To The Castle
Twelfth-century Normandy–as a fierce battle for the crown erupts, a powerful knight and his innocent bride will discover their destinies are passionately entwined….Just weeks away from taking her holy vows, Nell de Bonvile learns of her elder sister's tragic death. Swept from the convent, she is ordered to take Sybilla's place as bride to Roger de Roche, heir to Britain's most powerful earldom. Lovely, naive and totally unprepared for life outside the convent or the ways of men, Nell bravely faces her uncertain future.Indifferent to marriage for anything other than political gain, Roger is prepared to wait until his innocent bride comes to him willingly. Yet as he watches Nell blossom from timid girl to courageous mistress of his keep, his desire for her grows all-consuming. But war gives no quarter to newfound passion, plunging them both into a battle that will pit father against son, invaders against loyalists, testing every whispered word, and each unspoken promise….
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Praise for the novels of JOAN WOLF
“Especially appealing…”
—Booklist on White Horses
“Wolf spins a very entertaining love story.”
—Romantic Times on White Horses
“Romance writing at its very best.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review) on The Guardian
“Wolf…leaps into the contemporary romantic suspense arena with this smart, compelling read.”
—Publishers Weekly on Silverbridge
“A quick-moving, enchanting tale…An excellent choice for readers who want an exciting epic.”
—Booklist on Daughter of the Red Deer
“Captivating…endearing…heartwarming…Wolf’s assured storytelling is simply the best.”
—BookPage on Royal Bride
“Fast paced, highly readable…”
—Library Journal on The Gamble
“An entertaining and thought-provoking read.”
—Washington Post Book World
on The Reindeer Hunters
Also by JOAN WOLF
WHITE HORSES
For Joe, the bedrock of my existence.
Contents
One
The funeral mass for Sybilla de Bonvile was held in the cathedral of Lincoln on a day of high clouds and gusty wind. Nell de Bonvile walked with her parents behind the coffin of her only sister as it was carried by six knights up the aisle to the altar rail. The archbishop himself waited with holy water to sprinkle on it before he turned with majestic slowness to ascend to the altar where he would begin the funeral mass.
Nell knelt next to her mother and listened to the familiar Latin words, her eyes on the coffin that contained the eighteen-year-old remains of Sybilla. She felt immense sorrow engulf her as she thought of her sister’s life, blown out like a candle by a fever and coughing illness.
If only they had called upon Sister Helen, perhaps she might have been saved, Nell thought. But Sister Helen, one of the nuns at the convent where Nell had lived since her eighth year, had not been called upon, and Sybilla had died.
Next to Nell, her mother raised a handkerchief to her face and began to sob softly. Nell wanted to comfort her mother, but hesitated to touch her. She wasn’t sure if her mother would want comfort from her sole remaining child. Nell knew she could never take the place of her beautiful sister or her brilliant brother. Perhaps her mother would be hurt by the reminder that they had gone and all that was left to her was Nell.
She looked beyond her mother to the face of her father. The Earl of Lincoln’s face was like stone. He made no motion to comfort his wife.
Tentatively, Nell reached out and touched her mother’s arm. The countess gave no sign that she felt Nell’s fingers; she continued to sob quietly into her handkerchief. After a minute, Nell removed her hand and folded it in prayer.
Dear God, she prayed, please receive Sybilla into the joy of your presence and help Mama and Papa to find comfort from their grief.
When the mass was over, they left Sybilla’s coffin in the church, where she would be buried alongside her brother, and went out into the windy day.
Nell, her parents and her aunt had stayed overnight in the bishop’s residence, but now that the funeral was over, Nell knew her father was anxious to return to his castle of Bardney, some twenty miles outside of Lincoln. He gave orders to the knights who had accompanied him to bring the horses around and, as Nell stood waiting in front of the cathedral, her eyes took in the unfamiliar part of Lincoln that lay within the outer walls of the castle.
Nell had spent most of her life within the confines of a convent, and this glimpse of the busy outside world was fascinating. People were going about their business, coming and going from the castle, which towered high above them on a rock, or buying and selling from the stalls that lined one of the walls of the Bail. Many cast curious glances at the funeral party—everyone in the town was aware of who was being buried that day.
What different lives people live, Nell thought wonderingly. How different my own life would have been if my parents hadn’t given me to the convent when I was a child.
An old woman passed in front of the cathedral, turning her head to look straight at Nell. Nell could feel the sympathy in her gaze cross the distance between them. She nodded slightly, in acknowledgment, and the old lady nodded back and continued on her way.
The sympathy was kind, but Nell knew it should be directed at her mother and father, not at her. She had hardly known her sister. They had been separated when they were very young and Sybilla had rarely come to visit her in the convent.
“Nell, stop standing there staring and get on your horse.” Her father sounded impatient. She went over to the small mare one of the knights was holding and let him help her into the saddle. She was still a little sore from the ride in yesterday; life in the convent had not included horseback riding.
