Knight's Rebellion
'Twas Said That The Sommervilles Loved Only OnceYet Alys Sommerville was no heir to this legacy of passion, for the Fates had sent her along a very different road. One that led straight into the arms of Gowain FitzWarren, the leader of a desperate rebel band…Though the highborn Alys was seemingly a bride of the church, Gowain could not fail to note the radiant beauty that her simple garb did nothing to conceal. But he was intent on recovering his birthright, and could scarce afford any distraction, no matter how compelling!
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Table of Contents
Just some of the terrific
praise for award-winning author Suzanne Barclay and her books!
“…a great superstar.”
—Affaire de Coeur
“…a fun, fast-paced read with an intriguing plot…”
—Author Kat Martin
“Barclay is dynamic!”
—The Literary Times
“A rare treasure!”
—Rendezvous
“5
—Booklovers
“…an exciting and talented new writer.”
—Author Susan Wiggs
“Pure gold! Read a Barclay Medieval and you are reading the best.”
—The Medieval Chronicle
“…richly detailed, completely believable and totally satisfying…”
—The Gannett News Service
“…page-turning adventure…seduces your senses and lays siege to your heart.”
—Author Theresa Michaels
“…a magician with words…”
—Romantic Times
“…pure magic…A glorious tapestry of love and redemption.”
—Old Book Barn Gazette
If you haven’t read Suzanne Barclay, what are you waiting for?
“I cannot be what you want,” Alys said softly.
“And that is…?” Gowain questioned.
She shivered. “A—”
“Lover?” he whispered, pleased by the hike in her pulse.
She nodded and ducked her head.
Gowain grinned, stroking her forearm. She was still trembling, but not with uncertainty or fear. Nor was she trying to pull away. It was worth the strain on his selfcontrol. “I want you to be comfortable with me, Alys.”
“I am, but…” Her eyes locked on his, twin pools of startling blue, filled with trampled hopes. “This will not work.”
“It can, if you want it badly enough.” His gaze focused on her, his eyes as dark and mysterious as the forest at night. In their depths flickered a longing she understood only too well, for it mirrored her own. Loneliness, a yearning to belong to someplace and someone.
The ache in her chest grew, coiling so tight, she could scarcely breathe….
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has been an avid history buff all her life and an inveterate dreamer since she was very young. “There is no better way to combine the two than by writing historical romances,” she claims. “What other career allows you to journey back to the time when knights were bold and damsels distressed—without leaving behind the comforts of central heating and indoor plumbing?” She and her husband of twenty-one years recently moved into a new house with a separate office where Suzanne can dream in blissful peace…when not indulging her passion for gourmet cooking or walking their two dogs, Max and Duffy.
Suzanne has prepared a comprehensive Sommerville family tree, detailing the marriages and progeny of all the Sommervilles and Harcourts…even those who did not star in their own stories. To receive a copy, send a large SASE to: Suzanne Barclay, P.O. Box 92054, Rochester, NY 14692.
England, April 1390
Night fell swiftly in this wild corner of the Peaks District, snuffing out the gray day and turning the hills black as the maws of hell. The wind rose, bearing with it a hint of rain, its chill fingers tugging at the shabby band of riders working their way down the rutted track between the mountains.
Gowain de Crecy hunched his shoulders beneath his threadbare tunic and rusted armor, his body’s instinctive reaction to the cold his brain was too preoccupied to note.
Riding beside him, Darcy Beaufort, his second in command, sighed, weariness mixing with exasperation. Gowain was a born leader, wise beyond his six-and-twenty years, brave and possessed of tremendous willpower. He was the sort of man other men would follow into hell itself. If Gowain had a failing, it was that he sometimes forgot others were not as strong and invincible as he. “Dammit, man, do you never tire?” Darcy grumbled.
“What?” Worn leather creaked as Gowain turned and raised the visor of his helmet. Within its shadowed depths, his eyes glowed like green fire, but his chiseled features were as stark and forbidding as this rugged land of his birth.
Silently Darcy cursed the woman whose betrayal had turned this idealistic man into a hard, driven one. “How much farther?”
“Eastham lies just around the next bend.”
“Good. For I don’t think the others could ride much longer.”
Startled, Gowain looked back at the rest of his troop. Thirty soldiers, veterans of the wars in France and used to long, hard marches. Yet even they were drooping with fatigue from the desperate pace he’d been forced to set when they took the babe and fled from Blanche’s home. Alarmed, Gowain sought the nursemaid riding in their midst.
Ruby’s thin frame was swamped beneath Gowain’s cloak, her shoulders bent as she shielded wee Enid from the elements. If the girl faltered, there’d be none to care for the two-year-old.
