Читать книгу Her Dark and Dangerous Lord - Anne Herries, Anne Herries - Страница 7

Stefan, Lord de Montfort, looked down at the body of the woman lying at the feet of her murderer. She had betrayed Stefan, lured him here to meet his death, but instead she lay dead, slain by the man who had once more plotted to destroy Stefan.

‘You are a vile murderer,’ Stefan accused, his eyes hard as he met those of his enemy. He was a strong man, broad in the shoulder and powerful, which is why his enemy had plotted to entrap him rather than meet him in open combat. ‘She did all that you asked and yet you killed her…’ He looked about him, seeking a weapon. He had not brought his sword to the chamber of a lady he thought innocent and so was unarmed.

‘You are her murderer,’ Sir Hugh said, an evil smile on his mouth. ‘For I intend to see you dead, and she had to be silenced. She had served her purpose. Besides, she fell on my sword—which, as you know, was meant for you.’

‘You are a cold devil,’ Stefan said. He was trapped in this house, for Sir Hugh was not alone. Stefan should never have been fool enough to come here alone and unarmed, but the lady Madeline had begged for his help. He saw the open window and knew that it might be his only way of escape. Yet even as he moved cautiously towards it, Sir Hugh lunged at him with his sword, just catching him with a slight slash to his thigh. Stefan dodged back, picking up a wooden stool and using it as a shield to fend off his attacker. Sir Hugh laughed like the demon he was, aware that Stefan was trapped and that he must win this time. ‘I should have finished you the last time we met.’ Sir Hugh bore a scar at his temple that was testimony to the last clash between them many years previously.

‘This time I have the advantage…’ Sir Hugh cried, triumph in his eyes. ‘I have hated you since we were lads and you gave me this…’ He motioned to the scar. ‘Your brother was an arrogant brat and he gave me good sport before I killed him, but you—’

He broke off as the door crashed open and a large man came in. He was dressed in the clothes of a man of the east, his face horribly scarred, a turban on his head, and a wicked-looking scimitar in one hand, a sword in the other.

‘It is as I thought, my lord, she trapped you,’ Hassan said and threw the sword towards Stefan, who caught it neatly by the hilt. Even before he did so, Sir Hugh flung himself at the newcomer, slashing at him with his great sword and roaring his anger.

‘Saracen dog! You should have died long ago!’

Hassan counter-attacked, his deadly blade flashing out in an arc and catching the other man’s sword. With a twist of his wrist he sent the sword skimming across the floor and in the next instant his blade cut Sir Hugh across the body, a deep deadly wound that sent him sprawling to the ground, his lifeblood gushing out in a stream. For some minutes, he twitched, an expression of disbelief in his eyes, and then he lay still.

‘That devil will bother us no more,’ Hassan said, a look of satisfaction in his eyes. ‘He has tortured and murdered for the last time, my lord.’

‘Yes,’ Stefan agreed. ‘You have done what I should have done long ago, Hassan—but now we must leave for his men are coming….’

Stefan advanced to the door, sword in hand. The sounds of fighting would have reached the ears of Sir Hugh Grantham’s men. They would need to fight their way out, side by side, as they had many times before this day, comrades and brothers, their swords for hire to any that would pay them.

Anne Melford stopped to watch the mummers on the village green. The men were a fine sight as they danced, the bells they wore on leather straps about their legs jingling merrily as they jigged to the fiddler’s tune. The summer fair had come to Melford and Lady Melford had promised her daughter that they would buy cloth for new gowns, as was their custom. Normally, that thought would be pleasing, but Anne frowned as she turned away from the celebrations. Since her sister Catherine’s wedding three years earlier, Anne had grown restless at home. Sometimes she despaired of it ever being her turn to visit the court and find a husband. Her parents had talked of it the previous year, but then her young brother had fallen ill and the visit had been postponed. At sixteen years of age it would have been usual for Anne to at least be betrothed by now and she had thought of her marriage constantly for years.

At one time she had believed herself in love with Will Shearer. She had feared Catherine might wed him, but Anne’s sister had fallen in love with Andrew, Earl of Gifford. Anne occasionally visited her sister and brother-in-law and envied them their happiness. She was no longer sure who she wished to marry, for she knew that Will had recently married his mistress, a woman not of his own class. His marriage had made his mother very angry, and at first Anne had been terribly hurt because she had truly believed that he would love her one day. However, her distress had given way to a feeling of emptiness and uncertainty that grew with the passing of time. Perhaps her mother had decided that it would be best if she remained at home. It might be that she would never marry…

As she crossed the village green, Anne caught sight of two men approaching on horseback. It was not an unusual sight, except that one of them was dressed rather oddly in loose flowing robes over his leggings. His head was covered by some kind of cloth, the bottom half of his face hidden. She could see his black eyes and his nose, and noticed that his skin was the colour of polished walnut, as were the hands that held the reins of his horse. The second man was dressed as befitted a nobleman, though not in the English style, and, as Anne moved her curious gaze to him, she saw a fierce, proud, handsome face with eyes as blue as a summer sky. She noticed a dark brown stain on his silken hose and wondered if it were dried blood.

