Cameron Unbound

By Rebecca York

Bronwin Weaver has always felt set apart, unable to participate in the society of her small village lest they discover her psychic gifts and brand her as a witch.

Cameron Flint is searching for wild horses when he’s knocked unconscious in a storm near Bronwin’s cottage. When he wakes, he discovers a beautiful woman, Bronwin, has rescued him.

The two forge a psychic connection that grows quickly into passion. But when an evil villager attempts to frame Bronwin for his own brutal crime, they find themselves the target of a mob.

Will their love survive, or will the witch hunters execute Bronwin while the real murderer escapes?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Changeling Press
• Release date: Jun 23, 2023

Book preview

Chapter One

Pulling up the hood of his cape, Cameron Flint ducked low in the saddle and pressed ahead. Rain pelted down in a torrent and lightning slashed through the dark sky above him. He was in a forest, a dangerous place to be in a thunderstorm, and he needed to get out from under the trees.

He had come to this territory in Abercarn because there was reputed to be a herd of wild horses in the vicinity. So far he had seen none, and he was beginning to think he had been misinformed. But he was damned if he would return to Glencarn empty-handed.

His only course was to keep looking.

Somewhere in the vicinity, lightning struck, and he felt the sudden sizzle in the air as the ground shook. The closeness of the crash unnerved both horse and rider.

He leaned lower to speak to his mount, as much to reassure himself as the horse. Come on, Storm Chaser; this is your kind of weather.

When he urged the horse to speed up, the animal needed no encouragement to flee the scene.

But Cameron was in an unfortunate place to rush headlong through the night. Unable to see more than a few feet through the gloom, he slammed into a low-hanging branch at full tilt. The blow to his chest knocked the wind from him, and he tumbled from the saddle, striking his head on a rock as he hit the sodden ground.

Still in full panic, Storm Chaser continued his wild dash through the forest.

* * *

Bronwin Weaver jolted from sleep. A sudden pain had smacked her in the chest, and she struggled to catch her breath. In the next moment it was followed by a crack on the side of her head. For a moment she was paralyzed by the twin blows. As she struggled to catch her breath, the pain receded to a dull throbbing.

She sat up in bed, cupping her face in her hands and struggling to ground herself. She knew the pain was not her own. It came from someone else, someone who had been injured out in the storm. Yes, a storm. She heard it now, rain drumming on the roof of her cottage and wind trying to pry its way inside.

Bronwin knew more. It was a man -- out in the rain and wind. But who would be braving a night like this?

Was it one of the villagers using the weather as cover to skulk around outside, bent on some mischief? That brought a surge of anger, which she quickly suppressed. Anger had never served her well.

She had taught herself not to jump to conclusions. Cautiously, Bronwin probed for more information. His thoughts were jumbled. Still, she was quickly reassured. Whoever was out there did not know her.

She probed further. He was not here for any devious purpose. He had come to the Ten Oaks area searching for wild horses for… his prince.

If one of the villagers had been injured, she would have considered leaving him for his fellows to find on the morrow. But she knew this was someone from far away, someone who might die if she left him lying in the chill rain.

Bronwin wanted to tell herself that his welfare was no concern of hers. Yet that thought sent old remembered guilt prickling through her. Once, long ago, a man had died out in the forest in a blizzard. She had been aware that someone was in trouble, but she had been young and had feared to go out and look for him in the drifting snow. Days later he had been found frozen to death.

This was different. It was only raining now. With resolve, she threw off her night rail and pulled on a serviceable dress. In the main room of the little cottage, she stoked the fire, lit a lantern, and pulled on her cloak. Unlatching the door, she peered into the night. The rain had lessened, leaving the air damp in the absolute darkness.

Standing very still, Bronwin listened with her mind. She had detected the man because of the sudden bursts of pain that came from him, but that didn’t tell her his location.

Where are you? she called softly, not expecting an answer. The act of speaking to him strengthened the connection between them, but not enough to find him. It had been years since she had deliberately reached out to someone this way. Her usual mode was to close herself off as much as possible. Now her only choice was to invite in the thoughts of others, bracing for an unpleasant barrage. With the shield around her mind down, she caught murmurs of thought from the village of Ten Oaks, the usual confused babble that made her head throb. But the occupants were far enough away that she could push them to the background and search for one voice. Well, not a spoken voice but an inner one.

