BRENNA'S HEART WAS POUNDING

WITH FEAR.
"Get back!" she said sharply. "Are you a fool to
brave my blade?"
A smile curled his mouth but didn't reach his eyes.
"And would you stab me before the wedding?"
"Aye. I would slit you from navel to chin with no
less haste,'' she hissed at him.
"Then do it, demoiselle." This time the smile
reached his eyes, and he moved closer.
He was tall, very tall, and his shoulders were broad,
filling out the fine velvet of his tunic. A broadsword
hung from a wide leather belt at his side, seeming out
of place with the elegant clothes, yet fitting for a man
with such a hard face. Brenna felt a thrum of appre-
hension.
There was an unholy beauty about him, a silent
promise of ruthless determination and masculine ap-
peal that made Brenna's throat tighten. She stared at
him without blinking, fascinated. .
"Do you approve, my lady?" came the slightly
mocking question.
Brenna straightened immediately. "What do you
want with me?" By this time, every nerve in her body
screamed at her to flee, but she refused to have any-
one think she was a coward.
Ignoring her first question, his reply was short. "I
want you, demoiselle. . . ."

LYON'S PRIZE
LYON'S .
PRIZE .
•
Virginia
Lynn
BANTAM BOOKS I NEW YORK
TORONTO • LONDON • SYDNEY
AUCKLAND
 LYON'S PR.I.ZE
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 PROLOGUE
England, 1066

BJ

OcroBER WINDS WERE cold. Ten year old Brenna of Mar-

wald shivered as she tugged her cloak more tightly
around her body and tried to stay out of the way. The
stockade teemed with activity. After being gone for over
a fortnight, her father had returned late the night be-
fore. Now he made ready to ride again.
Dunstan was mounted on a fresh horse, and he looked
weary. Behind him, her brothers Rannulf and Whitley
stepped into their saddles. Ridgely and Corbet led fresh
mounts, while Myles sulked because he was too young
to ride with the rest of his brothers.
Brenna ran up to Rannulf and tugged at his boot.
"Why are you leaving again so soon? You've only just
come back from fighting the Norsemen! Where are you
going?"
Rannulf reined in his horse and looked down impa-
tiently. "Hawking, little goose. Where do you think we
go? With William in Pevensey, and half our men still
traveling from Stamford Bridge in York, we have time
aplenty on our hands." Brenna flushed with anger at his
derisive snort.
"Leave her be, Rannulf," Dunstan ordered; his eyes
l
 2 VIRG INIA LYNN
were troubled when he gazed at his only daughte r. "We
go hawking, child. Stay with your mother ."
"But why can't you-"
"Stay with her," Dunstan replied shortly, then
nudged his mount through the open wooden gates of
the stockade. Rannul f and her other brothers followed,
leaving Brenna to stare after them.
Her steps were slow when she went back inside. It
seemed empty without her father and brothers ; most of
the soldiers had gone with them two weeks before. Only
a handful of servants were left, and those spoke in quiet
tones about the bastard Duke of Norman dy who had
landed on English shores. Brenna shivered again, but
not from the cold.
Change was in the air, and she was frightened. Her
mother lay in childbe d upstairs, and her father was
hawking . Their faithful maidservant Gytha was with
Lady Clarice, but no one would tell Brenna anythin g.
She'd heard her mother' s soft voice laced with pain, and
that made her frantic. Even Brenna' s friend Hlynn was
nowher e to be found, and she was quite alone with her
fears.
She huddled against the door of her mother' s bed-
chambe r and wished once again that someon e would tell
her what was happeni ng inside. No one seemed to have
the time for a small girl, not when Lady Clarice's time
had come. The midwife set everyone to tasks, and ser-
vants scurried back and forth.
Brenna bent her legs and rested her chin on her knees.
She wished her father were here. Though usually gruff
and frightening, he might serve as protecti on against her
nameless fears .
A shudder pranced down her spine when she heard
her mother cry out hoarsely, and Brenna squeeze d her
eyes closed to hold back ready tears. She would not cry.
Her mother had said she must not, so she would not
give in to tears. When there was another cry, louder and
shriller this time, Brenna put her hands over her ears to
block it out.
Where is Father?
 LYON'S PRIZE 3
She surged to her feet at another cry, then hesitated.
After a moment to gather her courage, she pushed open
the heavy oak door and stepped inside. Oil lamps cast
smoky light, and the central fire in a huge brass brazier
smelled of herbs that the midwife was burning. Brenna
stepped closer to the wide bed and caught a glimpse of
her mother's writhing form.
Mistress Maisie was at the foot of the bed Lady Clarice
had brought from Normandy as part of her dowry, and
no one noticed the child in their midst. Brenna's gaze
fastened on her mother.
Clarice's face was deathly pale, and her lip was bleed-
ing where she'd chewed it. Beads of sweat dotted her
forehead despite the room's chill.
"The babe's turned," Mistress Maisie said, and she
glanced up at Gytha with a worried frown. "If we can-
not turn it . . . "
''We must." Gytha grasped her mistress's hands.' "Do
your best to save her."
Brenna, unnoticed in the peril of the moment, hid
behind the bed curtains at the head of the bed. As Mis-
tress Maisie bent to her work, Lady Clarice's body
arched. An agonized scream cut into the air and
Brenna's heart. She closed her eyes, choking back a sob,
listening to her mother's cries for what seemed like an
eternity.
Finally it grew quiet, and she heard the midwife mut-
ter that the child was a boy. "A big one, as are all of
Dunstan's get," she added grimly. "Fair tore her in two,
I fear."
A thin wail cut into the air, and Maisie held up the
ruddy child. "Healthy as an ox, for all that he's killed his
mam."
Gytha was weeping. "She bleeds, mistress. See how
the bed is soaked? We must stop it."
"We've given her the gall of an oak," Mistress Maisie
replied. "'Tis all that can be done for now. Have her
drink the potion every hour. P'raps 'twill save her."
Lady Clarice lay quietly. Her face was so pale, so col-
orless. Brenna crept forward to stare at her mother.
 4 VIRGIN IA LYNN
At last Gytha noticed the small girl. "Brenna! Dear
God, lambkin-w hat do you here?"
"Do not make me leave, Gytha. I want to see my
mother."
The old woman hesitated, then said kindly and sadly,
"Stay, child. Hold her hand and tuck the furs round her
to keep her warm."
Brenna sat on a small stool and held Lady Clarice's
hand and tucked furs around her shivering body. She
stroked back the dark hair from her forehead and
crooned soft words.
"Don't leave me, Mother. You're all I have. . . ."
She choked on the words, fear rising dark and sharp
inside her. Her mother could not die, could not leave.
She'd seen death and knew it was irrevocable. No one
ever returned once they'd died.
"Mother . .. Mother, can you hear me?"
An answering squeeze of her hand made Brenna lean
dose, her gold eyes misted with grateful tears when her
mother opened her eyes.
"Brenna . .. sweet child . . . do not weep for
me."
Lady Clarice's voice drifted into an indistinct mutter
that made Brenna edge nearer to hear the faint whispers
from her pale, bloodless lips. Her mother's hand was
cold, so cold, the fingers like slim, delicate icicles in her
palm. She held her hand with a tight grip, trying to give
her some of her own warmth.
"Mother, you'll be well soon," Brenna said with des-
perate conviction. "I know you will be. Rest, and when
Father returns from hawking, he can carry you down-
stairs to your chair by the fire."
Lady Clarice laughed hollowly, the sound eerie and
bitter as it emerged from that pale, waxen face.
'Won, ma pauvre petite. I will not go downstairs
again."
"But you will, Mother, you must." Brenna looked to
Gytha, seeking further assurances, but the old woman
was weeping into her hands, her bent shoulders shaking.
A frown creased the child's brow, and she turned her
 LYON'S PRIZE 5
gaze back to her mother. "Mother?" she said tentatively,
but Lady Clarice had lapsed back into a faint.
She was still holding her mother's hand when she
died.
Gytha sobbed loudly. Brenna, remembering that her
mother had said not to weep, stared dry-eyed as the
maidservants tenderly cared for their lady.
After Mistress Maisie had wrapped the infant in clean
cloths and given him to a nursemaid to suckle, she came
to Brenna and knelt beside her. With an awkward hand,
she touched a loose strand of Brenna's red-gold hair,
letting it slip through her work-worn fingers. Her voice
was sad and helpless.
"I did all I could for your mother, child. I'm sorry."
"It wasn't you who killed her," Gytha interrupted bit-
terly. " 'Twas that great uncaring ox of a husband! Dun-
stan, aye, he has slain her as surely as ifhe smote her with
his sword, I vow. I hope the devil takes him for this
work."
"Not in front of the child," Maisie said sharply. "I
know ye're overwrought, Gytha, but have a care as to
the child."
Weeping, Gytha said in a barely recognizable voice, "I
have been with my lady since she was a babe, and now
she's gone. This is too great a burden for me."
No one tried to stop Brenna when she left her
mother's chamber. She went to stand outside in the cold
wind and stared into the gathering shadows of dusk.
As she stood there, she swore silently that no man
would ever do to her what her father had done to her
mother.
"Nay," she said aloud, clenching her hands into tight
fists at her sides, "I will never die like that!"
 CHA PTER 1
England, Winter 1076

B
" 'Tis NO MATIER to me if the king lays waste to these
lands, or all of England." Brenna shrugged; long cop-
pery ribbons of unbound hair shimmered in the light
from the fire. She kept her amber eyes riveted on her
father's face, as willing to face him with her defiance as
she was willing to voice it. "I will not marry a Norman
cur. I will not bed the enemy, as you seem wont to do."
The hall grew quiet. Servants slunk silently away, and
minstrels left with their lutes tucked under their arms. A
few dogs whined, and feet scraped uneasily over rushes
strewn on the dirt and stone floor.
Lord Dunstan rose slowly from his carved wooden
chair. His face was red, his bulky body intimidating to
most of his servants. They all feared their lord's wrath
and his heavy hand, and watched as he approached his
daughter.
Brenna kept her chin lifted and her face composed.
He did not frighten her. She knew him too well to allow
him to frighten her. What were a few bruises to her?
''You defy me?" he thundered, his voice booming
even in the cavernous hall.
It seemed to echo; Brenna's eyes narrowed slightly,
7
 8 VIRG INIA LYNN
and she idly fingered the hilt of the small dagger hanging
from the links of the girdle around her slender hips.
"Aye," she said quietly, "I defy you."
Her father's hand tightened around the riding whip
he carried, and he lifted it threateningly. Brenna did not
flinch away or even blink. She met his furious stare with
a steady gaze that gave him pause.
"Ye're a shrewish wench," Lord Dunstan snarled fi-
nally, and lowered the whip with a frustrated jerk. "But
ye'll wed whom I tell ye to wed. And ye'll wed when I
tell ye to wed, by all the saints, or so help me-I'll see ye
whipped to shreds!"
"I tremble with fear," Brenna mocked. She was
fiercely glad to see the slow flush suffuse her father's
face, and she took a step closer. "Nay, Dunstan of Mar-
wald, you won't frighten me with a few blows or bruises.
You know I'm right, and you know I'll kill any man you
choose for me before I meekly submit to him."
Her throat worked for a moment , but her voice was
still cool when she paused only a foot away from her
father and said softly, "I'll not die bearing brat after brat
for some overlord too cruel to care about me. I'm not
one of those soft women who'll allow a man to tear the
life from them. Nay, if I die, 'twill be of my own choos-
ing, and 'twill not be in childbed while my lord is off
hawking or wenchin g."
"Brenn a-"
"Nay!" The single word was tom from her. "I saw
what you did to my mother. I'll not suffer the same."
Lord Dunstan put a heavy hand on her shoulder,
holding her when she would have left; his pale gaze
pierced her calm, but she did not allow him to see it.
" 'Twas not my will what happene d to my lady, and
I'll not be chastised for it by ye." His blunt, thick fingers
dug painfully into her tender skin, and his eyes nar-
rowed. ''We have a stark king now, a harsh man who has
decreed that ye will wed one of his men to bind Saxon
and Norman together. In this I agree with William. Ye
will wed, Brenna, whether ye wish it or not. I'll not risk
 LYON'S PRIZE 9
the lands I've regained because ye fear the touch of a
man."
"Damn you!"
"Nay, listen-ye're well past marriageable age, but we
have been given three months to choose a husband, or
one shall be chosen for ye." His mouth curled slightly.
"If I choose, daughter, I will see to it that ye have a man
strong enough to discipline ye as I have been unwilling
to do."
Her head tilted back, her hair flowing like silken fire
over her shoulders. Tawny eyes blazed at him. "Unwill-
ing to do? Or too cowardly?"
It was a deliberate taunt.
Dunstan's broad palm caught her across one cheek..
The blow sent her to her knees. "Aye, ye're a shrew sure
enough, and I pity the man who weds ye," he growled.
Brenna grabbed a wooden bench and pushed the hair
from her eyes to face him. "Get to your chamber,
Brenna," Dunstan ordered, "and pray for proper humil-
ity.,,
"I'll never be humble, nor will I ever cower before
you or any other man," she replied in a half snarl that
made Dunstan's eyes narrow. His anger faded into baf-
fled uncertainty at her continued defiance. Sensing vic-
tory, Brenna slowly rose, thrusting out her chin. Her
father gave a muffled oath.
Brenna laughed. "I'll kill any man you choose, so be-
ware you do not bestow my hand on a powerful man
with vengeful relatives."
She whirled away from him, ignoring the gaping, ter-
rified faces that gazed at her as she walked from the hall
with her head held high. Fools. Let them stare. Let them
whisper that she was a shrew, a termagant, devil pos-
sessed. She didn't care. She didn't care what anyone
thought. And she would not wed.
Her feet scuffed across the rush-strewn floor as she
left the hall behind her, glad to be quit of the huge room
with its brawling men and dogs. She hated most of
them; she'd hated almost everything since her mother's
death.
 10 I VIRGINIA LYNN
Brenna steeled herself against the pain of her mother's
memory as she mounted the new stone stairs to her sec-
ond-floor chamber. Since her mother's death, Brenna
had never been the same. Dunstan and her brothers had
changed, too, hardened into bitter men of few princi-
ples. The years they had all spent as hostages in Nor-
mandy had taken their toll.
Brenna shut the chamber door and crossed to the
high window slit. Her hatred and defiance had earned
her the name of shrew; it was well deserved. Yea, she
admitted it freely. It kept suitors at bay, mewling, weak
men who could not meet her scornful gaze nor fend off
her scathing words. They shrank from it, cowered under
the sharp lash of her tongue.
Her fingers dug into the stone window ledge, and her
throat grew tight as she gazed past the bailey of the new
keep to the distant, rolling hills. It was still winter. In the
spring they would come, men to seek her hand, to take
the generous dowry King William offered for his hos-
tage's hand in marriage.
She would be ready for them.

Noise filled the great hall; smoke from the central fire
billowed up. Spurs jangled and swords clanked against
wooden benches as knights, soldiers, and lords supped.
Platters of meat disappeared as fast as they were brought
to the long trestle tables, along with platters of fish past-
ies, dumplings, and frumenty. Dogs yapped and snarled
underfoot for the scraps.
At the high table on the raised dais, Lord Dunstan sat
with several of William's knights-and his daughter. Her
gaze was fixed on a distant point, and she ignored the
men at both sides of her. Minstrels sang praises to her
beauty as she sat stiff and silent.
Halfway down the first table, sitting well above the
salt, sat two of King William's men. They had arrived
late and lingered to break bread. Capons, eels, roast pig,
oxen, and goose graced the long table; men shared
 LYON'S PRIZE 11
trenchers of meat and bowls of pudding. Jugs of mead,
ale, and wine were quickly emptied.
Raoul de Beaumont grinned and nudged his compan-
ion and overlord with an elbow. "You were wise to
choose to sit at a lower table, seigneur. I don't hear any
songs about the sweet temper of this Saxon lord's
daughter."
Rye de Lyon shrugged his broad shoulders. " I have
not listened."
Beaumont speared a strip of meat with his poniard.
"It's said she's a shrew, and that she has vowed to kill
the man who weds her." He chewed his meat with rel-
ish. "Which might explain the lack of suitors, save yon
foolish knight."
Lyon's gaze drifted to the long table on the dais,
where the old lord sat with his daughter. A troublesome
woman held no interest for him. He gave a grunt of
dissatisfaction.
"Who is the knight?" With a faint frown of concentra-
tion, he eyed the man. "He looks familiar."
"Saber St. Maur. He lusts after the girl almost as
much as he lusts after her dowry and William's favor."
Beaumont grinned. "If he weds her, it may be the last
wench he ever tumbles."
Lyon, one dark brow lifting skeptically, glanced at his
companion. "Do you truly think a mere woman could
best a seasoned knight?"
"This is no mere woman. Look at her." Beaumont
gestured to the table. "She's tall, and it's said that she
wields a dagger like a man. She even rides her stallion
astride like a man. No doubt, her husband may find it
most difficult to ride her, though 'twould be a challenge
to sit that fine a mare. . . ."·
Lyon's attention drifted from Beaumont's laughing,
bawdy comments back to the girl. She was lovely. It was
the sulky expression on her face that made her less than
beautiful. Her unbound hair streamed over her shoul-
ders in a fiery river of light, and softly rounded breasts
thrust out the gunna and kirtle she wore. A golden gir-
dle of finely woven links circled slender hips, and a jewel-
 12 VIRGINIA LYNN
encrusted dagger caught the light from the fire and
threw it back in sharp splinters of colored flame.
He shifted, frowning. It was at William's suggestion
he was here, though he'd not divulged that information
to young Beaumont. This was, after all, his own choice
to make, and he didn't want any unwanted advice in
either direction. William had already made it plain that
the final decision was up to him, that it was meant to be
an honor. Other than the slimmest of details, he knew
almost nothing about this Brenna of Marwald.
Except that she was beautiful and angry.
"Tell me more about her," Lyon said, interrupting
Beaumont's obscene monologue. "What is said of her?"
"Seigneur, I thought everyone in England had heard
of this Brenna of Marwald and her vow to kill the man
who dares wed her."
"Nay, Raoul." Lyon shook his dark head. "I was told
only that she must wed William's man."
"Aye," Beaumont said then, "I'd forgotten that you
were in Normandy so long battling d'Esteray for your
father's lands. You are the victor, I presume."
Flicking him a sardonic glance, Lyon murmured, "Of
course. D'Esteray is as big a fool as was his father. That
was not what delayed me, Raoul, but a skirmish for Wil-
liam in Anjou."
"Aye, and he will reward you well for that last." Beau-
mont looked at his friend speculatively. "So why the
surly temper?"
"I'm always ill-tempered." Rye shrugged. "Tell me
more about this foolish Saxon wench who insults our
barons."
Faintly surprised, Beaumont flicked an uneasy glance
from his companion to the girl. "She is not for you," he
began, then flushed at Lyon's quick, hard stare. "What I
meant was that you'd want to kill her before the cock
crowed. She has a sharp tongue, and she's not afraid to
say what she wishes."
"Are you hinting that she might throw my parentage
-or lack of it-in my face?''
"Aye, my lord. She would, and not think twice about
 LYON'S PRIZE 13
it." He couldn't quite meet Lyon's narrowed gaze.
"She told Periault that he was fat and riddled with the
pox. Gervaise heard that his mother was a sow and his
father a wastrel." Shrugging, Beaumont said, "Scarcely a
man in England has escaped her barbed tongue."
A faint smile tugged at the corners of Lyon's hard
mouth. "She would not say such things to me but
once."
"P'raps not, my lord, but say them she would."
Lyon stretched lazily, dragging a thumb across the
stem of his wine goblet in an idle motion. "Tell me what
you know about her dowry, Raoul. I have heard some,
but would hear what others say."
Beaumont spoke reluctantly. "'Tis said that William
will return to her two keeps, one newly rebuilt of stone
and one a small dirt donjon common to the Saxons.
Both are located at strategic points on heavily traveled
roads and collect a great deal in tolls. They once be-
longed to her mother, a Norman. After Hastings and her
mother's death, she was sent to Normandy as hostage,
along with her father and three brothers. The girl was
given to her mother's people to raise and has only re-
cently returned to England at William's command. Ten
wagonloads of goods are to go with her, as well as three
chests of gold and jewels. At Moorleah William has be-
gun fortifying the stone keep as a bridal gift."
"She's fortunate to be a wealthy Saxon in these
times," Lyon murmured. His heavy-lashed eyes widened
slightly, and he examined Raoul de Beaumont's troubled
expression. "So you do not think I should offer for the
lady, mon ami?"
"Nay." Beaumont softened his blunt reply with an-
other shrug. "I think it would displease William to have
you kill her. Dunstan was once a powerful Saxon baron,
who has now sworn liege-homage to William. Our king
has said that her alliance with a Norman will help bind
the two countries together."
Lyon snorted. ''I've seen evidence of binding all over
England. There are a sight too many dark-haired bas-
tards in every keep we've visited."
 14 VIRGINIA LYNN
"Aye, I'll grant you that. But William's intent is to
mix Saxon with Norman until the powerful barons
would hesitate to war against their own families."
"As in Normandy?" came the mocking question. His
companion smiled when Rye added, " I'm still fighting
those 'family' battles in Maine and Anjou. William has
big dreams."
"Aye."
Lyon drank his wine and let his gaze shift once more
to the fiery-haired woman. He rubbed absently at a thin
scar curving from his left eyebrow to the angle of his
cheekbone. " 'Tis what got William all of England at his
feet," he murmured to himself, "those dreams."
Duke William of Normandy, bastard son of Duke
Robert the Magnificent, had taken England from the
Saxons and ground it beneath his heel. But he had yet to
grind all the English barons down, and must slowly ally
them to his side, putting down rebellion after rebellion.
It had been ten years since he'd been crowned king in
Westminster Abbey, and in that time bands of defiant
Saxons had risen against him again and again.
This warring baron, Lord Dunstan, had been made
hostage and forced to swear liege-homage to William.
Though he could count himself fortunate to still be
alive, it was humiliating to be stripped of sword and
spurs and forced to bend a knee to William with uncov-
ered head, putting his hands between William's and
vowing to be the king's man from that day hence, to
serve with life and limb and all due honor. Lord Dun-
stan was now William's vassal, and if called upon to war
for him, would be required to provide men and arms
and himself.
In the years since William had been crowned, England
had suffered greatly. At first the Saxons were stripped of
all property. Gradually those Saxons with high connec-
tions that William considered suitable for his purposes
were being allowed to live on their own lands, or on
others he granted them . So far, only a scant few had
been able to do so. And of those few, all had offered aid
 LYON'S PRIZE 15
to William or been bound to him by lieu of sons in his
service.
Lord Dunstan of Marwald had been fortunate in
keeping his life after Hastings, if not his freedom. Four
of his sons had escaped capture and drifted from place to
place like common vagabonds since William's conquest.
Six years passed until Dunstan finally swore fealty and
William freed him, sending him back to Marwald with
Brenna to build a new keep. Because of his Norman wife
and her connections, Dunstan had not been cast out
completely. Most Saxon nobles were now largely indis-
tinguishable from the peasantry. But now-now, it
seemed as if Dunstan might be able to rise to power
again, through the marriage of his daughter to a man of
William's choosing.
Aye, Lyon thought, William was wise to require more
than just a simple oath from these Saxon barons. Hos-
tages ensured that the rebels would heed their oaths.
William had cleverly wrung a reluctant agreement from
Dunstan to wed his daughter to a Norman in exchange
for reclaiming some of his former lands-and keeping
his hostage sons alive and well in Normandy. Yet his
unruly daughter seemed determined to flout his author-
ity. It appeared her years as a hostage in Normandy had
not tempered her hatred of Normans.
"Why does her father not beat her into submission?"
Lyon wondered aloud.
Beaumont laughed. " 'Tis said he saves that pleasure
for her husband."
"It seems that St. Maur has decided to forgo that
pleasure," Rye observed. Beaumont's eyes followed his
gaze.
St. Maur had shot to his feet, his face red with fury,
his eyes blazing and one hand resting on the hilt of his
sword. The object of his wrath gazed up at him with
open contempt. When he said something to her in a low,
fierce voice, she looked deliberately away from him and
yawned. St. Maur wheeled and stalked from the hall,
ignoring the faint titters that followed him.
Rye de Lyon watched closely as the girl listened with
 16 VIRGINIA LYNN
lifted brows to her father's harsh words; before he'd fin-
ished speaking, she rose and walked gracefully from the
hall, leaving her father sitting with his mouth still open.
She was tall and slender. Her unbound hair caught the
light and threw it back in fiery rays, and the delicate
structure of her face seemed much too fragile to belong
to a woman with such a strong will. Lyon smiled.
"Yea, I'll wed her," he said softly, and when Beau-
mont drew back in horror as if he'd just said he intended
to wed a witch, he added, "And I'll tame her."
Crossing himself, Beaumont muttered, "You'll be
drawn and quartered for murdering William's pawn is
what you'll be, Rye de Lyon. You're either mad or a
fool."
"And which do you think, mon a-mi?"
Beaumont, taken aback by the question, took a mo-
ment to respond. "Mad, mayhap. Fool, never. But brave
you'll have to be. That woman is a she-cat, seigneur."
"And who better to tame a mere cat than a lion?"
"She won't have you."
"Oh, she'll have me." Drumming his fingers against
the scarred wood of the table, Lyon repeated softly,
"She'll have me."
He pushed away from the table and strode from the
hall, his steps following Dunstan's daughter.

Brenna was quivering with fury and humiliation. To be

auctioned off like a cow was humiliating. No matter that
the custom was commonplace, nor that William had
placed a high value on her. She was not like other
women. She would never be like other women.
The years after her mother's death had been harsh
ones, growing into a nightmare. She still dreamed about
those horrible times, when Lady Clarice was scarcely
buried and the Normans came to Marwald to loot, burn,
and rape. Shudders racked her when she remembered it.
All tenderness for her mother's countrymen had been
banished by the cruelty of the invaders. From then on-
ward she had despised the Normans, vowing never to
 LYON'S PRIZE 17
surrender to them. Not like her father, who had bowed
to the Norman invaders like the coward he was, she
thought contemptuously. But she never would. She
would show him how Saxons were supposed to live.
She sneered as she thought of St. Maur. He had been
one of the easiest to unman. A few references to his lack
of prowess on the field of battle, his questionable ances-
try, and the paunch beneath his tunic, and he'd fled like
a scalded cat.
Oh, she had done her work well in the past months
and was grateful to Ballard for having helped her. Fair,
witty Ballard. If not for the minstrel, she would not have
had such an arsenal of weapons at her command. With
the information he'd given her, she had managed to
compose an impressive list of insults for every eligible
suitor in William's court.
A faint smile eased the sting of humiliation that had
been with her since her father's announcement that she
would wed one of William's knights. To see those high-
born Norman knights and barons reduced to quivering
fury was worth it all.
Brenna began to mount the stairs leading to her
chamber, one hand spreading over the smooth yellow
velvet of her kirtle. The noise from the hall faded as she
walked, though she could still hear the ridiculous ballads
being sung in her honor.
William had set Dunstan back at Marwald with orders
to fortify it well with stone. Workmen labored daily to
erect high walls and dig an outer ditch, rebuilding the
simple motte and bailey to an impressive fortress with
two moats and impregnable stone buttresses. It seemed
that the Norman king knew well how his subjects felt
about him.
A burst of laughter erupted below, and Brenna's lip
curled. Damn them. Damn them all.
When she reached the small square landing at the an-
gle of the stairs, Brenna caught a glimpse of movement.
behind her. She turned quickly, her hand moving to the
small poniard at her hip.
"Do not pull your weapon," the man said softly in the
 18 VIRGINIA LYNN
Norman tongue, which Brenna understood as well as
she did her own.
Brenna sucked in a sharp breath. A Norman, and he
looked much too dangerous. And close. Her fingers
closed around the hilt of her dagger, and she pulled it
from the jeweled sheath in a smooth, graceful motion.
"Stay where you are," she commanded sharply in
French. "I have no intention of allowing you within a
foot of me. Stay, I said, or I'll shout for my father's
guard."
"From what I saw of your father's anger at you, he
would not lift a finger to stay me," the man replied with
a sardonic twist of his mouth.
Brenna felt a spasm of fear shoot through her and was
annoyed by it. Afraid? Of this man? Of any man? She
jabbed the dagger in his direction.
"Stay away, or I'll slit you from gullet to gut!"
"Such sweet words, milady," the man mocked. He
was only two stairs away now, and Brenna felt with her
foot for the next stair up.
She looked at him closely. She did not recognize him
and would have known if he'd been to Marwald before.
No one could fail to remember this man.
He was tall, very tall, and his shoulders were broad,
filling out the fine velvet of his runic. A worked gold
brooch held his mantle on one shoulder, and the hem
swirled around lean, muscled legs. A broadsword hung
from a wide leather belt at his side, seeming out of place
with the elegant clothes, yet fitting for a man with such a
hard face. Brenna felt a thrum of apprehension. A scar
raked his face from eyebrow to cheekbone, slender and
curved, giving his dark countenance an even more dan-
gerous appearance. Beneath winged black brows, eyes of
a startling blue pierced the air between them, thick-
lashed and assessing.
There was an unholy beauty about him, a silent prom-
ise of ruthless determination and masculine appeal that
made her throat tighten. She stared at him without
blinking, fascinated in spite of herself.
 LYON'S PRIZE 19
"Do you approve, milady?" came the slightly mock-
ing question, delivered in a husky voice.
Brenna straightened immediately. "Whoreson," she
muttered in English before demanding in the French
language he would understand, "Who are you? What do
you want with me?"
By this time the man had reached the step where she
stood, and she felt his proximity like a blow. Every nerve
in her body screamed at her to flee, but she refused to
act a coward. Particularly not before this mocking cox-
comb with his fine clothes and neatly cropped hair.
"I want you, demoiselle."
Brenna stared at him. Her throat tightened as if a
hand had closed around it. For a moment she thought
she might actually faint. No. Not this man. He looked
too hard, too savage. He did not look at all like a man
who would be turned away with a few scornful words. It
would take a great deal to turn this Norman knight from
his purpose, she realized.
For the first time in years, Brenna was truly afraid of a
man. She steeled herself. She could not let him know it.
It would be fatal.
Her laugh rippled through the air, and she clutched
her dagger tightly at the slight narrowing of his eyes.
"Do you want me, sir? How very unfortunate for you."
Edging up a step at a time, Brenna put some distance
between them. She was not deceived by the man's seem-
ing indolence. There was something about his pose that
suggested a coiled spring. He was likely to leap on her
without warning.
She reached the top step and flung back her head in
defiance. "You won't have me, Sir Knight."
"I always get what I want."
It lay between them, that softly spoken statement, as
certain and confident as sunrise. Brenna's mouth felt
suddenly dry, and her heart slammed against her ribs.
Yea, she'd been right. This man was dangerous.
"I'm afraid, sir, that you are doomed to disappoint-
ment this time." Her smile flashed briefly and falsely. "I
do not wish to wed."
 20 VIRGINIA LYNN
"That is of no importance to me." He moved at last,
his powerful body shifting gracefully up the next stair.
"Your king and your father have decreed that you will
wed."
"And I do not obey lightly, sir." Brenna felt the last
step at her heel, and took it. When she saw him move
toward her again, she lashed out with the dagger, catch-
ing the velvet sleeve of his tunic and slashing it. Her
heart was pounding with fear, and she hoped her legs
did not give way beneath her. This man had not moved
to avoid the blade, nor to catch her arm. He seemed
completely indifferent to the threat she posed, and that
was as infuriating as it was frightening.
"Get back!" she said sharply. She was no novice with
a dagger; to amuse themselves her brothers had taught
her to fight. Now the lessons stood her in good stead,
and she balanced on the balls of her feet as she faced this
bold-eyed Norman. "Are you a fool to brave my blade?"
A smile curled his mouth, but didn't reach his eyes.
"You toy with a dagger. When you think to become
serious, I will take it from you."
None of her disquiet showed in her voice when she
spat, "I am serious now."
"And would you stab me before the wedding?"
"Yea. I would slit you from navel to chin with no less
haste," she hissed at him.
"Then do it, demoiselle." This time the smile reached
his eyes, and he moved closer.
Brenna stared at him uncertainly. Perhaps he didn't
believe that she really would use the dagger on him. He
wouldn't be the first to feel the bite of her steel. There
had been the overeager suitor who'd thought to dis-
honor her, thus forcing her into a marriage. He'd worn
bandages on his arm for a month after. Now this bold
man dared her to do it.
"I will," she said softly, and felt the hilt of her poniard
slide reassuringly against her palm. "I've no love for
Normans. Nay, I've no love for any man. 'Twould give
me great pleasure to do what you seem to think I
won't."
 LYON'S PRIZE 21
"Not won't." Amusement glittered in cold blue eyes,
the exotic eyes of the devil. "Can't."
Stung, Brenna swung the dagger up, intending to
slash his other sleeve and maybe draw a bit of blood
along with it, just to show him.
To her astonishment the dagger was sent skittering
down the steps in a clatter of metal and bone, and the
Norman was gripping her wrist so tightly she gasped
with the pain of it.
"Let go of me. . . ."
"Aye, lady." He dragged her slowly to him. "When
I'm through with you."
His face was only inches from hers, and she had no
warning of what he intended until his dark head bent
and he grazed her lips with his mouth. Stunned into
immobile fury, Brenna couldn't think for a moment. He
dared kiss her without asking permission! Few had done
that and gone away unmarked, and neither would this
Norman.
When she tried to turn away, his hand folded over her
jaw and held her tightly, forcing her lips apart. Before
she could snarl a curse at him, he'd invaded her open
mouth with his tongue, pillaging with a fiery heat that
paralyzed her.
He seemed to take her shock for acquiescence and put
a broad hand at the nape of her neck to hold her head
still while he plundered her mouth. To Brenna's bewil-
derment, an odd, curling fire shot through her body.
She gave an involuntary moan. When he lifted his head,
the triumphant gleam in his eyes shamed her.
With her free hand curled into a fist, Brenna struck
out at him. Jerking his head back, the Norman swore
softly and grabbed this wrist as well.
"Release me, you lop-eared ass!" she snarled in En-
glish, but he only eyed her warily without lessening his
grip. She bucked and heaved against him, but he re-
mained as stolid as rock, balanced on the narrow stone
step of the curving flight of stairs.
He pushed her back against the stone wall, pinning
her against it, and she felt its chill through her clothes.
 22 VIRGINIA LYNN
Her arms were trapped between them. His smile was
lazy.
" 'Twill do you little good to fight me. Save yourself
the trouble of it, demoiselle."
At his light, mocking words, Brenna redoubled her
effort to push him away. She shoved the heels of her
hands against his broad chest. It was like pushing at a
mountain. He merely gazed down at her with one brow
lifted in an inquiring slant.
Then she felt it, the proof of his desire, nudging at her
belly as he held her to him. It shocked her into immobil-
ity for a moment, and her lashes flew up so that she
gazed into his eyes. He returned her gaze coolly, though
the deep blue color was hot and shimmering with
enough fire to warm an entire village. To Brenna's
shame, he seemed to sense her sudden fear and was cruel
enough to lean even closer, pressing his hips against her
stomach.
His movement snapped her out of her momentary
shock.
''You cod's head," she blurted between gasps of air.
She kicked at him, and had the brief satisfaction of see-
ing him wince when her foot stabbed into his shin. He
shifted his legs, but her unerring aim caught him again,
and this time he gave an audible grunt of pain.
"Have it your way," he growled an instant later, and
Brenna felt the muscles in his arms flex.
He moved gracefully for so large a man, stepping back
to sweep her from her feet in a smooth, effortless mo-
tion. Brenna gasped, but the sound was muffled by his
mantle as he slung her over his shoulder. She kicked,
feeling foolish and terrified and humiliated. Her feet
struck his hard-muscled thighs, and one foot grazed his
sheathed sword. She heard him grunt as her knee found
his hard, muscled belly.
Without warning a broad palm descended upon her
rump in a stinging slap that shocked her more than it
hurt her. Brenna's loose hair obscured her vision, and
she tried to lever herself up with her hands against his
back, but failed. She had a disjointed view of gray stone
 LYON'S PRIZE 23
steps as she was helplessly carried like a sack of grain over
the shoulder of this enraging Norman.
"Put me down!" she shrieked, hitting at him wher-
ever she could.
Again his hand descended, sending shooting splinters
of pain down to her toes. She snatched at the hilt of his
sword, but he knocked her hand away. Every move she
made, he managed to counter until she was almost sob-
bing with frustrated fury. Stone walls careened past, and
she had brief glimpses of the sputtering wall torches that
lit the stairwell.
Slowly Brenna became aware of the increase of noise,
of the sound of music and laughter, and then a sudden,
startled silence. She closed her eyes and forced herself
not to struggle as she realized he'd returned her to the
hall. She could almost feel the incredulous stares of the
guests and servants.
Curse him, whoever he was!
Brenna had a dizzying view of rushes, spilled food,
elegantly shod feet, and then felt the sickening blur of
being placed back on her feet. She half stumbled and felt
a heavy hand steady her. Shrugging it angrily away, she
took a step away from her tormentor.
"Don't touch me." She turned blindly, her father's
astounded face swimming into focus. Brenna shook back
her hair and would have moved to her father if not for
the quick, steely grip on her shoulder that held her in
place.
"Lord Dunstan," her tormentor's voice said coolly,
"I come to press my suit with your daughter."
For a moment the old lord was speechless. He looked
from his daughter's flushed, furious face to the man who
had his hand on her so firmly.
"Your name, sir," he managed to say after a moment.
He shot a wary glance at Brenna, who stood rigidly
beneath the man's hand. "And an explanation, if
ye please."
Switching from French to excellent English, the man
said, "I am Rye de Lyon, Earl of Lyonfield."
Quiet greeted his reply. No one spoke until Brenna
 24 VIRGINIA LYNN
gave an angry gasp. She was furious that he hadn't been
courteous enough to use her language or indicate that
he understood it, and even more furious that the man
known as the Black Lion would dare come to court her.
Her chin jutted up defiantly, and her eyes found his.
"I don't care who you are. You're the king's man."
Lyon made her a brief half bow, not releasing her. "As
are we all, milady."
"Nay," she spat. "Not so!"
"Hold your tongue, daughter," Dunstan snarled at
her with an air of quiet desperation. "He is a guest at
Marwald, and the king's man. Ye'll show respect."
Brenna stared at her father with contempt. "I will
show him my back, as any good Saxon should do."
"I do not think so," Lyon said quietly. His grip tight-
ened on her arm. "Gently, demoisetle. I mean you no
harm."
"Do you not? Then you are uttl.i.k.e any Norman
knight I've ever known," she taunted. "You are rough,
cruel beasts, with thoughts of nothing save your own
pleasure."
"I'm not like any man you've ever known," he replied
with an amused lift of his brow. "Do not think it for an
instant."
Breaking into the tension between them, Dunstan
asked in a curt tone, " D 'ye mean to court my daughter,
my lord?"
"Nay, I meant no such thing." Lyon seemed amused.
"I mean to wed her, not court her."
Brenna trembled with anger. "I'll not mix my blood
with a Norman knight of William's! You're all alike,
rogues, murderers and worse, and-"
"Do not say it." His hand clamped down cruelly on
her wrist, threatening to snap the fragile bones. " 'Tis a
waste of breath and my patience."
Brenna saw the warning in his cold blue eyes and sur-
prised herself and everyone else by lapsing into silence.
She stood mute while her father hesitated, then ac-
cepted the marriage proposal on his daughter's behalf
He sounded relieved. Only then did Brenna speak, and
 LYON ' S PRIZE 25
her gaze shifted from Lyon to Dunstan. Her voice shook
slightly, and she spoke in slow, measured English to be
certain her father understood.
"I told you what I would do. So be it. It's on your
head if you force me to wed."
Dunstan shifted nervously, scowling at her. He wet
his lips and glanced at Lyon. "My lord, I feel I must
warn ye-"
"I've heard about her promise." Lyon' s grip eased a
bit on Brenna' s wrists, and he smiled slightly. "Some
promises are more easily made than kept."
Brenna met his gaze steadily. Her tawny eyes sparkled
with golden glints as she said, "I've no doubt I can keep
that promise, my lord."
 CHAPTER 2

II

"D'YE KNOW WHO he is?" Dunstan roared, staring at his

daughter's implacable face with a baffied, frustrated
glare. "The man holds so much power in the palm of his
hand, 'tis said that even Odo courts his favor."
"Power is not the same thing as courage." Brenna
kept her cool gaze on the courtyard below the window.
"And the king's brother is a spineless fool. All know
that."
Dunstan snorted. "It matters not if the man has cour-
age. He is an earl-"
"A ,,bastard earl!" Brenna flashed. "'Tis not the same
thing.
"It is if William decrees it, and ye need not forget that
he was born of a tanner's daughter himself. He would
not take lightly your refusal on those grounds, daughter,
so do not think it." He frowned. ''Who tells ye such
tales? Ballard? The coxcomb. He should stick to singing
of lost love and battles instead of whispering sly tales in
your ear. Listen well, Brenna. Lyon means to have ye,
and William will not say him nay. Though why the earl
wants ye escapes me. He must not have heard what a
shrew ye are, or how ye torment those who would be
kind to ye."
26
 LYON'S PRIZE 27
"Kind?" Brenna turned slowly to face her father.
"What would you know of kindness? Do not prate of
kindness to me as if I should be shamed for not leaping
at the chance to wed a man who has handled me roughly
-yet still not so roughly as my own father."
"Ye've deserved every blow I've given ye, and if I've
not used the buckle end of my belt on ye as ye deserve at
times, I've lived to regret it!"
"I pray you live so long," Brenna said softly. Her
throat ached with pent-up anger and emotion, and she
turned away again so he would not see how he affected
her. Damn him. She stared out the slitted window with-
out seeing the activity in the courtyard below.
"Fool!" Dunstan's fist slammed against the table be-
tween them. "Ye will wed the man, by all the saints, or
I'll see ye wrapped in chains!"
"Chains, Father? You'd put your own blood in chains
to wed the enemy?"
"Aye, that I would," he growled. "I'll not let ye de-
stroy my chance to regain all that was lost to me. A man
is nothing without land and power."
As she turned toward him, her lips drew back from
small white teeth in a feral snarl that took Dunstan by
surprise. He watched her warily as she took a step closer,
her hand resting on the hilt of her poniard. "Your lands,
power, your stupid, petty wars that have cost us every-
thing! What say you now, Father, when William the Bas-
tard decrees that you war for him instead of your own
gain?" She laughed bitterly. "'Tis not the same, is it?"
"Nay, but it still furthers my cause." Dunstan's reply
was a low growl, and it was obvious he smarted under
William's heavy hand. But it would be futile to fight the
Norman king. Dunstan had not lived this long by being
foolish, and he knew that the Normans would crush him
if he resisted, as they had crushed so many of the other
Saxon barons.
He balled his hand into a fist and dragged in a deep,
calming breath. "Brenna, ye've not yet learned an im-
portant lesson. Yielding is not always the coward's way
out. Ofttimes a gentle yielding is a victory of sorts."
 28 VIRGINIA LYNN
She tossed her proud head. "I saw the way my mother
yielded. A babe in her belly every year, until she died of
it. Nay, not for me, that bitter end.,,
Dunstan dragged a hand over his face and shook his
head. "Ifye anger this lord, he will not suffer it well. Ye
endanger yourself needlessly, and my cause with it. Ye
could win much with honeyed words, instead of
venom."
"I'll not bow to him.,,
" 'Tis said he could have any woman, Norman or
Saxon, yet he came and chose ye to wed. 'Tis an honor."
"An honor?" Brenna began to tremble. Her wide am-
ber eyes took on the sheen of tears, though she would
not allow them to fall. "You'd deem it an honor for your
daughter to lie with the enemy? With a man who's called
bastard?"
"Do not be so foolish as to bring that up in front of
him, Brenna," Dunstan growled. "I will not take re-
sponsibility for your idiocy if ye do." He caught her by
the wrist and held her fast. " 'Tis said the king lopped
off men's hands and feet for daring to mention his heri-
tage. D'ye think that this man would be as kind?"
"This man is not king."
"Nay, but he has the king's ear. He doesn't need to
be brave or strong or powerful, not as long as he has
William at his side. God's blood, but I do not know why
he wishes to saddle himself with such a vile-tempered
shrew, but ifye were the sweetest-natured wench in the
world and he wanted ye, I'd not be able to say him nay.,,
"Coward!" The word was flung at him bitterly, and
he released her with an angry shove.
"Ye've none of yer mother's sweet temper in ye, I
vow, yet ye're a comely wench and could gain much by
curbing your vile nature." Dunstan sighed heavily.
" 'Tis up to ye how your life goes, Brenna. Court this
lord with sweet words, and he may respond in kind. Give
him the sharp side of your tongue, and any man would
treat ye cruelly.,,
"Excellent advice, Father. I shall remember it when I
stick my dagger between his ribs."
 LYON'S PRIZE 29
Waving a weary hand, Dunstan sank into his_chair and
dismissed her. Brenna fled the hall gladly. She was so
near angry, frustrated tears that she could think of little
other than escaping to her chambers. Damn this Rye de
Lyon! Why had he come to Marwald? And why had he
offered for her? He was already wealthy. What did he
hope to gain?

