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The battlefield ran red with blood.

Fighting under the banner of young Prince Edward of England, Lionel de Coeur, known as Lionheart throughout the realm, wielded his sword with strength and dexterity.

The battle had been met near Cragdon Castle, long considered a stronghold of Llewellyn ap Guflydd, the prince of Gwynedd and leader of the rebellion now taking place in Prince Edward's Welsh lands.

The battle was fierce.

Hand-to-hand combat was being waged in an all-out effort to decimate Llewellyn’s forces.

Prince Edward's army and Lionheart's forces had formed a pincer to prevent the Welsh prince's escape.

As abruptly as it had begun, the din died away to occasional groans and the cries of the dying.

A blood-drenched sword clutched in his hand, Lionheart gazed across the battlefield and realized that the only men left standing were his own.

The bulk of Llewellyn’s forces had fled.

"Llewellyn has fled, Lionheart," his friend Giles de Clare reported.

Removing his helm, Lionheart turned his steely silver gaze upon Cragdon Castle, rising above the banks of River Clwyd. "As much as I would like to believe Llewellyn has fled to Snowdonia, I am more inclined to think he is licking his wounds in yon fortress. Lord Rhys of Cragdon has ever been Llewellyn’s champion."

"Then we shall take the castle," Giles said with conviction.

"I am all for storming the castle, but we must await orders from Prince Edward. Gather up our dead and wounded and have them transported to Edward's fortress at Grantham."

A frown touched his brow. "It angers me that Lord Edward has been offered no help from either the king or the marcher lords."

"Mayhap the power struggle between Simon de Montfort and the king concerns them more than Edward's Welsh lands."

"Aye," Lionheart said, removing his gauntlet and wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "Find my destrier, Alan," he commanded his squire.

Returning his gaze to the fortress, Lionheart studied the ancient ramparts and battlements, wondering how long it would take to batter down the walls and gain entry. If Edward wanted the castle taken, Lionheart would not hesitate to launch an attack.

"The prince approaches," Giles cried, pointing toward a contingent of horsemen and foot soldiers pouring down from the surrounding hills and forest.

Clad in chain mail and a blue tabard bearing his coat of arms, the golden-haired prince was a handsome and splendid warrior.

Taller than any man in England, he was affectionately dubbed Longshanks by those close to him.

Edward and Lionheart were a contrast of light and dark.

Where Edward was a powerful golden god even at his young age, Lionheart was just as impressive, Handsome in his own rugged way, dark, dangerous and dynamic, and nearly as tall as Edward, Lionheart was ten years older than the nineteen-yearold prince.

Edward had been the first to call him Lionheart.

During a battle in Gascony, Lionel had displayed uncommon courage, and the name Lionheart had stuck.

Mounted on his black destrier, Lionheart rode forth to meet Edward, aware that the prince's famous temper would explode when he learned Llewellyn had slipped through their trap.

"Tell me Llewellyn is lying dead on the field," Edward said without preamble.

"I wish I could," Lionheart replied. "I suspect he has taken refuge in Cragdon Castle with Lord Rhys."

"Blood of Christ, Lionheart! I refuse to be defeated by the prince of Gwynedd."

"I suggest we storm the castle and rout Llewellyn from his safe haven. Once Lord Rhys surrenders both Cragdon and Llewellyn, the rebellion will lose its teeth,"

"Your advice, as always, is sound," Edward said. "Unfortunately, I cannot remain in Wales to lend support. You will be on your own. I am to meet with Simon de Montfort, my uncle by marriage, in ten days."

"Simon de Montfort is a man in search of power. He will try to woo you to his cause against your own father," Lionheart warned.

"I am well aware of that," Edward replied. "The barons are enraged at the king for appointing Frenchmen to high offices while neglecting his own English barons. They want him to sign the Provisions of Oxford, which sets up a council of barons to advise the king. So far their powers of persuasion have failed."

"Where do you stand?" Lionheart asked. "At first you favored Simon. Will you join forces with him and turn against your own father?"

"I will make no pact with Simon until I have studied all the ramifications."

"Simon wants to rule England," Lionheart cautioned.

"Make no mistake, my friend. I will rule England one day, not Simon de Montfort. 'Tis my God-given right. I will not let de Montfort seize power from me."

