The Elusive Bride
To protect her home and people, Cecily Tyrell would marry the devil himself! And if rumor held any truth, she would mayhap do so! A royal command bound her to wed Lord Rowan DeCourtenay, a knight of some renown…but a widower of shadowed repute. Still, he was the warrior she needed–but was he the man she wanted?Headstrong, valiant and dangerous she was, for Cecily Tyrell alone made Rowan DeCourtenay yearn to dismiss the guard around the citadel of his heart. Though would their love, born in disguise and adventure, survive when all his soul's dark secrets were finally exposed?
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There was not enough rain in heaven to quench the heat of his desire for this woman.
Rowan’s gaze rose to meet hers. To discover the answer to his question. What he saw confounded him.
“Dear God, lass, don’t look at me so! Did I not say it would be your own choice? Cast me aside if you cannot love me, but don’t look on me with fear.”
For a moment her body seemed to melt against him, eager to mingle her flesh with his. It stiffened again at his words. Had he said anything so terrible?
Rowan gasped with shock and pain as her fingers twined in his hair and wrenched his head back.
“Damn you, FitzCourtenay, you are a devil! Why could you not just take what you wanted? Why must you make me choose? Can you not see it will tear me apart…?
Acclaim for Deborah Hale’s recent books
The Bonny Bride
“…high adventure!”
—Romantic Times Magazine
A Gentleman of Substance
“This exceptional Regency-era romance includes all the best aspects of that genre…. Deborah Hale has outdone herself…”
—Romantic Times Magazine
“…a nearly flawless plot, well-dimensioned characters, and a flame that will set your heart ablaze with every emotion possible!”
—Affaire de Coeur
My Lord Protector
“Invite yourself to this sweet, sensitive, moving and utterly wonderful tale of love from the heart.”
—Affaire de Coeur
The Elusive Bride
Harlequin Historical #539
#540 MAID OF MIDNIGHT
Ana Seymour
#541 THE LAST BRIDE IN TEXAS
Judith Stacy
#542 PROTECTING JENNIE
Ann Collins
Available from Harlequin Historicals and DEBORAH HALE
My Lord Protector #452
A Gentleman of Substance #488
The Bonny Bride #503
The Elusive Bride #539
For my daughter, Deidre Siobhan Hale,
and my sister, Ivy Marion Moore. Their spirit inspired Cecily Tyrell and enriches my life.
Contents
Chapter One
A twig snapped under footfall.
Its report shattered the golden hush of the glade. The girl jumped at the sound, a batch of freshly picked beans spilling from the lap of her gown. Why? she cursed herself. Why had she lagged behind the novices to steal a moment’s sweet summer solitude? Her father had sent her to the safety of this remote priory, out of the path of civil war. But in a land where every man’s hand was turned against his neighbor, safety was an illusion, and secluded places held their own special dangers.
She willed herself to stillness, like an arrow nocked on a taut bowstring, aimed and ready for flight. By fierce concentration, she forced her breath to the pace of a reverent Ave: “Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us…”
A stirring of the underbrush drew her wary glance. Into the sun-dappled clearing stepped a man, leading a gray horse. Catching sight of the girl, he froze. For a moment they stood, each surveying the other. Her look and posture said clearly, Keep your distance. His pleaded, Don’t give me away.
The girl saw a hard lean warrior, whose mail surcoat glinted beneath a well-worn, gray traveling cloak. His ruddy bronze complexion boldly proclaimed him a Crusader. He had the stance of a man proudly in his prime, belying the frets of silver in his dark hair and close-trimmed Norman beard.
The man saw a lithesome, virginal figure, in a coarse-woven tunic and gown, a thick plait of lustrous chestnut hair falling over one shoulder. She reminded him of a young hind, with her delicate brown beauty and her wild, wary vulnerability.
As the man obligingly held his ground, and the girl graciously held her tongue, each began to relax. The man’s gaze strayed hungrily to the tangles of ripe beans and vetch. He’d been traveling in haste and stealth, not sparing the time to hunt or gather food. He would grab a quick meal now, even if the lady should call an alarm.
The girl stared greedily at the horse. How long had it been since she’d felt the firm, powerful barrel of a good mount beneath her, and the wind in her hair? She would brave any peril just to stroke the nose of that magnificent animal.
She stooped and pulled a carrot from the ground. Carefully stepping over the rows of vegetables, she walked steadily toward the stranger and his horse, holding out her offering.
Snatching up the pale orange morsel, the man snapped its crisp flesh between strong even teeth. Dear God, how delicious it tasted! Even the dirt that clung to the root, for it was good honest English earth, moist and loamy.
As the girl watched him devour the carrot, her alarm turned rapidly to amusement. A dimple blossomed by the corner of her wide, mobile mouth. “I meant that for your horse, sir.” Laughter bubbled musically beneath her words.
The man jerked his head toward the gelding. “I’m hungrier than he is. Grass is plentiful, but not to my taste.” The voice was deep and warm, the smile wry and sardonic. As if to affirm his master’s comment, the horse dipped his lean head and cropped a mouthful of tall grass at the edge of the clearing. The girl reached out a hand and passed it caressingly over the big beast’s neck.
