naught 
but food. Fat swine.” 
The bay snorted, tossing his head and knocking the 
brush from her hand. It landed on the opposite side of 
the stall, leaving her with two options—crawling under 
his belly or going around to retrieve the tool. Sighing, she 
moved toward his rump. 
“Wretched beast,” she grumbled. 
“I’ll get it.” 
The deep voice brought her up short. Startled, she 
turned to see Jeremy Blaine’s broad-shouldered figure 
five steps away. Fear swept through her like a fever. She 
froze as he bent to retrieve the brush, her first thought 
that he had come to punish her for her audacity. They 
were alone. Her gaze darted to the door behind him, and 
she tensed, ready to fight him if need be or run if the 
chance presented itself. 
With a pang of regret Jeremy noted Alicen’s terror. 
She thought he’d harm her. And based upon his previous 
conduct, he had to admit her fears had some justification. 
He must proceed with caution so as not to frighten her 
more. 
Summoning a slight smile, he asked in his most civil 
manner, “Have you another brush? If I groom this side 
while you do the other, the work will be done in half the 
time.” 
Alicen went weak with relief. Moving swiftly, but not 
fast enough to betray her anxiety, she put Hercules’ 
comforting bulk between herself and the fearsome soldier. 
Still, her hands shook when she reached for a second 
coat brush to resume the grooming. 
Moments passed in strained silence as neither spoke. 
Risking a glance across the horse’s back, she saw Blaine 

intent upon his task. She wasn’t comforted. Memory of 
his intimidating manner remained fresh. Even garbed in 
a plain tunic, hose and short boots, he looked every bit 
the warrior. 
Jeremy groomed the gelding’s coat to a deep gloss. 
Finishing, he patted the sleek neck and ran his hand 
across the muscled withers. 
“A fine animal,” he said appreciatively, catching 
Alicen’s wary look. “You must value him highly.” 
She rubbed the horse’s soft muzzle and returned 
Blaine’s perusal with more courage than she actually 
possessed. “Indeed I do. Hercules is a good friend.” 
“Hercules,” Jeremy mused aloud. “One possessing 
great strength. It fits him.” At her frankly surprised 
expression, he added, “Not every soldier is an ignorant 
lout, Mistress Kent.” 
She lowered her gaze, embarrassed he’d guessed her 
thoughts. 
“And, not every soldier behaves as despicably as I 
have toward you.” He paused before adding, “Even though 
your deeds provoked me.” 
Alicen’s cheeks flushed. Her head snapped up. 
“Mayhap you acted within your authority, Captain,” she 
retorted, “but the punishment was unjustly cruel.” 
“Citizens have no say in military matters,” he 
returned, stunned at how swiftly their conversation had 
gone from horses to apologies to argument. 
“Landeyda is my home. Seeing it turned into an 
encampment appalls me.” She clutched Hercules’ mane 
in her left hand. 
“Were the duke able, I’d take him from here. He’s 
not. And no matter how loathsome, we must tolerate the 
present situation.” 
“I may tolerate it, but I’ll never enjoy it.” 
“’Twould be more pleasant if you occupied yourself 
solely with healing.” He leveled a cold look at her. 
Her narrowed gaze locked on his, and she stood tall. 
“Then will you not occupy yourself with healing, Captain?” 
“What do you mean?” His scowl carried through to 
his tone. 
“Will I be able to aid all who need my attention?” 
“You circumvented my order concerning Naismith 

quite easily, from what I understand.” 
She paled at that barb but held her ground. “May I 
perform my tasks with no soldier following?” 
Both his look and tone brooked no argument. “For as 
long as the duke remains here, no.” 
“Then I am your captive.” She took a shuddering 
breath. 
He gaped in surprise at her conclusion. “You’ll not be 
kept here against your will. But you’ll be escorted when 
you leave.” 
Her right fist strangled the handle of the brush she 
held. “You think me a traitor! How could you?” 
“A soldier’s intuition, I suppose.” 
“Lucifer take your intuition,” she cried, hurling the 
brush to the floor. Hercules jerked his head, but Alicen 
ignored him. “I take no sides in this—or any—dispute!” 
Jeremy eyed her speculatively, carefully gauging her 
state of mind. He found he preferred her anger over her 
fear. “You treated the men we captured after the ambush, 
did you not?” 
“Aye.” She hesitated, sensing a trap. “But they were 
well guarded—” 
“You’d treat a mercenary, a deserter or a traitor if the 
scoundrel presented himself at your door, would you not?” 
“I’ve had little occasion to do so.” Except for Orrick. 
“But you’d not hesitate,” he accused. 
“Nay, I’d not hesitate.” At the triumphant glint in his 
eyes she added, “I’m a physician, Captain. I treat the ill. 
Social station, political beliefs...have naught to do with 
the ill needing care.” 
“And that is precisely why I trust you not. If you’d 
bind a man’s wounds regardless of his fealty, you’ve no 
loyalty to your liege lord.” Crossing his arms over his chest, 
Jeremy assumed a posture of stubborn pugnacity. 
Anger drove Alicen’s fear away. “When you see a child 
or a woman attacked, Captain, do you ask where her 
loyalties lie before deciding to aid her?” she challenged. 
“My allegiance is not in question here.” 
“Yet mine is, despite my saving William’s life.” 
“You yourself said you’d aid anyone.” 
She stared at him, noting the stubborn set of his jaw, 
and knew for certain the futility of argument. She shook 

her head. “You see what you wish to see, and in your 
eyes I am untrue.” 
At this sudden acquiescence, his brow rose. “You 
could disprove that accusation.” 
She shrugged. “Yet ’tis truth I’ve sworn to treat all 
who need me. Thus, I’ll refuse no one. Nor will I betray 
William or seek out his foes.” She paused before saying 
slowly, “I understand not why you so despise me, sir. I’ve 
done little to deserve such animosity except to speak my 
mind. And if honesty is so intolerable to you, I can only 
wonder at your rise to favor in the duke’s service.” 
Staring at his face, she caught a play of...what? 
Sadness? Regret? Startled, she looked again, but the 
knight’s expression had become closely guarded. 
Silently, Jeremy hung his brush on a nearby peg and 
left the stable. 

Five 
“I tried to apologize, but that wretched woman 
wouldn’t let me,” Jeremy seethed as he sat by William’s 
bed the next morning studying a sheaf of messages. “She 
detests soldiers—” 
“As much as you mistrust women,” the duke broke 
in archly. 
The knight grunted. “So it seems.” He tried to focus 
on the writing before him, but couldn’t get Alicen’s image 
out of his mind. Tension twisted in his belly. 
William laughed weakly. “What a pair you make. 
Forced together and ready to rend each other at the least 
provocation.” 
“I see no humor in this,” Jeremy muttered, lifting his 
gaze to the duke. “Were you fit to ride, we’d leave this 
miserable place.” 
“I enjoy her, though her unwed state vexes me,” 
William asserted. Then he added slyly, “Mayhap I should 
invite her back to Tynan to find her a match.” 
Jeremy’s entire body went rigid. “Take her to Tynan? 
Jesu forbid it! You’d force me to rejoin Bedford in France 
to get as far away from her as possible.” 
“Why would her presence plague you? I’ll see her wed 
to some clerk, and you’ll be well quit of her.” 
“What man would willingly marry such a hoyden?” 
The knight shuddered. “She’d harry him unto his grave.” 
The older man’s dark eyes twinkled. “You don’t find 
her at all attractive?” 
“Much too slender,” Jeremy scoffed. “I like a woman 
with flesh on her, not one who’s shaped like a lad.” 
“A curvaceous lad, I’d say. With all that rich chestnut 
hair, and those eyes—” William’s expression turned 
thoughtful as he covertly studied his captain. 
“Her eyes carry only daggers for me. I hardly remarked 
her hair.” 
William nodded as if answering his own unvoiced 
question. “Mayhap you were far too preoccupied with her 

shape to note any of her other fine features.” 
Too angry to hear the duke’s sudden change in tone, 
Jeremy stated, “Hell will resemble a Norse winter ‘ere I’m 
preoccupied with any of that shrew’s features.” 
Yet even as he swore this declaration, his reaction 
when Alicen tended his wound—and his visions at the 
tavern—filled his mind and belied his oath. Sweet Jesu, 
how could women do such things to rational men? 
He was struggling to return to his letters when the 
infirmary door burst open and Taft rushed in. 
“What the devil,” Jeremy exclaimed, springing to his 
feet. 
“Come quickly! Our rider approaches at a dead 
gallop.” 
Jeremy cast a glance at William. 
“Go,” the duke ordered. 
Taft spun on his heel and left, his captain right behind 
in a sprint to the courtyard. 
“’Tis Fish, sir!” cried the watchman at the gate. 
Both officers rushed to where Fish pulled his lathered 
mount to a halt at the stable. 
“Enemy soldiers,” Fish gasped, sliding from his saddle. 
“A league north of Sherford. Search party.” 
Expression cold, Jeremy sent a look at Taft then 
turned back to Fish. “How many?” 
“Two score at least. Takin’ care to check buildings an’ 
such.” 
“Looking for their missing patrol?” Taft speculated. 
“No doubt.” Jeremy directed his next question to Fish. 
“How long before they arrive here?” 
“An hour at the least, Cap’n. They don’t seem in a 
hurry, but they’re surely after somethin’.” 
“Nicely done, Malcolm.” Jeremy clapped him on the 
shoulder. “You may have given us time to escape their 
net.” 
He turned to the men gathered behind him and began 
snapping orders. In moments, all were racing to carry 
out his commands. 
Although he schooled his features to show nothing, 
Jeremy couldn’t help turning to stare at Alicen’s cottage. 
“How will we protect William?” Taft asked soberly, 
following his commander’s gaze. 

Expression hard, Jeremy said, “I’ll inform our hostess 
that guests approach.” He strode to the cottage, Taft 
following. 
*** 
“As we cannot retreat, you and the seriously wounded 
will remain inside,” Jeremy explained to Alicen, looking 
around the circle of men for their affirmation. “The rest 
of us will deter any of Harold’s troop who seek entrance 
at the gate.” 
She paled. “You cannot fight here!” 
Her intense declaration gave Jeremy momentary 
pause. Behind him, the men were tautly silent. “’Tis as 
good a place as any, considering the wall surrounding 
it.” 
“Nay! Even did the odds favor you, I’d not allow a 
battle.” A hint of desperation tinged her bold 
announcement. 
Jeremy’s jaw tightened. “You threatened to kill the 
duke just a few nights past.” 
“To protect Ned,” came her terse reply. “You drove 
me to voice an empty threat.” 
Jeremy crossed his arms over his chest in his most 
intimidating pose. “As you said, William cannot be moved, 
so we’ll defend him here. You’ve no choice in this matter.” 
She shook her head, her body shaking as well with 
the force of her emotions. “My home is no killing ground. 
’Tis a place of healing. To fight here is to destroy a sacred 
trust.” 
Though her voice had faded to a whisper, Jeremy was 
certain every man heard her words, spoken with such 
exquisite anguish as to touch all with their poignancy. 
She lifted her gaze to his, torment clear in the green depths 
of her eyes. 
Something in his chest tightened, but he instantly 
tamped down his sympathy. 
“You’d have us surrender without a fight?” he asked 
evenly. 
“Nay, no fight is necessary. The sign of plague will 
deter them. They’ll not dare risk their lives to enter.” 
“And if they heed not the warning?” 
“Ned and I will burn clothing and bed linen to warn 
them further of the danger here.” 

“Aye, there’d be truth to that,” Jeremy replied coldly 
as he rested a hand on his sword hilt. He studied her 
tense features. “Do you plot a trick to trap us?” 
She flinched, but didn’t allow her conviction to falter. 
“There will be no killing here.” 
“Mayhap we’ll keep the boy with us, to assure your 
loyalty.” 
Anger flared in Alicen’s suddenly narrowed eyes. “I’ll 
allow no killing at Landeyda. That’s where my loyalty lies.” 
Jeremy shrugged as if discounting her statement. 
“We’ve the element of surprise to aid us.” 
“And fewer than a dozen able-bodied men. Against 
forty.” Unbidden images of a massacre assailed her. 
“’Twould be a bloodbath.” She barely succeeded in 
suppressing a shudder. 
Jeremy stared. Beneath Alicen’s stubborn defiance 
he’d caught a glimpse of raw fear. Despite her 
insubordination, he wanted to touch her, but throttled 
the notion of comforting her. Mayhap she sought to detain 
and betray them. He trusted her not, making his base 
desire for her even more maddening. 
And he’d no time to contemplate the derangement of 
lust. His enemy was nigh. He had to make it appear that 
what they sought wasn’t there. 
“Does it come to battle, whose side will you hope 
prevails?” He saw her pale further at his question. 
“You’ve forced me to take your part in this, Captain,” 
she returned, voice barely above a whisper. “Jesu be 
merciful, I swore to Mother on her deathbed I’d not be 
partisan!” 
Despite his attempt at indifference, Alicen’s bleak 
features wrenched his heart. “Circumstance undoes you, 
Mistress,” he stated bluntly, again crushing his urge to 
comfort her. 
“I hold you to blame for that,” she snapped, burying 
her trembling hands in her apron pockets. “But though 
I’ve no choice whose part I take, you’ll not fight here.” 
Jeremy glowered, leaning toward her. “That is not your 
decision to make.” 
“Oh, but it is.” Her uptilted chin hid her fear. “Soldiers 
think only blood resolves conflict. ’Tis foolishness. Peaceful 
means oft work far better.” 

“Time grows short. I’ll not debate philosophy when 
we may be besieged momentarily.” 
As he turned to leave, she caught his arm. “Captain, 
please. Let me keep them at bay,” she pleaded. When his 
gaze swung back to her, she added, “Those men will surely 
learn of Landeyda. Once they know a healer dwells here, 
they’ll expect one. I can divert them with a tale of plague.” 
“Or inform them of our presence,” Jeremy answered, 
fighting to ignore the warmth creeping up his arm from 
the point where she touched him. “I think not, Mistress 
Kent.” 
Anger suffusing her face, she yanked her hand from 
his arm. “You’d fight when I’ve a means to avoid it? You 
are mad!” 
He shook his head, dreading battle but seeing no other 
choice. “I’ll pose as the healer.” 
“’Twould never work. All with eyes can see you’re no 
physician. The moment you appear, they’ll know aught 
is amiss.” 
Taft grunted. “She’s right on that count, Captain.” 
“William will decide,” Jeremy stated, then moved 
Alicen aside and entered the infirmary. 
*** 
An hour later Alicen implemented her plan. William 
had favored escape, but she’d convinced him ’twould be 
fatal. Gaining approval of her strategy had proven more 
difficult. With Jeremy adamantly opposed, they’d wasted 
precious time arguing. Finally, both men had given in to 
her logic, William with far more grace than his captain. 
Now she and Ned stood in the courtyard, feeding old 
bandages and garments into a bonfire. The choking smell 
of burning rags filled the air and stung their noses. 
Squaring her shoulders, she readjusted the shabby cloak 
she’d donned. They had dressed in tatters and dirtied 
their skin with soot. Ned’s white-blond locks were streaked 
with ash, and she had sullied her hair in the same 
manner. These intruders must have no wish to tarry at 
Landeyda. She prayed the stench of burning rags and 
the appearance of the two people wearing clothes similar 
to those rags would discourage dalliance. 
“They’ll be here anon.” She’d heard the rattle of 
harnesses and equipment—the troop was nigh. Her chest 

tightened until it threatened to crush her lungs. Offering 
a prayer to God, her mother, and any saint or spirit that 
might have been listening, she gave Ned a reassuring 
smile. 
When the troop was close enough only the deaf 
wouldn’t hear them, she jumped and spun as if startled. 
With an eerie cry, she dropped the stick she used to tend 
the fire and rushed toward them. At sight of her, they 
immediately drew rein, all except the first man. 
“Nay, go back,” she screeched, heading for the lead 
rider. “Did ye not heed the signs? Go back, I say!” 
When it looked as though he’d continue to the cottage, 
she stepped in front of his mount. Her every nerve 
screamed for her to run from the dangerous war horse, 
but that would be fatal for all. She made no quick 
movements, just held her place. 
The destrier snorted a warning, his rider drawing rein 
a mere step away. Alicen tensed yet showed no outward 
sign of awareness of the peril she was in. 
“You deny us entry, hag?” the leader asked. “We seek 
for information.” 
Inside the stable, Jeremy surveyed his men. They 
gripped their weapons tightly, so still they looked carved 
in rock. But rigidity would shatter at the slightest cause. 
As did he, they foresaw a fight to the death, and so 
prepared themselves in their own private ways. 
He started at the sound of a familiar voice, one that 
pierced him like a shaft of steel. Peering from behind the 
stable door, he felt his face pale as recognition dawned. 
“Kenrick.” He swore beneath his breath. 
If Theo Kenrick served Harold, William’s shire— 
including every citizen—was jeopardized. No more 
ruthless a mercenary lived in the Christian world. Jeremy 
strained to hear what Alicen said to his most hated enemy, 
but little of the conversation came to him. 
“Enter these grounds at great risk,” Alicen keened, 
voice on the edge of lunacy. “My villein and his lad died 
last eventide. Neither showed signs of affliction ere three 
days hence.” She lifted a bunch of flowers to her nose, 
giving the mercenaries time to watch Ned add blankets 
and linen to the burning heap. He’d tied a nosegay around 
his neck so both his hands were free. “I fear the signs,” 

she screeched, recalling their attention to her. “Both had 
lumps in groin and armpits.” 
This declaration had the desired effect. The soldiers 
grew restive. Whispers broke out in the ranks, and Alicen 
heard more than one man mutter “plague.” But their 
leader remained unmoved. His hard eyes and cruel mouth 
tightened. Alicen’s throat went dry. 
“We’ve had no sign of pestilence for years,” he sneered. 
“And nary a sign at all ere it took so many lives,” she 
returned, injecting just enough drama into her voice to 
sway them. A broad gesture included the estate. “We seek 
to hold contagion here. Thus, none in Sherford are privy 
to our plight.” She fixed an intent stare on the 
mercenaries. “You sought information. You have it. 
Depart. Most like, you’ll be in no danger. Yet, if exposed, 
expect half your troop to die within the week.” 
She turned her back on the soldiers to pick up her 
staff, forcing herself to move to the fire although the hair 
at her nape stood up. Despite the roaring blaze, it seemed 
unnaturally cool. After a long, breathless moment, she 
heard harnesses rattle and leather squeak as the riders 
wheeled their mounts. The thunder of hooves shook the 
ground when the mercenaries galloped out the gate. 
Alicen and Ned remained in place until the troop had 
disappeared down the road. Then they threw down their 
staffs and embraced. William’s men streamed from their 
hiding places to quickly surround them, clapping them 
on the back and rejoicing at the successful ruse. Tension 
expelled itself in loud whoops and impromptu dances. 
Jeremy skirted the celebration with barely a glance 
at the participants. He was soon at William’s bedside. 
“You saw?” 
“Aye,” William answered gravely. “Kenrick. You should 
have killed that whoreson years ago when you had the 
chance.” 
“Curse my soul for putting honor above prudence,” 
Jeremy swore bitterly. “He’ll show no such mercy if he 
finds us here.” 
A grin abruptly lit the duke’s face. “Methinks he’ll 
ponder long ‘ere he darkens these gates again.” Worry 
released itself in a chortle. “Thought of the Black Death 
chilled his devil’s soul! Alicen terrified that blackguard to 

his stones.” 
Jeremy’s expression hardened. “In truth, she’s an apt 
dissembler,” he stated, none too kindly. 
William’s mirth faded. “What do you suggest?” 
“I’m uncertain,” Jeremy admitted slowly. “Yet 
methinks Kenrick retreated too easily.” 
“Wouldn’t you if you thought the plague was nigh?” 
Jeremy shrugged. “Most like. But ’tis not the lie that 
so concerns me, ’tis the woman’s talent for deception.” 
“She acted a part, like any player.” 
“You’re certain? None truly heard her words. Mayhap 
she’s known to Kenrick and warned him away.” 
“What would be the purpose, since he had the 
advantage?” 
“To keep bloodshed from her allies, perhaps?” 
“Jeremy, you mistake the lass—” 
“You needn’t defend me, my lord,” Alicen stated from 
the threshold. She swallowed hard before adding, “The 
captain believes I protected his enemies from him.” Unable 
to completely hide her pain, she glared at Jeremy. “Were 
I he, I’d likely doubt every intention of those around me 
as well.” 
“Mistress—” 
Both men spoke at once, but Alicen talked right over 
them. “You’ll think what you will of me, Captain, but be 
honest with yourself at least. If I was loyal to Harold, why 
not just poison all of you when I found out who William 
was? Why repel Harold’s patrol, when I could have pointed 
them to the stable and had them easily surround you? 
And why not contemplate poisoning all of you now?” She 
tried to glare at Jeremy, but her resolve crumpled, and 
she suddenly found herself fighting tears. 
Turning, she fled the infirmary. 

Six 
Jeremy winced at hearing the door to Alicen’s chamber 
slam. The woman had saved their lives, and he repaid 
her with suspicion. He stood staring bleakly at the empty 
doorway, wishing to revoke his cold words, wishing he’d 
joined his men in lauding Alicen’s cunning. But he could 
do neither, and this made him even more wretched. 
“Jeremy, I never thought you a jackass,” William 
asserted, “but methinks I erred in my assumption.” 
“I’ll have that device added to my coat of arms,” the 
knight muttered before he left the cottage to patrol the 
grounds. 
*** 
He was penning an urgent missive to Warrick that 
afternoon when Ned entered. At sight of the towhead’s 
solemn face, Jeremy smiled. An unreturned gesture, but 
he knew Ned’s anger toward him had eased. He’d caught 
the boy studying him of late, and this interest warmed 
Jeremy. Ned certainly had courage and loyalty. Perhaps 
the two of them could fashion a truce. 
“I’m to remove your stitches,” Ned stated without 
preamble, brandishing a long-tipped pair of tweezers. 
Jeremy’s brows shot up. Why didn’t Alicen oversee, if 
not perform, this task? Through the chamber window he 
glimpsed her—once more freshly scrubbed—striding 
away, basket in hand. ’Twas obvious she’d not appear, 
and a baffling disappointment unsettled him. His agitation 
at her absence upset him more, however. What matter if 
she’d sent her apprentice to remove his stitches? 
She’d spurned him since he’d discredited her to 
William that morn. And while he couldn’t recant his words, 
he had determined to avoid offending her more. Her pique 
would cool. However, if he trusted his eyes, her anger 
might last for some time. He glanced out the window 
again, but she’d moved from his line of sight. 
In truth, he regretted losing this chance to have her 
close. It shocked him to realize that her gentle touch and 

subtle fragrance soothed him. Of course, she was a gifted 
healer, and he appreciated skill. Yet he’d not admit he 
desired her near for more than his wounds. 
“Sir? Could you remove your tunic, please?” 
Jeremy’s attention snapped back to Ned. The 
apprentice fidgeted. Clearly, he’d never performed this 
task but was doggedly determined. He snipped and 
tugged, and in a few minutes had removed all the thread 
closing Jeremy’s wound. 
“My thanks, lad.” Jeremy donned his shirt, knowing 
the procedure wouldn’t have stung so much had Alicen 
done it. But he’d not discourage the boy. “You did well.” 
Ned’s face lit up. “Did I, sir?” At the captain’s nod, he 
exclaimed, “Thank you, sir!” Then he fairly skipped from 
the room, his expression a study of relieved joy at his 
feat. 
Jeremy ignored his regret that Alicen had not tended 
him herself, returning to William’s correspondence. 
‘Tis no more than you deserve for playing the cad with 
her, a voice said inside his mind. Ye refuse to trust her, 
yet ye wish her near. Why long for something you’ve 
willingly pushed away? For the life of him he couldn’t tell 
if those were his own thoughts or those of someone else— 
with an Irish lilt. 
*** 
Dusk had fallen when Alicen returned from herb 
gathering. Several soldiers lounged in the yard, honing 
weapons and cleaning tack. They called out greetings as 
she passed. 
“I’ve an ailment I’m certain you could cure, Mistress 
Kent,” Hitch Stacy said loudly, catching her gaze. 
Her emerald eyes darkened in concern. “What is it, 
Hitch?” 
The young man smiled at his mates, then turned his 
impish look on her. He touched a finger to his lips. “This 
ache can only be eased by the kiss of a lovely lass.” His 
grin widened when she blushed and ducked her head. 
“Would you end my suffering, Mistress?” 
“Best kiss your horse instead,” she returned with a 
shy smile. “When there’s no lass nearby to soothe you, 
he’ll be about. Nor will he complain if he has no pleasure 
from you.” 

The men, including Hitch, laughed heartily. 
Their mirth pleased her. Oddly enough, she enjoyed 
this banter with the men-at-arms. They welcomed her 
company, and each had praised her daring plan more 
than once. Their captain alone was openly hostile. Worse, 
Blaine had even questioned her efforts. 
This thought effectively dampened her mood. He’d 
scrutinized her every action since his arrival, and after 
the incident with Naismith, she’d hardly enough privacy 
to relieve herself. As usual, the cur stood close by, 
following her every action. Alicen caught sight of him in 
the stable door. 
Most like, the mistrusting wretch fears I’ll poison his 
men, then ride off to find the mercenaries, she brooded. 
She crushed a sudden urge to provoke him. ’Twas 
unwise to bait the varlet, and sending Ned to remove his 
stitches in her place was as defiant as she dared be. 
Swallowing her ire, she strode to the stable—her 
destination before the captain’s presence there had given 
her pause. 
Silent, Jeremy moved aside to let her enter, then 
studied her as she went stiffly about her chores. Her 
usually expressive face looked stiff, and though her eyes 
were shadowed, he didn’t need to see them to sense she 
fought back tears. He felt a curious sadness at realizing 
he had caused her sorrow. 
God’s wounds, she has a way about her, he marveled. 
Her courage this day had strengthened the entire troop’s 
respect, and every villein for ten leagues ‘round would 
likely follow her to Hell. Pray Jesu she never gets political 
ambition. 
That idea made him flinch. She could lead a faction 
down any path she wished, having won William and the 
men over easily enough. His lips compressed. Despite 
her besting Kenrick, his mortal enemy, Jeremy refused 
to trust her. 
Yet he admired valor, and she’d endangered herself 
to spare bloodshed. You’re made of sterner metal than 
other women, he thought, still staring at her. Healing, he 
reluctantly admitted, not power, lured her, and as a 
healer, she was dedicated and gifted. 
His head jerked up. If he’d spoken aloud, anyone 

hearing would believe he liked Alicen Kent. He shuddered. 
Bold, arrogant, headstrong, independent—offensive traits 
in a female. Women should be reserved and modest. But 
her touch could be so gentle... 
Christ’s guts, am I mad? Did she discover he respected 
her—somewhat—he’d forfeit his authority. Yet her 
guileless dealings with his men captivated him. Plagued 
him. Her laughter warmed in a way he’d rarely felt. And 
her smile...His heart had thumped oddly at sight of that 
infectious look, the first he’d seen from her since his 
arrival. 
Then she’d noticed him nearby and, as if a cloud had 
passed over, her smile faded. Her sparkling eyes again 
grew guarded. 
He cursed the pain her withdrawal brought him, but 
his authority could not be challenged. Yet he didn’t seek 
to frighten her. He wanted—what? To have her laugh and 
jest with him? Despite his disdain of them, women fought 
to be in his favor. In his bed. Yet this woman plainly 
loathed him. She could jest freely with common soldiers, 
even with the duke himself, but with him she wore her 
contempt like chain mail. 
He wished to remove that barrier. As long as doing so 
didn’t jeopardize his position, he reasoned mulishly. Still, 
she should know he appreciated her effort on the duke’s 
behalf, know he wasn’t the insensitive brute she believed 
him. 
Bah, he cared not for her good opinion! William owned 
his fealty. What Alicen Kent thought of him was 
unimportant. Bemused, Jeremy left the stable and his 
unsettling nemesis and went to toast with his men a 
victory won. 
Alicen immediately felt the knight’s departure. Relief 
consumed her. Could he not leave her be, not even to 
tend chores? And could he not at least admit her plan 
had worked? As usual, he completely unnerved her. Did 
he suspect she’d visited Orrick after eluding Naismith? 
She prayed the man wasn’t that wary. 
Finished with her tasks, she steeled herself against 
the captain’s rancor, determined never to let him see her 
cry over his scorn. She dashed away fat tears with the 
back of her hand. Only great pride kept her from outright 

weeping. 
That she cared a jot for a soldier’s regard troubled 
her nearly as much as Captain Blaine’s mistrust. But 
she found she could do nothing to still that upset. 
*** 
“My wife’s missive sheds no light on London’s political 
intrigues, Jeremy. I would know what my enemies at 
Court have been about lately.” 
William was sitting, propped up by several pillows, 
for the first time in almost a fortnight. He studied a roll of 
parchment. 
“Warrick and I are in close communication. Our 
agents at Court report little change.” Jeremy’s look 
darkened. “The Duke of Bedford yet rapes and plunders 
France. After three years, I’m amazed there’s aught of 
value left.” 
“An appalling abuse of a regency,” William agreed 
soberly. “John never misses an occasion to fill his coffers. 
And what of England’s own Regent, the Duke of 
Gloucester?” 
“Quarrelsome as usual. Humphrey takes after his 
brother Bedford in that. Cardinal Beaufort yet opposes 
him at every turn.” 
“As Chancellor, Beaufort is wise to do so. Humphrey’s 
whimsy will ruin England should none keep him at heel. 
When Henry VI reaches his majority, he’ll have naught to 
rule.” 
“Only England and a little of Normandy,” Jeremy 
remarked dryly. He set aside quill and ink and stood to 
momentarily stretch. 
William shook his head. “He’ll lose France, I fear. 
Burgundy is our ally, but the Dauphin will fight for his 
titled land. Our English Council and regents should then 
find pillaging abroad less fruitful.” He waved away the 
topic. “Enough of France. How fares what remains of my 
duchy?” 
Jeremy smiled slightly and resumed his seat on the 
stool beside the small table. “Dare I say well? Your consort 
runs Tynan efficiently. And Warrick rode post to 
Northumberland to speak with Percy concerning Harold’s 
campaign.” 
William pondered this. “And Percy’s thoughts of my 

brother the usurper?” 
“Should Harold raid Northumberland, Percy would 
be hard-pressed to halt him. The Douglas clan has of 
late been active along Percy’s northern border, likely 
honoring Scotland’s French alliance. Kenrick could 
plunder virtually unchecked.” 
“The Douglas may merely slake his passion for fighting 
the earl,” came William’s bland reply. “He has warred 
against the Percys since God rested on the seventh day.” 
“That’s truth.” Jeremy’s jaw tensed. “Our plight 
worsens with Kenrick’s troops afield. Harold will likely 
gain more men, and Percy won’t aid us in winning our 
lands back. He has other concerns.” 
“With James Stuart confined in London, ’tis doubtful 
the Scots will venture far south.” The duke rubbed his 
temples with his fingertips, a weary sigh escaping him. 
“We’ll have to rely on York against my brother.” 
“Aye. And to that end, your wife has been most 
helpful.” Jeremy produced a parchment scroll from inside 
his tunic. “I’d meant to tell you of this earlier, but I was 
distracted.” 
Lifting his hand from his forehead, William looked at 
Jeremy and grinned. “Has Alicen been about nearby?” 
Jeremy ignored the intimation, slapping the 
parchment into William’s hand. “Your lady wife’s arranged 
an audience with York. He’s in Burgundy but returns 
home in a month.” 
“Guendolen is a marvel.” William beamed. “Marry for 
love, my friend, not for profit.” 
Jeremy looked away. Love wasn’t as simple as William 
suggested. It stripped a man of pride, left him at a woman’s 
mercy. She twisted his logic, clouded his reason until 
naught but her love mattered. Then when she betrayed 
him he died inside. Like a suit of armor hanging in a hall, 
his outer shell protected naught but the vaporous humors 
of a former soul. 
He was well acquainted with those foul humors. 
The duke studied his captain. “I’ll not apologize for 
stirring painful memories, for mere words will not assuage 
that pain,” William stated bluntly. “Therefore, I’ll speak 
only of what presently concerns you. God blessed me 
much with a man of your ilk, Jeremy, and I thank you for 

your loyalty. You make my confinement near bearable.” 
He smiled when Alicen entered with her tray of 
medicaments. “You, and my lovely healer.” 
“You mentioned us in the same breath?” Alicen raised 
a quizzical brow, then set the tray down beside William. 
“You could not have spoken well of either of us, my lord. 
I fear the good captain wishes me clapped in irons for 
treason.” The look she sent Jeremy dared him to deny 
her accusation. 
Jeremy glowered, but William chuckled. “Forgive him, 
Mistress. The fairer sex plagues him sorely, and he sulks 
over his ill luck. I assure you he is a good man.” 
Alicen’s brow quirked again as she glanced at Jeremy. 
“Too cheerless for my tastes, my lord. He never appears 
to enjoy himself.” 
Jeremy’s jaw set, as if to hold back a stinging retort. 
“Being my right hand is a weighty task,” William 
countered smoothly, glancing between the antagonists. 
“He regards duty very seriously.” 
“Mayhap you could order him to smile upon occasion,” 
Alicen returned, eyes glittering. “His countenance could 
dull the sun.” 
Jeremy clamped his jaw shut, determined to ignore 
Alicen. But despite his best efforts to prevent it, the wench 
tormented him mercilessly. Whenever she was near, 
potent emotion gripped him—anger or suspicion 
or...desire. 
Nay, I’ll not desire the shrew. Never! 
William laughed as hard as his weak lung allowed. 
“She has it aright, lad. You have been gloomy of late.” 
“I find little of cheer in this place, my lord,” Jeremy 
retorted, “since I must discern if what appears true is not 
merely illusion.” His hands fisted then relaxed. “Sir, is 
there aught else you need of me? If not, I’ve business to 
attend.” 
William sighed, regret etching his features. “You do 
naught but work. I’d prefer you—“ With a shake of his 
head and a wave of his hand, he dismissed Jeremy. “Go 
to your affairs. Alicen will care well for me in your 
absence.” 
Jeremy’s blue gaze turned icy. “No doubt she’s spent 
much time convincing you she can do just that.” He 

stalked out. 
“He’s the best man ever to serve me, yet I worry for 
him,” William stated quietly. Alicen continued to arrange 
her ointments. “His wife’s betrayal shattered him. He’d 
thought Estelle a loyal consort. A woman unlike the 
faithless jades in his family.” 
“Perhaps she could not abide a soldier’s duties,” Alicen 
replied flatly, unbandaging and re-salving William’s 
wound as she spoke. 
“Mayhap. But her killing his unborn child and herself 
broke Jeremy’s heart. Now, it seems his whole concern is 
serving me.” 
Stark horror clutched Alicen’s soul. What manner of 
woman married then refused to bear her husband’s child? 
She hid her shock with a casual reply. “His dedication 
makes him valuable, my lord. With naught else to occupy 
him, he does his best to please you.” And to plague me. 
“Still, men need diversion. Jeremy’s like a tool— 
useful, but devoid of spirit. A man in that state is ill at 
heart.” 
“I’ve long held the less emotion the better the soldier,” 
Alicen said bitterly. “Feelings can obscure duty, and that 
would be ruinous.” Like they ruined Orrick. 
William pondered a moment. “Five years ago, Jeremy 
forsook untold riches by leaving the Duke of Bedford’s 
service. Rather than plunder the Loire Valley, he joined 
me to make his living in a less barbarous manner. 
“Neither of us sought a return to France, but my fealty 
to the King required it. The slaughter was pitiless. We 
longed to return to England and peace.” William’s voice 
chilled. “My bastard brother had stolen much of my lands, 
including that which I’d granted Jeremy.” 
Silent, Alicen contemplated the duke’s words. The 
vexing Captain Blaine was a scourge to women. Yet, based 
on this account, he had cause. A scheming wife certainly 
had ruined more than one strong soul. Mayhap Blaine’s 
single-minded pursuit of duty kept his personal pain at 
bay. But did he truly dislike much of what that duty 
required? 
His wife’s perfidy must have scarred him deeply to 
turn him so against females. And William claimed he’d 
foresworn great profit to keep his honor. But how could 

he be merciful one moment, unyielding the next? And 
how could he dislike soldiering yet be so skilled? 
She needed time to reflect upon William’s words and 
decided to ride to Sherford. After saddling Hercules, she 
left Ned instructions on the duke’s care. 
“I’ll see to everything until you return,” he vowed. 
“You’ve no need to worry.” 
“I’ll not fret. Expect me by eventide.” With a grin and 
a quick ruffling of his blond hair, she was gone. 
Her hopes for a peaceful ride died aborning when she 
saw who awaited her at the gate astride his own horse. 
She smiled sweetly to cover her resignation. “Out to 
take the air, Captain?” 
“If you keep a slow pace.” 
“You’ve no pressing responsibilities to attend? 
Something of more import than escorting me. Some village 
to burn or peasant to flog?” 
One brow rose. “My men favor you too much to watch 
you closely. As I don’t share their sentiment, I’ll attend 
you when you’re away from the duke.” 
Alicen’s exaggerated smile turned brittle. “Ah, yes, I 
might plot treason. Very well, Captain, I’m your captive. 
Your pardon, however, if I’ll not sacrifice a good ride to 
remain confined in my home.” She pulled Hercules 
around and kept him ahead of Jeremy’s charger during 
their wild dash to the village. 
*** 
Jeremy brooded as they left Sherford an hour later at 
a far more sedate pace than they’d entered. Having seen 
Alicen’s back the entire way there pricked him. It 
underscored the superb riding ability Naismith insisted 
she possessed, and put Jeremy at a loss to understand 
why that angered him. Were she a man, he’d congratulate 
her for her skill. 
The woman had occupied most all his waking 
thoughts of late, which was dangerous to his men, himself, 
and chiefly to William. Yet he couldn’t keep her from his 
mind. 
Nor could he refrain from needing her nearby. More 
than once he thought to apologize for being such a thorn 
in her heel, but the proper words eluded him. She 
rendered him speechless. 

For her part, Alicen found herself tired and irritable 
when she’d hoped the excursion would improve her 
spirits. She blamed Jeremy Blaine. Far more than at any 
time prior, his nearness frayed her nerves. An 
overwhelming desire to be alone arose. 
“Have my actions assuaged your suspicions, 
Captain?” she asked archly. 
He visibly tensed, then glanced her way. “If you ask 
whether you may roam freely alone, the answer is ‘nay.’ 
With William in residence, you’ll not venture from 
Landeyda unescorted.” 
“You burn daylight following me.” 
He fixed her with a hard stare. “Do I?” 
“Yes,” she hissed, hoping she gave no hint of her lie. 
“I’ve done naught to deserve distrust.” Naught you’ve seen 
me doing. 
“Your feelings are of no moment to me, Mistress. You’ll 
not ride alone until we’re quit of you, so leave be.” 
“You suspect me of treachery against my liege lord?” 
Her question was more an indignant gasp. 
He shrugged. “Your knowledge of his condition makes 
you a potential traitor. Thus, I deal with you as I do.” 
“How would I approach Harold’s people? I know of no 
one in Sherford sympathetic to him.” 
“Words easily spoken.” 
“You’ve searched the town yourself. Have you found 
citizens disloyal to William?” 
Her question alarmed Jeremy. How much did she 
know of his activities? He’d slowly brought men to the 
area—in the guise of merchants, carpenters, hirelings. 
They’d taken up residence, begun to trade....Now, his force 
in town numbered just over a dozen, with a score extra 
on outlying land. Could she know that? Had someone 
discerned this plot and informed Harold’s loyalists? 
“I’ve warned you not to concern yourself with military 
matters,” he said harshly. “I’ll suspect you until such 
time as William is safe.” 
“You have no soul.” 
He didn’t so much as flinch, though her ire pierced 
deeply. “I have my duty. You have yours.” 
“You kill and I heal,” she scoffed. “We’re at cross 
purposes.” 

His expression remained unchanged, but fury ignited 
in his eyes. “You believe I enjoy killing?” he asked, voice 
tight. 
“Don’t you?” She knew that query’s falseness, but 
was too stung by his animosity to retract it. 
Jeremy ground his teeth a long moment, then said 
simply, “Killing is a lamentable aspect of my profession.” 
“You are capable of naught but soldiering?” 
“I wished to serve William,” he retorted. “I kill when I 
must, no matter how wretched that is.” The spark in his 
eyes flamed higher, but his voice remained level. “’Tis 
easy for you to judge me. You, the revered guardian of 
this shire. Yet your duty has no more value than mine, 
though you’d have it so. I protect William’s subjects. Do I 
spill blood in the process—offensive to you or no—’tis oft 
expedient.” 
“Is there pleasure in feeling a man’s life drain away 
upon your sword?” she sneered. 
“I do not kill men for sport!” Jeremy clenched his reins, 
body rigid. “I kill only to protect my duke, my soldiers, or 
myself. Believe me or no, I hate senseless slaughter.” 
Alicen recalled William’s saying much the same of 
the captain. 
“Tell me, then,” she asked archly, “if not battle and 
mayhem, what pleases you? You distrust me merely 
because of my sex. Follow like my shadow, with as little 
expression as that apparition, and treat me harshly. Does 
harrying innocent women amuse you?” 
Snarling, he raised his fist, then dropped it 
immediately back to his side. “Were you a man, by God, 
I’d have satisfaction for your insults!” 
Alicen had goaded the wolf into baring his teeth. ’Twas 
time to retreat. But not without one last sally. Staring at 
his fist, she tilted a mocking brow, then half smiled. “I’m 
glad you still discern between those to kill and those to 
protect.” Her gaze flicked to his furious eyes. “I’ve 
wondered whether your hatred of women clouded your 
soldier’s honor.” 
“I’ve rarely harmed a woman,” he spat. “Though they 
oft manage to harm me.” 
At the end of his stamina, he wanted to howl with 
rage. But just as he contemplated giving in to that wish, 

a sudden change in Alicen’s expression startled his fury 
away. From antagonism her look melted to a distant, 
musing gaze, as if she heard far off church bells. The hair 
on the nape of his neck rose. For that moment, he ceased 
to exist in her world. 
For that moment, he didn’t want to. 
She shook her head as if to clear it, then turned 
pensive eyes to him. “I must return to Sherford.” She 
reined Hercules around. 
He rode up beside her. “Why?” 
“Someone requires my aid,” she said quietly. 
“You’ve the power of divination?” he asked half-
mockingly, his tone masking sudden wariness. He could 
not completely dismiss the strange experiences he’d had 
since his arrival at Landeyda. But he would try. “Mayhap 
you’re a sorceress who conjured Landeyda’s benevolent 
spirit.” 
Alicen paled visibly and swallowed hard. “Ridiculous 
fancy. I’ve oft sensed when others needed me. ’Tis a skill 
I was born with, not one acquired in unholy ritual.” She 
swallowed again before saying, “Witchcraft is easily 
misunderstood and thus dangerous to speak of even in 
jest, Captain.” 
His mouth twisted into a wry grin. “So, the dauntless 
healer fears such talk? I scarce can believe it.” 
“I’ve no wish to be suspected of evil,” she replied 
somberly. “Thus, I must ask you to cease this discussion.” 
“I’ll give your request all the gravity it deserves.” He 
smiled slyly. “After you’ve appeased my curiosity.” 
A chill slid up Alicen’s spine. “Regarding what?” 
“How you came to the healing craft. ’Tis more than 
passing strange for a woman to practice medicine.” 
“Someone had to treat the sick and wounded while 
the men were off killing for their king,” she bit out between 
her teeth. 
“You’ve not answered my question.” 
The chill again. Alicen felt like a hare in a huntsman’s 
trap. She could neither flee nor hide from this man. 
Mayhap the truth would appease him. 
“I learned from my mother.” 
Jeremy’s look was openly amazed. “Who taught her?” 
“Her mother,” Alicen said in a nearly inaudible voice. 

“Three generations of women healers in one family? 
Not all the men hereabouts were off to war. Yet no man of 
your relation was a physician?” 
“Nay.” She rushed on. “Less than four generations 
ago plague claimed half the populace. War with France 
went on over fourscore years. Thousands died. But my 
great-grandam survived to pass her knowledge of healing 
to my grandam. And she to my mother.” 
“Does the local priest approve of your occupation?” 
Alicen fought down clawing panic. “He believes illness 
is the will of God. I, for one, do not agree.” 
“And so you seek to heal?” At her curt nod, he asked, 
“But through divination and herbs? Aren’t those the ways 
of—” 
“We must hurry!” 
Without so much as a glance at her escort, Alicen 
kicked Hercules into a canter and raced for Sherford, 
leaving Jeremy’s question unasked. He could only follow 
and await a better opportunity to question her further. 
But question her he would. 

Seven 
The moment Alicen entered town, a heavy woman of 
untold age accosted her, effectively postponing Jeremy’s 
interrogation. 
“Mistress Kent,” she puffed, winded from haste, 
“praise Jesu you’ve returned! My Jack hurt himself and 
can’t rise from bed.” 
Jeremy repressed his surprise, yet marveled at 
Alicen’s intuition even as he followed the two women to a 
large house on the southerly street. 
An hour later, once again on their way to Landeyda, 
Jeremy contemplated the discovery he’d made about 
Alicen. His actions had mortified her. How else to explain 
her rush to finish in Sherford and be gone for home? Or 
her choice of a shortcut? 
Had Jeremy known such bawdy deeds would set her 
off center, he’d have tried them earlier. Alicen’s disquiet 
fascinated him. She wasn’t so aloof when flustered and 
out of her element, and he liked that. 
He had instantly known the source of the patient’s 
pain, though the man himself seemed ignorant of the 
cause. The soldier saw the lustful looks the serving wench 
had sent the invalid’s way and understood. Remembering 
the scene, he chuckled. 
The wife gave no sign she realized her husband’s 
perfidy, but crimson stained Alicen’s cheeks. After treating 
his malady, she had quickly collected her fee and then 
bolted from the house to leap astride Hercules, an amused 
Jeremy in pursuit. 
She hadn’t said a word to him since before their return 
to Sherford. 
They were now well into the woods. Branches 
interlaced high above them, forming a leafy vaulted 
ceiling. With autumn’s approach, the leaves would soon 
turn colors and carpet the ground, but for now they 
dressed the trees in verdant shades. 
The path was barely wide enough for two to ride 

abreast, but Jeremy deliberately kept Charon beside 
Hercules. Alicen’s discomfort almost made him laugh 
outright. She shot him an exasperated glance, but the 
look only caused his smile to broaden. This was the most 
he’d enjoyed Alicen Kent’s company since first they’d met. 
“Will the miller’s back heal quickly?” he asked 
innocently. 
She stared warily at him before answering, “If he 
doesn’t o’ertax himself, he’ll be about in a few days.” 
“So, he’ll ride again soon.” Looking over in time to see 
her gulp, Jeremy forced back a guffaw. “’Tis certain the 
serving wench will appreciate his quick recovery.” 
At that, Alicen turned so quickly toward him Hercules 
danced sideways a few steps. “Lecher! You approve the 
man’s adultery!” 
“I said naught of approval,” Jeremy stated, grinning. 
“I merely hinted the wench would laud your healing 
talents.” 
“I did not tend him to aid his lewdness. His wife asked 
me to help him.” 
“Ah, she excuses her husband’s dalliances.” 
“No woman wishes a faithless man. ’Tis a soldier’s 
notion that his woman be true while he pursues infidelity.” 
Jeremy’s humor vanished instantly. “I honored my 
marriage vows. My lady broke faith. And robbed me of 
both my child and herself.” He drew several breaths before 
adding, “At least she did not cuckold me, as Mother and 
my sister by marriage did their husbands.” 
“Mayhap she had no wish to raise your child alone.” 
Alicen saw him wince and, noting deep anguish in his 
eyes, and switched tacks. “When you are about the duke’s 
business, what of your woman at Tynan? Who protects 
her? Who guarded your mother and your brother’s wife 
whilst their men fought abroad?” 
“They found their own comforts,” Jeremy responded 
in a low, resentful tone. “And destroyed two honorable 
men.” 
“But what of your lady?” Alicen persisted, unable to 
fathom why his answer was important to her. “How does 
she find comfort with you long away?” 
Blue eyes turned cold. “I’ve pledged faith to none since 
Estelle. She taught me that a lady wins a man’s heart, 

then uses it as a bauble. No woman will ever again do 
such to me.” 
“Is that why you are a tyrant?” 
“Tyrant?” He laughed mirthlessly. “When Father 
discovered Mother’s indiscretion, he hanged the stable 
master and beat her. That ended her infidelity. For a time. 
My eldest brother beats his wife for every imagined 
treachery. She’s never broken faith with him.” 
Alicen couldn’t hide her appalled expression. 
“Edward treated his wife with all kindness,” Jeremy 
said matter-of-factly. “She betrayed him with his closest 
friend.” 
He didn’t add that his mother couldn’t leave her bed 
for a fortnight after the beating. Or that as a seven-year-
old boy, he’d despised his father for hurting her. Later, at 
fourteen, he hated Manfred’s turning Agnes into a terrified 
wraith. And he mourned for Edward, whose kindness had 
been wretchedly misused. 
Let Alicen think what she would. Just as Estelle before 
her, she could not accept a soldier. He was better off 
without such women in his life. 
This volley between them had turned too painful, and 
he liked not the feelings it brought him. Thus he sought 
to regain the upper hand in their latest argument. 
“The duke told me your father fought at Agincourt.” 
Alicen’s expression became guarded. “Aye, he was in 
the King’s service for a goodly number of years.” 
“And your mother was Irish?” 
Her affirmation came more warily this time. 
At her hesitation, he pressed his advantage. “The 
Celt’s Druid priestesses were herb-healers, were they 
not?” His hard look challenged her to deny his statement. 
“Generations of my foremothers were healers,” she 
answered carefully, growing panic evident behind her 
steady reply. “They conveyed knowledge from mother to 
daughter. Naught is amiss in that.” 
“Did I suggest such a thing?” His smile taunted. 
She faced him squarely. “Nay, Captain Blaine, yet you 
seem convinced my skills are evil. Father thought to blend 
old ways with new and bought medical texts on a 
diplomatic mission to Italy. Mother also taught me those 
methods.” 

“So you admit the old teachings are Druidic?” 
Jeremy’s intense stare dispelled his tone’s indifference. 
“I admit Mother was the finest healer in the north, 
and that I’m honor bound to follow her path as best I 
can. If such is sinister, then I am condemned already in 
your eyes.” 
Her voice had grown steadily more quiet, her manner 
more guarded, and Jeremy knew he’d completely 
unnerved her. Oddly enough, that angered him. He’d 
expected a show of her fine temper, yet he’d only 
succeeded in cowing her. He wanted the snarling vixen 
with the flashing eyes. He wanted a fight. 
“Condemned but not punished,” he replied firmly. 
He regretted his cruel jest the moment he spoke. 
Alicen’s face drained of color, and her eyes turned to huge 
green pools. Such naked vulnerability tore at his 
conscience. 
Be damned, why doesn’t she defend herself? 
“Alicen—” He reached for Hercules’ reins. 
“Stay away!” Before Jeremy could react, she had urged 
her gelding into a headlong run down the forest lane. 
“Alicen, wait!” He held Charon to a slow trot, hoping 
she would realize he didn’t pursue her and would thus 
stop running. 
Fleeing in complete terror, she never looked back. 
She was still within sight but pulling steadily away 
when a fox darted from cover directly in front of Hercules. 
As panicked as his mistress, the gelding shied. 
“No!” Jeremy watched helplessly while Alicen 
catapulted over her mount’s head. She somersaulted in 
midair then landed in a crumpled heap at the side of the 
road. 
Within moments he was kneeling beside her still form, 
his heart lurching. 
“Alicen? Can you hear me, lass?” His dry voice 
cracked. 
He cautiously rolled her to her back. A low moan 
assured him she yet lived, but he feared serious injury. 
Gently running his hands along her limbs, he felt no 
broken bones and thanked God she had landed on ground 
softened by recent rains. 
He slipped his arm under her shoulders to lift her, 

then pulled back the hood confining her chestnut hair. A 
lump twice the size of his thumb lay well behind her right 
ear, but he was heartened to see that his fingers bore 
none of her blood. He barely noted his shaking hands as 
he gathered her close then slid his legs beneath her for 
support. She groaned again, softly. 
“Jesu, lass,” he said, voice husky with pain. “I never 
meant for this to happen.” He traced her lips with a 
trembling finger. There was no reaction. “Don’t die. 
Please.” 
Lord, have I destroyed the finest healer I’ve ever 
known? 
Guilt burned inside, and he cursed himself and his 
family. As a man, he hated Estelle, his mother and his 
sister-in-law for their perfidy. But he hated his father’s 
and brother’s brutal reprisals as well. The women in his 
life were unscrupulous, the men unmerciful. But for 
Edward, who’d had his heart shredded in return for his 
boundless love. He had never recovered from that 
betrayal. Jeremy hated Edward’s wife most of all. 
And now, his own ruthlessness had injured a woman 
whose only crime was being female. 
A very fine female, he grudgingly admitted. Lord, what 
power did she wield over him? The urge to touch her 
silky hair proved strong, coupled with concern he’d missed 
an injury. He pushed stray locks from her face and 
combed his fingers through the auburn mass, enjoying 
the feel as he reassured himself she’d received only the 
one blow to her head. She was quite lovely when not vexed 
with him. With his thumb he gently removed a smudge 
of dirt from her cheek. 
She didn’t stir, and her lack of response to his 
ministrations troubled him more than he would readily 
admit. She was so pale and still, oblivious to her 
surroundings. Mayhap she’d not recover. This possibility 
made him swallow through his parched throat, and his 
lips moved in silent prayer that her stubborn nature would 
keep her alive. If she died, what would he do? 
A sudden chill wind surrounded him, though nothing 
stirred. The hair at his nape rose just as the voice he’d 
heard before whispered, “You see an enemy where naught 
exists. Ignore this warning at your peril.” 