"I am your man, Lord Edward. No matter what you decide, I am with you."

The fury in Edward's eyes waned as he regarded his friend and staunch defender. "I know, Lionheart. If anyone can bring Llewellyn to heel, 'tis you. Dead or alive, it matters not. If he is not put down now, he will become a powerful enemy once I ascend the throne."

Weary from the fierce battle he had just fought, Lionheart squared his broad shoulders and gazed at the fortress, whose walls sheltered Edward's enemy. "Go meet with Simon, Edward. I have sufficient men at my command to storm the castle and seize Llewellyn."

"What do you know of Lord Rhys of Cragdon?" Edward asked.

"Little beyond the fact that he is a respected and powerful Welsh baron and a supporter of Llewellyn. I had heard he was ill, but have received no report of his death."

"The wily bastard is probably holed up in his stronghold, laughing at us and thinking he and Llewellyn are safe. I will leave you half my foot soldiers and knights to bolster your own forces, Lionheart. I must leave immediately, but I will not accept this defeat easily. Send word to me at Simon's demesne at Shrewsbury when the fortress falls. Should you succeed, I will be most grateful."

With the departure of young Edward Plantagenet, Lionheart returned his attention to the ramparts rising above Cragdon's walls. Sir Brandon, another of Edward's principal knights, broke away from a group of warriors and strode up to Lionheart.

"Did Edward leave orders?"

"Aye. We are to lay siege to Cragdon and capture Llewellyn. Pass the word. Instruct the men to make camp on the hillsides above the castle and post guards along the perimeter. We will begin our assault tomorrow."

"Aye, Lionheart," Brandon said, hurrying off to follow the orders. Suddenly he stopped and whipped around. "Lionheart! Look! The castle's defenders are spilling through the portcullis."

"Muster our forces. If Lord Rhys wants to fight, we shall accommodate him."

Surprise etched Lionheart's features when he noted the large number of mounted knights and foot solders pouring forth from Cragdon. Obviously, Lord Rhys was a man of means, for his substantial forces appeared to be well armed. They were also well rested compared to his battle-fatigued forces.

His gaze narrowed on the knight riding at the forefront of Cragdon's men-at-arms, and an uneasy feeling clenched his gut. Wearing a white tabard trimmed in gold over his chain mail and a helm with the visor lowered, the slim knight sat tall and proud atop a pure white steed.

Giles de Clare sidled up beside Lionheart. "Lord Rhys's forces are formidable, but our own numbers are superior."

"Our men are tired and Rhys knows it," Lionheart observed. "He waited until Llewellyn’s forces had done their worst before showing his strength, but we shall prevail."

"Think you the white-clad knight is Lord Rhys?" Giles asked.

Lionheart considered the knight in question. "Nay. Lord Rhys is a man with many years upon his shoulders. I have heard he is squat and sturdy, like most Welshmen. Yon white knight is young and slim and probably one of his sons. It matters not. He will be defeated. Give the signal, Giles. We will ride out to meet Cragdon's forces. If fortune favors us, we will find Llewellyn among them."

Raising Lionheart's standard of a rampant red lion on a field of blue, Alan followed as Lionheart charged into yet another battle in England's defense. The battle was met on the broad plain below the castle. Though his men were battle weary they acquitted themselves admirably. At first, Lord Rhys's forces appeared to be winning the day, but as the battle progressed, Lionheart's men began driving the defenders back toward the castle.

Wielding both sword and battle-ax, Lionheart kept his eye on the White Knight, noting that while his sword appeared lighter than Lionheart's broadsword, he lacked naught in skill. With a knowledge that stunned him, Lionheart realized he wanted the White Knight beneath his sword and at his mercy more than he wanted Llewellyn.

There was something about the way the White Knight carried himself that provoked him. His calm arrogance, his skillful handling of his weapons, his ability to lead his forces, all combined to make him a formidable foe. Determined to bring the White Knight down, Lionheart galloped toward the knight, who was handily dispatching one of his foot soldiers.

Suddenly the sun slipped below the hills, transforming the battlefield into a shadowy morass of men, horses and bodies. Lionheart could no longer tell the enemy from his own men. For a moment he lost sight of the White Knight. Then he saw him retreating behind the protective walls of Cragdon. Rage surged through Lionheart when the White Knight stopped, looked directly at him, and raised his sword in mock salute.

