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Embrace The Dawn
Jackie Summers
Embrace The Dawn
Jackie Summers
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
This book is dedicated to my husband, Tom, who never doubted. I love you, Bear.
My special thanks to a great writer, Linda Warren, for her friendship and unflagging enthusiasm. Thanks to Donna Martin, Trudy Zothner and Kelly McClymer for the compliments when I needed them. And to our daughter, Ellyn, for always being there.
Contents
Chapter One (#u99888d96-2e48-5cbb-9ae3-666eb9c55059)
Chapter Two (#u97dbb765-a29e-5ccd-945d-f2ac702d991b)
Chapter Three (#u7415309f-6840-5a6d-ae3d-f1ab8462ab47)
Chapter Four (#uf8f5eada-1351-5ada-8f39-ae001e92be54)
Chapter Five (#u1d0a0285-3867-5a17-8f61-557aa947d046)
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)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
England, September 1651
She felt someone staring at her.
Anne Lowell peeked through the leafy branches of the alders and studied the silent bank of the river. Too silent. The mallards had taken flight and a hush had fallen over the forest. From a nearby stand of oak, her mare whinnied. She drew back, clasping her arms in front of her. Someone was there!
Perhaps her own presence had quieted the woods, Anne reasoned, forcing the jittery feeling away. Aye, it was only her fear of being discovered that plagued her mind with devils.
At that moment, church bells pealed to signal the beginning of noon prayers. Dear God, she had no more time to behave like a poltroon. She must find her mother’s locket—God rest her soul—and sneak back to her chamber before her uncle discovered she had gone.
With trembling hands, she scuffed off her slippers and woolen hose and tossed them aside. Next, she untied the blue ribbon lacings of her bodice. She yanked the loose-fitting day dress over her head, dropping it in a billow of white muslin on top of the slippers and hose. An unexpected breeze whipped the thin remaining undergarments about her young body. She shivered, feeling naked.
The rough grass felt harsh to her tender feet as she stepped to the bank, gathered her shift close to her body and inched her way into the cold river.
The slimy bottom oozed between her toes and she shuddered. By the time she had waded to the spot where Lyle, the scullery boy, had tossed the locket, the water reached above her knees. Damn that pesky little whelp! She’d nail Lyle’s ear to the buttery door when she saw him.
Anne waded deeper into the rushing river. Taking a gulp of air, she dove beneath the river surface, stifling a gasp as the icy water engulfed her.
She forced her eyes open. Frightful images of water monsters bubbled up in her mind like witch’s brew as her hands searched the swaying reeds and fanlike plants that danced along the river bottom. With shaking fingers, she scratched at the loose silt and pebbles, her mind willing the murky demons away.
Despite the illumination of the sun, nothing glittered on the river bottom. When her lungs demanded it, she stood up and inhaled deeply of the crisp September air. Blinking, she shook the streaming rivulets from her face and wiped her long red hair back from her eyes. Her teeth chattered, but she ignored her trembling. As she prepared to dip beneath the water, a branch cracked and a horse’s whinny stopped her.
She whirled in the direction of the noise, her heart thumping wildly. A branch of oak leaves separated. A Roundhead soldier stared down at her from astride the largest stallion she had ever seen. The horse’s white forelegs and blaze on its head flashed against the black sheen of its coat. Her heart doubled its rhythm when the soldier rode out of the shadows and stopped in a patch of sunlight near the shore.
Anne froze for only a moment. She plunged into the river and crouched low, only her head above water.
“What have we here, Shadow?” the soldier asked his horse while dismounting. Sunlight glinted from his round metal helmet and when he lifted his visor, she saw that his eyes were bold and dark. “I think she’s a mermaid, and a pretty one, she is.”
Her uncle’s warning to keep away from the soldiers camped at Wycliffe Manor played back in her mind, although Anne didn’t need to be reminded what black-hearted devils all Roundheads were.
