Laura Kinsale - Shadowheart

[version history]

Shadowheart

Allegreto is a charismatic, dangerous man who will stop at nothing to regain his rightful place. And the perfect tool has just fallen into his hands, in the lovely form of Lady Elenathe long-lost Monteverde princess. Only she can solidify his claim. But the dark passion that grows between them is more dangerous than any treachery mortal men could devise...

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

Shadowheart

Laura Kinsale

BERKLEY BOOKS, NEW YORK

Copyright notice

Contents

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19

20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32

For Sage and Keeper and Folly, dogs and muses and a reason to smile

^

Forest of Savernake,

in the fifth year of the reign

of King Richard II

On Plow Monday, all the chickens died.

Elayne knew she shouldnt have tried to substitute a chicken feather for the quill from a magical hoopoe bird.

But Savernake Forest did not harbor hoopoe birds. In truth Elayne had no notion what a hoopoe bird looked likethe only place she had ever seen the name of the creature was in the handbook of charms and experiments that contained her formula.

Elayne felt that it was hardly certain her small attempt at a love spell had caused the complete demise of the Savernake poultry. But Caras suspicion would fall on Elayne. Caras suspicion always fell on Elayne. It could not be hoped that her older sister would overlook the sudden termination of every fowl in town. In a larger locale, in London by hap, or Paris, the loss of a few dozen chickens might pass unremarked. But not in such a minor place as Savernake.

Elayne pulled her mantle close, striding over the frozen ground away from the village. She could feel the black feather and small waxen figure hidden beneath her chemise, tickling her skin like a finger of guilt. She had ventured to substitute for the magical hoopoe quill because another recipe in the volume called for a feather from the wing of a black chicken. But it was a foolish experiment. The other recipe was meant to cause a mans beard to grow. Perchance that goal did not sympathize well with the ingredients for arousing a mans affections, and the result had a deadly effect upon all the poultry for ten leagues roundabout.

She only hoped that Raymond de Clare, in whose image she had formed the wax, would not now suddenly sprout a beard.

As she neared the abandoned mill, a small herd of the kings deer looked up from browsing at a frost-rimed thicket. They bounded away as Raymond stepped out from behind the great mill wheel. He held out his gloved hands to her, but Elayne turned her face away, suddenly shy. She thought him the handsomest man in Christendom, but in her agitation and guilt, she could not quite look at him just then.

No welcome for me? he asked, amusement in his voice.

Yes, Elayne said. The word came out a breathless squeak, barely audible. She forced herself to raise her eyes, assuming worldliness and experience with a lift of her chin, and made a little courtesy. Belaccoil! Kind greeting, Sir Knight.

Oh, we are on ceremony, then, he said, grinning. He gave a bow worthy of the kings courtnot that Elayne had ever been within a weeks ride of the kings court, but she felt certain that Raymonds great sweep, showing the red-and-black slashed sleeves of his doublet under his fine scarlet cloak, must be admirably suited to such rarefied spheres.

She evaded his gaze as he straightened, feeling that if she could not touch his faceonly touch his face, or take a loop of his thick chestnut hair about her fingerthat she would die of unrequited love before the night was gone. Instead she put her foot onto the frozen millrace. Eluding his offered hand, she jumped over the icy channel and started to walk past him. He turned as she did and walked with her, brushing her shoulder.

Elayne made a skip, moving ahead of him, pushing aside a bare branch that overhung the doorway of the old mill.

He laughed and flicked her cheek. You are avoiding me, little cat.

She looked up aslant, a covert glance at his jaw. He was perfectly clean-shavenno sign of a beard. With a sense of relief she said cheerfully, It is a favor to you. In faith, sir, you cant wish to dally with such a rustic as I!

He caught her shoulder, turning her to face him. For an instant he looked down into her eyesshe felt his hand, his fingers pressing her through the thick gray wool of her cotehardie. Nay, how could I not? he asked softly. How could I find a sparkling diamond at my feet and fail to pick it up?

Elayne stared at his mouth as if she were the one bewitched. He leaned his hand against her, gently pushing her against the wall. The stone pressed hard into her shoulder blades. She glanced aside, afraid they might be discovered. The leafless bushes cast a wavering light in the doorway, but the old mill was empty and silent. She put her palms against his chest, as if to hold him off, but inside she was praying that he would kiss her, that at last, after weeks of this dangerous play and ferment between them, she would know what it was like. She was seventeen, and she had never been in love, never even been courted. She had not known that a man who stole her sleep and dashed her prudence, a man like Raymond, could exist.

I am only another lady, like the rest, she whispered, her heart beating against his hand. Haps not so meek as some.

You, my love, are an extraordinary woman. He bent his head close. Elayne drew in a quick breath. His lips touched hers, warm and soft in the crisp winter air, softer than she had expected. He tasted of mead, very strong and wetnot completely to her relish. As his tongue probed between her lips, he breathed heavily into her mouth. In confusion and a sudden distaste, she pushed him away so quickly that he had to put out a hand to the wall to catch himself.

He lifted his eyebrows at her. He stood very straight. I do not please you, my lady?

Nay, you do! she said quickly, patting his sleeve. She was already ashamed of herself, to be such a coward. Its onlyif someone should see usoh my ... Raymond! She bit her lip. You make me so abashed!

His stiff expression eased, for which Elayne was grateful. Raymond de Clare did not bear any affront lightly, even the smallest. But he smiled at her and brushed back her woolen hood, pulling her earlobe lightly. I shall not let anyone catch us.

Let us go to the Hall. We can walk together there, and talk.

Among a throng of people, he said dryly. And what do you wish to talk of, my lady?

You must make a poem to my hair and eyes, of course! Ill help you.

He laughed aloud. Indeed. He smiled down at her, a strange smile, as if his mind had gone to some distance, but his eyes never left her lips. Do you suppose I need help?

I feel certain that any knight could profit from a ladys fine ear for these things.

All this reading and writing of yours. Haps you will compose my proposal of marriage also.

Certainly, if you should require my aid, she said airily. Mark me the bride of your choice, and I shall study upon her, to discover what will be the most persuasive words to win her hand.