Mistress of Her Fate Read online

  MISTRESS OF HER FATE

  by

  Julia Byrne

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  First published in Great Britain 1995

  by Mills & Boon Limited

  Also published by Harlequin Mills & Boon in:

  France 1996 (anthology)

  Japan 1997

  Australia 1998 (anthology)

  U.S.A. 1999

  Italy 1999 (anthology)

  U.K. 2003 (anthology)

  Japan 2009

  Revised edition 2015

  Copyright © Merilyn Bourke 2015

  The names, characters, places and incidents in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or incidents, is entirely coincidental.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  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

  BOOKS BY JULIA BYRNE

  CHAPTER ONE

  Langley Castle, near Stratford, September 1464

  Had there ever been a time when she’d enjoyed the colorful spectacle of a banquet? The music, the dancing, the constantly shifting crowd of chattering guests?

  If so, it was beyond the reach of her memory, Nell decided, as she edged past the last of the tables set up along both sides of Langley Castle’s great hall. She paused near one of the deep window embrasures and measured the distance to the door.

  A discreet exit was not going to be easy. Though the hour was growing late, the hall was still crowded and ablaze with light, from the flaming torches in their iron cressets high on the walls to the candles flickering in their table sconces. Light that dazzled the eyes, shimmering on pearl-encrusted silks and damasks and illuminating the rich jewel-like colors of the banners and wall tapestries. Light that glowed, dark and sullen, through glass goblets filled to overflowing with ruby-colored wine.

  In a few places the light was muted. As well as the tables and benches, the hall was furnished with several carved wooden screens, placed to create discreetly shadowed corners for the benefit of any guests who wished to conduct their amours in some privacy. Most were too drunk to bother, but lolled in their seats, sporting openly with whomever took their fancy. Those who could still remain upright were dancing in the center of the hall, circling to the strains of lute and clavichord; a hazard for anyone with escape on her mind.

  Nell dodged a couple who staggered out of the line of dancers and wished she could be magically transported elsewhere. Preferably her bedchamber. Her feet ached from hours of dancing, her face ached from the constant smile affixed to it, and if the unceasing din of loud talk, coarse male laughter, and female shrieks didn’t strike her deaf ’twould be a miracle of saintly intervention.

  “Not dancing, dear cousin? Have all your partners deserted you?”

  A titter of spiteful laughter brought her head around as the dancers swept past in a swirling array of movement and color. The overblown blonde who had spoken smiled back over her shoulder, false sweetness on her sharp-featured countenance.

  Nell summoned up a smile so sweet it threatened to make her teeth ache, and refrained from replying in kind. A cousinly exchange reminiscent of spitting cats was more than she could cope with at present. Besides, the festivities were in honor of her imminent departure. This was the last time she would have to put up with the way her cousin turned every banquet into a contest to see who could gather the most compliments or collect the most partners.

  “After tonight you can have the field to yourself,” she muttered beneath her breath. Mayhap, then, Margaret would not feel obliged to wear a gown that was disgustingly tight and cut so low that Nell decided her cousin’s plump breasts were about to burst free of their precarious confinement at any moment.

  She nearly laughed at the thought, but when she glanced down at the ermine-trimmed silver and blue brocade gown she’d been forced to borrow from Margaret, humor was the last thing on her mind. Like all her cousin’s clothes the gown’s neckline was low enough to make the boldest harlot blush. She gave the bodice a surreptitious tug upward, and wished she had a piece of silk or lace with which to cover the generous expanse of flesh thus exposed.

  Margaret might not be so quick with her malicious tongue, she mused, if she knew how little Nell relished the male attention provoked by the revealing garment.

  Fortunately, since she was considerably less well-endowed than Margaret, the borrowed gown wasn’t quite as shameless as it might have been. In fact, even when added to sore feet, tired eyes, and deafened ears, ’twould not make her presence at the banquet any more of an ordeal than usual—if it was not for one other circumstance.

  Without moving her head, she glanced cautiously toward the screen passage at the far end of the long hall.

  The stranger was still there, leaning against the wall, a big, dark shadow among the shadows cast by the overhanging minstrels’ gallery. She didn’t need to see his face clearly to know he was watching her. He’d been watching her since she’d first noticed him standing there a little over an hour ago, tall and powerful and unsmiling.

  Despite the heat in the room, a chill tiptoed down her spine. There was something about the man’s stillness, about the way he just stood and watched. Something leashed and waiting. Something…predatory.

  She shivered again, then jumped when a hand came down on her shoulder.

  “Cousin! All alone? Come and dance with me.”

  “Oh, Tom, you startled me.” Turning, she slipped out from under her cousin’s hot, sweaty palm. Tom was well on his way to falling-down drunkenness by the look of his flushed face and glazed eyes, but he was still capable of movement. Even as she tried to step away he grabbed her about the waist and swung her into the midst of the dancers.

  Pulled abruptly off-balance, Nell was fully occupied for several seconds with regaining her footing and rescuing the train of her gown.