The dark eyes flashed and brazenly assessed her with a gleam of satanic curiosity. “Who are you, mermaid, and what are you doing in the river?” His rich baritone voice with its blatant masculinity frightened her more than his question.
She wanted to run, but what if there were more soldiers with him? Her mare could never outrun his steed. Ignoring the shiver that passed through her, she answered with a defiant lift of her chin, glared back and clamped her mouth shut. She saw his angular jaw tighten in response as he released the stallion’s reins, freeing the horse to drink.
All her instincts warned her that he was dangerous. She stepped back, the water rushing below her ears. “Be off with you.” Her voice trembled as she hunched lower, water lapping at her chin. “You have no right to be here.”
“No right to be here?” His deep voice feigned surprise, but his bold eyes glinted mockingly. “An officer of the Commonwealth not welcome at Wycliffe Manor? That’ll make hearty laughter tonight when I sup with George Lowell and his guests.”
God’s bones! He would be at her uncle’s dinner party! “You can’t!” Anne’s hand shot to her mouth. She saw genuine surprise light his eyes. “I—I mean...of course, you can, but...” She could see him thinking, measuring her. “But you’re not welcome here...with me, that is.”
He gave her a disbelieving glance, then concluded his assessment with a crooked grin. “I mean you no harm, lass. But these woods aren’t safe. You might meet a straggling Royalist, limping home like a whipped dog from last week’s battle.”
Anne sprang to attention. How she wanted to shout back at this black-hearted enemy that she’d welcome the chance to meet one of the king’s soldiers. Praise God, the poor soul might have news of her father. Instead, her mouth formed a tight line in answer; she dared not trust herself to speak out. He met her silence with interest.
“Could it be that the lovely maid hasn’t heard of our victory over Charlie Stuart?”
Haven’t heard, indeed! Her uncle had boasted of nothing else since word came that King Charles had barely escaped from Cromwell’s armies and was fleeing for his life. If only she dared ask him if he had news of her father. Possibly, an officer in Cromwell’s army might know if one of the most wanted Royalists, next to the young king, of course, had been captured.
But she dared not risk any action that might give away her identity. If this officer were to report seeing a red-haired maid in the river, even her uncle’s feeble imagination would tell him she was the only soul who would dare do such a thing.
Silently, the soldier studied her like a fox waiting to spring at the henhouse door. “Tell me who you are, lass.”
The sheep bells tinkled beyond the meadow and, with them, an idea sprang to mind. “I’m a shepherdess at Wycliffe Manor.” Hopefully, the fib might keep her identity safe.
He gave her a skeptical look while he carelessly raked back the lock of hair that fell across his forehead. When he moved, she noticed the gold cords dangling from the wide shoulders of his jacket, signifying an officer’s rank. “The other servants don’t mind tending your sheep while you idle away the day?”
“What the servants do is none of your business, Private,” she added, hoping the snub would wipe away his confidence.
The corners of his mouth quirked up. “Lieutenant,” he corrected, “but why don’t you call me Nat,” he said softly.
The bold familiarity of his intimate suggestion left her a little breathless. “If you must know,” she managed, “a servant threw a trinket of mine in the river. I—I refuse to leave here until I find it.” She hoped he hadn’t heard her teeth chatter.
“Why would he do such a vile thing to a sweet maid as yourself?” His dark eyes seemed to ignite as he gazed at her.
“B-because I wouldn’t k-kiss him, that’s why.” Despite the chilly water, Anne felt her cheeks flame with anger as she recalled what Lyle had done.
His mouth lifted slightly in a crooked smile. “And you didn’t kiss him because your heart belongs to another?”
“Of c-course n-not.” She rubbed her arms to warm herself, the water splashing bubbles to the surface. “I didn’t kiss Lyle because he’s an oaf and I—I hate him.”
His smile broadened and her gaze lingered on his full, chiseled mouth and the white, even teeth that contrasted with his suntanned face. He looked no more than a few years past twenty when he smiled like that.
