The Viper Queen

The Viper Queen By

Charissa Ruechel Triskelion Publishing www.triskelionpublishing.net

Triskelion Publishing 15327 W. Becker Lane Surprise, AZ 85379 First e Published by Triskelion Publishing First e publishing October 2006 ISBN 1-933874-84-8

Copyright 2006 Charissa Ruechel All rights reserved. No portion 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 retrieval and storage system without permission of the publisher except, where permitted by law.

Ebook and cover design Triskelion Publishing.

Publisher’s Note. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to a person or persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental.

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Dedication For Alan - You're my own personal warrior. Forever and a day… and Jenn, Meme, Karen, Kitta and Livvy – Thanks for telling me to quit wasting my time. This is your fault and I love you for it.

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Chapter One Late Spring, 1316 Lisandra sank against the nearest pillar, her legs feeling as wobbly as a newborn calf’s. Blood dripped into her eyes and she raked it away with a harsh swipe of her hands. The bright red staining her hauberk and her skin was not her own. Not on her face at least. Hers trickled from a small slash on her thigh. Dead. Her opponent lay in a heap never to stand and raise his sword to a foe again. He was the next in line and she prayed the last. The last of his life’s fluids oozed from the fatal wound on his neck, slowed now by a still heart and cooling body. The trembling began in earnest. The purposeful surge of energy and strength that possessed her during the battle blew from her body on the winds of finality. Battle to the death, winner take all. Her arms now hung limply at her sides, unable to raise them to seize anything more than a hand offered to raise her to her feet. There would be none. In the squared courtyard surrounded by the crumbling walls of the castle, every occupant remained hidden, afraid to press forward and face the woman warrior. She’d arrived with a roar, tossing her sanctioned challenge to the laird of the keep. Hours later, they spied her staring numbly at the lifeless form she cut down with a hard strike to the thick flesh of his neck. Those who would soon be under her rule knew nothing of why the battle raged. The strange woman swept in on a restless chestnut steed, clad in manly armor, put forth her demands and took the life of the master those in the confines of Hawkesheath might never mourn. Hidden eyes watched as the woman groped for her sword and wrapped a hand around the hilt. It served as a crutch to help raise her to her legs and keep her standing. “Come forth.” Her voice echoed through the stony yard. “I’ve no quarrel with any who face me. My fight was with the one who lies dead here.” Moments later, men, women and children trickled from their hiding places to spy a closer look at the woman with heather colored eyes, resembling an avenging angel. Lisandra saw the wariness in their expressions and understood. If her nature hadn’t twisted to the dark and defensive state it was in at present, she would have feared the sight of one like her as well. “He’s dead. By royal decree, my family and I will be taking over residence in this keep. I offer no challenges to any here save those who would defy that rightfully won by me. Any who wish it may face my blade when I return.” She cast each and everyone a warning look as she walked to her mount. Exhaustion reigned heavy in her body and soul but she mounted her horse, prepared for the long ride back to her own family. “I shall return in 5 days with my kin. See to it he receives a proper burial.” She swept a hand in the direction of her enemy. “Even the beast that he was, he deserves a place in the ground but that is up to you and yours here.” Digging her booted heels into the flanks of her mount, she rode from sight, leaving the residents of the castle to do what they wished until her return. Her family would be pleased at the turn of the tides. She had garnered them a fairly sturdy roof over their heads and a place to call home, yet she felt little joy in her deed. Each death blow she struck tore away another piece of goodness in her soul. Where once stood a young woman of beauty and grace, all that remained was a

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sword and the beginnings of a guilty conscience. No amount of jewels and satin could return the femininity she sacrificed in defense of her family’s honor and survival. Pressing her heels harder into the sides of her horse, she rode on at full gallop. She would deliver the news to her grandfather and her sisters. When it was done, she would take a long bath to clean the stain of blood and death from her body. Perhaps with a clean body, she hoped, God would forgive her stained soul. ***** Lisandra cringed and spat out a curse. “Does this garment have to be so tight?” Maire and Cassandra giggled while Aisley tugged the material tighter at the front to button it. “It would serve no purpose but trouble if your bosom spilled from its confines.” Aisley scolded on her last tug. “My very lungs will be all that spill in a moment you cruel wench.” Lisandra took in a small breath and let it out slowly, praying it would quell the dizziness beginning in her head. “One cannot breathe properly in these garments.” “One cannot act a lady in the trews you favor.” Aisley motioned Maire over with the sideless surcoat laid across the youngest sister’s lap. “It is bad enough that people whisper lunacy for the clothing you choose. Women have been killed for less, you realize.” “Suffer through this dinner and I’ll loose the ties in the back a bit. It is an imperative we make you presentable for the guest you have brought down upon us for a visit. Perhaps he will not think you are all the hearsay speaks of.” One week into the occupation of their new home and Aisley was playing mother hen, handmaiden and hostess, all for a man Lisandra bore no desire to lay eyes on. The news of his impending arrival stirred the second oldest of the sisters into a flurry of action, bothering everyone from the kitchen maids up to Lisandra. “I’ll have his throat coating my blade if he so much as breathes a word of against us, Aisley. That I vow. His brother’s death is no longer my concern. I won. This man will accept that or I will—“ Aisley silenced Lisandra’s rant with a cuffing blow to her head. “Alliances, Lisandra. No more death. Take your skill with a blade and apply it to the God given brains in your nog. Now, into the rest of your attire.” Lisandra held her tongue as she stood motionless while Maire and Aisley donned the mantle over the heavy, hunter green satin of her kirtle. The pale moss green shade of the over material stood in sharp contrast to the bell sleeved gown and the coloring of the woman who wore it. Gold embroidery on both the sleeves and the hems of the surcoat made Lisandra glitter with every breath she struggled to suck in. “I am going downstairs to check on the meal. Cassandra will arrange your hair in as hopeful a manner as we can attempt. You always did have the most unruly locks.” With a sniff of disdain, Aisley departed. Many braids and pins later, Lisandra’s waist length dark copper and gold hair was piled on top of her head. She threatened to break fingers if Cassandra dared do more. Her sisters could make every attempt they wished to bring the lady back inside her by decorating the outward appearance, but Lisandra feared her feminine side long dead. Her trews and the gossiping comments they drew were of little concern to her. For necessity’s sake, she allowed the dress and appeased Aisley. Greater challenges than arguing with her sister over her attire loomed. Too many battles for seemingly ungrateful kin raged throughout the time since her father’s death. His alliances saw to that and dead, he left Lisandra to fend for her siblings. She chose dealing death before dishonor to keep her sisters accustomed to the life they

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were born into. Thrown into the heart of a country as rough hewn as the people themselves, the struggles and bloody skirmishes served as a constant reminder of what she did for them in the place of her late father. Now she stood primped like a proper woman she forgot how to be, all for a man she knew nothing of, save he was kin to the boorish oaf she killed two weeks previously. As the family champion, she thought it ridiculous to look like a gilded bird dressed to flit about in finery. Thinking around her giddy sisters proved unnecessary. The trio chose to take over the preparations. All that remained were the politics. That meant at the minimum a presentable appearance. Maire and Cassandra skittered away to their own rooms, making haste to groom themselves. Lisandra sat on the edge of her bed, sucking in small gasps of air, each a sigh for the temporary peace granted to her. She loved her sisters enough to risk her life for them, but there were days they tested the very mettle Lisandra prided herself on possessing. Testing the movement of her arms, she discovered a suitable amount of leeway, but not quite enough. She needed no hindrance of movement. Grabbing a blade from under her pillow, she slid it between the satin of the surcoat and the side ties of the kirtle cinching her in like a trussed Christmas goose. The sigh that escaped her as the laces gave way broke the silence in her room. She would forever favor trews and a tunic or the full compliment adding hauberk and gambeson rather than the entangling confines of a gown. Cutting the laces served to give her a freedom she would perhaps need if this brother of her dead foe stirred trouble A fine table laid or not, she would have him gutted if he dared raise a challenge. Lisandra fought too desperately to give up what was now in her possession to the heretofore unknown sibling. Her family could eat. Her sisters had a fairly solid roof over their head. Her grandfather could grow old in peace. “Raden Athelsburgh.” Walking to the window of her room, she murmured his name once more. She’d tried in earnest to pull details of the man from the servants around the keep, but none knew of that particular Moncrief, only the cruel monster Lisandra liberated them from. Her mind mulled the possibilities of what and who he was. Bryan Moncrief was a boor and an ogre, violent in most tendencies, ruling his crumbling keep with a hard hand. Lisandra thought it was part defense mechanism. His personality matched his gnarled features. A lumbering oaf standing half an arm’s length taller than her, even her full curves made her look the pixie facing him down in battle. After defeating him, she returned to Hawkesheath Castle with her kin expecting to meet hard resistance from the occupants. They rejoiced instead. Now all feared a return to the way things once were with the arrival of another Moncrief. She worried he would be as bad as his brother if not worse. Rage over a lost sibling could drive a man to do dangerous things. She knew she would be without mercy or conscience if anyone dared to harm her sisters. Lisandra was ready for the bloodiest of situations. She would stand and protect all around her, to the death if need be. The rap on her door interrupting her brief peace let her know it was time. She’d heard the sound of hoof beats on the cobblestone courtyard signaling the arrival of the guests. Lisandra tucked away a few small blades in strategic, easily accessible places on her body as a precaution and steadied herself for the evening ahead. She would hear what he had to say, feed him, and send him on his way. The keep was hers. The possibility of his lingering hinged on the reason for his arrival. She abhorred surprises and Raden Athelsburgh sent one with the delivery of a

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message by personal courier. He was traveling to meet her and her family. Groomed and polished by her sister’s hands did nothing to change her resolve. A warrior in heart and nature, if he dared protest on arrival she planned to show him the way off her lands in an abrupt and possibly painful manner.

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Chapter Two The King of Scotland should never have an ache in the head unless it comes from a blow in the throes of battle. Robert the Bruce raised a hand, effectively silencing the rousing banter flying throughout the room. The four men, his legendary Four Horsemen, were giving him a pounding in his temples with their incessant nattering, like old biddies. “Sit and be silent, all four of you!” Calling the meeting in Kildrummy Castle proved on his part to be advantageous. He preferred not to return to the place where so many ills plagued him over the years, but the men were strategically located for the purpose he set about making happen. Looking at the four gathered with him in his private antechamber, he hoped something good came from the meeting. While he was the smallest by far, Robert the Bruce’s power alone made him a giant in their midst. That he planned to use to his advantage. Seeing four of his most treasured warriors standing with glaring expressions and tightly clamped lips, he motioned for them to take their seats once more. He realized his plan would be met with resistance. Scorn and mockery erupted with the dissent. “Now, you will continue to hold your tongues while I continue to explain my purpose. Not that I have to as I am your king, but I shall. Is that understood?” He paused, accepting each begrudged nod in turn. “Thank you.” Settling in his chair, he propped his feet on a small stool and relaxed. “We still face perilous times, my friends. I hear your concerns and agree that in some measure this is unfair to you all. You have served Scotland and her King unerringly, yet, what I have asked primarily of this one,” Robert pointed to the largest of the four, hunched over and sulking, “sounds unpleasant a payment to your ears.” “Robbie, ‘tis nae what yeh ask of that one, but what he now asks of us.” Two others nodded joined Simon MacBriede, the first to speak again on the subject. “Doona pin this on me. If I suffer, yeh suffer with me.”“ Athelsburgh, the dark haired brooder stiffened and sat back in his seat, his sharp features bearing proof of his displeasure. “It’s not suffering.” Robert sighed angrily. “Alliances. Strategy. Defense. Why is it I see the greater good and all you four see is a life of torture and agony?” Clearing his throat, Raden spoke again, settling comfortably back into his oft used English accent. “Robert, you tricked me into this hell. Not one of us has expressed the need to be involved in the merriment of matchmaking. Do I look like one who seems proper to stand in the place of a dead man’s concerns for his brood?” “Piss to that you bastard,” Ian Brodie, the smallest and most skilled archer of the four shook his golden-haired head fiercely. “You dragged all of us into your scheme and all you have to suffer through is standing at the altar watching chains thrown around our ankles.” “Gentlemen, please.” Robert growled. He saw anger rising once more. “For what consolation it bears on this situation, each of the women are quite comely.” “We doona need wives!” Douglas Armstrong, last of the four piped up, his ice-blue eyes filled with anger. “You’re getting one. I’ve no doubt when I return from delivering the three of you, I’ll be trapped just as you are.” The matchmaker of the four picked at an imaginary spot on

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his deerskin trews, trying desperately not to imagine what more The Bruce had in mind for him. Robert smiled slyly, nodding in agreement. “You may war amongst yourselves, but the subject is not open for negotiations. Raden was wise to bring his three most trusted friends into this situation. Liked or not, I find it a brilliant solution to an uncomfortable situation.” “Answer me this, Robbie? There are four sisters and only three of us go to meet our doom. What of the last?” the youngest asked, brow arched. “I have plans for her already set in place. Fear not. You will not be shackled in such a burdening way to the one you think.” A laugh spilled from Robert as all four men sighed in unison. “Gentlemen, many sacrifices have been made throughout our country far worse than marrying for strategic gains. I have concurred with Raden’s decision and will expect news of all unions by autumn. This is necessary and it will be done.” Three sets of eyes turned to look on the dark-haired one of the group and he sagged back in his seat. He trapped himself through Robert’s follies. In turn, he risked friendships rooted in blood and sacrifice. Meeting each of their hard gazes, he silently vowed to make their matrimonial condemnation as painless as possible. “Raden, take Douglas and Ian with you when you ride in the morn. Simon, I have need of you with me for a few more days as we return to Dunfermline, then you may ride to Hawkesheath. Now, may I consider this matter settled?” The four men, known in the circles of battle as the Four Horsemen, nodded and resigned themselves to a fate they believed worse than death. Marriage. ***** Athelsburgh felt like a minion of Hell had cruelly trounced his entire body. His bones ached, jarred from the hard fall he’d taken off his mount when a bedraggled thief jumped from a thicket of holly, startling his war-hardened destrier. It was his luck the road he traveled and landed on was muddied and soft after the icy spring rain that left him soaked to the skin. There were no breaks in his body, just a fair amount of bruising to himself and his ego. The thief was not so lucky. Angered at the interruption and eager to complete his business for the king, Raden pounded the dolt into a battered lump of cowering flesh, then gave his horse a hard whack between the ears for daring to throw him. The romp in the muck capped three days of constantly disrupted travel. Upon leaving Kildrummy Castle, the trio stopped at St Michael’s Abbey set on the southern most edges of Aberdeenshire to pick up a nervous and preachy friar named Brother Gabriel. Ian and Douglas threatened to gag him from the moment they started back for Aberdeen and Hawkesheath Castle. Their final destination was Hawkesheath Castle, his late brother’s home. Four women were about to learn of a fate they had no control over. Appearing harmless and a mere servant of the King, Raden hoped to allay any fears that might rise. Having Douglas and Ian along, nearly completing the ensemble of the Four Horsemen could stir unwanted emotions. He left Douglas and Ian back in Aberdeen, assuring them as soon as he deemed it safe, he would call for them. Arriving at Hawkesheath, he was grateful they were not there to see the wrestling match. The friar pledged his secrecy over the matter rather than face the same fate as the unwitting thief. Raden had an image and his pride to maintain. Douglas and Ian would have no further fodder with which to tease him unmercifully.

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After years of friendship, they had more than an ample amount. When he reached the mossy, overgrown shambles of what used to be the finest estate in his family’s holdings, one very determined woman and two more cowering behind her greeted him with crinkled noses and arched brows. He knew he was filthy, but the haste the king spoke of prevented Raden from presenting himself less disheveled. Before the women could verbally attack him, he requested a bath and a place for his exhausted companion to rest. That garnered him a look of approval from the central figure in the trio. She introduced herself as Aisley St Germain and nudged her two younger sisters forward, presenting him to the man who they looked upon as a possible source of security and comfort they had enjoyed once in England. Raden kept his conversation with the ladies to a minimum. He wished to address his business with the new mistress of the castle first. Reluctantly, the bold Aisley accepted that and led him to the chambers his brother once occupied. She then honored his request for a bath and ushered the friar away as she doled out her orders to maids lingering near by, stealing glimpses of their guest. ***** Soaking in the bath provided for him, his thoughts wandered as he scrubbed his body down and cleaned his hair. He met three of the four St Germain sisters, but where was the fourth? He knew their names and a description of each rolled over in his mind, given to him by men in The Bruce’s court who showed keen interest, but refused to act upon it. It was the fourth sister, the eldest that struck fear into the hearts of those warseasoned men. If called for confession, each man would deny a single thought of the St Germain sisters out of self-preservation. For a few moments, Raden mulled which friend would be saddled with which sister. Simon could take Aisley, the strong one who stared him down at in the courtyard. He enjoyed a woman with tenacity. He chuckled softly. Simon enjoyed them in all shapes, sizes and temperaments. The sable haired beauty would cure that in him. For Douglas he chose the quiet, unassuming one, the youngest of the brood. The flaxen haired lady seemed to suit his nature. Little more pleased Douglas than the notion of a knight and guardian to a fair maiden. A smitten look in her eyes when she spied him would no doubt translate well to Douglas. Ian would take the shy yet curious middle woman with the golden hair and bashful smile. The way she peeked out from behind her sister brought back memories of a time when he and Ian were mere lads. Ian’s curiosity turned him into the seasoned warrior he was. An amused thought pricked at his thoughts. Those two would have comely children. Children. Shuddering, he felt tension began to rise once more as he shifted his mind to his king and his folly. The Bruce seemed too eager to send Raden from his post in Edinburgh. The king ordered him alone to deliver a personally drafted letter to the mistress of the keep when any courier could have done the same thing. Raden knew his friend and liege was up to something greater than seeing three of his trusted allies married off, but his aching body protested as his brain began to formulate possibilities on the contents of the letter. What of the fourth and the deadliest of the sisters? Would the correspondence contain a directive that she be married off to some master with a heavy hand and capability to tame her wild spirit? Was such a thing possible? She had already downed five men who possessed great cunning in battle. He decided to worry about that detail another time. He had fulfilled his duty to the king by playing unwilling matchmaker. The last of the sisters was not his concern. With

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muscles unwound, his bones lost their cold and damp induced stiffness and the meadowy scent of the soap he used to clean himself with began to lull him into a sleepy state. THUD! THUD! THUD! Jerking himself alert, he instinctively reached for the sword kept at the side of the tub and focused on the door someone saw fit to pound against. He rose to his feet and grabbed the cloth a maid set aside for him to dry his body with. Whoever it was, he hoped he or she was prepared to face the ire of a man half-awake and standing by sheer audacity.

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Chapter Three She looked around and saw only her sisters gathered in the cobbled area of the main entrance to the keep. “So where is he? I have no patience this evening, thanks to you tittering women. I wish to get this over and done with as soon as possible.” Lisandra’s annoyance reflected in her snappish tone and sent Maire the youngest sneaking behind Aisley. “I sent him up to the room we prepared for his arrival. At the moment, the steward and maids are preparing a bath for him,” Aisley said. “A bath? The man will not be lingering here. He could have bellowed his business from the courtyard, not be given a bath before stating his purpose.” Lisandra did nothing to hide her anger. The very dead Bryan Athelsburgh had been a filthy pig. She had nearly retched when faced with the stench of him. Aisley gave the other brother a chance to preen for absolutely no reason she could see. A conversation, in her opinion, did not require hard grooming, contrary to what Aisley thought. “He was covered in filth, Lisandra. It is a fair mark to him for wishing to be presentable. I would not have him at our table covered head to toe in mud anyways.” Aisley informed her sharply. “The man looked as if he paused to wrestle swine before arriving at our door.” Lisandra growled softly. “Very well. When he is ready to make our acquaintance, you may find me with Grandfather in his usual space.” She wheeled around and stormed off, not slowing until her bottom was comfortably ensconced in a deep chair in the study. Her grandfather was fast asleep, snoring softly as he rested in front of a blazing fire in the hearth. Careful to not wake him, she settled in with a volume of Greek philosophy and waited. And waited. Impatience overtook her in the end. Taking the back staircase leading to Athelsburgh’s chamber, she pounded on the door to his room. Little annoyed her more than waiting unnecessarily. They could have fed him swine’s slop at the gate if he enjoyed arriving at places filthy. Raising her hand to knock again, she paused. Her ears perked to the sound of sloshing water. He was still bathing. Aisley would be most pleased. Lisandra slammed her fist against the door testily. “If it would please you, sir, and even more so if it does not, our food grows cold waiting on you. Primp for another occasion. I will wait no longer on you.” Before she could walk away, the door flew open. Donned in only a cloth barely fitting around his waist, their guest stood looking like the Devil’s most sinfully tempting creation. Eyes a brilliant shade of emerald green met hers, anger flickering in their fathomless depths. For a moment, she held his gaze, mesmerized. A brief flash of sense stabbed at her mind, but curiosity ignored it. Her gaze trailed from the sharp, angular lines of his darkly handsome face to the carved musculature of his torso. Damp locks of pure ebony fell past his shoulders, resting on the soft mat of curls dusting his chest. Despite the blush warming her cheeks, she found her gaze continuing lower, following a thin line of equally dark hair that ended below the cloth began. In her years of secret study, she had stumbled on tomes her father forbid her to read. Greek medical journals transcribed by scholars detailed in both word and precise illustration perfect examples of males whose bodies looked carved by the hand of God

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himself. The man before her made those images pale in comparison. Even with his darkly golden skin peppered haphazardly with faded scars, he made her heart flutter and her body heat in ways gossipy wenches spoke of so liberally. ***** Not immune to the heated stare of a woman, Raden’s body immediately stirred. The fact the woman who drank him with her eyes was a vision to behold served to make things worse. Her comely face was punctuated by eyes the color of heather and framed by copper and gold hair. Her pouting, full lips alone were worth a second glance and the consideration of how they would feel against his. Temptation began to war with common sense. He knew he should have closed the door in her face. Instead, as she continued her inspection, so did he. She possessed none of the fragile curves the other polished women had. The dress she wore subtly hugged an ample bosom and flared at her hips, undoubtedly lush under the layers of material covering them. She stood a head taller than the other women who had rushed to meet him in the courtyard. He wondered if her legs were as long and shapely as the rest of her seemed to be. Raden inhaled sharply and a frown creased his brow. The thought of her legs wrapped around him as he drove into her plump, willing body overwhelmed him for a brief moment. On a growl, he took a large step back, grabbing hold of the door to close it. He was here for business, not pleasure that riding a wild filly such as she would no doubt bring. If she was who he believed her to be, she killed his dunderhead of a brother. There seemed no purpose in considering such delights when the price to take such a woman would come most likely at the point of a blade she was fabled to wield quite well. He was under direct orders from the Crown to rein her in by virtue of marrying her sisters off, not to satisfy his own pleasures. That aside, Raden knew the dinner awaiting him would be a direct testament to his well-honed control. It would be a good night if he could survive it without ending the meal tossing purpose aside and dragging the violet eyed woman off to a dark corner of the keep to tup her senseless. Dipping his head in a curt nod, he relinquished hold of the cloth covering him. “I’ll join you in a few moments.” Her amethyst eyes filled with shock and wonder at his audacity lingered made him smile as he slammed the door in her face, setting himself to dress. ***** Lisandra took the closed door as a cue and dashed back down to the sitting room her grandfather remained in, eager to get her hammering heartbeat back under control. She had to wonder if Raden and Bryan Moncrief were truly brothers. The two looked nothing alike. A part of her took pleasure in the fact she had done away with the ogre-like barbarian in Bryan who treated those in his keep like slaves. The women earned the worst of his tempers for cowering at the sight of the luggish brute. Conversely, Raden Athelsburgh bore a face and body that beckoned an exploring touch, not a killing blow. Her face grew more flushed recalling the sheer beauty of his physique. Every muscle at which her eyes spared a glance was honed to perfection. A tapered waist and long, powerful legs drew thoughts from her that furthered her embarrassment. Under the sparse cloth he wore temporarily around his waist as covering, she had seen a hard twitch. Hands flew to her face when she recalled just how great a rise she provoked. The bastard’s indecency sought to send her body up in flames starting with the heat in her

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darkly blush-stained cheeks. Her mind fluttered for a description of the flesh jutting arrogantly from a mat of curly black. Flustered speechless, her thoughts were just as silent. Lisandra settled her mind and prepared to face the man again without a blush tinting her cheeks. She feared, however, one pointed look from him would have her cheeks reddening again. Her sisters would show no mercy toward her if it happened. Lisandra had never been prone to blushing. They would suspect and use it for sheer folly against her. She was the oldest but at times, she garnered the least respect. Aisley believed rather than raising a sword, Lisandra should be raising a family. She would be the most direct, willing to embarrass her sister to make a point or five that she considered valid. There was a fair looking man with strong holdings and powerful connections under their roof. Raden Athelsburgh was all Aisley could hope for and more as a tantalizing ally and perhaps spouse for the most disagreeable of the St Germain sisters. Lisandra shook her head furiously. The notion of marriage to any man, let alone the brother of the man she had killed to save her family caused her to shudder. The consequences would be severe. He did not look like a cruel man, but a fetching face could hide a multitude of sins. If one member of a family saw fit to wield control under a hard hand, it stood to reason in her mind, so could the rest of the kin. “Stop it.” she hissed aloud, rising to her feet abruptly. Her thoughts spiraled to notions needing no consideration. Their guest was not there to offer any sort of blessed union and there would be no Athelsburgh residing at Hawkesheath to continue the barbaric legacy Bryan left behind. She chastised herself for letting such thoughts take hold in her mind. She believed he would demand his brother’s holdings, justifying his sudden arrival. She put that to the front of her mind and held fast to it. He could blather on about Hawkesheath until time ended. She would not relinquish what she earned to anyone. This Athelsburgh stood as the enemy just as much as the previous one. Cassandra found her a short while later pacing in front of the hearth. “Come to dinner. Our guest is waiting.” She whispered her words, careful not to wake their grandfather. Lisandra stiffened her spine and followed her younger sister into the great hall where the meal was laid out in fine fashion. A sweeping glance at the table made her frown. Aisley had spared nothing for the banquet laid out for them. Turning her attention to their guest, she noticed his clothing, clean and serviceable, was that of a seasoned warrior. He wore doeskin trews lightly scarred from wear and tear. His linen tunic and gambeson, while not threadbare, had seen better days. Well crafted boots hugged his legs from the knees downward. His attire was simple in form and function, much like what she preferred to wear. The token finery he carried was his sword’s sheath hanging from a double wound belt cinched about his waist. The leather scabbard bore studding with a burnished copper band at the top and etched with foreign looking symbols. Her scowl deepened when she saw him press against Aisley, whispering near her ear, garnering a soft gasp and gentle laugh from her. “If you do not mind, sir,” Lisandra’s abrupt words drew all focus to her. “My sister is not a course to partake of. Please sit. You may state your business over our meal, then you may take your leave.” “Lisandra,” Aisley hissed from between clenched teeth. “Please show the proper courtesy. May I introduce you to Lord Raden Moncrief, the Earl of Athelsburgh.” She twisted her lips in a cold smile and dropped the man a stiff curtsey. “Now sit,”

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Chapter Four The story reaching his ears as he sat alongside The Bruce sent silent ripples of laughter coursing through his body, yet Raden’s face was a mask of unreadable emotion as the messenger recounted the fight which ended Bryan’s life Finding humor in the fact his brother met his end by a woman would be ill-placed sitting amongst his allies. Still, he had given his brother warnings. Bryan had refused to listen. The men who held court with Robert told their accounts of the surly, unruly woman. Every tale served to pique his curiosity further. The Bruce had not stopped her reign of death until after Bryan met his bloody end. That puzzled him more, until Robert confided his reasons later in the evening. Now Raden stood face to face again with the mocked queen named Lisandra St Germain. The king’s messenger spoke of her comely face, but nothing compared to his direct gaze into bottomless violet eyes. Lit with a smoldering fire as they were now, he took a small step back and further angered her as he escorted Aisley to her seat. Taking his place at one end of the table, it surprised him when she took the seat at the other. “Where is your grandfather? I have business to tend to with him before you toss me out on my arse.” His wry tone caused Lisandra’s brows to furrow. “My grandfather will not be joining us this evening. And please do keep a civil tongue about you.” “Pray tell, why not? Is he ill?” She ignored his question and looked past him, waving for the drinks to be poured by the servants waiting in the shadows. “He will not be disturbed. You may deal directly with me or you may go.” Her haughty tone made his teeth snap together and his jaw clench. It had been bandied about she was an icy wench in need of a strong hand to rein her in. No amount of exaggeration compared with the truth witnessed face to face with her. He curled his lips in a brief smile. He admired fire in a woman, but there were times and places for it. If she sought to shame him, she would find herself profoundly rebuked. She possessed a mannish nature but he could clearly see she was a woman underneath. If provoked enough, he would have no problems silencing that lush mouth of hers with his own hard-set lips. “Very well, I bring you a missive from the King.” He withdrew a scroll of parchment from his boot and hurled it at her across the length of the table. It drew gasps from the sisters. Lisandra merely swept it aside. “We do not pay heed to the Crown.” She held the English responsible for her father’s death, placing them in their current circumstances. “That would be the Bruce’s crown not Longshanks’ puppet replacement.” Raden chuckled a little. “I’ll pass on to our King that you serve only yourself.” She bristled and he smirked. A moment later, she retrieved the parchment from the floor, checking the waxed seal. It bore the mark of Scotland’s monarch, Robert the Bruce. “Sir, you will have to forgive Lisandra. She honed her skills with a blade before her manners.” Aisley offered him a betraying, polite smile. Raden’s eyes locked with Lisandra’s. “Her tongue does seem as sharp as her sword.” “I believe too sharp some days.” Cassandra piped up. Raden smiled a little more. “What say you, Lisandra?”

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“I say you are proving to be much like your brother.” She shrugged and sat back in her seat. “May I ask in what way?” “All the wrong ones, Athelsburgh.” “Ah, that would be Lord Athelsburgh to you. I hold the titles. My brother held this dung heap,” Raden gave the servant girl beside him a long, lusty once-over. “Although I might have reason to change my opinion.” He had no interest in the woman who flushed crimson next to him. Irritating the mistress of the keep was his goal. “Your brother was fond of the whip with the servants here. I have his sword. I shall turn that and his favorite flogger over to you after our meal. It seems you will have use for it this evening since she is to your liking.” The challenge in her eyes was a fierce one, a reaction he did not expect. He discovered at that moment she had appointed herself protector of all those in the keep. Given her prowess with her own blade, if he persisted, he would find himself drawing his in self-defense. Taking twisted pleasure in the thought, he continued the verbal sparring. “Thank you, Lisandra. That is most considerate of you.” When she jumped to her feet, he bit the inside of his cheek to hide his expression. “How dare you, you filthy cur! You think to lay one hand on any who dwell under my roof and I shall separate it from your wrist!” To prevent her sisters from having apoplectic fits, Raden let loose the laughter building inside him. He pressed on merely to see the tantalizing rise and fall of her breasts, her cheeks heighten in color, her eyes blaze a more riotous shade of violet. All he hoped to stir he received. “Sit down.” He sighed and simmered to a soft chuckle. “You are so quick to battle. It must be exhausting “A flick of his wrist suggested she sit again. “How dare you come into my home and—“ He slammed a hand down on the table, making Cassandra and Aisley flinch. Maire started to sniffle. Lisandra merely stared him down. “This is my land and my home, Lisandra, one of many. All you accomplished by cutting my brother down was replace him as caretaker here. Push me further and I shall reconsider the terms in which you acquired the roof over your head.” Her brow arched. Returning to her seat, she snorted softly. “Push you further?” On a long breath expelled, she issued a warning. “Dare to take from me and mine what I rightfully earned, Lord Athelsburgh and I will give the same challenge to you as I did your brother.” With that, she grabbed her eating utensils and started on her meal. Raden’s cold smile never left his face and he enjoyed the fact that it made her uncomfortable. The other news he carried with him could wait. There was no sense in ruining the meal any further by arguing with the saucy wench. He noticed quickly her sisters had little temperament for the battles the eldest of the women fought at the slightest provocation. To amuse himself and learn more of what triggered the woman, he served annoyance to Lisandra as the meal progressed. Despite her continuous protests, Raden engaged the sisters in pleasant conversation, regaling them of stories from his many travels. When Lisandra was not fussing at him, he had her sisters enthralled. The time spent conversing over dinner allowed him to prove to the other sisters he was not the enemy. Willing and able to fight alone, having strength in numbers certainly made his job easier. *****

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“He’s a devil.” Sin in golden, finely hued flesh, her mind piped in guiltily. Lisandra pushed the image aside, facing her sister and their war of words. “Lord Athelsburgh is not a devil. You see fit to look upon any man as the enemy, therefore you have condemned the man without hearing him out first. He seems no threat to me.” The man Aisley encountered dining with them appeared to her as courteous and charming, hardly deserving her sister’s ire. Aisley was smitten. There was no hiding her feelings on her face. She saw hopes and dreams that included Athelsburgh in Lisandra’s life, leading to more golden opportunities to benefit the entire St Germain family. He was an earl. He had copious holdings. Moreover, she knew Aisley delighted over the power he wielded. Lisandra had no desire to continue the verbal battle with her sister. She shrugged off Aisley’s comments and ushered Maire and Cassandra to bed. Once all three sisters were in their bedchambers, Lisandra planned to conclude her business with their visitor “It would serve you best to attempt civility around Lord Athelsburgh, Lisandra.” Aisley, a year younger than her sister believed it was her duty to remain the mothering voice of reason in the mad world they occupied. She took every opportunity to remind Lisandra of that. “It would serve you better to keep your tongue around me in matters such as these. All you will be good for here soon enough is marriage to a fairly suitable match that will lie with you and have you pushing out his wee bairn in short order.” Lisandra hissed the words at her sister, reveling in the melting away of Aisley’s smugness. “Worry your fair head no more about this. I have provided for your fussy nature, and Cassandra and Maire’s well-being. I will deal with the stewing dragon and we will set our lives in order here. Go to sleep, Aisley. Showing who you truly favor this evening over our meal has not only made me weary, but heart sick as well.” Aisley opened her mouth to speak. Lisandra stopped her with a slash of her hand through the air. “You may be kin, but I’ve no need for your righteousness. I will continue on my path just as you will continue to berate me for my choices at every turn. Now go to sleep.” Turning her back to Aisley, Lisandra sighed inwardly when her sister obeyed. Lisandra took no real joy in becoming what she had. Everything she had done was out of sheer desperation. When her father died, she became guardian of her family. Her grandfather was old and feeble, the only fight left in him his sharp wit. She wielded her father’s sword in defense of all that was left of the St Germain line, a purpose in life she accepted well enough. The Bruce graciously turned a blind eye to her endeavors, but she knew that would not last long. The delivery by Raden from the King likely told her to cease and desist or he would intervene. He cared enough about Lisandra and her remaining family enough to abide the things she did in desperation. She knew it was about to end. The King of Scotland did not need the whines of his nobles about a hellcat woman filling his court halls when there was political unrest at every turn. Freedom for Scotland took much higher precedence than her minor family issues. Her father sacrificed his life for that lofty goal. With a tenuous balance in her life achieved, Lisandra would in time offer her services to the King if he saw fit to use her. More pressing matters existed under her roof, drawing her thoughts to a single, disagreeable man. For a moment, she saw darkly golden skin, dusted with black curls that trailed down below the cloth he discarded so brazenly from around his waist. That single image sent heat spiraling to her core once more, infuriating her. She wanted no man. She needed no man. She would rid herself of Raden Athelsburgh and purge him from her

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Chapter Five Raden’s patience waned like the fading glow of embers in the hearth before him. He knew she would come for him. He did not like the fact she took her own sweet time about it. He learned long ago that women were infuriating creatures more often than not. Lisandra St Germain confirmed that sentiment. He was all for women possessing a strong will and fiery determination, but Lisandra’s arrogance turned hers into an annoyance. He was Scottish born, Scottish bred. He’d tupped enough wee cats in his lifetime to adore a fine spirit. Lisandra, he determined in the course of waiting on her arrival, would be too much work. She would make him fight to take even a single taste of her lips if the risk proved tantalizing enough. A derisive snort from him broke the silence in the room. He wanted to leave. His King had other plans. Circumstances forced him to travel to Hawkesheath, his late brother’s former keep. It was not the death of Bryan, it was Bryan’s ineptitude. The Bruce needed the keep returned to its previous status quickly. Raden was there to ensure it happened. A rustling of skirts and soft patter of feet broke Raden from his personal thoughts. “Surely you would be off to your chamber, Lord Athelsburgh. A man of your standing needs to preserve his strength so he may rise and cross words with his subjects fresh and renewed on the morn.” Raden ground his teeth together for a moment before rising to his feet to face Lisandra. The lady’s voice, while rather melodic, grated on his nerves with the hard words she delivered in preparation for yet another verbal battle. “So very true, Lisandra. Now that you are one such subject, perhaps I shall order you to join me there so I can be sent to my slumber in a most appealing way.” Raden faced her in time to see the last flicker of shock on her face before anger replaced it. “I would rather plunge a sword through my belly than let yours near me.” “Ah, but mine, little viper, is far more pleasurable than steel.” He put a husky edge to his voice and leveled a smoldering look in her direction. If she wished to play, he would oblige her for a few moments. “I will wait with the utmost curiosity for the whispers of the maidservants to find the truth in that statement. They will serve your needs if you demand it.” Her acidic smile served to bring a slight scowl on his face. “You said you would cut my hand off if I dared ask such a thing.” “Ask as you wish, Lord Athelsburgh. Act and I shall. All under the roof of this keep will no longer fall prey to Athelsburgh whims.” Lisandra walked over to the hearth and tossed a log onto the fire to rebuild the fading warmth in the room. “How long will you stay?” Raden remained silent as he drank in the view. Bent over as she was to nudge the dying fire back to life, he felt his groin stir again, betraying purpose and plan. “Until my business is completed here.” he gritted out. “You are part of this business. Did you read what the King had me deliver?” He watched her pull the parchment from the bodice of her gown and his cock began to throb. What else did she hide nestled between her breasts? The more he pondered, the greater the ache between his legs grew. The stirring inside him began to rise to dangerous levels. Stoked any further and she feel a portion. “Read it.” His order met with a raised brow from her.

