Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
About the Author
Praise for Beloved Impostor
“Ms. Potter has given us another thrilling drama. Every page proves the reason for her award-winning success . . . Beloved Impostor travels at a fast pace with outstanding characters and an expertly developed plot.” —Rendezvous
“A wonderful Scottish tale wrought with emotion, tender in its telling and heart-wrenching in its beauty. Ms. Potter captures our hearts and gifts us with another beautiful story.” —The Best Reviews
“[A] superb romance . . . It’s Potter’s unique gift for creating unforgettable characters and delving into the deepest parts of their hearts that endears her to readers. This is another masterpiece from a writer who always delivers what romance readers want: a love story to always remember.”
—Romantic Times
“The story was riveting, the execution and the telling of it and the characters involved showed spirit, courage, chemistry, and mostly they had a heart and held on to hope. It held my interest and kept it.” —Pink Heart Reviews
“Ms. Potter is a very talented storyteller, taking a much-used theme, lovers from warring families, and manipulating it, adding plenty of new ideas and twists, until the end result is the original, highly satisfying Beloved Impostor . . . Ms. Potter very adeptly whetted this reader’s appetite for more about these two Maclean brothers, but for now, there is Beloved Impostor, which I highly recommend.”
—Romance Reviews Today
Dancing with a Rogue
“Once again, Potter . . . proves that she’s adept at penning both enthralling historicals and captivating contemporary novels.”—Booklist (starred review)
“Gabriel and Merry are a delightful pair . . . Patricia Potter has provided a character-driven story that her audience will enjoy.”—Midwest Book Review
“An entirely engrossing novel by this talented and versatile author.”—Romance Reviews Today
“Interesting and fresh.”—Affaire de Coeur
The Diamond King
“The story line is loaded with action yet enables the audience to understand what drives both lead characters and several key secondary players . . . a robust romantic adventure . . . [a] powerful tale.”—BookBrowser
The Heart Queen
“This is a book that is difficult to put down for any reason. Simply enjoy.”—Rendezvous
“Exciting... powerful . . . charming . . . [a] pleasant page-turner.” —Midwest Book Review
“Potter is a very talented author . . . if you are craving excitement, danger, and a hero to die for, you won’t want to miss this one.”—All About Romance
More praise for Patricia Potter and her bestselling novels
“A master storyteller.”—Mary Jo Putney
“Pat Potter proves herself a gifted writer-as-artisan, creating a rich fabric of strong characters whose wit and intellect will enthrall even as their adventures entertain.”
—BookPage
“Patricia Potter has a special gift for giving an audience a first-class romantic story line.”—Affaire de Coeur
“When a historical romance [gets] the Potter treatment, the story line is pure action and excitement, and the characters are wonderful.”—BookBrowser
Titles by Patricia Potter
STARCATCHER
THE BLACK KNAVE
THE PERFECT FAMILY
THE HEART QUEEN
THE DIAMOND KING
DANCING WITH A ROGUE
BELOVED IMPOSTOR
BELOVED STRANGER
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are 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. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
BELOVED STRANGER
A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Sensation edition / February 2006
Copyright © 2006 by Patricia Potter.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form
without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation
of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
For information address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
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375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
eISBN : 978-0-425-20742-0
BERKLEY SENSATION®
Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
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BERKLEY SENSATION is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
The “B” design is a trademark belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
http://us.penguingroup.com
With gratitude to Carolyn McSparren, Phyllis Appleby, Kenlyn Spence, and Barbara Christopher for all their support, advice—sometimes painful but always on target—and, most of all, their friendship. I love you all.
Prologue
Flodden Field, England
September 9, 1513
The promise of redemption had turned into a descent into hell.
Lachlan Maclean moved his mount closer to his liege, King James IV of Scotland, and watched disaster unfold beneath him.
Redemption.
This battle, this invasion by King James into England, was to have been Lachlan’s final redemption, the act that might somehow undo the fact he had caused hi
s father’s death years earlier. In taking the Macleans into battle, he’d hoped to spare his older brother their father’s fate.
