Though the circumstances and sometimes miserable history of his existence as a bastard among noble-born should have taught him the lesson, Brice Fitzwilliam had never learned the one about patience being a virtue. It had always seemed overrated and a necessary nuisance, and this situation simply confirmed his opinion about it.

      After being patient as the king required, and waiting while the winter passed for his letters granting him the lands and titles of Baron and Lord of Thaxted to arrive, he’d made his way here only to find the keep firmly closed against him. Three weeks of waiting for reinforcements from his friend Giles’s forces to arrive found him no closer to conquering the keep or the people inside. Now, after capturing a few escaping peasants, he discovered that his bride, who’d run away on several other occasions, had also just escaped under his watch—and that she sought refuge away from his control in a convent. Luckily Stephen le Chasseur accompanied him and nothing and no one escaped him when he set out to hunt.

      Though she squirmed in his arms, Brice knew she had no idea of his identity or that she was his. His anger grew for her blithe ignorance of the dangers on the road. If he had not found her, the thought of what could have befallen her terrified him for many reasons. She needed to be taught a lesson and he would be the one to do it.

      At least she was alive for him to make her consider her actions.

      ‘So, what is your price for the night, mistress?’ he asked, sliding his hand across her body and feeling her shudder beneath his caress. ‘Many of my men have saved up their coins or trinkets and could make it worth your while to stay with us.’

      ‘I am not a wh-wh …’ she stuttered. ‘I do not sell my favours.’

      Brice released her and spun her to face him, nearly losing his wits along with it, for he finally got his first clear look at his bride. She was a beauty and she belonged to him.

      Wide, luminous eyes, a colour between blue and green, shimmered from a heart-shaped face. Long, dark brown curls escaped from under her veil and tumbled over her shoulders. Though she was dressed in the loose Saxon style, he could see that her body was wonderfully curved and fell into the feminine shape he desired in his lovers—full soft breasts and hips. From the strength of her resistance, he knew that her legs and arms were strong.

      His body reacted before his perusal was complete, that part of him flaring to life and readying him for all the things he’d shamelessly threatened her with. Only when one of his men coughed loudly did he speak.

      ‘If not a whore, then what?’

      ‘I told these men that my lady sent me to seek the convent and I am on my way there now.’

      ‘Alone, mistress? When marauders and outlaws of all types roam the woods and control roads here? Surely your lady would have sent along guards to keep you safe?’ he asked, stepping closer again.

      She backed up, but his men did not and she remained trapped between them. He recognised the growing fear in her gaze and knew her brave front was in danger of crumbling. Then, as he watched, she pulled her confidence together, squared her shoulders and stuck out her chin at him.

      ‘My lady has other things to worry over, sir. She knows that I am self-reliant and could make my own way to the convent.’

      Self-reliant? Too much so, for here she was, miles from safety, alone and not for the first time. Foolhardy was more accurate a description, was what he thought right now.

      ‘Foolish?’ he asked. ‘Seeking trouble?’ He let his gaze follow the curves of her body and did not hide his appreciation then. ‘Surely, any lady who sends her servant out onto these roads during these … dangerous … times understands the message she is sending.’

      Brice could almost hear her trying to swallow her fear. Her eyes shimmered with a hint of tears and her lip, the full lower one that tempted him so much, trembled then. Ah, mayhap she was finally realising the foolishness of her plan?

      ‘A nobleman would honour a lady’s promise to her maid and grant her safe passage to the convent. A true nobleman would not take advantage of a woman without protection. A true nobleman would—’ She began to list another trait, but he stopped her with a shake of his head.

      ‘I never claimed to be a nobleman, mistress,’ he whispered as the anger grew from deep within him. ‘If your lady believes that noblemen are to be trusted and would pass up such a temptation as the one you present here, she is more foolish than I first thought.’

      His men laughed then, knowing that neither he nor they were of noble or even legitimate birth, and he recognised the confusion in her expression. Most men would have been flattered by her, but not these who had made their way in the world by the work of their labours and the sweat of their bodies.

      Lady Gillian looked as though she wanted to argue, but had not the words to do it, so she lowered her head and turned away. His attempts to humiliate her did not give him the satisfaction he’d hoped. Glancing at his men, he knew that nightfall was coming and there were many things that needed to be done now that his bride had walked into his possession.

      ‘Take her to my tent and make sure she stays there,’ he ordered.

      ‘You cannot!’ she cried out. He stepped closer, forcing her to look up to see his face. ‘The good sisters—’

      ‘The good sisters will eat their meal, offer their prayers and seek their beds as they do each night, mistress. Your lady should have thought out her plan before launching it.’

      She pushed against him. ‘They are expecting me. My lady sent them a message to expect me.’

      ‘I can assure you that no message arrived at the convent. We have been camped here for the last several weeks and no one from Thaxted has crossed our path … until you did this day.’

      Her confidence did crumble then and he felt the fight go out of her. She glanced around the camp and for the first time seemed to realise their number and the dangers they presented to her. If there had been a messenger, Brice’s men had not seen him. There was every possibility that such a messenger would have fled in the other direction if he’d spied their camp and knew he could not get through. Apparently, that messenger did not report his failure to his lady.

      ‘Take her,’ he repeated softly and he stepped aside so that Stephen could carry out his order.

      The lady looked as though she would offer resistance, but she simply nodded and walked off with his men. At least, praise God, she was safe now and it was one less thing he needed to worry over in this volatile situation. By morning she would be his, as would Thaxted Manor and all the lands entailed to it and to him as Lord of Thaxted.

      And with the support of Giles’s men from Taerford and some of the king’s forces, Brice would take over the keep, expel the rebels and those who would not pledge to King William, and begin his life as one of the high and mighty instead of remaining a low-born soldier. Taking in a deep breath and exhaling it, Brice knew he looked forwards to much of what yet faced him in the challenging days ahead.

      Facing the lady’s fury at his deception was not one of those things.

      Hours passed as he saw to preparations for his final assault against the keep as well as more personal ones involving the Lady Gillian. He sent word to the convent to let them know that she was safe and would be returning to her home in due course. A generous donation accompanied the message, smoothing, he hoped, the way that future dealings with the holy sisters would go. He’d watched as many others made the mistake of not respecting the clergy and he was determined not to fall into that error himself.

      Finally, several hours after the sun dropped into the west and when night was full upon them, he decided it was time to take the first step towards taking control of his lands … and his wife. Calling out to