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She cracked the seal and moved closer to the fire to read the letter. The way she bent gave Raden a fair view of the top swell of her bosom. He turned away and bit his tongue. The wench would not hear what her innocent gestures provoked. An offer to accommodate a release of the desires inside him would never happen. He briefly considered the maid who served them at dinner. “Do you understand what Hawkesheath has meant for Scotland over the years?” Changing the subject, he silently prayed it eased the ache between his legs. This woman before him drove him to the basest of hungers despite the ire batted back and forth between them. “It seems natural that Jean St Germain’s daughter is now mistress of the keep.” The comment distracted Lisandra from her reading and she looked over at him. “Natural? How is this so?” “Hawkesheath has always been a haven for those who carry out tasks of our King that bear a sensitive nature.” Raden walked over and faced her straight on. He dropped his voice low. “This was a stopping place, oft times a hiding place for The Bruce’s spies. Your father was a frequent guest here before he died.” Lisandra’s brows raised high. “My father was no spy.” “He was. Praise be to God in Heaven he was for our side. Given his English birth and family connections, he was an able harvester. How do you think you have stood in such good graces with Robert while you whittle his nobles down? He owes your family greatly for your father’s willing sacrifices.” The news he delivered stunned Lisandra. Raden was pleased. Her father was more than successful in carrying his secrets to his grave. “If we stood in such good grace, then pray tell why I had to whittle his nobles down to protect my family!” A flash of surprising rage flared in her, sharpening her words. “Appearances, Lisandra. Politics. Your father was English. He disgraced himself in the eyes of the English crown.” His lips quirked into a faint smile as her genuine surprise amused him. It was a moment he savored as he continued. “Rest assured you and your sisters would never have met harm. You were watched at all times, but returning you to the lap of luxury you enjoyed in your youth was impossible. Betrayers of either Crown faced death.” Raden walked over to the table next to the chair he vacated when she entered. Grabbing the pitcher, he poured himself a small measure of wine and offered a cup to her. She shook her head, a tendril of her copper and gold hair spilling free of a pin and falling over her shoulder. “No. I wish for you to continue this grievous fable, Lord Athelsburgh. You speak of things I do not understand. Convince me of their truths.” He recounted the past decade of history concerning Hawkesheath, including her father’s involvement. He spoke in great detail, more for the fact it kept her viperous tongue at bay. The story also held a grip over the urge to tug her head back by that single curl and feast on the long column of her neck. She sat, eyes locked on him, listening intently. With the light of the hearth the only illumination in the room, it cast a lovely glow upon her skin and further taunted Raden. Raden knew he had to keep speaking. He never considered she could be so deadly, yet so bluidy pleasing to the eye. Images driven by the basic male hunger deep within him threatened to stagger his words. If he had not convinced himself earlier she would be too much trouble, conversation would have ceased until passion had burned off the last of their hot tempers. He rubbed at his tired eyes and raised the bad news, held back until that moment. If nothing else crushed the growing urges inside him, he knew the final point of business

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would put an end to his sufferings. “There is one more piece to my time here at Hawkesheath I must inform you of, Lisandra.” Relief trickled through his body as the words spilled out. The shrieks of protest soon to rise over the matter would easily transfer the pain from his groin to his ears. “As a favor to the man who served Scotland so faithfully, Robert has made plans for you and your sisters to be secured in quiet comforts for the rest of your days. He has appointed me your family’s guardian and I am the final decision on suitable matches for the St Germain women.” The words came off his tongue rapidly. It still rankled him the very trap the Bruce led him into agreeing to. He was no matchmaker. He was a battlehardened warrior that enjoyed women only as long as they left when he demanded it. A mocking laugh spilled from Lisandra, catching Raden off guard. “That must truly bring your blood to boil and your stomach to churn does it not? Standing in my father’s stead, you must interview suitors for my sisters’ betrothals. Oh this is such a lovely turn of events.” Her laughter grew until the parchment in her hand fell to the floor as she hugged her sides, tears from laughter streaming down her cheeks. His jaw ticked at her utter impertinence. He would bring it to a halt soon enough. “You, Viper Queen were chosen first by the King himself.” He smiled smugly as her laughter died instantly. “What did you just say?” It was Raden’s turn to laugh. If looks could slay a man, he would be dead at her feet at that very moment. “I said you are first. He has plans to find you—” She interrupted him by leaping to her feet, her hands curled into tight fists at her side. “Not that. What did you call me?” “My dear sweet natured Lisandra, that is what they call you in The Bruce’s court. Should you feel affronted? It suits you rather well. You have a vicious striking tongue and you are rather deadly in a man’s company.” His mocking tone further enraged her. “I dare any one of them to call me that to my face.” She walked over to Raden where he reclined in his chair. “Starting with you.” “Viper Queen.” He added a challenging twist of his lips as he spoke. She charged, as he expected. He was swift to his feet and swift to subdue her. He pinned her arms behind her and trapped her body against his. “My brother was a village idiot compared to me. If you wish to persist, I shall choose the setting for our battle, and the weapons will include only one sword.” Punctuating his words, he dipped his head and brought his lips forcefully to hers. He expected a struggle as he held her curves pressed hard against him. He received a soft yielding of her lips beneath his instead. Nudging a thigh between hers, removing the possibility of her knees as weapons, he took deeply, hungrily. The feel of her silky lips against his made the swift conquest worth continuing. His tongue swept in, forcing complete submission as he feasted on her. She had downed many a strong man with a sword. She would not succeed in an arena he knew he championed. The taste of her drove him further. Thoughts of hitching her skirts and taking her where they stood warred with his mission here. Breaking the kiss, he dipped his head lower, nuzzling her neck, teasing the silky flesh with a flickering of his tongue. “You will be first and a joy it will be to see you cowed under a man, Lisandra St Germain. Perhaps he will let me have a taste before then as my reward for carrying out his wishes,” he whispered against her skin. Feeling her begin to stiffen in his hold, he released her with a light push, clearing himself of the possibility of encountering flailing limbs. He never expected instant bending to his touch. That discovery suited him well

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enough to release her and leave her to war with herself over her actions. She had responded to his ministrations like a flower to sunlight. Her blossoming filled his head with possibilities, all dealing with ways he could bring her to full bloom. They would remain private thoughts, common sense reminded him. He was at Hawkesheath to marry her sisters off. After Robert gave his order, Raden made swift work of finding men who would not only protect and provide for the St Germain sisters, but treat them with dignity and respect. Love would possibly even take root. Lisandra was the last and would be the most difficult to marry off, despite how willing her body seemed to be against his. The King had his work cut out for him. He knew full well no man in Scotland would take her given her prowess in combat. Even the most battle-hardened warriors he knew would not take up the challenge of breaking her, regardless if that fire in her followed into the bedchamber. She had proven wild enough, she would probably kill her betrothed and hang for it before submitting to him.

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Chapter Six Lisandra sat back in her chair well and truly furious with herself. Raden bested her in the blink of an eye and under the bruising demand of his lips. It felt as if another person had entered her body and she gave up a struggle that should have held staying power inside her. It took the capture of her mouth and his plundering to turn her body into something wanton and willing. It was an odd feeling, one she planned to purge with all haste. He would not touch her again. She would be better prepared. Repeating the words she had etched in her heart, she reminded herself she wanted no man, she needed no man. When her eyes met his once more, her body betrayed her yet again. Heat sizzled through her, carried by a rapidly beating pulse. Having felt his iron grip on her, the hardness of his body pressed against hers, she wanted more. She wanted to fight and end up in a tangle of sweat-slicked limbs declaring victory over a war she knew nothing about. She silently cursed herself further. Her thoughts were too wicked. Snatching up her king’s letter from the floor, she distracted herself from the burning images threatening to consume all the good sense she had left. A moment later, a hysterical giggle bubbled up inside her and spilled out. Insanity. Pure insanity. If she did not have her sisters to provide for, she would have ended her life on the spot. “What, pray tell, do you find so humorous in Robert’s letter?” Lisandra looked up at him, pressing the back of one hand to her lips to quell the sound. It took a few moments before she composed herself once more and began to read. “M’lady Lisandra. It is with utmost solemnity I convey this order to you. For some time now, I have allowed your most unusual behavior to continue out of respect and admiration for your father’s service to Scotland. This will now end. I have sent a trusted friend to deliver news of your sisters’ fates as well as the use of Hawkesheath, won at so high a cost. Lord Athelsburgh has chosen husbands for each of your sisters. I have agreed with his choices. They are good and temperate men who will treat your sisters with all due respect or face Raden’s wrath before tasting mine. That leaves us with the matter of you. Your father would stand in shame knowing how men mock his favorite daughter in my presence, something that not even this King can quell. You have brought this upon yourself. I bring the end to this matter. Within a fortnight, I expect word from the friar who accompanied Raden to Hawkesheath informing me that vows between you and Lord Athelsburgh have indeed been exchanged, declaring you husband and wife. The banns have been posted. The union is approved and ordered by me personally. There will be no discussing this matter. So I have spoken, so it will be. Pass on my blessings to Raden who heretofore has no clue about my wishes. He is the only match I could find that would stand along with your spirit and not crush it. Soon, I will be making full use of such fire in you, my dear. Raden will only serve to stir it more.” Lisandra crumpled up the parchment and tossed it into the fire. Sparing a glance at the darkly handsome creation ordered to be her betrothed, she saw a small measure of shock on his face. It did little to assuage the panic welling inside her. He turned her so willing so quickly, she feared what he could do as her husband in the eyes of God and man. “This news surprises you, Lord Athelsburgh?” she asked calmly masking her

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tumultuous emotions. “Take your pleasure in knowing our king has served fit to catch me off my guard. I knew nothing of this, Lisandra. Had I been privy to the contents of that letter, I would have surely protested for you are not what I desire in a guest, let alone a wife until death parts us.” Lisandra responded with a brief nod as she rose to her feet. “It is the will of the King and little can be done about this. However, think to make claim to what is owed you as my husband and I will kill you.”“ Mustering what dignity remained to her, she walked out head held high. The conflict raging in her body and mind overwhelmed her and once in the confines of her bedchamber, she let her entire body fall on to her bed as she pondered the fate awaiting her in mere days. Glancing to where her father’s sword rested against her bedside stand, she blinked back tears threatening to escape. She never bargained for the begging of a boyish natured seven-year-old girl to bring about the rippling effects that led to the dire circumstances she found herself in sixteen years later. All she ever wanted was to be as strong as her father, her greatest champion. His death and cruel twists of fate set to condemn her for such foolishness. She grabbed the sheathed sword and brought it tight to her breast, soaking in the comfort the blade provided her. While he lived, Jean St Germain never once failed his family. Stirring that strength, he cultivated inside her, she rose to her feet and let determination guide her. She would not fail herself and as she crept off into the night, the King of Scotland would soon see just that.

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Chapter Seven Edmund Holyrood sat across from a man looking like the Devil’s spawn. Keeping company with him struck only a minor measure of fear in his soul. His guest provided services necessary to ensure a flawless means to an end. “This information,” Edmund paused, fingering a small leather pouch laden with silver coins. “Assure me of its truth.” The scarred hand of his informant slid a length of parchment over. His coal black gaze never left the reward soon to be his. “’tis there. King’s decree. Now gimme my coin so I can be off.” Edmund smacked away the hand reaching for its bounty. “Perhaps, in a moment. You will find I am a cautious man. Too many things must fall into place to assure my success.” It made no difference the man across from him believed he could slit his throat before Edmund could react. He ignored the hunched figure, cared not about his intimidating features. The next in his list of items to be accomplished glared up at him in bold black script. A smile curled on his thin lips. “So, it is indeed true. So very lucky for me.” “Aye, wotevah. My pay. Now.” The informant tugged back his cowl revealing a face made to haunt dreams and terrify little children. Deep lines were etched into the man’s flesh, his nose and teeth set crooked in his craggy face. His features twisted into a dark mask filled with purpose. “Very well.” Edmund threw the pouch at the freakish figure across from him, countering the man’s evil glare with a yawn. “Think you that I am a weak foe, beast, but speak of me to anyone and Hell will be your next destination.” He dismissed the man with a flick of a hand, returning to the notice before him. The machinations of his mind halted a short moment later. The demon spawn flew at him but never reached his mark. Edmund stared up at the figure standing by the sheer strength of the blade run through him. “You were warned.” He withdrew the blade and wiped the blood clean on the tatters of the man’s cloak. No one around him in the shambled inn made a move to apprehend Edmund. He scanned the room, pausing to meet the gaze of anyone with an upturned face. Heads bowed and conversations resumed around him. Satisfied there would be no more attacks, he rolled the shabby monster of a man away from him, retrieving the payment earned and lost and settled back to plot his next move. Everything he planned hinged on one person and God gave him his first good omen. The parchment delivered decreed that his cousin, known affectionately amongst The Bruce’s people as The Viper Queen, was to marry Lord Athelsburgh. It looked to be a blessed and strategic match in many a mind, but none more than his. Edmund sat back and smiled peacefully. “Could this be any better?” He motioned for the serving wench and tossed the pouch of coins to her. “Another mead for me, and something for everyone else here. Save a coin or two to give that thing a fair burial.” The woman stuffed the pouch between her plump breasts and walked off to do as bid. Providence finally smiled upon him. One simple piece of information gave him the power to bargain for more. Lisandra sweetened the deal enough. Athelsburgh secured as well would send certain acquaintances into near orgasmic bliss. “Two for the price of one.”

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He sighed and laced his fingers behind his head. Michael would be most pleased. Thrilled to an even higher measure would be the mastermind behind the schemes. Bellowing for his guards, Edmund twisted his lips into a wicked grin. Gasps rose from the patrons as two men they never saw enter appeared from the shadows from which they had blended with. Hired mercenaries were a treat. Motioning for them to sit, he whispered his message to the one assisting him so ably in his desires to claim the prize awaiting him with his victory. One hired shadow left to play messenger, the other took his place again, hidden amongst the patrons, keeping a watchful eye on the man who held the purse strings. In his heart, Edmund carried the disappointment of Longshanks’ inability to crush the rabble-rousers that lived north of the English borders. Scotland and her barbaric occupants rallied for freedom and won, but he knew there would come a day when that wasteland would once more fall under the rightful crown. The Bruce was a feeble-minded idiot these days and no one would rise with as deep a fervor to keep Scotland free forever. Time. Time would clear that and time would see Edmund through to his own personal victory. He had languished long enough, bowing and scraping and kissing the hands of nobles who saw him as nothing more than a disgraced dog begging for scraps. He saw himself differently, and in a matter of days, perhaps weeks, all he worked to secure once more would be his. It bothered him that little bloodshed was necessary. The history of the crown he served rested in a crimson flow. A few more drops to the pool mattered little to him. Lisandra would give him what he wished for, to include the prize that would garner him great favor in the eyes of those who saw him so lowly a man. Athelsburgh. Reading the name on the directive written by the hand of the Bruce himself set off a chorus of angels, or perhaps demons, singing in his mind. Divine intervention left him holding pieces in the forever played chess game that would ensure him more than just a pawn’s fate. Lands denied him so unfairly waited for his plucking. He planned to grab at it and hold fast with the hand not raising Athelsburgh’s severed head, for all the English court to see. His cousin and her sisters could mourn, but it would be in England. Bringing them back from Scotland, bringing them back to civilization would not be a difficult task. The girls once lived in the spoils and comforts of the English court. As each of the girls grew, whispers of strategic alliances rose in earnest. Lisandra, the eldest and by far the most fair was to be the greatest coup. She held the greatest share her father’s heart. A soft snarl rose as Edmund brought his fist down on the rickety table before him. Jean St Germaine. That traitorous bastard ruined everything when he backed Robert the Bruce and ultimately turned spy for the Scottish cur. Visions of political power evaporated in an instant when Edmund heard of his uncle’s betrayal. Three long, slavish years later, Edmund stood poised on the brink of returning to the grandeur he had once feasted upon. The English courts held a plentiful bounty and it was only a matter of time before he sat with those in power once more. Grabbing his tankard, he drained the watery mead in one long drink and wiped his mouth clean with his sleeve. “We will succeed,” he murmured to no one in particular. “I will have my due, they will have their blood payment and all will be well again.” He knew the key was Lisandra. It always had been but she mattered more than ever. She held the power, an unwelcome point tempered by the point Heathly St Germaine still lived, remaining the figurehead by that mere fact. Lisandra was everything in the plan. Marry her off to a strategic ally, claim the lands and title, build his wealth.

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A giddy giggle bubbled up from deep inside him. So close. He stood so very close and knew it was simply a matter of time.

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Chapter Eight It was three days hard ride to Dunfermline where she would meet with the King of Scotland. If she took the most direct route, it would have cut her travel back, but she feared discovery. She would have her pleas heard before The Bruce or give up her life trying. Marriage to any man chilled her to the core. Marriage to that beast who served no other purpose than to vex her was simply not going to be. Her King would understand. She would give Aisley over to Lord Athelsburgh. She would make him a good wife. It would settle things nicely. All could abide under the same roof, still serving the King as he wished. By the time she reached the small city, it was nearing dark on the third day. She slipped in, unrecognized by anyone. The last step was to arrive before her king. An unfortunate delay twisted into providence she could not have prayed for more fervently. So close to the towering, formidable castle that stood as the private retreat of The Bruce, she wandered a bit too close to taverns where men heartily partook of too much food and fermented beverage that addled their mind. One such man caught sight of her and seized the opportunity to make advances on her. Surrounded by crowds of people who found great delight in the bragging man’s pursuits, she knew drawing her hidden daggers to protect herself would see her off to a gaol, not the inner sanctum of the king. As the man pressed forward, she searched for a solution. An arm seized her about her waist dragging her close, while the man’s free hand sought to find what bounty he could under her manly garb. The gathering around them cheered him on and she struggled only slightly, moving them both closer to the nearest table laden with food and drink. She discovered quickly that a man stirred in a single purpose became narrow minded in his focus. As he sought to steal a kiss from her lips, she took the opportunity to seize a pitcher from the table near her and bring it smashing over his head. Released immediately, she jumped back and snickered as the man’s randy hands flew to the gash on his forehead. The blow stunned him only for a brief moment and the fire she saw in his eyes set her to running away as quickly as her aching legs would take her. The chase ended quickly enough as discovered he knew the darkened streets she raced through better than her. “So you wish to offer a fight for my favors, do you, you little shrew?” Lisandra struggled fervently in the man’s grip this time. Teeth, nails, knees, elbows she used any and all to seek her release from his hold. “I am far from a shrew. Be warned.” She managed to get one good bite delivered to a part of his arm not covered by a leather armband. “Warning noted. No, I think you are a hellcat that will do well enough to provide a fine night of tupping. I like spirit.” She screeched and jerked her head backward, connecting with his cheek. “My spirit is lethal, you swine. Continue your hold and I will make you suffer. They do not call me The Viper Queen for nothing.” She had no idea if the taunt would have any effect on her captor, but if her name was as well known as Athelsburgh suggested, she had hope. And success. She was released with a shove and a hearty laugh from the man.

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“You?” He stepped closer and she moved backward, setting herself in a defensive stance. “Bluidy ‘ell. What a treat!” he declared as he gave her a mocking bow. When he stood upright again, Lisandra shivered hard. The cold, determined look in his eyes made her more than wary. “And what a coup,” he purred. She was seized once more and dragged before her King by way of bloodying a man who thought to bed her. She saw he knew exactly of the name evoked by her and could not believe her luck. Lisandra had no idea a certain few were expecting her to make an appearance. It took a blow to her captor’s nog to speed her arrival before the Bruce, but the smile on the man’s face troubled her. He seemed entirely too pleased and it chilled her to the very core of her soul. ***** “Lady Lisandra.” Her name was an exasperated sigh on Robert the Bruce’s lips. She started to raise her head to look at him but his bellow for everyone to leave him with gave her pause. The room cleared leaving only the man she assaulted to linger behind. “That seems a nasty cut you’ve gained, Simon.” Robert looked from his friend to Lisandra St Germain. “A sparring match with Raden’s betrothed?” A hearty gasp and subsequent curse sliced through the air. “Bluidy ‘ell, Robbie, you canna be serious! He wants to take this asp to bride?” The Bruce saw clarity dawn in Simon’s eyes, then the resolution to keep from laughing at the situation. He raised a hand, holding his own smile in check. A heartbeat later, he looked over as Lisandra jumped to her feet and wheeled around, producing a dagger from a location that made both men’s brows rise. “Call me that again, you son of a -” Robert yanked her back by her gambeson as Simon lurched forward out of sheer instinct and he clamped a hand over her mouth. “That is one of your sisters’ planned grooms. Laird MacBriede is a strong ally, Lisandra. Do not change his mind. All is arranged and finding a new man for is a problem I do not wish to have.” He gave his warning and let her go. Despite his grace’s declaration, Lisandra let out an unladylike snort. “If my King wishes it, but I could do better. In fact I am here to offer to step aside and let one of sisters marry Lord Athelsburgh.” She gave the bloodied, but fair-faced blonde a derisive look before facing the King once more. Robert stood, brow arched. “You would disagree with me, Lisandra?” The look in her king’s eyes made her swallow hard and render a feeble smile. “My lord, I am not wifely material. My sister Aisley would much better suit him. She has been groomed to be the perfect wife since her birth. They found good company in each other the night he arrived at Hawkesheath.” Dagger sheathed, she hoped the King of all people, although a man, would see reason. Men rarely considered a woman’s opinion, but The Bruce was no ordinary male. Robert glanced past her to Simon who had a hand clamped over his mouth. Neither expected her to chatter before them. She sounded nothing like the woman who would strike first and speak second. “Well, Robbie, if I may say so, Raden isn’t husband material.” Mirth sounded in Simon’s comment. “If you don’t mind Simon, could I have a bit of decorum here? At least Robert?” The king rolled his eyes and walked back to the seat he occupied before the commotion. “You are correct, Simon. That is why I made my decision. It is a perfect match. All he has to do is keep her from killing any more of my subjects. It’s not as if I expect a blissful

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union, just a wee bit of control.” “Well, Raden can manage that. He will just have to watch for flying pitchers. She has rather good aim.” Simon touched the gash and found it still bleeding. “Dear God, Robbie, um- Robert, could you imagine if she bore him children?” Lisandra kept her eyes locked on the king while the banter flew around her. If she turned, Simon MacBriede would lack the ability to produce heirs. The men could mock her all they wished. She was not marrying Lord Athelsburgh. She would marry no man. “Well, they would be fair looking if not fair tempered.” Robert chuckled and looked directly at Lisandra. “You realize, Lisandra, Raden will not be pleased you are here, pleading your case before me directly. It is not only a slap in the face for him, but me as well.” “Your grace, I meant—” “Having a loyal subject question my decisions bodes poorly with me, Lisandra. Has Raden spoken out against my decision as well?” He leaned forward in his seat waiting for her answer. “No, your grace,” she muttered. “I gave him no chance to speak on it.” “Why does that not surprise me? What sort of evil threat did you level upon him when you read the news?” Before she could answer, Robert looked past her to Simon and gave him a warning glare. The bloodied blonde was fighting desperately not to laugh and losing his battle quickly. “Not evil, m’lord. It was more toward truthful. I do not ever wish to marry. I have no need for such a thing. If it is my blade you wish me to lay down and never pick up again, that I will do. I swear on my very life. Please, if you wish me to beg, I shall. Do not make me wed that beast.” Pleading was next on her agenda. Tears that moved most disagreeable men lay in wait as her last resort. Somehow, the wiles of women she had observed over the years needed to come into play or she was doomed. Robert felt a small measure of pity. If he would have known sooner an order to wed would have brought her escapades to a halt, he would have made it so. “Unfortunately, Lisandra, it is done. A royal decree has been issued and many men breathe sighs of relief. You will wed Lord Athelsburgh within a fortnight or forfeit all that you have taken from him by way of his doltish brother.” He gave her his most impressive regal tone. Robert watched Simon turn away, the laughter near ready to erupt. Rising to his feet, Robert walked over to Lisandra and gently held her shoulders. “Lisandra, this is a union of absolute necessity. If neither of you wish to engage in any of the rights that wedded folk do, that is fine. I need you and Raden side by side. He told you of Hawkesheath’s history?” She gave a brief nod. “The unions are strategic ones. Love is not an issue when the very freedom our men and women have died for still faces perilous times. Simon will be residing there. So will the other two men chosen for your sisters. In time, the men with your sisters will return to their own lands, but Hawkesheath will be restored to its former purpose at all costs to include your protests.” He let her shoulders go and motioned Simon forward. “Escort her to Lord Athelsburgh’s room. I am sure he will be pleased to see she arrived safely.” Simon seized her arm and draped it over his. Robert merely smiled pleasantly. “H-He’s here?” Lisandra squeaked. Her heart, thudding painfully in her chest to that point, staggered in its beating. That bastard, her mind screamed. If she stood in her own keep, her feet would be swift in delivering her to where he waited, and another battle

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would rage. This match for her proved to be more insufferable by the moment. “Yes, my dear, he is. He arrived not more than an hour before you did. His instincts proved correct. You fled in the middle of the night and he assumed you would arrive here to do exactly what you have done. He declared it to be just something only the Viper Queen would dare attempt. Now, here you stand and there he waits.” Robert pointed above his head. “And Simon, when you have delivered her to Raden, see to your wound.” Simon gave a courteous bow as he tugged Lisandra down into a curtsey. “As you wish, my liege.” Raising his eyes, he shared a mirthful wink with his King then led Lisandra out of the room. Robert saved his own laughter until Lisandra’s voice faded in the distance. He had shocked her enough for one evening. The rest could wait ‘til morning.

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Chapter Nine It was not difficult to hear Lisandra make her way to his room, even with the door closed. No thickness of wood could dampen the screeching that emanated from her. Raden said a quick prayer for her escort’s ears. He understood the man’s pain. A heavy thumping on his door signaled her arrival. Raden barked out his order to enter. It was time to put on the angry face. The entire ride to Dunfermline had been a mix of indignation and humor thinking on her. Lisandra had the audacity to try to slip away in the middle of the night unnoticed. He knew her destination. Only she would stand before a king and cry foul to save her soul from the union of marriage. Or in her mind, the bondage of such an event. His eyes widened briefly, then narrowed sharply. Simon was the escort. Blood streaked down half his face. Trailing his heated glare from his best friend to the shrew held close to him, he began to growl. “It’s just a flesh wound. Doona punish her too badly. It serves me right for trying to plump the fruit of a woman in trews.” Simon’s levity was lost on Raden. “Get out.” He watched as the snarled command gave Simon pause. “I will not kill her. That would be far too easy a punishment for her. Now leave us.” For a short moment, Simon’s unease at leaving the little viper with his friend brushed his thoughts. Raden had only once raised a hand to a woman, but at the time, she was threatening to plunge a dagger into his belly. He wondered if the same look of rage settled on his face. He saw Lisandra squirm at Simon’s side and his brow arched. There was no fear in her expression. Instead, the contempt she bore for him proved her desire to provoke a good fight. Raden motioned for his friend to release the woman. Simon shrugged, smiled jauntily and left the two to their business. Raden remained still as Lisandra stood with chin lifted in defiance, ignoring the closing of the door behind her. “Do your worst, Raden. Nothing will top what our King has ordered, so have at it. I give you my word I shall not even fight you on it,” she lied sweetly. He knew that. The glint in her eyes told him she wanted, at the very least, to carve his heart out with her very nails. Raden stalked her slowly, a feral look in his eyes. “You threaten dismemberment if I so much as speak with anyone in my keep, yet you have the gall to assault my closest friend and a confidante of the King?” Circling her slowly, he pondered where to start first. His mind determined there was only one way to bring the wild cat to heel and his libido concurred. “He pawed at me! I was well within my right to defend my honor.” She let out a small huff and folded her arms across her chest. “He is fortunate I had other business to tend to here in Dunfermline else the pitcher over his head would not have been the only thing cracked.” “Honor?” He spat the word to her. “You stand before me dressed as a man, yet serving as a temptress by the fit of your garments and dare utter that word? This is so rich a notion coming from a woman who is condemned for her bloody sins to the sentence of marriage simply because a man would dare look on her in such deviant ways.” Grabbing her chin roughly, he held tight as he continued. “Understand this, beguiling serpent. I am condemned with you, but as your betrothed, our King has granted me the power to make you pay for your crimes and pay dearly you shall. Tonight is the

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last evening where your misguided sense of honor will come into useful play, Lisandra St Germain. Pray to God to be lenient on your soul, for there will be no mercy from me with your body.” He let her go and started for the door. The propriety she spoke of took the time rear its ugly head to Raden, giving him pause from the punishments his mind already sought to deliver. “Your honor. Even now, you kept in my quarters like this your honor risks tarnishing. Give me a moment, my dearest shrew. I shall change that. Heaven forbid I shame what little is left by having you perceived as something you are not.” A wicked smile accompanied his caustic tone. “Women will whisper your fortunes this night and men will rejoice in my sufferings for it. Think on that. When I return, judgment and execution will be complete.” ***** In the time it took her to turn to face him, she saw only a glimpse of his back. The door closed, the lock turned and she found herself trapped inside his room. Fear raced down her spine. What he could plan made her stomach seize. His riddled speech made her wonder if she faced the noose of marriage or one of death in the moments ahead. A cursory glance around the room gave her no hope of escape. The window to his quarters was a mere slit even she could not fit through. Worse, if she could the drop from the third level his room was situated on would kill her. Cocking her head slightly, she took a step closer to the window. Maybe, she thought. No luck. There would be no hurling herself to her death that night. She lifted drapes, overturned furniture, felt along the walls for any sign of a secret passage out of Raden’s room. Her frustrations grew with every second that passed. Desperation overtook her. She could not stay in his room. To have the name of Viper Queen tacked to her was shame enough. Despite his pointed words, her only concern was what dignity and self-respect she had left in a tenuous grasp. To be looked at as a wanton woman there to pleasure Raden before stepping out of his quarters in the morn was unacceptable. Lisandra gripped the heavy oak wardrobe against one wall and shoved with all her might. It remained unmoved while her body slipped and landed in an ungracious heap on the floor. With a whispered stream of curses spewing from her lips, she rose to her feet and tried again. Mortification washed over her when company returning the room interrupted her silent struggles. “Well Robbie, would you look at that. My betrothed is in such a rush to be wed, she has torn my room apart looking for a fresh garment to wear.” Raden stood in the doorway of his room, having thrown it open with grand flourish. He wanted to startle Lisandra. He succeeded. Flanking him was the King to the right and Simon to the left. Behind him yawned a sleepy and trembling priest. “What a lovely sentiment. Smelling of horse sweat and dirt, I could see how she would wish to present herself a more fetching parcel on her wedding night.” Robert glanced up at Raden, smiling innocently. “Fair planning on your part the maids are bringing up water for her bath.” “Why thank you my liege.” Raden turned and gave Robert a mock bow then returned his hard gaze to Lisandra. She stood like a cornered fox facing the teeth of growling hounds. “But as you said only moments before when I approached you, your time is a precious commodity not to be wasted. I will trouble you no further once you have witnessed the fulfillment of your so nobly directed command. Shall we begin?” Raden dragged the priest forward, shoving him in Lisandra’s direction. Robert entered then the groom and his best friend.

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“I must confess, I do love weddings, even under such unique circumstances as these. Normally I would say something wise and witty, but I have a row of quills in my study needing arrangement. Let’s be on with this joyous occasion.” Robert declared wryly. He understood Raden’s haste for vows to be exchanged. There was a fair chance Lisandra would never make to any altar otherwise. With everyone standing in their proper places, Raden reached out and seized Lisandra by her elbow, yanking her to his side. “Speak now or forever hold your peace.” he hissed in her ear.

