The Warrior's Damsel In Distress
Enchanted by his captive!The Lady of Striguil is fleeing from the tyrant who stole her birthright, and threatens her still. Disguised as a nursemaid, Eva is horrified when her enemy’s handsome brother rides into her life, unveils her…and takes her captive!The Count of Valkenborg is on a mission to fulfil his dying brother’s wish and return the runaway. But the warrior hasn’t counted on the battle Eva will spark between his duty and his growing desire for her…
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Enchanted by his captive!
The Lady of Striguil is fleeing from the tyrant who stole her birthright and threatens her still. Disguised as a nursemaid, Eva is horrified when her enemy’s handsome brother rides into her life, unveils her...and takes her captive!
The Count of Valkenborg is on a mission to fulfill his dying brother’s wish and return the runaway. But the warrior hasn’t counted on the battle Eva will spark between his duty and his growing desire for her...
Beneath the solid weight of Bruin’s hand Eva shifted, sensing his distraction.
Did he realise how close he was standing? His knees bumped against hers, rustling her velvet skirts. She could see the individual stitches on his surcoat…satin stitch, chain stitch making up one of the embroidered lions, the gold thread interspersed with blue. A labour of love.
A bolt of longing shot through her, earthy and visceral. Her mouth parted in a silent gasp, air pleating her chest. His nearness acted like a balm, soothing her frayed nerves, easing the tension in her back. But in truth it did far more than that. A kernel of need grew at the base of her belly—slowly at first, like a newborn fire, smoking and spitting until it burst into flame…incandescent. Wild insanity ripped along her veins—a primal yearning that stretched every sinew in her body to near breaking point, vibrating and aware.
If only she could lean into him, rest her head against his chest and squeeze him tight to her. And more…
MERIEL FULLER lives in a quiet corner of rural Devon 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.
Books by Meriel Fuller
Mills & Boon Historical Romance
Conquest Bride
The Damsel’s Defiance The Warrior’s Princess Bride Captured by the Warrior Her Battle-Scarred Knight The Knight’s Fugitive Lady Innocent’s Champion Commanded by the French Duke The Warrior’s Damsel in Distress
Visit the Author Profile page at at millsandboon.co.uk for more titles.
To J. Now we are 50! xx
Contents
The Welsh Marches—January 1322
‘The day grows chill, my lady.’ Eva eyed the tall, slim woman at her side. ‘Shall we take the children inside now?’
With the sun sinking rapidly, she had climbed with Katherine up the gentle hill from the castle, watching her friend’s three young children laugh and scamper up to the edge of the forest, their woollen cloaks bright, vivid, against the dull winter colours. The ground was iron-hard on this north-facing slope. Untouched by the sun all day, frost clung to the long grass, white-fringed, lacy.
Breath emerging in visible puffs of air, the two women had paused at the point where the rough open grassland met the shadow of the overhanging trees, turning back to look down at the castle below. Their elevated position emphasised the castle’s dramatic location above the town: perched on a stony outcrop above the river, the jagged curtain wall was built directly on to the limestone cliffs. The low rays of the sun bathed the numerous turrets in a haze of orange and pink, transforming the river cutting through the densely wooded valley into a solid silver ribbon, a flat trail of light.
Katherine’s pale skin glowed with the exertion of the climb. She smiled. ‘Let’s stay out a bit longer, could we? It’s so beautiful up here.’ She tugged her fur-lined hood up over her silken veil and gold circlet, tucking gloved hands into the voluminous folds of her woollen cloak. She frowned at Eva’s thin threadbare gown. ‘Are you warm enough?’ Worry edged her voice.
Eva laughed, her blue eyes glowing, sapphires of light. ‘You must stop this, Katherine, remember? Stop showing concern for me. You must treat me as a servant, a nursemaid to your children, otherwise people will notice, start asking questions. And those people might talk and he will find out where I am.’ Her voice wavered and she chewed down on her bottom lip, hating the wave of vulnerability surging through her. ‘You must behave as if you care nothing for me.’
Behind them the fractious breeze stirred bare trees and a group of large black crows huddled forlornly on a swaying branch, wings folded inwards, brooding outlines silhouetted against the brilliant sky. And through the scrubby outline of trees, the slender curve of a moon appeared, milky white, almost invisible, transparent.
‘But I do care about you. You are my friend.’ Katherine’s voice trailed away miserably. ‘I find it so difficult, having to treat you like that, seeing you dressed like this...’ She glanced disparagingly at Eva’s garments: the coarse strip of linen that served both as a wimple and veil, covering her glossy chestnut hair and winding around her neck, the simple cut of her gown and under-dress, patched in numerous places, the apron tied around her slim waist. No cloak, no gloves. The only reminders of Eva’s past life were the good leather boots and fine woollen stockings hidden beneath her hemline.
