Page 2

E ngland

M elissa fidgeted in the saddle , absently wrapping and unwrapping the reins around her gloved fingers.

When her chestnut paltry tossed his head in irritation, she stilled her hands and swung her feet in the stirrups instead.

The dull monotone beat of her calves between the horse’s blanket and her heavy skirts matched the rhythmic striking of Thunder’s hooves against the hard dirt road.

The landscape provided little color with its yellowed fields and bare branches.

She made a sign of the cross and thanked St. Agricola for the milder weather and clear sky during this trip.

It never mattered how many layers of wool she wore when riding all day in a wintry drizzle. It always chilled her to the bone.

They had traveled for three days on rutted roads and crude paths, suffering uncomfortable beds, bad food, and her mother’s constant chatter about the duties of a wife. She needed an escape, a few moments alone to calm her nerves.

Her father, the Earl of Garrick, rode ahead with his small army, determined to make London before the end of the week.

She smiled with pride as he rode up and down the lines of his men.

He spoke to one knight, reprimanded another, and then laughed with his steward.

She prayed her future husband would be as commanding and respected as her father.

The London trip served two purposes. They would attend the coronation of Henry Plantagenet, and she would meet her betrothed, Charles Roker, the Duke of Sunderland.

“Melissa, did you hear me?” Her mother’s irritated voice interrupted her thoughts.

She nodded, but the words drifted away on the late autumn breeze. Her horse’s head drooped low and her hand absently rubbed the thick, soft neck.

Lady Agnes let out a sigh. “What is going on in that lovely mind?”

“Do you remember the day father signed my marriage contract?” As a young girl of ten, Melissa had met Charles’ father, the former duke.

She recalled his blond, wavy hair and warm brown eyes.

He had seemed a giant of a man as he smiled down at her and asked her to turn in a circle.

Then looking at her father, he had simply said, “Yea, she will do.”

Melissa reached over the gap between their horses and clutched her mother’s arm. “Do you think Charles will resemble his father?”

“We can only hope, child. It will make your nights much more pleasant.” She shook her head, a perplexed look on her still beautiful face. “Such a handsome man to die in such a way. Yet it did expedite this union.”

“The letter said an arrow pierced his heart and another went through his eye. Yet they have no clue about those responsible.” Melissa shivered delicately. “Why do they not think he was set upon by thieves?”

“Neither the purse of silver nor the horse was taken. ’Twas those barbaric Celts, I tell you.

” She shivered delicately. “Regardless, the duke had influence in the court of Henry I, and his family will rise again with his Plantagenet grandson on the throne. Be happy that your young man is on the right side of the crown. I only wish his lands were not so close to the border and those savages.”

“Father says you worry about the Scots for naught. And I am not foolish enough to pine for a love match,” Melissa answered. “But I would appreciate an opportunity to get to know him before we are wed. Is this too much to ask?”

“My dear, you will have a lifetime for that. If he resembles his father in more than just appearance, you may consider yourself fortunate indeed. And we will be in London for a month. You will have sufficient time to learn more about your husband before the marriage.”

“When did you first meet Father?”

“Our marriage was performed by proxy. I met John the day my family delivered me to his gate. The man that stood in his place reeked of onion and had a belly that fell over his belt.” Agnes chuckled. “I felt more relief than fear at the first actual glimpse of my husband.”

“And you have been happy?” Her mother’s bright green eyes, so like her own, showed no sign of regret.

“My mother trained me well how to manage a house and estate. I have assumed your father’s responsibilities on many occasions when he left to defend our lands or fight for our King.

” Her chin went up but a proud smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

“I can settle disputes, oversee finances, and defend our castle, if needed. Your father and I hold a mutual respect for one another. I am content with my life.”

“And this is what I should hope for?”

“Yea, my love. That is all you can hope for.” She clicked to the horse. “Let us find your father. I need to rest for a bit and attend my needs.”

Melissa watched her parents as they spoke.

