Finders Keepers

By Lynn Wood

Stunning, willful Lady Melissa of Saxony refuses to kneel before the Norman invaders, so she slips away from her ancestral home through a secret passage in the old keep only to find herself at the mercy of the very enemy she is attempting to escape. Now she must decide if she can trust her heart to a Norman lord. Can she truly believe Luke’s profession of love? Or is he deceiving her, intent on exacting vengeance for her part in his brother’s death?

...A Last Request

“Is it true a man cannot deny a friend a dying wish?”
“Certainly I would find it very difficult, if not impossible, to do so.”
“And are we friends, Luke?” Her voice was barely a whisper across the small distance separating their mouths. His head was bent close to hers so she wouldn’t exhaust herself lifting her own off the pallet to be nearer to him.
“Yes, Melissa, I hope you may think of me as your friend.”
“Then I have a favor to ask of you, Luke. A last request. A dying request.”
“What is it? If it is within my power, I swear to you I will grant your bid.”
Her lips curved triumphantly as he fell nicely into her trap. “You swear?”
“Yes, on my honor as a knight. I vow I will see your appeal through.”
“Come closer so I may whisper my appeal in your ear. It is rather embarrassing to speak the words out loud. I certainly would not want one of your men to overhear.”
Curious, Luke bent closer, thinking to reassure her about the impossibility of his men overhearing. Her voice was so soft he was having trouble hearing her from only inches away. Then her lips brushed against his ear and he lost his ability to think of anything else. When he was able to recover his wits long enough to wrap his mind around the favor she sought from him, he assumed he must be the one suffering from the effects of fever. He almost reached up his hand to check if his own head burned. Melissa could not have possibly just asked him the entreaty he would swear she just whispered in his ear. He must be hallucinating. Perhaps her fever was not caused by her injuries, but was from some dreaded disease that just happened to strike at the same time as his brother’s assault on her, and now seemed intent on making him its next victim.
“Luke?” The hope in her voice should have sounded pitiful to him, yet it sent his manly passions surging through his body. In the space of a moment, he was fully aroused and the palms of his hands were damp with sweat. He thrust an impatient hand through his hair. What the hell was wrong with him? He needed to remove himself from this cave. The walls were starting to close in around him. He needed to get away from Melissa’s feminine scent. The one he was suddenly so profoundly, so achingly aware of.
Melissa reached up to brush a stray lock of his shoulder-length hair from his face. At her soft touch he jerked away from her hand as if she held a branding iron. “You promised me, Luke. You gave me your word of honor as a knight.”
Luke looked down at her with wild eyes. “You cannot be serious. I am absolutely certain I misunderstood you. Believe me you do not want to know what I imagined I heard you just ask me.”
Melissa smiled at the panicked expression she read in Luke’s eyes. In their brief acquaintance she witnessed those same eyes filled with pity, outrage, indignation, even sputtering with rage and injured male pride, but never had she seen him as overset as he was in the present moment. “Did you imagine I confessed to you I did not wish to die a virgin?”
He covered her mouth with his hand to keep any more such confessions from spilling out. “Would you mind keeping your voice down? I am certain any of my men would be only too happy to oblige your wish.”
She pushed his hand away from her lips. “But I do not want any of your men to oblige me. I want you.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lynn Wood
• Release date: May 29, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311016782

Book preview

Chapter One

Saxony, 1066

He watched from the shadows of the secret passageway in the old keep as lovely Lady Melissa set off on her reckless quest down the damp stone stairs, with just a small torch to guide her in the near total darkness engulfing the ancient tunnel. The egress itself was carved from solid rock by the strong arms of the servants of the keep’s first lord, who understood enemies were always at hand and he and his descendants might have need of an exit from the vast castle, one that did not involve passing through the large wooden doors and strong gates guarded by the knights and vassals of the current lord. But even the first lord, who now slept in the family graveyard above the ridge near the old chapel, might lift his dark eyes to heaven at his young progeny’s latest escapade.