Rye de Lyon knew the answer to that question. He knelt

before his king and looked up with a rueful grin when
William asked how it went with his intended bride.
"Beau sire, she is everything you said. And more. She
has the most vicious tongue ever heard, and is over-
proud."
William laughed. "I chose her master well, I think. Do
you wish advice, Lyon?"
"From you, beau sire, I would take it."
"Brook no insults from the lady. Be fair, but stern.
She will yield to you, as did my Maud to me."
Thinking of William's queen, the coolly regal Matilda
of Flanders, Lyon recalled how William had taken a whip
to her for her insulting refusal to wed him, hurling the
taunting epithet of bastard. He could well understand
the emotions behind such a harsh retaliation to a
woman. He'd been called bastard too many times to
count them, yet still fought his temper when it hap-
pened.
"My thanks for the advice, sire," Lyon said, rising
from his knees to take an offered cup of wine. "Once we
are wed, she will yield quickly enough."
William flashed him an amused smile. "Do you think
so, Lyon?"
"Aye. No woman will gainsay me."
" 'Tis what I ofttimes thought. Before I wed." Wil-
liam took a deep swallow of his wine. "Now I would
have you wed her soon. Her mother's sister has pressed
hard for her niece to make a good marriage. If nothing
else, to save her from her father's heritage." A faint smile
touched his stern mouth, and Lyon had a brief impres-
 30 VIRGINIA LYNN
sion of a meditating statue before William continued,
"It seems that the fair Lady Brenna has not relented in
her hatred of Normans at all, despite living in Normandy
for seven years. Though well past the marriageable age,
she has been trained to be a dutifuJ wife. She may
have . . . ah . . . rough edges."
Rye's brow lifted sardonically. "Rough edges? From
what I've seen, the lady would make a decent foot sol-
dier. She wields a weapon most deftly."
"Lyon, if you do not wish to wed the woman, I will
bind her to another. Your loyalty is true, and I would
not cause you unnecessary misery."
Rye was silent for a moment. Then he said, "Nay,
she'll suit me. Ofttimes a firm hand is all that's needed,
and no heedless cruelty." He lapsed into silence
again, then added with a twist of his lips, "Besides-I
like the feel of her. I admit that my brief taste of her
prickly charms left me wanting more."
The faint smile on William's face broadened into a
grin. "Many a man has been caught in that perfumed
trap.,,
"No woman has ever led me by a chain," Rye mut-
tered with a scowl. "Brenna of Marwald will not do
what others have not managed, no matter how fair. 'Tis
only a passing fancy, but welcome since I am to wed
her."
"Aye," William agreed in a thoughtful tone, eyeing
his loyal vassal.
Lyon kept his face impassive, not wanting the king to
see the desire he had for Brenna. Damn the wench, her
frenzied struggle against him had aroused more than
just rampant lust-he'd felt an unwilling admiration for
her battle against greater odds. Hadn't he battled
against greater forces since infancy? Aye, and he knew
well what the maid felt. She would have to learn, as he
had, that it would garner her much trouble in the pro-
cess.
William cleared his throat. "The Lady Brenna has oft
wavered on open rebellion. She was known to prefer the
company of Saxon hostages to the more gentle conversa-
 LYON'S PRlZE 31
ti.on of her Norman aunt's ladies. Lady Bertrice has
plagued me for some years to do something, but until
recently I wasn't certain it would be wise."
"Because of her father and brothers."
William smiled slightly. "Aye. Dunstan was a powerful
baron, and I would not like to have him forget his oath.
He is not a stupid man, but he has seven sons. One was
hostage with him but is yet a lad. Four are yet free.
Those I do not trust and would like to have in chains. I
still have the two youngest boys in my custody to keep
Lord Dunstan's loyalty strong."
" 'Tis the wisest course, I would think. Do you be-
lieve his free sons have the mettle of their sire?"
"They have not sworn fealty and have evaded capture.
With their sister wed to you, they will surely see the
advantage in allying with me. If not, we will put them
down."
Lyon felt no compunction against crushing his future
wife's brothers should they be foolish enough to rebel.
Only in unity could England survive against Norway,
Wales, France, and all those who sought to tear her from
William's grasp. Still, his smile was rueful.
"I could wish the maid had a sweeter nature, beau
sire. I do not think her family would take it well if I were
to give her the treatment she deserves. She has un-
manned so many of your knights and barons, that your
army is in danger of being depleted."
"'Tis why I sent you to her," William replied with a
comfortable smile. "You're in need of a Saxon wife, and
I am in need of a loyal earl in that section of the country.
Of late, bandits have taken to preying on villages and
men, killing serfs and livestock and trampling crops. I
suspect it to be displaced barons who are responsible but
am not certain. At any rate, I want more strongholds
built, better keeps than some of those dirt stockades.
Moorleah is strategic. It guards the coast. I've seen to its
strength with stones. You see that it is well fortified after
you're wed."
They talked for a while of outlaws to be exterminated,
of military plans, of battles fought and to be fought, and
 32 VIRGINIA LYNN
spoils gained for those already won. When Rye left the
king, he better understood William's desire to wed one
of his most loyal men to a Saxon termagant.
Like William, Rye was a bastard, but born of a Nor-
man earl and a highborn noblewoman. And like William,
Rye had fought his way up from infancy. Though the
king had the stigma of being son to a tanner's daughter,
there was no less stigma attached to being the bastard
son of a noblewoman. So Rye had taken what he could
from life, crushing those who opposed him. He'd cho-
sen to follow William and offer his loyalty and arms,
admiring the Wolf of Normandy and his persistence in
the face of such overwhelming odds. Now, at almost
thirty, Rye de Lyon had won lands to add to the title
he'd inherited and fought to keep. And he was to have a
wife for his troubles. A mirthless smile curved his hard
mouth.
He'd little use for a woman, beyond a casual tumble.
It had taken all his energies to follow William. It would
still require a great deal from him to hold the lands he'd
been bidden hold. And the wife he was to take de-
manded some thought. His business was war; though he
came from a stark school where kindness was equated
with weakness, he was not a cruel man. But neither was
he a fool. Nay, Brenna of Marwald would find no kind-
ness in him if she chose to be rash.
Rye scowled as the sudden memory of her soft curves
against him made his body tighten unexpectedly. Lu-
nacy, to allow his body's unschooled urges to rule his
head. 'Twas indicative of the power of her charms that
he even thought of her at all. But then, he'd never of-
fered marriage before, so perhaps that was what caused
his uneasiness.
Knotting his hand into a fist, Rye grazed it along the
walls of the keep, paying no attention to the skin scraped
from his knuckles. He had much to do yet. There were
plans to be made, betrothals to swear, banns to be
posted, keeps to fortify. Then he would settle the
woman at Moorleah. She would stay there while he went
about his business as always.
 LYON'S PRIZE 33
* * *
Trembling, Brenna walked the stone corridor to the hall
with slow steps. She knew why she had been swnmoned.
She was to make a formal acceptance of this Rye de
Lyon's suit. She would not. She could not. Her brief
encounter with him had been enough to prophesy her
future should she be fool enough to accept. He would
devour her, like the lion he was said to be. Nay, she
would better go to a nunnery than give herself to that
black knight!
She paused outside the doors to the hall. She could
see the Normans waiting on her, the envoys sent with
documents to seal their betrothal. In the past month she
had thought-no, prayed-that the fierce knight had
changed his mind. Now she knew he had not.
Her knees felt suddenly too weak to hold her, and she
grasped the door to hold herself up. It would not do to
let anyone know her fear. Not even her maids suspected
that she was terrified of the man. He would kill her, for
certain, but she would seek that death before she would
yield.
Straightening her spine, Brenna entered the hall with
her head held high. Her long coppery hair brushed
against her hips as she walked, and folds of blue velvet
flowed in a graceful rhythm around her long legs. She
was tall, taller than some men, and had never tried to·
hide her height. She certainly dido't try now, not with
the interested gazes of the Norman envoys observing
her. Rye de Lyon would soon know her mettle, by the
Holy Rood, he would!
"Daughter," Dunstan murmured with a nervous
glance at her as Brenna took her seat beside him. "These
men have come with the written contracts of marriage in
their possession." He paused, and his look was meaning-
ful. "Do you the honor of signing them, as I just have,
and this will be a done matter."
Brenna sat stiff and silent. Her hands were folded
meekly in her lap, and if not for the quick, fierce flare in
her tawny eyes, one would have thought her merely pen-
 34 VIRGINIA LYNN
sive. Lifting long lashes to reveal the hot glitter in her
eyes, she happened to meet the gaze of Raoul de Beau-
mont. She remembered him. He had been with Lyon
before, a young man with a pleasant countenance, rather
gentle.
She smiled softly at him and saw a wellspring of relief
in his eyes. It was short-lived.
Turning to her father, Brenna rose from her stool in a
graceful swish of velvet. Clasping her hands in front of
her, she said in a voice loud enough to be heard
throughout the quiet hall, "I shall not sign of my free
will. I beg of you, my father and lord, do not ask me to
wed with a man who is bastard."
There was a quick gasp, then a hush fell over the hall.
As Brenna seated herself again on the low stool near her
father's chair, the silence was broken.
"God's blood!" a Norman baron sputtered in French,
stepping forward to glare at Dunstan, "do you dare?''
"'Tis not my folly, but my daughter's," Dunstan said
in a low growl, flashing her a furious glance. "She can
sign her own name, and she will. I will see to it."
"I will not."
They stared at Brenna, at the hot splotches of color on
her high cheekbones, and the tight set of her mouth.
Her amber eyes flashed with stubborn fury. Raoul de
Bea~ont gave a shake of his head.
"My lady," he said softly, "I dare not take your an-
swer back to my lord. Do you think a moment-'tis
done, and does not need your signature to be com-
pleted. 'Tis a courtesy he is offering you. The king has
decreed that you shall wed his man."
"I care no more for the king's wishes than I do your
lord's," she said coldly. A fine fury burned in her. Lyon
wanted her no more than she wanted him. He was
merely obeying his king. Well, let him wed some goose-
hearted chit who'd stand for it. She would not!
Standing uncertainly below the dais, where Dunstan
sat in cold rage and indecision, Beaumont looked up at
him. "My lord Dunstan? What bid you tell my lord?"
"That his wife will be given to him as planned," the
 LYON'S PRIZE 35
old lord said after a moment. "Even if she be delivered
to him in chains.,,
Obviously appalled, Beaumont wavered for a mo-
ment. "He will not be pleased," he murmured.
"Nay, no more than I am," Dunstan said heavily,
"but the maid has a will of her own and will not listen. If
I had another more sweet-tempered daughter, I would
bid him wed her, but I do not. He has asked for Brenna
of Marwald, and that, I am afraid, is whom he will get.,,
Rising shakily to her feet, Brenna faced Beaumont.
Her voice quavered slightly, and she steadied it. "Do tell
your lord that my dagger will find his heart or mine, it
makes little difference to me. I will not wed him."
Beaumont's honest face paled. His dark eyes sought
hers in earnest as he pleaded, "Fair lady, do not bid me
tell my lord such as that. You ask for your own fate to be
sealed, and I fear for you.,,
"Fear for me?" Her smile was cold. "Nay, Sir de
Beaumont, fear for your lord. 'Tis his safety that is in
jeopardy, not mine. I prefer harsh death to his touch."
Dryly Beaumont answered, "That may very well be
what you receive, my lady. I will tell him of what you
said this mom, though I am certain you will regret say-
ing it."
It wasn't until she was once more back in her private
chambers with her women that Brenna began to wonder
what devil had prompted her to speak out so boldly. A
simple, dignified refusal would have sufficed. Yet she had
chosen to tweak the lion's nose and would surely suffer
for it.
But there was something about Rye de Lyon that
brought out the worst in her. Perhaps it had to do with
his blatant masculine appeal, that devil's brow and the
handsome face that had haunted her dreams since he'd
kissed her on the stairwell. She'd felt his desire against
her, knew that he wanted her, and this terrified her.
"Woe is me," she murmured softly. Her maid heard it
and knelt in front of her.
"My lady? You are gravely troubled?"
Brenna bit her bottom lip. Her maid, a knight's
 36 VIRGINIA LYNN
daughter who had come with her from Normandy, was
one of the few people in whom Brenna sometimes con-
fided.
"Aye, Rachel. I am afraid of this Norman bastard who
would take me for his wife."
''What will he say when your message reaches him, my
lady?" Rachel asked after a moment; and Brenna stared
at the bright tapeetry on the far wall.
"I am glad not to know," she murmured. "'Tis best
he is so far away."

By the time Beaumont reached London and Rye, he had

decided to couch his statements in tactful terms that
would defuse Lyon's anger. He hoped. Brenna of Mar-
wald could not begin to know the tempest that would be
stirred by her words if they reached the earl intact.
His hopes were for naught.
Entering the audience chamber where Rye sat deep in
discussion with William over the placement of troops
near the Scottish border, Beaumont waited silently. He
was still dusty and covered with mud from his ride and
considered cleaning up and coming back. But too soon
for him, Rye was pushing aside his business and striding
toward him.
Aware of the king in the background, Beaumont bent
his knee and said, "It is a bad time, my lord. I shall come
again when you are not occupied."
"Nay, Raoul. This is as good a time as any." His smile
was brief. "'Tis the king's wish to have this done
quickly, too."
Beaumont drew a deep breath. "Messire, I do not
bring signed documents."
"Dunstan did not sign?"
"Aye, lord, he signed."
''Well? Few women can read or write their names,
Raoul. The Lady Brenna's mark will suffice."
"Aye, lord, but the Lady Brenna is well schooled in
reading and writing."
Lyon absorbed this for a moment. His chiseled fea-
 LYON'S PRIZE 37
tu.res hardened slightly. "Tell me what honeyed words
the fair Brenna sent me."
Bending his head, Beaumont struggled between truth
and tact. "She does not wish to wed you and asked that
her sire not force her."
"That is not all she said, Beaumont. Do you think me
a fool?"
Beaumont's head snapped up. "Nay, lord, but there is
no need for you to hear all her unwise words."
From behind Lyon came a soft chuckle, and the mur-
mured comment from William, "History repeats itself."
Lyon ignored his liege for the moment. His blue eyes
stabbed at Beaumont, and his black brows gathered om-
inously. "I would hear her werds exactly as she said
them."
Indignation grew in Beaumont that he should be the
bearer of such words, and anger sparked his retelling.
"She said, my lord, that her dagger would find your
heart or hers ere she wed you, and that it made little
difference. She does not intend to wed you."
"And that is all?"
"Nay." Steeling himself, he added stiffly, "She asked
her father not to wed her to a man who is a bastard."
His eyes flicked nervously from Lyon to William, who
bore the same aversion to that word. Neither man
move_d nor spoke for a moment, and Beaumont began
to sweat. His tunic clung to him, and a drop ran down
the side of his dusty face, turning dirt into mud.
"Do not kill the messenger, Lyon," King William
chided when Rye's hand closed on the hilt of his sword.
His voice was dry and faintly amused. " 'Tis best to be-
rate your lady. I know this from experience."
Half turning, Rye forced himself to speak softly. "I
had no intention of drawing my sword on poor Raoul.
He looks like to die as it is." He flicked a glance at
Beaumont. "Go, my weary friend . I bear you no ill
will.,,
After a swift glance at Lyon, Beaumont backed from
the room. He'd tried to warn the lady. Let her reap what
reward she had earned.
 38 VIRGINIA LYNN
"What do you plan, Lyon?" the king asked when they
were alone.
"To bring the bitch to heel," was the swift, savage
reply. William smiled.
"Do you think 'twill be easy? Brenna of Marwald
seems a bit high-spirited."
Shoving one fist into the other, Rye paced the large
chamber for a moment; his dark face was creased with
fury. "Aye, she is spirited, but not stupid. She will yield
or die."
"So she has said."
Swinging his startled glance toward William, Lyon let
his muscles relax slowly. Fury rode him hard, but he
would not let it rule him.
"It is said, beau sire, that when your queen was as
insolent as this laciy, you rode all night to reach Lille."
"Aye, Lyon, I did. And when I found her, I used my
whip on her." A faint smile curved William's mouth.
"She said later that I dared much to come into her fa.
ther's palace and beat her."
"Did you consider that before you acted?"
"Nay. Not at all. I had something else on my mind."
His smile was cold, and Rye understood.
"I would ask a favor, sire."
"Speak."
"A special license. To wed without wait. Do I have
it?"
William grinned. "Aye, Lyon, you have it. But bring
me the document, and I will sign."
A scribe was summoned, and the documents Beau-
mont had brought were signed and sealed, along with a
special license for marriage.
Lyon bowed before his king. "With your leave, beau
sire, I ride for Marwald."
Having received the king's permission, Rye de Lyon
strode from the hall and into the bailey, shouting for his
horse and men. He turned to find Raoul de Beaumont at
his side.
"I will ride with you, seigneur," the young man said.
"If you desire it. I ride to Marwald."
 LYON'S PRIZE 39
''Yea, I thought as much."
There was a thoughtful light in Beaumont's eyes that
made Lyon smile. "You do not approve, Raoul?"
"I fear for the outcome, my lord."
. "There is only one outcome. She will wed me, and
she will cease her insults." He tapped his riding crop
across his palm and found Beaumont's gaze on it. "Aye,
Raoul, 'tis what she deserves, don't you think?"
"Yea, lord, but I'm not one to whip a woman."
Lyon smiled faintly. "Neither am I, Raoul. But a she-
devil-ah, that is another matter entirely."

. It was dark, and the drawbridge had been pulled up for

the night. Brenna heard a commotion below her win-
dow. Tossing her needlework carelessly aside, she rose
from her place by the fire and peered out into the bailey.
Men scurried about and there was the creak of chains as
the drawbridge was lowered.
A thump of dread made her chest ache. She turned to
find Rachel watching her with wide eyes.
"Visitors at this hour, my lady?" the girl whispered.
She ran to Brenna. "Hide! You must! You know it will
be the Lion, and he ·will be angry. . . ."
"No. I'll not hide from any man." Brenna's lip curled
in scorn, but she could not steady the slight quiver in her
voice. ''What will he do to me in my father's house?"
"Milady, he is a fierce Norman knight. . . . ''
"Aye, and cowardly Dunstan swore fealty to Wil-
liam!" Brenna folded her arms over her chest to still the
quaking of her hands. " He will not dare harm me. His
king is my king, and I am a ward of William's by his own
word."
Still, when Rye de Lyon crashed into her chamber,
she could not help a skittering of fear along her spine.
She met his hard gaze steadily, her chin lifted to deny
the weakness inside. Had he looked thus the last time
she had seen him? So fierce and dangerous? Yea, she
recalled that he had, yet she still challenged him.
Lyon stood in the open doorway; he wore chain mail
 40 VIRGINIA LYNN
and was dusty. His mantle swirled around his heels, the
bright scarlet edged with gold, proclaiming him a man
of consequence. He was bareheaded, his crisp black hair
lying over his forehead and barely covering his ears. The
trace of a beard shadowed his square jaw, and his mouth
was set and hard, the blue eyes glaring at her with hot
lights. A well-favored man; not even the scar could ruin
his countenance.
"So, my dunghill cock," she said more bravely than
she felt, "what do you mean trespassing in a lady's
chambers of a night?"
Lyon took several steps into the room, his stride long
and purposeful. He smelled of horse and leiither and
dust. Brenna forced herself not to back away. She saw
the fine white lines that bracketed his hard mouth, the
opaque glitter in his narrowed eyes, and knew that she
braved much with her taunts.
"I received your message, my lady," he said in a flat,
hard voice that betrayed nothing. "I came as quickly as I
could to answer you."
She shifted uneasily. "I did not require an answer."
"Nay, but I intend to give you one." His voice was
soft and menacing. Brenna felt a flutter of fear.
Several of the maids whimpered with fear, and Brenna
saw Rachel sidle along a tapestry-covered wall toward
the door. Coward. Not that she could blame her. Only
pride kept Brenna from following Rachel- pride and an
unwillingness to see contempt replace the fury in his
eyes.
"I will hear you tomorrow," Brenna said, stepping
away as if she had dismissed him. Lyon's hand was hard
on her wrists, crushing them as he dragged her back.
It was then she saw the riding whip in his right hand.
Her startled gaze flew to his face as he shook the lash
loose with a deft twist of his wrist.
"Nay, sweet lady. You will bear me tonight. And every
night hereafter that I desire." The whip hissed through
the air and cracked loudly, making her jump in spite of
her determination not to. "First, you will sign the mar-
riage documents."
 LYON'S PRIZE 41
"I will not!"
A sibilant sound swept through the air, followed by a
slight tug on her skirt, and she knew that the lash had
cut through the draped material, much too dose to her
tender flesh. Another bite of fear raked her.
"Aye, lady, you will. And then we will be wed. To-
night. By a priest." .
She gaped at him. "Impossible!" she said at last,
her trembling noticeable now. "A priest . . . the
banns . . ."
"Have been read once. That will be enough." His
mouth thinned. "I have a special license; and a priest. It
will be tonight."
"Nay!" A wave of panic swept through her. She
pulled hard at the hand curled around her wrists, but the
steely grip did not budge.
"You have misread me, my lady," Rye de Lyon said in
a harsh voice. "To your sorrow. I made a bargain with
your father and your king, and your nay is as useless as
the bleating of a sheep."
Brenna lifted her golden gaze slowly to his face,
breathing deeply to calm herself. "Do you wish to die so
soon then, my lord? I have vowed to kill the man who
would dare wed me."
"I am not so easily killed."
He seemed impatient, and slightly amused by her
words. Brenna grew rigid with a rising fury that
drowned out her fear. And caution.
"I have said I will not wed a bastard, and I will not!"
All amusement faded from his eyes. Slowly Lyon
pulled her to him until her thighs almost touched his.
His metal mail dug into her tender flesh, scraping
against her arms. She could see the spiky points of his
thick lashes, the glint in his blue eyes, and the flare of his
nostrils.
There was something in his face that warned her here
was a knight unlike any other she had known. Even her
rough, crude brothers did not have the same deadly set
to their features as did this man.
Holding her hard by the wrists, Lyon lifted his whip.
 42 VIRGINIA LYNN
"Twice you have tossed that insult at my head," he
grated between clenched teeth, "but by God, demoiselle,
you shall not do so again."
Again the whip cracked, and Brenna felt it cut
through the velvet and hiss close to her skin. She
writhed, biting her lower lip, her eyes flashing fear and
defiance at him.
Pushing her away from him yet keeping his grip on
her, Lyon said, "You will sign now, demoiselle. And
there will be no more of these foolish plays between us.''
Brenna fought the urge to sob aloud. She was truly
terrified now and hated him for reducing her to such a
state. He watched her coldly, no mercy in his eyes.
"Aye," she said, bitterly, "I will wed you, Rye de
Lyon. But you shall regret it, that I promise you."
 CHA PTER 3

LoRD DUNSTAN HEAVED an audible sigh of relief. It was

over. Brenna was wed to the Norman earl, and no longer
his responsibility. Whatever folly she committed now
would be laid at Lyon's door, not his.
He glanced across the noisy hall at his daughter, and
his mouth tightened into a bitter slash. "She's full of
hatred and resentment," he muttered to the man at his
side, "but I do not feel I deserve it. I loved my wife as a
man should. 'Twas not my fault she died, but Brenna
would never listen."
"My lord?" a new voice said at his elbow, and Dun-
stan turned from his steward to see Lyon's escort wait-
ing to speak to him.
"Beaumont, is it not? Sir Raoul de Beaumont?"
"Aye. The seigneur requests that you make ready a
clean chamber for the bridal night," Beaumont said with
a polite bow.
Startled, Dunstan said, "Will not my daughter's
cham-"
"Nay." Beaumont shook his head. He seemed faintly
embarrassed. "He thinks 'twould be better if the lady
were in-unfamiliar- surroundings this night."
43
 44 VIRGINIA LYNN
"Ah." Dunstan nodded his understanding. "I sup-
pose he has already taken her dagger from her."
"Aye." Beaumont looked away, his gaze moving to-
ward the table where Brenna sat staring straight ahead.
She sat quietly in the midst of the chaos around her, the
minstrels and soldiers and noisy servants. Her back was
pressed rigidly to the chair, her arms drawn over her
chest and her hands clenched tightly in front of her. Rye
de Lyon sprawled beside her, seemingly lazy and bored,
but not a man there believed him less than alert. His
eyes followed every movement, and there was a sugges-
tion of wary waiting in his powerful frame.
Beaumont shifted uneasily. "The lady is beautiful, my
lord."
"Aye," Dunstan agreed gloomily, "but not as sweet
as her mother was, God rest her. Would to God I had
wed her off long ago and spared myself these past years
of her sharp tongue."
He leaned forward, fixing Beaumont with an intent
gaze. "Tell your lord to 'ware of her temper, sir. If she is
in a rage, there will be no hot supper, nay, nor decent
wine. A man is more likely to find sand in his bowl, and
sour ale in his cup."
"I think, Lord Dunstan," Beaumont replied politely,
"that Lord Lyon will be able to convince her 'twould be
most unwise to commit such folly."
Dunstan sat back with a derisive snort. "Aye, so I
once thought. She taunts a man with her sharp tongue,
then makes him wish he could crawl to his pallet of an
eve. I never thought mere words could prick me so,
but . . ." He lapsed into a brooding silence.
"Do you think she would listen to words of advice
from you?'' Beaumont asked after a moment, and smiled
faintly when Dunstan threw him an incredulous stare.
"By God's Holy Rood! Have you not been paying
attention to matters these past weeks, Beaumont? She
would not listen to St. Peter himself if he were to come
down to speak to her." He shook his head. "Nay, I've
learned to save my breath. Unless I'm so afraid I have to
 LYON 'S PRIZE 45
speak or die. Beaumont, I tell you that most troubles are
caused by women, and that is the God's truth."
"So I've heard men say, my lord." Beaumont hesi-
tated. "Is there anyone she confides in, p'raps?"
''What is it, Beaumont?" Dunstan stared at him with
suspicious eyes. His gaze narrowed when Beaumont
colored and looked down at his dusty boots. "ls there
aught amiss?"
"Nay, lord, just that the seigneur has· requested that
she have someone speak to her of . . . of the wedding
night. In place of her mother, you understand."
Dunstan dismissed this request with an impatient
wave of his hand. "Brenna is well aware of a woman's
duties. She's not ignorant, my lord, just because she is
innocent. Why, there have been many times here in the
hall she has seen couplings. After a celebration or a feast,
when the men grow rowdy-w ell, you must know how
soldiers do. Nay, she is not ignorant of what goes on
between a man and a woman."
Beaumont frowned. Was there no one in this dirt-and-
stone keep who could speak to a gently bred if not
gently reared girl on her wedding night? No wonder
Brenna of Marwald was as hostile and rebellious as she
was, having lived in a keep full of crude, uncouth men
who swore and fornicated in front of her. 'Twas small
wonder she did not spit on the floor and scratch her
backside.
Buumon t went to report his failure to Lyon and
found that man not at all surprised.
Rye flicked Brenna a thoughtful glance. She still sat
rigidly, her back straight and her chin lifted. Her women
had combed her long hair until it gleamed like firelight,
lying in wispy filaments over her shoulders and draping
over her arms. A glittering coronet encircled her head,
and a mesh net of finely spun gold covered her crown.
She wore a deep green kirtle of silk, with long sleeves
and a fitted bodice that showed the tempting thrust of
her breasts. A delicate golden girdle around her slender
hips carried no dagger, and there was ice in the gaze that
looked past him.
 46 VIRGINIA LYNN
Standing abruptly, he held out his hand to her.
"Come, wife."
Brenna stared at his hand, at the broad palm and long,
blunt fingers. Slowly, silently, she put her small hand in
his, and it was dwarfed as he closed his fingers around it.
He drew her up with him, and they paused to accept the
toasts drunk in their honor.
It was not a night of gaiety as was usual at a wedding.
Everyone seemed more confused than merry, though
the ale and wine flowed freely enough. Dunstan's men-
at-arms were not quite certain of this new lord, and
some stared at him with surly faces. No matter. They
knew he was their liege, as surely as was William. As
surely as Brenna would come to know.
"There is to be no bedding ceremony?" she asked in a
tight voice. She was relieved when he shook his head.
"Nay," Rye said softly, then held Brenna when she
would have taken the stairs leading to her bedchamber.
"This way, madam. We use another chamber this
night."
Startled, she looked at him with a hint of defiance in
her eyes. Then she bowed her head and went with him
meekly enough to arouse his wildest suspicions. She had
plans, he was certain of it.
Her maid was waiting on them in the small room he
had chosen. Rachel dropped Lyon a brief curtsy. "Who
gave you permission to come here?" Lyon demanded.
"My lord," she said with a slight stammer, "I am used
to tending my lady."
Brenna lifted her head, her hand still held tightly by
Lyon. "'Tis well, Rachel. I do not need a maid this
night."
Feeling slightly churlish, Lyon relented. "Tend your
mistress, then leave us."
He released Brenna's hand, then stood watching while
the two women stepped behind a painted screen. Only
their faint silhouettes showed, and he could see nothing
amiss as Rachel helped Brenna out of her green silk kirtle
and the soft gunna.
Rye moved across the chamber toward the bed. It was
 LYON 'S PRIZE 47
high and piled with furs and feather-stuffed pillows.
Woven spreads lay over it, some he knew must be
Brenna's. Her maid had obviously readied the chamber
for her mistress. A faint unease shot through him. Turn-
ing back, he watched with narrowed eyes as Brenna
stepped out from behind the painted screen, her chin
lifted and her gaze aloof.
His mouth tightened. God's Holy Rood, but she was
a fine wench! Her curves were only hinted at by the thin
wool robe that swept from neck to ankle, but when she
moved toward him, he felt a contractin g of the muscles
in his belly. Her long legs were slender and shapely, her
waist tiny enough to be spanned by his two hands put
together finger end to finger end. Hips curved gently,
and her breasts . . . he swallowed the urge to move to
her and test their weight in his palms. Delicate nipples
beaded as he watched, pushing at the soft wool over
them, seeming to beg for his touch.
Rye lifted his eyes to Brenna's face and saw the glitter
of mockery in her eyes. She flaunted herself before him,
daring him to take her. He'd never left a challenge unan-
swered.
"Leave us," Rye said to the maid.
After Rachel had withdrawn, Brenna obviously de-
cided to press an attack. She moved toward a small table
near the fire, her step light and as graceful as a deer.
"Wme, my lord husband?"
"If you like."
While she poured wine from a flagon into a cup, he
began to unbuckle his sword belt. He folded the leather
in a loop and laid his sword near the bed. He was still
wearing chain mail. Shrugging out of his hauberk, he
pulled it over his head and draped it on a chair. Though
aware of Brenna's veiled gaze on him, he ignored her as
he untied the thongs holding on his leather tunic, then
untied the straps at his waist that held up his chausses.
He saw her lashes droop, then lift slightly when he stood
in his wool shirt, and linen breeches and stockings.
Brenna's tongue flicked out to wet her lips, and she
 48 VIRGINIA LYNN
gave a visible start when he turned toward her and began
to untie the strings at the neck of his shirt.
"My lord," she said quickly, "your wine." She thrust
a cup toward him.
His hand curled around her wrist. "I want you to
drink with me."
"Drink with you, my lord?" Again the tongue flicked
out to wet her lips. "Wine sickens me if I drink over-
much."
"You've hardly touched wine all night. Drink with
me, or I shall begin to think you've poisoned my wine."
She paled, and her chin flung up. "I would not poison
you."
"Would you not?" He bent a dark head toward her
cup. "Then drink, fair lady."
Brenna lifted the flagon and poured wine with a shak-
ing hand. She turned back to face him, and Rye saw the
quick decision in her eyes. As she lifted the cup to her
lips, her gaze not leaving his face, he reached out to take
it from her.
When she gave him a startled glance, he said, "I think
it best we have your woman come to taste our wine for
us."
She sucked in a deep breath. "Nay, my lord. That is
not necessary."
"I say it is."
Her lips twisted. "I meant, lord, that we shall not
drink it."
Though he had expected such perfidious tricks, Rye
was angry. He slammed his cup to the table. "What do
you think of, to try such a thing? Do you not know how
harshly William would deal with you and yours?"
Her head flung up. "I care nothing for that."
"Nothing for yourself, nothing for your family. You
are a wench of few loyalties," Rye muttered. He raked a
hand through his hair.
He was beginning to regret his agreement to wed this
wench with the amber eyes filled with hate. It was only
when he looked at her, at the gleaming skin of her neck
 LYON 'S PRIZE 49
and shoulders, and remembe red the feel of her body
next to him, that he renewed his determin ation.
He led her toward the bed. She did not struggle as
he'd expected but allowed him to push her to the mat-
tress with a firm hand. She sat stiffly on the edge. Rye
stepped back and untied the straps at his waist belt, re-
leasing his linen stockings, then shrugged out of his shirt
and tossed it to a low stool. He turned back to look at
his new wife.
Brenna sat with her hands folded in her lap, her gaze
fixed on the floor. Odd, that he found himself intrigued
by this angry girl with gold cat-eyes, and little else to
commen d her but fierce courage. He wanted more from
her than just her yielding, yet he wasn't certain exactly
what. Garbed only in the brief breeches, Rye moved to
the bed and put a hand on Brenna's shoulder.
At the touch of his hand, Brenna leapt at him, like a
cat, with a short dagger in her hand. Only his quick
reflexes saved him from taking its length.
As it was, the dagger raked along his forearm, leaving
a trail of blood. He bent her arm up and back until she
gasped with the pain.
"Let go of it," he snarled at her. When she held on to
it defiantly, he increased the pressure until she paled and
abruptly released the dagger. It fell among the furs. He
picked it up and flung it far away from the bed.
Blood dripped steadily down his arm, but he paid no
attention to it as he hooked his fingers into the neck of
her robe to pull it from her. She flinched slightly, but
made no move to stop him, and he didn't pause until
she was naked.
''We'll see how well you bear the thrust of a different
blade, my fine lady," Rye muttered through his teeth,
and bore her back into the furs with the weight of his
body. She lay stiffly beneath him, staring up at the ceil-
ing, her eyes wide open and her body tense. But when
he pushed her thighs apart with his knees, she began to
fight him. .
Twisting, turning, slashing at him with her fists and
nails and teeth, Brenna fought as if against the devil him-
 50 VIRGINIA LYNN
self. Rye held her with almost contemptuous ease, let-
ting her wear herself out with her struggles. Long
strands of coppery hair whipped across his face, and her
stream of abuse grew hoarse and breathless as she raged
at him.
Rye de Lyon had been reared in a stark school, in-
deed, where defeat meant death. But in spite of her
methods, which left much to be desired, there was
something touching about the struggle waged by this
one woman against her father, her king, and now her
husband. She did not yield. She must be vanquished to
· be defeated. It aroused unwilling admiration in him.
"Are you finished?" he asked when she finally grew
quiet under him. He saw the bitterness of her defeat in
her eyes. Rye knew how he must appear to her, cool and
composed and completely unruffled by her frantic strug-
gle. "I believe, my lady, that I have the advantage of
strength and position at this time," he said with a faint
smile. "I bid you yield the day."
"Never!" She heaved beneath him, a poor effort at
best. "I will never yield to you."
"Then I will force your surrender." He bent his head
and kissed her, and when she turned her head away, he
put both her wrists in one of his strong hands and held
her jaw with the other. The enticing slide of her bare
skin against his aroused him, and his breathing was rag-
ged. He moved his mouth over hers and felt her body
quiver beneath him.
Shifting so that his arousal was pressed hard against
her, he let his palm move from her jaw down over the
arch of her throat, smoothing over velvety skin in a
heated glide. When his palm cupped her breast, he heard
the wild moan in the back of her throat. Then there
wasn't time to move quickly enough before her teeth
sunk viciously into his bottom lip.
Instinctively Rye's hand moved to force her jaws apart
and release him, and he jerked his head back.
"You vicious little viper!" he choked out, and stared
at her. Her eyes were glazed with fury and something
more. Was she waiting to be slapped? Raped?
 LYO N'S PRIZ E 51
Neither one appealed to him. He'd already felt the
bite of his lash throug h her skirts, and it had left him
feeling as brutal as he was certain she thoug ht him. Well,
he was brutal, and he was harsh, but not usually to
women.
Drawing back from her, Rye sat up and looked at
Brenna for several long moments.
"I'll give you some time to adjust, my lady," he said
at last, startling both of them. His gaze narrowed. "I
will not force you now, but you must give me your word
that you will not try to poison me or anyone else again,
nor draw a weapon."
Brenna didn't answer for a moment. She returned his
stare with one of her own.
"The wine wasn't poisoned; it was a sleeping draught
so that you would not force me," she said sullenly. "And
I make no guarantees not to take up a weapon."
"'Twa s your choice, my lady." Shrugging, Rye stood
and untied the strings to his breeches and rolled them
away. He turned to her, and she saw his intent in his eyes
and his arrogant male body.
Brenna swallowed heavily and averted her gaze. "Yet I
will give you my promise for now, lord," she said
quickly.
The bed dipped beneath his weight, and her startled
eyes flew to Lyon' s harsh face. "Nay lady, you will give
me your word not to ever take up another weapon
against me."
"'Tis given!" she cried out when he moved over her,
his muscled thighs on each side of her body; he gave a
grunt of satisfaction.
"You're a foolish wench, Brenna of Marwald," he said
in her ear, "but at least you're not stupid ."
Flushing, she gave him a quick push, but he only
laughed and pulled her against him. The dagger slice on
his arm still oozed blood, but neither of them paid any
attention to it. Rye tossed a fur over them and twisted a
long strand of her hair in his fist. His heavy arm moved
to lie across her waist.
"Tom orrow ," he said after a moment, "you will talk
 52 VIRGINIA LYNN
with a woman whose wisdom you respect about how it is
between a man and a woman. There will be no more of
this. I give you only this night."
"Aye, lord," Brenna said in an oddly muffled voice,
and he saw that she'd pressed her face into the pillow.
The long night stretched before him; even with her
dagger across the room and his tight hold on her, he
dared not sleep. Not with this bloodthirsty vixen next to
him waiting for a mist.alee. Rye wondered with a trace of
sardonic mockery if William had known of the maid's
inordinate fear before sending him to her. It would most
likely appeal to his sense of humor, and he would be
waiting to hear how his knight had fared.
Rye bent an arm behind his head and stared into the
dark. He recalled the stark terror in Brenna's eyes and
frowned. That had cut him deeply. She should not fear
him so, not this maid with more courage than most
grown men.
 CH .A PT ER 4

