Stuart, Elizabeth

In
an age of chivalry tainted by bloodshed and betrayal, two unlikely lovers are
swept up by a passion strong as steel, sensual as velvet; and eternal as the
stars...

JOCELYN
MONTAGNE

Reckless,
exotic daughter of a Celtic noblewoman and a Norman knight, left to guard her
father's fortress, she fought brutish takeovers with a dagger. But nothing
could defend her from the brooding magnificence of the invader who quickened
her wild Welsh blood and stole her tender soul.

ROBERT
DE LANGLEY

Full
of arrogance and outlaw vigor, the fabled Lion of Normandy would hold his old
enemy's daughter hostage for his plundered lands—until he decreed that he must
keep them both.

Torn
between vengeance and lingering desire, war made them enemies, and passion
possessed them.

1994-95
RT Reviewers' Choice—Medieval Historical Romance

BRIDE
OF THE LION

Copyright
© 1995 by Elizabeth Stuart.

St.
Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

ISBN:
0-312-95602-9

Printed
in the United States of America

St.
Martin's Paperbacks edition/August 1995

This
book is dedicated to sisters of all kinds: blood, spirit, and the heart.

To
Bobby Jackson and Nancy Smyth who were there for me as far back as I can
remember, who are never too busy to laugh or cry or encourage...

To
Susan Spanel who has cheerfully given countless hours of time and talent to
keep both my characters and myself on the straight-and-narrow path...

To
Karyn Witmer-Gow and Eileen Dryer who have generously shared their knowledge
and expertise, their time and talents and blessed common sense...

And
last, but certainly not least, to Anna Eberhardt and the irrepressible Tiffany,
who can make
me
laugh through even the darkest nights.

Western England, November 1152

The
night was black as a witch's heart. A hint of snow rode the wind. In the
shivering flare of a half-dozen torches, the heavily-laden ox wains rolled and
bumped through the darkness, their drivers biting back curses as the animals
stumbled clumsily against the frozen ruts of the road.

A
shabby company of knights bunched their mounts closely about the carts. Here
and there a man fidgeted with his sword hilt or tested the weight of his
shield. This duty was not one of simple escort; there would be no turning back.
On this black and bone-chilling night they would win or lose all—including
their lives.

The
sound of hoofbeats echoed eerily from out of the frozen dark. Friend or foe?
Men settled deep in their saddles, swords were loosed from their sheaths. A few
brief prayers were offered. Surely God in his mercy couldn't intend them to be
found out. Not now. Not after they'd been through so much, had come so far.

A
lone horseman surged out from the shadows. He reined in his mount so sharply
the beast reared in protest. In the cart leading the little caravan, a tall,
powerful figure rose to his feet. The man was dressed as a simple soldier. A
poor, but serviceable mantle cloaked his mailed frame. "What news?"
he asked softly.

The
rider leaned close. "The men are in place. All's in readiness, my
lord."

"Well
done, Geoffrey. All's in order here as well. The men know their jobs, the
consequence of failure. No second chances this time." He hesitated a
moment, looked keenly at the rider sitting shadowy and motionless a
sword's-length away. "My thanks, Geoffrey, for... for everything."

The
teeth of the rider flashed white as he smiled. "I've a handful of this
rich black earth you love. This England. It's tucked away in my belt. For
luck."

"Luck?"
The man in the cart smiled grimly. "With luck and God's help there'll be a
bit more than a handful changing hands tonight. Take care you're alive to hold
your share, Geoffrey. I've neither the time nor the inclination to be training
another to take your place."

"Nor
I to find another master so appreciative of my skills, so... so gracious of
tongue, my lord."

The
man gave a sharp crack of laughter. Geoffrey tried to smile, but the effort was
beyond him. Tonight meant so damned much. "Take care, Robert. I'll not be
there to guard your back."

The
man nodded and jumped down, moving to the rear of the cart to unfasten the
reins of his horse. Despite the hauberk of heavy chain mail, he swung easily
into the saddle, the lithe movement bespeaking a lifetime of arduous training
and riding to arms. "Pass the word and get back to your post. Belavoir's
scarce two leagues away. Pray God we can carry this off for I'll run no more. I
swear it. I swear it before God!"

Geoffrey
nodded and raised his hand in a short salute, then disappeared again into
darkness. The oxen were prodded into motion; the carts rumbled on through the
night.