Though he remained in the shadows he was close enough for her to feel his presence, but the lady was too intent on her foolish plan of escape to heed him. For all her reckless courage, Lady Melissa could not suppress an instinctive shudder and near silent squeak of surprise as a rat scurried across the toe of her fine leather boot. Still, the unpleasant company did not deter her from her objective and she pressed deeper into the darkness, hurrying now as if she feared her courage might fail her before she traversed the entire shadowed distance. It was not a short one even in daylight in the confined space. At night, when creatures that slept by day and hunted by night awakened and prowled the depths beneath the fortress, the near black passage would give even a seasoned knight a qualm or two.

He supposed that was what attracted him to her. The maid did not lack for courage, even as a young girl. She had always been so determined to keep up with that wild twin of hers; she believed she was the equal of any man. She was too young to have yet learned she could do more damage to a masculine adversary through the use of her feminine charms rather than contest against him with the slender but still deadly blade she wore strapped to her soft, womanly thigh.

Her soft sigh of relief brought him out of his own musings and he smiled with reluctant admiration as she used all of her woman’s strength to push open the warped wooden door that led back to the surface. The moonlight and brisk fresh air were welcome to even one accustomed to the night and the evils that lurked within it. The salty tang that whispered along the pre-dawn air gave evidence of the nearby sea and he knew then in what manner Lady Melissa had chosen to make good her getaway. He knew her to be a skilled sailor, but surely the lady did not intend to set off alone to brave the sea in search of her beloved twin who was rumored lost in the war along the northern front.

His astonished laughter was carried off by the brisk wind as the young maid set about to do just that. Sighing with amused resignation, he moved to follow her. This crazy plan of hers could only lead to fresh disaster. One way or another, his services would be required before this night was through.

Melissa rolled up her skirts and pushed the small craft off the river bank and into the icy water before climbing into it and drying herself with a cloth she carried with her from the keep. She was grateful for the light cast by the full moon to guide her as she wove her way down the deep tributary that would take her to open water. She would hug the beaches as she had been taught and not risk getting pulled out into the coastal waters where her small craft would soon be overcome. She thought she had a fair idea where she would find her grandmother and her people. They would be moving east, skirting around and north of the worst of the fighting between the invading Norman armies and the Saxon defenders. Melissa hoped to catch up with them where they would cross the lands north of Stoney Point; the small cove where she would leave her boat behind, and set off on foot for what she hoped would be only a few days trek across the wilderness.

She packed enough food and supplies for a week’s journey. If she failed to find the Salusian camp by then, she would be forced to make do with whatever meat she could catch in the open lands and forests. With the approach of winter vegetation would be scarce. She pushed the unpleasant thought aside and forced herself to look on the bright side. So far her plan had gone off without a hitch. No one suspected she would put her plan of escape into action that night. In the end, she decided against confiding in her younger sister, Rhiann, who she feared would not be able to suppress the urge to inform their father’s guard, whose sworn duty it would then be to prevent Melissa from leaving the keep.

The wind picked up and the task of keeping her boat along the beach and prevent it from being pulled out into the open waters of the sea took all of her strength. It was at times like these when she found her slender arms and meager womanly might the most inconvenient. She might be the equal of her twin in a warrior’s skills, but there was no disputing his broad chest and the thick rope of muscles in his masculine arms would prove far more useful in her current endeavor than her own feminine endowments. Michel would have little trouble bending the course of the craft to his will. She was beginning to doubt her own strength was up to the task, and for the first time since she put her bold plan into action she was aware of the trace of fear that steeled beneath her iron will. Whether she was willing to dwell on the matter or not, the truth would not be changed by her reluctance to acknowledge it. The fact was her little vessel would not stand a chance against the tidal waters whipped up by the approaching winter storm.

She felt control of the boat’s direction slipping from her grasp and for a moment her grip faltered. Stupid tears stung her eyes when she admitted she did not possess the necessary might to contest against the rising wind and unassailable tide, any more than she was able to halt the flow of the Norman invasion that robbed her of her father and brothers, and would soon deprive her of the only home she ever knew.