The wind instantly died. The chill in his soul remained. 
*** 
“Mistress Kent? Can you hear me? Awake, lass.” 
She recognized the deep, resonant voice. Orrick? No, 
not that tone for many years. The concern confused her, 
as did the hand tenderly stroking her cheek. Dull pain 
throbbed behind her eyes, demanding they remain closed 
tight. But the voice’s gentle insistence drew them open. 
It shocked her to realize that she lay in Jeremy Blaine’s 
lap as his fingers lightly traced the planes of her face. His 
blue eyes, indigo in the dim forest, showed unmistakable 
concern. This turned to relief when her gaze held his. His 
smile dazzled. 
“Welcome back, lass.” 
Shaky, but inexplicably determined to move away 
from him, she sat up with a groan. Dizziness descended. 
“What happened?” 
Jeremy stood and indicated Hercules. “Your gelding 
shied and threw you. For that, he should be punished.” 
“Nay!” Alicen surged to her feet to clutch Jeremy’s 
sword arm, then instantly regretted the action as fire 
roared through her brain. She swayed, but managed to 
subdue the pain by dint of will. “Don’t hurt him,” she 
implored. “Please.” 
Supporting her by the arms, Jeremy stared at her 
pale features, his mouth set in a grim line of self-loathing. 
“I but jested, Alicen. Another ill-conceived jest, I fear. I’d 
never harm Hercules. And I didn’t intend to—” He broke 
off, then finished silently, harm you. 
She squinted against more throbbing pain. “Is he 
injured?” 
“I think not. He didn’t fall.” When she started toward 
the horse, Jeremy quickly said, “Sit a while, Mistress. I’ll 
see to him.” 
Though her mind warned to flee, her body could not 
respond to the urge. Instead, she sank to the ground and 
cradled her head in her hands to keep from fainting. She 
started at a touch on her shoulder a few minutes later. 
“He’ll be sore for a time,” Jeremy said, “but he’s done 
himself no serious injury.” 
“I’m walking back to Landeyda,” Alicen declared as 
firmly as she could manage. That her statement made 

little sense never crossed her addled mind. She noticed 
Jeremy tying Hercules’ reins to Charon’s saddle. There 
was little else she saw, though, as a shaft of sunlight 
penetrated the trees and drove daggers into her eyes. 
She clenched them shut, trembling. 
Jeremy’s hand on her elbow steadied her. “You’ll ride 
with me.” His tone broached no discussion. 
Her eyes snapped open and turned to him. “I’m able 
to ride alone, Captain.” 
Seeing her terror, her defenselessness, stunned 
Jeremy. She looked like Manfred’s wife, and it galled to 
think he’d put such intense fear into Alicen’s emerald 
eyes. It also galled that the stubborn wench would never 
admit she needed aid, at least not his. Controlling his 
anger—at himself and at her—he untied her reins. Then 
he silently mounted Charon. 
Alicen struggled into her saddle then, leaning to 
retrieve the reins, immediately felt faint. Swaying, she 
yet managed to stay mounted and even took the lead. 
Again, the wild desire to escape the man riding with her 
sprang up, but she set a slow pace. It suited her reeling 
senses not to ride quickly. Despite the care she took, 
however, a stab of pain again made her cringe and bring 
her hand to the back of her head. She squeezed her eyes 
shut. 
Just for a moment. I’ll close them just a moment... 
Jeremy caught Alicen around the waist the very 
instant she began to topple from her saddle. He pulled 
her across his lap, startled by what this action made him 
feel. She weighed more than he had suspected. Solid. 
Strong. And he enjoyed her weight when he drew her 
close, enjoyed tucking her head ‘neath his chin. It 
somehow seemed right to hold her thus. To smell her 
fresh scent and feel her warmth against him. 
But concern ended sensual pleasure. She was 
seriously injured, else she’d never allow such contact 
between them. She needed proper care, and it fell to him 
to get it for her. 
He retrieved Hercules’ reins. A dead gallop would be 
imprudent, but he set as fast a pace for Landeyda as he 
dared. Alicen would not die. Amazed to find his grip on 
her tightening, he concerned himself with making the 

ride as smooth as possible. She’d endured enough pain 
that day. 
Remorse clawed at him. Had he not sought to best 
her in their constant battle of wills, she’d not have fled. 
Not have been injured. He swallowed bile. His animosity 
toward Alicen Kent had crumbled—he cared for her much 
more than wisdom dictated he should. 
Jeremy knew the exact moment Alicen awakened. Her 
body tensed, and she drew in a sharp breath. Half smiling, 
he tilted his head down to whisper in her ear, “Don’t shriek 
too loudly, Mistress. If you startle Charon, I’ll have to 
drop you to control him.” 
“Put me back on Hercules, Captain.” 
“As you wish, although I’ll ride with you. We wouldn’t 
want you falling off your saddle again.” 
Looking up slowly, Alicen caught the soldier’s brief 
smile. This teasing side both attracted and frightened her, 
and she was uncertain she liked it. However, she distinctly 
understood her feelings about being in his embrace. That 
felt entirely too good. 
And that terrified her. 
Why must the cur be so close when she lacked means 
to protect herself? She was drawn to a man she couldn’t 
love, and she wanted to resist, to make him release her. 
But her body hurt so, and she had no strength to push 
his comforting arms away. Slowly, she lowered her head 
back to his chest. The world spun less when her cheek 
rested against his doublet. Her eyes closed. 
“I didn’t fall off,” she grumbled. “I was thrown.” 
“You’ll not be thrown again,” Jeremy whispered back. 
“I’ll not allow it.” 
He wasn’t certain she heard. She’d fainted once more. 
*** 
Ned panicked when Jeremy dismounted, Alicen in 
his arms. 
“You blackguard, I’ll kill you for hurting her!” 
“Hercules shied and threw her, lad,” Jeremy said with 
calm firmness as he carried Alicen swiftly into the cottage. 
“Now come with me. You may kill me after you help me 
tend her.” 
He placed Alicen in her own bed as Ned stood in the 
chamber doorway, face blank. The boy clutched his 

stomach, looking pale and sick himself. 
Sensing his difficulty, Jeremy moved close and 
grasped Ned’s shoulder. “How does she treat head 
injuries?” he asked quietly. 
“I, I’m uncertain.” The boy’s chin quivered, and his 
eyes filled with tears. 
Jeremy smiled, though his stomach knotted with 
worry that the apprentice would be useless. “Think, lad. 
You must have seen her attend such maladies. What does 
she do?” 
Soak a cloth in cold water and place it on the injury. 
The voice filled Jeremy’s head just as Ned blurted 
out, “She, uhm, she uses cloths soaked in cold water.” 
Jeremy blinked, then asked the boy, “Where does she 
place them?” 
“On the injury.” 
As I said. 
Soldiers’ lives depended on awareness of everything 
around them, and Jeremy knew the only woman in the 
room was insensate. The voice was not Alicen’s, yet it 
wasn’t unfamiliar. “You see an enemy where none 
exists...” Nay! He refused to believe he heard Kaitlyn 
O’Rourke’s voice in his mind. The only thing he knew 
was that Alicen needed care. 
He turned to Ned. “Fetch what we’ll need. I’ll make 
her more comfortable.” 
Words easily spoken. But the moment he began 
removing Alicen’s clothes, keeping his mind on his task 
grew nigh impossible. Boots and chaperon afforded no 
trouble, but he suffered a racing heart and unsteady 
hands as he stripped off her muddy tunic, followed by 
her torn and sodden hose. 
Though he refrained from looking at what he 
uncovered, he could feel smooth thighs and shapely calves 
beneath his palms. Firm muscles and satiny skin wreaked 
havoc on his senses—but before he ruined them both, 
rationality prevailed. 
What in Jesu’s name was he thinking? He’d caused 
her injury—he had no right to entertain such desires. 
Steady, man, he warned himself. ’Tis neither time nor 
place for such folly. You’re no better than the brute she 
thinks you if you cannot refrain from lusting for a 

defenseless woman. 
That stark fact brought him control. 
Alicen lay helpless. He could ill afford to compromise 
her, could ill discern why he had to subdue his body, his 
base instinct. He clenched his jaw. As much as he desired 
Landeyda’s mistress, she wanted naught of his attention. 
And he could not take her and claim himself honorable 
afterward. 
“My apologies for bringing you such misery, lass,” he 
murmured. Raising her hand to his lips, he softly kissed 
it. 
Then he caught his breath, loosened the ties of her 
shirt, and drew the blanket above her breasts. By careful 
maneuvering, he managed to remove the garment without 
baring her to his gaze. With a sigh of relief, he adjusted 
the blanket around her. 
A glitter at Alicen’s throat caught his eye, and he found 
himself automatically reaching for the source. He turned 
the silver Celtic cross over in his fingers. Embedded in 
the wire frame were five distinct stones. Where had he 
seen gems set in that pattern before? 
Alicen’s apprentice burst into the infirmary, pulling 
Jeremy from his thoughts. Ned handed him the wet cloths, 
and he placed one against Alicen’s injury. Then he ordered 
the boy from the room. 
“I’ll take the first watch, lad,” he said when Ned 
protested. “You’ve other chores to see to, and the Duke 
to check. Replace me at mealtime, then I’ll return at dusk. 
Thus, she’ll be tended at all times, but we’ll not fatigue 
from our efforts.” 
“Can I trust her with you, sir?” Ned asked candidly. 
“I swear it.” 
“See that you keep your word,” the boy stated as he 
headed for the door. “Else I’ll keep mine.” 
And ‘tis certain I’ll help him do so, said that distinctly 
Irish voice. 
Jeremy spun around, but there was no one behind 
him. A fact that didn’t even surprise him. 
*** 
“What happened,” William asked as he stood in the 
chamber doorway. 
Jeremy motioned him to a stool without looking up 

from changing the cloth on Alicen’s injury. Instead, he 
explained in a few terse words. 
“Is there aught I can do?” 
“Nay, my lord. She broke no bones. And stood by 
herself momentarily just after her fall.” He used 
ministering to Alicen as an excuse not to meet William’s 
gaze. “I understand I must wake her every few hours 
through the night.” He was not about to tell William how 
he’d gained that knowledge—that a very feminine Irish 
voice had given it to him. 
“And how much of this is your responsibility?” 
Jeremy finally looked up, meeting his lord’s intense 
stare. He shrugged helplessly. “All of it.” He closed his 
eyes. “I frightened her so badly she fled from me. And 
then Hercules was startled...” Looking down, he realized 
he was crushing the damp cloth in his hand. “She could 
have been killed,” he whispered, barely able to suppress 
the shudder that thought gave him. “And I would have 
been to blame.” 

Eight 
“You know Sherford residents have little love for 
Harold. Do you yet suspect Alicen of treachery?” William’s 
voice held an edge. 
Jeremy shrugged at the question. “I’ve not located 
any supporters, yet they may exist.” 
“You’ve not answered my question regarding Alicen.” 
Sighing, Jeremy returned the used cloth to the basin 
and stretched his back. “She could certainly influence 
most of the shire’s residents.” 
“Against me? To what purpose.” 
“I know not.” Jeremy intently eyed his duke. “Should 
Kenrick learn you’re here, he could destroy us all. 
Landeyda’d not withstand his attack.” 
“You’ve yet to convince me Alicen is a foe,” William 
insisted. 
“And yet I don’t know that she’s not.” 
“Enough!” Glaring, the duke approached Jeremy. 
Though his voice was quiet, there was no mistaking his 
feelings. “I needn’t remind you of our debt to our hostess. 
Speak no more of her supposed disloyalty.” 
Jeremy nodded to indicate the point had been made. 
Only privately did he admit pure stubbornness kept his 
doubts alive. He wished for Alicen to be untrue, thus 
giving him reason to despise her...instead of what he’d 
recently begun to feel. 
*** 
“Have you struck a truce with Mistress Kent?” William 
asked four days later. 
He sat in a chair by the window, reading one of the 
seemingly endless communications they’d been receiving 
of late. A thick woolen blanket was draped across his 
lap, but he’d insisted the window be open to let in fresh 
air and light. 
Jeremy set aside the diagram he was working on. 
“We’re warily civil.” At his lord’s questioning look, he 
added, “And she’s not left the grounds since her accident.” 

He’d sought absolution from the guilt of causing her 
injury by circulating a rumor that she had taken to bed 
with a serious illness. He reasoned that, if no one sought 
the healer’s aid, she’d have time to mend. Yet the stubborn 
wench was up and about after two days’ rest! He knew 
she wasn’t entirely healed, as she retired earlier than at 
any time since they’d met. Guilt squeezed his heart. 
That and remembering the feelings holding her had 
brought. They posed incredible dangers, especially to his 
weary soul. Only distance from her could help him. Which 
was nigh impossible to achieve. 
With William yet weak, I cannot quit myself of her, he 
brooded. That meant resisting the desire to kiss away 
the trepidation in her eyes. His mouth twisted into an 
ironic smile. She would never stand for comfort from a 
soldier. 
“I like not that she’ll be alone after we depart,” William 
said into the strained silence. “’Tis dangerous for a 
woman.” 
Jeremy shrugged and turned back to his diagram. 
“Solitary ventures suit her. She could chronicle this shire, 
having spent a dozen years at sickbeds. By escorting her 
about, I now know of all the residents, too.” 
William nodded in approval. “Ever the strategist.” 
“Knowledge prepares me for any event.” 
“I’m charging you with her safety until she is properly 
wed.” 
Jeremy’s head snapped up and around. “You truly 
wish to see her matched, my lord? I thought you but 
jested.” 
“Since this latest mishap, I feel most strongly about 
this.” 
“Who would pledge troth to her?” Jeremy wondered 
aloud. “The woman is, by any standard, unusual.” 
William cocked his head. “Unusual? She is completely 
unique! I’ve ne’er met a woman like her.” He frowned. 
“Singularity aside, however, she needs a husband, else 
we’ll leave her defenseless.” 
Jeremy stared out the window, heart beating dully at 
the portent of such words. She’s been alone for years. 
Why should aught be different now? Lost to his own 
musings, he didn’t see William studying him. 

“’Tis fascinating Alicen shares her learning with you.” 
Jeremy missed William’s smooth tone. “She’s recorded 
effective remedies for every malady she’s treated. A 
reference for the boy, does he choose to follow her 
calling...” His voice faded as he caught William’s amused 
expression. “My lord?” 
“In the past three years, you’ve noted little of any 
woman. Are you, perhaps, somewhat taken with the 
physician?” 
Jeremy knew his cheeks blazed, and used anger to 
cover his riotous emotions. “Taken by surprise or fever, 
taken by Death to the land beyond, but never taken by 
that woman!” 
He thought to leave, but Alicen’s entry cut off retreat. 
To hide his telling expression, he moved to the window. A 
few slow breaths steadied him. Knowing what this 
audience would entail and curious to see Alicen’s 
response, he turned, leaned back against the window 
casing and crossed his arms over his chest. 
“You sent for me, my lord?” Alicen glanced in Jeremy’s 
direction, looked back at the duke, then glanced at Jeremy 
again. 
William indicated a stool near the bed. “Please be 
seated, Mistress,” he said affably. “I trust you’re feeling 
better?” 
“Aye, my lord.” Another glance at Captain Blaine 
offered Alicen little enlightenment. He was staring into 
space. 
The duke spared her further conjecture. 
“Your unwed state troubles me.” His upheld hand 
stopped her immediate protest. “Hear me, Mistress Kent. 
Your lack of a husband puts you in grave danger—” 
“I’d faced little peril until your arrival, my lord,” she 
broke in tartly. William might be her liege, but she’d not 
meekly submit to his marriage decree! 
“And you’ll be in even more danger when we leave,” 
William continued, no change in his expression. 
“Therefore, ’tis my wish to see you wed before I depart 
Landeyda.” 
Unable to remain seated, Alicen rose. No refuge at 
the window with the captain there. She gathered her 
courage and extended a hand to William in supplication. 

“My lord, please let me speak.” She dropped her hand 
to her side only when he nodded. Voice low, she stated, 
“I’ll not long endure a match to a man who cannot love 
me.” 
William’s eyebrow rose. “Think you no man would 
wed you?” 
“I know it in my soul. Orrick, my betrothed, has been 
dead to me these five years past. In all that time, no other 
has paid me court.” She bit her lip. “Most who know me 
fear me.” 
She caught Jeremy’s surprised look before William’s 
next words drew her attention. 
“I can scarce believe they’d dread taking you to wife,” 
the duke stated. “You are a gifted, selfless healer.” 
“Thus they’ve no desire for me.” At his blank stare, 
she asked, “Who would share me with my healing call? 
Allow me to go where needed, when needed?” Hands 
clenched in front of her, she paced. When she stopped, 
her eyes met the duke’s. “God’s truth, my lord, I’d not 
abide a man who chained me to him. I vowed to serve 
any in pain. I’ll not break that vow to please a husband.” 
“But ‘tis a man’s duty to protect his wife,” William 
replied. “Your wanderings place you in danger.” 
Alicen stared pointedly at Jeremy. “Before you and 
your soldiers arrived at my door, little of true danger 
occurred.” 
“Your concerns have not fallen on deaf ears, Mistress,” 
the duke said gently. “Nonetheless, you’ll wed within a 
month.” 
A visible shiver racked Alicen’s body. “If that should 
come to pass, my lord,” she returned evenly, unable to 
mask her rising despair, “there’s no telling what will come 
of it.” 
Jeremy chanced a look at William and saw that his 
duke was as discomfited as he at Alicen’s statement. 
*** 
Riding north with Fish in search of enemy 
encampments had proven a boon. Jeremy had been 
waiting and watching too long, which didn’t appease his 
desire for action. Now, after being abroad for three days, 
he again felt in command of himself. Their search, though 
futile, had distracted him from irksome thoughts— 

William’s plan for Alicen to wed. Her reaction to that edict. 
His own response to the woman herself. 
He resented that his feelings nettled so intensely. 
Holding her the day she’d fallen had rekindled a long lost 
dream, one he’d shut his heart to after Estelle’s death. 
He’d resigned himself to an existence without wife or 
children. Without love. Yet the feel of Alicen in his arms 
had made thoughts of hearth and home return in a painful 
rush. 
Hating those needs, he cursed her for evoking them. 
She had made him savor her nearness, her womanliness. 
It irked that she didn’t acknowledge his manliness in 
return. 
He’d leave. Go to York and Tynan, then to the field to 
win back his lands. Alicen’s memory would fade to naught. 
After his victory, mayhap he’d take a mistress. But he’d 
never marry her. Wives were unfaithful unless coerced. 
His thoughts returned to the healer and his despicable 
conduct toward her. He’d bullied her, terrified her into 
flight and injury. Desired her. She made indifference and 
discipline evaporate. Neither William’s health nor 
Kenrick’s threat had unseated her from his mind. ’Twas 
maddening. 
But having her could never be. 
With men’s lives hanging upon her whim, he could 
not allow himself to care for her. ’Twould compromise his 
duty. A quick tumble was not worth risking lives, and his 
feelings would never go beyond lust. He told himself such. 
William wished her a good match. As a despised soldier, 
Jeremy would not be considered. Not that he desired such 
consideration... 
“Why is the wench so difficult to blink?” 
In reaction to this abrupt outburst, Fish grabbed his 
sword. “What?” 
Coloring, Jeremy glanced sharply at his subordinate, 
but vowed to brazen out his chagrin. “I spoke of 
Landeyda’s mistress! A holy terror, she is. She plays 
endless flint to my tinder. To hear her, I grow fangs and 
horns at a mere hint of battle.” 
Fish shrugged and released his sword hilt. “You must 
admit Cap’n, whene’er Kenrick’s name is spoken, Sweet 
Jesu, your teeth grow long!” 

Jeremy’s jaw hardened when his glare brought 
outright laughter to his subordinate’s weathered features. 
“You see jests where none live, Malcolm. The Duke obeys 
her like a trained hound. Christ’s guts, he’s a peer of the 
realm!” 
“He desires a sure recovery from his injuries.” 
Jeremy snorted. 
“She’s comely,” Fish stated. “Likely the duke misses 
his duchess, and Alicen’s pleasant aspect eases his 
loneliness.” 
The notion that his soldiers saw Alicen as pretty 
unleashed a startling, raging jealousy Jeremy had to fight 
down. “’Tis foolhardy of William to blindly follow a wench’s 
orders.” 
“With respect, sir, the landed lady of whom you speak 
is the shire’s finest physician. I’d not think poorly of any 
who heed her remedies. In truth, the duke trusts her.” 
Jeremy grunted. ’Twas obvious Fish thought Alicen a 
saint. A comely saint. Nor was Jeremy himself unaffected. 
Despite obstinate denial, his want of her had shaken him. 
He wished to do far more than just hold her. 
In contemplation, he massaged the bridge of his nose 
with forefinger and thumb. Celibacy disagreed with him, 
he decided. He’d not been with a woman in months. When 
given the opportunity to touch a female, he’d reacted to 
base need, naught else. 
He smothered a sigh. 
They rode into Landeyda’s empty yard half an hour 
later, and he recalled Taft organizing men to repair more 
of the estate’s wall. Most likely the bulk of the troop was 
there. Oddly enough, the stable door was closed. Jeremy 
opened it quietly. 
Make haste! Alicen needs you! Just as the woman’s 
voice filled his head, he heard screams. 
*** 
“You’ve been gathering herbs for three days,” Ned 
commented as Alicen unloaded yet another basketful of 
plants. He eyed the heaps of thyme, purslane, acorns, 
yew root, lemon grass, sweet flag, mallow, and juniper 
berries occupying every flat surface and bare floor. “These 
will yield a year’s medicinals, I trow.” 
“They’ll not last a month,” Alicen said curtly, sorting 

her acquisitions. “Not with soldiers about intent upon 
war.” 
How to explain that she’d worked so hard in part to 
feel she still governed herself? William’s insistence that 
she marry had at first shocked her. Now it frightened her 
witless. Whom would he think suitable? And would that 
man allow her to practice her healing art? If not, how 
could she live? She shuddered. 
“Lay these aside for a little, Ned,” she said more gently. 
“I’ll feed the animals and then start boiling the acorns.” 
“I could help you with the horses,” the boy offered. 
“You’ve worked as hard as I of late. Take some respite.” 
So saying, Alicen went about her chores. 
Cleaning stalls gave her time to examine the abrupt 
change in her life. Could she make William abandon his 
plans without revealing the lie of Orrick’s death? Gladly 
would she wed a man who loved her, but who could that 
man be? None in Sherford, certainly. 
Deeply distressed, she failed to hear the stable door 
close. But, linked with an unnatural quiet, a sudden 
prickling sensation along her skin caused her to turn. 
Her tension did not abate when she recognized her 
visitor. 
“You lied to me, Alicen!” The accusation came in a 
child’s tone from an adult mouth. 
“However did I lie, Orrick,” she asked quietly. His mien 
said he’d be difficult to placate. 
“You told me not of the s-soldiers.” Stepping closer, 
the lanky man jutted out his lower lip in a pout. “I saw. 
Then I...—I heard you took ill. You’re well.” 
“I fell and hit my head,” she stated levelly. Showing 
no emotion was imperative. “I’ve been abed near a week.” 
“Not hit head!” Orrick gestured wildly, then paused 
and closed his eyes as if in contemplation. “He said you 
bad ill!” 
She went cold. “Who?” 
“The smith.” Sudden cunning lit his near-vacuous 
eyes. “He made me knife. See?” He reached to his hip, 
but found no blade or scabbard. Enraged, he tore at his 
clothes looking for them. “No! No!” He spun wildly around 
before staring again at Alicen. “Left in hut! Want it now!” 
She lowered the pitchfork and plucked at Orrick’s 

sleeve. “I’ll ride to your hut tomorrow and see it then.” 
He slapped her hand away, snarling, “Liar! You not 
come. S-soldiers here. Orrick hates s-soldiers. You said 
hate them, too. You lie.” 
“Orrick, how can you say—” 
She had no time to defend herself before he grasped 
her by the tunic and slammed her into the stall partition. 
Her breath escaped in an agonized whoosh as his weight 
crushed the pitchfork handle into her chest. Knees 
buckling, she slid down the wall to kneel in front of him. 
“Devil spawn,” he hissed. Grabbing a fistful of her 
hair, he pulled her to her feet. “S-soldier’s whore. S-
Satan’s whore.” 
Pain sharpened Alicen’s senses. He would kill her 
without knowing he had. Crying out, she swung hard, 
breaking the fork shaft against his knee. He shrieked as 
he fell, then lurched up to slap her. The blow turned her 
head, making her ears ring, but she managed to scramble 
back a step. In hopes of forcing his retreat, she feinted 
with the pitchfork’s tines. 
Slowed by his injured leg, he nonetheless dodged her 
counterfeit thrust then ripped the weapon from her grasp 
and sent her tumbling into the aisle between the stalls. 
“Liars die!” he vowed, face mottled with insane fury. 
He raised the fork to impale her, but Ned, rushing 
down from the loft, threw himself at the madman. Both 
went down, Ned beneath. The sickening snap of a 
breaking bone could be heard as the boy’s arm gave way 
under their combined weight. 
Alicen and Ned screamed as one. Staggering to her 
feet, she tried to drag Orrick from Ned’s inert body but 
was flung off with inhuman power. Her senses dimmed 
when she hit the floor. 
*** 
Jeremy and Fish were racing toward the scuffle as 
Alicen landed hard on her back. They heard the stranger 
swear, saw him untangle himself from Ned and start for 
her. With a snarl, Jeremy leapt at him and bore him to 
the flagstones. He rose, dragging the stranger upright by 
the front of his tunic. 
“Whoreson!” He hurled his adversary against the 
nearest stall, then slammed him into it repeatedly. 

Fish had dragged Ned to safety before Jeremy became 
aware of Alicen clutching at his arm. 
“Captain, stop!” She labored to sound assertive, but 
fear pervaded her voice. “Please. Let him go.” 
He glanced at her stricken face. 
“Please.” 
The moment Jeremy’s grip relaxed, Orrick fled. He 
moved to pursue. 
Alicen’s grip tightened. “I implore you—let him go.” 
Jeremy’s muscles bulged from rage, and fear coursed 
through him. He could do naught but shudder at what 
had nearly occurred. He realized Alicen had released his 
arm and, turning, saw her leaning weakly against a stall. 
“Who was that man?” he asked her, tone fierce with 
turmoil. 
She turned away to focus her attention on Ned. 
Jeremy saw confusion and terror behind her bold 
front, and this tortured emotional struggle startled him. 
Whom did she wish to protect? What feelings to control? 
And why should her cares be his concern? 
“’Twas Orrick,” the boy moaned softly. 
Jeremy saw Alicen flinch, and a sudden thought 
riveted him. “Orrick? You called your betrothed Orrick.” 
The bleakness in her eyes confirmed his suspicions. 

Nine 
“He is my betrothed,” Alicen said, weary resignation 
in her voice. 
Jeremy glowered. “I thought him dead in battle.” 
She closed her eyes a moment before gesturing weakly 
with her hand. “You saw him, saw his actions. Battle killed 
his mind. He deserted. He’s been like a child since.” 
“A very dangerous child,” Malcolm muttered. He 
brushed straw from Ned’s hair and helped the boy to sit 
up. 
Jeremy silently agreed. At Alicen’s defeated look, he 
reached out to her. “Mistress Kent—” 
“Offer no solace, Captain.” She pulled away, then said 
on a shaky laugh, “William will have you hunt Orrick 
down and hang him for desertion, then use this incident 
to force me into a loveless marriage.” She lowered her 
head into both hands. 
Jeremy felt himself flushing. “If we’d not arrived—” 
Her head snapped up. “Your arrival incited the attack! 
Had you never arrived at Landeyda, I’d not now fear attack 
from a man who once loved me. What danger I’ve endured 
has been begotten by soldiers.” 
Jeremy fisted his hands on his hips and scowled 
down at her. “If we bring only danger, mayhap we should 
have left you to your fate just now.” 
Alicen’s green gaze was watery with unshed tears. “I 
thank you for helping us, Captain. But I’ll not recant my 
statement. Ere soldiers arrived here, Orrick posed no 
threat. Now, he believes I lied and, in his madness, could 
seek to harm either Ned or me.” 
“He’ll never get close enough,” Jeremy countered. 
“So long as William remains here. But he is healing 
quickly.” Alicen thought she saw Jeremy flinch, then cover 
his reaction with a glare. 
The man could be daunting in the extreme, but she 
knew he wasn’t as ruthless as she’d first feared. He cared 
for his duke, his men, and his horse—a villain cared for 

naught but himself. And although he had little use for 
her beyond her healing skills, he was no true villain. For 
some reason, he sought to intimidate her, but she refused 
to show vulnerability to him. With new composure, she 
turned her head and glared at him. 
“If you think to terrify me, sir, have done. I prefer to 
die standing than to live kneeling.” Chin high, she limped 
to Ned’s side, bending to gather him in her arms as he 
whimpered in pain and fright. 
Malcolm rose and moved to stand next to his captain. 
Jeremy shook his head. Be damned, vixen, you’ve 
more gall than any female I know. What you fear you’ll 
not reveal. A bold man would be well matched to such as 
you. 
Such sentiments made his scowl deepen. He moved 
to the stable door, saying quietly to Fish as he went, “See 
Taft doubles the watch tonight.” He paused a moment. 
“And, Malcolm, no word to anyone as to the man’s 
identity.” 
“Yes, sir.” The soldier dropped his gaze. “She had it 
aright ‘bout our bringing trouble, didn’t she, Cap’n?” 
“I fear so.” 
Jeremy stared back at Alicen as she held the still 
crying Ned. Though too distant to hear, he knew her words 
comforted. The sight riveted him, and when she struggled 
to rise with Ned in her arms, he moved to help her. 
“Let’s get you to bed, lad,” he said, squatting down to 
carefully tousle the boy’s hair. 
Alicen began to protest, but his eyes dared her to 
stop him. She surrendered Ned without a word. 
“My thanks for saving us, sir.” Esteem lit Ned’s gaze. 
“’Twas naught, lad,” Jeremy murmured. 
Alicen flushed, then cursed her sudden stab of envy. 
She could understand Ned’s feelings. Orphaned at eight, 
the boy had soon after come to live with her. He’d no 
father or brothers to emulate, and Orrick’s madness 
repelled him. Jeremy Blaine was, by all accounts, an 
accomplished knight. And not everyone deplored soldiers 
as she did. 
Pushing aside her animosity, she hurried on still-
unsteady legs to open the cottage door for them. Then 
she moved to pull back a bench from the table and motion 

Jeremy to place Ned on it. 
“You’re injured.” Jeremy noted, looking pointedly at 
her leg. 
She stood tall and avoided favoring the leg. “’Tis 
naught.” 
“You limp for naught?” 
Without reply, she started to turn away, but Jeremy’s 
irritated statement made her glance back at him. 
“My question was civil. I deserve a civil answer.” 
Her instinct was to flee, yet she replied levelly, “I 
scraped my knee just now in the stable.” 
Setting Ned carefully down, Jeremy straightened to 
his full height. “It requires attention. Let me look at it.” 
“I must needs attend to Ned.” 
Jeremy grunted. “After he’s settled, I’ll examine your 
injury.” 
At this bold declaration, she cocked a brow. “You have 
healing skills, Captain?” 
Jeremy clenched his jaw hard. In four strides he had 
reached the infirmary. “I’ll speak to William, then I’ll see 
to you,” he stated. “Though why I’d aid such an obstinate 
shrew bemuses me.” He closed the door firmly behind 
him. 
Alicen stared at that door for several moments. Why 
should her injury concern him? It would not prevent her 
treating William or his men. Though the duke still could 
not travel, he required merely rest and nourishment. Was 
the captain even now disclosing the night’s events? She 
shuddered at the possible consequences of such a report, 
but forced away her fears and concentrated on Ned. 
From a small crock she brought out a brown, thumb-
sized cake of narcotic made from dried lettuce leaves. 
“Eat this,” she said, handing it to him. “The pain will ease 
presently.” 
While waiting for the drug to take hold, she removed 
Ned’s sleeve, then wrapped him in a warm blanket. Her 
next task was to set his arm. 
“The extract won’t numb this entirely,” she warned 
as she arrayed splints and cloths on the table. 
“It must be set, Alicen,” Ned stated, trust in his dark 
eyes. “I won’t shame you.” 
She smiled at his resolve. “I’ll be quick.” Grasping his 

wrist, she ordered, “Brace yourself with your other arm, 
and don’t resist with this one.” When she felt him relax, 
she gave a swift jerk and straightened the bone. 
The boy’s eyes widened then watered, but he did not 
cry out. Only his tense features betrayed pain. Alicen 
tested the break, splinted the arm, then secured it in a 
sling. 
“You were very brave.” She kissed his temple. “I know 
how much it hurt.” 
“You’d have been brave in my place.” He trembled 
suddenly, whispering, “Why did Orrick attack you?” 
The question brought dreadful images, but she buried 
them. 
“He claimed I’d lied to him. And, in a way, I did.” At 
Ned’s questioning look, she said, “I convinced him to 
stay away but told him nothing of William’s troops.” Her 
pounding head made her pause and rub her temples. 
“He heard I’d fallen ill and thought I’d lied of that, too.” 
“What will he do now?” 
Alicen saw Ned’s fear and desperately wished to 
reassure him. She could not. Up until this eve, she’d never 
imagined Orrick would hurt her. Now madness 
overpowered his prior love. A chill made her shiver. 
“I’m uncertain,” was all she could say. 
Ned squared his thin shoulders and stilled his 
quivering chin. “I’ll protect you, Alicen.” 
Tears abruptly filled her eyes, but she smiled and 
gave him a careful hug. “I know. Now eat. And then to 
bed.” 
Ned had swallowed the last of his porridge when 
Jeremy returned. 
“Time for sleep, lad.” He carried the boy to bed, 
returning quickly to approach Alicen where she stood by 
her medicinals cupboard. “I’ll tend your leg now, 
Mistress.” 
She bristled. “You give me no orders in my home, 
Captain.” 
“When I’m in the right, you must listen.” Before she 
could protest, he had steered her to a seat on the bench. 
“Don’t consider moving even a finger,” he commanded. 
He brought hot water, candles and clean cloths to 
the table. Thus armed, he drew up a stool and sat. 

“Let me see your leg.” 
The husky compassion in his voice struck Alicen like 
a revelation. Ignoring the comfort she found in that tone, 
she shot him a withering look, yet made no move to leave. 
Neither did she show him the injury. 
Sighing, Jeremy grumbled, “Such stubborn pride, 
Mistress. Have you forgotten pride is a sin?” 
“Who would know that better than you?” she retorted. 
To her complete astonishment, he chuckled, seized 
her ankle and carefully bent the leg. With a knife, he 
enlarged the hole in her hose, exposing the gash. Dried 
blood clogged deep furrows in the skin, but no bone or 
tendon showed. 
She ground her teeth and remained silent while he 
gently probed the broken skin in search of embedded 
objects. 
“It appears you’ll live, Mistress,” he stated drolly as 
he daubed away the blood with a damp cloth. He seemed 
to unconsciously knead her cramped calf muscle as he 
worked. 
“How disappointing for you,” she returned through 
her clenched jaw, fighting the languor his ministrations 
brought her. 
A grin too brief to be more than a trick of the light 
softened his hard features. Alicen blinked. 
“I must needs endure, I suppose.” He had everything 
cleaned in short order. “Which ointment do you use?” 
Still bemused, she answered slowly, “In the saffron 
jar.” 
“Don’t flee while I’m gone.” Upon his return, he 
dressed the wound then sat back to survey his handiwork. 
“Laudable for one whose skills lie in inflicting injury, don’t 
you think?” 
His comment goaded, and the fact he’d treated her 
injury as she herself would have chafed. He was the 
picture of considerate kindness, and she disliked seeing 
him as aught but hard. 
“You needn’t reward me for my services, Mistress,” 
he said, abruptly somber. “’Twas little, in return for all 
you’ve done for us.” 
He rose to collect her supplies. 
“Had I known where treating the Duke would lead,” 

Alicen said peevishly, “I’d have slammed the door in your 
face the night you brought him here.” 
“No doubt you would have.” A slight smile tugged at 
Jeremy’s mouth. “Then you’d never have had occasion to 
punish me for being a soldier. Make the best of it.” 
“’Tis certain I will!” Alicen lurched to her feet. “I’ll dance 
with mirth the day you depart and leave me in peace.” 
In her rush to leave, she caught a toe on the bench 
leg and lost her balance. Her stiff knee could not bend to 
catch her and, with a yelp, she pitched headlong. 
Only Jeremy’s quickness prevented her fall. She went 
just so far as his broad chest as he stepped forward, 
grasping her under the arms. Impact robbed Alicen of 
breath and strength. 
“Easy, lass!” Jeremy said, voice husky. “I have you.” 
Reflexively his arms circled her waist, and he gently 
pulled her closer. A flood of possessiveness, the like of 
which he’d never felt, assaulted him. She was in his arms, 
and he wasn’t of a mind to let her go. 
He was mad! She was betrothed, albeit to a man no 
longer capable of wedding her. Defiantly, his embrace 
tightened. 
In the time it took to collect both wits and breath, 
Alicen felt a comforting warmth course through her. With 
a start, she realized it radiated from the hard body pressed 
to hers. Memory returned her to the forest after her fall, 
and Captain Blaine’s comforting embrace. Then, as now, 
this soldier’s body—his scent, his heat—held too much 
allure. 
Shocked at the path her thoughts raced, she pulled 
back. And saw deep turmoil in Jeremy’s eyes. He was 
clearly as stunned by their proximity—and equally as 
unprepared for it—as she. 
He held her gaze for a moment before his eyes 
darkened and he lowered his mouth to hers. The kiss 
began softly—a tentative exploration—but soon deepened, 
became seductively demanding, insistent. His tongue 
traced her lips, then plumbed deeper. Startled at this 
invasion, she tried to push it from her mouth with her 
own. But the sensation of their tongues meeting sent a 
thrill down all her nerve endings, and she gave up the 
effort. Her lips parted further, allowing him better access. 

Her arms slowly encircled his neck. 
Jeremy raised one hand to tangle Alicen’s hair in 
shaking fingers. The other trailed down her back and rose 
again to tease her nape. A groan rumbled from deep in 
his chest. 
She felt more than heard the sound. And though she 
burned at every point their bodies touched, she welcomed 
the fire. Had he not drawn her close, she’d have leaned 
into him herself. She felt safe in his embrace. And more 
alive than ever before. 
All the trembling weakness in her legs moved upward. 
She molded to him, offering her body to be seared by his. 
A soldier had brought about her surrender...A 
soldier...As this thought exploded inside her head, Alicen’s 
mind cleared. On a strangled cry, she tore her mouth 
free from Jeremy’s. A hard push against his chest broke 
his embrace, and she bolted to her chamber. 
Transfixed, he stood slack-jawed. Sweet Jesu! Alicen 
had responded to his kiss, then retreated like an 
outmaneuvered general. What in Christ’s name afflicted 
him, to engage in such folly? And why her heated 
reaction? Could animosity so easily kindle to passion? 
His logical mind found no rationality. 
But his body burned. He closed his eyes and filled 
his lungs with her lingering scent, his tingling fingertips 
recalling her silken hair and heated skin. It seemed he 
stood there an eternity before wrenching his thoughts 
away from Landeyda’s exasperating mistress. 
He never guessed that, once safely inside her room, 
Alicen sank to the floor, head in hands, and wept bitter 
tears. 
*** 
“You oppose this course, Jeremy?” William watched 
closely as Jeremy paced the chamber. “It seems last 
night’s attack only supports my position.” 
Jeremy stopped, gave William a baleful look, then 
resumed pacing. “Beg pardon, my lord, but as it came 
despite our presence, I fear wedding the woman to some 
clerk won’t afford her more protection.” 
“Thus, you choose to ignore my wisdom?” 
“Nay.” Jeremy would die of mortification if the truth 
of yesternight were known. 

He’d not slept, using wakefulness to bank his rage at 
the assault. By her betrothed! He wanted to kill the man. 
And he’d fought to exorcise intimate memories of Alicen’s 
soft lips and firm limbs. Furtively, he raised a hand to his 
brow, finding it cool to his touch. 
“Mayhap I long to return to court and be quit of this 
place and its occupants.” A glance at the duke revealed a 
disbelieving pair of dark eyes trained upon him. 
“Have you taken ill? You’re never on tenterhooks to 
return to Tynan. Not since every woman there—save my 
lady wife—seeks dalliance with you.” William smiled. 
“Campaigns suit you better than court intrigue.” 
“Ere I regain my land, Tynan is my home. And home 
brings welcome respite from battle.” Jeremy hoped his 
words appeased, else William would badger him to say 
why he so wished to leave Landeyda. 
“Should I enlist Mistress Kent to treat your malady?” 
“Nay!” At William’s odd look, Jeremy composed his 
voice but knew his cheeks flamed. “Pardon, my lord. ’Tis 
only that—” 
William sighed. “I know your nature, and I fear my 
injury has been more a trial for you than—” 
Alicen’s entry halted further comment. Jeremy looked 
away, gathering his writing tools. 
“Good morrow, Mistress,” William greeted her warmly, 
but his eyes were on Jeremy. “I’m pleased you’re hale 
despite last night’s attack.” 
Alicen shot Jeremy a wary look. “’Tis what I wish to 
speak to you of,” she responded, voice tense, cheeks 
suddenly burning. 
William frowned. “You’ve not taken ill from the 
ordeal?” 
“Nay, my lord.” She paused, and Jeremy saw her take 
a deep breath. “Please, sir, if I may speak. Don’t use last 
night to force me to wed. As I was unharmed, what 
happened is of little import.” 
“Sweet Jesu, woman,” William cried, “a man attacked 
you and is still at large. I wish you to be safe when we 
depart.” 
Alicen’s tone stiffened. “I’d no need of protection ‘ere 
you arrived. I’ll need none after you go.” 
“You disparage the gravity of this situation,” William 

returned. “As my subject you are under my protection.” 
“But I have no wish for a husband to protect me,” 
Alicen whispered wretchedly. Her head bowed as she 
fought tears. 
Both William and Jeremy studied her closely. At sight 
of her vulnerable, beaten look, Jeremy’s rage over the 
assault returned full force. He knew the pain of a loved 
one’s betrayal. And the cur’s attack had forced William’s 
hand. Mayhap bringing this Orrick to justice would 
change the duke’s mind about a nuptial. He rose hastily. 
“I plan to lead a search party immediately, my lord,” 
he stated. “We’ll catch the knave if he’s in the shire.” 
Alicen winced, her face pale. “Don’t o’erset the recently 
wounded on my account, sir,” she said weakly, trying for 
mockery and failing. “I’m quite certain the man will not 
return.” 
William straightened. “How are you certain? Is he 
known to you?” 
Alicen’s gaze flew to Jeremy’s. Christ be merciful! If 
Blaine tells all, Orrick will die! Striving to quell her alarm, 
she set her jaw and raised her chin a notch. 
“I’ve little recollection of last night,” she stated baldly, 
unblinking. “It ensued so quickly. But intuition tells me 
he’ll not come here again.” Her look defied Jeremy to 
respond. 
Uncomfortable silence lengthened as he stared back 
at her. 
“Then we’ll not squander time in pursuit, but mend 
the rest of the walls...To keep out other intruders,” Jeremy 
stated as he left the room. 
“Sweet Jesu,” Alicen whispered, forgetting William 
reclined close enough to hear her epithet. She wrung her 
hands in her apron. 
“What troubles you, Mistress? Even dismissing last 
night’s attack, you’ve been pensive of late.” 
Relief over Jeremy’s unanticipated aid didn’t stop her 
from saying, “I’ve little more than a fortnight to forestall 
marrying an as yet unknown suitor, my lord. Perhaps 
that colors my mood.” 
William sighed. “I know the danger we have brought 
you. The fear. Though I’ll not regret Jeremy’s bringing 
me here. Had he not done so, I’d now be among my 

ancestors’ spirits.” 
Alicen shrugged off the compliment. “Fortune was 
with me.” 
“Fortune and peerless skill.” He paused before adding 
quietly, “Your pardon for bringing you such disquiet.” 
Startled, she shook her head in refutation. 
“Deny it not, lass. You and Jeremy barely abide each 
other. Yet as I convalesce you must. I’d not willfully cause 
you pain, but I fear we’re victims of fate.” 
She dared not meet the duke’s eyes as she murmered, 
“You may change my fate by rescinding your marriage 
decree. As for the captain...” She gave a wry laugh. “I’ll 
not pledge an end to our hostilities, but I’ll not search 
him out to fight.” 
Inwardly, she grimaced. Captain Blaine, for whatever 
reason, had concealed Orrick’s identity. Now she owed 
the knight a debt. Along with that knowledge came the 
insight that, if she ever did seek him out, ’twould not be 
for sake of argument. 
*** 
Jeremy’s quick retreat had concealed emotions he 
knew surged across his face. No kiss had ever kindled a 
flame in him as had theirs of the previous night. And 
experience with women told him Alicen had reacted in 
kind. Ere she came to her senses. Yet her wish to see a 
villain go free incensed him more than her retreat from 
him. Did she still love Orrick, though he was a lunatic? 
Alicen Kent vexed him, now for reasons far different 
from his initial mistrust. Aye, she’d deceived them from 
the first, but not to betray William. To protect a lover. 
That thought brought amazing pain. Had Alicen and 
Orrick been lovers? Jeremy didn’t want it to be so. 
His common sense had fled, leaving him to wade 
through endless streams of riddles without solutions. And 
he could speak of this dilemma to no one. 
In a black mood, he vowed to find respite from his 
cares. Yet he could not justify riding to Sherford. By all 
accounts, the citizens supported William, not Harold. 
Lookouts watched every approach to Sherford and 
Landeyda. The threat of spies discovering William’s 
hideout still existed but had weakened considerably. 
Jeremy’s immediate concern was now distancing 

himself from Alicen. The rest of the day, he avoided her. 
*** 
Alicen worked herself to near exhaustion to forget 
Orrick’s attack and the contradictory man who’d held her 
so intimately afterward. But weariness could not drive 
from her mind the feel of Jeremy’s body. His mouth. His 
blue gaze darkening as he lowered his lips to hers. She 
smelled the wet wool of his tunic, heard his ragged 
breathing. And felt her response. 
She yearned to kiss him again. 
No! He seeks only to wage war. I cannot desire such a 
man. I swore an oath to never forsake my duty. He’ll catch 
and hang Orrick. 
Will he? Her mother’s voice filled her head. He could 
have easily revealed your deceit to William. 
Yes, and his reasons for not doing so escaped Alicen. 
Think harder, daughter, and you’ll discover the 
captain’s reasoning. 
Alicen dismissed her mother’s words. She had other 
things to worry about, not the least of which was a deep 
fear of Orrick. He would have killed her had help not 
arrived. 
Then after...She wanted Jeremy’s caresses, wanted 
to feel safe in his arms as she had last night and after her 
fall. Sweet Jesu, how could a soldier make her feel such 
exhilaration? Soldiers were fickle. They always left to 
pursue glory in battle. 
Her premonition on the night of Duke William’s arrival 
had proven true. Soldiers—particularly Sir Jeremy 
Blaine—had changed her life forever. 

Ten 
Nine days after Orrick’s assault, Alicen knew she’d 
have to start creating chores to keep her mind off her 
troubles. 
“We’ll have to build shelves in the stable to store our 
extra salves and medicaments,” she told Ned as they hung 
the cottage’s linen to dry in the sun. 
“Fish and a Naismith built shelves for you in the tack 
room,” Ned reminded her. 
“I’d forgotten.” In truth, she’d had other things to 
occupy her thoughts. 
She’d seen naught of Jeremy in nine days, and that, 
she tried convincing herself, was good, as it kept her from 
thinking about his kiss. She stifled a bitter laugh at her 
own expense. She’d thought of little else but that! And 
her growing desire for Jeremy. Knowing she could never 
have his love, she worked until exhausted, seeking escape 
from herself. 
She soon had no more projects to distract her. 
And unforseen dangers were about to engulf her. 
*** 
Jeremy and Michael Taft raced a storm the last league 
to Landeyda and had barely pounded into the courtyard 
before the brunt of the wind-lashed rain fell. Taft grabbed 
Charon’s reins, shouting that he’d care for both horses. 
Jeremy roared his thanks into the wind, dismounted, and 
struggled head down to reach safety in Alicen’s snug 
cottage. 
Although shutting the sturdy oak door muffled some 
of the tempest’s fury, he could still hear the wind. The 
room felt empty. He hung his sodden cloak on a nearby 
peg before glancing around. His guess was correct; he 
was alone. 
Vague disappointment at receiving no welcome 
nagged his heart, but he realized the horrid weather had 
most likely driven everyone to their beds. Still, the illusion 
of having someone to come home to had been nice. A 

cheery fire beckoned, yet he didn’t wish to enjoy it alone. 
And this wasn’t his home. He had none. 
Calling himself a fool for wanting what wasn’t, he 
shook off his weary melancholy and went to report to 
William. 
When he left the infirmary a little later, he was just in 
time to intercept Alicen, dressed for travel, readying to 
leave. 
“Where are you going?” He tried to hide his concern, 
but didn’t quite manage as he stepped up beside her. 
Startled, she spun on her heel to face him. “Out,” she 
retorted, mutiny in her eyes. 
He moved to block her departure. “Need I remark that 
you’ve been sorely abused of late, and a storm is raging 
outside?” 
She yanked the hood of her cloak up over her 
chaperon. “I’m neither blind nor deaf, Captain. But the 
weather isn’t my concern. Get out of my way.” 
“Why such haste to rush into this hellish night?” 
“I’ll not waste time or breath explaining.” She tried to 
push past him. He refused to move. 
He frowned. She looked pale, from pain or fear he 
couldn’t tell. “Don’t be foolish, woman. ’Tis folly to go 
abroad on such a night.” 
“Then stay here where ’tis safe and dry!” She ducked 
past him, then shot him a withering look when he braced 
his arm against the door to hold it shut. 
“You could be injured again.” He saw her chin lift 
and sighed in resignation. “What is wrong? No signal bell 
can be heard through the wind.” 
“’Tis none of your concern,” she snapped, pushing 
his arm away from the portal. 
“Aye, it is,” he returned silkily as he again barred the 
door with his body. “William has charged me with your 
safety.” 
Her shiver at his words, the vulnerable look in her 
eyes, told him she was not as indifferent to his nearness 
as she protested. And he was certainly not indifferent to 
hers. However, when she raised artless eyes to his, he 
lost the novel sensation of having gained some 
understanding of her. Wariness smothered his fleeting 
insight when she smiled sweetly. 

“Very well, Captain. The duke’s enemies meet in the 
forest this eventide. I go to reveal his secrets to them.” 
With an oath, Jeremy grabbed her firmly by the 
shoulders to prevent her turning away. “Christ’s guts, 
woman, what’s wrong?” 
Glaring, she remained silent. 
His hands loosened and slid slowly down her arms. 
He felt her body lurch beneath his touch, saw the building 
wrath in her eyes. He stopped his caress to await her 
reaction. 
Alicen sniffed haughtily. “I’ve no need of your help in 
this instance.” 
“Just as I wasn’t needed after your fall? Or a se’nnight 
ago in the stable?” Jeremy cocked a dark brow. 
The wretch would flaunt her follies now, Alicen 
thought hotly. In truth, until tonight he’d not mentioned 
her nearly disastrous tumble from Hercules. And he’d 
stayed particularly aloof since Orrick’s attack...Since their 
kiss. 
Unlike the overbearing cad he’d been upon his arrival, 
Jeremy was now subdued. Had she known naught of their 
mutual dislike, she’d think he felt guilty for causing her 
troubles, and especially for kissing her so ardently. She 
swallowed hard, then gave herself a mental shake. ’Twas 
no time to try understanding Jeremy Blaine’s mind. Who 
would ever have that much leisure? 
Perhaps the truth would persuade him to let her go. 
“I’m needed, Captain,” she said with quiet assurance. 
“A birthing.” 
Jeremy’s expression stiffened, but the light was too 
poor for her to read his eyes. 
“You’ve had another portent?” he asked a bit hoarsely. 
She eyed him warily, answered softly, “In a manner 
of speaking. I know Liza’s near her time, and I’m certain 
things aren’t as they should be.” 
“She chose a poor time to drop her get.” Jeremy 
glanced over his shoulder at the window just as a 
particularly violent crack of thunder shook the ground 
nearby. 
Alicen jumped at the sound, then silently quelled her 
anxiety. If Blaine saw her fright, he’d never allow her to 
leave. She had to go now, while she still had some 

semblance of courage to sustain her. 
“Sir Jeremy, please,” she began, appalled at the 
quaver in her voice. “I must go. Let me by.” 
He studied her intently, then seemed to relent. “You’re 
not going alone.” 
She ground her teeth at his stubbornness. “I’ve no 
wish to burden anyone, especially on a night like this.” 
“You’re not going alone,” Jeremy repeated as he 
crossed his arms and leaned back against the door. 
“Sir Jeremy is correct, Mistress. You’ll not travel into 
this night unescorted.” 
Alicen turned to see William standing in the infirmary 
door, a blanket wrapped securely around him. 
She gasped, then started toward him. “My lord duke! 
You should be abed.” 
“Not until you accept my captain’s aid.” 
She halted, her gaze cutting quickly from one man to 
the other. Knowing she had no choice, she swallowed 
her ire and said tartly, “As you wish, my lord. I thought 
to expose only myself to the storm’s hazards, but I’ll suffer 
an escort.” 
“Mayhap the captain should go alone,” the duke 
countered. 
“There’s sense in that,” Jeremy agreed, giving her a 
pointed stare. “You tire easily of late. I can discover for 
you the knowledge you seek.” 
“Nay,” Alicen replied with quiet force. “Liza needs me. 
know it.” To end the debate, she adjusted her cloak 
more tightly around her and turned to Jeremy. “Are you 
ready, then, Captain?” 
“Aye,” he murmured, shaking his head at her lingering 
anger. He leaned away from the door. 
Alicen darted out, racing for the stable. The wind tore 
at her chaperon, rain quickly soaked her hose, but this 
discomfited her not at all. Her certainty of Liza’s peril 
built to urgency, and she silently berated the men for 
delaying her. Jeremy ran hard on her heels and had 
Charon ready even before she finished with Hercules. He 
led his mount from the stall and approached her. 
“Keep to your bed,” he stated quietly. “I’ll discover if 
you’re needed.” 
She pursed her lips, then replied, “I am. I’ll not stay 

behind.” 
“Stubborn wench,” he accused with little rancor. 
“Aye, sir. I am that.” 
“This shire’s citizens are fortunate to have such a 
dauntless champion.” 
Alicen was uncertain she’d clearly heard Jeremy’s 
comment, coming as it did as he led Charon away. She 
stood staring for a moment, shocked he might have 
complimented her, equally shocked that his words thrilled 
her. Then, scolding herself for engaging in fanciful 
thoughts about a man who was purposely unnerving, 
she led Hercules to the stable door. 
They both mounted, bending into the wind to travel 
as quickly as possible. 
They were halfway to their destination when the 
storm’s fury mounted even higher. 
“Dismount,” Jeremy shouted to be heard. He wiped 
water from his eyes with a leather-gloved hand. “We’ll 
have to lead the horses.” 
Alicen hated to concede the wisdom of his suggestion, 
but realized they couldn’t ride safely any farther. She 
could barely see the road. Sliding to the ground, she 
strained to peer through the driving rain. 
Jeremy contemplated their mad quest as they 
stumbled along toward Sherford. He thought to turn back, 
but he knew the stubborn woman at his elbow would 
concede the field only if tied across her saddle. And he 
could never do that and escape unscathed. 
Inexplicably concerned, particularly since Alicen’s 
recent mishaps, he had remained aloof in hopes of dulling 
his perplexing desire. But he’d lost only sleep. Even now, 
with a storm battering them, he felt his body quicken at 
her nearness. He was glad to be alone with her, though it 
meant escorting her into this torrent. 
The gusting wind threw a curtain of water in their 
faces, forcing them to stop and protect their eyes with 
their sodden cloaks. By stepping in front of Alicen and 
turning his back to the blast, Jeremy shielded her from 
the brunt of it. The sudden partial calm brought her head 
up, and she tipped forward from the lack of resistance. 
He caught her by the waist to steady her, drawing 
her near. Through her cloak he felt her rapid breathing 

and shaking limbs. 
“You’re trembling.” 
“’Tis cold,” she ground out between her teeth. And 
you’re far too close. “’Tis little wonder I tremble.” 
He smiled, seeming to take no offense, holding her 
tighter until she gently disengaged herself from the warm 
press of his body. She tingled where he’d touched her, 
and a moment passed before she could release her pent 
up breath. Gaze unwavering on his face, she quirked a 
brow at him. He shrugged, then turned away as the wind 
lessened somewhat. 
They had struggled another half league when the 
storm began to subside, and the wind died enough that 
they could remount. They galloped to the edge of the forest 
north of Sherford, stopping at a small hut which stood in 
view of the town. 
The door opened a handsbreadth at Alicen’s rap. A 
single candle in a gnarled hand illuminated an old 
woman’s wrinkled face. Seeing the healer, she opened 
the door wide, then placed the candle on a small table. 
Turning slowly under the burden of time, she seized 
Alicen’s hands in hers. 
“Good eventide, Rhea,” Alicen said with little irony. 
“I knew you’d come.” The old woman smiled. “Praise 
God the storm abated.” 
Alicen suppressed a shudder. “How fares Liza?” 
The young woman lay on a rough-hewn bed by the 
far wall, her distended belly indicating the advanced 
stages of pregnancy. 
“Her trial began at dusk.” Rheumy eyes peered into 
the shadows behind Alicen. The midwife’s look flicked to 
Alicen, then she cocked her head toward Jeremy. “A rather 
old apprentice.” 
“Rhea, may I present Jeremy Downe. He’s assisting 
me while Ned’s arm heals.” Alicen grinned at his disgusted 
grunt. 
Rhea’s thin lips pulled up into a smile. “Then he’s 
skilled at delivering babes?” 
He’s doubtless more skilled at creating them, Alicen 
thought a bit maliciously. She kept her counsel, however, 
and shrugged. “We’ll know anon.” 
Rhea’s tone turned grave as she whispered to Alicen, 

“Liza’s lying-in will not be easy.” 
Alicen nodded and crossed to sit on the low stool 
beside the bed. Grasping the expectant woman’s shoulder, 
she bent and said quietly, “Liza, ’tis Alicen. How is the 
pain?” 
Dark eyes flickered open, the circles beneath showing 
deep exhaustion. Liza started to speak, but flashing 
cramps gripped her, twisting her mouth into an agonized 
grimace. “Breathe deeply.” Alicen probed Liza’s 
abdomen, then turned to Rhea. “‘Twill be hours yet. 
Return to your own bed.” 
Rhea snorted. “I may be old, child, but I’m not yet 
ready to be laid to rest.” 
“None would say you should be, dear friend,” Alicen 
replied, smiling. “Still, the babe won’t appear soon. We 
can only give Liza a draught for pain and seek sleep for 
ourselves.” She rose to embrace the midwife, then moved 
with her to the door. “You’re her steadfast friend, Rhea. 
Why exhaust yourself when your help is not yet needed?” 
“You’ve the wisdom of one my age, lass. Perhaps more. 
I’ll return on the morrow.” She glanced up at Jeremy as 
she asked Alicen, “Would your apprentice see me home?” 
“Escorting women is his specialty.” 
Jeremy rolled his eyes, but politely draped Rhea’s 
cloak over her stooped shoulders. 
The midwife turned to Alicen. “’Twas very brave of 
you to come out in such a tumult.” 
Suddenly nervous, Alicen muttered, “I knew 
something was amiss.” 
“Did Alicen tell you she’s terrified of storms?” Rhea 
asked Jeremy. “She gets nigh ill with dread.” 
Jeremy cast his nemesis a sharp glance. She choked. 
“Nay, she did not,” he replied evenly, eyes narrowing. 
“I... I’ve gotten over it, Rhea,” Alicen insisted weakly. 
“I’ve not had such fear for a long while.” 
“But, the last time it thundered so you—” 
“You’ve had a terrible time with Liza,” Alicen cut her 
off. “You should rest rather than talk.” 
Rhea gave her friend an assessing look. “But, lass, 
I—” 
“Not now, Rhea.” Her tone brooked no protest. 
Jeremy scowled. Disregarding the others present, he 

stated tersely, “You did not make your fears known to 
me!” 
“You didn’t ask.” 
“I asked of your certainty to go out in this weather,” 
he retorted. 
She gave him a look that said she thought him mad. 
“I was certain! Liza and Rhea needed me.” 
“So, you hid your fear? ’Twas ill-advised.” 
“Nay, not at all. Healing is my trust. I acted on that 
trust.” 
With a small step, Rhea placed herself slightly between 
the two combatants. 
“You purposely deceived me,” Jeremy coldly stated. 
His hand clenched his sword hilt. 
The gesture didn’t go unnoticed. Alicen swallowed 
through a suddenly parched throat. “I—” 
“’Twas completely foolhardy,” he broke in, voice still 
icy. “You should have stayed behind.” 
“And left you to deliver Liza’s baby?” Alicen retorted. 
“I’m perfectly capable of doing without your aid or advice.” 
Jeremy shot a frustrated look at Rhea that was a glare 
when he turned it on Alicen. “What if you’d panicked and 
Hercules bolted? You could have fallen and broken your 
foolish neck.” 
“I didn’t panic.” Alicen refused to admit to terror so 
intense panic would have been a controlled emotion. “And 
I ride well.” 
Jeremy no longer clutched the hilt of his sword, 
instead fisting his hands on his hips. He glowered. “You 
just said the babe won’t arrive tonight!” 
Alicen threw her most defiant look at him. Then she 
turned away, ignoring his glare as she moved to the small 
hearth which housed a kettle of boiling water. After 
pouring some into a wooden mug and adding herbs, she 
cooled the brew with water from a crude wooden pitcher. 
Rhea spoke at last. “Shall we go now, Master Downe?” 
she inquired drolly. “’Tis late.” 
He snapped his head around to momentarily stare at 
the old woman. “My pardon, Dame Rhea.” 
Without another word, he escorted the midwife out. 
Alicen slowly recovered from her embarrassment at 
Rhea’s revelation and the anger Jeremy’s reaction had 

caused, reasoning that what he thought of her made not 
a whit of difference. 
Still, she’d concealed her fear so well she hated to 
have the facade of courage destroyed. For a short time 
she’d mastered her terror and was reluctant to forfeit that 
mastery. A quiet sigh escaped her lips. The incident would 
merely reinforce William’s assertion that she needed a 
husband. 
Jeremy returned just as Alicen was administering a 
draught of painkiller to Liza. Once she’d determined Liza 
was nearly asleep, she gathered her courage and turned 
to him. 
“Captain, take the counsel I imparted to Rhea. Seek 
your own bed. The babe won’t arrive for several hours, 
perhaps not before tomorrow eve. You’re of little use here.” 
“I’ll remain.” He struck his most unyielding pose, arms 
across his chest. “If you think to be rid of me so easily, 
you’re mistaken.” 
His stubbornness exasperated Alicen enough to add 
an edge to her voice. “This woman will soon bear a child! 
She’s no spy, nor is she able to carry knowledge to Harold. 
Think you she’ll slip away while you sleep and disclose 
secrets I’ve given her?” 
“You forget I’ve been ordered by William to see you 
safe,” Jeremy rumbled. 
“And you have. We’re here, are we not?” She glanced 
down at her fisted hands and sighed heavily. “I’ll say yet 
again—I’ve no care who rules this shire. I’m sworn to 
heal all, not to aid either camp against the other.” 
Jeremy shifted his stance to stand even taller. “I stay.” 
She gasped, outraged. “Your mistrust insults me!” 
“Then wallow in your distemper. I’ll not leave you to 
your own devices.” So saying, he turned and barred the 
door. When he once again faced Alicen, he added, “Think 
you your physician’s skills are protection from 
mercenaries? The jackals would crawl between your legs 
in a trice and ask for neither your name nor your 
vocation.” Voice cold, he continued, “If Kenrick suspected 
you harbored his enemy, he’d torture you until you’d 
broken. You’d admit to performing the Crucifixion by the 
time he finished. Yet death would not bring escape from 
the pain. You’d live until he and his men tired of you.” 

