My Heart Stood Still, Lynn Kurland [best romantic novels in english .TXT] 📗

My Heart Stood Still

Lynn Kurland

Prologue

THE BORDER

FALL 1382

They had betrayed her with a promise of the sea.

Go with the English-man, and he will show you the strand, her half-brother had said. Father has traded you to make an ally, but you'll have a keep on the shore as your recompense, her half-sister had said.

Trust us, they had said.

Liars both.

The woman stood in a cold guard's chamber and stared out the small slit of a window before her. The only thing she could see was darkness, but perhaps that was a boon. It obscured the bleak, endless stretches of land that surrounded the keep in which she found herself captive—land seemingly so far removed from the sea she wondered if the villagers even knew that such a thing existed. 'Twas almost a certainty she would never see the like now.

She was tempted to weep, but she knew it would serve her nothing, so she forbore. After all, she was a MacLeod, and MacLeods did not weep with fear.

Despite how desperately she wanted to do so.

That she found herself in straits terrible enough to warrant tears was difficult to believe. Was it possible that just a fortnight ago the English-man had come to her home? She had stirred herself only long enough to determine that he held no interest for her, then thoroughly ignored him. 'Twas odd to see an English-man so far north, true, but her father often had men from many foreign places at their keep. She'd had much to occupy her and had paid little heed to one more unfamiliar fool loitering at the supper table.

A pity she hadn't, for the next thing she'd known, she had been given to the English-man. That her father would think so little of her that he would send her off with a stranger didn't surprise her. That a stranger would take her surprised her very much indeed. What value she had to him, she couldn't imagine.

Perhaps she should have refused to go. She would have, had she supposed she had had any choice. But she'd been but one lone woman in a press of half-siblings who hated her, with a father who had forgotten she existed until that moment when he'd needed her. The whole lot had no doubt been rejoicing that they would soon be well rid of her. Defying them all had been unthinkable.

Besides, she had contented herself with their promises of a keep by the sea.

More the fool was she for having believed them.

Of course, it wasn't as if she'd continued on the journey willingly, once she'd learned the true character of her buyer. Her struggles had earned her naught but heavy blows that had set her ears to ringing. The farther south they had traveled, the less often she had tried to escape. By now, she supposed she had traveled so far south that she stood on English soil—a place she had never thought to find herself.

She had certainly wished for a different life than the one she suddenly faced. Since her mother's death, she had dreamed of a man who would come to take her away. Aye, he would have been a braw lad with a mighty sword. He would have arrived at her keep and demanded that she be given to him. Where words might have failed, his sword would have spoken meaningfully. Her miserable life at her father's keep would have been over and a new life begun with a man who loved her.

Such, she supposed, was the stuff of dreams only. She had been carried from her keep, true, but only to face a fate she suspected was far worse than her life at her sire's keep ever had been. There would be no rescue now by a man who would love her. She knew with dread certainty that she would meet her fate where she stood, and she would meet it alone. The only choice left her was to do so with courage.

The door opened behind her, and she closed her eyes briefly. Then she drew herself up, put on her fiercest expression, and turned to look at her captor.

The man stood just inside the door with a torch in his hand. He set it in the sconce, shut the door behind him, then bolted it. He put his hand on the hilt of his sword.

Ah, so that was how it would be. Whatever the man wanted from her, he intended to have his answers one way or another, so it seemed. But there was one thing she would not endure. She lifted her chin.

"I'll not bear rapine."

He wrinkled his nose. "Think you I would bed a wench of Scots breeding?"

"What do you want, then?" she asked curtly. Perhaps if she spoke strongly, he would find her not worth the trouble of harming. It had worked countless times with her half-brothers. This fool could be no more intelligent than they.

"I'll have the secret of your keep," the man said.

"The what?" she asked blankly.

He looked at her coldly. His was not a handsome face, and the determination there did not improve the visage. "You know of what I speak. Your brother himself boasted of it. He spewed out bits and pieces of the tale as we sat in an inn near Edinburgh. He said there was a magical secret in the MacLeod keep that would bring a man riches beyond belief and that you, best of all, knew that secret."

Ah, so that was why the English-man had taken her so readily. Damn Angus, the blabbering fool who could scarce hold a thought in his head, much less any wits with his ale. She shook her head in disbelief. A pity her father couldn't have chosen someone else to forge his alliances. For some reason, and one beyond her comprehension, her father seemed to find his son trustworthy, for he sent him on all manner of journeys to far-flung places to woo and befriend powerful men who might become allies. It shouldn't