As soon as her grip slackened the little boat careened towards the open sea as if on a gleeful chase towards its own end. The boat rocked and bucked beneath the swell of the water and the battering of the rising waves from the approaching storm. Melissa’s memories carried her back to another time when she faced a similar death. She was just a little girl then, but it seemed as if it must be her destiny to die beneath the fury of raging waters. So it was with a strange sense of Deja vu she gripped the sides of her craft as her little boat rode all the way to up the top of the next steep wave challenging its course. For a brief moment Melissa hoped she and her craft would make it over the crest, then the vessel tipped and she felt herself being thrown from its uncertain refuge and into the icy waters of the sea, right before her boat emptied itself of the supplies she brought along to sustain her through her journey, and then came crashing down on top of her. The impact left her dazed even as she was drawn under the surface and tossed about like the splintered wood of her vessel.

She didn’t see him this time, but she would swear she heard an echo of a once familiar voice sighing impatiently in her ear, rebuking her in a voice laced with sarcasm that there were easier ways to depart this life than the violent death she seemed intent on inflicting upon herself. Melissa thought his accusation grossly unfair, and she meant to tell him so just as soon as she could draw fresh breath into her straining chest. In the meantime she was so relieved to hear the evidence she was not alone in her watery tomb, she decided to wait to chastise him until after he rescued her from her current dilemma. Peeved at his delay in doing so she spun around to demand his assistance only to discover no evidence of his remembered tall, dark form behind her.

Her last hope faltering, Melissa reluctantly concluded she must have imagined her brief friendship with the stranger on the bank after all, just as Amele tried to convince her was the case when she was a little girl. The cold seeped into her thoughts and into her straining arms and legs at her dejected admission. Tangled up in her heavy skirts, her limbs took on a lethargy that proved of little use against the seething tide.

Please God… she whispered in the silence of her heart, uncertain if she was praying for her life or a mercifully quick death.

Chapter Two

Luke never looked back as he and his men passed through the gates of London and set off in the last direction he wished to go, in search of a quarry he had no desire to find. The weather provided a fitting setting for such a dismal pursuit. The wind whipped up overnight, and the dark threatening sky began spitting icy drops that stung his skin, as if attempting to persuade him to turn back from his unwanted quest. Luke would gladly do so, but his promise to his father demanded he face both the weather and whatever other threats lurked in the Saxon wilderness while he searched for his missing half-brother. So Luke wrapped his fur-lined cloak more closely around his muscular form, dipped his head against the stinging sleet, and urged his mount forward. He consoled himself with the notion that while he had not the slightest interest in locating his father’s heir, he could at least bring some comfort to Lady Rhiann, his friend Nathan’s young wife, by uncovering some word of her own missing siblings.

Lady Rhiann’s sister, Melissa, and Melissa’s twin brother, Michel, were lost in the course of the invasion. Michel apparently went missing in the war on the northern front and was presumed dead. Lady Melissa’s disappearance was somewhat more mysterious. Apparently the lady slipped away from the safety of her father’s keep by way of a secret passageway and set off alone across a country ravaged by war in search of her twin. Luke could admire the lady’s reckless spirit even as he bemoaned her foolishness. Considering how long it had been since her family had any word of her, it was presumed she too died in her irresponsible, if heroic flight.

Still the lady’s clandestine mission to save her twin brother kindled what remained from the ruins of Luke’s own romantic soul. Had his father asked him to locate word of the lady’s fate he would have gladly undertaken such a mission. Such a noble spirit was worth whatever discomfort he might face along the road in pursuit of her. He admitted Lady Melissa’s story had intrigued him from the moment he heard it. What young, nobly born and bred maid left the safety of her father’s ancestral home and the guard of his highly trained men to wander the wilderness in search of her lost brother? What deep, unfathomable bond existed between the two that would propel her to take such a risk, even knowing her perilous journey would very likely end in her own death? Whatever their connection Luke could regret he had no experience of it in his own life.

