Daring Damsels

by Domning, Denise

  Forcing a sultry smile, she murmured, “At last, we can be together.”

  His eyes closed. A sigh shuddered through him, so harsh it seemed ripped from his very soul. “Celeste, leave us.”

  “Aye, milord.” The maid picked up the bowl, and with hurried strides, left the hall.

  Silence settled like a smothering fog. Rexana stared at her fingers, curled into the front of his fine-spun tunic. Fear stabbed through her. “What is wrong?”

  “I wish you did trust me. Above all, you should have told me Garmonn had threatened your life.”

  Fane’s outraged, disappointed tone stirred the loneliness which had lived with her for the past few days. “I could not. He might have killed Rudd.”

  A bitter smile twisted Fane’s mouth. “You told me when I first proposed marriage that you did not love me, and never would. I realize now you spoke true then.”

  “Nay,” she choked out. “I did not realize I would care for you as I do.”

  He caught her elbows and pushed her to arm’s length. “The past days have shown me much, Rexana. Our marriage is not grounded in trust, but deception, a rotten foundation for a lifetime together.” He shook his head, and his words became as rough as grating stone. “I had hoped to win your affection, yet I see that I dreamed of what will never be. I must accept our marriage will be a civilized but empty dance, not one of soul deep meaning, passion, or . . . love.”

  Hurt clawed into the torn, bleeding shell of her heart. “I do love you!”

  Moisture shone in his eyes. “I want to believe you.”

  “Oh, Fane.” Distress racked her, clouding her vision with scalding tears. “You are no barbarian. You are a kind, honorable, and loyal English lord. A man of whom I am very proud. A man I lo—”

  “—have deceived, more than once.”

  “With Rudd cleared, I have no reason left to beguile you.” She pleaded with all the torment churning in her soul. “Please believe me. I love you. I love you!”

  A sound like a sob broke from him.

  He released her. Turned away.

  Wiping tears from her cheeks, Rexana stared at the rigid line of his back. Her womb throbbed with an intimate pain. She craved to kiss him, to prove how much she had missed him over the past difficult days. Yet, that intimacy seemed impossible.

  “My body, heart, and soul are yours. Until the day I die,” she croaked on a ragged whisper. “Tell me what I must do to prove my love, and I will do it.”

  Setting his hands on his hips, he bowed his head. The tunic shifted over his buttocks, and memories wounded her. The slow, wet mingle of lips and tongues. The thrust of his hard, skilled hips. The rush of desire that seemed to burn hotter in her veins now than ever before.

  If she coaxed him, reminded him of all the wonder they had shared and the unhindered future that lay before them, would he come with her to the solar? Could they vanquish the hurts of the past days, to begin their dance anew?

  Stretching out shaking fingers, she touched his shoulder. As he glanced up, his profile taut with anguish, she heard footfalls, then the squeal of a servant coming to a halt. “Milord.”

  Fane swept a hand over his face. “’Tis important, Winton?”

  “Lord Darwell is here.”

  Shuffled footsteps echoed in the hall. Quelling a curse, Rexana turned to see Darwell hurrying toward them, his face sweaty and flushed.

  “Sheriff, I bring important news. I—” Darwell halted, gaped at Rudd slumped at the table, then at her and scowling Fane. “Oh, my. Have I interrupted?”

  As Fane strode toward Darwell, Rexana’s hand listed to her side. Sadness crushed her. How composed Fane appeared after their conversation, while her eyes smarted and her soul seemed to be shattered into a thousand bleeding bits.

  “I am glad you are here,” Fane said, his tone brisk. “I planned to contact you in the morn. There is a matter we must discuss.”

  Darwell grinned like a delighted child, and a shiver tore through Rexana. It seemed he did not know of Garmonn’s arrest.

  What had him so excited?

  “Milord,” he whispered, “that crown secret that you—that I promised to—” With a gasp, he covered his mouth. “I know I vowed not to speak of it, but this eve, a messenger for the king’s minister rode through my gates.”

