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The Maiden And The Warrior
Jacqueline Navin
The War Within Is Always Hardest Won, Lucien de Montregnier knew, for he daily battled demons from his past.Still, his fighting prowess had won him an unexpected boon: Lady Alayna of Avenford, a hellcat with a heart who alone could save him from his greatest enemy - himself!Widowed before she was truly a wife, Alayna of Avenford now found herself claimed as a war prize by Lucien de Montregnier, a warrior as well known for his fierce nature as he was for his skill in battle. She despised him, of course. But why, then, did his merest glance ignite her very soul?
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#u0e073aec-8335-5ad2-9b29-ace4a9cf589e)
Excerpt (#u1c32fe1c-728f-5ad2-910b-2472d1f50335)
Dear Reader (#u21196523-aa61-5603-8b47-547010cda475)
Title Page (#u8d69d762-c25d-5708-a20a-0e3e4f250c80)
About The Author (#u74da2e82-c5c0-50e1-b7ec-c1a665b7e418)
Dedication (#uf0220510-9605-522f-a75a-7b75175680d0)
Chapter One (#u06449e79-aa3c-5530-a917-b9e0375fc2b1)
Chapter Two (#u81e5eb2b-26a8-583d-81e7-9729bc7574ab)
Chapter Three (#ueca6ec5c-239e-5392-92c2-c439b41d5bc5)
Chapter Four (#u9c399c63-7352-510b-9547-e7a22c9e12c0)
Chapter Five (#u21e30641-a820-5b51-8246-db6ebe741e13)
Chapter Six (#ue4f43c82-2793-595b-b614-cb782f445c39)
Chapter Seven (#u6180b749-3cc5-5187-a3bf-49c1b887b931)
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)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“My kisses do not please you, madam?”
Lucien ground out, annoyed as much with his own show of weakness as with her perfidy.
“You know they do not,” she answered coolly.
“I think you are lying. Do not disappoint me, Alayna. You have always been brutally honest.” He forced himself to relax his grip, sending her stumbling back. “So tell me, what may I do to please you?”
Her lip curled as she tilted her head to its familiar angle. “Why do you keep taunting me in this cruel game? I cannot wait to be rid of you! You will regret it when my mother arrives.”
“And what do you imagine will happen then, my lady love?” Dension dripped from every word.
Alayna did not flinch She leveled her emerald gaze at him and said, “Then I will see your head served to me upon a silver platter for what you have done…!”
Dear Reader,
March is the time of spring, of growth, and the budding of things to come. Like these four never-before-published authors that we selected for our annual March Madness Promotion. These fresh new voices in historical romance are bound to be tomorrow’s stars!
Among this year’s choices for the month is The Maiden and the Warrior by Jacqueline Navin, a heartrending medieval tale about a fierce warrior who is saved from the demons that haunt him when he marries the widow of the man who sold him into slavery. Goodness also prevails in Gabriel’s Heart by Madeline George. In this flirty Western, an ex-sheriff uses a feisty socialite to exact revenge, but ends up falling in love with her first!
Last Chance Bride by Jillian Hart is a touching portrayal of a lonely spinster-turned-mail-order-bride who shows an embittered widower the true meaning of love on the rugged Montana frontier. And don’t miss A Duke Deceived by Cheryl Bolen, a Regency story about a handsome duke whose hasty marriage to a penniless noblewoman is tested by her secret deeds.
Whatever your tastes in reading, you’ll be sure to find a romantic journey back to the past between the covers of a Harlequin Historical.
Sincerely,
Tracy Farrell, Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
The Maiden And The Warrior
Jacqueline Navin
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
JACQUELINE NAVIN
lives in Maryland with her husband and three small children, where she works in private practice as a psychologist. Writing has been her hobby since the sixth grade, and she has boxes full of incomplete manuscripts to prove it. She decided to take writing seriously five years ago. The Maiden and the Warrior is the result.
When asked, as she often is, how she finds time in her busy schedule to write, she replies that it is not a problem—thanks to the staunch support of her husband, who is not unused to doing the dinner dishes and tucking the kids into bed. However, finding time to do the laundry—that’s a problem.
Jacqueline would love to hear from readers. Please write to her at this address: c/o P.O. Box 1611, Bel Air, MD 21014.
To my parents, John and Patricia Lepore, for their unequivocal support and for teaching me an important lesson in real-life love.
To my children, Kelly, Lindsey and Lucas, whom I adore beyond imagining.
And to Mick, without whom I could never have done it. For your faith and strength and unfailing belief in me, I thank you. YOU are one in a thousand.
Chapter One (#ulink_9e5f3e29-5de8-5bfe-bf21-4702d7374d24)
England, 1180
Lucien de Montregnier stood over his opponent, his sword pressed against the tender flesh of the other’s neck so that the wicked edge raised a thin line of blood. Every fiber in his body was alive, humming with emotion, his mind exploding with a heady mixture of bitterness and joy. This moment, the one for which he had waited an eternity, was at last here. He had dreamed of it for so very long that the intensity filled him with exquisite, almost painful, rapture. His breath came in great gulps and a thunderous pulse pounded in his ears, but his hand was steady.
His captive said, “I will pay any ransom you demand.”
De Montregnier grinned, feeling a surge of victory that left him trembling. “I have enough riches,” he replied.
He could see by Edgar du Berg’s sly expression that his mind was racing over possibilities. Patiently Lucien waited, watching every nuance of the other man’s face, savoring the intoxicating knowledge that he had this man, his long-despised enemy, at his mercy.