The
road led on through the silent countryside. Every minute seemed an hour. The
darkness preyed on taut nerves. And then the castle surged up in the distance,
blacker than its midnight backdrop of hill and sky, a massive affair of mortar
and stone, impossible to take by assault.

But
not by treachery.

The
man in the lead reined in, halting the carts with an upraised hand. A grim
smile curled his mouth. "Now," he murmured. "Now we wait."

***

Jocelyn
stared out over the torchlit confusion of the castle bailey, barely restraining
the childish impulse to hug herself closely and spin round and round like a
top. Within the massive stone walls, the men were making ready to leave. Dogs
barked and men shouted. Children cried. Horses twisted and stamped, nervous in
the cacophony of noise and the flickering light and ready to be away.

The
men were leaving. They would be gone a fortnight at the very least. After
months of guarding her tongue and her temper, she was going to have freedom at
last!

Above
her and to the right, the door to the keep swung open. A ripple of movement
went through the men, and Jocelyn swung to look up, narrowing her eyes against
the flare of torches as her father descended the stairs. Behind him came
Adelise, gracefully holding aside her skirts, then Brian behind her, laughing,
no doubt, at something his sister had said.

Jocelyn's
anticipation was suddenly tarnished. A flicker of pain, long-fought but not yet
conquered, quivered and then went still in her breast.

The
three made the perfect picture, cut from the same sumptuous cloth of blue and
gilt, the handsome Montagne features stamped unmistakably on each face. Tall
and slender with eyes the cerulean blue of the sky and hair the unforgettable
color of spun moonlight, Lord William Montagne of Castle Montagne and his son
and eldest daughter made a picture to gladden the heart as they came together
down the stairs.

And
then there was Jocelyn.

She
frowned and moved forward quickly. Her father was in a temper; haste and
confusion always made him so. She'd best let nothing delay him lest she be the
one to suffer for it.

"You,
girl, has all been made ready? I'd best not get halfway to Oxford and find
you've left something off."

Jocelyn
lifted her head with a poise hard-schooled through the years. "All's in
readiness, Father. I checked with Raymond at vespers and again just now. The
supplies have been wrapped and packed as I ordered. You've plenty for the trip,
though you'll have to buy more once you reach Oxford."

Montagne
glanced at his youngest daughter, merely nodding at the expected efficiency.
"I hate to take the last of the salt, but those supplies you ordered from
Shrewsbury should arrive any day."

He
frowned irritably, glancing toward the gate as if willing the supplies to
materialize before him. "Christ's wounds, we need that salt! If it doesn't
come by tomorrow send Cedric and some of the men to search out that fat
merchant and string him up by his heels.

"This
is butchering month, for Christ's sake! We need to put down Belavoir's pork
before the hogs lose their fat. If the king hadn't called this damned council,
I'd be off to Shrewsbury myself. I've half a mind to anyway. Of all the
ill-conceived times for a council! My bailiff just cold in his grave, and now
this rushing about in the middle of the night to catch Lord Borthwick because
that damned fool of a messenger got himself lost..."

His
words trailed off to a grumble, and Jocelyn barely restrained a smile. "I
doubt King Stephen would think our swine more important than council. Besides,
the woods here are full of acorns yet. I rode out to check when we arrived last
week. The swine will stay fat a while longer. Don't fret, Father, I'll see to
it."

He
nodded again and glanced at her absently, his mind already on the long trip
ahead and the coming sojourn at court. He motioned for his horse, and his
squire brought the animal forward. He reached for the reins. "Stay close
about the keep. I don't expect trouble—who would dare here at Belavoir? Still,
in these times, you never know."

Jocelyn
nodded, forcing herself to an appearance of meekness at least. She would do as
she liked and he damned well knew it. It was a recklessness they hadn't been
able to beat entirely out of her, a recklessness her father despised as he did
the Welsh blood that ran, hot and fast, in her veins. Just as he had despised
the woman who had given her birth.

He
seemed to sense her thoughts. "You do as I've told you, girl, and don't be
up to your mischief. The folk here don't know you so well as they do about
Warford and Montagne. Besides, you're far too old to be acting the Welsh wood
sprite and running free in the hills. Watch your sister. Behave as she does and
try to remember you're a Montagne."

At
that Adelise stepped forward. "Jocelyn and I will be fine, Father. But
wasn't there something you wanted to ask her before you left?"

"What?"
Lord Montagne's piercing blue eyes narrowed. "Oh, yes... What is it you'd
like me to bring you from Oxford, girl? I've a whole list of trinkets and cloth
this pretty baggage has begged for. Might as well add a bit more, though God
knows how the animals'll carry it all."