  Rexana froze, even as Fane said, “Messenger?”

  Darwell nodded. “He said to tell you the king’s minister received the documents you sent. He and his army will arrive at Tangston on the morrow.” Tugging on his beard, Darwell beamed. “The poor messenger looked exhausted from his long ride, so I promised to bring word straight to you.”

  “I see,” Fane said.

  Darwell’s fingers wiggled like fat worms. “Milord, I must know. The visit concerns the crown secret, does it not?”

  A faint flush colored Fane’s cheekbones. “I fear, my friend, there is no crown secret. Never was. The king’s minister has come for Warringham’s traitors. And for Garmonn.”

  “No secr— . . . Garmonn?” The glee drained from Darwell’s face. “My son is in trouble?”

  Rexana fought a stab of pity.

  “Aye.” Fane clapped him on the shoulder. “I will tell you all. I am afraid I must also investigate your involvement in the matter. But first, is there any other news from the messenger?”

  Darwell’s bewildered gaze slid to Rexana. Closing his eyes, he shook his head, and her broken heart clamped into a brutal knot.

  “I am sorry, milady,” he said. “I believe the king’s minister intends to charge your brother with treason.”

  Leaning out of the solar’s window, Rexana stared up at the night sky. Stars, bright as tears, glittered against the inky swath. A breeze whispered up from the bailey, bringing with it music, chatter, and the smells of cooking food. A reminder that down in the great hall, the castle celebrated the visit from the king’s minister.

  She fingered windblown hair from her lips. Part of her celebrated too, rejoicing in the traitors’ capture and her brother’s exoneration. Yet, her wounded soul wept that she had lost Fane’s trust and love, mayhap forever.

  That afternoon, looking tired yet determined, Rudd had presented his box of documents to the king’s men and explained his actions. Fane had also asked Thomas and Lord Darwell to attend. Dressed in his finest clothes, battling an unsteady voice, Thomas had given his account. Afterward, the king’s minister praised his bravery, and awarded him a plot of prime land, at which Thomas flushed with pride.

  Darwell seemed shocked to learn the extent of Garmonn’s treachery. Blubbering into his sleeve, he had disowned Garmonn, affirmed his family’s loyalty to the crown, and offered Thomas a rich payment in compensation for Garmonn’s cruelty.

  Closing her stinging eyes against the breeze, Rexana remembered Fane lauding her brother’s actions. Pride throbbed inside her. Fane had called Rudd a hero. The king’s minister had agreed, absolving Rudd of all suspicion of treason. Rudd was a free man.

  Tears rolled down her cheeks. She had tried to thank Fane, to tell him how she appreciated his words, but he had looked at her with such regret and longing, her words had jammed in her mouth. He seemed determined to keep the emotional barricade between them, for she had seen little of him since Darwell’s arrival yesterday. Fane had not come to bed last eve until very late, as though he had waited until he believed she was asleep.

  Oh, how she loved him! How could she have possibly known that on a night similar to this, when the castle celebrated and she danced for Fane, her life would change forever?

  The doors to the solar clicked open. Drying her face, she turned. Fane entered the chamber, closed the doors, and stared at her. “You are not joining in the celebrations, love.”

  Had he missed her? Her pulse kicked into a foolish patter. “I grew weary, so I decided to retire early. I thought you would be entertaining the king’s minister until dawn’s first blush.”

  “He understood that the past days have been busy for us. Your brother offered to sta
y and drink with him.”

  “Oh.”

  “In truth, I, too, am weary.” Fane’s tormented voice tugged at her bruised emotions, coaxed her to go to him, to plead with him to give their love another try. Yet, before she had taken two awkward steps, he crossed to her. His thumb traced the damp path of her tears, and he shook his head. “Ah, Rexana.”

  Her lips quivered. “Fane.”

