The Lady of the Forest

By Barbara Bettis

When her elderly husband dies, Lady Katherine fakes her own death and disappears into the forest with others escaping the brutish new lord. Determined to protect her people, she knocks the wrong man senseless. But Lord Henry isn’t an enemy, he’s the brother of her childhood friend. Although his tender confidence tempts her, she’s bound by duty. Henry of Chauvere has found the one lady he wants for his own, never mind she’s tied him hand and foot. When he learns the king has ordered her to wed Stonehill’s ruthless new master, he insists Kate seek haven with his sister. But she won’t desert her friends. Henry vows to solve her problem, provided he catches a traitor before the threat from Kate’s past catches her. When a daring rescue compels Henry and Kate to join forces, their attraction grows into love. If only duty didn’t drive them apart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Oct 28, 2016
• ISBN: 9781509210138

Barbara Bettis

Award-winning author Barbara Bettis can't recall a time she didn't love adventures of daring heroes and plucky heroines. She lives in Missouri, where by day she's a mild-mannered English teacher at a local college, and by night she's an intrepid plotter of her own tales featuring heroines to die for--and heroes to live for.

Book preview

Inc.

He was a fine specimen of a knight.

Pity he had to die.

Lady Katherine, late of Stonehill Castle, straddled a low-slung branch and watched the intruder work toward her. Closer he came, guiding his black gelding in a careful walk as he searched the October leaves mounding the forest floor.

Late afternoon sun reflected off his arm, and she bit back a curse. The traitor wore chain mail beneath his deep green surcoat. Of course. Why would her task be easy? At least his coif lay folded back to expose his head. She could strike there.

Sharp, thick bark bit through Kate’s rough hose. She ignored the discomfort and leaned forward for a better look. Another sunbeam touched the rider’s rich chestnut hair. A strand drooped across his forehead. He shoved it back with a ruthless jab, revealing a wide brow and strong nose.

From her vantage point, he looked to be a fearsome warrior. Pray God he didn’t glance up. The ancient oak’s few tenacious leaves didn’t provide nearly enough cover. But his attention never wavered. One step, then another brought him nearer.

She curled in her lips to cushion her teeth and gripped the knife between them. Breath by shallow, silent breath, she eased into a crouch. Balanced on her toes. Blanked her mind. And waited. He stopped. Right beneath her perch.

Praise God.

Kate slid the knife into her hand and jumped.

The Lady

of the Forest

by

Barbara Bettis

Knights of Destiny

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

The Lady of the Forest

COPYRIGHT © 2016 by Barbara Huddleston

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art by RJ Morris

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First Tea Rose Edition, 2016

Paperback ISBN 978-1-5092-1012-1

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1013-8

Knights of Destiny

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

Thanks to Diana, Jean, Kaye, Yancy, and Deborah

for your humor and your sharp eyes.

And to the Historical Critters,

thanks for your collective insight.

Chapter One

Nottinghamshire, England, October 1197

He was a fine specimen of a knight. Pity he had to die.

Lady Katherine, late of Stonehill Castle, straddled a low-slung branch and watched the intruder work toward her. Closer he came, guiding his black gelding in a careful walk as he searched the October leaves mounding the forest floor.

Late afternoon sun reflected off his arm, and she bit back a curse. The traitor wore chain mail beneath his deep green surcoat. Of course. Why would her task be easy? At least his coif lay folded back to expose his head. She could strike there.

Sharp, thick bark bit through Kate’s rough hose. She ignored the discomfort and leaned forward for a better look. Another sunbeam touched the rider’s rich chestnut hair. A strand drooped across his forehead. He shoved it back with a ruthless jab, revealing a wide brow and strong nose.

From her vantage point, he looked to be a fearsome warrior. Pray God he didn’t glance up. The ancient oak’s few tenacious leaves didn’t provide nearly enough cover. But his attention never wavered. One step, then another brought him nearer.

She curled in her lips to cushion her teeth and gripped the knife between them. Breath by shallow, silent breath, she eased into a crouch. Balanced on her toes. Blanked her mind. And waited. He stopped. Right beneath her perch.

Praise God.

Kate slid the knife into her hand and jumped.

****

Lord Henry of Chauvere reined in his mount beneath a huge oak and hunched his shoulders in disgust. Sometime during the day, the murdering bastard’s trail had disappeared. He’d been certain Sir Paxton made for Stonehill Castle, the only holding of any size a day’s ride in this direction. If the traitor had traveled along here, the underbrush ought to have provided a clear trail with crushed leaves and snapped twigs.

Yet, not a sign. Not even horse droppings.

He’d need to retrace his path to the crossroads left this morning and try north, toward Glenmore Manor. An entire day, wasted because of rain that obliterated any tracks.

Hell’s fire. The curse loud in his mind nearly obscured the sound. A rustle, a scrape. He turned. In that moment, a moving, breathing weight hit his shoulders. From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed the glimmer of metal.

A knife. He swiped toward the weapon as he drove his body to the left, opposite the direction the weight pulled. A pair of slim but muscular legs twined around his waist, a slim but strong arm snaked across his neck. The outline of a slight body pressed his back. What in blazes?

He stilled.

The weight shifted suddenly, and Henry, his glance searching for the knife, toppled to the ground. He felt a searing blow to the head.

Damnation. He’d been brought down by a child.

****

Kate shoved the pallet against the wall and gave it one last test. The flat, wooden base seemed solid, placed atop three barrels. The raised surface made easier access to the prisoner.

