Anne Herries - Her Dark and Dangerous Lord

‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘Your eyes invited and I took advantage of your innocence. I shall not sully that innocence with lust, for you must know now that I can never love you. All that was tender and innocent died in me a long time ago, Anne. I am not fit to be the husband of any gentle woman—and especially one like you. I should not have kissed you.’

Anne touched her fingers to her lips in wonder. Instinctively, she knew that it was the first time she had been kissed in such a way. No man had ever made her feel this way before, she was certain, and felt the invisible bond that seemed to fasten itself about her heart.

‘I liked it,’ she said, for there was no artifice in her. ‘Why do you say you are not fit to be my husband?’

‘I have lived as a mercenary for many years. Have you any idea of what that means?’ Anne shook her head. ‘It means that I fought for money. I killed men… and sometimes women; even children died in the cities we stormed and the ships we sent to the bottom of the ocean. I did not fight for honour or for my country, but for the gold it earned me and because of the hatred inside me. Do you understand what I am saying? I have seen things that no man should see and done things that shame me. There is blood on my hands, Anne. I do not think you would want such a man to be the father of your children.’

‘But they told me…Sulina told me you rescued her and Ali.’ Anne’s voice shook because his words conjured up pictures of horror that made her shudder. ‘They said you were a good man.’

‘A few good deeds amongst the bad,’ Stefan said, his coldness shattering her illusions. ‘I doubt they will be enough to save me from the fires of hell. No, little one, I am not for you. I promise that you are safe from me. That kiss was a moment of weakness, nothing more. Run away now and find something to amuse yourself with, Anne. I must speak with my steward. Tomorrow we shall visit the fair and buy silks for your new gowns.’

Anne stared after him as he walked away. Tears burned behind her eyes. Her mind was in turmoil and she did not know how she felt. When he kissed her she had experienced wonderful sensations that made her want to stay in his arms for ever, but then his harsh words made her tremble.

What kind of a man was Stefan de Montfort? His expression as he spoke of his past was so harsh, so angry, that he had frightened her. He described himself as a man who had taken life wantonly, and she saw pictures in her mind of burning cities and ships on fire, women and children screaming as the ship sank beneath the waves. He had lived by the sword, his life harsh, cruel and unforgiving.

How could she want to be the wife of such a man? And yet when he had spoken of buying her a new gown, when he had said that he could happily lie with her… when he had laughed with her about the physician…her heart had sung for joy. She felt confused, distressed, her heart pulled two ways.

Anne shook her head as she went out into the garden. The sun was shining and the air was heavy with the scent of roses and lavender. The sheltered gardens of the chateau were guarded with high walls and a thick hedge all around. It was warm and safe here and the pictures of hell and damnation Lord de Montfort had conjured up faded as she walked amongst the flowers.

She began to pick lavender stalks, smoothing the flower heads between her fingers and inhaling their scent. Now was the time to harvest some of nature’s bounty before all this beauty went to waste. She would make lavender bags to place in chests of linen. It was her mother’s habit every summer and a job she had always enjoyed.

In her mind, Anne saw a woman smiling at her. They were in a garden much like this, but more open, and they were picking flowers.

‘We shall make some lavender essence,’ the woman told her. ‘There is nothing so helpful when one has a headache.’

Anne felt tears begin to trickle down her cheeks as the picture faded. She was sure the woman was her mother. They had gathered flowers and herbs together every year to make the essences that her mother used in her stillroom.

Why could she not remember her own name? Why did she not know where she belonged? Anne felt a deep longing to go home. She was afraid that, if she stayed here in the chateau, the Lord de Montfort might break her heart.

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