The country buzzed with colorful tales about Henry II—a rugged redhead with an unpredictable temper—and his beautiful, sophisticated consort, Eleanor of Aquitaine.

Travelers who had seen them together declared it to be a love–match.

This surprised no one, considering the queen’s fascination with the Camelot legend and chivalry.

Her troubadours were renowned for their romantic stories and songs about the knights of old.

Could there be passion and love for nobles?

Did even the peasants and serfs have that luxury?

It mattered not. Her lot had been drawn, and she found herself excited at the thought of being the lady of her own castle, mistress of her home.

She dismounted on her own, ignoring the look from her mother, and waited to see which direction her mother and her maid went. Melissa purposely turned the other way.

The woods were dim with the day nearly at an end.

They would not reach the next town before dark.

She picked up her heavy skirts and walked farther into the trees; the quiet and solitude wrapped around her like a balm.

Her horse followed, snatching at a random leaf that still clung to a branch.

Common sense told her to turn around, but a noise—no, a song —floated over the stillness.

Without thought, Melissa moved toward the sound. She approached the edge of the forest and stopped just behind a large oak. A man stood on a hill, beckoning to someone or something. His voice captured her, bound her to the spot, and her eyes fixed on the scene.

Silhouetted against the blood–orange sun sinking into the horizon, the dark, powerfully-built figure slowly raised his right arm toward the evening sky.

The sides of his mantle fluttered in the autumn breeze as a night bird screeched in answer.

He raised his left arm, and the howl of wolves echoed through the air in obedient response.

A sudden gust of air swirled the black, heavy cloak around the legs of the man, sending leaves flying about his feet as if they were commanded to dance. Melissa watched from behind the tree and held her breath, for fear of being discovered.

His resonant voice rose in a chant that captivated, then soothed. It spoke to her, beckoned her. She clutched at the rough tree bark to resist the physical pull. Then the chant abruptly ceased.

His head snapped around and golden eyes locked onto hers.

His gaze seemed to pierce her very soul, and her body pulsed with excitement as he pushed back the hood, exposing raven hair and the chiseled features of an extraordinarily handsome face.

The rising moon glinted off his chain mail, his hand now resting on his sword hilt.

She gasped, her gaze transfixed on the most magnificent creature she had ever seen.

Distant voices threatened to encroach upon this moment of fate.

She pushed the sound to the back of her mind and focused only on the mysterious man in front of her.

The urge to move closer overwhelmed her, and she stepped away from the shelter of the tree.

Her feet moved of their own will, and her arms reached out to this stranger who now filled her with an intense need.

The voices behind her grew louder. Footsteps rustled dead leaves and brush, intruding on the enchantment.

Her mind, not yet ready to let him go, struggled to stay in his world.

But the mystical influence receded, and she knew he had released his hold over her.

An inexplicable emptiness took its place.

Melissa reluctantly turned toward the commotion behind her, certain he would be gone when she looked back over her shoulder.

Would she see him again? Her father had spoken of a wizard rumored to have the ear of the king.

Her mind a tangle of unexplained questions, she bowed her head and attempted a look of repentance as her father approached.

“Daughter! What were you thinking to wander off alone?” She heard more worry in his tone than anger. “These are hard times. I fear too many thieves lurk near the main roads.”

“Yea, my lord.” The relief on his face caused her to regret the impulse for a moment of privacy.

She cast one last glance at the hill but spied only a single falcon, circling low. The bird landed on a nearby branch, observing the group. As Melissa admired its beauty, her heart raced. One hand covered her chest as her eyes locked onto a pair of golden ones.

The bird seemed to read her thoughts. With one sharp cry, the winged creature took flight and disappeared over the trees. She reached out to stop him, but he vanished into the night.

***

The travelers entered a small village that had already conceded to the winter.

Melissa thought the tiny huts looked forlorn with their openings shuttered or covered with tanned animal skins.

Thin tendrils of smoke drifted from the top of thatched roofs.

Her father found an alehouse with respectable accommodations.

Inside, a great fire roared in the open hearth and the smell of sizzling meat put the entire party in good humor.