By Grace Possessed

“Each of her carefully researched novels

evokes a long-ago time so beautifully that you are swept into every detail of her memorable story.”

—RT Book Reviews

“Blake…has rightly earned the admiration and

respect of her readers. They know there is a world of enjoyment waiting within the pages of her books.”

—A Romance Review

“Beguiling, sexy heroes… Well done, Ms. Blake!”

—The Romance Reader’s Connection

“Jennifer Blake is a beloved writer of romance—

the pride and care she takes in her creations shines through.”

—Romance Reviews Today

“Guarded Heart is a boundlessly exciting and

adventuresome tale…sure to be one of the best historical romances I will read this year.”

—Romance Junkies

“Blake’s anticipated return to historical romance

proves to be well worth the wait.”

—A Romance Review on Challenge to Honor

Gerard C. Faucheux

1967–2010

For the music and the memories.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Acknowledgments

England

December, 1486

S he could not bear to be present for the kill.

It was not that Lady Catherine Milton was unduly squeamish, only that she could not stand to see such a noble stag pulled down by the hounds. He had given them a gallant run through open meadows and into the thick growth of the king’s ancient hunting preserve known as the New Forest, eluding the hunt with cunning and bursts of supreme power. Now he was flagging. Soon the king and his courtiers would close in for the coup de grâce.

Cate reined in her palfrey to a walk, allowing the others to pull away in their crashing pursuit along the narrow animal track. She had been at the laggard end of the crowd of courtiers, peers and their ladies for most of the afternoon. She could give the need to rest her mount as an excuse for dropping back. With luck, the worst of the bloody business would be over by the time she rejoined them.

She’d rather have avoided hunting altogether today, would have except for the king’s invitation, which was as good as a command. Henry VII liked company during his efforts to supply venison for the hundreds that flocked to his tables, and had need of extra meat for the Christmas season, which was upon them. More than that, he was particularly concerned that the heiresses summoned to his court display themselves on horseback to prospective suitors. He had overcome the dread curse of the Three Graces to make an advantageous marriage this past summer for Cate’s older sister, Isabel, and was determined to repeat the triumph twice more. Isabel was in the north of England with her husband and six-month-old Madeleine, King Henry’s love child entrusted to their care, but their younger sibling rode with the others somewhere ahead. Marguerite would not be overly concerned if she noticed Cate had gone missing. This wasn’t the first time she had fallen back at the end of a hunt.

The afternoon was drawing in, growing dark with lowering clouds. The feel of snow was sharp in the air. Cate would much have preferred to be sitting before a fireplace with embroidery in hand and a beaker of mulled cider close by. Though her upper body was warm enough under her ermine-lined cloak, the tip of her nose was half-frozen, and her feet and gloved fingers had little feeling. At least the end of the chase meant the return to Winchester Castle where, please God, a roaring fire and a hot meal awaited.

Abruptly, her gray mare threw up her head and curveted to the side. Cate tightened her knee on the horn of her sidesaddle, controlling the palfrey even as she glanced around. Fair Rosamond, dubbed Rosie within an hour after she was named, was not usually of a nervous habit. She must have sensed something she didn’t like.

Nothing moved beyond the stirring of a light wind among the bare limbs of the great oaks, beeches and alders that meshed above the forest track. The thudding hoofbeats, calling voices and horns of the hunt that faded into the distance left behind an unnatural quiet. The scent of leaf mold, disturbed by their passage, shifted in the air along with a hint of damp moss and lichen.

Something else drifted toward Cate, as well, something rank, familiar and malodorous.

The boar burst from the underbrush. Squealing with rage at the invasion of its territory, it came straight at them. It kicked up dried leaves and dirt as its sharp hooves found purchase. Its small black eyes were narrowed and its snout lowered, while the gray evening light caught wicked gleams from the knife-sharp points of its curving tusks.

The mare whinnied in fright, rearing up on her haunches. The instant Rosie came down she leaped into a gallop and plunged into the deep woods.

The boar gave chase.

Cate could hear it snuffling and snorting behind them. Once, it gave a piercing squeal of pain or rage. She had no time to look back, but gripped the reins in one hand while leaning to grasp the mare’s mane with the other. She let Rosie run, trusting her to escape the danger at their heels. Behind them, the thudding sounds of pursuit made the boar seem a veritable monster.