SUNLIGHT FILTERED TiiROUGH the wall slit in a smoky haze

that played across Brenna's face. Familiar smells teased
her awake, the acrid bite of woodsmoke mingling with
the delicious fragrance of hot bread baking in the kitch-
ens behind the keep. There was the distant jangle of
metal bits and horses stompi ng, and she could hear the
increasingly familiar bang and scrape of construction.
William's walls.
She stirred slightly and tried to roll to one side. Sore
muscles protested her sudden movement, and her eyes
snapped open when she came to an abrupt halt. She
couldn 't move. Her hair was caught and a heavy weight
held her, and for an instant she was startled by it. Then
her memor y returne d. She swept a cautious glance at the
man beside her.
Long strands of her hair were wrapped around his fist.
She recalled with a surge of bitter rage how he had delib-
erately coiled it in his hand the night before to hold her.
Now his big body lay nestled close to her, as if he had a
right to be there, to be in England, much less her home.
Brenna fumed for an instant but lay as still as she
could. She wanted to think, to plan withou t waking Rye.
Her gaze flicked over him again. The fur coverlet had
53
 54 VIRGINIA LYNN
slipped from his body. She saw that his hard-muscled
frame was marked with scars, some old, some new. In his
profession a man bore many scars from battle.
She sucked in a deep breath. The taut, muscled body
of the Norman was entirely nude, and she remembered
with a hot sense of chagrin how he had made her yield to
his demands. She hoped the Norman would forget her_
cowardly surrender.
The Norman. Her husband now, bound to her by
church and law. A sick feeling began in the pit of her
stomach. Brenna shot a wistful glance at the door, then
flicked the sleeping man another glance. Her throat
tightened.
He was awake, his thick-lashed eyes boring into her. A
moment passed in taut silence, then he said softly, "I
would not even consider an attempt at escape if I were
you, chbie. 'Twould not be wise."
"But you're not me."
A faint smile touched the corners of his lips. His gaze
drifted downward, to where the covers had slipped from
her breasts. Flushing hotly at his slow appraisal of her
bared body, she scrabbled for a fur to cover herself. Her
chin lifted defiantly above the pelt at her throat.
"Let me up."
His mouth quirked with amusement at her haughty
command, and a black brow lifted. "Anxious to begin
your life as my bride, demoiselte? Don't you care to linger
in our bed?"
Brenna glared at him and shoved at the arm draped
over her waist. "Nay. I'd rather sleep with pigs."
"That can be arranged if your temper doesn't
sweeten." He lifted his arm from where it lay across her
middle and bent it behind his head, but kept his grip on
her hair. "ls this better?" The movement tightened the
band of muscles across his bare chest, and she couldn't
keep her willful eyes from flicking over the roped mus-
cles of his stomach and lower. She jerked her gaze away
and sat up abruptly, wincing when his grip pulled at her
scalp. Meeting his eyes with a defiant glare, she pulled
her hair from his hand.
 LYON' S PRIZE 55
"Much better," she said when he did not try to cap-
ture her again. But when she tried to get up, he caught
her and held her. His large hand grasped her arm above
the elbow; his fingers deliberately grazed the sensitive
skin of her rib cage as she held the fur against her like a
shield.
"Nay, milady. I won't hold you, but you must lie here
with me a while."
Tiny pricks of apprehens ion pranced along her spine,
and Brenna met his wary blue gaze with a guarded,
"Why?"
"To accustom you to having me in your bed. I gave
you last night, but no other."
At the reminder Brenna fought the wave of panic and
kept her voice steady. "I do recall that, my lord, but
does that mean I must suffer your touch in the light of
day?"
''You must suffer it anytime I choose to touch you."
As if to prove his point, Rye ran his hand up over her -
arm to her throat, curling his fingers into the edge of the
fur she clutched and drawing it slowly down. Cold air
washed over her. Her skin prickled with gooseflesh, and
she couldn't help a slight shiver. He didn't seem to no-
tice as he caressed her with a touch much lighter than
she had expected from him after the night before.
Swallowing her outrage, Brenna kept her chin high
and her gaze distant, as if his touch were no more than a
minor annoyance. It didn't help that she tingled where
he touched her, and a slow, curling fire sparked in the
middle of her belly, puzzling and unnerving her.
His hand was large and brown against her pale skin,
the finger pads rough and callused. The caress sent small
waves along the nerve endings of her body. When his
palm slid under one breast and he held it, she closed her
eyes. For some reason, instead of feeling revttlsed as she
had half expected, she felt a strange excitemen t. His ca-
resses over lier naked body ignited a warm wash of sen-
sation that was as confusing as it was unfamiliar.
Brenna sat stiffly, her eyes closed, her breathing soft
and shallow. She felt him shift on the mattress, felt the
 56 VIRGINIA LYNN
scrape of his leg against her thigh as he sat up, then felt
his other hand on her. Rye's fingers traced the molding
of her collarbone before curling around the peak of her
breast and teasing it. Brenna couldn't hold back a gasp
of surprise. Her eyes flew open, and she met his hot blue
gaze with a start.
"What are you doing?"
"Touching you."
She drew back, but he adjusted so that his hands still
cupped her breasts. "I know that," she snapped. "Stop
it."
"Nay, milady. You are mine. I have a right to touch
you like this"-he drew a finger in a circle around the
taut peak of her breast-"and like this-" Bending
quickly, he covered her nipple with his mouth. Brenna
cried out and arched her back in shock.
Before she could recover enough to attempt to push
him away, he slid an arm around her waist and pulled her
down and under him as he bent over to press her back
into the mattress. She kicked, but her long legs were
tangled in the jumble of furs"and woolen coverlets, and
she only succeeded in tangling them more. Rye quickly
slid over her, his weight holding her down, one hand
circling her wrists to keep her from striking him.
The abrasive scrape of his naked body over hers star-
tled her into immobility for a moment, and she felt the
hard nudge of his growing erection against her thigh.
That gave her the incentive to increase her struggles
with renewed vigor, and a hint of hysteria crept into her
frantic movements.
"Get off me, you big oaf," she managed to say be-
tween panting breaths for air. Rye laughed softly; ignor-
ing the curses that followed, he slid his frame along the
curves of her body to capture her wet, aching nipple in
his mouth again. Brenna moaned, angry tears stinging
her eyes at the indignity of his action and her position.
The rough scrape of his morning beard against her
skin was painful and oddly stimulating at the same time,
and she twisted to escape his searching mouth. It was
humiliating that he held her so easily, that her most fran-
 LYON' S PRIZE 5 7
tic efforts to elude his touch availed her nothing. Even
more horrible was the fact that her treacherous body was
responding to the wet tugging of his mouth on her
breast. Brenna tried to heave him from her without suc-
cess. For some reason the spark in the center of her ab-
domen grew hotter and higher, made her thighs ache
and her skin tingle. And Rye seemed to know it.
When he lifted his head at last and looked up at her
face, he regarded her thoughtfully for a long moment.
Brenna's breath came in tortured gasps, and she
couldn't help the writhing motions of her body. Finally
Rye's mouth curled in a slight smile.
"You deny your own nature, milady. 'Twill nor be as
bad as you fear, I promise you that."
"Promise! Do you think I want a Norman's prom-
ise?" Hot tears threatened, but Brenna blinked them
back. She would not cry, would not let this man see her
weakness. Perhaps her body had somehow betrayed her,
but she would never yield to him, never.
Releasing her wrists, Rye levered his body to a sitting
position and looked at her. "It doesn't matter what you
want. You must accept it."
Brenna swallowed the hasty retort trembling on the
tip of her tongue. Perhaps her father was right. Perhaps
she should use honey instead of vinegar to gain her free-
dom.
Bending her head, Brenna said softly, "Aye, milord."
She could feel Rye's suspicious stare but remained
with her head bent down, and her eyes downcast, until
he gave an irritated snort and rose from the bed.
"I trust your meekness less than I do your hatred,
Brenna of Marwald," he said as he reached for his linen
breeches.
Keeping her head bent, she watched him through the
screen of her loose hair as he pulled on the undergar-
ment. A tight feeling closed her throat. He was magnifi-
cently made, long of limb and thick-muscled, as sleek
and lithe as a panther. It was small wonder that he was
one of William's best champions. He probably had little
trouble in besting his foes.
 58 VIRGINIA LYNN
When snug linen stockings covered Rye's long legs
and were tied with tapes to the cloth belt at his waist, he
crossed back to the bed where she waited.
"Come and tend the wound on my arm. Then we will
go below to break our fast."
Though she had to bite her lower lip to keep from
giving him a sharp reply, Brenna managed to give a fair
imitation of a docile wife as she shrugged into a loose
gunna to tend the wound she had inflicted on him.
" 'Tis just a scratch," she commented as she wrapped
a strip of linen around his forearm and tied it so tightly
he gave her a sharp glance. "I don't know why you want
to make a fuss about it." She took several steps away
from him.
"Such a tender little wife," he muttered wryly. "I've
no intention of getting poisoning from your dagger, my
sweet. What good would a one-armed man be in bat-
tle?"
"Ask my older brother, who came away from battle
with only a stump for a right arm. A one-armed Saxon
warrior can wage war against able-bodied Normans any
day."
"So they showed us at Hastings," Rye commented
with a faint smile. "It's been over ten years, Brenna.
Could you not admit defeat at last? 'Twould certainly
save a lot of trouble and lives if some of your hotheaded
barons would acknowledge defeat."
She glared at him. "Ten years is nothing."
Reaching for the woolen shirt he wore under his
leather tunic, Rye shook his head. " 'Tis a belief appar-
ently shared by many Saxons. William is king, Brenna,
and he does not intend to leave England."
"Not willingly, I am certain."
Rye frowned. "Enough. I will not have it said that my
wife speaks treason with every breath. You'd best learn
restraint."
Brenna clenched her teeth together to keep her unruly
tongue from digging a deeper hole for her.
To keep from answering, she concentrated on dress-
ing. It was unnerving to have him watch her every move.
 LYON'S PRIZE 59
When he insisted that she allow him to help her, she
ground her teeth together with frustration. He was only
doing it to humiliate her, to show her she must obey
him even in this small matter. She wished she had her
dagger to slide between his ribs.
"Do you have a yearning to be a lady's maid, my
lord?" she inquire<;i caustically when he held up a clean
gunna.
"Where you are concerned--perhaps."
Brenna scowled. The man was unnerving. It was even
more unnerving to have hitn touch her, to feel the brush
of his fingers against her bare skin as he slid the gunna
over her head. The hem slipped to her feet in a whisper
of cool linen and the fragrance of flowers, and his blue
eyes darkened.
Rye reached for the soft wool kirtle to pull over the
gunna. Then he slung her goldlinked girdle around her
slender hips.
"Let me do that!" she snapped at him when his big
hands could not manage the last clasp of the girdle that
cinched in her garments.
To her surprise, he laughed. "Well, I have to admit
that you are not likely to bore me with compliant meek-
ness. Aye, I expect to be fielding your barbs for some
time to come."
Brenna shot him a baleful stare. It was on the tip of
her tongue to tell him to go to the devil, when a timid
knock sounded at the door.
"That must be Rachel," she said. "She probably
wants to see if I survived the night with a Norman sav-
age."
"Ah, but your night has yet to come, sweet Brenna,"
he mocked her. "Wait until I bed you to claim survival,
milady."
Brenna opened the door for her maid and saw the
frightened glance she gave Rye.
"Come in, goose," she said softly in the Saxon
tongue. "I am well."
Rachel began to tidy up the chamber, stirring up the
 60 VIRGINIA LYNN
fire and watching Rye from the comer of her eyes as if
afraid that he would lift his sword to her.
Rye gave an impatient snort and beckoned for Brenna
to help him with his chain mail. "I'll see to my men,
then join you in the hall. Here." He handed her the
heavy hauberk of mail. "Hold this while I put it on, then
lace me up."
"Do I look like a squire?" she asked tartly.
He grinned, raking her with hot eyes. "Nay, milady,
you certainly do not. I seem to recall very feminine vir-
tues beneath your gown."
Flushing hotly, Brenna snatched at the hauberk. "Be
quiet and put this on." She hoped Rachel had not over-
heard his crude comment.
Suddenly Rachel gasped.
"What is the matter with you?" Brenna demanded.
The girl was staring at the quantity of blood on the
sheets.
For an instant Brenna fought the urge to laugh. "The
seigneur's arm was cut," she said in a reasonable tone.
"That is all. Do not fret overmuch."
It was obvious Rachel did not believe her, but she did
not say so. She began to strip the bed. "Aye, milady. But
I am to hang the sheets out as proof of consummation."
She'd forgotten that small detail, Brenna realized, and
her face flamed. After being spared the bedding ritual-
she thanked God for escaping the humiliation of stand-
ing naked before gawking onlookers--she had not
thought about the importance of the marital sheets as
proof of her virginity. Now everyone would assume that
he had bedded her.
Brenna looked up to see Rye watching her. Her cha-
grin must have been reflected in ·her face because he
. grinned widely. She was neatly trapped, and by her own
hand. If she had not cut him, there would be no blood,
and she could have fled to the priests at the monastery
and begged asylum, sent entreaties to the pope citing
lack of consummation, done anything to escape this
Norman earl who was laughing at her.
In the next instant Brenna harbored a flare of hope. If
 LYON'S PRIZE 61
it was told that the deed had been done, then there was
no need to actually go through with it.
Chin lifting, Brenna said haughtily, "Do go sec to
your men, my lord. They must be afrighted that their
precious leader has been murdered in his bed by a Saxon
by now, and should be reassured."
"My men fear only God, William, and me," Rye said
with the usual arrogance that made Brenna want to slap
him. "You would do well to take a lesson from them."
"Anytime I want a lesson in fear, I know well to go to
Normans for it," she shot back, and saw his brows lift.
"Perhaps they can school you in obedience as well."
"P'raps. 'Tis doubtful, I think."
Shaking his head, Rye buckled on his sword. "After
the morning mass and breaking of our fast, we ride, wife.
I hope you ride as well as you argue. If so, we should be
at Moorleah by dusk this eve."
Brenna's heart skipped a beat. "Moorleah?"
"Aye. 'Tis where we will make our home."
"But I thought-I mean, Marwald is well fortified
and the king wanted you t<r-"
"Do not try to lesson me on this, Brenna." Rye's
voice was hard, all traces of amusement gone. "And be
ready when I come for you. What you do not have
packed, remains. And if I must carry you over my shoul-
der and tie you in a litter for the journey, I will do so.
You can reflect on what a pretty picture that w.ould make
while you decide."
He bent to scoop up the dagger she had used on him,
then strode out the door, slamming it shut behind him.
Brenna swallowed her dismay. Moorleah, recently re-
built of stone with great walls and a deep moat. She
would be his prisoner if she did not manage to escape
soon.

Rye held no illusions that Brenna would submit placidly

to his decision in anything, especially to leaving Mar-
wald. He had prepared for this eventuality already and
posted an armed guard outside their chamber door.
 62 VIRGINIA LYNN
"Watch her closely," Rye instructed. The man nod-
ded his understanding. It was no secret that his new wife
was a rebellious one, Rye ruefully reflected.
Raoul was busily instructing servants to load wagons
by the time Rye entered the bailey. All around was the
energetic bustle of armed men in the pale, bleak light
cast by a hazy sun.
"In that wagon, you dolt!" Beaumont was saying to a
man in exasperation. "Do you think your lady will thank
you for putting horseshoes atop her dean linens?"
"His lady will not thank him for anything," Rye said
with heavy irony. Beaumont turned and smiled in relief.
"Seigneur! I am pleased to see you-well."
"Alive? Is that what you meant to say?" Rye shook his
head in disgust. "I understand that you spent the night
outside my door like a squire."
He flushed. "Aye, seigneur. In case you needed me."
"And you did not feel the need to investigate at any
time?" His breath blew a visible cloud in the early chill.
Shifting uncomfortably, Beaumont blurted out truth-
fully, "I did think about it once, but as it was a female
voice that I heard call out, I did not."
Rye grinned. " I admit, Beaumont, there was a mo-
ment when I might have taken your assistance. She's the
wildest wench I've ever had the misfortune to meet. And
she almost made good on her promise." He rubbed his
bandaged arm with an absent gesture.
Beaumont stared at his wound and began to sputter.
"'Tis only a scratch, Raoul," Rye assured him.
Two carts creaked past, and oxen bellowed loudly.
The damp chill of early morning rose off their hides. Rye
smiled at his companion. Shaking his head, Beaumont
gave a long sigh.
"'Twas bad of William to force you to this, sei-
gneur.''
"He didn't. I chose to do so." Rye looked past Beau-
mont at the carters mending a broken wagon wheel.
"Lady Madelon and my sister now reside at Moorleah,
by my command."
For a long moment Beaumont remained quiet, then
 LYON'S PRIZE 63
he said hesitantly, "'Twill be good to see your sister
again."
"Aye."
Silence fell between them. Both men kept their
thoughts to themselves, and finally Rye stirred. Slapping
a gauntlet against his palm, he cleared his throat.
"Are the men-at-arms ready?"
Grateful for a neutral topic, Beaumont nodded and
began to give Rye the details of their men and arms, and
how many horses were fit. Neither of them mentioned
Rye's stepmother again.
Engrossed in the outfitting of the men who would be
journeying to Moorleah with them, Rye didn't realize
how much time had passed. The sun was a hazy orb high
in the sky when he paused at last. Flicking a glance at the
harried man-at-arms who was trying to explain why so
many horses were unfit to ride, Rye grimaced.
"'Tis of no consequence now, Harald. Talce what we
need from Marwald. I have other needs to tend."
As- he turned, intending to seek out Brenna in the
great hall, a youthful voice interrupted angrily, "Aye,
Norman, steal our horses!"
Rye halted and turned back slowly to see a red-faced
young man glaring at him. He knew without asking that
it must be one of Dunstan's sons. The resemblance to
·Brenna was there in the furious eyes and delicately chis-
eled features.
"Which of Dunstan's get are you?" he demanded
bluntly. The youth's face grew even redder with fury.
Boldly facing the much taller Norman, the youth
snapped, "Lord Myles."
"Nay. There are no lords here save me," Rye replied
coolly. "You are a brash, braying upstart."
Myles took an impetuous step forward, his hand drop-
ping to the hilt of his sword. He said through his teeth,
"I will brook no insults from a Norman!"
"'Tis fortunate that I am your brother by law, young
Myles, or your head might be forfeit for such insolence.
There are those men who would not give you margin for
your youthful folly."
 64 VIRGINIA LYNN
"I need no margin from a Norman."
Rye kept bis voice low. "Do you seek death so avidly?
'Tis certain to come to you soon if you behave with such
foolhardy abandon."
Myles swallowed, but kept his hand on the hilt of his
sword. "Death is preferable to defeat."
"ls it?" Lyon's lips twitched wryly. "You and your
sister must have suckJed from the same she-wolf." His
narrowed gaze drifted over the youth's length and whip-
cord breadth. "Seek death, then, my little gamecock.
Or, if you are man enough, seek life."
"In defeat?"
"Nay. If you are so determined to fight, fight with
your intellect instead of your insolence. The last rarely
wins o'er the other."
Doubt crept into the youth's hazel eyes. "I find it
most unusual that you, of all Normans, would counsel
wisdom over warfare. You're said to be William's great-
est warrior. The Black Lion, they call you, who never
leaves a live enemy to fight again."
"In my position, it would be foolish to leave an enemy
alive to strike at my back, but I have never killed without
need." Rye slapped his thick gauntlet across his palm
and regarded Myles thoughtfully. "Are you capable with
that sword you carry at your side, or do you wear it just
for a brave show?"
Stepping back, Myles drew a thin sword from its
sheath. Ignoring the immediate attention that brought
from several of Rye's men-at-arms, who came running
with drawn swords and fierce expressions, he asked
boldly, "Care to test me?"
Rye looked at him a long moment, then signaled for
his men to back away. His voice was dry. "'Twould be
murder, and I've no desire to start my day drenched in
your blood." Before the youth could react reckJessly,
Lyon added, "But your courage makes me wonder if
you would not do well in my guard. I've need of fighting
men who dare much, even if a bit overmuch."
Hesitating, Myles stared at the tall Norman knight
with hard eyes. "Are you offering me a position?"
 LYON'S PRIZE 65
"I'm offering you a chance. Nothing else. If you do
not suit as my squire, or if Beltair, my master-at-arms,
says you are unfit, you will not be taken on.,, Lyon
flicked his gauntlet against his palm with another loud
slap. "Do you care to join us, or do you prefer fighting
us with loud words?,,
It was a struggle; he recognized it in the boy's eyes-a
battle between the desire to belong to a group of men
he obviously admired, and loyalty.
"Young Myles, I assure you that though we came to
your land as invaders, we stay as countrymen. The Danes
seek to plunder England, as does the French king. Wil-
liam has room in his army for fighting men, brave men,
but not men who are torn in their loyalties. I have taken
your sister to wife, and our sons will not think about
who is Saxon and who is Norman. This will be their
land, and they will fight to hold it. Will you go against
your nephews?"
It was obvious Myles had not thought of that. Rye
saw some of the tension ease from his tautly held body as
he slid his sword back into its sheath.
"I have seen no evidence of nephews yet," Myles said
after a moment, a glint of humor lurking in his eyes.
"And my sister will try to murder you in your sleep
before you get any sons on her."
"Do you think she will succeed?,,
Grinning now, Myles shook his head. "Nay, if I were
to bet, my lord, I would bet on you, I think."
Rye smiled slightly. " 'Twould be wise."
"But Brenna will not give you an easy time of it, I
vow, so l would not bet much," Myles added. He
paused, then said after clearing his throat, "I would like
to think on your offer, my lord." ·
"I offer for any able-bodied man who wishes to join
our ranks. You may tell your brothers."
A slight shadow flickered over Myles's face. "I do not
think my brothers will come to you, my lord. They are
much older than I and have already fought enough bat-
tles to hate anything Norman."
"Your brothers would do ·well to follow your father's
 66 VIRGINIA LYNN
example." Rye's voice was hard. "Dunstan is wise
enough to recognize that survival lies in sagacity."
"My father is old and must survive the easiest way he
can. My brothers do not feel the same way."
"Then I will deal harshly with them if they raise arms
against William."
"They know that, my lord." Hesitating, Myles
seemed about to say something, then shook his head.
" 'Twill not be an easy decision for me, but I will think
on it a while."
"Do not be too long. I leave Marwald within the
hour."
"Leave, my lord?"
"Aye. Did you think I would stay here?" Rye gave an
impatient shake of his head. "There is no reason to lin-
ger now that Lady Brenna and I are wed."
Miles gazed at him with open curiosity. "Do you take
her with you?"
"Of course. Where else would she be?"
"We-I had not thought you would want to take her
with you so soon."
"Well, I do.,, Rye half turned to signal an end to the
conversation, then glanced back at the youth. A shaft of
sunlight glittered in his hair, giving it a rich russet sheen
that made him think of Brenna. "Give your brothers my
warning," he said. "'Tis the only one they will get."
The unusual confrontation with Myles preoccupied
him until he reached the great hall to find Brenna no-
where in sight. He' d expected her to be seeing to the
breaking of the morning fast, and it displeased him that
his men would go hungry if she was being too stubborn
to see to her duty. Upon questioning a nervous servant,
he learned that she had not yet come down from the
tower room.
Irritated and suspicious, he took the steps to the new
tower two at a time, his prick spur catching in the hem
of his mantle as he mounted the winding staircase. Curse
her, she had better not waste his time with foolish resis-
tance. Too much time had already been wasted as far as
 LYON'S PRIZE 67
he was concerned. The wedding was over now, and he
must turn bis energies to more important matters.
There were always the constant rebellions springing
up, the Saxons fleeing into the Welsh marches or to the
north, past the Roman wall built to keep out the bar-
baric Celts. It had taken too long to subdue the Saxon
barons, and still there were those foolish few who re-
sisted.
Rye thought sometimes that he would never get the
smell of burning fields and peasant huts out of his nos-
trils. It was too deeply entrenched, along with the pa-
thetic wails of the peasants left without food for the
winter months. Yet it was those same peasants who hid
the barons and rebels in their rude huts, and William
knew that in order to vanquish the rebels, all sanctuary.
must be destroyed.
Grimly Rye had the thought that he must somehow
convey that to his wife,. that she would realize she had
nowhere to go and bide. Tenacious lot, these Saxons, ·
and foolish. When would they admit defeat? Foolish in-
deed, like that reckless boy, Myles, who couldn't be
more than sixteen at best, drawing a light sword on a
seasoned Norman knight. Most other men would have
obliged him and made short work of the matter, but for
some reason Rye had been reluctant.
Perhaps it was because he recalled his own youthful
braggadocio, how he'd hated to admit defeat in any
form. He still hated it. 'Twas why he'd chosen the win-
ning side by joining with William twelve years before.
'Twas why he had yielded to his king's desire to wed a
woman he had not met and did not especially want.
A wry smile twisted his mouth. He desired her, yes,
but that was different. A man's desire for a woman could
be a thing apart from his life; it wasn't integral to bis
other needs. He'd always felt a faint contempt for men
who allowed women to rule them, had regarded them in
the same light he regarded those effeminate men too
weak-willed to take up arms in battle.
Years before, he'd seen enough to convince him that if
a woman was ever allowed to get beneath a man's guard,
 68 VIRGINIA LYNN
that man might as well fall on his own sword. 'Twould
be a much kinder death. Hadn't he watched his step-
mother slay his own father as surely as if she had struck
him down with an axe?
Nay, not for Rye de Lyon the humiliating existence
that his father had lived! And the sooner this Brenna of
Marwald discovered that she could not disobey him, the
better it would be for all concerned.
Rye's boot steps echoed down the stone corridors as
he approached the tower chamber where he'd left his
wife. He was annoyed at finding the guard gone from
the qoor and made a mental promise to see the man
flayed for leaving his post without orders.
When Rye grasped the latch and shoved against the
door, it swung open easily. One glance inside the room
showed him that it was empty, not only of Brenna and
her maid, but of any sign of recent habitation. He swore
softly beneath his breath and, turning, slammed the
door behind him.
 CHAPTER 5

BRENNA HEARD THE harsh rattle of the slamming door and

Lyon's furious orders to search the keep until she was
found. Hiding in a curtained alcove with Rachel, she
dosed her eyes at his bellowed orders.
Rachel's hands tightened convulsively in the folds of
her cloak, and neither woman dared a glance at the fallen
Norman soldier stretched on the floor behind them. It
had taken only a little coaxing for the man to drink the
wine Rachel gave him, then long moments waiting for
him to grow sleepy. They had barely been able to drag
the large man into the alcove before Lyon's steps were
heard on the stairs, ruining their plans.
''What shall we do, my lady?" Rachel whispered as the
shouted commands grew distant.
"Wait until we are certain they are in another part of
the keep," Brenna murmured after a moment. She
itched to part the heavy curtain and look out, but dared
not. It was still too dangerous. If Lyon discovered her
before she could reach the monastery-
She couldn't finish the thought.
"And then?" Rachel whispered, her voice quivering,
her breath stirring Brenna's hair and making her shiver.
69
 70 VIRGINIA LYNN
"And then we slip out the side door of the keep. You
know the one. Where the lepers come and go."
The side door was almost hidden by full grown bushes
on the outside, and tucked behind stacks of supplies in
the inner bailey. Brenna hoped that none of the
Normans would think to look there.
After several more agonizing minutes passed, Brenna
gathered up her flagging courage and gave Rachel a
nudge. The guard couldn't sleep forever, and the longer
they remained, the more likely they were to be found.
She drew the rough gray cloak Rachel had brought her
around her frame and adjusted the scarlet leper's cap
atop her covered head. Similarly garbed, Rachel met her
eyes for a fleeting instant. Then they parted the heavy
curtain and stepped into the wide corridor.
Stealing down the spiral staircase that led from the
tower wing down three flights, Brenna had plenty of
time to consider her actions. It was foolhardy only if she
was caught. If she escaped, it would be a brilliant plan.
She held tightly to that thought as they ambled slowly
across the muddy yard of the bailey toward the small
gate in the low wooden palisade surrounding the stone-
and-wood keep. It should be easy enough to exit, then
go across the broad courtyard to the gate leading across
the outer moat. In the past year or two William had
commanded that stone walls be built around the square
keep as further protection against raiders. Now she had
reason to be glad. Once beyond the walls, only guards
atop the flat walkway would see them, and they would
give only a cursory glance. Then they would be free.
It was an exhilarating thought.
Even more exhilarating was the first breath of freedom
beyond the walls, when the stink of the moat and the
chaos of the bailey had been left behind. Brenna glanced
down at the long, dirty rags she and Rachel had wound
around their hands and arms and feet like true lepers.
"It was the bandages," she said smugly. "No one
wanted to come near because of the chance of conta-
gion."
Rachel was quickly stripping away the linen wraps
 LYON'S PRIZE 71
around her wrists. " 'Tis inviting God's wrath is what it
is, my lady," she muttered. "We shall surely be stricken
with some dread disease now that we have masqueraded
thusly."
"Saint Jerome!" Brenna snapped with exasperation.
"It is much more likely that we shall be caught and
flogged if we don~t keep on our leper's rags. Do not
remove them, I say." .
While they spoke, they scurried over the rough slopes
of the ground that fell away from the keep. Of necessity
the original site had been built' of great earthenworks
and wooden walls, borrowing heavily from the sur-
rounding countryside. Here the land was irregular in
places, with deep ditches that cut unexpectedly across
the terrain. It was easy to fall into one, not seeing it
because of the thick underbrush.
Brenna had no intention of keeping close to the road.
That would be certain disaster. She prayed she could
find their way to St. Giles monastery before Lyon found
them. If she could just reach the safety of the church,
she would find sanctuary he could not defile. Not even
William would go against the Church, though he had no
compunction in expelling corrupt bishops from their
sees, and abbots from their abbacies.
By midafternoon Brenna had to admit they were lost.
Or at least, confused. The gray sky shed fuzzy light but
did not give a hint of the sun's position. And the path
she had followed had ended in a deep, primeval wood
that made her maid shudder and weep loudly.
Hunger pangs assailed her. Brenna sank to a fallen log
in the forest.
"Milady," Rachel half sobbed, "what shall we do?"
"Hush, goose! We've been walking only a few hours.
I am certain we will find our way soon. Besides, a little
travail can do us no harm."
"He'll find us," Rachel said gloomily, sniffing when
Brenna glared at her. ''Well, he will! And he'll hang us!"
Realizing Rachel was frightened, Brenna tried to keep
her voice calm. "Did you remember the sack of food?"
Rachel nodded and drew out a slender cloth sack. She
 72 VIRGINIA LYNN
had brought stale bread and a small round of cheese. It
was enough for a light repast but would never last longer
than a day. Brenna sighed when she saw it.
"Well, this will have to do. Here. Take a small chunk
of the bread and a bite of cheese. We'll drink from a
stream. When we find one."
Staring at her mournfully, the slender, dark-haired
maid did as she was bid, though her glance was re-
proachful. Brenna felt a spurt of impatience. It was obvi-
ous that her maid had never suffered the privations of
hunger or distress. Brenna was used to it. There had
been times when she had not dared enter the hall be-
cause of the revelry going on and had been too proud to
admit her cowardice by asking for a trencher of food.
A little hunger was worth it, if she could reach the
monastery before Rye de Lyon caught up with her. Her
mouth tightened. Arrogant Norman ass. Did he think all
he had to do was command it and it would happen? Did
he equate his status with that of God, or king?
Apparently, she answered her own question. It was
high time he learned that not every human being danced
to the melody of his mandolin. The thought made her
smile, and by the time they emerged from the dark,
damp wood into the late-afternoon sunlight, Brenna was
in a much better mood.
She even recognized some of the landmarks, an old
stone bridge over a stream-where they slaked their
thirst-and a lightning-struck tree that was twisted and
charred. She had ridden this way on her favorite stallion
many a time. If she was correct in her estimate, St. Giles
was only a mile or two away. They should reach it just
after dark.
Turning, Brenna imparted this happy information to
her maid and was rewarded with a tremulous smile of
relief.
''Thank God, milady! I was truly afeared that we
would be eaten by wild animals." She shivered. "There
were so many strange noises in the wood. . . ."
"I told you. Wind in the trees." Brenna had no inten-
 LYON'S PRIZE 73
tion of admitting that she too had worried about wild
boars or other vicious creatures.
The wind had risen, picking at the openings of their
rough cloaks with renewed vigor. With the sun waning,
the air grew chilly. To make matters worse, a light rain
began to mist, dampening their clothes and making the
ground slippery.
Brenna kept doggedly on, her back hunched against
the wind and rain, one hand keeping Rachel moving.
Only a mile or two, she told herself, only a mile or two.
As they topped a .rise and stumbled over the rough
ground onto a curve of road, the walls of the monastery
came into view. Brenna heaved a sigh of relief. She'd
begun to think her calculations wrong, and she whis-
pered a quick prayer of gratitude.
As she turned to her maid, a rumble of thunder
sounded. Rachel gasped and crossed herself. Brenna
flung her an exasperated glance.
"It's only thunder."
"Aye, milady. But where there's thunder, there's oft-
times lightning."
The thunder grew louder, shaking the ground.
Brenna glanced up at the ominous sky. When she looked
down again, her heart gave a lurch. Riders. Armed
horsemen; dull light glinted from their weapons, and
from the looks of them, they were in a hurry. Now just
small, dark specks on the road, it was obvious they
would soon be upon them. She could only hope they'd
not yet been seen by the riders.
"Hide!" she gasped out, giving Rachel a shove to-
ward a ditch by the road. "Soldiers!"
She had hoped she was wrong, but her guess was all
too accurate. And not just soldiers, but Rye de Lyon
himself. Her prayer for oblivion went unanswered. He
drew up his sweating, snorting destrier on the road only
a few feet from where they hid on the banks of the ditch.
His voice carried across the sound of wind and whip
of rain.
"Lady Brenna. Come here."
It would be useless to pretend not to hear him,
 74 VIRGINIA LYNN
though Brenna was tempted. She reluctantly got to her
feet on the steep slope, meeting his dark, furious gaze
with a steady stare.
She saw that he was muddy and wet, his mantle sod-
den and spattered. His men looked in no better condi-
tion. That made her feel a little better, knowing that he
was in the same sorry state as was she.
His voice cracked like a whip. "You've cost me an
entire day. My men are weary, and so are the horses.
Now come here."
''What? Am I a dog, to be whistled to you? A falcon,
to be trained to the lure?" Her tone was scornful, her
chin lifted high. "I think not, my lord husband. I do not
respond to rude commands, but to gentle requests."
Lyon vaulted from his saddle in a move much too
quick to be anticipated. In spite of his heavy mail, he was
upon her before she could do more than take a quick
step backward.
That step put her on undependable ground, and she
felt her feet sliding just as he reached out for her. Instead
of steadying her, Lyon was caught off guard and went
with her, sliding down the muddy slope to the ditch at
the bottom.
It did nothing to improve Lyon's already exacerbated
temper to end up in a ditch full of water in full view of
his men.
Brenna, however, could not help the explosive burst
of laughter that erupted from her and didn't stop even
when Rye gripped her arms in a crushing hold. He'd
stumbled quickly to his feet, his muddy cape tangled
around his long legs and his face creased in fury.
"Curse you," he snarled, "if I didn't know better, I
would take an oath that you planned this!"
"Oh that I could have!" she said between peals of
laughter. "You look like one of my father's pigs!"
This time his grip tightened so painfully, her laughter
ended in a gasp. "Lady Brenna," he warned softly, "I do
not advise you to say anything else. I might be tempted
to do what has been strongly recommended and take my
whip to you."
 LYON'S PRIZE 75
She eyed him. "Would you now? That should prove
interesting, my lord husband. Consider how entertained
your men would be by the sight of you bleeding like a
newly stuck barrow with my dagger in your ribs."
"Have you gone mad, woman? Do you think to pro-
voke me and escape unscathed?"
Leaning close, she said softly, "Do you wish to pro-
vide more entertainment for your men, seigneur? Just
think how this will be told and retold during the long
winter nights. I can almost hear the laughter now."
It was a telling point. With great effort, Rye reined in
his temper and abruptly dropped his hands from her
arms.
"Get your maid, Lady Brenna. We return to Mar-
wald."
Forcing herself to speak calmly and reassuringly,
Brenna helped the weeping Rachel up from the ditch
and followed Rye to the road. He'd not bothered to
offer a helping hand, but stood in stern, icy silence be-
side his great destrier. One of his men- Beaumont, she
thought-took Rachel up on his own mount with gentle
hands, and Brenna was left to see what her husband in-
tended.
"If I were not pressed for time, my lady, you would
walk every step of the way back," he said coldly.
"I would prefer that to riding with you," she returned
in a sweet tone that made his mouth tighten and the scar
on his cheek stand out palely against his dark skin.
Rye made a quick motion with one hand, and his mas-
ter-at-arms was immediately at his side. "Mount the lady
in front of you, Beltair. See that she has no opportunity
to escape you."
"Aye, my lord," the huge man replied, and turned to
Brenna with an outstretched hand.
She sucked in a deep, furious breath. She was being
handed over like unwanted baggage! She might have
expected such an insult. Stiffiy she put her hand in the
older man's and allowed him to put her atop his huge
horse. He smelled of sweat and stale beer, and.she had
 76 VIRGINIA LYNN
the savage thought that she much preferred this crude
man to her husband.
Brenna cast a last glance at the monastery walls she
had almost reached, and called down a thousand curses
on Rye de Lyon's head as the master-at-arms mounted
behind her and kicked his horse into a trot. The line of
soldiers followed Rye's swift lead, mud flying up from
the huge hooves.
On the long ride back to the keep, Brenna had
enough time to reflect on her daring. She'd surprised
Rye de Lyon with her acid tongue and refusal to cower.
It was something to remember for the future. Overused,
it would lose its effect. Used sparingly, it could be very
effective. She hoped.
 CHAPTER 6

CHILLED TO THE bone, Brenna watched Rye warily as he

dismounted in the bailey. It was past dark, and the wel-
coming lights of the keep promised her retribution in-
stead of warmth. She knew she had earned his wrath by
her attempt but could not feel sorry for it. She had al-
most succeeded in her escape.
Rye strode toward her. Without a word he reached up
to pull her from Beltair's loose grip. Brenna swallowed
the sudden surge of fear at the evidence of his strength
as she slid down from the mount, her hands curved over
his flexed muscles. His face was shuttered.
"Thank you, Beltair," he said coolly to the master-at-
arms. "I admire your fortitude in enduring her com-
pany."
"Aye, seigneur," Beltair replied, smiling a little at
Brenna's gasp of fury .
Taking her arm in his tight grasp, Lyon ushered her
into the keep. Smoke stung her eyes, and she blinked at
the assault of light. The smell of food and fresh rushes
did nothing to alleviate her anxiety. Across the cavern-
ous hall her father was sitting in his chair on the raised
dais. Dunstan rose slowly as Rye strode forward with
Brenna in tow.
77
 78 VIRGINIA LYNN
"I see you found her, my lord," Dunstan said quietly.
Rye slung Brenna in front of him by one arm, keeping
a tight hold on her. "Aye, Dunstan, I found her," he
said harshly. "I charge you with her care while I see to
another matter, Dunstan. Do not let her move so much
as an inch, or I will be displeased."
Dunstan stepped down from the dais. "I will keep her
by me, my lord, until you come for her."
"I need to wash myself-" Brenna began.
"Nay, lady," Rye said. "Sit in your muddy garments
and think about the consequences of your actions.
Rebels need neither food nor drink, nor dean garments,
but are fueled by hatred and impetuous urges."
"You are truly Norman in your thinking, my lord,"
she said tartly, "for every croft and field in the land has
been destroyed by your hand at one time or the other!"
"And will continue to be, until all resistance is fully
quelled." Rye turned on his heel to stalk from the hall.
She allowed Dunstan to seat her in the high-backed
chair beside him.
"You needn't watch me as if I intend to bolt," she
said calmly as the silence stretched between them.
" 'Twould be futile at this late hour."
"'Twas futile earlier," Dunstan snapped, "but ye're
too stubborn a wench to admit it!"
She regarded him with her tawny gaze for a long mo-
ment. How she hated him for wedding her to the enemy
so that he might regain his lands. "Nothing is futile if it
bedevils the enemy. If you'd not lost your manhood,
you'd do the same." .
Reddening, Dunstan surged to his feet, obviously
fighting the desire to strike her. Did he dare? She was
wed to the Norman now, and Lyon had made it clear
she was his property.
Clenching and unclenching his big hands, Dunstan
sank slowly back to his chair. "One day your unruly
tongue will make you wish for restraint, daughter," he
said shortly. "'Tis your own stubborn will that ye're
wed to a man who frightens ye out of your wits."
 LYON'S PRIZE 79
Brenna glared back at him. "He does not frighten
me."
Dunstan laughed harshly. "Lyon terrifies ye, girl, only
ye're too proud and stubborn to admit it."
She sucked in a sharp breath. Was it that obvious? She
had not admitted it, even to herself, but her father was
right. She was frightened of Lyon, of his strength, his
anger, the male hunger she'd seen in his eyes earlier. Yea,
Rye de Lyon frightened her to the very marrow of her
bones. And there was nowhere she could turn for pro-
tection. She had only her wits to help her.
Even now, thinking of how he'd held her, touched
her, and sparked a fiery response in her body, Brenna
trembled. It had never occurred to her that she might
experience such a reaction to his touch, and it was con-
fusing and frightening at the same time. She allowed few
people to touch her in any way, preferring to keep her-
self remote, and the forced surrender to his hand had
been galling. And enlightening. Since her mother's
death, there had been no gentle caresses or soft hands on
her, and she'd not known she missed them.
It was something to think about.
Long hours passed. Dunstan sank lower and lower in
his carved wooden chair, and the huge fire in the center
of the great hall grew dim. Smoke curled to the tiny
opening in the roof, blackening the rafters and making
the few people left in the hall cough. Most of the keep
had retired for the night, save for Ballard, who was not
only the minstrel but Brenna's only male friend. He sat
close to her feet-not close enough to arouse Dunstan's
suspicions, but close enough to smile at her encourag-
ingly as she faltered.
"Milady," he said softly, his knee almost touching the
hem of her muddy gown, " 'tis poor sport indeed this
eve. Is there ought I may do to help you?"
Brenna managed a smile. "Aye, Ballard. Sing to me.
Sing something light and happy." Her father snorted
rudely, but did nothing to stop the minstrel as he
stroked his lute with a light touch. A pleasing melody
rippled from the tips of his talented fingers, and he
 80 VIRGINIA LYNN
hummed for a moment before singing a lively ballad
about a slave girl who outwitted her Viking captors.
Ballard had begun the tenth verse when there was a
noise in the doorway of the hall. Brenna looked up and
saw Lyon striding toward them; he'd brought a woman
with him, who hung back at the door. A choking con-
striction kept Brenna silent. Had he brought his doxy to
flaunt in her face? If so, he would be rudely surprised to
find that she was relieved, not brokenhearted.
When Lyon drew close, giving Ballard such a fierce
glare that the minstrel broke off in the middle of the
verse and backed away, Brenna held herself with as much
dignity as possible. She would not give him the pleasure
of reacting.
"Come with me," was all he said, holding out his
hind. Rather than risk public humiliation, Brenna stood ·
coolly, ignoring the fact that her gown was stiff and
muddy and her hair caked with dit~h water and grass.
Rye's hand was warm as it enclosed hers in a tight grip,
and he pulled her with him to the door.
Brenna was surprised by the sweep of relief that raced
through her when she drew close and recognized the
hooded woman as the village midwife. Hardly Rye's type
to tumble.
"Mistress Maisie," Brenna said in surprise, and slid
Rye an uncertain glance. What did he mean by this? He
did nothing without purpose, but she was at a loss as to
his motive in bringing Mistress M~ie to the keep.
Maisie bobbed in a curtsy. "At your service, milady."
Doubt and curiosity kept Brenna silent as Rye led
them to the curved staircase. Torches threw fitful pat-
terns of light over the steps and walls, barely illuminating
their path, sputtering and hissing in the gloom.
When Rye pushed open the door to a chamber rarely
used, Brenna thought she understood. He intended to
imprison her. She halted just inside the door, her stom-
ach knotting with fear. She knew of men who'd kept
their wives or daughters imprisoned for their entire lives,
existing on the fringe of life until sweet death released
them from misery.
 LYON'S PRIZE 81
Whirling, Brenna yanked her hand from Rye's clasp
and glowered at him. "I'll starve myself before I'll live as
a prisoner!"
"Will you, milady? I'll keep that in mind." His booted
foot shoved the heavy door wider. He looked at Mistress
Maisie. "I'll return in a half hour. See that you do as
you've been instructed."
Brenna stared as he swung the door shut behind him
with a loud thud. She heard the bar drop. Then her
startled gaze shifted to Maisie. The woman smiled hesi-
tantly. . .
"Milady, his lordship wishes me to speak to ye on a
grave matter."
"And what grave matter is that, may I ask?"
"The consummation of your vows," Maisie said after
a brief pause. " 'Tis_concerned, he is, that ye're not well
prepared for the night."
It slowly sank in that Rye had brought someone to
explain things to her, to ease her fears so that she would
not fight him. Her heart thumped with dread, knowing
that this night he would not be stayed.
Flinging back her head, she said, "His lordship is only
concerned with his pleasure. I know well enough why he
brought you, mistress, and though I bear you no ill will,
I will not fall meekly into his bed."
Maisie gave her a helpless stare. " 'Tis not just for his
own pleasure, milady, but 'tis for your well-being, I'm.
thinking. He was most specific about what 'tis ye are to
know."
Brenna whirled away from her and stalked across the
small chamber to the bright fire burning in a brass bra-
zier.
"Tell me this," she said after a moment. "Can you
explain how I might keep from breeding?"
Maisie blanched and shook her head. "Nay, milady.
He was most hard about that. I am to tell ye only what
ye must know to keep yourself from needless pain, and
that is all."
"I see." Brenna kept her voice steady, controlled. "I
am not to inconvenience him in any way, is that it?" It
 82 VIRGINIA LYNN
was appalling, how very young and foolish she felt at the
moment. Curse the Norman, for realizing that she knew
less than nothing about what was to happen to her.
"Milady-"
Brenna rumed. "I don't wish him to be pleased, mis-
tress. I wish to inconvenience him. Do you understand
that?"
"Aye, milady, but 'tis only your own self that ye spite.
He will take ye, willing or no. 'Tis only wise to know
how to ease your own comfon." There was a shon si-
lence, then she added softly, "Ye must know that the
vows have to be consummated for the marriage to be
legal and unbreakable."
Oh yes, she knew that only too well!
Brenna turned back to look at the flames licking at the
coals. She would be consumed, turned to ashes, just like
those coals, just like Lot's wife had been turned to salt at
knowing too much.
"Nay," she whispered, "I cannot do it."
She heard Maisie come up behind her, felt the soft
comfort of a light touch. Brenna shuddered at it.
"Milady, he must not be as fierce as he seems, else he
would not have brought me to ye. Let me tell ye, let me
help ye."
After a moment Brenna nodded. "Aye, mistress. Tell
me what I need to know. I fear my education is sadly
lacking, in spite of all I have seen in my father's hall."