Jocelyn
gazed back coolly. There was a time she would have welcomed trinkets and cloth.
She had asked for them, had waited with childish impatience for them. But the
waiting had been in vain. "There's nothing, my lord, nothing I need. Don't
trouble yourself on my account."

He
nodded, his gaze shifting quickly from hers.

Cat's
eyes. Witch's eyes.

Jocelyn's
smile became bitter. He had used the words when she was naught but a child,
when there weren't tears enough nor even any witch's power to change her
slanted green-gold eyes to blue, her dark, unruly hair to the silken sunlit
color belonging to Brian and Adelise.

"If
there's nothing you want then we'll be off," Montagne said hurriedly.
"No time to dawdle." Placing a foot in the stirrup, he hauled himself
into the saddle.

Adelise
stepped forward and caught his stirrup. "Father, wait! Take care of
yourself. Be sure to wear that fur-lined cloak I gave you. Don't sleep where
there's any damp. Oh, and be sure—"

Montagne
leaned down, cupping his daughter's cheek, his large, rough hand gentled,
gentled as Jocelyn had never felt it. "I'll be fine, child. I'm an old
campaigner and know well enough how to care for myself." He brushed away
her tears. "Besides, Brian will be there to see to my needs. Don't
fret."

He
smiled then, coaxing her to smile with him. "It's that rogue of a brother
of yours we'd best be worrying about. Make him promise to stay out of trouble.
He might just do it for you."

Brian
had been speaking to one of his men. Now he pushed past Jocelyn with a cool,
"God keep you, madam," saving his brilliant, flashing smile for the
sister so like him.

He
leaned close to Adelise with a whispered word that made her laugh ring out.
Then he kissed her farewell and swung into the saddle.

Jocelyn
watched the fond good-byes in silence. Then her father was shouting an order.
The men began to file out. He swung toward her, his big chestnut sidestepping,
fighting the bit. "Jocelyn, see to your sister. It'll be a day or two
before Sir Roger and the rest of the men from Montagne arrive. I leave both
Adelise and Belavoir in your care. Don't disappoint me."

Jocelyn
raised her head, searching his shadowy face for something she'd never found.
"I'll see to them. Godspeed you."

With
another curt nod, he disappeared after Brian and the rest of the men. Jocelyn
watched the gates swing shut, heard the wail of the windlass and the
portcullis's descent, the low rumble of the drawbridge rising. She reminded
herself of the freedom she would enjoy these next few weeks, of the pleasure
she should be feeling, but the hurt was still there.

And
she was God's greatest fool.

"Jocelyn?"

The
soft, quavering voice won her attention. She turned toward her sister, noting
the tears that were flowing in earnest now. Usually Jocelyn spared little
patience for women who wept easy tears. To her, sorrow was a well-known
companion, best fought in silence, best conquered alone.

Yet
Adelise's was... well... Adelise was different. Her soft heart genuinely ached
for every creature in pain, broke for every pain she couldn't relieve. And in
these last three years since Jocelyn had left the easy familiarity of Warford
and been brought into the household of Castle Montagne, she had developed a
genuine fondness for the half-sister she had always thought she would hate.

She
moved forward at once, sliding an arm about Adelise's narrow waist,
instinctively seeking to comfort. "If we hurry we can be up on the
wall-walk before the men disappear. You can watch them another few minutes
before they're lost in the hills."

The
women hurried up the stairs. Adelise rushed onto the battlements, gripping the
cold stone and leaning forward, watching the bobbing torches as the men snaked
their way through the darkness.

Jocelyn
spared scarcely a glance for the men. Instead she leaned against the wall,
throwing her head back to search the heavens for stars.

Above
her, dark-drifting clouds shifted and swirled across the sky. It was early
still for snow, yet there was a harsh, brittle feel of it on the air tonight.
The wind whistled through the wall crenels. It tore at her hair, billowed under
her cloak with the biting edge of cold steel against the flesh.

Jocelyn
hugged herself, scarcely minding the cold. Up here she felt exhilarated and
alive, at one with the freedom of darkness, the wild sweeping power of the
wind. Up here she could almost imagine she was still a child, still free and in
Wales, with her mother yet alive.

"I
pray God's mercy upon them. Do you think that they'll be all right?"

"Of
course," Jocelyn answered automatically, still drinking in the turbulent
night.