Lady Thief

by Wend Petzler

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  The Wild Rose Press

  www.thewildrosepress.com

  Copyright ©2008 by Wend Petzler

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  CONTENTS

  "Ms. Petzler writes fabulous romances."

  Lady Thief

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  A word about the author...

  Thank you for purchasing

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  Shock melted into raw need. Eiry clung to Lucian's broad shoulders, drawing him closer, loving his rough touch, wanting him to make love to her. When he reluctantly withdrew from her, Eiry's brow furrowed in confusion. “Have I done something to displease you?” she whispered, searching his eyes, those wonderful hot orbs burned her with an inferno of raw desire.

  Groaning in sheer, sweet agony, Lucian cupped her beautiful face in his hands, kissing again those sweet, lush lips. Forcing himself to withdrawal to a safe distance, Lucian had to stop before he acted upon his lust to have Eiry Savoy. “Woman, you send me to my knees with want of you. But, I will not dishonor you. Never upon a woman as you. God help me, I want you. In fact, I need you. But, I will never make you less than a wife. And in all truth, I cannot offer marriage either. Eiry, you are special, all that is good and bright in a world of darkness and blood. I could never taint you with my accursed life. You deserve better than I.” Lucian turned on his heel and left her, heaving a heavy sigh. He could never be the man she thought him to be.

  Eiry was stunned by Lucian's self-loathing admission. She who was a condemned thief, a woman who broke the English Law more times than she cared to count, was too good to be with a magnificent knight called the Butcher? Determined, she lifted her skirts and ran after him. Grabbing his arm, she forced him to look at her.

  "Just what the hell do you think you are doing?” she demanded breathlessly.

  "What do you mean?” Lucian shot back, glaring at her.

  "You can't actually believe all you spout, do you?"

  "Ms. Petzler writes fabulous romances."

  —Romance Junkies, Fallen Angels, & Coffee Time Romance.

  Lady Thief placed third in the Wallflower, All Authors contest—historical division.

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  Lady Thief

  by

  Wend Petzler

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Lady Thief

  COPYRIGHT ©

  2008 by Wend Petzler

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

  Cover Art by Rae Monet

  The Wild Rose Press

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First English Tea Rose Edition, 2008

  Print ISBN 1-60154-335-2

  Published in the United States of America

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  Dedication

  You know, I made myself a promise that I'd never touch the classics—that was until I had a dream about Lucian Martine. He was so real and so magnificent that I had to give him a story and heroine just as fantastic as he was. To me, he is what is best in men. When the chips are down and a hero must rise to protect those he loves, Lucian Martine is that man!

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  Prologue

  Outskirts of Derbyshire, April 1192

  "Christ Jesu! Rowena, where are ye?” Thomas frantically called out. The creeping of twilight made the long shadows from the towering trees of the Peake Forest ominous.

  The unexpected attack upon them bore a savagery he'd not seen since his Crusader days. Looking around him, Thomas gaped in horror. His men lay dead, including Robert, his best friend and second in command. The chilling silence stretched and grew more unsettling than the vicious attack upon their entourage from unknown knights.

  A soft, feminine moan rose from the other side of the wreckage, telling him his wife's location. Moving across the dirt road, unmindful of his hose tearing on the sharp rocks, he reached her and gently drew Rowena into his arms. Cradling her limp body, his stomach lurched when he viewed the jagged, bloodied gash from her smooth brow to her scalp. A dark stain marred her golden hair.

  "Have faith, Rowena. Help will come when our horses arrive without us,” Thomas assured her as she grimaced, coughing up blood.

  She shook her head, desperate to get her words out. “You must ... go to Lilia. They will kill ... her."

  "Lilia is safe at Sanctuary with trustworthy Louie watching over her. We'll go to her as soon as horses are brought to us."

  Looking at his injured wife, Thomas stilled when he heard the sound of many hooves approaching. Shifting around, his eyes widened. “Dear God, they're coming back.” He grabbed a discarded sword and held it out defensively in front of him.

  His heart lurched with fear. Not for himself but for their youngest daughter. Could Louie protect sweet Lilia if their attackers came after them, too? Not for the first time, he wished he had not sent their oldest, Eiry, to Wales. Yet, if they were killed, at least she would survive this nightmare come to claim the Savoy family.

  Nearing him, he saw the knights bore gray bunting-covered shields and their helms remained closed, further hiding their identity. Their bloodied swords still drawn, they spread around him and Rowena, forming a semicircle and then reined their warhorses to a halt, facing them.

  Seeing death before him, Thomas placed a tender kiss upon his wife's cold lips. “Beloved, we will meet again in Heaven."

  "In Heaven.” The words were faint before her last breath slipped away, her head lolled forward.

