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Lord Of The Manor
Shari Anton
10TH ANNIVERSARY His enemy's wife No matter that the Lady Lucinda had borne a son to the man who had almost killed him, Richard of Wilmont wanted her anyway. For the fair widow brought to him a sense of belonging… and a love so powerful it would erase the past. What could she ever be to him? Lucinda wondered.Surely a knight as chivalrous as Richard of Wilmont had worthier women than she to claim his attention. She was an outcast, and unfit as wife for any man… !
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#ub3a41664-9fd4-50e7-a5a9-73cdd583b85a)
Praise (#u9a0e3fc5-5c21-5880-88ab-94627b6bb49b)
Title Page (#u26129568-c95f-5cba-86c7-7d80b8a1cb51)
Dedication (#u19061ce7-aee7-5076-97b0-4ca7982f5647)
Excerpt (#u100a1f96-ef3e-5024-97a7-f71349c190b7)
Chapter One (#uf52ae78a-61c9-5a3c-be25-4f18ae8bc979)
Chapter Two (#u6167d858-4bca-533e-8113-3466f7a84a65)
Chapter Three (#u1e1d0ae9-eef5-5044-8f93-dc15c432065c)
Chapter Four (#u93907fd0-f36b-5532-9767-fee558115707)
Chapter Five (#u29a733c8-a953-555d-9bc9-88ad08af9a85)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
10
ANNIVERSARY
Special thanks to our well-wishers, who have contributed their congratulations and support.
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Lord Of The Manor
Shari Anton
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Ray and Jean Antoniewicz, with love.
Richard came toward Lucinda with long strides.
A tall, muscled warrior, strong of body and purpose. His arms swung at his sides in rhythm to his footfalls, and his hands were clenched. Hands that could skim over her with serene tenderness or stroke her with urgent hunger. Either way, guiding her to beyond the heavens.
She’d come to envy his inner tranquillity, admire his calm but firm treatment of his vassals, appreciate his effort to give her son a noble’s education, and cherish the time he spent with her alone.
She couldn’t have selected a better man to act as protector.
Or found a better lover. Or chosen a better man to love.
The realization severely tested her already fractured composure. But there it was. Undeniable. She loved Richard.
And he must never know…
Chapter One (#ulink_12182b56-4a21-5cd2-a2dc-1142ec2f54c4)
England, 1109
Richard stepped back and sucked in his gut to avoid the whizzing tip of his brother’s broadsword. The gasp of the crowd encircling the castle’s practice yard confirmed how close the sword had come to nicking his navel.
He grinned. As always, Richard had let Gerard, his elder half brother and Baron of Wilmont, set the pace of the session. Allowed Gerard to probe for weakness in his defenses. That mighty stroke, clean and swift—and close—proclaimed Gerard hadn’t found one.
Richard returned the compliment with a stroke that would have disarmed a lesser man. Gerard absorbed the blow like a huge boulder, half buried in earth, not budging a mite.
“Ready to halt?” Gerard asked almost casually.
“Not until you sweat,” Richard answered, having noted the lack of a sheen on Gerard’s bare chest. ’Twas now a matter of pride to make the wavy blond hair at Gerard’s temples curl from dampness, as his own did.
In truth, neither brother would win this contest. He and Gerard were too evenly matched, from their skill at swordplay to the strength in their broad shoulders. From the green of their eyes to the flaxen color of their hair. Each even bore a long, jagged scar across his chest—Gerard’s earned many years ago while defending Everart, their now-dead father, Richard’s earned more recently, when he’d been mistaken for Gerard.
When mounted on war horses and sheathed in chain mail and helmet, ‘twas nearly impossible to distinguish the Baron of Wilmont from the bastard of Wilmont. Usually, the resemblance provided amusement for the brothers—until the fateful day in Normandy when their likeness had spared Gerard the injury that had nearly cost Richard his life.
The man who ordered Gerard’s murder, Basil of Northbryre, had paid for the mistake with his lands and his life. Gerard had then rewarded Richard by granting lordship over part of the lands won as a result of Basil’s downfall.