Jamie ducked into the hut, dragging the door open. Behind the boy came Oscar and Sam’l, bearing the unconscious knight.

Please remove his mail and gambeson, then put him there. She nodded toward the makeshift bed.

The two dropped him on the floor.

You walloped him good, Cade. Jamie sidled over to stare at the unmoving figure. A shame he’s an enemy. He’s a fierce one. And strong, by God. He took you for a good ride afore you clobbered him. I watched from the other tree. Wish it’d been me that done it. Look at that knot on his head.

He hit a rock when he fell. Luckily the impact stunned him enough to allow the men to subdue him. She’d been foolish to think a blow to the head with her knife hilt would do the job. Still, he’d been brought down. That’s what mattered.

Kate knelt beside the knight while Oscar and Sam’l wrestled with the green surcoat covering a mail hauberk. A film of blood covered one side of his forehead and temple where the rock had scraped. She’d need to clean that wound.

What is this mark? She touched a red place on his lower cheek.

He weren’t quite out, Oscar said. I had to give him a tap on the jaw.

Damn tough bastard, Sam’l agreed. The words scarcely left his mouth when he paused, dull red flushing his face. Sorry, m’…uh…Cade.

Kate didn’t answer. She reached out to brush the knight’s hair from his eyes—and paused.

This was the traitor?

Her heart thudded and her breath hitched.

She knew him.

That strong blade of a nose, the firm jaw with its little scar—so familiar, even covered in grime. From childhood, an image flickered. A gangly, laughing squire who teased his sister’s friend.

Henry of Chauvere. Impossible! Stonehill sat leagues from his home.

But if it were Henry, he’d grown into an imposing knight.

Sam’l and Oscar finally got his arms freed from the cumbersome mail and were poised to drag it over his head when he groaned.

Quickly. Kate motioned to the pallet. Tie him.

The two pulled off the heavy metal link armor and managed to bind his hands before he shook his head and blinked his eyes.

Easy there, Oscar warned, don’t want to have to hit ye again.

The knight attempted to kick out. Oscar caught him under the chin with a smart blow, then grumbled. Told ye, didn’t I?

He grabbed the prisoner beneath the arms while Oscar looped a rope around the ankles. Before Kate could gather her thoughts, the two deposited him on the pallet where he lay motionless, eyes closed.

A pity he had to be struck again. Yet, it did make him easier to deal with.

Bring the cart, she said. We must move him right away, before another search party tries this part of the forest.

Sam’l muttered something about damned soldiers as he and Oscar left.

Jamie, please get my bag. I’ll see to his injuries while we wait.

Didn’t the lord order him killed?

The youth was right. Sir Mortimer promised death to the man he sought. But Kate had yet to learn the offender’s crime.

If the new master of Stonehill wants anyone dead, he can do it himself. The words were sharper than she’d intended, and Jamie fixed her with a worried gaze.

But you’ll turn him in, won’t you? His voice hitched.

Her glance took in the prisoner’s face that seemed so familiar. She had no choice. We must.

Still looking troubled, Jamie darted out. Young or no, the boy understood the danger they courted. While soldiers combed the area for a stranger, none of her people were safe. But once Sir Mortimer had his hands on the man he wanted, he’d call off his mongrels.

Kate had to believe that. She glanced at the unmoving knight. His mere presence filled the hut’s tiny space. A part of her hoped he wasn’t the culprit being sought.

Pushing away a niggle of guilt at the hope, she went to a small, rough table where a jug of water sat. Filling a small wooden bowl, she considered how long until Sir Mortimer called off the hunt. Oscar or Sam’l would send word as soon as he did.

She picked up the bowl and turned, just as a voice boomed. Who the hell are you?

Kate jumped, splashing water across her front.

****

If Henry hadn’t been so angry, he’d smile at the youth’s opened-mouth shock. But he was angry. And his damned head rang like a benighted gong.

He’d lain quiet, waiting for the pain to fade into a throb. That, and taking stock of his surroundings through slitted eyelids. But enough was enough. He had no time for this interruption.

What did the youth play at, attacking an armed knight? Surely the stripling realized he could have been badly hurt.

The fact that the armed knight now lay bound on a pallet only made Henry more disgusted with himself.

Perhaps his capture didn’t qualify as a prank after all. The two who tapped him on the chin then trussed him up hadn’t been joking.

Well? he demanded. What have you to say for yourself, boy?

Struggling to pull off the now-soaked hooded cape, the boy raised his head.

Her head?

Chapter Two

A girl? Shock sliced through Henry’s discomfort. How had he not noticed that thick, moonlight-colored braid before? Ah, it had been draped inside the short cape. Beneath the cape, she wore a dark, rough tunic covering thick hose that obscured the curve of her legs. But that glorious hair—it lit the glum interior of the small chamber.

Glowering, she whisked the braid beneath the neck of the tunic.

Untie me at once. His voice croaked from a dry throat, not as threatening as he’d planned, but gruff enough to send her back a step. I promise not to beat you.

He almost snorted. As if he ever beat any of his people. But he wagered a bit of a scare wouldn’t go wrong about now. She’d be safer in the long run. You’ll find yourself in worse trouble if your lord learns what you’ve done.

Rather than cower, she smiled. I rather think I’d be in worse trouble if I did set you free.

Her voice flowed over him like a liquid blanket. Thick, warm, soft. This was no girl. This was a woman.

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