  “Must we caper about like drunken mummers?” she gasped, catching her breath enough to resist Tom’s efforts at a high leap. ’Twas not easy. She was clamped to his side in a position that compelled her to follow him. “This is your father’s hall, not a village maypole.”

  Tom roared with laughter and leered at the upper slopes of her breasts. “The leaps have a purpose, little prude. God’s nails, who’d have thought you’d turn out as cold as a dried-up old nun.” The laughter vanished from his eyes to be replaced by an unpleasant mix of sullen resentment and frustration. “Look about you, dear cousin. Your high morals are of scant use to you here. ’Twould suit you better to change your manner, otherwise I might taste the honey you guard so closely without the benefit of marriage.”

  “What? Are you still at that?” Nell didn’t bother to do as Tom bade her. She’d already seen enough to know that her uncle’s guests were indulging their senses to the fullest. She only wished she’d managed to escape before Tom had noticed her standing alone.

  “My father’s intention in summoning me home to Hadleigh Castle is to arrange my marriage to someone other than yourself,” she reminded him, unsurprised to see his scowl deepen. As her father’s only child she was a matrimonial prize that Tom and his parents were loath to let slip from their grasping fingers.

  �
��’Tis the only useful thing he’s done for me since he sent me here to live,” she finished, a trace of bitterness in her tone.

  Tom’s already heated face flushed dark red and his fingers dug into her ribs. “Scornful little jade,” he hissed. “Always thinking you’re better than the rest of us. Aye,” he added at her surprised glance. “Did you think I hadn’t noticed? I watched you look down your nose at us the minute you climbed out of that litter ten years ago. Pampered little princess. But you’re a long way from wed as yet, sweet cousin, and your scorn will be of poor comfort when you’re forced to spread your legs for me.”

  “You’re drunk,” Nell stated, not bothering to conceal her disgust. She managed to get her elbow between them. A good jab to Tom’s ribs had him turning purple and choking. She didn’t wait to see if it was in rage or pain but wrenched herself free and stalked off.

  Straight into the big, dark stranger.

  Up close he was huge. The thought flashed through her mind even as her startled senses were jolted by the feel of large, powerful hands steadying her with a grip that edged on painful. She felt the warmth of a wool surcoat against her palms, and the lean, hard strength of the body beneath, and pressed her fingers against the solid muscles of his chest in an attempt to push herself away.

  “Lady Eleanor fitzWarren.”

  It wasn’t a question but Nell nodded. She shivered slightly as the deep husky tones of his voice flowed across her senses. His voice was as overwhelmingly masculine as the controlled power of his hands and the sheer size of him. The cool scent of wind and rain still clung to his clothing, mingling with his own clean male essence and teasing senses that were weary of the close, smoky atmosphere in the hall and men who reeked of stale perfume and wine.

  Momentarily entranced, forgetting her initial intimidation, she leaned closer.

  “No doubt you mean to be welcoming, Lady Eleanor, but I prefer not to be one of a crowd.”

  She gasped and stepped back, snatching her hands away as she looked up. Eyes the color of frozen amber, as fierce and intent as a hawk’s, stared back at her from beneath frowning black brows. His hair was black also, cut unfashionably short and brushed back from a face of hard contours and aquiline features, with a firm, sharply chiseled mouth that only escaped being brutal by the unexpected fullness of his lower lip.

  She couldn’t have spoken if her life depended on it. In truth, she could barely recall what the stranger had said to her. But ’twas not the compelling strength in his face or the scorn she saw in his icy gaze that made her breath catch in her throat. It was the scar.

  Thin and white against his tanned face, the unmistakable mark of violence ran down his temple in a straight line from above his left brow to below his eye, where it formed a short curve along his cheekbone. The scar wasn’t disfiguring, but it made an already hard face look positively menacing.

  “Having second thoughts, Lady Eleanor? You surprise me. You bestow your favors so indiscriminately I wouldn’t have thought this—” he touched his scar briefly “—would deter you.”

  This time the insult hit its mark. Her breath came back with a rush. “Precisely what favors are you referring to, sir?” she demanded through set teeth.

  He shrugged and folded his arms across his chest, causing a ripple of muscle to disturb the fabric of his surcoat.

  Nell blinked at him, suddenly noticing that he wasn’t dressed for a feast. Nor, apparently, had he found time to shave in the last couple of days.

  A surge of confidence came to her rescue. He was probably an upper servant belonging to one of the guests. A bodyguard, mayhap—in these dangerous times few wealthy men travelled without several of the uncouth creatures. She would soon send him about his business.

  But as her gaze lifted again to meet the chill in his eyes, her certainty wavered. This man looked as if he gave orders rather than obeyed them. It was in the arrogant way he stood, leaning against the wall; in the dangerous glitter of those golden hawk’s eyes and the unrelenting line of his mouth.

  “I’ll admit you’re more subtle than the other ladies,” he drawled. “You entice with smiles and laughter, Lady Eleanor.” His gaze wandered with slow deliberation across the revealing bodice of her gown. “You let them stare, and occasionally whet their appetites with forbidden embraces in dim corners before you snatch the prize away. It’s been an interesting exercise in tactics to watch. Tell me, how many men do you draw into your web before you make your choice?”