He had become aware of her interest and his gaze narrowed, icy cold and challenging. Anne was startled. What could she possibly have done to make him look at her that way? She felt that he was hostile and shivered, feeling nervous as she hurried on her way. She sensed that the men were strangers to her village and wondered what brought them to this quiet valley in the Marches that lay on the borders of England and Wales.

She was not sure what nationality the men were; one had much lighter skin than the other, but both had a foreign air about them and she did not think that either was English. She wondered if they were Saracens, because one looked as if he came from the East, but what would men like that be doing here? Her father, Lord Robert Melford, sometimes traded with men from other lands, but she did not think they had come from her father’s estate. She would judge that they had travelled some distance for there was dust on their boots, and the dark man’s clothes had been spattered with brown marks that Anne took to be mud—or was it blood?

She thought about the strangers for a few minutes as she made her way through the meadows to her home. The grass was long and sprinkled with wild flowers—it had been left to grow wild and would be cropped for hay later in the year. However, as she entered the courtyard of her father’s manor house she saw that several men on horseback had just arrived, and one of them was her elder brother Harry—or Sir Harry as he was known since King Henry had knighted him after Prince Arthur’s wedding. Sadly, the prince had died only a few months after his marriage. The King’s heir was now Prince Henry and there had been some talk of him marrying his brother’s widow.

Anne’s feeling of boredom vanished as she saw her brother. Harry was some years older than Anne, was Catherine’s twin, and was often at court or on some business for the King. He had not visited for more than six months and Anne’s feeling of boredom vanished as she saw him.

‘Harry! Harry!’ Anne cried, gathering her skirt in one hand so that she could run faster, heedless of the fact that she was revealing a pair of pretty ankles.

Anne was in fact a very pretty young woman. Her hair always turned lighter in the sunshine, and it was presently the colour of ripe corn, lighter than Harry’s dark auburn and their mother’s red tresses. Anne’s eyes were a greenish blue, but often became a deeper green when she was angry, at least her brothers told her so, because they said she had eyes like a cat. Slim, fiery and always eager for life, she had a temper that she was at pains to hide for her mother’s sake.

‘Anne!’ Harry turned towards her with a smile on his lips. He had matured these past years and was now a powerful man, strong and influential at court, too busy to think often of his home and family. ‘You grow more lovely each time I see you.’

‘You hardly ever come home,’ Anne accused, but with a smile on her lips because she was glad to see him. ‘You are too busy with your fine friends at court. Mother said only yesterday that she despairs of you ever settling down.’

‘Then perhaps she will be pleased with my news,’ Harry said and grinned. ‘It is my intention to take a wife quite soon. We shall live at court for a time, but once we have children my lady may wish to live on my estate—and Father will be pleased to learn that I have secured land no more than thirty leagues from Shrewsbury.’

‘Close enough for us to visit you often,’ Anne said and sighed. ‘I am glad you are to wed at last, Harry, but I wish I was betrothed.’

Harry chuckled at his sister’s impatience. ‘What a woeful picture you are, Anne. You are still young enough, never fear. I dare say Father will take you to court before another year is out.’

Anne slipped her arm through his, smiling at him as they went into the house. His men were seeing to the horses and the baggage cart. These days Harry travelled with a train of at least ten men-at-arms and the servants necessary to fetch and carry for them.

‘Sometimes I feel as if I shall be a maid all my life,’ Anne said and pulled a face. ‘But tell me, brother, what is the lady’s name and where does she live?’

‘She is Mademoiselle Claire St Orleans,’ Harry said and gazed down at her, for she reached only as far as his shoulder. Above six foot in height and broad shouldered, Harry was a giant amongst men and very attractive. ‘In truth, I do not know that she will take me. We have met but three times. Once at court, when she attended a masque with her father, and twice in Paris when I was on business for the King. She lives in the Loire valley and it is there that I must journey if I am to ask for her hand in marriage.’

‘She is French?’ Anne was surprised and curious. She wondered what her parents would think about Harry marrying a French lady. ‘And of noble birth?’

‘Her father is a comte,’ Harry told her. ‘She is very beautiful, Anne. Her hair is similar in colour to yours, but her eyes are blue. She has a soft, gentle nature and I love her. I have taken my time in deciding whether or not to ask Claire to be my wife, because she would have to leave her home and come to England to live. I am not sure that she will wish to give up so much for my sake.’

‘If she loves you, she will not think it a sacrifice,’ Anne told him. ‘I would be willing to go anywhere with the man I loved.’

‘Claire is not like you,’ Harry said. ‘You are braver… even reckless, as I remember from your childhood.’

‘She would not have to be brave to marry you,’ Anne said and laughed. ‘If I had a few minutes alone with her, I would soon dispel any fear she might have about becoming your wife…’

Harry nodded, making no answer, but he was thoughtful as they went into the parlour where the sound of voices told them the family was gathered.