He’d never forgotten the look on his father’s face as he died. He’d died because Lachlan, who’d wanted to be a priest, could not raise his sword to fight off the Campbells. Despite his training since early childhood, he had frozen, and his father died protecting him.
His clan had considered him a coward.
He wondered even now whether he could take a life, whether he would freeze again . . .
The cannon roared again, and the scene below was worse than any vision of the underworld. Horses screamed as they fell, their cries mixing with the more guttural shouts of wounded and dying men. Acrid, lung-blistering smoke turned the afternoon mist dark, and its bitter smell commingled with the sickening sweet odor of blood.
The view below was chaos. And a disaster that never should have happened. Superior English cannon destroyed Scottish cannon, then turned to fire on the rows of Scottish pikemen waiting to attack. Hector, Lachlan’s second-in-command and a man as close to him as a father, was on foot with the pikemen.
Lachlan exchanged somber glances with Jamie Campbell who also accompanied the king. In the past two years Jamie had become his best friend, and the two of them had often visited King James’s Court. Now, Jamie led his contingent of loyal Campbells, while Lachlan led the Macleans.
Jamie’s cocky grin was gone. Until an hour ago, his eyes had shone with anticipation. He’d left his bonny wife behind, but he was a man called to adventure. Now adventure turned to horror.
They’d all thought the battle won. The Scots held the high ground. They had the larger numbers. They would force the English to approach from below. At one point, aides told James he should attack the English as they gathered in disarray beneath them.
“There is no honor in that,” James said. And waited.
Waited too long.
In the name of honor, James had been surrounded, giving up the advantage he once had.
Honor always bore a price, and this time Lachlan wondered whether it was worth it.
Still, he waited at his liege’s side, his spirits sinking as the English fired their cannon with an accuracy the Scots couldn’t meet.
A messenger galloped to James’s side and delivered a message. The king frowned as he read it, then told the men around him. “Lord Home has disobeyed orders and started down the ridge toward the English.”
Lachlan knew what that meant. King James and Lord Home were close friends. To keep his friend from dying, James, too, would surrender the superior position to attack the enemy.
“For Scotland!” James roared and started down the hill.
Lachlan’s heart sank. He knew the main army was still above. James was leaving them without a leader.
He and Jamie followed James as he charged down the hill. Spurred by the sight of their liege fighting like a man possessed, Lachlan thrust and hacked his way toward Surrey, who led the English in the battle. A cannon ball exploded just in front of him, and his horse shied away as the smell of death and blood grew denser, and the level of noise crescendoed.
What am I doing here?
Better me than my brother with his wife and new babe.
With that one thought in mind, he rode beside Jamie and his king. Honor. Honor and duty were what mattered. He had failed once. He would not fail again.
The horsemen met the enemy. Lachlan leveled his pike at an Englishman. The jolt jarred his body as it hit the man’s shield, tearing it away. He thrust again, and this time the pike entered the enemy’s body. He’d learned well as a lad how to kill. And kill well. He’d hated every moment of the training.
Now he welcomed those hard-earned skills. Thrust, pull out, thrust again.
“English,” cried one of his companions. “At our rear.”
He turned around. English horsemen were approaching from the south.
“To me,” cried James.
Lachlan fought his way to the king’s side. Then he was surrounded, his pike forced from his hand. He reached for his sword. He was fighting now for his king, his honor, for Scotland, and, aye, his life. Masses of men on horseback and on foot enveloped them.
He looked for Jamie Campbell and saw him on the ground, overwhelmed by men on foot. He started toward him, when he heard an anguished cry, “The king is down!”
Before Lachlan could turn, pain sheared through his leg, and a lance hit his chain armor. His horse screamed and went to its knees.
He tried to jump free, but he had no strength left. His horse, which he’d raised from a colt, fell on his leg, and Lachlan lay there helpless next to his king, as the English swarmed around them, plunging their swords into James, then turning on him.
Honor was not all it was said to be, he thought, before pain turned into nothingness.
Chapter 1
Flodden Field, England
September 9, 1513
Kimbra Charlton steeled her resolve as she accompanied the women who combed the fields of dead. Dressed in her mourning gown, she huddled against the side of the pony cart with other reiver women.
