Laura Kinsale - For My Ladys Heart

For My Ladys Heart

The beautiful and mysterious princess came to the young knights rescueand bestowed upon him two precious emeralds. From that day, she was his sworn lady.

Yet even though Melanthe had saved the handsome Englishman, she could not save herself. She was a pawn in a court of intrigue and secrets. But the man she had saved would return for heras the legendary Green Knight. He would take up his sword for her honorand risk his life for the love that burned between them ...

Praise for the bestselling novels of Laura Kinsale...

Readers should be enchanted.

Publishers Weekly

An absolute gem, virtually flawless ... I cant find the words to praise it highly enough.

Rendezvous

Poignant and sensitive ... hard to forget.

Heartland Critiques

Once in a great while an author creates a story and characters so compelling that the reader is literally placed on an emotional roller coaster ... Ms. Kinsale once again takes the reader on that roller coaster...

The story is rich with life, the writing beautiful and the characters unforgettable. This is a book readers will long remember and turn to again and again.

Inside Romance

For My Ladys Heart

Laura Kinsale

BERKLEY BOOKS, NEW YORK

These old gentle Britons in their days

Of diverse adventures they made lays

Rhymed in their first Briton tongue,

Which lays with their instruments they sung,

Or else read them for their pleasance,

And one of them have I in remembrance,

Which I shall say with good will as I can.

But sires, by cause I am a burel man.

At my beginning first I you beseech,

Have me excused of my rude speech.

I learned never rhetoric, certain;

Thing that I speak, it must be bare and plain.

The Prologue of The Franklins Tale,

from The Canterbury Tales

by Geoffrey Chaucer

For My Ladys Heart

Where werre, and wrake, and wonder

Bi sye hat wont erinne,

And oft boe blysse and blunder

Ful skete hat skyfted synne.

Where war and wrack and wonder

By sides have been therein,

And oft both bliss and blunder

Full swift have shifted since.

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight

The pilgrims looked looked at the sky and the woods and each other. Anywhere but at the woman in the ditch. The Free Companies ruled these forests; her screeching might draw unwelcome attention. As she rolled in the wagon rut, grinding dirt into her hair, crying out pious revelations with shrieks and great weepings, her companions leaned against trees and squatted in the shade, sharing a vessel of warm beer.

Remote thunder murmured as heat clouds piled up over the endless grim forests of France. It was high summer of the ninth year after the Great Pestilence. A few yards from the sobbing female, on the high grassy center of the road, a priest sat removing his sandals and swatting dust off his soles one by one.

Now and then someone glanced into the dark woods. The girl had prophesied that their party of English pilgrims would reach Avignon safeand though she was prostrated by holy ecstasies in this manner a dozen times a day, moved by the turn of a leaf or the flicker of a sunbeam to fall to her knees in wailing, it was true that theyd not seen or heard a suspicion of outlaws since shed joined the party at Reims.

John Hardy! she moaned, and a man whod just taken hold of the bottle looked round with dismay.

He drank a deep swig and said, Ne sermon me not, good sister.

The woman sat up. I shall so sermon thee, John Hardy! She wiped at her comely young face, her bright eyes glaring out from amid streaks of dirt. Thou art intemperate with beer. God is offended with thee.

John Hardy stood up, taking another long drink. And thou art a silly girl stuffed with silly conceits.

What

A crash of thunder and a long shrill scream overwhelmed his words. The devout damsel threw herself back down to the ground. There! she shouted. Hearest thou the voice of God? Im a prophet! Our Lord forewarneth theetake any drink but pure water in peril of eternal damnation, John Hardy! The rain clouds rolled low overhead, casting a green dullness on her face. She startled back as a single raindrop struck her. His blood! She kissed her palm. His precious blood!

Be naught but the storm overtakin us, thou great fool woman! John Hardy swung on the others with vehemence. Im a prophet! he mocked in a high agitated voice. Belie me if she be not a heretic in our very midst! Im on to shelter, ere Im drowned. Wholl be with me?

The whole company was fervently with him. As they prepared to start on their way, the girl bawled out the sins of each member of the party as they were revealed to her by God: the intemperance of John Hardy, the godless laughing and jesting of Mistress Parke, the carnal lusting of the priest, and the meat on Friday consumed by Thomas OLinc.

The accused ignored her, taking up the long liripipes that dangled from the crests of their hoods and wrapping the headgear tight as the rain began to fall in earnest. The party moved on into the sudden downpour. The woman could have caught up easily, but she stayed in the ditch, shrieking after them.

In the thunderous gloom the rain began to run in sheets and little streams into the road. She stayed crying, reaching out her hands to the empty track. The last gray outline of the stragglers disappeared around the bend.

A waiting figure detached itself from the shadows beneath the trees. The young knight walked to the edge of the rut and held out his hand. Rain plastered his black hair and molded a fustian pilgrims robe to his back and shoulders, showing chain mail beneath.

They ne harketh to me, she sobbed. They taken no heed!

Ye drove them off, Isabelle, he said tonelessly.

It is their wickedness! They nill heed me! I was having a vision, like to Saint Gertrudes.

His gauntleted hand still held steady, glistening with raindrops. Is it full finished now?

Certes, it is finished, she said testily, allowing him to pull her to her feet. She stepped out of the ditch, leaving her shoe. The knight got down on his knees, his mail chinking faintly, and fished the soggy leather out of a puddle already growing in the mud. She leaned on his shoulder and thrust her foot inside the slipper, wriggling forcefully. He smoothed the wet wrinkles up her ankle. His hand rested on her calf for a moment, and she snatched her leg away. None of that, sir!

He lifted his face and looked at her. The rain slipped off strong dark brows and dewed on his black lashes. He was seventeen, and already carried fighting scars, but none visible on his upturned features.

Water coursed down, outlining his hard mouth and the sullen cast of his green eyes. The girl pushed away from him sharply.

I believe thou art Satan Himself, sir, if thou wilt stare at me so vile.

Without a word he got to his feet, readjusting the sword at his hip before he walked away to a bay horse tethered in the shadow of the trees. He brought the stallion up to her. Will ye ride?

The Lord Jesus commanded me walk to Jerusalem.

Ride, he said until we comen up with the company once more.

It were evil for me to riden. I mote walk.