“You lie,” Alicen whispered shakily, hoping he did. 
He laughed bitterly. “I’ve seen just such. In France... 
Here...Atrocities exist wherever men lust for power.” He 
stared into the hearth’s glowing embers, seeing raging 
fires, hearing piteous cries, feeling impotent rage. 
Alicen observed as the pain of frightful memories 
pinched his handsome features into careworn planes. 
Before she could stop herself, she reached out and 
touched his arm. 
“Why seek to protect me?” she asked quietly. “My 
eyes have seen much the same as yours...My mother 
fatally wounded while aiding a soldier’s brutalized 
victim...Death, destruction. I’ve reaped war’s bloody 
wages. Yet I strive to sow peace. I’m a woman who despises 
warfare and the men who make it. Do you not detest me 
for that reason alone?” 
He met her troubled gaze but held his tongue. How 
could tell her he hated war as much as she? That he 
respected the fidelity she gave her vow to her dying 
mother? That even now he ached to hold her close, safe 
and warm, against him? 
She’d not believe him. He himself could scarce credit 
his solicitous thoughts of her. Reason warned him to have 
a care lest he begin wanting something he’d vowed never 
to seek again. But his respect for Alicen’s fortitude grew. 
She put another’s welfare before her own, which said 
much of her character. He wished to ignore her 
courageous selflessness, but could not. And that as much 
as anything else irritated him 
“You serve a purpose,” he replied at last, wincing 
inwardly at his cold tone. “I’m to protect you until that 
service ends and the duke has seen you wed.” 
His statement had the desired effect. Alicen went rigid, 
then yanked her hand from his arm as if the contact 
burned. In silent rage she spun away, pulled her cloak 
around her, and practically threw herself down on the 
floor beside Liza’s bed. 
Jeremy sighed. Soon, he was wrapped in his cloak 
and lying, sword unsheathed beside him, across the 
threshold. Guilt stalked him for willfully baiting Alicen. 
He’d had no cause. Guilt made sleep dream-filled, restless, 
empty of his greatest desire—her in his arms. 

*** 
At sunrise Rhea arrived. Concern creased in her face’s 
innumerable lines, she crossed the hut in five strides to 
kneel beside the still sleeping Liza. After pushing tumbled 
hair off the patient’s face, Rhea looked up at Alicen. 
“How does she?” 
“Little different.” Alicen rose slowly from her pallet. 
“She rested yestereve, but I fear today will bode much 
struggle.” 
Rhea nodded. “I thought as much. The babe will not 
enter this world willingly—.” She caught Alicen’s warning 
glance at Jeremy and stopped speaking. 
Abrupt silence followed, and the soldier sensed he 
was, for whatever reason, the cause. Added to that 
discomfort, he felt the urge to heed nature’s call. Not 
wishing to endure these women’s bold assessments 
should he use the chamber pot, he excused himself for 
the woods. His absence would give them leave to wag 
their tongues. 
“He watches you closely,” Rhea commented after 
Jeremy’s departure. “He must set a very high store by 
you.” 
Alicen’s laugh was almost a snort. “He trusts me not, 
so he shadows my steps. ’Tis fear I’ll betray his duke, 
naught else.” 
Rhea made the sign of the cross. “Then my suspicion 
was true. He’s no merchant.” 
Alicen nodded gravely. “He’s Jeremy Blaine, Duke 
William’s right hand.” 
Dark brown eyes glanced quickly around the hut, and 
Rhea’s voice dropped to a harsh whisper. “William’s near 
Sherford?” 
“He’s been at Landeyda since the battle.” 
“Jesu be merciful! You and Ned have endured much 
danger!” 
“Aye, but not by choice.” Alicen shrugged. “Blaine 
brought him to me, and I was oath-bound to help. He’s 
been unable to travel these weeks past, so he’s sheltered 
in my home.” 
“What if Harold’s troops return?” 
“I suppose William has plans for that eventuality. I 
really care not to know of any military stratagems.” 

“But why, if you’ve kept silent about the duke’s 
presence this long, does the captain yet follow you?” 
Alicen’s gaze unwittingly went to the door. “William 
has sworn to see me wed and has set Sir Jeremy to 
escorting me. Yet he would do so even if not ordered, due 
to his base suspicions.” 
She felt herself blushing and prayed the weak light 
from the small window beguiled her friend’s vision. 
“Yestereve, he assured me aught would go well,” Rhea 
said slowly. “‘Mistress Kent is a fine healer, grandam,’ 
said he. ‘Put your mind to rest for the lass and her babe.’” 
Alicen shrugged. “It cost him naught to make such 
comment. Most likely he thought I’d never hear of it.” 
Rhea awkwardly rose from her knees and drew a stool 
up beside the bed. Placing a small basin of water and a 
clean cloth next to Liza’s head, she sat down. “Mayhap 
’tis as you say,” she commented. “Yet, he speaks of you 
with respect.” 
Now Alicen did laugh. “No doubt he sought to charm 
you and thought the straightest path to your heart was 
through complimenting me. You’ve been gulled.” 
“Nay, I know the tone of high regard when I hear it. 
There is more substance to Jeremy Blaine than these old 
eyes can see.” 
Alicen thought to challenge that belief, but the door 
opened and the object of their dispute ducked to enter. 
His broad-shouldered frame filled the doorway, blocking 
the light. As her gaze locked on his imposing figure, cast 
in silhouette, her scathing comment died on her lips. 
Knowing full well she stared, she was yet unable to stop. 
Liza’s low moan pulled Alicen’s gaze away from Jeremy 
and back to the task at hand. Now fully awake, Liza 
twisted and stiffened as pain clawed at her. Her groans 
deepened, and she grew pale. 
“Rest easy, child, and save your strength,” Rhea 
crooned. She wiped Liza’s face with a cool, damp cloth. 
“The babe will take his sweet time arriving.” 
Alicen moved close, a mug of tea in hand. “Drink this, 
Liza. ‘Twill help.” 
“I’ll see to breakfast.” Rhea rose and bustled about 
the small hut, producing a cooking pot and stoking the 
fire. 

Jeremy glanced around, feeling stiflingly confined in 
the tiny hut. The scene playing out before him dredged 
up memories of a similar scene he’d long ago quelled. 
Worse yet, Alicen’s proximity played havoc with his self-
control. Alternately he found himself angry with and 
desirous of her. Neither emotion would serve in this 
situation. 
Upon surveying the room again, he noted a lack of 
firewood. 
“Is there an axe?” he asked as he removed his sword 
and placed it on the table. 
The rich sound of his deep voice startled Alicen and 
Rhea, who’d both been deeply engaged in aiding the 
expectant mother. 
Alicen recovered first. “Under the ell.” 
Jeremy nodded and left. He leaped astride a bareback 
Charon and headed into the woods. Half an hour later he 
returned, Charon dragging a fallen log as big around as 
Jeremy’s thigh. He stripped off his tunic and shirt, seized 
the axe, and set about chopping and splitting the wood. 
He’d been told his skill with an axe was nearly as 
formidable as his skill with a sword, and within an hour 
he had returned to the forest for another log. 
“The meal is ready, Sir Jeremy,” Rhea called to him 
as he rode up with the second tree trunk. 
He dismounted, an odd look on his face. “Why do you 
address me thus?” he asked carefully. 
Rhea smiled. “’Tis obvious you’re no merchant. You’ve 
a knight’s bearing, and the well-honed sword to back that 
claim.” When she saw him glance at the hut, Rhea’s smile 
died. “She told me naught of you, sir, until I asked.” 
“She should lose her wretched tongue,” he muttered 
angrily. 
Eyes widening, Rhea grasped his hand. “Nay, sir! 
Alicen knew her confidence was safe, or she’d ne’er have 
confessed you’re not what you claim.” 
Jeremy made a disgruntled sound deep in his throat. 
“Did she consider the danger knowing the truth may mean 
for you?” When Rhea paled at his words, he gently laid 
his free hand atop hers. He smiled. “All you know is that 
I’m Jeremy Downe, a merchant.” 
“Aye, sir, that’s all I know.” 

Giving Rhea’s hand a reassuring pat, he turned to 
the well. “I’ll be in presently.” Quickly, he washed his 
face, hands, and arms, then splashed cold water on his 
sweaty chest. After donning his shirt and gathering an 
armful of kindling, he entered the hut. 
Alicen, seated at the table, smiled tightly at his 
entrance. “There are no military coils to ponder, nor enemy 
spies to root out, sir, that you now chop wood to pass 
time?” 
“The nights are grown colder of late. The woman has 
little firewood,” he retorted. “If I must await her child, I 
prefer to do so in comfort.” 
Alicen glared. Was he such a miserable wretch that 
his own welfare came before someone else’s sorrow? He 
now acted callous, though she could almost swear he 
blushed...His inconstant nature had her close to 
screaming with frustration. 
He looked ready to speak, but kept his council, 
turning instead to Rhea’s huge repast. There were eggs 
and ham, biscuits and gravy. 
“Cooking is a task women are well suited to,” he stated 
between mouthsful as he devoured the meal. 
After that, time passed wordlessly, the quiet broken 
only by Liza’s occasional moans. Closely watching her 
patient helped Alicen control the desire to throw a pot at 
the arrogant knight’s head. She noted Liza’s delivery had 
not progressed. There was yet more for the young woman 
to endure. 
Jeremy finished eating, gave Rhea a charming smile, 
and rose. “’Twas excellent fare, grandam,” he said 
earnestly. “Food somehow tastes better with a woman’s 
touch. I get precious few well-cooked meals in the field.” 
“Mayhap you should hire a wench as your cook, 
Captain,” Alicen stated archly. “Though you’d likely have 
to concern yourself with poisoning.” 
Jeremy’s expression darkened. “Camp followers 
abound near any army,” he retorted. “But the women’s 
skills in other areas surpass their ability to prepare food.” 
He slammed out the door. 
“Damned contrary woman!” Jeremy raged beneath 
his breath. “Why in sweet Jesu’s name do I permit her to 
goad me so? She has me raving faster than anyone I 

know!” He yanked off his shirt, flung it under a tree, 
grabbed the axe, and started splitting wood with a 
vengeance. His tirade continued unabated while he vented 
his feelings on the kindling. “She knows just how to raise 
my ire, and does so dawn to dusk.” 
Women! God created them expressly to plague men. 
And that woman made vexing him an avocation. 
Yet more disturbing than her antagonism was his 
response. He wanted to prove he wasn’t what she thought 
him, that he valued life and sought—as did she—to 
preserve it. 
But he had to fight, to regain property stolen by Harold 
of Stanhope. Then, mayhap he could live as he longed 
to—watch his lands and villeins prosper, know the love 
of a faithful woman, raise happy children. If he left the 
campaign before defeating Harold, he had naught to 
return to. That knowledge drove him on. 
That knowledge was all that kept him going. He’d 
become a warrior bereft of the battle lust which sustained 
men at arms. Somewhere between the dazzling court of 
London and the blood-soaked fields of France, he’d lost 
his zeal to wreak havoc for king and country. 
After he won back his lands, he’d fight no longer. 
He struck the log with sustained vigor, so hard his 
hands tingled from the reverberations of the axe handle. 
*** 
Rhea looked toward the bed where Liza lay before 
turning to Alicen to whisper, “You and the captain favor 
antagonists in a bear baiting.” 
Alicen, sitting across the table from Rhea, leaned 
closer to say quietly but succinctly, “He’s an overbearing 
lout.” Then she raised her voice to call out, “Liza, if the 
pain mounts, don’t hold your tongue. Call out.” 
“I will,” came the hoarse reply. 
“He appears a gentleman to me.” Rhea kept her voice 
low, for Alicen’s ears only. 
Alicen scowled. “You truly know him not. He abhors 
women. To him, we’re good only to take his ease upon, 
little else. Once we’ve assuaged his lust—or his stomach’s 
hunger—we may as well be dirt on the floor.” 
Rhea’s face blanched. “Did he force himself upon 
you?” 

Heat shot up Alicen’s cheeks as she realized what 
she’d implied. “Nay, of course not! ’Tis just that...” 
She’d worked herself to near exhaustion, hoping to 
forget their intimacy. But not even exhaustion could drive 
from her mind the memory of Jeremy’s embrace. 
Could she explain the chaos he caused in her? Though 
the soldier repelled, the man attracted. He was churl and 
charmer—infuriating one moment, bemusing the next. 
She conceded to being out of her depth with him. 
“He’s spoken plain that he dislikes me because I’m 
female,” she stated carefully, trying to gather her thoughts 
and control her feelings. “Yet, he visited the inn just before 
William awoke...” 
Alicen knew she was blushing. Rhea’s keen stare 
didn’t help her discomfort, either. 
The old midwife nodded. “He’s the one! That slut Sylvia 
bragged to all of her night beneath a handsome stranger. 
She claimed him a magnificent lover.” 
“He’s likely a rutting beast,” Alicen huffed, ignoring 
the twinge in her chest brought on by images of the knight 
in a whore’s arms. “Though ’tis certain Sylvia’s had 
enough variety to make a sage judgment.” 
Rhea frowned. “Methinks Sylvia lied. I sensed she had 
no carnal knowledge of him at all. ’Twas something in 
the way she spoke of him...Still, you chafe the captain 
o’ermuch. If he truly doubts you as deeply as you say, 
’twould be wise to walk softly around him.” 
Alicen recalled Jeremy’s recent gallantry and felt her 
legs grow weak. “I doubt he’ll harm me. After all, I’ve a 
use.” She stifled abrupt melancholy. “But you speak true 
that I vex him apurpose. He raises my ire like none I’ve 
ever known.” 
“He has an air of sadness about him that bespeaks a 
great hurt. Mayhap he can only vent that hurt in anger.” 
“And I’m the target of his wrath.” 
Rhea covered her friend’s hand with her own gnarled 
one. “You’ve the healing gift, lass. Methinks the captain 
is drawn to that, yet dares not voice his need for it.” 
“I can do naught for his soul,” Alicen scoffed. “Fate 
drew him to me—his duke near death and I the closest 
healer.” Alicen’s heart and mind were filled with untold 
turmoil when she looked up from Rhea’s hand to the 

woman’s aged face. 
Her feelings must have shown in her expression, 
because the old midwife’s look went from wistful to wry 
in a breath. “I daresay you’ve little understanding of men, 
lass.” 
“Nor do I desire to improve my knowledge. Sir Jeremy 
Blaine is a nettle I’ll happily soon be rid of.” 
“If that is as you say.” Rhea rose to clear the table. 
Alicen pondered Rhea’s words until the ring of the 
axe penetrated her musings. Jeremy was not obliged to 
chop kindling for Liza, and he’d already split enough to 
accommodate the length of his stay. Did he continue out 
of kindness? The man certainly was capable of chivalry 
for its own sake. 
She loathed admitting that on more than one occasion 
he had attempted civility toward her. Yet her pride 
demanded she not reciprocate. Except when he held her... 
She closed her mind to that memory. What had passed 
between them was a mistake. It would never occur again. 
But mistake or no, she’d deliberately angered him and 
now owed him an apology. 
’Twas her turn to fashion a truce between them, as 
he’d tried to do several weeks before. 

Eleven 
The third log was quickly succumbing, and Jeremy’s 
anger with it. 
“Alicen Kent be damned,” he cursed low at the wood 
he hacked to pieces. She has my escort at William’s 
command, not at her wish...or mine...Falling into enemy 
hands would serve her, the way she courts misfortune 
riding about alone. He struck the wood again. Abduction 
would teach her a lesson in humility she’d not soon forget. 
Intent upon his dark thoughts and the task at hand, 
he kept to his grueling tempo without breaking rhythm, 
his body racing to keep pace with his ire. 
With appreciation, Alicen stood in the doorway of the 
cottage and watched him work. Broad shoulders tapered 
to slim hips, and long, hard muscles undulated along 
arms and chest. Only a narrow line of dark hair around 
his navel marred his sleekness. He put her in mind of a 
fine race horse, lean yet powerful, with endurance beyond 
the ordinary. Strong thighs hinted at hours of riding. The 
man was an image of splendid, graceful lines. 
Alicen started from her musings. She had come to 
make amends for her shrewish actions, not to admire his 
physique. Yet, how to proceed? She bit her lip and worried 
the problem. 
Circumstance provided her an opportunity as, in the 
next moment, Jeremy’s grip on the axe slipped as he 
struck the log. He cursed roundly and dropped the tool 
to grasp his left hand. 
“Christ’s guts!” He turned as Alicen moved toward 
him. 
“What happened?” 
Holding up the injured hand, he said calmly, “A 
splinter.” 
Alicen almost gasped when she saw the inch-long 
splinter driven under the skin up the side of his thumb. 
She seized his wrist and examined the injury. “You do 
naught in small portions, Captain.” Leading him by the 

hand, she sat him down beside the well then left to get 
her instruments. 
Once she’d set a blade near him, she again took his 
hand. His skin’s warmth made her pulse race. Lowering 
her head, ostensibly to look more closely at the splinter, 
she hastily gathered her scattered wits. The patient’s need 
saved her. 
“Fortunately, this didn’t go straight in,” she 
commented when her voice returned. “You’d have lost 
your thumb. It may be discomfiting for a time, but you’ll 
not forfeit use of the hand.” She slit the skin atop the 
splinter and pulled the piece out. In a trice, the wound 
was cleaned, salved and bandaged. 
“There. ‘Twill be like new a few days hence.” She 
paused, still holding his hand as if inspecting her work. 
“You needn’t have cut so much wood, Captain, though it 
will be put to good use. That was very kind of you.” 
She looked openly into his eyes a moment, seeing 
wariness in his guarded blue stare. Embarrassed, she 
released him and rose, imagining he thought her a fool. 
Avoiding his intense look, she quickly gathered her things, 
escape dominating her thoughts. How she controlled her 
impulse to dash back into Liza’s hut, she didn’t know. 
Gaze riveted on Alicen, Jeremy sat motionless while 
his mind raced. At her simplest touch his entire body 
tingled. His senses quite simply hummed with her about. 
Each was filled with this woman—with her feel, her smell, 
her essence—and he could not prevent their assault on 
his reason. He found himself reaching out to touch her 
sleeve. 
“Will the injury worsen should I continue?” he asked, 
then dropped his gaze sheepishly. He sensed her 
discomfort at his nearness, but need overpowered honor. 
She must remain. “Inside, I’m of little use. It suits me to 
work out here.” 
Amazement flashed in Alicen’s eyes, but her tone 
indicated only efficiency when she replied, “If the pain is 
bearable, Captain, do as you wish. Should your thumb 
begin bleeding, though, ’twould be wise to rest.” 
He gave her a brief smile. “My thanks.” 
A knot grew in his throat as he watched her walk 
away. Alicen could soothe his hurts merely by asking to 

see the wound. Her compassion comforted him as nothing 
else could. 
A powerful image besieged him, that of a woman 
terrified of storms braving a tempest to aid a babe’s birth, 
risking her life to bring new life into the world. He quelled 
the memory of their kiss. With any other, such an 
occurrence might have led to something he could ill afford 
between Alicen and himself. He had to keep his distance. 
Duty demanded aloofness. 
With lacerating certainty he knew he’d erred in 
accompanying her here. Instinct warned him to keep a 
wall of indifference between them. He couldn’t. Not when 
her welfare concerned him, when he’d insisted on staying. 
Now, the sight of Liza Wick’s labor scoured his emotions 
raw until Estelle’s betrayal and death shrieked down the 
corridors of his past. 
He tried to convince himself his presentiment was 
unfounded, that recent desires had combined with 
memory to unbalance him. Yet, he knew for certain his 
presence would have grave results. A sudden chill up his 
spine and a cold breeze seemingly rising from nowhere 
reinforced his certainty. 
Let her go, he thought he heard a woman whisper. 
You can’t change what’s past. 
He straightened, shaking his head to clear it. His 
preoccupation with Alicen Kent had caused him to give 
in to fancy. Enough was enough. He’d not dishonor 
himself by disobeying William’s orders. And he knew 
firsthand that avoiding Alicen didn’t purge her from his 
thoughts. With a sigh, he returned to work. 
By dusk he had chopped half a cord of wood, and he 
ached from fatigue. When Rhea called him to eat, he 
gratefully put down the axe and washed at the well. A 
bucket of cold water poured over his head brought a 
welcome shock. 
Suddenly, Alicen stood beside him, towel in hand. 
“Here, Captain, dry yourself with this.” 
He nodded and put the cloth to good use. Yet while 
she drew a bucket of water and hastened back inside, he 
stood bemused, wondering if she’d intended the kindness 
or if Rhea had suggested it. He hoped Alicen had come of 
her own will. 

After shaking water from his hair, he wiped his face 
then donned his shirt, all the time pondering Alicen’s 
motives. Her complete unpredictability matched his own 
reaction to her at any given time. One moment he wished 
to throttle her, the next...He forced himself to discontinue 
his line of thought. 
*** 
“Rhea, oppose me not, I pray,” Alicen said patiently 
as they sat finishing the meal. “You’ve toiled all day and 
deserve your rest. Is the foundling, Pearl, not at your 
home? See to her. I’ll send Captain Blaine when you’re 
needed.” 
“Whelp, I can work as hard as you,” Rhea retorted 
with feigned affront. 
Alicen laughed. “You speak truth. Thus my resolve 
that you should return home. ’Twould be too humbling 
to admit someone thrice my age has more endurance.” 
At this, Rhea cackled. “I’m yet young enough to take 
you o’er my knee to teach you reverence for your elders. 
Keep that well in mind, lassie.” 
Alicen laughed. “Advancing age makes you more than 
a trifle vain. I’ll never see you turn me over your knee.” 
“I could, though I might have to seek aid.” Rhea shot 
a sly look at Jeremy. 
“You’ve no need for reinforcements, friend,” Alicen 
responded smoothly and saw relief in Jeremy’s eyes when 
he looked up at her. “I concede the field. Now, get you 
home to rest.” 
“Since you concede, I’ll retire.” Smiling, Rhea moved 
to pick up her cloak. 
Jeremy already held it. “May I see you home, 
grandam?” he asked gallantly. 
“Nay, sir. You could see me to the inn for several cups 
of ale, though.” 
Jeremy looked startled, and both Rhea and Alicen 
laughed. 
“Lock her in her home if you must, Sir Jeremy,” Alicen 
stated dryly. “Else no young swain will be safe tonight.” 
“I’ll leave such sport to Sylvia,” Rhea retorted. “She’s 
far better suited to that than I.” 
Alicen covertly studied Jeremy, but he did not react 
at mention of the whore. 

Jeremy remained stoic, but their talk reminded him 
of his drunkenness at the tavern, of buying information 
from Sylvia, and of his aching head the next morn. He 
winced inwardly. No force on Earth could make him repeat 
that lamentable performance. 
Rhea’s suddenly grave tone broke into Jeremy’s 
thoughts. 
“Send for me when the time comes, Alicen,” the old 
midwife stated. 
“Rest assured I shall.” Alicen stood in the doorway 
watching Jeremy mount his horse then easily lift Rhea 
up behind him. She found Liza’s temperature elevated 
when she checked her, carefully probing the girl’s swollen 
belly. “How do you feel?” 
“The pain grows,” Liza gasped. Her eyes widened with 
agonized fear. “My mother died in childbed,” she 
whispered. “Will I, also?” 
Alicen swallowed hard, but managed a calm answer. 
“You’re not your mother. With your help, I’ll bring you 
through.” She firmly grasped Liza’s hand. “We’ve yet 
several hours. The babe’s not in position. Stay with me!” 
*** 
Just after midnight, a woman’s agonized scream 
wrenched Jeremy from sleep. Estelle! Disoriented, he had 
gained his feet, sword in hand, before recalling himself. 
His heart thundered as he saw Liza writhing on the cot, 
and the vision of his dying wife faded from his mind’s 
eye. Alicen pressed wet cloths to Liza’s forehead and spoke 
soothingly. 
“Please fetch Rhea, Captain. And tell her ’tis best Pearl 
not attend this lying in.” Alicen glanced up and met 
Jeremy’s gaze. “The child attempts to arrive soon.” 
Her calm tone pleased Alicen, as it belied her inner 
turmoil. Liza had been in labor for two days and now 
bordered on complete collapse. She’d not hold up under 
much more strain. 
When Jeremy arrived with the midwife, Alicen had 
everything in readiness. She hurried to the old woman’s 
side and drew her into the corner farthest from Liza’s 
bed. 
“The child is breech,” she murmured for Rhea’s ears 
only. 

Rhea grimaced. “I suspected such. The labor’s been 
too long for a common birth.” 
Jeremy noted the women’s worried expressions and 
hushed tones. His stomach tightened, and instinct warned 
of danger. He moved closer. “Is there aught you wish me 
to do?” he asked, voice as low as theirs. 
“Do you pray, Captain?” Rhea questioned solemnly. 
“If so, we could use aid from Saint Anne. And Saint 
Gerard.” 
Jeremy raised inquiring eyes to Alicen. 
“The circumstances are dire,” she explained. “We 
may—” 
Liza’s scream brought them all to her bedside. 
Delirious, she thrashed in an effort to free herself from 
the agony. 
The soldier’s mouth went dry. “Is there naught to help 
her pain?” 
“Very little,” was Alicen’s terse reply. “Less than an 
hour ago I gave her a draught of mithridate and treacle 
to speed the labor. But I can give her no more.” It took 
great effort for Alicen not to wring her hands in her apron. 
Fear closed a vice around her heart. 
Rhea wiped sweat from Liza’s forehead and murmured 
words of encouragement. Then she turned, quietly saying, 
“She’s failing quickly and won’t live out the night.” Old, 
black eyes met young, emerald ones. “You’ll have to kill 
the infant.” 
Rhea’s words seared Jeremy. He inexplicably started 
to shake, staring hard at Alicen until Liza’s next chilling 
cry made him jump. Instinctively, he stepped back. 
Alicen bit her lip, mind roiling. Could she save both 
mother and child? Without question, she had to try. 
Mother, what should I do? She closed her eyes a moment, 
listening. Then her eyes flew open. 
“I’ll turn the babe around.” 
Jeremy started, ready to swear he’d heard a voice 
say those very words in an Irish brogue that was becoming 
familiar to him. He felt something brush his shoulder, as 
if someone had moved past him, but there was no one 
else in the hut. He was about to ask if the others had felt 
the same thing, but Rhea’s reaction to Alicen’s proposal 
saved him. 

The midwife gasped. “Are you able to do such?” 
“If I’m unable, I’ll lose either Liza or the baby. Or both. 
’Tis a hazard I must face.” 
“You’ve the courage of a lioness, my friend,” Rhea 
stated, shaking her head. 
“Courage is simple for me,” Alicen responded through 
a tight throat. “My life will not be lost should I fail.” She 
breathed deeply. Guide me, Mother. “Captain, sit at Liza’s 
head and raise her upright when I tell you to. You’ll have 
to support her until she delivers.” 
“Shouldn’t I go tend the horses?” 
Alicen looked into Jeremy’s stricken face and knew 
he’d rather be anywhere than in that hut. “We need you 
here,” she stated. “Rhea and I can’t do this ourselves.” 
Jeremy swallowed and moved to sit at Liza’s head. 
With a shaking hand, he grasped one of hers. When she 
squeezed back, his eyes flew wide at her grip. 
Alicen stroked the laboring woman’s cheek and spoke 
clearly. “Hold back on the next contraction. No matter 
how you wish to bear down, you must not. Do you 
understand?” 
“I cannot hold back,” Liza sobbed. “I cannot!” 
“You must. Breathe deep between pains. Pant when 
they come. And don’t crush the captain’s hand.” When 
another shudder began to wrack Liza, Alicen moved 
swiftly to the foot of the cot. “Rhea, hold her legs. Captain, 
keep her lying flat for now. Liza, hold back!” 
Liza screamed again. “I must push!” 
“Do not,” Alicen commanded. The baby’s rump was 
between its mother’s legs. “Hold back.” When the 
contraction eased, Alicen said a silent prayer, slid her 
hand in next to the infant, and pushed it back up the 
birth canal. Liza wailed. “Just a bit longer!” Alicen 
encouraged. “In a moment, push all you wish.” 
“I’m going to die,” the woman moaned. “Sweet Jesu, 
I’m going to die!” 
This hopeless cry raised the hair on Jeremy’s nape. 
Bile burned his throat, and he struggled to hold back his 
stomach. A battlefield had more appeal than this. Such 
intense suffering threatened to suffocate him. Sweat 
trickled down his back and from under his arms, and his 
body went rigid with tension. Dear Lord, small wonder 

Estelle feared this! 
“You’ll not die.” Alicen’s voice held steady. “Hold back 
until I tell you to push. We’re nearly finished.” 
“God’s blood, but you’ve a cool head,” Rhea whispered. 
Another pain hit, but with encouragement from Rhea 
and Jeremy, Liza kept from straining down. 
As soon as the spasm passed, Alicen turned the baby 
and positioned its head correctly. Guided by an inner 
vision, her fingers probed to find the umbilical cord and 
assure it didn’t encircle the child’s neck. Satisfied, she 
looked at Jeremy. 
“Please sit her up, Captain.” When this was 
accomplished and the next contraction overcame Liza, 
Alicen caught the woman’s gaze and held it. “Now, Liza! 
Push!” 
Liza needed little encouragement to do so. Grunting, 
she bore down, and the baby’s head appeared. 
“Again. The babe is almost here!” 
Rhea placed her hand on Liza’s swollen abdomen and 
gently assisted. Liza screamed another agonized cry. On 
the fifth push, the child, amid the fluids and blood of the 
caul, lay in Alicen’s waiting hands. 
“You’ve a son,” Rhea exulted. 
Her lined face broke into a smile as Alicen handed 
her the tiny boy. She tickled the infant’s feet, eliciting a 
gasping cry. Once the cord was tied and cut, the old 
woman went to the basin to cleanse the baby then swaddle 
him in linen. 
Speechless, Jeremy laid Liza gently back onto the bed 
then slumped against the wall and stared at the hut’s 
other occupants, emotions chaotic. He could not honestly 
say he’d relished witnessing the beginning of life. 
Liza’s suffering resulted not from battle but from an 
act he had heretofore performed with little thought to 
more than pleasure. He’d certainly never considered the 
anguish of the woman who bore the fruits of that act. 
Were other men as ignorant of their culpability as he? He 
could almost understand the fear that had driven Estelle 
to purge herself of his child. 
He nearly retched. His head spun, and he realized 
how close and hot it had grown. He needed fresh air. 
“Not as pretty as a battlefield, eh, Captain?” Alicen 

laughed, but the sound was hollow and shaky. “I’m 
surprised the sight of blood so affects such a brave 
soldier.” 
He clenched his teeth, fearing if he opened his mouth 
to reply he’d vomit instead. The wretched vixen took 
advantage of his misery, and naught could be done to 
stop her. He’d have gladly choked her if he thought he 
had the strength for it. 
But her attention was already back to Liza. 
“Rhea, assist me,” she murmured. “There’s much 
bleeding, and I would set some stitches to stop it. Hold 
Liza’s legs.” 
Rhea glanced around, the child in her arms, then 
placed him beside his mother. 
“Nay, not there,” Alicen said, picking up the infant. 
“Does she lash out in pain, he could be injured.” She 
turned to Jeremy, who had risen and was sidling toward 
the door, looking like he’d just lost a major dispute with 
his stomach. “Hold the babe while we attend Liza.” 
If possible, he paled even more. Complete shock 
registered in his horrified expression. “I? I cannot!” 
With a slight smile, Alicen offered him the boy. “You’re 
fearless in the face of death, sir, yet terrified in the face of 
life. I assure you, the lad won’t hurt you.” 
“I might drop him.” Jeremy’s deep voice rose in pitch. 
His hands shook. 
“Just hold him as I show you, and all will be well.” 
She laid the baby in the crook of Jeremy’s elbow, along 
his forearm. “Use your other hand alongside for support. 
Not too tight, now. There.” 
The baby gave a hearty yowl. Unnerved, Jeremy tried 
to pull back. 
Alicen restrained him by grabbing his elbows. “Steady, 
Captain. The lad is fine.” 
“But he’s crying!” Stricken blue eyes pleaded with 
Alicen not to abandon him to this child’s custody. 
She patted his arm encouragingly. “He’s tired, naught 
else. I must see to his mother, or his sleep will be delayed 
longer.” 
With Rhea’s help, Alicen quickly sewed Liza’s torn 
flesh, then disposed of the bloody linen. The midwife 
cleansed the young mother, resettled her, and gave her a 

drink of water. 
“He’s a fine boy, Liza,” Rhea said as Alicen returned. 
“Thank you,” Liza hoarsely whispered. “Thank you 
both.” 
Another yowl obscured any reply, and the three 
women gazed as one at the man holding the protesting 
infant. Jeremy Blaine was misery incarnate. Dazed, he 
stared at the child squirming in his arms. Sweat beaded 
his upper lip, and his face was taut with concentration. 
He stood stiffly, as if afraid to move lest he drop his 
precious burden. He dared a desperate glance at Alicen 
as she went to his side. “I’m hurting him!” 
“Nay, you’re not. Be firm but gentle.” Again she 
repositioned his hand. “You only need hold him a few 
moments more, then he’ll sleep beside his mother.” She 
chuckled as Jeremy gaped at the boy in wonderment. 
“He’s a wee thing,” he said, voice hushed with awe. 
“Aye, but he’ll grow to be a man.” Seeing the captain 
clumsily trying to soothe the fussing babe made Alicen 
smile. “Mayhap you could become a midwife when your 
warring days are done, sir knight,” she lightly teased. 
Intent on the child, Jeremy made no reply. Instead, 
he placed his blunt-tipped finger in the boy’s hand. A 
delighted grin lit his face when tiny fingers curled around 
his. 
“He has a mighty grip for one so small,” he whispered. 
“His is a fierce desire for life.” 
A fierce desire for life. 
Suddenly, the impact of what had transpired hit 
Alicen. Her brazen gamble almost overwhelmed her, and 
her knees began to tremble. She sank weakly onto a stool 
as Rhea took the infant from Jeremy’s shaky arms and 
placed him upon his mother’s breast. 
“The babe needs your touch, lass.” Rhea guided Liza’s 
weakened hands around the child. After the new mother 
had settled her boy comfortably, the midwife moved to 
Alicen’s side. “My friend, ’twas the most incredible feat 
I’ve yet seen. You’ve a dead man’s fear.” 
Too shaken even to smile at the compliment, Alicen 
quietly replied, “I did what I could.” 
“And saved them both! I’ve brought two hundred 
children into the world in near threescore years, but of 

the dozen breech births I’ve seen, this is the first where 
both babe and mother survived.” Rhea’s dark eyes glowed 
in the candlelight. She clasped Alicen’s shoulder. “You 
did well, lass.” 
“’Twas good fortune.” And help from a far better healer 
than I. Thank you, Mother. 
‘Twas you who saved them, Alicen. I can do no more 
than advise. 
My thanks just the same. 
Alicen felt a warm breath brush her cheek as she 
crossed on still wobbly legs to the basin to wash. She ran 
a cold, damp cloth over her face and across her neck. 
When she turned, she caught Jeremy staring at her, an 
unreadable expression in his eyes. Too preoccupied to 
wonder at it, she let a tremulous laugh betray her 
condition. “Rhea, is there any ale? I’ve ne’er before needed 
a drink so much.” 
“The cask hangs in the well. Fetch it, and pour 
draughts for the captain and me, also.” 
Soon, they raised their mugs in three unsteady hands 
to salute the miracle of birth. 
Jeremy drank silently, unable to tear his gaze from 
the boy who now slept upon his mother’s breast. Liza 
fairly glowed, plain features transformed to true beauty. 
It astounded him that, after her ordeal, she yet had 
strength to hold the child against her. 
“I’ll spend the next several nights here,” Rhea stated, 
breaking the silence. She met Alicen’s weary eyes. “Best 
you return home. You look spent.” 
Jeremy noticed that Alicen barely managed a nod. 
“Get yourself to your bed, lass.” Rising, the old midwife 
hugged her. “If aught goes amiss, I’ll send word with 
Pearl.” 
“Do not delay in doing so.” Alicen briefly grasped Liza’s 
hand, stroked the baby’s dark head, then left, Jeremy at 
her heels. 
They rode without speaking. The eastern sky showed 
faint lightening as they followed the Great North Road 
toward Landeyda. At this hour, the highway was deserted. 
A cool breeze blew at their backs, forcing them to a more 
purposeful gait, and thus they continued for several 
moments. 

Charon’s easy canter lulled Jeremy deeper into his 
musings on the two days past. He’d witnessed life’s 
beginning. Held a newborn infant! Respect for women’s 
resiliency and strength grew within him. And while 
Estelle’s betrayal still seared, Liza’s incredible effort to 
bring forth a babe awed him. He’d seen warriors unable 
to endure far less pain, far less effort. 
He shook his head and cast a glance at the woman 
riding beside him. For someone who’d just delivered a 
child—and saved the mother’s life as well—Alicen showed 
amazing restraint. Perhaps exhaustion tempered her 
happiness. 
“You never let your doubts hinder your actions,” he 
stated abruptly. 
Alicen started up from her own thoughts and shot a 
wary glance at him. “And if I said I never have doubts?” 
Jeremy smiled. “I’d say you lied. You questioned 
yourself last eve, but like a good general you weighed the 
outcomes, took your chance, and triumphed.” 
She straightened in her saddle. “Never compare me 
to a soldier,” she snapped. “I’ve naught in common with 
killers.” 
Her heated response crackled in the cool air. 
“Forgive me my clumsy attempt at praise,” Jeremy 
retorted. “But, loutish warrior that I am, I admire courage 
and decisiveness. All great leaders have those traits.” 
Alicen suddenly felt like a petulant child. Indeed, she’d 
acted as such. Her defiance crumbled. “Have a care, 
Captain,” she said softly, “else I’ll begin thinking I have 
your regard.” 
Still stung, he growled, “I respect the ability to perform 
well in a crisis. Naught else.” 
He knew his words had galled her when she 
straightened in her saddle, but he felt no triumph. 
Honesty forced him to admit Alicen Kent possessed many 
admirable qualities. 
Still, ’twas passing strange she showed little pleasure 
in her most recent triumph. Had he been in her place, 
he’d have felt like cock of the roost. His thoughts returned 
to Liza, and the question lurking in his mind suddenly 
found voice. 
“Is the child’s father dead?” 

“If God is just, the man no longer lives.” 
Although quietly spoken, Alicen’s reply chilled him. 
Though he suspected he knew the answer, he asked, 
“What happened?” 
“She was raped.” 
Inexplicable pain shot through his chest. “A local 
man?” 
“Nay.” Alicen turned fierce eyes on him. “The father 
is Harold’s retainer. They stormed through Sherford, 
killing whom they wished, taking what they wished...” 
A tight throat made the next question even more 
difficult to ask. “Did the soldiers reach Landeyda?” 
“Aye.” 
His guts twisted, body tensed like a bow at full draw. 
“Did they—Were you—?” 
“Ned, Rhea, Pearl and I hid in the woods a fortnight. 
We were gathering herbs when we heard them. They broke 
crockery, destroyed some furniture, but in the main left 
the place intact.” 
His pent up breath hissed slowly through his teeth. 
Finding his hands fisted on the reins, Jeremy deliberately 
loosened his grip. “Could they have known Landeyda is a 
healer’s home?” 
“Aye. They did.” 
Her declaration brought him around in his saddle to 
stare at her. Although the horizon had brightened to pink 
and blue, shadows still hid much of Alicen’s expression. 
“How?” 
“After Harold’s victory over William’s retainers, I 
treated several of Harold’s wounded.” 
A tumble into icy water couldn’t have shocked Jeremy 
more. 
“Your mother died because of such as those men! 
How could you aid the whoresons?” He regretted his 
vehemence the moment he saw pain ravage Alicen’s face. 
Clearly, memory lashed her. And he had just opened the 
dam of that memory. 
She swallowed twice before saying, “I’ve told you, 
Captain, I swore an oath to my mother on her deathbed. 
When a life is at stake, I question not what banner a man 
follows.” 
“You cannot serve both sides,” he said with firm 

conviction. 
“I am bound to do so.” Her chin raised. “Only a 
barbarian would deny his enemy a physician’s care.” 
Jeremy flushed. “I’d never deprive a foe of such. But 
no one can attend two masters, especially not in combat.” 
“I have no masters but the casualties that armies 
spawn.” 
“Then ’tis well I’ve accompanied you these weeks,” he 
bit out, “lest you saw fit to serve William’s enemies and 
gave them knowledge of his whereabouts.” 
Glaring, Alicen picked up her reins to kick Hercules 
into a gallop, but Jeremy reached across the short space 
between their mounts to grasp her arm. 
“Nay, Mistress, do not bolt.” He shook his head. His 
gaze softened, as did his tone. “I pray you, accept my 
apology for my harsh words. I am a man of war, not of 
poetry, and oft have no skill at tempering my speech.” He 
offered a crooked smile and slowly released his grip on 
her. “Liza and the babe live because of you. Is that not 
reason enough for gladness?” 
“Gladness for a ruined woman and her bastard son?” 
“The boy could have been an orphaned bastard, yet 
he is not. Liza could have lost the child, yet he lives. From 
what I saw of them together, there is hope for a better 
day to come. They owe that to you.” 
“I find cold comfort in such thoughts, Captain.” 
Jeremy sighed quietly. Clearly, Alicen’s vow warred 
with the understanding that, in preserving life, she might 
be sentencing mother and child to poverty and derision. 
Small wonder her bitterness. Still, he was unprepared 
for her next outburst. 
“’Tis simple for a man! He takes what he wants. No 
matter a woman is unwilling, he lies with her, assuages 
his lust, and is gone within the hour. What concern if 
he’s gotten a bastard on her? He’ll ne’er have to claim it. 
After all, the world is populated with bastards.” Her 
loathing took form in a murderous glare at him, the only 
man available to see it. 
Jeremy reddened, shame for his gender’s barbarity 
making him avert his gaze. Though he’d dallied with little 
concern before he’d wed, after Estelle’s death he’d been 
certain no issue had resulted from his few liaisons. Now 

he was fiercely glad there had been none. 
No woman who had struggled as Liza had to bring 
forth new life deserved having her babe left a bastard. He 
suddenly decided to ease her burden somehow. Still 
clinging to his belief that women were inherently fickle, 
he nonetheless admitted Liza deserved better than she’d 
gotten. He would see her and her child properly cared 
for. 
But he’d not reveal his plans to Alicen, lest she think 
his view of females, including her, had changed. 
For a mile they rode again in silence, both with their 
own thoughts. Then Alicen reined in and cocked her head. 
“Someone cries out in pain.” 
“I hear naught.” 
Alicen shot Jeremy an exasperated glance, then 
concentrated. “To the west.” Her heart suddenly 
thundered. The sound had come from the direction of 
Orrick’s hut. Sweet Jesu, what will Captain Blaine do if 
Orrick needs help? And what if Orrick sees me with Blaine? 
She shuddered involuntarily but made up her mind. No 
matter the source of the cry, she was bound to give aid. 
However, when she moved to turn Hercules off the 
road, Jeremy used Charon’s body to block the way. 
“You’re exhausted, woman,” he said gruffly. “See to 
yourself for once.” 
In a blink, fear turned to anger. “I could ignore a call 
for help as well as you could live without aiding William,” 
she snapped. “I must go.” 
Before her escort could protest further, she had 
maneuvered Hercules around Charon and kicked the 
gelding into a trot along an overgrown path. But the 
destrier was quicker. The big stallion muscled the smaller 
horse aside and took the lead. 
“Stay behind me,” Jeremy ordered over his shoulder 
as his mount moved past. “You’re too reckless to be left 
to your own devices.” 
Alicen swallowed her ire and followed. She truly must 
be exhausted, since, despite her fear of what he would 
find, she didn’t argue with her nemesis. 
The hut they sought sat less than a hundred rods 
into the dense forest, at the edge of a small clearing. As 
they broke from the trees, Jeremy stiffened and reined 

in. Making sure Charon blocked most of Alicen’s view, he 
glanced quickly over his shoulder. 
“Wait here. I don’t wish you to see this.” He rode to 
the hut, then dismounted, drew his sword and knelt 
beside the still figure of a man. 
A scream built in Alicen’s heart and burned in her 
throat. Her mind tried to deny what her heart knew to be 
the truth, and she found herself fighting to remain 
sensate. She had dismounted from Hercules and was 
running toward the source of her terror before she even 
knew what she was doing. 

Twelve 
“Orrick! Sweet Jesu, no,” Alicen cried, rushing to kneel 
beside his battered form. He lay in a pool of slowly 
spreading blood. ’Twas obvious to any who looked that 
he was dead. 
She raised her tear-filled eyes to Jeremy’s, and he 
saw a grief so deep it pierced his soul. Not understanding 
his reaction, he suddenly needed desperately to know 
what Orrick meant to her. 
“Do you still love him?” The question made his throat 
raw. “You’ll answer before we...” 
His utterance died as he mentally counted a dozen 
riders emerging from the forest into the clearing. 
Instinctively, his grip tightened on his sword. Resistance 
would be fatal, but from the look of them he had no reason 
to expect a long life. 
A glance at Alicen revealed complete calm. Her self-
control stunned him. No one who hadn’t just seen her 
could ever detect in her eyes a grief too profound to name. 
While he understood her composure in the face of Liza’s 
crisis—babies were women’s business—he knew the most 
stout-hearted man would fear these odds. Was mischief 
afoot here? 
“Jeremy Blaine! ’Twas rumored you’d tired of France 
and returned to England. And now we meet again.” 
That much-hated voice brought Jeremy’s eyes to focus 
on the mercenary leader. His every muscle tightened, and 
his tone grew equally hard as he retorted, “I thought you’d 
been hanged long ere now, Kenrick.” 
“If you’d had your way, ’twould have been a foregone 
event.” Kenrick grinned, showing a predatory beast’s 
teeth. He sat his horse with the arrogance of one 
accustomed to riding. “But I was fortunate enough to 
escape you. And now ’tis your turn.” 
Alicen went completely still as recognition of their 
assailant dawned. The search party! The hatred between 
Kenrick and Blaine fairly crackled in the air. 

A muscle twitched in Jeremy’s jaw. “You used the 
woman to lure me here?” 
“In truth, I had no knowledge you were nearby. Spying 
for William, I presume. We’d heard he was near Sherford 
some time back. And wounded in a skirmish with Harold’s 
troops.” Jeremy’s expression didn’t change, and Kenrick 
scrutinized Alicen. “I’m glad you escaped the plague, 
Mistress Kent,” he said mockingly. Alicen nodded, 
remaining silent. “Duke Harold sings hosannahs to your 
healing skills, and I’ve need of them. I’d planned to ride 
to Landeyda, and encountered this man upon the way. 
He proved very informative.” 
Alicen quaked at the evil in Kenrick’s tone and his 
implication that he’d discovered her secret, but she clung 
to her tranquil demeanor with a will. This man had 
murdered Orrick and was capable of untold horrors. 
“You slew a harmless madman,” she stated blandly. 
“There was no need to do so.” 
Kenrick’s eyes narrowed. “He claimed you as his 
betrothed. Said he protected you.” He laughed heartily. 
“He couldn’t even protect himself. Pathetic creature.” 
Sweet, mad Orrick, poor fool, Alicen mourned silently. 
“As I said, a madman.” Pleased her voice did not betray 
her agony, she feared she’d not hold to the pretense long. 
Grief and anger battered her soul. She must release them 
soon or go mad herself. 
Then, just as she felt her resolve wavering, Jeremy 
Blaine rose to his feet, shifting Kenrick’s regard away from 
her. 
“You still work best under clouds of deception, 
Kenrick,” he said with contempt. 
Shrugging, the mercenary leaned forward to rest his 
crossed arms on his saddle pommel. “I prefer shadows, 
thus I remain a difficult target. My strategy rarely fails.” 
Jeremy’s cold expression gave no hint of a mind 
scrabbling for a way to alert William of Kenrick’s location. 
The mercenary apparently knew naught of the duke’s 
whereabouts, God be praised. Mayhap the bastard truly 
had come to seek Alicen’s aid. But that made little sense, 
as there were bound to be healers closer to Harold’s camp. 
His chest tightened painfully. What if she had 
betrayed William? Equal parts of anger and misery shot 

through him, but another thought immediately crowded 
out such bitterness. If Kenrick rode to Landeyda, a 
skirmish would ensue. And, regardless of what had 
brought him here, the mercenary would know William’s 
location. 
This truth pulled Jeremy back to his senses. Should 
Alicen accompany Kenrick anywhere, he would quickly 
know William’s location. If she didn’t give such information 
willingly, she’d tell him under duress. Kenrick would kill 
him, but what the knave would do to Alicen when he was 
finished with her services would be far more horrifying. 
Regardless of his suspicions, Jeremy could not leave her 
to the cutthroat bastard. Not without a fight. 
“Let the wench go free,” he said quietly, sword at the 
ready. “She’s naught to you.” 
“On the contrary, she’s all to me.” The sneer widened 
to a smile. “She’s served Harold before. She’ll serve him 
again.” 
“You’ll pay for her services in blood,” Jeremy stated, 
contempt in the gaze he swept over Kenrick. “Get off that 
horse and fight me. Or are you yet a coward?” 
Glistening teeth bared in a snarl. “Doubtless you still 
are superior in combat, Blaine. I value my life too much 
to forfeit it. Besides, why fight for what is freely given? 
The healer has come to me, you with her. Indeed a 
fortunate day.” 
“I’m ready to depart,” Alicen said calmly. She turned 
and mounted Hercules. “If you need me so desperately, 
there’s no sense remaining here longer.” 
Jeremy stared at her. Her lack of alarm told him she 
thought herself safe. She’d learn the error of that 
assumption soon enough. No visible sign betrayed his 
feelings, though he knew he could not warn William of 
Kenrick’s whereabouts, could not escape his own death. 
Regret gripped him. Regret and...what? Bitterness. A 
wrenching bitterness that his suspicions might be correct 
about Alicen’s duplicity. Yet, though he die this day, he’d 
not die like a dog. His stare bored into his foe as the 
latter addressed Alicen. 
“How came you to be in this knight’s attendance, 
Mistress?” Kenrick asked coldly. “He’s a well-known 
enemy of Duke Harold.” 

Alarms clamored in Alicen’s mind, urging extreme 
caution. She moved Hercules forward. This evil man 
played a game she had little knowledge of—one of intrigue 
and deception. Yet she must join the fray or face 
consequences she instinctively knew would be dire. 
Gathering her wit, she prepared a deception of her own. 
Injecting just enough innocence into her voice to 
sound convincing, she replied, “In truth, I’d ne’er set eyes 
upon him until a fortnight ago, sir.” She gave Jeremy a 
tolerant look, then sighed and shook her head. “Alas, I’ve 
had little peace since. Follows me about like a lovesick 
swain, he does. Hardly an hour passes but he protests 
his regard for me.” She smiled coyly. “I share not his 
feelings and have repeatedly told him so. Yet he refuses 
to believe me.” 
Kenrick smirked. “The man loves only duty. He has 
used you, the better to spy for his duke.” 
With a gasp, Alicen turned hurt-filled eyes upon 
Jeremy. “Fie on you, sir, if you’ve sported with me. I insist 
you leave me be. I wish to see you no more.” 
By the blessed Virgin, make this Kenrick believe me 
and release Jeremy, Alicen prayed. He’ll return to 
Landeyda and warn William. Mayhap even avenge Orrick’s 
death... 
She gave the lout Kenrick her most charming smile. 
“Shall we to your camp, sir, and leave this faithless man 
behind?” 
“I had planned just such.” His look seethed with 
malice before he grinned. “Is that to your liking, Sir 
Jeremy?” 
Jeremy’s pulse pounded like a galloping stallion’s 
hooves. Both his and Alicen’s lives rested in this monster’s 
hands. Knowing his own death was inevitable, he sought 
to spare her the same fate. He had to warn her to escape 
these killers. 
“You understand the thoughts of a man in love, 
Kenrick,” he said dryly, one brow cocked up in mockery. 
“Therefore, allow me to bid the woman a proper farewell.” 
“Love, Blaine?” Kenrick snorted. “This bears 
witnessing, I think...You know well I’d never come between 
love and a soldier’s heart.” He crossed his arms over his 
chest, face an impassive mask. “Get on with it.” 