He strode to the edge of the grassy bank and stopped, booted legs spread apart, large square hands on hips. God’s bones, he was going to wade in after her. Instead, he removed his helmet, revealing a face much younger than most of the officers who visited with her uncle. Younger and surprisingly handsome, for a Roundhead. Dark brown hair brushed his collar, a sharp contrast to the short, bowl-cut style of the officers who supped with her uncle. His straight nose and well-shaped mouth meant he could be gentle, Anne knew. She had overheard Daisy, the kitchen maid, talking about men. His thick dark brows and square chin meant he could be stubborn, if he had a mind. Aye, Daisy and the other maids would be all aflutter when they saw this turkey cock!
He peered out at the river, as though surveying the flow. “There’s a dangerous look to the current,” he said, his face serious. “There’s a mean look about those dark swirls over there.” He pointed toward the middle of the river. “An undertow if I’d have my guess.”
“Nonsense,” Anne tossed back, angry at herself for her girlish reaction to him. “I—I’ve no more time t-to talk to you,” she added. “If I lose the sunlight, I’ll n-never be able to find my trinket. I—I’ve known this r-river all my life and th-there’s no undertow.” She could tell by the way the soldier studied the current that he wouldn’t be leaving soon. “I wish you’d go on about your business, and leave me to mine.” With that, Anne peered down through the water where the sun glinted and flickered.
The officer remained on the bank, arms crossed, watching her. “You’d best come out of there, at once.”
Ignoring him, she took a deep breath and plunged into the water. This time, she moved farther from shore. Trying to judge her bearings, she looked about the murky bottom. She remembered Lyle had been standing on the granite outcrop when he tossed the locket into the river, the same place where the lieutenant now stood. Her fingers carefully threaded through the soft ooze with steady motions. A flash of a shiny object beneath the silt caused Anne’s heart to hammer. It was her locket! It had to be!
She reached out to grab it when a sudden rush of movement nearly toppled her over. A giant swell of bubbles pulled at her. She felt a tight constriction across her chest as if caught up by the relentless arm of a sea monster. The river demons had snatched her, just as her uncle had warned! God’s bones, she was being yanked into the bowels of the river, down, down, down, toward the serpents of Neptune!
No, she wasn’t! She broke the bubbly surface and gasped as she discovered it wasn’t the serpents of Neptune, but the lieutenant. The powerful arms that fixed tightly beneath her armpits held her fast. He leaned low from his saddle and swept her out of the water. She sputtered and coughed as his sturdy hands clamped her sides and dragged her across his lap, then propped her against his chest, facing him.
Anne gulped a deep breath of air and coughed again. “Wh-what are—?” she choked. She struggled against his commanding grip. “Wh-what are you doing?”
“Saving your sweet neck, chit.” His arms bulged with muscle as his grip tightened about her. With a jingle of spurs, he urged the stallion toward shore. High bursts of water splashed at their sides, spraying them as they lunged forward.
The horse leapt over the bank, its mane streaming like black silk ribbons in the breeze. Anne fell back against Nat’s hard chest. Her heart skipped madly as she pulled the streaming curtain of hair from her face.
“Y-you’ve n-no right!” She drew a shaky breath. “There was no undertow. If you hadn’t...” Her words trailed off when her gaze met his dazzling brown eyes sheltered beneath thick dark brows. Luxuriant black lashes fringed eyes the color of the dark, secret places of the forest. The wind snatched a lock of unruly chestnut hair, swirling it against his sun-browned forehead. The high cheekbones and strong jaw brought power and authority to his face; the full mouth brought sensuality. His closeness sent an unbidden thrill shooting through her. She felt as skittish as a newborn lamb.
His gaze lowered boldly to her breasts and her cheeks burned with indignation. Her hands flew to her bosom in a desperate attempt to cover herself.
He flashed a rakish grin before reaching behind the saddle and throwing a horse blanket over her. When he shifted, she felt his hard thigh muscles beneath her. Her flush deepened, and she was aware that her face must appear more scarlet than the crimson scarf tied about his waist.