"We are not finished yet!" Lionheart roared across the distance. "Beware, for we will meet again!"

Wheeling his destrier, the White Knight galloped through the portcullis and disappeared behind the high walls of Cragdon.

"Bring me a count of our dead and wounded," Lionheart barked as Giles rode up to join him. "We begin the siege tomorrow."

* * *

Aggravated beyond endurance and brimming with impatience, Lionheart stalked through camp, barely taking note of the activity going on around him. Trees had been felled for a battering ram, and stones were being piled up to feed the catapult that had been constructed during the first days of the siege. Newly built ladders were being made ready to scale the walls.

Twenty days had passed since Lord Rhys's warriors had ridden forth to engage Lionheart's forces in fierce battle and then retreated as suddenly as they had appeared. As aggravating as it was to Lionheart to wait out the enemy, he knew time was on his side. With all the people enclosed inside the castle walls, food must be in short supply.

Shading his eyes against the glare of the sun, Lionheart gazed up at the battlements, more than a little annoyed when he saw the White Knight among the warriors raining arrows down upon him and his men.

"The ladders are ready, Lionheart," Sir Brandon reported.

"We shall launch an attack on two fronts," Lionheart declared. "You and Giles take charge of the ladders while I direct the battering ram, I grow weary of this game Rhys is playing. Our siege machines have done considerable damage to the outer wall, but 'tis not enough."

"Their food supply cannot hold out much longer," Giles said.

"That depends on how much they had stored in advance. They should be feeling the pinch by now. Lack of food is a powerful deterrent to war." * * *

Inside the fortress, Vanora of Cragdon sat in her father's carved chair, contemplating Cragdon's future. Without her father to direct the castle's defense, she was on her own. However, she considered herself more than capable of managing. Cragdon's defenders had learned just how capable she was during her father's long absences, and his death six months ago had changed naught. Cragdon still remained faithful to Llewellyn.

Llewellyn and her betrothed, Daffid ap Deverell, had escaped Prince Edward's advancing horde, and it had been due entirely to the diversion she had created.

Vanora prided herself on her ability to lead Cragdon's warriors, but some things could not be helped. Like the shortage of food, or the fever that was fast spreading among the villeins and freemen who had taken refuge inside the keep.

Sir Ren, the captain of the guards, approached, a worried expression marring his craggy features. "My pardon, Vanora, but Lionheart, Edward's principal knight, is preparing to breach our walls. His men are setting ladders in place as we speak."

Vanora leapt to her feet. "God's bones, will this never end? How long can we survive with warriors such as Edward and Lionheart threatening our gates? How long can Llewellyn stand against such determined men? Llewellyn is our chosen leader and our only hope of remaining free of English oppression."

"The castle walls still hold, but the constant battering of stones have weakened them."

"Prepare the hot oil."

"Aye, but I doubt even that will stop them. They want Llewellyn. Though he has fled to safety, we must pay the price for his flight," Ren said sourly.

Vanora's shoulders stiffened. "Father trusted Llewellyn. He came to our assistance when we needed him. Prince Edward is but a young lad. He will not prevail."

"Young though he may be, he was wise to choose Lionheart to lead his army. Lionheart is a force to be reckoned with," Ren grumbled. "I must go. Should Lionheart break through our defenses, you must follow Llewellyn and Daffid and leave by way of the secret exit."

"I am not leaving," Vanora declared. "I will think of a way to foil Lionheart. No man is invincible."

Later, from atop the battlements, Vanora directed the archers, who used their longbows with typical Welsh skill and dexterity. But Vanora knew that skill alone would not win the day. Cragdon did not command the numbers Lionheart had available to him. The only thing that might save them was a surprise attack.

Closing her ears to the cries of the wounded, Vanora helped push ladders away from the battlements and watched men fall to their death. The constant thud of the battering ram below mingling with the cries of the wounded warned Vanora that she had deluded herself into thinking Cragdon was impregnable. If she did not do something soon, her people were doomed.

