Winterbourne

by Susan Carroll

Overview

A tale of history, love and passion set in England during the turbulent Middle Ages, Winterbourne is a classic romance from Susan Carroll, acclaimed author of The Bride Finder and The Dark Queen..

Product Details

BN ID:	2940045272810
Publisher:	Susan Carroll
Publication date:	09/06/2013
Sold by:	Smashwords
Format:	eBook
File size:	412 KB

About the Author

Author Susan Carroll began her career in 1986, writing historical romance and regencies, two of which were honored by Romance Writers of America with the RITA award. She has written twenty six novels to date. Her St. Leger series received much acclaim. The Bride Finder was honored with a RITA for Best Paranormal Romance in 1999 and also received the Reviewers Choice Award from Romantic Times magazine for Historical Romance of the year. Two sequels followed, The Night Drifter and Midnight Bride.Ms. Carroll launched a new series with the publication of The Dark Queen, The Courtesan, The Silver Rose, The Huntress and Twilight of a Queen all set during the turbulent days of the French Renaissance. A blend of history, romance and intrigue, these books relate the saga of the Cheney sisters, three women of extraordinary abilities who live in constant peril of being accused of witchcraft. The novels combine fictional characters with real events and personages such as the enigmatic Catherine de Medici , the lusty Henry of Navarre and the dynamic Elizabeth I of England. The sixth and final book in the series will be published in fall of 2012.Ms. Carroll was born in Latrobe, Pa. She spent much of her childhood in South Jersey where she graduated from Oakcrest High School in Mays Landing. She attended college at Indiana University of Pennsylvania, where shereceived a B.A. in English with a minor in history. She currently resides in Illinois.

Read an Excerpt

Mystified, and more than a little alarmed, Melyssan scrambled into her chemise and woolen gown. Slipping her feet into a pair of soft leather pattens, she groped for her cane, then inched cautiously past Nelda. She stepped out into the adjoining oriel, pulling the heavy door closed behind her.

The wall torch had long ago burned itself out, and the only light came from the priest's candlestick.

"Forgive me for disturbing your rest, my lady," he whispered. "But it is a matter of some importance and secrecy."

"W-what is it?" Melyssan asked. "Has something happened to Whitney?"

"No, my lady. Your brother knows naught of this. The stranger that just arrived asked only for you."

"Stranger," she repeated, a chill prickling up her spine. What sort of stranger would risk travel by night and then seek her out in such a clandestine manner?

"I don't think..." she began, shrinking back.

"I was told to give you this." The priest held out a small scrap of linen. With unsteady fingers, she accepted it. He moved the candle closer so that she could examine the cloth. Tiny threads of gold and green embroidered a square of pristine white, stitches that she had set there herself not so long ago, a gift to a bride on her wedding day.

"Where is the lady that gave you this?" she demanded.

"Below in the cellars."

"Take me to her at once."

On the ground-level floor of the donjon, the flambeau still burned, periodically sending out small showers of sparks. The dank cold air enfolded Melyssan, causing her to regret she had not taken the time to go back for her mantle. But the strangeness of her visitor's arrival and the urgency in thepriest's voice drew her on.

They approached that part of the castle where the very edge of the river flowed past the massive iron portcullis of the west gateway. She could hear water lapping against the stone. Winterbourne had been built to control passage along the river and to take advantage of it as a source of transportation. Supplies could thus be floated directly inside the donjon itself.

One of the guards caught sight of Melyssan and came forward blustering. "Beg pardon, my lady. But I never would have let 'em in. It was that priest there insistin'. Who but the devil's servants, says I, dare take to the road at night? I says--"

"Thank you, Master Galvan," Melyssan interrupted him. "You may return to your post."

He continued his protestations, but she stepped around him. She could see two adults and a tiny child huddled near the great casks where the wine was stored. When the guard was out of hearing range, Melyssan took the small end of candle from Father Andrew.

"Thank you, Father. I will tend to matters from here."

The priest nodded. "When you need me, I will be in the chapel... praying."

So he already knew what was amiss, Melyssan thought as she watched his quiet retreat. Well, it was time someone told her.

