HealingPassion
Authors: Katherine Kingston
Book 4 in the Passions series.
The king has charged Sir Thomas
with learning what has become of Baron Groswick. No one has seen or heard from
the man for more than a year. Thomas’ inquiries have so far turned up no sign
of the Baron. When he goes to Groswick Keep, he gets a mixed reception. Young,
lovely Lady Juliana welcomes him graciously—but later that evening, someone
tries to kill him. Juliana apologizes and tends his injury. She also tells him
she has no idea what happened to her husband, but she’s beginning to accept
that he’s dead.
Thomas is attracted to Juliana,
finding in her everything he’s wanted in a woman. Despite a past that was
nearly destroyed by a woman’s lies, Thomas is ready to settle down again, and
he believes Juliana is exactly what he’s looking for. As soon as he can prove
Baron Groswick is dead, Juliana will be free to marry him.
But he may no longer want her when
he learns what
really
happened to Baron Groswick…
Ellora’s Cave Publishing
Healing Passion
ISBN 9781843609568
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Healing Passion Copyright 2004 Katherine Kingston
Edited by Briana St. James
Cover design by Syneca
Electronic book publication June 2004
The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of
Ellora’s Cave Publishing.
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not
be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written
permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home
Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.
Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this
copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or
distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without
the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including
infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is
punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
(http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print
editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of
copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons,
living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The
characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
The publisher and author(s) acknowledge the trademark status and
trademark ownership of all trademarks, service marks and word marks mentioned
in this book.
The publisher does not have any control over, and does not assume
any responsibility for, author or third-party Web sites or their content.
Healing Passion
Katherine Kingston
Chapter One
“Sir Thomas? Are you sure a messenger was sent to Groswick
to inform them of our coming?”
Thomas shook himself out of an exhausted half-doze and
followed his squire Ralf’s line of sight straight ahead to where their
destination loomed. The reason for the question was clear.
The place looked incredibly forbidding, inhospitable, and
unwelcoming.
The huge, dark, stone fortress had a four-story main keep
surrounded by a two-story wall. The remote setting, with the keep hedged in on
two sides by hills and accessed by a road through a narrow pass to the gate,
contributed to the feeling. Even as they approached, an enormous portcullis
remained adamantly closed over a heavy wood door. No movement or greeting of
any kind indicated they’d been spotted or would be welcomed.
Thomas was used to being greeted with courtesy, and
sometimes even with elaborate pomp and ceremony. He didn’t favor excessive
display, but the complete lack of welcome here dismayed him. This mission had
already taken too much time and too much travel.
“The herald said his message had been delivered.” Thomas
sighed and rubbed at his throbbing head. He just wanted to be done with this
Groswick affair. He was close to thirty, getting too old for this, though his
friends would laugh did they ever hear him say so. His tired bones wanted rest.
But even more, his spirit craved a place to call home. Not so much a place,
though, he realized, probing feelings kept long buried as one would test a
damaged tooth to see how much pain it could cause. He wanted family, people he
could settle with and become close to. He longed for peace, order, a secure and
comfortable place to lay his head at night.
Once before, he’d had all that, but a woman’s lies had torn
apart and destroyed it. Now, however, after two years spent watching his
closest friends find comfort and happiness in marriage to extraordinary ladies,
the seed that had lain dormant for so long sprouted and began to unfurl. He
wanted what they had, or at least some reasonable shadow of it.
Both of his closest friends had found unusual and special
women to fill their hearts. Women who could love and submit freely to their
husbands, yet still be strong, brave, and intelligent. They’d had to be. Lady
Rosalind and Lady Mary had each survived terrible things and come through
desperate tests, emerging stronger and wiser from them.
He sighed and set those thoughts aside. For now he faced the
problem of entrance into this dreary and shuttered keep. He expected at any
moment to see the portcullis rise in acknowledgement of his arrival. No one
could think one knight traveling with only his squire and one other vassal
represented any threat. But though they rode up close to the gate and stopped
there, nothing happened.
The drizzle turned into a full-bore rain as the gray remains
of the day faded into twilight. Thomas watched the wall around the gate and the
guard tower over it. He caught periodic flashes of movement. The place wasn’t
deserted, and their presence must have been noted.
After waiting a good while, Thomas rode forward, signaling
his companions to remain behind. He stopped just below the gate.
“Greetings! I am Sir Thomas of Carlwick. I come in peace, in
the name of the king.” He shouted, trying to make the words as forceful as they
were loud. “Open for the king’s representative.”
He backed away, rejoining Ralf and Bertram. Again they
waited, expecting that the order would bring quick action. It didn’t.
