Maid Of Midnight. Ana Seymour
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“That was your first kiss?”
“Aye, and my last, I expect. Once I go back to St. Gabriel, the monks will keep me away from future visitors.”
“Go back! You would go back there to live in such isolation?”
“It’s all I’ve ever known,” Bridget said. “The monks are my family.”
“But you are a lovely young woman. You should be meeting young men who will court you and offer you a life and a family of your own. You should be having a real first kiss and many more.”
She smiled. “It was real enough.”
“Nay, it was not. A real kiss is not a fumbled gesture in the dark between strangers. It’s an expression two people use when their hearts are too full to express their love any other way.”
Her eyes misted. “’Tis something I’ll never have, then.”
He raised a finger and wiped a tear that had started down her cheek. “Aye, you will, angel,” he said. Then he lowered his lips to hers…
Praise for Ana Seymour’s recent titles
Lord of Lyonsbridge
“…wonderful characters…a highly enjoyable read.”
—Romantic Times Magazine
A Family for Carter Jones
“…a deliciously sweet tale of love.”
—Wichita Falls Times Record News
Jeb Hunter’s Bride
“…a brilliant historical romance.”
—Affaire de Coeur
Maid of Midnight
Harlequin Historical #540
#539 THE ELUSIVE BRIDE
Deborah Hale
#541 THE LAST BRIDE IN TEXAS
Judith Stacy
#542 PROTECTING JENNIE
Ann Collins
Maid of Midnight
Ana Seymour
MILLS & BOON
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Available from Harlequin Historicals and ANA SEYMOUR
The Bandit’s Bride #116
Angel of the Lake #173
Brides for Sale #238
Moonrise #290
Frontier Bride #318
Gabriel’s Lady #337
Lucky Bride #350
Outlaw Wife #377
Jeb Hunter’s Bride #412
A Family for Carter Jones #433
Father for Keeps #458
†Lord of Lyonsbridge #472
The Rogue #499
†Lady of Lyonsbridge #520
†Maid of Midnight #540
For my sister, Barbara Jackowell, with much love and
thanks for all your encouragement, ideas, research…and
for setting me on the path to a medieval monastery!
Contents
Chapter One
It felt good to be mounted on Thunder again after the rough Channel crossing. Ranulf grimaced as he remembered the endless swells and how close he had come to the indignity of losing the contents of his stomach.
This was better. He took a deep breath of crisp spring air. The Norman countryside was lushly green. A pretty brown thrush burst suddenly out of a gorse bush just ahead of him.
Ranulf smiled. His grandmother Ellen had always said that her Normandy homeland was the loveliest place on earth, outside of Lyonsbridge. He’d visited here once before, coming home from the Crusades, but he’d been traveling with an army in chaos after the capture of King Richard. There had been little time to admire the scenery.
There would be little time this trip, either, he thought, his smile fading. He was not here for pleasure. He’d come to find Dragon. And he didn’t intend to return to the warmth and comfort of Lyonsbridge until he could ride there with Dragon at his side.
He knew that the others counted his younger brother as dead. Two long years had passed without word. His grandmother had secretly ordered the holy brothers to begin