  His grave gaze held hers. “I have thought much about our talk yesterday. I once vowed never to let you go. Yet, with the king’s minister here, if you wish to ask for an annulment—”

  “Never!” The refusal flew from her without the slightest hesitation. “I will not forsake you, Fane. I love you.”

  His expression softened. “Are you certain you want our marriage?”

  Smiling through her tears, she nodded. “There is no other man for me. Only you.”

  Relief and pride lit his eyes. “I am glad, wife. For I have come to realize I cannot live without you.”

  Her hands flew to her mouth, and she smothered a gasp.

  “From this day forth, we begin a new round of our dance together—one spun from trust and love. Aye?”

  “Aye!” she cried. “Oh, Fane. How I have missed you.”

  His arms slid around her, drawing her to his broad chest. She inhaled his spicy essence. His potent, male aura surrounded her, filled her, courted the very essence of her being. Joy flared, along with the urge to dance, wild and fast.

  As the music drifting into the chamber quickened, she swayed from side to side.

  “Rexana?”

  She pulled free of his arms. A bemused frown darkened his face. Laughing, she circled him, her strides long and loose, her hips swaying in invitation.

  “You tempt me, little fig?”

  “I do, husband.”

  A growl rumbled in his throat. He reached for her. She twirled out of his grasp. Darted around to stand in front of him. With a gentle shove, she propelled him backward.

  He resisted. She clicked her tongue and shook her head. With a tortured groan, he obeyed. She pushed him to the edge of the bed, then to sitting. The bed ropes creaked.

  As she whirled away, her skirts flaring, his gaze sharpened. “Come here, little dancer.”

  “Not yet.”

  His eyes blazed. “You forget, wife, I was celibate for days. I am starved for you.” He licked his lips. “Ravenous.”

  A wicked thrill ran through her. Spinning in a circle, she reached her hands up to the shadowed ceiling. The familiar cry swirled inside her. Brilliant. Beautiful.

  Dance, Rexana!

  She sucked in a breath, turned, and dipped. She peeked at Fane through her fingers. He watched like a man who could not look away. Like a man seduced.

  Step. Whirl. Step. Sway.

  She spun faster. Faster. Her skirts rustled like dry grass. Yearning, longing, and need spiraled up inside her.

  And then he was there. Catching her in his arms.

  Kissing her with heart-pounding passion.

  Breathless, grinning, she leaned back in his embrace.

  He dropped a final heated kiss on her lips, then lifted her into his arms. He carried her to the bed and laid her on the lion skin spread atop the coverlet. “I love you, Rexana.”

  “I love you.” Her eyes wet with tears, she drew him down beside her. “Let us make a child tonight. A son.”

  “Or a daughter.” He winked. “A wild little hellion like her mother.”

  She giggled and, with a calculated shove, rolled him onto his back. Straddling him, she stared down into his mischievous brown eyes. As she arched her body against him in a teasing, sensual rhythm, he inhaled sharply.

  His hands slid to her gown’s ties.

  “Aye, husband,” she purred. “Let us dance.”

  Award-winning author Catherine Kean has always loved tales of heroic knights and stubborn damsels. Her debut medieval historical romance, Dance of Desire, was the launch title of Medallion Press's Sapphire Jewel Imprint. Dance of Desire won two Reviewer’s Choice Awards, Best Medieval in industry review magazine Affaire de Coeur’s 2006 Reader-Writers’ Poll, and finaled in four contests for published romance novelists.

  Her other medieval romances have also garnered accolades. Among them, My Lady's Treasure won the historical category of the 2008 Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence Contest and finaled in the 2008 Next Generation Indie Book Awards. A Knight’s Reward was a 2008 National Readers’ Choice Awards finalist.

  Catherine also writes contemporary romances under the pseudonym Cate Lord.

  When not writing, Catherine enjoys cooking, baking, browsing antique shops, shopping with her daughter, and gardening. She lives in Central Florida with her husband, daughter, and two very spoiled cats. For details on her novels and upcoming appearances, please visit her website:www.catherinekean.com.