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Chapter Ten Lisandra offered no protest. She could not. The King stood by her side, grinning from ear to ear as he rocked back and forth on his heels to the droning sound of the priest conducting the ceremony. She spoke only two words the entire occasion and only by way of duress. The grip Raden held on her elbow threatened to crush it if the words “I will” did not spill from her lips. All passed in a blur. She heard nothing the king said as he clapped her shoulders. Raden’s friend Simon spoke as well. Lisandra shut everything out, retreating deep inside herself until she could form another plan of escape. They exchanged vows, but she had no intention of keeping to them. This marriage be damned. She would rather suffer in hell than face Athelsburgh as his bride. The sound of the door slamming shut startled her out of her deep plotting. She looked around and found the room empty save the presence of the man she refused to acknowledge as husband. “Strip out of those filthy rags. I will not be further humiliated by the sight of my wife, Lady Athelsburgh, looking like some beggar boy on the streets.” Lisandra’s brows went up at his demand. “I will not. I have nothing else to wear and if this was fit for an audience with the King himself, you can abide them as well until we return home.” Fire began to rise in her. Her defenses stirred, self-preservation her only goal. Raden stepped closer. She moved back until she tripped over a footstool she had overturned in her search for escape. A strong hand captured her wrist in a vice-like grip and steadied her. In the blink of an eye later, the leather ties holding closed the gambeson she wore snapped, part of her linen undershirt ripping along with his vicious tug. “Take this off. If you do not, I will continue to do this for you.” Lisandra saw the determination in his eyes mingled with the anger still raging in their dark depths. She knew for the time being, she could do little more than oblige his demand. She removed the vest and reached for the hem of her shirt, stopping instantly when a knock on the door sounded. She hoped for a reprieve. She received a line of maidservants parading in, rolling a large tub inside and settling it before the hearth, filling it with bucket after bucket of steaming water. Curtseying to Raden, one woman held out a small wrapped parcel for him, scurrying out when he took it from her. Eyeing the tub, she missed Raden bringing the parcel to his nose and inhaling deeply. Lisandra worried over the moment the door closed again. When she thought no more would enter, more servants arrived bearing a gown and other garments for her. “In your bluidy dreams.” The finery reminded her of the trussing she received at the hands of her sisters. She would not wear those binding garments again. She stepped around him and marched to the door. “You may leave while I bow to your command to bathe.” “You may finish taking off those garments as I requested, and no, my dear bride, I shall not leave. If you wish to bow, I would not be averse to it. Gives me ample view of the ripe breasts I shall have a taste of this evening. Husbandly duty and such.” He righted an overturned chair and placed it in front of the tub. Sitting, he sighed and kicked off his boots. “Hurry up. The water is growing cold.”

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“It can freeze like hell will when I bathe before your prying eyes.” She placed her hands on her hips, leveling a challenge with her eyes. “You take the rags off yourself or I do it for you. You have to the count of thirty to make your decision.” Lisandra stood defiantly as he began to count. “So you know your numbers. At least I wasn’t chained to the idiot your mother birthed and I killed.” Raden kept counting. She remained still. It was a matter of who would flinch first. ***** Raden reacted first. He moved with blinding speed, catching her by the sleeve of her mannish shirt, ripping it at the seams. “You’ve made your decision. The rest goes now.” He tore the other sleeve free and tossed the offending garment to the floor. “Never again will you don this garb without my permission. I could hand you over and have you flogged for such a thing, or better yet, killed. If I have to force it, you will present yourself as the woman hidden in you unless dire circumstances arise.” There was a certain amount of delight in rending her clothing from her body. He made short work of the top. The leather bottoms would be another matter. Only one course of action presented itself. While she ranted about taking from her by force and how it made him to be a devil on earth, he searched for one particular item. She had thrown the room into disarray leaving him to resort to something makeshift. Picking up the sleeves off the floor, he tied the cuffs together with a solid knot and tested its strength. It would suffice. “The boots and trews, bride. Now.” He dangled before him the pieces of cloth further tied in cinching loops, intention blazing in his eyes. “You are worse than the spawn of Lucifer himself!” Lisandra screamed at him. She flopped down onto the floor and yanked her boots off, throwing them with near lethal precision at his groin. A deft step to the side prevented Raden from receiving a healthy blow to his stirring loins. “Now the bottoms. Make haste. You’ll appreciate it when you slip into the water while it is warm.” He flicked his hand at her, a silent order to continue. Before she arrived, he had had no intention of partaking of his God given right to tup his bride. The firestorm she brought into his room by temper alone lit one deep inside his body, creating a hunger he would assuage feasting on every lush curve before him. Trouble or not, the viperous shrew sitting before him stirred a desire in him he wished to sate buried deeply inside her body. Shackled to her in the bonds of marriage, he had a holy blessing to sup from the bounty before him. He considered it payment for the assault on his ears if little more. In time, he would exact more from her in creative ways to make up for his own condemnation. The Bruce forced the union. He would make his prison a comfortable one. She broke him from his thoughts with another demand. “At least have the decency to turn your back so I may settle myself in the tub.” Raden considered her request for a long moment, stretching the tension in the room. Finally turning, he held that posture until he heard the first slosh of water. He tugged his own shirt off and deftly undid the laces to his pants, letting them fall to his feet. The act caused a small shriek to meet his ears. “What are you doing? Put your clothes back on!” He turned and saw Lisandra as deep in the tub as she could force herself, curled up in a ball to cover what she could. She clamped her hands over her face. Silently, he padded over to the tub then hauled her up by her braided hair. She

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screamed like a banshee until his lips silenced her. Nails raked at his arms. She thrashed and squirmed. Wet as she was, he nearly lost his hold on her. Seizing her wrists, he pinned them to her side, continuing his hungry assault on her lips. The first taste of her at Hawkesheath had been different. She offered no protests. Her curves had molded to his, her lips parted willingly under his. In his royal quarters, she made every attempt to bite his lips off. The sweet taste of woman on his tongue as he explored her mouth gave rise to a burning need to have much more from her. Her hard struggles served to stir his body more. Her flesh ground against his, slick from the water, heated from her fight. He moaned into her and tightened his hold on her. Raden wondered if she realized what her thrashings were doing to just his throbbing hardness alone. Breaking the kiss with a nip to her bottom lip, he stared down into her eyes. She was furious. He was hungry. But she still smelled of a long ride atop a sweaty horse. Keeping hold of her wrists, he whirled her around, using her arms to pin her back to his front. “The more yeh struggle, lass, the more I like it.” He slipped into a thick brogue, rough and warm against her ear. “Yeh need a bath and you’ll be getting one.”

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Chapter Eleven Lisandra stilled against him. Flesh met flesh, sending a frisson of fear shooting down her spine. The proof he enjoyed her fight pressed hard and long up the small of her back. He spoke of a bath. She knew he meant much more. Trapped as she was, she would offered no fight to further entice him. The battle would come later. If he took all he wished from her, he would learn to sleep with one eye open from that moment forward. King’s decree be damned. All things Raden did added to the justification she would claim after she gutted her new husband. She sat rigid as the forced bathing began. He loosed her hands to wash her, his legs effectively trapping her in the confines of the tub. While she felt cramped, he reveled in the snug fit. The small parcel one of the maids handed over to Raden was unwrapped and Lisandra smelled lavender waft through the air. The scent of a woman of the night. She curled her lips in a frown as he roughly slid the cake of soap up and down her limbs. By the choice of scent, she knew his choice of women. She would dance with the Devil himself before she allowed him to drag her to the status of a woman for hire at the toss of a coin. Clamping her eyes shut, she took her mind to another place while her body remained firmly in place between his strong thighs. It was the touch of his hand in over her nether parts that startled her from her stillness. Self-preservation as instinctual as breathing reared its head, causing her to slam hers back against his. She struggled to her feet as he roared, blinking back the stars the blow stirred before her eyes. Crack! Lisandra screeched. Her feet came out from under her and she tumbled in a heap half out half in the tub. Her bottom burned as if branded. It had been by his hand hard across the globe of one cheek. He had spanked her! “You son of a dog!” She gave a fine struggle to right herself, serving only to wedge herself tighter against him. “How dare you lay hand to me in such a fashion!” “There’ll be more where that came from yeh blasted wench!” Lisandra felt his strong arms around her once more. He rose to his feet, dragging her with him out of the tub to the chair he had occupied earlier in the evening. She gave her best efforts to loose herself from yet another unbreakable grip, but he held tight. In a deft move, he sat and she lay across his lap her face inches from the floor. No amount of squirming freed her from the iron-strengthened shackle of his arm pinning her in place. “Yer da’ shoulda done this more, yeh banshee.” There was a rough edge to his purring brogue, a sign of primal urges rising in him. “Do this and I vow on my life you will have nary a moment’s peace even through death!” Lisandra’s warning went ignored. She felt the broad span of his hand meet the flesh of her bottom in another stinging smack. Then another. The sharp, sweet pain translated into an unfamiliar, heated pleasure beginning to pool between her legs Panicked, she screamed again, self-preservation seeking to purge the newest sensations. Her natural course of action demanded striking back. Another inspired her and she dropped her head, latching her teeth to the back of the leg nearest to her mouth. ***** He felt her teeth sink into the flesh of his lower leg and laid another smack to her

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luscious bottom before he was on his feet again. Years of hard fought, hard won control snapped in that instant. Raden grabbed her up and threw her forcefully onto the bed he’d slept in every visit he’d paid to Robert. He gave his injured leg a cursory glance. The wench had drawn blood. Watching the trickle of crimson, he felt his body stir to battle. If she wished to continue, he would end it promptly. Gathering up the scraps of material once her shirt, he joined Lisandra on the bed she scrambled to leave. He yanked her head toward him by her braid, pinning the long length of hair beneath one leg. Grabbing her hands aimed for his face, he bound them deftly and held them high above her head, stretching her up. The sight of her jutting breasts distracted him momentarily. He would savor those soon enough. She needed further securing first. Raden draped the knot of the material through an ornately carved design in the headboard of his bed. Giving the material a tug, he assured himself her claws were secured. Seizing her ankles, he drew her body taut and pinned her in that position with his legs. “A piece of your flesh for the piece you took from me, little viper.” He growled softly as his eyes raked over the bounty before him. He pondered for a moment, settling on the fullness of her breasts, rising and falling with every rapid breath she took. He was rarely a brusque man in the bedchamber, preferring instead slow leisurely tupping. If asked, he obliged. For Lisandra, he would return pain she caused with wicked pleasure liberally laced with a rough edge. She continued to curse him, his parentage and all generations to come. Raden ignored her spiteful words, dropping his head, brushing his stubbled chin over the tip of a nipple standing erect, beckoning to him. She jerked wildly against his legs, staggering for a second in her fury-filled diatribe. Wrapping his lips around the taut bud, a hard suckling drew a snarl from her. His tongue lazily stroked it to rock hard fullness before he bit down gently on the tasty treat between his teeth. Pain and pleasure, pleasure and pain. He would show her both could be equal partners in the pursuits of ecstasy. As he continued, he enjoyed the variety of screeches and shrieks he elicited from her. Moving to her other breast, he nipped and suckled until she was heaving in deep breaths, struggling to continue her vehement protesting. Dragging his tongue around the plumpness of one breast, he gently kneaded the other. Her spirit rallied against him, but every touch he laid against her compelling body drew it closer to defiance. The way her body began to move against his ceased to be struggling. Raden felt the heat building between her legs. The scent of her arousal filled his head. For a moment, he warred with himself. Taking from her against her will nearly brought him to a halt. Feeling her body warm to his touch, respond to him as he continued to move his lips closer to the very essence of her womanhood, he quelled that notion. The war would no longer reside inside him. When he finished with her, he would not be the skirmish she fought next. He knew one grew inside her. While she battled herself for enjoying his ministrations, he would have a hard won peace. Nudging her legs apart, he held them still as he dipped his head low. The tip of his tongue flicked against her swollen bud and she jerked her hips upward. Raden was prepared to make her wet and welcoming with his mouth. He did not expect her to be in that state already. On a soft growl, he buried his face in the silky mat of coppery curls, suckling the gleaming wetness of her core. The taste of her drove him to spear his tongue hard inside her, lapping up her sweet juices like a parched man.

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Raden felt her responses more than heard them. As he nipped and laved and drew hard on her bud, her body grew more tense. He heard nothing from her but panted growls. She was fighting him and her body’s increasing enjoyment of the pleasures he was lavishing on her. Raden’s goal from that moment on was to make her scream not in fury but in unabashed desire. He continued without mercy, listening to the sound of her breathing grow more labored, her sounds changing to stifled mewlings. Glancing up at her face over her damp curls, he grinned against her folds. He saw her teetering on the edge, biting down on her lip to remain silent. Plunging two fingers into her tight, beckoning depths, he watched her head drop back on the pillows and her body bow at the sensation he drew from her. It did not loose the hold on her lip. Her hands were a stark white as she gripped the bonds that held her. She had more resolve in her than he gave her credit for. Curving his fingers inside her, he stroked a spot that made her whimper. “Give in, wee cat. Let it take you over.” he rasped against her belly. While his fingers continued their blissful assault, he lapped and nibbled at the beads of sweat dotting her silky flesh. Her head thrashed back and forth. He stroked harder. Sliding a bit higher on her body, he seized one of her nipples and gave it another teasing bite. Her head stilled, then raised as she looked down at him. He met her gaze, pure lust raging in the depths of his eyes. A devilish smile added to the effect. She hissed at him and dropped her head back again, clamping her eyes shut. “I’m nae gonna stop till I hear yeh scream my name, lass. Yeh taste so good, I can go atcha all night.” “Devil take you to hell!” she panted out tugging at her restraints once more. “Nae, lass. Not with you under me. Tasting heaven, I am.” He pulled his fingers out and licked clean the flavor of her essence. Returning to that silky fount, he drank deeply from it and she shattered under him. He watched her arch sharply to the point he thought her spine would snap. Her juices flowed over his tongue like a sweet womanly wine, and he supped until her body began to relax. Raising his head, he studied her face, a smug grin on his face. It quickly changed to scowling. He saw blood trickling around the white of her teeth, still firmly latched onto her lower lip. “Bluidy hell, woman! What hae yeh done te yerself!” His sharp words brought her eyes to meet his. Forcing the tight muscles in her jaw to relent, she released her lip, ignoring the stabs of pain that spread outward with every word spoken. “I’ll scream your name on the ends of a curse, but never like this. Ever.” She let her body sag into the softness of the mattress and turned her head so she did not have to look on his face. He looked too pleased, too angry, too many things she wished to make go away as she clamped her eyes shut. “So you say now, Lisandra. Deny it all you wish, aloud and to yourself. You liked what I did.” He slipped back into the person so many grew to know, Athelsburgh, master of control. He would break her. She was his by force. God Himself witnessed the execution of that sentence. He would have all of her. Having tasted her, having felt her body writhe against his, he would make her join completely in the pleasures shared between a man and woman. And before he died, she would scream his name the way he wished.

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Chapter Twelve “Would yeh bluidy weel haud yer wheesht!” Simon roared bringing one of his large hands down on the table with force. Lisandra looked over at him then continued her verbal barrage directed toward Raden. Upon waking, she made a vow to cause Raden Athelsburgh much misery in his life. He would have nary a single moment’s peace. After his treatment of her on their wedding night, she would strive to make his life a living hell on earth. It started the moment she woke. He had been kind enough to loose her wrists when he had finished taking his pleasure with her between her legs with his mouth and hand. It seemed the urge to make her call his names to the heavens in the throes of mortal pleasure was his only demand for the evening. Refusing him put him off trying more. Lisandra wanted to break each and every bone in his hands and tear his lips from his face for the torture she endured. Undoubtedly, there would have been pleasure one day if she did not despise her spouse so greatly. From their very first meeting, she expected him to understand provoking her did little to encourage forward progress. She found most men God put on the lands before her to be little more than barbaric monsters. Raden had found his way to that particular dung heap. He would stay there for eternity. He had shown not a whit of concern at the pain she’d caused herself. The only move he made remedy the fact she was cold and naked after he had finished was to snug her tightly in a blanket. He growled at her in a language she did not understand, rolled onto his side and promptly fell asleep. After he fell into deep slumber, Lisandra found solace in the cold water of the tub, shivering harder, but convincing herself she could wash the stains he left on her clean away. The smallest of comforts carried her to sleep. He had not used his ‘sword’ to pierce her innocent flesh. His fingers and tongue had breached the outer walls of her untouched flesh. She hoped to meet her death still as unclaimed as the day she was born into her world. “How would you know what a bear sounds like, you vapid shrew?” Raden snarled at her. She flashed him a cold smile. “Here sits one breaking his fast with us. The wretched sounds are no different that when you slept. Such a disquieting noise. How does one find a moment’s restful slumber from such sounds filling a sleeping chamber.” Snatching a piece of bread from the platter near Simon, she continued berating Raden, baiting him, making him roar. Poking at the surly beast was a divine pleasure for her. He earned that torture by binding her to the bed they shared, taking what he wanted, leaving her confused as to why he did not complete the entire act of consummation. She would continue to buzz at him like a gnat about his ear, avoiding his swipes, driving him to fits of temper. She could handle men like that. A certain amount of predictability reigned in men when rankled. Once home, out from under the watchful eyes of the King and his servants, she would be free to drive Raden to madness and leave her in blessed peace and solitude. “Perhaps my wife should have silenced me properly?” Lisandra let out a hearty snort as his pointed look. “I had no blades at my disposal, else I would have.” she informed him.

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“Your tongue strikes fair enough.” Simon had sat at the table long enough, enduring volley after volley of the verbal blows. Rising to his feet, Lisandra saw him move toward her and stood as well. “Touch me, Laird MacBriede and—” “And what, Lady Athelsburgh?” From a side entrance, Robert entered and she held her silence. “No, pray tell. Yours and Raden’s sparrings have traveled the distance of the castle and back. Please, do continue.” Lisandra heard the sarcasm in his tone and wisely kept silent. She gave him a regal curtsey instead. He acknowledged the gesture with a slight nod of his head then moved to Raden. “Wedded bliss wears poorly on you, Raden. You look tired.” She bristled at the fact her King cared more for her husband’s welfare than hers. Biting the inside of her cheek was all she could to keep from speaking out before Raden could. “And your wife? Why is her lip injured?” She felt Raden’s cold, dark gaze on her and an evil smile touched her lips. She did not scream his name. Victory for so small a cost. “Why your grace, Lisandra was gracious enough last eve to silence her cries of sheer pleasure by choosing to bite her lip rather than call out proclaiming the glories we reached together in the comforts of our wedding bed.” Her mouth dropped open. If the King himself did not standing there between them, Lisandra would have carved Raden’s lying lips off his face with her nails. The King’s quiet laughter did nothing to quell the revenge stirring inside Lisandra. Another mark added to the growing list she kept in her mind of arrogant and idiotic things Athelsburgh should be punished for. It was merely a matter of waiting until they left the prying eyes of their King and returned to Hawkesheath. Robert walked over to her, cupping her chin and staring directly into her eyes. He knew the truth. It had been reported to him upon rising. He wanted news that both Lord and Lady Athelsburgh were indeed alive and had not caused bloodshed from each other during the night. “Finish your meal, Lisandra. I will speak with you when you are finished.” He turned his head, looking at Raden. “When I am finished with Lady Athelsburgh, you three will make haste to Hawkesheath. Ian and Douglas await you there as I speak.” A curious look touched Lisandra’s face as she surveyed both men. The King’s words made their spines stiffen and a look of purpose fill their eyes. No room for jesting with their friend and liege remained. It warmed her to know they would serve their King so faithfully. “Perhaps, your grace, we will speak now? My appetite seems to be gone this morning.” Lisandra offered. She wished to leave as soon as possible hearing two men she did not know were at the keep where her sisters had been left. “Raden? May I steal your bride away for a few moments?” “As you wish, your grace.” Lisandra saw more sentiment in his eyes, and none of it pleasant. She smiled more wickedly. Men. They were altogether too easy. ***** Robert stood silent, studying Lisandra for a long moment. In his younger years, a woman like her would have brought him many enjoyable nights. Standing before her now, older and failing in health, the most he could consider was her finding a balance between pure hatred and unerring loyalty to him for the decision he brought down upon her.

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“Raden is a good man, Lisandra.” She gave him a polite bob of her head. “You’ll see that in time. I may be growing feeble but I still have my wits about me. I chose this match for a reason.” “As my King commands.” was her courteous reply. “Lisandra, in time you’ll understand. Great things are at play here and as trust grows between you and Raden, all shall be clearer. I gave you leave to take on Bryan Moncrief for a reason. I know you are your father’s daughter and having you mistress of the land there is most advantageous to me. Peace with England is tenuous at best.” Robert began to pace the length of the side room they were in. “Many unions like yours are nothing more than strategic alliances. Yours proved necessary. I will not ask you to love or even like Raden. The stubborn man can stir even me to ire, but he is skilled in cunning and battle. There are few I would hold higher regard in that respect. He is also loyal to a fault. What I ask of you now is to stand with him, listen and work with him to bring Hawkesheath back to its original purpose.” Steering toward her, he stopped before Lisandra and took both her hands in his. “I do ask that this one you don’t kill. Save that desire for the enemies that still lurk about our great land. There are already whispers stirring of dark designs at Hawkesheath. For your sisters and grandfather, for the father you loved so dearly, work with Raden to face down anything that might cross your paths.” He gave her hands a reassuring squeeze. “Together you and Raden can put down the Devil himself charging on that keep. Now go and serve Scotland and the Crown well. I am counting on your assistance to be as strong and freely given as your father’s.” Lisandra nodded slightly. “Forgive my boldness, your grace, but I still believe that Raden would have suited my sister Aisley better.” Robert burst out in laughter. “Would have suited you to see such a union, you mean? Marriage is not a pact with the devil designed to make you suffer inconsolably, Lisandra. I loved my first wife dearly. Love is not required of you. I ask no more from this union than cooperation between you and Raden. Fair enough?” “Yes, your grace, fair enough. Asking more would be impossible.” She gave him a deep curtsey. “Is there anything more?” “Take care of that mark on your lip and please do not kill Raden.” A smile touched her lips. “Do I have leave to make him squirm a bit?” “I have yet to meet a woman who does not possess that indestructible power bred into her very soul.” He kissed her cheek softly. “Go with God’s speed and worry no more about the vows you took.” Lisandra dropped another curtsey and started for the door. “One last thing, Lisandra? The men who will be joining you and your sisters at Hawkesheath?” She drew a curious look. Her eyes widened when her King whispered words in confidence against her ear. “Those are off limits to your sword and dagger as well, m’lady.”

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Chapter Thirteen A soft snarl spilled from Raden seeing Lisandra reappear later in the courtyard of the castle where he and Simon waited. She was dressed in wretched men’s garb once more. With a hard toss of her braided hair as she passed, she informed him it was a necessity. They were to make haste home. She could not do it on the back of a horse, tangled in layers of gowns around her legs. Adding to his dark mood, Raden found Simon brazenly admiring Lisandra’s welldefined curves. Simon was his best friend in life, but that stood weakly against the urge Raden had to smack the grin off the man’s face. Actions like Simon’s would lead him to do something foolish leaving Raden to wish never to see Lisandra in manly clothing again. He knew her compelling form and wanted no other man to look upon it with as much lust as she had stirred in him the night before. On a snarl, Raden ordered one of the stable lads to find a simple gown for the lady to wear and forbid any progress home until his new bride donned the garment. The standoff between husband and wife lasted only until Raden brought up the fact her sisters and grandfather were at Hawkesheath without her there for protection. He smiled inwardly at the small victory as she yanked on the maidservant garb to cover herself properly. Casting Simon a sharp glance, he ordered them to mount and be on their way. The ride, he knew, would be long and fraught with danger. They had no luxury of traveling under the cloak of darkness. Returning to Hawkesheath as fast as their mounts could take them was imperative. Little had been resolved when Scotland won its freedom. Treachery abounded at every turn and Raden faced the daunting task of protecting some of the country’s more valuable assets by virtue of marriage. He would thank Robbie later by sending him a bag of dung or something telling of his gratitude for the burden at hand. They rode northwest toward Raden’s outlying property of Hawkesheath. While his primary holdings were further south and east near Aberfoyle, the crumbling keep was the most valuable asset he possessed. His thoughts drifted sporadically to that land, considering how to restore it to its purpose for Scotland and the Crown. There had been no protest from Raden when the King told him of Lisandra’s challenge. If the Bruce sanctioned it, he had no room to disagree. Losing his idiot brother was something he accepted easily enough. Losing him at the hand of Jean St Germain’s daughter stirred mirth and admiration inside him. If more women fought like Lisandra, Scotland’s bloody battle for independence would have been a short one, ending in unerring victory. Marriage to her changed admiration to reluctant acceptance of her and her prickly nature. Hearing he would be saddled with her until death parted them did little to improve their tumultuous beginnings. He would never admit regret for his wedding night. Even as she raged, the sight of her womanly curves stripped of any mannish garb drove him to a hunger he had felt for no other woman previously. The longer he thought on the taste of her over his tongue and the feel of her body writhing under his ministrations, the more uncomfortable his seat in the saddle grew. Rather than suffer damage to the heart of his manhood, he proposed a pause in their journey. The sun’s position in the sky told him they had made good time to that point. Raden felt a small measure of pride at the fact Lisandra kept up with him and Simon. He had never met a woman who didn’t begin braying at the discomforts of riding after an hour

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on horseback. Looking at her as they dismounted, he saw something that stirred his loins even more painfully. Her cheeks were flushed from the sun. Her violet eyes sparkled in delight. She was smiling. Privy to so few of those, he discreetly drank in that lovely occurrence. He knew he would never put a smile on her face like that. It was not his purpose in life. He had pressing business to tend to by King’s order. He would admire the view and continue on. Silence was necessary where they paused, yet he found himself doing nothing to stop the chatter between Simon and Lisandra. Simon’s charms were out and Lisandra was enjoying them. Raden let them continue. She needed to know that his choice for Aisley’s husband was one of the finest men she would ever come to know. She would threaten him less if she saw that for herself. While they conversed between themselves, Raden kept watch. They were on MacIntyre lands. The clan served more their own purpose than that of the Crown, making their stop a dangerous one. He bore a letter from the King granting him passage from clan land to clan land without exception, but Raden knew there were still lairds angered at the bloodshed over the past few years. So many deaths. So much sorrow. Earning freedom came at a terrible price. Moments later, Raden’s worst fears came to pass. Nine men descended on the trio, surrounding them, cutting off every chance of escape. Raden had his sword in hand when he heard the first rustle of leaves around him. He knew without looking that Simon was on his feet. Lisandra would be as well. A curse tore through his mind. From the moment they left Dunfermline, he’d kept his shrewish wife unarmed. The men they faced were fresh looking. In their eyes shone a lust for battle. Too many times it was swing first, speak later. Raden lowered his sword. Diplomacy was tried first. He spoke, they listened. They chose a single route. Leave the woman and be gone. “Yeh can hae the shrew over my dead body.” Raden said with a shrug of his shoulders. “She may screech, but a fine lass on ‘er back she is.” Lisandra rankled to a righteous fury would do them good. Hating men as she did, his Viper Queen in a tizzy would take out at least a pair of men if they charged. “‘At can be done.” The leader of the group nodded as he drew his sword. The rest of his men followed suit. Raden kept his sword low, his arm loose. He would take the men before him down only if they made a move to strike first. The odds were fair ones. He and Simon faced worse. “It can be done? Fine on my back? Do you know how weary I grow having men talk around me as if I don’t stand in their very presence?” Lisandra’s indignant tone caught the attention of the men not focused on Raden and Simon. “This is what remains wrong with our world. Men thinking women serve no greater purpose than to be seen and not heard unless it’s to tell them how wonderful their manhood is.” Raden saw Simon take a step toward Lisandra and he shook his head no slightly. Lisandra could handle herself well enough. “Fine. Anyone of you addle minded dolts that wish to hear me prattle on about how strong you are, how fine your man flesh is, you must best me first. I will serve willingly any man left standing. My body will be yours to use as you knock-kneed little boys see upon victory.” Simon stifled his laughter, giving Raden a pointed look. Raden merely put her challenge in the back of his mind and waited for first strike. “Well? I have things to do. Can we please get this over with? I have a long ride

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ahead of me.” Her final statement drove their enemy into a fury. Battle cries went up and swords glinted, raised in the speckled sunlight of the shaded glade. Before a single blow could rain down, an arrow whizzed through the branches landing in the knee of the leader. Ten archers, all bearing the King’s emblems on their gambesons appeared, arrows nocked, ready to be loosed from their bows. “One move to harm the King’s subjects and your lives and your lands will be forfeit. Scotland’s hard won freedom will abide no greed and senseless bloodshed.” Raden turned to face the one who spoke, ignoring the howls of the man on the ground clutching his leg. Arren Prescott, captain of the King’s archers stood, bow drawn back, a somber look on his face. Many a time Raden had covered the man’s back and vice versa. It felt good to see him again. Swords were lowered, and to Raden’s relief, he watched Lisandra sheath one herself. He would thank Simon later for disobeying his direct order to keep the woman unarmed. “Think you would survive the Viper Queen’s sting, Harold MacIntyre?” The head archer spoke again. Brows went up on the faces of the nine who had challenged the travelers. Raden fought the urge to laugh seeing the looks of debate between the MacIntyres. “Be on your way and grant these three passage unhindered.” Moments later, the MacIntyres dispersed, leaving the archers and the traveling trio. Raden chuckled as Arren walked over to Lisandra and bowed slightly, offering an apology for having to evoke such a thing in her name. She smiled again and blushed softly. Raden ground his teeth together. Arren would get nothing of her razor sharp tongue? A childish urge to pout struck short and sharp. “If it served its purpose. Thank you for your service, sir. You and your men were a welcome sight.” Raden watched as Lisandra returned the bow. Simon let out a little snort. “Prescott, you knew we could take them fair enough.” The head archer shrugged. “I saw the lady offering more of a fight than you. I merely spared her having to sully herself. Besides, if one survived, he would have carried his cowardly arse back to his clan and stirred up more of a muck.” Friendly insults passed to and fro until Lisandra put a halt to the ego driven verbal sparring. In moments, she turned the mood, charming the entire lot of archers, offering them what little she had in the way of food and drink as a courtesy. She behaved as a proper gentlewoman, discounting every shrewish moment she’d waylaid the two men she traveled with just that very morning. “Tell me then, Lisandra. Who are you and what did you do with the harpy in our midst?” Raden asked as they mounted for the next leg of their journey. The archers had taken their leave, assuring Raden there would be no further conflicts to plague them. The King would not have his plans foiled by bullheaded ruffians. “If you must know, Sir Arren and my father were friends. Rest assured, my lord, what respect you earn from me, so you shall have. However, it seems that will be none.” Lisandra’s warning was punctuated by her spurring her horse into a full gallop out of the glade. “Simon, my brother, pray the lass’s sister has none of my dear bride’s qualities else you will wish entirely too many dark things as I do.” Simon laughed at Raden’s exasperated sigh and urged his steed on with his friend’s to catch up to the woman.

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Chapter Fourteen Lisandra took great comfort in knowing Raden would make no move to touch her during their journey back to Hawkesheath. Her heart still burned in anger knowing how her body had betrayed her mind. The foreign sensations that ripped through her body like a fiery maelstrom took her by surprise. Not one of the whispers she overheard when women spoke of lying with a man spoke of wanting to burst into flame from the sheer heat coursing through one’s veins. She’d worried about the very heart in her chest shattering from so rapid a beating. What built between her legs erupted inside her, the shock waves making her body convulse under his. She sat in front of the fire built where they stopped for the evening, wrapped in a small blanket, mulling the conflicting moment over and over. A small tingle began where there had once been such a powerful sensation. Her body began to heat under the thick wool. She could not blame it on the fire before her. The one building inside her again was the culprit. Her mind screamed for her to gain hold of her control once more. The man had taken as he wished, not caring about her. The forced marriage had joined her with a brute. He was a wretched louse who deserved to taste her blade not her body. Loathe as she was to admit it, there would be more moments like the one in Dunfermline. She would find herself on the bound end of his ruthless touches. He would have his way with her again. And she would comply. Her private meeting with the King forced her to accept her lot in life. She’d sown the seeds that led to the fruition of Robert’s plans. When she returned to Hawkesheath, she had to be the model wife of a strong ally to Robert. Behind closed doors, when no eyes were upon them, Robert gave her permission to rail as she saw fit against Raden. He thought the man deserved to be kept on his toes. Around others, Lisandra would be a gentle lamb. A gentle lamb with sharp teeth and a sharper tongue. She would lay down her life for King and Scotland, but she would only sacrifice so much of herself to a beast that would snatch more from her in the process. The King gave Raden a bride. Lisandra planned to show him just what kind she could be. He got a small taste soon after she drifted off to sleep. Feeling as if she had just closed her eyes, she felt something nudge her in the side and she lashed out at it instinctively. The thud and soft curse that followed let her know she struck well enough. Raden lay on the ground, winded, and she put him there. “Get up off your bluidy arse and get to your horse. We are moving again.” She countered his hissed order with a low growl. Even under the threat of death, she would not admit her body was aching from the hard rides. His actions in their wedding bed added to her soreness. When she reached home, she would soak for hours in a bath and threaten anyone who dared disturb her with dismemberment. Rising to her feet, she quickly folded and tied her blanket to her saddle and mounted up. Whatever the reason, she was left with no choice but to trust Raden to get them home even if it meant not another moments rest ‘til they laid eyes on the familiar keep. They rode in silence until sunrise, pausing at a small cottage she was informed sat at the corner of the east and south borders of Athelsburgh lands. An elderly couple bustled out of their home, smiles on their weathered faces as they looked at Raden and Simon. The

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two younger men took great delight in the elder woman’s fussing, returning her playful jests with hugs and kisses. It was only after the elder man cuffed Simon on the head that introductions were made to Lisandra. She stood quietly watching the banter, mannerly enough to not interrupt. Curiosity made her wonder who exactly the couple was when she’d heard from Hawkesheath’s more vocal residents that Raden had only shown his presence on his land once in the years since it became his property. If he never visited, what was the relationship to the couple whose cottage they stopped at? Her silent ponderings were interrupted by an enveloping hug by the woman called Rose. Lisandra towered over her, yet felt like a child again in her welcoming embrace. Having been without the feel of motherly arms around her for most of her life, she felt a strong urge to melt into the hold and stay for as long as Rose permitted. Spared the embarrassment she might have brought to herself, Rose let go and Lisandra composed herself once more. “’Tis high time this whelp found ‘imself a bride. Lovely one she is, Raden. Didnae think yeh would be so lucky.” Rose seized one of Lisandra’s hands and tugged her toward the door of the thatch roofed mud and stone cottage. “By the looks of yeh, lass, I’d say yer as hungry as yeh be tired, eh?” Lisandra looked over her shoulder to Raden, flashing him a cool smile as she spoke. “I’m both. Nothing like riding as if the Devil himself was nipping at our heels to make my first days as a bride sweet to my heart.” “When you’re ready to tell the whole truth,” Raden countered, “Rose will feed you. She doesn’t tolerate liars.” She smirked wickedly. “Nor would she delight in the silly gossip of a blushing wife.” She pursed her lips and delivered a mocking kiss before returning her gaze forward and stepping inside the cottage. “I doona need to be told, Lisandra. ‘‘’tis nae but a farce I can tell.” Rose nudged her toward a rickety looking chair made of slabs of wood held together by wrappings of twine. “No bother. Raden’s the most difficult of the lot. You keep your sharp tongue about you and he’ll be at yer feet in no time.” Lisandra sat, smiling warmly. “Well, I’m not called the Viper Queen for nothing. I didn’t ask for this union. He can trip and fall at my feet. I’ll just use him as a rug.” She snickered softly until she saw Rose’s look of displeasure. “Those two are like my own. I know who yeh are, and I know whatcha done. I would ask yeh keep yer hard words about the boy for a bit ‘til yeh get ta know him better. He’s rough, aye, but he’s got a heart of gold and he’d die for yeh already.” The scolding out of the way, Rose brought back her pleasant demeanor and set some porridge and bacon out for Lisandra. Fresh milk was poured and conversation began to flow. She noticed Rose kept most comments about Raden vague, leaving her to wonder even more as she devoured her meal. Every direct question was met with an answer that stirred more curiosity in her. Raden and Simon and Rose’s husband Arthur joined them near the end of Lisandra’s meal. It surprised her that both men had washed as best they could before sitting at the small table their large bodies dwarfed. As the men ate like starved babes, the chatter resumed. No matter how Lisandra directed the talk, she received no straight answers. Before she was granted the opportunity to take a short nap, Rose made sure she threw out every possible hint about how the newly married couple should start on a family. Lisandra dodged those comments skillfully, keeping her eyes locked on Raden as she

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spoke. There would be no children pushed out of her body. No matter how pleasing Raden’s handsome features continued to grow in her sight, she convinced herself that death seemed a better option than caving to the urges of her betraying body.