  “Why, you—” Nell scarcely managed to get the words past the tightness in her throat. She was gripped by the most absurd desire to burst into tears and told herself ’twas caused by fury. How dare this…this…uncouth brute accuse her…when she had struggled so hard to avoid…

  Her thoughts fragmented into complete turmoil under the impact of her rage and the faint infuriating smile on the stranger’s face.

  “You don’t even know me,” she burst out at last, unable to think of anything else that came close to expressing the extent of her outrage.

  “I don’t need to,” he dismissed. “Women like you litter the court like beggars at a feast.”

  Her gaze flashed briefly to the white rose insignia embroidered on his sleeve. Memory, sharp and cold, stabbed through her.

  “Encouraged by your Yorkist king!”

  His brows went up at the fiery scorn in her tone. “So, despite this being a Yorkist stronghold, you would rather have a drooling idiot on the throne. That shouldn’t surprise me. Henry is led around by his wife like a performing bear, in much the same manner as you leading your partners.”

  Nell couldn’t believe her ears. “I don’t know who you are,” she spluttered. “But be sure my uncle will hear of your insults.”

  “Rafael Beaudene,” he said briefly. “And I wouldn’t bother if I were you.” He jerked his head to the side. “Sir Edward appears to be busy.”

  Nell made the mistake of following his gesture. Heat stung her cheeks when she saw her uncle grab hold of a passing guest and pour the dregs of an ale-jug down the front of her gown. The lady shrieked and put up a mock struggle, which ended with her landing on his lap and commanding him to clean her up. Laughing raucously, he bent his head and complied.

  Not two places away, Aunt Maud did nothing more than titter and turn back to the man with whom she was conversing. They were sipping from the same wine-cup.

  Reluctantly, knowing what she would see, she searched the crowd for her cousins. Tom was nowhere to be seen, but fourteen-year-old Edmund had cornered a maidservant. The girl’s dress was down around her waist and he was openly pawing her breasts. Margaret and her partner sat nearby, indulging in much the same sort of scuffle, except her cousin’s protests were accompanied by giggles, not tears.

  The rest of the company were pursuing drunken oblivion or amorous adventure with equal fervor and Nell knew ’twould get worse until the guests fell asleep where they sat.

  Miserably, she was forced to admit that the stranger’s contempt for the company was justified. But she need not be ashamed. She wasn’t drunk, nor was she allowing some lout to maul her the way Edmund—

  A quick memory of Tom’s painfully grasping fingers pulled her up short. Some of her other partners, too, had given her a few unpleasant moments before she’d managed to have herself whisked away by the next man waiting to dance with her.

  She felt herself blushing again, this time with embarrassment. Beaudene had obviously seen it all and drawn his own conclusions. And he didn’t look like the sort of man to listen to explanations.

  Holy saints! What was she thinking? She didn’t owe him any explanations.

  But if there was one thing she had learned in the past ten years, it was how to defend an indefensible position. And when your opponent was intensely male, over six feet tall, and unlike any man you’d ever encountered, you used whatever weapons came to mind.

  Her chin went up. “Rafael Beaudene?” she repeated. “I don’t believe I know the name. If you’re here as bodyguard to one of th
e guests, I suggest you rejoin your fellows outside. I am sure their company will be more to your taste.”

  “Since most guards have some notion of honor, I’m sure of that, too,” Beaudene snapped. “However, as much as I’d like to follow your advice, Lady Eleanor, we’re stuck with each other. ’Tis your body I’m here to guard.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “What!”

  Lady Eleanor stared up at him, clearly stunned, her eyes a battleground of anger and confusion. Even the color in her cheeks deepened.

  Rafe’s eyes narrowed slightly. He was surprised the little jade was capable of blushing, but she seemed genuinely shocked by his words.

  A trick of the light, you fool. No one who behaves as she does would be shocked or confused by anything a man chose to say to her.

  He thought back over the past couple of hours and nearly laughed aloud at the notion. He’d lost count of the number of times she’d vanished with her partner of the moment into a dimly-lit window embrasure or behind a screen, only to emerge several seconds later smoothing a long sleeve, straightening her gown, or, on one occasion, refastening the belt at her waist. And then she would beckon another victim with nothing more than a look from her dark hazel eyes, a sweep of long ebony lashes, a turn of one delicate almost bare shoulder.

  And, God damn it, watching her he’d felt the hot pulsing of his own blood in response to her tricks. The violence of his reaction had stunned him. The slender arch of her throat when she’d laughed up at her partners, the alluring sway of her hips beneath the heavy damask of her gown, had made him want to drag her under him and subdue the subtle movements of her body with the force of his, to watch the laughter in her eyes change to desire.

  He’d stamped down on his feelings immediately, but the control he’d always taken for granted had not come easy. Even telling himself that Lady Eleanor’s passion was likely as false as her bright smiles of promise hadn’t helped. As for what he’d overheard, ’twas enough to make him turn around and walk out of the place.