"Did she listen?"

Mistress Maisie looked up fearfully at the huge Nor-
man who had dragged her from her hut in the night. She
nodded. "Aye, milord. She listened."
Rye gave a grunt of satisfaction. "Good. Here is your
payment, mistress. My man will escort you back to your
home."
Maisie stared in astonishment at the silver coin he
pressed into her callused palm. "Thankee, milord!
Thankee!"
 LYON'S PRIZE 83
"See that you keep your tongue. My lady will not like
having this known about the village."
"Nay, lord, I will tell no one. I have known Lady
Brenna since her birth, and I am well acquainted with
her pride. I would never shame her."
Rye nodded slowly. He'd half expected a certain
amount of loyalty, as both women were Saxon, but there
was an air of reproach that he'd even suggested the mid-
wife might betray her lady. "See that you don't," he
said, and forgot the woman entirely as he turned to the
stairs.
He'd waited overlong already and would have the
deed done. Perhaps it had not been kind to allow
Brenna to turn him from ~ purpose on their wedding
night, but she'd reminded him of a trapped fox the way
she'd fought so hard and violently. Her heart had beat
like the wings of a bird beneath his hand, and he'd
yielded to pity.
His pity had cost him a day pursuing her. Now he
would remove that small barrier that made her skittish as
a filly in heat and show her that it was not the worst that
could happen to a woman. Indeed, few woman had ever
complained of his treatment of them, or of his lovemak-
ing.
Reaching the door to the bedchamber where Brenna
waited for him, Rye eyed the guard closely. The man
gave him a sheepish look and shifted his feet when Rye
stopped.
"Beware gifts from Saxons who seek to escape me
from now on, Renaud. 'Twill cost you much more than
ten stripes from my sergeant-at-arms the next time."
"Aye, seigneur. I did not think that two such fair
women would give me drugged wine."
Rye snorted. "You did not think at all, Renaud. Did
you have your weals tended?"
"Aye."
"Good. Allow no one in these chambers tonight, man
or woman. I will call you if I need you."
When Rye entered the chamber, he saw Brenna im-
mediately. She stood across the room, her back against a
 84 VIRGINIA LYNN
richly woven tapestry. She'd bathed, and her women
were still tidying up the room. He stood by the door and
waited until they were through, looking so impatient
that two of the women began to shake with nervousness.
Brenna stared at him coolly, exhibiting no emotion at
all. Rye returned her gaze, leaning back against the wall
and crossing his arms over his chest. He'd removed his
mail and mantle and wore the long tunic and hose of a
nobleman. He'd bathed below, scorning the use of hot
water to plunge into the tub of rainwater kept outside
the kitchens. A pot of soap and a rough towel had taken
care of his body, while his squire heated a towel to
soften his beard. Like most Normans, he preferred a
clean-shaven face, though at times events rendered it im-
possible to scrape his beard.
Rye rarely took pains with his appearance, preferring
to concentrate on important matters. But he had noticed
that several of the serving women below had given him
more than one appreciative glance since he'd shed his
mail and muddy cloak. A faint smile touched the corners
of his lips. There would be little appreciation from his
lovely wife, he knew. She looked like a tigress at bay, in
spite of her efforts to appear calm and composed.
Perhaps the midwife had well prepared her for what
was to come. He certainly hoped so. He'd never forced a
woman, never hurt one. He had no desire to begin now,
especially with the volatile, beautiful creature he had
wed. To him, women were like spirited horses, meant to
be appreciated and enjoyed, not mistreated.
Rye levered his long body away from the wall when
the last servant had left, and he shut the door and threw
the bar. It sounded loud in the quiet gloom of fire and
candle glow.
When he turned, he saw that Brenna had moved and
was standing close to the brazier. A small table was at
hand, and a jug of wine and two goblets flanked a tray of
food.
"Do you care to eat, my lord?" she asked quietly.
Rye moved toward her without replying. The firelight
behind her silhouetted her slim curves in a way the dark
 LYON ' S PRIZE 85
wall tapestry had not, and he felt his stomach tighten
with reaction. Jesu! she was lovely. 'Twas a good thing
for her she had not worn that thin linen gown the night
before, or their vows would have been consumma ted
whether she agreed or no. His gaze skimmed over her
curves and up to her face; a long silence spun out be-
tween them. She looked taut and nervous but did not
try to run from him.
"I will sup if you will join me, milady."
Bread, cheese, cold meat, and fruit had been prepared.
He watched Brenna warily as she motioned for him to sit
and eat. There was no knife to cut meat or bread, for he
had given instructions that none be left. Instead the
meat had already been sliced, as well as the thick chunks
of bread and cheese.
Brenna pushed some toward him, and he saw the
slight tremor of her hand. Rye scowled. Damn, that the
maid should be so terrified of him! He began to feel
churlish and inept as a young boy. He berated himself
again for not following his instincts and taking her that
first night, when neither of them would have had time
for thought. Now he knew that she was expecting the
worst, and he wanted it to be much better than that.
After all, he did not relish the idea of having to rape his
wife every time he wished to bed her.
When he'd eaten~no ting that Brenna barely touched
her food but drank deeply of the wine- Rye stood up
from the small bench by the table. Brenna looked up
quickly, her eyes as wide and startled as a young deer's.
"Come here, Lady Brenna," he said softly, and put
out his hand to her. She hesitated, then stood and put
her hand in his palm. He drew her closer, his gaze focus-
ing on the curves beneath her thin lawn gown. A faint
hint of shadows and hollows teased him, and he felt the
familiar tightening of desire stir his loins. .
Looking at her through the eyes of a lover, he saw her
lush beauty, the slumberous quality of her tawny amber
eyes, and the promise of her full, wide mouth. Her
straight nose was finely molded, her cheekbones high,
 86 VIRGINIA LYNN
giving her face a feline appearance that was sensual and
appealing.
Perhaps being wed to this silken-skinned creature
would ease some of his restlessness. And at least William
had not suggested he wed a squint-eyed, skinny girl. He
could be satisfied with Brenna, if she would only be
tamed a bit. It was disconcerting to have a woman refuse
him anything; none had dared for many a year, not since
maturity had deepened his voice. Even Lady Madelon
was cautious around him, as if she knew the man would
not tolerate what the boy had endured. But where that
noble dame had been shrewish and spiteful, Brenna was
only defiant and rebellious, a wide difference in his eyes.
"Yield, demoiselle," he muttered hoarsely, stroking a
hand along the curve of her cheek down to her shoulder.
His fingers caught in the thin fabric of her gown, a loose
gunna that flowed around her body in ephemeral wafts
of light and shadow. Toying with the knot that fastened
the gown at her shoulder, Lyon feasted his eyes on the
slender ivory beauty of her body, the almost translucent
hue of her skin. He felt her tremble beneath his touch,
knew he unnerved her and was sorry for it.
"I cannot," Brenna whispered, so softly that for a mo-
ment he didn't react. He wasn't certain he'd heard her,
and looked up from his perusal of her soft breasts. For
the space of a heartbeat, he hesitated, looking deep into
her golden eyes, cat's eyes, eyes he could drown in if he
let himself be so foolish.
"What?"
"I said, I cannot yield to you, milord."
"What the devil do you mean by that?"
A pulse was beating rapidly in the hollow of her
throat, creamy and fluttering. Lyon's hands grew tighter
around her arms when she dragged in a deep breath and
said calmly, "I am sworn to resist, my lord. You are my
husband, it is true, but you are not my master."
Fighting the surge of anger that battled with the pure
lust heating through his veins, with every beat of his
heart and breath he took, Rye replied in a cool tone,
"You are wrong, demoiselle. I am your husband and your
 LYON'S PRIZE 87
rnaster, not only by decree of the king, but the Church.
You belong to me."
"Nay, lord," she said on the wings of a gasp as his
grip tightened. There was stubborn mutiny in her eyes as
she faced him, and Lyon felt the frustrating thrum of
anger begin to overpower restraint.
"Don't say me nay," he growled so ominously that
she grew still and quiet for a moment. "I am your hus-
band, wed to you in the eyes of man and God, and you
will yield me the bridal rights due me."
"And I am a woman, with rights of my own. You will
not have me without my consent."
"On that score, fair lady, you are wrong," Rye said
coldly. "I will have you this night and end this farce
between us. Do not continue to try my patience."
Dammit, did the wench heed no one? Had she not
bad the way of it explained to her? Rye was frustrated
and angry that she rejected him after he'd taken effort to
soothe her offended pride and ease her anxiety. And
worse, he was finding it most difficult to school his urges
at the sight and feel of her.
Releasing her arms, he took a step back, startling her.
She watched him with wide eyes as he shrugged out of
his tunic and kicked off his boots. When his hands went
to the tapes of his linen chainse and hose, she fled to the
far comer. _
Rye took his ti.me, stripping off his_garments and lay-
ing them over a chair, trying to cool his temper before
he went after her. Straightenin g at last, he watched
Brenna with a narrowed gaze. She seemed frozen to the
wall; the tapestry behind her shifted slightly at a breeze
from an unknown origin. It was cold everywhere in the
chamber except directly in front of the fire, and he knew
the heat could not reach to the comers.
"Come st.and by the fire, Lady Brenna."
She shook her head. "Nay. I am warm enough where
I am."
A surge of impatient anger shook him, and Rye
moved toward her. He refused to play these ridiculous
 88 VIRGINIA LYNN
games any longer; he'd done everything he knew to put
her at ease.
She sidestepped his approach nimbly, as he had
counted on. He was ready when she skittered along the
wall, and in a single leap, caught her. She struggled furi-
ously, as he had also anticipated, and he slung her into
his embrace and carried her to the bed before she could
get enough leverage to do him any harm. He was taking
no chances with her nails or feet, remembering the last
time.
Flinging her back on the mattress, Rye held her down
easily, his face only inches above hers. He recognized the
anger in her eyes, and a faint smile curved the harsh line
of his mouth.
"I bid you yield the day, demoiselle. Your struggle is
ended, and 'twill go much easier if you allow me to love
you gently."
"Love!" Brenna gave a ragged laugh. "'Tis nothing
to do with love in this bed, my lord, as well you know it.
You view me as your property, as no more than a mare
to breed. I am a woman, a woman, with feelings and
desires, not just base urges. Nay, lord, you don't think of
love when you think of bedding me."
He stared down at her, at the lovely face that glared at
him with open rebellion, and felt that unfamiliar wave of
dammed frustration that had dogged him since he'd first
touched her. Devil take the wench!
"Call it love or base urges as you like," he said in the
cold voice that usually made men take several steps back,
"but whichever, your fight is finished."
"Nay-it has just begun." Sudden bright tears hazed
her lovely eyes. "I will not yield to force, my lord. You
must take me if you want me. Yea, you are much
stronger than I, and 'twill be no contest, but know that I
will not yield to you willingly."
"So be it," he growled, and sitting up so that his hard
thighs straddled her body, he curled his fingers into the
neck of her gown and pulled it away from her. She
fought him, twisting and turning, managing to evade his
grip for several minutes W1til he caught both her wrists
 LYON'S PRIZE 89
in one hand and pulled her arms above her head. With
bis weight pressing her into the mattress, Rye methodi-
cally stripped away the remnants of her gown.
Half sobbing with fury and shame, Brenna writhed
beneath him. His heavy body pinned her, and she felt
the insistent nudge ofhis arousal against her bare thighs.
Swallowing convulsively, she closed her eyes. He was
huge; he would never fit, but would tear her apart with
bis swollen organ. Either Mistress Maisie must be wrong
when she'd said God had made man and woman to fit
together, or Rye de Lyon was uncommonly large. She
would not survive the night.
Brenna felt his gaze linger on her bared skin, felt his
hands move over her breasts, teasing a taut, beaded nip-
ple between his thumb and forefinger until she bit her
bottom lip between her teeth to keep from crying out.
Her eyes flew open with shock as she felt a queer, intense
tingling in the pit of her stomach.
Rye's darkly handsome face registered her reaction,
and his hand shifted to stroke down over the ridge of her
rib cage to her belly, lightly caressing her skin in feathery
motions.
Shuddering, she squeezed her eyes shut again at the
hot evidence of his desire, the fire of him she could feel
next to her bare skin. Heated velvet, iron hard and puls-
ing with life, his stiff body probed against her belly in a
slowly sensuous slide that made her breath catch and her
heart pound as furiously as if she'd been running. Mad-
ness, utter madness, to seek thtit touch!
Even though she'd shut her eyes, Brenna could envi-
sion his taut-muscled frame, the powerful set of his
shoulders and the flex of smooth brown skin. Shudders
ran through her body as he continued to caress her, and
she held tightly to her hatred of him as a talisman against
his touch. He was the enemy, she reminded herself, the
hated Norman foe who'd wrested Engl.and from its
rightful king, and she would never yield. Nay, never.
His husky voice caught her attention. "Tell me, my
lady wife, is your fear because of your maidenhood, or
your lack of it?"
 90 VIRGINIA LYNN
She flushed angrily. "I am no Norman whore. I've
never given my favors lightly, as your breed seems to
expect."
"My breed? 'Tis well-known that all men, Norman,
Saxon, or whatever race, seek to lose themselves in a
woman's body from time to time. 'Tis a curse more
often than not, that a woman rarely refuses."
"You've known whores aplenty, it seems," Brenna
said with a contemptuous twist of her mouth. The dark
brush of his lashes lifted, and Rye's eyes glittered at her
coldly. .
"Aye, fair Brenna, I have indeed. Few that I would
call lady. Or truthful. Your maidenhood will soon be
proved, so if you speak falsely, tell me now."
She stared at him. For a fleeting instant, she thought
she saw an avenue of escape. His pride would surely not
let him remain wed to an unchaste bride. . . .
He laughed softly, and she saw in his face that he
knew her thoughts. "Nay, lady, do not answer. I wish to
see fur myself if you are virgin. 'Tts a much more pleas-
ant method than listening to a physician's report, and if
you arc not, then I shall still have tasted your charms."
Stiffening, Brenna swore at him, in French and En-
glish and Italian, the words spewing from her in a hot
tide of hurt fury and resentment. She detested the feel-
ing of helplessness that gripped her, the awful knowing
she had lost control of her fate.
When Rye shifted, spreading her thighs with his knees
and leaning over her body, Brenna tensed. For a mo-
ment his head was bent, his gaze intent on what his hand
was doing, then he looked up at her with a curious ex-
pression. His eyes were glazed with hot lights, turning
to a blue so deep that it stabbed at her in the dim glow
of fire and candles. Oddly, Brenna felt a strange lurch
inside, a reaction to the intent expression on his face.
For a brief moment he'd looked almost vulnerable,
though she knew no Norman could ever feel such a way.
"Yield, sweet Brenna," he murmured, caressing her
face with a gentle hand. "I would not be harsh with you,
 LYON'S PRIZE 91
if you will allow me to be otherwise. In truth, I admire
your fire and courage as much as I do your beauty."
She turned her head on the pillow and closed her eyes
against the temptation to surrender to his coaxing voice
and soft words. "Nay, I cannot yield . . . . " She heard
his brief sigh, then felt the mattress dip with his weight.
Still between her spread thighs, Rye bent to capture
her mouth with his, his tongue thrusting deeply between
her parted lips. Instead of repelling her, it sparked a
heated quickening inside, a response to the touch of his
hands on her breasts, the taste of his lips. Insanity. It had
to be insanity to feel anything but hatred for this man,
this symbol of ruthless Norman cruelty and dominance.
Snared in the throes of Lyon's passion, Brenna could
not understand the flush that swept her body, in spite of
Mistress Maisie's information. The midwife had spoken
mainly of facts, not the intangibles such as this flaming
ache that throbbed moistly where he touched her. His
hand dragged back and forth through the nest of red-
gold curls at the juncture of her thighs, producing a
chain of shivers that made her back arch.
Something was happening to her; she could feel it,
feel the starburst of sensation that caused a melting cen-
ter of fire to spread out from his touch against her. His
fingers moved in a clever rhythm that made her shudder,
made her thighs open for him instead of close against
him.
Rye surrounded her, enveloped her with his hard
man's body and his mouth, his searing touch. Gasping
for breath, she tried to twist her face away from his kiss;
he let her. His mouth grazed her ear, his heated breath
whispering over the delicate whorls and making her
shiver.
He sat up, his gaze intent on what his hand was doing,
that broad hand dark against her pale skin, moving over
her to touch and tease and torment in ways she'd never
dreamed of. Brenna burned where he touched, her skin
quivering with reaction to the scrape of his fingers.
Straining against his grip, her arms over her head and
pressed back into the furs on the bed, Brenna knew
 92 VIRGINIA LYNN
dimly that she was only making it pleasurable for him
with her movements, but she couldn't stop. Something
deeply primitive raged in her, out of control and insis-
tent and mind numbing. Had he known she would feel
this way? Had the midwife known?
Unprepared, Brenna felt the hot prick of tears sting
her eyelids. It didn't help to see his broad chest working
in a ragged rhythm, to know that his breath was coming
in short pants for air. His eyes, those beautifully wicked
blue eyes, were hot and narrowed, glittering beneath the
thick brush of his lashes. The sensual line of his mouth
was curved in a faint smile that deepened when she
glared at him.
"You still deny your own nature, cherie," he said in a
husky timbre that sent a shudder down her body. "Be-
neath your cold protests lies a fiery need. Don't fight it.
Don't fight me."
Brenna would have raged at him, but his thumb re-
turned to that spot that sparked such fire in her, raking
across her in an erotic slide that made her gasp and arch
up at him. It was exquisite torment. His body burned
hot against her; a Bush heated her torso and made her
nipples tighten into dark pink buds that tempted him to
lean forward again and lavish attention on her breast. He
sucked and tugged until she was moaning deep in her
throat, a helpless sound that was tom from her very soul.
Flames ripped through her, coiling upward from the
center of her being. An odd tightness squeezed inside
her, a searing need that made her hips press up, seeking
an end to the nameless yearning. She throbbed with it,
ached with a fierce pulsation that drowned out every-
thing but the desire to ease it.
Lifting his head at last, his hand still working magic in
tpat shadowed deft between her thighs, Rye blew softly
on her breast and smiled at her gasping shiver. Then he
repeated the same act on her other breast, trailing
steamy kisses along the divide between them. It W'clS tor-
ture, an erotic torture that she'd never imagined the best
sorcerer could devise. Nothing in Brenna's life had ever
 LYON'S PRIZE 93
prepared her for this, this mindless response of her body
when her brain was drowning in heated oblivion.
It was galling that this Norman had known, that he'd
promised her sweet torment and kept his word-Brenna
gasped as he moved between her thighs, his rigid organ
taking the place of his hand.
Rye was breathing in shallow pants, his corded mus-
cles quivering with the strain of holding her wrists and
holding back. She bucked beneath him, heated skin slid-
ing between her spread thighs. A soft whimper escaped
her, shaming and childlike. Brenna dosed her eyes as he
pressed forward.
Now the fiery velvet of him rubbed against her moist
entrance as his hand had done, intimately searing and
vaguely threatening. This was different. This was what
the midwife had mentioned, the moment when he
would enter her and penetrate her body.
Yet somehow she couldn't summon the will to con-
tinue the fight. Her treacherous body was eagerly wait-
ing, damp and ready and empty, waiting for him to fill
her. ,
Slipping his hard body inside her that first tiny bit,
Rye paused, breathing hard, his head thrown back and
the strong column of his throat working. Brenna's tight
inner muscles closed around him, gripping the end of his
shaft in a convulsive movement that made him groan.
"God!" he muttered thickly; his fingers tightened
around her wrists; he pressed her more deeply into the
furs on the bed. "God!" he said again, the word coming
out on a groan.
Slowly, steadily, he pushed against her, squeezing into
her with a heavy pressure that made Brenna's entire
body arch in an effort to stop the invasion. The delicious
slide of him began to alter to pain, sharp and searing.
When he encountered the thin membrane of her vir-
ginity, he lifted his head to look at her briefly, a light of
triumph in his eyes that made her cry out wordlessly. He
kissed her again, softly, almost tenderly, his mouth mov-
ing on her lips with a sweet pressure that lulled her into a
false sense of security as her body adjusted to invasion.
 94 VIRGINIA LYNN
Then he began to move again. The burning ache be-
tween her thighs spread outward, up and sharp and shat-
tering. Brenna fought him, her breath coming in shallow
pants for air, her legs drawing up in an attempt to push
him away. He held her easily, muttering words meant to
comfort her.
"Lie still, and the pain will ease. 'Twill hurt only this
once, sweeting. . . . God, you're so tight . . . like a
glove around me. . . ."
Brenna tried to hold back her shaming tears, but the
pain that was spreading through her intensified, until
with another groan, Rye shoved forward in a swift lunge
that filled her completely. The invasion tore a scream
from her. His mouth found hers again, caught her lips in
a surprising tenderness. ·
Fully sheathed by her body, Rye lay tensely still. His
arms were bent on each side of her body, and when he
lifted his head at last to stare down into her tear-streaked
face, he was frowning.
"I hurt you, I know, but 'twas unavoidable. There
will be only pleasure after this time, cherie."
Choking on tears and pain and a sense of betrayal,
Brenna's head twisted on the pillows. "Touch me again,
and I swear I'll poison you!"
To her surprise he laughed softly and shifted his body
in a deeper settling. She felt the strong length of him
push deeply inside her. He panted with the effort, his
hard band of stomach muscles contracting against her
belly. His voice was rough with strain.
"Sweet wife, your love talk needs some work."
Staring up at him with hot resentment, Brenna won-
dered how he could make light of her suffering. She
ached inside with the heavy weight of him and was
grateful that he did not move for several moments.
When she felt his muscles tense again, she stiffened in
apprehension.
He pulled her arms down slightly, easing the strain on
her, then lowered his head to kiss her. She thought
about biting him, but knew he could inflict much more
pain on her than she could him, and refrained. Every
 LYON 'S PRIZE 95
inch of her felt defeated, surround ed by him. His mouth
was warm and soft as he kissed her, and slowly she felt
the heat of his lips draw a reluctant response.
Her world was Rye de Lyon, the masculine smell of
him, the feel of his hard man's body on her, the swell of
him inside her. Her breathin g quickene d when his hand
moved to her breast, teasing the aching nipple into a
rigid knot.
Scraping against her sensitive inner walls, Rye began
to move inside her with long, sure strokes. At first it was
painful, then merely uncomfo rtable. Then, as his rhythm
increased, growing faster and stronger , pushing into her,
pulling out, she felt the rising crescend o of anticipation.
It rose on a tide of need, an aching fire that flowed
from her belly and through her veins, until she was pant-
ing as loudly as he. Someone called out--she ?-and
Brenna felt his hips recoil against her, felt the shatterin g
loss of her control. Her lips sought his, grazed along the
strong line of his jaw, the thick column of his throat, the
misted skin of his shoulder , his chest, where the thick
pelt of hair tickled her nose. It didn't matter. Nothing
mattered but drawing him deep inside her, seeking an
end to that nameless ache that threatene d to devour her.
Pain and hunger melded together , a culminat ion that
lifted her against him, and she heard his satisfied growl
in her ear just before he gave a final deep thrust that felt
as if it would tear her apart. The explosion was searing
and almost painful, a flood of sweet release that she
couldn't escape. His body pulsed inside her, a savage
tremor that took her breath away and made him groan
again, loud and fierce. His arms went taut around her,
pressing against her sides, his breath harsh in her ear.
For several long moments he lay on her, his weight
supporte d by his arms, then he drew back slightly. His
dark blue gaze drifted from her face down, lingered on
her tight beaded nipples and flushed torso. A faint smile
curved that ruthless mouth, and he looked up from her
heaving chest to watch her as she worked for enough air
to fill her lungs.
"Your passion surprises me, Brenna," he murmure d
 96 VIRGIN IA LYNN
after a moment. He released her wrists, found her hand,
twined his fingers through hers. He was still hard inside
her, his body rubbing with every move he made.
"Though it should not be such a surprise, I vow, since
you fought me with equal fervor."
Her chin tilted slightly. She felt strange, weak and yet
restless, as if there was more to come when she didn't
know what. Her voice quivered slightly. "In a contest of
strength you may have won, but I shall yet bring you
low, Norman."
His palm cupped her chin, long fingers gripping
firmly. "Rye," he said softly. "Use my name. I would
hear it on your lips."
"Nay! Dog! Cur! Those are more likely names for
you."
To her surprise and chagrin, he chuckled. "Well, 'tis
true I have said in the past that I would be bored by a
pious wife. I think now that I spoke hastily. Come, sweet
Brenna-sho w me a little wifely tenderness."
"I'll show you my dagger between your ribs."
"Ah, but then I could not ease the ache inside you
near as well, and I know that you have not yet tasted the
best." He grazed her lips with his. "Shall I show you
what you missed, my sweet? 'Twill give you ease, I
vow."
"Show me only your back, Norman. I want nothing
from you."
"P'raps 'tis best for now, as you are sore from being
broached." He kissed her angry lips quickly. "But soon,
my sweet, I shall give you what you don't know you
want."
Releasing her chin, Rye rolled from her, withdrawing
from her body and leaving her achingly empty. She felt it
keenly and scowled at her weakness. She throbbed;
ached. Something warm and sticky smeared her thighs,
and she wasn't surprised to see the blood. Proof of his
taking of her. The loss of her innocence, though in truth
she could not remember a time when she had ever felt
innocent. Ignorant, maybe, inexperienced, but never in-
 LYON 'S PRIZE 97
nocent. Life had not been kind enough to grant her
that.
"Lady wife," Rye murmured after several long mo-
ments had passed, "you are now well and truly wed and
would do good to think about the future. I may be a
stark knight, but I do not mistreat women." He lifted a
long strand of her burnished hair and held it up; firelight
glinted in the thick waves with a russet sheen. "Admit
your yielding, and we will deal well together."
Brenna's throat spasmed with grief. Admit surrender?
It would take much more than a simple bleeding to
force her to that end.
"Nay, Norman," she breathed softly, her eyes glit-
tering in the light as he turned to her. "I yield to no
man. Every time you want me, you must take me with
the knowledge that I will fight you every moment, and
that I detest you. Do you think because you have used
my body you have won me? You have not."
She saw his face tighten, the curved scar flexing with
the leap of a muscle in his jaw, and knew he was angry. It
was easier to prick him than she'd thought.
He sat up, glaring at her. "You have lost, Brenna. It is
useless to keep fighting me. You will only lose every
time."
"But I will not surrender."
Swearing, he jerked from the bed. Brenna swallowed
the lump in her throat as he towered over her, looking
fierce and furious in the play of firelight. Clutching the
tangled bed sheets in her fists, she met his gaze steadily.
She would not allow him to intimidate her with his size.
She'd survived his worst, hadn't she?
But then he said softly, "Your body has already
yielded what you won't admit," and she knew he was
right. A sweep of despair filled her. How could she com-
bat him if even her body turned traitor?
 CHAPTER 7

IT WAS STILL DARK when Brenna woke. Her first thought

was that she had survived the night. And Lyon.
The chamber was soft with thick shadows, only a faint
glow emanating from the brazier. She felt Rye at her
side, heard the rasp of his even breath. He lay between
her and the door, and she doubted she could make it
without waking him. Most soldiers slept lightly, and he
seemed no exception.
Lying still and quiet, she took silent assessment of her
hurts. She ached in places she'd never acknowledged un-
til now, and she winced at the memory of how she'd
clung to Rye like a besotted fool. It made her want to
scream her frustration aloud. Even worse, she must now
worry about a babe.
Visions of her mother came back with a rush, the gen-
tle Lady Clarice writhing in childbed, her lovely face
blotched with tears and her hands clutching at bed-
clothes as she bit her lips against a scream. Brenna
squeezed her eyes tightly shut against the memory. A
stab of panic cut deeply.
Nay, she could not stand it. She could not bear this
Norman's child. It would tear her apart, be much worse
than his body's invasion had been.
98
 LYON'S PRIZE 99
Shifting slightly away from him, Brenna wondered
about the man she'd wed. He was fierce, yea, but had
shown her an unexpected kindness on their wedding
night. None since her mother had shown her gentleness,
but Rye had been kinder than her own blood kin. She
could not fathom his reasons.
Her father had already told her he thought her mad to
resist, that she was a woman and it was her duty to yield.
There had been no sympathy for her from Dunstan, but
she had not expected any. Nor had she expected Rye's
show of concern for her feelings, his muttered reassur-
ances even while he took what he wanted from her.
Brenna worried her bottom lip with her teeth. The
man was an enigma. He had no reason to be kind, to
have treated her gently, yet he'd not been overly harsh.
Most of the men she knew had no compunctions about
beating wives or daughters; she had given Rye de Lyon
sufficient cause to strike her in the past few days, yet he
had not. She had publicly defied him, held him up to
ridicule by his men, and he had responded by fetching a
midwife to explain what no one else had done, not even
her family.
One thing she had learned was that men had their
pride. Perhaps fathers could be excused for not giving
well-loved daughters a beating, but never a husband.
Such a man would be thought weak by his contemporar-
ies. What vengeance could Rye have in mind, Brenna
wondered with a trace of unease. He would not show
restraint unless he had something in mind to bring her
to heel, she was certain.
Blinking against the shadows, Brenna wished she
could see Rye's face in the dark. Perhaps there would be
a hint of his intentions in those beautiful features. Beau-
tiful. Yea, as beautiful as Lucifer, and as proud. Were she
anyone else, she might have yielded to his lazy smile, and
the hot glances he gave her from beneath the thick
brush of his jet lashes. But she was not anyone else. She
was Brenna of Marwald and had sworn to fight the Nor-
man invader for as long as there was breath in her body.
Her renewed determination must have transferred to
 100 I VIRGINIA LYNN
Rye, for he stirred beside her. Lifting his head, he
reached for her and laughed when she resisted.
"Nay, cherie,'' he murmured, his voice hazy with sleep
and seductively warm, "do not fight me. There's naught
left to save. Your maidenhead is torn, and you arc mine.
Let me show you what it means to love a man."
"Love?" She managed a laugh that was meant to be
scornful but sounded much too shaky. "You speak
lightly of it, my lord. I assure you all you will teach me is
more hate."
He rolled over, pulling her beneath him in the thick
furs. " 'Tis your choice, Brenna. Come, hate me with
your sweet body, then."
Though she struggled, refusing to give in to him, Rye
won out easily. His strength was too great for her, and
he knew how to fend off her blows. Her hands skidded
off his taut muscles without harm, though she did man-
age to tear a few strips of flesh from his chest with her
nails before he caught her wrists and held them over her
head in one great fist.
"Give over, my fiery vixen," he muttered when she
gave a frustrated shriek. His breath drifted over her
neck, warm and tickling the wisps of loose hair, and she
shivered at what he was doing with his hands.
"Never!" The word ended in a choking gasp as his
free hand descended to that shadowy cleft between her
thighs and lingered in an erotic caress. His fingers began
to stroke with light, teasing motions that sparked a heat,
making her quiver with the force of it . "Never," she
repeated hoarsely and heard his soft laugh in her ear.
"You already yield, though you deny it. Your body
knows my touch, and seeks it eagerly."
"Nay!" Clenching her thighs tightly together, she
sought to trap his hand and keep it still. He shoved his
knee between her legs and spread them, bending to kiss
her mouth as his hand slid smoothly over her sensitive
flesh. The dull ache that was inside her subtly altered to a
new throb that spread up into her belly. She bit back a
moan, and was suddenly, fiercely glad for the dark,
 LYON'S PRIZE 10 1
shielding shadows. At least he couldn't see her, could
not see how he affected her with his touch.
It shouldn't be this way, she thought wildly, jerking
her head away from his invading mouth, he shouldn't be
able to make her feel this treacherous weakness inside.
This was his vengeance, then, this torment that made
her body yield to him what her mind would not. She
shuddered, thinking it more cruel than a beating would
have been.
A silken fire raged in her, hot and humiliating. But
this time she fought for and held tightly to her control,
not allowing him to guess at the turmoil inside.
Rye's hands and mouth swept her to the very brink of
that vaguely threatening release time and again, but
Brenna managed to stay the waves of desire that taunted
her. She thought of past disasters instead of his touch.
Instead of yielding to that strange fire in her, she re-
called Marwald's destruction after Hastings., lonely years
in cold Norman keeps; she won the struggle against
yielding. 'Twas a hard-won victory, indeed, she thought
as she turned her head toward the wall.
Finally, ignoring her stiff resistance, Rye spread her
thighs and took her, his body pounding into her until he
reached his own release. Then he rested atop her for a
long moment, his breath husking over hei: ear.
"You fight your own nature," he growled softly. He
levered to one elbow to stare down at her in the gloom.
" 'Tis not ice that runs in your veins, Brenna, but fire.
I've felt it in your touch, heard it in your voice. Do not
play this game with me. You could win much by gentle
yielding."
"Wm what, my lord?" Her voice was tart. "Another
hour of bed sport? I can well do without that. Go tum-
ble one of the kitchen wenches. I hear they cast admiring
glances your way."
"Do they?" She felt the smooth flex of his arm mus-
cles as he tightened his embrace. "Then p'raps I shall.
'Tis certain they will be willing to pleasure a man better
than a highborn vixen, I vow."
Brenna fought the urge to rail at him, knowing he
 10 2 VIRGINIA LYNN
would only take that to mean she cared what he did. She
didn't, but he would assume with customary male arro-
gance that she did.
"Do what you like," she said with casual indifference.
"But come to me with the stink of a whore on you, and
I will make you sorry."
There was a long moment of silence; she felt the con-
traction of his stomach muscles against her belly, then,
to her amazement, heard him begin to laugh.
"By all the saints, woman, you amuse me as much as
you anger me." Rye's laughter rumbled in his chest, and
she grew angry enough to try to squirm from under
him. He held her easily. "Fiery little vixen," he mur-
mured, still chuckling, and wrapped his hand in her hair
to turn her head up for his kiss.
"Nay, my little firebrand," he said when she tried to
turn away, "I've no reason to suffer another woman's
moods when I have you so easy at hand. And I've come
to enjoy our lively romps, though I much prefer your
rages to silence."
Brenna would have been happy to tell him that he had
just given her another weapon to use against him, but he
covered her lips with his mouth and smothered anything
she might have said. This time he didn't bother to at-
tempt to arouse her, but slipped his hard body back in-
side her and took his own pleasure in spite of her fierce
struggle.
It occurred to her to resent the way her wishes were
ignored, but in the struggle to resist his searing thrusts,
she found her control slipping. It was all she could do to
hold tight to her hatred.

When the sun spilled over the far edges of land, armed
and mounted soldiers bunched in the bailey of Marwald
keep; four men flanked Brenna-hard-faced, unsmiling
men set by Lyon to guard her. Wagons and carts rum-
bled in the dawn chill, and somewhere in the entourage,
gentle Rachel sat weeping at the uncertainty of her fu-
ture and her fear of her new lord.
 LYON'S PRIZE 10 3
Brenna fought her own fears. She hated Rye with
heated fervor at that moment, though she'd known
when the first talk of marriage was broached that she was
destined to leave Marwald. A huge lump clogged her
throat, and she set her mouth in a taut line.
A soldier brought her white palfrey, and she glanced
at it. " 'Tis not the horse I wish to ride. Bring my stal-
lion."
"My lady-" Th~ soldier paused, obviously flustered.
" 'Tis the horse my lord bade you use."
Stiffening, Brenna glared at him. "I ride much faster
on the other. Fetch it for me."
After a moment the man bowed and left, but when he
returned, he reported with a wooden face that the sei-
gneur would not allow it.
"Will not allow it?" Brenna saw only a humiliating
public defeat at hand if she persisted, so she held her
tongue and ungraciously accepted a hand up atop the
dainty white palfrey. She arranged her skirts with an irri-
tated flounce and looked up to meet her father's gaze.
He gave her an ironic smile. "Well, daughter. I see
that Lyon has managed to do what others have not."
"And what is that, pray?" she snapped.
"Curb thy unruly tongue."
Tapping her riding whip against her velvet skirts,
Brenna said as calmly as possible, "The man is a brute
and a fiend, but you would care little for that. You have
your lands back, and your precious sons roam free to
fight for whatever war is declared next. Does it matter
that you have wed your daughter to the devil?"
An ugly flush spread over Dunstan's face, and his lips
grew taut with suppressed anger. There was something
in his eyes that held her gaze for a moment, a flicker of
some emotion resembling raw pain, but Brenna could
think of no reason for it.
"Ye look unharmed," he said after a moment. "I see
no bruises on ye."
"Nay, there are no bruises that I would show the
world, that much is certain." Brenna's throat ached, and
she felt suddenly like bursting into tears and didn't know
 10 4 VIRGINIA LYNN
why. "Did you wish to be rid of me so badly?" she
couldn't keep from asking, then wished she hadn't. Af-
fecting a light shrug, she added, "Not that it matters."
Dunstan struggled silently for a moment, then said, "I
have never understood ye, but I do not wish ye ill. Ye
were a prize to be won by some man, make no mistake
on't. I am old and will die soon. I'm glad that ye have a
fierce husband to keep ye safely."
"Who's to keep me safely from him?" Brenna asked
around the sudden press of tears stinging her eyes. She
blinked them back, refusing to weep like a child.
Wearily her father said, "If ye'U tear down that stone
wall ye hide behind, ye won't need protection from him,
girl. Think on it."
Whatever she might have responded went unvoiced as
Rye approached.
"Fare thee well, my lord," Dunstan said heavily, and
put out a hand. Rye took it in his, and the two men
exchanged a brief glance of male understanding before
parting.
Brenna wondered about that as they rode out of the
bailey in the early-morning quiet, the subtle understand-
ing between two very different men. Both had seemed
to know what the other was thinking without words,
whereas she had trouble knowing how to interpret her
own thoughts and emotions.
A queer twinge made her flinch. She'd been so angry
for so long, 'twas frightening to entertain any other
emotion. Nay, she could not bear to think on what
might have happened if she had not had her hate to
sustain her the past ten years.
Little at Marwald had been as she recalled it; former
wood palisades were being replaced by stone; the bed-
chambers where she'd played as a child were new and
covered with rich tapestries and filled with unfamiliar
furniture. Only faint echoes of happier times had re-
mained for her-a glimpse of a familiar face or the sweet
scent of new-mown hay being stored in the stone ware-
houses in the bailey.
But now even that small comfort was to be denied
 LYON'S PRIZE 10 5
her. Her new home, Moorleah, was as strange to her as
Normandy had been, though the keep had belonged to
her mother. There had been brief visits there as a child.
The wood and dirt donjon was cold and drafty, and the
smoke hole in the roof had not drawn properly, filling
the hall with thick gray smoke. Moorleah had been in
general disrepair, but she had heard that William had
begun to restore it for a knight he deemed worthy of
such a prize: Rye de Lyon.
It had not then occurred to Brenna that she was to be
a part of the prize given to that stark knight who battled
so well for his king.
She cast a speculative glance toward Rye. He rode at
the head of the column of men, his easy bearing marking
him as leader even to strangers. There was an air of au-
thority about him that made her a little uneasy but ap-
parently instilled great confidence in his men.
Shrugging her shoulders under the heavy cloak she
wore, Brenna shifted her gaze to the men who guarded
her. She wondered sourly if Rye thought she would at-
tempt escape in full view of him and his armed soldiers,
or if they were for her protection. She doubted the lat-
ter. Who would dare attack William's man?
A fine rain began to mist around her, and she pulled
the hood lower to shield her face. In early spring the
ground was still frozen in places. Her palfrey stepped in
a light, eager prance, as if expecting they would break
into a canter at any moment. Brenna smiled wistfully.
She had delighted in her early-morning rides, delighted
in shocking gentle Rachel by riding a fierce stallion. The
animal's temperament matched her own, she thought,
and she liked the feeling it gave her to master him.
Which was probably why her new husband forbade
her to ride the horse. Men seemed to prefer thinking
that only they could successfully tame a spirited beast.
Brenna gave an irritated shrug. She would yet show Rye
de Lyon that she could master Normans as well as stal-
lions.
The silly females of her acquaintance would almost
faint if she shared those views with them, but Brenna
 10 6 VIR GIN IA LYN N
had fough t popula r opinio n on most rules as long as she
could remem ber. At times her voiced opinions greatly
vexed poor Rachel. A faint smile curved Brenna's mouth
at the though t. When they paused at midday to break
bread, she expressed her views to Rachel on riding the
stallio n-mor e to take her mind off her troubles than
anythi ng else.
The slender dark-haired girl looked at her skeptically.
"I canno t imagine riding such a bold animal, my lady."
Brenn a lifted a delicate eyebrow. "You were broug ht
up in the Norm an court, Rachel, where many bold and
shocking things happened. Did you not ever dare to do
anything . . . unsupervt"sed>" .
Rachel colore d. "Not until I met you. Since then I
have been introd uced to an entirely new way of think-
ing." An irrepressible twinkle gleam ed in her eyes as she
gazed at Brenn a. "And I have found myself in more
scrapes than I could ever have conco cted on my own."
"Quit e true, I vow. I do seem to have a talent for
doing what others find obnox ious." Brenn a munch ed
on her hard chunk of bread and let her gaze stray to
Rye. "I've a hunch that my unsupervised days will be
few and far betwe en," she mused softly, unaware she' d
spoken aloud until Rachel made an uneasy sound .
"I dare not allow you to draw me in to more mischief,
my lady. I fear our new lord and his wrath and would
not like to find myself flogged."
"Flogg ed?" Brenna lifted both brows . "He would not
dare. Your father, after all, was a knight of William's. I
have notice d that Norma ns do not go hardly on their
own, only on us English."
"Have you also notice d that most men deem it their
Christian duty to beat their wome n?" Rachel asked more
tartly than was her norm. "I certainly have. My own
father believed it necessary to chastise me twice a week,
wheth er I had displeased him or not. I was glad to be
sent to the court."
Brenn a was quiet for a mome nt. A light wind lifted
the hood to her cloak and batted it against her face. She
flipped the edges away with an impati ent hand. The
 LYO N'S PRIZ E 10 7
strong scent of damp gorse filled the air, and she let her
gaze shift along the horizon. Gentle hills humpe d in a
haze of brown and green in the distance, toward Moor-
leah, where Rye was taking her. She would be totally at ·
his mercy, with none of her kin to aid her. It was a
terrifying thought.
At. least, even in Norma ndy, she'd had her aunt to
come to her aid if she asked, though she'd never done
so. Just knowing she could was somehow enough . And,
admittedly, her Aunt Bertrice was a rather silly woman,
affectionate and kind in her way, but forgetting about
Brenna's existence until Brenna did something to attract
her attention. Many a night had seen a young Brenna
lying on her straw pallet in a cold corner of the castle
and weeping with fear.
But no more. Now she was grown, and she would not
weep when she could fight. Even Rye. He would find no
weakness in her. Still-i t would be nice to seek solace
with someone who cared about her.
Her glance fell on her maid, and she felt a twinge of
guilt for ofttimes speaking harshly to her. Rachel was as
much a pawn as she was and did not- deserve harsh
words.
"Rachel . . ." Hesitating, she put out a tentative
hand. It was quite uncharacteristic of her to touch some-
one else, and Rachel had learned some time ago to curb
her tendency to offer affection. "Rach el-we are quite
alone, just the two of us, in a place very alien to what
we've left. Shall we . . . shall we band together, you
and I? 'Twoul d be little enough we could do, but
'twould be a comfort, I think."
Rachel's lovely dark eyes widened, and she smiled with
such relief that Brenna knew she'd longed for the same.
"Aye, my lady, I would. "
Slowly Brenna put her hand on the girl's shoulder, a
gesture of friendship and peace. Her heart was poundi ng
and her mouth was dry, and when Rachel touche d her
lightly on the arm, she didn't cringe away.
Even though the day was gray and drizzly, it seemed a
bit brighter to Brenna. She wasn't certain why, but knew
 10 8 VIRGINIA LYNN
it had something to do with feeling not quite so alone as
she had before.
She exhaled slowly and didn't offer so much as a snarl
when one of her guards told her curtly that it was time
to remount. Perhaps she wasn't overly hospitable, but
she wasn't overly hostile, either.
Brenna shot Rye de Lyon a quick glance when she was
mounted atop her palfrey again. Perhaps he had not
done her such a bad turn by being so fierce. His actions
had forced her to reach out to someone else for comfort.
Now she would find it easier to resist his efforts to domi-
nate her. . . .
Rye saw the militant gleam in Brenna's eye and knew
it for what it was. More stubborn resistance. ]esu! did
the wench not know how to admit defeat? It galled him.
Most men would have bent a knee to him by now, wise
enough to take refuge in whatever mercy he offered
rather than' continue a course of destruction. Yet Brenna
of Marwald did not.
A wave of irritation washed through him, and his
mouth set in a taut line. Thrice he had taken her, and
thrice she had somehow defeated him. He could under-
stand the first time; there was pain involved in the
broaching of a maiden. The second time he had tried to
ease her fears and give her pleasure. 'Twas her own folly
and mulish nature that had prevented it. The third time
-bah!
His annoyance increased. St. Jerome! but he should
be turning his attention to his business instead of a
woman. How could she have pricked him so that he
thought about her instead of what was ahead? No mere
woman should occupy a man's thoughts beyond physical
pleasure, or the remote attention _due them. Females
were for breeding sons as more knights for the battle,
and little else. That had always been his philosophy, and
though he desired women, he did not need them be-
yond casual appetites.
Yet somehow Brenna lingered in his mind. He
thought of how soft her skin was, like the satiny furring
of a flower beneath his hand, rich and luxurious. Her
 LYON'S PRIZE 10 9
hair was like silk in his hands, sliding through his fingers
and smelling slightly of the perfume she used. He
wanted to bury himself inside her lush curves, the
tempting body that lay beneath her heavy cloak.
The thought made his body tighten in anticipation,
pushing painfully against his chainse and mail. His jaw
set angrily. She bedeviled him, even when she was riding
her pure white palfrey with an innocent air of silence.
'Twas madness, and for a brief instant of illumination,
Rye suddenly understood how other men had allowed
themselves to act the fool over a woman.
It was shaming, and he fcdt as if someone had dashed a
bucket of cold water over him. Nay, not for Rye de
Lyon the humiliation of being led about like a trained
bear! His lady wife had best watch her tongue, or she
would find that his forbearance did not extend to suffer-
ing her whims for even an instant.
Sliding her another frowning glance, Rye saw that she
had pulled the hood of her cloak over her head to pro-
tect it from the rain. The loose material hid her face. He
was glad. He needed no memories of those fair features
to nudge his desire. He would school his urges, as he'd
schooled his body for warfare. 'Twas a simple matter of
training. He would do his duty by her, but that was all.
Perhaps he would go elsewhere for an uncomplicated
roll in the straw. Then he would not have to battle the
ache she started in him with just a glance. He could ease
his body on another and be done with it.
Touching his spurs to his mount, Rye set a hard pace
for the rest of the day. He wanted to reach Moorleah as
soon as possible, and put as much distance as he could
between them. The shrewish wench ignited too many
thoughts he should not have.
 CHAPTER 8