Jeremy sheathed his sword and stepped up to Alicen’s 
stirrup. He extended his hands toward her. “Come down 
and bid me farewell, lady.” 
His intense expression made Alicen’s protest die 
unvoiced. Though unable to fathom his purpose, she 
allowed him to lift her to the ground. The moment her 
feet hit solid earth, she was engulfed in his strong 
embrace. 
He pulled her to him, his head bent, mouth next to 
her ear. “Do you go with him, he’ll kill me, then force you 
to tell him about William.” 
“His wounded men—” 
“Alicen, I know him. He’ll hurt you when he no longer 
needs you. I can occupy them long enough for you to 
escape. They’d never expect you to outride them.” 
“I’m sworn to help any in need,” she returned with 
quiet conviction, stilling her own fears. “I must go.” 
“Think of those who’ll die. William, Taft...perhaps even 
Ned.” His embrace tightened until there was not a breath 
of space between them. “The lives you may save will never 
balance those lost. Think of that.” He lifted his head to 
stare at her. “You can’t serve both sides,” he whispered 
urgently, lips nearly touching hers. “Too many will suffer 
if you try.” 
Without another word, his mouth sealed hers with a 
hungry, possessive kiss. His lips moved with seductive 
insinuation, coaxing a response. Unchecked virility 
surrounded her, swamping all her senses. Her knees 
started to buckle. She had never felt so wanton, so aware 
of the powerful sensations this man’s body stirred inside 
her. Helpless to resist, she wrapped her arms around his 
neck and returned his ardor. 
Jeremy pulled his mouth from Alicen’s when Kenrick’s 
shouts of laughter penetrated his mind. His hands subtly 
squeezed her shoulders before he murmured beneath 
his breath, “Think of those who will die, woman. You can’t 
serve both sides.” Slowly drawing back, he gazed into 
her stunned eyes and gave her a tender, unguarded look. 
That look darkened to hatred when Kenrick laughed 
again. 
“Very convincing, Blaine,” the mercenary jeered. “And 
touching. Had I not known better, I’d think you actually 

cared for the wench. And she for you.” 
Jeremy stiffened, then gave Alicen another long look 
before turning to stare at his enemy. “Ah, yes, I feign 
passion very well,” he replied archly. “Of course, Estelle 
cured my romantic bent long ago.” He pushed Alicen 
firmly back and stepped away, leaving her to mount 
Hercules without aid. 
Kenrick’s cold eyes glinted malice. “And, sweet, sweet 
Estelle. Such a tender morsel. I enjoyed her while you 
were in France.” He paused. “Did she ever scream for 
you? She screamed for me when I had her in your stable 
all night. She screamed every time I took her.” 
Alicen saw rage and stark despair flame in Jeremy’s 
eyes. Horror filled her. Kenrick, his most hated enemy, 
had violated Jeremy’s wife! Did the cur’s treachery ever 
end? Pity for the captain wrung her heart. Although his 
face showed no expression, Alicen knew he’d surmised 
the truth she’d instantly come to understand herself: 
Estelle had aborted the child because it wasn’t her 
husband’s. 
Kenrick sighed mockingly. “’Twould please me to 
recount more of Estelle, but my wounded await.” Giving 
a slight nod to his men, he said, “Therefore, old friend, 
adieu.” At these words, relief engulfed Alicen. They’d leave, 
and the captain would be safe. She had started to pull 
Hercules around to go with the mercenaries when the 
attack came. 
Jeremy, red with fury, fought like one possessed. His 
keen blade deflected a swinging pikestaff hurtling at him, 
and instead of taking the blow on his head, he took it 
across the ribs. Though he was without chain mail, his 
arming doublet absorbed the brunt of the attack. Still, 
the breath fled his body and he fell. Pain burst in him, 
but he struggled up, pivoting to face the ever tightening 
circle of attackers. 
One man charged alone. His life ended on the point 
of Jeremy’s sword. As the circle closed, he yanked his 
blade free and spun, managing to wound two more men. 
But he couldn’t turn fast enough to guard his back, and 
the jackals closed in. 
The butt of a pike crashed into the base of his skull, 
laying him in the dirt. Kenrick’s lieutenant raised his pike, 

ready to pierce Jeremy’s chest. 
With Captain Blaine struck down, his foe poised to 
make the killing thrust, Alicen burst into action. 
Recklessly, she drove Hercules forward, wedging him 
against the mercenary’s mount, preventing the fatal lunge. 
“Stop!” She grabbed the man’s upraised arm and 
attempted to wrest his weapon away. “You mustn’t kill 
him! Don’t kill him!” 
He shook off her tenaciously clinging hands, raising 
a fist to strike her. 
“Enough!” Kenrick’s command brooked no argument. 
His small, dark eyes turned toward Alicen. “You intrude 
where unwelcome, Mistress. Blaine will die.” 
Alicen’s eyes grew cold and her voice low. “Then slay 
me. For if you slay him, I’ll not go with you for any reason.” 
Kenrick’s thick brow rose. “What is the man to you?” 
“A man.” 
“And such a one as holds you in contempt. Be not 
fooled by his show of gallantry on your behalf. He has no 
love for you.” 
She drew a breath and steadied her voice. Only her 
strong will kept her from glancing over at Orrick’s body. 
“No man deserves to be murdered.” 
“Murdered? More like excised. As you would remove 
a boil.” 
Realizing Kenrick’s determination to see Blaine dead, 
Alicen fought to maintain courage. Pray God her skills 
were dear enough to this murderer for him to indulge 
her. 
“I tell you true,” she stated, “kill him, and I’ll help 
you not at all. I care not for causes, only for the ill. But I’ll 
not see another man die needlessly.” Anger ignited in 
her eyes. “And do not think to force me to your will. I 
know as well how to take a life as save one.” 
Her brazen declaration seemed to impress Kenrick. 
He turned his look upon Jeremy, who lay bleeding in the 
dirt at his horse’s feet. 
“This wench is well worth having, Blaine,” he taunted. 
“Pity I can’t goad you by taking her as you watch, but, 
unlike Estelle, you don’t seem to care enough to be 
angered should I ravish her.” He nodded to the man with 
the pike. “Tie him over his saddle.” Turning then, he gave 

back Alicen’s intense look. “You temporarily prolong his 
life, wench. I’ll not free him to return to William. He’ll die 
by my hand ere long.” 
But not at this moment, Alicen thought with wild relief. 
When realization dawned that Kenrick had spared 
Jeremy, she slowly unclenched her fists. Captain Blaine 
would live. Not that he’d be grateful, she reasoned 
morosely. His feelings were clear—and she abruptly 
realized he was right. She could not serve both sides 
without endangering Duke William and his men, men 
she’d grown to respect. For once, she understood Jeremy’s 
reasoning. 
She stared down at his prostrate form. Why had he 
kissed her with such passion, then turned coldly away? 
Her mouth was tender from his ardor. There had been 
naught of indifference in that embrace. Yet the uneasy 
feeling persisted that he’d never understand her need to 
heal. 
Her contemplations halted when the brigands, 
laughing and shouting, began to viciously batter Jeremy. 
Bile rose in her throat when one landed several kicks to 
his ribs. 
“Merciful Christ, he’s helpless,” she cried. “Have you 
no honor?” 
Her concern drew a nasty laugh from the henchman. 
He and a confederate bound the captain’s wrists behind 
him before tossing him over Charon’s saddle. Soon a rope 
secured to Jeremy’s feet ran beneath the horse’s belly. 
The hireling tied it in a loose loop around Jeremy’s neck. 
Laughing again, he gave the rope a sharp tug. 
Alicen felt a sudden chill. She could see blood in 
Jeremy’s black hair. He needed attention, but would she 
be allowed to tend him? Had positions been reversed, he 
would not have balked at her treating an enemy. But 
evidently Kenrick’s idea of honor differed vastly from that 
of the man who now lay battered and bleeding across 
Charon’s saddle. Alicen felt her breath catch. Might he 
bleed to death before she had the chance to help him? 
She thought to insist upon assessing his injuries, but 
her request went unvoiced as the party immediately 
formed ranks around her and spurred their horses away 
from the hut. Alicen prayed for Orrick’s departed soul, 

and added to that prayer a plea that someone find his 
body and afford it a Christian burial. Now, at long last, 
he could be at peace. 
*** 
Awaken! 
The whispered command buzzed in Jeremy’s ears just 
before Charon’s gait jostled him awake. Wishing to draw 
no attention to his lucidity, he carefully turned his head. 
By the lengthening shadows he knew they’d traveled 
several hours. The sun’s position indicated westward 
movement. Toward the Pennine Mountains. The terrain 
had become rugged, heath and moor, and the horses 
traveled in single file, climbing a gradual slope. 
He closed his eyes to ease the pain behind them. How 
long would he ride face down across his saddle like a 
butchered hart? His ribs burned. Breathing was an effort 
he had little strength to accomplish. 
You must remain alert. Take shallow breaths and keep 
your wits about you. 
Although he’d taken a severe blow to the head, Jeremy 
knew he didn’t imagine the lilting Irish brogue. He was 
actually glad to hear it. If Kaitlyn O’Rourke did indeed 
speak to him, she issued sound advice. He had to avoid 
lapsing back into senselessness, ascertain the situation, 
and plan an escape. 
Kenrick would no doubt kill him at the first 
opportunity. Jeremy wondered that he’d been spared this 
long, but suspected Alicen’s intervention was the reason. 
His former comrade-at-arms likely would plan some 
special diversion, with Jeremy as the entertainment. 
Of a certain, I’ll give them a diversion they’ll not soon 
forget. And if I’m able, I’ll kill that whoreson Kenrick. 
His heart’s pain mirrored his body’s when he recalled 
Kenrick’s taunt. Had he truly raped Estelle? Jeremy forced 
his thoughts back to his marriage. All had been well for 
the first few months, then he’d left on campaign, returning 
to find Estelle distantly reticent. She barely tolerated his 
lovemaking and never sought it from him as she had 
before he left. She’d told him nothing of the babe. He’d 
discovered her betrayal in the midwife’s hut the day 
Estelle died. To keep from roaring his grief at that memory, 
he bit his tongue until he tasted blood. For years he’d 

thought she hated him too much to bear his child. 
In fact, she’d loved him too much to bear Kenrick’s 
bastard. 
Estelle, forgive me, he prayed. I never knew. 
Hot tears stung his eyes and he let them fall, knowing 
no one would notice or care. Except perhaps Alicen Kent. 
His moist eyes dried as he considered her perfidy. She’d 
claimed her betrothed had died in battle in France, when 
in fact he’d been less than a league away from Landeyda, 
very much alive. Yet she had saved William’s life and 
treated his men with all her skill. If she was guilty of 
anything, it was of believing she could, unmolested, serve 
any and all in a conflict. 
This thought led to a stark realization. If Kenrick 
learned she’d helped William, Alicen would pay for it. The 
monster enjoyed brutalizing women. Rage replaced 
Jeremy’s headache. No matter her deceit, he’d not see 
Alicen raped and abused. She did not deserve that for 
seeking to protect her betrothed. 
He went cold. Had he committed a grave error in trying 
to prevent the mercenaries from taking her? If Kenrick 
thought him in the least concerned, Alicen would certainly 
be hurt. Making both captives suffer would double 
Kenrick’s pleasure. 
Still, she was not a cowering victim, the type Kenrick 
preyed upon. Perhaps her defiance, or her healing skills 
and apparent standing with Harold, would deter any 
abuse. He could only pray this would prove true. Yet 
Kenrick might decide to take sport with her merely 
because she was a woman.... 
Fury came to no good, so Jeremy subdued it. Better 
to hoard strength rather than spend it in fruitless emotion. 
Anger would aid him, but not at present. He’d bide his 
time and await a chance to gain advantage. Closing his 
eyes, he concentrated, willing away pain and hurtful 
memories. Presently, he slept. 
*** 
They rode until nightfall, when they reached a hidden 
camp high in the hills. The chill night air hung around 
them like a vengeful wraith, sucking parasitically at their 
strength, and the rising full moon shed only cold light. 
Exhausted, Alicen practically fell from her saddle 

when they at last stopped near the mouth of a cave. 
But fear—for what might happen to Jeremy and to 
herself—had built steadily and now consumed all thought. 
She struggled to keep her wits, to find a solution to this 
dilemma. Convinced that solution lay with Jeremy, she 
was determined to speak to him. If she could. At a glance 
she saw that Kenrick’s men had tossed him under a 
nearby oak, bound hand and foot. He appeared 
unconscious, but the light was too dim to see him clearly. 
Her boldness had kept him alive until now, but 
Kenrick would not allow him to live much longer. She 
would have to be very clever indeed to stay one step ahead 
of this cruel adversary. 
If she could not, doubtless both she and Jeremy would 
rue her failure. 
After several unsteady moments on shaking legs, she 
found she could walk, and turned to attend Hercules. 
The gelding nickered as she mechanically removed his 
saddle and bridle, then rubbed him down with fistsful of 
dried grass. 
Kenrick stepped from the cave, looked around, then 
stalked forward. He reached Alicen in a few quick strides 
and, grabbing her by the shoulder, spun her around to 
face him. 
The attack caught her off guard. Exhaustion sealed 
her fate. Reeling, limbs weak, she collapsed against his 
dirty tunic. Reflexively, she clutched the garment to keep 
from falling. But when she looked up and saw his eyes, 
her grip relaxed. His gaze told her she’d learn firsthand 
what forms his evil could take. She slid to the ground at 
his feet. Now trembling like a willow in a wind storm, she 
lowered her head to hide her terror. 
Show him nothing. Fear doubtless pleasures 
him...Mother give me courage. 
Kenrick leered as he bent to grasp a handful of Alicen’s 
hair. Pulling, he drew her to her unsteady feet. She knew 
he could sense a victim’s dread, so she did not reveal it. 
Instead, she gave him defiance. Her lips thinned and her 
chin rose. 
Surprise lit his face, and he paused a moment. “Beg 
me to spare you,” he growled. “Grovel at my feet.” 
His grip tightened, and he bent her head back. Hard 

lips crushed down on her slack mouth. 
She didn’t resist his assault in part because she could 
barely stand. Only his hands kept her upright. The lust 
in his eyes died instantly. 
“’Tis folly to break you ere I’ve had good use of you,” 
he sneered. “There’s time enough to enjoy your charms. 
Sleep in the cave.” He pushed her toward the entrance. 
“Tomorrow you see to the wounded.” He moistened his 
lips, as if in anticipation, before stomping to the campfire. 
In the half light beyond the fire’s illumination, 
Jeremy’s pent up breath escaped in a low hiss. His 
inability to stop Kenrick’s assault on Alicen lashed him. 
He could feel blood trickling from his wrists where he’d 
futilely struggled to free his hands, and his muscles were 
bunched and cramped. 
Although shaking with frustrated rage, he bowed his 
head and thanked God for whatever circumstance had 
kept Kenrick from raping Alicen. Perhaps the villain 
realized his victim was no ordinary woman, but one whose 
value made abusing her extremely dangerous. 
Or perhaps Kenrick had decided a larger audience to 
witness his conquest would be more fitting. 
Jeremy lurched against his bonds again. That beast 
would die for what he’d just attempted. For what he’d 
done to Estelle. But how? Trussed like a swine fit for 
slaughter, he had no means to carry out his vow. He had 
to free himself and spirit Alicen away before these 
whoresons harmed her. Only when she was safe would 
he return and kill Kenrick. He might even find satisfaction 
in such a killing. 
A long time later, he fell into a fitful sleep. 
*** 
Dawn found him stiff with cold and aching 
everywhere. He lay quietly, listening to the camp rouse 
itself to wakefulness. His struggles the previous night 
had taught him the impossibility of breaking his bonds, 
and despair rose with the new sun. He’d be little help to 
Alicen if he couldn’t even move. 
Take one of her blades. 
The voice filled his mind. Getting one of Alicen’s 
instruments was a feasible idea, and he was slightly 
annoyed he’d not thought of that himself. But even if he 

did get a weapon, other problems existed. Though Kenrick 
appeared to believe Jeremy had no affection for Alicen, 
she had insisted he pursued her, and their kiss had been 
anything but dispassionate. He would have to be careful 
to act the spurned lover when Kenrick was about. 
He realized that Alicen had never planned to betray 
William and his men. She’d lied only about the madman, 
Orrick. He stared hard as the woman in question 
straightened from one of the wounded and turned to walk 
toward him. 
Her gaze met his momentarily before, apparently 
uncomfortable under his scrutiny, she looked away. Her 
smile was wry, forced, when she knelt beside him. “Did 
you sleep at all last night, Captain?” She reached to push 
his hair away from the cut on his head. 
Before her hand reached him, he shied away, feigning 
anger. “Don’t touch me, you traitorous bitch,” he hissed. 
His harsh words made her recoil, then pale. “But 
you’re injured,” she whispered, the words coming out a 
mixture of wounded hurt and confusion. Her lips trembled 
slightly. She bit them to stop it. 
“Was that your intent?” Jeremy’s jaw set in a hard 
line, and he glowered at her. No enjoyment came from 
the pain he inflicted on her, but he remained mindful 
that Kenrick watched them. 
Alicen flinched, then her eyes flashed in anger. A hard 
swallow brought her voice under control. “I’ll protest my 
innocence but once, Captain, then your mistrusting soul 
may think what it will. I’d never seen Kenrick before he 
came to Landeyda. I treated Harold’s soldiers three years 
ago, but none of these mercenaries were there.” 
“Yet you were willing enough to accompany them.” 
“In exchange for your life,” she whispered. 
He laughed. “Think you to prevent my death at 
Kenrick’s hand? He’s killed more men than you have 
teeth.” 
“I knew naught of this.” 
Jeremy’s mouth twisted. “Yet, you came with him. 
You’re no better than a whore who goes with any who bid 
her, aren’t you?” The naked agony in her eyes cut him 
deeply, but the danger they faced steadied him. He had 
to keep up his pretense of contempt. 

Eyes bleak, she looked away. “Many here need care,” 
she murmured, then raised abruptly fierce eyes to his. 
“You see me as base, so be it. You know of my healer’s 
oath. Why can’t you accept it?” 
Before the tears that welled in her eyes fell, she rose 
and fled to the relative safety of the other injured men. 
Jeremy silently cursed himself. He’d carried his facade 
of outrage too far. Alicen offered the only kindness he 
could expect in this place, and he’d driven her away. He 
studied her as she treated the mercenaries. Her posture 
conveyed anger, her glistening eyes hurt. But how could 
he ease her discomfort without revealing his feelings to 
Kenrick? 
Perhaps he couldn’t even comfort her because he 
himself suffered. He’d borne enough wounds to know the 
amount of physical pain he could endure. But this 
emotional pain nearly overwhelmed him. The torment of 
finding Estelle near death in a greedy midwife’s hut had 
driven him to the brink of madness. Now, knowing the 
true reason for her death, he mourned the years he’d let 
hatred of her and distrust of all women consume him. 
But the torment of hurting Alicen Kent cut even 
deeper. 
When had he come to care for her so much? Perhaps 
that very first night at Landeyda when she’d not let him 
cow her. He had denied his feelings, hiding them behind 
suspicion. Until Liza’s baby had arrived just yesterday. 
Then, the old yearning to father a child by a woman who’d 
be his wife, who’d pledge her life to him, returned. Alicen 
Kent was the woman he wanted. 
His mouth twisted into a bitter grimace. Such would 
never be. He had no land to call his own, might even die 
in the next few days. And soldiers were abhorrent to her. 
Unable to watch her any longer, he closed his eyes to 
will away thoughts of life with the brilliant, maddening 
healer. Even under the best of circumstances, he was 
not the man she’d choose to marry. 

Thirteen 
After a few moments, Jeremy opened his eyes, this 
time to study the activities of the able-bodied mercenaries 
and to plot escape. The camp lay in a clearing halfway up 
a mountainside, just off a main road which ran around 
the southern side of the peak. He heard horses coming 
down through the woods and, soon, two of Kenrick’s men 
rounded an outcropping of rock nearby. Apparently, a 
secondary trail rose to the summit above the camp. It 
could provide an easily defended escape route. 
Off to the southwest he observed what appeared to 
be Cross Fell, the highest peak in the area. That meant 
the river running just below them was the South Tynan, 
and they were northwest of Stanhope. Kenrick must have 
been pushing Harold’s growing holdings into Cumbria. 
He thought of the lords and landed knights in the area. 
’Twas certain many would resist Harold’s intrusion onto 
their demesnes. Help was not far off. 
But getting to that help might prove impossible. He 
had no weapon, no means to free himself from his bonds. 
And he’d just alienated the one person who might think 
to aid him. While pondering the obstacles to his freedom, 
he heard an Irish lilt, Lure her back to you, the voice 
suggested. 
A ruse, then. Knowing Alicen couldn’t bear suffering, 
he rolled to his side, knees to chest. Though she could 
not hear the sounds from where she knelt tending the 
others, he moaned low through clenched lips. The groans 
made his expression more realistic, more able to prick 
her kind heart. She had to approach him again. 
*** 
The sun stood at its zenith when Alicen at last rested 
from her work. Hungry and tired, she stretched, hand to 
the small of her back. Then fear stabbed her. Where was 
Kenrick? If he’d seen she ceased working, would he come 
for her? Panic held her a moment, then she stood tall, 
hands fisted. In the dark of the previous night, she’d sworn 

not to be the brute’s victim. If he attacked, she’d retaliate. 
Reaching into an apron pocket, she touched the sharp 
tools of her profession. They would serve equally well as 
weapons should the need arise. 
Moving toward the fire, she found herself unable to 
ignore the figure lying beneath the nearby oak. She’d 
managed, through fervent concentration, to resist looking 
at Jeremy Blaine since his earlier abusiveness. Now, 
however, she couldn’t prevent a glance his way. 
What she saw shocked her. He lay curled nearly in a 
ball, his face a mask of intense pain. Alarmed, she had 
taken two strides toward him before remembering his 
order not to touch him. But he needed attention...And he 
needed nourishment. 
Jeremy watched Alicen as she moved to the cooking 
pot and dished up a plate of thick stew. Then she was 
moving toward him, and he dared to hope she’d overcome 
her hurt. When she knelt in front of him, he’d plucked 
her heartstrings. She set the plate of thick stew on the 
ground, then gently touched his shoulder. 
“Go away,” he ordered in a tone that deliberately 
lacked conviction. 
Alicen duly ignored his order. “Please, Captain, you 
must eat.” She helped him to a sitting position, then 
extended the plate so he could see the fare. “You need 
your strength.” 
“So I’ll be more entertainment when they come for 
my life?” 
Her finger flew to his lips before she thought to stop 
herself. “Do not speak such words! ’Tis wrong to tempt 
fate.” Realizing what she’d done, she jerked back, and 
felt her face reddening. Her gaze dropped to her hands, 
now both clutching the plate, before she again met 
Jeremy’s eyes. “Should Kenrick kill you, I would consider 
myself your executioner.” 
He gave her an odd look before whispering, “Then 
help me to escape.” 
Alicen glanced around the camp. “I—Eat first.” She 
spooned the stew into his mouth. 
“We must flee tonight,” he said quietly, talking around 
the food in case anyone watched. “Before Kenrick tires of 
me.” And desires you again. 

“Will anyone be killed?” 
Her question caught him off guard. “What?” 
The spoon returned to his mouth as she asked, “Will 
you kill anyone?” 
He didn’t like where her reasoning was leading. 
“Perhaps. But without weapons, t’would be difficult.” Her 
expression made his heart sink. “I’ll not promise none 
will die, Alicen. Yet if we don’t escape, they could well 
slay William and all his men.” 
“I cannot go with you.” 
“But—“ Another spoonful of stew temporarily silenced 
him. 
“Let me speak.” Though her voice was low, hurried, 
he easily heard her determination. “I’m pledged to heal, 
not harm. If I escaped with you and you killed someone, 
I’d be a party to that death.” 
His expression hardened, his tone caustic. “And yet 
you’ll also consider yourself my executioner should 
Kenrick kill me. What a dilemma for you.” 
She flushed, eyes filling with tears. “The wounded 
need me here.” 
“I’m wounded.” Jeremy knew his tone bordered on 
desperate, but couldn’t control his surging emotions. 
Glancing up, he saw two men approaching and hastily 
made his last argument. “You’d remain to tend murderers 
and rapists rather than leave with me? ’Tis folly to put 
yourself in such danger.” 
“I’ll see to your wounds now, Captain,” she stated 
flatly. Her bright green eyes suddenly dulled, she turned 
to retrieve her bag, which lay beside a dying man. 
Kenrick intercepted her just as she grasped her 
supplies. 
“How goes the healing, Mistress?” he asked with dry 
politeness. 
His affable question didn’t deceive her—lust shone 
plain in his eyes. I’ll not be your prey, she swore silently, 
staring back at him as boldly as a warrior. “One man has 
died. Two more will likely pass this eventide. The other 
eight should live, though three will never murder again.” 
Kenrick laughed mirthlessly at her insolence. “You’ve 
done well by them. Harold spoke true when he praised 
your talents.” 

“And ’tis certain Harold would wish continued use of 
those talents.” Her gaze speared Kenrick and saw what 
she’d sought. He recognized her threat. Yet would he 
control his lust or take the threat as a challenge? She 
could not fathom him. Any concession she gained by 
clever wits would be temporary at best. 
“Harold’s endeavors are so far-flung he cannot attend 
to them all,” he sneered. “Thus he leaves his captains to 
conduct affairs as they see fit.” He stepped closer to hiss, 
“Wisdom dictates compliance, wench.” 
Panic threatened to undo her, but she schooled her 
features to hide it and tilted her chin a notch. “All that 
can be done for your wounded is being done, sir. Thus 
do I cooperate.” She moved past him in two long strides, 
returning to Jeremy. 
Kenrick followed, a smile playing about his hard lips. 
Jeremy tensed at their approach. If Kenrick had 
somehow tricked Alicen into revealing his plot, his life 
would end in moments. But Kenrick looked amused, not 
angry. And lust burned in his jackal eyes. Jeremy knew 
he again thought to force Alicen. Hatred flared inside him. 
And despair. He needed her close enough to touch so he 
could secure a weapon. With Kenrick near, his chance of 
success lowered considerably. Desire to kill the man 
already ran too strong to ignore. If Kenrick touched Alicen, 
Jeremy’s rage would not be contained. He steeled himself 
to remain calm. Their lives depended on his being cool-
headed. 
“I’m going to treat the captain’s injuries,” Alicen stated 
without turning. “To do so, I must unbind him.” 
The devil’s black eyes examined his captive. “He’ll not 
go far should he attempt to flee.” 
Jeremy glared at Kenrick but held his tongue. 
Alicen quickly removed his bonds, arming doublet 
and linen shirt. Then she was on her knees at his right 
side, gently cleansing away the dried blood in his hair. 
That done, she turned her attention to cleaning his many 
scrapes and bruises. He noticed that her hands shook 
slightly as she touched his chest, that her cheeks were 
flushed. Most likely fear caused her tremors, but he 
wanted to think she reacted to him. Mayhap she recalled, 
as he did, their ardent kisses. Her touch was certainly 

far closer to a caress than to a mere healing contact, and, 
under less perilous circumstances, he’d be hard-pressed 
not to touch her, too. 
But seduction had no place in his plot. He needed a 
weapon. Flinching, he muttered that she hurt him. 
Kenrick laughed aloud. “Count yourself fortunate I 
allow her to treat you at all, Blaine,” he stated darkly, his 
humor fleeing as quickly as it burst forth. “I’d leave you 
to rot.” 
“I think not,” Jeremy replied matter-of-factly. “We 
were friends once, Kenrick. Before France. Before greed 
and cruelty twisted your soul. Mayhap in remembrance 
of those days you wish to ease my suffering.” 
“Bah!” Kenrick spat on the ground by Jeremy’s feet. 
“The past means nothing. You were an idealistic fool, 
Blaine. But Estelle cured you, did she not?” 
“You’ll die for what you did to her,” Jeremy replied 
with cold conviction. He turned hard eyes on Alicen. “I’ve 
loved no one since. And never will...We’ve both changed 
since our fellowship ended, Kenrick.” 
“You more than I, old friend.” 
Jeremy ignored him, watching instead as the 
compassion in Alicen’s eyes melted to anger. Her pain 
racked him, but his cruel facade took precedence until 
they were safe. He strove to drive all tenderness from his 
gaze, to think only of her lie about Orrick. Of the lie he’d 
lived since Estelle’s death. He had to dupe Kenrick. 
Anger, he noted, drove Alicen’s gentleness away, and 
she finished dressing his wounds in rough haste. Once 
done, she picked up a roll of bandage more than a 
handsbreadth wide. He assumed that was for his cracked 
ribs. 
“Sit up straight, Captain,” she ordered curtly. 
Certain of the reason for her pique, he silently 
complied. Doing so brought their bodies closer, and her 
knees brushed his thigh. She was as near as she’d get. 
When she reached across to bring the bandage around 
his ribs, he reacted. 
“God’s wounds!” he bellowed, lurching. He hooked 
his arm beneath hers and levered her hands away from 
him. Startled, she dropped the bandage. It rolled across 
his lap and away from both of them. “Your touch is as 

gentle as a death blow, woman,” he ranted. 
As Kenrick roared with glee, Alicen shot a fuming look 
at Jeremy. “You addle-headed dolt, I barely touched you!” 
With a snort of pure disgust, she reached over his 
legs to retrieve the unraveled bandage. 
It was all the opportunity Jeremy needed. As Alicen 
leaned forward, he slipped his right hand into her large 
apron pocket. Long fingers quickly curled around a handle 
and withdrew the instrument without alerting her that it 
was gone. The cleverest cutpurse would have been 
envious. 
Before Alicen had resumed her previous position, her 
blade lay flat beneath Jeremy’s thigh. Even with his hands 
rebound, he’d be able to use it. 
He had his weapon. Now, he needed darkness. 
*** 
As the sun lowered to the western horizon, Jeremy 
plotted. Apparently, only two men guarded the horses, 
just out of sight of the encampment, in another clearing. 
He’d seen a small fire the previous night and assumed 
the guards used it. With any luck, they’d be so content 
with their lot they’d not know he was upon them until far 
too late. Despite the blade, he was nearly weaponless, 
and injuries would slow him. A hard fight would be 
disastrous. Yet if he let the odds against success daunt 
him, he’d never attempt to reach freedom. 
Alicen presented another problem. She insisted she’d 
not aid him, that duty compelled her to remain to treat 
dying killers rather than leave such threatening 
circumstances. To his mind, honor sat uncomfortably on 
a woman’s shoulders. 
Nay, he’d not deny that devotion to duty was one of 
her strengths, though it be foolish to cling to in this 
situation. 
Glancing toward the wounded, he saw her sitting 
beside a badly injured man. She held his hand, offering 
comfort against his severe pain. Jeremy’s chest tightened. 
Such compassion was too valuable to be abused. Kenrick 
would never restrain himself from hurting her, perhaps 
destroying the charity that made the woman so unique. 
Jeremy made his decision. Alicen Kent was leaving 
with him that night—in her saddle or across it. 

*** 
By the light of a single torch, Alicen changed blood-
soaked bandages and watched over her charges, feeling 
like a lioness guarding her cubs. It approached midnight, 
and she was the only fit person in camp yet awake. One 
man, delirious, had torn the stitches she’d so recently 
sewn. No one had been inclined to help her restrain him, 
forcing her to use a draught of her precious lettuce 
narcotic to sedate him. Now, he slept like a corpse. 
She herself felt sedated. Her back ached and her eyes 
were gritty from lack of sleep. For over four days she’d 
had almost no rest. Now, her body told her emphatically 
to stop her frantic pace. Still, her mind fought her physical 
weakness. Much remained to be done. She could not rest 
yet. 
But exhaustion won out over will. She rose and moved 
a little apart to make up her pallet, telling herself she’d 
rest but a few moments. ’Twas quiet; she could steal a 
short respite. 
The next she knew, a man’s hand had clamped tightly 
over her mouth. 
Kenrick! She clawed at her attacker’s arm, seeking to 
dislodge his hand, attempting at the same time to bite 
him. 
“Hush, lass!” came a deep, familiar voice beside her 
ear. “Cease ere you alert someone.” The moment she 
relaxed, Jeremy released his grip. He drew her to a sitting 
position, then leaned close again to whisper into her ear. 
“Silence now. Gather your things quietly. You’re coming 
with me.” 
“But how did you—” 
His finger came out of the darkness to press against 
her lips. “Shhh. All in due time. I need your aid.” When 
she tensed, he quickly pressed his argument. “I cannot 
escape alone, Alicen. Come with me.” 
“I won’t—” 
He pulled her to her feet and into the great oak’s 
shadow. “You’ve done all you can. Once Kenrick realizes 
this, he’ll not refrain from raping you.” Even in the near 
blackness, he saw this point hit its mark. “And what of 
his plan to kill me? You must come, Alicen. Help me. It’s 
our only chance.” 

“I cannot kill—” 
“You’ll not have to. You only need to distract the 
guards long enough for me to disarm them. Then we’ll 
take our horses and ride for help.” 
At that point she realized how tightly he held her 
upper arms. His urgency came through that grip as 
certainly as if he’d spoken. She also knew his 
determination to take her along, willingly or not. 
“Tell me what to do,” she said quietly. 
*** 
She had never felt so vulnerable. What Jeremy 
required of her was simplicity itself—she would approach 
the men guarding the horses and ask to see to Hercules’ 
welfare. Her argument was to be that, in the frantic activity 
of the past two days, he had lacked proper tending. 
Her shaking knees threatened to undo her, but she 
steeled herself to her task. Thoughts of Kenrick’s reaction 
should this escape attempt fail strengthened her resolve. 
She stepped boldly toward the fire, noting as she did so 
that Jeremy was creeping into position behind the two 
guards. 
The thundering of her heart eased somewhat when 
she observed that only one of the pair was awake. The 
other slumped against the trunk of a small tree, chin on 
chest. 
“I—” Her voice faltered, forcing her to swallow before 
trying to speak again. “A favor, kind sir.” In the flickering 
firelight, she saw the man smile. The expression chilled 
rather than heartened her. “I wish to see to my horse. 
The bay gelding. I’ve been so busy of late—” 
There was no need to continue. Jeremy, striking with 
the silent speed of a jungle cat, brought a club as large 
around as his wrist down across the back of the man’s 
skull, felling him soundlessly. He pivoted and struck the 
sleeping guard across the head, too, knocking him to a 
supine position. 
“Find Hercules and saddle him,” Jeremy ordered 
Alicen in an urgent whisper. “Quickly!” 
Working purposefully, he bound the mercenaries’ 
hands and feet with the rope that had lately bound him. 
He gagged them with pieces of their tunics and dragged 
them behind the tree, then stripped both men of their 

daggers and swords, strapping the longest blade to his 
hip. Just as he finished, Alicen approached, leading 
Hercules and a still unsaddled Charon. 
“Good lass.” He grabbed the nearest saddle and 
blanket and threw them onto his destrier. “Beyond the 
lightning-struck oak is the trail,” he said to her as he 
worked. “When the horses begin running, ride as quickly 
as is prudent. Hide if you hear pursuit.” 
Taking a short sword from his belt, he offered it to 
her hilt first. 
She stared at the weapon gleaming dully in the 
moonlight, and shook her head. “I’ve no use for such as 
that.” 
“You may.” He pressed it into her hand. “Please, lass.” 
Wordlessly, she took the sword and stuck the 
scabbard through her belt. 
“Wait for me at the summit. I’ll signal you when I 
arrive. Go, Mistress. Go with God.” 
As soon as Alicen and Hercules disappeared around 
the oak, Jeremy drew his newly acquired sword and 
severed the hobbles restraining each of the mercenary’s 
mounts. Then he seized the unburned end of a log from 
the watch fire and swung the flaming brand at the 
animals. The flat of the sword across the rump of the 
nearest horse made it shy against its closest compatriot. 
Their alarm, coupled with the waving fire in Jeremy’s 
hand, spread panic. Ears pinned back, the horses 
screamed their terror and surged down the trail, through 
the camp, into the trees. 
Jeremy hurled several small, half-burned logs at the 
fleeing animals. Sparks flew when the brands hit trees, 
rocks, or the hard ground, igniting several small blazes. 
“The horses are loose,” he shouted. “The horses!” 
Hearing the confused cries of the awakening camp 
and the thunder of trampling hooves, he mounted Charon 
and, without looking back to see the results of his efforts, 
urged his steed up the trail after Hercules. 
“C’mon lad, we’ve moonglow to guide us,” he 
murmured, spurring Charon to a trot. Periodic glances 
over his shoulder told him he was not yet being pursued. 
But he couldn’t be sure for how long. 
The tumult from the camp increased as the alarm 

spread and men, jarred from sleep, rose in disoriented 
confusion to fight spreading fires and pursue fleeing 
horses. 
Confusion would mask their escape. The longer his 
endeavor remained undiscovered, the better his chances 
of getting Alicen and himself to safety. 
He turned his attention to the trail, peering ahead 
into the dimness for signs of her. Riding hard until some 
distance from the camp eased fear of pursuit, he reined 
Charon to a walk. 
Alicen could not be seen on the trail before him. 
Abrupt fear twisted his heart and made his breath 
congeal in his throat. Could she possibly be so far ahead? 
He’d told her to ride hard to the summit, and she was 
fearless in the saddle. Or had Kenrick placed guards on 
the trail? His blood chilled at the thought that she could 
be recaptured. 
Charon stopped on his signal, and Jeremy sat 
listening. Only night sounds reached his ears. A bend in 
the trail effectively cut off additional sounds from the 
camp. 
He drew his sword. 
“Alicen?” he called softly but clearly. 
Silence. 
Apprehension tinged his voice with sharpness. 
“Alicen? Where are you?” 
He let Charon proceed at a walk. Every sense attuned 
to his surroundings, he searched with all his faculties for 
the woman who’d saved his life. 
What could only have been moments stretched 
seemingly into hours. The trail ahead remained empty. 
Icy sweat trickled down his sides to soak the bandages 
wrapped tightly about his rib cage. He discovered he was 
holding his breath. 
“Alicen?” 
What could have happened? A dozen answers to that 
question assaulted him, increased his apprehension. It 
took great effort to refrain from roaring in frustration. 
Then suddenly she was there, riding Hercules out 
from behind a concealing stand of trees a few yards ahead. 
Jeremy’s relief found expression in vexation, in the 
harsh expulsion of his breath. “Why did you not answer, 

woman?” 
The half-light could not conceal her abrupt 
indignation. “I was unsure ’twas you.” 
“We’ve lived under the same roof nearly three months, 
and yet you don’t recognize me?” 
“’Tis dark, if you haven’t noticed,” she shot back. “And 
you didn’t signal as you’d said you would.” 
His reply was a grunt of disgust. He checked down 
the trail once again before turning back to her. “Ride 
ahead. I’ll guard our backs.” 
Though it was wide enough for two to ride abreast, 
he didn’t want to be near her at that moment. He had no 
desire to be reminded he’d just played the fool. Silently, 
he cursed his ineptitude. He, who rarely erred in dealing 
with others—friend or foe—became a bumbling idiot 
around Alicen Kent. The fact she completely befuddled 
him gouged his pride. 
Her stiff posture indicated that his gruff treatment 
angered her. And, in truth, how could he blame her for 
doing as he’d said? He had forgotten to signal, after saying 
he would. She rarely followed orders, then when she did, 
he snapped at her. His inconsistencies most likely were 
driving her to madness. 
They traveled in silence until the moon had passed 
its zenith and they approached the mountain’s summit. 
At the apex they heard it. From below them, muffled 
at first, barely distinguishable from the night sounds of 
the forest. But the din built quickly—a keening that raised 
the hackles on Jeremy’s neck and caused Alicen to whirl 
in her saddle. 
Jeremy, prepared for the worst, crowded Charon in 
beside Hercules on the trail. 
“That sounds like—” She paused, and he saw her eyes 
widen. “Screaming.” 

Fourteen 
Frantically she sought to pierce the dimness and 
clearly view his expression, but he kept his eyes averted. 
“What’s happening down there?” Her whisper was 
raw, the tone indicating she meant only to confirm her 
suspicion. 
“Kenrick’s killing the wounded.” 
“Jesu be merciful! Why?” 
“They’d slow his progress, possibly fall behind and 
turn informants for his enemies.” Despite his revulsion, 
Jeremy remained calm in an attempt to stem her growing 
hysteria. “He did the same in France.” 
The scream that burst from Alicen’s throat echoed 
the rising scream from below. “Noooo!” 
She tried to rein Hercules around, but Charon’s bulk 
prevented that. Jeremy guessed her next move and, 
leaning across his saddle, grabbed her about the waist 
before she dismounted. With a tug and a grunt of pain, 
he hauled her onto his lap. 
Rage ignited like a flaming brand to tinder, and she 
fought to free herself even as Jeremy’s arms closed around 
her. 
“Put me down! Those men are dying! I must go to 
them!” 
Freeing her right hand, she flailed at him, landing 
blows to his head, chest and shoulder. Every strike 
doubled the pain in his ribs, but his grip tightened as he 
tried to control her and keep them both in the saddle. It 
took tremendous effort. 
“Alicen, they’re dead!” His chest heaved with each 
breath he drew. “You cannot help them.” 
“I must,” she screamed. She wrenched her other hand 
free and struck with both fists. “Let me go!” 
In agony, Jeremy tried to readjust his hold but lost 
his grip. Like a wraith, she slid from the saddle and ran 
down the trail. 
Toward the slaughter. 
“Alicen!” He was equally as swift dismounting, but 

the jolt sent pain radiating through him. He had to catch 
her quickly or his strength would fail and she’d escape. 
Gathering himself for one supreme effort, he burst into a 
dead run. His long strides soon closed the distance 
between them. 
Sensing his approach, Alicen increased her pace, but 
even though injuries slowed him, he was still faster than 
she. Ten rods into her flight, he caught her and brought 
her to ground, rolling beneath her falling body to soften 
the landing. 
Their momentum carried Alicen to her back, and 
Jeremy’s chest pressed her to the ground, effectively 
ending her escape. She struggled but was pinned, 
helpless, beneath him. 
“Let me up!” she pleaded, wriggling fiercely. “The 
wounded need me.” 
The impact of their fall nearly made him faint, and he 
thanked God he’d overtaken her just then. He could not 
have gone much farther. Panting, Jeremy said as gently 
as his burning ribs allowed, “They’ve need of a priest now, 
not a healer.” 
The screams had stopped. At this realization, Alicen 
went limp. “No...Jesus, Mary and Joseph, no.” 
She pressed a fist to her mouth in a futile effort to 
stem the cry that built in her lungs and could not be 
contained. It burst forth, a wail of mortal anguish. The 
tears began then, seeming to flow from deep inside her, 
from the very well of life that sustained her. All the horror 
and anger and futility of the last three years surfaced in 
a surge of raw emotion. 
Unaware that Jeremy had gathered her close, sitting 
up to better hold her, she buried her head against his 
wide chest and sobbed. He murmured soothingly and 
rocked her like a child, caressing her back in an effort to 
comfort her tattered soul. 
Several long, agonized moments passed before 
Alicen’s wrenching sobs began to subside. When they had 
quieted to intermittent hiccups, Jeremy gently pulled the 
hair back from her face and stroked her cheek. 
“Why?” 
Her one-word question pierced his heart. Bile choked 
him as he contemplated an answer. 

“Soldiers,” he said, bitterness tingeing his voice, “are 
expendable.” 
“He murdered them!” 
“Because of me.” 
Raising her head from his chest, she stared in silent 
question. 
“Kenrick knows I’ll hunt him to the ends of the world,” 
he said, resigned. “He’d not have confessed about Estelle 
had he thought I’d live. Our escape sealed the wounded 
men’s fate because transporting the injured takes time. 
He killed them rather than risk my catching up to him.” 
Shocked horror registered on Alicen’s face, but her 
tone held no accusation as she stated, “You knew it would 
happen.” 
“I surmised as much.” His jaw tensed. “This adds to 
my need to run that whoreson to ground. He’ll pay for 
his crimes.” 
“For your wife and all the rest.” Her voice caught. 
“Those men were killed, not in battle, but as they lay 
helpless. By comrades in arms. Do soldiers expect to die 
thus?” 
No answer existed for that. Jeremy felt the burden of 
his military service pressing upon him. How many men 
had died at his hand? In the name of what great cause? 
Despair threatened to crush him. He’d returned 
disillusioned from France, determined to put up his sword 
forever. But Harold’s coup had forced him to keep fighting, 
to keep inflicting death and destruction upon his foes. 
When would it end? 
“I’m sorry, lass,” he whispered, voice choked. “Sorry 
we barbarians exist. We kill, rape, plunder—in the name 
of glory and honor. Yet neither will be found in our 
endeavors. Forgive me.” He looked away. When he’d 
secured his lands, he’d honor his vow to never war again. 
“’Tis folly,” Alicen said quietly after a long pause. “You 
are injured, yet I add to that pain, then seek comfort 
from you.” 
“You once told me the spirit oft requires the same 
care as does the body,” was his subdued reply. 
She lifted her head and looked into his night-veiled 
eyes, then raised her hand to a jaw roughened by three 
days’ growth of beard. At her touch, Jeremy turned his 

face and placed a tender kiss on her palm. 
With a sigh, she slipped her arms around his lean 
waist and once again lowered her cheek to his chest. 
Knowing he shared her pain eased her aching soul, but 
still she needed comfort. The steady heartbeat beneath 
her ear assured that, despite the valley of death they’d 
come through, life continued. Such assurance was the 
most she could hope for just then. 
“We must move on,” he said after several minutes. 
“Come.” 
She rose with his help, then slid her arm gingerly 
around his waist. He didn’t hesitate to drape his arm 
over her shoulder and draw her close to his side. 
“Ride with me, lass, and I’ll be able to warm you,” he 
said when they reached the horses. 
She didn’t immediately comment, had, in fact, barely 
been aware that he’d spoken. “What?” 
He leaned down to speak into her ear. “Do you wish 
to ride with me?” 
At this, her head came up. “I...Nay.” 
“You’re trembling from cold,” he pointed out. “’Twould 
be wise to share our warmth.” 
She paused a moment, then nodded. “’Tis a cold 
night.” 
He mounted Charon and reached down to lift Alicen 
onto his lap. Gritting his teeth against the pain in his 
ribs, he positioned her in front of him on the saddle, then 
drew his dirty, travel-worn cloak around her and tucked 
it beneath her leg. His arms tightened, pulling her close. 
“Better?” 
Silent, she nodded against his doublet. 
“Try to rest, lass.” He gave her waist a gentle squeeze 
before securing Hercules’ reins to Charon’s saddle. “You’re 
safe now.” 
Not from my memories, Captain. I’ll never again be 
safe from those. 
*** 
Jeremy could feel Alicen’s tension and knew she didn’t 
sleep. Her muscles remained taut, as though she expected 
at any moment to have to fight for her life. Her head rested 
against his shoulder, her arms firmly clasped his waist. 
He had to admit her hold comforted him, though. His 

arms and heart had been empty for five lonely years. Now 
both were filled with a woman who didn’t want a soldier. 
Perhaps God punished him for his sins, for doubting his 
own wife’s loyalty and condemning all females for her 
perceived betrayal. He prayed to Sebastian, patron saint 
of warriors, that this was not so. Soldiering had always 
meant physical suffering. Spiritual suffering he could 
scarcely bear any longer. 
They rode thus for nearly half a league before Alicen 
succumbed to exhaustion. Her grip relaxed, and she 
snuggled close in Jeremy’s embrace and slept. 
He tightened his hold, securing her against him. A 
rush of tenderness assailed his heart, and he gently kissed 
the top of her head before tucking it beneath his chin. He 
couldn’t hold back a long, melancholy sigh. 
Why has she complicated my life so? he asked himself 
as he rode through the night, cradling his oft-time 
nemesis. Life had been far simpler with their feelings 
clear—he disliking her and she him. Now, he worried over 
her, concerned where he had no reason or right to be. 
Pure foolishness! He could offer her naught at present. 
And if his cause was lost, he could offer her even less. 
These thoughts startled him. There could be no more 
between them than what they had—a union born of 
necessity and dissolved the moment necessity ended. In 
a fortnight he’d return to Tynan to plan the assault on 
Harold, while William sought a proper husband for Alicen, 
and she remained at Landeyda tending her people. That 
was as it should be. As it must be. 
Jeremy scowled in a fierce effort to banish such 
musings and contemplate what had to be done. They had 
to find help quickly, enlist the aid of the closest lord, and 
run Kenrick to ground. Then, Jeremy knew, he would 
have to kill the mercenary. 
He dreaded the deed. 
*** 
Kirkoswald Castle rose from the early morning mist 
like a giant’s crown, and hope rose at sight of the huge 
edifice. Jeremy kicked Charon into a canter. At the 
increased pace, Alicen started from her sleep. Crying out, 
thrashing furiously, she nearly unhorsed them both. Only 
Jeremy’s riding skill kept them mounted. He cursed 

roundly as he reined his destrier to a prancing halt. 
Hearing the epithet, Alicen leaned back away from 
him to observe his stormy features. 
“What possessed you to do such a foolish thing, 
woman?” he demanded, not hiding his annoyance. “Had 
we fallen, we’d have both been injured, mayhap killed.” 
She bridled at his hostility. “Charon’s pace startled 
me from sleep. I did not mean to unnerve you.” 
He snorted in disgust. “Unnerve me! You practically 
leaped from my saddle. If I hadn’t—” 
“Enough, Captain.” Glaring, Alicen leaned as far away 
from Jeremy as she could. “My deed was unintended, 
and naught came of it. Therefore, spare me your venom.” 
Noting his anger had cooled to a stubborn set in his jaw, 
she thought fleetingly they were not in danger, or they’d 
not be sitting there arguing. “Do you tell me why your 
abrupt haste?” 
“Look over your shoulder.” 
Alicen did so, gasped, then swung her gaze back 
around to ask, “What keep is that?” 
“Kirkoswald, I trust.” His exasperation faded, and he 
smiled. “The lord is Edward, Earl of Cumbria. He fought 
with William and your father at Agincourt.” 
Without a word, Alicen slid from Charon’s saddle, 
untied Hercules’ reins, and mounted the gelding. Jeremy 
watched as she brushed tangled chestnut tresses back 
from her face. Catching his look, she frowned. 
“Is aught amiss?” 
“Nay,” he responded, then grinned. “You’ve no need 
of vanity. The earl will welcome us despite our careworn 
look.” 
Alicen felt herself blush but managed a half smile. “I 
must appear wretched,” she muttered, then sighed. There 
was naught she could do for it. “Let’s to the castle.” 
Jeremy urged Charon into a canter, and Alicen 
followed with Hercules. Their pace carried them quickly 
to the outer wall via a long causeway. Positioned in the 
middle of the river, Kirkoswald posed a difficult target to 
attack. Its massive outer wall was penetrated by a single 
gate. Although the drawbridge was down, the heavy iron 
portcullis prevented unwanted entry. 
Jeremy hailed the guards on the battlement, identified 

himself and his companion, and requested entry. They 
waited only a few moments before the portcullis was raised 
and they were escorted into the bailey. 
At the steps of the keep they dismounted, their horses 
led away to the stable. A squat, balding man dressed in 
Cumbria’s livery came to usher them into a corridor to 
the great hall. 
“I am John Waite, Steward of Kirkoswald,” he stated 
in a voice that put Alicen in mind of a gristmill grinding 
flour. “My lady Rebecca will attend you anon. While you 
await her pleasure, will you take refreshment?” 
“Most gratefully,” Jeremy replied. “We’ve not eaten 
since yestereve.” He tucked Alicen’s arm into the crook 
of his elbow and escorted her inside. 
Alicen unconsciously moved closer to him, somewhat 
unnerved by the immensity of the castle. It had been ten 
years since she’d seen such an edifice. With her father 
serving King Hal, she had lived in London and oft attended 
ceremonies at the Tower or the various palaces to which 
the King retreated. The pomp of such occasions never 
pleased her, nor had she liked the implacable buildings 
in which the celebrations were held. A child’s misgivings 
of dark corners, mysterious corridors and hidden crannies 
came back with a shiver. 
When her grip on Jeremy’s arm tightened, he leaned 
down to her. “Are you ill, Mistress?” he whispered. 
She shook her head without reply, concentrating 
instead on suppressing her apprehension. As they passed 
Oriental tapestries hung from the walls flanked by coats 
of arms and ancient battle weapons, she studied the 
sumptuous patterns closely and tried to lose her 
trepidation through appreciation of their workmanship. 
The ploy worked until they arrived at the hall. 
Once there, her tension eased even more. Gay banners 
of crimson and yellow, the livery of the Earl of Cumbria, 
decorated the walls. Rushes covered stone flooring, and 
Alicen detected the smell of lavender and violets spread 
among them to freshen the air. Torches, burning in wall 
sconces set every ten feet, chased away the gloom. Yet 
the hall was not oppressively smoke-filled. Just beneath 
the high ceiling were vent holes the size of battle shields, 
six to each wall, to provide air flow and allow smoke to 

escape. 
“Come this way,” John instructed. 
He led them to a cozy chamber off the great hall. Far 
more intimate and comfortable than the larger room, it 
was obviously meant for family meals and private 
audiences. Four high-backed leather chairs were drawn 
in a semicircle in front of a hearth. Huge Persian tapestries 
softened the cold flagstone walls, while tallow candles 
burned in tall candelabrum, softly illuminating the 
chamber. A long trestle table dominated its center. Two 
high-backed chairs sat at either end, and benches on 
each side completed the dining accommodations. 
The steward motioned them toward the table just as 
the door opened and a pair of scullions entered, the first 
bearing two ewers of water and the second carrying two 
basins and several towels. These they placed on either 
side of the table. 
“I thought perhaps you’d wish to freshen up before 
breaking your fast,” John remarked. 
Alicen blushed. “That’s very kind of you, Master Waite. 
I fear we’re the worse for wear.” 
Jeremy added his agreement, then put the towel and 
water to good use. He’d have preferred stripping to the 
waist and washing away the grime of several days in soiled 
clothes, but decided such actions would be unseemly. 
He did manage to clean his face, neck, and as much of 
his chest as he could reach with dignity. Drying his hands, 
he placed the towel by the basin and sat down on the 
bench opposite Alicen. 
He noticed that, having regained some of her 
accustomed cleanliness, she looked far more confident 
than upon arrival at Kirkoswald. She sat down just as 
more servants entered, this time bearing food-laden trays. 
Placing these on the table between the guests, they left 
to fetch flagons of brandywine. 
The steward produced platters, knives and forks from 
the cupboard opposite the hearth. Setting these in place, 
he added bronze goblets which he promptly filled with 
wine. Then he heaped their platters high with venison; a 
dish containing peas, onions and beans; and fresh-baked 
bread. He smiled at their rather dazed expressions. 
“Should you require aught else, I’ll be in the hall.” 

With that, he bowed and left them to their repast. 
Looking somewhat askance, Alicen stared at the food 
a long moment, wondering if she could eat everything 
the steward had set before her. Jeremy obviously had no 
such doubts of doing justice to the cook’s efforts, as he 
straightaway set about proving such. Seeing him savoring 
every bite of food, Alicen shook off her bemusement and 
tried a succulent piece of venison. 
Both were engaged in consuming their share of the 
repast when the chamber door opened once again. A 
portly woman of average height entered practically 
unnoticed by her two famished guests. A smile touched 
her weathered face. 
“John has surpassed his usual fine board, I see,” she 
said in a high, tinkling voice as she approached the table. 
“I am Lady Rebecca, wife to the Earl of Cumbria.” 
Just then noting that this person was in no way a 
servant, Alicen gasped. Jeremy, flushing hotly, shot to 
his feet. 
“Forgive our rudeness, my lady,” he stammered as 
he hastily moved to draw back the chair at the table’s 
head. “We were not expecting you as yet. Your steward 
told us—” 
Lady Rebecca waved him to silence and allowed him 
to seat her. “No need for contrition, Sir Jeremy. ’Tis 
apparent you needed good viands. Don’t interrupt your 
meal on my behalf.” 
“May I pour you some wine, my lady?” he asked, still 
standing beside her chair. 
Rebecca’s smile broadened. Nodding, she turned her 
pale blue eyes toward her other guest. “You are Alicen?” 
At Alicen’s nod, Rebecca added, “John tells me you come 
from Sherford. ’Tis leagues away! What brings you so far 
west?” 
“’Twas not by choice, my lady,” Alicen replied quietly. 
She recounted their recent ordeal, omitting only the 
slaughter. Just the thought of that barbarity made words 
lodge in her throat and tears threaten. 
Rebecca’s expression told Alicen the older woman 
knew an incomplete account when she heard it. But the 
lady asked no questions. 
“You both are near to collapse,” she stated kindly. 

“We’ll converse more once you’ve rested.” 
“I must speak to the earl of the mercenary who 
abducted us,” Jeremy stated with sudden intensity. He 
had regained his seat as the women talked. “I believe he 
raids in Cumbria to expand Harold of Stanhope’s ill-gotten 
holdings.” 
Rebecca’s expression turned grim. “Your belief is 
correct. My husband rode to Penrith three days ago to 
discuss that very problem with Brougham’s castellan. He’s 
due back at eventide.” When Jeremy sighed in 
disappointment, she added, “If I may be frank, neither of 
you is fit to abandon my hospitality too soon. You must 
rest and regain strength before pursuing a madman.” 
Jeremy had straightened in his seat as Rebecca spoke. 
“I fear the jackal will escape me if I lie idle too long. If he 
is not quickly checked, much of the country will bleed.” 
The lady gave a brief nod. “Yet, you can do naught 
until my husband returns. Therefore, it pleases me to 
offer you the comforts of my home. When you finish your 
meal, John will show you to the baths, where you may 
cleanse away the remains of your privations.” 
“Baths?” Alicen inquired. 
Rebecca nodded. “The second Earl of Cumbria built 
this castle five generations ago. He patterned its amenities 
after Henry the Third’s palace at Westminster. Hence, 
the bath room has hot and cold running water. I’m certain 
you’ll find it much to your liking.” 
“You’re too kind, Lady Rebecca,” Alicen remarked as 
she studied the older woman. The latter exuded amiable 
gentility, and Alicen found herself warming to her. “I’d 
very much like to speak to your physician after I’ve bathed, 
if that is possible.” 
“There’ll be time enough for such at the evening meal,” 
Rebecca responded. “You should slumber rather than 
tire yourself with the business of healing.” 
Though the statement was couched as a suggestion, 
Alicen detected the command of a concerned parent in it. 
She was for bed, regardless of whether or not she wished 
it. 
“I for one could use the rest,” Jeremy interjected. He 
smiled wryly. “Since I got naught of it last eventide.” 
Alicen shot him look. “If you seek to stir my guilt for 

sleeping on our ride, save your breath. As I recall, ’twas 
at your insistence.” 
Turning a roguish smile toward Lady Rebecca, Jeremy 
said drolly, “What man wouldn’t leap at the chance to 
hold a slumbering woman in his arms?” 
Heat scorched Alicen’s cheeks, and she gripped her 
knife and fork so tightly her knuckles whitened. Fleetingly, 
she considered using the utensils as weapons. 
“You are the most despicable—“ With supreme effort, 
she choked back the rest of the malediction. 
Jeremy raised his hands in a gesture of capitulation. 
“Truce, woman, truce! I merely intended to point out that 
some of us gained more sleep last night than others.” 
Alicen drew breath to chide Jeremy, but the sight of 
Lady Rebecca’s amusement effectively stifled any retort. 
Alicen was a guest at Kirkoswald, after all, and had no 
right to behave like a vengeful harpy. ’Twould be a poor 
way to show gratitude. As for Sir Jeremy Blaine, she’d 
have revenge for his ill-conceived jest at some other time. 
Swallowing her ire, she smote Jeremy with a look that 
would have devastated a less confident man. He repaid 
her glare with a wink, then returned to eating while she 
pondered her wish to employ her platter to the side of his 
head. Mayhap that would put the jackal in a more sober 
mood! 
The meal ended quietly, although the atmosphere was 
charged. The steward, upon Rebecca’s summons, 
returned to escort her guests to their baths. 
The large, airy chamber was on the same level as the 
earl’s apartments. It boasted two high, arched windows 
with wooden shutters that could be closed to keep out 
drafts. Since the day was sunny, they were open to allow 
sunlight to warm the room. Four wooden tubs sat in a 
row in the center of the floor. Hot water for the baths was 
supplied by tanks filled from pots heated in a furnace 
built specially for that purpose. John motioned Jeremy 
toward the first tub and Alicen toward the second. 
“Charlotte and Agatha will see to your needs,” the 
portly steward remarked, indicating with a nod of his head 
the two servants who stood next to the respective tubs. 
Alicen froze, mortified at the prospect of disrobing in 
front of two complete strangers and Jeremy Blaine. She 

felt the heat stealing back into her cheeks and knew she 
had to leave the chamber immediately or flatly refuse to 
bathe. 
Charlotte saved her from retreating. The buxom 
servant moved to the far wall beneath the windows to 
draw a heavy damask curtain along a rod positioned above 
and between the two tubs. This effectively partitioned the 
chamber into two bathing areas. 
Alicen barely had time to breathe her relief before 
Agatha was removing the soiled, tattered hose, tunic and 
shirt Alicen had worn constantly for close to a week. The 
matronly attendant placed them on a low bench, then 
turned to her charge. 
“I’ll have these cleaned and mended, my lady,” she 
said kindly as she helped her step into the brimming 
tub. 
“They’re nearly beyond repair, I fear,” Alicen replied 
ruefully before sinking to her chin in the hot water. 
“‘Twill be no trouble,” Agatha assured her, patting 
Alicen’s arm. “Now ye just rest yerself and let ol’ Aggie 
see to ye.” 
“Thank you.” She closed her eyes, having all she could 
do not to groan in pleasure as more water poured over 
her head. When strong fingers began to wash her hair, 
she did moan softly. She’d never been so pampered. Giving 
over to the maid’s kind ministrations, she soon found 
herself on the edge of sleep. 
A very feminine giggle from Jeremy’s side of the 
curtain snapped Alicen’s eyes open. Her ears attuned to 
his deep voice and the maid’s answering titters, though 
they spoke too low to distinguish words. The heat in 
Alicen’s cheeks could not be blamed on the bath water. 
She pictured the maid bathing the man who, mere hours 
before, had held Alicen in his arms. Her mouth went dry. 
Having seen most of his body, she knew the temptation 
to touch him. Charlotte was expected to touch the very 
flesh that so unnerved Alicen. 
She envied the servant her opportunity. 
Chastising herself for such wanton thoughts, she tried 
to attend to Agatha’s efforts. But her mind kept picturing 
the activities on the other side of the curtain, and she 
found even Agatha’s personal attentions less than 

diverting. 
For his part, Jeremy enjoyed Charlotte’s care, but 
did not intend to partake of the services she offered 
beyond his bath. With teasing hands she’d removed the 
bandages from his aching ribs, stroking his body, 
wordlessly admiring his physique. Her next touch was 
blatantly to the issue. Pushing her firmly away, he shook 
his head and stepped into the tub. 
The heat of the water combined with Charlotte’s now 
less than enthusiastic massage, eased his knotted 
muscles and lessened his aches. He knew his ribs 
required rebinding, but decided against asking Alicen to 
do it. He’d taxed her sorely earlier and thought it unwise 
to request favors after enjoying a jest at her expense. 
Remembering her expression when he’d remarked on 
holding her, he smiled. Then he chuckled. 
The woman was a vision to savor with her hackles 
up. The emerald fire that leaped into her eyes made risking 
her fury a worthwhile challenge. And Jeremy never ran 
from a challenge. He couldn’t explain why he’d made such 
a bold insinuation to Lady Rebecca, yet he didn’t regret 
it. After all, Alicen had spent the night in his arms. That 
unique circumstances had led her to it was a minor point. 
And holding her had brought him pleasure. 
The sounds of her bath progressing only a few feet 
away fired his thoughts. He imagined her naked, her body 
caressed by heated water. And then by his own heated 
hands. This vision enticed him, making him shift to ease 
an increasing discomfort. The water felt far hotter than it 
had moments before. His tight throat forced him to 
swallow several times. Blessedly, this calmed him 
somewhat. 
But his disquieting thoughts took the smile from his 
mouth. 
Careful, lad, he warned himself. You think to tread on 
territory best left unexplored. Far better to dally with this 
servant and forget Alicen. William will wed her to a 
steward. 
There could be no gain in seeking pleasure with Alicen 
Kent. He must remain her nemesis, most definitely not 
her lover. 
His jaw set. Recent events had unbalanced him. He 

had to regain his feet, stop Kenrick and see William safely 
to York. Vital tasks. Nothing—no one—could interfere with 
those duties. Not even the woman who had bedeviled him 
for weeks, so much so he wondered how his life would 
progress when he left her behind. 