So he consoled his affronted sense of honor at the unworthiness of his own quarry, with that of the aim of finding Lady Melissa and restoring her to her sister’s loving arms. Certainly discovering the whereabouts of his worthless brother and restoring him to his father’s deluded embrace could not provide him the dignity of the former motivation.

Riding along at his side, Rafe’s mocking comment broke the silence that had fallen between them and brought Luke uncomfortably back to the dreary present.

This journey would have been far more pleasant if Duke William had launched his invasion during the spring months. Then we would not be faced with the unpleasant prospect of searching for your father’s heir in the depths of the Saxon winter.

Luke’s dark eyes flashed with amusement as he turned to meet his friend’s indignant glance. He noticed how Rafe failed to give the object of their search a name other than that of ‘your father’s heir’. Rafe always referred to Luke’s half-brother in such terms, or when they were alone, in more derogatory ones. Perhaps we will find my brother’s cold dead body at the base of some bottomless ravine.

From your lips to the Almighty’s ears, Rafe replied, then added, More likely, we will find him entertaining himself on the spoils of some hapless and surely dead Saxon lord using the latter’s even more-unfortunate daughters to warm his bed.

Chapter Three

The sound of someone moaning in pain brought Melissa out of her semi-conscious state. It didn’t take her long to realize the whimpering was coming from her own lips. She ran her tongue over them and tasted the tangy salt of the sea. Her memories flooded back along with the rising tide on the beach where she lay sprawled amidst the wreckage of her small craft. She struggled gingerly into a seated position and took stock of her limbs and her surroundings. She recognized the secluded cove. Stoney Point was its name and hers wasn’t the first craft driven to its doom by the deadly current surrounding the seemingly tranquil waters. She was angry and embarrassed by her feminine weakness that could not prevent her from falling victim to it, believing her familiarity with the treacherous currents should have spared her the consequences of her present predicament. She and Michel sailed these waters ever since they were children playing at pirates hiding smuggled booty in its narrow caves and the old forest surrounding it.

The broken remnants of her vessel lay scattered around her, not unlike the wreckage of the life she once knew before the war. Surveying the damage to her scratched and bleeding limbs, the torn, damp gown that lay upon her like a wet blanket and the pieces of her broken craft, Melissa heaved a defeated sigh and acknowledged her bold venture was a fool’s errand from the start. Her only regret at its predictable ending was that death wasn’t the price exacted from her for its failure. At least not yet, anyway.

She shivered with cold and thought to wrap her cloak more closely around her before realizing the damp garment was doing more to contribute to her discomfort rather than easing it. Since from the looks of the wreckage scattered on the beach she was unlikely to find anything drier to wrap around her shivering form, she huddled closer within the covering’s damp folds and took what comfort she could from its weight enfolding her.

There was no salve to tend her wounds. It was cold now, but it would grow much colder as the sun, already hanging low in the western sky, dipped below the horizon and night fell over the secluded beach where she was stranded with no hope of rescue. She supposed she should count herself fortunate not to be in the same condition as her boat. She must have been tossed out of the craft in the storm and miraculously ended up on the beach rather than having her body torn to pieces by the sharp stones that lay beneath the now gentle waves lapping the shoreline.

Whether her current circumstances were a blessing or a curse was yet to be determined. Given a choice, she thought she might prefer the quick death drowning would have afforded her rather than the prolonged one she now faced from exposure or starvation. Likely she was indulging her low spirits in a bit of self-pitying melodramatics. Her father’s soldiers were no doubt out searching for her even now. She wasn’t certain how long it would take them to figure out she’d taken a boat and headed north, particularly as their attention was somewhat occupied at the moment by the very real threat of a Norman siege on Heaven’s Crest.

It was the thought of being forced to surrender to and being taken captive by the hated Norman pigs that propelled her to set her crazy plan in action. She would not kneel before the Norman duke who would be king and pledge her loyalty to the man responsible for the deaths of her father and brothers. Surely death was preferable to the indignity and humiliation awaiting her beneath the thumb of their enemy. If death was to be her lot regardless, she would take it at the hands of the icy winds or the vicious claws of some wild beast lurking in the forest hunting its next meal rather than at the end of the noose no doubt awaiting the former Saxon nobility in the realm of the new king.