Richard owed much to Gerard—whose raised sword was about to cleave him in two if he didn’t pay better heed.
The clash of steel on steel reverberated through the yard as Richard met Gerard’s vigorous downstroke. The force of the blow numbed Richard’s hands and sent a wave of shock up his arms. He knew Gerard felt the shock, too. Gerard just didn’t have the decency to show a reaction.
Blade ran along blade. Richard stepped forward to come chest-to-chest with Gerard, and shoved hard to force his brother out of that irritating, rock-solid stance.
Another gasp rose from the crowd, but he paid little heed to the onlookers. Instead, he focused on Gerard’s narrowed eyes and feral grin. Richard knew that look, and prepared for the flurry of sword strokes sure to follow.
He reveled in the power of each blow, in how his muscles responded to the command of his will, in the simple pleasure of pitting his skills and wits against Gerard’s. ’Twas the foremost reason he returned often to Wilmont, where he’d been born of his English peasant mother and raised by his Norman noble father. Where he’d experienced both love and scorn as a child. Where he now commanded respect as a man.
A piercing whistle brought Richard to an immediate halt. As the tip of his sword dropped, he glanced toward the keep. Stephen, his younger half brother, pushed his lean, lank frame through the onlookers and briskly walked toward him and Gerard.
While one could tell at a glance that Richard and Gerard had been sired by the same father, that couldn’t be said of Stephen. Not only was he shorter and more slender, he bore the olive skin and black hair of Ursula, Stephen and Gerard’s mother.
Richard beckoned forth the young soldier who held his and Gerard’s tunics.
“Hellfire,” Gerard said under his breath as they exchanged weapons for tunics.
“Hellfire, indeed,” Stephen said with a teasing grin. “Ardith heard what you and Richard were about, Gerard, and that neither of you used a shield nor wore a hauberk. I fear you are in for a tongue-lashing.“
Gerard’s wife was one of the gentlest women Richard knew. When provoked, however, Ardith had no qualms about expressing her displeasure. This wouldn’t be the first time that Gerard caught hell for engaging in swordplay without protection.
Gerard huffed. “So she sent you out to halt us.”
“A woman in delicate condition should not push her way through crowds or get in the middle of swordplay. So I offered my services. Besides, I hoped you would now explain why you summoned Richard and me to Wilmont.”
Gerard pulled his tunic over his head. “In good time.”
Stephen rolled his eyes. “I have been here for two days, waiting for Richard to arrive. He came this morn. ‘Tis now nearly time for evening repast. How much longer must we wait?”
“Until after I calm my wife, wash the sweat and dust from my body, and eat,” Gerard said, then turned and headed for the keep.
“That man is infuriatingly stubborn,” Stephen complained, glaring at Gerard’s back.
Richard eased into his tunic. “Patience, Stephen,” he said, knowing it would do no good. Stephen always wanted to be where he was not, do something other than what he was doing. His rush into adventure often got him into trouble, but that never lessened Stephen’s eagerness for the next exploit.
“I have been patient,” Stephen declared. “Are you not curious about Gerard’s summons?”
“Aye, but I am content to wait until he is ready to explain.”
“Humph. Likely, he will do so two words at a time and drive me insane.”
Richard laughed lightly and chided, “Come now, Stephen. When Gerard chooses to, he can talk endlessly.”
“Truly? When did you last hear him utter more than two sentences at a time?”
Richard well remembered standing beside Ardith in Westminster Hall while Gerard proclaimed innocence concerning the death of Basil of Northbryre. “At court. During Gerard’s trial for murder. He presented his case to King Henry in eloquent fashion.”
Stephen sighed. “I missed the trial, as you know. I was here at Wilmont, preparing for the war that would have followed if Gerard had lost. You are forgetting, Richard, that Gerard did not win against King Henry with words, but through ordeal by combat.”
Gerard had almost lost the ordeal against the king’s champion. If Ardith hadn’t thrown a dagger onto the field of combat, within reach of Gerard’s hand, Gerard might have lost Wilmont and his life.