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Chapter Fifteen He considered the northern portions of the island he lived on to be an inhospitable wasteland. Edmund knew if pressing business concerning his cousin had not reared its head, he would have never set foot north of Hadrian’s Wall. The Scots were filthy, ignorant barbarians and the war against England further ingrained the thought in his mind. The surly upstarts cost many English lives for their notion of freedom. He hated them one and all. Traveling into the heart of their land set him ill at ease and made his flesh crawl. Keeping to the main roads and sleeping only in places he could ensure himself were disease free, he plodded closer to his final destination. A proper Englishman like himself risked life and limb traversing the country. He knew the looks he received at each stop threatened death, he spoke in a language that even the most hardened accepted. A full purse guarded by his sword and his companion’s glowering nature ended up half empty just by crossing through the gated Roman wall. Bribery soothed the savages and he continued northwest to the outskirts of Aberdeen where his cousins resided. Hawkesheath Castle would be of no consequence to him and he planned to lay no claims to the lands. Enough waited for him back in Winchester and the family estate there. He would state his case, liberally dosed with lies and trickery, get what he came for and return to the safety of his homeland victorious. Along the way, his hired guard assisted in helping conceive the plan that would reward Edmund greatly. Success meant a full purse for him and the chance to finally settle somewhere quiet to live out the rest of his days in comfort. Edmund seemed a bit crazed, but he had learned long ago, lunatics got results. Their brains proved to be a different sort of cunning and paired with his mercenary mind, getting what they wanted would be easily accomplished. When they arrived at the crumbling heap Edmund could loosely call a castle, his heart filled with a maniacal joy. His goals loomed closer on the other side of the towering oak doors he pounded on, demanding entrance. A cold smile appeared on his face as the doors opened and he was motioned in. A cursory glance around furthered his opinion of the destitution around him. The English army had done well when they attacked the land. Pride swelled inside him. If there was a way to completely destroy what was left standing, Edmund would have pondered it but his task was one thing and one thing only. He wanted Jean St Germain’s lands. Dismounting, he shouted an order to one who seemed like a simpleton of a guard, armed with merely a bow and a quiver full of arrows strapped to his back. In the blink of an eye later, he lay flat on his stomach, his hands roped together unmercifully. “Make a move to stop me, and I’ll have you dead.” The warning from the guard stopped Edmund’s protector in his tracks. “Get him off me! I am paying you to—” Edmund felt a booted foot on his neck, pressing his face into the muddy ground, effectively silencing him. He heard footfall and saw two more pairs of feet by his face. “We’ve an Englishman in our midst. Bring Douglas out. He can carry this piece of vermin inside. You two, escort his friend to a more secure place.” The pressure left Edmund’s neck and his captor hauled him to his feet. “When we’ve got you comfortable, you can state your business and be on your way. Your kind is

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not welcome here.” “Who do you think you are? Do you have any idea who I am? When my cousin hears of this behavior, I shall request you be put under the lash of a whip!” The man said nothing more to Edmund and he soon found himself inside to a room occupied by a man who looked like a rangy wolf. Dumped onto a chair, he was secured by more ropes. His only salvation came when a familiar face peeked inside, curiosity in her expression. “Cassandra! Thank God himself. Tell these idiots who I am so I may be released from these bonds! If this is how these barbarians greet welcomed company, it is no wonder the English took pleasure in thrashing them time and again.” he bellowed at his younger cousin. She looked at the two men who stood as captors in the room then at him. Inching inside, she drew a confused look. “Edmund? What on earth are you doing here?” “So you know him?” Ian asked. “Yes, but I don’t understand why he’s here.” Douglas spoke up. “Ian? Raden should be returning soon. Warn him of the unexpected company. Showing up unannounced makes me uncomfortable.” “But he is family.” Cassandra flashed Douglas a weak, nervous smile, leery of his reaction. She had no true commanding presence so she deferred to the man who was destined to be her brother-in-law in the near future. “Family or not, when Raden returns, he can deal with this Norman rat.” His was the final word on the subject as he took a place across the room to listen to Cassandra try and appease her cousin while he ranted on. Within minutes, Edmund found more company in two more of his cousin’s appearance. His fussing raised their own curiosity to the point of them venturing into the room. Aisley he considered the voice of reason. She saw his bindings and turned on Douglas, demanding her cousin’s immediate release. Maire, the cousin with the softest heart, stood over him wiping clean the dirt on his face, asking him if he wished for anything to make him more comfortable. “To be released would be very nice, Maire. Tell the oaf by the door to set me free. I will forgive him for his lack of sense and perhaps accept an apology from him.” Douglas let out a short laugh. “You stay as you are until Lord Athelsburgh returns and you’ll get an apology from me when the highlands turn to desert.” Folding his arms across his chest, he looked over the three women who continued to chatter at him and settled himself in for a long afternoon of assaults to his ears.

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Chapter Sixteen A long narrow path of dense forest that ran the length of the north end of Hawkesheath signaled their reaching that much closer to home. Midway through the darkened trail of yew and holly, oak and ash, Raden and his horse drew to an abrupt halt. His left hand flew up in a motion stopping his two companions. Dismounting, Raden knelt to pick up an arrow zinged through the thickness unerringly to land inches from his horse’s hooves. Snatching the arrow from the ground, he studied it for a moment. Fletching told a tale. Any archer worth his weight in salt created his own unique signature in the feathery balances on the top of the arrow. Raden scowled. Remounting, he tossed the arrow to Simon, and Lisandra saw the same look touch his face. “What’s going on?” Lisandra felt compelled to whisper. Her reply came in the form of both men spurring their heels hard into the flanks of their horses, leaving her no choice but to follow the treacherous speed through the muted light of the forest. All three kept low in their saddles, to avoid lower hanging limbs and to skirt any further arrows that might cut through the thinner parts of the trees. Breaking through into the clearing ahead of them, the trio saw Hawkesheath on a hill in the distance. They kept their full out galloping pace, slowing only when they reached the cobbled center of the Heath’s courtyard. Raden dismounted first, bellowing two names Lisandra barely recalled. Simon stayed perched atop his horse, hand on the hilt of his sword ready to strike. Lisandra feared moving until she could assess the situation better. The Heath’s courtyard normally teemed with activity. Only two greeted them. A stranger walked directly for Raden and her sister Aisley, ran toward her . Sliding off her mount, she met her sister half way, staggering slightly under the frantic hug Aisley held her in. “Ian? Why the warning?” Raden ignored the reunion of sisters, passing them to reach one of the men the King assured him would be waiting at Hawkesheath for his arrival. He threw the fletched arrow at the shorter man, glaring. Of the four Raden kept company with, Ian Brodie was the gifted archer and the arrow belonged to him. “You’ll see, Raden. Come. We’ve got the bluidy worm inside.” The sandy blonde haired man clad in battle garb, full quiver and bow in tow, gave a brief nod to the woman he knew to be the Viper Queen then turned on his heels, leading the way. “Is someone going to tell me what in Heaven’s name is going on?” Lisandra wriggled free of her sister’s clinging hold and stormed after the men, annoyed they would speak around her. The keep was still hers in spirit yet the pair strode ahead as if she didn’t exist. “Follow and find out, my queen.” Raden finally tossed out as he barged through doors quickly opened for him. ***** Raden’s eyes narrowed the moment he saw the ‘worm’ Ian spoke of. He had Lisandra’s other sisters hovering about him, sniffling and promising an end while he squirmed in his bindings. Ignoring them and his bride’s low growl, he made his way over, towering over the man. “Untie this man! I demand it.” Maire smacked Raden’s arm then scampered

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backward as he glared at her. “What brings a loyalist to the English crown into my home?” Raden spoke each word coolly, his hand slowly drawing the sword from its sheath at his side. He sneered at Cassandra’s delicate cry. The prisoner looked past him, and called to Lisandra. “Tell these barbarians who I am. They seem to think your sisters liars.” “Anyone who dares serve that regime is one in my eyes, Englishman.” Raden snarled. Lisandra brushed past Raden, knife in hand removed from her boot, and severed the ropes binding the man’s wrist. After he was steady on his feet, she whirled on Raden, the tip of her blade aimed at his heart. “If you and your men show harm to any of my kin, I will see to your early deaths. Make no mistake of it.” “He’s family?” Ian inquired. It made no difference when Lisandra nodded, informing him that his men had tied up a cousin on her mother’s side. The tightness growing in the back of Raden’s neck warned him their guest was still not to be trusted. He gave Ian a brief look, letting him know he had done well. “Edmund Holyrood. You would be?” A slender hand extended to Raden who glanced at it then lifted his hard gaze to glare at him. “I would be Lord Athelsburgh, owner of the lands you trespass on.” He took a step closer to the Englishman, enjoying the fact the weasel-faced creature took a large step backward. “Trespass? I dare think not. My cousin claimed these lands in a fair fight. If I wish to pay her a visit, I do so.” He gave Raden an insolent sniff and turned his attentions to his cousin. “Word reached me of your triumph over some Scottish dog. Not the most proper of housing, but it does keep you and the girls safe.” Skirting the wall of man that stood in front of him, Edmund walked over and gave Lisandra a peck on the cheek. “Perhaps you can shoo these horseflies away and we can talk” Lisandra purposefully stepped between the two to keep Raden at bay until she could understand the situation completely. “Edmund, you are welcome here with great joy as we have missed you and Aunt Clara and Uncle Fredric. However, events have taken place recently that would serve you well to hold your opinions of Scotsmen.” Her warning tone was met with a roll of her cousin’s pale blue eyes. “Such as? Oh yes, the banns posted by Robert the Brayer. Fear not, Lisandra. You’ll not have to marry that one.” Edmund pointed behind Lisandra where Raden stood with hand flexing on the hilt of his sword. “I think for the sum I am here to negotiate, you and the girls can return to the family home in Winchester and to the favor of the Crown. Things have changed with Longshanks gone now. For a small tribute—” Lisandra raised a hand before Raden could. His ire was becoming palpable. She could feel the dark energy starting to roll off him in waves. “Edmund. Here, we speak nothing of the English crown. You are in Scotland. Politics will be laid aside here. There are many other things to talk about while you are here. I am sure in time my husband and Aisley’s betrothed will come to adore you as we do despite this uneasy beginning.” Her forced smile belied the tension rising in the room and the fact her Scottish husband and his friends would never make peace with an Englishman. Three women shrieked, making four men cringe slightly and her mouth gape. Lisandra’s sisters unceremoniously shoved Raden aside. The news that she was already married sent the women into a torrent of excited conversation. The only silence that fell

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came during Cassandra and Maire’s brief inspection of Simon MacBriede. The men did nothing but watch Lisandra be tugged away and out the door, demands of the wedding news fading the further they went. “Well, that seems to leave us here. Shed my blood here and now, barbarian? I can see you wish to.” Edmund taunted. “Your request could be met, Holyrood. Hold your tongue while you are here, else you might find yourself without it soon enough.” Raden warned and turned to Ian. “He goes nowhere without escort.” Ian nodded crisply. Looking over at Simon, Raden hesitated in speaking. Simon stood with a silly smile on his face. “So ‘at’s my bride, eh?” Raden laughed a little as Simon stroked his chin then scowled, declaring he needed a bath to present himself properly to the woman. “I will see this ridiculous marriage brought to an end somehow. My cousins will not be saddled with surly upstarts that have rallied against the King and Crown.” Edmund warned. Raden shrugged and nodded at Ian. The Englishman was cuffed on the back of the head. “Find you Cassandra acceptable as well, Ian?” Raden asked to add fire to the arrogant cousin’s anger. “M’lord, I find even your bride comely and fair to look upon. I must thank you for your choice. ’Tis good ye did, Raden. But what is this of you already married?” Raden gave Ian a wan smile. “The Bruce tended to the matter during our recent visit to Dunfermline. It is done. My apology to you there was not a fountain of mead and a suckling pig for you to devour during the celebration.” Simon burst out in hearty laughter at Raden’s statement. There had been only hard words and a fierce fight. Ian would have nothing to fill his belly for the occasion and the man did appreciate a fine spread and fine drink when it was available. ***** Lisandra wished for a pillow to cover her head with. If she suffocated while trying to squelch the incessant babblings of her sisters, at least she would find peace. The trio bounced from the subject of their cousin’s sudden appearance to the news of the recent marriage, to Simon and Ian and Douglas. According to Maire, the coal black headed oaf was the most handsome man she had ever laid eyes to. Maire continued to swoon over Douglas as Aisley fussed around the subject of Simon, interspersing her comments with ones about the state of Lisandra’s clothing and smells therewith. Lisandra tried to find a moment to think. She was not interested in planning celebrations or more weddings. She wanted to find out everything and anything she could about Ian Brodie and Douglas Armstrong. She let her sisters flit about while she soaked in a bath brought up by some of the maids she still had yet to know. So much had happened in her life in a short time. If the wretched interruption of her marriage to Lord Athelsburgh had not been forced, Lisandra knew the keep would already be on its way to sharp order and a peaceful state. She wanted those who were at Hawkesheath to know they were safe under her care and she would never treat them as the previous owner had. Plans to improve Hawkesheath sent her into a short slumber as she soaked away two days worth of grime. Her eyes closed, and soon, her husband plagued her thoughts. It was a bath which started the night off so poorly. Why did such a beautiful man to behold have to be such an ass? He had stood at the edge of the bed, his skin glistening in the

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waning light of the fire burning in the hearth, his manhood jutting out at her in its long heavy fullness. In the comfort of sleep under her own roof, in her own room, she admitted the fear she felt. He was too large. She would have been cleaved in two having that enter her body. When he’d tied her down, she’d braced for the worst and silently thanked God in Heaven when he made no attempt to spear her with the thick ‘sword’ that hung between his legs. The tittering laughter of her sisters stirred her from her brief sleep. Lisandra prayed she’d spoken nothing while she dozed. Her cheeks felt feverishly warm and heat had pooled between her legs. Quashing her embarrassment, she looked over at the happy trio as they fussed over a burgundy colored gown. A maid standing in the corner interrupted the view as she stepped forward with a long cloth. “M’lady? You done?” she asked quietly. Lisandra stood taking the cloth and wrapping it around her body herself. The conversation her sisters strayed to made her scowl. They talked about their men and what their wedding night would be like. “Take note that men will be greedy boars seeking nothing more to dominate you and take from you all they can to sate their needs.” Lisandra interjected. “They crave the power they can have over us thinking we are naught more than weak puppets who would dance from the strings on their fingertips.” She thought back to Raden and scowled more deeply. The maid letting out a little snort turned Lisandra’s eyes to her. “Have you something to add?” she asked coldly. “Aye, miss, if yeh dunna mind me speakin’ freely.” “Young lady, I think you should hold your tongue. This is the mistress of the keep.” Aisley spoke up and got a harsh slash of Lisandra’s hand at her for it. “Let her speak. I am curious of her opinion on this matter. We are all women, no matter our station. What is your name?” “Annie, m’lady.” Annie dropped a hasty curtsey to Lisandra who rolled her eyes. “In here, none of that. I would wish one place where I can be naught but myself. Now, continue please.” Annie cleared her throat, watching as Lady Athelsburgh walked over to her sisters to start dressing. “M’lady. I think yeh look at it wrong. Yeh say ‘tis the man who has the power?” Lisandra grumbled and nodded. “Miss? If yeh think about it, ’tis the woman who does.” She kept her grin as Lisandra looked over. “Who stirs the man to such bestial ideas? Who is the only one, lest he be…” she paused to cough and mutter ‘special’ “Who gives the man the relief he seeks? Who can leave him to suffer with aches by merely casting him aside with a glance?” Annie beamed as she saw understanding begin to dawn. “’Tis us and our bodies that can take a man to heaven or exile him to hell. The man can take by force. We can crush with a whim.” A snicker built up inside Lisandra spilling from her until it grew into a wicked laugh. “Thank you, Annie for the enlightenment. How true your words are.” Annie curtsied once more. “Will there be anything else, M’lady?” Seeing Lisandra shake her head no, she left, hoping her words helped her new mistress. “She had a very loose tongue. Speaking as she did was altogether inappropriate, Lisandra.” Aisley said. Lisandra merely chuckled. “Their idea of propriety is more accommodating than yours, Aisley. I found nothing

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offending or out of place with her words. In fact, just the opposite.” She turned her back to Aisley asking her to lace the back of the gown she reluctantly donned. She thought long and hard on Annie’s words and began to put a plan in motion.

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Chapter Seventeen “Speak your peace, Ian.” Raden poured himself another tall measure of wine and gulped half the liquid down in one long swallow. Irritation at the uproar his return caused wore his nerves to a fine point of snapping. News of the marriage spread through the crumbled castle like a fire consumed dry tinder. Questions flew at him in rapid-fire succession until he sequestered himself with his three friends and no one else. Ian, the most curious of the lot paced the same six steps back and forth waiting to find the right moment to satisfy his own curiosities. “Married? ‘Tis the truth, Raden?” he finally asked. Before Raden could answer in the affirmative, Simon piped up with all the details, slightly embellished for humor’s sake. While Ian and Simon snickered gleefully, Douglas looked on Raden with a touch of pity in his eyes. Not one in the lot expected Raden to return to Hawkesheath that day with news as grievous as their friend now shackled to the Viper Queen herself. “So that leaves us where, Raden? What now?” Douglas asked. “With the same tasking. Nothing has changed save the simple fact Robbie served to deliver my fate sooner than I would see to yours.” A small grimace accompanied Raden’s words. The bite mark on his calf throbbed slightly to remind him of his fate. He wondered briefly if Lisandra’s lip annoyed her as much. “Well, one less marriage to concern ourselves with. We will face our fates soon enough. Perhaps we should begin commiserating with each other now?” Simon offered wryly. “Have ya seen my bride to be, Simon? Unless she turns out to have a stinger as sharp as Raden’s wife, I doubt I’ll have time to commiserate.” Ian smiled grandly until he caught Raden’s sharp-eyed expression. “Well,” he muttered, “‘tis better than one of us. You can handle a woman of her nature the best.” “I would rather cast myself from here and wander ‘til death takes me.” Raden countered. The only true pleasure he found shackled to Lisandra for life came in the recollection of how sweet she tasted. Cutting through the thickness of her barbed words to reach the bounty nestled in the heart of her lush form made the bloodletting and her wild curses well worth it. Inhaling deeply, his mind sought to recall scent of pure woman mixed with the delicacies of the lavender he bathed her with. “Pardon me, but it seems Raden might offer protests too loudly.” Simon broke his friend from his thoughts and the three observing watched as Raden adjusted himself in the region of where his trews grew tight. “Perhaps,” he replied smoothly, “but know this Simon. Continue to look on my bride as you have from meeting her and you’ll be the one protesting.” That delighted the men and more teasing laughter rose bringing a scowl to Raden’s features. “Keep the woman out of trews and tunics and in the skirts of her kind and I’d have no view to admire.” The taunt from Simon had Raden stalking his friend to silence him effectively. Douglas stepped between the two men and cast stern looks at them. “He is what he is, Raden and yeh know that. Even if she was an angel and a saint, we’d no’ lay more than a proper greeting her way. Now given the fair lasses that occupy the keep, I dare say he’ll forget your wife by the evening meal, true?” Putting a hand to Raden’s chest, he searched

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him for a reply and got a jerk of a nod. “Good. Consider us blessed having comely women for our betrothed. I doubt with this family they’ll be angels and saints, but we bear our burdens and make the most of our lot. We have suffered worse by English hands. ‘Tis a small war we will win for the sake of Robbie and his meddling. We are the Four Horsemen after all.” Douglas added to further soothe the rankled nature of his friend. “Aye. Soft bosoms instead of sharp blades. I dare say if my death comes from such a torture, I’d die with a smile on my face.” Ian said wryly. The four men settled into chairs set in front of the hearth warming the room Simon already deemed his workspace. The most at ease in the matters of finances, he declared himself the new treasurer of Hawkesheath. Turning their attentions away from the matters of women, Simon focused them on the task of bringing the castle to its previous state. Three sets of eyes glazed over as Simon rattled on about the costs of materials and labor, the schedules that would be set for rebuilding and by the time he reached the point of selling the crops harvested in the fall, Douglas was asleep, snoring softly. ***** Dinner was served in a fine fashion in the great hall, making accommodations for the new additions to include one fairly cantankerous Englishman who deemed it beneath itself having to dine with Scottish swine. Raden took Edmund’s words to heart playfully. Slapping a plate of roasted pig down in front of Lisandra’s cousin, he leaned in close and whispered mocking words to him. “Then consider yourself a king feasting on the meat of your enemy with this meal, Edmund.” Raden half expected a protest to rise from his wife at the treatment of her cousin, but he found her completely engaged and utterly bored by the talk her sisters lured her into. The look on her face brought a satisfied smile to his face. The trio of younger sisters were relentless in their conversations. He prayed they would annoy Lisandra to the point of pure temper. It seemed a fight drew out the fire in her and he wished for another taste of it when they retired to their bedchamber. That evening would be for deeper introductions and strengthening the bonds between the new additions to Hawkesheath and the ladies they would be marrying. Raden knew each of the men would suit their chosen in a complimentary way. The sisters would want for nothing. Each of his friends had lands and titles and the shrewd business nature Simon absorbed under the tutelage of a band of Knights Templar set them all well off. Paying for the restoration of Hawkesheath Castle would be only a small bother in the matter of finances. Having learned of his new bride’s lack of vanity and her reluctance to bedeck herself in the finery of the day, Raden planned to channel what would be spent on fine cloth and glittering baubles into things for the castle. In his travels, from a Crusade in the Holy Land and back across Europe, he saw a great deal of amazing inventions he wished to incorporate into the Castle. The primary modification would be bringing water into the castle as the Romans had done in other lands for centuries. He let his mind wander, taking himself from the sight of his bride and her beguiling features. Distracted by old memories, his hands no longer itched to snake their way through her burnished copper hair and his tongue no longer desired a taste of the honey that flowed from her core as freely as the spiteful words from her lips. Robert cursed him with a blessing of sorts. He was home. The Four Horsemen, born and bred to be legendary in their lethal cunning now had a peaceful end before them. They could lay down their swords, settle into a quiet existence and have something none ever dreamed of. With freedom settled over Scotland, there was no need for the battle-hardened

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warriors to be at the beck and call of the Crown. Robert wished to repay them for services rendered in his own odd fashion. He gave them their own freedom. As Raden looked toward Edmund, he knew danger still lurked. Treachery knew no thoughts of peace. Men like Edmund Holyrood lived to stir trouble and rain down discord. His men, his friends would keep an eye on the scrawny Englishman. If there was a plot brewing to break the tenuous calm settled over Hawkesheath, Raden would not hesitate to crush it under his boot. Only a few days into his life as a married man, he planned to keep what he received by way of Robert’s scheming and no English dog would steal it from him or his fellow Horsemen. ***** Lisandra studied her husband over the evening meal, wondering what trickled through his mind. His friends seemed well at ease engaging others around them in lively banter, but he sat quietly, pondering. She wished for the gift of mind reading. His face was unreadable. There was no emotion on his face. He merely studied everyone and lost himself in his own private thoughts. She had thoughts of her own to mull over. She had three sisters about to meet their own fates in the bonds of matrimony to strangers that Raden brought with him to the castle. None seemed as irascible as her husband, but time would show their true nature. Through the whisperings of maids around the keep, she wondered how barbaric they would be. The Four Horsemen, one woman whispered. Lady Lisandra drew the legendary Four Horsemen down upon them. She had only heard snatches of stories concerning four men so cunning, so lethal in battle some claimed they were not altogether human. Lisandra knew her husband, the leader, was human. She had drawn his blood and he had spilled crimson drops like any other man. Hearing the tales before dinner provided her with an insight to Raden’s nature. He was the leader of the Four Horsemen. It was no wonder the king brought about the union. Raden Athelsburgh seemed to be the only man he found to have the audacity to stand up to her and return all she delivered to him with a vengeance. Pride trickled in through her disdain over her situation. If the man was as strong as the tall tales proclaimed, she had a reinforcement the likes of which would indeed prevent even the hounds of hell from descending upon them. If the other men proved to be as hard hearted and disagreeable as Raden did, Lisandra would rectify that soon. Her sisters were nothing like her and could not withstand treatments as cruel as Raden delivered. Their future husbands would know that she would tolerate no ill-mannered behavior directed at them. She protected her own and she would face the king’s wrath for crushing the Horsemen if they dared stop her. Exhausted of hearing wedding plans bantered about her, she rose to her feet garnering the attention of her husband. She gave him a cold, dismissive look and left the great hall to revel in the comforting silence her grandfather found in his favorite retreat. In the quiet of that room, they escaped the bustle of life around them. “Tired of the noise already?” Lisandra smiled warmly at her grandfather before giving him a tender peck on the cheek. Only he understood completely why she was what she’d become and never once had he faulted her for it. His company soothed her like a balm to a sore. “The sisters are stirred into an unholy fever concerning their impending weddings and the men around them seem intent on regaling the masses with dulling war stories.” She curled up in her chair, legs tucked under the layers of gown she wore.

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“They will be what they are.” Heathly St Germain let out a soft, rusty laugh. “And as we have legends in our company, I suspect the dulling stories will go on for days.” She wagged her finger at the tome her grandfather rested across his chest. “Give me one of those and dismiss the braggarts. I much prefer it.” She smiled wistfully at the pleasure of the forbidden her father and grandfather gave her by teaching her how to read. “No dismissals, sweetling. Our lots have been cast and you know this.” His tone sobered seeing the crestfallen look on his granddaughter’s face. “But all will be well. Let the novelty of our guests fade and life will continue on as it has before.” Lisandra nodded slightly, hoping to God in Heaven her grandfather’s words rang true.

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Chapter Eighteen For Raden, every action of his bride concerned him. The next morning when Lisandra approached him to join her as she took proper time to survey the keep, he wondered her motives. With her home, surrounded by her sisters, Raden expected to face torture at every turn. He received cool civility. Raden knew there would be no happy ever after like Rose and Arthur shared. The point of the King’s forced union was a political maneuver. Raden would have a rebellious wife who could wield a sword as well as the men he planned to have guard Hawkesheath. In true woman’s fashion, Lisandra walked throughout the small castle, built in the 1100s and found every flaw it had. The repairs would not only cost money, but time. She had no qualms demanding the best for the keep, reaffirming the fact she wished to keep all at Hawkesheath safe and secure. During the battles against the English in previous years, The Bruce had ordered the dismantling of castles throughout Scotland to prevent seizure by the English crown. What was left of Hawkesheath looked more like a shabby patchwork of wood and mud and stone, standing against all odds. Lisandra made a small measure of pride stir in him as she commented on the keep as a true symbol of Scottish freedom. Battered and tattered, it remained. The small castle would be restored to its original state. There were people and their livelihoods to protect. As Hawkesheath stood, it served little to do such. Raden blunted three quills noting all that Lisandra pointed out. For her shrewish ways, her heart beat full of concern for those around her. It was not only her sisters she wished to keep safe. She thought of each and every servant and villager near by. The talks of making Hawkesheath a refuge once more lasted well into the evening, past dinner and around the sisters’ chatter about mundane things like wedding preparations. His wife had a sharp mind and a diplomatic nature when her ire was not stoked. Discovering her abilities further, Raden let her suggest a gathering of the men charged with keeping the lands secured to discuss the matters around them. They held a small council after the evening meal. Begrudging admiration pricked at his heart as Lisandra held her own amongst the men. They were pleasantly surprised as well. Signs of her viperous ways didn’t raise its ugly head all evening. With plans documented, they retired for the evening, agreeing to continue in the morning. Raden knew in his heart Hawkesheath needed to fortification soon. The Bruce was a cunning master of battle and his plans for them were undoubtedly already in motion. Hawkesheath lay strategically in the heart of the land Edward ‘Longshanks’ had wanted. Thoughts of impending battles to keep Scotland’s independence still a lingering threat weighed heavily on his mind as he escorted Lisandra to their bedchamber. Her unusual silence vexed him along with everything else. She was not screeching at him like a harpy. She made no protests as he stripped his clothes off and climbed into bed. She stepped behind a screen and dressed in a bed gown. It all seemed too easy. He lay in bed hard as a rock knowing what lay under the gowns she shed and the one she donned for sleep. When she slid into bed, he turned to face her, more than willing to stir her attraction to his body to have another taste of hers. The fiery color of her hair fanned out in a striking contrast against the white of the sheets beneath her. It made him itch to run his fingers

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through the riotous locks. Seizing one of her tresses, he twirled the silky strands around a finger. “Nae, my husband,” she declared softly as she gave him a pitying smile. “I have an ache in my head. Sleep well.” She turned onto her side, tugging her hair free from his hold and settled in for her night’s sleep. Raden stared at her back and frowned. He knew he had two choices facing him. He could take what he wished as he had before or entice her to join him willingly. He chose the latter. He crooned soft words to entice her. He purposely spoke them against her ear, hoping to stir any sort of feeling inside her. Her reacting was better than laying beside him in such a dismissive manner. Her response to the sweet, seductive speech was mocking laughter. “Know this, my Lord Athelsburgh. You are no better than your brother save more fair of face. Find a willing vessel for your aches and pains. They are of no concern to me. I have all faith that you will find a woman at the ready to relieve you of such miseries.” Irritated, Raden turned her to face him, anger glittering in his eyes. “I will not seek out another woman, Lisandra. It will be you.” ***** She lay rigid, glaring up at him. “Then perhaps you should seek man or beast, for my body will not serve to please, lest you become the vile creature your brother was and take at your leisure with whip and lowered trews.” Lisandra felt his erection pressing hard against her thigh as he kept her in place. The maidservant’s words came back to her. Lisandra knew she caused the ache that he bore. She was the relief he needed. Exhilaration raced through her body. Women truly did have the power. She merely needed to find a way to harness it. “You know bluidy well I am not like my brother.” Lisandra rolled her eyes at his growling tone. “You say you are not, yet here I lie once more underneath you, against my will, looked at as nothing more as something to rut with. You have not put hand to whip or belt, but that could come soon enough if you do not have your way. Deny it if you wish.” She raised a hand to silence him. “Men think with their ‘sword’ as you so aptly put it.” A brow raised on Raden’s face and he rolled onto his side, off her, but facing her. “How come you to this knowledge when you serve to cut men down at every turn? Pray tell when this enlightenment came upon you?” It was his turn to mock her and she did not like it. “Common knowledge is meant for all, my lord. I listen quite well. Now if it pleases you, which I know it does not a large portion of you, I wish to sleep now. For that is what is proper to do in my bed.” She let out a haughty sniff and turned her back to him once more. A moment later, he trapped against his body, his hard curves and harder manhood pressed against her. He gave her a vow before drifting off to sleep holding tight to her. “I shall have you willing and wanting under me one day, my little asp and your bite will be divine.” Lisandra smiled wickedly. He could think what he wished. She was mistress of her own body and her own destiny. What he believed as a truth in his own mind he could keep. She knew in her heart that one rarely received one’s greatest desires. If she was his, he would have a long wait. Treacherous hours later, Lisandra gave in to sleep. Even as Raden lay wrapped around her, his snoring soft and annoying in her ear, she could feel the proof of his male

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stirrings still thick and rigid against her back. A hand would stray, cupping one of her breasts, kneading it while the man slept. He murmured in his sleep, his breath warm against her ear. Her name passing from his lips was one of the few she understood. She was left unable to move until he did. Still keeping his hold on her, he rolled onto his back, taking her with him. She had tried squirming away. His grip grew tighter. For hours, she tried subtle ways to escape his unwelcome embrace. Sleep finally settled over her when the earthy, almost wild scent of Raden the man lulled her into a relaxed state. No longer having to contend with his twitchy erection on her back, she rested pinned against the side of his body, one of his legs firmly settled between hers. Discovering he was most greedy with the coverings on her bed, she had no choice but to seek out his radiating warmth to keep from freezing in the night. Waking, she found her body nearly settled atop his, reveling in the body heat he afforded her. She stirred to the sensation of fingers in her hair, absently playing with her long curls. The tingles it caused started at the base of her neck and skittered straight to her nipples, making them hard and achy. She did not dare look at his face. She knew he was awake. His breathing changed. He was waiting now. Waiting to see what she would do. Cranky with herself that she found the beginnings of enjoyment starting in her curled as she was over steeled muscle and growing heat, she purposely ruined what would have been a pleasurable moment by using the leg draped over his most appreciative body part to move her own to an upright position. Glancing at his face, she saw it twisted in discomfort and gave him an innocent smile. “Did you not sleep well, my lord?” Her tone was sweet and full of concern, belying her devious intentions. He leveled a hard look at her in return. “Perhaps you wish relief. The chamber pot lies under your side of the bed.” Spreading her lovely smile further across her face, she slid out of bed, into her dressing robe. “That is not the relief I seek and you know it, cruel wench. Take care with your limbs.” He growled and Lisandra merely shrugged, forcing herself to ignore the fact his hand snaked beneath the covers to inspect for damages. She turned away when a few moments later, pleasure began to blossom on his face. “Perhaps when I am done with the survey of the crops this morning, I can add to my list of things to do. Find Raden relief.” She mocked him further by motioning in the air as if she was writing it down. “Man, woman or bleating beast? Hmmm. I think I need to be more specific, don’t I?” She pondered for a moment, tapping at her chin. Her bed made a creaking sound and she knew he rose, ready for the day’s first skirmish. Wheeling around to face her opponent, the sight of him staggered the breath inside her. His raven black hair tumbled in disarray about his face and shoulders. Dark stubble dashed Raden’s jaw line. On his nude form, she could still see paling red imprints of where her body had rested the entire evening against his. Lisandra looked down. He was still hard and heavy with his proof still jutting from between his legs. Her knee had done no damage, nor caused it to deflate. “Perhaps a man, for surely you would kill woman or beast with that.” She pointed to it. Rousing her inner defenses, she spoke with a sharp tongue, ready to fight than be bound and writhing under him once again. He took large strides to reach her, the silence unnerving her. Lisandra scurried away, making her way to the door. She caught a glimpse of his arm reaching for her, but made it outside just in the nick of time. Yanking the door closed on exit, she rested against

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it for a brief moment. Mocking laughter startled her and she turned, pressing her ear to the heavy oak door. The bastard found it amusing.