Her stomach growled insistently, forcing her into action. She wondered how long she lay unconscious on the beach and decided it must have been for long hours. The storm came up quickly after dawn’s light pierced the night sky, and judging by the current angle of the sun it would be dusk soon. Melissa performed a quick check of her aching limbs and was surprised to discover she suffered no broken bones as a result of being shipwrecked. Then shaking off her lethargy, she rose on shaky legs to discover if any of her supplies could be scavenged from her broken vessel. Her leg brushed against something sharp, and wincing in pain, she reached down to adjust her skirts to seek the cause of her discomfort. She hoped it wasn’t a broken shard of her vessel lodged in her limb, or some creature that attached itself to her while she was in the water. Despite being trained as a warrior she was ashamed to admit she was still squeamish about certain foolish things…like sea creatures and vermin that hid in the dark places of the world and fed on death.

She found her first smile in long weeks at the sight of Michel’s dagger still clinging precariously to the leather strap she fashioned around her thigh beneath her skirts. At least if she was forced to confront a wild beast thinking to make her its next meal the weapon would give her a fighting chance. Still smiling, Melissa adjusted the strap, secured her precious dagger and dropped her skirts, lifting her face to the warmth of the sun as it peeked out behind the oppressive clouds that threatened a fresh storm.

For a moment Melissa allowed her thoughts to dwell on the few remaining members of her family she left behind, and wondered if Heaven’s Crest still stood or if it was already under the control of the Norman forces advancing relentlessly across the Saxon countryside. She wondered about her mother, and her sister, Rhiann, but as always, her thoughts and prayers lingered longest on Michel. He wasn’t dead. In her heart she knew he must still be alive.

They were twins. Their bodies may have separated at birth, but their souls were forever forged. The bond between them could not be destroyed by distance. Even in death Michel would have found a way to come to her, to let her know it was time for her to surrender her long, hopeless vigil. It was the fact he had yet to do so that kept her going now. If she knew for certain her twin was dead, if she believed in her heart Michel was gone, she would give in without regret to the exhaustion and cold even now sapping her will and beckoning her to lie back down and allow death its just reward.

She spared not a few of her thoughts and prayers for Rhiann and wondered how she was coping with their grieving mother. Melissa felt guilty about leaving her younger sister alone to deal with their mother’s anguish, though she thought it likely her mother remained unaware of her absence. By the time Melissa snuck away from the keep, her mother was already more dead than alive anyway.

One blow after another battered her slight frame and fading will as the news of each of her sons’ deaths was carried to the keep by her father’s loyal men, but it was the final blow that brought her mother to her current unrelenting heartache. Their father’s death at the hands of a Norman sword proved the mortal one, the shock that finally broke her mother’s spirit. Given her current predicament Melissa was glad she hadn’t tried to persuade her younger sister to accompany her on her journey north. Although it was doubtful Rhiann’s fate at the hands of Norman soldiers would prove more palatable to the kind of death that likely awaited Melissa in the wilderness.

Deciding she wasted enough precious time worrying about what was and what could never be again, Melissa turned her attention to the task of retrieving whatever supplies she could carry, on what would no doubt prove a fruitless trek through the wilderness in search of her grandmother’s men. As she searched through the wreckage she shivered beneath her damp cloak when the sun returned to its previous hiding place behind the heavy cloud cover, taking with it any hint of warmth the dim rays of approaching winter brought to the chill air.

She was relieved to discover the precious leather pouches filled with fresh water managed to survive the storm, along with some of the cheese and bread she took from the kitchen. The bread was wet and unappetizing but she was hungry enough to eat it. The rich cheese, accompanied by a few precious sips of fresh water, chased away the salty aftertaste from the sea. Feeling almost human again, Melissa considered her options and decided they were not as bleak as she first assumed. Admittedly being shipwrecked on its shallow beaches was not the way she planned to arrive at Stoney Point, but nonetheless she had managed to reach her chosen launching site of her hike into the wilderness. Her supplies were damaged but would still prove useful to her. Besides, the trek back on foot to Heaven’s Crest would be slow and treacherous. She would likely be attacked by either wild beasts or Norman soldiers before she ever made it to the secret tunnels she exited the estate from.