‘We should rest,’ Hassan said, glancing at his companion, who had endured his pain without complaint, but looked exhausted. ‘That wound needs to be dressed. It has bled again, my lord.’

Stefan scowled at him. A more faithful friend than Hassan was not to be found in all the kingdoms of Christendom, though he be a Saracen and an unbeliever. They had fought shoulder to shoulder as mercenaries for ten years or more, bound by blood and friendship since Stefan had rescued Hassan from the slaver who had beaten and tortured him.

‘I have known worse,’ he growled, cursing the foolish moment that had led him to trust a lying woman. Undoubtedly, he owed his life to Hassan’s timely intervention. ‘Women are the devil incarnate, Hassan. Remind me of that next time I am minded to answer a woman’s plea for help.’

Hassan grinned, his teeth white against the walnut tones of his skin. Looking at the top half of his face, none could guess at the fearful scars to the lower part… scars inflicted by Sir Hugh many years ago when he had for a short time been the man’s slave.

‘Devils in truth, my friend,’ Hassan agreed. ‘But sweeter than honey amongst the silken cushions of thy couch.’

Stefan’s eyes narrowed as he thought of the beautiful woman who had enticed him to her chamber with tales of a cruel uncle. He had not known then that the man she spoke of as holding her to ransom was Sir Hugh and that she had conspired with him to capture a man it seemed they both hated. He knew there were reasons enough for Sir Hugh’s hatred, but could not guess at the reason for Madeline’s need to wreak revenge on him. It was doubtful if he would ever discover it now since she lay dead on the floor of her chamber, slain by the man who had enlisted her help. Yet he had played a part in her death, for he had thrown her towards Sir Hugh as he sought to escape the man who meant to kill him. He thought that he would never forget her scream as Sir Hugh’s sword sliced into her stomach. Even though she had tried to trap him, he would never intentionally harm a woman, and her violent death would lay heavy on his conscience.

‘Sweeter than honey, sharper than a serpent’s tooth,’ Stefan agreed. ‘Thanks to you, Sir Hugh will not trouble us again, but he has a cousin.’ Hassan nodded—they both knew that it was probably Lord Cowper who had ordered Stefan’s death. ‘Sir Hugh’s death will add one more reason to the list he has for wanting me dead.’

‘It is a pity that the English King would not grant you a hearing, my lord,’ Hassan said as Stefan dismounted. ‘Had he done so, you might have revealed Cowper for the murdering devil he has become.’

‘When my father disowned me, I swore I would never return to England’s shores,’ Stefan said. ‘I left vowing never to forgive him for believing Cowper’s lies. My father trusted him and now Cowper has all that was my father’s and he lies rotting in the churchyard. I have his title, for none can take that from me, but his lands are lost, stolen by trickery and deceit. Had I returned years ago, I might have saved my father from the evil trick that was played on him in his declining years. As his mind descended into blackness they took everything he had, though they have deeds and letters to prove the land was sold and the money lost in foolish ventures. Answer me this—whose was the hand that guided an old man’s as he squandered his birthright?’

‘Lord Cowper gained too much influence over your father,’ Hassan said. ‘We have the testimony of Lord de Montfort’s steward, who was later dismissed for some wrongdoing and left to starve.’

‘Edmund would never have stolen even half a loaf from my father,’ Stefan said. ‘But Cowper is a clever man. He found it easy to convince my father that I had murdered my brother in cold blood. I found Gervase lying in the forest with his hands bound and his throat cut. I know it was either Sir Hugh or Cowper himself who murdered my brother, but because Gervase and I had quarrelled violently that very morning, my father chose to believe I was guilty. He disowned me, told me to leave England or he would hand me over to the King for justice. If he would believe that of his eldest son, how much easier was it to convince him that his steward had been robbing him for years?’

A nerve was flicking at Stefan’s temple. The injustice that had been done him when he was a young man still rankled deep inside him. He had taken his sword and a horse when he rode away from his home at the edge of the great forest of Sherwood, finding a ship bound for France. From there he had travelled to many lands, hiring his sword to any merchant or prince that would take him. He had grown rich on the spoils of war, and it was not for money that he had returned to England. His hope of reconciliation with his father had ended with the news of his death, and the discovery that Lord Cowper now owned everything that ought by rights to have been Stefan’s.

His request for an audience with King Henry had been denied. His reputation as a mercenary had gone before him and his claims were dismissed without due hearing. His father had disowned him and Cowper had the deeds to the land and house, signed and witnessed by a man of impeccable character—Sir Hugh Grantham. How King Henry would have felt if he had learnt that during his years on a so-called pilgrimage to the Holy Land, Sir Hugh had murdered, raped and lived as a slaver, growing rich on his ill-gotten goods, would never be known for the words would never now be heard. Even more damning might be the suspicion that Sir Hugh was in the pay of Spain and therefore an enemy of England. Since the death of Queen Isabella, relations between England and Spain were not as warm as they had once been.