Fifteen 
They slept the afternoon away, she in an airy chamber 
near Lady Rebecca’s apartments, he in the guardhouse. 
When Alicen awoke near dusk, she found Agatha bustling 
about the chamber, lighting candles and laying out 
garments on the bed. 
“Yer clothes will be ready when ye depart, my lady,” 
the matronly servant stated. “Lady Rebecca said to give 
ye these for while ye remain.” 
Alicen stared, momentarily stunned, at the lovely 
garments Agatha had brought. 
“Surely the lady has no wish for me to wear these,” 
she gasped, consternation bringing her brows together. 
“They are far too fine.” 
“Nay, Mistress, the lady chose these herself. They’re 
her daughter’s things. Yer meant to wear them.” 
Without another word, Agatha set about dressing 
Alicen in a delicate linen chemise. She then slipped a 
long-sleeved tunic of green sendal over Alicen’s head, 
fastening it at the neck with a bronze brooch. A sleeveless 
surcoat of light yellow topped the tunic, and a leather 
belt with a bronze wolf’s head buckle circled Alicen’s waist 
and drew the garments close. Short hose, held by garters 
below her knees, and house slippers completed the outfit. 
“Ye look beautiful, my lady,” Agatha breathed. “I’ll 
dress yer hair now, if ye’d like.” 
“Please, just leave it,” Alicen begged, unaccustomed 
to such a fuss over appearances. “I’d prefer you to simply 
tie it back.” 
“As ye wish, Mistress.” The servant pursed generous 
lips, then added, “But if I meself were blessed with such 
rich chestnut tresses, I’d style them to attract a handsome 
swain.” 
Alicen swallowed. “A simple style will do.” 
Obedient, the chambermaid brushed Alicen’s hair 
until it shone, then tied it back with a braided band. Giving 
a final pat, she stepped back to view the effect and nodded. 

“Lovely.” 
“Thank you,” Alicen said with heartfelt sincerity. “I’ve 
never enjoyed such care.” 
“’Tis an honor to serve ye, my lady. Of a certain ye’ll 
turn yer gallant knight’s head.” 
The servant’s comment puzzled Alicen. Then 
realization dawned, and her heart sank. Jeremy! He’d be 
joining her at supper and would likely laugh at her 
pretentious manner of dress. After all, she was but a 
simple country healer. He’d likely delight in watching her 
play the fool. Determined not to provide him such 
entertainment, she set her features and prepared to ignore 
all his caustic barbs. 
She need not have bothered. 
Silence fell as she entered the hall. It seemed every 
man in the room, from lordly retainers to young pages, 
stared at her, and she soon found herself surrounded by 
admirers. Unused to such attention, Alicen struggled to 
keep her wits and not bolt in panic. There was no time to 
worry about Jeremy’s reaction to her. 
Her appearance had stunned that particular knight 
to utter speechlessness. In the midst of an intense 
discussion with the just-returned Earl of Cumbria, 
Jeremy stuttered to silence, staring toward the hall’s main 
entrance. 
“Your lady is a lovely woman,” Edward remarked. 
Jeremy’s gaze snapped back to his host. “She is not 
my lady, Your Grace.” He noted how Alicen’s entrance 
had stirred the men, but didn’t look at her again. “She 
treated William’s wounds and has harbored him since 
his injury.” 
“Ah.” Edward’s smile was sly. “A business alliance.” 
Jeremy shrugged. “Naught else, my lord. Now, as to 
the plans for pursuing Kenrick...” 
*** 
The hall was nearly empty when Edward and Jeremy 
finished their stratagems. Satisfied, he bid the old man 
good night and made for his bed in the guard room. He 
halted when Alicen rose from her seat in a window 
embrasure and stepped down to him. 
“You’ve decided upon a course?” she asked promptly. 
It was impossible not to enjoy seeing her in courtly 

attire. She wore such fashion well. Forcing down an 
appreciative smile, he answered, “Aye, we ride on the 
morrow.” 
“Then best we both retire.” She moved past him toward 
the gallery. “The chase will be hard. Most likely this will 
be the last good rest we’ll enjoy in many days.” 
Her use of “we” did not escape him, but he had no 
intention of allowing her to accompany him. It was too 
dangerous. 
“You’re staying here.” 
At this, she spun to face him, eyes narrowed. “Nay, I 
ride with you. Someone may need me.” 
Her words made his muscles go rigid, as if to resist a 
blow. “You’ll only slow us down,” he ground out. “You’re 
not coming.” 
Alicen’s flush warned of a temper about to explode. 
“And your injuries will pose no hindrance? You should 
remain behind, since you’re too reckless to properly care 
for yourself.” 
“I’ll not allow my injuries to hinder me,” he snapped. 
“Just as I’ll not allow you to hinder me.” 
“I ride as well as any man! I’ll no more slow the pursuit 
than you will. And you’ll need a physician if there’s 
fighting.” 
“Edward’s man accompanies us.” 
Alicen’s chin tilted up. “I’ll not stay behind, no matter 
that you wish it so. You cannot detain me here.” 
“Aye, I can,” he growled, determined to have the final 
word. He stepped closer. “There’ll be danger, and I’ll not 
risk men to put your safety ahead of their own.” 
She went completely still, then retorted in a quiet voice 
tempered with steel, “My will is my own, and that’s to my 
liking. I go where I choose.” 
She looked as though she were ready to strike 
something, and Jeremy wisely chose not to test her anger. 
He took a slow breath to temper his vexation. “Woman, 
you’re a sore trial for me.” 
“A trial of your own making, sir. By your choice you 
escort me. Yet you’ve no claim upon me, none of any 
kind.” 
He laughed in pure exasperation. “And does Orrick 
still lay claim to your attentions?” 

All the color drained from Alicen’s face. 
“I loved him,” she whispered. “Before the horrors of 
battle stole his mind, and he returned to me a child. I 
lied to protect him from you.” Lowering her gaze, she 
asked, “Will you use my deception to leave me here on 
the morrow?” 
“Most likely.” 
His deliberate statement got the reaction he sought. 
Building anger replaced her despair. Again, their gazes 
locked. They stood toe to toe, no quarter given. She 
appeared like to scream, and he considered locking her 
in her room until his return. But reason tempered ire. 
Force would not accomplish his goal, so he changed 
tactics. 
Lifting a hand in supplication, he said calmly, “I only 
wish to protect you from harm, lass. ’Tis safer for you 
here. We pursue dangerous killers.” 
“Why so concerned now?” Her composure broke, and 
she spun away. But not before he again saw tears. Her 
voice, too, betrayed her. “As recently as a few days ago, 
you thought my sympathies lay with them, that I plotted 
with a madman against you.” 
Pressing her knuckles to her lips to suppress a sob, 
she fled to the window alcove and slumped down onto its 
bench to bury her face in her hands. 
Her desolation rent Jeremy’s soul to tatters, and words 
eluded him. He tried to speak, but only managed a 
strangled whisper. “You wished to remain with the 
wounded. Said you’d not assist me in escaping.” 
“I said I’d have no part in murder.” Her hands 
trembled as she raised her head to look at him. “I had a 
part in it after all. And now you give me no chance to 
make amends.” 
Make amends? Insight cleared his confusion with a 
jolt. She blamed herself for the deaths of Kenrick’s soldiers 
and Orrick. And now, he insisted on denying her a way 
to heal herself. He stepped closer, reaching out to touch 
her cheek. 
She shied from his hand, and the gesture lanced into 
him. 
“Alicen, forgive me.” He ached to gather her close, 
but dared not attempt it. “I thought—” 

“You thought I’d betray you.” Affront straightened her 
spine, steeled her voice. “You’ve mistrusted me from the 
first.” 
“You lied about Orrick.” 
“You knew naught of him ‘til that night in the stable, 
yet you’d doubted me long ere that.” 
He felt himself flush with guilt. “I had to protect 
William—” 
“From me? I saved his life!” She leaped up, dashing 
away tears with shaking fingers. “Do you think me so 
base I would save a man’s life only to surrender him to 
his enemy?” 
“I knew not your mind then. I—” 
“You know it now, yet still insist I dance to your tune. 
What is your excuse tonight, Sir Jeremy Blaine?” 
I fear losing you! I love you. But he bit his tongue and 
silenced the truth. 
He’d never before met a woman of such courage. None 
other would risk her life for strangers, no matter the 
circumstance. None other thought every human equally 
deserving. 
Merciful Christ, he wanted to make her his alone. To 
protect her from the world’s evils and make love with her 
until the mountains crumbled. To help her raise their 
children. 
But he could not. She would ever risk herself for her 
duty, and naught could change that. He was a soldier; 
she’d never return his love. Mayhap she had seen too 
many soldiers to see a flesh-and-blood man beneath this 
warrior’s hard armor. 
“There will be more fighting, more death,” he 
murmured. “Why willingly subject yourself to such as 
that?” 
“Mayhap he didn’t kill them all.” 
He stared at her bowed head for a long moment. 
“We ride at dawn,” he said finally. “If you plan to 
accompany us, be ready. We’ll not wait for you.” 
So saying, he turned on his heel and strode from the 
hall. 
*** 
Sir Jeremy Blaine contemplated a very unchivalrous 
act—throttling a member of his troop. If a certain one 

delayed them again, he swore he’d perform the deed and 
damn the consequences. 
Four days of riding, and they were no closer to 
Kenrick. Jeremy rued the reason for this futility. They 
could not press the pace because of one rider’s inability 
to keep up. Complaint would avail naught, as the offender 
would most vehemently resist being sent back to 
Kirkoswald. Impotent anger roiling, Jeremy glared toward 
the source of his most recent trouble. 
Lord Edward, having just relieved himself in the 
woods, limped slowly to his horse and mounted with a 
stiff-jointed lurch. The old knight stifled a groan. 
Jeremy clenched his jaw tight to keep from cursing. 
Edward was, after all, a legendary warrior who’d bravely 
defended King and country. But those days had passed, 
and the Earl of Cumbria had far o’erreached his prime. 
Too many battles, too many scars had reduced him to 
frailty. Yet, pride dictated he still fight. 
Could soldiers ever become common men, or were 
they doomed to be naught more than ancient, useless 
shells of the warriors they once were? Jeremy mentally 
shook his head. 
“We should press on,” he said, not unkindly. “If 
Kenrick is still in the Pennines, I believe he’s near Alston.” 
Edward’s mood brightened. “Cumbria is his likely 
target. He’ll strive to annex it for Harold. Mayhap we 
should—” 
Just then the pounding of hooves on the trail behind 
them brought the forty-man troop to battle readiness. 
Helmets were quickly donned, swords drawn, pikes 
brandished. 
“Defensive positions!” Jeremy waited with arm raised 
as the sound grew closer, closer still. In a moment the 
unknown force would round the bend in the trail. Steady. 
Steady. His body ached with tension. Then the horses 
pounded into sight. 
“Alicen!” His arm lowered as she and two escorts, 
surprise on their faces, drew rein so quickly their mounts 
reared in protest. Pent up anger found a vent. “Christ’s 
guts, woman! You could have galloped headlong into the 
enemy camp!” Striding forward, he seized Hercules’ bridle 
and calmed the gelding. The look he gave her ignited her 

temper. 
“What are you doing here?” Alicen shot back with 
equal ire. “You should be leagues ahead of us by now.” 
Her remark brought Jeremy such a look of thwarted 
purpose Alicen thought he would tear something—or 
someone—to bits. She and her escort had ridden hard 
for two days and most of the night to catch the troop’s 
main body; therefore, she could not be the source of his 
rage. At least not this time. That left only... 
“Lord Edward, how fares your knee?” she asked 
politely, turning to the earl and ignoring Jeremy who, 
fuming, still held her horse’s bridle. 
“As good as can be expected, Mistress Kent,” Edward 
replied. “Levi tends me well.” 
Alicen smiled and nodded to the earl’s small physician. 
“He does indeed.” Almost all of Levi’s time was devoted to 
easing Edward’s numerous pains. That fact alone must 
have Jeremy wroth, Alicen thought with wry amusement. 
Turning her attention back to the latter, she smiled. “We’re 
ready to continue on immediately if ’tis necessary to do 
so.” 
“Excellent,” Jeremy returned curtly, hiding his true 
gladness at her arrival. It seemed she’d been gone a 
fortnight in search of survivors from the mercenary camp. 
He’d missed her. Nonsense, he chided his heart. She was 
the lone woman in the company, how could he not miss 
her? 
You care for her, whispered the voice he’d last heard 
when Kenrick’s captive. 
He refused to acknowledge it, thinking only of the 
task at hand. “Let’s away, then.” 
Jeremy swung in on Edward’s left at the head of the 
troop. Alicen flanked him; Levi flanked the old knight. He 
set as fast a pace as he dared, not wanting to cause 
Edward more suffering than necessary, yet knowing the 
longer they delayed the less chance to take Kenrick. Trying 
to ignore Edward’s low grunts of pain, he turned to Alicen. 
“Is it done, then?” He spoke up to be heard over the 
clank of mounted men, but knew his voice carried only 
to her ears. 
Her mouth hardened into a thin line. She nodded. 
“Kenrick rarely makes errors. Not to assure all were 

dead would have cost him dearly.” She nodded again, 
but he noted her glistening eyes as she looked away. “You 
performed a Christian act, lass. Not every mercenary finds 
his end in a proper grave.” 
“Thank you,” she said so quietly he could barely hear 
her. “Thank you for allowing me to do that.” 
He resisted the urge to reach across the small distance 
between them and touch her. Not with a troop of men at 
his back and a cunning enemy before him. Perhaps there 
would be time later to console her, but he could not now. 
*** 
Jeremy’s opportunity came far sooner than he wanted, 
and this added to his already considerable frustration. 
Lord Edward insisted on stopping long before dark. ’Twas 
obvious he could ride no farther, and Jeremy ground his 
teeth to keep quiet. If he continued thus, he’d soon have 
naught with which to chew his food. Added to his vexation 
was their scout’s report: Kenrick was, indeed, in Alston, 
hiring men to swell his depleted ranks. 
Pacing would not suit. He had to suppress his rage, 
reason with Edward, and convince him to go home. But 
how? His patience was at an end, his negotiating skills 
buried beneath anger. And none but the King himself 
gave orders to an earl. Unless the earl thought it was his 
own idea... 
“Have your bindings been attended to of late, 
Captain?” 
Jeremy started from his dark thoughts. He’d been 
unaware of Alicen’s approach, unaware that he massaged 
his aching ribs. 
“Not since before we left Kirkoswald,” he grumbled, 
dropping his hand away. “But have no concern for me. 
I’m fit.” 
She had the temerity to laugh. “Then why do you 
attempt to ease your pain? Or do you merely scratch an 
itch?” 
“I often massage my side when I’m thinking,” he baldly 
lied. “It helps clear my mind of vapors.” 
She laughed louder. “’Tis a remedy I’ve heard naught 
of. But I’ll keep it well in mind should I ever need to clear 
away any vapors.” She grinned. 
He ignored her good humor. “Do you have aught else 

to do besides plague me, wench? It seems someone, 
somewhere, would enjoy your harpy’s company this 
eventide.” 
She shook her head, still grinning. “Nay, Captain, only 
you require my talents—besides Lord Edward, but Levi 
sees to him.” Instantly, Alicen sobered. “’Tis difficult to 
tell a man he’s no longer of use, is it not?” 
Jeremy quirked a brow at her. “Are my thoughts so 
open?” 
“Nay, but I know what finding Kenrick means to you. 
We’d be near to Alston had Edward not slowed us.” 
Jeremy chose not to berate her for continually using 
“we.” In truth, it soothed him. She had in no way hindered 
him, as she was reliable almost to a fault. When she left 
to bury the slain mercenaries, he knew she’d rejoin them 
quickly. His hand again lifted to his ribs. 
“More vapors to dispel, Captain?” 
He shook his head, yet fidgeted. A long moment 
passed as he struggled with his pride. At last, he met her 
gaze. “Perhaps you—I thought—I mean—“ His jaw set, 
he took a slow breath, then said in a rush, “If you’ve 
naught of importance to do, could you see to my damned 
bandages? They’ve been wrong since Levi wrapped them 
at Kirkoswald.” 
With a short nod, Alicen hid her smile at his 
roundabout praise. She found his sudden indecisiveness 
oddly endearing. “I could do so now, if you wish.” She 
summoned a nearby squire, saying as the lad approached, 
“Sir Jeremy requires assistance with his mail and doublet. 
Have a care for his ribs when you remove those items.” 
She ignored Jeremy’s annoyed glare, turning toward 
the pack horses carrying the troop’s supplies. When she 
returned, he sat on a stump, bare-chested. Her gaze 
trained on his broad shoulders and muscled torso. Lord, 
he was magnificent. Suddenly, she wished to run her 
hands over that expanse. To touch him as a woman, not 
as a healer. 
When she finally met his eyes, she caught an odd 
expression on his chiseled face, but took no time to ponder 
it. She had to complete this task before losing what little 
nerve she now clung to. Through sheer will, she ignored 
his tempting flesh and simply removed his bandages. Her 

lungs were laboring for air by the time she laid the cloth 
aside. 
To determine the extent of his healing, she pressed 
her palms against his sides. He flinched, sucking in a 
quick breath. 
“Is your pain that great?” Now intensely concerned, 
she fixed him with a stare. 
“Nay,” he replied instantly. “Your hands are cold.” 
Jeremy’s inner tension eased when she appeared to accept 
his lie. Truth to tell, he’d responded to the warmth of her 
touch, and his reaction had him on edge. Try as he might, 
he could not remain indifferent. Alicen knotted his innards 
without even knowing she did. And she could easily do 
the same to his heart. After discovering the truth about 
Estelle, he doubted his judgement of women. He had no 
wish to gain more scars. Or to cause any. 
Alicen quickly reapplied his swathing. 
“You won’t heal properly until you stop all this riding 
and get some needed rest,” she chided softly. “Binding 
can only help so much. The rest depends on you.” 
“There’s time enough for that,” he replied gruffly, 
quelling his desire to pull her into his arms and kiss her. 
“I must find Kenrick before he increases his troop.” 
Hearing the hard edge that crept into his voice with 
that statement, Alicen searched Jeremy’s face for the 
kindness she had learned he possessed. He’d buried it 
beneath his warrior’s mien. She saw him tense, watched 
his gaze shift to a point beyond her. Without looking, she 
knew who approached. 
“A soldier’s wounds never quite heal, do they, Sir 
Jeremy,” Edward stated. 
“Indeed, my lord, they do not,” he replied with the 
barest trace of civility. He gave over to the squire’s aid 
and had soon donned his doublet and mail, ignoring his 
audience. 
Alicen saw Jeremy’s agitation. Yet, he could not help 
that Edward’s pride prevented him from admitting 
weakness. “I fear the captain directs his dark look at me, 
my lord.” When Edward’s gaze shifted to her, she 
continued, “I’ve just informed him I’ll keep to his cruel 
pace no longer.” 
Alicen saw Jeremy start, then study her through 

slitted eyes. 
“Have you found the ride that taxing, Mistress Kent?” 
Edward asked, his expression hopeful. “’Twould hurt my 
heart to think we’ve been too demanding of you.” 
From the corner of her eye, she clearly read the 
menace in Jeremy’s gaze. His expression told her he not 
only wondered at her scheme but that he’d like to hurt 
more than the earl’s heart. ’Twas obvious the captain had 
lost all tolerance for the battered old knight. It fell to her 
to keep the two men allies. 
“I suggested he split his force,” she blithely lied. “He’d 
ride ahead with two-thirds of the men to meet Kenrick at 
Alston, while we prevented our quarry from escaping to 
the south.” 
Edward slanted his look back to Jeremy, who now 
wore an inscrutable expression. “Do you seriously 
contemplate her plan?” 
Jeremy shrugged before saying blandly, “It may have 
merit, but I’ve had no time to think it through, since 
Mistress Kent has only now stated her wish to slow the 
pace.” 
Alicen shot him an exasperated look before she turned 
to Edward, eyes wide with supplication. “My lord, I crave 
a favor. Sir Jeremy would fain be rid of me.” When Edward 
began to protest, she cried, “Nay, do not deny it, sir. Well 
we both know he finds me bothersome.” She turned 
injured eyes to the object of her barb. “He says I hinder 
this campaign.” Gaze downcast, she paused. “I must 
admit it’s been difficult to keep up...Would you divide 
your troop and stay with me, sir? Sir Jeremy can sate his 
penchant for haste, and we’d follow at a more reasonable 
pace.” 
Edward’s eyes glinted, and Alicen thought for a 
moment he would leap for joy. Mayhap he would have 
had he been able to rely on his knee to support his 
landing. She had offered a compromise that satisfied both 
parties. Now, she only hoped she’d baited her hook well 
enough to snare him. 
With regal chivalry, Edward brought her hand to his 
lips. Raising his head from the kiss, he clasped her curled 
fingers to his breast and held them there. “I would be 
honored to escort you. That is, if Sir Jeremy agrees I 

should.” 
Jeremy rose, stony expression hiding relief and 
masking his appreciation. The clever minx had 
manipulated the earl and solved their problem. And 
Edward would never know. 
“My lord, let us speak of this more thoroughly. I’ll not 
follow a healer’s half-witted whims until I’ve examined 
the advantages of her strategy.” He clapped Edward firmly 
on the back as he steered the earl toward the latter’s 
large tent. 
As he and Edward left, Jeremy turned and gave Alicen 
such a look of gratitude that it warmed her the rest of the 
afternoon. 

Sixteen 
The smell of rich black dirt cloyed in Jeremy’s nostrils 
as he lay on a forested ridge directly above Kenrick’s 
encampment. Dropping off sharply to the plain below, 
the site gave him an excellent view of his quarry’s 
activities. Kenrick’s sentry lay bound and gagged five rods 
back from this vantage point, unable to alert anyone to 
the presence of the Earl of Cumbria’s soldiers. 
With his hand, Jeremy signaled those hidden troops. 
He’d deployed the twenty-five men in a semicircle north 
of the mercenary encampment. Normally, he would have 
chafed at being outnumbered, but his Cumbrians carried 
deadly long bows, a distinct advantage over mail-clad men 
wielding swords and pikes. And their purpose was to 
prevent Kenrick’s escape from the Edward of Cumbria’s 
advancing force, not engage in battle. If luck was with 
them, Kenrick would give himself up without bloodshed. 
Yet Jeremy felt Dame Fortune did not smile on him 
this day. Kenrick would fight—letting men bleed and die— 
rather than surrender. And he was the man Kenrick most 
wished dead. 
He, in turn, had sworn to kill Kenrick for raping 
Estelle. His heart ached. Once friends, they now sought 
each other’s demise. ’Twas certain one would spill his life 
onto the ground before day’s end. Jeremy was grimly 
determined it would not be he who did so. 
He shifted. The dew seeped through his arming 
doublet into his shirt, bringing damp discomfort. The earl 
and his force should have arrived, but it wasn’t surprising 
they hadn’t, given Edward’s infirmities. Jeremy as yet 
had little reason for concern, however, since he could 
hold Kenrick as well as cut off his retreat. If the cur ran, 
his only route would take him straight into Edward’s 
troop. He fervently hoped their number didn’t include 
Alicen. Pray God she had sense enough to stay well away 
from the battlefield. 
Sunlight glinting off steel caught his attention at the 

same time a commotion stirred below. Looking south, he 
saw Edward’s force break from the forest. They aligned 
in battle formation—stirrup to stirrup across the road— 
and with lowered lances and closed helms, advanced 
slowly toward the encampment. In his quick perusal of 
the troop, he didn’t see Alicen. 
Jeremy watched the mercenaries scramble to retrieve 
weapons and gear. Edward’s approach had caught them 
unprepared. Their doom was imminent should the 
approaching host wish it. 
It was time. 
Standing, Jeremy cupped his hands to his mouth and 
shouted to the camp, “Kenrick, you’re surrounded. 
Surrender, and spare your lives. Flee, and you’ll all be 
cut down.” 
Kenrick emerged from his tent and glared up at 
Jeremy. 
“Come down and fight, Blaine,” he roared, drawing 
his sword to brandish in the air. “Die like a dog. Or have 
you grown cowardly upon your return from France?” 
“Naught will be proven when I take your life except 
that I could do so. And in the course of battle, men will 
needlessly perish. Surrender instead. Live to fight another 
day.” 
Kenrick’s laugh rang bitterly. “You think I trust you? 
Even you aren’t fool enough to spare me. We’ve too much 
between us. I’ll fight you until one of us dies.” 
That settled the matter. There would be bloodshed. 
But perhaps the destruction could be minimized. 
“I challenge you to a trial at arms,” Jeremy offered. 
“If I win, you surrender. If you win, you go free.” 
“Ever the idealistic dolt, Blaine,” Kenrick sneered. 
“You seek to spare lives, when a soldier’s only duty is to 
spend others’ as well as his own. What manner of warrior 
are you?” 
“One who is weary of death,” Jeremy murmured to 
himself before calling down, “The warrior who will end 
this conflict.” 
He mounted Charon and rode south along the ridge 
toward the earl’s men, rejoining Edward just long enough 
to summon the squire tending his borrowed armor and 
weapons. The young man leaped to do his bidding as 

Jeremy quickly listed his needs. 
“I left a man trussed on the ridge, my lord earl,” he 
stated tersely. “Send someone to fetch him.” 
Edward nodded. “Dawkins, see to it.” The earl turned 
back to Jeremy, his look grave. “Is this your wish? You’re 
not at full strength.” 
“Wounds have never stopped me before,” Jeremy 
responded flatly. “Kenrick owes me a debt of honor. It 
must be paid.” 
Edward saluted. “May God watch over you, Sir 
Jeremy.” 
While Jeremy prepared, two squires equipped Charon 
with his own armor. Soon, a peytral and crupper covered 
the horse’s chest and rump, and a steel shaffron guarded 
his head. His field saddle was replaced by a larger war 
saddle. Sensing the fight about to ensue, he tossed his 
head and pawed the ground with steel-shod hooves, ready 
to engage. 
Jeremy regretted Charon’s lack of proper armor. All 
his battle gear was at Tynan. He’d never guessed he’d 
have need of it for what had begun weeks before as a 
diplomatic mission. He smothered a sigh. What Edward 
provided would have to do. 
Over his own hose Jeremy pulled chain mail chausses. 
Attached steel greaves shielded his shins, and cuisses 
protected his thighs. Keeping his arming doublet, he 
donned a mail hauberk and a steel cuirass atop it, then 
stood patiently as the squire buckled the chest and back 
pieces together. Jeremy himself pulled at his coif until 
the mail hood covered his entire head except his face. Ill-
fitting, hourglass-shaped gauntlets would suffice for his 
hands. Pride kept him from borrowing any better 
equipage. 
“Your helmet, sir?” The squire offered a serviceable 
barbut. 
“Thank you, lad.” Jeremy tucked it under his arm as 
he chose several long lances and the sturdiest battle shield 
he saw. 
The squire strapped these to the pack horse and 
mounted his own animal to await the next command. It 
was not long in coming, as Jeremy promptly donned his 
helmet and mounted Charon. He turned his elegant 

destrier’s head toward the field. 
Then his gaze fell upon Alicen’s pale face, and he 
paused. How had he missed seeing her before? She sat 
astride Hercules, perfectly erect and still. But her tight 
mouth indicated this calm visage came at a price. When 
she met his look, he saw terror in her eyes. He touched 
his gauntlet-clad hand to his helm in salute. Then he 
kicked Charon into a canter that quickly closed the 
distance between him and his mortal enemy. 
He reined to a stop a few rods from his hated foe. 
“This will be our last meeting, Kenrick.” 
“Nay, we’ll meet in hell, Blaine. But you’ll arrive ‘ere 
I.” Kenrick slammed his visor down with a clang. 
“I think not,” Jeremy replied calmly. “Thanks to you, 
I’ve walked those streets for quite some time.” Ever since 
I forgot how to love. Forgot how to trust my heart to a 
woman. “Yet, I’ve left hell behind. You’ll walk there alone 
after today.” 
Wheeling Charon, he trotted him back several rods, 
accepted the shield from his squire, then grasped a lance. 
Adjusting his helmet so the t-shaped face opening was 
exactly centered, he waved the boy aside. 
“Ready my second lance, lad. I’ve a feeling I’ll need 
it.” 
The onlookers tensed while the moments before the 
joust seemed to slow to hours. The wind died, as if the 
Earth, too, held her breath. 
Jeremy steadied his breathing with a concentration 
of will as he regarded his foe. Kenrick was far better with 
lance than sword. Jeremy sought to unhorse him and 
fight on the ground. A difficult task, that. But not 
impossible. He’d never lost a joust and did not think to 
lose this one. This time he fought for more than prizes 
and honor—he fought for his duke, and his own past 
and future. 
He uttered a quick prayer to St. Sebastian, then 
charged. 
*** 
Alicen’s grip on Hercules’ reins tightened until the 
leather bit into her palms. Her heart pounded in exact 
rhythm with the hooves of the two horses now racing 
headlong toward each other. 

Please God, come to Jeremy’s aid, she prayed silently. 
He’s injured, exhausted. Give him strength to persevere. 
In dawning horror she realized that by praying for 
Jeremy’s victory she had prayed for Kenrick’s death. 
Everyone there knew only one man would leave the field 
this day. She wanted that man to be Jeremy Blaine. 
Nausea swept her as the riders closed, and she 
squeezed her eyes shut. The impact of lances on shields 
drowned out the sound of hoofbeats. Eyes still tightly 
closed, Alicen flinched as if she’d taken the blow herself. 
Her nausea increased tenfold. 
A collective groan from Edward’s men snapped her 
eyes open. 
“What happened?” She frantically searched for 
Jeremy. Was he down? Injured? She saw him turning 
Charon. 
“Both lances splintered,” Edward explained calmly. 
“Neither man was unhorsed, so they’ll make a second 
pass.” 
The riders had reversed positions. Jeremy now faced 
Edward’s troop, and Kenrick his own. The squires raced 
to bring new lances and, when both were again armed, 
the knights charged. 
Alicen’s breath caught as she watched the second 
pass. 
At impact, Jeremy’s lance broke off three feet from 
the hand grip. Kenrick’s lance held, and Jeremy took the 
blow directly on his shield. The force nearly toppled him 
backward from his seat, but Charon veered away from 
the other war horse, his high-cantled saddle keeping 
Jeremy mounted. 
Cheers resounded from the mercenaries as Jeremy 
struggled to right himself. Though difficult to do with no 
breath in him, necessity proved a strong motivator. If 
Kenrick chose not to follow the knightly code, he’d attack 
while Jeremy was helpless. 
The mercenary leader merely returned to his end of 
the field, and Jeremy said a quick prayer of thanks that 
some scrap of decency remained in the man. 
“Are you injured, Sir Jeremy?” The squire was pale 
as death when he voiced his concern. “That was quite a 
blow.” 

“Aye, lad, mayhap his best.” Jeremy assessed his 
injuries. “My ribs ache, but no further damage was done.” 
He added, “Let that be a lesson to you. Buy the best shield 
you can find. It could save your life, like mine just did.” 
The squire’s mouth dropped open. “I’ll remember that, 
sir.” 
“Good. Now give me another lance.” 
Although Alicen could not hear this exchange, clearly 
Jeremy had sustained no serious injury. She saw him 
clap the squire on the shoulder before selecting another 
lance for a third pass. 
Keep him safe, Lord. I beg you. 
With horrified fascination, Alicen found she now could 
not take her eyes from the scene playing out in deadly 
earnest before her. She wanted to escape from the 
inevitable end, but was rooted to her place beside the 
Earl of Cumbria. 
Take Kenrick. He is evil. He killed Orrick, slaughtered 
his own men. Raped Estelle Blaine. Spare Jeremy’s life. 
Alicen’s heart twisted. She’d prayed for a man’s death! 
Set herself up as judge and sentenced him to die. 
Forsaken a deathbed oath to a gentle woman. Alicen 
hoped Kenrick ended his life on Jeremy’s lance. 
What manner of creature had she become? 
The final charge began. 
At the last possible moment, Jeremy guided Charon 
to pass on Kenrick’s right, opposite the normal passage 
on the left. 
“By God, he’s trying Marshall’s maneuver,” Edward 
gasped, watching intently. 
Raising his lance high enough to clear Charon’s head, 
Jeremy switched it to his left side and urged a burst of 
speed. The destrier responded, giving Kenrick no chance 
to counter or avoid Blaine’s lance, which sailed neatly 
over his own and through his breastplate, burying itself 
deep in his chest. 
As the mercenary tumbled screaming from his saddle, 
the lance broke, half of it projecting from his body. He 
landed on his back, the fall knocking his helmet from his 
head. 
Reining in hard, Jeremy threw what remained of his 
lance to the ground and dismounted. He approached, 

sword drawn. Kenrick had taken a fatal blow, but 
experience dictated caution. 
“You were ever the better soldier,” the mercenary 
whispered through frothy bubbles of blood when his 
enemy stood over him. “And the better man.” He glanced 
down at the wood impaling him, then looked up at his 
conqueror. “Remove it. Please.” 
Jeremy blanched. Kenrick’s pain would be twice as 
great. “You’re certain you wish this?” 
“Aye. No man should die spitted like a hog. Even such 
as I would not do that to a foe.” 
“You could have attacked when I was nearly 
unseated,” Jeremy said quietly. “Yet you did not.” 
Kenrick’s smile was pinched. “Honor is hard to 
completely exorcize.” A tortured groan escaped him when 
Jeremy pulled the lance free. His eyes fluttered closed. 
“Thank you, friend.” 
Just then, Jeremy sensed Alicen standing beside him. 
He felt her presence before looking, but when he glanced 
over, the agony in her eyes made him ache. She had seen 
him kill a man and now suffered for sight of the deed. 
Kneeling by Kenrick’s side, she gently lifted his head 
and brought a small flask to his lips. “For the pain,” she 
murmured. 
Anguished eyes again opened, this time to fix on her. 
“You are too kind, Mistress. I deserve no such 
consideration.” 
Alicen went cold at his words. Kind? I prayed for your 
death! And my prayer was answered. 
Half blinded by tears, she rose and fled to where 
Hercules stood. She wanted to leap into the saddle and 
bolt, but feared she’d ride him to death without realizing 
it. With a tormented moan, she buried her head against 
his strong neck and fought to control her sobs. 
Jeremy could not leave the field to offer Alicen comfort, 
not while his fallen enemy still lived. He stood helplessly 
by, watching her. Her pain momentarily obscured the 
fact a man lay dying at his feet. His only thought was 
that he himself had caused her suffering. 
“That one holds your heart, Blaine,” Kenrick said, 
voice breathy and labored. “Keep her at your side, or one 
such as I will have her.” 

The mercenary’s eyes then fixed in a sightless stare, 
and he expelled his last breath. 
“Go to her, man,” Edward ordered Jeremy from where 
he sat his destrier nearby. “She needs you.” 
“Not dressed as a killer,” Jeremy returned evenly. 
“She’s seen enough killing.” He turned to the squire, 
desperation heavy in his chest. “Rid me of this armor.” 
Before the boy could even move, Jeremy was stripping 
away the steel plates, haphazardly throwing them to the 
ground. 
“Take your time with her, Blaine,” Edward offered. 
“We’ll secure things here and prepare to start south by 
this afternoon.” 
Jeremy’s expression was his thanks to Edward. Now 
clad in only arming doublet and hose, he pulled on his 
boots and ran toward the tethered horses. Suddenly 
unsure of how to proceed, he slowed as he neared Alicen. 
Had Kenrick’s death appalled her? Did she despise him 
for killing the man? Reaching out, he touched her 
shoulder and gently squeezed. 
“I had to do it, lass,” he rasped through a tight throat. 
“It saved much bloodshed.” 
He tensed, anticipating anger. But Alicen stood 
silently, face pressed against Hercules’ neck, left hand 
absently stroking the horse’s mane. 
Jeremy covered her slender fingers with his large 
hand. “I regret you had to witness that.” 
He swallowed a gasp when she turned and raised her 
gaze to meet his. The sparkling emerald lights within them 
had died, leaving a dull, lifeless void. 
“I’m glad you killed him,” she whispered. “I prayed 
for his death.” Her voice broke on her despair, “God, what 
have I done?” 
With a soft denial, Jeremy gathered her to him. “You’ve 
done naught, Alicen. I killed him, not you.” 
“But I wanted you to!” She pushed away, then stared 
through tear-veiled eyes at his intense expression. “Don’t 
you see, I chose a side. I swore to my mother I’d never do 
such. I’ve betrayed her, myself...everything I ever believed 
in.” 
When she started to turn away, he caught her arm 
and stopped her. Then he slid his hand up to caress her 

cheek. “You chose the right side, lass.” 
Eyes closed, she leaned into his touch for a brief 
moment. But when her eyes again opened, they were as 
lifeless as before. 
“I must return to Landeyda,” she stated blankly. “I’ve 
been away too long.” 
Her abrupt remoteness gave him pause. Anger he 
could deal with, rage at his barbarity, even fear of him. 
But this? Her soul seemed to have left her body, 
abandoning her physical being to its own devices. Could 
he coax her spirit back? Or was he the cause of this 
withdrawal? 
“We’ll leave as soon as Charon has been stripped of 
battle gear,” was his calm reply. “But he’ll not hold up 
under a hard pace until he’s had a chance to rest a while.” 
At these words, Alicen winced. The image of Jeremy 
and Charon engaged in mortal combat with Kenrick would 
never leave her. Nor would her joy at his triumph or her 
shame at wishing Kenrick’s death. She mentally shook 
herself. Of course the beast would need rest! As would 
the man, who even now swayed on his feet, pale from 
exertion. 
“On the morrow, then?” 
He nodded, surprise in his eyes. “At dawn if you wish 
it.” 
She looked him up and down. “Did you sustain any 
injuries?” 
Pressing his hand against his ribs, he said wryly, “Only 
more bruises, I fear. I’ll be fit come morn.” 
Jeremy turned to go. 
“Captain, I—“ When he stopped and glanced back at 
her, her courage failed. Unable to meet his keen look, 
she stared at the ground. “I thank God you weren’t 
grievously wounded.” 
“I thank Him, too, Mistress.” He touched her cheek 
with the back of his hand, then he was gone. 
*** 
Jeremy and Alicen were mounted and ready to ride 
at dawn. 
Edward rose stiffly and limped out to speak to them. 
“Tell William my troops and I are at his disposal against 
Harold.” He handed Jeremy a sealed parchment scroll. 

“This is an accounting of the knights who owe me service, 
and the number of their retainers.” 
“My thanks, lord earl,” Jeremy stated, bowing slightly. 
“William will need all the allies he can rally to defeat 
Harold.” 
“I’ve no doubt he’ll win if he has more men of your 
prowess in his employ.” Edward smiled, then turned to 
Alicen and raised her hand to his lips. “Mistress Kent, 
godspeed. ’Twas fortunate indeed when I met you. You’ve 
restored my faith in mankind.” 
Alicen gave Edward an empty smile. Your faith has 
been sorely abused, my lord. I’m no saint. “Please convey 
my thanks to Lady Rebecca for all her kindness. And 
attend closely to yourself, my lord earl.” 
“Levi grows old,” Edward remarked, brown eyes alight. 
“He could use an assistant should you wish to leave 
Sherford.” 
“Nay, my lord,” Alicen replied softly. “Your hospitality 
is renowned, but I must return home.” 
“I understand.” Edward kissed her hand once again 
before releasing her. “God ride with you both.” 
“And with you,” Jeremy responded. 
“God speed us all,” Alicen stated with quiet conviction. 
*** 
“Alston lies east of the Pennine Mountains,” Jeremy 
pointed out to Alicen, although she didn’t indicate she’d 
heard him. “We’ve few natural barriers between us and 
Landeyda.” 
“Let’s take advantage of the gentle terrain, then.” She 
set Hercules to a canter. 
Jeremy’s concern centered completely on Alicen. Her 
determination to return home was evident in the hard, 
straight line of her mouth, and he let her set the relentless 
pace they’d kept to. Hour upon hour, league upon league, 
she remained withdrawn and remote, resisting all his 
efforts to draw her out. He even tried to start an argument, 
to no avail. He wondered if falling from his horse and 
breaking his neck would shatter her indifference, but 
decided it likely would not. Her single-minded goal 
obscured fatigue and discomfort, even awareness of her 
surroundings and her companion. This detachment 
worried him. She was not at all the saucy terror whose 

sharp tongue and defiant manner had goaded him every 
day of William’s convalescence at Landeyda. Her spirit 
had fled. He much preferred her combativeness to the 
dispassionate woman who now rode beside him. 
They kept to the hard pace all day, stopping only 
briefly to water the horses and eat some of the supplies 
Edward had provided them. During one such respite, 
Jeremy managed to fell two fat hares with a borrowed 
crossbow. They’d make a tasty evening meal, he decided. 
At dusk, he called a halt to their ride. 
“We’ll camp there.” He pointed to a thick stand of 
trees well back from off the road. “’Tis good shelter from 
inclement weather and any prying eyes.” 
They found a natural bower in the center of the stand 
and made camp. She tended the horses while he started 
a fire and gathered pine boughs for sleeping pallets. When 
the fire burned hot, he spitted the rabbits on sticks and 
roasted them. 
Alicen sat staring into the depths of the woods, lost 
to her melancholy. She didn’t notice Jeremy’s presence 
until he touched her shoulder, then she started, 
distraction fleeing when her eyes focused on him as he 
bent toward her. 
“You should eat.” He offered her a still-spitted hare. 
“I’m not hungry.” 
“Try to eat anyway.” 
She looked at him with veiled eyes. “I’d rather not.” 
He gave her an assessing look. “Given your healing 
skills, ’tis certain you know best. Yet, I’ve always believed 
a body needs the sustenance food provides.” 
She couldn’t muster a response. 
“You told me yourself eating well would heal my 
wounds more quickly.” 
“I’m not wounded, Captain Blaine.” 
A dark brow shot up. “And you claim yourself a 
physician?” he teased before his tone softened. “You’re 
wounded at heart, lass, if naught else. You must help 
yourself recover.” 
A moment passed, then a fleeting smile touched her 
mouth. “You are keen-eyed, sir.” Accepting the rabbit, 
she managed to eat a few bites. 
Jeremy was not to be put off. “You insult me if that is 

all of my repast you see fit to consume. I labored hard at 
this meal and, indeed, ’tis my finest effort yet.” He tore a 
piece of flesh from his own rabbit, popped it into his 
mouth, and chewed heartily. “’Tis a poor cook who’ll not 
partake of his toil.” 
“I daresay you’ll eat your share and more.” She 
managed a few more bites while he continued to attack 
his portion, tossing the bones into the trees. 
Encouraged by her slight show of appetite, he urged, 
“Wash it down with some cider. This should take away 
the chill.” 
Without comment, she accepted the skin he offered 
,and drank. 
“Cider won’t warm my soul,” she murmured dully. 
“‘Twill take far more than cider for that.” 
Jeremy privately noted her melancholy, and her sad 
look pained him. Regret at his inability to cheer her added 
to his discomfort. That, and his certainty he’d caused her 
grief. 
What could he do? His very presence reminded her 
of Kenrick’s death, yet he couldn’t ride off and leave her. 
He’d rarely attempted to soothe a woman’s feelings, 
reasoning that the many betrayals he’d suffered justified 
his cold-hearted attitude. Just two months prior he’d not 
have pondered Alicen’s difficulty. He’d have dismissed 
her plight as something all females deserved. After all, 
wasn’t every woman a scheming bitch who sought to 
destroy each man she encountered? 
He’d believed such folly! Bitterness had twisted his 
soul and made him indifferent to another’s suffering. Now 
he had a chance to amend his misdeeds, and he couldn’t 
think how to do so. 
Glancing at Alicen in the fire’s glow, he noted her 
pale and desolate look. Could he tease her from her 
gloom? 
On an exaggerated sigh, he complained, “I’ve never 
prepared a meal for such an ungrateful soul. Cooking is 
a woman’s work, not a soldier’s. From this day hence, 
you cook our food. Then if you don’t want to eat it, I’ll not 
care.” 
Her head snapped around. A flicker of anger lit her 
eyes, reflecting the nearby fire. “We’ll only be traveling 

another day and perhaps half the night. Why stop to 
prepare a meal when Edward’s provisions are sufficient?” 
“Then you admit you cannot cook any better than I?” 
he challenged. “I never thought to hear such words from 
you.” 
Instead of the argument he’d hoped to provoke, 
Jeremy was sorely disappointed. 
Alicen looked back into the fire and said so softly he 
could barely hear, “My thanks for seeking to coax me 
from my distemper, Captain. I regret my humor cannot 
be so persuaded.” 
Ignoring the urge to gather her to him, he instead 
clasped her right hand gently in both of his and brought 
it to his lips. 
“Forgive me,” he whispered, “for my part in your 
sorrow.” 

Seventeen 
She started, then slanted her green gaze at him. “And 
what part is that?” 
“I challenged Kenrick, did I not? I killed him.” He 
paused, fearing his voice would break if he spoke hastily. 
“You recognized me for a brute, and I gave you ample 
evidence of that brutality. Now you’re alone with a man 
you despise but cannot be rid of. ’Tis little wonder you 
grieve.” 
Astonishment lit her eyes. “You mistake me, Captain. 
I quite understand your actions. Kenrick was a fiend. 
Though I be damned for thinking it, I’m glad he’s dead.” 
Her voice cracked. “Nay, I grieve for lost innocence, for 
my foolish belief that I could serve all without choosing 
one cause over another.” 
The sadness in her voice drew him to sit by her side. 
“A pity such a noble ideal must end,” he stated solemnly. 
She shrugged, staring at the fire. “’Tis the world’s way.” 
“Yet that doesn’t make the loss any more palatable.” 
“Nay, it does not.” 
He studied her profile, then, before he could stop 
himself, asked, “Why didn’t Orrick live at Landeyda?” 
“He risked discovery there.” 
“’Tis no wonder you hate war and warriors so much.” 
Silent, Alicen glanced at Jeremy, then returned to 
staring into the fire. 
Darkness had fallen, the campfire providing the only 
light within the bower. To give her privacy, Jeremy went 
to check the horses. Then he followed the sound of 
running water to a small stream nearby and proceeded 
to strip and bathe. The icy water hastened his ablutions 
and left him clear headed. And shaking. He pulled on 
hose and boots and scooped up his other garments. With 
the campfire as a beacon, he quickly returned. When he 
stopped beside it and shook his head like a mongrel dog, 
water droplets flew to the winds. Several hissed at meeting 
the flames between the two travelers. 

His antics pulled Alicen from her musings. Following 
his lead, she rose and made her way to the stream to 
bathe. She refrained from wetting her hair, knowing it 
would take hours to dry, chilling her. She also refrained 
from reentering camp in the same state of undress Jeremy 
had moments before. She reluctantly had to admit the 
sight of so much male flesh made thinking clearly nigh 
impossible. 
Upon her return, she saw that he had prepared a 
large pallet of pine boughs and dry leaves. His blanket 
lay atop it. 
He straightened at her approach. “With your 
permission, Mistress, ’tis time we retire. I must put out 
the fire, else we risk discovery.” 
Thinking to ready her own bed, Alicen indicated the 
pallet. “Where shall I find such boughs as these?” 
Jeremy stopped on his way to his saddle. “We’ll both 
be warmer if we share blankets.” He shook out his 
garment and brought it to the pallet. 
“You’re not cold without your tunic?” she asked 
dubiously, sight of his bare chest disquieting. 
“‘Twill be our pillow.” He handed her her cloak. “Wrap 
up in this. We’ll use my cloak and your blanket over both 
of us.” 
He folded his tunic and placed it at the head of the 
pallet. Spreading out his blanket, he indicated the spot 
where she was to lie. Then he put out the fire and lay 
down. 
Unsure of the wisdom of lying beside the half-clad 
soldier, Alicen hesitated, memories of touching him 
making her throat dry. Reason warred with emotion. 
Certainly this arrangement was best. Caution decreed 
dousing the fire. Besides, she wouldn’t touch him; she’d 
just lie beside him. What harm could come of that? 
Wrapping her cloak around her like woolen armor, she 
lay down with her back to him. 
Jeremy covered them both with his cloak and pulled 
Alicen’s blanket up over that. He hesitated only a moment 
before moving in close behind her and enfolding her in 
his arms. 
“For warmth,” he murmured into her thick hair when 
her body stiffened. 

Her answer was a slight nod, but she didn’t relax 
against him. Instead, she subtly leaned away, maintaining 
some distance. 
Sleep evaded him as he contemplated the woman he 
held. He knew she also remained awake. Did she secretly 
fear ravishment? Sleeping in his arms as they rode was 
one thing. This night’s arrangement was an entirely 
different matter. 
Yet, she hadn’t refused to share the pallet. After 
several minutes of contemplation, he realized she resisted 
sleep not because she feared him but because she feared 
her dreams. 
Leaning in so that his mouth brushed her ear, he 
whispered, “You have my word naught will harm you 
tonight, lass. Rest now.” He felt her tremble slightly, but 
she made no reply. Tightening his arms around her, he 
drew her carefully back against his chest. 
The heat of Jeremy’s body seeped into Alicen’s senses, 
gradually relaxing her. She believed his vow that he’d 
protect her from anything. Even her heart? He could well 
defend her body. Could he shelter her from passion as 
well? She recalled his distrust of women and let it reinforce 
her resistance to him. Until he came to terms with Estelle’s 
death, he’d want little to do with any woman. She was 
safe—from herself and from him. Her tension steadily 
slipped away. Moments later she slept in peace. 
Jeremy smiled when Alicen at last slumped back 
against him. Her fragile strength, the vulnerability she 
masked behind a bold front, amazed him. Protecting this 
headstrong woman brought him joy. Would that he could 
see to her welfare forever. 
Aye, he would see to it. That thought jolted him to his 
soul. He had to win her, to have her in his life. William 
would agree that wedding her to his best knight would 
benefit them all.... 
But first he had to reclaim his lands. Then convince 
her to love a soldier. Both difficult goals, but his courage 
didn’t falter. The prize would be having this lady as his 
wife. 
Lying in the dark forest, he pledged his entire being 
to the woman he now held. All he did from that night on 
would direct him toward his goal of wedding her and 

seeing her happy. God willing, naught would deter his 
fulfilling this vow. 
Toward dawn, Jeremy slept, feeling a sense of purpose 
and hope he’d not felt for many years. 
*** 
“Alicen! Captain Blaine!” 
Ned fairly flew from the cottage as the riders 
dismounted in Landeyda’s yard. He ran into Alicen’s arms 
and held to her with astounding tenacity. When he pulled 
away, tears filled his brown eyes. 
“We thought you both dead,” he choked out. 
Alicen caught him close again. “Nay, lad. Captain 
Blaine yet lives to plague me, and I to plague him.” 
The target of her dart made no comment. Instead, he 
ruffled Ned’s hair before turning to greet the duke, who 
walked gingerly toward the prodigals, Michael Taft at his 
elbow. 
“We’ve been worried near to death.” William gripped 
Jeremy’s hand. “Old Rhea apprised us of your 
disappearance. She’s been here since.” He indicated the 
midwife, who even then embraced Alicen. “What 
happened?” 
“The tale will be long in the telling, my lord,” Jeremy 
replied, smiling his pleasure at William’s improved 
condition. “Shall we go inside and recount it over a jug of 
wine?” 
“Aye.” The duke turned to embrace Alicen. “Welcome 
home, Mistress. ’Tis good to see you’re safe.” 
“’Tis good to be in such a state, my lord.” She wrapped 
one arm around Ned’s shoulders and the other around 
Rhea’s and led them to the house. The men followed. 
*** 
Much to his frustrated disappointment, Jeremy saw 
precious little of Alicen in the week following their return 
to Landeyda. Arranging William’s impending journey to 
York to seal his alliance with the duke governed Jeremy’s 
time. He corresponded daily with their allies, reinforced 
his contingent with more troops, and questioned his spies. 
When he wasn’t planning, he was in the saddle— 
checking routes, anticipating problems, seeing to the 
myriad details needed to assure William’s safety. He 
personally rode to Tynan to secret William’s carriage to 

Landeyda. 
And all the time, his growing love for Alicen crowded 
into his mind and crept into his heart. 
“Taft, take the carriage to Sherford’s carpenter and 
then to the smith.” Jeremy handed his lieutenant several 
rolled sheets of vellum. “Have him make these 
improvements to the frame and wheels. They should 
provide William more protection.” 
Taft poured over the sketches and nodded. “Very 
good.” 
“We’ll tether William’s mount to the coach. If we’re 
attacked, he must flee quickly.” 
“You’ve anticipated everything.” 
“There will be no mistakes this time,” Jeremy stated 
grimly. 
Michael clapped Jeremy’s shoulder. “Each detail has 
been reviewed thrice o’er. We’re prepared.” 
“Almost.” 
“The men respect you for working harder than anyone. 
But you’ll be of no good to William if you drive yourself to 
ground.” 
Jeremy waved off Taft’s concern. “Too much remains 
to be done to rest just now.” 
“You’ll do as you will, I know,” Taft replied with a 
shake of his head. “But think, man, and save some 
strength. Strength will be needed for the coming days.” 
“That’s the truth of it,” Jeremy agreed soberly. “I’ll be 
fine, Michael. Truly.” He grinned. “Now, get you to 
Sherford with the coach. There are details yet to be 
attended!” 
*** 
“Jeremy, you must rest.” William set down the 
dispatches he held when his captain entered the chamber. 
“All is readied for tomorrow night’s departure.” He 
frowned. “Good Lord, man, you’re soaked through. Shed 
those wet garments. And eat!” 
“I’ve no stomach for food, my lord.” Jeremy lifted the 
steaming mug he held. “This pot of cider will do me 
wonders.” 
“Get food and rest.” William turned to the door. “Ned!” 
The boy appeared almost instantly. “Yes, my lord 
duke?” 

“Fetch Captain Blaine some stew, lad. And put his 
cloak to dry on the hearth.” 
“’Tis unnecessary,” Jeremy protested, holding more 
tightly to his sodden garment. “I’m well. Besides, I’ve no 
time. I meet Taft on the Great Road within the quarter 
hour.” 
William ran a hand through his graying hair. “You 
shake with chill. All is readied. You need a good night’s 
sleep.” 
“I’ll rest tomorrow. I’ve much yet to see to tonight.” 
William rose from the bed, moving toward Jeremy. 
His commanding voice held nothing but authority when 
he stated, “Someone else can tend them.” 
Jeremy stiffened. “Your safety is my responsibility, 
sir.” 
“I regret to inform you that I’m ordering you to bed.” 
The duke reached for the wet cloak. “You’ve done all that 
I expect from my best captain. Now, rest on your laurels.” 
“But, my lord—” 
William’s upraised hand stopped the protest. 
“Enough! Strip off those clothes and retire.” He pulled 
the cloak from Jeremy’s shoulders then bore it to the 
chamber door. Ned reentered at that moment. 
Jeremy started to object, but was abruptly too weak 
to do so. He blinked, trying to focus his eyes. William’s 
council was sound—a brief respite would do him good. 
“Perhaps I...” He tried handing his empty mug to Ned, 
but it slipped from his fingers and crashed to the floor. 
“Captain?” Ned reached out to steady Jeremy. “You 
look ill, sir.” 
“Nay,” Jeremy objected, even as his mind grew fuzzy, 
his eyes more unfocused. “I must meet Taft...” 
His knees buckled. 
“Fetch Alicen.” As Ned raced to do the duke’s bidding, 
William knelt at his friend’s side. “Jeremy, can you stand?” 
“I think yes,” he replied slowly, tongue thick and 
unwieldy. He felt himself shuddering but couldn’t stop. 
William helped him to his feet and to a bed, then was 
pulling off Jeremy’s boots when Alicen hurried in. 
“Ned said—” Understanding struck. “Allow me, my 
lord.” She waved the duke away. “Please tell Ned to bring 
more firewood and put the kettle on.” 