No, she would continue along her planned course and hope to intercept her grandmother’s people on their way east. It was already late afternoon. The sun would soon sink behind the ancient trees of the old forest. Accompanying its descent would be a darkness so deep she wouldn’t be able to see where her feet met the ground. Though her own vision might be compromised in the deep stillness of night, any beast intent on stalking her would suffer from no such weakness. A quick scan of her surroundings decided her direction. Her best chance of evading an attack from one of the predators who hunted after dark would be to take refuge in the cliffs. If she could barricade herself in a narrow cave there was a chance she could fend off a beastly assault. Plus, any animal capable of defeating her in the dense forest would not find the bare and slippery cliff face to its liking.

The decision made, Melissa gathered up the water and the rest of the food, wrapped a blanket around her waist and cast a final longing gaze out on the horizon, wondering how in God’s holy will she managed to find herself in her current predicament. A few short months ago, she was the pampered first daughter of the Duke of Heaven’s Crest. Her greatest worry was how to elude her father’s matchmaking schemes for as long as possible. She was in no hurry to wed. If there was another option open to her besides taking the veil and becoming a bride of the church, she thought she would be quite content to remain single for the remainder of her life.

Her family was appalled at her radical point of view. Everyone except Michel. He merely laughed at her outrageous claim and told her she would no doubt feel differently when the right man came along. Since her father seemed intent on pushing every man in all of Saxony in her direction, and none presented the least temptation to alter her viewpoint, Melissa retained serious doubts about Michel’s assertion. She wasn’t certain there was such a thing as the right man. At least for her. Rhiann should have been the elder daughter. She would have happily bowed to her father’s assertion he knew what was best for her and would have no doubt been perfectly content in whatever marriage their father arranged for her. But since, until Melissa’s future was settled there could be no talk of arranging for his younger daughter’s future, Rhiann’s existence had been blissfully free of parental pressure to wed.

Melissa’s attention was drawn from her inward musings and captured by fresh movement on the horizon. She tried to make out the source and convinced herself she must be imagining things. Could her father’s men have caught up with her so quickly? Was that a ship coming towards her? Her heart stuttered as she took in the significance of the flag the ship was flying. Not her father’s colors, but a Norman flag and a Norman vessel. A smile curved her lips at the thought of the fate awaiting her enemy if their intent was to try to drop anchor at Stoney Point. From their vantage point the cove no doubt appeared an inviting place to take shelter from the approaching storm. The stupid Normans were probably thanking God for the evidence of the miracle in front of them. Even now the ship was turning in the brisk wind and heading straight towards her, hurried along by the strength of the tide.

By the time they realized the truth, it would be too late and their vessel would be torn apart by the sharp rocks lining the base of the cove. Melissa wanted to remain behind and watch the enemy ship be crushed to pieces beneath the relentless sea, but she dared not risk it. She managed to survive being shipwrecked in a much smaller vessel. She had no wish to confront any Norman survivors face to face, unless it was to sink her dagger into their greedy, land-grabbing hearts.

At the reminder of the trek ahead of her, she bent down, removed her dagger and slit her skirts, and then tied them tight around her legs to make them less burdensome. The small task complete, she slipped her dagger back in its sheath next to her skin. A last look on the horizon, a cheerful wave in the direction of her soon to be dead enemies, and she started off up the beach.

Later the same day, as dusk deepened into night, Melissa paused to survey her surroundings, seeking a temporary shelter for the night. Her initial lift in spirits at the thought of the fate awaiting the hated Normans soon dissipated as the hopelessness of her own situation penetrated her temporary optimism. She was bone cold and her soggy food supply was woefully inadequate for the long journey ahead of her. While finding drinking water would not present too much of a problem in the fresh stream she was following, every time she plunged her hand into the icy water the cold shot straight through her skin and settled deep inside of her. She dared not risk starting a fire and drawing the attention of any stray Norman patrols, nor even a Saxon one.