Stefan knew that his accusations of murder and trickery would fall on deaf ears once he was refused a private audience with Henry of England. Indeed, the English estate meant little to him, for he now owned a beautiful chateau and extensive lands in Normandy, much of which had been granted to him by the French king in return for a large payment of gold and silver. It was the bitterness of knowing that his father had died neglected and mistreated, and the way he had been driven from his birthright by wicked lies that gnawed at Stefan’s guts and made him thirst for revenge.

Stefan was thoughtful as he dismounted. One of his enemies was now dead, but the other remained, as vicious as a poison adder and twice as dangerous. It would not be so easy to get to Lord Cowper, for he stayed within the confines of his manor house, protected by an army of servants and armed men, afraid of the vengeance that threatened while Stefan lived and breathed. His attempts to have his enemy murdered would only become more determined now that Sir Hugh was dead.

Stefan squatted down on the earth, his back to a tree as Hassan examined the wound, applying salves that had been made by skilled men of Arabia. A fierce fight had ensued during their escape from the house, during which Stefan had received a wound to his side, which pained him far more than the scratch to his thigh inflicted by Sir Hugh.

‘You will do for a few hours,’ Hassan said as he bound him tightly, ‘but the wound should be tended by a physician.’

‘I would trust none in this country; the physicians here are ignorant and hidebound by conventions,’ Stefan muttered, gritting his teeth against the pain. ‘We must go home to France, Hassan. I cannot fight in this condition. We need more men and we must be careful. The law here protects Cowper. I want him to pay for his crimes, but I have to find a way to prove his guilt. I must have incontrovertible proof and I must find someone who stands high in the King’s favour to present it—or at least to help me gain a hearing at court.’

‘Aye, but first we must make our way to the coast and find a ship,’ Hassan said. ‘You will rest better at home in Normandy. Once you are healed, we can find a way to take revenge for what has been done here.’

‘I want justice for my father’s shade,’ Stefan said. ‘Otherwise his face will haunt my dreams. Sir Hugh is dead, and I believe it was he who murdered my brother, but it is Cowper that has my father’s lands.’ His eyes were as cold as the North Sea. ‘I swear by all I hold dear that he shall pay with his life one day…’

Anne heard her father’s voice as she paused outside his chambers. She knew that Harry was with him and they had been talking for a long time. Lord Melford would be delighted with the news that his son had decided to marry, but would he be as pleased with the revelation that the bride was French?

Anne knocked at the door and was invited to enter. Her father looked at her as she did so, his brows lifting. ‘Your mother has sent you to fetch us to table, I dare say?’

‘Yes, Father. Mother says that supper is ready, and she wants to talk to Harry.’

‘In other words, I have kept you too long to myself, Hal,’ his father told him with a smile. ‘We must not keep Lady Melford waiting another second. She will want to hear all you can tell her about the lovely lady you intend to ask to wed you.’

Anne realised that her father was happy with the marriage. He did not mind that the lady Claire St Orleans was French, and that pleased Anne, for she would not have wished her brother to be disappointed.

Lord Melford’s eyes came to rest on his daughter. ‘As for you, miss, your brother has made a request of me that I am minded to grant, but we must ask your mother first. She may not agree that you should go with Harry to fetch the lady Claire home to us.’

‘Go with Harry?’ Anne’s pulses leaped with excitement as she looked at her brother. ‘Do you mean it? May I truly come to France with you?’

‘Father has given his permission if Mother agrees,’ Harry told her and grinned. ‘I thought it might be a good thing if Claire met someone from my family, someone who thinks well of me and will reassure her that I am to be trusted. Otherwise she might refuse me.’

‘Oh, Harry, thank you,’ Anne cried, her excitement bubbling over. ‘I should like that so very much.’

‘Well, we must ask your mother first,’ Lord Melford said, but with an indulgent look. ‘Had circumstances not interfered, you would have been taken to court at least once before this, Anne. It may do you good to see something of the world outside this house and our village. We have excellent neighbours, but few young men of your age. It is possible that you may meet someone in Harry’s company. On your return from France, you will go with him to London, and make your long-delayed appearance there. Lady Melford and I will come up to join you. We shall all return here for the wedding.’

Anne’s smile lit up her eyes. It was all she had longed for—an adventure that would take her somewhere far away from her home. To visit London had once been the extent of her dreams, but France conjured such pictures in her mind, though she had little to go on except for stories that Harry sometimes told her about the French court. He was one of King Henry’s trusted courtiers and had visited several countries in his Majesty’s service. She knew that he spoke both French and Spanish fluently, so perhaps it was not surprising that his choice had fallen on a French lady.

‘It is so good of you to take me, Harry,’ she told him excitedly. ‘You are the very best of brothers!’

‘I hope you will tell Claire that,’ Harry said. ‘I have gifts for both you and Mother in my saddlebags. It is as well that the fair is coming tomorrow, for you will need a new gown before we leave, Anne.’

‘When are we to leave?’ Anne asked.

‘In three days,’ her brother replied. ‘I have a month before I need to return to court. I know that Henry has further work for me soon, but he has granted me leave to visit my home and to fetch my bride home…if she will have me. I shall need to spend time at Claire’s home, and if we marry I shall wish some time alone with her before I return to my duties, so the sooner we start our journey, the better.’