His helmet kept most of the rain off his face, but the
moisture still leaked beneath his chain mail byrnie and soaked his
undergarments. Daylight was fading quickly, and he had no wish to spend the
night camped out on the plain.
When his patience wore out, he rode forward again. “I am Sir
Thomas of Carlwick. I represent the king. Admit me or risk the king’s wrath and
the weight of his might on you.”
On the rampart above the gate and in the guardhouse, figures
scurried around. After another pause long enough to set him grinding his teeth,
a metallic screech finally signaled their impending admission. Nonetheless,
they still had to linger another fifteen minutes in the drenching rain while
the portcullis creaked upward and the heavy wood gates swung ponderously open.
He was in no good humor when they were finally able to enter
the grounds. They stopped in the bailey. A groom and a pair of stable boys came
forward and assisted them to dismount, then took charge of their horses.
A man in livery appeared at the top of the stairs that clung
to the side of the keep wall, standing at the main door, waiting to invite them
in. Weary to the bone, they climbed the steps and stood before the servant.
“I’m Sir Thomas of Carlwick,” he announced again. “My squire
Ralf and my man, Bertram.” The servant bowed.
“Enter and be at peace, Sir Thomas,” the man invited. “I’ll
announce your arrival to Lady Juliana.”
Instead of letting directly into the main hall, the door
gave into an anteroom, where Sir Thomas removed his helm and shook rain off his
cloak. Perhaps it was the gloomy weather outside or the fact that only two
torches in high brackets illuminated the area, but the tall, undecorated stone
walls of the entranceway loomed forbiddingly and the whole had an air of
mourning or despair.
The man led them into the great hall, announcing Sir Thomas’
arrival as they entered. Here the atmosphere lightened. More torches brightened
the area, assisted by the blazing fire, which burned in an enormous fireplace
on a side wall. The aromas of roasted meat, fresh-baked bread, and ale
assaulted him and set his stomach rumbling. For all that, though, no more than
two dozen people occupied a room which could easily have held a hundred or
more. The table on the dais at the far end was empty.
A woman rose from the center of the side table where most of
the people gathered and approached him. Her clothes were of good quality cloth,
though plain, and she wore a simple cap on her head. She was young, very
pretty, and carried herself with regal grace.
“Sir Thomas,” she said, dropping into a deep curtsy.
“Welcome to Castle Groswick. I’m Lady Juliana. I regret we kept you waiting so
long in the rain, but I fear we were unprepared for visitors, and the guards on
duty have little experience. They knew not what to do and perforce needed to
confer with their superiors prior to making a decision to admit you.” Her voice
was sweet, but had a surprisingly rough, hoarse undertone.
She looked at him closely, no doubt noticing how the rain
plastered his hair to his head and dripped off his nose and armor. “Please come
close to the fire and dry off, Sir Thomas. Your men, also. Quarters are being
prepared for you even now, but as we were not told the date of your coming, it
will be some time yet before they’re ready.”
She moved toward the large fireplace, and he followed, with
Ralf and Bertram behind him. The warmth washed over and soothed him as they
approached the blaze. It mitigated some of his anger. Thomas stripped off his
gauntlets and rubbed his cold hands together near the fire.
“I’ve sent for mulled wine and food for you as well,” the
lady said. “As you see we’re a small household, but we do try to receive guests
hospitably.”
A servant appeared bearing a tray with cups and a pitcher of
steaming liquid. The aroma—the tang of wine laced with cinnamon and other
fragrant spices—hit him forcibly in the gut.
Lady Juliana poured out the mixture into a cup, which she
brought to him.
Their hands met as he took the cup from her. Warmth flowed
from the clay vessel into the palms he wrapped around it, a blessed, welcome
heat. Something else flowed into his fingers in the places where they touched
Lady Juliana’s, a warmth of a different kind. It sparked and tingled, sending a
river of fire through his veins and into his loins. His cock took notice and
stood immediately to attention.
Thomas smothered a groan as he fought the reaction. He’d
gone years with no more than the occasional meaningless joining. Only once
since Margaret’s betrayal had he felt the stirrings of anything beyond physical
need, and the woman who’d provoked it was married to his closest friend. Was he
doomed to be roused only by those beyond his reach? This lady was married as
well, and any attraction to her could only complicate his mission and his life.
But she was a lovely woman, with a slender, graceful figure, and glossy, dark
brown curls escaping from her cap to give her a winsome air.