  My Lady’s Treasure

  Bound by His Kiss (Novella)

  Knight’s Series Novels

  A Knight’s Vengeance (Book 1)

  “Kean (Dance of Desire) delivers rich local color and sparkling romantic tension in this fast-paced medieval revenge plot.”—Publishers Weekly

  A Knight’s Reward (Book 2)

  "Ms. Kean has done it again with her talent to capture the reader’s attention with all the elements of a must-read. The opening pages are filled with a wonderful tension that sets the stage for a great story.”—Fresh Fiction

  A Knight’s Temptation (Book 3)

  “… an entertaining medieval romance brimming with sass, action, adventure, and lots of sexual chemistry.”—Booklist

  A Knight’s Persuasion (Book 4)

  “... stirring adventure, superb characters, and enticing heroes. Ms. Kean continues to snag the reader with her fast-paced tales of heroic knights.”—4-1/2 stars, Affaire de Coeur Magazine

  Coming Soon…

  A Knight’s Seduction (Book 5)

  "Part-highwayman, part-adventure romance, this entertaining novel is sure to please both medieval romance readers and anyone seeking a light, captivating adventure. Laurel ODonnell captures the essence of the period as well as the excitement and sheer romance of the Middle Ages." — RT Book Reviews

  “There’s nothing like a wonderfully written romance that includes everything from excitement and intrigue to despair and triumph. Such a novel discourages readers from putting the book down, lest we miss new adventures waiting around the next corner. Laurel O’Donnell has managed to do just that and so much more in the Midnight Shadow.” — The Romance Reader

  “Medieval romance fans will fall in love with this lively battle of wills story. Laurel O’Donnell has crafted a wondrous and captivating story.” —Romantic Times

  “A unique blending of medieval romance and action adventure set this story apart.” — The Grove

  “A book you will not be able to put down once you get started… One of the best novels I have read in a long time.” — Writer’s Club Romance Group

  Midnight Shadow, Copyright © 2011 by Laurel O’Donnell

  www.laurel-odonnell.com

  Published by ODONNELL BOOKS

  ISBN# 978-0-9848895-3-2

  All rights reserved. No part of this romance ebook may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems – except in the case of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews – without permission in writing from its author, Laurel O’Donnell.

  The characters and events portrayed in this historical romance novel are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Apart from well-known historical figures, any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Cover design by Hot Damn Designs!

  England 1415

  “And he brandished his sword above his head, declaring, ‘Tyranny will not be tolerated! All people will be treated fairly!’ With that, the Midnight Shadow whirled away on his horse and disappeared over the horizon.”

  Bria De
laney sat on her grandfather’s lap listening to the beloved tale of her favorite hero, but it couldn’t erase her heartache. She glanced down at her lap and folded her hands. “I wish Father was here,” Bria grumbled.

  “Every man must fight against tyranny in his own way, child.” Harry held Bria close to him. “Your father didn’t want to leave you, but he had to fight beside the King. He is duty bound to the wishes of the crown.” His old, wrinkled hand wiped a tear from her smooth cheek. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and brushed back her curly brown locks.

  “I want to go with him,” Bria said. “I want to fight against tyranny, too.”

  The timbre of her grandfather’s laughter made Bria scowl fiercely. “They are armed men, Bria. What can a child do against an army? No. War is no place for you.”

  Bria crossed her arms and jutted out her lower lip. “I hate the French.”

  Harry chuckled, his entire body shaking. “Most of England does, my dear.” He pulled her against him, hugging her. Then Harry set her on the ground, patting her bottom lightly. “Go. Mary and Garret are waiting for you.”

  “I don’t feel like playing today,” Bria said glumly.

  “Ah, but who knows what grand adventure awaits you? If you brood all day in the castle, you might miss it,” Harry reminded her.

  Bria glanced up at her grandfather’s warm, smiling face. Adventure. That word always seemed to stir her senses and rouse her imagination. The wet smear of tears on her cheeks was quickly forgotten.