Table of Contents
Praise for the medieval romances of Lisa Jackson
Impostress
Strong, vivid characters and bold writing style... adventurous and sensually passionate.
Booklist
Entertaining... a comedy of errors. Fans will relish this engaging medieval romance.
Midwest Book Review
Wild and Wicked
Charming and delightful, absolutely entertaining. Dont miss it!
Heather Graham
An exciting medieval romance filled with drama and several delightful twists and turns.... Lisa Jackson writes a jewel of a novel that makes the thirteenth century seem so darkly real.
Midwest Book Review
... and for theDark Jewels Trilogy
Dark Sapphire
Impressive.... Lisa Jackson shines once again in her new romantic adventure.
Reader to Reader
Another entertaining medieval romance.... Lisa Jackson paces the story well and fills the pages with intrigue and passion.
Romantic Times
Dark Emerald
A complex medieval romance... moves forward on several levels that ultimately tie together in an exciting finish. The lead characters are a passionate duo while the secondary players strengthen the entire novel. Ms. Jackson has struck a gemstone mine.
Painted Rock Reviews
Snares the reader in an intricate plot and holds them until the very end.
Romantic Times
Dark Ruby
A true gema medieval masterpiece. Wonderfully compelling, filled with adventure and intrigue, sizzling sexual tension and a to-die-for hero, this one has it all.
Samantha James
Rich, mysterious, passionate. Its a winner.
Alexis Harrington
Fast-paced and fun from the start... a high-action adventure that will keep you turning the pages.
Kat Martin
A rich, unforgettable tale.
Stella Cameron
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I would like to thank everyone who helped in the creation of this novel. First and foremost, my sister, Nancy Bush, also an author, who helped me with the editing and proofing of the pages, all the while plying me with Hot Tamales (yes, the candy) and diet Pepsi and assuring me that we can do it. Second, Claire Zion, my editor, for her patience with this project, and third, my agent, Robin Rue, for being a calm voice of reason.
There were tons of others who gave me time and support and provided laughter when I needed it. To all my friends and family, thanks!
PROLOGUE
Wybren Castle, North Wales
December 24, 1287
Tis time.
The voice was soft but insistent, like a flaxseed lodged in his collar, a tiny irritation relentlessly pricking the back of the neck, ever nagging. Reverberating through his head, it urged him onward as he slipped through the gloom of the keep.
You know you cannot wait any longer. Redemption is at hand. For you. For them.
He flicked an anxious tongue to his lips, tasted the salt of his sweat though it was freezing within the castle walls, his own breath fogging and mixing with the smoke from the smoldering rushlights. His muscles ached with tension and fear; his ears strained to hear the quietest footfall lest he be discovered. Still he hesitated.
You must do it. Now. All is in place. The guards are asleep from all the revelry, their minds sluggish from too much ale. The guests, too, with their full bellies and wine-sotted minds, sleep as if dead. And the lords family, all of them, are near dead already, their cups having been washed with the potion. Their rutting has ceased. Hear them snore through the doors to their chambers.
From the depths of his cowl, he looked over his shoulder, checking the hallway one last time and then, knowing God was speaking to him, lifted his unlit torch to the embers of the hallway sconces. With a crackle and hiss, the oil-soaked tip caught fire, casting the dark corridor in flickering, deadly shadows. Swiftly he bent down and touched his torch to the bit of braided oil-doused cloth that hed tucked under the doors moments earlier and then watched in fascination as the quick little flames sped beneath the door to the dried rushes spread thickly upon the chamber floor.
First the baron, he thought, and then the rest.
He worked with speed, praying softly, lighting each wick in succession along the corridor. His heart hammered wildly, sweat and fear sliding down his spine. Should he be caught, he would be imprisoned, quickly judged a traitor, and then hung until he was twitching, near death. Before he took his last breath, he would be removed from the gallows, his body drawn and quartered, his entrails spilling out while he was yet alive, and then, upon his death, his head would be skewered upon a pike and placed on display high above the wide wall walk, an example to all who might consider this kind of treason.
Do not fear. Your cause is just. You are the Redeemer.
Smoke began to fill the hallway, seeping stealthily beneath the doors.
He calmed his fears. Twas done. The rest was in Gods hands, or those of the devil. He knew not which, nor did he care. For the voice that urged him on came from within, the nagging insistence arising from a deep part of his own desire, the words only amplifying what he wanted so desperately. And yet he heard them as surely as if someone had whispered them against his ear. He told himself they came because God wanted vengeance. He was but the servant... unless it wasnt God who spoke so intimately to him.
Unless it was a demon or even Satan himself.
He glanced around the arched ceiling of the hallway, breathing shallowly as if expecting an angel of darkness to swoop down before him as the smoke rose in thin, evil wisps.
Yet no apparition appeared.
Whether the voice he heard was from heaven or hell, the deed was done. Redemption and, aye, vengeance were at hand. At last.
At the end of the corridor, he tossed his torch onto the floor and then swept rapidly down the stairs, his footsteps making no sound as he eased out of the keep and into the black, moonless night.
Soon someone would rouse.
Soon an alarm would sound.
Soon it would be over.
And justice, at long last, would be served.
CHAPTER ONE
Castle Calon
January 12, 1289
Morwenna moved upon the bed. Her bed?
Or anothers?
Lifting her head, she saw the glowing embers of the fire, red coals casting golden shadows upon the castle walls. But what castle? Where was she? There were no windows, and high above the walls, past creaking crossbeams, she spied the night sky, dozens of stars winking far in the distance.
Where was she?
In a prison? Held captive in an old, forsaken keep whose roof had blown away?
Morwenna.
Her name echoed against the thick walls, reverberating and turning her blood to ice.
She twisted on the bed and stared into the shadows. Who goes there? she whispered, her heart thudding.
Tis I. A deep male voice, one she should recognize, whispered from the dark corners of this seemingly endless chamber. Her skin crawled. With one hand she clamped the bedding to her breast and realized that she was naked. With the other hand she searched the bed, fingers scrabbling for her dagger, but it, like her clothes, was missing.
