by Tamara Leigh
Contents
Title Page
Tamara Leigh Novels
Copyright Page
Dedication
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
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Epilogue
LADY EVER AFTER Excerpt
Tamara Leigh Novels
About The Author
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LADY UNDAUNTED
A clean-read rewrite of Misbegotten,
published by HarperCollins, 1996
TAMARA LEIGH, USA Today Best-Selling Author
USA Today Bestselling author Tamara Leigh returns with a tale of betrayal, vengeance, and forbidden longing in Lady Undaunted, her latest historical romance set in medieval England.
BETRAYED
Declared illegitimate and denied his inheritance, Sir Liam Fawke has given six years of his life in service to his younger brother for the promise of being named heir to the Barony of Ashlingford. But when he is summoned to his brother’s deathbed, he learns his treacherous kin has secretly wed and fathered a son. Vowing to claim what is rightfully his, Liam contests his nephew’s succession. And not only finds himself at dangerous odds with the boy’s lovely, spirited mother, but attracted to one who is forbidden him—one whose son is the means by which he could twice lose all.
FORBIDDEN
Three years ago, Lady Joslyn struck a desperate bargain to wed a nobleman and provide him with an heir. Now widowed, she must protect her young son from her husband’s vengeful brother who will stop at nothing—including murder—to take what does not belong to him. But when she seeks an audience with the king to secure her son’s inheritance, she discovers Sir Liam may have the stronger claim and that the truth of him could make lies of all she was led to believe. More unsettling, she is drawn to the man beneath the anger who can never forgive her for the part she played in his brother’s deception—nor forget to whom she first belonged.
TAMARA LEIGH NOVELS
CLEAN READ HISTORICAL ROMANCE
THE FEUD: A MEDIEVAL ROMANCE SERIES
Baron Of Godsmere: Book One
Baron Of Emberly: Book Two
Baron of Blackwood: Book Three
MEDIEVAL ROMANCE SERIES
Lady At Arms: Book One
Lady Of Eve: Book Two
STAND-ALONE MEDIEVAL ROMANCE NOVELS
Lady Of Fire
Lady Of Conquest
Lady Undaunted
Lady Ever After Releasing Fall 2016
Dreamspell: A Medieval Time Travel Romance
INSPIRATIONAL HISTORICAL ROMANCE
AGE OF FAITH: A MEDIEVAL ROMANCE SERIES
The Unveiling: Book One
The Yielding: Book Two
The Redeeming: Book Three
The Kindling: Book Four
The Longing: Book Five
INSPIRATIONAL CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE
HEAD OVER HEELS: STAND-ALONE ROMANCE NOVELS
Stealing Adda
Perfecting Kate
Splitting Harriet
Faking Grace
SOUTHERN DISCOMFORT: A CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE SERIES
Leaving Carolina: Book One
Nowhere, Carolina: Book Two
Restless in Carolina: Book Three
OUT-OF-PRINT GENERAL MARKET TITLES
Warrior Bride 1994: Bantam Books
*Virgin Bride 1994: Bantam Books
Pagan Bride 1995: Bantam Books
Saxon Bride 1995: Bantam Books
Misbegotten 1996: HarperCollins
Unforgotten 1997: HarperCollins
Blackheart 2001: Dorchester Leisure
*Virgin Bride is the sequel to Warrior Bride
Pagan Pride and Saxon Bride are stand-alone novels
www.tamaraleigh.com
LADY UNDAUNTED (a clean read rewrite of the 1996 HarperCollins bestseller Misbegotten) Copyright © 2016 by Tammy Schmanski, P.O. Box 1298, Goodlettsville, TN 37070, [email protected]
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents, and dialogues are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.
ISBN-13: 978-1-942326-19-9
All rights reserved. This book is a copyrighted work and no part of it may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photographic, audio recording, or any information storage and retrieval system) without permission in writing from the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the author’s permission is illegal and punishable by law. Thank you for supporting authors’ rights by purchasing only authorized editions.
Cover Design: Ravven
FOR PATTI ~
Lady Joslyn, Sir Liam, and my many other ladies and knights join me in thanking you for the blessing of your readership, keen eye, and wise counsel. Above all, I thank you for your beautiful friendship.
CHAPTER ONE
England, Spring of 1348
He hated the waiting. It made him feel like a vulture circling an animal drawing its last breath. But that was what he did—waited for his brother to die so the promise made would be fulfilled.
Heaving a sigh of disgust, Liam turned and strode back toward the opposite end of the great hall. For a quarter hour, he had time and again paced this stretch, scattering rushes until he had worn a path down to the flooring. He did so twice more—past the hearth and stairwell, past trestle tables and benches stacked against the wall, past the dais upon which the lord’s high seat awaited him.