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Chapter Nineteen As Raden requested, she found her cousin in the library under the watchful glare of Douglas. Edmund sat with her grandfather speaking of times back in England. Lisandra looked at her grandfather and saw a distant, longing look on his weathered face. Heathly St Germain could never return to England again. His eldest son, Lisandra’s father remedied that. He could no longer visit his late wife’s grave, speak to her simple headstone as he had done daily since her death. She knew it lingered as his only regret. Painting on a smile, she greeted the trio of men heartily, giving Edmund and her grandfather gentle kisses on their cheeks. Her sisters would not be making grand appearances until much later. They tended to not appear until they thought themselves as perfect as they could get. It afforded her the opportunity to spend time with her kin in peace. “Douglas?” The tall, black haired, ice blue eyed, lean guard stood straighter then stepped forward when she spoke his name. “Forgive me for asking so mundane a task of you, but perhaps, could you summon one of the servants for drinks? I am rather parched this morning.” He bowed deeply, offering a smile to her, speaking no words. The man moved with silent, predatory grace as he left. She likened him to a wolf she once saw as a child living in Southern England - compelling yet a lethal predator. Cassandra would have her hands full with him. And if he hurt her sister, Lisandra would have her hands full of his entrails. “Now, Edmund, cousin, speak with me. Why on earth have you come so far north?” Lisandra sat on the settee, patting the space beside her. She had never been particularly fond of her cousin, but he was family and she treated him kindly as she did those who did not openly condemn her and her father. “I have come to lure you back to England, dear cousin. All has been forgiven in the royal halls and your grandfather and father’s lands will be restored to you when you return.” The information was delivered with a fervor she did not expect. “Edmund, I cannot go back to England. I never planned on it. Now, it is impossible.” She moved and made room for her cousin as he sat. Taking her hands in his, Edmund pleaded his case. Lisandra presented her own. She was married to a subject of the Scottish crown. Her sisters were about to be married off to men who served the Bruce as loyally as Lord Athelsburgh. “Lord Athelsburgh” Edmund practically spat the name. “He is nothing but a traitorous bastard.” Edmund rose to his feet abruptly. “The marriage can be dissolved. You need no union with such a dog.” Lisandra watched him pace. “Edmund. As much as I would have loved once to return to England and the comforts afforded us there, I am here now. I have much to do here that has nothing to do with courtly politics. I found my place here.” “Lying with that bastard Athelsburgh and swearing fealty to the Bruce? Lisandra, it is terribly unbecoming of you. Your father would be most grieved to see the state you have landed yourself in. You sisters as well.” He returned to Lisandra, kneeling before her. “Come home. Give Grandfather here the peace he wishes for. Take your leisure in the home you knew for so long amongst those you cared for. Alain DuMont is waiting on you.” Lisandra crinkled her nose at the name. Alain DuMont, Baron Rothsford, had been a

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girlish dream she indulged herself with, her white knight and champion. What she learned of him as the years passed made the mere mention of his name set her stomach churning. “That is well and good, Edmund, but my place is here now. I will not leave. Hawkesheath is my home now. Bring the papers that state all is well with my father’s lands and I shall sign them over to you forthwith.” Her grandfather, silent until that moment, let out a little snort. Edmund and Lisandra looked over at him. “He would not care for my Mary’s grave,” he murmured, his grey eyes misting over. “On my word, Grandfather, I would. Daily there is someone to care for her resting place.” Heathly bellowed out a “No!” “‘Tis my task!” The elder man rose to his feet, aided by the walking stick that never left his side. “Lisandra, do as you see fit. Know that you are your father’s daughter and I trust you as I trusted him. No others but you.” He gave Edmund a cold look then hobbled from the room. “He grows more feeble by the day, Lisandra. Bring the family home. For him, for your sisters. Home, Lisandra,” he pleaded softly with her and received a shake of her head for it. “This is home. Bring the proper papers and my father’s lands are yours.” She gave Edmund’s hair a soft stroke. “It always meant more to you than me.” Douglas returned and took his place back in a corner of the room where he could observe discreetly. Lisandra studied him briefly. He would have to learn to speak more or be left behind by his bride to be. She chattered more than the rest of her sisters. “I think we can discuss the matter further another time. My nanny has returned.” Edmund settled himself in a chair across from Lisandra, scowling at Douglas. “He may hear anything we have to say. He is betrothed to Maire and will be family soon.” “Family? You know nothing of the men that addle-brained puppet King of yours forced upon our family, Lisandra. He could be as much the boorish beast as the man you are saddled with.” Edmund curled his lip in disgust as he flicked a hand in Douglas’ direction. Lisandra glanced at the silent man, praising him with a warm smile as Douglas held his tongue, refusing to ride to her cousin’s caustic baiting. “Raden is my concern now, not yours. I have yet to meet a man I cannot handle well enough.” Her assurances earned a snort from her cousin. “I would love to see him dead. Perhaps one last battle for freedom’s sake, this time your own?” Lisandra chuckled at the comment. “He’s more value to me alive than dead, Edmund. He possesses a strong back I plan on putting to use rebuilding Hawkesheath.” Her gaze flew to Douglas who laughed softly. “Yours too, Douglas.” She smiled pleasantly. He bowed in return. ***** Raden yanked his clothes on roughly. The entire night he’d lain with his new wife, the ache in his groin refused to relent. Her soft curves pressed to his proved torturous. He had felt pain before in battle. None caused as much discomfort as what he woke to. In time, he knew she would ease that misery, but that morning, his hand stepped in as a second. A small measure of relief brought about, he dressed and made his way downstairs.

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Douglas had been charged with keeping Edmund Holyrood under observation. He did not trust the scrawny Englishman at all. He arrived at Hawkesheath too quickly, too curious. It meant an agenda. Raden planned on finding out what it was. Holyrood was a royal arse kisser, bowing to the Crown at every turn. Something struck foul in his mind. His first choice of locations to find Lisandra proved to be the right one. Standing outside the library, he listened in on the conversation between cousins, while catching up on news with Douglas when he was sent from the room. Edmund made no move in the night. It did not mean he was not plotting. A pleasant surprise greeted him in the form of Heathly St Germain. The old man hobbled out of the library and stopped in front of Raden. Whapping the younger man with his walking stick, Heathly quietly ordered him to keep close watch on Edmund. “He is the only son of my least favorite of children. My daughter spoiled him and Edmund turned too much like his father for my liking. Watch your back, boy.” Raden planned to. Stepping aside, he let the elder man pass then turned to a maidservant waiting for entrance into the library. He took the tray of food and drink from her and carried it inside, smiling at the small bounty. Breaking his fast in the company of his shrewish wife and her plotting cousin did nothing to disturb the appetite he woke to. “Holyrood? I trust you slept well in our humble abode?” Raden greeted the Englishman with a smile that never reached his eyes. He put the tray down on a table beside Lisandra and helped himself to a large piece of ham, carved and laid out on the tray. “Yes I did. Any morning when I can rise and not be peppered with rat bites is a good night.” Edmund sniffed disdainfully at the food and Raden as well. “We have no rats here, only snakes.” Raden countered. He gave his wife a wink when she glared at him. “Eat up. While you are here, we will treat you with the same courtesy as the rest of the family. There is plenty of food and drink as we busy ourselves rebuilding Hawkesheath.” Edmund laughed. “I think not. You may slave away. I will find other ways to occupy my time.” “Then sit and observe. I need Douglas and Ian. You will not waste their valuable time by wandering about unguarded. In fact, if Lisandra does not mind, I think you shall remain in my good company this day.” He could have cared less if she protested. Raden knew too much to let Edmund Holyrood meander without escort. “That sounds lovely.” A brow arched as Raden looked at his wife. She agreed with him. He would have to mark the occasion. “It will give you two time to get better acquainted. After all, we are all family here now.” “I am not going to spend my day sitting and watching peasant labor.” Edmund protested to Lisandra. She was the ally under this dilapidated roof. “I was thinking more of my cousins for company this day. We haven’t seen each other in so long that I wish to become reacquainted with them.” “Alas, cousin dear.” Lisandra answered, before Raden could. “They will be too busy preparing for the upcoming nuptials and I shall be working. Yes, I think the day spent with Raden is a fair idea.” Raden glared at her as she rose to her feet and bit back a chuckle. “If you will excuse me, I think I shall dress now. Please do, eat and enjoy each others’ company.” Raden waited until the door closed behind Lisandra to speak. He turned to face Edmund and spoke coldly. “I have no idea why you are here at such an advantageous time, Holyrood, but think on this. You even think to harm those that are mine and under my care and what will be left of you when I am through will not be enough for even one

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Motioning Douglas forward, he offered him food first.

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Chapter Twenty A fortnight passed in what felt like the blink of an eye amongst those at Hawkesheath. While their tasks seemed to double in size, few complained. Purpose soared in their hearts from Lord and Lady to the smallest of children. Hawkesheath was once a proud homestead, admired by all who passed by and through its gates. It was of a simple square design, the walls half an average man’s height in thickness and four times as high, hewn from the stone landscape of the Highland hills around them. Like compass points, four high towers connected the walls, completing the fortified keep. What once had been ordered torn down began to take on its former glory. While the men replaced stone, the women polished. They cleaned and repaired the damaged goods that had once adorned the halls and the courtyard of Hawkesheath. Lisandra and Raden were left to gape in wonder as, daily, more pieces that had once set or hung in the halls of the castle began to appear. A tapestry here, a chair there. The villagers and the servants inside the keep itself hoarded the treasures, keeping things from the view of the English should they dare descend upon Hawkesheath. The safety that Raden Athelsburgh and his men brought back to the land stirred every man, woman and child to action. The brother of their former laird also brought with him the return of joy and laughter. While Bryan Moncrief had been tyrannical, Raden was the opposite. He was fair and even-tempered, never once carrying a whip in his hand, never bellowing harsh demands. He did not make the people around him feel as if they were mere serfs to be used for his twisted amusement. No woman was stolen from her man to be used and abused then tossed aside. No man who stood to defend his woman was beaten near to death. The Lady Lisandra liberated them from the dark master they once had, bringing with her light and laughter and a husband who was the opposite of his brother. The mere fact that three wedded unions loomed on the horizon added to that fact. Lisandra had promised all in Hawkesheath that the celebrations would take place and all were invited. The main repairs had to be finished first. ***** “Many hands make light work,” she muttered as she walked from the kitchen to the courtyard. The three pairs of hands attached to her sisters were nowhere to be found. No matter what the command, her prissy siblings found ways to skirt their duties, Aisley being the worst offender. As sister to mistress of the castle, it was simply beneath her to sully herself with such menial labor. After two weeks of hearing such nonsense, she planned to force her sister to learn the meaning of hard but rewarding work. It was just a matter of finding her. If she was not hiding, she was following her betrothed around like a besotted twit. She found Cassandra coming from the small gardens that were in full bloom in the western corner of the castle grounds. “Where is Aisley?” Lisandra asked hoping her sister had the answer to the question. Flower picking was certainly something Aisley would bother herself with. “She mentioned to me she was going down by the loch. She said you drove her to exhaustion, so she planned to take her meal by the loch.” Cassandra flashed a nervous smile when Lisandra replied with indecent words concerning Aisley.

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Lisandra dismissed her sister with a wave of her hand and walked away. She refused to believe she acted like a maniacal taskmaster, whittling down her sisters by asking them to complete simple duties. With Edmund around to further encourage their slacking, it brought back many memories of her sisters as nothing more than pampered little darlings, wasting their days flitting about, practicing to be wives of men who could afford servants to continue pampering them. Armed as a precautionary measure with her father’s sword and a scian dubh tucked in one of her walking boots, she made her way over the five hills leading to the valley of the large, forest lined loch. The closer she got to the water’s edge, the stronger her ire grew. Sounds trickled from between thick boughs and branches. Sounds that both mortified and stirred her. If it was indeed her sister, there would be no mercy offered when Lisandra finished with her. The sight she spied caused her jaw to go slack and stole her very breath. Simon with a woman clad in nothing but her underdress, the laces of the bodice undone, the skirt of the garment bunched at her waist. She lay on the bank, her body shaded by the sun kissed, muscled form of Aisley’s soon-to-be husband as he hovered, rutting with the woman. No protests spilled from the maid’s lips. On the contrary, she demanded more from him, her voice rough with need. Lisandra knew she should look away, yet the sight of Simon’s muscles rippling in the sunlight, sweat making him shimmer in their rays, made it impossible to turn her head. When his blond head dipped to lay claim to a bared breast, Lisandra found her own nipples tighten and grow hard and achy. She wondered if there would come a time when Raden could drive her to such wanton behavior, where they could risk someone looking at them with as twisted a lust as she was feeling. She watched the tupping, imagining decadent things and knew she would burn in hell for bearing witness to such a thing. Yet, she resisted turning away. Simon’s body was not nearly as compelling as Raden’s. Raden was cut with a predatory sort of grace. In the time she spent with her husband embedded in her life, she had seen him nude many times, reluctantly watching in the privacy of their bedchamber. He would never know how many times under the covers on their bed she clenched her hands, forcing herself to resist the urge to touch him. She would turn on her side, clamp her eyes shut and recite all the reasons she would never cave in to carnal whims. Would her sister do the same? Simon’s hips moved faster, dipping hard and low as he plunged his cock deep into the willing woman beneath him. She cringed at the tingling that spiraled between her legs. Would Aisley gladly lie in the maid’s stead, letting her husband drive into her, coax little cries of pleasure from her? The maid’s mewling sounds grew more frantic. The beat of Lisandra’s heart rose in time with the noises until she felt it ready to hammer free from her chest. Face flaming, she turned to run, enduring more than she ought, only to collide with the solid wall of flesh that was her husband. Steel-banded arms settled about her waist, pinning her to his body. “You are a wicked woman, Lisandra.” His husky tone sent a frisson of fear down her spine. In the shadows of the trees around them, she could still see his eyes. Dark and glittering with the feral hunger of need and desire, she stood trapped and her penance for her wickedness was soon to be delivered. ***** Raden knew exactly why Simon had disappeared and he readily approved. Just because he had not dipped into the honey well that was his wife, he saw no reason Simon

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and the other men should remain deprived before their own weddings. He suffered. They did not need to suffer with him. Fair maids existed willing to offer relief to men he took pride in knowing would not abuse those women. Lisandra’s sisters were virginal lasses holding tight to the notion that a woman’s worth grew when she could add innocence to the dowry. When he saw Lisandra armed and angry heading for the loch, he followed. She could make their lives miserable, but she was not going to ruin Simon’s. When he came upon her in the small glade that blocked the view of the water ahead, he found Lisandra enraptured. He had to wonder if she was even breathing. She moved nary a muscle, made no sign that she heard him coming. The closer he drew, the more he could see the ragged rise and fall of her chest. In the simple tunic she wore for her laborious day, he saw nipples pressed against the woven cloth, hard, standing erect. She was enjoying the view, despite the look on her face. He enjoyed pointing out her wickedness when he reached her. His hand covered her mouth to silence any sound she might make. They would not interrupt Simon and the maid. Instead he dragged her deeper into the glade and pinned her to a tree. “You should be punished, yet somehow I think the fact you are stirred from such a sight is enough.” He whispered the words against her ear. “If I searched, I would find you wet and heated beyond all you claim is proper.” His hand reached down and cupped the vee between her thighs. A ragged sigh escaped him. Even through the leather of her trews, he could feel the warmth and dampness there. It served to make his cock rage against the confines of his pants. The scent of her arousal reached his nose and made him lightheaded from the sudden rush of blood from his brain to his groin. “Raden, please don’t do this.” He felt her body go rigid under his touch. Her whispered whimpers brushed his ear as he dragged the tip of his tongue along the shape of her lobe. “Do what? Ease your aching? Punish you for your indiscretion? If I would have known you enjoyed watching, I would have brought the idea to Simon’s attention.” He saw Lisandra about to screech and cut it off by claiming her lips with a lazy kiss. He parted her lips and swept his tongue inside. Drawing a different sound from her, he swallowed it as he continued his slow exploration of her mouth. His hand continued to stroke her heated core and the stiffness of her body gave way to a burst of squirming. The more she moved against him, the harder he ground against her. Distracting her with drugging kisses, his hand slid over the top of her trews and under the leather, meeting damp curls and searing heat. A finger flicked over her swollen bud and she jerked against him. Breaking the kiss, he lifted his head, looking down at her with a relaxed smile. “Let me have this and I shall leave you in peace.” He slid the finger further between her silky folds, breaching her depths and feeling her inner muscles quiver at the invasion. “Please.” She whimpered again. “Not this. Not here.” He grinned at her stammered words. Another finger joined the first and she clamped her eyes shut as her hips betrayed her, arching into his skilled touch. “Here is perfect, Lisandra. You will not cry out. I know you well enough to be assured of that.” He nipped at the fading mark of the bite mark she had left on her lower lip the night of their wedding. Lowering his head further, he quickly captured one of her pebbly nipples between his lips, suckling it through the material. Her strangled gasp made his cock twitch in delight. He gave her nipple a soft bite

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then released it. “Lisandra, if you truly understood what you do to me…” Seizing a hand she kept curled into a fist at her size, he pressed it over the solid bulge beneath his leather trews. “That and more, little asp.” He forced her hand to mirror the pace and pressure of his own nestled between her thighs. A ragged breath escaped him when her hand began to move willingly. “I will grant you equality, Lisandra. Mutual pleasures. Give and take on a level field.” Loosing the strings holding the front of his trews together, he guided her hand under the material and wrapped her fingers around the length of him. ***** Resistance on her part died quickly when she heard the hitch in his breathing, the low growl resonating from the depths of his broad chest. This was the power the maidservant spoke of. With her hand around him, she had him reduced to a panting mass of muscle and throbbing need. It sent a thrill shooting through her like a star streaking across a night sky. It spiraled to the bottom of her belly and coupled with the glorious friction Raden’s hand dragged over the most sensitive part of her body, she splintered under the weight of power and desire. The heady mix sent her head grinding back against the rough bark of the tree behind her. Her hips surged and she went rigid, fighting the desire to scream out the sensations that threatened to set her body on fire. For one long, wild moment, she cared not a whit it was the man she warred against daily pulling such a feeling from her, sending it racing through her body. She rode the crest of the foreign feeling, giving it back to him as she roughly grasped onto him tighter, grinding her hand up and down the length of him. She would not suffer the intensity alone. The reverie shattered when he yanked himself free of her hold. Her eyes flew open only to watch as he fisted himself, sending pearly white cream shooting to the ground beneath their feet. She could not look away. What normally matched the golden darkness of his skin was now a deep purple, engorged with blood, the white of his seed a stark contrast against the heavy fullness in his hand. Finally lifting her eyes, she saw the flush of his cheeks, the sweat trickling down his brow. She had done that to him. A smile formed on her lips. If just touching him as she did could produce such results… Her silent gloating vanished instantly as she watched him with shock and awe. He brought the hand covered in her juices to his lips and licked it clean, never once taking his eyes off her face as his tongue swept over his skin. “Yessssss...Siiiimmmooonnnn!” Lisandra jerked, tearing her gaze away from Raden’s tongue. She looked out at the maid screaming out her pleasure and felt her face flame. The look of pleasure on the fair-haired woman’s face brought the guilt back for her voyeuristic moment. “That will be us one day, Lisandra. Our names on each other’s lips like that. One day. Perhaps you should start preparing for it now.” Raden whispered to her in warning. Whirling her head back to face him, she shook her head no. “I could not live with myself behaving as brazenly as those two. You know that.” Her voice barely lifted above a whisper. “Why do you do this to me? I will never be anything you seem to think I should.” Raden chuckled huskily, tucking his still erect cock back into his trews. “Even the lips your words spill from betray you, Lisandra. When your stubborn mind meets up with your body, you will see just how wrong you are now.” His manhood secured once more,

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he made shooing motions at her. “Now go and run back to the Heath and stew over what a bad girl you’ve been this afternoon. Fret and wring your hands and curse me to hell and back again. ‘Tis what everyone expects.” Her eyes narrowed, and she closed the distance between them. “You may not raise your hand to me, but you are just as cruel as your brother. To think I hoped you would be truly different.” Raden grabbed her by the shoulders gently. “I am not my brother. You would do well to cease in making such false statements.” he warned. “Or? This is just another example of how you have taken what you wished without care for my feelings.” He let out a barked laugh. “Oh, my precious queen, you are so foolish. I merely evoke that which you are too cowardly to start on your own. Once you understand this harms you in no way but brings you pleasure instead, you will be as willing as I always stand to be.” He let her go with a little shove. “Now leave me. Your protests have turned repetitious and they bore me to no end.” He walked toward the water, listening for her to depart. Once he heard her on her way back to Hawkesheath, he ventured further down the bank, away from Simon and his willing wench, to have a dip in the icy water that doused the fire stoked inside him.

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Chapter Twenty-One Late spring brought perpetual rain and misty days that did little to encourage forward progress on the rebuilding of Hawkesheath. They would be given brief spates of sunshine then hours of downpour. A wall would be repaired and by morning, crumbled and left to ruin once more by the deluge. Putting a halt to the work left the occupants of the keep restless as they searched out other things to occupy their time. Aisley gathered all able handed women to the solar where she organized the women to tasks such as sewing, weaving and embroidery. Simon drew the men out, uncaring of the bone chilling rain and mud. The women did their chores, the men practiced their fighting skills. At times, progress inside came to a grinding halt so the women could admire the prowess of the men below them. Bared of shirts and common sense, they watched as men of all ages beat on each other all in the name of training. While the women chastised them for garnering cuts and bruises and working to catch their deaths in the cold rain, they silently reveled in each man’s rippling muscles and the deadly dances of battle sport. “It is a fine pleasure to see what our sister beds with every evening.” Cassandra observed, nudging Maire away from the window to get a better view. “Look at him. He looks like an avenging angel as he fights.” A sigh escaped her and she patted her chest. “So you find no pleasure in observing your betrothed without a shirt on? Lisandra herself likened him to a wolf she saw when we were but babes.” Maire countered. “Aye, it would be interesting to hear if he growls.” The shared giggles filled the room, joined by the other women. “None fares finer than Simon. Look at the abandon with which he engages his foe. Have you ever seen any dance so beautiful yet so lethal?” Aisley spared her soon-to-be husband one last glance, then settled back to her needlework. The chittering all but came to a halt when Lisandra’s presence filled the room. She strolled in and looked around, sighing inwardly that the ladies felt they had to hold their tongues with her arrival. The longer she spent in Raden’s company, the more surly she grew and it spilled from her in a black cloud that dampened spirits about her some days. “Please continue. Is there anything I can help with?” She took a seat next to Annie and picked up a length of wool dyed in a fetching shade of creamy yellow. One of the women had taken thread to the material and created a masterful design of dark green vinery along its edges. A wistful look crossed her face as her fingers traced the intricate work. She had no gifts to bring to the gathering like the other women did. Her training never included delicate things like embroidery. “I half expected you to be down there in the mud with the men beating them down with your sword, Lisandra.” Aisley commented. “I have been in the library working to make sense of the ledgers the half-wit MacBriede has drawn up. It is a chore in itself to decipher the scratching he calls writing.” Lisandra bit back. “Simon is not a half-wit.” The sisters met each other’s look with hardness in their eyes. “You speak with a biased tongue, Aisley. You are so smitten with the oaf you refuse to see his barbaric nature. Why just yesterday while we ate our afternoon meal, he saw fit to express his delight over the meal by letting off the most noxious of smells from his

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nether parts.” She could play the sniping game with Aisley and whittle away her time cooped up inside the keep. “He is a man, therefore prone to such acts. You as a woman have done far greater offenses and have absolutely no room to speak.” Lisandra threw the material onto Annie’s lap and stood, holding her tongue for the moment. She gave Aisley a pained look. No one needed to remind her of her atrocities. They hung like a heavy mantle about her soul and she feared it would never fall away. “I think I shall go and join the men. They might not like me, but they can appreciate what few skills I do possess.” She turned on her heels and left the room at a slow pace, building until she ran into her bedchamber to have a silent pity fest while she changed into appropriate fighting attire. ***** Simon looked up at Lisandra with mirth in his eyes. “If ya didnae belong to Raden, I might enjoy this position,” he whispered, grinning. She looked down at her opponent beneath her in the mud and bit back a smile. Simon could be a pig at the worst of times, but his humor made up for that fact. She sheathed the dagger that hovered a moment earlier over his Adam’s apple and rolled off his hips and up to her feet. Bending down she offered him a hand he accepted. “If I didn’t belong to Raden, watching you attempt to best me for the opportunity of enjoying the position would be pleasing.” She gave him a sly wink then turned to face her husband. The sparring the men reluctantly let her participate in did wonders to purge the ache in her soul put there by Aisley’s hard words. Douglas took the first round of mock battle with her and quickly realized why she earned her nickname. She fought as dirty as any man wanting victory. She downed Simon merely to irk her husband who stood, silent and tense, watching the match. Refreshed from the fight, she refused to let his sulky mood distract from her sudden impulse to speak with him in private. “Raden? If you can spare a few moments?” she asked, raking loose tendrils of hair off her face. Raden walked over and nudged his best friend aside, looping Lisandra’s arm around his. “For you, a few is no trouble.” The subtle smile playing at his lips for show garnered hoots and whistles from the rest of the men around them. Disappointment settled in when she ignored it all. She tugged her arm free, uncomfortable with the display of affection in front of the men, not the raucous noises the men made. “In the stables? The nattering women would have our heads if we tracked filth inside.” She led the way, choosing a stall where bails of hay and barley were kept. Climbing to the top, she motioned for Raden to join her. “Is there any particular reason for this meeting?” Time had allowed him the opportunity to lower his guard slightly around his catty wife, but it rose once more as he sat. This surprising moment of privacy they shared made him wonder what terrible deed she wished to accuse him of that day. “Yes.” Lisandra toed off her boots and put them aside, rubbing her feet to generate heat there. “Do you realize we have been shackled for weeks now and I still know very little about your past? I know you are Lord Raden Athelsburgh, Earl of whatever, Head of the Horsemen, and such. I know you have copious lands and resources at your fingertips, yet I know nothing of you.” Raden’s face lit with shock. “Do you even care to know?” She looked over at him and rolled her eyes. “Would I waste time amongst the

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rodents here if I were not genuine about this? I wed a stranger. Enlighten me if you please?” “So I’m not in trouble then?” he asked wryly. “Do you feel worried enough around me to be serious about that question?” “There are times, yes.” She smiled wickedly. “Good. My job is done, now please, share with me.” Once his laughter died down, he asked where she wanted him to begin. He could only give her pieces of his past, but those fit to share with anyone outside those who lived through it with him were hers for the asking. The rest would remain locked away until the day he died. “Your childhood is a nice place.” “It wasn’t, but if that’s what you wish.” Settling himself back against the wall nearest him, he began his tale. He was born near Aviemore in a small village called Athelsburgh and sent off at the age of three to be fostered by a baron in Northumbria. Until the age of fourteen, education to stirred his intellect and one that set the foundation for the seasoned soldier he became. At the age of fourteen, the baron moved him to an estate outside York where he met the three friends who he would die for and they trained as a team to prepare for the looming inevitability of war between England and Scotland. “How did you choose which side to take, Raden?” “There was no question of which. I am a Scotsman born and I will die a Scotsman. Simon, Ian and Douglas the same. We trained for the sole purpose of settling into the English landscape and using it to our full advantage. Your father was not the only spy in your life. You have four who did their jobs quite well.” Raden absently rubbed at a scar on his hip he earned during one such mission. “And we would do it all again if called to. We might not have known freedom growing up, but Scotland’s hard won independence will be something we relish forever.” Shifting, he turned and rested on his side. “Your turn. I know of the tall tales the gossiping biddies of the King’s court have shared about you. What is the truth? Why did you turn to raising arms against men around you?” Lisandra curled her legs up and rested her chin on her knees. “I had to,” she said quietly. “After my father died, my grandfather began to wither inside. He lost his wife, he lost his favorite child and his spirit began to wane. There was no one left to protect my sisters from the foreign world around us here in Scotland.” Her mind drifted back to the day she first raised her father’s sword in self-defense. Orrin MacKeltie decided he would take what meager possessions they had left and claim at least one of the St Germain sisters for his own pleasure. Lisandra saw only a filthy pig bent on turning her sisters into nothing more than common whores. It took less than a moment’s thought to complete the act. She plunged a knife into his throat and stood numbly as she watched him die. “From him, the challenges grew, but for reasons unknown to me until recently, The Bruce allowed me to continue defending my family and to keep the spoils of each victory. I had no other choice, Raden. We could not return to England. Our lands had been confiscated by the English when word reached them of my father’s betrayals. We had nothing. It was live by the blade or die on the road. God may forgive me one day, but I chose the first.” Raden let out a soft hmmm. “Tell me why my brother was added to your tally?” “Has it bothered you he was? That I killed him?” she countered.

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“Not in the least. Bryan was a dullard and a stupid beast that should have met that fate many times before you came along.” His expression turned dark thinking of all the barbaric pleasures his younger brother indulged in all because he bore the name Athelsburgh. “He plotted to have Aisley kidnapped and brought here to be his mistress. Much as my sister and I do not get along,” Lisandra said, reaching for her boots, “She did not deserve that fate. I raised the challenge, he accepted and I won.” She tugged the cold, wet leather boots over her feet and leapt off the bales, bringing an end to the pleasantly civil moments they shared. “Thank you for sharing, Raden,” she said quietly. “No, thank you. I must say it’s been a pleasure, wife.” He inclined his head to her, a smile on his face. “Do not call me that. That may be my lot in life, but I do not like the way you say it.” Her sour mood returned once more and she shuffled out of the stables, back to the safe confines of her room.

