Samantha James Read Online Free PDF

was.
     
    As Alana soon discovered, he was not a man to trifle with. He commanded that she walk before him. He followed close behind, high upon his warhorse, a black steed who pranced and pawed the air, as devilish looking as his master. They had nearly breached the edge of the forest when the notion took root…Nearby was a place where the trees grew low and thick in number, so thick that man or woman might dart between them, but such a feat with horse and rider was impossible. Hope flowered within her breast. If she could flee…
    She soon wished she had not.
    He caught her with consummate ease, snatching her high onto the saddle before him. Alana fought a surge of panic, for she had never learned to ride. And though she strained to hold herself stiffly that they might not touch, he would not allow it. His arm hard about her waist, he dragged her back against him, so close she could feel his every breath as if it were her own.
    It was near vespertide when they arrived at Brynwald Keep. Passing through the wooden palisade, he did not stop until they were well within the walls of the keep. The moment he brought his warhorse to a halt, Alana managed to slide to the ground. She fell heavily, scraping her hands and bruising her knees, but she cared not. All she wanted was to be free of his hated touch.
    Despair rode heavy on her heart. Only this morn she had told Aubrey she wished to come to Brynwald, that she might assure herself Sybil was safe and well. But not like this, never like this…
    She shivered, though not from the chill of the air. She couldn’t help but recall her dream. She prayed it was a vision that would not come to pass, that it was not a vision of the future— her future…
    Yet she had fallen into the hands of the very man she feared above all others…and all through her own folly.
    With a start she realized Merrick had dismounted. She felt his eyes upon her like the prick of a knife. He tossed his reins into the hand of a thin youth. The lad possessed the same dark hair and winged brows—his son, mayhap? The question had no more than hurtled through her brain than strong fingers grasped her elbow.
    “This way, Saxon.”
    He led her across the muddy yard. Horses and Norman soldiers milled about, though she glimpsed several faces she recognized—the stablemaster and the laundress, and a few others as well. None deigned to look her way. With hunched shoulders and downcast eyes, the atmosphere was subdued and severe. There was none of the good natured jostling that would have been present but a sennight past. What laughter there was came from the Normans.
    Glancing to the side, she saw several knights openly leering. One elbowed another; he whispered something and the knight let out a gust of laughter. Alana’s cheeks burned. She dared not look at Merrick. No doubt they thought she had lain with him.
    He nudged her up the steps that led into the hall. There a blazing fire burned in the hearth at the far end. Still more knights gathered at the trestled table that dominated the length of the hall, and against the benches lining the walls.
    It was then she spied Sybil. She was just about to head through the doorway that led to the kitchens, housed in a separate building from the great hall. Alana gave nary a thought or care to the man at her side, but darted across the floor.
    “Sybil!” she cried. “Sybil!”
    Sybil spun around. Disbelief flitted across her features.
    “Alana! Whatever—”
    “Oh, Sybil!” Alana embraced her fiercely. “I was so worried about you! I did not know if you were alive or dead!”
    Sybil opened her mouth but before shecould say more, a shadow fell over them. Alana knew, even before she turned, who had stepped behind her. Her spine rigid, she turned to face him.
    He ignored her and addressed himself to Sybil. “You are acquainted with this wench?”
    Sybil dropped her eyes. “Yea, milord. This is Alana.”
    His gaze now rested on Alana. “So her name is Alana.” A