Published 2008 by Medallion Press, Inc.
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is a registered trademark of Medallion Press, Inc.
Copyright © 2008 by Cherif Fortin and Lynn Sanders
Cover illustration by Adam Mock
Book design by James Tampa
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.
Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Printed in the United States of America
Typeset in Brioso Pro
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Fortin, Cherif.
Passion’s blood : Cherif Fortin & Lynn Sanders.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-1-60542-062-2 (alk. paper)
1. Middle Ages--Fiction. I. Sanders, Lynn. II. Title.
PS3556.O7494P37 2008
813’.54--dc22
2008024556
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
First Edition
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS:
I would like to thank models Pat Lambke, Beth Orbison, and Dave Spung for their great portrayals of the characters in Passion’s Blood. Their friendship and dedication to the project is sincerely appreciated.
A special ‘hats off’ to my artist/writer/actor/business partner Cherif Fortin for doing more than triple-duty. Cherif, my dear friend, you made the project great fun.
Thanks to my children Laurel, James and Jason who are always cheering me on and to my grand kids Amanda, Eli, Brianna and Mitchell who I love dearly.
And finally, thanks to our loyal fans without whose support and friendship Passion’s Blood would truly not exist.
—Lynn
Although only two names appear on this book’s cover, it takes a team of individuals to create a book like Passion’s Blood.
I would like to thank my beautiful and devoted wife, Dawn, whose love, encouragement, and sense of humor keep me going when otherwise I would surely falter.
Thanks also to our wonderful children Kira, Kai, and Lara. Their cheerful and loving treatment of a sometimes grumpy, preoccupied Dad has earned my everlasting gratitude.
Thanks to Lynn Sanders, who entered my life as a business partner, but over the years has become best friend, confidant, mentor, and part of the family.
Lastly, many heartfelt thanks to Adam Mock, Helen Rosburg, and the professionals at Medallion Press. Your hard work and dedication have been a blessing.
—Cherif
Prologue
Lord Gareth brought his sword down in a mighty arc, cleaving his assailant’s upraised buckler in two and hurling him to his death from atop the palisade. He spat a bloody oath as another of the woad-painted savages, eyes as wild as a mad dog’s, clambered over the merlon.
“Fall back!” Gareth shouted, even as he parried a dagger thrust and brought his blade down. There was the snap of bone and Gareth shouldered the slumping figure back over the wall. “Fall back,” he roared again. “We’ll be hemmed in!”
As if in echo to his words, a thunderous crash shook the fortress and the main gates leading into the yard from the gatehouse cracked, then split from the hinges. The Heldann horde raised a soul-shattering howl of triumph. With a final groan, the gates collapsed and were heaved aside by the tide of Highland warriors. The courtyard flowed crimson as the defenders fell beneath the sheer savagery of the Heldanners, who slew those standing before them with steel, primitive stone, and naked hands and teeth.
Gareth tore his gaze away from the terrible spectacle and moved along with the few of his men who still lived. As they climbed up the north tower stairs, the enemy poured over the walls behind them.
At his side a youth, blood streaming from a gash on his forehead, closed and barred the door. Others piled wood and debris to form what they knew would be but a short-term deterrent.
“Where did they come from? By God, where did they come from?” the lad babbled, eyes wide in total panic.
Gareth seized the coil of mail at the youth’s neck and led him down the stone-lined corridor until he and his remaining men burst into the great hall.
“We’ll make our stand here,” Gareth bellowed with grim determination. His grey beard was spotted with foam, his mail awash with crimson. He wiped a bloody hand across his brow and gestured toward a group of men near the wall.
“You there, barricade the door. The rest of you, clear the center of the hall.”
“This is unnatural, m’lord,” said a dark-haired woodsman who had taken refuge in the fortress and fought as well as any of Gareth’s own. He wiped gore from a long hunting knife. “The tribes this close to the Saber River do not fight in such numbers.”
“They do today, by the blood of the Father,” swore Gareth. Yesterday, men would have laughed at the suggestion of a united Highlands. Today, the disparate tribes were sundering the keep of Gallitain like kindling. “Let us pray our riders made Brimhall.”
He took a quick count of the remaining defenders. Barely a score. Not nearly enough to fight their way out.
A sudden crash resounded through the stone-lined chamber as the Heldanners brought their battering ram to bear against the doors of the hall. Men moved away from the ramshackle barricade of furnishings to the center of the room as the echo of the ram filled the air with a sound like the tolling of a funeral knell. Already the boards were splitting near the edges. With gritted teeth, they awaited the inevitable, none but Lord Gareth daring to speak.
“You’ve done the king proud this day, men,” he said, tightening the fastenings of his shield so it would not slip from his numbed arm. “Let us give these cursed Highlanders a reason to remember the name of Wareham.” He lifted his bloodstained sword to the ready.
When at last the doors shattered and the barricade was forced aside, it was not to the roar of a slaughter-maddened mob, but to a silence infinitely more ominous. Dozens of clansmen, dripping with gore and panting with the exertion of their murderous fury, poured into the hall. Their faces bore wolfish grins and their steel glimmered like moonbeams as they surrounded the last defenders of Gallitain.
