Besieged Heart (No Ordinary Lovers Collection)

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system — except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews — without the written permission of publisher or author, except where permitted by law.

Cover Art by Amanda Kelsey of
Razzle Dazzle Design
.

Copyright © 1994 and 2013 by Patricia Maxwell

First edition published by Penguin Group: 1994
The Topaz Man Favorites
“Secrets of the Heart” anthology

Second edition published by Steel Magnolia Press: 2013

Chapter One

“Will you surrender?”

It was the wizard who asked that question. Princess Mara, leaning against the castle battlement with the spring wind almost whipping the linen coif from her golden-brown hair, considered it with care. She did not turn to face the man who stood a discreet distance behind her as she answered.

“Is that your counsel? If so, I never thought to hear it from you.”

“I only ask your will, Your Highness; I don’t seek to sway it.” In a swirl of heavy robes her chief adviser moved a step closer. “Yet consider well. The delegation approaching is the second to be sent by Baron Ewloe. If you refuse this demand to lay down your arms, and the castle falls, he will hang the garrison to a man. He has a taste for blood.”

“Yes, I am aware.” Mara turned her head to survey the scene in the inner bailey. In the slanting rays of the sun, their plight was painfully clear: the beleaguered castle walls, the injured defenders, the dust, stench and skeletal faces of children too near starving to cry. Their defenses were pitifully meager; while beyond the keep lay the baron’s mighty force ranged against them, with its siege engines, supply wagons, and endless tents topped by snapping battle flags.

“Ewloe will turn his men loose on the women,” the wizard continued with inescapable logic. “You will be forced to wed him as he demanded when he first appeared at the gates. In the privacy of the bedchamber he will exact his revenge for your defiance.”

A strong shiver ran down Mara’s spine. “You think I was wrong to oppose him? I could not meekly accept his suit, allowing him to lay claim to my lands and gain legitimacy for his pretensions to my brother’s throne. Moreover, I despise him.”

“My predecessor suggested that you choose a champion,” the wizard said in biting softness. “You refused.”

“Indeed I did.” She lifted her chin. “A man strong enough to challenge the baron and defeat him in ritual combat might also take what he pleased as his reward. What was to prevent this champion from then claiming me as his prize?”

“Honor. I would never have trespassed.”

“You?” Her silvery gray eyes widened with surprise as she turned to stare at the man standing a strict six paces away.

The wizard was powerfully built. The black robe that rested on his broad shoulders, with its embroidery of mystic symbols in gold and silver thread, only emphasized his great height. There was little else to be discerned about him. The cowl of his robe was pulled forward to shield his face from view.

Princess Mara had never seen her adviser’s features. He always kept his distance, allowing no one to come close. It was a calculated practice of the office, one designed to maintain the wizard’s mystery.

When she was younger and he only an apprentice, she had tried from sheer perversity to bridge the space separating them. He retreated each time, maintaining his strict span of steps. Later, when out of loneliness she’d sought his company, he’d still kept his distance. His guardedness disturbed her then, and still did at times.

The wizard inclined his head and said, “It would have been my privilege to kill the baron for you.”

“You have no training in the use of weapons.”

“You are mistaken, Your Highness.” He let the correction stand without embellishment.

A frown drew her dark, winged brows together. “You would pretend to be a knight?”

“I once dreamed of it, worked toward it. Now I live only to serve you.”

Were the words sincere or merely an empty platitude tripping off his tongue because he thought it was expected? She could not tell. “Your services are too valuable to be risked. In any case, it’s far too late for such measures.”

“I think not,” he said in swift contradiction. “The baron is as vainglorious as he is cruel. He might think it great sport to kill your champion before your eyes. That weakness could bring about his defeat.”

The baron was a man of vast experience on the tilting ground, one who took pleasure in mutilating his foes. He had never been bested. With some irony, Mara said, “I fear the end result would be the same, only you would be dead.”

The wizard’s cowl tilted in consideration. “Your concern is a boon beyond price.”

“Not at all. It’s only that I have more need of you in the audience hall than on the jousting field.” The words were steady despite the odd sensation the quiet timbre of his voice stirred in her heart. Looking past him at the somber scene below, she added, “I already have much to answer for when my brother returns from the wars. I would not like to be forced to explain how I came to lose both of my advisers.”

The man before her had held his high position little more than a month. It had been inherited from his father, the old wizard, who had died from the ailments of advanced age combined with the deprivations of the siege.

Of course, it was common knowledge the old man had not been this one’s true father. The new wizard had been a baseborn child without a name, a foundling taken in at a tender age and schooled in Latin, history and numbers, as well as the arts of magic and healing. He had also been taught the king’s laws and, of course, the diplomacy of the court.

That he was something less than diplomatic with her now was due to the dire nature of their discussion; he was usually most punctilious in his address. He had long ago perfected his manner toward her, for he had been her unofficial adviser since she was eleven and he a lordly fifteen.

If her new wizard was more forceful in presenting his views than the old one had been, the princess was not inclined to complain, for he was also more able in war. Without his suggestions for defense, counter-attack, and midnight sallies for provisions, it would have been necessary to surrender the castle weeks ago. Regardless, the decision which lay before her was hers to make, just as the consequences would be hers to bear.

After a moment, the man watching her spoke again. “You realize we can hold out only another week, two at most?”

“I am not blind.”

“Then you are resigned to your fate.”

“Before God, no!” The words burst from her lips before she could catch them back. She swung sharply from him once more and gripped the stone of the battlement wall so that its roughness bit into her hands. Fighting to regain self-control, she took a deep breath then released it with a silent sigh. “No,” she said more quietly, “but what other choice is there for me?”

“You could vanish, thereby cheating the baron of his most desired prize.”

