The Bargain

CHAPTER 1

Northumbria, 1069

He was coming and there was no one who could stop him.

Aleysia stared out over the battlement, watching the skyline turn black as night. The bastard King William would burn the entire North to the ground, making it uninhabitable rather than admit defeat. Even now her countrymen, starved and homeless, scattered to the border in hopes that King Malcolm of Scotland would give them refuge.

She shook with fury. King William was a coward!

Now the king's trusted vassal, Renaud de Wulf, the merciless Norman baron, skirted the forests of Durham, destroying everything in his path.

And soon he would be at Braemere.

A shiver raced along her spine as a cold premonition forced its way into her mind. The ruthless baron would take Braemere, and with it, any hope of her brother reclaiming his titles and lands. They had come so close, taking back their home from that murderer, Norman Baron de Pirou, the man who had arrived at Braemere a little over two years ago announcing that he had been rewarded with the Fief from King William.

The man who had killed her parents in cold blood.

Pushing the horrible memories aside, Aleysia took a steadying breath and looked out at the rolling hills of her homeland for a final time.

"Aleysia, it is time to leave," Adelstan called from below in the inner bailey. He motioned for her to join him as the portcullis opened and their army filed out the gate.

"Good-bye," she said, blinking back tears as she pulled her cloak tighter against the cold and started toward the stairs.

Just then a horrific sound filled the air, stopping her in her tracks.

"The horn of de Wulf!" Her brother's cry had the hair at the back of her neck standing on end.

The horn blasted again—a death knell that sent everyone scrambling.

Renaud de Wulf looked up at the fortress of Braemere and smiled. No wonder the men sent before him had failed at their task of taking her back from the rebelling Saxons. She was formidable.

Sitting high on a cliff, the wooden structure with an impressive stone tower had only one entrance by land. Luckily the bridge had been opened, and half of the Saxon army had been caught by surprise. Even now his men pushed through the gate into the outer bailey.

Screams and the sound of men in the throes of battle reverberated throughout the lush, green valley full of tall trees and a fast-flowing river.

Though exhausted, his army rose to the challenge, and soon silence fell over the glen. Already they had burned every village from York to Durham, but this castle was what he had worked so hard for, and it would be spared. Though he already had lands in Sussex, Braemere was larger and far more beautiful than the holding south of London. He could easily imagine living out the rest of his days here.

"My lord, we have captured the Saxon Adelstan."

Renaud glanced at his vassal, Galeran, a man ten years his junior, who not so long ago had been his squire, but had quickly risen through the ranks. "Cawdor's heir?"

Galeran grinned wolfishly. "Indeed, my lord."

Voices raised in excitement penetrated the momentary peacefulness and Renaud turned to find two of his men holding firm a young man who struggled against his captors.

Shock slithered through him.
This
was the man who had taken Braemere back by force? The man who had viciously killed Baron de Pirou? The Saxon could not be eight and ten. In fact, he did not even reach to Renaud's shoulder. And he was almost... pretty with his long, pale blond hair and effeminate features, his only masculine trait a square chin.

De Pirou, a bear of a man who had earned his spurs before Renaud had been born, must have been distracted by Adelstan's charm.

After all, it was well-known among the ranks that de Pirou had a penchant for pretty boys.

"Adelstan, you are guilty of treason against your king. You will be taken to the tower until your fate is decided."

The boy spit at Renaud's feet. "Release me, you Norman swine."

Stunned by the boy's insolence, Renaud closed the steps that separated them until the young man had to bend his head back to look at him. He had to give the boy credit—he showed no fear.

"What say you, Adelstan? Are there other traitors inside, or have they all fled and left you to your own defenses?"

Adelstan's throat convulsed, his jaw set. "There is no one left."

The news was disappointing, but he did not take the Saxon's word for it. "And what—"

An arrow whizzed by Renaud's head and settled into a nearby tree.

Renaud scanned the battlements ... and spied a dark cloaked figure, holding a long bow—aimed straight at him.

"My lord, let me have the privilege," Galeran said, his eyes glittering with excitement as he notched an arrow and extended his bow.

"Nay!" Adelstan shouted. "Do not!"

Galeran ignored the Saxon and looked to Renaud. "My lord?" Renaud shook his head. "Since I am the intended target, I shall take the pleasure of killing him with my own hands."

"Do not!" Adelstan's voice cracked.

"Who is the archer, Adelstan?"

The boy's face paled. "My twin."

"Ah, I see." Renaud smiled inwardly. King William would be delighted to have not only Cawdor's heir, but also his spare. He unsheathed his sword and motioned to his men. Seconds later a whizzing sound penetrated the surrounding air, and a sharp stab pierced his shoulder, nearly knocking him to the ground.

"Jesu—" He heard the young Saxon curse under his breath.

With a grimace, Renaud reached back, broke off the end of the arrow, and tossed it aside. Ignoring the pain, he nodded at three of his most trusted men-at-arms. "Take Adelstan to the tower, lock him in and stand guard. I will be there shortly with the twin ... if I don't kill him first."