Cedric Charlton, her late husband’s cousin, had ridden to her cottage hours earlier to say that tens of thousands—both Scots and English—lay dead on Flodden Field. They had to rush to beat other reiver families if they wanted the best that could be gleaned from the battlefield.
The Charltons had been called to fight with the English, but Cedric had no wounds, no blood on his jack. She suspected that he, and most of the reivers, had left the field before the battle, only to return later to rob the dead and dying after the battle was spent.
She concentrated on the squeaking wheels and tried not to cough in the acrid smoke that grew denser with every turn of the wheels. She inched away from the other women who talked excitedly about what they might find. She didn’t share their anticipation.
How much lower could she sink?
She tried to think instead of better days, of riding with her husband, Wild Will Charlton, on raids across the border. It had been rare, a woman riding with reivers, yet Will had been an unusual man. Reiver through and through, he’d been bemused by what he considered her adventurous nature, had given in to her pleading and taught her to ride and aim an arrow.
He’d never known the fear inside her, the knowledge that someday she might have to run for her life, just as her mother had fled many years ago. She’d never shown the fear her mother had taught her.
He might never have married her if she had.
Though she had learned to enjoy the raids, the freedom of them, to her they were not the game they were to others. She’d picked up a bauble here and there for herself and had hidden them away. That was something else her mother had taught her.
In the two years since Will had died, she had sold them all to support her daughter and herself.
She thought back to her first raid. She had asked Will to take her, but he’d just laughed at her “fancy,” just as he’d laughed at her dream of reading. But then one night, she’d disguised herself as a man and had stolen Magnus, one of the finest hobblers on either side of the border. Will had said she was the best of the lot and with a great bellow of laughter defied his friends to say nay on future rides.
But motherhood had ended those adventures.
A pang of loss struck her as she thought of her husband. Tall and handsome and strong, Will had had a devil-may-care smile and a broad humor that sent a room roaring into laughter. He’d loved their daughter, even as he yearned for a son. He had regarded her in men’s clothes with a broad grin on his face. “No one else has ever had a lass like you,” he said.
And she had indulged him, admiring her husband who was among the boldest of the Border Reivers, and who had chosen her—a woman without dowry and with an unknown past—to be his bride. He’d always fought for her, and now she would fight for his daughter.
Reiving was a family business for the Charltons. They raided both their English neighbors
as well as the Scots across the border. The Charltons had been reivers for a century or more and considered it a respectable profession. It had been a fine game as well. Stealing cattle. Taking hostages for ransom. Each side took its share, and rarely was anyone killed. In truth, even when the Scots and English met in battle near the border, ’twas said the borderers often protected the same neighbors they’d raided the week before.
But one raid went wrong. Will was hit with an arrow. The wound, despite all her ministrations, had turned to inflammation. She would never forgive herself for that. If only she’d done more . . . or known more. Those terrible days were burned in her mind like a brand . . .
There had been fifty raiders that night. Having heard of a great black horse said to have an Arabic sire, they’d attacked an Armstrong holding. She hadn’t ridden, staying home instead with her ailing daughter. She’d helped Will dress in his customary clothing: a jack covered with leather, a doublet of fustian, and dark hose. She’d placed his steel bonnet over his dark hair.
She’d been there with him in spirit, knowing exactly when they would cross the Bewcastle Waste, a wild area of fell and moor. Their hobblers—small, swift, hardy horses—were black and gray, chosen to blend into the darkness.
She’d waited as the night slowly passed and dawn came, and fear started to tug at her. It had been midday when the riders came and Will stumbled as he’d dismounted. Blood covered his hose.
“’Tis nothing,” he said and submitted mildly enough to her cauterizing the wound. But it had been too late. The poison had spread, and despite all her herbs, all her poultices, he’d died three days later in agony he obviously tried not to let her see.
A jolt of the cart brought her back to reality. She smelled death now as they neared the place of battle. An eery silence had settled over the countryside. She heard only the creak of wheels, the occasional whisper of the men riding to the front of them. There was no sound of night birds, no rustle of animals running from humans.
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