A wan smile touched her lips. “You mock me. There is no escape.”

“But there is,” he answered. “I have the power to arrange it. You will be so well-concealed that the baron could take the castle apart stone by stone and never find you.”

“Run away? A coward’s choice, surely?” She closed her eyes an instant. “I fear it may be my duty to wed the baron. Perhaps if I am contrite enough and submissive to his will, if I am properly humble, he may be lenient with my people.”

A low laugh came from inside the cowl. “Submissive? You, Your Highness? You would spit in his eye if he tried to humble you. He would have to beat you to insensibility to achieve it. And he will.”

“You think you know me so well? But I am capable of many things, given the right reasons.” She refused to look at him, afraid he might see her abiding horror of her future.

“I know you much better than you realize,” he said in rough tones. “Come away now, before the delegation arrives with its demands—before it is too late.”

She shook her head, her linen coif twisting in the wind. “I must not desert those who depend on me.”

“You cannot stay.”

The words held a much harder edge than any she had ever heard from him. She turned with cool disdain in her gray eyes. “Who are you to tell me what I must do?”

“The man who will save you, my princess,” he said in a clipped voice. “With your will if possible—against it if necessary.”

She drew a sharp breath of disbelief. Neither the wizard nor his father had ever offered her anything except the greatest deference. Rigid with fury, she parted her lips to castigate the man in front of her.

The words were never spoken. The wizard lifted his hands. The full sleeves of his robe caught the wind, spreading wide. From inside the embroidered folds of his garment drifted a soft, lavender-gray fog. The scent of it was sweet and beguiling. The fog thickened, rising around her in a swirling cloud to enter her nose, her mouth, and the very pores of her skin.

She could see nothing but the wizard’s eyes within the protection of his cowl. They were rich black, deep as night, shining with a tender threat. He stepped toward her, coming closer. His nearness was overpowering. Then she felt his hard and powerful arms as they closed around her.

Or perhaps she imagined the last, for an instant later she was falling, her mind spinning, out of control. She felt as if she were being thrust beyond the sun, into the pitiless void where stars die unnoticed and time was but a shimmering silver light, traveling back and forth, but never standing still.

~ ~ ~

The dazzling brightness of sunlight upon Mara’s eyelids woke her. She absorbed the heat like a benediction. She felt so cold and heavy, as if she had lain in the same position for countless ages, certainly far too long for comfort. Yet moving seemed more effort than she was capable of making.

Memory flashed through her mind like a knife. She sat up abruptly, only to cry out at the sudden ache that pounded through her skull. She sat unmoving with her eyes squeezed shut until the pain receded, fading with the gradual slowing of her panicked heartbeat.

Birds, she could hear birds. The air was clean and fresh and pleasantly warm. Beneath her was a bed of fallen leaves that felt thick and resilient. A breeze made a quiet, rustling melody in the trees overhead.

Mara opened her eyes by slow degrees. She was in a wood of tall oak and pine. Sunbeams slanted through the branches like light through cathedral windows. She had never, to her knowledge, seen the place before.

Just beside her was the sturdy trunk of a tree. Moving gingerly, she shifted position until she could lean against its rough bark. There were pine needles caught in her hair and clinging to her mantle. She plucked one from her sleeve and sat turning it in her fingers, staring at it as if it were some rare prize. It felt real, but was far larger and more brightly green than any she had ever known.

A quiet sound, like a careful footfall, caught her attention. She looked up then sat quite still.

There was a man standing not six feet away. Tall and wide of shoulder, he was wearing garments of strange, tightly woven materials that clung to his frame, defining the strong musculature of his chest, his narrow waist and hips. His hair had the rich brown-black sheen of a falcon’s wing, while his gaze from beneath straight brows was dark and assessing. The broad expanse of his forehead indicated intelligence; the fine molding of his mouth hinted at a generous spirit, but the square jut of his chin was a clear sign of an uncompromising temperament. In one hand he carried a contraption of polished steel and wood that appeared to be a weapon. Alert, poised for action, he had a knight’s air of confidence and quiet power.

A princess did not allow a man, even one such as this, to tower over her. Mara pulled herself to her feet while holding on to the tree behind her for support. Summoning pride, she wrapped it around herself like armor. “Who are you?” she said. “What is this place?”

Appreciation flashed in the man’s midnight black eyes, and then was gone. “The name’s Rayne, honey, Rayne Winslow,” he drawled. “And just who might you be?”

“I am Princess Mara of Carreg Cennen, sister to Prince Stephen, sixth of his name, who holds—”

“Right,” the man drawled. “And I’m the king of England. Are you an actress, maybe, or did you just escape from a loony bin in your bath robe?”

This stranger appeared vastly entertained by her plight. Uneasiness pricked her. With great dignity, she said, “I have no idea how I came to be here. If you will tell me where we are, perhaps my position will be clearer.”

“You’re in the good ol’ U. S. of A., sweetheart.”

“I am unfamiliar with the locale. Is it east or west?”

“East or west of what?”

She frowned, her gray eyes darkening. “Of the castle, naturally.”

“No castles anywhere around here that I know of,” he said blithely before continuing. “You know, you sure do talk funny.”

“My speech,” she said with some hauteur, “is not half as comical as your own, and is infinitely more coherent. If you cannot answer a simple question, perhaps you can be of service otherwise. I command you to escort me out of this wood and to the nearest respectable house. Then you may summon some person of authority.”

His humor faded. “Command,” he said softly, “and be damned.”

Anger and fear jostled inside her. She had never met a man who treated her with less respect; in fact, had never met one who gazed at her so directly. If he had no regard for her position, no consideration for her birthright, then there was no telling what he might do to her.

At the same time, his insolence rasped on her nerves. She was used to homage and obedience. Her instinct was to exact them.