Gratefully Anne covered herself with the scratchy blanket. She tried to speak, but no words came. Shivering, feeling deathly cold, she wanted to jump out of his arms, like a fish, and slide back into the river.
His arms tightened about her. “Stop fighting me, mermaid. I mean no harm, although I can’t speak for all of the soldiers posted here.”
She stole another glance at him, but his visor had slipped down about his face. She stopped struggling. She knew her efforts were futile.
His buff leather coat was unlaced at the throat. He didn’t wear the gorget, or metal armor that officers wore around their neck while on duty. In its place she noticed crisp whorls of dark hair pushed up from his open collar. For an instant, she forgot her own embarrassment and flushed deeper at the strange sensations she felt at his nearness.
When they reached the small clearing on shore, he slid to the ground with her. She saw the mare toss her head, then whinny, as if in a relieved greeting.
“Is that what you went after?” he asked roughly.
“Wh-what?” Her eyes never left his.
“This?” The lieutenant squeezed her hand and she looked down into her own small fist to see her gold locket and chain.
“My locket.” Clutching it to her breasts, Anne gave a little cry. “I did grab it when you came crashing in after me.” She held on to the blanket with one hand while she slipped the locket around her neck and embraced it.
“Now that you’ve got your trinket, you’d best get dressed and return to your flock.” Nat gazed into her wide blue-green eyes. Aye, those eyes, fringed by wet, long, spiky lashes—she looked like a water nymph sprung to life.
He watched as she wrapped the blanket about herself. “Turn around while I get my clothing,” she ordered.
Nat raised an eyebrow. “Your sudden modesty is a bit late, wouldn’t you say, wench?” He saw the blush stain her cheeks—more from anger than shame, he’d wager. Nonetheless, he turned his back as she scrambled toward the outcrop where her crumpled garments lay.
Frowning, Nat crossed to a rock and sat down, ignoring the sloshing at each step he took. His boots were soaked, his wool breeches drenched, and water splotches stained his leather coat.
She marched back toward him, her hastily gathered clothing over her arm. “It’s your own fault you’re wet,” she said, her eyes sparkling with self-satisfaction. “There was no undertow, I tell you.”
“If I hadn’t come along when I did, you’d be food for the minnows, by now.”
“Nonsense!” She strode past him on her way toward a copse of willows away from shore.
He pulled off his left boot and emptied the water from it, stealing a glance at her over his shoulder. She lifted her shoulder in an arrogant gesture despite her shredded dignity, before disappearing behind a small willow to change her clothing.
Nat chuckled and crossed his legs in front of him while he considered the tempting wench who had gotten him wet. Tempting liar was more like it. Damn, but she was as much a shepherd maid as he was a lieutenant in the bloody Roundhead army!
He absently rubbed the dark stubble about his face as he remembered reading Babson’s smuggled report that mentioned George Lowell’s young ward, Anne. But nothing had prepared him for the beguiling vision of the lass in the river. The sight of those soft feminine curves had nearly undone him. And that mouth! How tempting her heart-shaped lips had looked—as sweet as a sun-warmed peach. And those eyes! Their blue-green color captivated him, changeable and turbulent like the first time he had seen the Mediterranean Sea during a tempest.
Nat pulled off his other boot and removed a sock, wringing it as dry as he could. He took a deep breath and frowned. How long had it been since he had been with a woman? If he’d had anything on his mind besides his own secret mission to meet up with the king, those bright eyes and generous mouth might be just too tempting to resist.
But when the dangers of these next few days were over, he’d have plenty of time to slake his desires with one of the lusty tavern wenches at the Pied Bull Inn. Until then, although she was a tempting lass, he’d best keep his mind on business.
Nat’s jaw tightened when he remembered the gold locket. Had that bauble she had risked her pretty neck to find been a gift from Colonel Twining? he wondered. If so, Anne would be expected to wear it this evening, no doubt, when her betrothal to the colonel would be announced. No wonder she had been in such a bother to find it.