Had some of Llewellyn’s warriors remained at Cragdon instead of scattering to the winds, the outcome might have been different. Vanora knew Llewellyn was too important to Wales to risk his life for Cragdon, so Father Caddoc had led him and Daffid to safety while she and her warriors kept Lionheart's men occupied. It did not sit well with her, however, that her betrothed had not remained behind to direct the castle's defense. Though Daffid had professed his concern, he had left with Llewellyn.

"Pull the men from the walls," Vanora ordered Sir Ren. "I want every available man in the outer bailey when the portcullis is breached. We will show Lionheart and Prince Edward that Cragdon cannot be taken without a fight."

* * *

"The portcullis cannot hold much longer," Lionheart shouted encouragingly. "Do not let up now. Cragdon and Llewellyn shall be ours."

Cheered by Lionheart's words, the warriors put their backs to their task. A great cry went up when the portcullis bent beneath their blows, then gave with a resounding crunch. Men on horses and foot soldiers poured through the opening. Lionheart, followed closely by Giles and his squire, galloped past the advancing horde, then pulled up short, his destrier pawing the air.

"God's nightgown! What is this?" He had expected to find Cragdon's defenders defeated and submissive, but such was not the case. The White Knight, flanked by Cragdon's warriors, looked anything but defeated.

"Surrender to me!" Lionheart shouted. "You are outnumbered."

The White Knight said naught as he stared at Lionheart through the narrow eye slit of his visor. So volatile was the knight's animosity that Lionheart could almost feel the heat of it. The only acknowledgment Lionheart received was a slight dipping of the knight's lance.

"There has been enough bloodshed," Lionheart continued. "Once you surrender Cragdon and deliverer Llewellyn to me, the killing will cease."

Obviously, the White Knight was not about to surrender, Lionheart thought as he lowered his visor and prepared for battle. "The White Knight is mine," he growled to Giles. "Spread the word."

Then, drawing his sword, he charged. He slashed and hacked his way toward the arrogant White Knight, grinning at the pleasurable thought of his sword finding a vulnerable place in the knight's armor. They met in a deafening clash of swords, fighting in quarters so close that their horses had difficulty maneuvering. Lionheart's strength was formidable, and he knew the slender knight must soon yield beneath his brutal onslaught. But even as Lionheart wielded his broadsword with deadly purpose, his wily opponent skillfully dodged his blows.

The White Knight moved with the speed of lightning. Whenever Lionheart aimed a lethal blow, the knight was not where Lionheart expected him to be, or else the blow was deflected by the knight's shield. Frustrated, Lionheart increased the savagery of his thrusts and finally landed a blow that nearly unseated the knight. But the knight recovered quickly and delivered an amazingly agile sword thrust that pierced Lionheart's mail at the shoulder. Blood welled, but Lionheart ignored the pain.

Putting all his strength behind the blow, Lionheart slashed out with his broadsword, and was heartened when he saw the White Knight sway beneath the impact. The savage in Lionheart took control as he pressed his advantage, hacking his way past the knight's defenses.

He is tiring, Lionheart thought jubilantly.

"They're falling back!" Sir Giles called from behind Lionheart.

"I will accept no less than total surrender," Lionheart shouted. "Did you hear that, Sir Knight? Surrender. Your army has been defeated."

A vicious blow to the White Knight's ribcage accompanied Lionheart's words. A grim smile stretched his lips when he saw the knight fall from his destrier and hit the ground. Lionheart would have dismounted and delivered a killing blow had not two of Cragdon's defenders come up behind him, forcing him to divert his attention from the knight in order to protect himself. Giles joined in the melee, and Cragdon's men-at-arms were soon subdued. But when Lionheart returned to the place where the White Knight had fallen, his foe was gone.

Cursing violently, Lionheart vowed vengeance on the devil that had caused him and his men so much trouble. Had Cragdon's men not interfered, Llewellyn would not have escaped. But the tide was turning. Lionheart's army had surrounded Cragdon's knights, and one by one they were surrendering their weapons. The battle was won. Once his victorious army entered Cragdon, both the White Knight and Llewellyn would be his for the taking. He would deliver Llewellyn to Edward, but the White Knight would be Lionheart's to do with as he saw fit.

"To the keep!" Lionheart shouted. "Victory is ours!"