Apparently du Berg decided on his tactic, saying, “Let us bargain, like reasonable men. I have no quarrel with you. I do not even know who you are. You have attacked me without cause, and have fought for two days. You were very clever to strike the day after my wedding, when my men and I are the worse for the night’s revelries. I can tell you, that is why it was so easy for you to breach the outer walls.”
“You are lazy, du Berg, and too sure of your tyranny. That is why I defeated you.”
Edgar spread his hands out before him. “What I do not understand is your challenge to settle the matter between us. You had already won. Why did you wish to fight me alone?”
“Alone?” Lucien drawled, jerking his head to the tree line to his left. Beyond the clearing, Edgar had his men in hiding.
Du Berg tried to laugh. “You did not truly think I would come unescorted. What if it were a trap?”
“You excel at deceit, du Berg, but your men do not bother me as long as they do not interfere. In fact, I have made certain that they will not. You see, behind them, a bit farther into the woods, I have a few men of my own. Have you not wondered why they have not come to rescue you?”
The widened eyes and dropped jaw of his adversary were satisfying. Until this moment, Lucien realized, the bastard had not really thought himself in danger.
“You do not fight fair!” du Berg cried. He was losing the thin veneer of control that had fed his bravado thus far.
“I have merely evened the game. It is just you and I, as it should be, for the matter we have to settle is personal.”
“Who the devil are you?” du Berg shouted. His voice cracked with strain.
Lucien held his gaze for an interminable period. Taking a deep, uneven breath, he said, “Do you recall the name de Montregnier?”
Du Berg’s face registered puzzlement, realization and, finally, naked fear. “You are the boy. Raoul’s son. I thought you dead.”
“You should have gone with more reputable murderers,” Lucien rasped. “They saw a second purse in selling me as a slave. They sent me to hell, du Berg, and like the demon I have been called, I have returned.”
Du Berg tried to scrabble backward, but an increase in the pressure of Lucien’s blade stopped him. Pinned, the man froze, his Adam’s apple bobbing precariously as he swallowed. “Do you want Thalsbury back? I can give it to you.”
“I will have it in any case.”
“De Montregnier, listen to me,” du Berg rushed, “I will restore your lands. Think on it—’tis a good offer. The days of anarchy are gone. King Henry will not appreciate his nobles killing themselves in revenge wars. You may do better to deal with me.”
“I would just as soon deal with the devil,” de Montregnier answered.
“Be reasonable, man! I can give you more alive than dead. You will never succeed—we have common law now in England.”
Lucien’s voice was very quiet, almost soft, as if he were imparting an endearment. “For my father’s life, I will take revenge. And for my own losses, I shall take everything that was yours for my own.”
Du Berg’s mouth worked mutely, sweat pouring in rivulets from his temples. De Montregnier saw the intent on Edgar’s face even before a single muscle twitched. In a sudden move, he knocked aside de Montregnier’s weapon and lunged forward, reaching for a concealed dagger and bringing it to bear with a flash of reflected light as bright as a torch in the night.
Lucien stepped aside at the last moment and the deadly thrust slashed harmlessly through the air. Du Berg staggered back, still brandishing his blade. He shouted, “What do you want?”
“Your death,” Lucien answered, and in one swift motion brought his sword up and then down again in a controlled arc. The blow landed with a satisfying whack! and a spray of blood, nesting the blade deep into Edgar’s side.
Eyes wide, he stared at Lucien. Not angry or afraid, simply surprised. Then, slowly, pain flooded his features and his eyes rolled up into his head as he collapsed.
Dispassionately de Montregnier yanked out his sword. He stood very still for a moment, staring down at Edgar’s crumpled form. It was a long time before he turned away.
Edgar’s men ran forward. Without a glance, Lucien mounted, calling over his shoulder, “See that he is buried. Have the grave blessed if you can find a priest that will do it, but do not bring the body back to Gastonbury. The barony is mine now, and I’ll not have his rotting flesh despoiling the land any longer.”
Alayna of Avenford stood among the crowd gathered in the bailey of Gastonbury Castle. It had been a long day, one she had spent tending the wounded in the makeshift infirmary set up in the chapel. After two days of war—and that coming so quick on the heels of her disastrous wedding—she was numb, but with fatigue or relief, she was not sure. The news had come hours ago that the Lord of Gastonbury had been defeated by the leader of the attacking army, and, God have mercy on her, she was glad.
Edgar was dead, yes, and a blessing it was, but she had only to look at the faces of those around her to realize that her providence was their tragedy. These were the families of the wounded and the dead, facing an uncertain future at the hands of their conqueror.
A hand fumbled for hers, and she looked to see her nurse, Eurice. The older woman’s face was lined with worry. “Sweetling,” she whispered.
Alayna shook her head. “Rest easy. I am well.”
Eurice’s sharp eyes were troubled and searching. It was not difficult to surmise what was worrying her. “He did not harm me, Eurice. In fact, Edgar could not even remove his clothing, he was so far gone with drink. By the time he came up to the chamber, he was barely standing.” It was true she was still a maid. Wed only a pair of days ago, already a widow, she had been spared the revolting ordeal of submitting her body to her despised husband. On their wedding night he had been too drunk, and the call to arms the following morn had saved her from Edgar putting the matter to rights. “Whatever this war brings to these poor folk, it has won me my freedom.”