  Sorrow welled up, a silent cry of utter torment rose sharp and bitter inside him. Ever so gently, Thomas laid his beautiful wife to rest on the hard ground, knowing he'd be joining her soon. Not without taking a few of the bastards with him, he swore. Rising, a growl escaped his lips. Thomas drew back the sword, holding the worn hilt tight with both hands.

  "May you all rot in Hell,” he roared, charging the mounted knights. A flying arrow struck him deep in the fleshy part of his right shoulder. Knees buckling from underneath him, Thomas fell to the ground, still gripping his sword tight. A shadow rose above him. His silver, pain-glazed eyes widened in disbelief and horror.

  "Why,” he gasped out. A cry of despair escaped him when the bowman answer
ed by letting loose another arrow. The iron tip ripped through his broken heart.

  Grim, ghostly wraiths, the knights wheeled their warhorses about, leaving the dead couple where they lay. Their mission now was a complete success.

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  Chapter One

  West Sussex, October 1192

  Massive crowds of spectators pressed against the ropes, eager to see the champion. A great roar of cheers announced that Sir Lucian Martine, the infamous Butcher of Acre, had taken the field. The huge, frightening knight wore a blood red tunic over his silvered armor. Emblazoned across his broad chest, a gold falcon stretched its wings, talons unfurled, signifying his house and arms. His helm was squared, void of the usual plume popular amongst the other knights. Martine rode a devil of a black horse—a gigantic Friesian—past the gathered people, inciting them into a wild frenzy before taking his position in the list. Wielding a red and gold lance ready in one hand, his oblong-shaped shield held close to his powerful, steel-encased body. He waited for the silks to drop, the signal to ride.

  He was known as a vicious killer, a man who fulfilled his duty to King Richard without the hindrance of a soul, especially after what happened at Acre. Despite his ill-reputation, people flocked to the tournaments to watch the Butcher defeat his opponents, awed by the violence he exhibited in defeating those foolish enough to take him on.

  The white scarf dropped. A deafening cheer exploded from the crowd. The mighty warhorses rose on their powerful haunches, pawing the air before launching into a fast gallop toward one another. Martine's lance struck true against the challenger's upper chest. Ramming the opposing knight out of his saddle as if he weighed nothing. He tumbled into the dirt, head over heels.

  William Marshall, Duke of Pembroke, scanned the widespread crowds of peasants and nobles gathered for the weeklong jousting event being held by Hugh D’ Albini, Earl of Arundel Castle. The weather was unusually warm for the late season, snow had not fallen on the land. Watching the jousting, William was momentarily stunned by the violence the Butcher exhibited. He paused. Was he making a horrible mistake?

  His biggest concern wasn't about Lucian Martine but rather the eldest daughter of his friend, Sir Thomas Savoy. When Eiry was a child, she possessed an untamed spirit and a penchant for getting into trouble. Since the death of her parents, the girl did appear to possess good sense. Eiry recently wrote to him expressing her need to procure a suitable guardian for Lilia and the small castle. Along with the letter, she sent a hefty bag of gold to aid his quest.

  Although he was no more than thirty, Martine was not considered young. His options for earning income were running thin. He was forced to either joust or mercenary. Since the tragedy at Acre, Martine was barely given the courtesy due a knight, despite being tournament champion this season. To further his decline, only the most disreputable of noblemen dared to approach the Butcher.

  He cared not about the gossip, seeing much more in Martine's eyes, discerning a man who took his oath to heart and did what he must to serve King Richard. Lucian Martine was a man William could respect. In order to keep Lilia and Sanctuary safe, he needed such a man.

  Motioning for his guard to follow, William trailed after Martine as the knight rode back to the tents. Hailing Martine, “Well done, Sir Lucian, well done. You are once again Tournament Champion,” he congratulated him, impressed by the man's exceptional accomplishment of knocking six men from their horses in three days.

  The tall knight doffed his helm and turned, giving William a good look at him. A white, jagged scar ran down Martine's left temple to his jaw line. Eyes black as sin, cold, and fathomless warned William.

  "Sir Lucian, I have a personal matter which I must need speak with you about. Might you be interested?"

  Accepting a towel from his squire, the towering knight wiped the sweat from his face before tossing it back. “Perhaps—if the offer is worth my while."

  "Will this bag of gold buy me a moment of your time?” William withdrew the heavy, leather pouch from under his blue velvet cloak and tossed it over to the knight whose eyes widened by the impressive weight. “Are you interested?"

  "Your Grace, you have my complete attention."

  "Have you heard of Sir Thomas Savoy?"

  "Aye, I've heard of him. Why?"