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Chapter Twenty-Two The summer season could not have agreed more with the time surrounding Hawkesheath. Lisandra stood at the window of her bedroom overlooking the courtyard of the keep. They accomplished so much in so little time. Now, the courtyard stood bedecked in flowers and vinery, ribbon and flowing material. There was a celebration about to happen and all around Lisandra cooperated. Looking upward out the window, she saw a cerulean blue sky peppered with fat white clouds. No grey threatened to cast a pall over the mood growing in intensity by the moment. The Summer Solstice was upon them. Her trio of giddy sisters were gathered in Aisley’s room, preparing for the still celebrated pagan event. They had been as open to having such a happening take place as the villagers around them. While raised in a Christian logic, she knew that the Scots still mingled past practices with present religious beliefs. Time would make the old ways fade away. For the present, if those who had worked so diligently around her to make Hawkesheath hospitable wanted this celebration, they would have it. Weeks of laborious restorations had given way to a time for all to rest and make merry. Lisandra locked the door to her bedroom, grateful for the slight peace it afforded. The repairs were moving ahead smoothly enough. She had other problems weighing on her. Three weddings loomed on the horizon. Her lingering, lurking cousin and his two companions sat heavy on her mind as well. Edmund still had not produced the papers she demanded that would give him all rights to St Germain holdings in England. The way he talked around the subject and the way he continued to eye Raden as if he were a deer about to be hunted disturbed Lisandra. Her only true kindness to him was to allow him the company of his guard Rodger and a brassy woman no better than a whore both seemed partake of. Putting those thoughts aside, she focused on the immediate present. The Solstice. In the air, the scents of harvested wild flowers and roasted meat wafted to tempt the noses of any who could smell. The courtyard began to fill with servants and villagers, cleaned up, wearing their best clothes, smiles on all their faces. The children ran around tugging at blossoms they could reach or chasing the geese and chickens that ran from their greedy fingers. This was what she had envisioned when she captured Hawkesheath in the single round of combat won. On a quiet sigh, she turned and looked at the gown laid out on her bed. Her sisters chose their gowns early. Her husband decided on hers for her. Raden had one of deep violet made for his wife. The very notion flustered her, more so when she heard the seamstress say he declared it would match the color of her eyes. Lisandra never thought he noticed such a detail. Her resolve was crumbling daily concerning Raden Athelsburgh. The longer she was in his company, the more she saw of him that appealed to her. Not only was he a breathtaking sight to lay her gaze upon, he was an inherently good and honest man. He treated all around him with a measure of equality rarely seen amongst men of his standing. A Lord in the eyes of both crowns, he was an oddity. Most lords and lairds never concerned themselves with the mundane daily occurrences. Raden stood as a fair judge, a hard worker, a pleasant companion to those around him. She was loathe to admit it, but if ever a man crossed her path that could tempt her,

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Raden was it. After their quiet conversation in the stables a few weeks earlier, that temptation grew to the point of no resistance. She stripped out of her work clothes and sank into the tepid bath water brought up for her. Beside the tub lay a cake of the lavender-scented soap that had been a bane of her own wedding night. Sinking lower in the water, she drew the soap over her body, appreciating the sweet smell despite the scent’s significance in some people’s minds. Her mind drifted back to her wedding night and the conflicting feelings it stirred in her. She would never think to confess it to him, but Lisandra loved what Raden stoked in her against her will and better nature. She felt heat pooling between her legs as she stroked the soap over her long limbs. The second eruption of feeling when they were in the forest stirred her further. She brushed a finger over the curls at the heart of her womanhood and shivered at the tingles that coursed through her. Daring more deviance, she let her fingers begin to mimic what Raden’s had done while she was pressed against the tree. To capture even one hint of the fire his touch engulfed her in was what her fingers hoped to grasp. She ground them harder, slipping them inside her depths. Her head dropped back against the rim of the tub and she gave herself over to the growing pleasure. ***** Raden never dreamed he would see such a sight. He had sneaked into his bedroom, hoping to catch a glimpse of Lisandra while she dressed. He wanted to see the violet material covering her skin intensify the color of her eyes. Instead, he stood with his cock hard enough to shatter stone, watching Lisandra pleasure herself. He bit back a groan when a hand reached up to pinch a nipple jutting from the water around her. Her breath hitched. He felt his hammering heart skip a few beats. Remaining motionless, he kept his eyes on her as she began to squirm. Water sloshed, her free hand gripped the edge of the tub. When he saw her hips buck above the water, he nearly spilled his seed. “Lisandra.” He choked her name out, fearing the worst. She would lash out at him with that viperous tongue of hers, drive the need back deep inside of him, leave him to brood and ache alone again. Her eyes opened and she looked over at him. She spoke not a word. She made no move to strike at him. She lay there in the water, looking sated. For a long moment, neither moved nor spoke. Even his erection stilled as if anticipating the next move. “Take your clothes off, Raden.” Lisandra’s command nearly felled him. He hesitated for a moment then tore at his clothes to get them off. She crooked a finger at him, beckoning him to her. “I think you need a bath.” She stood giving Raden a full view of her soft, round curves, droplets of water clinging to her glistening skin. He started for her but she stepped aside, pointing to the water. “Bath.” She walked away from him, donning her dressing robe, leaving the material gaping. He sank into the water scowling. Another day of his hand taking more pleasure than his wife. Grabbing the soap, he scrubbed at his body angrily. When his hand reached his groin, Lisandra let out a tsking sound. “Touch it and I will break your fingers.” He looked over at her as if she was going mad. “I’ll do whatever I bluidy well want to please myself.” He soaped his hand up and began to stroke himself. One of her muddy walking boots flew at him, winging his ear. “I warned you.” He jumped to his feet and out of the tub. “Woman, I am tired of you—” The rant building inside him came to an abrupt halt

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as Lisandra lay back on the bed, the robe spilling to her sides leaving her body open to his view. When she parted her legs, Raden groaned. Her pink folds spread like a blossoming flower, glistening with feminine dew from the pleasure she had taken only moments before. “Make me feel it again, Raden. Please.” Her whispered words went straight to his cock. He felt it grow harder than he had ever felt it before. Still rankled by the boot thrown at him, he walked to the edge of the bed and grabbed her ankles. He dragged her close to him as he sank to his knees and gave her no time to retreat. His lips latched onto her pink bud, still swollen and sensitive. Suckling it hard, Lisandra was writhing around him in a matter of moments. He stabbed his tongue inside her hot depths and lapped up her womanly juices greedily. She did not cry out, but her muffled moans and bowed spine let him know her demands were met. Lifting his head, he rose and slid his body up the length of hers. “Taste us. Taste yourself on my lips, Lisandra.” He captured her lips in a fevered kiss, his tongue dancing with hers. Her hands snaked up over his broad back, and fingers quickly tangled in his dark locks as she pressed him for more. It became a small battle for dominion as their lips and tongues continued to clash. His hands dropped to her hips, pinning her as he began to stroke his cock between her lush nether lips. So close, he thought, but he knew better than to push further. He had waited weeks for this moment to come. He would question much later when and why she changed her mind. She offered her body willingly to him and he would not ruin it with ponderous thought. Looking down at her face, flushed with desire, her violet eyes nearly black with desires lurking just below the surface, he waited for that final sign. “Are you just going to hover all eve or will you lay your full claim and make me that woman you’ve craved?” She snaked her body against his as best she could under his hold, hoping it was enough to break the stillness in him. Raden released her hips and seized her wrists pinning them above her head. “Be sure, Lisandra.” She rapidly nodded her head, a plea now in her violet eyes. “Then doona close your eyes. I want you to see everything.” His order was a low growl she for once obeyed. He knew what awaited her and rather than prolong the possible discomfort, he surged inside her, past her maidenhead, then stilled. She held a grip on his cock that was tighter than any fist he could have ever made. She felt silky soft and her muscles quivered around him in anticipation. He paused to catch the very breath that escaped him in a rush before he began to move. A smile of admiration touched his lips. She had taken him with out even a flinch. Lisandra was now truly his, all the woman he had desired since the moment he laid eyes on her. The fire he knew he stirred in her rose as he began to stroke in and out of her and she loosed it on him. The more his pace increased, the more her body responded. She thrust her breasts up under his face, her nails scored his back. He pleasured her in every way he possibly could as he drove into her. He knew she could be a demanding wench. In the matters of bed sport, he would gladly give all she commanded. He lavished her breasts with hungry kisses and hard swipes of his tongue. He laid little bites along the pale, slender column of her neck. Releasing her wrists, he wrapped her legs around his hips and lifted her bottom up off the mattress. The change in angles and his steady thrusts had her clamping down

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around him and bucking hard as he watched her ride out another wave of orgasmic bliss. She was a sight to drive him mad. Sweat slicked her skin making her shimmer under him. Her cheeks were an intoxicating shade of deep rose. Her parted lips were swollen from their heated kisses. It drove him over the edge. This was his woman, his wife. He was claiming her in the final way a man and woman should. With one last surge deep inside her, he let her rippling muscles milk him, flooding her tight womb with his seed. Collapsing over her, he could not resist a smile. He stifled the urge to scream “Mine!” Both lay still as their bodies returned to calm. Heartbeats simmered from a thundering gallop to a slow, steady pace. His arms scooped her up and they rolled until she lay atop him, his cock still fully imbedded inside her. “You have honored me greatly, my wife.” he whispered when she dared to look on his face. “I–I wished to feel things, Raden.” Her voice turned shy, bringing a smile to Raden’s face. “I’ve ached to let you.” Nudging her up slightly, he slid his hands over her body, lingering for a moment over the fullness of her breasts. Stroking her nipples into pebbly hard peaks, he gave them a soft pinch, making her squeak in delight. “‘Tis your turn, Lisandra. Feel as you wish to.” Giving his hips a soft surge, his encouragement spurred her on. Hands pressed to his chest, she began to rise and sink back down over the thick length of him, tentative at first. The sight of his fiery, willful wife atop him, moving in wild abandon pushed him perilously close to another release. Her copper and gold hair tumbled over her shoulders, teasing the flesh of his chest. Her breasts bobbed gently, drawing him to his elbows, closer to claim her dusky peaks between his lips. Suckling hard stirred her further until she ground around his shaft, her muscles rippling as his ministrations sent sensations coursing through her body. He longed to hear her cry out, call his name as she crested around him. He accepted instead swallowing each sharp keening sound she made as she kissed him fervently while her body bucked around him. On one last forceful thrust of his hips, he fed her his own growls as he filled her womb once more. Breaking the kiss, he let her body rest once more over the length of his, and the single word he held back uttering previously spilled from his lips on a whisper. She was his. Her heart would join her body eventually. For the time, he would accept her body open and finally willing to accept his as the first token of vows he intended to honor and keep until death parted them. ***** Lisandra stood beside Raden, his hand on her elbow the only contact between them She bore no expression on her face to show the wondrous possibilities of marriage she experienced with Raden. For what those around them saw, it looked ever the same between the husband and wife. Raden understood. He accepted the fact he would not be afforded the luxury of fondling his wife in front of company any time he chose. Lisandra made it quite clear as they dressed for the celebration. Their passions would not be shared for all in the keep to hear. Her marital union was with him alone. Others could screech their wanton emotions. She would not. They joined celebration already in progress by the time they ventured from their bedchamber. It carried over from midday until well into the afternoon, the true heart of the joyous gathering waiting for sunset. At dusk, an interruption threatened to bring it to a

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halt. A guard standing watch at the east tower raised the signal a riding party approached. When they drew close, the guard shouted out what banner flew as identification. “The Black Douglas!” His bellowed call echoed throughout the courtyard, sending those below him scurrying into action. The heavy oak doors that protected the entrance to the inner keep were opened and seven riders, fully armed and prepared for conflict rode in on black steeds, coming to a halt before Raden and Simon who stood side by side, Lisandra with them. Men from the stables ran forward to move the horses aside after the riders dismounted. Six stood in place, one stepped forward. An imposing figure at his age, James Douglas, known as the Black Douglas stood toe to toe with Raden first. Silence stretched between the two men. Lisandra watched in awe as an entire conversation passed between them by merely looking at each other then nodding in unison. The same began to take place between the Black and Simon but the younger man would have none of it. He embraced James in a bear hug and bid him join them in the celebration. James nodded, granting Simon a fatherly smile and Lisandra a stiff, courtly bow. She replied with a deep curtsy for the legendary aide to The Bruce. “It seems the Bruce was wise in his choice of unions. To have St Germains strong and able in our camp is quite the coup.” He took one of Lisandra’s hands in a gloved one of his and brushed a kiss along her knuckles. “So fair and fine a Queen despite her title. I am most pleased with the alliance. The Bruce sends his regards and prays all bodes well here?” Lisandra bit her cheek to keep from smiling at the graying man who flirted with her. She inclined her head and stole a brief glance at Raden. “Assure our King that all does. You honor us with your presence, Sir Douglas. Thank you for joining us this happy day.” James looked at Simon and Raden then sought out Ian and Douglas with his gaze. “I would not miss this for aught.” Ever the proper hostess, Aisley tossed out orders to those around her who were not touched by the wine and mead that had flowed in copious quantities. Food was laid out for the Black’s men and a plate was prepared for the Bruce’s closest friend as he sat with the married and betrothed. Lisandra found it most curious that the four men flocked to him as if he were the King himself. As time passed, her keen observation started a niggling in the back of her mind. There seemed something entirely too familiar about James Douglas’ countenance. She knew she had seen that face before despite the fact she’d never gazed upon the legendary Scotsman until that day. She continued to search her thoughts well after the men retreated for talk of courtly business matters. Celebration or not, the freedom of Scotland paused for no man, woman or child’s happy day. ***** “We may speak freely here.” Raden had no doubt that his wife would soon let curiosity get the better of her and she would spy, but for the time the safe retreat of the library was their gathering place. With the assurance, James’s regal bearing disappeared and he hugged each of the men in turn. “I have long waited for this day. Joy in the tempest storms of warring for freedom. I dare say marriage will suit all of you well. Fair brides, fine companionship.” Pride radiated from every word he spoke. Raden once heard from James he thought he would die before seeing such an event. “Weel,” Douglas chuckled, rubbing his chin. “Raden would be hard pressed to nod to the fine companionship.”

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Raden rolled his eyes at the ribbing nature of the comment. “I bode well enough with my Queen, Douglas. Fear not.” Brows went up, laughter following. Raden smiled and it spoke volumes to the men. When the pleasant sounds faded, Raden was the first to grow serious. “It’s not the matter of Simon’s impending union that brings you here is it?” James sank his tired bones into a chair and sighed heavily. “Afraid not. There are stirrings again and The Bruce will be needing his Four Horsemen prepared. I need my four most trusted warriors girded for battle.” “When and where, Fa-I mean James.” Ian caught himself in mid declaration, correcting himself, keeping the resolve in his tone. James turned his eyes toward Raden. “It is you they wish for first, Raden. There is a plan in motion, the details most secretive. We have only heard broken whispers, but your name stands out in each one. Need I give you warning to watch your back?” Raden shook his head, a soft chuckle on his lips. He walked over to the closed door and leaned against it. “You need not worry, James. I’ve a plan to grow old and die tupping my bride until St Peter is ready to read my name at the gates of Heaven.” The men snickered at the comment, but Raden spoke it for a reason. He could sense his wife standing outside the door, aching to spy on the conversation denied her. To prove his point, he opened the door and violet colored skirts and auburn hair tumbled inward against her husband that steadied her. Fire glittered in her gaze, pink staining her cheeks. “You had but to ask, wife.” Raden cooed his words. His wife glared back at him. “Aye, Lisandra. What we will speak of now you may hear.” James beckoned her forward and pointed to a chair for her to sit in. “If ever there was an equal for Raden, you would be it, armed and poised to strike just as he is. Indeed you are an asset to Scotland and her king.” Lisandra shuffled to her seat finding the power in her to look meek. It faded quickly as conversation resumed and The Black Douglas continued to share his purpose at Hawkesheath.

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Chapter Twenty-Three Lisandra cringed once more. She felt embarrassment, not for the fact that her husband was unlacing her gown in a most pleasing way, but for the sounds that peppered the dark of night. The keep was echoing with the sounds of men and women cast into the throes of pleasure taken with each other. “Do they not realize we can hear them?” Her teeth were clenched and her words came out hissed between them. She could not release the discomfort she felt at the sounds cutting through the darkness. Such business between a man and woman needed to be kept between themselves. “There is nothing shameful proclaiming the joy in coupling with a few hearty screams.” Lisandra felt the last of the lacing give way and his hands took full advantage of her freedom. “One day, that will be us. I will cry to the heavens with you, Lisandra.” His words effectively stirred her body, though her mind scoffed at the proclamation. The entire day, Lisandra mingled through the gathering, praying her cheeks did not bear proof of her heady thoughts. While the soreness between her legs had long faded, the warm ache refused to abate. She would spy a glimpse of her husband and feel heat pool low in her body. Stronger than most women, she resisted the urge to beckon him into a shadowy place and lift her skirts so he could provide relief. In the private confines of their bedroom, she made no move as he slipped her gown from her shoulders, sending the rich purple silk pooling at her feet. He requested as she dressed she wear nothing under the rich material. Silk aside, she stood before him clad in no more than the light sheen of a woman stirred. “You know I will never do that. ‘Tis not for others to hear what comes from our time alone in here.” Lisandra tugged Raden’s under shirt off and cast it aside. A smile touched her lips at that moment. Trailing her nails over the dark, crisp hairs that softly matted his muscled torso, she asked if he truly would cry out her name if she pleased him. “Quite readily, but it would have to be on the crest of great pleasure.” He leveled a smoldering look and Lisandra smiled serenely. “I have a quest at hand, it seems. What would I do to make my husband scream my name to the heavens?” She hummed softly while her fingers undid the leather ties to his trews. Sliding her hands under the material covering his hips, she followed it to the ground as she nudged it downward. “You find my womanhood so compelling. Perhaps I should find out if your manhood is as desirable.” His groan spurred her exploration. Knowing she could fell the man with such a notion, she brushed her lips across the tip of his jutting thickness. It twitched against the touch, softly batting her lips in return. “Find this favorable, do you, m’lord?” Her query garnered a thrust of his hips closer as his hands tangled in her loosed tresses. She slid the tip of his cock into her mouth and suckled softly. His size she knew would be too much for her to take in all at once. She teased and tempted all that she could. The more her tongue stroked the veined flesh, the rougher his breathing grew. The more her fingers caressed the full sac nestled in the dark curls tickling her face, she knew she would be victorious. Her brazen thoughts spurred her on, even after she discovered he would not bellow anything. The longer her mouth lingered around him, the more ragged his voice became until he was rasping between panted gasps of air. Ceasing when he choked out his

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warning was not in her nature. Having her husband weak-kneed and pliable to her growing desires, she suckled harder until she felt a splash of liquid heat course down the back of her throat. He carefully withdrew and let out a throaty laugh as she smacked her lips together and licked them with the tip of her tongue. “Salty but not altogether unpleasant,” she mused, then burst into a fit of stifled giggles as he yanked her up into his arms. “I will keep that in mind for I have heard sweet and salty are a most pleasurable combination.” He carried them back to the bed where, hours earlier, they consecrated the most intimate part of their vows to each other. “A most pleasurable mingling indeed, wife.” Lisandra stilled him before he could set her body to flame once more. “Raden?” she queried. He looked down at her. “What is it?” “Do I disappoint you now that I have—that I am no longer fighting my stubborn nature as you so aptly put it?” He brought his lips crushing down over hers, savoring the odd flavor of her and his own. Parting her legs quickly, he plunged inside her, linking their bodies together fully. “Never, Lisandra. You have not even from the moment we met.” Accepting his words at truth, she gently tugged him down to her and offered her body once more, reveling in the newly discovered sensations she had been loathe to experience only weeks earlier. Time had been lost between them and she set that to rights as she maneuvered her body to welcome him deeper inside her once more. It was near dawn when both put to rest their attempts to join each other’s cries with the rest that broke the silence in the keep. Raden came on a strangled groan, Lisandra threatened to bite another hole in her lip. Both were determined to see the other give in first, but the battle proved to be a decadent one each was willing to return to. ***** The fair companionship James Douglas and his men provided lingered for three days, most of which had the Horsemen following him like children in the company of their greatest champion. Often, there would be whispered conversations, the five men huddling close, sharing things that were privy to their ears only. Lisandra accepted she was not privileged to partake in their little gatherings. With no husband to worry about shadowing her and attempting to be affectionate with her amongst prying eyes, she returned to her duties overseeing the work continuing on Hawkesheath Castle. Days passed laboring hard and her nights spent loved harder. Her husband’s appetite was insatiable but she found no reason to offer complaint. She admired the man with more than just her eye. She would spy glances of him in the company of the Black Douglas and see the legend within. He stood taller, his visage fierce and proud. He was the battled hardened Horseman of legend but she knew another side to him. In the sanctity of their bedchambers, she peeled away the protective armor of Raden the warrior to reveal Raden the man. On the morning of the fourth day, James announced his departure and asked that his four friends join him for one last meeting. Lisandra wished to join them, found herself left behind. The Black Douglas admired her as a woman, but treated her like one as well. He believed she had more pressing business to attend to than playing soldier with her husband. She forgave him his ideals and bade him a fond farewell. ***** Horses stilled, and the five men looked out over the land before them. “I dare say,

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Raden, you are quite blessed now.” Raden looked to James and shrugged his shoulders. “I accept what I have, sir.” “I certainly hope you do. Robert and I did much to ensure this happened. All four of you have served him more than faithfully. This was the least we could plot.” He let out a hearty laugh then reached over and clapped Raden on the shoulder. “In time, you’ll realize just how truly lucky you are now.” “Aye,” Ian interrupted, “When his wife stops threatening to gut him.” Raden smiled discreetly. What they did not know protected them. All five gathered knew that their English guest continued to scheme and appearances were everything. If his friends believed that he never partook of Lisandra’s ripe and lush body, so be it. “I like her threats. There is nothing wrong with a strong-willed wife. At least we know she doesn’t shrink at the sight of blood.” Laughter erupted between the men. “Perhaps if she’d seen you your first visit here?” Simon teased. The men sobered. It was the Battle of Bannockburn that nearly felled their friend. Determined to save Robert from his own follies engaging Henry De Bohun, Raden used his body as a human shield and fell only seconds before the king charged on a pony, hell-bent on killing the storied knight. Three arrows and two piercing stabs through the most vulnerable parts of his mail left Raden hovering on the edge of death. His one and only visit to Hawkesheath came when his men sequestered him there to either see to his healing or bury him next to his great uncle Roane. Breaking the somber mood brought about from recollection, Raden barked out a short laugh. “It would have only given her pause before she leveled her threats in earnest,” he said with a smirk. They lingered a few moments more, admiring the view that Raden savored. “Never forget what you have been granted by not only the king but God himself,” James said before the rode back to the castle. “You have a home now.” Raden could not have been more pleased with James’ words. He knew that and planned to honor it until death claimed him.

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Chapter Twenty-Four Edmund grew weary simply attempting to skulk about the keep searching for the slightest kink in both his cousin’s and her husband’s armor. He knew enough about Raden to understand that brute strength could not bring the man down. Trickery, something Edmund excelled in, was necessary. He plotted day and night, pausing only to eat and find his pleasures amongst the less caring of Lord Athelsburgh’s subjects. Nothing appeared useful in his weeks spent amongst the barbarians. He learned nothing from his lackeys while James Douglas lingered. A fortnight after his departure he still had no crack in the defenses to exploit to his benefit. All he had was the common sight of the loyal bunch who clamped their mouths closed when he appeared. They were filthy, addle-minded peasants who did little more than follow orders cast about by Lisandra and Raden. Sheep. The people were no better than the livestock they cared for. A nudge here, a firm word there. Edmund preferred to watch the puppetry of the English courtiers. They perfected the art and in doing so, could manipulate anything to their whims. He needed that skill. With constant shadows guarding almost every step he took, he knew providence would have to drop chance and fortune in his lap at the least expected moment. He had failed to find anything worthwhile during the drunken stupors most fell into during the solstice celebration. His guards spoke in single syllables to him. His younger cousins babbled, but spoke of things not fit outside the sewing circle in the solar. Luck would smile upon him soon enough. Of that fact, he bore a large measure of arrogant assuredness. Lisandra gave her word she would hand over the titles to the lands her father lost and the English crown seemed willing to return. The final detail hovered over him like a buzzing gnat. Raden Athelsburgh, the Scottish bastard had a chopping block calling his name and Edmund heard the beckoning taunt. “Soon enough,” he whispered to himself as the guard changed from Simon MacBriede to Ian Brodie. He ignored both men as they changed places, and watched Simon wander off, no doubt to lift the skirts of some maid to slake his hungers not sated by his bride to be. “Where do I force you to go this afternoon,” Edmund pondered aloud, garnering a deep scowl from the silent Scots. “Why don’t we follow your friend and watch him tup a maid to the point of bleating like her furry cousins.” The taunting drew a mild effect from Ian. He watched his guard move a hand to the hilt of his sword. A woman’s cry rose before Edmund could continue with irritating the brute. With a speed that stunned him, the Scots had his sword drawn and his meaty paw on the back of Edmund’s collar dragging him toward the rising ruckus. He stumbled a few paces until he fell into a rhythm matching the large strides of his armed companion. Pulled to a stop, Edmund stood as merely one of a dozen spectators to a scene he could not have prayed more desperately for. Providence stood poised to grant him his due. ***** The horse protested furiously as its rider yanked hard on the reins to halt his forward progress. He bucked and whinnied until she jerked the leathers once more and slid from his back. “What in the heavens is going on here!” Lisandra’s voice split through the heated bickering between a man and a woman. After the blow she received, Lisandra wondered

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how she was able to cackle back at the beast who hit her. When silence fell, she stepped between the two and put herself directly in front of the woman. “How dare you raise a hand to her? I should cut it off for such a vulgar offense!” Lisandra’s words left her mouth a split second before she was shoved aside and the man continued his verbal and physical assault on the now tearful woman. She took to only one man dismissing her with words and none by hand. Lisandra charged and knocked the attacker to the ground, plowing a leather-clad fist hard against his nose. “From someone closer to your size and far more determined than the lady,” she sneered, wiping blood from the contact onto the man’s shirt as he bucked and writhed in pain beneath her. Lisandra rose to her feet, prepared to comfort the woman but found herself on her bottom when once more, she was brushed aside like a fly. The scene left her dumbfounded. She discovered they were husband and wife and the woman wished to comfort her man after Lisandra’s unprovoked attack. A piece of her threadbare gown was torn and placed over his face while Lisandra sat and watched. It sickened her to see such tenderness for a man who thought it valid to beat his wife for heaven only knew what. She herself would have slit the man open and strangled him with his own entrails. “Have you no sense, woman? This beast has beaten you and you wish to tend to his needs first? You bleed, yet he is more important?” The bloodshot, tear-stained gaze of the battered woman turned and rested on Lisandra briefly as she ranted defiantly about meddling and not understanding. “I understand this man needs to be given a bit of his own punishment. If you will not stand and say no more, someone such as me will gladly stand in your stead. No woman deserves such a thrashing as you’ve taken today.” She moved toward the woman to nudge her away and received another earful of spiteful Gaelic and English ravings. “Leave them be.” Lisandra felt the warm breath against her ear as the words were muttered. “It is a dispute between them and we have no right to interfere.” She felt an arm slide around her waist and draw her to her feet, away from the couple. She refused to give way. Turning, she faced the man who uttered the words and shoved him back. “No right to interfere? Have you gone daft as well?” Looking up at her own husband, Lisandra struggled to accept his words truly came from him. “No, I am quite sane despite my surroundings.” His lips quirked in a slight smile, fading as fast as it formed. “This man was terrorizing his wife. There is no excuse for such behavior to be allowed to take place in this keep!” Lisandra curled her hands into fists and locked her arms to keep from reaching up and shaking Raden. “They are man and wife and by law, the husband is given the right to settle matters as he sees fit.” Raden brought a hand up to keep Lisandra silent and continue. She slapped it aside. “The law you say? You are laird of the keep and you condone this behavior? So, if I dared to step out of place and you found it unacceptable, you would blacken and bloody my face with your fists? Now I see how you and that surly bastard brother of yours are related,” Lisandra spat out furiously. “You know bluidy well that I would never—” “No, I do not, Lord Athelsburgh for I am seeing a side of you that disgusts and sickens me.” She stepped around him to walk back to the woman, stopping when Raden grabbed her arm. “You are causing a scene, Lisandra. Leave this to the husband and wife to work out. You do not have to like what you see, but life is not always as you color it.” Raden spoke in

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a hushed tone between his clenched teeth. She looked past his hulking form and saw that others had gathered to include her cousin and Ian who escorted him. “Then perhaps I should color your world differently, m’lord.” Lisandra yanked her arm free and brought her hand up, cracking it harshly across his face. “A lovely shade of stinging red so you may feel how I would deal with this situation.” Whispers and gasps rose from the dozen around them. Ian stepped forward and froze seeing Lisandra’s hostile gaze. She refused to cower to their thoughts. If she was indeed the Viper Queen, her husband deserved another stinging bite from her for his asinine comments alone. “If you will excuse me, I shall leave this matter to your capable hands. May the bloodshed be on your head, you cowardly boar.” Marching past him, Lisandra hoisted herself onto the saddle of her horse and spurred him into a hard gallop. She refused to linger in the company of a man who saw no reason to protect one weaker and unable to defend herself against raining blows. ***** Raden left to follow after quietly threatening the husband within an inch of his very life if he dared raise another hand to his wife so brutally. By rights, he did have the power to bring death upon the man for his actions. Some would see it as a poor attempt at trying to murder the woman. He settled for the warning, knowing full well it would be heeded. The name Moncrief still caused fear in a few hearts around Hawkesheath by virtue of his brother’s monstrous behavior. Returning to the keep to find his wife, the gathering followed closely at his heels, anxious to hear more worth gossiping over in the evening hours. The mistress of Hawkesheath stirred tongues to wagging for many things she did. Slapping the master of the keep in front of witnesses shocked them and fed their need for more to prattle about. He found her in the stables, brushing down her horse, muttering dire things under her breath. For a moment, they stood with her ignoring him, but the impatience spurred on by Lisandra’s public scourging brought him to act first. “Lisandra.” Speaking her name broke the uncomfortable silence between them and started her on another tangent that had Raden’s ears feeling an all too familiar sort of ache. “Don’t you Lisandra me! Did you take a good look at that woman? She had bruises and cuts all over her bared flesh and God only knows how many she hid with her clothing!” Sucking in a deep breath, she continued. “And you stood there. You should have added to that man’s pains and yet you did nothing but admonish me for interfering.” Raden took a step closer to her. He received a clip on the ear when she winged the horse’s brush at him. “I think that is more than enough, Lisandra. I understand your anger, but I do not think that here and now is the appropriate place and time to discuss this. When you have calmed down, we will take up this matter again.” “You think? Is this an order, my lord?” She arched a brow and folded her arms across her chest. “Is this causing you a bit of emotional discomfort? Speaking to you with such impropriety? Dear me, what was I thinking? I do humbly beg your complete forgiveness, Lord Athelsburgh.” Sarcasm dripped from every word she spoke. “Are you finished yet?” He sighed hard and ground a hand over the back of his neck. Life with his wife had yet to prove dull. This stood as another highlight. “Oh quite. Be it known by all those who are gawking outside,” she yelled, and brought her tone to a quieter level, “that from this moment on until death takes one of us, you will find a new place to lay your head at night and if you dare attempt to touch me, I will separate your hand from your wrist. This I swear to God and Heaven above. I would

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rather spend my days in the company of my cousin as his companion back in England than suffer one more moment in your presence. I have discovered today who seems to be the better man.” She turned on her heel and marched out a door not cluttered with eavesdroppers, leaving Raden to cope with the mess. Raden watched her leave him and expelled another sigh. If she had only held her tongue for a moment, he would have quashed her anger with an explanation. He wanted a few moments alone with her to explain his true stance on the matter, but her harshly spoken words cut through him like the sword she carried on her hip. He knew it would take months to set the situation to rights and restore piece in the keep and his bedchambers. The hardest part for him to put aside were the bitter words spoken about her cousin and him. Knowing how hot tempered his shrewish wife could be, Raden prayed it never happened. He never realized until it was too late that the God he spoke to heard only a portion of his silent plea.

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Chapter Twenty Five Edmund could not help but smile. He had been waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike and the Fates had been kind to him. So, indeed was his cousin. The tantrum she threw earlier in the day gave him exactly the opportunity he needed. Raden sulked about the keep, powerless for the time to calm his wife. Edmund knew the man could not go to his wife’s bedchamber. She would have bloodshed in mind and not even Raden would be stupid enough to face that down. Raden found solace in the comforting of his friends and the strong brews they plied him with. As women tended to Lisandra, the men sat and shared their own tales of woes concerning the female species. Edmund listened and plotted. The trickery, long set in place, stood poised to be called upon. Well into nightfall, the banter passed until the men declared themselves fit for bed. Escorted to his chambers, Edmund snuck away and met up with the final piece to his plan. It was time. The players in his drama acted out their parts unwittingly. The trap was laid, the mood built, the moment upon him. When she stepped from the shadows he lurked in to avoid detection, Edmund quickly slipped the riding cloak over his aide to treachery, smacking her hand away when she tried to pull the hood up. “Everyone must bear witness to the betrayal.” He gave her a little hiss, frustrated at the lapses in understanding she sometimes showed. Finding the woman on his travels to the keep had been a gods send, yet her lack of wits at times made him wonder if she was worth the risk. “Oh yes.” She murmured parts of the plan smiling as wickedly as her conspirator. “It does seem a shame we have to kill him though.” “I know, Lisandra, but you understand the necessity of such an endeavor. He is the thorn in the paw. It must be pulled out so we may walk triumphant to victory.” He yanked her against him and kissed her cruelly. He began to lose focus when her hand snaked out and began to stroke him to hardness. It was the sound of Raden bellowing for a horse that kept Edmund from tearing her trews open and tupping her until she screamed. She did like it rough. A pout formed on her lips. Edmund erased it by giving her nipples a hard twist. “Soon, my dear. Perhaps I shall bring out the crop?” “Whatever pleases you, Edmund.” She retaliated by giving his sac a rough squeeze, giggling softly in the night. Pulling her back into the shadows, Edmund waited for his moment to strike. They watched as Raden opened the door on the east wall, pausing to look up at his bedroom window. The fight between Raden and Lisandra earlier in the day heard through most of the keep served to Edmund’s benefit. It was time to strike and strike hard. He had lingered at Hawkesheath too long. He had to give his pet credit. Edmund watched as she ran forward with great speed and plunged the dagger in hand deep between Raden’s shoulder blades as he readied himself to mount and ride off. No one saw the attack. Raden gave no battle cry. The man slumped to the ground, keeping in line with all Edmund had unfolding in his mind. With her help, Edmund draped Raden’s body over the back of his mount and quietly hissed out an order for the cloak and bloodied dagger to be left behind. It was the quiet clank of metal against cobbled stone that alerted the first guard. Edmund spurred her on as

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he mounted his own horse and watched her scramble off to hers hidden for the escape. Perfectly executed. He heard the tower guards cries as they rode off, and laughed in sheer delight. ***** Simon began counting off every moment that Lisandra had wished her husband dead. She threatened every hideous means of death popular for the day and a few on her own that were creative and particularly brutal. The closer he got to the evidence left behind by her and Edmund as they rode off, he prayed to God there was an explanation as to why she would follow through. Raden would not lie to him. He said many times over that married life was pleasantly agreeable between him and Lisandra. They fought but it only added to a particular sort of battle they enjoyed waging later behind closed doors. It made no sense to him. Simon stood looking down at Lisandra’s cloak and the dagger she always carried in her boot. He snapped out orders for seven of the watchmen to mount up and follow Edmund and his traitorous companions. Hunt them down, tie them up, he commanded and bring them back to the keep so he could kill them very slowly. Douglas was one of the seven, vowing he would do as asked. Simon bid him well and stalked back inside the heart of Hawkesheath. When something made no sense to him, he did his best to work it out. Lisandra’s part in the treachery nagged at him the worst. ***** Regret gnawed at her like an invisible beast, giving her no peace. She raged furiously during the day, confused and angered by the discovery of her husband’s true lack of caring. It broke her heart, causing a pain inside her soul she wished would go away. Sagging in bed, Lisandra grappled with the destruction rained down upon the marital bliss she had come to revel in. There was not one resting position she found to comfort her. She flopped onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, restless and worried. Lisandra had not meant what she said about preferring her cousin’s company. She disliked the little worm. Yet, Raden provoked her and old habits died hard. Her defensiveness rose because her heart was swelling with love for the man who was once her worst enemy. It terrified her feeling the strong emotion. She lashed out at Raden and sent him off into the night. Hearing the clomping of multiple hoof beats against the cobblestones, she covered her head with a pillow. Let the men ride off and brood with Raden. He was an ass and they could pet his wounded pride for she would not. Marriage was not an easy course for her. She warred with herself, she warred with the man in her life. Finding an acceptable balance proved elusive to her. Sniffling back tears, she rolled onto her stomach. When Raden returned, he would not see proof of her weakness. She loved him, she hated him. She was going mad from it. Muffled by the feathered covering over her head, she heard faint sounds of activity in the courtyard. More sympathy for Raden no doubt, she told herself. The men would gather mead and wine and commiserate. The women sat about and traded their common stories over wine and civil conversation. The men drowned theirs in fermented beverage. Men. They were all bastards. Accepting that readily, she let her eyes droop shut. Whatever was going on around her could be handled by one of the drunken beasties below. If she appeared, she would have to hurt at least one of them on principle. Through the thickness of the fluffy pillow atop her head, Lisandra heard the resounding noise that dragged her from the edges of sleep. The bastard would die for the

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disruption. Groping for her dagger always under her pillow, she planned to hurl it at the fool who dared breach the sanctity of her bedchamber then ask why he kicked the door in. The blade was not there. Bolting upright in bed, she made to jump to her sword but Simon stood with her father’s weapon in one hand hovering at the edge of her bed, his eyes blazing with rage. In the other, he held her riding cloak and her missing dagger, covered in someone’s blood. “Speak now and calm me, else I shall leave Raden a widower.” His words came out on ragged, snarly breaths. “I’m going to leave you gelded if you don’t explain why you have suddenly barged into my chamber holding those things looking ready to kill, you crazed fool!” Grabbing a cover, she slid out of bed, wrapping it around her. Aisley would soon have painful injuries to tend to that Lisandra planned to inflict upon the idiot. “Whose blood is that? Is that what the noise down below is all about?” Simon nodded stiffly. “‘Tis Raden’s. Stabbed by the very hand that carries this dagger quite often.” He took a step closer to Lisandra. “Are you mad?! The only hand I raised to Raden this day was to crack him across his face for acting such a pompous ass. What gibberish are you spewing?” Panic replaced righteous indignation. Raden’s blood? Her mind began to whirl. She grabbed the spindle post nearest to her and steadied herself as her legs went weak. “Simon? Simon, what has happened to Raden? On my very life, I have been in my chamber all evening. You know damn well I could not have plunged a dagger into that beast’s body. Despite all sense, I actually care for him.” Calming herself inwardly, she closed the distance between her and her soon-to-be brother-in-law. “It was witnessed by a guard that your cousin and a woman with your coloring and hair, wearing your clothes and cloak attacked Raden and stole him off into the night.” Shock of the news held her still for mere seconds. She moved once more, pummeling Simon with clenched fists. “And you stand here ready to accuse me of such misdeeds?” She roared at him and kicked him hard on the shin. “Men are well and truly addled in the mind! Send people to search for him! If he is wounded, he cannot defend himself.” While she ranted, she dressed in her fighting attire, grabbing her sword and dagger from Simon last. She paused before stuffing the blood-covered dagger in her boot. They would pay, she silently vowed. Kin or not, Edmund would face her wrath and suffer dearly for the harm brought down on her husband. “Harm not a hair on either of their heads save to restrain them. I have blades calling to claim their blood as they did Raden’s. If my husband is dead, neither Heaven nor Hell will serve as aid to them.” On her words, she ran out of her room, straight for the stables.