She comprehended all too well her former status as the daughter of the Duke of Weston was meaningless now and she would be considered fair game for soldiers on patrol, friend or foe, to exercise their vile lust upon. She was grateful she still possessed the dagger Michael gave her on their last birthday. Of course, as a woman, she could never officially earn the title of a Salusian warrior, so Michel devised a series of challenges to mimic the ones he endured during his final initiation. When she successfully completed them all, he presented her with the warrior’s dagger she carried strapped to her thigh, so like the one he and the other Salusian warriors wore.

If presented with a choice between rape and death, Melissa would choose death at her own hand. She shivered in the brisk wind and wrapped her cloak more closely around her slender form. Sadly, she acknowledged it was unlikely to be her choice as to the manner of death she would face. It was far more probable her death would come about as a result of either starvation or the fever she could sense was beginning to take hold within her than the more rapid death the use of her blade would afford her. Part of her just wanted to sit down and rest against the broad trunk of a nearby tree, but she forced herself to go on. Giving up was simply not in her nature.

Chapter Four

After another long day of fruitless searching Luke signaled to his men to dismount and make camp for the night. It was only dusk but there was little point searching further for any sign of his brother in the dark. The fact his brother still lived and would no doubt enjoy a hearty laugh when he learned of his younger half-brother’s weeks of combing the wilderness for his cold, dead body only served to sour further Luke’s already black mood. After meeting up with Nathan’s commander his friend had sent to secure his new estates at Heaven’s Crest, Luke set off in the direction of Stoney Point. Lady Rhiann suggested he begin his search for his brother in the cove not far from her family home, as the dangerous currents in the area would naturally lead his brother’s ship in that direction.

The lady’s prediction proved accurate and they met up with his brother’s men where their ship was anchored in deep waters near the secluded cove. Luke learned from his brother’s commander that Mason had taken one of the ship’s rafts to investigate the wreckage of a small craft on the beach of the narrow inlet.

Luke’s blood ran cold when he saw the scattered pieces of what was once a small sailing vessel a single person could easily manage. Even a woman, if she was skilled in such matters. Luke knew the broken boat didn’t necessarily have to be the one Lady Rhiann’s sister, Melissa, took from their father’s estate, but a dark foreboding gripped him at the thought of his brother finding evidence of a woman’s presence among the wreckage. There was nothing left to indicate the simple vessel was piloted by a woman fleeing the war and the coming siege of her home by the enemy, but whether the broken boat turned out to belong to Nathan’s wife’s sister or not, he knew he would have to report back to them both the evidence he found on the beach. He searched the wreckage for any clues as to the identity or the fate of its occupants but found none. All indications were the ship broke apart at sea, probably in a fierce wind, or when it ran aground on the sharp stones visible in low tide beneath the tranquil surface of the water lapping the rocky beach where they stood.

Though there was no proof to bring back to Lady Rhiann of her sister’s fate, Luke felt in his heart it was Rhiann’s sister whose reckless ways finally caught up with her and delivered her to the callous mercy of the sea. But then why hadn’t her body washed up on shore? It was possible the heavy weight of her gown snagged on a rock and held her under, or that her remains washed up miles from Stoney Point. Then where was his brother? Why didn’t he return to the ship?

Another possibility struck him hard. What if Melissa survived being shipwrecked? What if his brother spotted a woman alone on the beach with no hope of escape? He shuddered at the thought. He knew and was aware of even worse rumors concerning the foul amusements his brother indulged in with women. The fact Melissa was gently born would not sway Mason from subjecting her to his twisted lust. No, a lady, a virgin, and moreover, the daughter of a duke, would only serve to stoke the fires of his sordid hunger and make her an even greater prize than the one offered by a simple lost refugee fleeing the