IT WAS ALMOST DARK of the following day before the weary

cavalcade reached Moorleah. The stone structure rose
abruptly from the heights of a steep slope, half-finished
battlements like great teeth gnashing at the sullen sky.
Brenna caught her breath. This was not the place of her
memory. This . . . this was a cold, forbidding castle.
Reining his horse close to her palfrey, Rye eyed her
coolly. "Our home, my lady." His voice held a hint of
mockery that drew her gaze. " 'Tis as welcoming as your
bed, I think.''
"Do you?" She met his shadowed eyes with an up-
lifted chin. "More so, I vow."
Gauntleted hands tightened on his reins, and the great
destrier tossed its head and snorted dangerously. It was a
beautiful animal, but lethal. Trained war-horses were ca-
pable of tearing a man to bjts with hooves and teeth. It
reminded her of Rye.
As her nervous little palfrey sidestepped neatly,
Brenna said softly, "I find the Norman castles as cold
and empty of comfort as I do Norman knights." She
gestured at the towering pile of stone. "Though 'twas
once my mother's, I find little in it of comfort. William
110
 LYON'S PRIZE 111
took it from us and has now given it away. 'Tis not our
home, but yours."
"'Twould do you well to remember that," Rye said
with a snap, and spurred his horse ahead of her. Brenna
looked after him with a faint smile. She could not forget
it. She had nothing of her own, nothing. She was a pos-
session, a pawn to be used for barter, and she'd been
given to Rye for these towers of stone and wood hulking
like a bleak vulture against the horizon. Nay, she was not
likely to forget.
A loud creak heralded the lowering of the drawbridge,
and as the carts and riders passed beneath the portcullis,
a rumble of thunder sounded. Horses trembled and
snorted, and men scurried to tasks before the approach-
ing storm. The sky rolled with dark clouds that blotted
out the softer hue of early springtime, plunging the bai-
ley into deep shadows.
Torches flickered, and the smell of rain was strong in
the air. Brenna followed her escort across a second moat
and under a portcullis, then allowed a soldier to assist
her from her mount. She saw Rachel hurrying toward
her, heard Rye's man-at-arms bellowing orders. Whips
cracked, and the rattle of wooden cart wheels over the
drawbridge grew louder.
"This way, my lady," someone said, and Brenna
turned to see a young page beckoning her forward. Lift-
ing her skirts from the dirt of the bailey, she followed
him up the wide steps that led to a gaping portal of the
inner keep.
Behind the thick inner walls loomed a huge round
tower. It was much lighter than the more familiar tours
that had walls twenty to thirty feet thick, and would
obviously provide sanctuary only as a last resort. The
huge outer wall and moat enclosed a vast area littered
with outbuildings, the stables, storehouses, shops, and
mews. This inner court bore six smaller towers, as well as
the huge one still being constructed.
Brenna's eyes widened. A formidable fortress indeed.
It should withstand any enemy attack. This castle
brought to mind all the great stone castles she'd seen in
 1 12 VIRGINIA LYNN
Normandy. It was apparent that civilization was reaching
this corner of England in spite of resistance.
Rain burst overhead just as Brenna and RacheJ were
escorted through a huge double wooden door and into
a damp, dark chamber lit by flickering torches. A guard
stood by the door of the guardroom and eyed them as
they entered.
The anxious page ushered them from the guardroom
through another door. Long tables had been set up in
the great hall, as it was near time for the evening meal,
and servants scurried back and forth with trenchers of
hard bread and platters of meat and vegetables. The
smell of fresh rushes and thick smoke filled the air; a fire
burned brightly in the center of the chamber. Smoke
rose in a thin curl to reach the hole in the roof, drawing
well, Brenna noticed.
Her gaze took in the massive new timbers of the
vaulted ceiling, then moved to the hooded gyrfalcons
lurking in the rafters. Bells decorated leather jesses at-
taching the birds to their perches, and jangled each time
one of the deadly birds moved.
Deep galleries had been built on three sides of the
hall, and a group of musicians gathered in an alcove and
played their instruments softly. Drawing in a deep breath
at how unfamiliar to her Moorleah was, Brenna's gaze
shifted to the end of the hall.
Seated on a raised dais, two women waited in high-
backed, carved wooden chairs, regarding the newcomers
with grave civility.
Brenna frowned. No one had told her to expect
guests, and she wondered irritably if she was to entertain
two such apparently noble women no sooner than she
entered the keep. She knew what to do; it had been part
of her rigid training in Normandy. That she had more
frequently than not chosen not to abide by the simple
rules of a hostess had been a form of rebellion against
her father and king.
Pausing, Brenna flicked a glance toward Rachel, who
shrugged lightly.
 LYON'S PRIZE 1 13
"Please,'' one of the women called loudly, "enter and
be welcome. Moorleah greets you."
Brenna's frown deepened. Rye had not mentioned
any other women who would be living here, but this
woman spoke with the air of ownership. Straightening
her shoulders and sparing a moment's regret that she
had to enter looking like a windblown doxy, Brenna ap-
proached the dais.
As she drew closer, she saw that the woman who had
spoken was fairly young, probably only a few years older
than herself. The other woman had the lines of age in
her face, and her patrician features sh.owed no sign of the
same welcome.
Executing a polite gesture of courtesy, Brenna looked
up expectantly. The younger woman was smiling.
"I understand that Sir Rye-excuse me-Lord Lyon,
has just been wed. Would you be his lady?"
Brenna nodded. "I am Lady Brenna. And you?"
Rising from the chair to step forward; the slender
young woman put her arms around Brenna before she
could avoid her embrace. "Welcome, dear sister," she
said softly, "I am Raissa, widow of Count Yves Le Bee
and sister to your husband."
Sister? Brenna stood stiffly in the embrace, not know-
ing what to do or say. She felt a surge of anger at Rye
that he had not told her of his family, but honesty de-
manded that she admit she had not asked. She'd not
cared. Now she had a sister by law, and from the resem-
blance, a mother by law, also.
Brenna felt a stir of uneasiness. The older woman was
obviously not pleased; her face was set in cold, austere
lines. It was apparent that she had been a great beauty in
her day, but Brenna could find none of her son's mascu-
line features in her.
Seeing Brenna's glance, Lady Raissa released her and
turned. "This is my mother, Lady Madelon, Countess of
Lyon. Or-I suppose now, dowager."
Lady Madelon gave a terse nod. Long fingers
drummed on the arm of the carved chair. Her wide,
 114 VIRGINIA LYNN
dark eyes raked Brenna intently, from her feet to her
face, lingering on her rain-spattered garments.
"I see you bring no great fortune with you," she said
at last, her husky voice rich with irony and disdain.
Brenna stiffened at the contempt in her tone. "Should
I wear it strung about my neck?" she shot back tartly,
then flushed at her rudeness. Unforgivable, under these
circumstances. This woman could make her life intolera-
ble if she chose. But then, Brenna could do the same.
She'd had long experience with misery.
There was a moment of tense silence, then Lady
Raissa gave a burst of choked laughter. "Aye, Mother,
'tis ill of us to judge Rye's lady after days of travel," she
said at last, still chuckling. "And from the looks of her, I
would say he chose her for beauty, not her wealth."
"Certainly not her sweet nature," Lady Madelon said
in a cold tone, rising to her feet in elegant motion.
"Nay, Lady Madelon," Brenna said boldly, "I'm not
known for my charity or gentle ways. Some say 'tis a
curse, but I prefer frankness to subtleties."
"Do you?" The dark eyes regarded her s~eadily. "'Tis
well that you remember I am acquainted with all forms
of such rudeness thinly cloaked in polite terms. I deal
hardly with those who practice it."
"Do not be too hard on yourself, madam,' Brenna3

said in the same scathing tone that Lady Madelon used.

"One is never too old to learn manners."
Drawing herself up with a hiss of fury, Lady Madelon
looked as if she would like to launch an attack on
Brenna, a fact that bothered the younger woman not
· one whit. She had met women such as Lady Madelon
aplenty in the Norman ~tles and detested each of them
fervently.
Things were not off to a good start. .
Rye noticed that immediately when he stepped into
the hall. His stepmother and his wife were faced off like
two weasels, tense and looking as if they would be claw-
ing at one another within seconds. He felt a burst of
irritation, then wry amusement. Why not? Had he ex-
pected it would be easy, having Madelon and Brenna
 LYON'S PRIZE 11 5
under the same roof? Nay, he had not been that big a
fool.
Soiding toward them, Rye reached the four women
just as his stepmother took an angry step forward, lifting
her band as if to strike Brenna. That would have been
disastrous, and Rye grabbed her wrist before her palm
could connect.
"Lady Madelon," he said with heavy irony, "how
pleasant it is to see you again."
His stepmother's nosoils were pinched, and her lips
were drawn back from her teeth in the suggestion of a
snarl. Of course, it would have been ill-bred of her to
actually snarl, and Lady Madelon, he reflected sourly,
was rarely caught out. It was a oibute to Brenna's sharp
tongue that she had managed to provoke that formida-
ble dame to violence within scant minutes of their meet-
ing.
It took a moment for Lady Madelon to control her
temper, and when she did, she gave Rye a long, steady
stare.
"A fit mate for you," she said at last. "But I always
knew you would manage to find a viper to bring into our
nest."
A faint smile curled Rye's mouth. He released her
hand. "As usual, my lady, you are overly kind. You must
have missed me."
"Oh, assuredly." No one could miss the sarcasm in
her husky voice. "There has been a scarcity of bastards in
Normandy since you left."
"I find that difficult to believe," Rye said coolly, but
his eyes were narrowed and hot with anger. "P'raps just
a scarcity of noble bastards."
"Noble? Aye, your father certainly thought so. You
could do no wrong in his eyes, no matter which side of
the blanket you were whelped on."
The bitter words hung heavily in the air, and Rye gave
a nonchalant shrug. " 'Tis no secret that my father loved
me. P'raps 'twas to make up for the absence of a
mother's tender care."
Lady Madelon stiffened. " 'Tis not my fault that the
 116 VIRGINIA LYNN
bitch who whelped you ran off and left you with us.
Before God, I would rather she had kept you with her."
"You've made that plain enough for twenty-nine
years," Rye said evenly. "But if she had, my lady, who
would have cared for you these ten years past?"
A long silence stretched, and Rye could see the ap-
palled expressions on the faces of his wife and sister.
Raissa. Thank God, she loved him. She was the only
female he'd ever cared about, the only one who loved
him unreservedly. The only one who loved him at
all . . .
The hellcat he'd wed had made it plain she despised
him, and in truth, he had expected no different. But
Raissa, she had adored him from infancy. It warmed
him, and God knew, there was little enough warmth in
his life. His gaze swung back to his stepmother.
He made an impatient motion with his hand. "It
grows late, and we have been traveling for two days. Did
you get my message, my lady?"
Recovering her composure, Lady Madelon nodded
coolly. "Aye. Your chambers have been readied. Your
soldiers and squires will sleep on straw pallets in the
guardroom, and on the stairs of the north tower. Food
has been prepared, and we will be served when you are
ready."
Rye nodded. "See that my lady wife has water to
bathe before we eat. She will want to change her gar-
. ments for dry ones."
Surprised by his consideration, Brenna shot him a
quick glance. He didn't look at her, but was gazing at
his sister with a soft smile that made him look suddenly
younger, and very handsome. She'd thought him coldly
attractive before, but the glow in his eyes lightened them
to a blue as soft as a summer sky, and his sensual mouth
curved into a smile that made her heart lurch.
For an instant she felt a surge of pity for him, that he,
too, had felt the sharp pangs of loss and abandonment.
And he had felt the sense of displacement that she had
felt as well, the uncertainty of what the future would
bring.
 LYON'S PRIZE 1 17
But her pity faded quickly when she recalled how he
had forced her to yield to him, and when he turned to
look at her, her gaze was cold.
"Shall someone direct me to my chambers, my lord?"
she asked stiffly. "Or do I aimlessly wander the halls?"
" 'Tis your choice, sweet wife." He seemed amused at
her acerbity. "Do not think to sharpen your claws on
me, as you have my stepmother. I will not tolerate it,
and you would not like the consequences."
It didn' t seem the time to defy him, not with Lady
Madelon watching and gloating, and Lady Raissa gazing
at her with such a troubled expression that Brenna felt a
pang of guilt for her sharp words. She nodded.
"Aye, my lord. I am overtired." It was as close as she
would come to an apology; Rye seemed to understand
that and looked at her gravely.
"You need not come to the hall to eat if you prefer,"
he said after a moment. "I will send someone with food
to our chamber."
His offer surprised her, and Brenna smiled at him be-
fore she thought." 'Tis not necessary, my lord. I am not
that weary." She studied him for a moment, feeling an
abstract admiration for his masculine beauty, the perfect
arrangement of his features only slightly marred by the
thin scar that curved from his left eyebrow to the sharp
angle of his cheekbone.
Blue eyes beneath the black brush of his lashes were
fixed on her politely, regarding her with a kind of wary
patience. It occurred to her that he merely wanted to
keep her and his stepmother separated, and she didn't
blame him. She had no special desire to trade barbs until
she was more rested. Then she would join into the fray
with all gusto.
"Do you wish that I should take my meal alone, my
lord?"
"Nay, milady. Do as you will. Makes little difference
to me."
His careless reply banished the softening she'd begun
to feel, and she snapped, "I always do!"
Some of the humor returned to his remote gaze, and
 118 VIRGINIA LYNN
his teeth flashed white in his beard-shadowed face. "I
think I already knew that. Your place will be set in the
hall, my sweet. Suit yourself."
Though she swung back and forth between "yea" and
"nay" with alarming rapidity, Brenna ended by taking
her meal in the great hall. There was no point in setting
a precedent, not when Lady Madelon would be certain
to ascribe her absence to fear or nervousness. Nay, she
would be there, and she would act the part of great lady
as well as any other woman ever had.
There didn't seem to be much difference to Brenna,
between the great ladies that she had known and the
lowest serving wenches. Most of them were as petty and
selfish as any peasant woman could be, but with more
style. Only her mother had filled the description of lady,
and Brenna had often wondered with a trace of bitter-
ness if that was just a child's fond memory.
Observing Lady Madelon from a distance, Brenna had
the cynical thought that the lady was as dose to com-
mon as any she had ever seen in Normandy. She won-
dered how the woman had produ,ed such a lovely,
sweet daughter as Raissa.
Raissa, a young widow with two lively children, went
out of her way to welcome Brenna. It was as if she had
taken it upon herself to make up for her mother's lack of
welcome, though she did try to explain Lady Madelon's
chill reception in a low, confidential tone.
"She's always been the countess, you see," Raissa said
during the third course, when hot meat pies, frumenty,
and a platter of dumplings were served at the high table.
"In Normandy we were always at court. Whenever the
duke-your king-holds court there, my mother de-
lights in the gaiety. It helps to make up for the loss ofmy
other brother."
"Other brother?" Brenna lifted an inquisitive brow.
"Yea, Jean-Luc." Raissa stared down at her hands for
a moment, then looked up. "He would inherit, you see,
as the legitimate heir. When he was killed, my father
made Rye the heir. Papa was killed not long after, and
 LYON'S PRIZE 119
my mother has never forgiven either of them for Rye
inheriting.,,
''How was your father killed?,, Brenna flushed slightly
at the rudeness of her question, but Raissa smiled.
"It was a long time ago. I can speak about it now.
'Twas at Hastings, here in England. He rode into the
English shield ring to try to save Taillefer, who was Wtl-
liam•s favorite minstrel." Her voice shook slightly. "He
was slain in the attempt, as was Taillefer.,,
Brenna was silent for a moment, then said, "I'm
sorry. 'Twas a grievous loss, I know.,,
"Aye. More so for Rye than for me. I loved my father,
but Rye spent most of his time with him. And he had to
watch him die, you see. Worse, it was not easy at home
for Rye." She cleared her throat and cast a quick glance
up the table toward her mother. "My mother was very
hurt by Papa•s liasion with Rye•s mother.''
Brenna hid her surprise. "They were wed when he had
a child with another?"
Raissa looked down at her plate, then back up at
Brenna and nodded unhappily. "'Tis no secret in Nor-
mandy, and the public nature of my father•s affair with
Rye's mother was well-known. The lady was wellbom,
you see, and my father appealed to the pope for dissolve-
ment of his vows to my mother so he could wed her.,, A
sad smile curled Raissa's mouth. "It was a great embar-
rassment for my mother, and even when the pope re-
fused an annulment, Papa continued to see his lady for a
time.,,
"This doesn't bother you?" Brenna stared at the girl
in amazement.
"Aye, but it happened before I was born, and I grew
up with the gossip. 'Tis common knowledge every-
where, so I am certain you will hear of it before much
time has passed.,,
"Aye, people do like to talk-unless it's their secrets
being told." Brenna slid a speculative glance at Rye.
He'd seated her at his right, his sister on her other side.
Lady Madelon sat at his left, and she was engaged in
 12 0 VIRGINIA LYNN
animated conversation with Beaumont. Rye stared
moodily into his cup.
Brenna was aware of him the entire meal, gazing into
his mulled wine and ignoring everything around him as
if he were the only person in the hall. Musicians played
gay tunes on a gallery that looked out over the tables,
and jugglers, acrobats, and trained animals performed
for their lord's entertainment. Rye appeared to see none
of them. He ate sparingly, drank sparingly. Most of his
attention seemed focused on the dull glitter of jewels
circling his goblet.
It was part of Brenna's dowry, the treasure Dunstan
had sent with her. Someone had been busy unpacking,
she saw; it amused her to wonder who. Lady Madelon,
perhaps? Not that it really mattered. She didn't care
about the gold plate, or jeweled goblets, or exquisite
linens.
She cared desperately only about her freedom.
Tilting her head, Brenna swallowed the last of her
mulled wine. A squire moved to refill it.
"Nay," Rye murmured, putting a hand over her cup
and gaining her surprised attention and the squire's in-
stant obedience. "My lady says too much wine makes
her ill." His lazy smile slanted at her before he returned
his regard to the jeweled cup.
Brenna felt the stirring of anger. She was not in the
habit of overindulging in wine, but she was damned if
she would allow this braying Norman jackal to say her
nay!
"Squire," she said, halting the young man with her
commanding tone, "my lord is too kind, but I am feel-
ing well. I will have more."
Now she had Rye's full attention. The lazy smile van-
ished and was replaced by a slight frown. The squire
stood in an agony of indecision, his conflicting emotions
obvious on his face. Apparently Rye took pity on the
young boy.
"As the countess wishes, Gowain. It has been a long
day for us all."
Somewhat gratified that he had not argued her com-
 LYON'S PRIZE 12 1
mand, Brenna's anger ebbed. She had been surly, when
she should have held her tongue. It wouldn't do to look
too bold, not now, not since her behavior was being
observed and noted by many of Lady Madelon's ac-
quaintances. Why give them fuel for their gossip? Her
resistance could be done in private.
"Thank you, my lord, for your consideration," she
said so sweetly that Rye's eyes narrowed in suspicion. He
gave her a long, considering stare, but she only sipped
prettily from her goblet and played the part of model
wife. It would give him something to think about, she
thought irritably. He would wonder what she was plan-
ning.
Indeed, for the rest of the evening Rye cast glances in
her direction as if wondering when the sword would fall.
It gave Brenna a slightly superior feeling, as if she had
somehow managed to turn the tables on him.
That feeling evaporated quickly when Rye finally
stood, cupping her elbow in his broad palm and lifting
her with him. "'Tis time to bed, wife," he said in an-
swer to her protest.
Music swirled loudly from the gallery above, so that
he had to lean close to hear her soft words. "I would like
to remain awhile, my lord. The jugglers amuse me."
"Another time." His fingers tightened on her arm
when her eyes flashed defiance. " 'Twould be ill advised
to offer another protest, milady. See how avidly Lady
Madelon awaits your humiliation?"
It was a telling point. Brenna nodded stiffly. "Aye, my
lord. I believe I am feeling weary again."
Chuckling, Rye pulled her with him, and they crossed
the great hall toward the staircase slowly, impeded by
the antics of the acrobats and trained dogs. Soldiers and
knights were laughing, some of them drunk and grab-
bing at the servant girls. Loud squeals rent the ait:, and
an occasional yelp of pain cut through the din.
It was nothing Brenna hadn't seen and heard before,
but when a particularly overzealous suitor gave a roar
and swung his screaming choice into brawny arms, she
couldn't help a small gasp of rage.
 1 2 2 VIRGIN IA LYNN
"Stop him!" she demanded, jerking to a halt and tug-
ging at Rye's arm. "That brute will hurt her."
Rye swung a disinterested glance toward the couple.
"I don't think so. Bourchard has been tumbling Daisy
for over a year now. She seems to like it."
"Like it! Do you hear her screaming?"
"Does she sound hurt?" His brow snapped down.
"'Tis a game they play, Brenna, that's all. I do not allow
my men to harm an unwilling maid."
" 'Tis a shame you do not ascribe to that end your-
self."
Jerking her to him, he stared down at her for a mo-
ment, his expression cold. "You are no maid. You are my
wife. I will hear no more of your shrewish tongue or
discuss this matter with you."
Whatever Brenna had been about to retort remained
unsaid as she recognized his struggle for control. There
was much more to his anger than her barbs, and she
remained silent. After a moment he gave a satisfied nod
of his head and took her with him up the curved stair-
case.
Their chamber was large, with a huge brazier in the
center to give off heat. A carved wooden bed bore heavy
draperies around it, and rich carpets were scattered
across the floor. Tapestries warmed the walls, and several
small tables bore various items. There was even a chess
set on one table, where it looked as if a game had been
interrupted and waited on the opponents to return.
Rachel had moved in Brenna's clothing, and the cof-
fers stood against a far wall. Tallow candles gave off
plenty of light, and shimmered as Rye shut the chamber
door and threw the bar.
Brenna couldn't help a sudden shudder. He saw it and
smiled crookedly.
"Still afraid, brave Brenna?"
"Nay. 'Twas just a chill."
"A chill?" He crossed to stand in front of her. "Then
let me warm you. What kind of husband would allow his
wife to be cold?"
"Norman," she muttered resentfully, but did not
 LYON'S PRIZE 12 3
struggle when he pulled her into his embrace. As always,
she stiffened.
"Do you hate me so much that you cannot stand my
touch, cherie?"
She thought for a moment. "Nay. 'Tis not just your
touch, but anyone's. I do not like to be fondled."
"As your husband, I appreciate that, but wish you
would confine your dislike to others, not me." His voice
was wry, and she detected the weariness beneath it. "I
am not a man to look without touching. . . ."
"Then don't look," she returned with asperity, and
his teeth flashed in the gloom of shadow and light.
"Ah, another challenge, my sweet?" His hand rubbed
down her arm in a leisurely caress, and his expression
was thoughtful as he watched her shiver with reaction.
"P'raps 'tis not your wont to be touched, but you must
accustom yourself to my hand on you, Brenna. I will not
hurt you."
Her disbelieving stare made him grin again. "If you
will allow it, I will prove to you that you can enjoy the
union between man and woman."
Brenna strained away from him, feeling his growing
arousal against her. "I am sworn to the fight," she mut-
tered, staring at the gilt embroidery on his tunic. She
dared not look up at his eyes; her surrender lay in them,
for even now, with his hands smoothing over her arms
and toying with tendrils of hair at her nape, she could
feel the hot magic he worked stirring in her.
Clenching her fists so hard, her nails cut into her
palms, Brenna forced her attention away from his ca-
resses. Almost desperately she said, "I thought Normans
always had much restraint, my lord. Do your words
mean that you could not curb your desire at the mere
sight of a woman?"
"I could if I chose." He tilted her chin up on the curl
of his fingers to look into her face. "I do not choose to.
You are my wife. I have a right to look at you. And
touch you."
"Ah, it's so nice to know that just the sight of my
 12 4 VIRGINIA LYNN
beauty spurs you into boyish rhapsodies of passion, so
that you cannot look without touching. . . .,,
"Enough.,, His voice was rough. "Do you think I
don't know what you're trying to do?,,
"I think you are more boy than man, who cannot
hold even his basest desires in check. 'Tis the way of
animals, is it not, to act upon urges instead of intellect?"
Dropping his hands away from her, Rye looked at her
with furious eyes. "You know how to prick a man,
wench.,,
His low growl made her stomach lurch, but she stead-
ied her hands in the folds of her gown and took a deep
breath.
"I mean not to prick, my lord, but to understand. I
have seen only men's mindless passion, you see, not this
joyful union you speak of."
That seemed to rankle. Rye inhaled sharply, and the
skin over his cheekbones turned a dull red that made his
dark complexion look ruddy. It was an important revela-
tion to Brenna, who suddenly understood that a man's
ability to pleasure a woman upon his whim was impor-
tant. To fail at it seemed humiliating.
After a moment Rye said roughly, " 'Tis no great feat
to curb desire, but 'tis better to be fulfilled."
"If 'tis no great feat, milord," Brenna shot back,
"why do you not allow me to see for myself how it is
meant?"
"How do you expect me to do that?" Rye's hands
loosened on her arms. "If you mean that I should not
ever touch you-"
"Nay, not that," Brenna said quickly, "but p'raps
show me that you can."
"Can what?" He raked a hand through his hair and
stared at her suspiciously. "You're speaking in riddles,
and I am too weary to puzzle them."
"Can just look and not touch." She shrugged at his
narrowed glance. "You've said you find it easy enough-
I would see for myself that you speak the truth."
"What game is this you seek to play?"
 LYON'S PRIZE 12 5
" 'Tis . . . 'tis no game, milord, but a test. Can you
pass it?"
"A test-I see nothing but a play of straws, demoiselle.
There can be no conclusions here, as I do not care ifyou
think me too weak-willed to resist touching you. I have
gone without a woman for months before, and if you
think your beauty so great I cannot resist you, you are
misled."
In spite of his angry words, Brenna saw the uncer-
tainty in his eyes. She shrugged lightly.
''Very well, milord. You say you are not overset by my
female attributes, and I believe you. 'Tis your choice to
touch me at your will."
"Aye," he growled, and as if to prove it, jerked her
dose, his hands splaying over her back, moving to her
breasts to cup them in his palms. Brenna stared up at
him steadily. With a soft curse Rye thrust her away from
him. "Curse you, woman-do you think you're superior
because I choose my own desires over yours?"
"Nay, lord." She cast her eyes down demurely." 'Tis
not my place to think. I am only a woman, in a woman's
poor, frail frame. I have no desires save to serve, and
I-"
Rye swore horribly. "I've never seen such a harpy. Do
not worry about my 'base urges' tonight, demoisetle, for
I have no desire to touch you. When I do, do not be
fooled into thinking I will forgo my pleasure, for I will
not."
"Aye, milord," Brenna said, her words meek, but her
tone plainly triumphant. Rye shot her a furious glance.
"St. Jerome! but I think that the women in paradise
must be all mute, or 'twould not be paradise at all."
"Blasphemy, milord?" Brenna murmured, avoiding
Rye as she moved to the opposite side of the big cano-
pied bed in the center of the room.
Giving an incoherent snarl, Rye tore off his tunic and
hose and flung them at the clothes pole. Brenna tried
not to look when he stalked, completely naked, to the
brazier and stirred up the glowering coals into a tidy
blaze again. Hurriedly she slipped beneath the furs and
 12 6 VIRGINIA LYNN
coverlets spread over their bed, unwilling to test his an-
gry vow to leave her be for the time being.
She lay stiffly when he came to bed, jerking up the furs
over his shoulders and turning his back to her. For a
long moment she did not dare move, afraid any move-
ment on her part would precipitate action on his. The
fire in the brazier burned low again, the coals like sullen
red and gray eyes in the night. Rye's breathing was soft
and even.
Scarcely able to believe her good fortune in escaping
his devastating attention this eve, Brenna finally closed
her eyes in relief. She had won the first match. She must
plan for the second, for she had no doubt that he would
test her wits greatly.
And, oddly enough, she felt a moment's pique that
he'd given in so easily. If he had truly wanted her, truly
could not resist her, it seemed that he would have of-
fered more arguments. Puzzled by this contradiction in
her nature, it took Brenna a long time to fall asleep.
 CHAPTER 9

R.YE's ABSTINENCE DID not last long, Brenna learned to her

dismay. With the first gray fingers of dawn lightening the
room, he rolled over and took. her into his arms.
"Nay, cherie,'' he said softly when she resisted, " 'tis
my wont to touch you now."
"Then touch and be damned!"
He chuckled. ''You do not lose well, ma cherie. P'raps
you should lose more often so you will know how 'tis
done."·
"I seem to have lost only contests of strength against
you, but do not intend that it shall always be thus."
His hands moved over her bare body, lightly skim-
ming the curves and hollows with a touch that made her
shiver in reaction. "Shall I mark that down for future
study? We can have a squire keep a tally stick if you like,
of which one of us wins, and which one of us loses."
"Insufferable ass." Brenna squirmed, then sucked in a
sharp breath when Rye's hand rubbed down over her
belly to the nest of curls between her thighs. "Stop
that."
"Why? You.seem to like it. . . . "
"Nay, I do not." Brenna caught his hand, but he did
not slow in his long, smooth caresses that sparked a rag-
12 7
 12 8 VIRG INIA LYNN
ing fire in the pit of her stomach. Her heart beat so hard
and fast that it hamme red painfully against her ribs, and
her breath seemed as heated and labored as a black-
smith's bellows. Her fingers dug into his wrist, but the
iron-hard sinews and tendon s were not the least fettered
by her wild tugs.
Rye's mouth sought and found the rigid peak of her
breast, his mornin g beard scratching her tender skin
while his hand continu ed with the erotic movements un-
til she was almost panting. He lifted his head, then
grazed his lips over the arched curve of her throat, nip-
ping lightly.
"Cherie," he murmu red against her ear, his breath al-
most as labored as hers, "do not struggl e so hard against
me. You cannot win by force of arms and must yield.
Give me that sweet yielding, and I will show you plea-
sure, I give you my promis e."
For a momen t Brenna couldn 't speak. She was afraid
any word would reveal her internal struggle, the battle
she fought to stay the rising press of fire that made her
want to yield. In that instant she hated him, then she
admitt ed to herself that it was her own weakness she
hated. That any man could do this to her was shaming,
but that it was a man she had sworn to fight and hate
was doubly shaming.
"I . . . d on' t want . . . anything . . . from you, "
she finally managed to say between clenched teeth.
"Leave me be."
"Nay. Never. When I want you, I shall have you,
whethe r you say yea or not." His knees nudged her re-
sisting thighs apart as if to prove his words, and he lifted
to rest on one elbow and gaze down at her, his body
pressing between her legs. Deliberate and slow, he
scraped his body over the aching moistness at the apex of
her thighs.
Brenna opened her eyes, turning her head to stare at
him. The early gray light left one side of his face in
shadow; his eyes looked dark and smoky beneath the
tangled brush of his lashes, his sensual mouth curved
downward in a sulky tilt. For an instant she was re-
 LYON'S PRIZE 12 9
minded of a spoiled, petulant boy instead of a man, and
she felt less threatened.
"Get . . . off . . . me!" she said with a sudden fe-
rocity that apparently took Rye by surprise. When she
shoved hard at him with the heels of her hands, she
heard a soft whoof! as he tilted backward.
"What the devil do you think you're doing?" He
caught her hands in his and pinned her back against the
soft weave of linen sheets. The petulant expression had
disappeared, and in its place was the angry scowl of a
thwarted male.
Brenna glared up at him. "Rejecting you."
He stared at her in amazement. "What?"
"Rejecting you. 'Tis true that you have wed me, but I
do not have to obey your every whim. I have my own ~
thoughts and desires and do not intend to submit myself
to yours."
"'Tis the wife's place to submit to her husband, or
have you forgotten your wedding vows?" Rye's gaze was
narrowed and hot. He pressed her deeper into the mat-
tress. "You gave your oath, sweet wife."
"My oath was not made freely, as you well know."
She looked away from his darkening scowl. "You may
overpower my body, but you will never overpower my
mind and heart. 'Tis not possible."
If she hadn't been so nervous, Brenna might have
laughed at the expression on Rye's face. He looked ab-
solutely stunned-bewildered by her words. Apparently
no one had ever suggested to him that a female might
have such revolutionary thoughts.
When he continued to stare at her without speaking,
Brenna took a deep breath and wriggled from under his
weight, expecting at any moment for him to jerk her
back. He didn't. Instead he remained leaning on one
elbow in the wide bed and watching as she reached for
her gunna and kirtle hanging on the clothes pole, his
eyes narrowed in thought and his heavy brow shading
the blue glitter. Even his mouth was set in a thoughtful
line, taut as a strung bow and just as tense.
He said nothing until Brenna had slipped her small
 13 0 VIRG INIA LYNN
kid shoes onto her feet and confined her heavy mane of
hair in a net. The sound of his voice startled her. She
turned with a nervous gasp.
"I will think on what you have said, but that is all. I
do not intend that you shall leave my bed."
"I did not ask that. I asked only for your respect. ,,
Brenna curled her hands into the folds of her green vel-
vet gown and met his gaze without flinching.
Rye sat up and flung his long legs over the side of the
bed.
"Respec t must be earned, my lady. It is not a gift. It is
a hard-wo n reward:" He stood up, a magnificent mascu-
line creature exuding power and confidence and raw sen-
suality, a combination of smooth muscle and bronzed
skin and steely determination. He moved to her and
took her chin in his hard palm, his long fingers cradling
her face. "I do not give respect easily. Nor do I ask it
from others. If 'tis your desire to have respect "-his fin-
gers stroked her skin lightly- "then seek it with earnest
effort instead of strident demands.,,
There was something very intimidating about a naked
man towering over her. He was too close, much too
close, and Brenna found it impossible to reply. She did
the next best thing, which was to tilt her chin in the air
and give him a level stare that should have been imperi-
ous and intimidating but only made him chuckle.
"Ah, cherie," he murmur ed, letting his hand drop
along the curve of her throat, "I knew you would not
bore me. I did not know you were a rebel baron with so
much hellfire in the swing of your skirts, but I should
have.,, He looked amused when she made an inarticulate
sound of anger, and bent to let his lips brush across hers.
Then he released her and turned away as if she no longer
mattered.
Brenna glared at his broad back. Why did even a vic-
tory feel like a defeat?