‘How could she refuse you?’ Anne asked. She was surprised and thrilled that her brother wanted her to accompany him. ‘When I tell her how kind and generous you are, she will be happy to wed you.’

It was as they returned home from the fair that afternoon that the news came to Melford of a terrible murder in Shrewsbury.

‘Lady Madeline Forester and her uncle, Sir Hugh Grantham, were brutally slain,’ Lord Melford told his family when they gathered that evening. ‘Sir Hugh’s men tried to stop the murderers escaping and they wounded one, but unfortunately the rogues escaped.’

‘That is awful,’ Melissa said, her eyes dark with shock as she looked at her husband. ‘When did this terrible thing happen?’

‘It must be two days gone,’ Rob replied.

‘And do they know the names of these evil men?’

‘The messenger did not say. Apparently one was dark-skinned, perhaps a Saracen, from the east certainly, and the other might have been Spanish or French. He did not look English, I am told, but that might mean anything.’

‘I did not care for Sir Hugh,’ Melissa, said frowning slightly. ‘But the lady Madeline was pleasant enough, though I have met her but once. Her elder sister died tragically by her own hand some years ago I believe. There was some story of her having been with child.’

‘She was to be betrothed to Gervase de Montfort,’ Rob said. ‘Few knew of the arrangement, for I believe it was not spoken of—and he was murdered. Some say by his own brother, though I have always wondered if there was some mystery there. However, Stefan de Montfort left England and the scandal was hushed up. He would be Lord de Montfort since his father’s death, of course, though there is nothing left of the estate. Lord Cowper purchased it when the old man lost his fortune.’

‘That is a sad story, Father,’ Anne said and shivered. ‘And now the lady Madeleine has been murdered and her uncle with her…who could do such a terrible thing?’

‘It may have been robbers,’ Rob replied. ‘I do not know of anyone living locally that answers the description of the men involved. Perhaps they were just passing through. I doubt that it would have been local men.’

Anne remembered the two strangers she had seen on the day of Harry’s arrival. She wondered if she ought to mention them to her father but decided against it. Even if they were the men who had murdered the lady Madeline and her uncle, they would be long gone by now, and she could not be certain that they had been anywhere near Shrewsbury…though they had seemed to come from that direction. She decided to say nothing. If the travellers had passed through it was best if they went unheeded and were never seen again, for if they had brutally murdered a lady and a knight, they would murder anyone else who got in their way.

The seamstresses had sat up all night to finish Anne’s new gown, which was made of a dark emerald green silk and became her well. She would not wear it on the journey but keep it for when they arrived at the Comte’s chateau in France. It was packed into her trunk with all her very best things and was on the baggage cart, which had started out some hours earlier so as to be at the arranged meeting place by the time they arrived.

Anne hugged her mother excitedly, thanking her for allowing her to accompany Harry to fetch his bride home. It was such an adventure, for she would go to court when she returned to England and who knew what might happen then? She might even meet a handsome young man in France!

‘Be mindful of your brother and remember your manners,’ Melissa said as she kissed Anne’s cheek. ‘You are sometimes inclined to be hasty, dearest, though I know you have a good heart.’

‘I promise I shall do all that you would wish,’ Anne said, her lovely face serious. She had never been parted from her mother in her life and realised that she would miss her and her young brother. ‘I shall do nothing that would make either you or Father ashamed of me.’

‘I know that you have oft thought of marriage, but be careful where you give your heart,’ Melissa said. ‘I was fortunate to find your father, and Catherine is happy with Andrew. I would wish for you to be as fortunate in your marriage, my love.’

‘I shall heed your warning, dearest Mother,’ Anne promised. ‘I thought once that my heart was given, and that he would ask me to marry him one day—but it was not to be and I shall be careful in future.’

Anne’s groom came forward then to help her mount her palfrey. She realised that Harry was waiting and she broke away from her mother. Her eyes were moist as she waved goodbye to them; parting was harder than she had anticipated. However, after they had been riding for a few hours the shadows passed and her excitement began to mount once more.

That night they stopped at an inn that Harry had frequented before and the rooms were the best the host had to offer. Anne’s maid had accompanied them and she slept on a truckle bed beside the bed where Anne lay, the sound of her snores keeping her mistress awake for a while.

When Anne awoke her maid was still snoring gently.

Anne slipped from the bed and looked out of the window. She was in time to see two men on horseback; they were leaving and had obviously stayed overnight, though she had seen nothing of them—it had been late when they arrived and she had gone straight to her chamber. There was something familiar about the travellers, but it was not until some minutes later that she remembered the strangers who had come to her village. The man who looked as if he might be from the East—and the man who had looked at her so coldly!

Were they wicked murderers? Anne shuddered as it occurred to her that they might all have been slain as they slept, but then common sense returned. She was still alive and as far as she knew no one else had been attacked during the night. The travellers might be quite innocent and it was a good thing that she had not spoken to anyone about her suspicions.