* * *

"Foolish girl," the old nursemaid clucked as she lifted the helm from Vanora's head. A wealth of rich sable hair tumbled over Vanora's shoulders, spilling down to her waist. "Had Alun and Moren not risked their lives so you could be carried from the battlefield to safety, you would be dead," Mair continued. "Lionheart was determined to slay you."

Vanora winced when Mair tugged the chain mail over her head. Her ribs ached and every part of her body felt bruised. Tomorrow there would be no place on her that was not black and blue.

Mair's dumpling face creased in concern. "What is the matter, lambie? Where do you hurt?"

"Everywhere," Vanora said with a gasp. "But mostly my ribs. That foul English bastard has the strength of an ox.”

“You should have never taken on Lionheart. He is a man without mercy. You could have been killed.”

"I had no choice. Had I not intervened, Llewellyn and Daffid would not have escaped. I am as well trained as any of Cragdon's warriors, and capable of holding my own against any man. My men depend upon me to lead them."

"Your father was remiss in his duty toward you, Vanora. He should not have treated you like the son he wanted but did not have."

Vanora gulped back her tears. "Father was proud of my accomplishments. I wanted to be strong for him. He knew I was capable of protecting Cragdon in his absence."

"Your father is dead, Vanora. 'Tis time you acted like the woman you are and not the son your father wanted. Think you Lionheart will take pity on you when he learns your interference allowed Llewellyn to escape? Cragdon has fallen. Lionheart can do what he wants with us and no one will say him nay. He can slay our entire garrison, should he wish it. Thank God he does not know he was fighting a woman. Wounding a man's pride can be dangerous."

Vanora's confidence was unwavering. "My people will not betray me. They are loyal to Cragdon."

When Vanora lifted her arms so Mair could slip her dress over her head, the pain made her stagger and nearly pass out. Mair helped her to a bench, wagging her head in dismay.

"You may have broken ribs, lambie. Bide here while I find strips of cloth to bind them."

"Hurry, Mair. Lionheart will enter the keep soon, and I must be on hand to greet him. I am not going to hide like a coward. I am the lady of the keep. I need to be in the hall to speak for my people when Lionheart arrives."

"You wilt be lucky to be standing on your feet," Mair muttered as she hurried from the chamber. * * *

A triumphant Lionheart entered the keep a few steps ahead of Sir Brandon and Sir Giles. He paused just inside the wide oaken doors and glanced around the hall, his steely gaze sweeping over knots of people clinging together with fearful looks on their faces. He saw naught to indicate danger or opposition; nor did he see Lord Rhys, or Llewellyn, or the White Knight.

"Where is your master?" Lionheart asked in a voice that resounded loudly throughout the large hall. "Where is Lord Rhys?"

His words were met with blank stares. Few could speak or understand English, and those who did were not forthcoming.

"You, there," Lionheart said, pointing to an elderly knight whose clothing proclaimed him a man of some importance. "Come forward."

The man slowly approached Lionheart.

"Can you understand me? Do you know who I am?"

"Aye, Sir Lionheart, we all know who you are." "Who are you?"

"I am Sir Penryn, Cragdon's steward." "Where is Lord Rhys? Is he too cowardly to face me?"

"Lord Rhys is dead. He passed to his reward last winter."

Lionheart was stunned. Without Rhys leading them, how could Cragdon's defenders have munched the attack that had cost lives, time and waited effort? Then it occurred to him that Rhys's sons must have defended the castle.

"How many sons does Lord Rhys have, and where are they?"

Lord Rhys was not blessed with sons, Sir Lionheart.”

"Who was the knight leading your garrison? The one clad in white and gold."

A blank look settled over Penryn's face. "I know not of whom you speak."

"Do you not?" Lionheart asked with deceptive calm. "Forget the knight for a moment. "Tis Llewellyn I want. Where have you hidden the cowardly Black Wolf of Snowdon?"

"Llewellyn is no coward," Sir Penryn said. An ominous scowl darkened Lionheart's face. Grasping Penryn's tunic in both hands, he jerked him forward until they stood nose to nose. "Do not play games with me. If Llewellyn does not present himself immediately, your life is forfeit."

"Sir Penryn speaks the truth. Llewellyn is not

here."

The female voice rang with authority. Lionheart dropped Penryn and whipped around, his face a mask of fury.