From their midst strode a tall and powerful figure, clad in furs and circular plates of steel sewn to a leather jerkin. His dark hair was braided around a face as wicked to behold as the sweep of the notched axe he held in his mighty grasp. His eyes sought and found Lord Gareth and he smiled, licking his lips in some private anticipation too loathsome to contemplate.
“Kill them all,” he said flatly in a voice like the grinding of heavy stones. “But leave their chieftain to me.”
The horde howled and rushed in.
Chapter One
Let’s rest here a moment,” Leanna called, dropping gracefully to the ground and setting her grey mare free to graze in the sweet heather. “I tire of the ride.”
She laughed softly to herself for, in truth, she had another reason for stopping. Running to the edge of a glade that seemed to be fashioned of dark green velvet, she threw herself down in the billowing grass, which was woven with delicate yellow wildflowers and dancing with butterflies. The burble of a brook a short distance away fell like music onto her ears.
Prince Emric smiled when he dismounted, amused that his betrothed moved with such energy though she professed to be fatigued. Although Leanna was ahead of him, it took him only a few strides to catch up with her. He knew this was a game and he was eager to play, for Leanna’s p
assionate nature and independent spirit constantly surprised and delighted him.
Leanna’s back was to him when he reached her, her red hair gleaming in the sun like wild silken ribbons.
He fell to his knees beside her, gently touching her shoulder. She turned to face him, and he saw she had undone her saffron surcoat and loosed the laces of her chemise, allowing her breasts, the color of roses and cream, to be caressed by the warmth of the sun.
Emric slid his arms around her and buried his face in her softness. Lightly he kissed her, teasing her with his lips and tongue. He leaned back to take in his lady, his heart racing at the sight of her delicate, creamy skin. In the past, they had always met in secret, in the shadows of the night when they had only firelight. Today, he rejoiced they could enjoy each other in the wild, open fields, their love lit by the pure golden sunlight.
Leanna flushed with desire as she watched Emric’s eyes drift lazily over her. Helping him with her movements, she let him push the remaining layers of cloth aside. When his hands traveled up her thighs, her hips pushed forward, seeking his body. Smiling, she pressed her palm against his heart, pleased to feel it pounding with desire. Eager to inflame him as she had never done before, she quickly bared his broad shoulders to the sun.
Leanna’s fingers on his skin aroused Emric and while holding her against his chest, he tossed his scarlet cape on the ground beneath them. Carefully, he laid her on the silken bed and arched his body over hers.
He ran his tongue along the seam of her lips again and again until she parted them to allow him entry. Only then were they joined in a deep, passionate kiss.
Gasping for breath, Leanna pulled back, thinking her lover could extract the very life from her with his kisses. She took his face in her hands and combed through his long black hair with her fingers as she stared intently into his smoldering green eyes.
“I am yours, my love,” she sighed. Her lips pursed as a playful urge seized her anew. “You must teach me the ways of a truly sensuous woman. I want to please you like no other.” Her hands traveled down his neck and chest. “Guide me,” she whispered.
Emric’s breath quickened as her hands roamed lower. “Oh, Leanna.” He laughed softly. “You already please me beyond measure.”
Rolling over onto his back, he lifted her above him, guiding her knees forward so that she straddled him. Taking her hands, he kissed her palms. Then he placed them on his belly and guided them lower and lower still.
Leanna shuddered with excitement when she realized he wanted her to caress him. She had touched him before, but only fleetingly and in the heat of passion. Now he was inviting her to explore him.
Slowly, deliberately, she encircled him with her fingers, feeling his warm skin, his shape and hardness. She bent down to him and pressed her lips to his belly.
He moaned and she felt him take her head in his hands and gently urge her farther down his body. As the crisp hair brushed over her mouth, her pulse raced with excitement. Did she dare kiss him there? She wanted this extreme and intimate connection with him.
Emric watched her, his eyes half-closed with passion. With a deep murmur, he pressed his tense body deep into the scarlet fabric beneath him, knowing he was totally in her power.
Leanna heard Emric’s moans and felt the tension beneath her touch. Thrilling to the ecstasy she was building with her mouth and hands, she leaned back to marvel at his beauty.
Grasping the last of his control, Emric drew himself from the edge of release. Reaching up, he cupped her face and, threading his fingers through her hair, brought her sweet lips to his.
“My darling, I must have you,” he breathed against her mouth. He slid his hand between their bodies and touched her.
Leanna moaned when she felt his touch. She buried her face in his neck and submitted to his strength.
Swiftly, Emric rolled over and fitted their bodies together. He closed his eyes and joined them with a movement of his hips. He wanted to go slowly, but his passion spurred him on as he thrust into her. The tension in his loins took his very breath away. His hands on her hips, his body sleek with sweat, he hung for a long moment on the brink of climax.
Leanna’s cry sent him over the edge and he thrust into her shuddering, pulsating body one final time as she convulsed around him.
They lay together as one, their bodies wet against the damp red silk. Even their hair tangled, completing its own mating ritual.