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Chapter Twenty Six She once heard the men speaking of a woman’s emotions leading her heart to make impetuous moves. Lisandra prided herself as a woman of immediate action. Horse saddled and ready to leave, she longed to curse the men who stood about speaking in hushed tones amongst themselves. In her opinion, all discussions could be tended to on their ride to find her husband. Simon thought otherwise. He took the opportunity to expound on the skills he and his men had honed over the years, aiding them in just such times. They would find Raden and bring him home, but not before preparations were made. A foolhardy rush headlong into the depths of enemy territory could see them all killed if captured. Planning was necessary and Lisandra sat atop her restless horse waiting for the men to finishing their dallying. By dawn, she wanted to strangle each and every man involved in the rescue mission. They were no further out the gates of the keep than when she first mounted her horse. They waited on news of Edmund’s shadow who thought it prudent to make a quiet escape into the night while the chaos was at its peak. Moving the gathering into the great hall, she took to pacing in front of the hearth while the men babbled on. She could hear their plans, but her mind focused on one thing only. Her husband had been snatched from her by those with dark intentions. Only she was allowed to force his departure if she saw fit. She wanted him back, she wanted to ask his forgiveness and she wanted her filled with him. He had become an addiction for her body and heart she found herself aching to have once more. Only a short span of time had passed, but it seemed like her lifetime as she waited and waited again for the men to finish plotting. A hard scuffle outside the great hall broke her from lustful thoughts of what she would do to her husband upon his return. Clearing the blush from her cheeks over such randy thoughts, she felt them heat once more with anger as Edmund’s personal guard was dragged in and thrown before Simon’s feet. Before he could react, Lisandra marched forward and nudged Simon aside. “Bring him to his feet,” she ordered coldly. When Rodger was standing, she pulled the dagger from her boot, still stained with her husband’s blood. “I will ask you once and once only. Where did Edmund take my husband?” Gone for all to see was the pretense of womanly concern. Standing before all in the hall was the Viper Queen. Edmund’s guard merely chuckled and looked to Simon. “Letting a woman do a man’s business? Didn’t think the Scots would stoop that low.” His mocking tone was met with a slice of the dagger in Lisandra’s hand. “Perhaps you have not been in Scotland long enough to hear of my name.” She purred out the nickname thrust upon her by battle hardened men she knew she chilled by the mere thought of her. “And as I am English born, perhaps it is your own blood you should mock as it was a woman who was sent to do the worst of damage to my husband. I know my cousin is a coward. Perhaps he chose her over you because you would be so foul of face clad in skirts?” A few men around her snickered but her visage remained stony. “Answer my question.” “Do what you wish my queen. I’d bow but I am unable to at present.” he said flatly. “Very well.” She had long since given up cowering at the notion of bloodshed. Stepping closer, she grabbed the man by the waist of his trews and cut the leather

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ties that held them closed. “Do you know, in certain countries, servants are castrated with the notion that by removing the source of their most basic natures, they will have complete and utter obedience.” When she yanked the man’s trews down to his ankles, gasps and a few murmured protests arose. “There is usually a physician to perform this act, however, I did read stories of master’s doing it themselves and watching sadly as their slaves bled to death.” Glancing down at her captive’s wilted member, she clucked her tongue. “According to my readings, this is quite the source for blood flow.” “Lisandra?” Simon choked out. She waved him off and dragged the tip of the blade along the stubby length of her target. “Oh my. It just dawned on me.” She looked up into the eyes of their prisoner and smiled innocently. “This has been recently used so it shall be a tad dull. Never you mind. I will cut as quickly and as deeply as I can manage.” Quelling the sudden flash of nausea building inside her at the notion of touching another man’s intimate parts, she grabbed hold and pulled forward his sac with one hand and laid the first cut with the other. “God in Heaven. Remind me never to rankle this one.” Ian groaned and stepped away from the sight and the sound of their captive fighting the urge not to scream out. The other men who had hands free covered their cods out of sheer horror. Lisandra ignored Ian and continued on. “I asked you a question. Answer it and your manhood, scrawny as it is will be spared.” He spit upon her in reply. Lifting the man’s cods, she sliced between them. “That is not the answer I wish for. Where are they taking my husband?” she snarled. On the fifth slice, she motioned for the two holding him upright to let him go. Cut three had him telling them he did not know. On the last, he screamed a single name and nothing more. She knew she would have more success than having the men around her beat the traitor. She had aimed straight for the one source that would have even the most seasoned of warriors crumbling. “Now may we please leave?” she asked as she slid her dagger back into her boot. Stepping over the whimpering bulk of a man, she walked out of the great hall and back to the stables. With or without them, she was riding to England.

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Chapter Twenty Seven She sat mesmerized by the flames lapping up from the shallow pit where a fire cooked their meager meal and provide them with a smattering of warmth in the chilly summer night. In a matter of weeks, she had gone from slaying men to protect her family to caring for one deeply enough to risk her own life for his. It shocked her to realize it took only a small time to change from braying inwardly that she wanted nor needed any man in her life to accepting she would not be contented without Raden there to drive her to a constant mix of pleasures and frustrations. He had anchored himself firmly in her heart and the circumstances that drew her to sit before the small blaze further entrenched him there. In the beginning, Lisandra considered it a sign of weakness to find Raden compelling. Where she sat at that moment, it now struck her as a sign of strength to accept that a woman who believed all hope of caring died at the end of her father’s blade. She knew her husband held feelings for her. When they found him, she would return them, love and all. It was simply a matter of time before they found Raden and she could speak the words directly to his face. Four days had passed, chasing the enemy, tracking them over the southern border of Scotland into England. Her companions, Simon, Ian and a fellow soldier named Luther Howard followed the trail left behind by Edmund who in his haste to reach his destination left signs of his hasty travels. In the silent stillness of the night, she pondered brutal things to rain down upon her traitorous cousin. She knew no motives to spur his actions. From the moment he arrived at Hawkesheath, she assured him he could have all he wanted in England. Take and go. The longer he lingered, the more she found herself sharing Raden’s suspicions. Before she left her cousin without the ability to speak, she would discover exactly what he had hoped to accomplish by kidnapping Raden and stealing him off into the night. “Lisandra?” Simon broke her from her thoughts. “What is it?” Once absolved of guilt in Simon’s mind, she discovered how strong of an ally he truly was in their presence. She went from bashing his skull to joining forces with him. “Get some rest. We ride in an hour and you haven’t slept much since we began.” “I can’t, Simon. I will try but I doubt it. My mind is too full at the moment.” She pulled a dagger from the sheath strapped to her leg and stared at it, briefly. The men and most certainly her sisters would be shocked to see what she did next, but she knew the necessity of her gesture. Draping the braid of hair over her back, she grasped it at the nape of her neck and began to slice the sharpened steel back and forth. Lock after lock was severed from her head until the arm’s length of braid separated and hung limply in her hand. “Why?” Simon could say little more over the stunning gesture. “It will grow back. This is a necessity, Simon.” She threw the shank of hair into the fire and watched it curl and turn to ash. Her sisters would howl and Raden she assumed would scowl. It no longer hung as a signal a woman fought along side the men Her companions voiced concern she could not hide her womanly attributes. Sheathing the knife, she continued with her disguise. Over her tunic, she bound her breasts by a long strip of woven cloth wrapped tightly from her cleavage to her waist. Her chain

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mail hauberk furthered the illusion by weighting more down. The leather gambeson over her tunic completed the apparel portion of her disguise. With a coif and hood and her leather breeches, she looked like a tall, thin, fair faced boy who could do harm to nothing. Lisandra prepared to harm only two. The cousin who betrayed her and the woman who plunged the dagger into Raden would die. Her mind poured over who the poser could be. Given the craftiness of Edmund’s plan stealing Raden away, Lisandra decided he brought in help. She would have no problem shedding the wench’s blood along with Edmund’s. Explicit in her demands, those two remained hers to punish. Her traveling companions were greatly impressed by her imagination. She whittled away hours of the journey by describing in the most minute of details how she could rid the world of two traitors. By the time they garnered the final information needed to find Raden, Lisandra narrowed the deaths down to roasting them over a spit until their skin crackled and fell off their bones and drawing and quartering the duo slowly. Simon laughed with every account of impending death sentences. Her ideas were bloody, but they served to prove that even the Viper Queen could indeed fall in love. Lisandra’s great protests on that subject died over the course of the trip into England. She never spoke the endearing words outright but the solidifying comment to Simon on the matter was simple. “I finally found a man I do not wish to make dance on the point of my sword. I will not lose him now.” Simon agreed with the other men in their party. That was clear enough. ***** Holed up in the village inn skirting the fortified estate where Raden remained a prisoner, Lisandra paced and fret. She knew her husband was alive. Her heart, wonderful betrayer it had become, could instinctively feel his beating still. The madness threatening her during their arduous travels was further encouraged by the mere fact there were only four against an entire battery of soldiers guarding the place her husband was kept in. Having despised men for so long, Lisandra soon discovered their basest rutting nature proved a plus. Ian and Luther turned the tables on the notion of manipulation through sexual means. Both handsome men, it took laying their charms and a bit of their prowess out to coax information from willing maids. Holding her condemnation for using such wiles to glean desperately needed news, she struggled to cope with the odds facing them. No amount of hair cutting and body binding could level the playing field the four faced with over fifty who served to guard the castle and the prisoner inside. Ian spoke of the fact Raden was alive, but quite ill. He would be unable to raise arms to aid in his escape. His injury and sickness meant one man would be forced to dedicate his time carrying Raden to safety. That worsened their chances. Three free to enter and defend the man who would reclaim Raden and ride off without a challenge unnerved all four. Yet they gathered in a single room of the inn and waited for the moment to strike, willing to lay down their lives for one man’s safe return. Lisandra felt the strongest in that respect. She faced condemnation for dressing once again in the garb her husband forbid, risked her very life to save his. Not having said the single most tender of endearments to her husband, she would not speak them aloud to Simon or the other men, only her husband. ***** Edmund slammed his goblet down, the wine sloshing over its rim. “Just kill the

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man. Remove his head, send it to Rothsforte and we are done with this mess.” He had grown weary of sitting and waiting for his accomplice to make the next move. Raden Athelsburgh was delivered as promised. He lived, though barely. Edmund wanted his prize. “Patience, Edmund. We need Raden healthy. Rothsforte wants to make an example of the traitorous bastard. A few more days and you will have what you earned.” Edmund studied the man sitting across from him. Sir Michael Lambert, Earl of Hapshire, had been his closest ally in his quest to reclaim his place amongst those in the courts of the King. It was Michael that bent the King’s own ear and manipulated the deal. For the likes of a Raden Athelsburgh to slaughter as an example, the lands belonging to the St Germain family would be restored to the family. Edmund was that family. Edmund wanted his reward and he wanted it soon. “The longer we wait, the longer those weaselly barbarians Athelsburgh calls friends have to plan their attack. They will come for him.” Edmund pointed out the obvious in case his friend had not thought about it. “Exactly, Edmund. I know who will come for him and it makes this all the more worth the while. I expect at least two of The Bruce’s Four Horsemen to descend upon my keep and attempt to steal our prisoner away. Having the likes of them dead is a delicious thought.” Michael purred at the thought. It would earn him an even more favorable position in the King’s company and he would let some of the reward trickle Edmund’s way. “It is impossible for anyone to steal the man away. Patience, my friend. Patience.” He had very little. So close was all he ever dreamed of that Edmund’s hands itched. The sooner he could wrap his fingers around all so unjustly denied him, the better he would feel. If Rothsforte did not so desperately want Raden Athelsburgh alive, Edmund would have killed the man already. Rising to his feet, he excused himself from Michael’s company. The urge to gloat hit Edmund and he made his way to Raden’s room. Reaching his destination, he shooed the guards aside with a flick of his slender wrist and entered, fully prepared to add insult to Raden’s injury. The sight he found angered and stirred him. His willing partner in the assault and abduction of Raden Athelsburgh was on her knees beside Raden’s bed, her hand wrapped around his erection. She giggled as she looked at Edmund. “Near death and can still rise to the occasion.” she whispered. Edmund yanked her up by her hair and cracked her across the face with his hand. “You wish for a toy to play with?” Snarling, he backed her over to a wall and spun her to face it. Placing her hands on the rough stone, he ordered her to remain still. “Make this worth my while, my little whore. If he stirs, I wish for him to see and hear it all.” Another giggle filled the air as she hitched her skirts baring herself to Edmund from the waist down. Edmund knew how to take her. She enjoyed his cruelty. She enjoyed his treacherous mind as well. Playing the part of a woman she looked like to make a man suffer bothered her little. If he promised to service her properly, she would spread her legs and comply to any request. Edmund’s hopes came to fruition the more his whore’s pants and moans rose through the room. He heard Raden’s pitiful groans and surged harder and deeper into the woman in front of him. He yelled out Lisandra’s name amongst cruel, base words claiming what he loved doing to her. It made him hungrier knowing Raden would see and hear what his fevered state imagined wrongly. On Raden’s weak cry, Edmund spilled his seed in the woman Raden saw as his wife.

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Edmund enjoyed plunging another dagger in the traitor’s heart. Adding more to Raden’s pain, Edmund garnered increased pleasure as he forced his woman to her knees and ordered her to clean him. Raden would only see curly auburn tresses, only hear pleasure filled moans. Edmund knew the seed of deception had taken full root in Raden’s delirious mind when Raden tried to leave the bed to charge Edmund. The hulkish Scot fell to the floor in a heap, forced to accept his fate. “Watch what I’m doing to your wife, Athelsburgh. She’s always known I’m the better man.” Edmund continued his taunts as he slid his cock deeper into the warm and willing mouth latched around him. “She loves me silencing her like this. It is shame that this skillful mouth will be mine when you are dead. She begs for it, Athelsburgh. Not you. It’s my name on her lips when I’m not stuffing her well.” The ecstasy of torturing Raden in the basest way possible sent Edmund surging one last time deep down the throat of his greedy willing woman. She swallowed his release, letting go only when she had taken it all. He petted her auburn curls, showered sweet words over her.

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Chapter Twenty Eight “Aim for their throats.” Simon’s simple advice made sense. After a day of reconnaissance inside the castle, compliments of the maids Ian and Luther finely tupped, they were able to plot the rescue properly. They traveled by means of hidden passages revealed by the chattering women. Guards they faced were swiftly quieted. Their armor and time constraints made it impossible to engage them any other way. Silence was golden. Silence was necessary. Lisandra was as heavily armed as the three men. Her task was the same as Luther’s. Keep Lambert’s dogs at bay until Ian could reach Raden and carry him out to a cart waiting on them. Dressed as hired soldiers, they prayed their deception held long enough to reach a safe point found away from the castle. If they could reach that spot, they were in the clear. With a silent nod from Simon, they made their way into the last dark, dank passageway, knowing full well the dangers awaiting them. Death surrounded them at every turn. All four accepted that and pressed on. In their garb, they would pass smoothly, looking like a small formation, raising no query from any they passed soldiers occupying the corridor outside Raden’s prison door. The set of guards posted in front of one door clued them in to the exact room where Raden lay captive. Lisandra and Luther stood aside, hidden around a corner while Simon and Ian brazenly marched to the door and ordered the two guards to move on. The guards were given no time to question why. A short scuffle later, Simon and Ian were dragging two dead men into Raden’s room. ***** “I want Edmund and the woman with him.” Luther understood Lisandra’s quiet demand, but knew it would be improbable to find them. “Unless divine providence delivers them to our hands, we leave them behind and take Raden to safety.” Luther’s silent fears were coming to fruition. A woman scorned was a dangerous creature and Lisandra’s expressed desires threatened to complicate things further. “I will not leave until we have them. We do not kill them here. They will pay for their crimes back in Scotland.” Lisandra kept her voice hushed, but her tone was harsh. With a sigh and a hard roll of his eyes, Luther pulled her close. “If I have to drag you kicking and screaming from here, I will. I am willing to lay down my life to bring Raden home. To keep you from foolishness does not fall under that willingness, Lady Athelsburgh.” He let her go with a shove. For as useful as women were elsewhere, he decided at that moment, the heat of battle was not one of those places. Lisandra arched a brow at the rough handling. “Perhaps, Luther Howard, I should remind you of the name placed so rudely upon me by The Bruce’s men? I am not privy to foolishness, only determination. I think you should hold in your doubts. I will have what I want.” “Perhaps you should hold your tongue lest your squawking alert those we wish to avoid,” he shot back quietly. She let out a soft unladylike snort. “We shall discuss this later.” Returning her focus to their surroundings, she felt a smile begin. Luther wished for divine providence and it

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delivered. She heard voices, one male and the other female. The closer they drew, the quicker a vengeful fire began spread through her. “God is on our side, Luther.” she whispered and peered around the corner. Her cousin and a woman with hair the same coloring as her own stood at the closed doorway. She watched as Edmund’s gaze darted around, suspicion flickering across his weaselly face. “Go and find the captain of the guard and bring him here. I want to know why no one stands guard here.” Lisandra and Luther listened to Edmund’s order and smiled at each other at the rush of footsteps that came toward them. In a culmination of trust and no desire of dealing with an indignant woman, Luther stepped back nodding to Lisandra. He knew a woman’s fury was a dangerous weapon. With not much else to lose but his life, he let Lisandra loose hers. The footsteps came to a halt when their prey turned the corner. “Where have you been? Playing with each other? Lord Holyrood demands you—” The woman’s rant died quickly when Lisandra pulled back the hood from her head. “My cousin has no title and you have little time to live. I suggest you use it to pray for mercy. I will spare you none.” Any conscience she had scampered to a corner of her mind Lisandra reserved for killing out of necessity. She grabbed the woman by her long braid and slammed her head against the nearest wall. “I hope you don’t mind an added burden, Luther. She comes with us.” Lisandra whispered. Luther shook his head no. Holding out a dagger to her, he spoke simply. “Justice will be served here or nowhere. You or me. It is your choice. Either way, it’s done and she stays here.” Lisandra looked at the woman who remained upright only by the sheer grip of her hand around the braid. The scene flashed through her mind of Simon bursting into her room, accusation rampant in his pale blue eyes, inferring she would harm Raden. It was the unconscious woman who tried to murder Raden. Lisandra turned the woman, pressing her front flat against the nearest wall. Taking the dagger from Luther, she drove it between the woman’s shoulder blades and left it embedded there. “Eye for an eye.” She whispered the words quietly and walked around the corner. ***** Raden stirred from his fitful sleep at the sound of shuffling about his room. His eyes remained closed, but the part of his brain left to focus honed in on the sounds. He’d grown weary of the taunting Edmund laid out nearly every time he finally found the ability to sleep. Dragging Lisandra into the room and tupping her before his eyes was the worst offense. He had labored days unknown debating on whether to just give up and die, or find some strength to kill Edmund then die. Whatever the devious little bastard’s plans had been, they succeeded in breaking his will by dragging a willing Lisandra into the treachery. He raged with himself over the notion of loving her. He discovered it was all for naught. Lisandra St Germain proved once more she did anything to get her way, including making him fall in love with her and play her fool, including betraying him in the worst way with her cousin of all things. He heard Edmund’s voice slice the air as he raged at the guards inside the room rather than watching the hall for intruders. “Athelsburgh’s friends will do their best to try and rescue this barbaric piece of excrement. Get back to your posts and let no one in.” “Not try, succeed.” Raden’s body went rigid, his blurred vision missing the sight of Edmund’s doing the

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same. Turning his head, he blinked hard to focus on the familiar voice. “Simon?” His voice was barely above a raspy whisper. Starved of water and food for so long, Raden had little energy to even speak. He felt someone nudge his body and bit back the urge to cry out. The constant throb of agony flared to a breathtaking burn at the touch. “Raden? Raden, ‘tis Ian. I need yeh te get up, brother. We’re here ta take yeh home.” Yanked to a sitting position, Raden saw stars as pain shot through his entire body. With no strength left, he let his body sag limply against Ian’s. “Bluidy ‘ell!” Ian’s voice rang loud in his ears. “Simon, his wound is badly infected. He needs this tended to now.” “L-Lisandra.” Raden murmured. “She’s here, Raden. If yeh can believe it, the fool woman dared come along.” Ian assured his friend. “Dead. Want her dead.” Raden choked out before caving to the darkness that tug at the edge of his mind. He missed Edmund’s cackle of maniacal laughter filling the room and events that followed it. Raden sank into blissful nothingness and hoped he never woke from it. ***** “You really think you are going to be able to drag that beast from this place filled with the King’s men? Even in that guise, all it takes is Becca realizing something is wrong and alerting someone.” Edmund’s face beamed with arrogance. Michael was right. More of the Horsemen were there and all of them would die. “We’ll make due, Edmund. We always have.” Simon walked over and helped Ian lift Raden to his feet. “Ian, there are supplies waiting to clean his wound. Take Luther with you and go to the meeting point. I’ll tidy up here.” He spoke evenly, calmly. Danger had been something each faced from a young age among the three men. Slipping from a fortified castle seemed child’s play compared to a few memories that surged through Simon’s mind as he hoisted Raden over Ian’s shoulders. Edmund took that moment to draw his sword. Witnessing the tender scene did nothing to assuage him. He would see Raden dead at the very least before he let his dreams slip away. He aimed for Simon knowing his companions would not get far. “You’ll do in a pinch. Laying your head at Rothsforte’s feet will please him to no end.” He raised his weapon, prepared to fight and received a mocking laugh for his gesture. “Yeh think I’d dirty me hands with the likes a yeh? Nae. Yeh rankled the wife. Yeh deal with her nae me.” Simon knew Lisandra drew close. She would be unable to resist the urge to punish her cousin knowing he was there for the taking. He busied himself tucking the two dead guards under Raden’s soiled bed leaving Edmund to contend with an enemy of the worst kind. A woman stoked to a fine fury was a foe to be reckoned with. “Make it quick, Lisandra. We have to be on our way.” Simon acknowledged her entrance into the room with a quick nod on his way out.

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Chapter Twenty Nine Lisandra paused only to check for a heartbeat in Raden’s chest. She felt the sluggish pulses and frowned. “See him home safely, Ian. If he dies, you die.” Cupping her husband’s face, she whispered words into his ear she knew he would not hear but needed to be spoken. If she died that day, she would go to meet her creator with a clear heart. She told Raden she loved him. Shooing Luther and Ian away, she marched to the room that a moment earlier had been Raden’s prison. She walked in and found her cousin wagging a sword at Simon. The sight made her burst into a fit of laughter. The sight of her cousin challenging a man larger and more skilled struck her as pure comedy. “He dares raise arms against you, Simon? I do believe my cousin has well and truly grown addled.” Edmund turned on Lisandra, delivering a warning she chose to ignore. She pulled the sword from the sheath hanging over her left hip and tossed it to Simon, ordering him to leave. “Lisandra. I doona think— “ Simon was cut off by a raise of her hand. “Good. Men thinking are a dangerous thing. Go. See my husband safely home. You two have a keep to protect and I will trust it to no other but you both.” For a moment, Simon stood still, debating Lisandra’s demand. The realization that she could tend to herself better than some of the most battle-tried knights he had fought along side sent him on his way. He would not stay to see the death of Edmund Holyrood, but he would linger from a distance to assure Lisandra left the castle in one piece. His departure left Lisandra alone with her cousin. She spared a glance at the filthy bedding her husband had laid on only moments earlier and the blood inside her began to boil. “Edmund, before I kill you, I want to know why you did this to me and my husband. I told you to your face, you could have all that you wished from the family. None would return to England to claim our lands back.” Lisandra spoke through clenched teeth. Never in her entire life, not even when she had been told her father was murdered did such pain and fury beat wildly in her. Edmund snarled at her. “It hinged on your bastard husband. All you had to do was annul the marriage. The right word from the Church and you would be free of that beast. Once that was done, I had to do nothing more than deliver Athelsburgh to a certain friend and all you promised in your innocence would be mine.” He took a slash at her with his sword and Lisandra moved a step back, leaning aside to avoid the blow. “My husband for my lands? Who masterminded this insanity? Edmund took another swipe at her, his blade hissing as it rent the air. She smacked his blade aside with the protective covering of her leather wrapped wrist. “Speak now, Edmund. You will die here, have no doubt of that. But I will allow you to meet your fate with a clear conscience.” The calm with which she met his rage sent Edmund into a wild flurry of slashes and lunges. He spoke no words as he charged her. In his mind, Raden would be recaptured, his cohorts in crimes against the Crown would die and his plans would continue. Lisandra’s death would give him pause to grieve briefly, but only briefly. Lisandra dodged every blow save one. Edmund’s blade sunk into a portion of her leg not covered by the heavy mail protecting the rest of her body. “That is just the beginning, Viper Queen. Not so dangerous without a blade to sting

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me with, are you!” Edmund crowed, taking great delight in the trickle of blood beginning to stain the light coloring of her leather trews. He watched her stagger backward, bending low to staunch the crimson flow. “It’s your own fault. Women should never delude themselves into thinking they can best a man. I might not be as strong as your wastrel husband, but I am infinitely more devious.” Lisandra remained hunched over, waiting for the split second of opportunity she needed to end her cousin’s life. When he charged her, she raised herself to an upright position, bringing a dagger with her. The blade met little resistance as she sank it deep into the upper left portion of Edmund’s chest. “You could have had everything without the need for treachery.” She whispered the words as her cousin began to slump over the same weapon used to harm her husband. Firmly embedded in his heart, Lisandra grabbed the hilt of the knife once more and yanked upward. The sounds of Edmund’s gurgled final breaths echoed in her ears. He crumbled into a lifeless heap at her feet. Lisandra waited for her conscience to rear its head and spear her with guilt. It remained silent. One last gaze upon her husband’s betrayer left her feeling no remorse. As she had done before and she would continue to do until death claimed her, she protected her own the only way she knew how. The deed complete, her husband’s attack avenged, Lisandra ran as swiftly as her wounded leg would take her, retracing her steps only after each danger passed. Her hood gone, her leg bleeding badly, she would have raised alarms if anyone saw her. She made it as far as the stables where a mount waited on her, fresh and ready to ride as if the devil nipped at the beast’s hooves. Simon grabbed her and cupped a hand over her mouth to prevent a scream from flying out of her. “Move only when I tell you to. We are not out of danger yet,” he whispered to her, his English accent returned to once more disguise his true heritage. Motioning to hold fast for a moment, he pointed to their last obstacle. Twelve men rode in through the west gate entrance, the banner of Louis Rothsforte flapping in the wind. They left their hiding place only after the troops passed. Grabbing Lisandra’s hand, he felt a warm stickiness. His glance darted from the blood on his hand to the blood she continued to lose from the wound on her leg. Simon squatted low to take a closer look at the damage and got a smack on his cowled head. “Help me into the saddle. The rest will take care of itself.” Simon did as ordered. There was no time to consider alternatives. They rode out of the west gate at a gentle pace, Simon using his body to block the view of Lisandra’s bloody leg and tunic from the guards on his side. Once over the crest of the nearest hill, they rode harder. When he knew they were well out of sight of the tower guards, he gave the signal and they rode for their very lives.

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Chapter Thirty It took immense control on her part not to beat Cassandra’s soon-to-be husband down to a mass of bloody pulp. Douglas stood before the door to the room Raden remained in, and he refused to budge. “Douglas, I am giving you one last chance to step aside.” Lisandra’s growlings were met with an eye roll from the wolfish man. “M’lady, I’ll tell you once more. He doesna want ta see yeh. He wants yeh dead.” Douglas spoke calmly and slowly, wondering if Lisandra did not understand what he said due to his thick brogue. “And I wish to know why! Step aside.” A month had passed since Raden’s rescue and not once had she touched him. Ian took him away to heal. When the duo finally returned to Hawkesheath, Raden sequestered himself in a small room on the west side of the keep and refused entrance to anyone but his fellow Horsemen. Lisandra ached to be with her husband, tending to his wound and the fevers that had wracked his body. She wanted to know why Raden wanted her dead. His three closest friends gave her no hint as to why. It tore her up inside. She had risked her life to save his, avenged his attack, yet the words remained the same. Raden wanted her dead. Douglas took a step closer and dropped his voice to a whisper. “Take this up with Simon. I think he has had enough as well. He’ll tell yeh what yeh wish te know.” Taking the step back, he resumed his course of guarding the door and letting no one pass through it. Lisandra took the advice. Most days, finding Simon proved to be a chore. When he was not locked away in the library on political business, he was busy working fending off the sisters bent on including him in the impending wedding plans. It irritated Lisandra every time she sought the soon-to-be groom. He had taken a fierce liking to his betrothed and they would be found cooing and petting on each other in an endearing manner, making Lisandra’s heart ache. She had none of the willing affections from her own husband that Simon gave his Aisley. Enough finally became enough. She found Simon alone for a change, poring over ledgers before him, humming a jaunty tune as he worked. Clearing her throat loudly, she waited for Simon to look up. He did not. “Close the door. Took you long enough.” He wrote something down and dragged another slip of parchment over, glancing between the two. Lisandra closed the door with a hard slam. “What do you mean it took me long enough?” He held his free hand up to Lisandra, still writing. A satisfied sigh left him a few moments later as he put the quill in hand on the desk. “Now, to answer your question. If I were you, I would have torn down the gates of hell to get to Aisley to find out what was wrong as I do adore that woman. Why haven’t you?” She gave him an angry growl. “You and your hulking friends keep reminding me that my husband wants me dead for reasons unknown to me.” Simon let out an exasperated sigh. “He wants you dead because he is at war with himself. He believes what he thought he saw in his fevered state.” “Which was?” “Edmund tupping you with great relish.” Simon watched as Lisandra turned a sickly shade of green, clamping a hand over her mouth.

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“You can not be serious,” she choked her words out, forcing herself not to vomit at the very image Simon’s words dredged up. “He was ill and Edmund made quite a show.” “That whore looked nothing like me!” “Her hair and her build were the same. All it took was a seed planted in a delirious mind.” Simon got up and crossed the distance between him and his future sister-in-law. It was finally time to put things to rights and he would begin the process for the two most stubborn people he had ever known in his life. “He should know damn well I would never betray him like that! And with my cousin?” She threw her hands up in disgust. “Think hard on what you said to Raden the day he was attacked, Lisandra. Most of the keep heard your fight.” Simon had not, but many were happy to give a blow by blow recounting. Lisandra opened her mouth to speak. Only a soft groan came from her. She ran the words over in her mind and cringed. She had stated quite clearly after her husband proved how much an ass he could be that she would rather give her body over to the likes of her cousin than have Raden touch her again. “Sweet Mother of Mercy.” She whispered the words, covering her mouth again. “Neither of you has made your union easy on the other. You are quick to strike, slow to harbor patience. Raden is stubborn and jaded, hard-pressed to accept that any could love him save his brothers.” Simon motioned for her to sit and joined her in a chair across from her. “Lisandra, Raden has known little save bearing arms for those who have manipulated his life. The only people in his life who have never sought to work against him are Ian, Douglas and myself. The four of us suffered the same fates the moment we were conceived. We were brought to life for a single purpose and we have served it well enough.” She listened intently as Simon relayed the missing information that confirmed suspicions lingering in the back of her mind. The ‘Four Horsemen’ so loyal to The Bruce were brothers in more than arms. They were blood kin, their father the Black Douglas himself. One by one, they were born, separated from each other at birth then brought together in the young years of manhood. As they trained together, they knew nothing of their parentage save they were all orphans dropped on the doorsteps of men to raise them as their own, one purpose in mind. “We were taught to be master manipulators, assassins, spies. Our sole purpose was to aid the Bruce in his fight to give Scotland her independence. Once secured, the Bruce cut us free of our obligations. Knowing only service to his crown, we had to find a way to be more than just the weapons crafted from birth.” Simon paused for a moment recalling sacrifice after sacrifice Raden had made to ensure his brothers learned to be ‘human’ for a change. “It is difficult for a man like Raden to feel love and devotion to any one. I know it is the same for you. When all you have done for so long is defend and protect, kill or be killed, it turns your heart to stone. He cares for us as you care for your sisters. You both would die to see our lives spared.” Lisandra nodded. In that respect, she and Raden were very much alike. What Simon spoke of Raden, she could feel the same of herself. “Loving is not easy. The Bruce manipulated your fates in a final attempt to save you both. Bringing two souls together, so alike, so rich in understanding of the other seemed a

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brilliant idea.” Simon chuckled a little. “Joining you two was like forcing daily penance. You two remind each other of all the faults and pains inside you both cling to.” He rose to his feet and paced slowly. “Lisandra, Raden loves you. Make no mistake about that. He would die before admitting it aloud, but he does. I know you love him as well.” Facing her, he paused. “You have made this union as easy on him as he has you. I’ve seen rabid dogs treat each other with more kindness some days.” Lisandra dropped her head, her cheeks warming. She would not consider her treatment toward her husband as rabid, but she knew she had not offered many simple courtesies she was capable of in most circumstances. “The only saving grace is what he struggles against even as we speak. He wants to love you with everything he has, yet he knows all too well how easily deceit can destroy everything.” Lisandra opened her mouth to protest, but Simon stopped her. “He clings to delusions as his last ditch attempt to save himself from a fate he considers worse than death.” Walking to her, he knelt down before her. “You have to fight the greatest battle of your life now, Lisandra, and this one can have no swords drawn. If you want him, take him, but it demands the ultimate sacrifice. You have to lay down everything you are, heart and soul to him. Honor the vows you took. Convince him you mean them with every ounce of your being.” She furrowed her brows. “Why should it be my task to offer so great the price? Why not him? I have done wrong, I agree. He has as well. Believing I would give my body over to my cousin? He is an ass. He can come to me, Simon. I did no wrong save spew a few words in the heat of anger he misconstrued.” “Misconstrued? Lisandra, everything you do in life is to suit your purpose the most. There might be something in your actions to benefit others around you, but you are the most selfish wench I have ever known.” Simon closed the mouth before him that gaped in shock. “And you know I am right. Raden believing you would do anything to save what you have earned is what he clings to now. It was not you Edmund used to drive the daggers into Raden’s soul, but I dare say you could plot ways to thrust the blade as deeply if provoked.” Rising to his feet again, Simon returned to his paperwork. “When you realize that Raden is not the enemy but your greatest ally, you’ll understand why giving everything of yourself to him will not be a sacrifice in the least. And trust me, Lisandra, you’ll find the rewards of such an endeavor greater than anything you can imagine possible.” The sly smile on his face spoke volumes enough to draw a soft blush to Lisandra’s cheeks. She left the library, her mind heavy with the words Simon spoke. The man had called her and Raden out, pointing out every flaw they had, making at least her face them. She had no idea that Simon only that very morning had spoken to Raden in the same fashion and the man Lisandra loved despite herself struggled as equally. ***** Raden gave the chamber pot a vicious kick, grateful it was empty. It clanked loudly as it tumbled across the stone floor before coming to a halt. He had heard Lisandra at his door just he had every day before since his return to Hawkesheath. Every day, his chamber pot took the brunt of his ire. It was safer on his body than trying to slam holes into the walls that served as his sanctuary. He knew the time his brothers would abide him hiding in the room was nearing an end. One of them would do their best to rattle sense into him and Raden would let them have their fun. The only person able to break him of his sullen moods stood looking at the

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dented pot across the room. He hated the woman bound to him in the eyes of God and the King himself. He also loved her with a ferocity that threatened to drive him mad. Raden could face hired assassins and feel no emotion save purpose. Lisandra stirred a maelstrom inside him. If there truly dwelled a fine line between love and hate, he found it blurred to his view. It jumbled the emotions together adding to his misery. His wife was selfish and arrogant. Her viperish ways grated on his nerves. She thought her actions through to the point of how they served her best and little more. Yet, the fall out seemed to have positive consequences on those around her. It served to drive the vacillation between wanting to bed her for eternity and wanting to strangle her to be rid of her. His life from birth had been simple. He was created to be a killing machine for the greater good of Scotland. As the first born of his brothers suffering the same fate, it was his responsibility to serve the King first, his brothers second. Nothing else existed. He did as he was told, cared for the welfare of his brothers. Robert forging the binding vows of marriage to the shrewish wench he dealt with daily left his life in tatters. He despised the battle she stirred in him. His brothers were secured in happiness after a long life of knowing despair. With that settled, Raden would have loved nothing more than to move on and live in solitude until the next conflict arose to squelch. Having a wife, one so much like him infuriated him. She had a fine figure, warm and lush. She bore a bruising nature beneath her beauty. Tupping her he could tolerate well. Dealing with the love he felt for her sat like a lead weight in his heart. He accepted his brother’s words of the betrayal by Edmund using a woman who bore a resemblance to his wife. Lisandra was not the woman under Edmund’s loins screaming out her pleasures. Lisandra was capable of betrayal none the less. Her past pointed out every moment she had done whatever necessary to get what she wanted. Even her sisters had rallied against her actions. He understood that she would be capable of doing it once more if it suited her needs. Raden refused to be on the losing end of her selfishness. His whole existence once revolved around his skills used for someone else’s whims. Never again, he vowed quietly. His soul could not take it. Those notions lasted seconds in his mind. The matter of loving her so deeply intruded, destroying the momentary resolve. The fierceness she showed protecting the ones she loved nearly negated the times she acted in her own best interests. She lived her life like Raden in that respect. If danger presented itself to those she claimed protection over, she would defend it as staunchly as a mother bear would her cubs. Calling a cease-fire to the battle raging in his heart and mind, Raden picked up the sword lying on his bed. His left arm remained weak after the healing of the deep gash in his back began in earnest. Proficient in fighting equally well with either hand, he returned to his conditioning. It whittled away the time he spent secluded from everyone around him. He ached to rejoin the others bustling about the keep, living their lives, enjoying those around him. He sliced his sword through the air as he pushed aside the image of the time he had lost away from his own bed with his wife pressed against him while they slept. Sending her off to slumber had been a task he relished every night since she had surrendered her body to him. Then she betrayed him. At least, he strove to convince himself of that. Dropping one leg back for a more balanced stance, he raised his blade once more and took himself

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through the paces that were second nature to him. He welcomed the burning in his muscles. It had been too long for him since he sparred with anyone let alone his own shadow. The work cleared his mind and settled his body. He told himself he would keep away for another day, perhaps two. The illness from the infection left him too weak, and his heart needed its last bit of healing. He would face Lisandra then. Loath as it was for him to admit, he missed their verbal sparring matches. He’d grown accustomed to her barbed banter, enjoying their point to counterpoint. Oft times, he played devil’s advocate simply to watch her light with the flush of ire. Left without her glittering violet gaze and her impassioned touches, he felt the void as pronounced as the pain that lingered between his shoulder blades. He was spoiled. It all boiled down to that. He had tasted the good life with a wife and family around him and the hope of having peace instead of war in his life as he aged. He was getting no younger and the prospect of fatherhood and living as master of the keep settled comfortably inside him. Tossing his sword on the bed, he stripped to his trews and refreshed his aching muscles with a few stretches and a quick wash with icy cold water. The more he fought with himself physically and emotionally, the more he stirred. He knew in his heart of hearts the only one he wished to face down was his spirited wife. Changing into fresh clothing, he decided to face the primary source of his personal conflict. He purposely dressed in easily discarded clothing. When they warred with each other, the end result had them declaring a draw after a fine bout of tupping. He doubted that would change regardless of the events of the past few weeks.