"Who are you?"

The maiden was tall, taller than most women he knew, and pleasingly formed. Her gleaming sable hair, held in place by a jeweled circlet, was parted in the middle and tumbled over her shoulders and down to her waist in glossy waves. Her scarlet wool undertunic with long fitted sleeves that hugged her shapely arms was worn beneath a dark blue gown and girdled at her impossibly tiny waist.

Looking him in the eye, she said, "I am Vanora of Cragdon."

Her voice, while melodious, held a note of confidence. Her stance was confrontational and her gaze

unwavering, not at all like the women he was accustomed to dealing with. She lacked the modesty, the downcast eyes, and the submissiveness one expected from an unwed maiden.

"Who is in charge of Cragdon?"

Vanora drew herself up to her full height. "That would be me, Sir Lionheart."

"Are you Lord Rhys's daughter?"

"Aye."

"Your steward informed me that your father is dead. Is that true?"

"Aye."

"Have you brothers?"

"Nay."

"Who is the knight who led your men in battle?"

Vanora shrugged. "Cragdon has many knights."

Lionheart's patience dangled by a slim thread. He was unaccustomed to being thwarted, and never by a mere wench. Apparently, her father had been too lenient and she had assumed a male's authority. He was going to enjoy putting her in her place.

"Do not lie to me, lady. I saw the knight with my own eyes. We crossed swords on the battlefield, and I felled him."

Vanora remained stubbornly silent.

Grinding his teeth in frustration, Lionheart said, "Very well, have it your way. I shall learn his name myself. Produce Llewellyn now and spare yourself my wrath."

Momentarily distracted by her beauty, Lionheart noted her unusual violet eyes, pert nose and lush mouth. Her skin was as finely wrought as porcelain, and her face, while memorable, was set in stubborn lines. His avid gaze followed the generous curve of her breasts and continued over slim hips and downward, imagining her long legs entwined with his as they writhed naked on a bed of furs. He couldn't recall when he had seen a woman as tall or with such a commanding presence as Vanora of Cragdon.

"Did Sir Penryn not tell you? Llewellyn is not here."

Lionheart sent her a look that would have felled a lesser woman. Vanora merely stared back, which served to increase his anger.

* * *

Lionheart summoned Giles with a glance. "I want the castle, outbuildings and stables searched from top to bottom." To Sir Brandon, he ordered, "Bring the prisoners into the hall for questioning. Men do not disappear into thin air."

Outwardly composed, Vanora seethed inwardly at Lionheart's arrogance. He might be Prince Edward's principal knight but to the Welsh he was naught but an unwelcome intruder who threatened their land and their people. No Welshman worth his salt liked Englishmen, for they were determined to subdue the Welsh and seize their lands.

While Lionheart issued orders, Vanora silently observed him. Grudgingly she admitted that the man was a handsome brute. Dark and dangerous, he was reputed to be a man without compassion, one who demanded complete obedience. He was tall, broad and powerful, and his visage hinted at dark passions and hidden tempests. What drove this knight called Lionheart? she wondered.

Vanora suffered a moment of anxiety when Lionheart questioned Cragdon's warriors. Much to her relief, they all denied knowledge of the knight he referred to as the White Knight. Nor did they reveal what they knew about Llewellyn’s disappearance. Lionheart must have realized he had naught to gain from continuing the questioning and ordered her men taken to the tower and confined under lock and key. Silently Vanora vowed they would not remain there long.

"It seems, wench," Lionheart said after the prisoners were led away, "that you are not the only

one determined to defy me. All you Welsh dwelling on Prince Edward's lands are a rebellious lot."

"Cragdon does not belong to Edward. Cragdon and the land upon which it was built belonged to my father and now to me."

"Once you gave sanctuary to Llewellyn, Cragdon became fair game. I claim it for Prince Edward and England, Vanora of Cragdon."

"I am Lady Vanora to you," Vanora said calmly but clearly.

"Very well, my lady, so be it. Escort me to the solar. Since my squire is occupied elsewhere, you may help me disrobe and bathe."

Vanora's chin rose defiantly. "I am not a servant."

Fixing his steely gaze on her, Lionheart said, "You will be anything I desire you to be."