Lyn Stone - The Quest

For an instant she could not tear her gaze away.

His soft chuckle warned her that he had noticed her fascination. Iana immediately shut her eyes, cursing herself for her wayward thoughts. She ignored his offer of assistance.

When she dared to look again, he had retreated to the edge of the water and begun wading in, his back to her. With a will of their own, her eyes immediately focused upon his uncovered nether cheeks. “Och, my sweet lord,” she breathed in absolute awe.

“Oui?” He looked over his left shoulder and raised one dark brow. “Qu’est-ce que c’est?”

What is it? he asks. Iana scoffed. Lust is what it was. Pure, unadulterated lust. And she should be ashamed of herself…!

The Highland Wife

“…laced with lovable characters, witty dialogue, humor and poignancy, this is a tale to savor.”

—Romantic Times Magazine

Bride of Trouville

“I could not stop reading this one…Don’t miss this winner!”

—Affaire de Coeur

The Knight’s Bride

“Stone has done herself proud with this delightful story…a cast of endearing characters and a fresh, innovative plot.”

—Publishers Weekly

#587 THE PRISONER BRIDE

Susan Spencer Paul

#589 THE MAIL-ORDER BRIDES

Bronwyn Williams

#590 SARA AND THE ROGUE

DeLoras Scott

The Quest

Lyn Stone

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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The Wicked Truth #358

The Arrangement #389

The Wilder Wedding #413

The Knight’s Bride #445

Bride of Trouville #467

One Christmas Night #487

“Ian’s Gift”

My Lady’s Choice #511

The Highland Wife #551

The Quest #588

Other works include:

Silhouette Intimate Moments

Beauty and the Badge #952

Live-In Lover #1055

This book is dedicated to those independent “Cato Girls,” Louise Pope, Mary Dunlap and Ruth Mimms, my mom and my aunts. Also to the heroic “Cato boys,” Earl, Green and Walt.

Equally as dear and deserving are my dad, Harlen Perkins, my stepfather, Preston Pope, and my uncles and aunts by marriage, Raiford Dunlap, Calvin Mimms, Corinne, Alice and Jolene Cato.

I thank you all for the invaluable lessons you have taught me through advice and example. How else would I have recognized love when I found it?

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

West coast of Scotland, 1340

The taste of his first defeat grew no less bitter with his arrival on these shores, thought Henri Gillet as he climbed out of the disreputable vessel they had commandeered. He dragged his long legs through the sucking, thigh-deep waves. “Pay the man, Ev,” he called out over his shoulder.

The squire tossed a small pouch of coins at the disgruntled fisherman and then struggled through the bitterly cold surf to where Henri waited on the deserted, rock-strewn shore.

“Where are we, sir?” the lad asked while he shook himself off and shivered. Though Everand strove hard to erase the trepidation from his voice, Henri knew he surely must fear what was to come. Truth told, he feared it himself, though not for the same reasons.

He needed to reach safe haven so that the boy would have a chance at survival. At the moment, Henri was not certain he could manage that. His own chances were meager at best. Doggedly he placed one foot before the other and steeled himself against the grinding pain. The bleeding wound just below his ribs ached less than the hurt in his heart. He had lost everything.

If he died, he must account to God. And if he lived, he must face his father. In his mind, there was little difference. Not that he expected harshness in either case, for both had treated him benevolently thus far and would again. And that would be far worse than any punishment they might inflict. A bitter brew, indeed, was defeat.

He had not caused it. In fact, he had done all within his power to prevent it. And yet, he still felt accountable, responsible somehow for losing what had been entrusted to him. The lives of those who had followed him when he’d been called to war were forfeit. All gone. All drowned, save young Everand.

“I know this land. We are not lost,” Henri finally assured the squire. He experienced a sharp stab of guilt that he had dragged this young man so far from his home in Sarcelles to fight against the English. And to a near watery grave when their ship sank off the coast of Portsmouth. Even so, the fourteen-year-old lengthened his short-legged stride to keep in step. Eager as a hound pup to please the master, even now. Henri shook his head at the earnestness of youth.

“You should rest, my lord. That wound of yours worries me.” The squire did not mention that Henri had begun to stagger and show signs of weakening. Loyalty and compassion had been bred in this boy’s bones, Henri thought. For that reason alone, he had chosen Everand Mercier, a deceased cloth merchant’s youngest, to serve him. What a fine knight he would make one day, despite his size.

“There should be a settlement not far up the coast. We will bide there and send a message to my family,” he told the boy.

“We have little coin left to hire anyone for that, my lord,” Everand informed him. “Will it not involve their traveling near the width of Scotland?”

Henri halted and pulled the silver chain from around his neck. He also removed the ring he wore on his smallest finger, and shoved both pieces at the squire.

“If death takes me, use the chain and pay someone to cart us to Baincroft Castle in the Midlothian. The baron there, Lord Robert MacBain, will notify my father. He will have a care for your future.”

To his credit, Everand did not argue or offer assurances that death was impossible. He knew better. He only nodded and asked, “What of your ring, my lord?”

Henri smiled and reached out to lay his hand upon the small, bony shoulder. “The ring is yours to keep. Tell Lord Robert and my father that I would call you my son.”

Everand blushed and laughed with disbelief. “I, my lord? Look at me! I am as light as you are dark! That aside, they will never credit that you sired such a runt even if you were old enough at the time to have done so! Which you were not,” he added wryly. “I doubt me you were even…tall enough at the time.”

“Tall enough?” Henri chuckled in spite of himself, for his head had grown light as air. Ev could always draw a laugh from him, even in the darkest hour.

Though he knew the night was not yet near, the landscape seemed to darken and waver against the horizon. Henri sank to his knees and sat back on his heels. “Tell them, all the same. I claim you. Lord MacBain will accept this. He is a brother to me, yet we share no bond of blood.”