Tension radiated through William’s question. “The 
fever?” 
Alicen nodded without looking away from Jeremy. The 
silence in the room stretched, and she realized William 
stared at her. She raised her head, her calm gaze meeting 
his worried one. 
“Will he recover?” 
“I’ll not deny the severity of his ailment,” she answered 
as she stripped off Jeremy’s mail. His wet tunic soon lay 
atop the discarded armor, then she toweled off his body. 
“Fever is always dangerous, and he’s fatigued. Yet there’s 
hope he has enough strength in reserve.” She paused. 
“Much depends upon his will.” 
William’s face paled. “I should not have allowed him 
to work so hard! Should he die, I’ll ne’er forgive myself.” 
Alicen covered Jeremy with a blanket, then toweled 
his wet hair. “You know him well, sir. He n’er takes an 
easy route and would have changed naught even had 
you asked.” 
“Though you’re right, lass, I feel no better.” He helped 
Alicen place his own blanket over his captain. 
Drawn by the lord’s mournful tone, she turned and 
lightly touched his arm. “Captain Blaine is a warrior, sir. 
He’ll not succumb to this siege without fierce battle.” 
“I pray God is just,” William said tightly, crossing 
himself, “and grants Jeremy the victory.” 
*** 
The hours stretched long, and Alicen did not leave 
Jeremy’s side for even a moment. He looked so helpless 
lying there—the invincible knight now vulnerable—she 
couldn’t turn away. 
“You’ll not die, Captain,” she murmured, impulsively 
caressing his fevered cheek. “I’ll not allow it.” 
She swallowed a sigh and bathed Jeremy with cool 
cloths. Did any other man possess such a form? She 
thought not. Life was a series of ironies. Common fever 
could bring all Jeremy’s muscle and sinew low. Shifting 
back, she flexed her shoulders to ease them, then wet 
the cloth again and began retracing the planes of Jeremy’s 
sculpted chest. 
*** 
He felt a cool hand on his burning forehead, moving 

lightly across his brow. Who ministered to him? Estelle! 
She smiled and laughed, so happy to be carrying his 
child.... 
“Estelle?” The name slurred on cracked lips. “Estelle?” 
A soothing draught of water was pressed to his mouth, 
and a firm hand held his head as he drank thirstily. Next, 
he was given a warm tea tasting strongly of calamint. 
“Estelle?” 
“Hush. All is well. Try to rest.” 
That comforting voice belonged not to Estelle. ’Twas 
lower pitched, melodic. He could not remember where 
he’d heard it... 
“Estelle?” 
“Sleep now, Captain. You need rest.” 
The woman’s soothing tones caused his eyes to close. 
Her light hand caressing his temple lulled him back to 
sleep. 
It was later—how much later he knew not—when 
coolness again washed across his face. It passed slowly 
down his neck, to his chest and across his belly, only to 
be replaced by the fire consuming him. Groaning, he 
opened his eyes to see Alicen leaning over him, brow 
furrowed. She ran the cloth along his skin, but the trail 
of relief from the hell he endured left when she withdrew 
her hand to re-wet the cloth. 
He blinked. Her image seemed disjointed, unfocused 
and out of place. He tried bringing her into sharper relief 
but failed. 
“What—?” 
“Drink.” A strong hand again raised and held his head 
as a draught was administered. “Good. Now save your 
strength.” 
“Where is Estelle?” he rasped out. “She was here a 
moment hence. Our child will arrive soon....” 
Alicen bent closer. “I cannot understand you.” 
He tried again to frame his thoughts, but failed to 
force coherent sounds from his tortured throat. 
Placing a hand on his cheek, Alicen whispered, 
“Please, Captain, sleep. Think of naught but recovery. 
William and the others are well.” She brushed a lock from 
his brow and eased him back onto the pillow. “Rest.” 
He could not. Concentrating, he willed his vision to 

clear. Vivid green eyes mesmerized him. Expressive. 
Beautiful. Dark when angered, sparkling when amused. 
No other had eyes more lovely. Now, worry painted them 
an emerald he’d never seen. 
Yet, why sat she beside him? His mind skipped about, 
seeking explanation for her presence. Who caused her 
such worry? Some desperately ill child, mayhap? He tried 
raising his head to see, but could not control his muscles. 
The situation must be grave indeed. Alicen looked drawn 
and tired, had obviously gone without sleep for some time. 
She must care deeply for this youngster if she fought so 
hard to save his life. 
When I’m able, I’ll ask her about the child. But first, I 
must rest a moment.... 
Slumped on the stool beside the bed, Alicen leaned 
against the wall and dozed fitfully. Though she’d not told 
William how ill his favored captain was, it had taken firm 
insistence to banish the duke to her chamber for the night. 
Jeremy’s fever and delirium raged. He cried out, 
repeatedly muttering Estelle’s name. He pleaded with her, 
implored. Clearly, he had loved her with his whole heart. 
Did he love her still? 
For a moment, she envied Estelle. Only profound love 
would suffer so from such perceived betrayal, and Alicen 
craved the love Jeremy bore his wife. This admission 
stunned her like a cudgel blow to the head. Her feelings 
for him went far beyond a healer’s concern for a patient— 
they came from her heart. 
“No,” she whispered fearfully, but her soul answered, 
“Yes.” Her heart drummed a terrifying beat. “No!” her mind 
screamed, even as her heart admitted the truth. Denial 
did not change it. 
She loved Jeremy Blaine. 
But she’d not tell him. The paths they walked could 
never converge, their lives opposed and destined to remain 
so. The influx of wounded to her door could not be 
controlled, but emotions could be. She’d broken her vow 
of neutrality once and was determined never to do so 
again. If Jeremy recovered from this, he would ride away, 
return to his own world and forget her. 
And Duke William would wed her to another. 
Mother, what should I do? she silently pleaded, then 

hung her head, ashamed at seeking Kaitlyn’s council after 
betraying a sacred oath. Alicen knew the truth—healers 
should never love soldiers. She and Jeremy did not belong 
in each other’s lives. 
She would never know his love. To her dismay, she 
felt her eyes fill with tears. Then she felt a warmth wrap 
around her shoulders like a pair of arms. Warm air 
brushed her cheek, and she closed her eyes to enhance 
the sensation. 
You are a healer, Alicen. Come what will. Find your 
destiny and follow it, but never forsake your healing gift. 
To do so will kill you. 
“I’ll remember, Mother,” she whispered. “Always.” The 
warm embrace left her as abruptly as it had come, but 
although brief it proved a balm to her soul. 
Jeremy’s groan pulled Alicen’s attention to back to 
him. 
Though determined not to voice her feelings, she could 
not prevent her touch from showing her love. Her caresses 
soothed his restiveness, her murmured endearments 
challenged him to fight the fever with all his spirit. 
She forced him to drink cup after cup of liquid. Dried 
lettuce leaves in calamint tea calmed him, but the fever 
still raged. If it did not break soon, he would not recover. 
Well after midnight, Alicen knew her efforts had failed. 
Jeremy burned from within. He was dying. 
Use the horse trough. 
Alicen rose instantly from the stool and roused Ned, 
sleeping in William’s bed. 
“Fetch Lieutenant Taft and three of the men,” she 
said quietly. “I’ve need of them.” 
Ned glanced at Jeremy, then hurried out. Within 
minutes, Taft and the soldiers were crowded into the 
infirmary. 
“Lieutenant, your captain will die if his fever doesn’t 
break very soon. Carry him outside immediately.” 
Every man in the room gaped at her. 
“This is a desperate stratagem,” she stated, “but it’s 
the only one I have left. Please, help me.” 
“Aye, my lady,” Taft answered. 
The men carried Jeremy outside, following Alicen as 
she preceded them to stand at the end of the trough. 

“Lower him in gently,” she instructed. 
She grasped Jeremy under the arms, keeping his head 
dry. Submersion in the trough of icy cold well water, 
brought searing pain to her hands, and she ground her 
teeth to keep from gasping. In moments, her fingers were 
numb. If the fever didn’t break quickly, Taft would have 
to hold Jeremy while she returned some sensation to her 
arms and hands. 
The moments dragged. Alicen clenched her jaw and 
grimly hung on. Then just when she felt her grip loosen, 
Jeremy cried out, thrashing like a bear in a trap. Her 
nerveless fingers lost their hold, and he slipped under 
water. 
“Help me,” she shouted. 
The men instantly plunged elbow deep into the trough, 
pulling Jeremy to the surface. 
“Back to the infirmary,” she ordered. “He must be 
warmed immediately.” 
“Will he recover, Alicen?” Ned asked anxiously as the 
men carried their captain inside. 
“I’m praying as hard as I can, lad,” she replied. “It’s 
in God’s hands now.” 

EIGHTEEN 
“Jesu, this is a welcome sight,” William proclaimed 
when Jeremy, lucid for the first time in two days, 
awakened at midmorning. “Now I’ll ride to York with an 
untroubled mind.” 
“I’m riding along.” Jeremy moved to sit up, but his 
superior’s hand restrained him. 
“Nay. Mistress Kent didn’t trouble herself to save you 
only to see you kill yourself within a day. Remain abed 
and mend.” 
“But, William—” 
“Cease!” the duke commanded. “You worked yourself 
near to death. I’ll not risk that again. Rest here. I regret 
leaving for York without you, but the alliance must be 
sealed anon. Harold grows stronger by the day.” 
“Not since Kenrick’s demise,” Jeremy retorted sourly. 
“I’ll reward you well for that service.” Jeremy knew 
his eyes widened in hope, until the look William gave 
him crushed it. “But not this eventide.” 
“You repay me with confinement?” Jeremy made no 
attempt to conceal his anger. “I’ll not regain my land while 
lying abed.” 
William shook his head. “Two nights ago I nearly lost 
you, and that I cannot endure. Curb your rashness and 
follow Alicen’s bidding.” 
Jeremy thought to argue, but the worry in William’s 
eyes stopped him. And Alicen’s entry shifted his attention. 
She held a tray with steaming broth and a thick slice of 
bread. 
“If you command it, my lord,” he grumbled, glaring at 
her instead of at William. 
“Consider it so, Captain.” William smiled. “Take the 
woman’s advice.” 
Alicen smiled, also. “I fear you condemn him to a fate 
worse than death, my lord. For certain, he’d rather risk 
his life riding with you than stay here with me.” 
Did I think the wench amiable? Jeremy silently 

groused. Fever must have destroyed my mind. “You’re 
keen-witted today,” he snapped. He’d never admit her 
apparent eagerness to see him off buffeted his pride. 
“I’ll consider that high praise, though not intended to 
be,” she retorted saucily. 
“Mayhap the captain would be safer on the road.” 
Before Jeremy could even meet William’s gaze, the duke 
added, “Nay, I think not. Three days of rest will do you 
good.” His voice grew husky. “You’ll not kill yourself on 
my behalf.” 
Jeremy’s jaw clenched. Confined to bed when the 
game was afoot! The alliance with York made regaining 
his lands that much closer to fruition. And he’d not be 
there. 
Moreover, naught could be worse than wanting Alicen 
and having none near to keep him from her. The woman’s 
mere presence turned his every honorable intention to 
dust. 
Did he have the patience to woo her gently? That 
question remained to be answered. And if he wooed and 
won her, would the Duke of Tynan see them married? 
“Three days?” he asked, bleakly. 
“Not a moment earlier without your physician’s 
consent.” 
“She’ll keep me here a week just to provoke me.” 
Alicen arched a brow. “And put myself through such 
misery? I think nay.” Her next words dripped with good 
cheer. “Best begin healing now, Captain, by eating like a 
good lad.” She laid a cloth on his lap and drew up a stool. 
“I can feed myself,” he growled. 
“Sir Jeremy!” William’s tone was stern, but his eyes 
twinkled. 
“She’ll likely strangle me in my sleep.” 
Alicen slammed the spoon down on the tray so hard 
soup splashed from the bowl. “You arrogant, ungrateful 
wretch! I’ll not wait until you sleep—I’ll strangle you this 
instant.” 
“Children, children,” William scolded, his hands raised 
for peace. “Must I ask Ned to keep you from each other’s 
throats?” Silence. He sighed. “Captain, you are ordered. 
Three days’ rest.” He turned to Alicen, clasped her hand 
and kissed it. “We’ve sorely abused your largesse, 

Mistress, yet I appeal to you—indulge this last patient a 
few days more.” He grinned. “Though surly and difficult 
to abide, he is my finest soldier. I’m loath to lose him.” 
“I’ll strive to see he returns safely, sir.” 
“I’ll hold you to that. And thank you for all, Mistress. 
Were I not a happily married man, I would make you my 
duchess!” 
Alicen smiled wryly. “I’m honored you think me so 
worthy.” 
“Worthy of far more than I can ever repay.” William 
bent and kissed her cheek. “Worth more than gold.” 
He turned back to Jeremy. “Rest, Captain. We’ll talk 
ere I depart.” 
Jeremy fought sudden jealousy at William’s exchange 
with Alicen, but he masked his irritation. “Send Taft in, 
my lord. There are several details he must know.” 
Chuckling, William shook his head. “Stubborn man, 
obstinate to a fault. But ’tis a minor fault. Until tonight, 
Jeremy.” 
“The soup grows cold, Captain,” Alicen stated after 
William left. 
Jeremy smothered his restlessness and let her feed 
him. They passed the time silently, and he soon caught 
himself watching with unsettling intensity her hands. Her 
eyes. Her lips. Lord, their nearness decimated his will. 
The clean smell of her hair made him want to release it 
from its ribbon and riffle it with his hands. Memories of 
holding her brought an ache to his arms that only she 
could ease. The ache moved lower. 
This was torture, plain and simple. 
At last she finished and prepared to remove tray and 
dishes. 
“Do you require aught else? If not, I must to my 
chores.” 
He had to tear his gaze from exquisite green eyes and 
focus rebellious thoughts on his distaste of inactivity. “I’m 
fine,” he said, voice oddly rasping. “Perhaps somewhat 
tired.” 
“Then I’ll leave you to your sleep.” She pulled the 
blanket higher around his shoulders, smoothed it, then 
left. 
His body tingled where she’d touched him. Openly 

studying the graceful lines of her slender form, he decided 
that, for an uncommonly tall woman, she pleased the 
eye. 
*** 
A light touch on his forehead woke Jeremy from sleep. 
He opened his eyes to see Alicen bending over him. 
“Captain,” she exclaimed, pulling away with a startled 
jerk. “I..., I didn’t mean to wake you. I thought to check 
for fever...before I retired.” 
Feeling her flush spread, Alicen silently cursed that 
half-truth. When she’d looked in on him and noted a lock 
of black hair had fallen into his eyes, she’d smoothed it 
back. Mortified at being caught in such a bold act, she 
struggled for composure. Mayhap the candlelight would 
not provide him a good view of her features. 
Jeremy tensed. “Am I yet ill?” he asked tightly. 
A snarl of thwarted purpose threatened to burst from 
Jeremy’s throat. Should aught delay his departure, he 
feared madness, as Alicen’s nearness tortured him. He 
needed distance to retain his honor and not abuse hers. 
She smiled a bit shyly. “The rest has done you much 
good.” 
“Then naught shall prevent my leaving in the morn?” 
He couldn’t keep the desperate tone completely from his 
voice. 
She shrugged, but her nonchalance wasn’t reflected 
in the emotion that flashed in her eyes. Sadness? “Another 
fever could hinder you, but ’tis doubtful that will happen.” 
He fell back on the pillow in relief. “Jesus be praised.” 
“Amen,” came her dry response. 
Jeremy’s grin faded. Suddenly, he wanted to rail at 
her indifference. Could she not know of his regard? Know 
he left only to win back his lands in order to win her? 
Suddenly, a violent fit of coughing stopped his 
brooding and brought Alicen’s brows together. Seeing her 
deep concern made him stifle the next spasm. 
Without hesitation she placed her hand over his heart. 
“Is there pain?” 
“Nay.” He coughed again and, at her dubious look 
admitted, “Aye. But only when I cough.” Her frown 
remained, dismaying him. “‘Twill not detain me, will it?” 
If I cannot depart soon, I’ll not be able to keep myself from 

you. 
She fussed with the blanket before meeting his gaze. 
“I know not. Pleurisy will require your remaining here.” 
“More idleness will kill me,” he grumbled, feeling his 
heart thud dully. “I can’t abide lying abed,” without you 
here in my arms. 
“Let me see.” Folding the covers back to his waist, 
she put her ear to his chest. “Breathe deeply.” He 
complied. “Again.” 
He took another deep breath and let it out slowly. 
Her hair brushing his body inflamed him. Craving a 
kiss, he labored to voice only concern for his condition. 
Yet his tight throat gave the question an abnormal 
huskiness. “Is aught amiss?” 
Alicen glanced up. “I’ll know by morn.” 
He choked. “I must leave for York in the morn.” 
“I’ll not promise you’ll be able.” Plucking a jar from 
her nearby tray of medicaments, she added, “Yet, this 
balm should clear the congestion and make you fit on 
the morrow.” 
“But—” 
She cocked a brow at him, scooped out a generous 
amount of the substance and began rubbing it along his 
throat. “Lie still, Captain. Vexation but worsens matters.” 
He jumped at her touch, then quickly quelled his 
reaction. “What if this doesn’t—” 
“Shhh,” she scolded softly, intent on her task. “Worry 
won’t aid you.” 
Smothering his fears and needs, Jeremy gave in. Spicy 
smells filled his nostrils as she spread balm down his 
throat and across his shoulders, chest and torso, 
kneading with infinite care. Her touch brought no pain 
to still tender ribs, providing a soothing caress instead. 
His skin grew warm, tingling. Surrendering to 
sensation, he relaxed and let his heavy eyelids drop. He 
began to drift to sleep. 
Then a wave of pleasure hit him. 
With a start, his eyes flew open. Sweet Jesus! Leaping 
pulse, quickened breath, fire everywhere—he’d rarely 
been so aroused. Praying this internal heat burned not 
on his face, he tried to throttle his raging thoughts, to 
concentrate on the import of the coming days. He could 

not think of pleasuring Landeyda’s healer! 
Alicen pulled back. “Is the liniment too strong?” 
“N..., nay...But I...” He stared at her. “I’m...That’s 
sufficient.” His every vision of her combined in a rush of 
desire so strong it nearly overwhelmed him. 
Alicen looked askance but made no comment. Instead, 
she recapped the balm, assisted him into a nightshirt, 
then adjusted his blanket. “Don’t concern yourself with 
this. Oft the condition worsens with apprehension.” 
“I’ll keep that well in mind,” he affirmed, staunchly 
avoiding her bewitching eyes or thinking of her maddening 
touch. 
He thanked his Maker the blanket covered his loins. 
Flexing a knee, he lifted his leg to further mask his 
condition. He’d always believed lust indicated good health, 
but this was an inopportune moment to experience such 
recovery. Pitilessly, he crushed his impulse to pull this 
woman into bed and love her until neither of them could 
move. 
Jesu be merciful, he silently pleaded. Give me strength. 
He wanted more than a mere tumble with Alicen, more 
than brief physical release. He wanted to offer her a 
lifetime. 
This thought brought no comfort. Until Harold’s 
defeat, Jeremy could give Alicen naught except his heart. 
He knew from experience that was rarely enough. 
A curious look suffused her face as she studied him. 
“Should I fetch a sleeping draught for you, Captain?” 
“I need naught to help me rest,” he stated. Aught I 
need is you here beside me. Beneath me. 
“Nay, you’re taut as a drawn bow. Worry o’ertaxes 
you.” 
Trapped. He couldn’t tell her that her mere presence 
set his senses spinning. That he wanted her—his hands 
in her thick tresses, his lips on hers, his body deep inside 
her. He’d endured serious battle wounds that brought 
him less pain than want of her did. 
Either he left in the morning or arrived in York too 
late to do William service. It was his last night at Landeyda, 
perhaps for months. Honor warred with need. To slake 
his desire was to take advantage of Alicen in the basest 
manner. Yet, he reasoned, marrying her would purge the 

sin he contemplated. And how could making love to the 
woman he cherished above all others be sinful? 
Thoughts of honor fled when he looked at her. Her 
nearness pushed him to the edge of chivalry. 
“The drink will make you slumber like a babe,” she 
said in her most reassuring tone. 
He’d be a misbegotten blackguard to use her, his 
conscience taunted. 
“Will this potion help my dreams?” he asked, not quite 
successfully putting a caustic edge on his voice. 
She smiled slightly. “Undoubtedly.” 
“I don’t engage in dreaming,” he lied without a twinge 
of conscience. “My dreams won’t let me rest.” 
With a sigh, she shook her head, moving to the door. 
“Trust me without question for once. This will certainly 
aid you. By morn your lungs should be clear.” 
In her absence, Jeremy battled both mind and body. 
He shook from want but chided himself for lacking honor. 
Yet he loved her! Must he not express his love intimately? 
Upon her return, his decision was made. She offered 
him the cup, but he refused. 
“Leave it. I’ve no need just now.” 
Alicen stared. His anxiety had grown more palpable— 
he appeared coiled to strike. Yet, he insisted naught was 
amiss. Setting the cup on the stand between the beds, 
she fussed a moment with his pillows. She had no reason 
to remain, except that she wanted... 
“Good night, Captain.” Her voice sounded hollow in 
her ears. “Rest well.” 
But as she turned to leave, Jeremy seized her arm, 
his hand sliding to her wrist when she turned back to 
him. 
“What?” Her whisper was breathy. 
Their gazes locked, exchanged heated promises. Then 
Jeremy looked away and released her. 
“God rest you, Mistress,” he replied through clenched 
teeth, not meeting her eyes. 
She left as he ignored with ruthless will his pounding 
body. He could not follow. Instead, though it was 
madness, he lay admiring her graceful carriage. While 
many women practiced seductive gaits, Alicen knew 
naught of her sensuality. He found such innocence 

alluring. The flame simmering inside him ignited into an 
inferno. Christ’s guts, just looking at her drove his senses 
wild! 
“No,” he said, with fierce determination tempering his 
desire. “Not yet.” 
*** 
Jeremy lost his battle. Common sense had flown the 
moment he touched Alicen. Now raw need battered him, 
and he was too weak to resist. Rising, he yanked on his 
hose and scrubbed the liniment from his chest. He crossed 
the main room, paused briefly at her door, then pushed 
it open on noiseless hinges. 
Her back to him, she stood before her washstand clad 
only in her linen chemise. Seeing her thus, he hesitated. 
She looked so vulnerable, so oblivious to danger. So 
desirable. He cleared his throat. 
Alicen flinched at the sound and spun to face him, 
eyes wide with startlement. Holding the wet cloth to her 
breast, she gasped, “Captain Blaine! You frightened me.” 
“Forgive me, lass,” he said, voice gone low with desire. 
“But I must speak with you.” 
Alicen could hardly breathe for the pulse pounding 
in her throat. Achingly aware that the cloth was scant 
covering, she set it in the basin and reached for the robe 
lying on the bed. Jeremy intercepted her before she could 
retrieve it, gently grasping her wrist. He brought her hand 
to his lips. 
“I need your healing skill, Mistress.” He cleared his 
throat. “Please help me.” 
Riotous sensation nearly buckled Alicen’s knees, but 
concern fortified her resolve. To her, Jeremy looked 
undeniably handsome in her candlelit chamber. 
“What is amiss, sir?” 
“Much,” he replied, stepping close enough for her to 
feel his warmth. “I burn with a fever only you can cool. 
My heart and soul ache with pain only you can ease.” His 
eyes glowed a blue flame. “Heal my heart, Alicen,” came 
his urgent plea. He gently pulled her close. “’Tis my heart 
needs healing.” 
She could only stare, knowing there would be no 
retreat for either of them this time. Her breath fluttered 
in her chest. Yet she wanted no retreat, only surrender. 

Seizing both her hands, Jeremy raised them to his 
lips for a soft kiss. Then he flattened them, palms open, 
against his bare chest, spreading her fingers with his. 
“I love your hands,” he murmured, rubbing the backs 
of them lightly with his thumbs. 
Silent, she absorbed his heart’s steady rhythm with 
her palms, the feel of silky skin over hard muscles. A 
hint of liniment scent reached her nostrils. Her nerves 
jangled. If they hadn’t been pressed to Jeremy’s chest, 
her hands would be shaking. Somehow, touching him 
steadied her. 
She ducked her head. “My hands are not soft like a 
gentlewoman’s.” 
“But they are strong and skilled and infinitely tender.” 
When she looked into his eyes, he whispered, “Your touch 
excites me, Alicen. Touch me more.” 
Jeremy moved her arms to encircle his waist, captured 
her hands behind his back, drew her tight against him 
and held her along his length. 
Feeling her heartbeat bound, he sought to calm her 
by lightly caressing her lips. He kissed cheeks, forehead, 
eyelids. Rubbed his cheek against hers and nuzzled her 
throat, all the while murmuring, “Heal me, lass. Touch 
me and heal me.” 
He grew harder, but curbed his eagerness, seeking 
instead to pleasure her by combing his fingers through 
her hair, rubbing her neck and shoulders, trailing his 
hands down her back to her hips. 
“I want you,” he stated in a low rumble. “Do you know 
what that means?” 
“Yes.” Uncertain of what course to take now it had 
come to this, Alicen could only stare. Jeremy’s powerful 
body pressed to hers made breathing difficult. His mouth 
on her skin clouded reason. She vaguely thought to resist 
his tender seduction, but admitted she had no wish to do 
so. 
She trembled and leaned against him. “I, I’ve never...” 
Her voice trailed off. 
Her admission touched a tender spot in Jeremy’s heart 
he’d thought long since scarred over. He would be the 
man to unlock her passion, the one to show her ecstasy. 
Trembling expectation seized him. This woman had 

insinuated herself into his soul, and he wanted to pleasure 
her so well she’d always be with him. 
“Don’t fear me,” he told her, as much by the way he 
held her as through his spoken words. “I’ll not hurt you.” 
His mouth again sought hers, sought to draw a 
response equal to his own. He caressed her back and 
buttocks until just touching her could not quench the 
searing inferno. His fingers shook as he grasped her 
chemise to lift it over her head. 
Her shudder of uneasiness gave him pause. 
“I wish to please you,” he stated with quiet sincerity. 
Alicen’s tension burst forth in a ragged gasp. “I’d 
rather you’d just get this over with!” 
He smiled wryly. “But we’ve ‘til dawn to enjoy each 
other.” 
Alicen felt the blood drain from her face. Until dawn. 
What then? Long ago, she had resolved to give herself 
only to the man who held her heart. Orrick had stood to 
be that man. Now Jeremy Blaine made his claim. But on 
the morrow he’d be gone. Would this soldier leave behind 
any part of her unrazed, even her soul? 
Jeremy cradled her face in one hand and tilted her 
chin up. “Love me,” he ordered gruffly before his mouth 
came down on hers. 
The kiss devastated her defenses, buffeting her with 
desire so strong it left her weak-kneed. Nothing she knew 
compared to such wildness. Her mind warned of the trap 
Jeremy set for her heart, but that same heart sought to 
open to him. Sighing, she made a feeble attempt to rein it 
in. 
“I cannot do this,” she murmured, raising her gaze to 
meet his. Her attempt to back away failed, as he refused 
to relinquish his hold. 
A warm, crooked smile lit his face, then he chuckled. 
“I have few such reservations about you, sweetling.” 
With unsteady hands he undid the tie of her chemise 
and lifted it over her head. He tossed the garment to the 
floor behind her, and she stood before him wearing only 
her amulet on a silver chain. It rested just above her 
breasts. 
Such bodily perfection dazed him, and for a moment 
he could only stare. Then, gently cupping her firm breasts, 

he was rewarded by her startled gasp. He caressed her 
nipples to hardened peaks, enjoying the change in their 
texture, their satiny heat. 
“Exquisite,” he murmured. 
Her lavender scent filled his nostrils as his mouth 
claimed hers and his hands roamed her quivering body. 
He watched her eyes flare with awakening desire, and he 
continued his caresses until she rewarded his patience 
by slowly raising her arms to encircle his neck. A moan 
of joyful surrender came from deep in her throat. It 
mirrored his own. 
His pulse raced at her response, joy flaming in his 
heart. He released her long enough to untie his hose and 
step out of them. Then, he lifted her and laid her on the 
bed. With his soul as naked as his body, he squeezed his 
eyes shut a moment so the woman beneath him could 
not discern his true need. 
Fear leapt into Alicen’s eyes when he moved against 
her, and she tried to avoid him. “Captain, I—” 
“Hush,” he soothed. “All will be well.” 
Determined to prepare her fully for his claiming, he 
resumed his caresses. Mouth suckled, tongue laved, 
hands caressed. He tasted and touched and penetrated 
areas calculated to drive her out of herself. Her pulse 
pounded at the base of her throat. It quickened even more 
when his lips covered her breast. As her resistance gave 
way to passion, his doubts died. 
When his tongue circled her ear, Alicen squirmed. 
“Please—“ She panted. “I cannot...bear...this.” 
Jeremy lifted his head, looking deeply into her eyes. 
“Trust me, lass.” His kiss demanded, tongue thrusting 
deep, then he felt her breath catch when he again suckled 
a straining nipple. Her body jerked. 
“Please, Captain, stop,” she begged. “I cannot think.” 
“’Tis no time for thought,” he said, mouth still against 
her breast. “Just feelings.” 
He stroked her belly and thighs, and she started when 
he touched her intimately and began a gentle possession. 
On a gasp, she cried, “What are you doing?” 
He continued the explicit caress. “Pleasuring you, 
sweetling.” 
Concentrating on Alicen’s sensitive body, he let his 

fingers play. He could feel her burning from within as he 
sought to drive her beyond herself to an unexplored realm. 
When she finally succumbed to passion, he felt the 
change immediately. Having defeated whatever doubts 
she’d battled, she responded fully to his lovemaking. 
Elation enveloped him. She arched, crying out softly as 
he built her yearning. Finally, when he had brought her 
to the fevered edge of climax, he slowly entered her. 
Alicen’s eyes flew wide as he slipped deep within her, 
then momentarily darkened with pain at his invasion. 
Her breath caught, and her wild gaze locked on his. 
“Don’t resist, lass,” he whispered on a groan. “The 
pain will lessen quickly, and only delight will follow.” 
He held still as long as he could, watching her face 
while their bodies melded, enjoying the passion in her 
eyes and the tight passageway that held him a willing 
captive. “Jesu, you feel wonderful,” he whispered as he 
brushed a tumbled lock of chestnut hair from her face 
and kissed the spot revealed. “Come with me, Alicen. To 
paradise.” 
His mouth slanted across hers, sweeping her into his 
rhythm. Enthralled by her heat, he thrust slowly, 
prolonging contact, feeling her response. He wanted to 
please her for all time, to bind her to him forever. 
They joined in an earthy cadence, blissful moments 
passing as they partnered each other in the ancient dance. 
Speech became murmurs, sighs, moans—communicating 
by touch not voice, each learning the other’s body. There 
was no coming dawn, no leave taking. They had eternity. 
Jeremy increased his pace, and soon Alicen arched 
against him, crying out her climax. At her release, he 
sought as intense a culmination as hers. He drove strongly 
into her—once, twice, again—then blanketed her with his 
body, pressing her into the bed while their ragged 
breathing slowed. They lay entwined, the wild beating of 
their hearts gradually calming. 

Nineteen 
“Did I hurt you?” Jeremy murmured into Alicen’s ear 
before carefully withdrawing. 
She stared at him, too overwhelmed to reply, then 
shook her head mutely. 
“I’m glad.” He grinned and kissed the tip of her nose. 
“Don’t move.” 
Feeling certain she’d never stir again, through slitted 
eyes she watched him leave the bed and walk, casual in 
his nudity, to the washstand. He soaked a cloth in the 
basin, then brought both to the bed. 
When she raised a brow in question, he stated, “This 
will make you more comfortable.” 
Confounded, she lay still as he tenderly cleansed her 
body. Other women had spoken of atrocities enacted upon 
them by men in the throes of lust, yet Jeremy had treated 
her gently, taking her virginity with little pain. His concern 
for her pleasure penetrated straight to the heart she’d 
believed would never know passion, and she saw the 
absurdity of physical intimacy without emotional 
surrender. She could not elude the ardor Jeremy had 
inspired, the joy and hope, the longing. Such feelings 
astonished her every bit as much as her physical reaction 
to his lovemaking. 
But had he acted thus simply because they were 
lovers for a night, not man and wife forever? That 
disheartening thought painfully twisted her emotions. 
With reverent care, Jeremy bathed away all traces of 
sweat from Alicen’s body and sponged the evidence of 
their loving from between her thighs. Done with his 
ministrations, he returned the cloth to the basin. 
His brow raised as he lay back down beside her. 
“Better?” 
“Yes,” she whispered, knowing no other possible reply. 
His attentions comforted, but she had no experience 
to compare them to. Emotions and sensations jumbled 
in her mind, not to be untangled. What she had just done 

with Jeremy Blaine overwhelmed her—her passion 
shocked her. He had reached her in a way no other ever 
had, terrifying her. How could she have made love with 
him, knowing he’d leave to follow his duke? 
She ignored the true answer and caught her breath 
as he slid closer. His blue eyes shone, his nearness putting 
lucid thought to flight. A relieved smile made his strong 
face look boyish. 
He cupped her chin. “I’d hoped you’d enjoy it. First 
times needn’t be horrifying.” 
Embarrassment at her inexperience made Alicen 
snap, “You truly believe this my first time?” 
“So knowledgeable in the ways of healing yet so 
unlearned in the ways of loving,” he teased, then winked 
and added, “You said as much.” 
She knew her cheeks were flaming and couldn’t meet 
his eyes. “No doubt your many other conquests were not 
so simple,” she muttered. 
He gently smoothed back a lock of her hair. “Simple 
you are not, my sweet.” 
Realizing he’d seen her vulnerability, she sought to 
rebuild a defense. “I’ll not compare myself to others,” she 
retorted. 
Jeremy laughed. “You’re beyond compare.” His fingers 
lightly traced her skin from collarbone to shoulder. “Know 
you how splendid you feel? How glad I am to be with 
you?” How much I love you? 
She kept silent, but her wary gaze softened. 
Still smiling, he drew her close for a soft kiss, nuzzling 
her ear and throat as his fingers played upon her skin, 
eliciting a throaty sigh. But when his finger traced the 
stones of her amulet, she tensed. 
Wondering at her reaction, he sought to put her at 
ease. “Your necklace is so unique. Wherever did you come 
by it?” 
Her tension lessened slightly when she replied, “My 
mother gave it to me.” 
“A family heirloom.” He smiled. “‘Tis exquisite. Do you 
ever take it off?” 
“Never.” Seeming to come to a decision, she added, 
“My mother feels close when I wear it.” 
Far closer than you might suspect, he thought, then, 

upon reflection, concluded that Alicen not only felt her 
mother’s presence, but heard her voice. Much the same 
as he had begun to think he heard it. 
But other more pressing issues brought themselves 
to Jeremy’s attention, and he bent to kiss Alicen’s amulet 
and the breasts it rested above. He chuckled when her 
breath caught in her throat. 
“Ah, sweetling,” he murmured. “This time ‘twill be 
even better between us.” 
Green eyes widened. “This time?” 
He wiggled his brows. “Of course. What came before 
was mere prelude. We’ll enjoy each other the entire night.” 
Jeremy’s words burned deep into Alicen’s heart, 
haunting her...“The entire night...” But come the dawn? 
He moved her more than she’d thought possible, so much 
that she feared her soul would not survive their 
lovemaking. And when he left? 
She made a decision. If they had only this night, then 
she would live it to the fullest, enjoy him for the fleeting 
time he lay with her. She buried her face against his neck 
and gave over to the passion he inspired. Taking a deep 
breath filled with the musky smell of her knight, she gave 
herself over into his care. 
“Show me,” she whispered. 
Joy flooded Jeremy at Alicen’s response. Relieved he’d 
not hurt her unduly when claiming her virginity, he 
clasped her hand and held it flat over his pounding heart. 
“Feel what you do to me, lass.” He pressed his hips 
intimately against her and saw her eyes darken in 
response. “I need you.” 
The flaming passion in Alicen’s eyes was all the 
encouragement he needed to continue. Slipping his hand 
down her back, he stroked her hip and thigh. Then from 
behind, he slowly slid a finger into her moist womanhood. 
She jerked as if burned. “Captain Blaine!” 
“Under the circumstances, shouldn’t you call me 
Jeremy?” he asked wryly before deepening the intimate 
caress. He kissed her again, more confidently, stroking 
Alicen until she cried out. 
“What are you doing to me?” 
“Giving you pleasure,” he growled low in her ear. 
Lifting her leg over his hip and holding her on her 

side, he entered her then brought her quickly to climax. 
*** 
“Have I pleased you, my lady?” Jeremy nuzzled 
Alicen’s hair, cradling her to his chest. He lay on his back 
with her half atop him. 
“I am not your lady,” she replied, unable to keep 
bitterness from her tone. 
“Do you wish to be?” 
Her pulse leapt at his words, but she covered her 
reaction with a half-laugh. “For but a night? Nay. ’Tis a 
soldier’s way of thinking, not mine.” 
“Prideful wench. You’d endure torture before 
confessing you might enjoy me.” 
His words touched the core of her despair, and she 
swallowed the tears burning in her throat. She fought a 
terror that warned against revealing more of her emotions 
to this man who would depart, taking her heart away. 
But, ignoring that stubborn warning voice, she 
ventured all on honesty. “Don’t leave.” She emphasized 
her soft plea by tightening her arm around Jeremy’s waist. 
Jeremy sighed and pulled her closer still. “I’m bound 
to, lass. William needs me in the campaign against Harold. 
To reclaim all the bastard stole.” 
She raised her head from his shoulder to fix him with 
a measuring look. “Why? Aught we might require is here 
at Landeyda.” 
“But I have naught to give you,” he protested, twining 
a lock of her hair in his fingers. 
Her smile was bittersweet. “Not even yourself?” 
Her implication made Jeremy’s breath catch. Then 
reason returned, and he set his jaw. “You don’t 
understand.” 
“Aye, you have that aright.” Propping herself on an 
elbow, she stared down at him, and he saw fear in her 
eyes. “Must you fight, Jeremy? You could be injured.” 
Her voice dropped to a whisper, “Or killed.” 
He shrugged. “I owe service to William.” 
She looked ready to scream. “William of Tynan has 
hundreds of retainers, and the Duke of York for an ally,” 
she retorted. “I daresay he’d not lament your absence.” 
“Alicen—” Jeremy reached up to cradle her face in 
both hands, fingers spreading through her hair. “I am a 

knight. I have my duty. And I must go to help William.” 
Tears made her eyes glisten like emeralds. “You’re 
just like my father, like Orrick, like every other soldier! 
You’ll leave your comfort behind to follow some banner.” 
Jeremy gathered his courage and risked his heart. “I 
need you. I’ll return for you when I’m able. Trust me, 
sweetling.” 
“You speak of something you’re unwilling to give me 
in return,” she replied grimly. “You trust me not.” 
She pushed away and made to leave the bed, but he 
caught her arms and pulled her down onto her side, her 
back tight against him. She went rigid in his arms, 
shoulders back and set. 
“I wish to give you your due,” he whispered. “A lady’s 
life. Your life thus far has not been easy.” 
She twisted around to face him. “Yet it has suited me 
these eight years past.” 
“But you deserve to live as a gentlewoman,” he 
insisted. “I cannot give you that until I win back my lands.” 
“All I need is you, Jeremy. Naught else is necessary.” 
“It is for me. How long will I hold your heart if I cannot 
provide for you? How long can any woman love a man 
who has naught?” 
“I am not like other women,” she said with quiet 
firmness. 
“And I am not like other soldiers.” 
They stared into each other’s eyes then, seeing doubts, 
needs, yearnings to trust...and past experiences that 
prevented them from doing so. He looked away first. 
“Hold me, Jeremy,” she whispered. “‘Twill suffice.” 
He crushed her to him. If only passion were enough, 
he’d not venture a step from this woman who permeated 
his being. 
He would return to claim the peace that was his when 
he held Alicen close. No other—not even Estelle—had felt 
so right beside him. Perhaps the spirit of Alicen’s mother 
had guided him there so many weeks before to find his 
mate, the one woman who would cherish and heal his 
battered spirit. 
Yet duty dictated he leave. How to make her 
understand that going wasn’t abandonment? She didn’t 
trust him to return. He understood that, as his own 

mistrust had kept his feelings at bay to spare himself 
more pain. Now Alicen had won his heart, and in return 
he had to win her trust. 
While he contemplated his problem, he stroked her 
soft skin, enjoying the lean muscles beneath it. Her 
sensitivity inflamed him, and fervent pleasure drove away 
dark thoughts. Physically, Alicen was ardent for his 
lovemaking. Her heart would fall eventually. 
She gasped when he bent to suckle her breast. “Are 
you insatiable?” came her hoarse question as she broke 
away from him. “Leave me be.” 
“In truth, I cannot, Mistress.” He leaned over her to 
whisper, “You’ve enslaved me. I’ve never pleasured a 
woman so in my life. And I’m willing to do so as oft as I 
can this eve.” 
“Why so solicitous toward me?” 
The challenge in her voice warned him to tread 
carefully. He’d intended to declare himself that very night, 
but realized she’d no wish to hear such confession. His 
heart clenched. Why love this slender, infuriating vixen 
when any number of experienced women boldly sought 
his notice? 
You are destined to love each other. 
Hearing the voice in his mind didn’t surprise him, 
but love might not mean he and Alicen could be together. 
She dreaded his departure, and he could not shirk his 
obligation to William. Guilt seized him. If only he could 
stay! Once he’d fulfilled his obligation, he would return 
to Landeyda. With land and a title, he’d set about 
reclaiming Alicen’s trust. 
In the meantime, he hesitated to reveal his innermost 
emotions. Declaring his love wouldn’t change the fact that 
he had to leave. 
“You give comfort and healing,” he told Alicen after a 
moment’s silence. “All I know is destruction, death.... Oft 
I must retreat from those pursuits and seek gentler ones.” 
Bemused, she stared at Jeremy. Rhea’s observation 
had been correct, yet Alicen herself had not acknowledged 
this side of him—the sensitive, unshielded side she loved. 
Love. That was the unnamed emotion hiding in her 
heart, keeping to the shadows, afraid to step into the 
light. She loved him, but he would leave to ride with the 

Duke of Tynan in spite of that. She could never speak 
her love to Jeremy and have it ignored. 
But she could show the depth of her feelings. 
Gathering her nerve, she gently pushed him onto his back. 
She felt a slight smile draw up the corners of her mouth. 
Her hand stroked across his massive chest and over 
his taut stomach as she whispered, “What gentler pursuits 
did you think to find, sir knight?” 
Growling, Jeremy pulled her atop him. 
*** 
He awoke alone. 
Stifling disappointment that he could not wake Alicen 
with a kiss, he left the bed, donned his hose and went in 
search of his intoxicating healer. The cottage stood empty, 
but he heard voices outside so returned to the infirmary 
for proper attire. 
When he emerged a few moments later, both Ned and 
Alicen occupied the main room—she at the hearth, 
preparing eggs and thick slices of ham for breakfast, her 
back to the room. 
“Captain Blaine,” Ned greeted him enthusiastically. 
“’Tis good to see you looking well.” 
“Thank you, lad.” Jeremy did not take his gaze from 
Alicen. “Did the foal arrive?” 
Ned beamed. “Aye, a fine colt. I assisted the mare in 
her delivery.” 
Jeremy at last turned to smile at the apprentice. “I 
knew you’d do a splendid job.” 
Pride’s crimson flush stained the boy’s fair cheeks. 
“Alicen said I could accompany her on her next birthing. 
Of a baby, that is.” 
A baby. Poignant memories of Liza’s delivery caught 
Jeremy off guard. ’Twas one of many experiences he’d 
shared with Alicen which had profoundly changed him. 
Holding Liza’s babe had brought such a feeling of awe. 
He glanced back at Alicen, mind racing. Could they 
have conceived their own child last night? A little daughter 
with her emerald eyes, or a son who’d grow tall and 
strong? And would she wish to bear this child? He’d not 
think of Estelle’s utmost sacrifice. Alicen valued life far 
too much to ever consider taking his wife’s desperate 
course. 

The possibility of a babe reinforced his vow to return. 
Surely, Alicen must know that. He ached to hold her and 
kiss away her fears, but knew he could not. Nothing could 
change the truth of his leaving. 
“Would you saddle my horse for me, lad?” Jeremy 
asked Ned. 
“Certainly, sir!” The boy was on his feet and out the 
cottage door almost before Jeremy could draw another 
breath. 
Alicen had just removed the pot from the fire. She 
ladled food into the trenchers, ignoring him as he stepped 
up behind to gently trap her against the table with his 
body. 
“I would speak with you, lass.” 
Slamming the ladle onto the table with a bang, she 
momentarily hung her head. “There’s naught to say.” 
He grasped her shoulders, turning her to face him. 
“Aye, there is much to say.” 
Chin raised, she gave him her most indifferent look. 
“If you’re leaving, then be quick about it.” 
He saw her hurt expression, felt it shoot straight into 
his heart. “I’ll return to you.” 
“Every soldier who ever took up arms says just such,” 
she scoffed in a husky voice. “’Tis a lie.” 
He tried to embrace her, but she pushed away, and 
he had the wisdom to let her go. She stormed back to the 
hearth. 
“I love you, Alicen.” 
Her head snapped up at his quiet declaration, but 
she kept her back turned to him. “Do you love me enough 
to trust me?” 
The words seared Jeremy’s already vulnerable soul. 
“Lass, I—” 
She spun to face him. “Don’t lie! You’ve not trusted 
me from the beginning. I must know now whether you 
still believe me capable of deceit and treachery.” 
Could he conquer years of pain, layers of betrayal 
that had thickened into a callus around his heart, keeping 
tender thoughts out? He knew she’d not betray him. Yet 
his mind warned that she still could hurt him. 
“Until I have land and a title to offer you, how could 
you ever truly love me?” 

At his change of subject, Alicen abandoned convincing 
him of her loyalty. His painful memories prevented him 
from believing her. Better to let him resume his life—the 
life of action he lived so well—than to reveal her heart, 
shattering from losing his affection. 
“I don’t require the finery you seem convinced I need,” 
she said sadly. “But without trust, love can never flourish 
between us.” And without your love, I shall perish. “Don’t 
return, Jeremy,” she whispered, unable to meet his 
intense gaze. “You’ll bring soldiers of death riding at your 
back. Stay away. I never want you coming here again.” 
His voice cracked when he replied, “I’m bound to, 
lass. You know that.” 
“And I’m bound to mend the havoc wrought by your 
kind,” she retorted. “You’ll return with blood on your 
hands and killing in your soul. Then the blood on my 
hands will follow.” She raised trembling fingers to her 
temples. “I’m so weary. Weary of war. Of death. Soldiers 
leave. They never stay to right their wrongs. ’Tis left to 
their victims to do so.” 
“I mean to stay.” 
“For what reason? You’ll lay this shire bare. What 
would compel you to dwell here afterward?” 
“You!” He clenched his fists. “You’ll scarce believe such 
a promise, but I’ll have my land and with it freedom from 
war.” 
“Think you to keep that land without a struggle?” 
Alicen cried. “You’ll fight until they bury you.” 
He ground his teeth. “Then ‘twill be my land I fight 
for, not some godforsaken piece of earth my king’s regent 
covets!” 
“Fighting is fighting, regardless of the object. Men die, 
and the ground drinks blood. It will never cease.” She 
visibly trembled. “I cannot condone what you do.” 
“I’m not asking you to.” 
Staring, they fell silent. The time for parting had come, 
and Jeremy knew they could not break away without 
inflicting more pain. 
He moved first.. Jaw set, he strode to the infirmary to 
pack his saddlebags. That done, he crossed the main 
room, pausing with his hand on the door latch, aware of 
Alicen aimlessly rearranging medicament jars. He 

retrieved a heavy pouch from his cloak. 
“William left money to pay for my care,” he growled, 
turning to hold it out. 
Her brows drew together. “I must refuse, Captain. 
What services I performed were done as fealty to my duke.” 
Jeremy’s heart sank at her caustic use of his title, at 
her coldness. He had laid his soul bare, yet she spurned 
his love. He knew the heartless cruelty of his words, but 
her rejection was riding him hard, and he couldn’t govern 
his tongue. “Would you have left me to my fate had William 
not pleaded for my life?” 
“Nay,” she replied levelly, glaring at him. “I’ve never 
left any man to die.” 
He gestured to the bag, then sneered, “These coins 
could go a long way to maintaining your beloved estate.” 
He saw Alicen’s composure nearly break, but she raised 
her chin proudly. 
“Leave here. Never return.” 
Her raw pain almost made him relent. Instead, he 
tossed the pouch containing William’s money onto the 
table. 
Eyeing it with distaste, she scoffed, “To purchase care 
for those you intend to maim? How charitable.” 
Silent, he stalked out, slamming the door behind him. 
Charon stood waiting, and Jeremy leaped astride. Horse 
and rider were beyond the stable when Alicen appeared 
on her doorstep. 
Raising the pouch, she flung it at the retreating knight. 
Her aim proved true. It struck him between the shoulders, 
the coins scattering across the courtyard in a silver-gold 
spray. 
“You said you wouldn’t hurt me,” she choked out as 
he rode away. “Then why does my heart feel like a lump 
of iron beaten by a blacksmith? Why is pain all I know?” 
Strangled by tears, she fled to her bedchamber. 
*** 
Jeremy didn’t look back, didn’t flinch when the coins 
struck. Just sat taller in his saddle. 
You each have a duty, Kaitlyn O’ Rourke’s voice 
whispered inside his head. Have you the courage 
necessary to prevent those duties from destroying your 
love? 

He shook his head to clear it of the ghost’s words, but 
was not successful. 
Cursing himself for a heartless villain, Jeremy urged 
Charon into a gallop and hastily put as much distance 
between himself and his broken dreams as he could. 

Twenty 
The very air seemed to press down upon him. 
Jeremy felt it like a tangible thing, a smothering 
blanket of oppression which befit his despair. Since 
leaving Landeyda, he had trained endlessly, ignoring with 
grim silence all warnings that he risked another fever by 
driving himself so hard. 
Like the wolf who had lost his mate, he nursed his 
wounded heart and longed for her. His bed became a 
torture chamber where thoughts of making love to Alicen 
made his life hell. Without her beside him, shadows 
taunted from the darkness, mocking his inability to win 
and keep a woman’s love...his inability to trust without 
reservation. 
Driven from his bed, he took to the forest despite the 
air’s frosty nip. He ached from cold. No matter how high 
he built his fire or how many blankets he wrapped about 
himself, the chill pierced. Fueling his misery, he dreamed 
of Alicen’s warmth but awoke alone. He cursed memories 
of her supple body against him, of loving her. ’Twas all 
his fault. He’d ignored her pleas and ridden away without 
so much as a glance back. 
The hurtful words he’d thrown at her tortured him 
most deeply. She feared abandonment, yet he’d departed 
without her. Now he lay alone each night, chilled and 
wounded in spirit, unable to ward off the cold or ease his 
body’s aching. He fell into restless sleep, aware that the 
hurt in his chest was the pain of his empty heart. 
After a week of self-inflicted isolation, he returned to 
Tynan. It was the eve of the Duke of York’s arrival, and 
Jeremy, determined not to sped another night alone in 
his room, went to the guard room to spend it drinking. 
The next morning, he regretted that he couldn’t 
remember much of the night. And the single event he 
could remember made his head ache worse than excessive 
ale had ever done. He’d fought with another officer who 
had mocked his drunkenness. Last night, Jeremy had 

been of a mind to prove that, even sotted, he could subdue 
that particular varlet. And so he had. But at what price? 
*** 
There was nothing of Jeremy’s good friend in the tone 
William used to address him when he arrived at the duke’s 
summons that morning. “Captain Blaine, await my 
pleasure in the antechamber while I speak with Captain 
Richards.” 
Jeremy bowed stiffly and left, going directly to the 
nearest window casement. There, he stared dull-eyed at 
the courtyard below and contemplated his crumbling life. 
What had possessed him of late? For the past month, to 
be exact. Never had he been so ungoverned... so 
haunted...so helpless to end his suffering. He could 
scarcely believe he’d brawled with another knight on the 
eve before the most important campaign of his life. 
He needed Alicen. His soulmate. His balance. With 
her near, the world seemed less hostile. The peace he 
found in her arms was worth fighting twenty of Harold to 
win. He sighed. Once he gained his land and his lady, 
he’d never again fight for another. He’d sworn the vow as 
she slept in his arms on their return from Kirksowald. 
The night he’d privately admitted his love. No one would 
prevent him from keeping it. 
Except, perhaps, Alicen herself. She’d not responded 
in kind to his declaration of love. After his battles ended, 
would she give him her heart? If not, his life would become 
a void. 
Her wish that he not return, the fact she wanted no 
part of the carnage he would bring, plagued him. But he 
was bound to go back to Landeyda, to the woman he 
hoped awaited with caring in her heart for this battle-
weary knight. 
The door to William’s private chamber opened just 
then, and Jeremy turned in time to see Richards stride 
out. 
“The duke will see you now, Blaine,” Richards snapped 
as he made his departure. 
Venturing no comment, Jeremy quietly entered the 
privy room. His duke stared out the window for several 
long moments. Then, hands clasped behind him, William 
slowly turned to face him. 

“Despite the warnings of nearly all who know you, 
you’ve done little else in the past month but train and 
prepare for battle,” William began. “You’ve risked a return 
of the fever that nearly killed you.” 
This statement startled Jeremy. He thought he’d been 
summoned for a reprimand. “This campaign is crucial,” 
he said carefully. “I wish to be as prepared as I can.” 
William nodded, but his expression remained solemn. 
“I’ve never known you to be foolhardy, Jeremy. But what 
I saw last night after Jason Warrick summoned me makes 
me think common sense had abandoned you.” He plucked 
a knight from the chess table beside him and idly turned 
the piece in his hands. “My officers are too dear to be 
wasted over drunken insults. Any who choose pride before 
duty have no place with me.” 
“I understand, my lord.” 
William carefully set the chess piece back on the board 
before he looked up to meet Jeremy’s gaze. “Do you? I 
know you despise Conrad Richards.” 
“He fights with his tongue not his sword,” Jeremy 
ground out through a tight jaw. “Lacking the skill to win 
his rank, he purchased it with his wealth.” 
“I am well aware of how Richards came to be a knight, 
yet I cannot afford to have him killed by another of my 
officers. He may be a cockscomb, but he brings twenty 
retainers to my cause. Every one a skilled warrior.” 
Jeremy locked his hands behind his back to keep 
William from seeing his clenched fists. “My actions were 
foolish and indefensible. I was drunk. It won’t happen 
again.” 
Jeremy saw a glint of sympathy in William’s eyes and 
wished he’d not looked up at that very moment. He didn’t 
deserve pity. 
“I’ve not seen you so drunk since the night Estelle 
died.” 
That stark memory burned into his mind’s eye. “As I 
said, ‘twill not happen again.” 
“Jason was actually worried about you.” 
Jeremy vaguely recalled his conversation with Jason 
Warrick. Something about urging his friend to drink with 
him and Warrick’s saying Jeremy had drunk enough for 
them both. 

And he clearly remembered the brawl with Conrad 
Richards. Richards’ challenge. His own acceptance. He 
also recalled William’s arrival in the guard room. His duke 
had informed all present that, should any of them duel 
amongst themselves, he’d execute the victor. 
“If you kill Richards, I’ll have you hanged,” William 
stated, interrupting Jeremy’s morose recollections. The 
duke’s gaze shifted to hold his. “What a waste that would 
be.” 
Leaden-hearted, Jeremy remained silent. He’d 
incurred his lord’s wrath, for what? Over a fool’s drunken 
insults? Because he couldn’t have a woman? Nay, not 
just any woman, he reminded himself, the only one he 
loved. The woman who wouldn’t love a soldier because 
she had sworn to protect the lives duty compelled him to 
destroy. 
“Don’t allow your feelings to blind you to what must 
be done,” William warned softly. “You know as well as I 
that a man on the verge of battle needs a clear head.” 
“My feelings never interfere with my duty.” 
“You’ve not been in love in years,” came the wry retort. 
“Your recollection of past experience is murky.” 
“I love no one.” 
William’s brow rose. “My wife tells me you’ve ignored 
every female at court since your return from Landeyda a 
month ago. It intrigues her, as you’ve never completely 
scorned a lady’s advances ere now.” 
Inwardly, Jeremy shuddered to think the duchess had 
observed his behavior and then informed William. Likely 
she knew the reason for it, but he’d not admit she was 
right. 
“With respect, my lord,” he began slowly, “Lady 
Guendolyn is a kindhearted and romantic soul. But in 
this instance she sees what does not exist.” 
“My wife claims you’ve lost your heart, and I believe 
her.” 
“My lord—” 
William cut him off with an upraised hand. “Alicen 
Kent is a fine woman. One worth losing both head and 
heart over.” 
Jeremy stared, jaw momentarily slack, then dropped 
all pretense. “How did you know ’twas Alicen?” 

William smiled. “You’re like a son to me. A father 
recognizes his son’s suffering. Since your return, you’ve 
been a walking ghost. The only thing that could cause 
such a change in you is a woman.” 
“Am I that easily revealed?” Jeremy crossed to the 
hearth and stared into the dying embers. 
“Nay. Yet I’ve known you seventeen years. Since your 
family sent their eight-year-old son to me to foster. I read 
your moods well.” Jeremy kept silent vigil at the hearth, 
and William moved to clap him on the shoulder. “Alicen 
is as fine a lady as any in England. Don’t fear surrender 
to her.” 
“You have promised to wed her to one of your 
subjects.” He raised his gaze to the duke’s. “But, you’ve 
not mentioned me as a possible husband.” 
William squeezed Jeremy’s shoulder. “In truth, lad, I 
said nothing for I was unsure where the wind lay. Now I 
know you love her, and I’ll gladly give her to you in 
marriage.” 
“She doesn’t love me.” His words sounded desolate 
even to his own ears. 
“Have faith!” William emphasized his words by giving 
Jeremy a gentle shake. “Alicen is completely without guile. 
She’ll be a loyal companion for the rest of your days.” 
Jeremy’s mouth tightened, and he had to swallow 
hard before speaking. “She cannot love a soldier, nor does 
she believe I’ll return to her after Harold’s defeat.” 
“I see.” William nodded slowly. “Then you must 
convince her you intend to remain with her.” 
“How shall I do that? Within a fortnight we ride against 
Harold.” Looking down, he noted dispassionately that his 
hands had again fisted into white-knuckled balls. “I 
cannot go to her until this war ends.” 
“You’ll see her within two days.” Without meeting 
Jeremy’s eyes, William turned to the map of Sherford 
lying on the table. “We need every available healer for 
this campaign. York proposes we make his castle our 
base camp, and I proposed we establish a hospital there.” 
William raised his gaze to Jeremy’s. “Ride to Landeyda 
and fetch Alicen, Ned and Rhea to Durham. Tell them it 
is at my command. I’m in desperate need of their skills.” 
“Alicen won’t treat just our wounded,” Jeremy stated, 

pride in his love’s integrity a fierce ache in his chest. 
“She may tend any she pleases.” William’s look turned 
intense. “Will you fetch her?” 
“I’ll do my best to persuade her, my lord. Though I’m 
uncertain she can be tempted from her home.” 
“She’ll have your welfare to attend, man. What more 
could she need to follow you to Durham?” 
“Trust, mayhap?” Jeremy countered with a sardonic 
smile. “I’ve not given her that.” 
*** 
Four days before Duke William of Tynan’s army 
marched north to meet the Duke of York’s at Durham, 
Jeremy rode to Landeyda with Michael Taft and two 
soldiers. Hoping to influence Alicen’s decision to his favor, 
he first stopped in Sherford and found Rhea. The old 
midwife readily agreed to aid William, provided they 
brought along the foundling, Pearl, and Liza Wick and 
her baby. 
Jeremy smiled fondly as he scooped up Liza’s two-
month old son and held him high in the air. His smile 
widened at the baby’s gurgled laughter. Then his mirth 
faded. Did Alicen even now carry his child? If so, would 
she welcome such a burden? 
“We’ll need all the aid we can procure,” he stated to 
Rhea as he returned the boy to Liza. “Pearl is old enough 
to assist you, and Liza is also welcome.” He turned to 
Taft, who stood staring at the young mother. “Michael, 
help them with their supplies. Michael?” He nudged his 
lieutenant. “Duty calls.” 
Taft flushed deeply. “My apologies, Captain.” He 
bowed to the women. “Ladies. If you’ll show me what needs 
be loaded...” 
“This way, sir,” Liza said shyly, gazing up through 
her lashes at the lieutenant’s weathered features. 
Jeremy watched, bemused, as Taft followed Liza to 
her hut. 
“Methinks the good man has found a love,” Rhea 
observed. 
“So easily?” Jeremy countered with soft irony, turning 
to the old midwife. “’Tis not possible.” 
Rhea drew her woolen cloak around her and 
straightened her bent frame. “Mayhap for you, falling in 

love is not simple,” she said kindly, “but ’tis uncomplicated 
for those who trust.” 
Trust. That word had mocked him since he’d left 
Landeyda a month earlier. Even knowing Estelle hadn’t 
betrayed him—knowing all women weren’t faithless—he 
refused to trust Alicen with his heart. He had told her of 
his love, and she’d thrown him out of her home. Yet 
honesty prompted him to admit that her rejection came 
from fear rather than enmity. Fear he’d not return. That 
he loved fighting more than he could ever love her. He 
shut his eyes. ’Twas time to prove his love. And time to 
trust her integrity and honor. 
“Tell Taft I’ll meet you at Landeyda,” Jeremy said to 
Rhea. “I must speak to Alicen alone.” 
*** 
An unusually warm November sun lit the clearing 
where Alicen sat at midday beside her mother’s grave. 
After a morning spent cleaning cottage and stable, she’d 
seized a chance to rest. Ned had tended the animals— 
naught remained to do that couldn’t wait an hour. She 
escaped to the isolated clearing, intent upon letting her 
mind rest along with her body. 
But thoughts of a handsome knight who’d awakened 
her passion and won her heart intruded. Not a day had 
passed since Jeremy’s departure that she did not think 
of him. And every night. Especially at night. 
She shivered despite the warm sun. As a healer, she 
was well aware of the physical aspects of coupling. But 
she’d never suspected the emotions involved in such 
intimacy. Jeremy’s desire, his tenderness, his love had 
penetrated her heart. They lodged there, unimpeachable. 
She ached from missing him. 
“Why did you leave?” she asked the slight breeze. 
“Why ride to York to be with William instead of remaining 
with me?” 
She knew the futility of such questions, just as she 
knew his reasons for going. But accepting them proved 
difficult. She had never known a man’s love, thus she 
had no wellspring from which to draw strength for this 
emotional struggle. 
And it truly had been a struggle. At first, she feared 
she’d been left with child. Yet when her normal cycle 

resumed soon after his departure, she’d been saddened 
to think memories were all she had of him. Her 
despondency had grown so deep Ned became openly 
concerned. She did not reveal the true reasons for her 
despair, saying instead she missed life as it had been 
before William and his soldiers had plunged them into 
subterfuge. 
The breeze picked up slightly to swirl around her, 
tugging gently at her hair. Her head came up, and she 
smiled wryly. 
“You always said life continues despite us, Mother,” 
she murmured, voice directed to the Celtic cross at the 
base of the large oak. “And I must, too.” 
You are first and foremost a healer, Alicen. 
“Yes.” If she pined away for a soldier, her vow would 
go unserved. She’d waste away to naught while aiding no 
one. The memories had to be locked up, her duties 
continued... 
But don’t forget you have a heart that must be cared 
for as well. 
A horse’s nicker from behind made Alicen’s every 
nerve burn. Lost to her musings, she’d heard no one 
approach. Dread’s chill raced up her spine. Ned would 
have been on foot. Choked with terror, Alicen rose and 
turned slowly to face the intruder. 
Her breath left her lungs in a gasp. “Jeremy!” 
Though she thought she’d shouted, she’d merely 
whispered. Unable to move or even speak again, she gaped 
at him astride Charon. He looked thinner, more chiseled 
than when she’d seen him last. Wild hair tumbled in his 
eyes, and she saw evidence of several days’ growth of 
beard. His tunic and doublet were dusty, as was his mail. 
No one had ever looked so wonderful to her. 
Observing the flash of fear in Alicen’s eyes the moment 
she turned, Jeremy instantly regretted stealing up on 
her. Although the fear died when recognition dawned, it 
boded ill that their meeting should begin on such unstable 
ground. And by a gravesite at that. A breeze abruptly 
whirled around him, and cold spread through him. Again, 
he heard a lilting Irish brogue in his mind. 
Have you the courage, Captain? 
He nervously cleared his throat. 