He halted. Patience, he silently counseled. What are a few hours compared to years?
By the morrow, Maynard would take the death pall and all would be as it should have been from the beginning. Liam, first born of Montgomery Fawke, would attain his rightful place as lord of Ashlingford. A baron at last.
He closed his eyes. Though he had shouldered responsibility for the demesne all these years, the title had belonged to his young half brother. But it was Liam who oversaw the immense barony, supervised the accounts, met the people’s needs, and managed to keep Maynard in funds enough to satisfy his excesses.
All would be different now. Never again would Liam’s destiny be controlled by another.
“William.”
Liam turned to the man who refused to call his nephew by the name given him by his Irish mother. A man who was of the Holy Church, yet had likely known more women than his nephew.
Ivo stood at the base of the stairs, his priest’s vestments creased from hours of prayer for his dying nephew, gaze as accusing as when he had arrived at Ashlingford this noon. “It gnaws
at you,” he snarled.
Liam stared.
“All this waiting,” Ivo said, though no explanation was necessary.
Anger flared. Not that Liam was unaccustomed to such baiting. There had never been affection between uncle and nephew, Ivo having long ago made known his hatred of the one he claimed was misbegotten. For the priest, there had only ever been Maynard.
Liam narrowed his lids. “What is it you want?”
“I come from Maynard.”
When Ivo left that hanging, Liam said, “He is dead?”
As if his were a secret that might move the world, Ivo’s eyes lit. “Patience, my son. ’Twill happen soon enough.”
“What have you come for?”
“The baron refuses confession and the taking of the Last Sacrament until he has spoken with you. He would have you attend him at once.”
Maynard having earlier denied his brother entrance to his death chamber, Liam’s suspicions mounted. What more was there to discuss? What provisions not already made? Certes, it was something pleasing to Ivo, meaning all was not as it should be. “I shall follow.”
His uncle lifted his robes and ascended the steps.
When the stairway stood empty, Liam lowered his head and prayed all would be over soon. Then he took the stairs two at a time to the landing, strode the corridor, and entered the chamber.
“Come,” Maynard rasped.
As Liam advanced, he looked to the woman of middling years who sat beside his brother’s bed. Pressing a bunched kerchief to her eyes, the still handsome Emma wept.
She had been with Maynard since his birth. As his wet nurse and later his nursemaid, she had known him better than his own mother—and loved him more. But in spite of her loyalty to the son who was noble on both sides of him, she had always been kind to Liam.
He halted alongside Ivo and considered his brother’s pitifully battered body atop the bedclothes. Though it was Liam who had carried Maynard up to the keep and laid him on his bed, the physician had ordered everyone from the chamber. Thus, Liam had not seen what injuries lay beneath his brother’s tunic, but there had been little doubt they would be the death of him.
Maynard’s collarbone jutted at a peculiar angle, and where the left side of his lower ribs ought to be, there was a depression, the bones having broken inward. If it was not these injuries draining his life, then the bruises covering his abdomen would make an end of him. He drowned in the blood of torn innards.
“I am dying,” he slurred, possibly from the great amount of alcohol he had earlier imbibed, possibly from the stalking of death. Or both. “But you know that, Brother.”
Liam returned his gaze to Maynard’s face. The skin was washed of color, the golden hair on his brow tarnished. Though he knew better than to feel compassion for this one with whom he had shared only a father, his emotions lurched. “This I know.”
With what seemed effort, Maynard smiled. “I thought it would be me burying you. That I would outlive you.”
He had lived as if there was no end to life. “Then you would not have had to keep your vow to me.”
“Ah, Liam, you know me well. Will you—?” Maynard’s face contorted, and he moaned.
The physician hastened forward, but the dying man waved him away, drew a wheezing breath, and asked, “Will you take a wife now, Liam?”
“I will.” Though he had intended to wed before this time, the affairs of the barony were always too pressing. Too, there existed the possibility Maynard would go back on his word—that he would marry and produce an heir as he had vowed he would not. Now, albeit unintentionally, he would keep his side of their bargain. In exchange for Liam’s years of managing the barony, which had abundantly financed Maynard’s ventures, Ashlingford would be Liam’s. Of course, there was still the matter of Ivo’s secret.
“Will she be Irish?” Maynard asked, causing the priest to snort.
So now it was Maynard’s turn to bait the one he also believed was misbegotten. Although it would have served Liam better all these years to turn his back on his mother’s people—to adopt William, the English form of the name his mother had given him, and refuse association with the Irish—he had not. Nevertheless, it was true the woman he married would be of the English side of him. Ashlingford needed a lady of that blood.