During the week that followed their arrival, Brenna had

little time to dwell on what had transpired between
 LYON'S PRIZE 131
them. There was much for her to do as new chatelaine,
and she discovered the first day that Lady Madelon had
no intention of offering aid in any way. Indeed, that
formidable dame did her best to throw out obstacles.
If not for the fact that she knew she had to establish
her dominance or spend the rest of her days in misery,
Brenna might have allowed the dowager full rein. But to
do so would be disastrous, much as she detested the idea
of playing the role of Lyon's lady.
Their first unpleasant confrontation came the morn-
ing after Brenna's arrival at Moorleah. Following morn-
ing mass in the small castle chapel, they broke their fast
with a light meal. While squires and servants still cleared
the long trestle tables of wooden bowls emptied of por-
ridge, Rye took his leave of the high table. Dogs quar-
reled noisily for the scraps of hard bread flung to them as
the men-at-arms and soldiers rose from tables to follow
Rye from the keep.
Lady R.aissa excused herself with a brief glance at
Brenna, murmuring that she must see to one of her sons,
who had taken a chill in the night.
"Should you need me, my lady," she offered before
she left, "I will be at your service."
Lady Madelon laughed shortly. " I doubt she will need
you to help her choose new garments, or listen to the
lutes and minstrels. Go, see to Gilles. He needs his
mother."
With a wry smile Raissa left the hall, and Brenna was
left alone with Lady Madelon. For a moment neither
woman spoke; then Brenna rose from her high-backed
chair and stepped close to her mother by law.
She gazed down at Madelon with a lifted brow. "It is
my duty to see to the comfort of those here at Moor-
leah, Lady Madelon, and though I appreciate your kind
assistance, I will relieve you of that burden now." She
held out her hand with the palm up. "I understand you
have the keys to the stores."
Lady Madelon eyed her stonily, fingering the chauf-
femains filled with hot coals that she carried at her side
for warmth. "I see no need for you to concern yourself
 132 VIRGINIA LYNN
with such. It has long been my wont to abide as head of
a household, where you are just an untried girl scarcely
out of leading strings. I've no desire to bear Rye's anger
should he return to maggoty bread and cold meat this
eve."
"Neither do I." Brenna's tone was sharp, and she
tamped down her rising irritation with an effort. "I am
not so untried as you might think. I was trained in the
household of Lady Bertrice Fouchard and know what I
am about when I choose to act. The ring of keys,
please."
For a moment Brenna thought Lady Madelon would
refuse. Then the older woman lifted her shoulders in a
careless gesture and unfastened the keys from the girdle
around her slender waist.
"Take care you do not earn your husband's wrath, my
fine lady," she said with a faint sneer, "for I assure you
that Rye can be formidable in his rages."
"Indeed?" Brenna held the key ring in the curl of her
fingers and let it dangle with a noisy jingle. "I have seen
his angers, madam, and find them worthy of little note."
"Do you now?" Lady Madelon's fingers drummed
against the table with a faint click of her long nails. "I
wonder if he would be surprised to hear that."
"I doubt it." Brenna's voice was dry. "P'raps you
have not noticed it, madam, but I am not one to keep
my feelings secret."
Tilting back her aristocratic head, Lady Madelon
looked at Brenna for a long moment, her cool gaze as-
sessing as if considering her worth as an adversary. "Be
certain that you know which lion's nose you tweak," she
finally said in a soft tone that conveyed a malicious tinge
of warning, "for you would not be the first maid Rye
swallowed without a thought."
"I did not expect kindness, nor am I fool enough to
think he will not try," Brenna answered sharply. "But I
am not of the mettle of some women. Indeed, I would
say that I am more suited to warrior than maid, and your
son should watch to his own safety. Do not try to
 LYON'S PRIZE 13 3
frighten me with oblique warnings, my lady, for I do not
frighten easily."
"I never meant to frighten you, child." Her lips
. rurned up in a slight smile. "I merely meant to save you
undue pain. 'Tis your choice what you do."
"Aye, my lady. Well I know that." Brenna slid the
ring of keys onto her girdle. "I would not have us begin
our lives in this keep as enemies, but if you choose it
thus, I will oblige you."
"Now I must ask-is that an oblique warning?"
"If you choose to hear it thusly." Brenna forced her-
self to meet Lady Madelon's icy gaze without flinching.
She knew well how it would be if this woman seized the
upper hand; she'd seen it happen too often in the Nor-
man keeps where she had spent her childhood, and she
had no intention of being a pawn here as well. To her
relief Lady Madelon gave a slight nod.
"We shall see who carries the day, child, but I yield
now to your position. Do not think I will hesitate to take
what I deem my due, however, simply because I prefer
more subtle methods."
"I never thought that for a moment."
Brenna did Lady Madelon the courtesy of a brief, po-
lite obeisance, then rose and turned on her heel to stalk
from the hall with every appearance of complete confi-
dence. No one could know that her heart was hammer-
ing so hard and fast she felt almost faint, or that her
mouth was dry. She had not missed the enmity in the
older woman's eyes, nor overlooked the thinly veiled
warning in her words. War had been declared.
Somewhat to Brenna's relief, she discovered that Lady
Madelon was a capable chatelaine, and the warehouses
well stocked with stores of food. Most of it was dried
and musty by now, as the winter had been hard and
bleak, but would suffice until crops could be harvested.
In the meantime ships could bring food from sunnier
climes to fill the larder, and there were always the forests
full of game for the huntsmen to seek should the supply
of livestock dwindle.
With Rachel by her side and a young squire scurrying
 13 4 VIRGIN IA LYNN
at her beck and call and making notes on all that was
needed, Brenna found that time passed quickly. By the
time dusk nibbled at the edges of the sky on the first day,
she had made accurate estimates of all the stores and
ordered what was needed.
It was not a difficult task, though time-consuming. As
most of the keep servants were Saxon, and she spoke
English as a first language, she was able to ask pointed
questions and listen carefully to replies. Moorleah was
largely self-sufficient, as a strategic keep needed to be.
Very little was not grown or bred there for food, and
even the fuel that lit the fires came from nearby forests.
Moorleah's proximity to the sea provided ample fish and
access to what goods needed to be purchased, and its
location near the intersection of a road leading to Lon-
don and one to the sea was also convenient.
The week passed quickly with so much to do, and
Brenna began to see the wisdom of fortifying Moorleah
so well. It was a frequent stop for travelers from the
north going south, and from east to west as well. Yea,
King William had chosen the right man to guard this
position, she thought as she contemplate d the full con-
tingent of soldiers and well-trained knights sparring in
the field. Rye and his men rode out early every morning,
usually not returning until dusk shadowed the sky.
This day, as she saw the fresh rushes strewn upon the
floors and the old ones thrown out, she wondered at his
late arrival. Deep shadows made it almost dark outside,
and he had not yet returned from the sparring field be-
yond the gates.
Seeing to the proper spreading of the rushes, she did
not hear their arrival until a page shouted his lord's safe
return, and she paused in her labors. She spared a mo-
ment's wonder as to where he'd been, then dismissed it
as she beckoned for the page and gave orders to have the
evening meal served as soon as her lord and his men
entered the hall.
"Aye, milady," the page murmured, then hesitated.
"What is it?" she asked, seeing his hesitation. "ls
there aught amiss?"
 L Y o· N ' S P R I Z E 13 5
''Nay, but-" The young boy stumbled to a halt, then
flushed and added quickly, "I was told that there is
naught ready to eat, milady."
Brenna stared at him. "Impossible," she said in a
sharp tone that made the boy blink rapidly. "I gave the
cook the menu myself."
" 'Tis what I was told, milady." He backed away,
bowing toward her with an air of desperation. "I will see
that the cook hears your command."
"Never mind." Brenna slanted a glance at Rachel,
who looked just as surprised as Brenna imagined she
herself did. "I will question the cook myself."
By the time she reached the cookhouse, she realized
that no delicious smells wafted from the huge ovens.
Seized with fury, Brenna stalked into the stone building
and found the cook cowering behind a heavy table piled
high with empty platters and cooking utensils. Firelight
.from the hearth flickered over his frightened face.
"Where is the meal I bade you prepare?" she asked in
a much more even tone than she'd thought herself capa-
ble of at this moment. She gestured to the ovens and
hearths, where only a single huge cauldron hung. "I see
none of the roast lamb, oxen, and pasties I ordered."
The cook, a plump little man with a high forehead and
protruding eyes, made a sharp exclamation in some ob-
scure dialect, then swallowed and began again. "My
lady, please forgive-I was told that you had changed
your mind, and I was to prepare only for the kitchen
servants."
Brenna stared at him. "Who gave such a ridiculous
order? Did you think everyone else in the keep was fast-
ing?"
He swallowed again and rolled his eyes heavenward.
"It is not my wont to question . . . I only obey."
"Again I ask-whom did you obey?"
The cook looked down at the stone tiles beneath his
feet and shook his head. "I am not at liberty to say, my
lady."
"Are you not?" Brenna controlled an angry outburst
with a supreme effort of will. "I see. 'Tis no matter. I
 13 6 VIRGINIA LYNN
think I know who would countermand my orders. Hear
you this, cook-from this day forward I am the mistress
of this keep, and if you do not obey me, you will suffer
the consequences. I will not allow harm to come to you
through another's fault, but neither will I bear your in-
solence and disobedience. If 'twere any other mistress
who had to tell her husband and lord he must go with-
out his evening meal, she would see your head roll on
the stones of the courtyard."
Shaking, the cook fell to his knees blubbering, and
Brenna made an impatient gesture. "Get up, fool! What
do you have that can be served quickly?"
"P-p-pottage, my lady. And bread. Greens, mayhap."
"There is dried fish in the stores. Make pasties. They
should not take too long. And you'd best bring up
plenty of casks from the cellars. P' raps an abundance of
ale will ease the hunger for the men, though I doubt
that Lord Lyon will be so easy to please."
"Aye, milady." Rising swiftly from his knees for such a
pudgy man, the cook raced to follow her orders, and the
kitchen came alive with a flurry of activity.
Rachel followed Brenna back to the hall. " Who do
you think would give such an order, my lady? His lord-
ship will be most displeased at not having a hot meal
ready."
"He'll recover." Brenna was furious and rightly as-
sumed that it must be Lady Madelon's doing. Well, she
would not allow her to have the satisfaction of seeing
Rye's anger, and her own humiliation at failing.
With that thought in mind, she gave Rachel a swift
order and went to head off her husband before he could
enter the hall. She found him in the guardroom and
waited with wifely patience for him to give her his atten-
tion.
Dirt and mud flecked his mail and tunic, and she
noted the grime and sweat on his face with a surge of
hope. He'd be much more amenable to her stalling tac-
tics if he thought it was for his own comfort. When Rye
turned in her direction and saw her waiting, he paused,
 LYON'S PRIZE 13 7
one hand on the hilt of his sword as she swept him a
curtsY·
"My lord," she said sweetly, "I have you a bath
poured in our chamber. As it is so late, I thought you
would,, wish to bathe before you took your evening
01eal.
Rye stared at her for a moment. He still wore his
helm, and his eyes behind the noseguard of the metal
helmet narrowed slightly with suspicion.
"Did you?" he said casually, removing his helmet with
a sweep of his arm and handing it to a squire. "Mayhap
you are right." He drew off his thick gauntlets and held
them in one fist, gazing at her with eyes the lustrous
color of sapphires. His hair was wet with perspiration in
spite of the cloudy day and clung to his head in damp
black strands beneath the mail coif. Pushing back the
coif, he raked a hand through his matted wet hair and
nodded. "Do you the honor of leading the way, my
lady, as I yield gladly to your arrangements."
With an inaudible sigh of relief, Brenna motioned for
his squire to follow and led the way to the sweep of stairs
rising to their chamber. Fortunately Rachel had done
her work well and already had the huge wooden tub
half-filled with heated water. Towels lay on a stool, and a
pot of soap lay atop them.
While Rye's squire helped him doff the mail and tools
of his profession, Brenna performed housewifely duties
that normally would have made her fret with exaspera-
tion. She'd never helped the male guests to her father's
household bathe as was the norm, nor had she yielded to
dictates in her aunt's household to do the same. She'd
scorned the practice that bade the women of the house-
hold scrub backs and proffer bowls of scented soap.
Now, to her private dismay, she found herself hurry-
ing to do those very things just to escape humiliation.
Not from Rye, she told herself. Nay, he could not hu-
miliate her without her consent. It was the desire to
evade his anger in front of Lady Madelon that spurred
her decision to coax him to a private chamber before it
could erupt. There, with none but a few trusted servants
 13 8 VIRGINIA LYNN
to hear, she would let him vent his anger over a meager
supper.
It did not occur to Brenna to place the blame where
she believed it lay; that would serve nothing but dissen-
sion. Nay, she would exact her vengeance in her own
way and her own time and let the good dowager stew in
her own juices while she wondered what Rye had said to
his wife.
The thought put her in such a better mood, that
Brenna did not mind when Rye told her to scrub his
back. She moved toward the tub without comment as he
grumbled, "Gowain will drown me with his clumsy ef-
forts to please. Would that he were so eager about fetch-
ing my mount of a morn."
Gowain flushed and took his lord's mail and clothes to
be cleaned without offering an explanation.
"P'raps he's less than eager about fetching your
mount because the animal is a vicious killer," Brenna
suggested, rubbing scented soap across a thick cloth un-
til it was rich with lather. "I've seen wild boars more
tame."
Rye leaned back against the high side of the tub. "Do
you set yourself up as an authority on horses, cherie? I've
been told you possess your own less than gentle mount,
one that tried to take off the arm of my ostler less than
three days past."
"Did he?" Brenna smiled and knelt on a stool beside
the tub to lather Rye's back with the cloth. "Saladin has
more discrimination than I thought. I had become con-
vinced he was resigned to his new handler."
Snorting, Rye stretched out his legs as best he could
in the tub. "Obviously, he is not. I shall school him well,
though, and he will not-" He jerked to a halt when
Brenna slapped the soapy cloth against his shoulder.
"He is not yours to school, my lord, but mine."
Rye twisted his head to look up at her, and his heavy
brow drew down over his eyes. "I do not want you near
the animal until he is gentled."
"Would you geld him?" she snapped. "That is the
only way I know to gentle a beast with spirit!"
 LYON'S PRIZE 13 9
Staring at her with amazement and amusement mix-
ing on his face, Rye shook his head. "Nay, I would not
geld a fine horse such as that one, my lady, but I do not
intend for my wife to be hurt, either."
"Then perhaps you should geld yourself!"
It didn't help her temper any that he laughed. "Nay, I
will not do that, either. There would be too many ladies
sighing with disappointment if I did."
"Insufferable, arrogant, conceited-!" She halted,
aware of the gleam of laughter in his eyes. And then she
remembered why she had invited him upstairs to be
bathed and inhaled deeply to calm her unruly temper. It
would be foolish to anger him now, when she knew he
would be gravely irritated by the lack of sufficient food
for him and his men after a hard day's ride.
Swallowing her temper, Brenna amended, "You are
probably right, my lord. I would hate for your legion of
ladies to be angry with me fo,r encouraging such a
course." She scrubbed at his shoulder blades with great
vigor, glaring at him when he bent his head to allow her
freer access. He truly was a conceited rogue, and she
wished she dared dunk him in the soapy water.
Rye captured her hand when it slid over the smooth
skin of his back to his chest, and held it imprisoned in his
large palm. ''Would it not displease you ifI were to truly
have a legion of ladies, cherie?" he murmured, and she
stared down at him for a moment without speaking.
"Probably," she answered honestly, too surprised by
the question to take time to fabricate the most evasive
reply. "Though whether from pride or pain, I do not
know."
He tugged on her hand, pulling her around where he
could see her face. "Do I have the ability to cause you
any pain, sweet Brenna? Somehow, I had thought you
incapable of soft feelings toward me."
She jerked her hand from his grasp, her cheeks flam-
ing. "I have no soft feelings for you. But I am not so
insensible to my position that I wish to be publicly hu-
miliated by a string of frowsy mistresses and lazy whores
in my household."
 14 0 VIRGINIA LYNN
"If they were wellborn and hardworking, would you
like it better?" Rye grinned at her incoherent exclama-
tion. "Do not worry, wife. I have not yet explored all
your charms sufficiently to be bored. When I am, then I
will seek others to amuse me. For now-you suit me
well."
Seeing the sudden hot gleam darken his eyes to a
smoky blue, Brenna tried to evade his sudden grasp. Af-
ter a week of his passion in the wide bed of their cham-
ber, she knew that look well. It was usually the same; he
tried to coax her with sweet words and caresses, and
when she still resisted him, he ended by taking her.
Rarely did she allow herself to feel anything, even when
her body betrayed her with involuntary response.
Snaring her arm, he pulled her inexorably toward him.
"Nay, sweet love, do not flee yet. I have more in mind
than a bath, I vow, and the hour is yet early."
"My lord!" she gasped out when he drew her slowly
down on her knees beside the tub, "my maids. The hour
-your meal waits below-"
Flicking a careless glance toward Rachel, who stood
frozen in place with Rye's clean garments in hand, he
said roughly, "Leave us."
Rachel hesitated and glanced at Brenna. "My lady?"
Stiffening with outrage that his command might be
weighed less important than his wife's, Rye leveled a
fierce glance at the quivering girl and snarled, "Get
out!"
With a squeak of dismay, Rachel flung his clean
clothes toward another stool and fled, lifting her skirts in
both hands as she skimmed over the floor with the other
two maids close behind. The door slammed shut behind
them.
Though she should have been furious with him,
.Brenna felt an irrational spurt of amusement well in her.
For some reason the memory of the horror and terror
on poor Rachel's face as she cast Rye's clothes in the air
struck a chord oflaughter, and she bit her lips against it.
Perhaps it was just a nervous reaction to the strain of her
 LYON'S PRIZE 141
situation, but Brenna found she could not contain the
waves of laughter that bubbled inside.
A small snort escaped her, then a snicker, and when
she looked away from Rye and tried to regain her com-
posure, she was horrified to hear a strangled giggle burst
from her throat. Rye's hand curled around her wrist
more firmly, and he reached out wet fingers to hook
beneath her chin and tilt her head back toward him.
To her relief, laughter danced in his eyes as well. "I
hope the maid does not hurt herself in her fright. I only
desired privacy."
In between gasps oflaughter, Brenna said, "P'raps she
thought you would drown her if she stayed."
"I may have. She was right to flee so quickly." Rye
released her hand and leaned back in the tub again. He
laid his arms atop the edges and smiled at her as she
yielded to laughter.
Aye, she was a beauteous wench when she smiled as
she was now, merriment lighting her cat-gold eyes and
flushing her face; she was fair, indeed~ and he wondered
if she had guessed how her beauty affected him. Besides
the obvious, he reflected, feeling his body tighten in re-
sponse to the direction of his thoughts.
It had not left him in a good mood to have Brenna
haunt his thoughts all day, and he had worked himself
and his men doubly hard to try to drive out any
thoughts of her. It had not helped, save in leaving his
men so weary they would not think of mischief for the
eve. 'Twas likely they would be so weary as to seek only
their straw pallets for the night instead of livelier amuse-
ment. ·
Rye allowed Brenna to finish bathing him without
comment, though it was difficult for him to keep his
hands from her in the process. He was certain it was the
sight of his body's rebellious response to her presence
that had finally ended her laughter, and thought wryly
that she had not seemed to change her mind about their
couplings.
He'd not expected wild enthusiasm from an untried
maid-especially not this one-but neither had he ex-
 14 2 VIR GIN I A LYN N,
pected such continued resistance. After all, once
alized she could not fight him, it would be muchshe re-
clever for her to bind him to her than to annoy himmore
her refusals, and he had decided that for all her rebelwith
Brenna was intelligent. Few women would have lion,
able to stay him from his purpose, and she had manabeen
it with her clever, wicked tong ue. I{e'd know ged
n
while she was doing it what she was about, but even
lowed her to succeed by his own folly. She'd deser al-had
her reward, but toni ght- he deserved his. ved
Rye rose from the tub and stood still while
dried him with a towel, then took it from her to Brenna
hair. He accepted with out comm ent her offer of dry his
mull
wine, and when he had crossed to the brazier, wher ed
had placed his garments on a stool, he caug ht her e she
He pulled her to him and saw her quick, wary glanc hand.
A faint smile curved one side of his mou th upwa e.
find myself needing more than wine and food rd. "I
now ," he said softly, and held her fast when she right
pull away. "Do not flee, cherie. I will not hurt tried to
you. "
"I'm not afraid of you."
Her answer was quick, too quick, and he wond
for a mom ent why she would still fear his touch ered
stroked a hand up and down her arm and note . He
shiver. d her
" 'Tis as I said befo re-y ou fear yourself. Come.
show you a sweet vengeance against me." I will
Brenna looked up at him from beneath the swee
her long lashes. Her eyes glittered like gold p of
geance?" . "Ven -
"Aye. 'Tis one every woman wields against a
some more so than other s." He grinned. "I man,
see
notio n gives you great interest. Learn this lesso that
n
Brenna, and you will have a formidable weap well,
deed ." on, in-
She did not-struggle as he led her toward the wide
in the adjacent chamber, but shot him sever bed
glances that made him smile. She scowled. al wary
"I do not trust you. "
"So I see." He took her hand in his, his palm cove
ring
 LYO N'S PRIZ E 14 3
her entire band, and moved it over his bare chest, down
the ridges of muscle to his flat, taut belly. He couldn 't
help sucking in a sharp breath at her touch and briefly
dosed his eyes. When he opened them again, she was
staring up at him with an interested expression.
"See?" he asked ruefully. " 'Tis not so very difficult to
tormen t me."
Brenna's quick downward glance brough t a deep flush
to her cheeks, and she jerked her eyes back to his face.
"Does it tormen t you? To have me touch you, I mean?"
"Aye, milady, most assuredly." He moved her band
down, until her fingers found the shape of him. This
time he bit back a groan of satisfaction as she curled her
hand around him and stroked lightly. He felt his body
leap in response, and heard her small gasp of-dism ay?
Pleasure? He couldn 't tell. It was certainly a pleasure to
feel her willing band on him this way, though he knew
to go slowly or he would frighten her away like some fey
forest creature.
Keeping his voice soft and soothin g, in spite of the
increasingly ragged tempo of his breathing, Rye whis-
pered, "I see that you learn quickly, cherie. Already I am
in deep tormen t."
"Good ." Her voice was oddly thick, soft, soundi ng
like warm honey to his ears. "Does it get worse when I
do this?"
Rye's fingers curled and uncurled at his sides, and he
thrust himself into her clasp when she tightened her grip
and slid her hand up and down in the motion he had
shown her.
"Aye," he said on a groan, "aye. Jesu! but you go too
fast . .. stop, before I forget myself." His hand moved
to hold hers, and Brenna drew in a ragged breath and
removed her hand.
"That was easy," she said softly, adding, "is that all
there is to it?"
"Nay, my lady. There are many ways to tormen t a
man, and that is but one of them. Do you seek to learn
more?"
He hardly dared hope she would say yes, but to his
 14 4 VIRGINIA LYNN
intense surprise she hesitated, then nodded. "It has been
said that the key to power is knowledge, and I have
never been one to pass up an opportunity to learn what
will serve me well."
Refraining from reminding her that he had tried on
more than one O£casion to tutor her in the skills of love,
Rye shifted so that she stood next to the bed.
"This involves much more than just me, you know.
For a man, seeing is almost as much torture as touch-
ing."
"Ah. I recall your telling me that."
His hands moved to her girdle, and he began unfas-
tening it without speaking. He half expected her to pro-
test, but to his surprise she said nothing as he removed
her girdle, gunna, and kirtle, leaving her in her stockings
and shoes. He stared appreciatively at her lithe young
body, the high firm breasts and narrow waist, the slender
curve of her hips, and the downy luxury of her woman's
mound. It made him react in the expected and time-
honored way of males, and he saw that she absorbed his
reaction silently for a moment.
"I had thought," she said at last, "that you could not
possibly increase, but I see that I was wrong."
Rye hid a grin. "There's a lot to learn at first. Come.
Lie down, and I will show you things about yourself that
you do not know." ·
She shook her head. "Nay, I wish only to know about
you this eve."
Shrugging, Rye did not argue. The time would come
when she would not say that, and he knew it much bet-
ter than she. He dared not shatter this easy acquiescence
with hasty words or impetuous acts.
When he lay her on the bed and removed her shoes
and stockings, letting his hands caress her shapely calves
and thighs, it occurred to Rye that he was probably do-
ing himself more harm than good with this sensual
tutoring. She was obviously intent upon using it against
him, and like a fool, he was giving her the sharpest of
weapons. Still, he was not exactly a novice in sexual mat-
ters and had never had a woman succeed in mastering
 LYON'S PRIZE 14 5
him. He was confident that he could counteract any na-
ive attempt by Brenna to control him in this manner.
It wasn't until she gasped softly as his hands moved to
touch her lightly that he began to have the first pangs of
serious doubt. Then it struck him with almost painful
clarity that never before had he gone to such extreme
measures to seduce a woman he could have at any time.
After all, did her pleasure really matter but as a sop to his
vanity? Nay, yet he yearned for her to feel the same rush-
ing sweep of ecstatic oblivion that he pursued.
And he had no intention of stopping until she did.
 CHAPT ER 1 0

FIRELIGHT PIAYED OVER the figures on the huge canopied

bed in a twist of rose hues and purple shadows. Brenna
lay quietly beneath him as Rye stroked her quivering
body with an experienced hand, seeking and finding
those subtle spots that would coax the most response
from her.
"I thought," she murmured at last, her breath soft
and heated, "that you would show me how to torment
you, milord."
His laugh was low and husky. "Aye, cherie, but to do
that, you must first know how it is to be tormented."
A throaty gasp drifted in the air between them as his
hand found and caressed her, lingered between her
thighs. Rye lavished kisses on her breasts, his mouth
tracing paths from one to the other in a silken trail of fire
until she was moaning and reaching for him.
Bed sheets were wadded hopelessly beneath them
when he finally drew back and levered his body up to
gaze down at her with blue eyes smoky with passion.
Desire seemed to blur his features into a more gentle
expression, but Brenna recognized the appraising look in
his eyes and bit her lower lip. This was not going at all as
she had planned.
146
 LYON'S PRIZE 14 7
"Leave me alone," she said sullenly, and he laughed.
"Nay, sweet wife, I will not. Nor do you want me to.
Your body yearns for my touch, despite your sharp
tongue's denial."
Rising to his knees on the bed, Rye straddled her
body and caressed her quivering curves for a long mo-
ment, watching from beneath half-closed lids as she tried
to avoid his touch.
"Why," he murmured with a quizzical glance, "did
you provoke this moment if you did not want it, cherie?"
She grabbed and held his hands still, struggling for a
steady breath as his palms cupped her breasts. "I didn't
provoke this. I merely-"
"You merely lured me to our chamber 'for a private
bath and seductive promises you did not mean," he fin-
ished for her with a moody smile. "I see. You've made
no secret of your dislike for this, Brenna. 'Tis why I was
surprised at your suggestion."
Dragging his thumbs across the beaded tips of her
breasts in a lingering stroke that made Brenna writhe,
Rye lowered his lashes to watch the caress, then lifted
them in a slow sweep to gaze at her flushed face·.
"Do you fear that I will tell others of your desire for
me, ma cherie? I would not. 'Twould be our secret, and
one that ·1 would cherish."
"I . . . do not . .. desire you," she forced out,
and saw the corners of his mouth turn up in a knowing
smile.
"P'raps not in some ways, but in this way you do."
Brenna squirmed, her eyes half-lidded with passion
and her lips parted. She put out her tongue in a purely
female gesture to wet them and snapped, ''What do you
want of me?"
Spreading his dark hands on her pale, creamy flesh,
Rye lifted his lashes to give her a brooding stare. "I
would hear you say that you want me, cherie. As I want
you."
Her eyes widened. ''Would you?" She pushed at his
hands and tried to twist away. "Nay, lord, you will not
hear it."
 148 VIRG INIA LYNN
"Yea, I will hear it. P'raps not willingly, but you will
say it to me, sweet wife."
Some of Brenna's passion cooled as she glared up at
him with angry eyes. ''Vain Norman! Do you think that
I yield so easily to your touch? I do not. Nay, though I
admit that there is much about this that surprises me
with the depth of sensation you are able to arouse, I
have no doubt that any other man as skilled as you in the
arts of sexual matters could do the same. P'raps I should
see if-"
Her words ended in a gasp as Rye snarled savagely and
leaned over her, gripping her wrists and pinning her to
the feather mattress with a quick motion.
"Do not say it, Brenna," he warned so menacingly
that she couldn't speak. "Do not ever say that you
would take another man into your bed. You are mine,
and there will be no other. Ever. Do you understand?"
"Do you love me so much?" Brenna taunted despite
the surge of apprehension he provoked with his fierce
glare.
He released her wrists. "Nay. But I hold what is mine,
and you belong to me." His touch was possessive as he
ran his hand over her body, his expression daring her to
argue the point.
Brenna smiled slightly. "Nay, lord," she said softly, "I
do not belong to you. My body, p'raps, but not my
heart. That you have not won, and that is what must be
won to have succeeded in keeping me."
Lowering his body over hers in a slow, deliberate
scrape of bone and muscle over her soft curves, Rye said,
"I will win all, chme, make no mistake about it." His
mouth captured her lips in a lingering kiss that Brenna
could not avoid.
She wanted to rage at him, to rail that he would never
have her as he seemed to think, but already she knew
that part of her had succumbed to Rye's determined
assault. Why else would she go to such lengths to avoid
his anger? To want his respect, and have her foolish heart
lurch when he slid her a speculative glance? 'Twas mad-
 LYON 'S PRIZE 14 9
ness indeed that made her think softly of him at times,
and she vowed to renew her barriers against him.
It was a vow that she found most difficult to keep as
Rye plundere d her mouth with his tongue, forcing a
heated response from her. With a sense of chagrin,
Brenna found her arms around his neck, her body arch-
ing to receive him, and heard her own soft cries in the
shadows. It was vaguely shaming that she could not hold
to her resistance, that he could so easily make her re-
spond with caresses and kisses.
Then, as that silently acknowledged admission of her
softness toward him sparked an even deeper sweep of
emotioq in her, Brenna felt a tremor begin to shake her
body. Rye must have felt it, too, for he muttered love
words in her ear that she'd never heard before, his voice
thick with passion as he urged her to yield to what she
felt.
Gasping, Brenna tried to hold to her resistance but
found that it had dissolved, leaving only Rye in its wake,
Rye and the searing thrust of his body that took her
higher and higher. Just when she thought that she could
bear the tension no longer, that she would snap with the
strain of it, he lifted her hips in his hands and forced her
over the edge of control and into shatterin g release.
Brenna cried out, clutching at him with her hands,
panting in short, gasping breaths as the waves swept over
her. She shook from head to toe with the force of her
climax, half sobbing as she clung to his broad shoulders.
"I didn't know/' she couldn't help saying in tear-
choked whispers, "I didn't know. . . _,,
Rye kissed her gently, holding her against him, mur-
muring in her ear that it was all right.
" 'Tis the reward I wanted you to have, cherie," he
said softly. He smoothe d back damp tendrils of her hair
from her face, brushed his hand over her closed eyes.
"Don't weep, my love. La petite morte-t he little death
-is what we all seek."
With her eyes still closed, Brenna could not answer.
When Rye began to move inside her again, seeking his
 15 0 VIRGI NIA LYNN
own reward, she knew she'd lost an important battle as
she rose to meet his body with willing passion.

When Brenna awoke, the fire had burned low, and she
was jerked wide awake by the realization that Rye's men-
at-arms had not yet eaten. She sat up with a sudden
movement that woke him.
"Where are you going?" he murmured , reaching out
for her.
Brenna pulled away, suddenly shy at facing him.
"Your men have not eaten, milord. I would see to
them."
Rye's voice was thick with sleep and satisfaction. "I
am certain Raoul has given the order. Stay here with
me."
"But, lord, 'tis my duty to see to them." Brenna
avoided his reach deftly as she slid from the bed. ''Would
you have it said that your wife was so poor a mistress she
preferred lying abed with her husband rather than feed
hungry men?"
Laughing, Rye said, "Aye. I would, indeed, prefer it
to be said that my wife preferred my appetites to those of
my surly men-at-arms. But," he said, cutting across her
angry protest, "I do not want it put about that you are
lazy. So go, give Raoul the order to have the men's food
put out, then come back to me."
Highly resentful of his arrogance and the way he ex-
pected her to leap at his command, Brenna murmured a
noncomm ittal reply as she slid her gunna and kirtle over
her head and reached for the linked girdle that held her
ring of keys. As she left the chamber, she glanced back at
him and saw him watching her. She shut the heavy door
on his lazy gaze and half-mocking smile. A hot flush
stained her cheeks, and she wondered if he was thinking
of her surrender.
She should have thought of another way to stall him,
but that had seemed the swiftest. It would have been
even more shaming for him to discover Lady Madelon's
trick, and the empty tables for hungry men.
 LYON 'S PRIZE 15 1
When she stepped into the hall, she found men-at-
arms still drinking pitchers of ale and goblets of wine.
Beckoning to Raoul Beaumont , she managed a smile
when the Norman came to her side.
"Sir de Beaumont , the seigneur wishes that the men
eat now. I have given orders that your meal shall be
served, and I hope that it is palatable for having been
kept so long."
"I was about to give the order," Beaumont said with
a relieved smile, "but did not wish to gainsay Lord
Lyon. He is not unwell?'.'
"Nay, just weary, I think." Brenna's cheeks flushed as
a knowing expression slowly settled on Raoul's face.
Saying nothing, the Norman knight bowed slightly,
and when he smiled at her, Brenna felt some of her cha-
grin fade at his pleased expression . Impulsively she
smiled back, and Beaumont stepped closer.
"He is not as fierce a lord," Beaumont said softly, "as
you had feared, I hope. Methinks he dwells upon your
fair face at length when we ride away from you, milady.
I've not seen him so smitten before."
Brenna stared at him. Smitten? Rye de Lyon? Nay,
not that savage knight. Irritated, perhaps; lusty, even.
Never smitten. The very notion would have shocked her
if it was not so amusing.
"You do not know your lord as well as you think, Sir
de Beaumont ," Brenna said. "He does not pine for
me."
"Nay, not pine, p'raps, but he definitely thinks of you
while we ride, milady. I know this, as we have discussed
it a time or two."
"When-w hile hunting for me the day I escaped?"
Brenna asked sharply. "lfhe spoke of me at all, 'twas not
with a soft tongue, I vow."
Laughing, Beaumont agreed, "Not that day, forcer-
tain, my lady. But when we train, and when we visit the
villages to hear what we can of the outlaws who roam
and ravage the land, he has spoken ofyou several times."
"Has he?" Brenna felt her interest quicken. "In what
manner, might I ask?"
 152 VIRGI NIA LYNN
Shrugging, Beaumont seemed to search for words. "It
would be disloyal to reveal what he might not want told,
Lady Brenna, so if you do not mind, I will only say that
he spoke well of you."
"I suppose I should be satisfied with that, but I am
not as content with mere words as another maid might
be." Brenna pleated the folds of her gown and frowned
down at her feet, feeling Beaumont 's curious gaze on
her. She looked up at him after a moment and managed
a careless shrug of her shoulders. "He's merely inter-
ested because I do not play his game, Sir de Beaumont.
He only seeks a way to pass the time."
"I do not think so, but I do not presume to know his
mind." Beaumont stepped closer to Brenna. "My lady, I
would be so bold as to beg a boon of you concerning
your maid."
"My maid?" Brenna's brows lifted. "Do you mean
Rachel?"
"Aye, milady." Beaumont flushed deeply, and his
honest face bore such an expression of acute suffering
that Brenna took pity on him.
"Rachel is an exceptional girl, and well-bred. Did you
know one another in Normandy, perhaps, Sir de Beau-
mont?"
"Aye, milady. Not well, but we know many of the
same people in Normandy. And I was acquainted with
her father." He took a deep breath. "I wish to pay court
to her, with your permission."
"I see. Rachel has been my mainstay since we left
Normandy ," Brenna said, regarding him thoughtfully.
"I would not want to see her ill-used."
Looking askance, Beaumont hastened to assure her,
"Nor would I, milady. She is a fair maid, and gentle."
Brenna nodded. Raoul de Beaumont was a nobleman,
she decided, in every sense of the word. He was not
coarse or brutal like so many men she knew, nor did he
have Rye's ferocity, for all that he served him so well. He
would be a good match for Rachel, and she hoped sud-
denly that her maid found the happiness that she could
not.
 LYON'S PRIZE 153
''You have my leave to pay her court, if that is what
you wish, Sir de Beaumont," Brenna said at last. "Of
course, the rest is up to God and the maid."
Beaumont grinned and swept her a courtly bow. "So I
am made to understand, milady. Thank you for your
generosity."
Smiling, Brenna said, "It is not misplaced, I am sure."
Some of Brenna's pleasure dimmed as Beaumont left
and she turned to survey the hall. Though she lingered a
while to be certain the cook had, indeed, obeyed her
instructions and served a decent meal to Rye's men,
Brenna was well aware of Lady Madelon's fine hand be-
hind the fiµ-tive glance she received. The servants waited
to see who would win out, dowager or new wife.
Irritated, and knowing that it was the people who
would suffer in any case, Brenna guarded her tongue
when Lady Madelon pointed out that it was not exactly
a meal fit for men who had ridden hard all day in search
of Saxon rebels.
"Outlaws," Brenna corrected with an insincere smile.
"I understand that there are few rebels protesting Wil-
liam's crown these days."
"Yea, outlaws or rebels," Lady Madelon said with a
shrug, " 'tis little matter. Soldiers need more than pot-
tage and a few pasties to fuel their rides."
"I agree." Brenna met her gaze with a lifted brow.
"And I intend to see to it that the men-at-arms are well
fed."
Gesturing toward the long tables, Lady Madelon mur-
mured, "Hardly a hearty fare at this meal. Where is your
husband, that he does not partake?"
"Resting." Brenna saw the annoyance in Lady Made-
lon's eyes and did not say the words that trembled on
the tip of her tongue. She would not yield to the impulse
to lay the blame for meager fare where it belonged. Nay,
she would allow Lady Madelon to snare herself in her
own foolish traps.
Drumming beringed fingers against the wooden table,
Lady Madelon's mouth settled into a thin line. "He rests
much for a man who is overlord. Should Wtlliam dis-
 15 4 VIRG INIA LYNN
cover that his man lies abed like a slug, he will be most
displeased."
"I think not, for William would be the first to enjoy
hearing the reason for his vassal's weariness." Brenna let
the double -edged rejoinder sink in, then added when
Lady Madelo n's eyes flashed angrily, "Lord Lyon will
not be glad to hear that anyone would attemp t to cause
him trouble , I think. 'Twoul d be wise if we were to warn
those who are foolish enough to try it."
"Woul d it? I'll keep that in mind," Lady Madelo n said
sharply. "Not that he would listen to sly suggestions one
might whisper into his ear of a night. You forget, milady,
that I have known Rye since he was an infant. I am well
aware of how his mind works. "
"Is that so? Odd, then, that you should so foolishly
risk his anger."
Laughi ng, the dowag er lifted her aristocratic chin in a
haught y gesture. "He would not offer me insult. In his
youth, he was trained well to respect me."
" 'Tis not a respect he feels for all women ," Brenna
pointed out, "and I think you depend on his childho od
needs too greatly ."
"Do you forget that I was the only mother he ever
knew? He has not forgott en, I am certain , and will allow
me much more freedom than he would any other
woman . Save, perhaps, my daught er, whom he adores ."
She stepped close, each word heavy with sarcasm. "You,
however, do not seem to be high in his favor, except as a
bed partne r."
Curlin g her fingers into her palms so deeply that she
left half-m oon cuts in the tender skin, Brenna said, "I
was under the impression you were not a very good
mother , Lady Madelon. He's spoken of a lack of affec-
tion, I believe."
"Affection? For the bastard son of my husban d, who
was begott en of a highbo rn whore? Nay, there was
none, nor will there ever be. But respec t-aye, he was
taught that lesson early."
"You will find, I think, that respect instills much less
leniency than love," Brenna said slowly, realizing as she
 LYON 'S PRIZ E 155
said the words that it was true. Her gaze lifted, and a
faint frown creased her brow as she said, "Beware, my
lady, that you do not mistake his generosity. It could be ,
quite unpleasant for you."
Not w~ting for the dowager's reply, Brenna moved
from the high table to the lower, passing between the
rows of men wolfing down platters of fish pasties and
rounds of hot bread covered with stew. There did not
seem to be any complaint in the lack of quality, as there
was plenty of quantity, and she felt a wave of relief that
she had avoided Rye's displeasure in front of his step-
mother and men.
Feeling the sharp bite of weariness at last, Brenna
turned toward the stone steps that led to the bedcham-
ber she shared with Rye. She'd been awake since before
first light, thanks to Rye, and had accomplished. much in
the long hours between dawn and dusk.
It was not, Brenna reflected as she mounte d the stairs,
as easy as she'd always assumed it would be to take over
the many tasks of rwlning a large household. From the
first small meal to break their fast, to the meal served at
ten in the morning , were only a few hours. That meal
was the large meal of the day, and the evening meal was
usually much lighter. In between, her hours were filled
with the supervision of stores, weaving of cloth, making
of garments for servants as well as members of the
higher class, then seeing to the proper care of those who
might have taken ill or injured themselves. It was a diz-
zying task, and she wonder ed why she' d not recognized
that in her days spent in Norman dy.
This week had been a lesson in humility as well as an
education in housewifely arts. Even more of an educa-
tion had been her reaction to Rye, that almost painful
shattering of her senses into somethi ng she'd never
dreamed existed. How had he done it? Made her feel
that mindless ecstasy that wiped away all her resistance?
It should have left her feeling used and helpless, yet
instead, she felt an odd anticipation at the thought of
sharing his bed again. That mornin g at mass she'd
prayed for the strength to resist, yet even as she had,
 15 6 VIRGINIA LYNN
she'd known that God might frown upon a wife's resis-
tance to her husband. It left her feeling even more con-
fused than ever.
A frown still creased her brow as she reached the door
to the chamber she shared with Rye. Before she could
touch the latch, suddenly Rachel sped down the corri-
dor, almost knocking her down, her pansy-soft eyes wide
with fright.
"Oh! There you are, milady--quickly, there is need of
you in the nursery."
"In the nursery?"
Nodding, Rachel clutched at her hand, drawing her
along up the stairs. "Aye. Young Gilles, Lady Raissa's
son, has cut himself and is like to bleed to death if you
do not help him."
"What has been done?" Brenna asked as she scurried
at her side, their steps echoing in the wide halls.
"Nothing. He will allow no one to touch him, but
hides in an alcove and howls."
'7esu," Brenna muttered, "is there none who can
soothe the child?"
"I fear he is too afrighted to heed us, milady."
"What makes you think he will listen to me?" Brenna
asked in surprise.
"'Twas Lady Raissa's idea, to fetch you. She said you
would have a calming affect on the child."
Brenna doubted it. She'd never been good with chil-
dren, not quite knowing how to talk .to them. But if
Raissa wanted her there, she would go.
Lady Raissa knelt near a wall, where an overhang
formed a small alcove. Crouched back in the recess was
the six-year-old boy, Gilles.
An expression of relief crossed Raissa's face as she
looked up and saw Brenna standing in the open door-
way. "Lady Brenna. Gilles bas cut himself and won't
allow us to tend his hurt. See what you can do, I beg of
you."
Her glance shifted to young Gilles, who obstinately
avoided his mother's frantic efforts to soothe him. Mov-
ing toward them, she asked, "What kind of hurt?"
 LYON'S PRIZE 15 7
"A dagger." Raissa's voice trembled as she gestured
to her son. "He was told not to play with it, but he did,
and now he has a cut that threatens to bleed him dry."
Seeing the bright smears of blood on floor and walls
and Raissa's gown, Brenna approached slowly. There
was a chance the boy had severed a main artery, which
would require more than her few skills to tend. Her
thoughts were obviously echoed by a nursemaid, who
sobbed and said the cut would have to be cauterized,
else the child would die from loss of blood.
"Fetch a hot knife, milady, and lay it against the cut to
seal it," she whined.
"Fool," Brenna snapped softly at the woman, who
gave a shriek in French and English. "Stop your silly
prattle, ere you frighten the child out of his wits. Stop it,
I say!"
Backing away, the nursemaid cowered from the flare
of anger in Brenna's eyes.
Brenna turned back to Raissa. "Fetch some boiled wa-
ter and clean strips of cloth, please. And send Rachel for
my bag of herbs. She knows where it is."
Without waiting for a reply, Brenna crossed to where
the boy hid in the stone recess. He was scooted back
into the shadows, so that only a pale glimmer of his face
showed in the cleft. Brenna knelt close and folded her
hands in her lap.
When she felt the boy's attention rivet on her, she said
without preamble, "I cut myself on my brother's dagger
once. Would you like to see the scar?"
When Gilles finally mumbled assent, she held up her
arm and drew back the sleeve to her kirtle. "See? It is
pale now, but it was once very evident. My father tended
the cut for me."
After a moment the small voice quavered, "Did it hurt
very badly? To have it tended?"
"Not as badly as it hurt to cut it," Brenna said in a
frank, calm tone. "And my father told me a story while
the physic tended me, so that I hardly felt it at all."
"What story was that?" Gilles scooted a small bit
closer so that she could see the tear streaks on his round,
 15 8 VIRG INIA LYNN
boyish face. Blue eyes that reminded her of Rye were
hazy with tears and pain, and she felt an unexpected
surge of tender pity for this frightened child.
"'Twas the legend of King Arthur. You've heard of
him, of course."
When Gilles shook his head, Brenna feigned astonish-
ment. "You've not? By the Holy Rood, young Master
Gilles, I'm amazed. King Arthur was one of the greatest
knights to ever live."
"Greater than Rye de Lyon?" came the indignant
query, and Brenna swallowed a snort of derision.
" 'Tis said that he was great indeed, but of course,
your uncle has not lived all his life yet. Fame oft grows
after death, you know."
Gilles nodded, sniffing and clutching at his tom and
bleeding arm. "Then I am certain Rye de Lyon will one
day be greater than this King Arthur.''
"Most assuredly," Brenna said, wondering why small
boys always had to be so literal. She could recall similar
discussions with her brothers in their youth. "But would
you like to hear of this great king? He was only fifteen
when he pulled the sword from the stone to become
Britain's king, you know, and ruled well and wisely for
over twenty years."
As Brenna spun tales of Arthur and Mordred and the
Ladies of Avilion, Rachel arrived with the bundle of
herbs and her satchel of healing supplies. It didn't take
much to coax Gilles from his lair, and soon Brenna was
cleaning and binding his cut with strips of cloth soaked
in herbs. Tannin from the gall of an oak helped to stop
the bleeding, and she saw that though deep, the cut had
not severed an artery.
"Will you tell me more, Lady Brenna?" Gilles asked
when she had tied the last strip of cloth around his arm.
"I want to hear about the Lady of the Lake. And the
Ladies of Avilion."
"Later." Brenna smiled at his expression of dismay. "I
will soon run out of tales if I spin them all now, Master
Gilles. Let us leave something for another day."
"Then you will come here again?" Gilles's smile was
 LYON'S PRIZE 15 9
hopeful, but his eyes were already beginning to drowse
from the effects of the herb she had given him to drink.
"Aye, I will come again. Next time I will tell you
about the great battle fought between Arthur and Mor-
dred, and how Merlin the magician helped the young
Icing.,,
From the open doorway Rye's voice drawled, "Did
you tell my nephew that Arthur was king of the Britons,
and as such, helped drive out the pagan, barbaric Saxons,
cherie?"
Annoyed, Brenna turned and snapped, "Saxons and
Britons melded to become one people, as you must
know."
"Aye. Just as Normans and Saxons will now mingle to
become one nation," Rye returned with an amused
smile. A mocking light glittered in his eyes at Brenna's
incoherent exclamation. Ignoring it, he pushed away
from the doorway and crossed the room to kneel beside
them. "How did you manage this, Gilles?"
The boy looked slightly abashed. "I played with the
dagger Grandmere told me not to play with," he mum-
bled without looking up at his uncle.
"Did you? ,Tis certain that your punishment for not
obeying was swift then, as the cut must pain you."
"Aye, milord.,, Gilles lifted his head after a moment,
and the trace of a grin flickered briefly on his lips. "A cut
is much better than some punishments, I vow, as your
lady told me such a fine tale of knights and battle.,,
Throwing Brenna an amused glance, Rye stood up
and raked a gentle hand through the boy's dark hair.
"Aye, but your good fortune may not hold once your
grandmere hears of your disobedience. You'd best devise
a method of recovering her good graces rather than
think of old tales of British kings and forgotten glory.»
"'Tis not forgotten," Brenna pointed out, irritated
that he dismissed the tales of Arthur so lightly. "The
legends of King Arthur and his knights will be told and
retold as long as there are men who desire to be re-
minded of love, honor, and courage.,,
"Indeed, chme?" Rye lifted her to her feet and pulled
 16 0 VIRGI NIA LYNN
her next to him. "P'raps you are right, though I oft
wonder if honor will be an advantage or a fault a hun-
dred years hence."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Steady, my fiery little Saxon, I only meant that there
are men for whom honor means very little, I fear. Wit-
ness the outlaws who devastate their own kind, plunder-
ing and killing innocent serfs to strike back at William."
"And you are certain 'tis Saxons who ride across the
fields and burn huts?" Brenna asked sharply.
He regarded her coolly. "Aye. I am certain."
Brenna bit her tongue to keep from saying something
too rash and saw Raissa's guarded glance at her. Poor
Raissa. She detested conflict and avoided even the hall to
keep from confrontin g her mother.
Raissa made a gesture of peace now, putting her hand
on her brother's arm to draw his attention from Brenna.
"Milord, I have a plate of comfits. Honeyed dates, all
the way from the Mediterranean. I remembered that you
like them."
Rye's expression softened. "Yea, Raissa, I do like
them. Why have you kept them from me so long?" he
teased, and was rewarded with a relieved smile from his
sister.
"So you would have them now." Raissa bundled a
sleepily protesting Gilles off to bed with his nursemaid in
charge and produced a brass plate of sticky dates for
Rye. ''Would you have one also, Lady Brenna? I wish I
had more than mere dates to offer for your kindness and
expertise in caring for Gilles."
Waving a hand, Brenna said, "I am glad I could help.
You owe me nothing, Lady Raissa."
"Please- " Raissa put out a hand. "Let us not be so
formal. Call me Raissa, and I will call you Brenna. After
all, you are my sister now."
Slightly startled, Brenna managed a nod, not sure if
she wanted to be so familiar with Raissa. Despite her
reluctance to like anything Norman, she'd found that
the gentle young woman was nothing like her mother or
 LYON'S PRIZE 16 1
her half brother. That by itself was in her favor, Brenna
reflected with a cynical smile.
Feeling awkward and uneasy, Brenna sat stiffly on a
stool near Rye, as he would not allow her to leave but
made it plain with a gesture and firm tug on her wrist
that she was to stay. The easy patter of their conversation
flowed around her, and despite the fact that she knew
none of the people they spoke of, and recognized only a
few names from her past, she began to grow more re-
laxed. Somehow just being in Raissa's company had a
softening effect on anyone she came in contact with. It
was a trait that perplexed Brenna, and she was still puz-
zling over it when she heard that soft voice rise in pro-
test.
"Rye, nay! Do not promise me to d'Esteray, I beg of
you. . . ."
"Steady, Raissa," he soothed her. "I merely men-
tioned his suit to you. Your mother is pressing me to
agree, but I can find no good in it."
Strained, Raissa looked down at her twined fingers. "I
do not like him, for more reason than your quarrel with
the man." She shuddered. "He is . . . there is some-
thing evil about that man."
Rye's voice was hard, his eyes cold. ''Yea, I agree. He
and I have never been able to stomach one another's
company at even the best of times, so I wanted to be
sure you were not fond of him."
"How can you say that!"
Grinning, Rye said, "There are times it's hard to read
a woman, sweet sister. And some women find the most
unlikely suitor desirable."
"Men and women," Brenna put in sharply, "look for
quite different things in a mate, I believe."
Rye's blue gaze shifted to her, his brow lifting. "Do
they, my sweet? What do you look for?"
"That is a moot point now, my lord, as you are well
aware. Like most women, my wishes were not taken into
consideration."
"Probably best, or you would have wed a Saxon rebel
 1 6 2 VIR GIN IA LYN N
and found yourself swinging alongside him from a gib-
bet, I'll warra nt."
Brenna glared at him. Raissa quickly intervened by
asking Rye if he'd had more news of d'Esteray's activi-
ties.
Rye shook his head. "Nay, not since I disabused him
of the notion that he would take my lands from me.
He's not a forgiving man, I fear."
Laughing, Raissa said, "It could have somet hing to do
with the fact that his father attacked your back and was
dishonored by all."
Rye shrugged. "And it could have something to do
with the fact that I was forced to kill him for it."
Staring at Rye, Brenna saw the faint flicker on his face
and wonde red at it. Did he regret killing the man? He
gave no indication of it, yet spoke calmly. War was a way
of life, and hothea ded knights frequently quarreled
among themselves. Hadn' t she seen her brothers quarrel
often?
Lost in thoug ht, Brenna slowly became aware that
Rye was speaking to her.
"Pard on, milord ," she said with a faint flush, "I was
not listening."
" 'Tis evident, sweeting. I merely made mentio n of
the May Day festival the village has planned. What do
you know of it?"
Shrug ging, Brenna smoot hed her hands over her vel-
vet garments in a stalling gesrure. "Not much, but that
the townsfolk enjoy morris dancing· and a sapling fes-
tooned with ribbons. My mothe r was used to crown ing
a Queen of the May for them, and they made much of
it.,,
"Oh, Rye," Raissa said with a delighted clap of her
hands that made Brenna think of a child, "how wonder-
ful! We shall do the same. I think if we only try to make
the people feel that we are one of them, instead of
against them, then perhaps they will be more accepting
of us."
"Aye, then p'raps they will reveal the hiding place of
 LYON' S PRIZE 16 3
the men who outlaw," Rye drawled, his gaze coming to
rest on Brenna.
She felt a flash of anger. "You would trick them into
it milord? How noble. Were we not speaking of the lack
of honor earlier?" .
"I only seek to save them from their own,'' Rye said
in a flat, cold tone that made her pause. "Those outlaws
kill and srarve their own kind without regard, and I
would see them destroyed before they can ruin the crops
that are yet to bud in the fields. Would you have the
people starve next winter? Without a good harvest they
will. Their kine will go hungry as well, and there will be
no milk for the babes, or salted meat for pottage. Is that
what you wish?"
Turning away, Brenna did not answer. It was apparent
that she and Rye would never agree on a subject, espe-
cially the difference between Saxon and Norman.

