Мериел Фуллер – The Knight's Fugitive Lady (страница 1)
She gritted her teeth, refusing to give in, to relax against him, every nerve-ending in her body fighting him, refusing to acknowledge the tantalising closeness of his touch. The muscles along her spine strained with the effort. She sighed with relief as he threw her up onto his horse, then tensed once more as he jumped up behind her.
‘Fighting me will merely slow us down,’ Lussac pointed out slowly. ‘Do you really want those … whoever they are … to catch up with you?’
Who did she prefer? she wondered. The soldiers hired by her father and uncle at great expense to bring her back home, or this knight at her back, handsome and dangerous, whose very nearness spiked her body into ever-increasing spirals of desire? With Lussac behind her, solid thighs cradling the soft roundness of her hips, his arms pressed heavily against her shoulders, Katerina questioned whether she was in even greater danger than she had been before.
AUTHOR NOTE
My story of Lussac and Katerina was inspired by the tales of travelling entertainers who toured the country in Medieval times. I wanted to capture those long, glittering evenings by candlelight, the audience gasping in delight at the daring feats of the acrobats, or roaring with laughter at the jesters’ antics.
With her amazing skills, Katerina unwittingly becomes the person everyone desires to see, despite her wanting to hide from a past that threatens to catch up with her every day.
For the history buffs among you, the invasion of Queen Isabella of England in 1326 on the Suffolk shores provides the historical context and brings our hero, Lussac, to England. Fed up with the constant philandering and mismanagement of the country by her husband the King, Isabella raises an army to overthrow him. She succeeds in a world controlled by men, where women are very much regarded as second-class citizens—no mean feat!
I hope the Queen’s bravery and strength of character are reflected in my heroine, Katerina, who has to fight, with Lussac’s help, against her own impossible situation. And I hope you enjoy the story!
MERIEL FULLER lives in a quiet corner of rural Devon, England, with her husband and two children. Her early career was in advertising, with a bit of creative writing on the side. Now, with a family to look after, writing has become her passion … A keen interest in literature, the arts and history, particularly the early medieval period, makes writing historical novels a pleasure. The Devon countryside, a landscape rich in medieval sites, holds many clues to the past and has made her research a special treat.
Previous novels by the same author:
CONQUEST BRIDE
THE DAMSEL’S DEFIANCE
THE WARRIOR’S PRINCESS BRIDE
CAPTURED BY THE WARRIOR
HER BATTLE-SCARRED KNIGHT
Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk
The Knight’s
Fugitive Lady
Meriel Fuller
To my children, Fin and Verity.
Contents
Chapter One
East coast England—September 1326
‘Success?’ Waleran called up, softly, inching forwards on his stomach.
From the top of the slope, Katerina smiled down at her friend, mouth curving generously in her pale, heart-shaped face, and held up her heavy satchel. ‘Success,’ she answered, tucking her catapult back into the bag. She moved down through the trees, the drab colours of her boy’s clothes blending in with the surrounding vegetation, loose, flapping garments that camouflaged her true sex. Her stomach growled at the prospect of eating roast rabbit for breakfast; the last time she had eaten meat had been three days ago. Since then, they had been ekeing out the last dusty contents of a sack of oats, watered down and cooked to make a sloppy gruel. John would be pleased with them; the rabbit was fat enough to feed at least half the circus troupe.
‘Come, let’s go.’ Waleran pulled his thin, wiry frame upwards, heavy dew darkening his patched tunic.
‘It’s still early.’ Katerina cocked her head on one side, grinning; her grey eyes sparkled. The sun peeked above the horizon, a crack of golden light firing the white birch trunks, touching the wisps of tawny hair that poked out from beneath her hood. She patted the bulge in her bag. ‘These rabbits will feed only half of us.’
Waleran shifted uncomfortably, hunching his shoulders. ‘I don’t want to risk it, Katerina. Even at this hour, the Earl’s men could be about; I don’t want to be caught poaching.’
Katerina snorted. ‘And when have we ever been caught? I doubt he’ll miss a couple of rabbits from his vast estates.’
‘Why not return to the camp along the beach?’ Waleran suggested. ‘At least the fish are free.’
‘All right, Waleran—’ Katerina tucked her arm through his ‘—we’ll do it your way this morning. Roast rabbit and fish, what could be better?’ She lifted small hands to pull her hood more firmly forwards, obscuring the brilliant colour of her hair.
An amused look crossed Waleran’s narrow features. ‘Have you forgotten?’ He stared pointedly at their linked arms. ‘Two boys, arm in arm, would certainly draw attention.’
‘Oh!’ Katerina clapped a hand to her mouth. Her laughter echoed out, sweet and clear, amongst the trees, against the slight breeze dislodging the occasional leaf from the branches spanned above their heads. ‘Forgive me, I forget sometimes.’
‘It’s for your own safety, Katerina.’ Waleran grinned at her, his gaze soft. Who could have known? he thought, as they walked through the forest, lapsed into a friendly silence, calf-length boots scuffing through the fallen leaves, kicking up the desiccated papery shapes. The daughter of a lord, no less, now sunk to the level of a common acrobat. None of the other entertainers, the jugglers and the jesters, the other acrobats, not one of them in the troupe had a clue about who she was, where she came from. All she wanted was a place to hide, to disappear.
Nearer the shore, the woodland trees grew sparser; the sound of waves breaking against shingle, then sucking back to lurch themselves forwards once more, reached their ears. The bent pines on the edge of the forest turned to scrubby blackthorn, bramble patches sprawling across shifting sands. The wind blew in from the east, keen and nippy, straight from the vast plains of the northern countries and Katerina hugged her arms about herself, against its cruel bite knifing painfully through her threadbare tunic, her worn chemise. Eyes watering against the wind, she turned towards the expanse of river estuary, salt marshes bisected by deep, muddy creeks, an immense sweep of mudflats, peppered with scores of pale-grey birds, yellow beaks bright against the dun-coloured mud.
Descending towards the salt marsh, they began to pick their way across, heading for the beach, the suck and crash of waves that landed on the shore in a boiling froth of foam. To their left, shallow cliffs, grass-topped, began to rise: sandy, amber-coloured flanks striated with clay. The wind snatched at Katerina’s cloak as they rounded the base of the cliff into the next bay, Waleran walking a little in front of her, playing the role of her protector, as always. He stopped suddenly, abruptly, staggering back, swinging one arm back to stop Katerina.
‘What...?’ she blurted out, confused by his unexpected halt.
And then she saw.
Further up the coast, bathed in the pinky-orange glow of morning, a fleet of maybe thirty ships clustered to the shore, coloured square sails flapping in the wind. Horses, muscled, shiny warhorses, their eyes rolling in fright at the prospect of entering the water, were being led down wooden ramps, pulled by their bridles through the foaming surf to the shore. Men, hundreds of men dressed in glittering chainmail, helmets obscuring their features, swarmed over the sides of the ship, running through the shallow sea to gather on the beach. Already, some had mounted up, swinging their horses about with a look of intent, orders shouted in a harsh guttural language.
‘Lord in Heaven!’ breathed Waleran. ‘Who are they?’
In the rising sun, the metallic shields of the soldiers shot back the light; it was difficult to decipher the colours. Heart thumping, Katerina screwed up her eyes, forced herself to focus on one shield only. Dark-blue background, gold fleur-de-lys. A gold crown above. Her stomach dropped, hollowed out in panic, and her legs began to shake.