“Ned told me you’d be here,” he stated a bit roughly. 
“We must needs talk.” 
Alicen looked wan to him, and more slender. His gaze 
moved to her belly. Could his babe be growing there? 
He’d little recollection of when a woman began to show 
pregnancy, and equally little idea of how to broach the 
subject. His felt himself flush at the thought—he’d always 
held it the woman’s duty to tell the man if she was 
enceinte. 
“Will you return to the cottage with me?” he asked, 
baffled at the formality of his tone but helpless to correct 
it. 
When she nodded, his breathing resumed. He 
dismounted at her approach and stood holding Charon’s 
reins in shaking hands until she stopped beside him. 
Lavender scent immediately filled his nostrils, and his 
heart melted. All those lonely nights without her mocked 
him. Would he live the rest of his life with such desperate 
loneliness? 
“What brings you here, Captain Blaine,” she queried 
with startling coolness. “I’ve heard tell of no battles 
nearby.” 
Her bitterness told the price of his leaving. He looked 
away, muttering, “We meet York’s army at Durham in 
two days.” 
“Saint Clement’s Day,” Alicen responded flatly. “A 
holiday before the killing begins?” 
“William bade me fetch you. We’ll need good healers 
in the days ahead, and he wishes for you to join us.” 
Bristling, she faced him squarely. “I’ll not attend an 
army in the field! There’s too much senseless slaughter.” 
“You’ll treat casualties at Durham Castle,” he ground 
out, reminding himself that her anger was justified. After 
all, he’d said he loved her yet had left her and returned to 
Tynan. He resisted the burning urge to crush her to him 
and kiss her senseless. Instead, he said tightly, “Rhea 
and Liza have agreed to go. They’ll arrive at Landeyda 
presently.” 
At these words, Alicen’s face paled then flushed with 
anger. “Why, you foot licking knave!” She gathered up 
her skirt and started for home at a run. 
“Alicen, wait!” Jeremy yanked Charon’s reins to pull 

the horse around as he set off after his quarry. His mount 
resisted, so he abandoned it and broke into a dead run. 
Catching Alicen at the woods’ edge, he seized her arm 
and pulled her to a halt. “Listen to me!” 
She wrenched from his grasp, then aimed a slap at 
his face. He managed to stop the blow and hold onto her 
wrist as she stood glaring at him. “Son of a misbegotten 
swine! You dare use my friends against me?” 
Guilt made him lower his head. “How else could I 
approach you, knowing I’d hurt and abandoned you?” 
She went completely still, and he cursed himself for 
hurting her more. He released her, but had to use his 
vaunted self-discipline to not cradle her face in his palms. 
“Alicen, William has need of you. He’s agreed to let you 
treat any prisoners we may take.” 
Losing his battle to keep from touching her, Jeremy 
cupped her chin in his hand and tilted her head up. Green 
eyes filled with pain met his look. His fingers lingered a 
moment on her cheek before he dropped his hand to his 
side. 
“Please come, lass. You’ll be safe at Durham. I know 
you wish to go where you’re most needed. Good physicians 
are always in demand.” He swallowed nervously and 
found his fists clenched. “And consider this. Sherford may 
not be spared from the fighting. If you cannot accept my 
love, at least accept my protection.” 
“Speak not of love ‘til you can speak of trust, Jeremy,” 
Alicen stated, voice husky with tears. She turned her 
back. 
Not about to allow her withdrawal, he gently seized 
her shoulders, then turned her back toward him. With 
one strong finger, he brushed away the glistening drops 
wetting her cheeks. “Good men will die without you,” he 
said, voice nearly a whisper. 
Her look was grim. “Good men will die in spite of me.” 
Gathering her into his arms, he held her so tightly he 
knew she could barely breathe. She belonged with him— 
his mate, his heart. Her warmth penetrated even his mail, 
a warmth he’d not felt since their last embrace. He lowered 
his head to her hair and breathed deeply. She did not 
resist, which heartened him. 
“Come with us, lass,” he murmured, relaxing his hold 

on her. “You’ve no idea how badly you’re needed.” 
Jeremy’s soft plea crushed Alicen’s defenses. She’d 
longed for his return, and now the strong arms encircling 
her made her forget all her objections and hurt. 
He was sworn to fight, as were all Duke William’s 
men. As a sworn healer, her loyalty lay with those who 
needed her skills the most. Unfortunately, she knew the 
victims of battle —soldier and civilian alike—would 
require her talents in the coming days. 
She drew a shaky breath, then raised her head to 
look into her knight’s anxious eyes. Seeing his love, her 
tone grew strong. “I’ll go. Duty must be served. Yours 
and mine.” 

Twenty-one 
“Alicen!” Ned hurried toward her as she walked 
Durham Castle’s bailey with Rhea and Liza. “The armies 
take the field on the morrow.” 
Alicen exchanged a look with Rhea. 
“We’ve only been here two days,” Liza exclaimed. 
War makes its own time, Alicen thought morosely. 
Scanning the inner bailey, she saw Jeremy, Jason 
Warrick, and William’s other captains leaving the keep. 
As she watched them move toward her, tumult from the 
portcullis drew everyone’s attention. 
“’Tis the eve of war, and battle lust begins, I see.” 
Indicating the portcullis, Jason turned to Jeremy with a 
grin. “Shall we look to the cause of this disturbance?” 
Jeremy shrugged, indifferent. “If you desire to do 
such.” 
“Methinks a different kind of lust assails you, man.” 
Jeremy’s gaze had been on Alicen, and he realized 
Jason knew it. “Your tongue will dig your grave, Warrick, 
do you not mind it,” he snapped. 
Before Jason could reply, Jeremy strode toward the 
main gate and the source of the tumult. 
A crowd had gathered at the drawbridge to witness a 
heated exchange between two archers, both claiming they 
could leap the span between the gatehouse and the 
barbican at the outermost gate. Twenty-five feet across 
the moat. 
Jeremy knew there would be trouble when he looked 
at Jason’s glittering eyes. His friend was going to start 
some mischief. 
Jason’s next words confirmed Jeremy’s thought. 
“Would you care to wager, friends?” Warrick asked 
the bowmen. “I’ve ten florins that says I can make the 
leap.” 
“I am for you,” the larger of the two men said. 
Jason and the large archer drew straws. Jason drew 
the long straw and thus would jump second. He ordered 

that a bed of straw cover the top of the barbican, some 
twenty feet below the gatehouse. The bowman climbed 
to the parapet and stepped onto the crenel, steadying 
himself with a hand on each of the waist-high merlons. 
From the ground forty feet below, he looked like a piece 
of gristle caught in a giant’s squared-off teeth. With a 
piercing battle cry, he leaped into space. Instead of landing 
atop the barbicon, he fell short, caught the edge of a crenel 
with both hands and hung there a moment before falling 
into the moat. 
His opponent had not even managed to extricate 
himself from the brackish water before Jason had stripped 
off sword belt, doublet and tunic, shoved them into 
Jeremy’s arms, and climbed to the parapet. With a 
bloodcurdling war cry, he launched himself at the target. 
Jeremy assumed Jason was aiming for the lowest 
crenel atop the barbican. He hit the merlon beside it 
instead and fell flat on his back in the mud that edged 
the moat. Jeremy winced at the sight of his friend hitting 
inflexible stone, but Jason was not down long. 
Muddied, his nose bleeding, Jason scrambled onto 
solid ground, where he for a time stood doubled over, 
gasping for breath while good-natured taunts filled the 
air. 
“I almost reached it,” he groused when Jeremy 
approached. “A hand span left.” He eyed the guardhouse 
roof as the second bowman prepared to make his leap. 
Jeremy shook his head. “I’ll pay you twenty florin not 
to attempt that again.” 
Grimacing, Jason wiped blood from his nose with the 
back of his dirty hand. “Mayhap you’re right. Let the 
bastard Harold’s men attempt to kill me. I’ll not do it for 
them.” 
Jeremy started to clap Warrick on the shoulder then 
thought better of it. “You look fit for the sty.” His nose 
crinkled. “You smell fit for it, too.” 
Warrick scraped a handful of mud from his chest and 
raised it in his fist. “Not another word, friend, or I’ll—” 
Again the crowd roared. Soon, Jeremy had watched 
a dozen men fail the leap. One broke an arm, another a 
leg, all bruised themselves. None came closer to success 
than Jason and the large archer. 

Each successive attempt was cheered louder than the 
previous ones, and Jeremy knew not a noble, retainer or 
servant within Durham Castle was unaware of what 
transpired. 
“Come, Captain Blaine,” Jason said, nudging Jeremy 
with his elbow. “’Tis certain you could hit the mark.” 
“No.” Just then Jeremy caught sight of Alicen, 
approaching with Ned, Rhea, Liza and Michael. He froze, 
unable to calm his racing heart. Ease the ache in his 
chest. Her gaze met his, and she smiled slightly, weaving 
her way through the assembled throng to gain his side. 
“Good day ladies, Ned, Michael,” he greeted the group, 
never looking away from Alicen. “Have you come to see 
grown men make fools of themselves?” 
She shook her head. “Truth be told, we’d heard there 
were injuries and thought mayhap we could help.” 
They were in time to see the latest contestant’s foot 
slip just as he began his leap. He fell headfirst into the 
moat. 
“Dickie can’t swim,” one man cried when the soldier 
remained submerged. 
Three men immediately leaped into the murky water. 
After frantic searching, they surfaced, two dragging the 
unconscious victim to solid ground. One thumped his 
back several times, and with a sputtering heave of his 
chest, Dickie again began breathing. 
Alicen turned shocked eyes to Jeremy. “They do thus 
for sport?” 
“They merely ease their worry before battle.” He 
shrugged. “’Tis more agreeable than pillage or ravishment, 
don’t you allow?” When Alicen blushed, he couldn’t help 
grinning. 
“He who succeeds at the leap will earn vast wealth,” 
Jason interjected. “A prize of one hundred florins.” 
Ned gasped. “That’s two hundred shillings!” 
“Aye, lad. A man could well enjoy himself with such a 
purse.” Jason cocked his thumb at Jeremy. “I strive to 
coax Captain Blaine to try his hand.” 
Jeremy waved Jason off. “Leave be, Warrick. I’ve no 
need of the winnings. Nor do I wish to soil my clothing.” 
He turned to the others. “Jason still chafes because he 
failed first.” 

Warrick’s ears reddened. “You’ll let Duke William’s 
honor be besmirched to spare your clothes, Jeremy? Or 
lack you stomach for this?” 
Alicen shot Warrick a look of disgust, then clasped 
Jeremy’s arm, pleading quietly, “Don’t let him taunt you 
into this. ’Tis foolish, and you know how happily he makes 
mischief for his own entertainment.” 
Sensation radiated through Jeremy at her touch. 
Suddenly, only the two of them existed. Everyone else 
faded away as he stared at her, seeing her fear. He knew 
then the depth of her caring, despite her reluctance to 
admit such. Cupping her chin in his hand, he smiled 
and leaned toward her, then realizing they could be 
overheard, looked up at their assembled companions. 
“Pardon us.” He clamped her hand in the crook of his 
elbow and moved a few paces off from the throng. 
His tone matched her earlier one when he replied, 
“He’s correct, you know. I cannot abandon my duke’s 
honor.” 
She scowled. “He seeks to goad you into needless 
peril.” 
“Do you care so much for my safety?” Her answer 
meant the world, and he fixed her with an intense gaze. 
She looked away first. “What manner of question is 
that? You know I cannot abide seeing men hurt.” 
Her actions gave him his answer. Joy sang in him, 
and he was overwhelmed with need. “A wager, Mistress 
Kent?” He crooked a brow. “Since I mean to attempt what 
all others have failed, why not give me a sweeter prize to 
win?” 
She eyed him warily. “I have little coin. And I’ll not 
risk a farthing on such a foolish enterprise.” 
Bending his head closer, he whispered, “Then venture 
the one commodity I’ve longed for, lo, these many weeks.” 
At her dubious look, he stated honestly, “Your pleasurable 
company in my bed this night would be a prize worth 
dying for.” 
Gasping, Alicen pressed her fingers to his lips. “Speak 
not so lightly of death. ’Tis ill fortune.” 
He kissed her hand, then ran his fingers up her arm. 
“Will you wager? We both know well the delight that will 
be ours should I succeed.” 

She trembled at his touch. “Jeremy, don’t risk 
injury—” 
“In the morn we ride into battle. ‘Eat, drink and be 
merry, for tomorrow we—’” 
“Cease this!” Alicen tried to pull away, but he 
tightened his fingers into a gentle shackle, effectively 
preventing escape. 
“I want you, Alicen,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’ve felt 
thus for so long, I cannot remember ever not wanting 
you.” 
Her mouth opened and closed twice before she 
managed to say, “Must you take this foolish dare?” 
He grinned, leaning closer. “Danger makes life rich.” 
“Reasoned with a soldier’s logic.” With a sigh, she 
briefly dropped her forehead to his shoulder. “I’ll take 
your wager. But I’ll not bind your head when you crack it 
for pride.” 
Jeremy laughed, quickly kissed her mouth, then 
dashed back to the others. He handed his sword to 
Warrick, spurned removing his tunic, and strode to the 
watchtower. 
Knees wobbling, Alicen stood where he’d left her. An 
inner chill swept her as she watched him poised atop the 
merlon. The chill turned to ice in her veins when he 
emitted a fierce battle cry and launched himself off the 
parapet. 
She closed her eyes for a tense moment, heard a 
deafening roar, and looked to see him standing squarely 
in the middle of the barbican, a smile threatening to split 
his face in twain. Unaware of doing so, she ran toward 
his perch. 
Jeremy descended, fighting through the crush of giddy 
spectators to find his friends. Noting Alicen’s expression 
contained equal dismay and relief, he paused. He’d forced 
her into a decision she perhaps regretted. What would 
happen next? 
Jason’s grin was as broad as his congratulatory 
embrace. Arm draped over Jeremy’s shoulders, he turned 
to the others with a laugh. 
“The man’s invincible,” he roared. “Why, I once saw 
him make a similar leap in a full suit of armor.” 
At this declaration, Alicen froze, eyes locking with 

Jeremy’s. 
The pain of betrayal he saw there scorched him, but 
before he could speak, her expression changed to fury. 
“More the fools we for doubting him,” she said coldly. 
“Or doubting the lengths he’ll go to win a wager.” She 
spun on her heel and fled through the crowd. 
Silently cursing his stupidity, Jeremy made to follow 
her, but Rhea stepped closer and touched his hand. 
“Stay, Captain,” the midwife advised. “She must needs 
be alone a little to think matters through. Seek her out 
later.” 
Torn, Jeremy glanced down at Rhea then back to 
where Alicen had disappeared in the throng. Once again, 
he’d callously hurt the woman he loved. He glared at 
Jason, but knew his own deceit had done him in, not his 
friend’s ill-timed proclamation. Sweet Jesu, why hadn’t 
he told her he could easily leap the span? Base need had 
driven him to seek a night of pleasure with her. 
His cunning may have cost him his heart’s desire. 
Shoulders sagging, he turned back toward Warrick 
and was immediately engulfed in a crowd of well-wishers. 
Burdened by despair, he received their congratulations. 
*** 
Jeremy paced his chamber like a caged animal, 
fighting his urge to tear Durham apart. Supper had ended 
over an hour before, and the castle had gradually quieted 
as its occupants settled in for the night. Alicen had not 
appeared at the meal. In fact, had not been seen since 
afternoon. 
Jeremy prayed that Ned and Rhea’s presence at 
Durham would prevent Alicen from returning to 
Landeyda. But he wasn’t certain it would. 
It seemed he’d thought a hundred times to search for 
her, but Rhea had warned against pursuit. And the old 
midwife knew Alicen far better than he. ’Twould be 
foolishness he could not afford. 
And if he pursued and managed to find her, what 
would he say? That love for her had caused him to deceive 
her? Nay, lust had overturned tender feelings. Now he 
waited in torment until his heart returned. If she ever 
did. 
At midnight a quiet knock riveted his attention. He 

rushed to throw the door wide, expecting Rhea on the 
threshold. 
Alicen stood alone in the dark hallway, the hood of 
her cloak drawn up over her hair, and gave him a hesitant 
smile. 
“May I enter?” she asked dryly. 
His heart reeled before thundering wildly, and he had 
to force himself not to crush her to him. Instead, he bowed 
and politely ushered her into the chamber. 
“I thought you’d not come,” he stated, unable to keep 
pain from his voice. “Lord knows you have reason enough 
to stay away.” 
“We wagered and I lost. I’m here to repay my debt.” 
Her declaration made it clear that given the choice 
she’d not be there. His chest felt pinched by blacksmith’s 
tongs. She tensed as he reached for her, and panic seized 
him. 
“Alicen, forgive my baseness! But it has been so long 
since we..., I mean I..., you seemed so angry when—” 
Realizing he babbled, he trailed off. He massaged his 
forehead, then met her gaze, searching her face for a sign 
of forgiveness. When he spoke again, his choked voice 
nonetheless was calm. “I’d never expect you to excuse 
such trickery, but you must believe my deep regret.” He 
gave her a tight smile. “You needn’t pay the wager.” 
Alicen’s fragile control threatened to crumble beneath 
his sincerity. In truth, she wished to be there, yet she 
resented his tactics. This resentment, and knowing she’d 
come to him on her terms, steadied her. In anticipation 
of their lovemaking, she’d drunk an herbal potion of rue 
and savin. Though she’d gladly bear Jeremy’s child, she 
knew not of his desire for a babe. She’d no wish to discover 
he merely sought temporary pleasure with her. 
Nervous, she removed her cloak, draped it over a 
chair, then smoothed the cowl. Avoiding eye contact, she 
examined the room. The furnishings were Spartan: one 
large coffer for clothing, two chairs and a rug before the 
hearth, a table beside a window embrasure. The large 
curtained bed. Tapestries depicting the hunt adorned two 
walls, Jeremy’s mail and weapons another. Altogether 
functional and impersonal. 
Feeling the loneliness of the place, she turned and 

saw the need in his eyes. Pain twisted inside her. Until 
then, she’d never been certain that he missed her. Loved 
her. With quick strides she closed the distance between 
them and launched herself into his arms. 
“Hold me.” 
He crushed her to him, tangling his hands in her hair, 
kissing her as if she were water and he dying of thirst. 
“Alicen,” he groaned. 
They embraced with raw intensity—hands, lips, 
bodies straining to touch as intimately as possible. 
Jeremy pulled back long enough to divest her of her 
dress. His tunic followed. Then he carried her to the bed, 
there to resume his fevered caresses. He ripped her 
chemise in his haste to remove it, but he was too lost in 
emotion to care. She untied his hose, and that quickly he 
was as naked as she. 
They came together in a wild, intense culmination of 
their reunion, the only sounds moans of pleasure and 
incoherent love words. Pillows were swept from the bed 
and sheets tangled in a passion too fervent to be further 
contained. 

Twenty-two 
“Noooo!” 
Alicen lurched to a half-sitting position, flailing blindly 
with her fists. Jeremy had all he could do to stop her 
from striking him as she lashed out against invisible 
enemies. 
“Alicen! Awake.” He managed to control her thrashing 
by holding her close and murmuring soothingly, “Steady, 
lass. You dreamed, sweetling, ’tis all. There’s naught to 
fear. ’Twas just a phantom of the night.” 
Green eyes flew wide, the terror he saw there gradually 
leaving as she recognized her surroundings. Her breathing 
calmed to a more normal rhythm. Glancing at the hour 
candle beside the bed, Jeremy saw they’d slept only a 
short time after their heated lovemaking had exhausted 
her. She snuggled her head beneath his chin. 
“They pursued me.” Voice hoarse, she shook with 
dread. “They caught me in the woods.” 
“Shhh,” he crooned, smoothing her hair back from 
her face. “You dreamed. Don’t be afraid now.” 
Her eyes were huge. “’Twas so real.” 
His embrace tightened. “You’re safe here.” 
“Aye, but you are not. In a few hours you’ll face battle.” 
Her voice nearly broke, but she mastered it. 
“I’ll return to you, Alicen.” His gaze was intent. 
She shuddered. “Would I could believe that. Believe 
a man who tricked me into his bed.” 
Her soft tone struck like shards of glass. “I only 
thought to keep you near,” he muttered, miserable. “Little 
wonder you hate me.” 
A frown could not hide the soft luminosity of her eyes 
as she stroked her hand down his jaw. “You, sir, are a 
cad.” 
Jeremy swallowed, her touch tugging the corner of 
his mouth into a slight smile. “To prove my contrition, I’ll 
obey any command you give.” 
“You’ll do aught that I desire?” 

Completely serious, he said, “I am your willing 
servant.” 
An impish grin lit her face. “Then walk the 
battlements, clothed as you are.” 
He started, caught the mirth in her expression, then 
slowly smiled. “You’re a hard woman, Alicen Kent, to send 
a soldier to die from exposure.” 
“You gave your word, sir.” 
“So be it.” He paused only a moment before adding, 
“But I’m bringing you along.” 
Grabbing her arm, he started to drag her from the 
bed. 
“Stop!” she shrieked, laughing and struggling to break 
away. “Brute! Leave be!” 
“You cut me deeply, woman,” he protested with mock 
affront as he released her, then joined her in bed. “I am 
dishonored.” 
She laughed again. “Methinks honor is too important 
to you,” she teased, mimicking his voice to perfection. 
An exaggerated sigh whooshed from his chest. “At 
least send me to my death with a kiss to ease my final 
hours.” 
“Oh, very well, but make quick work of this.” Closing 
her eyes tight, Alicen pursed her lips. 
With a laugh, Jeremy bent toward her and gently 
brushed her mouth with his. Her eyes half opened, and 
to his complete delight, she pressed her lips harder 
against his, the light kiss quickly flaming. Her arm 
encircled his neck, drew him down with her as she rolled 
to her back. Knowing she feared for his safety, for his 
return, he made gentle love to her, withholding his 
pleasure until she had reached fulfillment. At last he 
released his ardor, and when he climaxed, she again 
gained that peak. 
Afterward, Alicen clasped him in a warm embrace, 
her lips clinging to his mouth. 
Joy flooded him, but fearing his weight would 
discomfit her, he started to withdraw. She locked her 
hands behind his back, causing his heart to pound so 
hard he was certain she felt it. 
“Do I perceive that you wish me to remain, Mistress?” 
A startled look crossed Alicen’s face, then she blushed 

and tried to push him off. 
“What? A sudden change of heart?” 
“You’re heavy!” she protested, face now ablaze. 
Leaning down, he whispered in her ear, “You did not 
think such a few moments ago.” He rolled to his back, 
bringing her along, still joined to him. “I’ll gladly bear 
your weight, my lady.” He grunted as though she were 
stout, then grinned. 
When Alicen’s lips thinned and she started to speak, 
he held his finger to her mouth. 
“Shhh! Talk not of gratitude. ’Tis there in your eyes.” 
“Why, you arrogant—” 
Alicen struggled to break free, but Jeremy’s muscled 
arms held her hips tight to his. Embarrassed that he could 
so accurately assess her feelings and then tease about 
them, she doubled up her fist and hit him square on the 
chest. She swung again, but he caught her hand before 
the blow fell and pulled her arm behind her back, laughing 
deep in his chest as she strained against him. 
She knew the futility of resistance, yet continued, even 
when he stymied all her efforts. Finally, growling in 
frustration, she bared her teeth and nipped him on the 
chest. 
“Ouch,” he yelped. “Bloodthirsty minx!” 
He rubbed the spot where her teeth had caught him, 
and Alicen lurched away, forcing him to give up his 
massage to grab her with both hands. They laughed as 
they tumbled about the bed, Jeremy trying to kiss her, 
she doing her best to avoid his kisses. 
He was nearly ready to cry stalemate when arousal 
returned in full measure, and he again filled her. Alicen 
stilled, eyes widening. Masculine pride brought a grin to 
his face, and he lifted his hips against her, watching her 
eyes close from the sensation. 
“I am insatiable with you, my lady,” Jeremy declared, 
raising his head to gently kiss her. Seeing ardor burning 
in her gaze, he dared to hope. He smiled and brushed a 
tumbled lock from her cheek, whispering, “Kiss me, dear 
minx. But this time, no teeth.” 
Alicen slowly lowered her mouth to his. He lay still 
beneath her hands. She caressed the muscled planes of 
his chest and abdomen, then kissed his throat, watching 

his muscles tighten at her touch. Her deft physician’s 
hands soon had him moaning with pleasure. 
When she touched the scar on his arm from the wound 
she had tended months before, she paused, gripped in 
sadness. 
“You’ve borne so much pain.” 
“’Tis of no import when I’m with you.” His fingers 
traced the line of her jaw, then trailed down to her breast. 
He stopped his caress, watching her intently. 
She gently pushed his hand away then stretched full 
length atop him, rubbing skin to skin. “Let me please 
you.” 
His breathing quickened as she slid slowly down to 
cover his chest with kisses. She knew what he caused in 
her—pleasure so intense she thought mayhap she 
dreamed it—and she wished to return the favor. When 
her mouth closed over one of his small nipples, his 
delighted groan made her smile. 
She suckled him as he had her, enjoying her power 
to pleasure him. A strong yet gentle man—she thrilled to 
the feel of him beneath her lips, between her thighs. She 
took his other nipple carefully in her teeth, running her 
tongue over it while Jeremy shuddered and grew even 
harder within her. 
“Alicen,” he gasped, pulling her face up to his. 
“Sweetling, how you please me!” 
He claimed her mouth as his hips began to thrust 
upward against her, and she soon matched his rhythm. 
Then he showed her yet another manner of achieving 
ecstasy, and she met his raging desire with emotions 
equalling his own. 
Much later, she held Jeremy as he slept, biting her 
lip to keep from weeping. She brushed a lock of hair from 
his forehead and softly kissed his temple. When he rode 
out to battle at first light, her courage would equal his, 
and not even he would know of the fear threatening to 
bring her to her knees. But now, in the dark of night, 
dread permeated her soul. She fought that dread, fought 
the tug of sleep. If this was to be the last night she’d ever 
lie with Jeremy, then she would not waste it in slumber 
or fruitless worry. Instead, she would spend the remaining 
time with him recalling and committing to memory every 

moment they had shared. 
And she would pray that God would safely return to 
her the man who owned her heart. 
*** 
“They’re charging, Captain!” 
Jeremy moved Charon into line as fifteen of Harold’s 
knights rode down on his seventeen. Thick woods edged 
the crossroads on all sides, reducing the benefit of 
superior numbers and limiting all but frontal assault. 
“Our foe is desperate,” he called to his men. “They 
grow reckless.” 
His orders were to keep Harold’s troops from gaining 
refuge at Escomb or retreating to Harold’s keep at Raby, 
and so he and his men guarded the road to the enemy 
camp. 
The sound of helmet visors slamming into place mixed 
with the building crescendo of destriers in full charge 
stirred Jeremy’s blood. Yet he calmly adjusted his shield 
and positioned his lance. A glance down the line to each 
side told him every man had done likewise. 
“I’m for the lead rider,” he shouted. “Mark the griffin 
upon his shield.” 
As coolly as could be expected in the face of the 
oncoming phalanx, the others called their marks. Then 
they started forward in a controlled trot, eighteen abreast. 
When the enemy had closed to twenty rods, Jeremy 
signaled the charge. 
“On! On!” 
The two lines met at a dead run, the impact shaking 
the ground. Jeremy’s lance shivered in his hand, 
splintering with a resounding crack against his foe’s 
shield. Yet he failed to unhorse his foe, so drawing sword, 
Jeremy closed in. 
All around them men and horses fell. The smell of 
blood filled the air, but Jeremy ignored that and the 
sounds of clanging blades and dying men and destriers, 
concentrating completely on his enemy. 
His shield warded off the enemy’s blows as Jeremy’s 
sword pounded back. They battered each other for several 
frenzied moments, until Jeremy managed a particularly 
vicious strike which dropped his opponent’s guard. That 
slight opening was all he needed. With one clean thrust, 

he pierced the knight’s throat. The man died before he 
fell from his saddle. 
Sweat blurred Jeremy’s vision as he fought in the 
melee’s center, wheeling Charon again and again to meet 
new attackers. Undaunted, he hacked at the hazy images 
before him, unhorsing an opponent. But when he pulled 
Charon around, his saddle girth broke, dumping him 
cursing at the man’s feet. Landing flat on his back cleared 
his sight. 
He saw death awaiting him in the form of a mail-clad 
enemy with sword upraised. 
Quick reflexes kept his head attached to his body as 
the blow arced downward. He rolled, avoiding the blade, 
bringing his own sword up in the move. His enemy’s 
momentum followed the path of his swing, and he impaled 
himself on Jeremy’s weapon. The man collapsed dead on 
the ground. 
At once unbelievably weary, Jeremy rose on shaky 
legs. Planting his foot on the dead knight’s chest, he freed 
his sword and wiped the blood off on the grass. It took a 
moment before he realized the fight had ended. Those of 
Harold’s men still living had fled, pursued by William’s 
retainers. He stood alone—every warrior at his feet a 
corpse. Too numb to notice the carnage, he removed his 
helmet and pulled his coif back, then wiped sweat from 
his face with the hem of his tunic. He drew several deep 
breaths and assessed his injuries. 
Though every joint and muscle ached, he was fit. But 
his damaged equipment forced him to concede the field. 
He sheathed his sword and tossed the broken saddle onto 
Charon’s back. From the equipage strewn about, he chose 
the largest destrier still standing, two stout shields and a 
serviceable sword. He secured these weapons on his 
useless saddle, mounted the new horse and led Charon 
back to the camp. 
And, as had happened every rare quiet moment 
during the last month, his thoughts turned to Alicen. 
Only memories of their night of ecstasy kept him from 
despair. He’d not seen her since the fighting began, but 
news of her reached him from Durham. Casualties had 
mounted with each battle, and the cold weather made 
living conditions in the field miserable. By the score, the 

wounded and ill were taken in carts to the castle. 
Alicen and Antonio Saldi, William’s physician, had 
made one guardroom a ward for the critical cases. A 
second, run by York’s physicians, held less seriously 
wounded. Rumor held that Saldi, the venerable Italian 
healer, even studied Alicen’s techniques. Jeremy smiled 
at that thought. Pride in her skill assuaged his guilt. 
But only for a few moments. He remembered the 
reason she presently resided at Durham—to heal injuries 
he and his fellow warriors caused. Because of him, she 
slaved to knit broken bodies back into men. He’d fought 
for a month without two consecutive days of rest, yet 
he’d wager all he owned that Alicen had worked harder, 
most likely long into every night as well as through each 
day. How could he subject her to such torment? He’d 
promised her protection. 
He’d given her a view of hell. 
By the time he arrived in camp, the afternoon weather 
had turned bleak. A cold rain drove men inside as the 
horses huddled together for warmth. Jeremy stopped at 
William’s tent to report his troop’s activities. 
Wearily rubbing his forehead, the duke nodded at 
Jeremy’s account. Afterward, he studied his captain. 
“Return to Durham for a week. You need rest.” 
“But my lord—” 
William raised a brow. “You’ve fought dawn to dusk 
for a month.” He produced vellum, quill and ink, writing 
hastily as he spoke. “Go to Durham this very day and 
remain until Wednesday next. Deliver this requisition to 
the seneschal.” He read aloud: “Threescore of herrings, a 
score of sheep, ten salted pigs, five stone bags each of 
figs, rice, raisins, oats, and rye, five hogsheads of wine. 
Have I omitted aught of import?” 
“I think not.” 
William rolled the vellum into a scroll and handed it 
over. “’Tis too cold to fight.” 
Jeremy thought to protest his removal from the field, 
but didn’t. He could see Alicen! His dark mood suddenly 
lifting, he nodded assent, then bowed slightly. 
“I’ll change saddles and mounts immediately and 
depart.” 
William cocked his head. “For once you barely resist 

my will. Have I witnessed a miracle?” 
“Aye, my lord.” Jeremy smiled. “You’re far wiser than 
I. I must admit.”
“Truly a miracle.” William indicated the scroll in 
Jeremy’s hand. “Deliver that posthaste. We’ve need of 
many supplies.” 
As he left the tent, supply list tucked inside his tunic, 
Jeremy thought of his chosen lady. ’Twould be heaven to 
see her. Hold her. Make love with her. 
This last image brought him up short. He’d told no 
one of his congress with her, though some knew of his 
regard. Would she refuse his bed? Although they would 
be discreet, such activity approached a public declaration 
of being lovers. Mayhap she’d not wish for such an 
arrangement. 
She had every right to spurn him, considering his 
duplicity. Chagrined, he relived the eve of battle and the 
trick he’d used to draw her to his bed. Recalled their 
incredible passion. He would die without her love, but 
had he destroyed the bond between them? 
Could she love him if she distrusted him? 
*** 
He arrived at Durham too late to do aught but order 
a hot bath and a cold meal and retire. Though he longed 
to see Alicen, he was not at his best, so thought to seek 
her out after he’d rested. After he’d had time to plan 
another apology for tricking her. Too weary to think, he 
chose sleep. 
Midmorning the next day he entered the infirmary. 
Locating her proved easy. Chestnut hair tied back from 
her face, she sat beside a soldier’s pallet. As Jeremy 
stared, pride and love filled his heart. He felt the most 
fortunate of souls for having found this incredible woman. 
However, when she raised her head and he saw her 
exhaustion, his breath caught. Quietly, he approached 
from behind as she bent over the patient, resalving 
wounds and changing bandages. 
“When was the last time you ate a hearty meal and 
slept a full night?” he asked without preamble. 
She started then stiffened, turning to send him an 
ominous look. “Captain, I know myself. Your concern is 
unwarranted.” 

Planting fists on hips, he glared down at her. “Dammit, 
woman, cease being mulish. You’re working yourself into 
the charnel house. I’ll not allow it!” 
“You’ll not allow it?” She abruptly stood, fire flickering 
in her tired eyes. “Jeremy Blaine, you’ve no voice where 
I’m concerned. I take no orders from you.” 
“You’d be a damned sight better off if you did. You’re 
ready to drop.” 
“I’m perfectly fit,” she stated too adamantly to sound 
convincing. “If you haven’t observed, all labor hard here.” 
Jeremy started to reach for her, then dropped his 
hand to his side and uttered in a deep, tender tone, “You 
hardest of all, lass. You’re played out. Seek your rest.” 
Alicen resisted the comfort his words stirred in her, 
the joy evoked by seeing him safe before her. 
“Leave me in peace, sir,” she replied in a voice too 
weary to be commanding. 
She turned away, but her dismissal of him ended 
almost immediately when she caught one foot on a nearby 
pallet and stumbled to her hands and knees. She 
scrambled to regain her feet only to fall back to her knees, 
unable to rise. 
Jeremy swiftly knelt at her side to lift her into his 
arms. “Enough of your headstrong folly. You’re going to 
rest. Now.” 
“Put me down this instant! I’m needed in the ward.” 
Alicen struggled feebly, strength ebbing like a tide. 
Her effort merely saw her held more closely. 
“The wounded will do without you for a little. 
Otherwise, you’ll die at this pace. Then where would we 
soldiers be?” 
Dizziness scattered her thoughts and sapped her 
anger. Thus, she had to endure him carrying her across 
the courtyard to the keep. He stopped only after entering 
his own room and laying her on the bed. He had claimed 
her for all to see, and she was too exhausted to attempt 
resistance. 
“Jeremy—“ She struggled to rise. “I cannot stay here.” 
“Lie still.” His voice was firm as he carefully pushed 
her back down. “You’re not leaving this bed until morn.” 
“But ’tis not yet past midday!” Difficulty focusing her 
eyes forced Alicen to remain prone. Knowing she couldn’t 

fight blind, she concentrated on controlling her whirling 
senses. 
Jeremy ignored her protests, stripping her of slippers 
and hose, the apron covering her frock, and the frock 
itself. Alicen grew steadily more tense as each article of 
clothing came off. He knew that, regardless of her fatigue, 
he’d have a battle on his hands if he hesitated a moment 
before divesting her of her chemise and adding it to the 
pile of soiled apparel at his feet. 
“This garment needs a good washing,” he muttered 
gruffly, removing it so deftly she had no time to say him 
nay. Just as deftly, he covered her with a sheet and 
blanket, then strode to the chamber door. “Page!” 
When a youngster in Durham’s livery appeared, 
Jeremy ordered him to bring more water, another basin 
and clean cloths. The youth’s jaw dropped wide when he 
saw the woman in the bed. 
“Mistress Kent!” He shot Jeremy an anxious look. 
“She’s merely exhausted, not ill. Now, fetch what I 
bade you get.” 
Jeremy returned to Alicen’s side. Her forehead felt 
warm but not feverish, and though dark circles smudged 
her lovely eyes, her color was good. He hoped she only 
needed rest. If she was truly ill...He could not bear to 
think of it. 
“This is unnecessary,” she complained weakly when 
he held his hand to her forehead. 
“I’m giving the orders now,” he whispered. He 
smoothed her hair back from her face. “Lie still.” 
When the page returned with the requested items, 
Jeremy dipped a folded cloth into the cool water, wrung 
it out, then placed it on Alicen’s brow. Her eyes flickered 
open, then closed. 
“You cannot force me to remain here against my will,” 
she murmured, eyes still shut. 
“Aye, I can.” He stroked her cheek with his knuckles. 
“And I will, if I must tie you to the bed to do so.” 
“You are cruel, Jeremy.” 
His hand froze against her face. “You think me cruel 
for preventing your death?” 
Eyes glazed with fatigue fixed on him, and she 
squinted before speaking, as if to focus her thoughts. 

“You force me to do what I wish not to. Make me feel 
what I wish not to.” 
“Exhaustion fashions babble,” he chided gruffly, 
swallowing around the lump lodged in his throat. “Hush 
now. Sleep.” He pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “We’ll talk 
in the morn. For now, you must rest.” He kissed her again. 
“Rest, my love.” 
Jeremy steadfastly guarded her for the rest of the 
day, shielding her from all who would disturb her. He 
spoke to Rhea and Liza, assuaging their fears. Ned’s 
concern made the lad restive, so Jeremy sent him to 
gather William’s supplies. The boy need not sit at Alicen’s 
bedside and worry. ’Twas better he be kept occupied, since 
Jeremy worried enough for all. 
At dusk Jason arrived with Saldi and a missive from 
William. The kindly physician confirmed Jeremy’s belief 
that Alicen needed sleep more than aught else. 
“Keep her resting quietly until the morrow.” Saldi 
handed Jeremy a packet of medicine. “If she stirs, mix 
this in her wine, and she’ll slumber through the night. I’ll 
examine her more thoroughly in the morn.” 
Jeremy extended his hand to the old physician. “My 
thanks to you, Antonio, for your regard.” 
A broad smile creased a hundred wrinkles in Saldi’s 
face. “She is an astounding healer,” he replied with 
genuine affection. “We must not allow such talent to 
destroy itself. You were wise to make her rest, Captain.” 
“’Twas more I appeared when she collapsed than from 
any of my doing,” Jeremy replied dryly. “She couldn’t very 
well refuse me when she couldn’t remain standing.” 
Both Jason and Antonio voiced agreement to that 
observation. 
“Send word should you need aught,” Warrick said. 
“Does the weather turn favorable, we’ll lay siege to 
Harold’s stronghold by week’s end. You’d be wise to rest, 
as William intended.” He slapped Jeremy on the back 
then left with Saldi. 
Jeremy saw them to the door before returning to stand 
over the bed, gazing down at the woman who occupied it 
and his heart. He studied Alicen’s comely features—the 
straight nose, generous mouth, and strong chin that 
comprised an unforgettable visage. She was not classically 

beautiful like many women he’d met, but her inner beauty 
would last long after time weathered any outward 
attractiveness. 
He recalled vividly the feel of her—each curve and 
soft spot—the way she moved against him, her cries when 
she found her pleasure. Desire tightened his groin, but 
he ignored it. He’d never deceive her again. Instead, he’d 
lure her to him for life. 
Yet would she love him—marry him—when this war 
ended? Could he win her heart? Hours slipped by as he 
worried these questions like a hound worrying a bone. 
Close to midnight, Alicen stirred. She started to sit 
up, but even in her sleep-drunken state, realized her lack 
of attire and gave up the attempt. 
“’Tis late,” she said quietly when she spotted Jeremy 
sitting nearby. 
“Aye.” The love in his eyes shone in his tender look. 
“You’ve remained beside me all this time?” At his nod, 
she stared up at the canopy over the bed and ran a hand 
through her hair. “You thought I’d awaken and leave.” 
She spoke softly, but heard the note of accusation in her 
own voice. 
“Nay.” His reply was soft as well. “I sought to keep 
you undisturbed, naught else.” He glanced to the wine 
on the stand beside the bed. “Saldi left a draught should 
you be unable to sleep.” He grasped her hand and 
brushed it with his lips. “Will you require such?” 
She stifled a yawn. “Nay.” 
Releasing her hand, he gently massaged her temples 
and forehead. “Return to your slumber, lass. You’ve need 
of it yet,” he whispered as he continued the massage. 
Jeremy had hardly finished speaking before noticing 
she again slept. Succumbing to his own fatigue, he 
disrobed and joined her in the bed. Pillowing her head 
against his shoulder, he held her close, sighing at the 
feel of her warm beside him. 
“I love you, Alicen,” he said softly. “Heaven knows 
I’ve tried not to, but I cannot help myself. I love you.” 
Closing his eyes, he fell into the first contented sleep 
he’d enjoyed since the fighting started. 
*** 
“Will you tell him of the child?” Antonio Saldi asked 

as he finished examining Alicen before his morning 
rounds the next day. 
Blushing, she shook her head. “I’ve only been certain 
of it myself these few days past.” At seeing Saldi’s 
expression, she firmly added, “He must concern himself 
with the siege, naught else. Distraction could be 
calamitous, and learning of a babe might cause him more 
harm than good.” 
“I know him well. You must not keep this from him.” 
“I must for now.” Alicen reached to touch the healer’s 
arm. “Please believe me when I say ’tis for Jeremy’s good.” 
Saldi shrugged then smiled. “Who am I to contradict 
your belief? I am happy for the babe within you. The 
miracle of life. I wish you to be happy, also.” 
Her smile was more poignant than joyous. “I am, dear 
friend. Yet, ’tis fear I feel crowding in against the joy. 
Fear that Jeremy may not live to see his child grow to 
manhood.” 
Wordlessly, Saldi grasped her shoulder and gently 
squeezed. “No one knows God’s will. But we must greet 
each new day with hope. Hope remains always.” 
He rose quietly from the stool beside the bed and left 
her. 
His words heartened Alicen. 
Life grows within you despite your attempt to prevent 
it, her mother’s voice said softly in Alicen’s mind. Such 
events happen for a reason. 
Should ill befall Jeremy—though she refused to 
believe it would—the child would be evidence of the love 
that filled her soul. 
The opening door startled Alicen from her 
contemplations. Jeremy entered, burdened with a tray 
of food, and she felt herself suddenly quivering at sight of 
him. 
“Where are my clothes?” she demanded, stifling her 
desire to invite him into bed for a long, passionate greeting. 
“Somewhere you can’t find them,” he replied casually, 
a slight smile tugging the corners of his mouth. 
“I wish to have them now.” 
“Haste is unnecessary.” He set the tray down on the 
table. “You’ll not leave until you’ve eaten.” 
Newfound energy lent acid to her voice. “Captain, you 

cannot order me about. I intend to go to the infirmary at 
once.” 
“The men will doubtless enjoy their angel of mercy 
clad much like Eden’s inhabitants before the Fall.” When 
Alicen drew the blanket closer around herself, Jeremy 
grinned. She’d regained her spirit, he decided happily. 
“Dishonorable cad,” she fumed. “’Tis always your 
wretched way to practice stratagems.” 
“I’ll return your garments after you eat. They are 
cleaned and dry.” 
“I demand my clothes now!” Alicen balled her fists in 
temper. 
He bent to the tray, then set it on her lap. “Food first.” 
“But the wounded need me.” 
Her beseeching tone pulled his gaze to hers. “Antonio 
is with them. They’ll endure until you’ve taken 
nourishment.” He sighed. “Think, Alicen. Die, and your 
skills die with you. By resting when you require it, you’ll 
treat a far greater number of patients.” 
“What of last night? While I slept, grievously injured 
men needed attention.” 
“They were tended. You’ve trained your workers well— 
unless the case is grave, they can function without aid. 
Be proud of their skills and take some much earned 
respite.” He sat on the stool. “Will you feed yourself, or 
must I?” 
She glared at him before looking to the repast he’d 
brought. “The devil take you, Captain.” 
Jeremy chuckled. “Of a certain, you feel much better.” 
And looked very appealing in her state of undress. 
Mayhap he could convince her to allow him— 
A soft knocking stayed his lusty thoughts. Stifling a 
sigh, he rose to open the door. ‘Twas Rhea, carrying 
Alicen’s clothes. He ushered the white-haired midwife 
inside. 
“I’ve informed her she must eat before dressing,” he 
told Rhea in a whisper calculated to carry to Alicen’s ears. 
He knew it had when she sniffed in affront. “I’ll leave you 
to see that she carries out my command.” 
“That won’t be necessary, Captain,” Alicen retorted 
icily. “I’ll yield to your tyranny, if for no other reason than 
to be rid of your tormenting manner.” 

Jeremy bowed and gave her his most charming smile. 
“Then I’ll trust you to see to your own needs before 
returning to your duties.” He nodded to the midwife. “I 
must needs speak to the armorer this morn. Enjoy your 
meal, Mistress Kent.” 
He could feel Alicen’s burning gaze as he left the 
chamber, but her animosity warmed rather than angered 
him. He’d forced her to attend to herself before anything 
serious befell her, and this heartening fact pleased him. 
If he could not prevent the reality of Durham’s desperate 
need of her skills, he could at least keep her fit to perform 
them. 
“’Tis good to see you rested,” Rhea commented as the 
door closed after Jeremy. A smile squeezed her face’s 
myriad wrinkles into lines of joy. “Your Captain Blaine is 
so gallant to you.” 
Alicen flushed. “The man is intolerably arrogant. And 
he’s not my captain. His heart and soul belong to William.” 
“He loves you deeply.” 
Alicen hid in a show of anger the hope those words 
brought. “He forced me to stay here, then had the gall to 
confine me until I ate. Is there no end to his treachery?” 
“Treachery?” Rhea asked, bemused. “The captain 
knew you to be overtaxed. We all saw it, but he acted to 
keep you from harm. Knowing you’d not stop until you 
sickened—as you very nearly did—he intervened.” 
“Interfered, you mean.” 
Rhea shook her head as she sat down beside the bed. 
“The two of you love each other. Can you not admit such 
truth? Why deny what your heart knows?” 
Alicen bowed her head. “Rhea, I’m so afraid for him.” 
The hoarse statement hung in the air as she subdued 
her raw feelings by attending to the meal. Mouth-watering 
smells lured her despite her distress, and she set about 
eating. After all, she’d given her word that she would. 
Spiced wine washed down fresh bread, eggs, hot cakes 
and thick slices of ham. In between bites, she motioned 
to the tray. 
“Have you broken your fast?” 
Rhea nodded. “At dawn. I’ve just come for a short 
while. Ned is on tenterhooks to see you. I told him I’d 
return to the wards within the hour.” 

Alicen smiled. “Tell Ned I’ll meet him in the infirmary, 
and we can talk while I work.” 
“Captain Blaine would do well to chain you to this 
bed.” 
Alicen flushed but kept her own counsel. Truth to 
tell, Jeremy had only to ask and she would spend every 
night beside him. But he hadn’t asked. He’d tricked her 
into a night of passion, then taken advantage of her 
physical condition to keep her with him last night. 
Although he’d likely saved her from illness by making 
her rest, his methods angered her. 
“Why must he be so overbearing?” 
“Mayhap since you rarely listen to quiet advice.” A 
gentle smile lit Rhea’s face. 
Blushing fiercely, Alicen drained the dregs of the wine 
and put the tray aside. “I need my clothes, Rhea.” If I’m 
not dressed and out of this bed before Jeremy returns, I 
may not let him leave this chamber all day. 

Twenty-three 
Jeremy crumpled William’s urgent missive in his fist. 
Harold had escaped to Escomb, taking refuge in his 
fortress, and William planned to lay siege to it by week’s 
end, regardless of the weather. His promised week’s rest 
would be only three days. He and Jason Warrick had 
orders to report to camp in the morning. 
That was, if Jason lived to ride on the morrow, Jeremy 
pondered darkly as he caught sight of his confederate 
entering the hall with Alicen on his arm. The pair laughed 
and talked as if fast friends. 
That thought stabbed. As he strode across the hall 
toward them, Jeremy saw Jason help Alicen from her 
wet cloak, giving it and his own to a servant before again 
offering her his arm. She flashed Jason a smile and tucked 
her hand into the crook of his elbow. It took all Jeremy’s 
self-control not to bellow for them to cease being 
so...so...familiar. He’d worked himself into a near rage by 
the time he intercepted them. 
“Warrick, I need a word with you,” he stated harshly. 
Shooting Alicen a glare, he added, “Alone.” 
Jason turned to Alicen with a surprised look that 
melted into a captivating grin. “Leave it to Blaine to deprive 
me of your company, Mistress, but I feel this has the 
smell of import about it.” He covered the hand she rested 
on his elbow with his free one. “Please allow me the first 
dance with you this eventide?” 
Alicen laughed. “Well you know there’ll be no dancing 
tonight.” 
“A pity, that,” Warrick said, “as Christmas is but two 
days off. I grow tired of just the yule log burning in the 
great hearth. We must needs have dancing.” 
Alicen glanced at Jeremy before saying, “‘Tis grim 
business we’ve all been about for so long. It bleeds the 
soul of happiness.” 
“There’s truth to that,” Jeremy growled. “But until 
this war ends, there’ll be little of consequence to 

celebrate.” He crooked a brow at Warrick. “If you will?” 
Turning, he walked out, with Jason Warrick right behind 
him. 
Alicen watched the two soldiers stride off. She 
appreciated Jason’s humor. Although he often didn’t 
consider the consequences of his actions beforehand, his 
heart was merry, and he made her laugh. Also, she 
enjoyed being treated as his friend. 
And though Jason turned most every woman’s head, 
he was not as handsome in Alicen’s opinion as her heart’s 
desire. Both men stood the same height, but Jeremy’s 
massive shoulders were nearly a handsbreadth wider than 
Jason’s broad ones. Jason carried his size well, yet 
Jeremy’s fluid grace made Warrick look almost awkward. 
Alicen’s throat constricted. She loved Jeremy with all 
her heart, but terror in thinking of him possibly dying in 
combat clutched her vitals, made her weak with dread. 
Made her deny her love to protect her soul should 
something happen to him. Sweet Jesu, what a coil this 
was! Thinking of the babe that grew within her calmed 
her somewhat. She would have to be brave for their child. 
*** 
As soon as they were out of sight and hearing of those 
in the great hall, Jeremy rounded on Warrick. 
“What were you about just now with the healer?” he 
snarled. 
Jason blinked. “Naught of import, man. We met by 
chance at the gate.” 
“And I surmise you gallantly escort—on your arm— 
any and all you meet at the gate?” 
“She said she’d been in the village,” Warrick stated 
with a shrug. “I’d been riding patrol. We returned the 
same time. So, we rode to the stable, the rain caught us 
in the courtyard, and we had to run for the keep. Naught 
else.” 
“Warrick, I’m warning you, stay away from Alicen 
Kent.” 
“To what do you refer?” Warrick’s tone had hardened. 
“I witnessed your entrance into the hall just now. You 
made untoward advances.” 
Jason’s face flushed. “I shared a jest with the woman! 
Where’s the harm in that?” 

“I know your whoring ways, Warrick. But be advised— 
do not play this lady false.” 
“Play false?” Sudden realization lit Jason’s eyes. “You 
stubborn ass. I’ve no designs upon your lady.” 
“You’ll stop at very little to lure a woman to your bed. 
But give Alicen a wide path.” 
“She is capable of deciding for herself. What claim do 
you have to her?” 
Jeremy felt the color drain from his face, and he 
dropped his voice to a threatening rumble. “If you misuse 
her, I’ll kill you.” 
Warrick started to laugh, but sobered instantly. “So 
that’s where the wind sits. Still, you o’erreach yourself to 
say I’ve poached on a private sanctuary.” He raised a 
deprecating brow. “I enjoy Mistress Kent’s company. She’s 
a pleasant, learned woman, quite unlike the courtiers 
you and I have tupped in the past. I’ve no wish to fight 
you over a wench, nor is my intent to seduce the healer. 
If, however, she finds she also enjoys my company, I’ll do 
naught to discourage her.” 
He started to smile, but Jeremy’s fisted blow wiped 
that expression from his face and stretched him out on 
his back on the flagstones. He stared up stupidly at 
Jeremy. 
“Heed me well, villain! Slake your lust with Alicen, 
and you’ll die by my hand. I swear it.” Jeremy held himself 
rigid to quell the urge to beat Jason senseless. Several 
labored breaths calmed him further before he said, 
“William has ordered us to ride at dawn. The siege of 
Escomb begins at week’s end.” 
He said no more, but stepped over Jason’s inert body 
and strode back to the hall. 
*** 
Alicen rose from her seat as Jeremy neared the high 
table, yet her question died unasked when she saw his 
look. Something was terribly wrong. He did not speak to 
her or even glance her way, but crossed the hall in stony 
silence to sit with Michael Taft, who’d arrived from 
William’s camp just before dusk. 
“The captain looks furious.” Rhea sat beside Ned and 
Liza on Alicen’s right. “What mishap sparked such 
venom?” 