They continued their journey after they had broken their fast in the inn parlour. All seemed peaceful and the host was as cheerful and friendly as the previous night. Clearly no evil deeds had been done here and Anne put the two men out of her mind. She was too interested in looking about her on the road for she had never been this way before.

When they reached the port on the third day, Anne was glad to see the inn where they would stop for the night. She was not used to so much riding, and, though she would not have confessed it to her brother, her back ached and she was weary. The hour was too late to see much, but the tall masts of a ship were visible in the small harbour. Despite her weariness as she sought her bed that night, Anne was once again excited. She had never been on a ship before and she felt that it would be a true adventure.

‘If you feel a little ill at first, you must not mind it,’ Harry told her before they parted that night. ‘Many people are seasick, Anne, but if we have good weather it should not be too bad. It is only if the sea becomes really rough that the effects are truly unpleasant.’

‘I hope I do not feel sick, because I want to spend as much time on deck as I can,’ Anne told her brother, eyes bright with enthusiasm. ‘I have never been to the sea, Harry, but I love the smell of it already. I cannot wait for the morning.’

‘Well, we must break our fast at six, for the tide leaves at seven.’ Harry smiled at her. ‘Sleep well, sister. Never fear that I shall fail to wake you.’

Anne thanked him, then left straight for bed. She fell asleep quickly, for she was tired.

She was awake at dawn and dressed when he came to knock at her door. She opened it to him and smiled, eager to begin the next part of their journey. Surely being carried over the sea in a ship must be less tiring than riding a horse for so many leagues?

Watching all the people going on board was interesting. The cargo was being loaded as they arrived, bales of good English wool that would be sold in France and traded for lace, French wines and other goods. Anne was reluctant to go below to their cabin, but Harry insisted it would be safer for her until they were underway. The ship’s crew was busy and passengers would only be a nuisance until they had cleared the harbour.

Anne went down to the cabin she had been allocated for the voyage. It seemed small and airless and she felt restless until the ship began to move and Harry told her that she could come up on deck.

‘Sailors are sometimes superstitious about women on board,’ Harry told her as they stood on deck and watched the shores of England receding into the distance. ‘I thought it best you should stay below until we were under sail, because with all the activity on deck accidents can happen. Mother would never forgive me if you were hurt, Anne.’

‘Why should anything happen?’ Anne asked and laughed, because she was feeling so pleased with life. The sea was calm and the sky above their heads was a beautiful azure blue. ‘It was so good of you to bring me, Harry. I love being at sea. Everything is so exciting!’

‘We are fortunate in the weather,’ Harry said and glanced up at the sky. ‘I heard one of the sailors say he expected a storm before nightfall, but I cannot believe it when the sky is so blue.’

‘A storm?’ Anne asked and shook her head. ‘I am sure he is mistaken, Harry. It is a lovely summer day— how could there be a storm?’

Anne wondered how it was possible for the weather to change so fast. One minute the skies had been clear blue, and then clouds started to drift across the sky; small and fluffy at first, they gradually became one mass of grey. As the afternoon wore on the wind began to rise and the sea became much rougher, the waves rising higher and higher so that by the time the light faded the ship was being tossed about like a child’s toy in a giant’s hand.

Most of the passengers had gone below to their cabins, and Anne had seen several of them being sick over the side of the ship. She wondered if it would affect her, but she seemed to be immune to the sickness that others were suffering.

‘Do you not think you would be better below?’ Harry asked when the storm worsened and the spray came right over the sides of the ship.

Anne shook her head. The wind whipped her hair about her face and she could taste the salt spray on her lips, but she found the storm exhilarating. She looked beautiful, a recklessness about her that made her brother laugh.

‘I would prefer to stay here if I may,’ she said. ‘It is so stuffy and cramped in my cabin, Harry. I think I should be sick if I had to stay there. I should like to remain on board for as long as possible.’

Harry looked at her doubtfully. ‘I am not sure it is wise,’ he said as a huge wave came rushing towards the ship. He grabbed his sister and held her as the water came over the side of the ship, knocking it sideways so that some cargo that had been lashed down with ropes broke free and began to slide towards them. ‘We should go below…’ He pulled Anne clear of the loose cargo, but one of the ropes caught him, knocking him to the ground. He went sliding towards the side of the ship. Anne screamed and ran after him, thinking he would be swept overboard.

‘Harry…’ she cried. ‘Harry…’

Harry grabbed an iron hook that was used for securing ropes and held on to it as yet another mountainous wave came towards them. The ship was thrown to one side, listing heavily as it took water on board. Anne was caught mid-deck and the force of the wave knocked her off her feet. She was swept across the deck by the water that rushed over the ship, knocking her head against something hard and falling into blackness as the water claimed her.

‘Anne… Oh, my God, Anne,’ Harry cried as he struggled to his feet. He shouted for help as he ran to the side where he had last seen his sister, peering into the darkness. There were wooden crates and other debris from the ship floating in the water, for the storm had taken one of their masts. ‘Anne…Anne…’ Harry peered over the side in desperation, searching for a sight of her. ‘Help! Man overboard!’