She focused on the nearby mind. She wasn’t picking up any words from him, only images, and she judged he was not conscious. Still, the pictures helped pinpoint his location, and she headed into the forest, weaving her way through the oaks and locust trees and counting her paces so she would know how far she was from her cottage.

As she took her fifty-second step, she saw a dark shape lying on the ground. It was the man she sought.

Bronwin rushed to his side, kneeling and holding up her lantern to have a good look at him.

What happened to you? she asked.

When he didn’t respond, she put a hand on his shoulder. He remained still and silent.

Taking a breath, she tried to assess the situation. He was lying curled on his side in the wet leaves. He could have had a sudden fit of apoplexy or a heart seizure and fallen to the ground as he walked. But what stranger would be traveling through these woods with only the clothes on his back? Not the clothing of a nobleman, but well-made and of good quality, she judged as she fingered the exterior of his cloak. The boots sticking out below were also well-tooled.

He had suffered two sudden stabs of intense pain that had cut off abruptly. But he looked young and healthy, which argued for an accident. Glancing up, she saw a branch that a man walking could have easily passed under… but not a man on horseback. He must have a mount around here somewhere, but she didn’t see it.

Kneeling, she laid a cautious hand on his cheek, ready to spring back if he woke. His skin was cool, and for a terrible moment she thought he might have died. But he moaned in his sleep, letting her know that he was only unconscious and chilled from the rain. If she left him out here, he would surely contract pneumonia.

In the darkness, she considered her options. Could she rouse him so that he could walk back to the cottage with her? Probably that was not advisable. But how could she get him inside where he could warm up and recover?

The forest floor under the trees was slick with wet leaves. Mayhap she could use them. Walking a few yards closer to the house, she set down her lantern and returned to the unconscious man, where she rolled him to his back and centered him on his cloak. Using it like a travois, she gathered up two handfuls of the fabric and began dragging him toward her cottage.

There was no way to accomplish her task quickly, particularly since her lantern was the only light in the darkness. She had to go back several times to fetch it. The situation was made worse by the rain which began to fall again. Gritting her teeth, she kept working, dragging him closer and closer to her goal. When she finally reached the front door, she paused for several moments to catch her breath before giving a mighty heave and pulling the stranger across the threshold and onto the wood floor.

Before closing and barring the door, she pulled in the lantern and set it on one of the wide planks. The wooden flooring was a luxury her mother had installed because of her profession. She was a weaver and needed to keep her work clean. She had taught Bronwin the skill, which was why a large loom and skeins of hanging yarns dominated one side of the small room.

After taking several breaths, she dragged her burden around the table and chairs toward the fireplace where she deftly pulled his sodden and leaf-smeared cloak out from under him. It would need a good washing from its slide along the ground, but she couldn’t worry about that now. The best she could do for the moment was shake it briskly outside to get most of the leaves off and drape it over a chair.

After telling herself it was all right to abandon him for a moment, Bronwin left him lying on the floor and went into her bedroom. Her own clothing was sopping, and she pulled off her cloak and dress and laid them over the end of the bedstead. From one of the wall pegs, she pulled down another dress and quickly donned it. Few people in the village had the luxury of extra blankets, but because of her profession, she had several tucked in a chest. She pulled out two and brought them back to the front room.

With a little shiver, she knelt beside the unconscious man.

Now that he was inside, Bronwin had a better sense of his size. He looked all too formidable as he lay sprawled on the floor in front of the fire. Had she been rash in bringing him in here?

Repressing a feeling of trepidation, she studied his face. His nose was masculine. His lips were pleasantly full. His closed lids rested under dark brows. He had the beginnings of a beard, and she judged he had not shaved during his travels.

Stop stalling and get to work, she ordered herself as she turned to his clothing. With some effort she pulled off his boots and set them on the hearth.

As she did, he groaned, and her eyes went to his face, but he did not wake, and she judged she had better finish this job before