“I will marry English.”
Another snort. “At least in that Maynard may rest in peace.”
Fists longing for Ivo’s gut, Liam fought to keep his hands at his sides.
“Good.” Maynard grunted. “Thin the Irish out of your line.” Though he had learned to keep his loathing to himself, in death he proved daring.
Subduing the temper many thought was foretold by the red of his hair, and which he had long ago brought near enough under control to earn his spurs and make his father proud, Liam said, “I am pleased you approve.”
His brother’s lids started to lower, but he dragged them back up. “How is your head?”
Liam needed no reminder of the blow dealt him across the back of the skull when Maynard had come to steal from the barony’s coffers last eve. Upon regaining consciousness, explosive pain had temporarily blinded him. And still the swelling throbbed. “I will live.”
A smile twitched at Maynard’s mouth, and he beckoned. “Come closer. I have something to tell you.”
Though Ivo turned his face away, Liam saw the priest was also inclined toward a smile, and that he rubbed his crucifix as he often did to curb impatience. Here was the secret whose revelation he awaited.
Liam leaned near.
“Closer,” Maynard hissed, breath fouled by the scent of alcohol and blood.
Liam turned his ear to his brother’s mouth.
“I have won, you whoreson. ’Tis not you who will gain Ashlingford, but my son.”
As the words knelled through Liam, he slowly straightened. “The barony is more rightfully mine than any of the misbegotten sons you have sown. Do you name one heir, I vow to petition the king. And this time he will not deny me.”
Maynard gave a phlegm-laden laugh. “You think I speak of those common, dirty whelps?”
Liam felt something drop out of him. His soul? “Of whom do you speak?”
His brother sighed long, closed his eyes. “I do enjoy this. One of the few pleasures left to me.”
“Tell me, Maynard!”
“Liam!” Emma cried. “Your brother is dying, and you—”
“Sooner he will die if he does not give answer!”
Maynard raised his lids. “I have a legitimate son.”
Liam knew it was the truth the moment it was spoken, but the question sprang from him. “Legitimate?”
Maynard laughed again, but only for a moment. When his coughing subsided, his pallid face was flecked with blood. “Six years of your life for naught, Brother. And I thank you for every one of them.”
Fury poured into Liam’s fists, gripped his heart, burned his belly. Every hour of every day of every month for six long years—all for naught. And he wanted blood for every one of them. But as his mind readied his body for attack, the first lesson he had aspired to learn during his knighthood training resounded through him.
Allow not wrath to command your actions, nor your words. Sir Owen of the Wulfriths had gripped Liam’s rage-flushed face to hold the youth’s gaze to his. Hear me, boy. Be worthy of your name.
Liam Fawke, son and heir of Montgomery Fawke.
He dug his fingers into his palms, told himself that though Maynard and Ivo once more conspired to deny him what had ever been his, the letting of blood was not the answer—at least, not in the absence of a blade raised against him.
He breathed deep. How could this have happened? There had been no reading of the banns to announce Maynard’s marriage.
He grabbed hold of that hope. Church law decreed that a marriage between a man and woman from different parishes be publicly announced in both. Thus, Maynard’s marriage might be declared void and his son illegitimate—unless he had purchased a special licens
e to allow him to wed without announcing it beforehand.
Liam momentarily closed his eyes. That was what Maynard had done, and the substantial amount required to buy the dispensation had been doled out by the one he had outwitted.
Liam turned to Ivo. “You knew of this?”
The color creeping into the priest’s cheeks said otherwise. Though Ivo prided himself on being indispensable to Maynard, his nephew had not enlisted him to work the deception—worse, had not confided in him.
“It surprises you I did it on my own.” Maynard chuckled. “I am not the fool you believe me to be. Nor am I without kindness. I give you my blessing to remain at Ashlingford and serve my son as you have served me.”
Dark emotions surging anew, tempting a hand to the dagger at his side, Liam said, “Where is the gold you stole from me last eve?”
“Stole? From you? As the Baron of Ashlingford, I took naught that was not already mine.”
“Where is it?”
Maynard exaggerated a frown, patted a hand across his waist. “Fancy that…gone.”
And Ivo knew where it was.
Certain that if he did not leave, Maynard would be in danger of losing his life all the sooner, Liam strode toward the door.
“My heir’s name is Oliver. He will be three years old at summer’s end.”
Liam looked over his shoulder. “Your wife?”
“Lady Joslyn of—” Once more, Maynard succumbed to coughing, at the end of which he croaked, “Lady Joslyn of Rosemoor.”
Far to the south, explaining how word of his nuptials had not reached Ashlingford. As Maynard had not wished it to.