Night lay softly on the land. Lights from the village

glowed in erratic patterns. The huge stone castle that
sprawled atop a rise overlooking the town glittered with
torches marking its presence. A light rain fell, making
the stone walls shine in the fireglow.
"It puts me in mind of a huge vulture," a shaggy-
bearded man said in a growling mutter to his compan-
ion, who shrugged. They huddled in a copse of trees for
warmth, and rain dripped in a ceaseless patter from
leaves overhead.
" 'Twould be even worse if we were foolish enough to
defy the Black Lion," the youthful companion said after
a few moments, and earned a wrathful glare.
"Aye, and have ye gone over to the Normans then?
'Tis said ye talked with him that day at Marwald, even
drew your sword, yet now ye prate of caution?" Snort-
ing angrily, he shook rain from his beard and grabbed
the youth by his drenched cloak. "If ye're thinking of
allying with the enemy, lad, 'tis best ye had your throat
slit now instead of later."
Fixing him with a steely glance, the boy reached up to
 16 4 VIRG INIA LYNN
uncurl the fingers tangled in his cl.oak. "I never said I
was an ally of Normans, but I see no sense in earning the
Llon's anger without cause. Show me a cause for it, a
cause that will help us, and I will draw my sword on him
again."
Sitting back, the older man stared at young Myles in
the misty gloom. "Ye're not afraid, I'll grant ye that," he
said grudgingly, ''yet I cannot be certain of your true
goal. Tell me."
"Peace," Myles said simply. "I long for it, want it like
a drowning man wants fresh air. I've not known it for
most of my life, Whitley, and it beckons to me as if a
ghost whispers in my ear."
"Peace." Shaking his head, Whitley looked past his
younger brother toward the castle rising like a specter in
the night. "Peace. Yea, I can remember peace of a sorts,
but not as you mean. We had freedom to do what we
pleased, to choose our own men. That was peace."
"Nay, brother, that was petty wars. One thing you
must acknowledge about William, is that he has brought
law to the land. P'raps not the kind of law we sought
once, but a kind that allows our women to travel freely
without fear, and our merchants to go from one end of
England to the other without losing their gold."
"Not lately," was the dry response.
"The outlaws will be caught." Myles's gaze held
Whitley's. "They will be caught and hanged, and 'twill
be their own fault for not heeding warnings."
"Ye're with him, just like that bitch of a sister of ours,
ye're with the Normans." Whitley's mouth tightened,
and he growled, "If ye were not my brother- and
mayhaps even then-I would see ye dead by my hand
before I let ye cast your lot with that bastard earl!"
"Do you offer a challenge?"
Grimacing, Whitley held up the stump of his right
arm. "Aye, a sorry match I'd be even for a weedling
youth. Nay, Myles, I do not offer you a challenge. But I
cannot say the same for the others. Watch your back, if
ye align with the Normans, 'tis all I can say."
" 'Tis enough. " After a moment Myles lay a hand on
 LYON'S PRIZE 16 5
his brother's shoulder. "Try not to hate so hard,
Whitley. 'Tis bound to end badly for you if you travel
that course."
"But I am bound to it, as ye are bound to your quest
for a peace that will never be."
Both men fell silent, and the rain pattered down as
they huddled in their cloaks and waited for dawn.
 CHAPTER 1 1

IN THE DAYS THAT followed, Brenna found a routine that

kept her hours busy. From morning mass at dawn to the
first breaking of fast to the noonday meal, she scurried
between duties with an agility that would have as-
tounded her Aunt Bertrice. Brenna had never been
known for her domesticity, and she often thought of her
aunt's reaction should she ever hear how involved her
niece had become with the proper weave of cloth or the
contents of a stew. It was enough to make her laugh at
herself at times, that small knowledge of how she had
changed since her marriage to Rye.
Rye. The most difficult and alien of all males she had
ever encountered. He rode hard all day in pursuit of the
outlaws, and his temper was never predictable when he
came in at dusk of an evening. Brenna had learned to be
cautious around him, and when she thought of how she
once would have tweaked his temper without regard, she
felt a twinge of chagrin.
It wasn't that she was really afraid of him; nay, not
that. Instead she avoided any confrontation with him,
not wanting to listen to Lady Madelon's amused com-
ments about her inability to manage her household or
her husband.
16 6
 LYON'S PRIZE 16 7
There were times Brenna wished she could tell that
formidable dame exactly what was on her mind, but she
knew 'twould only cause more trouble. Trouble, she had
found, came oft enough on its own, without her calling
it.

"Does it never cease raining in this cursed land?" Rye

demanded of no one in particular as he dismounted late
of an eve. The bailey was loud with the clamor of re-
turning men-at-arms and weary mounts.
Turning toward his lord, Raoul de Beaumont
laughed. "I vow, seigneur, that the very skies weep with
chagrin o'er England. 'Tis not the sunny climes I long
for, yet 'tis what makes the land so green."
"I'd trade green land for blue skies any day," Rye said
in a growling mutter as he began to pull off his gauntlets
and lift his muddy metal helm from his head. He looked
around with an impatient glance. "Where is my squire?"
"Here, lord."
Turning, Rye swept the unfamiliar youth with a sharp
glance. "You are not Gowain."
Bowing, the young man said, "Nay, milord. He is
down ill. Beltair sent me in his place to tend you." He
reached out and took the muddy helmet, tucked it un-
der one arm, and waited with outstretched hand for the
heavy gauntlets.
"I know your face. You are Myles, the youth who
pulled his sword on me at Marwald."
"Aye, milord. I hope you have forgiven me that fool-
ish play."
Rye studied him for a moment, blue eyes narrowing
with thought as he took in the neat garments, tidily
cropped mane of red-blond hair, and respectful mien.
"Time will tell that, Myles. So you are squire now, at
my advice. Tell me-what does your sister say?"
Myles shrugged. "I have not seen her, save from a
distance. Our paths have not crossed, and Beltair keeps
me too busy to seek her out of an eve." The boy smiled.
 16 8 VIRGINIA LYNN
"In truth, sire, I am not eager to hear her words when
she discovers I am now in your camp."
Rye's grin lightened his muddy face, and his eyes were
pale with amusement. "Nor I. 'Tis not often she curbs
her tongue when moved to speak, and I am ever grateful
for her silence."
Myles bowed slightly, then looked up at the earl with
a lifted brow. "Do you hear it, then? Her silence? If so, I
must admit that you have accomplished what none in
our family were ever able to do."
"Do not be fooled, little Saxon. Lady Brenna keeps
her own counsel only by choice, not by intimidation."
Rye's tone was dry. "I do not flatter myself that I have
had any to do with her softer nature."
A wide grin spread across Myles's face, and he took
the gauntlets from Rye. " P'raps love has softened her."
"Love?" Rye shook his head. "Nay, I do not think
love has aught to do with it."
Myles made no reply but followed Rye into the keep
to help him remove his heavy mail hauberk for cleaning.
Dim torchlight lit the dark guardroom, and just beyond
in the hall could be heard the sounds of music.
"Minstrels?" Rye asked Myles, who nodded.
"Aye, milord. Ballard from Marwald, who was always
Brenna's favorite, came this morn to sing her songs."
Rye's mouth tightened into a grim line. "At whose
request does the fair Ballard come to Moorleah?"
After glancing at him quickly, Myles shrugged. "I
cannot say, milord."
"I remember Ballard. He sang songs of a Viking
slave's rebellion to your sister, very unwisely, I must
say."
"Brenna needs little coaxing to be rebellious." Myles
met Rye' s narrowed gaze. "She's always been unruly,
ever since our mother died giving birth. Brenna was
there when she died and saw the whole of it. She took it
very hard, I know, lord, and has not been tractable
since."
For a moment Rye looked at Myles with a thoughtful
 LYON'S PRIZE 16 9
frown. "I would hear more," he said slowly. "P'raps
'twill help me understand why she fights me so."
Myles shifted uneasily and cast a quick glance toward
the curtained doorway leading into the crowded hall.
"'Tis not my place to bear tales," he said finally. "You
should ask Brenna."
"And do you think she would tell me what I need to
hear?" A faint, hard smile curled Rye's mouth. "Nay,
lad, she would not, and you know it. Tell me this-was
she always so filled with hate toward your mother's peo-
ple?"
"Nay, lord. There was a time when Brenna bore no ill
will toward any man. But that was before the Normans
came hard on the heels of our mother's death. It was a
bad time for us all. I can still recall how she looked,
hiding behind old Gytha, our mother's maidservant.
Soldiers rode into the stockade and captured Moorleah
without much of a struggle, as my father and brothers
were still in hiding after Hastings." Myles paused, and a
bleak shadow darkened his eyes. " 'Twas a bad time, my
lord. The men were rowdy, as soldiers often are, and
hungry for more than food."
"They did not touch her,'' Rye said sharply, and felt a
wave of relief when Myles shook his head.
"Nay, lord. But there was a young girl from the vil-
lage. Hlynn. She was . Brenna's only friend after our
mother died, and though she was a bit of a tart, she was
not a harlot. P'raps you can imagine what happened to a
young, pretty girl when the Normans rode into Moor-
leah."
"And Brenna saw it."
Myles nodded. "Aye, lord. The girl survived the day,
but she did not survive the babe nine months hence."
Rye remained silent. He thought of the girl he had
wed, and her stark terror and insistence that she would
not bear his children. 'Twas easy to see why she felt as
she did, and he suffered a pang of guilt for his failure to
understand.
"Shall I bring your gear to your chamber, my lord?"
Myles asked, and Rye nodded.
 170 VIRGIN IA LYNN
"Aye." He wiped his face clean with the strip of cloth
Myles gave him, then bent so that the youth could slip a
fresh tunic over his head. Pivoting on his booted heel,
Rye stepped to the heavy curtains, then paused and
turned. "Myles. My thanks."
Myles didn't reply, but a faint smile slanted his mouth
as he stood in the guardroom and watched Rye disap-
pear through the doorway.
Jugglers, acrobats, and musicians entertained what
looked like all of Moorleah. Trained dogs leapt through
hoops and climbed small ladders, and dancing girls bent
and swayed to the tune of a lute.
As he wended his way through the press of guests and
retainers, Rye was approached by his master-at-arms.
Beltair spoke freely, as he usually did to the man he'd
fought side by side with since he was a youth. Much
older than Rye, the grizzled Norman lessoned him on
occasion, as he would have an untried lad.
"My lord, do you think it wise to trust a Saxon whose
brothers ravage the land?" he asked bluntly. Rye paused
to look at him closely.
"Do you find Myles dishonest?"
"Nay, but I do not trust his kin."
Rye's smile was slow. "Nay, no more do I, and that
includes my wife when it comes to loyalties."
"Your wife?" Beltair's eyes narrowed slightly. "I find
it difficult to imagine that any woman would gainsay
you, my lord."
"She does not. She prefers deviling me, but that is not
in question here." When Beltair just gazed at him with a
troubled frown, Rye added, "Do not fear. I know how
to tame the wench, and how to guard her loyalties. No
woman will be able to deny my rule."
"Aye, lord," Beltair said with a lift of his brow that
made Rye scowl.
"Do you doubt it?"
"Not if you say it, seigneur."
"See that young Myles is well trained, but do not
trust him overmuch. We will see ifhe can be trusted with
the passing of time."
 LYON 'S PRIZE 1 71
Bowing, Beltair murmure d, "As you say, my lord. I
am certain he is as well disciplined as his sister."
Rye stared after him for a moment, wondering why
there had been such a mocking disbelief in Beltair's ex-
pression. Did he think Brenna able to avoid yielding? If
he did, he misjudged his lord more than he ever had
before.
Scowling, Rye pushed his way through the crowd,
pausing to greet importan t guests, chafing at the delay in
reaching his wife. She was seated with Lady Madelon at
the high table. Brenna wore a gown of yellow velvet and
had ribbons twined in her hair and dangling in intricate
loops. For an instant Rye had the angry thought that she
dressed so for a minstrel, but would not for her husband,
then dismissed it from his mind. She was his, and he
would remind her of it if she was foolish enough to
forget even for a moment.
When he approached the high table on the raised dais,
Brenna stood, indicating that he take the chair she sat
upon.
"My lord," she murmure d without looking at him,
her eyes averted. "I did not expect you so soon. Some-
one should have told me you were here."
"Blame the new squire." Rye took the chair, watching
as Brenna seated herself gracefully on a low stool nearby
and folded her hands in her lap. She played the part of
docile wife well in front of Lady Madelon, and he recog-
nized her game for what it was. Not that he blamed her.
He would do the same if faced with Madelon's meddling
ways and vicious tricks. Yea, he'd played games of his
own as a youth, just to escape his stepmoth er's sharp
tongue.
A servant quickly brought an aquamanile, a bronze
water holder formed in the shape of a grotesque animal,
for him to wash his hands, then he dried them on a clean
strip of linen. With a goblet of wine at his right hand and
a steaming plate of boiled beef and vegetables in front of
him, Rye finally turned his attention back to Brenna.
She sat tall and straight, her glorious mane of hair
tumbling in neat curls over her shoulders and back. It
 172 VIRGINIA LYNN
was obvious to him th.at she was doing her best to ignore
him. He reached out to stroke his hand along her arm.
"My sweet, tell me how we are so fortunate to have all
these guests in the hall this eve.,,
"I am not one to question Normans' motives, Lord
Lyon," she said sharply, "so I have not asked why they
came."
"Ah, but not all the guests are Normans, I am made
to understand. Do I detect some from Marwald,
p'raps?"
"Aye.,, Her voice was sullen, and she shifted slightly
so that his hand fell away from her arm. "Ballard, from
Marwald, my old minstrel, came with the Lord of Hal-
stone Hall to honor us with music, my lord. 'Tis his
habit to travel about singing ballads of the land, and he
thought you would be pleased.,,
"Did he? And if I am not?"
Brenna gave him a quick glance. Rye saw the confu-
sion darken her eyes and felt suddenly spiteful at his at-
tempt to spoil her pleasure.
" 'Tis no matter,,, he said softly, "as long as you enjoy
his songs.,,
Brenna half turned, and a startled smile curved her
lips and made him think of how soft and sweet they
were, and how he'd thought of her during the long day
spent riding after raiders who disappeared as if wisps of
fog.
"My thanks, my lord."
Rye sat back in his chair and regarded her for a mo-
ment without speaking, savoring her lovely face and the
slight smile lingering on her lips. Aye, she was a beautiful
wench indeed, and though her moods were hard to
fathom, he could not recall ever having been so drawn to
a woman before. It was somewhat unnerving to consider
that this one Saxon woman with years of hatred behind
her should be the one to play upon his affections most
hardly.
Rye managed a careless shrug and turned his attention
to his goblet of wine. When several guests were pre-
sented to him, he made the necessary comments without
 LYON'S PRIZE 17 3
conscious effort. Brenna, with the faint fragrance of
lavendar soap lingering around her, kept his mind only
half on his duties as lord of Moorleab.
It was enough to make Rye long for the days before
he'd met this fiery Saxon, those days of untrammeled
peace of mind. Now he frequently found himself mired
in unfamiliar emotions he couldn't understand. 'Twas
enough to make a man surly, indeed.
His gaze came to rest on Ballard, the fair-haired min-
strel from Marwald who stood boldly before the high
table with a lute in his hands. Ballard's clever fingers
coaxed a melody from the strings, and his fine voice
lifted in a song about invincible Norman raiders.
It was obviously a song meant to flatter the Normans,
yet it rankled that they were still considered to be foes
after near ten years in the land. Rye's brow drew down
in a scowl as he sipped at his wine. After a few more
verses Ballard ended the long ballad with a quick paean
to the king.
Ballard bowed deeply from the waist before Rye. "I
hope my songs please you, Lord Lyon."
"They please my wife better, I think." Rye saw Bal-
lard give a start of surprise at his rudeness and felt
Brenna's angry gaze on him. Knowing he was behaving
churlishly did nothing to improve his mood.
"Then I apologize for not pleasing you, seigneur. Do
you have a song you wish for me to sing?"
Rye shifted. "Aye. Sing of King Arthur, if you will."
"King Arthur?" Ballard seemed taken aback. "I will
be delighted to do so, my lord, though I did not know
there were others who would enjoy such tales."
"Do you think only the Saxons have heard of him?
His ballads are sung in Normandy also, though I admit
they were brought to us by Saxons. Sing, Ballard, and
entertain the hall with tales of love, honor, and cour-
age."
The echo of Brenna's words to him in the nursery was
not lost on her, and Rye felt her smile more than saw it.
He kept his attention on the minstrel, and on his goblet
 174 VIRGINIA LYNN
of wine while Ballard spun melodies of Arthur, Mor-
dred, Merlin, and the Ladies of Avilion.
The guests were highly entertained. When the central
fire had burned low and the candles grew short, Rye
finally gave the signal to retire for the night. He stood
up and held out his hand to Brenna.
"Come, wife," he said, his standard invitation to bed.
She put her hand in his palm after only the briefest of
hesitations, and he heard Lady Madelon laugh.
"Aye, my lusty son, 'tis easy to see that you have
tamed the Saxon rebel with kisses instead of killing.
How noble. But is it wise? I should watch to see that she
does not put a dagger in my back, were I you."
Rye's gaze was hostile. "You are not I, Lady Madelon,
but I heed your warning only as I have always done.
Which is to say-not at all."
His rebuke was plain enough to make Lady Madelon's
face pale with rage, and her mouth tightened into a thin
line. "I see. You have chosen this Saxon over your own
kind then, my fine lord?"
Turning to face her, his hand holding tight to
Brenna's when she would have pulled away, Rye said in a
low, fierce tone meant only for Lady Madelon, "I have
been at great pains to stress that there should be no
more 'your kind' or 'our kind' talk, my lady. We should
be one. William is king by right and might, and all of
England should bind as one to a mutual cause. Your
words are careless and seek to rend asunder what Wil-
liam would make whole. I suggest that you mind your
tongue more carefully, ere you find your welcome at
Moorleah grown thin."
Recoiling, Lady Madelon said in a pitiable tone,
"Aiee, that an old woman should find herself abandoned
in this day is most grievous, Lord Lyon! Do you think,
how would it look to others for you to cast out your
father's wife in her latter days?"
"Anyone knowing of your backbiting ways would
commend me, madam, so do not think to play upon my
sense of duty. I have little where you are concerned, as
you well know the reason."
 LYON'S PRIZE 1 75
Lady Madelon met his hard gaze for an instant, then
looked away. Her fingers curled into her palms, and she
sat stiffly silent as Rye took Brenna's arm and led her
from the high table. When he glanced back, he saw the
dark enmity in her gaze, and knew his stepmother would
take vengeance for his insults at first opportunity.

"My stepmother will seek to harm you, Brenna," Rye

said once they were alone in their bedchamber.
"Through you, she will strike at me, I think."
"Lady Madelon and I have our own private battle, my
lord. Do not worry that I cannot deal with her, for I
have found it best to ignore what I can of her tricks,
while yet undoing what can be undone behind her
back."
Looking up at her, Rye's hard mouth curved slightly.
"I forgot for a moment that my wife is well capable of
dealing with other shrews."
"Meaning that I am one, my lord?"
His mouth squared into a grin. "At times, yea. But a
fairer shrew I have yet to see."
Brenna's voice was tart. " 'Tts a backhanded compli-
ment, indeed, my lord. I am strained not to throw my-
self at your feet with joy at your high regard."
Laughing, Rye straightened from untying his cross
garters and walked over to where she stood. Clad only in
his loincloth, he reached out to pull Brenna to him,
holding her against his bare chest. "Yield, cherie," he
murmured in her ear, "yield all to me."
"I already have, my lord." Brenna felt a wild urge to
relax against him instead of resist his embrace, but
fought against it. "I defer to you in every matter large or
small, and I yield to your word as final."
"'Tis not what I mean and you know it," he mut-
tered. His arms tightened, holding her so close against
him, she could feel the rise of his passion between them.
Her eyes closed briefly, and she held to her restraint.
There were times he made it most difficult to resist
him. Even in his foul humor this eve, his obvious dislike
 1 7 6 VIRGIN IA LYNN
at finding Ballard present in his hall, he'd tried to please
her with a choice of song. She wasn't certain why, but
that he had done so surprised her. Even more surprising
were his brooding gazes on her, the way he watched her
when he thought she did not notice.
She'd noticed. Aye, she'd noticed well. And wondered
at it. Could he feel a softening toward her despite his
rough manner? 'Twas something to think on.
Putting her palms against his chest, Brenna sum-
moned the willpower to say softly, "Please, lord, I have
not yet washed, or tended my nightly duties."
Rye's arms did not lessen their grip around her, and
he lifted his head to stare down into her face. "Am I not
a nightly duPJ as well, my sweet?" he mocked. "Would
you deny your husband his rights?"
"Nay, lord, I would not." She shook her head, know-
ing that a refusal would only make him more deter-
mined. "I only ask that you allow me to complete my
other, less important, duties first."
Rye released her. "You should be a courtier in Wil-
liam's court, sweeting. You have a facile tongue when
you wish."
"If you say so, my lord."
Rye stared at her with a frustrated gaze, and Brenna
knew she had succeeded with honeyed words where
open rebellion would have earned her a pitched battle.
Another lesson learned in dealing with this Norman
knight, she thought as she turned toward the chamber
door. If she fought him openly, he sought to break
down her barriers with a determined assault. If she re-
sisted his efforts with tact, he yielded more easily to her
wishes. Yea, an important lesson indeed.
Before she reached the door, a sharp rap sounded
upon the oak surface. Brenna was aware of Rye's imme-
diate reach for his sword even as he called out, "Enter."
Her gaze shifted from Rye, who stood with sword in
one hand, to the opening door, then her eyes widened.
"Myles," she breathed, feeling as if she'd been struck
in the chest by a mallet.
Her brother threw her a quick glance, then turned his
 LYON'S PRIZE 1 7 7
attention to Rye, still standing with drawn sword only a
few feet away.
"I brought your cleaned armor, my lord," he mur-
mured. "Is there anything else you wish?"
"Aye. Come in and close the door." Rye relaxed,
sheathing his sword with a metallic rasp of steel. His
gaze shifted from Myles to Brenna. After a moment of
tense silence, he explained, "Myles is my new squire,
Brenna. As you must have guessed by now."
"So I see." Brenna stood stiffly, not knowing what to
say or do. Only two of her brothers garnered any real
affection in her, and Myles was one of them. They were
close in age and, though separated for many years, had
managed to keep contact when possible. Now here he
was, in the service of the Normans, and she wondered
why. Myles had been fierce in his Saxon loyalty in spite
of being held hostage by William.
Shifting from one foot to the other, Myles gave his
sister a wary glance as he seemed to deliberate on
whether to speak or hold his tongue. Rye watched them
with an irritated frown.
"Well," he said, "do you not have words of greeting
for one another?"
"Of course," Brenna said quickly, and nodded at her
brother. "'Tis good to see you well, Myles."
"And you, Lady Brenna."
Myles still stood awkwardly holding the cleaned hau-
berk and gauntlets in his arms, and when Rye made an
impatient gesture and told him to put them down, he
did so without delay.
"If there is nothing else, milord?" he began, and took
a step toward the door.
Rye's voice stopped him. "There is something else.
I've no objection if you wish to speak with your sister.
Since you are at Moorleah by your own choice, you
might tell her thus so she does not think you have been
coerced."
Brenna looked at him. "This is true, Myles? You came
of your own accord?"
He nodded. "Aye. Your husband offered me a posi-
 1 78 VIRGINIA LYNN
tion as squire should I be suited for it, and I thought
'twould serve me better than roaming the forests or lis-
tening to our father's tales of past Saxon glory."
"You would think," Brenna murmured, " that Dun-
stan would be too busy to dwell on his own history."
Myles grinned. "When I left, he was most busy in-
deed. I think the king has set him to building new roads
as well as walls, and he was most put about trying to find
expert stonemasons.''
''Was he?" Brenna was intrigued by the mental image
of her blustering father caught up in such a task, and
smiled. "That should keep him too busy for tale spin-
ning, I vow."
"Or anything else," Rye put in dryly. "William has a
unique method of engaging his vassals in tasks that will
consume their time to the extent they can do little else."
"Meaning that this is only a way of keeping my father
from plotting rebellion?" Brenna turned to ask mock-
ingly. "I do not think William need concern himself
with one wornout old man like Dunstan. Rather, he
should concern himself with his own barons who seek to
drag him from his throne."
"Ah, 'tis good to see you leap to the defense of your
father at last," Rye said with a grin. "I have oft won-
dered at your lack of loyalty to the man who gave you
1:c. "
we.
Stiffening, Brenna said quietly, "'Tis none of your
affair, my lord, whether I cherish my father or not."
"Is it not?" Rye murmured, stepping close to her. He
put a hand under her chin and lifted her face to his when
she would have turned away. "I think it is, cherie. If you
have no loyalty to kin, you will have none to me. Or to
the children we will have."
Brenna jerked away from his touch. Her cheeks
flamed with hot color. Aware of Myles's close regard,
she did not yield to the scathing words on the tip of her
tongue, not quite certain of her brother's reaction
should Rye choose to retaliate.
"I place my loyalty carefully, my lord," she said after a
moment. "And I do not place it easily."
 LYON'S PRIZE 1 79
"So I am made to understand." Rye looked from
Brenna to Myles. "And you, young squire? Are you of
the same mind?"
Myles gave the earl a cautious glance before he nod-
ded slowly. "Aye, seigneur. It took much thought to
seek an employment in your keep, but I chose well, I
think."
Rye gave a satisfied nod. ''You did. 'Twill mean the
difference between life and death in the end. Should you
have chosen the life certain outlaws have chosen, you
would find yourself hanging from the castle gate where
they will soon dangle."
Myles ducked his head to stare at his feet, his reply
almost inaudible. "Aye, lord. As you say."
"Give over," Brenna cut in sharply. "He is here, is he
not? Do not try to make overt threats when there is no
need for it."
Rye's gaze shifted to her. He took up a goblet of wine
from a table and sipped it before he said, "Why do you
think I make threats, cherie? 'Tis common knowledge
that I seek the outlaws who prey on their own kind, and
I simply saluted your brother's wisdom in joining our
forces."
Brenna saw Myles's discomfort and guessed at the rea-
son.
"As squire, he will be cleaning swords, not wielding
them." Her brow lifted. He tested Myles, 'twas plain,
and she hoped her brother was wise enough to see it
also. If Myles sought to spy for the outlaws, he would be
killed with them. Brenna's stomach churned with anxi-
ety, and she tried to hide it as she turned back to her
brother.
"I am glad to see you so well, Myles, and pray that
you will seek me out when your duties permit. I cannot
show you many kindnesses, you understand, or it will
only go hard with you should your peers object."
Myles grinned. "Already Gowain makes loud noises
since I was chosen by Beltair to take his place, and the
leech is hard put to keep him in his sickbed. I will be
 180 VIRGINIA LYNN
once more serving mutton as soon as Gowain is able to
rise, never fear."
Rye listened as they talked, and when the conversation
turned to questions of those left at Marwald, he ambled
in the direction of the garderobe. Brenna immediately
took advantage of his absence.
"Myles," she said quickly, "you must do nothing to
earn his suspicion, do you understand? Our brothers-
what news of them?"
For a moment Myles hesitated. Then he said slowly,
"I left Whitley in the forest beyond Moorleah. He and
Ridgely plan another raid, I think, but would not tell me
too much. I know nothing of Rannulf or Corbet, save
they ride with them at times."
"Fools, all of them."
"Aye." Myles nodded wearily. "So I told them, but
they do not listen. We should be glad Guy and Wulf are
still in Normandy as William's hostages, 'ere they yield
to the same madness that infects our other brothers."
"Guy and Wulf are young yet, still serving as simple
pages," Brenna murmured, and Myles gave a short, bit-
ter laugh.
"There's not much time for childhood in this world,
my sweet sister. Have you forgotten?"
Brenna thought then of how young Myles had been
when he was forced from his home after the Saxon
king's defeat. Six was a young age to be taken hostage at
sword point and bade go to a foreign land with invaders.
Guy and Wulf had been too young to realize danger, but
not Myles. Nay, it had not been easy for him in those
long years after being forced to live with the enemy, but
he had somehow survived. She hoped that he would not
yield to the rebellion of their other brothers.
As if reading her thoughts, Myles said softly, "There
will be naught we can do if our kin are taken, Brenna."
"Do you seek to warn me not to try, Myles? Do not. I
am not so big a fool I would risk my own neck just to
keep just retribution from men who refuse to listen to
common sense. Although I would hope that Lyon will
 LYON'S PRIZE 18 1
not allow his anger to spill over on those undeserving of
it."
"He does not seem that kind of man. 'Tis why I
sought service here."
Brenna gazed at him for a long moment, noting how
he'd filled out in breadth and height since last they'd
been together. He was fast becoming a man, despite his
tender years.
"There were other reasons you came here," she said
after a moment, glancing at the arched doorway where
Rye had disappeared. The garderobe was not far away,
and she expected him back at any moment. "What are
they?"
"You are too suspicious," Myles said softly. "But you
are also right. I came for more than that. Now is not the
time to speak of it."
''When?" she asked urgently. "Do not be a fool,
Myles. Lyon is not a gentle man. He will deal most
harshly with you if you are-" She broke off when she
heard Rye's steps in the hall and said loudly, "Tell Bal-
lard that I most enjoyed his playing this eve. I look for-
ward to hearing more, if he is to linger for a time."
Myles shrugged. "I do not. know his plans, but I will
relay your message." He glanced at Rye, who sauntered
through the door with a leisurely tread, hitching up his
chausses as if he had but answered nature's call. "My
lord, it is late, and I am to tend you early on the mor-
row. If you have no more need of me- ?"
Waving a hand, Rye said, "No more tonight, squire.
Leave us now."
When Myles left with only a smile and brief glance at
his sister, Brenna could feel Rye's curious gaze on her.
She shifted slightly so that her back was to the door as it
closed behind her brother.
."I am weary also, lord. If you do not mind, I shall
seek my bed."
"Our bed." Rye's eyes narrowed slightly when she
drew in a sharp breath. "Must it always be the same?
First you avoid my touch, then you seek it eagerly before
 18 2 VIRGINIA LYNN
the night has passed. When will you admit to your softer
yearnings, Brenna?"
"You confuse wifely attention with an emotion I do
not feel," Brenna said stiffly, wondering why he per-
sisted in trying to coax emotion from her. Couldn't he
be satisfied with the passion she could not deny? Must
he have it all?
"Nay, cherie," he was saying with a trace of a smile on
his hard mouth, "I do not confuse it. I am well aware of
what you feel and am quite content with it. What be-
muses me is your unwillingness to admit to that flame
that sears your flesh when I touch you."
Brenna fought a wave of irritation. Curse him, for
forcing her surrender then mocking her for it. Her
struggle always ended the same; surrender came in a
heated rush of passion and blazing desire, and she was
left lying awake many a night thinking bitterly of her
self-defeat at his hands.
"Brenna," Rye said softly, "I do not mock you. I only
seek to understand."
She looked away from his penetrating gaze. "I cannot
explain what I do not understand myself," she said after
a moment. Her slender shoulders lifted in a slight shrug.
"If you seek understanding, I am afraid you ask the
wrong one."
"That much is obvious." Rye reached out for her,
ignoring her efforts to resist, and she found herself
pulled against his hard-muscled frame in an inexorable
grip. He did not loosen his grasp, not even when she
turned away from his searching kiss.
Patiently he gripped her chin with his fingers and
turned her face back to him, lowering his head to cap-
ture her cold lips with his. His kiss was searing, consum-
ing. It melted her reserve within the space of a few
minutes, and she was barely aware of the incoherent pro-
tests she made when he lifted her in his arms and bore
her toward the huge bed.
 CHAPTER 1 2