“I know not. He stormed up, demanded a private word 
with Captain Warrick, and left with him.” Alicen paused, 
then her eyes widened. “Where is Warrick? I fear the two 
have come to blows.” 
“They would never fight,” Ned insisted. “They’re 
friends.” 
“Friends or no, intuition tells me that is what 
happened.” She gently touched Ned’s shoulder. “I’ll return 
anon.” 
Alicen found Jason sitting propped against the 
passage wall, cradling his head in his hands. 
“Captain, what befell you?” She knelt. “Are you badly 
hurt?” 
Jason raised his gaze with an effort and stared bleary-
eyed at her. 
“I fell and hit my head,” he muttered, recoiling from 
the touch of her hand. “’Tis naught to concern you, 
Mistress.” 
From the purplish mark spreading across his jaw, 
Alicen doubted the truth of his statement, but she had 
no desire to have her suspicions confirmed. “Can you 
stand?” 
“If you assist me.” 
She helped him gain his feet, then saw he’d be unable 
to walk alone and leaned him back against the wall. “Stay 
here. I must get some men to aid you.” 
She hurried back to the hall and enlisted the services 
of the two nearest soldiers, leading them to where Jason 
swayed on wobbly legs, and giving instructions for them 
to put him to bed. 
“I’ll see to him in the morning,” she added. 
“Gone on the morrow,” he muttered. “Leave for 
Escomb.” 
“What?” Alicen’s voice was sharper than she realized. 
“We ride at dawn,” he stated with a bit more clarity. 
His words sent ice through her blood. Jeremy would 
return to the field on the morrow. Chills assailed her at 
the thought. She tried to force her fears back into the cell 
in her heart where she’d locked them, but failed. He’d be 
fighting, perhaps bleeding or—. 
Suddenly, she realized she stood alone in the 
passageway. The soldiers had already helped Captain 

Warrick to his bed. 
*** 
Jeremy, glaring at the small group from Sherford, 
watched as Alicen quickly departed. His anger deepened. 
Her concern for Warrick prompted her to search for the 
blackguard. Jeremy clenched his flagon of ale so tightly 
his knuckles whitened. 
Why should I be angered, he told himself. The woman 
has never responded in kind to my declarations of love. 
She keeps me always at bay with her sharp tongue and 
quick wit. 
He swallowed the drink without tasting it, observing 
Alicen’s return. When she again left, this time with two 
soldiers, he followed, arriving in time to overhear Warrick 
tell her of the siege. Was her obvious pallor caused by 
concern for Jason? Or for him? 
“Are you lost, Mistress?” 
The sudden sound of Jeremy’s voice behind her made 
Alicen jump. She whirled to face him. “Do you enjoy 
startling people, Captain?” she snapped. Her anger 
surprised her, especially since her fear for him had her 
near collapse. 
His brow raised mockingly. “I merely asked if you were 
lost. What is so startling about such a question?” 
Not knowing how to answer, she blurted out, “I didn’t 
expect to find you here.” 
“Did you expect to find Jason Warrick?” 
His cold tone momentarily numbed her, then her 
temper rose. “If you must know, I came to see what befell 
him.” She glared. “He’d been stunned...He said from 
falling and striking his head. I had two men-at-arms help 
him to his room.” She wanted to accuse Jeremy of striking 
Jason, but her anger died as she saw unfathomed sadness 
in Jeremy’s eyes. What was amiss with him? 
“I seem capable of naught else but convincing you 
I’m a villain,” he said bitterly, avoiding her look. “Have I 
been so cruel that you cannot abide my presence? You 
share a jest with Warrick, yet hiss like a wet cat when I’m 
near.” 
His pained expression wrenched her heart. “Jeremy, 
that’s untrue, I—” 
“Am I such a monster you must protect yourself from 

me?” he asked hoarsely. “Am I, Alicen?” 
Reaching out, she touched his arm and felt the coiled 
tension of hard muscles beneath her fingertips. He 
seemed ready to fly asunder. How could she explain that 
his presence made her go weak inside, that she feared 
only her reaction to him, not anything he would do to 
her? Her mouth went dry. 
“I protect myself from fear you’ll not return,” she stated 
with quiet anguish. She felt him start, saw his gaze swing 
to hers. “I fear for your safety. And I fear you may not 
desire me enough to come back for me.” 
Groaning, he enveloped her in a fierce embrace, 
holding her so close she thought she’d melt into his body. 
His heart pounded against her breast, his heated breath 
brushed her cheek. She wished more than anything to 
stay in his embrace. 
“I swore I’d return,” he stated, face buried in her hair. 
“What more do you wish?” 
“For you to keep your promise.” 
In response, his lips swooped down on hers in a 
heated, passionate kiss that shook her to her soul. Then 
he was lifting her in his arms and bearing her swiftly to 
his chamber. 
*** 
A fortnight later, Alicen awoke before dawn from the 
grip of a terrifying dream. Wiping sweat from her face, 
she rose and dressed, then went to pace the battlements. 
A foreboding sky greeted her as she gazed toward Escomb, 
and she knew with certainty something terrible would 
soon occur. 
Mother, I’ve had a premonition. Can you tell me what 
it means? There was no answer, and Alicen concentrated 
harder, sending her urgent thoughts toward Landeyda, 
where she assumed her mother’s spirit would be. Still, 
Kaitlyn’s voice remained silent. Did this mean her 
premonition would come true? 
Too anxious to eat, Alicen forced herself to return to 
the hall for a draught of mulled wine. The warm drink 
did little to assuage the cold fear engulfing her. 
The siege of Harold’s stronghold had commenced as 
planned, and already William’s troops anticipated victory. 
Led by Jason Warrick, a group of knights had managed 

to poison Escomb’s water supply. The weather then 
turned dry, and the inhabitants of the castle were now 
severely short of potable liquids. Casualties had dropped 
considerably since then, allowing Alicen time to venture 
into Durham village to treat the townspeople. Common 
maladies kept her mind focused on matters other than 
military strategy. 
But not entirely. When she thought of the deaths 
Escomb’s inhabitants would suffer if they chose not to 
surrender, her skin grew clammy with horror. Pray God 
Harold would not hold out against William until such an 
atrocity occurred. But Harold was a warrior, Alicen 
reflected grimly. Warriors fought to their last gasp. Duty, 
honor and courage meant more to them than life. 
The morning passed with excruciating slowness, and 
she felt the entire time as if a vice crushed her chest. 
Certain Jeremy was about to suffer some misfortune made 
awaiting word of the troops more agonizing by the 
moment. She paced and fretted, unable to lose herself in 
her work or ease a stifling anxiety. Her actions more than 
once drew Antonio’s questioning look. But by keeping 
her own council she avoided articulating any of her fears. 
Since no comforting words would soothe the dread 
enveloping her, she remained silent. 
Until midday. 
Alicen stood leaning against a window embrasure in 
Durham’s south tower, staring fixedly at the countryside. 
She snapped to attention when a sudden chill breeze 
engulfed her. 
Go, Alicen. You are needed. 
“Mother? Why didn’t you speak of this earlier?” 
Go to him. 
Indecision vanished with her mother’s command, and 
Alicen raced into the hall, seeking Rhea. The midwife sat 
at a table with Pearl and Liza as the latter nursed her 
baby. 
“Where is Ned?” Alicen asked breathlessly. 
Rhea gave her a curious look. “In his chamber, 
fetching the babe a poppet he fashioned. He’ll return 
anon.” Looking up, she added, “Ah, here he is.” 
The boy grinned when he saw Alicen, but the 
expression faded as he looked at her. “Is aught amiss?” 

“Sit here,” she indicated a spot on the bench beside 
Rhea. “I have much to speak of and little time.” 
Her friends listened silently as Alicen outlined her 
plan, and no one spoke for a long moment after she 
finished. 
“I’m going with you,” Ned finally stated resolutely. 
“And I,” Rhea added. “Such a trip is too dangerous to 
attempt alone.” 
Alicen shook her head. “Nay, I cannot put either of 
you in jeopardy. I must go to Escomb, but I’ll not risk 
you as well.” 
“But how will you survive without protection?” Liza 
asked, eyes huge with fear. “There are armies in the field!” 
“I’ll dress in man’s attire and hope none challenge 
me,” she replied simply. “And I’ll not stop long enough to 
encourage trouble.” She looked around at the circle of 
stricken faces, not daring to tell them she feared her 
mother’s silence that morning had been to protect Alicen 
from some terrible event. “I must go. Here, I cannot attend 
my duties properly, especially not knowing if Jeremy...” 
Her voice trailed off as she held back her thoughts. 
Speaking them could bring disaster. 
“Let me go with you,” Ned begged. “I could help you, 
even protect you. Brigands are less apt to attack two 
travellers. Besides, you may need my assistance at the 
battlefield.” 
“Nay, lad, ’tis too dangerous for you.” 
“But not for you?” The boy’s mouth set in a grim line. 
Alicen saw stubborn determination suddenly light 
Ned’s eyes, and she sighed. Some of her headstrong ways 
had doubtless been conveyed to her apprentice. There’d 
be no keeping him at Durham now he knew her plans. 
“Come with me if you will, but we must leave now. Every 
moment counts, and we have a hard ride ahead.” 
“How may we help?” Rhea asked. 
Alicen bit her lip in thought. “Mayhap one of the 
wounded will say where William’s army is located, if the 
question is couched properly. We need to know so we 
don’t run afoul of the enemy. Meet me in the infirmary 
when you have the information. I need to assemble my 
instruments and supplies.” With a nod, Rhea rose and 
Alicen looked to Liza, who’d been hanging on every word 

of the conversation. “Could you see to some food for us?” 
“Aye,” the young mother answered, handing the boy 
to Pearl. “I’ll pack enough for several days. Who knows 
what the troops are eating in the field?” She bustled off 
toward the kitchens. 
“Ned, saddle our horses and bring them ‘round to 
the side gate. If anyone asks, say we’re off to the village 
to deliver a babe and will not return for some time.” 
The apprentice could barely contain his excitement. 
“I’ll be ready in a quarter hour.” 
“Good. That will provide me enough time to pack 
clothes and supplies.” Alicen stared moodily after the 
departing boy. 
Did she endanger him? Ned wanted so to please, to 
learn her craft. That he could be injured in the process 
chilled her. Yet, she’d said he could accompany her, and 
her word was her bond. She laid a gentle hand on Pearl’s 
shoulder. “You’ve the most crucial task of all, sweet lass.” 
When the girl’s blue eyes turned on her in wonder, Alicen 
said, “You must keep Liza, Rhea and the babe safe until 
Ned and I return.” 
Pearl nodded, an awed look on her face at the 
responsibility heaped upon her frail shoulders. 
*** 
A shouted challenge forced Alicen and Ned to rein 
their lathered mounts to a halt. They had ridden hard 
the entire six leagues to Escomb. In truth, she doubted 
she could have pushed Hercules much further at the pace 
she’d kept. Ned’s horse nearly staggered with fatigue. Yet 
their grueling ride put them at William’s first outpost at 
mid-afternoon. A good sign. 
She pulled back the hood of her cloak. Recognizing 
her immediately, the sentinel waved both riders on toward 
the encampment. They had no difficulty finding William’s 
tent. The Duke of Tynan’s scarlet banner hung at the 
entrance, and two armed guards flanked the opening. 
William, clad in battle armor, was just leaving his 
quarters. 
“Alicen!” He could not mask his surprise, but this 
promptly became elation. “And Ned! What brings the two 
of you here?” 
Suddenly embarrassed by her impulsive deed, she 

flushed. Were she not still mounted and looking down on 
her lord, she’d have felt only as tall as his knee. How to 
explain to him what had prompted this misadventure? 
William forestalled her reply by offering his hand to 
dismount, but once she stood beside him, she could no 
longer avoid telling her fears. She hoped that no real 
reason existed for such terror. 
She caught a deep breath, then said hesitantly, “We, 
that is, I, feared something dreadful had occurred, and 
we—” 
Tumult on the road from Escomb drew everyone’s 
attention. Alicen turned to look over her shoulder in the 
direction of the din. What she saw made her heart quaver. 
The troops of York and Tynan were returning from battle— 
fatigued, sullied, bloodied. 
But a single image arrested her attention, causing 
her to nearly swoon. Charon, trappings and caparison 
covered with blood, was being led by a grim-faced Michael 
Taft. 
The charger’s saddle was empty. 
With an anguished cry, she rushed headlong into the 
crush of troops, heedless of the massed soldiers, horses, 
and equipment of war. In a few painful moments she stood 
at Taft’s stirrup. 
“Lieutenant?” Her expression completed the question. 
He looked astonished at her presence but managed 
to gesture toward the wagons of casualties. “He’s badly 
wounded, Mistress. We had to put him on a litter.” 
Without reply, she hurried toward the injured men. 
It took just moments to locate Jeremy. Then, she had to 
fight a wave of nausea that threatened to debilitate her 
completely. 
The sight of him blood-soaked from neck to left hip 
brought a panic subdued only by forcing herself to assess 
his injury as a healer would. Seeing him only as a patient, 
not as the man she loved, steadied her. She’d treated 
more grievous wounds, but would need a clear head to 
save this life. Emotion could not interfere in her decisions. 
He lay semiconscious, a crossbow bolt protruding 
from just beneath his left collarbone. Blood trickled from 
under a rag bound over his temple. Someone had removed 
his breastplate, and Alicen observed that his chain mail 

had prevented the bolt from penetrating through his body. 
Most likely, pieces of metal were embedded in the wound, 
but the greatest danger was loss of blood. He could ill 
afford to lose more of such a precious commodity. 
“I didn’t remove the quarrel,” Taft said from beside 
her. “I feared he’d bleed to death before we got him here.” 
The strain in Taft’s voice only echoed Alicen’s dread. 
If, as she suspected, the point had struck an artery, 
Jeremy could be dead within minutes. 
“Good thinking, Lieutenant,” she responded with 
outward calm. “Let’s get him to his tent. Ned?” 
The boy, too, was at her shoulder, pale but showing a 
brave front. “Shall I fetch a brazier?” 
“Aye, lad. We must cauterize the wound immediately.” 
Her apprentice had brought her bag of instruments. 
Taking it, she followed the men bearing Jeremy. Once 
they had him on his pallet, she set to work carefully 
packing wads of bandages around the quarrel and holding 
them tight to Jeremy’s flesh. 
“Lieutenant, remove his mail while I control the 
bleeding. Roll it up like cloth, then lift it over the bolt. 
The shaft mustn’t penetrate any deeper.” She glanced at 
her apprentice. “Are the instruments ready?” 
“Anon.” 
She nodded to Taft, and he swiftly but carefully rolled 
the thigh-length mail up his captain’s body. Although 
the wadding she held to the wound was soaked with blood, 
it was flowing steadily, not pulsing. Praise to God. 
“Ned, come hold this bandage in place.” She 
exchanged the boy’s hands on the cloth for hers, then 
readied her irons. “Michael, we’ll need two or three more 
men to hold him steady.” 
Taft’s shout brought Malcolm Fish and two others. 
They each seized one of Jeremy’s healthy limbs while Taft 
pinned Jeremy’s body to the pallet and Alicen removed 
the quarrel. 
Jeremy’s cry voiced the agony of the damned when 
she cauterized his wound, but the men kept him supine, 
and she quickly had the bleeding stopped. The wound 
wasn’t as severe as she’d feared, but he’d lost a 
tremendous amount of blood on the return from Escomb. 
She shuddered to think what would have happened if 

Ned and she hadn’t arrived when they did. 
Thank you, Mother, she silently voiced. 
She applied ointment to the wound and left it 
unbandaged to monitor possible bleeding. It took only 
moments to stitch closed Jeremy’s scalp laceration and 
bind it with a clean cloth. His blood-soaked shirt had 
been tossed to the tent floor. She would leave his hose 
for Robert, his squire, to remove later. 
Bending down from the small stool on which she sat, 
Alicen lifted the ruined shirt to hand to Robert. An object 
fell atop Jeremy’s hauberk. His dagger. She bent to pick 
it up, then examined it with a start. 
All color drained from her face. Her eyes betrayed 
her! Embedded in the dagger’s hilt were the same stones 
set in the same pattern as those in the amulet which 
never left her neck...She gasped. Then a breeze ruffled 
her hair, and her mother’s voice spoke. 
You were fated to be together, Daughter. But you must 
convince him you can love a soldier. That he does, indeed, 
hold your heart. 
“Oh, Jeremy,” she whispered, choked with emotion. 
Then, realizing there were others present, she slid the 
dagger into her sleeve, rose and turned to the gathered 
soldiers. “Thank you all for your assistance.” Her voice 
shook from anxiety and wonder. “If he lives, you have 
yourselves to credit.” 
The men voiced protests at her claim, but she waved 
them from the tent with the admonition that they had, 
indeed, saved their captain’s life. Then she returned to 
the pallet. Reaching into her sleeve, she withdrew the 
dagger and squeezed the scabbard tight in her hand. Love 
me enough to live, Jeremy. 

Twenty-Four 
Pain penetrated Jeremy’s dulled mind and pulled him 
to cognizance as Alicen sat down at his side. Weak and 
disoriented, he made no meaning of the fact that she was 
in his tent near the battlefield. A grim smile touched his 
lips. 
“Did I not keep my promise to return?” he asked 
rasped. “Harold’s man was not much of a bowman, for I 
still live.” 
Alicen blanched, and abruptly clasped her hands in 
her lap. “Please, don’t speak thus.” Her voice was husky. 
“You could have been killed.” 
He blinked several times, then said slowly, “Should I 
die, you may return to Landeyda and your own life. 
Without such soldiers as I to plague you, your current 
miseries will cease.” He turned his head to stare at the 
tent wall. “Leave me to die, Alicen. Return to your home.” 
“Nay!” Alicen grasped Jeremy’s chin and swung his 
face toward her, then caressed his cheek. “Why do you 
speak thus?” 
His eyes were clouded by physical and emotional pain. 
“You endure hell...slaving in this infirmary...My 
fault...responsible for your suffering.” 
“Suffering? I don’t—” 
His gaze momentarily cleared. “No lies, Alicen. Truth. 
You’ll fare better with me gone.” 
She bit her lip and blinked back tears. “Would I treat 
your wounds if I did not seek your recovery?” 
“Healers can do naught else.” 
He was too disoriented to understand his words, or 
hers. Seizing his hand, she held it over her heart. “I would 
feel no differently were I not what I am.” 
Alicen carefully folded the blanket back away from 
his injury. She brushed dark, tumbled hair from his 
forehead, her heart swelling as she gazed down at his 
pale features. 
“I love you, Jeremy Blaine,” she murmured. “You’ll 

never drive me away.” 
As much as she wished to stay beside her fallen 
knight, others needed her. Ned was eager to sit with the 
captain, and Robert, Jeremy’s squire, stood ready to 
report on any change in condition. 
She returned to the tent only after darkness prevented 
her from adequately treating anyone else. Ned had fallen 
asleep on the floor, so Alicen made a pallet of cloaks, 
coaxed him onto them, and covered him with a mantle. 
Robert slept in a corner. 
Removing only her boots, she slid under Jeremy’s 
blanket and curled up against his side. Her arm carefully 
wrapped about his waist, she used her body’s warmth to 
alleviate his chills. She kissed his temple, whispered an 
affirmation of her love, then gave over to sleep. 
At dawn, Alicen rose to find the tent’s other occupants 
still asleep. She hurried to the stream for her morning 
ablutions and went to find food. Cooks were already 
preparing the morning’s fare in large kettles. Nodding to 
them, she filled two wooden bowls with porridge and 
carried them to the tent. 
Ned was just stirring when she arrived, and her waving 
the bowl of warm food beneath his nose served to bring 
him wide awake. His brown eyes snapped open. 
“How is the captain?” he asked immediately, gaze 
shifting to the pallet where Jeremy lay. 
“He spent a quiet night. Most likely he’ll sleep the 
sun around. Will you tend him again?” 
Ned nodded assent as he ate. Finishing the porridge, 
he wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve. “I’ll send 
for you if aught should go amiss.” 
*** 
Night had again fallen, and Alicen was carrying bowls 
of stew to Ned and Robert when her apprentice burst 
from Jeremy’s tent. Pausing only long enough to locate 
her, he rushed forward, dark eyes burning with urgency. 
“Come quickly! ’Tis Captain Blaine. He and Warrick 
fight!” 
“Fight?” Jeremy was wounded, why would Warrick 
fight with him? 
Ned grasped her arm, causing her to spill some of 
their supper. “Hurry! You must stop them!” 

Still confounded, she nonetheless dropped both bowls 
of stew and followed Ned at a run. Upon entering the 
tent, the sight before her made her breath stop entirely. 
Jeremy, naked but for his bandages and the sling 
supporting his left arm, was being wrestled to the floor 
by Warrick. Taft and another soldier stood by as if ready 
to help subdue Jeremy. Outraged that they treated their 
injured comrade so callously, Alicen fairly flew across 
the tent toward the melee. 
“Merciful Jesus, what are you doing?” she cried. 
“Release him this instant!” She bent swiftly to examine 
Jeremy, then glared up at the others. “The wound has 
reopened. What were you thinking?” 
Her sharp tone chastened the men, and they dropped 
their gazes to the ground. 
“He insisted upon going to find you,” Jason muttered 
miserably. “But I didn’t think he should be up and 
about—” 
“He’s out of his head with delirium,” she cut in acidly. 
“All he required was a draught to make him sleep. Now, 
could you please assist him back to his pallet?” 
“No,” Jeremy protested, struggling weakly as they 
lifted him. “I’ll not lie down.” Shaking off the men’s hands, 
he stood swaying, then grabbed Alicen’s arm for support. 
The bulging vein at his temple gave evidence of his 
agitation. “You must leave,” he said, gasping. “Too 
dangerous here. I’m responsible. Return to 
Durham...Landeyda.” 
She knew his strong will was all that kept him 
standing. 
“Hush.” Placing her hand flat against his broad chest, 
she kept her eyes on his face. “We’ll discuss this when 
you lie down so I may see to your injuries.” Gently, she 
guided him toward his pallet. 
He resisted but couldn’t break from her grasp. “You 
mustn’t remain. I’ll not let you. Durham is safe...must 
return now—” 
“I’ll be here as long as I’m of use, Captain. You cannot 
force me to leave.” She eased him down, pulled the blanket 
up to his waist, and began assessing the damage caused 
by his struggle. 
Alicen’s sincerity penetrated Jeremy’s lethargic mind, 

made him hope she truly cared. But darkness beckoned. 
There was much he must say, yet speech eluded a tongue 
that grew more unwieldy by the moment. He closed his 
eyes, attempting to concentrate his strength, and caught 
her elbow with his hand. “So many hurt...need 
attention...your care. I don’t want you...” his voice faltered, 
and his chest heaved with the effort to speak. 
“All the wounded at Durham are being tended,” she 
softly assured him. Over her shoulder, she said to Ned, 
“I’ll need my instruments. And bring the captain some 
wine.” 
Catching her look, Ned went to fill a chalice, then 
poured in an ample measure of Alicen’s sleeping draught. 
“Drink this,” she instructed Jeremy when the boy 
returned. “‘Twill ease your discomfort.” Supporting his 
head, she helped him drain the dregs, then laid him back 
onto the pillow. “Now sleep.” 
He kept his grasp on her. “Promise to leave before 
you’re injured,” he pleaded. “Dangerous here. You cannot 
stay. Promise me.” 
“You’ve no choice in whether I tend you, and I’ll not 
leave ‘til your recovery’s certain. If you wish to argue this, 
we’ll do so on the morrow. For now, gather your wits and 
rest.” 
“Promise...” 
He slept. Alicen had Taft restrain Jeremy on the 
chance he would flinch as she began to probe his wound. 
To her relief, she saw that the artery she’d cauterized 
still held. Blood seeped only from small vessels. 
Wondering at the cause of the bleeding, she took her 
thinnest blade and carefully probed for the source. Several 
shards of steel left in his wound from his chain mail were 
the cause. 
Alicen felt her mouth go dry. Had those tiny pieces of 
metal remained in his body, Jeremy could very well have 
died of infection. Her concern for him had nearly cost his 
life, as her haste to cauterize the main vessel had likely 
made her careless in finding and removing debris from 
the wound. She thanked God and Jason Warrick for their 
intervention. Had Jeremy and Jason not fought, chances 
were good she’d never have re-examined his wound. That 
would have proven fatal. Now, so long as the cauterization 

held, Jeremy stood an excellent chance of recovering. 
Taft left as she finished closing the original wound 
with two stitches. After covering Jeremy with a blanket, 
she caressed the rough stubble on his cheek. Just looking 
at him brought a slow fire in her belly that spread 
languidly throughout her body. 
He wanted her to return to Landeyda. But she could 
not imagine life there without him, even with their child 
to remind her of their love. Once, she had indulged herself 
in the dream of putting war’s carnage behind and 
returning to her quiet life at home. Now a future there 
alone loomed bleak. Could she bind this heartsick warrior 
to her side for life? She meant to try. 
When she rose from Jeremy’s pallet, she saw Jason 
Warrick standing at the tent’s entrance, expression 
stricken. He straightened at her approach. 
“Mistress Kent, please accept my apology—” 
Her hand on his arm stopped him. “Nay, Captain, ’tis 
I who should apologize.” Despite her fatigue, she smiled. 
“I had no cause to so abuse your concern. Forgive my 
sharpness. It has been a hellish day, and I fear I’m near 
exhaustion.” 
“Jeremy will recover, will he not?” 
“With good fortune, he should be abed a week at 
most.” 
Jason’s relief burst through in a huge grin before he 
sobered. “I could not have lived with myself had I injured 
him more severely.” 
“I’m certain he’ll suffer no major setback.” She paused. 
“Thank you for intervening today.” At Jason’s incredulous 
look, she added, “Had he not begun bleeding again, those 
pieces of mail I missed at first would have caused a 
dangerous, likely fatal, infection.” She smiled. “Your fight 
with him probably saved his life.” 
Jason shook his head in amazement, then crooked 
his arm to her. “May I see you to Duke William’s tent?” 
“Thank you, but I’d prefer to stay here, close to 
Jeremy.” 
“God give ye rest.” Poised to leave, he hesitated, 
turning to her once again. “Mere gratitude palls at all 
you’ve done for us. There must needs be a more fitting 
reward for your services.” 

“I need no reward,” she replied with a shrug. “Healing 
is my calling, and a patient’s recovery truly is ample 
payment.” 
Jason raised her hand to his lips and kissed her 
knuckles. “You’re remarkable.” 
Blushing, she looked away. “Nay, not at all.” 
“Jeremy spoke true when he said we’ll not see your 
like again.” Alicen started in surprise at his words, but 
he didn’t seem to notice. “To my mind, the man loves you 
more than life, though he may not have told you such. 
Since his previous misfortunes with women he loved, he 
has kept his heart well-guarded.” 
He has pledged his devotion to me, Captain, Alicen 
thought bleakly. ‘Tis I who’ve been unable to speak my 
thoughts to him. 
“Seek your own rest, Mistress Kent.” Jason gave her 
shoulder a quick squeeze, then opened the tent flap. 
“Good night. Again my thanks to you. You’re an angel of 
mercy.” 
“I prize your faith in me,” she returned with a slight 
smile. And especially Jeremy’s faith. “Sleep well, Captain.” 
“And you, Mistress.” 
She tied the tent flap closed, then froze, powerless to 
move as Jason’s words rang in her head—He loves you 
more than life. 
Could a soldier love a woman above duty and combat? 
Above living? She shuddered at the realization that, 
though she’d loved Jeremy for some time, she’d not told 
him such. Fear of abandonment prevented her from 
risking her heart. Yet, he’d risked reopening his wounds 
to see to her safety. 
’Twas time to put aside her fears for a chance at 
happiness. Her mother’s words rang in her head: “You 
are destined to be together.” The dagger and amulet 
proved that. If Jeremy died knowing naught of her love, 
she would live with that horror always. If he lived yet left, 
at the least he would leave knowing she cared for him. 
And their child? 
Nay, she’d not use the babe to bind him to her if he 
was of a mind to go. If he found another woman to love 
and take to wife, Alicen would raise their child alone. But 
not in secret. Once Jeremy had regained his lands and 

settled in, he would know of their offspring. Alicen would 
never deny him as much opportunity to be part of the 
child’s life as he wished. 
She sighed softly and sat down on the pallet to remove 
her boots. At the first opportunity, she would declare her 
feelings. Then, let fate do what it might, he would know 
her heart was his for the asking. 
*** 
“This is madness!” 
The emerald fire in Alicen’s eyes threatened to turn 
all in Jeremy’s tent to cinder. No one could meet the 
intensity of her stare, and five grown men—hardened 
warriors all—avoided eye contact with the enraged woman 
who paced before them. 
With a resigned sigh, Jeremy caught her by the 
shoulders and stopped her agitated movement. When she 
lowered her head and refused to look at him, he gave her 
a gentle shake. 
“Be reasonable, lass,” he said calmly. 
Her head shot up and she glared at him. “You ride 
into combat little more than a week after suffering 
grievous wounds, yet question my reason?” Pushing his 
hands away, she stepped back. “How dare you accuse 
me of being unreasonable!” 
“You removed my stitches yesterday,” he countered. 
“And said I heal quickly.” 
“I didn’t say you’d healed enough to return to battle. 
Should that wound reopen, you could bleed to death in 
moments.” 
“Aye, and I could bleed to death from your sharp 
tongue even as I stand here.” 
Alicen chose to ignore that set down, but her chin 
raised a fraction. Then, noting the stubborn tilt of Jeremy’s 
jaw and his determination to see this challenge through, 
she turned angrily on the others in the tent. Her look fell 
first upon William. 
“My lord duke, you’ll stand by and let an injured man 
defend your honor?” Her quiet tone only served to 
emphasize her ire. “You’ve no healthy knight to ride in 
his place?” 
William’s face flamed, but his voice was firm when he 
replied, “Harold’s challenge was champion against 

champion. Sir Jeremy is my man.” 
Alicen nodded slowly, as if absorbing a new and 
unique bit of information. “And the Duke of York has no 
champion to ride for his banner?” She slanted her gaze 
at the young man standing beside William. 
“I do, but my knight has never defeated Sir Jeremy,” 
Duke Richard stated gravely. “Even though they once 
fought when Captain Blaine was injured.” 
The other men muttered their confirmation of this 
fact. 
Alicen shook her head. “Why dare I think warriors 
would heed a physician’s counsel? ’Tis unconscionable 
to send a weakened man to fight, yet you’ll do so in a 
wink. And all for honor.” She felt tears burn the backs of 
her eyes, and abruptly wished only to escape. 
But before she could move, Jeremy encircled her waist 
with his arms and gathered her close. “Leave us,” he 
quietly told the others. 
“Release me!” she ordered, struggling to break free. 
Her actions only served to see her held tighter. 
Jeremy’s strong chest pressed against her back, and the 
firm yet still gentle tightening of his embrace warned she’d 
not escape without using a weapon. And she had none to 
use, were she inclined to do so. Still refusing to acquiesce 
to his superior strength, she made an attempt to twist 
away. Her efforts failed. 
“Be still, minx,” he ordered, his mouth so close to her 
ear his breath teased her. “You and I must needs talk.” 
Shoulders slumped in dejection, she said in a choked 
voice, “I have spoken my piece, and you’ve not listened. 
I’ve naught left to say.” 
“I’ve heard every word you’ve uttered—” 
“And yet you’ll ride out to fight.” She choked back a 
sob, hating her weakness, hating his seeing her so 
vulnerable. 
Leaning down, he placed a soft kiss on her temple. 
“That is my duty,” he stated simply. “Yet ‘twill never 
change my love for you.” 
“Love!” Summoning all her strength, she wrenched 
from his arms and spun on him, enraged. “How dare you 
say you love me, then put yourself in such danger?” 
Trembling uncontrollably, she stepped away when he 

reached for her. “Don’t touch me! You declare your love, 
yet won’t consider what will happen to me or even to Ned 
should you die in battle.” Tears blurred her vision and 
choked her voice, but she managed to add, “I’ll not remain 
to watch you fight, Jeremy. Ride against Harold’s 
champion, and I’ll be gone when you return.” 
Anger mixed with pain hit Jeremy like a fist to his 
chest. “So that’s the lay of things. I implored you to leave 
for safety’s sake, but you’d not. Now, you’re more than 
happy to.” 
“I stayed because you needed me. Now, all you need 
is your glory.” 
She buried her face in her hands in a vain attempt to 
stem her tears. This time, when Jeremy enfolded her in 
his arms, she made no effort to free herself. Instead, she 
laid her head on his chest and sobbed. 
He rubbed her back and shoulders, whispering 
soothing words, easing the tension in her body. 
“Ah, my sweet, stubborn minx,” he crooned, 
continuing his ministrations. “How can I make you 
understand what duty compels me to do?” 
Lifting her head from his chest, she fixed him with 
glistening eyes. “You cannot make me grasp such 
reasoning. Does duty compel you to die, Jeremy?” 
He shook his head, then brushed away her tears with 
gentle fingers. “Nay, sweetling. But I must fight. Single 
combat will spare men’s lives, not to mention the women 
and children who now suffer inside Escomb’s walls.” 
Alicen’s mind returned to a similar scene in which he 
had fought another to spare more casualties, and abruptly 
pride in his selflessness warred with her fear for his life. 
“Too much strain could reopen your wound,” came 
her fierce whisper. “If such should happen...” She lowered 
her head back to his chest, trembling. “I cannot bear the 
agony of witnessing this. I intend to leave this place of 
death as swiftly as Hercules will carry me.” 
Jeremy’s body tensed at her words. “Am I naught to 
you but a faceless victim who requires tending?” he grated 
out. “Do you feel for me as for any man with guts in hands, 
pleading that you make him whole again?” 
“Nay.” Her arms slid around his slim waist to lock 
behind his back. “I’ve given myself to you. None other. 

Does that not tell you of my regard?” 
He held her closer. “You’ve never spoken of such 
feelings, lass. What am I to think?” 
“You’ve stolen my heart, Sir Jeremy Blaine. And now 
you make sport with it by risking your life unnecessarily.” 
His hand beneath her chin lifted her face to his. “I do 
not sport with what I hold dear,” he said, then brushed 
her lips with a kiss. “Just as I do not sport with my life by 
entering into combat. Do not demand that out of love for 
you I withdraw from the field. I’ll do so if you ask. Yet this 
is the swiftest way to end the war and regain all. All I 
want to share with you.” 
Her heartbeat accelerated alarmingly at his 
declaration. But caution made her ask, “You mean to 
share your bed with me as your mistress?” 
“I mean to share that and far more with you as my 
wife.” 
“I, marry a soldier?” she mocked, trying to make light 
of her sudden yearning to do that very thing. “Duke 
William would have me wed a Sherford merchant. You 
must be mad.” 
Jeremy shook his head. “Mad, indeed, to think I could 
truly win your stubborn heart. Know you not that I would 
gladly die for you?” 
“I want no man to lay down his life for mine.” 
Only the look that briefly flashed in Alicen’s eyes kept 
Jeremy from despair. He’d seen a spark of hope and love 
shining there for him, and understood that fear he’d be 
killed kept her from openly committing her heart. He 
sighed. His headstrong, self-reliant healer would require 
proof before she accepted that he’d return to live out his 
days with her. 
“I’ll not allow you to leave,” he stated grimly. “During 
the challenge, Harold may attempt escape. The roads will 
not be safe to travel.” 
“I won’t remain here while you fight.” Alicen raised 
her fists and shoved against his chest until he released 
her. She backed farther away. 
He started after her but halted, arrested by her look 
of pure anguish. Holding both hands toward her in 
supplication, he said quietly, “Alicen, I need you—” 
She jerked as if he’d struck her. “Nay, you do not. 

You need your horse and your weapons and your duty, 
not me.” Face bleak, she added, “And I don’t need you.” 
He looked at her with all the tenderness in his heart. 
“You’re wrong, lass. I need you as all living things need 
food and water.” Two steps closed the gap between them, 
then he reached out both hands to capture her face. “I’ll 
die if we’re separated. Those weeks you were at Landeyda 
and I at Tynan, I was mad with longing. All who 
approached me risked their lives to do so. And it was all 
for want of you.” 
When he caressed the line of her jaw with his long 
fingers, Alicen’s eyelids closed. But her eyes brimmed 
with tears when she opened them again. 
“I’ve been so long alone, I dare not believe I could be 
part of someone’s life,” she said, voice husky. “Should 
that wish not come true, I’ll never recover.” 
He dropped his hands from her face and gently 
grasped her shoulders. 
“Alicen, look at me,” he commanded softly. He waited 
until her gaze met his before saying, “Today I fight not for 
William but for you. I hold my duty most dear, and that 
duty is to see you safe, happily wed to me, and the mother 
of my children.” 
His words struck a chord so deep in her she thought 
she’d collapse from the sensation of it. But before she 
could respond and tell him of the child she carried, 
Michael Taft shook the tent flap to gain their attention. 

TWENTY-FIVE 
Taft peered inside the tent just long enough to say, 
“Time grows short, Jeremy. We must get you armed.” 
Jeremy nodded. “Michael, send in Fish, Naismith, 
Burke and Weed.” 
He held Alicen close, regretting what he had to do. 
He’d not risk losing her. Yet, would her affection die from 
his latest plot? He told himself to have faith, to trust her 
strong nature. But doubts nagged him. 
The soldiers entered. 
“Take Mistress Kent and confine her in Duke William’s 
tent ‘til my return,” he succinctly ordered his men. He 
ignored Alicen’s indignant gasp and her furious 
expression. He shifted his gaze from the men to the woman 
in his arms. “You know her to be cleverly resourceful 
and thus realize you must not be lax in your duties. Know 
now that, should she escape you, I’ll execute you to a 
man.” 
“How dare you!” Alicen cried, twisting in his grasp. 
She sought to strike him, but quickly found her arms 
pinned behind her. Muttering dark oaths, she thrashed 
against him until his embrace immobilized her in a 
crushing hold. “You’ll not keep me here against my will,” 
she ground out through clenched teeth. “I’ll not stay to 
see you die.” 
“Nay, you’ll not,” he agreed huskily. “You’ll stay to 
see me return in triumph.” Burying his face in her hair, 
he whispered, “Trust me, my lady. Naught of this Earth 
will keep me from your side.” His hold gentled, and she 
felt him shaking. “Forgive me, love. I’ll fight poorly if I fret 
over you. Confined, you’ll be safe, not abroad endangering 
yourself.” 
Alicen lifted defiant eyes to him, then straightened in 
his hold. When he released her, she turned proudly on 
her heel and left the tent, her escort surrounding her. 
Heart leaden, Jeremy called for Taft and Robert, and 
they immediately set about their battle preparations. As 

Michael and the squire helped him into his mail and 
armor, he flexed his sore shoulder, recalling Alicen’s fears. 
He’d often borne serious injuries into battle—’twas a 
warrior’s way. She saw only danger and pain, not ultimate 
victory. And this victory would be most sweet—his lands 
and a life far from war’s carnage. 
He fervently prayed she’d be part of that life. 
“Do you think this will hold?” Taft asked again, this 
time coupling the question with a shove to Jeremy’s sound 
shoulder. “Cease your woolgathering, man! ’Tis time to 
fight.” 
Jeremy’s eyes refocused from the future to the 
present. “What say you, Michael?” 
“Will this extra gusset of mail hold in place?” 
Glancing down at his left shoulder, Jeremy nodded. 
“’Tis secured to the arming doublet. I see no reason why 
it won’t.” 
“The bulk will make your armor fit more tightly,” Taft 
warned. “Will you be able to maneuver with it?” 
“Aye. It won’t hinder me.” 
Jeremy rarely bothered protecting an injury. But his 
promise to provide for Alicen prompted him to add 
reinforcement. A regretful grimace twisted his lips. 
Mayhap he’d not have a woman to return to after this 
day’s work. She of a certain resented his callous 
treatment. But did she resent it enough to refuse his suit? 
“Woolgathering again?” Taft cut in caustically. “’Tis 
no time for aught but the task at hand.” He dropped 
Jeremy’s hauberk over his head and buckled his cuirass 
into place. “Purge the woman from your mind, or you’ll 
not keep your head on your shoulders long enough to 
think of her ever more.” 
Jeremy shot his friend an annoyed look. “Don’t 
presume to tutor me, Michael,” he growled. “Just get this 
damned armor secured.” 
In a few moments more the task was completed. 
Jeremy strapped his sword to his waist, then took his 
helmet from Robert. 
“Your shield and mace are on your saddle, Sir 
Jeremy,” the young man said respectfully. “Do you require 
aught else?” 
“Just a moment alone, lad.” 

Taft and the squire had moved to the tent opening 
when Ned burst in. Jeremy knew he gaped in surprise at 
this intrusion even as Ned skidded to a halt before him. 
“Captain Blaine, thank Jesu you’re still here,” Ned 
gasped, breathless from haste. “I was asked to deliver 
this to you.” 
Brow raised, Jeremy accepted a leather pouch from 
the boy’s trembling hand. He tousled Ned’s blond hair. 
“Thank you, lad. I—” 
“You’re not to open it ‘til you’re alone,” Ned broke in 
when Jeremy’s hands moved to the pouch’s string. 
“Please, sir.” 
Jeremy nodded, then glanced around. “I was just 
about to be so, Ned. You arrived in the nick of time.” 
With youthful impetuosity, Ned threw his arms 
around Jeremy’s waist and hugged him, even though 
unyielding armor kept the man from feeling the embrace. 
“Have a care, sir,” he intoned softly. “Don’t let that 
evil man hurt you.” 
Jeremy returned the boy’s hug and muttered gruffly, 
“I’ve no intention of that happening, lad. Put your mind 
at rest.” Brown eyes full of admiration turned up to his, 
warming him. “Go to your mistress now. She needs you 
beside her.” 
An uncommon dampness teased Jeremy’s eyes as he 
watched Ned depart with the others. He loved the boy 
like a son. Perhaps he could adopt him. At least foster 
him. Would Alicen approve? The lump he swallowed 
turned to a cinder lodged in his heart. Even if she loved 
him, would they ever wed? She saw a soldier, not a man 
worthy of her devotion. Mayhap he was a fool to think he 
could convince her otherwise. 
Dismayed, he knelt in front of the small crucifix sitting 
on the only table in his tent. It was then he remembered 
the pouch in his hands. Almost absentmindedly, he 
opened it and reached in to pull out the contents. 
His fingers closed around metal, and curious, he drew 
the object out to examine closely. It was his dagger. He’d 
not even noticed its absence, must have dropped it during 
his latest convalescence. But what arrested his sight was 
wound around the cross-guard. 
Alicen’s amulet. 

His breath caught in his chest as he realized why it 
had looked familiar to him so many weeks before. It was 
the exact duplicate of the pattern on his dagger’s hilt. 
“Christ be praised!” he whispered fervently. 
Tears of joy filled his eyes as he bent his head, 
thanking God for this token of Alicen’s love. He’d not 
thought to see such a thing, especially this day. His prayer 
done, he put the amulet around his neck and tucked it 
safely beneath his arming doublet, against his skin. Then 
he rose and strapped his dagger to his side. He knew her 
heart was in that amulet, and he would defend it with his 
life. 
The hair on his nape raised suddenly, but the 
sensation was curiously comforting rather than startling. 
Best keep your promise to her, Captain, whispered Kaitlyn 
O’Rourke. She’s waiting for you. 
“My word on it,” he answered firmly, eyes raised to 
heaven. 
*** 
Perspiration clung like a caul to Alicen’s skin. How 
long had she awaited word of the combat? It seemed her 
pacing would wear a path in William’s fine Persian rug. 
Her guards remained outside the tent, one posted at each 
corner. 
Ned had been so excited about the trial of arms that 
Alicen had allowed him to go to the field. His enthusiasm 
only made her more keenly aware that her view of such 
activities differed vastly from others’. And why should it 
not? After all, it fell to her to mend the results of such 
folly. 
And suffer a terrible loss should Jeremy fail to 
triumph. 
All manner of fears played through her head like the 
notes of a funeral dirge. She contemplated escaping, but 
immediately abandoned the idea. Her success would 
mean death to four innocent men. Jeremy had given his 
word to execute them, and he’d see it through. No, she 
had to remain confined until such time as he came to 
fetch her. 
Or returned to her on a bier. 
Have faith, Daughter. 
“How can I, Mother,” Alicen cried in a fierce whisper. 

“Father died in battle. You lost your life at a soldier’s 
hands. Soldiers fight and die. Why should I believe Jeremy 
will live?” 
He has your amulet and the power of love to protect 
him. 
“And no other soldier ever died in battle while carrying 
another’s love with him?” 
I’ll not deny that. But Jeremy has your amulet and his 
dagger. A potent combination that will protect him this day. 
You are fated to be together, and no power in the mortal 
world will interfere with that destiny. 
“But how?” 
Centuries ago, a Druid high priest had the pieces made 
for himself from stones considered sacred to the order. 
The arrangement of those stones in both the dagger and 
the amulet create a formidable protective force, especially 
when the two pieces are together. 
Intrigued despite her fears for Jeremy, Alicen asked, 
“How did they come to be separated?” 
The legends aren’t specific, but some time after the 
high priest died, the two pieces disappeared. The amulet 
was found in a cairn in Ireland by your great-great-great-
great grandmother, and passed down to her daughter, and 
thus through our female line to you. I’ve no idea how 
Jeremy acquired the dagger, but the legends say the pieces 
are destined to be together. That’s how he came to be at 
Landeyda. 
Alicen shook her head in wonder, barely able to 
comprehend the import of her mother’s words. She 
struggled with her rampant emotions, paced and prayed, 
pressed cold fingers to her temples and rubbed chilled 
arms with icy hands. Naught alleviated her torment. 
*** 
Jeremy stared down at the man sprawled at his feet. 
Sword tip pressed against the throat exposed beneath 
the knight’s helmet, he asked again, “Do you yield?” 
“Aye,” came the faintly muffled voice behind the visor. 
Jeremy stooped and retrieved his opponent’s sword 
before stepping back to allow him to sit upright. “Then 
show yourself.” 
When the plumed helm was removed, the surprised 
gasp from William’s camp carried far in the still air. 

“Harold,” Jeremy stated quietly, quirking a brow. 
“Aye, Blaine,” Harold of Stanhope sneered, black eyes 
glittering hatred. “Who else to fight you? Those dolts I 
hired are as worthless as tits on a boar.” 
“A man fights best when he defends his own,” Jeremy 
said on a shrug. “Hirelings have little to lose but their 
lives. That oft makes living more dear than their lord’s ill-
gotten lands.” 
“A warrior philosopher.” Harold’s contempt revealed 
itself in his curled lip. “What an accomplished man you 
are.” 
“Not nearly as skilled in butchery as you, it seems.” 
The vanquished knight spewed bloody spittle onto 
the ground at his conqueror’s feet. “You’ve bested me, 
Blaine, now finish what you undertook to do.” 
Jeremy took another step back. “Nay. I’ve enough 
blood on my hands without adding yours. You’ll find your 
reckoning in London.” He nodded toward the usurper’s 
horse. “But I’ll take your steed, and this fine sword.” Then 
he smiled as he added, “And the lands you stole from 
William that are now rightfully mine.” 
“If you’d stayed in France another year, I’d have owned 
all of Tynan.” Harold yanked his gauntlets from his hands 
and threw them to the ground. 
“Do you truly believe you’d have kept it?” Having 
sheathed his own sword, Jeremy gestured with Harold’s. 
“Rise, knave. The dukes of Tynan and York crave a word 
with you.” 
Harold rose unsteadily, stood swaying a moment, then 
straightened. A haughty stare filled his eyes when he 
spoke. “I’ll rot in hell before I let you haul me to London 
in irons.” 
Before anyone could move, the conquered knight 
unsheathed his dagger and drew it across his own throat. 
A gout of blood issued forth as he collapsed face first on 
the ground. 
“Sweet Jesus,” Jeremy cried, dropping Harold’s sword 
and kneeling beside the stricken man. In pure reflex, he 
shouted, “Fetch Alicen, quickly! Bid her bring her 
instruments.” 
A rider was already thundering off toward camp when 
Jeremy saw that Harold of Stanhope was dead. 

*** 
The sound of hoofbeats reached Alicen’s ears, the 
rumble ending in a scrabbling flurry outside the tent. 
She was nearly to the opening when she heard a 
breathless voice cry, “Mistress Kent, come quickly! And 
bring your medicaments.” 
She rushed outside, only to find her legs had turned 
to water. She stumbled toward a rider whose face had 
become too blurred to recognize, and started to fall. 
Vaguely, she felt herself being lifted onto a destrier, her 
medicament satchel slung over her shoulder. She clung 
blindly to the rider, able to think only that Jeremy was 
dying. Or dead. 
And that her life would end with his. 
Her mind was blessedly numb by the time her escort 
reined in beside the bloody form of a prostrate knight. 
She slid from the destrier’s back, felt herself beginning to 
swoon, and started to pitch headlong to the ground. 
Strong arms caught her and pulled her up against a 
chest encased in steel. Although she knew she could not 
stand on her own, she was nonetheless still upright in 
this man’s arms. 
“My apologies, kind sir,” she muttered, not lifting her 
head. “I seem to have lost my balance.” 
Jeremy’s embrace tightened and his smile widened, 
though Alicen could not see it with her face pressed to 
his shoulder. 
“I told you to stay in the tent,” he grumbled. He kissed 
her temple, then with a slight gesture, indicated to a pair 
of soldiers to remove Harold’s body. In the meantime, he 
blocked Alicen’s view of the corpse. 
Jeremy’s pleasure at holding her was lost on Alicen, 
but the sound of his voice registered. That alone rent the 
dam that had held her emotions in check. He was alive! 
And he had frightened her half to death. She wept 
uncontrollably, heart-wrenching sobs of agonized relief 
that unnerved every man on the field. 
Jeremy, at a loss to comfort her, responded in the 
only way certain to gain her reaction. Leaning down, he 
said in her ear, “Are you so despondent I yet live, Mistress, 
that you cry thus?” 
His words struck with such force that she gasped, 

choked back her tears, and glared up at him. Then she 
pushed back from him as far as his embrace would allow. 
“I thought you were dying, you lout! Why else would I be 
so hastily summoned?” 
“And you wept that your talents were not needed?” 
He cocked a brow, venturing a wry smile. The sparks in 
her eyes encouraged him. Lips twitching, he fought a grin. 
“I should have known such a willful, stubborn woman 
would disobey my orders.” 
“Better willful and stubborn than foolishly heroic,” 
Alicen countered acidly, too weak with relief at her love’s 
good health to actually break from his arms. Abrupt 
concern darkened her eyes, and she looked anxiously at 
him. “Are you injured?” 
“Nay, not in the slightest.” 
That did it. With a snort of disgust, she pushed free 
and stepped back, scowling. “Why did your man not tell 
me you were safe?” she shouted. “I nearly swooned with 
fear!” 
“Fear for my life?” Jeremy asked drolly. Widened eyes 
added to his amazed expression. “Do you admit to caring 
for me?” 
Alicen clenched her jaw. “Certainly not. Do I appear 
so foolish?” 
Jeremy could not contain his smile. It threatened to 
crack his face with its breadth. He removed his helmet, 
tucked it beneath one arm, and pulled his coif off his 
head. Then he swept her an elegant bow. In his richest 
tone he declared, “Mistress Kent, I wish to wed you. As 
well you know, I’m oft in need of a skilled physician, and 
I am brainsick enough to bind myself to one as headstrong 
as you.” 
Alicen was momentarily silent, then she sniffed 
haughtily. “I care not for the ravings of a lunatic, sir 
knight. Mayhap a stronger blow from your enemy would 
have cleared your thinking. Though ’tis doubtful.” 
He chuckled, but quickly donned his sternest mien. 
Before she could react, he’d encircled her with an arm 
and drawn her close. “If I rave, lady, then all the world is 
mad. For I do want you as my wife.” 
“And what if I am not of like distemper to wish you as 
my husband?” 

“Then, I’ll marry you against your will.” The pained 
look his comment brought made him laugh aloud. “You 
see, you’ve little choice in the matter.” 
“I can highly recommend Lord Jeremy Blaine, 
Mistress,” William called from where he sat his palfry at 
his champion’s back. “He brings to this union the largest 
holding in my duchy—Sherford. And Whitecomb to the 
north. Though that estate is in need of repair, rest assured 
the young lord has ample funds to see it done properly.” 
Jeremy shot William a startled glance. Whitecomb was 
indeed the gem of Tynan’s properties. Abandoned for 
several years, if run efficiently, it would provide the 
protection Sherford currently lacked. The thought of such 
a great estate being his made his heart leap. 
William paused only a moment before adding, “He’ll 
truly need a worthy wife to help manage such a holding.” 
The woman Jeremy held more than deserved the 
comforts of being lady to such a manor. If he could only 
convince her of such. 
“Best you consent to marry me, Alicen,” he growled, 
squeezing her gently. “No other man among these 
assembled would take you to wife.” 
At this, Jason Warrick grunted. “’Tis well known you’d 
kill any one of us who dared attempt to wed her.” 
Alicen laughed along with the troops at Warrick’s 
remark, yet refrained from comment on Jeremy’s 
proposal. He offered her his hand, his look that of a boy 
who sought a gift too wonderful to ever obtain. In that 
blue gaze she saw the depths of his heart, and hers soared 
to join it. 
But pride demanded reprisal in kind to his barbed 
offer. Assuming an expression of strained patience, she 
sighed in mock despair as she laid her palm against his. 
“I suppose I must needs take you, for, in truth, ’tis no 
more than my duty to womankind.” 
Jeremy’s black brows drew together. “How so, 
Mistress?” 
“’Tis my burden to save them from your cunning 
ways,” she replied tartly. “Therefore, I’ll make sacrifice of 
myself on the marriage altar, thus ridding the world of 
one of its plagues.” 
While the men cheered, Jeremy drew Alicen closer 

for a deep kiss. Her arms wound around his neck, then 
her hand crept to his hair to ruffle it with trembling fingers. 
Unmindful of their audience, she kissed him soundly. 
As the cheering escalated, he broke off the kiss, still 
clasping Alicen close, and bent his head. “No elixir you 
could devise would ever cure me of my love for you, lass,” 
he whispered for her ears only. 
Alicen felt her eyes fill with tears at his statement. 
She gently ran her fingers down his cheek and across his 
lips. “No battle you could fight would ever quell my love 
for you, sir,” she murmured in reply. 
Jeremy caught his breath when the meaning of her 
declaration became clear, saw in her expression her deep 
regard, and lifted her off her feet to twirl around and 
around in a giddy dance of adoration. 
“Stop,” she cried finally, laughter bubbling from her 
throat. “Put me down, churl.” 
When he set her again on her feet, to the raucous 
huzzahs of every soldier, she clung to him to remain 
upright. Taking advantage of her disorientation, he 
brushed her lips with a kiss. 
“Lord help us,” Taft exclaimed. “If we don’t separate 
those two, they’ll never pause for breath long enough to 
endure the nuptials.” 
Laughing as loudly as anyone else, Jeremy firmly set 
Alicen away from him and turned to the assemblage. 
“Let it not be said that I bore my duty with ill grace,” 
he proclaimed, voice dripping irony. “I’ll save this woman 
from her ill-tempered ways and myself from a life of 
untended wounds.” 
“I’ll cause many of those wounds, if you don’t temper 
your loutish manner,” Alicen pronounced, cuffing him 
on the arm. 
“What? Mend my ways and lose my favorite jousting 
partner?” He rubbed the spot where she’d struck his 
armor. “Nay, I look forward to your sharp tongue and 
your tender care of my hurts.” 
Abruptly solemn, she whispered, “May my sharp 
tongue be all that cuts you for ever more.” 
“I intend it to be,” Jeremy replied, kissing her yet 
again. 
When he broke the embrace, Alicen’s eyes held only 

concern. “You’re certain you’ve not been injured.” 
“Aye, but you could ascertain for yourself.” He winked. 
“In my tent. After all, even a physician of your skills cannot 
detect wounds hidden beneath armor.” 
His heated look sent ripples through Alicen’s belly. 
“Then best we see to your needs anon,” she murmured, 
breathless. 
*** 
Escomb’s walls were silhouetted by blazing sunset 
as Alicen and Jeremy sat atop a rise overlooking William’s 
camp. Cook fires held back the encroaching dusk, and 
the laughter and songs of the victorious troops carried 
on a breeze to the lovers’ lookout. 
Jeremy leaned back against the oak on the crest and 
beckoned Alicen into his arms. “It grows cold, lass. Let 
me warm you.” 
She needed no second invitation, but moved onto his 
lap to wrap her arms about his waist as he enveloped her 
with his cloak. 
Reaching beneath his doublet, he pulled out the 
amulet, removed it from his neck and put it around hers. 
“I thank you for the lending of this, but it belongs to you,” 
he said quietly as he kissed her forehead. 
“It kept you safe in battle.” 
He nodded. “And now I wish it to once again protect 
you.” After a short pause, he asked, “When did you 
discover its likeness to my dagger?” 
“After you were injured at Escomb.” She related the 
history of the two tokens. 
“Remarkable.” 
“Indeed. But there’s more.” When he quirked a brow 
in question, she continued. “I had a premonition that a 
man would change my life. The moment I saw you, I knew 
you were that man.” 
“Your mother brought us together, you know.” At 
Alicen’s startled look, Jeremy stated, “After the first battle. 
We were in Sherford to seek a physician, and I heard a 
voice say the area’s finest healer lived at Landeyda. Later, 
when I questioned my men about who had directed us to 
you, no one knew what I spoke of. They’d heard nothing.” 
He smiled. “She’s remarkably persistent.” 
“That she is,” Alicen said with a laugh. Looking into 

his deep blue eyes, she saw his heart. “I love you, Jeremy,” 
she whispered, just before laying her head on his 
shoulder. 
“How came you to such a conclusion?” he asked, voice 
as quiet as hers. 
Lifting her head, she leaned back to see his features. 
“I listened to my heart. My mind refused to accept your 
goodness, but my heart carried the day.” Pausing briefly, 
she added, “Much as my body carries your child.” 
Jeremy went rigid, his arms tightening around her. 
“When?” 
“The night before the attack on Escomb.” At his sharp 
intake of breath, she captured his face in her hands. “I 
know what you believe, Sir Jeremy Blaine, yet you are 
mistaken. I came to you because I wished to. No other 
reason.” She chuckled ruefully. “I even tried to prevent 
conception, but ’tis evident I failed.” Her statement met 
with no response, and at Jeremy’s continued silence, 
apprehension seized her. “Don’t you desire this babe?” 
she finally managed to ask. 
Jeremy’s heart lurched at her vulnerable tone. “Don’t 
you?” he countered softly. 
“So much so it frightens me.” 
Gently, he drew her closer and kissed her forehead. 
“How long have you known?” 
“I was certain a few days before you returned to 
Durham from the field.” 
“Yet you kept this secret.” 
Now Alicen grew tense. “I feared the news would 
distract you.” She swallowed hard before adding, “And I 
wished you to love me for myself, not for a child I carried.” 
“I love you more than aught else,” Jeremy vowed, 
burying his face in her hair. “Our babe will have a place 
in my heart, but the greater portion belongs to you alone.” 
Alicen felt her throat tighten as she stated, “If my 
love for you dies, I’ll die with it. I will never stop loving 
you.” 
“Kiss me, minx.” 
A sudden breeze whirled around them. 
‘Twas destiny. Kaitlyn O’Rourke’s voice filled both 
their minds. You’ve each other now, and no need to fear 
the ghosts of the past. And you’ve love enough to defeat 

any foe. 
“Well said, Mistress O’Rourke,” Jeremy declared 
before he lowered his lips to Alicen’s. 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR 
Laurie Carroll’s first novel, A War of Hearts, was a 
Romance Writers of America Golden Heart finalist. She 
has been a member of RWA since 1988, but has been 
writing practically since she could hold a pencil. 
A high school English teacher in West Michigan for 
twenty-one years, Laurie holds both a Bachelors degree 
in English and a Masters degree in telecommunications 
from Michigan State University. 
She speaks to writers groups across the Midwest, 
often on her two favorite subjects—grammar and 
swearing, and has even spoken in New Zealand on 
American English. 
Laurie is the primary line editor for ImaJinn Books 
and lists photography and travel as some of her hobbies. 
She loves to hear from her readers. Write her at this 
address: 
Laurie Carroll 
P.O. Box 557Ada, MI 49301