Sharon Schulze - Bride Of The Tower

More warrior than woman, Lady Julianna D’Arcy had sworn to defend her home against all enemies. She knew not if her unexpected guest was friend or foe, but infinitely more dangerous than any adversary was the way the mere sight of William stirred her blood unlike any man she’d ever seen before!

“Have a care who you call traitor, milady, else I’ll be forced to judge you traitor instead.”

“With what reason?” she asked. “I am a true loyal subject of our king—”

“Are you? I now nothing of you, lady—not so much as who you are, or the name of this place. A lady dressed in warrior’s garb. ’Tis uncommon, you must admit—rare enough to raise questions in a curious man’s mind.”

He cupped her chin, then slid his fingers down along her neck and over her shoulder before stopping just above her breast.

“A puzzle to entice a man,” he murmured. “Or a siren meant to lure a man to your bed and render him your slave?”

Bride of the Tower

Harlequin Historical #650

Praise for SHARON SCHULZE’s recent titles

Lady of the Keep

“A warmhearted tale where love mends old wounds and broken dreams.”

—Romantic Times

The Hidden Heart

“…a medieval romance bound to break your heart, then mend it good as new.”

—Affaire de Coeur

The Shielded Heart

“A fine addition to the author’s L’Eau Clair Chronicles, and one that will make readers look forward to more!”

—Romantic Times

#647 TEMPTING A TEXAN

Carolyn Davidson

#648 THE SILVER LORD

Miranda Jarrett

#649 THE ANGEL OF DEVIL’S CAMP

Lynna Banning

Bride of the Tower

Sharon Schulze

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Available from Harlequin Historicals and SHARON SCHULZE

*Heart of the Dragon #356

*To Tame a Warrior’s Heart #386

*The Shielded Heart #442

*The Hidden Heart #484

*Lady of the Keep #510

*Bride of the Tower #650

To Linda Harmon, Leslie O’Grady and Joyce C. Ware—critique partners and friends extraordinaire.

And to my wonderful editor, Melissa Endlich, with many thanks for her patience and encouragement.

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

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Sherwood Forest, Nottinghamshire, 1217

Sir William Bowman glanced back at the big black gelding lagging along behind him. Bran had come up lame soon after they’d entered the forest, but they couldn’t stop yet. Pausing to stroke the horse’s swollen fetlock, Will murmured soothing words rather than the curses echoing through his head, gave a gentle tug on the reins and picked up his stride.

The sun disappeared behind the tall trees, leaving naught but an eerie yellow glow that made specters of the branches overhanging the narrow path. Will peered into the deepening gloom. Not true night, but close enough to warn him he’d best find shelter soon. Like a fool, he’d allowed his anger to distract him; he’d already wandered so deep into the dense forest he wondered if he’d e’er find his way out again.

He and Bran had roamed far in Lord Rannulf’s service these past weeks, a long journey nowhere near finished. What he wouldn’t give for a flask of usquebaugh and the company of a warm and willing maid at the end of this part of it! Yet thanks to Sir Richard Belleville’s overcautious nature, Will now found himself lost in Nottingham forest with an injured mount instead of lodged comfortably at the next keep along his way, where he’d planned to spend the night.

Damn Sir Richard! He’d kept Will so occupied with trivialities that he’d had no chance to leave Birkland—surely the least important of Lord Rannulf’s keeps—until well after the midday meal. Yet when Will had suggested he wait until the next morn to resume his travels, the slippery knave had nigh slammed the gates behind Will himself!

And in their haste to see Will escorted on his way, it seemed Sir Richard’s men had set Will upon the wrong path through the forest, for ’twas clear this route had seen little traffic of late.

Nor did it appear to lead anywhere but deeper into the wilderness of Sherwood.

He could do naught to remedy that mistake tonight, alas. He’d be better served instead to calm his anger and use the sense God gave him to find his way out of this dilemma.

Assuming, of course, that he had any sense. His low chuckle sounded loud in the silent woods. Judging by his recent behavior, that seemed doubtful. He squared his shoulders and buried deep the lingering sense of imminent threat that skittered down his spine. He was a knight well blooded in his lord’s service, he reminded himself sternly, not some cringing villain afraid of shadows and looming dark.

Bran nudged him in the back as though to urge him to move faster and crept up nigh onto Will’s heels. Had the gelding with his better hearing noticed something he could not? Will shifted the reins to his left hand and hitched his sword into a more accessible position with his right. Best to be prepared.

At least the outlaws of years past were no more—a blessing, no doubt, though the thought of spending time with their legendary band held a tantalizing appeal. Tales of Robin of the Hood had traveled even into the remote area of the Marches where l’Eau Clair Keep stood guard over the Welsh border. As a youth, Will had been fascinated by the stories; time and again he and his compatriots had roamed the rugged countryside in search of adventures, taking it in turn to be part of the band of outlaws or the sheriff’s henchmen.

A flock of birds shot up out of the brush, startling him from his memories and sending Bran into a squealing, plunging frenzy. Teeth bared and ears pressed flat, the gelding reared back, dragging Will along with him. “Easy, lad,” Will crooned, grabbing at the slippery leather as the reins slipped through his gloved hand and his feet slid through the loose leaves covering the ground. By the rood, he’d ne’er seen Bran react so sharply to so little provocation!

Wanting to free his sword hand to hold the bucking beast, Will tried to shove his sword into the scabbard one-handed, but another bird swooped close overhead. Bran jerked back hard. Off balance, Will tumbled backward into a prickly thicket as the terrified gelding, eyes rolling wildly, somehow spun around on the narrow path and raced off the way they’d come.

The uneven clatter of hoofbeats echoed away. Cursing in a mixture of Welsh, English and Norman French—which didn’t relieve his frustration a whit—Will fought the clinging brambles and twisted free of the thick brush. Jesu, ’twas a miracle he hadn’t impaled himself on his own blade!