He drew a deep breath and looked down into the cup before he
sipped, watching the way the darkish liquid swirled as he tipped it. He took a
drink and didn’t have to feign enjoyment or relief. The flavor matched the
aroma, a sharp brew of fermented fruit laced with the taste-pleasing
enhancements of the spices. It warmed his mouth and spread the heat all the way
down as he drank deeper. Tense muscles, especially in his shoulders and back,
began to loosen and relax.
He closed his eyes for a moment to relish the taste of the
liquid and the feel of the warmth. When he opened them again, he made the
mistake of meeting Lady Juliana’s gaze directly.
Her eyes were an unusual light blue/green shade, large,
clear, and direct. They sparkled with her smile of welcome for him, but… Surely
it was his imagination that led him to think he saw another world of emotion
just below the surface. Yet he would swear he found in her gaze an innate
strength, endurance, courage, shades of sorrow or grief, and more… Oh, no, he
didn’t need or want to see that. He could admire the passion she held in firm
check, but he would have to take care to avoid it. She belonged to another
man—if that man were still alive, something he had begun to doubt.
He pulled his gaze away from her eyes and let it roam the
rest of her face. Her fine, clear, pale skin bore a few light freckles, mostly
around her slim nose. They didn’t damage her looks at all. The scars did,
unfortunately, though the beautiful line of cheek and jaw drew attention away
from them and almost nullified their effect.
The uglier of the two was a line that curved from just above
her left cheekbone to her temple. Even though it showed tiny circular marks on
either side of the scar where it had been stitched closed, it was still almost
a quarter-inch-width of whitish flesh. The other was a narrower, straighter
line from almost the middle of her chin up and across to an inch or so beyond
the corner of her mouth. The pinker coloration suggested it was a more recent
addition.
Oddly, he found they increased rather than destroyed her
attractiveness. The newer one bracketed her lips and emphasized their lovely
curve and rich pink color. They marked her as a woman who’d experienced some of
life’s darker side rather than a naïve young girl.
He didn’t think he’d shown any reaction to the scars, but
after a moment her lips tightened and some of the sparkle faded from her eyes,
so apparently she’d noticed something. The scars looked like many he’d seen on
men following a battle, which made him wonder how they came to be on the face
of a young and otherwise lovely woman. Something about her bearing said she
would not want to talk of them.
He took another long drink of the mulled wine. Moments later
more servants approached bearing platters of food.
“Sir Thomas, if you and your men will have a seat, the food
is here.”
Platters of meat sliced from a roast fowl, salted pork, and
freshly baked bread were placed before them along with bowls of roasted tubers
and boiled greens. The aromas emanating from them had his stomach rumbling and
mouth watering long before the first bite hit his tongue.
“Pass on my compliments to your cook,” Thomas said around a
piece of meat so savory he couldn’t remember when he’d last eaten anything so
good. The lady ran her household well if the quality of food and service were
any indication.
Lady Juliana nodded and went to talk to a servant for a
moment. When she returned, she sat down on the opposite side of the table from
him.
“I trust you’re feeling somewhat better now, Sir Thomas,”
she said.
He looked up and nodded. She drew a deep breath as though
getting ready to speak, but she let it out again on a long sigh. He watched her
pick up a cup of wine and put it down when her hands shook so hard she couldn’t
keep the liquid from sloshing over. Was it just his presence that made her so
nervous? Unexpected guests? Or did she feel the same sense of connection he’d
noticed when they’d touched?
An older woman toddled into the room and straight to his
side. She was short and hunched over, with a wrinkled face and rheumy eyes
whose color might once have been the same as Lady Juliana’s.
“I heard we had guests just arrived,” the old woman said,
staring hard at Thomas. She was very close and her eyes narrowed in a squint,
so she probably couldn’t see very well anymore. Her breath came in harsh,
wheezing pants. “Who be you, sirrah?”
“Mother!” Lady Juliana drew a sharp breath. “This is Sir
Thomas of Carlwick, come here from the king. Sir Thomas, may I present my
mother, Lady Ardsley.”
Thomas stood to bow to the lady, and found himself towering
so high over her, he was looking down on the top of her head until she craned
her neck to stare up at him. “Lady Ardsley,” he acknowledged.
“Sir Thomas, is it?” she asked. The old lady nudged the
occupant of a nearby chair and the young man obliged by sliding down to the
next seat, giving his place up to her. “Carlwick… Are you not related to the Dunstons?”
He nodded as he lowered himself back into his seat. “My
mother is niece to Lord Dunston via her mother.”
“Ah. You’re Lord Carlwick’s heir?”
Thomas worked to repress a laugh at the catechism. “Nay,
lady. I’m his third son. My brother Walter is the heir.”
“Aye, I had heard something of that sort. Where did you
foster?”