As she approached the strangers whose hoods and caps hid their faces from her sight, one of them ran forward, clutching a bundle in her arms.

"Oh, my lady!" cried a female voice familiar to Melyssan. She flung back her hood, revealing a young face more kindly than beautiful, with a round, receding chin, broad, flat nose, and normally placid gray eyes now widened with fear.

"Gunnor," Melyssan exclaimed. "So it is you." She had not seen Dame Alice's former lady-in-waiting since Gunnor's wedding day.

The other figure now stepped forward, leading the child by the hand. Beneath the grime and his broad-brimmed straw hat, Melyssan recognized Gunnor's husband.

"Sir Hugh," she murmured. The bundle stirred in Gunnor's arms. "And these are your little ones?" Melyssan asked, considerably bemused by their ragged appearance.

Lady Gunnor clutched at her sleeve, her reply lost in a bout of weeping. Sir Hugh swallowed, his huge Adam's apple bobbing up and down his long, scrawny neck. "We--we regret this intrusion, my lady. We were obliged to flee from my estate at Penhurst and--and Winterbourne was the closest... We knew not where else to go."

"Aye, the king's men are ev-everywhere," Gunnor managed to choke out.

At the mention of the king, Melyssan froze. "King John?" she asked in a whisper.

Sir Hugh's scraggly beard stood on end as he attempted a feeble smile. "Gunnor exaggerates a little. It is not so bad as all that. If we could only get to Ireland. I have cousins there."

Melyssan's head spun with mingled dread and confusion. But she noticed the child, a small boy of about three, shivering, and bit back the host of questions crowding upon her tongue.

"Let me take you up to the solar, and I will have a fire lit," she said.

Gunnor's moist eyes rolled fearfully. "Can you trust your people here? If we should be betrayed--" Her voice broke again.

"Is the king trying to arrest you?" Melyssan asked, no longer able to restrain herself. "What does he say you have done?"

Gunnor broke out into a wild laugh. "'Tis nothing that we have done. But my brother, Adelard... my holy brother has undone us all." She buried her face against her baby's blanket, leaving Sir Hugh to take up the explanation.

"Adelard has run mad," he said. "He joined the order of Cistercian monks at Swineshead. The king offered to secure his election as abbot, and what must the fellow do but denounce John before the whole court. He said that since John is excommunicate, he can appoint no one. Adelard even refused to speak directly to the king for fear of contamination."

Melyssan closed her eyes, picturing the scene in her mind. She could not help but admire the monk's courage. She well knew what it took to defend one's honor in the face of a king. The old sensation of panic crept over her, feelings of being pressed on all sides, by the king's hot, leering gaze, by the accusation in Dame Alice's eye as she berated her daughter for inciting the king's lust, by her father's indifference, and most of all by Whitney's white-faced fear as John had complimented him on his handsome eyes--all the while prodding the poker into the fire.

"... and after Adelard fled to safety in Scotland, the king accused me." Sir Hugh's whining voice snapped Melyssan back to the present. "The king accused all of us of treason, of conspiring to smuggle Stephen Langton into England against his wishes. He demanded our children as hostages to insure our good behavior. We refused." The knight concluded his story with a helpless wave of his hand. "And... well, here we are."

Gunnor raised her head and regarded Melyssan piteously. "Dare you help us, shelter us for a day until we can gather up our strength to continue our journey to Ireland?"

"Of course I will help," Melyssan said. "How could you even doubt it?"

Gunnor shifted the baby nervously to her other arm. "'Tis well known your husband is the king's man. He might not like it an he returns to find you helping accused traitors escape."

"I am sure Jaufre..." Melyssan began, and then stopped. She was sure of nothing where Jaufre was concerned. "In any event, it matters naught," she continued. "Lord Jaufre... er, my husband is across the Channel traveling somewhere in Saxony."

Lady Gunnor and Sir Hugh exchanged an uneasy glance. Sir Hugh cleared his throat. "Then you have not heard?"

"Heard what?" Melyssan asked, her pulse beginning to beat unaccountably faster. Somehow she already knew what Sir Hugh was about to say.

"When we left London, the entire court was buzzing with the news. My lady, your husband landed at Dover last week. He will arrive here any day now."