Renaud mounted his steed and rode past his men and the bodies that littered the bailey. An old man with long white hair and huge blue eyes stared at Renaud like he was the devil incarnate. The man crossed himself before running off in the opposite direction.

Renaud dismounted and raced toward the battlements, his men fast on his heels. The wound throbbed with each step he took, the blood seeping into the tunic beneath his chain mail. He would snap the boy's neck like a twig!

He took the final step out onto the parapet and held a hand up to stop the men behind him.

The boy did not even turn at his approach, and Renaud felt a flicker of admiration for such foolishness. His weapon, the bow and arrows, sat a good distance away, a sign the boy had surrendered.

The cloak obscured his features, but Renaud noted the slender form, slighter and frailer than his twin. He stood regally, looking out over the land of his ancestors—an impressive view, taking in the surrounding countryside for what would be his last time.

Fingers tightening around the sword handle, Renaud approached the young man, who abruptly turned.

The breath left Renaud in a rush.

No Saxon man was this. Nay, this was a woman. A striking woman with startling light green eyes, a small nose, full lips, and stark cheekbones that gave her a fragile, almost ethereal quality. Just then, the wind caught the hood of the cloak and it whipped back, allowing pale blonde hair to swirl and whip in the wind.

His twin?
Her features were identical to Adelstan's, save hers were more delicate. Renaud's lips twitched. To Adelstan's credit, he had not said whether the twin was male or female.

His gaze shifted over the blue tunic belted at her slender waist, lower, to the braies that covered her sex, and then lower still, over long, slender legs. Her chausses were gartered just above the knee. Heat coursed through his veins, simmering into his loins, causing a deep, throbbing ache in his cock. He had never seen a woman in men's clothing and the sight... intrigued him.

"Baron de Wulf," the woman said, her voice soft, pleasant. "I pray you let my brother go."

His gaze returned to hers. "Your brother is guilty of treason and is hereby King William's prisoner. He has been taken to the tower."

Her throat convulsed and her gaze shifted past his shoulder to the looming tower. "I pray for mercy, my lord."

So subservient—this woman who moments ago had tried to kill him. The wound ached, reminding him of the danger beneath the beauty. Yet as he watched her, he sensed the threat had passed. Indeed, hope brimmed in her beautiful eyes, pleading with him. "And again I tell you, your brother is guilty of treason. As are you."

She closed her eyes for a moment, the dark lashes casting shadows against high cheekbones. Her hands trembled before she clasped them together.

His gaze shifted to the pulse beating wildly in her neck. She was not as calm as she appeared. Slowly, his gaze again wandered lower, over the soft swell of her breasts. He wondered if her nipples would be a soft pink or delicate rose. Desire rippled through him, hot and fast, reminding him how long he had been without a woman.

How tempted he was to toss her over his shoulder, take her to the lord's chamber, and fuck her until she was panting beneath him. Oh yes, he wanted her as hot for him as he was for her.

As though she read his thoughts, she lifted her chin defiantly. "My brother fought for what is rightfully his."

"King William has been in power for nearly three years, my lady. He is your king, and de Pirou was given these lands by his liege lord. When you drew swords against de Pirou, you drew against your king."

Her jaw clenched and her eyes sparked hatred. "De Pirou killed our parents, stole our lands, and imprisoned our people. When we took Braemere back, half the villagers were starving. Tell me, my lord, what would you do if you were suddenly stripped of everything you possessed, your parents murdered, your people dying? Tell me. Would you step aside and not fight?"

How passionate she was, and though her words struck a barb with him, he pushed the sympathy aside. He had one duty and that was to his king. And he had done his part. Now he was to be rewarded. It mattered not to whom this land once belonged. It belonged to King William now and he would die defending it. "King William is your liege lord, and it is high time you accept it."

"I hate your bastard king!"

Behind him, his men muttered obscenities.

He put up a hand to stop their cursing.

Her hatred was there for all to see. Eyes bright, jaw clenched, color high. In truth, her anger only intensified his desire to have her. She was magnificent in her rage.

"My brother was promised an elevated position with Baron de Pirou. Instead, the Norman tried to rape him, and it was then we fled."

"And what did Baron de Pirou do with you?"

She watched him intently, her beautiful eyes narrowing, telling him she understood the complexity of the question. "De Pirou had no interest in me."

"And what of de Pirou's men?"

Her blush deepened. "I have dressed as a man since I was three and ten."

"Why?"

"It is easier to move in men's clothing," she said defensively. "I ride with my brother, as well as hunt with him. It is just simpler."

Her brother was no fool. He had made her wear men's clothing from the time she had blossomed into womanhood. Using hats, cloaks, and, no doubt, bindings, when necessary, to make sure she would go unnoticed. He must have kept her by his side at all times.

"You were leaving the castle when we arrived. Pray tell, where were you headed?"

She hesitated. "Your arrival was not unexpected, my lord. One needs only look to the blackened sky to know you were coming this way."

There was no mistaking the fierce hatred in her eyes, or in her tone. "That is not the question I asked."