Most of the sailors were too busy fighting the storm as it played havoc with their vessel to heed his cry, but one young sailor came to join him at the rails.

‘I saw her go,’ he told Harry. ‘The force of the water took her over and she must have hit her head. She probably went down, and if she didn’t we’ll never find her in this. She is lost…lost to the sea.’

‘No! She can’t be lost,’ Harry said. ‘We have to find her. We have to get her back. She is my sister. My parents will never forgive me.’ He gave a cry of despair and put his foot on the rail as if he would jump into the sea after Anne. ‘I have to find her.’

‘Stop him!’ the young sailor cried. ‘It’s no use, sir. She’s gone…you’ll never find her.’ He grabbed hold of Harry, struggling to stop him from throwing his life away by jumping in after his sister. ‘Help me…’ he cried and a couple of sailors came to his assistance. Seeing that Harry was out of his mind with worry and would not be subdued, one of them grabbed a baton and struck him on the back of the head so that he slumped to the deck. ‘What did you do that for?’ the young sailor asked.

‘He’ll be better below deck until the storm is done. There’s nothing to be done for the wench now. He should have taken her below before the storm reached its height. We haven’t time to bother with this now or we’ll all end up at the bottom of the ocean. The girl is lost—forget her and get about your work or you’ll feel the bosun’s lash!’

The storm had gone as if it had never been. Driven south by the furious winds, the French ship, Lady Maribelle, had headed for shelter as soon as it struck and ridden out the worst of the weather. Now it was putting out to sea again, making its way up the coast to Normandy. Hassan was on deck, staring out towards the coastline. He was one of the first to see the debris tossed by the still-choppy water. He shaded his eyes with a hand, because after a storm like the one the previous night it was not unexpected that a ship might have been capsized and sunk. He shouted to one of the crew and pointed, and others came crowding to the side of the Lady Maribelle, staring at what was possibly the wreckage of a ship. It was obvious that some cargo had been lost and part of a mast.

‘What is that?’ Stefan asked as he caught sight of what looked like a half-clothed body. ‘Man overboard! There is someone caught in the debris.’

Excited voices echoed his discovery and the decision was made to put a boat over the side. They all knew that whoever was in the sea was more likely to be dead than alive, but every man jack aboard was more than willing to help in the recovery. They lived by the sea and sometimes died by it, and if there was a small chance that the man in the water was alive they would do their best for him, because one day it might be one of them.

Hassan and Stefan joined the volunteers. Six more of the crew went with them as the boat was lowered and cast off. It took only a few minutes to reach the debris, and as they drew close silence fell over the men, as it became apparent that the body was that of a young woman. The sea had torn much of her clothing away from her, and only a thin shift covered the bottom half of her body, her breasts exposed to their eyes and the elements.

Stefan leaned over the side of the boat, slipping into the water to grab hold of the body. Her limbs had become entangled with the ropes attached to the mast and it was this that had kept her afloat. He cut her free with his knife and then dragged her back to the boat, where eager hands reached out to haul her on board.

‘Is she dead?’ one of the sailors asked. ‘Poor lass.’

‘I’m not sure,’ Stefan said. ‘I think one of her hands twitched as I cut her free. Hassan, give her your cloak, please. Cover her for decency’s sake, whether she be alive or dead.’

Hassan did as Stefan asked, wrapping the thick, soft material about her. As he did so her eyelids flickered and her lips moved, though no sound came out.

‘Allah be praised,’ Hassan cried. “Tis a miracle that the waters did not claim her.’

‘Had it been winter, she could not have survived the night in these waters,’ Stefan said. ‘We must get her back on board as swiftly as possible, for she may yet die if we do not bring back some warmth to her body.’

The sailors made a murmur of agreement. Women were often considered to be unlucky on board ship, but no one grudged the poor lass her chance at life.

‘The Seagull, that be the name of the ship that was lost,’ one of the sailors said as he caught sight of some writing on one of the chests. ‘I cannot see any other survivors nor yet more bodies. Mayhap they were swept further down by the tide.’

‘We’ll keep an eye out,’ one of the sailors said. ‘But the woman comes first. She clings to life, but only God can save her now.’

Stefan looked at Hassan, shaking his head as he saw the unspoken protest. Sailors were simple folk and superstitious enough without making them suspicious. If Hassan told them that the woman would live if she were properly cared for, they might think him a dealer in the black arts, especially because of his looks.

‘I shall care for her,’ Stefan said. They would not deny him—he was a nobleman and respected in the country he had made his own. ‘I saw her first and I claimed her from the sea, therefore she is my responsibility. If she still lives when we reach shore, I shall take her to my home. If she recovers, she will need help to return to her home, wherever that may be.’

Stefan was helped to carry the young woman’s body up the rope ladder, and more hands reached down to lift her on to the deck. Some of the sailors crossed themselves as they looked down at her. Wrapped in Hassan’s cloak, it was possible only to see her face and her hair, which was a dark blonde and soaked with salt water. Her skin was pale, her lips blue and yet her eyelids flickered and her lips moved slightly, proving that she was still alive.