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Chapter Thirty One Lisandra paused only to change her attire. She doffed the simple yet stately gown Aisley had forced her to put on earlier in the morning and clad in clothing befitting the occasion. She was off to do battle. She tugged trews and a tunic on hastily and a simple leather belt served as the hold for her sword at her waist. The full compliment of battle regalia would be overkill. If she had her way, it would only serve to delay the inevitable moment where they tumbled into bed and finished purging the last of their unique brand of hostilities. When she faced Douglas at the door, she found no interference from the man. He opened the door a crack for her then stepped aside, smiling discreetly. He would remain on guard for a short time merely to ensure neither of them killed each other. At the first sign of affection sounding through the door, he planned to depart with all haste. Spying over such a matter did not appeal to him in the least. She gave Douglas a brief bow and stepped inside, closing the door behind her. It was time to face her husband and she would show him no quarter. She claimed her man the moment she relinquished her body and her soul to him. He was hers and she fought like a mad woman if necessary to keep that which she held dear in her life. She planned to prove such to Raden full force. He had his back turned to her for the moment, speaking as if she were Douglas in the room. He rattled on about needing fresh clothing and fresher air and how the day looked well enough for a good hard ride. It grated her nerves he spoke so casually after the miseries he had subjected her to for weeks. “Perhaps, Lord Athelsburgh, you should clarify your statement about the type of ride you wish for?” Lisandra spoke coldly. She grabbed the sword and tossed the leather sheath aside. As he turned, she stood at the ready. The man would pay for her sufferings and she found that notion to her liking. His brow raised slightly and his lips quirked into the shadowings of an amused smile. “You dare raise your sword against an unarmed man?” he queried. “I do so prefer the upper hand, m’lord,” she countered. “And the upper position, if I do recall.” She frowned deeply as he dragged his emerald gaze up and down the length of her body. “Well, it heartens me to know your brain is not completely addled.” Lisandra stalked closer, her arms loose, ready to counter any move her husband might make. “You favor your left leg? Are you injured?” Concern passed over his features as he studied her slightly uneven gait. And what on earth had she done to those wild coppery tresses he loved to fist in his hands as he buried himself inside her? “I took a blade to my leg during the rescue of your nearly worthless self, Raden.” She stopped when she knew she stood close enough to him to strike and retreat with ease. “I would be delighted to say it was worth the pain, but you have yet to prove it to be so.” “Nearly worthless?” He chuckled softly. “So I am redeemable?” She shrugged her shoulders and leveled the tip of her sword at his groin. “That has potential as I took much pleasure with it. The rest of you?” She added a snort and scowl. “Perhaps not.” She watched as the source of many hours of pure ecstasy twitched in appreciation of her comments. Lifting her eyes, she forced herself to put aside the distraction of the growing bulge between his legs. Lingering would have her tossing her

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sword aside and conquering him in an entirely different way. “Oh, my dear Lady Lisandra,” Raden groaned mockingly. “You do injure me so.” She did so much to his surprise. Faster than he could react to, she brought the flat of her sword smacking against his leg, the sound of the contact echoing in the small room. “It is my intention, you addle-brained dolt.” Stepping back, quickly, she raised her sword, ready to level another stinging blow. “You asp! What was that for?” Raden rubbed at his leg, his frown belying his true feelings. She tagged him, catching him off guard, a feat not easy to accomplish. “Put your sword down. I am not permitted to strike a woman according to your views on the matter, so we will have an equal match or none at all.” Lisandra gave him a taunting laugh. “Oh please do try. I would love nothing more than to clip your thick skull and knock some sense into you. Over and over I think would please me best.” She raised a hand and flicked her fingers at him in a beckoning motion. “To think you placed all blame squarely on me for all your idiotic notions.” She dove for him, feinted and spun behind him, whacking him squarely on the bottom with the sword. Raden spun and reached for her but she proved to fast for him. She loved the fact she could get in a few blows before he had best her. She knew he would and she looked forward to whatever he had in mind to deliver. She knew he would never hurt her and any pain would be mild and shift quickly enough to pleasures she had craved for weeks. “I may speak in haste now and again, m’lord, but the thoughts you harbored over the past weeks are unconscionable. Edmund? You truly believed that I would give myself over to that conniving bastard cousin of mine?” “I had my reasons, Lisandra. While I know now I was wrong, there were things to perpetuate such thought and they still have not changed. You stand here striking at me for purely selfish reasons. It is once again about you.” Raden folded his arms across his chest and looked down on her with cold eyes. “I stand here striking at you because you are an idiot!” she shot back angrily. “And I am selfish. I do not relinquish anything I have gained without good cause.” She pointed once again at the stiffness in his trews. “And that is mine!” She reveled in the flash of desire that flickered in his eyes. She would gain him back and gladly start with bringing their bodies together once more. It mattered not how they got there, just the end result. She loved him and she planned to keep him until death parted them. She knew it would be too great a bother to seek out another who stood and treated her as an equal. “Come and take it back then, my Viper Queen,” he purred. “In time perhaps.” She gave another shrug of her shoulders and silently told herself very soon. She lunged for him and threw herself against him knowing he would strip her of her sword. As he bothered himself with that task, she walloped him hard on top of the head. ***** “That is enough!” His roar startled even Douglas standing guard outside. “There are a multitude of ways to punish you, Lady Athelsburgh, and as you have laid blows to me, so I shall to you.” He wrapped his arms tightly around her, preventing further strikes on her part. Her struggles from the moment they met stirred him. That moment with her pressed against the length of his body proved no different. He wanted nothing more than to tear away the ratty clothing she wore and plunge himself deep inside her body, but there stood the matter of tit for tat and he knew how to remedy it. Raden’s mind flirted with all sorts of possibilities, but none more appealing

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than something he knew deep down she had enjoyed once before. “Do not dare, Raden Athelsburgh!” Her warning tone went unheeded. He was too far gone to consider any other pleasurable punishment. For the first time, he heard her crying out his name and it served to further harden the proof of his desire. The circumstances were not the most optimal. For now, he took all offered even most unwillingly. Binding her hands with the leather strap he removed from her slender waist, he held tight to her squirming body and laid it across his lap once he found an accommodating seat for them both. The threadbare trews and tunic she wore gave easily under his forceful tugs until the silky smooth long length of her back and the luscious curves of her bottom were revealed to him in all their glory. “I bit you once you wretched cur. I will do it again!” Raden smirked as one of his hands slowly descended to the peachy globes of her backside. “I will and bite away. As I recall, m’lady, it was most rewarding in the end.” Pure masculine pride swelled as grandly as the cock nestled quite nicely against her slightly rounded belly. He felt her heat and the aroma of a woman aroused rose to tease his senses. Thwack! She shrieked and wriggled to slide off his lap, but the iron grip he held her with kept her firmly in place as another softly stinging blow met her tender flesh. “One for each to me, my precious.” He paused at four and brushed his fingertips over the pale red imprints branding her. Goosebumps rose along her skin and his cock twitched in delight. He suspected his wife had a playful nature in the arena of bed sport and as his fingers trailed down between her glowing cheeks, he found the proof to cement his suspicions. Sliding a finger between her folds, he met with heat and moisture that signaled her reluctant appreciation for what he had done to her. Snaking a finger inside the depths of her feminine core, he delighted in the way she tightened and drew him in further. Raging protests quickly turned to keening pleas from the singular touch to the heart of her body. She splintered over him when he found that one magic spot that never failed to send her spiraling into sheer and utter bliss. Sending his wife over the edge into ecstasy once was not nearly enough for him. Three times he repeated the cycle of teasing blows to her bottom then stroking her to completion. By the last, she hung limply over his lap, panting out her defeat. He noticed no malice in her tone, only simple exhaustion and contentment. “I am the victor? Oh, my viperous wife, this will never do.” He undid her bonds and sat her up, refusing to let her rest against him. “I expect more from you than caving so easily.” He wanted his woman stirred to a righteous blazing inferno of both passion and determination. “Given how you normally behave, I am severely disappointed in you.” He put her on the floor dismissively and got up from his seat. Walking proved to be a discomforting chore for Raden. His body thrummed with pent up need and his cock ached to the point of pain. Forcing each step away from her, he donned his tunic and made for the door to his room. Silence prevailed alerting him to a strike from his wife at any moment. Good, he thought. He did love a wild tussle with the incorrigible woman. ***** “You dare walk out now?” she asked curiously. Lisandra thought she had unlocked the simple mystery of man. They were pigs and base in nature. Feed them, pet them now and again and leave them to make mistakes women fixed. Raden turned out to be few of those things and it left her in a quandary. He had the door open and ready to leave. She

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had been satisfied, yet still felt a longing deep in her body only he could provide for. “I dare. I feel a need to walk outside. Fresh air should do me a world of good.” “Very well. I hope you develop that terrible affliction in your seed sac, m’lord. The one that causes painful swelling and no measure of relief, for if you take one step further out of this room, I shall give you no assistance. Can your conscience take you to someone who would?” She stood, bare as the day she was birthed, unashamed to face him such a revealing manner. He was her husband and she knew her body stirred his loins. She put her chilled hands behind her back, resting them over her heated bottom. He had stung her, but there was no anger in his blows. She loved each paddling and the fire he stoked in between. Warmth pooled deep in her belly, causing more dampness to trickle down her inner thighs. When he turned to face her with his dark green gaze alight with his own simmering hungers, her heartbeat quickened. She loved when he appeared to be the predator and her the prey. Such sport delighted both of them until her loose tongue drove words between them that nearly cost him his life. Steeling herself for his pouncing move, she quirked her lips in a prideful smile. “I thought not. I see the gleam in your eyes, Raden. Take what you wish. If you dare, I am here and willful as you like me to be.” His eyes trailed the length of her body and she sucked in a breath as he licked his lips hungrily. It would be a wild night for both of them. She grew impatient at the wait. He needed to strike and strike soon or she would go mad and do it herself. “Be careful what you say, Lisandra. Much still lies between us that angers me.” The husky burr of his voice sent a shiver through her that she could not suppress. She gave her slender shoulders a casual shrug in an effort to belie the fact his tone drove her even closer to yet another blissful release. “This concerns me how? I have come to know you well enough and most of my discovery is tolerable. What would you reveal to me now that would surprise me?” Stunned into utter silence, she watched his broad shoulders lift and drop in his form of a shrug. He wheeled about on his heels and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. Mingled with the echoing sound the dull thud the door made, Lisandra heard the inner creaking of her heart about to break. ***** Every step away from the closed door felt as if boulders weighed his feet down. Raden knew how easy it would be to cave to the willful taunting and blatant seduction his wife threw at him. He could turn, drive her to the bed in the room and sink himself into the silky heat he had denied himself for weeks. The compromise would break him. He, Raden Moncrief, Earl of Athelsburgh, Leader of the Four Horsemen stood at the brink of crumbling. Yanked from the only life he knew and thrown into the tumultuous ties of marriage, he had no sooner found a tenuous balance when Lisandra and her selfish words tipped him into unfamiliar territory. He wanted to love his wife. He offered more of himself to her than any other person on Earth and she snatched it up with a subtle version of her cousin’s malicious greed. He was nothing more than her latest acquisition and his emotions be damned. It confused him. It tore at him and made him feel petty for hating the very notion of being a thing to her. Raden took a certain amount of pleasure in the fact she found his cock so pleasing and wished for it back. The boldness of her words nearly catapulted him to where he ached to be. She used her plump curves and beguiling eyes to bait him. Deep within, he found the resolution that had carried him through countless battles. It was not a physical,

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bloody battle he raged inside. This had far greater consequences. War inevitably took lives. Marriage to Lisandra threatened to take his soul. Until she looked at him as something other than a possession, she would have no part of him, body or heart. He needed to know she loved him. The next words he wished to hear from her were the ones to still him deep inside and assure him that he had indeed found his place to call home. If they did not come, he would saddle his destrier, bid farewell to his brothers and ride to Athelsburgh to live out his days in solitude. His walk took him down to the loch and the copse of trees he found Lisandra spying through the day she had happened upon Simon. Sinking to the mossy, earthen floor beneath him, he rested against the tree his wife was pinned to as they stroked each other to completion. The scent of her still clinging to his skin assailed him and left him hard as stone. Once, he had heard a priest speak on the perils of a man and a woman coupling. While the teachings of the Church blessed such a thing, he stood strong in the mindset that the physical union complicated matters to extremes. Celibacy, the priest preached. Raden shuddered at the thought. Undoing the leather ties to his trews, he freed his throbbing hardness from its confines and merely thought on Lisandra. Her full lips around his length and the way she would purr in sheer contentment never failed in bringing him to spill his seed. He burned with anger that she forced him to take such measures. She had given her body to him. He wanted it all. On a harsh grunt, he emptied himself, staining the rich greenery beside him with his milky white release. When not if, he told himself angrily. When she came to her senses and gave him what they both needed, there would never be another moment like the one he took in the stillness of the grove. She would take him completely and from it would come as many children as he saw fit for them to have. It was as simple as that, he added forcefully. A moment later, he closed his eyes and let out a tired sigh. “Then why can I not even hope anymore,” he murmured into the quiet around him.

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Chapter Thirty Two The evidence Raden and Lisandra found not even a small comprise to end the silent war between them showed itself at each meal. If one sat first, the other ate elsewhere. Never were they seen together. No conversation passed between them. Creativity became the object du jour as each tried to outdo the lengths they took to avoid the other. For seven days, all inhabitants at Hawkesheath walked timidly around the surly couple. Raden’s brothers tried to offer comfort. Lisandra’s sisters attempted to draw her out and find the cause of such deep discontent. In the end, everyone hoped the two would eventually come to their senses and end the unspoken battle raging in earnest. The impending weddings looming over the keep became the catalyst for events no one in their most vivid imaginations could believe. Simon forced Raden into the great hall. Aisley dragged Lisandra there by her short hair and the two made them sit while the brides and grooms bandied about ideas from the simple to the ridiculous. The two warring sat in total silence, eyes locked, willing the other to break first. Those gathered for the planning session knew the stubborn hearts and spirits would not last long. The more the plotting droned on, the more rankled they saw the husband and wife grow. In later times, Lisandra would never admit she broke first, but those who recounted the story to any ear willing to listen, it was indeed a rather nasty growl that silenced the chatter flying about her head. Rising to her feet, she stalked over to Raden and barred him in his chair, placing an arm on each side of him. She directed her words at him, but spoke loudly enough for all to hear. “Seeing as Lord Athelsburgh saw fit to arrange these unions, perhaps he should speak up and put his opinions out for everyone to hear. He did such a lovely job of tending to our wedding. I think he is just your man.” “And would I that I could do it over again,” he growled softly. “Pray tell, why, milord?” she countered icily. “I would have gladly fallen out of favor with my king to spare myself all that I have suffered in your company.” He grabbed her by the wrists and dragged her down onto his lap. “And it will end now.” Lisandra held tight to Raden’s tunic as he rose abruptly to his feet. Like a sack of flour, she found herself tossed over his shoulder and hauled ungraciously from the meeting. Glancing at the figures fading from sight, she saw no mercy or pity in their eyes. Letting out a howl, she vowed to kill Simon as he led the clapping over their departure. They did not travel far. Halfway up the stony stairs leading to their once shared bedchamber, he slid her off his shoulder and pinned her against a wall. “Do you find immense pleasure in tormenting a man? I have oft wondered if you leveled a merciful blow to your previous kills or do you taunt before the final thrust?” On the last word, he ground his hips hard against her. He cursed himself silently that it took fierce words to stoke his hungers the highest with her. She would have a taste of just that and he allowed the damnation of his fall to overtake him. “Torment? You have done all in your power and I dare say more to bring much about yourself, Raden. You walked out on me, if I do recall properly.” Lisandra offered a hard struggle in earnest. She did not want him back this way.

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“Yes I did.” He seized her wrists and pinned them high above his head. “I dismissed myself rather than have the mistress of the castle do the bidding.” “What are you talking about? I stood aching to have you inside me and you spouted some nonsense about anger.” She blew out a soft snort and stilled against him. Given the feral look in the depths of his green eyes, she waited for the strategic moment to break loose from his iron grip. Raden’s lips curled into a cold smile that never reached his eyes and she shivered from its profound effect on her. For a moment, she wondered if he would strike out at her. “Milady, I am but your possession and I stand here, pressed against you as your humble servant,” he gritted out through clenched teeth. He rocked his hips against her once more, his betraying hardness evident to her despite the layers of material she wore. “It is but a servant’s only wish to please his master or mistress, so please you I shall.” Releasing her hands, he gathered hands full of the voluminous material in his grip, baring her body beneath him. Lisandra felt mortification creep over her and conflicting heat rise at the purely barbaric act he stood to complete outside the confines of their private chamber. Terrified as she felt, the dampness between her thighs told a different story. His erection strained against the leather of his trews, brushing her core roughly and she enjoyed it. “Why are you doing this? Raden, you have to stop. Not here. Please, anywhere but here.” Her weak pleas were silenced by a devouring kiss that stole the very breath from her lungs. In a final moment of protest, she brought her hands down and tried to wedge them between their bodies, but he would have no part of it. Breaking the kiss, he brought his lips to her ear. “Tell me to undo my laces, Lady Athelsburgh,” he ordered on a husky growl. “I will not.” Temptation struck at her to inflict some sort of pain to bring him back to his senses. “Do it now. Demand what is your due, milady. I am yours to command. Is that not what you do to those you claim for your own? Thrust your will alone upon them? Take only what you wish, when you wish it?” Lisandra clamped her eyes shut. His words burned at her soul. She never believed he possessed such deep-seated anger toward her. She mildly irritated him from their first meeting. That she agreed upon, but nothing prepared her for the lashing he inflicted upon her. From the corners of her eyes, tears began to fall. She only wanted him to love her. This turn of events shattered what was left of her already cracking heart. “You have it so very wrong, milord.” she rasped. The thickness in her throat made words hard to speak, but she forced them out. “It is not I who possesses you. It has been you that has held me in the palm of your hand for a long while.” She dropped her head forward and met tautly honed flesh. “Squeeze at your leisure, Raden. I am broken enough as it is. Finish the deed. I may never forgive you for it, but I will have the few moments we shared loving one another to comfort what is left of me.” Feeling him step back and drop her skirts from his tight grip, Lisandra believed the breaking of her heart and spirit was complete. Unable to lift her gaze to meet his, she did not see the look of relief that struck him, altering his countenance from hungered beast to aching man. “Look at me, wife.” He gave the order softly, his hand to her chin helping her along. “Open your eyes and look at me.” She turned her head away. “So you may bruise me further with your mocking gaze?

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I think not. If you do not mind, I will—“ “But I do. You have one matter left unspoken between us. Clear that and I will let you pass.” She raked away her tears. I am the Viper Queen. I want no man, I need no man. Lisandra tried desperately to recall her mantra and believe as she looked her husband in the eyes. She failed miserably. “Clear what, Raden?” she said on a tired sigh. “Do you love me or am I just a possession to you?” Her brows snapped upward then quickly furrowed into a deep scowl. “You idiotic dolt! Is that not what I just told you?” Until her dying day, she would ponder the frustrating machinations of a man’s brain. At the moment she stood in, she wanted to bludgeon his. “I have not heard the words, Lisandra. I need to hear you speak them. It is but a simple, three word phrase, and no, my queen, I will not accept ‘Die, you bastard.’“ She growled softly as a smirk touched his lips. Gone was the fury in his eyes. She saw the familiar glint of his teasing nature rise and settle in his dark green gaze. “Pity, milord. It would be so much more effective. I would be rid of the bonds of matrimony I seem to be trapped in.” Folding her arms over her chest, she stared him down with fire returning in her violet eyes. Love and hate. She found that thin line and pondered which side to step to. Her heart replied for her. “I love you, you cur. Is that clear enough for you or shall I spell it out for you on parchment or draw the letters in the dirt outside?” When he backed her to the wall once more, she offered no protest. He nestled his erection back against the heat radiating through her skirts. The only urge that surged through her to hurt him at that moment stemmed from the urgency with which she wished him to carry her off to their bedchamber. He nuzzled her neck instead, his tongue tracing light patterns on her bared flesh. “Do you truly love me, wife?” he whispered against the shell of her ear. She pinched his sides as her reply. “Then undo my trews.” “Raden,” she gasped. “We are out for any who pass by to see. I will not.” He led her hand down to the heavy bulge straining at the leather laces holding it in and she instinctively stroked. She had missed the steely hardness. “Let them see.” He let out a soft moan as she ground harder against him. “I have a wife and a home I wish for the whole world to know it if need be.” The urge to smile struck hard and fast. Annie’s words returned to haunt her in a pleasing way. Lisandra conceded one fact. What she stirred in him, how she controlled him, he held the same sway over her. “Very well, husband.” She brought both hands to cup his face and kissed him fervently. “But you scream it first.” His lips parted under hers and she drew him in, stirring a battle for dominion she knew they both enjoyed. Each fought with equal passion, but Lisandra planned to admit a sweet defeat under his hands if he permitted it. He had been the one to teach her of desire from their very first kiss. She discovered no shame in her responses to the hungers they drove each other to sate. “Lift your skirts for me here and now, Lisandra and I shall.” He spoke breathlessly, his smoldering gaze compelling her to abide his request. Never once had she granted him the opportunity for a public display of their affection. Her cheeks heated and her smile turned shy as her hands dropped to her side. Inch by inch the skirts about her waist rose, lowering the last of her defenses. She no longer cared whose eyes spied upon them. In an instant, her world narrowed to Raden and what strained against the confines of his trews.

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Her breath hitched in her throat when he snapped the cinching ties and his cock sprang free. “I’ve no patience for a long slow tupping, Lisandra,” he warned and she pressed back a heady giggle at the notion. Words escaped her as he lifted her off her feet and impaled her with his shaft. The moan escaping her echoed up the staircase. Whispered demands mingled with the sounds of flesh meeting flesh. Two bodies joined to become one empowered heart and for one long moment in time, it was simply them. Wrapped around each other, they rode the wave of fiery headstrong passion, erupting in an explosive climax, reaffirming the love for each other as both bellowed it to the heavens. ***** Simon doubted quite sincerely Raden and Lisandra heard the hearty shouts from the east tower guards. Their coupling did turn rather boisterous causing snickers of delight to rise through the great hall before they scurried to meet Hawkesheath’s unexpected guests. He lingered behind and reluctantly made his way to the staircase where only moments earlier his best friend and his wife finally declared a cease-fire of the most delightful kind. If they had persisted in resisting a truce between them, Simon and his brothers planned to knock heads and bolt doors in the final attempt to get the two most stubborn people on earth to concede their love for each other. Peeking around the corner to the sight on the staircase, he knew it would not be necessary. It warmed him to see Raden so tender with Lisandra in his arms. The warrior still resided in the leader of the Horsemen, but Simon knew the lover needed to surface. Risking the wrath of the Viper Queen and her husband, he stepped into view and cleared his throat brusquely. “State your purpose quickly, Simon.” The growl from Raden made Simon chuckle. He saw one of the fiercest men he had ever known in battle with his trews about his ankle, his bare arse out for the world to see as he shielded the woman with her shapely legs cinched about him. “While your declarations reached the heavens and perhaps as far as Acre, Raden, tower guards announced the arrival of guests.” He winked at Lisandra when she peeked around Raden’s shoulder. “Tend to whatever business they bring. I am off with my wife to catch up on time lost.” “Ah, lovely notion, my friend and I would grant you that if I could, but alas, ‘tis Robbie who’s arrived.” ***** Robert stood and a hush settled over the great hall. “Fair ladies and goodly gentlemen,” he said boisterously. “I would offer a toast to our brides and our grooms.” His gaze drifted to his Four Horsemen and the woman seated beside each, pride on his face. Scheming as the king served many purposes in his lifetime but few warmed his heart more than the sight of the friends and allies gathered to celebrate one of his more successful coups. Lingering for a moment on Raden and Lisandra he smiled a bit more. “We as a nation have struggled against kings and crowns to find the ultimate prize in freedom for Scotland and her people.” He paused as cheers erupted around him. His raised hand silenced them a moment later. “Nothing should be more cherished than the freedom of our hearts and today,” he said casting a sly grin at Raden, “we celebrate these unions that in giving the most precious of possessions, they have found a freedom inside themselves to love. Two hearts, two minds, two souls set in the same purpose stand as a

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firm defense against the travails they will face as they walk through life side by side.” Robert walked from his chair at the head of the table to where Lord and Lady Athelsburgh sat, pressed close to each other. Clasping Raden’s shoulder in a warm grip, he raised his tankard high. “To love, to freedom and to our country whose strength resides in the hearts of men and woman like those gathered here!” Through the raucous cheers, the king dipped his head low to reach Lisandra’s ear. “Marriage becomes you, Lady Athelsburgh. ‘Tis such a fair blush that casts a lovely glow about you even now.” He placed a chaste kiss on her cheek then turned to face Raden. “And you. I believe you have found her bite to be worth the risk?” He watched as the couple linked hands and nodded in unison. Returning to his place at the head of the table, he settled in for the celebration and preened inwardly. Glancing at Heathly St Germain, he saw the same pride in the old man’s eyes that raged in his own heart. It was good to be affirmed in his cunning. After all, he led the charge for a nation to find freedom. How difficult could it have been to do the same for two people? Not difficult, he chuckled to himself. No, not difficult at all.

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Epilogue “Are they at it again?” “They’re bluidy rabbits, I tell you. It’s utterly disgusting.” “Oh shush. It is rather distasteful they refuse to keep it behind the doors of their bedchamber, but it could be worse. They could be suffering the same fate as your Marina’s parents.” “I’d like to kill her da. I would but you know full well, Da would make me apologize to the bastard.” Lisandra looked up at her husband, a hand clamped firmly over his mouth, chiding him with her gaze. It humored her greatly to hear their children prattle on about their randy parents and how horrifying it was to consider two old people could feel such amorous affection toward each other at their seasoned ages. The young ones spoke in hushed tones, a short span away as they spied on the couple doing their grandest to embarrass the interlopers. Raden smiled slyly bringing a blush to her cheeks as his hands busied themselves under the gathered material hitched above her waist. It was a game with them after twenty years of marriage. In surviving their tumultuous beginnings, showing their desire in so public a place became old habit. Lost in his emerald gaze, she felt his hand glide over the faded scar on her thigh, then continued upward until he met his goal. A single finger slid between the silky mat of curls at the vee between her legs and teased gently. She silenced him with her hand over his lips, but he made her squirm for it. “Perhaps we should take this elsewhere?” She breathed the words on the sigh escaping her as her husband continued the slow, pleasurably torturous stroking of her most sensitive parts. His head turned side to side under her hand and she felt the curl of his lips against her touch. She knew him too well. He would have her writhing soon, left to respond with her body, not her voice. “The children.” Pointing out the obvious stirred Raden further and Lisandra arched sharply as his fingers plunged into her core. “Raden, please. They need not bear witness…ooooh!” She bit down on her lip and clamped her eyes shut. He found the spot capable of making her forget anything existed in the world save the man stoking her hunger. “…can and they will, Jason… Do you think we’ll be like that when we’re old…” Their words cut through the fog of desire clouding the parents’ minds and Lisandra groaned softly as Raden withdrew his touch and smoothed her skirts down. It had been adorable when the twins, Jason and Isabel, were young. Lisandra giggled as her children made faces and sounded their disgust over their parents frisky behavior. Now, it became a chorus of grunts, eye rolls and multiple cries for Mum and Da to find a proper place to rut in. She didn’t think it mortifying displaying her love for Raden in public, but the children thought differently. “We’re not old.” Lisandra agreed with her husband’s quiet retort and subsequent scowl. His raven black hair grew liberally peppered with silver as the years passed, but at times, it seemed the only reminder twenty years flew by. Raden still chased her around the keep, still loved her with the same stamina. He even drew swords with her to keep the skills of their youth from growing stiff. “They’re young and to them, everything is old,” Lisandra chuckled. “And you my

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dear have more years on you than I.” She flashed him a saucy grin, pushing him backward, slipping out from underneath his large frame. “What say we test your speed, my love?” Grabbing her skirts, she bolted for the nearest staircase and scaled them deftly knowing full well her husband was right behind her. Laughter and squeals of delight filled the upstairs corridor until the sound of a door slammed shut signaled the parents had indeed found their bedchamber and given the twins a reprieve. Raden spared his wife none and Lisandra accepted that readily. With mirrored speed, she lifted the volumes of material around her as he undid the leather ties to his trews, the system having served them well enough over the years. Pressed against the solid oak door that had borne her many a time before, she merely wrapped her legs around his hips and welcomed Raden inside her. Each stroke of his cock deep within her drove Lisandra’s whispered demands to hoarse cries. Raden answered each of her fervent requests in turn until their clothes lay in a tattered path to their bed and their bodies lay replete, curled under the covers. ***** “I told you we’re not old. If we were, would we be able to do what we just did?” Raden nuzzled his lips against Lisandra’s neck, nipping and stroking the soft flesh. “I never claimed we were. Blame our children for so false a statement, m’lord.” She tilted her head back, offering him further access to her body. To encourage him, she brought one of his hands to a breast and used his fingers to tweak a nipple to hardness once more. His lips against her skin sent tendrils of pleasure coursing through her, leaving trails of goosebumps that he followed with his tongue. In the back of her mind, she laughed as her body agreed about age. If they were indeed as old as their children implied, neither she nor her husband would find the strength to have another go at each other. A long while later, Lisandra collapsed atop her husband, panting harshly from yet another screamed out climax. If she lifted her head, a task for the moment impossible, she would see yet again a look of pure masculine pride on his face. She let her body go limp as he slowly withdrew, unable to even whimper at the empty feeling left between her legs. He settled her against the bedsheets tenderly and rose, returning with a basin of water set purposely on the heated stones of the hearth. “I believe, wife, you will sleep well this evening?” Raden asked, drawing the blankets down to bare the lush body he craved the moment he laid eyes on her so many years ago. Lisandra managed a nod. She heard the sound of water sloshing and felt the warmth of a wet cloth touch her slowly simmering core. Exhausted as she felt, she found laughter building inside her. “Something funny?” Memories welled up inside her, sharp as the days they occurred. “Forgive me, Raden, but I can’t help but recall the first time you bathed me.” Sighing softly, her smile grew with each recollection until giggles over took her. They had come so very far from their first meeting. As Raden lovingly bathed her sated body, she let her thoughts drift back two decades to the very beginning of their lives together and silently thanked their late king for turning a queen and a Horseman into lovers not fighters.