Finally, Leanna laughed, pushing Emric’s wayward locks back from his face. “There you are,” she teased. “Now I can see your handsome face.” She touched the small scar in his eyebrow.
“I need never make love again.” Emric sighed. “This moment was all too perfect, my lady.” His dark lashes veiled the sensual fire in his eyes. He smiled and stretched like a restive lion in the heat of the afternoon sun.
Leanna smiled and held him close. She knew the depth of his passions. It was good to have him home at Brimhall Castle again.
“The date of our betrothal is rapidly approaching, Emric,” she said, propping herself up on one elbow. “I think many a young lady at court will soon have cause to mourn.” She traced a blade of grass over his muscular chest.
He arched a dark eyebrow. While Emric could not deny the occasional liaison, he considered his reputation as a rake to be greatly exaggerated. Truth be told, since their fathers’ announcement of their intentions to join the houses of Kaherdin and Clairemonde by marrying the king’s second son and Gareth’s only daughter, he had remained virtually chaste. Well, he grinned to himself, at least virtually monogamous.
“I must profess my innocence, my lady,” Emric said. “The idleness at court has made me victim of vicious rumors. If anyone will be in mourning, it will surely be the gallant Sir Bracchus.” He traced a single finger down Leanna’s neck and between her breasts. “If I am not mistaken, he holds the distinction of having been your most ardent suitor.”
“Next to you,” she chided. “Sir Bracchus is a dear man and it is not his fault you are so much more charming.”
“And handsome,” he said as his finger continued its journey over her breast.
“And handsome,” Leanna agreed. “And courageous, witty, and oh … so much more dreadfully conceited.”
She watched him shrug his shoulders noncommittally as he laughed. Since the announcement of the intended betrothal, the last year had been a confusing time. Initially, Leanna had been furious over the helplessness of the arranged marriage, but Emric had astonished her by embracing the prospect wholeheartedly and courting her as though the union had been his own idea from the start.
Indeed, she had been flattered at the attentions of the kingdom’s most eligible knight. True, his elder brother would inherit the throne, but nothing, not even a kingdom, could make life with Prince Bran bearable. Emric, on the contrary, was the stuff of every young girl’s fantasy. He was intoxicatingly charming, yet noble hearted. Indomitable, yet gentle. She had grown to love him deeply. So why, she asked herself, did she continue to feel discomfort at the notion of a marriage with this man?
Suddenly she recalled her mother, Ursanne, two summers before her untimely passing. Leanna had never known her so serious as the day they traveled to Yn’ Dunnall in the south of Wareham and entered the ancient circle of stones her mother said was holy. There Leanna first learned of the Ningal, the Gift, practiced for generations by her mother’s people. She heard of the rites of Earth and Sea, and the homage owed the spirits of the Sky, and how at the first sign of the moon’s blood, the women of Leanna’s line came to the sacred stones to recite the oath before the Goddess:
Be true to the Queen of Light. True to Earth and Sea and Sky. Be true to thine own Self besides.
But these were not her beliefs, she reminded herself. She could not even recall the rest of the oath. Why should the words ring true for her now? Her own mother had renounced her Druid order for a life with her father. Be true to thine own Self besides … What would she do, she asked herself, when the time finally cam
e to speak the words and take Emric as her husband?
Despite the delightful games she played with Emric, her trepidation mounted as the time of the betrothal grew closer. She glanced at Emric, who looked as if he were about to fall asleep. He surprised her when he spoke.
“I hope you’re not beginning to doubt me, my dear.”
“Of course not.” She smiled, concealing a sudden pang of guilt. How could she tell him when she scarcely understood the ambivalence herself? She sat up, gathered her clothing, and brushed the wild grass from her hair. Then she stood and walked to her mare, which had wandered only a short way from where she had dismounted.
Emric regarded her quizzically, sensing that something had gone wrong with the mood their union had produced, but uncertain how best to put his concern into words.
“Have I offended you in some way, Leanna?” he asked, as he rose and donned his tunic.
She smiled reassuringly and mounted her horse, then cast a glance over her shoulder. “Not at all … but those storm clouds on the horizon disturb me well enough.”
Emric looked past her at the dark grey band to the west that spread up from the horizon. “We had best make haste for the castle or we’ll be taking our chances with that weather.” When he mounted, she was already urging her horse in the direction of Brimhall.
“Aye,” Emric murmured to himself. He spurred his steed onward to catch up. “Storm clouds, indeed.”
Chaper Two
The keep of Brimhall Castle was alive with anticipation of the Summer Feast. In the courtyard, pages were busy hammering together huge tables to hold the many varieties of food and drink that even now were emerging from the kitchens. Smoke wafted skyward from several bonfires the men had lain to light the revelry long into the night. Giggling young girls roamed the parapets, decorating them with all manner of gaily colored trappings. Nearby, the sound of horns and pipes could be heard as bands of minstrels and jugglers began impromptu performances. No one chose to notice that the good Friar Corbin had yet to return from his inspection of the wine stored in the cellars.
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