“Tis a miracle…’

‘Or the devil’s work,’ one sailor said and crossed himself again. ‘How is it possible that she survived a night like that in the sea?’

‘She was caught by ropes and the broken mast kept her head above water,’ Stefan said. He bent down and gathered the unconscious woman into his arms. ‘I shall take her to my cabin until we make land.’

Below in the cabin, which was the best on board, Stefan laid the woman on his bed. He looked at Hassan over his shoulder as he followed him into the room.

‘We must get her out of what remains of her clothing and wrap her in as many blankets as we have. I have some strong brandy wine in my sea chest. When we have her dry and warm, we shall give her some. Once we are home, Ali will help her—but she may not survive the journey.’

‘It is fortunate that we found her in time,’ Hassan said. ‘Allah must have meant it, for otherwise we should have passed her by. He has given her to us, my lord. From now on her life is in our hands.’

‘As Allah wills it?’ Stefan shot him a suspicious look. ‘Yet you would have denied them earlier, for I saw it in your face.’

‘They are ignorant fools, for they would do nothing to help her. Allah has sent her to us, but her fate is in our hands; if we did nothing, left her to live or die as God wills it, as they would given the chance, she would die.’

Stefan’s face was harsh as he bent over the young woman. He rubbed her skin with a drying cloth until she felt dry to the touch and some warmth started to come back to her body, and then he wrapped her in every blanket and cloak he could find. He would not argue with Hassan on the subject of religion, for he did not believe in God. Once he had been Christian, but now he had his own faith, which was to give justice for justice and hurt for hurt. He had been forced to live by the sword and he knew that in time he would die by it. There was no room for softness or religion in his life. However, he was not a cruel man and he did not take life without good cause. He had pulled this young woman from the sea more alive than dead, and he would do all he could to make her live.

Harry came to himself to find a young sailor bending over him. He groaned because his head ached. For a moment he could not think what had happened to him, and he stared at the sailor blankly.

‘What happened to me?’

‘Someone hit you as we struggled to stop you jumping into the sea last night,’ the sailor said. ‘You would have gone after her, sir, and it was hopeless. She must have gone down like a stone when she hit the water, for there was no sign of her.’

‘Anne!’ Memory came flooding back. Harry sat up in alarm, his aching head forgotten as a deeper pain took hold. ‘My sister…she was swept overboard by a huge wave and I could not help her. What have I done? My father will blame me and he will be justified; I should have taken better care of her. She wanted to stay on deck while the storm raged, because she thought it exciting, but I should have made her go below. She is lost and I am at fault.’

‘No one could have seen it coming,’ the sailor said. ‘We rode the storm out because we headed inshore and sheltered for the night, but for a while it was touch and go whether the ship went down. Had your sister been below she would then have gone down with the vessel, as many others would. You were as safe on deck as anywhere until those freak waves hit us. If that had not happened, your sister would not have been swept overboard.’

Harry shook his head. He felt stunned, racked with guilt and despair at the thought of his younger sister going to a watery grave. He wished that the sailors had not stopped him going into the sea. At least he could have searched for her, made certain that there was no hope of her being found alive.

Harry wished that he had not thought of bringing Anne with him. He had forgotten how dangerous the sea could be for the unwary. But the waves had been so huge. Harry had never experienced anything like it himself, though he had been to sea many times. Who could have imagined that a summer storm could come from nowhere and be so fierce? It was a miracle that the ship had survived! He knew that if he had not been lucky enough to catch hold of that iron ring himself he, too, would have been swept into the raging sea.

He would rather it had been him than his lovely sister! Harry had not been as close to Anne as to his twin Catherine, but he had loved her—he still loved her and mourned her. He was not sure how he would find the strength to go on with his purpose. How could he court Claire when his heart was so heavy?

Harry had written to her father and was honour bound to complete his journey to the Comte’s chateau. Yet if there was even a slight chance that Anne might have survived he would leave no stone unturned to find her. Occasionally, sailors were pulled alive from the wreckage of a ship, but Anne was a frail girl. It was unlikely that she could survive a night in the cold waters of the Channel.

If there were any chance that Anne had been plucked from the sea, dead or alive, he owed it to her and his family to discover it. He would set agents to search from port to port. He held little hope that she would be found alive, but, if her body had chanced to be washed on shore, he could at least make sure that she was decently buried.

Harry’s grief lay over him like a dark cloud. He knew that the news would also sorely grieve his parents, and he was not certain whether it would be best to write at once and send the letter back to England with the ship or wait.

Perhaps it would be best to wait for a while. If her body could be found, he might at least offer some comfort that she had been properly buried. However, it was more likely that she was lost at sea and nothing remained. No doubt their family would want to mourn her and hold a service of remembrance, but that was for the future. Harry would leave no stone unturned in the hope of news of Anne, though he knew it must be a hopeless cause.