  Grief briefly shadowed William's thoughts before he continued. “My friend, Sir Thomas, was murdered six months ago alongside his wife, Lady Rowena. Richard had given a small castle and lands to him for his services to the Crown. He had planned to raise sheep.” He paused, shaking his head at the odd notion of Thomas in the country. All his friend's dreams were gone in a flash of an arrow. Bringing his thoughts back to the task at hand, he continued, “Since I am his daughters’ godfather, I must ensure they are well taken care of. My concern is mainly for the youngest. The lass is but eight and lives in Castle Sanctuary near Derbyshire. I am prepared to be quite generous in employing your sword. Would you be interested in relocating?"

  Martine crossed his powerful arms, a skeptic look on his tanned visage. “Why me?"

  Easily reading what was on the big man's mind by his suspicious expression, a bright smile lightened William's lined features. “Because no sane man would dare cross you, my friend, and that is what I need for Lilia. By all which is honorable, I should bring the child into my household. But in the letter Sir Thomas sent me a week before his untimely death, he made it abundantly clear his daughter was to remain in Castle Sanctuary no matter what. Why was unclear, only that I must respect his last wishes."

  "Are you hiring a mercenary to protect the girl or is there more to your offer?"

  "Are you tired of the tournaments?"

  "What if I am?"

  "What say you if I write a contract declaring you Lilia's guardian, granting you complete control of the lands and castle?"

  Martine eyes widened in obvious surprise. “Why give me the lands when there is an older sister involved and can be married off?"

  "As a matter of fact, she is already betrothed. If you were in command of Sanctuary, she'd be free to honor the agreed marriage. After word spread of Lady Rowena's horrid death, daughter to a Welsh prince, her father and allies were in an uproar. They're demanding justice. I pray that her oldest daughter's marriage to his heir will calm their desire for bloodshed."

  Martine's frown intensified, and an expression of uncertainty carved the knight's stark features.

  "What say you?” William pressed, knowing Martine really had no choice, not with so many younger knights striving to unhorse him and take the supreme honor of defeating the Butcher.

  Extending his hand out to William, Martine offered a ghost of a smile. “I would be honored to accept your offer, Your Grace."

  Pleased, William shook the knight's huge hand. “When can you ride out to Sanctuary?” Martine casually tossed the leather bag over to a sandy-brown haired knight who let out a soft oof when he caught it.

  Martine looked to the knight. “Derrick, have we finished here?"

  "Yea, we can depart after the award ceremony declaring you champion. Most of our men are still on leave, but I can send word out to have them head on down to Derbyshire. Let us say—one week?"

  William frowned. “Have you a large company?"

  Martine's mouth twisted into a sardanic line, giving him an almost savage-looking. “Yea, I have goodly number of men who serve me. Why do you ask?"

  "Good. I ask one thing more from our arrangement. I want you to hunt down and kill those cowards who murdered my friend and his wife. Seek the villains out and punish them! Can you do this for me?” William asked, feeling a sudden chill of apprehension when he looked into those icy, soulless eyes.

  "It will be done,” was the softly spoken reply.

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  Later at the local inn, Derrick met up with Lucian. He worried over his friend as Lucian stared into the bright flames of the blazing fire. Lucian never slept anymore without first passing out from drink, only then was the tormented
man able to hide from his nightmares.

  Derrick and their men had suffered from the slaughter they reaped upon the captured prisoners at Acre but not in the same way as Lucian. Ordered by Richard, it was Lucian who led them against the unarmed prisoners. Richard desired to teach Salah al-din, leader of the Saracens, a lesson none would forget. And none had, especially Lucian who relived the carnage every night in his dreams.

  Drawing a chair alongside Lucian, who barely acknowledged his presence, Derrick frowned at his friend. “Lucian, must you drink so much?” Refusing to budge an inch when Lucian glared in sullen resentment at him, Derrick remained steadfast.

  Shrugging his broad shoulders, Lucian glared at his friend, “Leave it alone Derrick. Have you sent word to the men about our change in plans?” Lucian filled his clay cup with more ale.

  "Yea, and they are eager to see our new home. Word about Derbyshire is favorable. Londoners call it the Playground for the Rich. Many wealthy families have estates down there. Prince John is rumored to visit Peveril Castle often, enjoying the hunt for deer and relaxation from politics."

  "Relaxing or indulging in his perversions?” Lucian remarked dryly.

  "Immoral is the word. I hear Prince John's little soirées are spoken about in hushed tones. The really interesting stories floating about are not of the fresh, female game John likes to hunt but of his constant trouble with thieves. The sheriff of Derbyshire has had his hands full trying to arrest the outlaws. They are bold in taking whatever they want and most times do so in broad daylight."

  Frowning at the news Derrick shared, Lucian toyed with his cup. “Why does he have such difficulty hunting down mere thieves? Traps need only be set to capture the greedy bastards."

  "The outlaws disappear like ghosts into the impenetrable Peake and Sherwood Royal Forests, effortlessly slipping away from the sheriff's men."

  "Why does not the sheriff and his men just ride into the forest after them?"