EARLY-SPRING SUNSHINE filtered slowly across the rolling

hills of land. Fingers of light sifted through new green
leaves and, diffused by mist, gave an almost ethereal
quality to the village.
Wooden benches had been set up beneath the leafy
arms of a huge oak, and Brenna was seated with Lady
Madelon, Raissa, Gilles, and Rachel. A silken canopy was
swagged over them, and those of the village gathered in
the open square to celebrate. Music swirled from lutes
and mandolins, and a troupe of acrobats performed.
A tall sapling stood in the village green, and rosy-
cheeked girls garlanded it with flowers in the soft press
of sun and wind. Ribbons had been tied to branches,
and children stood eagerly waiting the dances that
would celebrate the coming of spring.
"A pagan custom, Father Gutierrez says," Lady Mad-
elon observed with a disdainful sniff. " 'Tis a day dedi-
cated to heathen gods."
Brenna gave her a sharp look. "Aye, the goddess
Flora, I am told, of Roman times. She smiled upon the
fruits and flowers of spring and summer. Do you wish to
leave this pagan celebration, milady? No one will mind, I
assure you."
183
 18 4 VIRGINIA LYNN
Lady Madelon's mouth settled into a taut line. "That
would suit you well, wouldn't it?"
''Very well, milady." Brenna met her quick glance
with a slight smile. "This is a time of merriment, not
dour faces and sour dispositions. As for Father Gutier-
rez, he frowns upon everything human. He believes only
in the purging of the soul."
"He is a man of God," Lady Madelon said stiffly. Her
hands curved into the folds of her elegant velvet gown.
"Do you blaspheme the Church?"
"Far from it. This is just a family custom, milady, be-
gun by my mother to amuse the peasants. She saw it in
Italy and enjoyed it so much she brought the custom to
England when she came to marry my father."
"Ah. I had forgotten that your mother was Norman,"
Lady Madelon said. " 'Tis what saves you, I suppose."
"Saves me?" Brenna's brows drew into a knot over her
eyes, and she glanced from Rachel's strained face to her
mother by law, then back. Her little maid looked wor-
ried at the confrontation, as well she should. Lady Mad-
elon had a habit of taking out her temper on servants.
Brenna swallowed a harsh reply and merely said, "Aye.
My Norman blood saves me much, I vow."
Deliberately turning her back to avoid any further
conversation, Brenna rose and went into the crowd. On
impulse she caught the hand of a small child and pulled
her toward the group beneath the tree. Bright ribbons
fluttered in the wind, strips of colored cloth dancing
enticingly just above the girl's head.
"Would you like to touch one?" Brenna asked, and
when the child nodded shyly, Brenna lifted her to touch
the end of the snapping ribbon. Laughing, the child put
a chubby arm around Brenna's neck to hold on as she
reached up and out, watching the ribbon lick the ends of
her fingers in the press of wind.
After a moment Brenna returned the child to her
mother with a smile. The woman swept her a deep
curtsy.
"God bless ye, milady," the peasant mother said
 LYON'S PRIZE 18 5
softly, "and I hope ye soon have your own happy babe
to hold in your arms. . . ."
Brenna's smile vanished, and she turned blindly away,
motioning for Rachel to hand out the little cakes that
had been baked for the villagers. A babe of her own.
Nay, not that end, she prayed. Never that. She could
not.
Somehow she managed to force smiles and respond
with a gracious comment when needed, but the gaiety of
the day had been tarnished by a simple well-meant com-
ment. Only Rachel and Lady Raissa noticed, and the
latter came to her with an anxious expression.
"You are unwell?"
"Unwell?" Brenna echoed, then shook her head.
"Nay, no more than usual. More weary than I am accus-
tomed to feel, p'raps, but not unwell."
"Ah." Raissa swept a hand toward the villagers and
children dancing about and laughing. "This was much
needed to restore their spirits, I believe. Since the out-
laws have been so predatory, the people have been afraid
and unhappy. Now they look positively carefree."
Brenna nodded and watched as a boisterous group of
young people grabbed the ends of the trailing ribbons
and began to dance in couples. The May Day celebration
had the air of a festival, with music and games and per-
formers . The only sober note was the armed soldiers
who patrolled the area, and those she'd not been able to
avoid. Rye had not yielded an inch in his determination
that there would be soldiers, or there would be no cele-
brations.
"Nay, sweeting," he'd said. "I will not risk my family
or my people to the outlaws should they seek to disturb
your plans. My men will be there, or you will not."
Brenna had stopped her arguments before he'd re-
scinded his permission for the May Day. She'd begun to
recognize that obstinate light in his eyes and knew he
would not be turned from his decision. So she had re-
verted to her newly discovered tact to persuade him not
to have mounted soldiers line the village and thus de-
 18 6 VIRGI NIA LYNN
stroy the holiday mood. And she had also persuaded him
to show himself to the villagers in a more lenient mode.
" 'Twill not hurt your reputation as a man who seeks
to rule, my lord," Brenna had coaxed, "but only add to
it as a lord who cares about his people's welfare in more
than terms of what they can produce for the storehouses
or the coffers."
Smiling, Rye had allowed her to coax him into appear-
ing at the May Day celebration, but he had not yet
shown.
"Where could he be?" young Gilles asked his mother.
Raissa assured him he would be there soon.
"Your uncle is a very busy man," Raissa said, stroking
back the boy's hair, "but he always keeps his promises."
Brenna shivered. Raissa was right. Rye kept the prom-
ises he made, or he did not make them. And hadn't he
promised to make her yield all to him? There were times
she feared he'd already reached that goal, for even now
she watched for him as eagerly as his nephew.
Fool, she berated herself without a hope that she
would stop listening for the sound of his voice or watch-
ing for his tall frame among the milling soldiers. She was
growing besotted, and though she fought to remain
aloof, she found her resolve growing weaker every day.
Rye was not the man she'd once thought him to be;
or rather, he was much more than the man she'd
thought him. He governed justly, allowing the people to
punish those among them who broke the laws, and not
imposing a harsh Norman justice. Instead, Saxon chas-
tised Saxon, an act that did much to instill confidence in
their new lord's laws of justice. Aye, Brenna mused, he
knew how to govern men, but there were times he knew
little of women.
Instead of coaxing cooperatio n from Brenna, he de-
manded it, and that she could not tolerate. When he
made a request of her, she was quick to comply, hoping
to show him that he received much more with softness
than he did by demands, but he seemed to miss the
point of that lesson more times than not.
 LYON'S PRIZE 18 7
Yet here she stood, waiting for him as if she were a
simple maid in love.
Love. Could she be? The thought stunned Brenna,
and she must have made some sound, because Raissa
turned to look at her.
"Did you speak, milady?"
"Nay," Brenna replied, trying to ignore the faint flush
that crept up her neck. Her fingers caught in the mate-
rial of her gown, and she managed a smile. "Here comes
your brother."
Rye approached with an easy stride, head and shoul-
ders above most of his men and the villagers. He wore a
scarlet mantle over his mail, and though Brenna had
hoped he would wear more elegant garments, she was
satisfied that he had at least come to the village. Behind
Rye, Raoul led his lord's huge destrier. Brenna caught
Rachel's quick glance at him and hid a smile behind her
hand. It was obvious to anyone who cared to look that
the slender maid was quite taken with Raoul de Beau-
mont.
"Rachel," she leaned forward to say softly, "do see if
Sir de Beaumont would care to have some refreshment.
There is wine for the men in the baskets beneath the
trees."
"You've seen to every detail," Raissa remarked with a
smile. "I commend you, Brenna."
Only Lady Madelon voiced a complaint, and she
waited until Rye had come to put a possessive hand on
his wife's arm before she spoke.
"So, my lord, I see that you have been reduced to
consorting with serfs since wedding a Saxon. But 'tis all
that should be expected, I vow, from a lowborn knight."
A moment of shocked silence enveloped those close
enough to hear, and Rye turned slowly to bend a steady
stare upon his stepmother.
"Only you would be rude enough to make such a
comment, Lady Madelon. You show your lack of man-
ners with every word lately, it seems. If you are so un-
happy here, you are free to return to Normandy."
There was nothing in his face to indicate that he was
 18 8 VIRG INIA LYNN
less than serious, and Lady Madelo n must have realized
that she had overstepped the bounda ries of commo n
sense with her rudeness.
"I beg your pardon , my lord," she forced out, her
eyes lowerin g from the harsh look he gave her. " 'Tis my
frailty that bids me be so ill-temp ered lately."
"You are ill, madam ?"
Lady Madelo n looked up at Rye, and only those who
knew her well could see the hatred in her gaze. "I would
not bother you with such things, when there are many
import ant matters to take up your time."
"If you are ill," Rye said less harshly, "then you must
seek care, my lady."
"Aye, lord. Thank you for your kindne ss."
Brenna regarde d Rye's stepmo ther for a long mo-
ment. She knew very well that Lady Madelo n was as fit
as usual but had only sought a way out of the mire her
hasty words had created. And she knew from the faintly
sardonic set of Rye's mouth that he was aware of the
ploy also. But there was little to be gained from a public
confro ntation , especially with all the villagers gathere d
to greet their new lord in an entirely new manner.
"The man you have set as mayor to the village is here
to presen t you with a gift, my lord," Brenna said softly,
and felt Rye' s gaze shift to her. Her heart lurched. He
looked every inch the lord today, every inch the Earl
of Lyonfield and now Moorleah. William had chosen
well, though a few months ago she had not though t so.
These past weeks had been quite enlight ening, Brenna
though t.
"A gift?" Rye repeate d in surprise.
"Aye, to honor you as their lord. 'Tis a ceremonial
gift, you will see."
The mayor, a portly man with a full head of blazing
red hair that matche d equally bushy eyebrows, knelt ner-
vously to presen t Rye with a huge basket. He cleared his
throat and indicat ed the conten ts with a gesture.
" Here, my lord, is a sheaf of wheat, to signify that we
till the fields for the good of all. There is barley, corn,
and"- he dug into the basket, and after a brief skirmish,
 LYON'S PRIZE 18 9
brought up a squawking chicken-"fowl, to share your
table. What is ours, lord, is yours, and we share gladly
with the man who has brought justice to our land."
Rising, the mayor gestured to a small girl, who tugged
at a bright ribbon bound to a lamb.
"This is my daughter, and she wishes to give you her
pet lamb from our flock as a token of our good faith."
The girl seemed less enthusiastic than her father, but
the lamb was obviously reluctant. It bawled loudly, and
balked when the child tried to tug it forward. Near tears,
she glanced up at the man seated in a high-backed chair
and lisped, "Daithy won't come, my lord. Thees
thcared."
"Is she?" Rye glanced from the mayor's crimson face
to the child, then to the lamb. "Then let Daisy stay with
you until she's not so scared," he said after a moment.
"I give her to your care."
The child's face brightened, and she nodded. "Aye,
milord, I will thee that Daithy ith cared for."
"I trust you to do so." Rye looked back at the mayor.
"And I will justify your faith in me as your overlord
when I bring you the outlaws who ravage your fields."
Bowing, the mayor looked up at Rye and said, "I
know you will, my lord. 'Tis said that you are a man who
does not fail."
Brenna stiffened, and Rye turned his eyes to her. She
saw the grim purpose in his eyes, and knew that this time
he would bring back the outlaws who dared to burn
crops and villages, though her own brothers might be
among them. There was nothing she could do, and she
knew that she had made her choice.
The shock of it reverberated in her mind as she real-
ized how far she bad come in the six weeks she had been
wed to Rye de Lyon. She was deliberately choosing
Norman justice over Saxon kinship. It was as heartrend-
ing as it was confusing.

It was early. The sun had not yet burned off the morn-
ing mists that shrouded wood and fields. Rye's destrier
 19 0 VIRG INIA LYNN
snorted softly and stamped its great hooves against the
still-damp earth. Huge oaks shadow ed the mounte d,
mailed knights as they waited, and faint sounds of bird
calls drifted on the breeze.
Leaning close to Rye, Beaumo nt murmur ed, "Do you
think 'tis birds who make that sound?"
"Nay, 'tis a signal. That must mean our quarry does
not know we are here. But that's a matter of little conse-
quence, since we are hardly trying to hide."
Shifting in his saddle, Rye let his gaze move from the
wooded copse to the dear land beyond . Furrows ran
across the fields, and tender shoots greened the brown
earth with new life. Thatche d cottages were clustered on
the far side of the fields, and thin curls of smoke drifted
from open holes in the roofs.
It was the first week in June, and Rye's efforts were
finally about to be r~warded. Two days before, a man of
the village had come to warn his lord that he had over-
heard the plans of the outlaws to ravage this distant vil-
lage. Though fiighten ed, he conside red it his duty to
stop them. Rye had assured him he made the right
choice, as the next village might very well be his own.
Now he waited impatiently for success.
Rye and his men had ridden out from Moorlea h well
before first light the day before to snare these outlaws
who planned to ravish village and fields, and now the
trap was nearly sprung.
On the opposit e side of the copse that ran between
the fields and village, more knights waited. And at the
end of the funnel through which Rye intende d to herd
his quarry, a band of soldiers lay hidden to cut them off
should any reach that far. Rye intende d they should not,
but he'd planned for all possibilities.
"I was told,'' Beaumo nt remarke d, "that there are
forty or more outlaws . They are armed with swords, but
for the most part carry scythes and axes." He gave a
scornful laugh. "Truly fearsome, I vow."
" Do not underes timate them,'' Rye replied. "They
have manage d to outwit us at every turn so far, and have
wrough t devastation upon the land so successfully that I
 LYON'S PRIZE 19 1
began to fear we would never be able to catch them. I
will not feel safe until we have them beneath our swords
at last."
Tightening his knees, Rye urged his mount a few steps
deeper into the wood, his every sense attuned for the
signal he sought. He didn't know what he waited for,
only that he would recognize it when it came. He always
did; it was a trait instilled in him by his early masters,
that telltale sign of movement from one's enemy, and he
had learned his lessons well.
When it came, a faint, muffled sound, he jerked into
action. Bringing his left arm up in a quick signal, he
spurred his destrier forward just as armed men emerged
from the wood to race across the fields toward the
thatched huts just beyond.
'7esu/) he breathed softly. These were no simple peas-
ant warriors. These were trained knights who had de-
scended into outlawry, as he had guessed. He saw from
their concerted moves with swords, axes, even scythes,
that the men knew what they were about when it came
to warfare. Already the first wave of his men had joined
them in battle, and the noise was as fierce as the fighting.
Swords clanged harshly; hoarse bellows rent the air as
men met with savage force. With the mounted Normans
waging a fierce assault rife with the frustrations of the
past months, the outlaws had little chance of success. Yet
they fought well and savagely, giving no quarter.
Rye spurred his mount into the thick of the fray, tak-
ing a cut on one arm from a scythe before he mowed the
man down with a downstroke of his sword. He swung it
with swift efficiency, hefting the heavy blade with the
easy, practiced motions he'd learned as a youth. This was
work he knew well, and he recognized in the enemy that
they, too, had learned it well.
Behind Rye, Beaumont guarded his back while bat-
tling a heavyset outlaw armed with a sword. The man
was obviously a trained knight and brought Beaumont
down in a quick motion that made Rye turn his destrier
toward them.
The war-horse had been schooled in warfare as well
 192 VIRG INIA LYNN
and kept the enemy at bay with lethal hooves and teeth
while Rye swung his sword. In a few quick strokes Rye
killed the man and was off his horse to see to Beaumo nt.
Ignorin g the battle still raging around them, he knelt
and lifted him, his hands searching for the wound he'd
been dealt. Smiling weakly, Beaumo nt pushed aside his
helm and grimaced as Rye found the deep slash in his
side. His eyes were bright with pain when he looked up
at Rye.
" 'Tis not a deathbl ow, seigneu r. I shall live to fight
again."
Rye made his own assessment, noting that though the
wound was deep, it had missed vital organs. He felt a
wave of relief that was almost crippling in intensity and
knew then that this loyal Norman knight meant much
more to him than he had allowed himself to think about.
"Aye, Raoul, I think you are right. You just wish to lie
abed and have the tender ministrations of your lady, I
think. 'Tis a sorry state for a knight, to go to that end to
gain his lady's kind attentio n."
Beaumo nt looked up at Rye's teasing words and must
have seen some of what he felt. He kept his tone light.
"Sorry, indeed, lord. But worth it, I think.,, Grimac:
ing at the pain his moveme nts brough t, Beaumo nt man-
aged to sit up while Rye beckoned a soldier to his aid.
The sounds of the battle were diminishing, and
though the outcom e had been a foregon e conclusion
with so many armed and mounte d Norman s catching
their quarry in the open, Rye could not help a feeling of
relief that it was over. He would have lost much in the
loss of this one knight, he reflected, as he gave orders to
herd the surviving outlaws into a group and tie them
togethe r.
"Pile the dead outlaws beneath a tree," he com-
manded , pushing his helm to the back of his head, "and
see to those most wounde d. Call a priest for those who
wish one.''
One of the prisoners lifted a bloodie d head at Rye's
last comma nd, and a fierce light sprang into bloodsh ot
blue eyes. His voice rang out, loud and mocking.
 LYON'S PRIZE 19 3
"A priest, Lord Lyon? Do you consider that Saxons
have souls, then?"
Rye flicked him a cold glance. "Some of them. Others
seem to have lost theirs, but 'tis not my place to judge.
That I leave to those better qualified."
"Aye," came the bitter retort, "so you should. For a
man said to confer with the Dark One, 'tis not fit that
you should judge other men, even Saxons."
Rye felt a spurt of anger and stepped dose to the man,
raking him with a narrow gaze. ''What is your name,
bold Saxon?"
Straightening as best as possible considering he was
bound hand and foot, the Saxon met Rye's stare without
flinching and said, "Ridgely, son of Dunstan from Mar-
wald."
"And you lead these men?"
Ridgely glanced around. "I did. There do not seem to
be many left to lead, I fear."
" 'Twas by your choice, Ridgely of Marwald. Did you
not heed my warnings to the end should the assaults on
innocent villages continue? If you had," he continued
without waiting for an answer or denial, "you would
have saved many lives. Including your own."
"You would put the brother of your wife to the
sword?" Ridgely mocked, his eyes burning with hatred.
"I vow, even the shrewish Brenna will mislike that act."
"Nay, I would not put you to the sword." Rye hefted
his sword into the air in an agile swing, then plunged it
into the ground between his spread feet. He fixed a
fierce stare on the startled Saxon. "I will give your fate
into the hands of those you have wronged, Ridgely of
Marwald. 'Tis up to the peasants who have suffered your
cruelties if you live or die. A jury of men shall be selected
to decide your fate."
Ridgely swallowed, and his chest rose and fell rapidly.
"I am the son of a Saxon baron. I have no peers t<r-"
"Wrong." Rye cut across his words angrily. "Your
peers are those whom you have plundered these last
months. By not swearing an oath of fealty to William,
you have lost claim to noble title as well as any lands in
 19 4 VIRG INIA LYNN
England. Therefor e, 'twill be your peers who decide
your fate."
Pivoting on his heel, Rye stalked away, leaving the
Saxon outlaws to consider their futures and fates. He
went to Beaumont, who had been laid gently upon a
litter to be taken back to Moorleah. He knelt beside
him, peeling off his gauntlets and pulling off his helm.
"I shall see to you as soon as I return, Raoul."
"You go to run down those who fled, my lord?"
Beaumon t gave him a worried look from eyes hazy with
pain and clutched at his mail-dad arm. "Set a good man
to watch your back. When word gets out that you are set
on such grim justice, there will be those who seek your
death at any cost."
"'Tis no different than it has always been. Don't be
an old woman." Rye smiled to ease the sting of his
words and saw Beaumont's faint grin. "All the outlaws
must be brought to justice."
"Aye, lord. Though I think 'twould be best just to
hang those men or put them to the sword. An example
of Norman justice should prevail."
"But William wishes for this land to be one, Beau-
mont, not Norman or Saxon. In this case, since the hurts
were done to Saxons, Saxons should deliver the justice.,,
Standing, Rye gave the signal for Beaumont's litter to
be carried away. Pulling his metal helm and coif back
over his head, he shoved his hands into his heavy gaunt-
lets and took the reins to his destrier. As he swung into
the highbacked saddle, he caught Ridgely's gaze bent on
him.
"Any words for your fair sister?" he asked, tightenin g
his bold on the reins as the destrier pranced eagerly.
"Aye-" Ridgely paused, his eyes alive with hatred.
"Tell her that I'd sooner see her dead than wed to a
Norman bastard. . . ."
The last words were whispered hoarsely. A wave of
savage fury surged through Rye, and he fought the urge
to use his sword against the insolent Saxon outlaw who
used such strong words. Only iron restraint kept his
sword sheathed and his fury contained.
 LYON'S PRIZE 19 5
Whirling his mount around, he snarled to his ser-
geant-at-arms, "See that the leader has ample time to
regret his war against peasants, Beltair. Put him alone in
a cell, so he has no distractions."
Rye spurred his destrier toward the soldiers, who gave
chase to the outlaws fleeing toward the armed men,
waiting there beyond the fields.

Pressing a hand to her aching back, Brenna straightened

slowly from where she'd been bent over a large vat.
"My back aches," she murmured, and heard Rachel's
soft sound of sympathy. She flashed her maid a smile.
" 'Tis all this bending and mixing, I vow."
Moving the vat closer to the edge of the long table set
up in the kitchen, Rachel cast her a glance.
"Do you think so, milady?"
"Of course. What else could it be?" Brenna peered
into the metal cauldron at the noxious mixture. In the
past week she had begun to notice a difference in her
body that was as confusing as it was frightening. She
tired easily. Her back ached. Her appetite waned, espe-
cially in the early mornings.
She'd not spoken of it to anyone, but Rachel had no-
ticed, as she did now. ·
"Milady-<:ome, sit down for a time. I will see to the
mixture for you."
Brenna frowned slightly. She glanced at the others
around her to see if they had noticed her infirmity, but
no one looked her way. Turning back to Rachel, she
gave a nod of her head.
"Aye, I know you will take charge for me, Rachel. 'Tis
just that this concoction needs to be right, or it will not
remove candle wax or wine stains from our garments."
Rachel cast a doubtful glance at the vat of fuller's
earth and lye. "P'raps a soaking in warm wine for a day
or two would help those most stained."
"P'raps," Brenna agreed with a sigh. "Most of Rye's
heavy garments have already been laden with bay leaves
and packed away in cypress chests, but these-!" She
 19 6 VIRGINIA LYNN
shook her head. "He's most careless with his velvet tu-
nics."
Rachel watched silently as Brenna shook out an ele-
gant tunic embroidered with gold gilt thread on sleeves
and hem. Her brow was furrowed in thought, and after a
few moments passed, she blurted, "Does your lord
know about the babe, milady?"
Pausing, Brenna turned slowly to face her. "The babe?
What do you mean?"
Rachel gestured hesitantly. "Your babe, milady."
"My babe?" Brenna lowered the velvet tunic to the
worktable set up at the end of the kitchen. "You are
mistaken. I have no babe."
"Aye, milady," Rachel mumbled, looking down at her
folded hands.
Brenna's mouth felt suddenly dry, and a wave of nau-
sea welled in her throat. She'd suspected, but until now
had not put into voice her fears. The wooden spoon
she'd been using to mix the powder slipped from her
hand and clattered against the edge of the vat. She
looked up at Rachel with a stricken expression.
"That's it, isn't it."
It wasn't a question, but a statement, and Rachel bit
her lower lip and nodded.
"Aye, milady, it would seem so. Your symptoms rival
those of my stepmother when she was breeding."
A shudder of fear trickled down Brenna's spine. A
babe. She'd tried to ignore the symptoms, but now it
was impossible. "Speak of this to no one, Rachel. I wish
to hold the knowledge to myself for a time."
"Aye, milady, but should you need help-"
"I will ask you, I promise." She paused, sucking in a
deep breath. "Do you mind-? I will leave this to you. I
wish to be alone to think."
Without waiting for Rachel's worried reply, Brenna
left the vaulted kitchen and made her way outside into
the bailey. Men-at-arms were riding across the inner
bridge. Behind, in a scraggly line, half walking, half
stumbling, were the outlaws. Litters bore the wounded.
 LYON'S PRIZE 19 7
Brenna stopped a man-at-arms and inquired anx-
iously, "My husband-where is he?"
"Gone after the rest of the outlaws, milady." The
grim-faced soldier smiled slightly. "I vow he will not
return on a litter, so set your fears to rest. The earl is the
fiercest fighter in all of England and Normandy."
It was little comfort. Brenna turned, one hand lifted
to her throat as she looked at the prisoners. She gasped.
She could not mistake her brother as he stalked at the
head of the line, his tall frame unbowed and his face alive
with hatred. He was glaring at her.
"So, she-wolf, it seems that you have mated with the
lion and brought shame to our house," Ridgely snarled,
his voice rising above the crowd in the bailey. A soldier
cuffed him, but he only reeled and did not fall, his intent
gaze unwavering as he stared at his sister.
Putting a hand over her mouth, Brenna felt a wash of
emotion drown her contempt for her brother. He was
bloody and furious, but seeing him somehow reminded
her of happier times. There had been days when they
had all gathered to celebrate the first of May, and their
mother had led them in laughter and songs and dancing.
Ridgely had been clumsy but most enthusiastic at those
times, and somehow that memory made up for the later,
harsher memories of him as a crude, brutal soldier in her
father's keep.
She walked to where he stood. "Ridgely-"
"Nay! Do not offer sympathy now, sweet sister.
You've had none before."
"That's not fair," she said calmly. "I've hardly seen
you since I returned from Normandy; you were not oft
at our father's table of an eve. I am sorry to see you like
this, but you brought it upon yourself with your burning
and killing and looting of innocent people."
"Innocent?" Ridgely laughed harshly. "They've
thrown in with the devil, Brenna, as have you. Rye de
Lyon has put more villages to the sword of late than I
have ever burned fields, and if you do not believe me,
ask him. He is an honorable man, is he not? Or so he
claims. Ask him. Ask him if he has put those villages to
 19 8 VIRGINIA LYNN
the sword or torch, and then mayhap you will know
what brand of Norman justice you have helped bring
upon our land."
Backing away, Brenna agonized with indecision. She
only half believed her brother. Ridgely had never been a
kind man, and her momentary pity was obviously mis-
placed. Rye could never have put a village to the sword,
not as Ridgely claimed. Nay, hadn't she seen him deal
kindly with those of the village? Even a child's pet lamb
stirred his sympathy.
Aye, she would ask him.
 CHA PTER 1 3

STILL SHAKEN BY the encounter with her brother, Brenna

walked blindly toward the door of the keep. As she
passed a litter that had just been lowered to the gronnd,
a hand reached out to snag her skirts.
"Milady," came a hoarse voice, and she halted to look
down with surprise at the litter's occupant.
"Sweet Mary in heaven, it's Beaumont!" Brenna knelt
by his side immediately. "You've been wounded. Let me
see your hurts."
"Nay," he protested weakly, " 'tis not for the eyes of
a lady. . . ."
"Don't be foolish, Beaumont." Brenna brushed aside
his hand and peeled back the edge of his mantle to look
at the sword cut. Forcing a smile, she assured him, "I
have tended many such wounds, I promise you. I will
not make it worse."
"I was not worried about that, milady, but . . . do
not heed the words of an angry man."
Brenna looked up at him in surprise. "An angry
man?"
"Aye. The outlaw. I heard . . . what he . . . said."
Grimacing with pain, Beaumont clasped Brenna's fingers
with a bloody hand and held tightly. "War makes men
199
 200 VIRGINIA LYNN
do things they would not do otherwise. Remember that,
milady."
Slipping her hand from bis clasp, Brenna gauged the
depth and seriousness of his wound and motioned for
him to be lifted and taken inside.
"I will tend him myself," she told the man-at-arms,
who nodded and bent to lift Beaumont's litter. Brenna
followed close behind as two hefty soldiers carried Beau-
mont up the stone steps and into the keep.
As they entered the dimly lit guardroom of the keep,
Brenna's attention was focused on the wounded knight.
She paid scant attention to those around her, nor did she
dwell on what had occupied her mind so completely a
short time before. Beaumont's injuries precluded all but
the necessary work to save him.
Snapping orders at startled servants, Brenna soon had
hot water, clean strips of cloth, and her bag of herbs. She
also had a frantic Rachel at her side, and she gently drew
the girl away from Beaumont's pallet.
"Ifyou are too stricken to be of use, Rachel," she said
softly, "I will find another. Do you wish to remain?"
"Oh, milady," Rachel said in a breathy gasp, "do not
send me away. I will not cry out or get in the way, I
swear it."
"I didn't intend to send you away to be hurtful, but
to spare you pain," Brenna assured her, touching the girl
on her arm with a light gesture. "And if you cannot bear
it, I cannot ta.Ice the time to tend you."
Rachel swallowed. "I will bear it.''
Lifting her hand, Brenna said, "Very well. You may
stay. But quickly, fetch more cloths for me while I ex-
amine Beaumont more closely. The wound is long, but
doesn't seem to be that deep. I need to see it more
clearly."
Kneeling beside him again, Brenna concentrated on
the fallen knight. Sweat beaded on bis forehead, and she
wiped it away with a cloth.
"This will hurt, so I shall give you a draught to ease
your discomfort," Brenna murmured, and added when
 LYON'S PRIZE 2 0 1
he gave a protest, "I can work better if you are not in
pain, sir. Please do not refuse it."
Links of chain mail had been embedded in the deep
sword slash, and as soon as the draught began to make
Beaumont drowsy, Brenna began picking out the tiny
pieces of metal. It was tedious business, and she was
careful not to miss one as she worked. Rachel sponged
away the flowing blood as she cleaned the wound, and
when all the metal was gone and Brenna was cert.am no
vital organs had been damaged, she took up a needle and
thread to close the wound.
It was a grim task, and several times Brenna had to
pause and take a deep breath, fighting the nausea that
clogged her throat. Rachel put a steadying hand on her
shoulder and offered to take over.
"I can sew a fine seam, milady, and should be able to
make short work of one knight, I think."
Brenna looked at Rachel's pale face and shook her
bead. "Nay, though I am certain you would do well. I
will finish it."
When she was through and Rachel was binding Beau-
mont's wound with long strips of cloth, Brenna stum-
bled to a low bench and sank gratefully to its hard
surface. It had taken more out of her than she'd realized
it would, but she was glad she had done it. Beaumont
was a favorite, and she would not have trusted his
wound to the clumsy but well-meaning efforts of the
men-at-arms.
Putting her face in her hands, she drew in a deep
breath. She was shaking, and when she felt a hand upon
her shoulder, she looked up with a startled gasp.
Raissa smiled at her. "You are overweary. Come with
me and I will see to your welfare. 'Tis not good to tire so
much in your-at this time."
"At this time." Brenna met Raissa's sympathetic gaze
and saw that she knew. "It seems that all at Moorleah
are aware of my condition," she said bitterly. "Why am I
so slow to guess what others have known?"
"Because you did not want to see it." Raissa offered
 202 VIRG INIA LYNN
no other commen t, and after a moment Brenna sighed
and stood up.
"You are right, Raissa. I did not want to know it. I do
not want to know it now. If you don't mind, I need to
seek my peace in private.,,
"Of course. I understand. If you need me . . .,, Her
words trailed into silence, and Brenna gave her a fleeting
smile as she turned away.
Though aware of the troubled expression on Raissa's
lovely, usually serene face, Brenna could not manage a
soothing word but went alone up the wide stone stairs
across the hall. Beaumont would be in the best of care
with Rachel at his side, and in truth, none would have
hovered over him near as dose as her young maid was
doing now.
She sought peace and quiet in her chamber, dosing
the massive door behind her and leaning against its solid
oak surface. She stood that way for a while, thinking
back to her early days, thinking of her mother.
Instead of recalling the anguish of her loss, her
thoughts centered on the happier times, when her
mother had laughed with her children and played with
them of an eve. A babe had usually dangled on Lady
Clarice's knee, fat and smiling, and Brenna dosed her
eyes as she tried to recapture the content she'd felt then.
Some of her inner turmoil eased as she thought of
those days, and she recalled her brother Myles as a babe,
then Guy and Wulf, both still William's hostages in Nor-
mandy. She bore Guy affection, but the child Wulf had
been the one to end her mother's life, and she'd not
been able to bear the sight of him for some time after.
Now she regretted that selfishness. It had not been his
fault; she'd been too young and immature to recognize
that-
Pushing away from the door, Brenna crossed to the
small writing desk where implements lay. Sitting down
on the stool, she sharpened a quill and took up a clean
sheet of parchment. She would write them, especially
Wulf, and let him know that he still had kin who
thought of him.
 LYON'S PRIZE 203
Brenna stared into the flickering flame of a candle for
some time before she lay her quill down without having
penned a single word. Wulf was unknown to her; he had
spent his entire life without the affection of a sister and,
more than likely, had no need of it now.
Forcing her thoughts back to her own situation,
Brenna faced the knowledge that she could not make up
for those lost years, and she could not make the child
that grew in her fade away by doing her duty for an-
other. She buried her face in her hands and shivered.
What would Rye say when she told him? Would he
welcome the news of a coming child? Or would he re-
sent the need for abstinence it would surely cause? She
wasn't certain. Though he had oft teased her about
bearing children, he was not a man who seemed to enjoy
them. Nay, he more frequently enjoyed his sensual plea-
sures of an eve and might take it amiss that his passion
would be curbed.
Fretting, Brenna rose from the stool and began to
pace the cold floors of the chamber. Light still filtered
into the room from the slits, and she could see that the
day had lengthened into late afternoon. Soon it would
be dusk, and Rye would return from hunting the out-
laws.
Should she tell him at once? Or worse-risk the
chance someone else might do so? Lady Madelon would
surely take vicious pleasure in relating the information in
the worst manner possible if she delayed.
Walking to the window, Brenna laid her flushed cheek
against the cold stone ledge and stared at the green hills
beyond Moorleah. A child. Her child. It lay within her
now, proof of Rye's passion.
"Sweet Mary," she whispered, shivering with fright at
the thought of giving birth. "How can I stand it?"

It was almost a week before Rye returned, and it was

near dusk when the inner bailey echoed with the sounds
of the creaking portcullis gate and the muted rattle of
chains and jangling of harness. Chained prisoners were
 2 0 4 VIRGINIA LYNN
yanked to a halt in the bailey, and servants ran to light
torches as saddle-sore Norman soldiers dismounted.
Rye swung wearily from his destrier and gave the reins
into the keeping of Gowain, who waited for him.
"Good eve, seigneur," the young squire said, and
smiled when Rye gave him a questioning look. "I am
well, sire."
"So I see." Rye pulled off his helmet and handed it to
him. "And your temporary replacement? Is he back in
the kitchens?"
"I hope so, seigneur," Gowain muttered, then looked
down at the ground when Rye's brows lifted and his
mouth curled into an amused smile.
"You do not like him, I take it, Gowain?"
" 'Tis not that, sire, but-" He halted, gave a sheep-
ish grin, then finished, "But 'tis only that I don't want
you to get too accustomed to another squire yet."
Clapping a hand on the youth's shoulder, Rye assured
him, "You suit me well, Gowain. And I can find another
knight for young Myles to serve." Peeling off his heavy
gauntlets, he handed them to Gowain. "How is Sir
Beaumont?"
"Doing much better, sire. Your lady tended him
well."
"My lady?" Rye paused in unbuckling his armor. "Do
you mean the Lady Brenna?"
Shifting from one foot to the other, Gowain nodded.
"Aye, lord. She is an able surgeon, it seems."
"Is she." Rye shook his head. "And I thought she
would be furious that her brother is among those cap-
tured-tell me, Gowain-what other miracles have oc-
curred while I was away?"
"None that I know of, my lord."
The boy looked more puzzled than anything else as
Rye strode toward the keep with his armor unbuckled
and loose. Gowain followed swiftly after giving the great
destrier into the keeping of a groom, intent upon his
duties. By the time he caught up with Rye in the guard-
room, Beltair was confirming the squire's answers.
"Aye, seigneur, the Lady Brenna tended Sir Beau-
 LYON'S PRIZE 205
moot most well. Though still sore, there is no fever, and
the cut shows no sign of poison."
Rye looked bemused as he allowed Gowain to strip
him of his armor and weapons. "Take the sword to my
chamber, lad," he said absently when he was attired in a
fresh tunic and had washed his face and hands. "I will be
up later."
He went first to see Beaumont, who lay upon a fat
pallet stuffed with straw and covered with rich furs and
soft wool blankets. Rachel sat beside the stricken knight,
spooning a light broth into his mouth. When Beaumont
noticed Rye, he flushed and caught Rachel's hand.
"No more, sweeting," he murmured.
"You must." Rachel flashed Rye a quick glance but
did not move from her position beside Beaumont. "It
will give you strength, even your lord will say that."
Amused by Beaumont's embarrassment as much as
Rachel's unusual temerity, Rye nodded agreement.
"Aye, Raoul, the maid is right. A hearty meat broth will
make your blood strong. I will wait until you have eaten
all before we talk of outlaws and battles."
Still flushed, Beaumont silently allowed Rachel to fin-
ish spooning the dark beef broth into him while Rye
leaned against the stone wall and watched. Finally, when
the girl had given him the last bit and insisted that he
drink all his herbal draught, she gathered up the empty
dishes and left, promising to return.
"I have a feeling, Beaumont, that your nurse will run
me away with a straw broom if I linger too long and tire
you out," Rye jested, then laughed aloud at Beaumont's
chagrined expression. "I do not mind. Indeed, I am glad
that you have received such excellent care."
"I have that, my lord. What news?"
"The outlaws are either dead, captured, or fled. For
the most part, I think we have ended their days." Rye
sat down on the stool Rachel had vacated. "I'm afraid
that my wife's brothers are among those captured. Two
got away, but I have two of them below and know not
how to tell her.''
"She knows." Beaumont smiled at Rye's surprise.
 206 VIRGINIA LYNN
"She knows of one, anyway. Ridgely, late of Dunstan.
He met her in the bailey and berated her for having a
Norman husband. I fear that she will qu~on you on
certain matters of war when you see her again, so be
prepared."
"Matters of war?" Rye's surprise must have shown,
for Beaumont grimaced as he nodded.
"Aye, seigneur. The man spoke of the Saxon villages
that we burned in the past, and I think Lady Brenna
takes it amiss that you have done such . . ."
His words trailed into silence, and Rye nodded. "Who
knows what the lady will find at fault? She ever surprises
me. I cannot imagine that she thinks I have never slain
her countrymen, however, or done my duty. No one is
that blind to the fortunes of war."
"P'raps not, my lord. She did look rather distressed, I
think, sp I just wanted to warn you." Beaumont hesi-
tated as if about to add something, then pressed his lips
shut.
Rye sighed with resignation. "There is more, Raoul?"
"Nay, sire, not from me." Beaumont looked down at
his blanket-covered feet and refused to meet Rye's
steady gaze.
"Not from you," Rye repeated slowly when his
knight did not look up at him again. "I see. Well, I
suppose I must expect the worst from my fair wife, so I
might as well get it over with quickly." He grinned
when Raoul looked up at him. "The worst is best over
with the soonest, I think. I have been gone for six days
and would have this behind me if she is overset because
of her brothers. Even Lady Brenna is not foolish enough
to think I could let them go free."
"And the other?" Beaumont pressed. "You will tell
her how we were forced to burn Saxon villages that har-
bored the enemy? 'Twas years ago. Surely she will not
hold that against you now."
"With Lady Brenna all conjecture is useless. She ever
surprises me."
Rye rose, promising to visit Beaumont again soon,
then left him behind as he strode toward the curved
 LYON'S PRIZE 2 0 7
srcps leading to the second floor of the keep. He passed
Rachel as she returned to her knight and smiled to him-
self at the budding romance between them.

In her chamber Brenna waited for Rye. She knew he was

back, as Gowain had brought his sword. That had been a
~ hour before, and she fretted anew. If he had met
with Lady Madelon in the hall, that cruel dame would
certainly have found a way to tell him of the coming
child. Brenna prayed that he would seek her out first.
She lifted a length of soft material that Raissa had
given her to sew tiny shirts for her babe, and felt a wave
of resentment. She did not want this child. Nay, more
than that-she was afraid to have this child. The knowl-
edge that she was pregnant did not ease her fears, but
increased them until she wanted to scream her terror
aloud.
Nay, she'd not forgotten how her mother died, nor
had the horror of Hlynn's death faded with time. Both
women had soaked a bed with their blood, and one of
them little more than a child herself. Shuddering,
Brenna began to pace the floor of her room as she tried
to forget her mother's pale face, tried to block out the
still vivid echoes of her screams as the child tore her in
two . . . .
"Jesu!'' she whispered, putting her icy palms to her
hot, flushed cheeks. Was this the reward she received for
allowing that fierce Norman in her bed? She should have
fought him to the end, until he killed her for her defi-
ance. Surely that would be a kinder, swifter death than
the ones she'd seen.
Yet she'd not continued her fight. Nay, she had craved
bis touch, the sweet, hot magic he could make her feel
with his mouth, his hands, bis body. It was the devil's
doing, just as the priests had said. And now she would
suffer the penance for lying in Rye's arms and loving
him.
Shivering, Brenna stared into the growing shadows of
the chamber, lost in fear and dread anticipation. She did
 208 VIRGINIA LYNN
not hear the chamber door open witil Rye shut it, star-
tling her.
"Did I frighten you, chine?" he asked, crossing the
room toward her. "I thought nothing could frighten
you, especially not a Norman."
"Not usually," Brenna managed to answer steadily,
though her heart was racing madly and her pulses had
leapt at the sight of him. Damn the cur for being so
handsome and smiling so winsomely when she was try-
ing to remain calm. It was as if he knew her intentions
and sought to stay the words before she could say them.
She rose and faced him with a tilted chin and amber
eyes gleaming with determination.
"I have something to say to you, my lord," she began,
but he put up a hand to stop her.
"Wait, Brenna, until I have said what I must. Then I
will hear you." He stepped close, looking down at her
with a fading smile. For a moment it looked as if he
meant to take her into his arms, but instead he put his
hands behind his back and held her gaze with an intent
stare. "I know that you have words for me, cherie, but I
wish to say what is on my mind. Then, if you are still
reluctant, I will hear you."
"Very well," she said, wondering if he already knew.
Perhaps Lady Madelon had managed to tell him after all.
For a moment Rye hesitated, then said, "I know what
upsets you, but 'tis something you must bear. You were
aware when this all began what could come of it, so I
will hear no complaints now."
Brenna's eyes widened, and she felt a sudden lurch in
the pit of her stomach. He did know. And he sounded
so cold, so harsh. Did he not care for her feelings at all?
"Nay," he admonished when she opened her mouth
to speak, "do not protest yet. Hear me out. I know you
hate this situation, and I am sorry for it, yet I will hear
no rebuke nor suffer the sharp side of your tongue for it.
'Tis the way of life, and you must accept it. When one
errs, the retribution is ofttimes swift and irreversible.
This is what has happened now, and I expect you to
keep your own counsel. I will witness no tears nor hear
 LYON'S PRIZE 209
your pleas for mercy. The outcome has already been de-
cided."
Swallowing the thick lump in her throat, Brenna asked
when he paused, "May I ask what the outcome will be?"
Rye seemed to consider a moment. "Yea, I suppose
'tis only fair that you know first. Banishment is not too
great a price to pay for the brief rewards gained from the
play, and 'twas a just end that I suggested to all."
"To alt." Brenna stared at him blankly. "Do I take
this to mean-there are others you have . . . placed
... in this same position?"
His eyes narrowed for an instant, then he said with a
trace of impatience, "I was warned you might bring this
up. I will not be chastised for what has gone before,
Brenna. 'Twas before I knew you, and there are things
that a man does that a woman has no right to demand
explanation for. You cannot understand what-"
"Cannot understand!" Brenna's tightly held control
vanished like smoke in the wind. Fury raged in her, fury
and pain and outrage that he would treat her pregnancy
in such a light, as well as the fact that he so casually
dismissed other women he'd gotten in the same condi-
tion. He took a cautious step backward when she ad-
vanced, and Brenna did not realize her hands had
clenched into fists until she shook one in his face.
"You abominable, insufferable boor! How dare you
come in here and prate about your . . . your conquests!.
And to abuse innocents so easily-aye, I was right when
I first named you a common murderer! You are just that!
And worse! Why-"
"Brenna," Rye broke in grimly, "'tis best you watch
your unruly tongue before you find yourself locked in
this room until you've come to your senses. I've no
mind to listen to your foolish prattle about things long
past, or things that cannot be changed now."
"Oh, you've no mind to listen, have you? 'Tis a sorry
state then, my fine lord, because you'll have a long time
before you find peace here. Nay, p'raps never!"
Whirling away from him, Brenna snatched up a cloak
from the clothes pole and started for the door. Rye
 2 10 VIRG INIA LYNN
caught her as she swung it wide open, one broad hand
slammin g it shut with a resoundi ng thud that echoed
through the keep. His arm braced the door, and he
shoved his other p.alm against it when she twisted away,
pinning her between his hands.
"Wife, you try me sorely," he snarled, and grabbed
her arm when she turned with it uplifted as if to strike.
"I would not suggest you do anything so foolish, ei-
ther." He yanked her close, and the scar on his cheek
stood out in a livid streak against the taut skin stretched
over the bone. "This is none of your affair, and I - "
"None of my affair!" She jerked free. "You prating
baboon, whose affair would it be if not mine? Do you
deny the blood kinship that will tie the bond? You can-
not. Nay, though I once raged against it, and denied it
even to my own self, I find that now the deed is done, I
can no longer deny that blood bond. That you can so
easily dismiss such an importan t tie is only indicative of
your shallow nature, and the fact that I misjudged you
completely. I though t-" She paused and took a deep
breath. "I thought p'raps there was honor in you after
all. I am deeply disappointed to find there is none."
"Are you?" His eyes flashed dangerously. "'Tis a re-
gret I share, madam, though not for the same cause. I
thought you capable of understa nding the nature of war,
and would know that I would never willingly cause you
or yours hurt. Yet neither will I ignore my duty."
"War?"
"Aye, you are not such a fool that you think I would
allow my enemies free to harm me again? Nay, I would
not do such a foolish thing. Unfortun ately, it seems that
your Saxon serfs are not of the same mind. Therefor e,
banishm ent seems more than a merciful end for outlaws
who--"
"Rye-w hat are you talking about?" Brenna's hands
twisted into the folds of his tunic, and she stood up on
her toes to repeat softly, "What are you talking about?"
Almost shouting now, Rye bellowed, "Your outlaw
brothers! What the devil did you think, madam? And I
do not intend to-why do you look at me like that?" His
 LYON 'S PRIZE 2 11
furious question only added to Brenna's irritation. He
scowled when she snapped an oath at him, and his
mouth tightened. "Pray, enlighten me as to the cause
for your anger, then, if not for your brothers?"
"I thought you knew. I mean, 'twas certain from what
you said that you had heard-" She stumbled to a halt
and pressed her hands tightly together. "Do not glare at
me thWilY, or I shall never be able to say it. St. Jerome,
Rye, give a care! You are hurting my arm."
He released her arm. "Say it and be quick, or I may
yet shake it out of you," Rye warned between clenched
teeth. . . _
Brenna sucked m a deep breath and steeled herself for
his reaction. "I was talking about our babe, not my out-
law brothers ."
For a long moment Rye didn't say anything. Brenna
stood in frozen silence, watching him warily. Nothing
showed on his face, no reaction at all. He looked down
at her with an opaque gaze that revealed nothing. Even
his voice was flat and calm.
"Our babe?" he repeated slowly. "You are with
child?"
Brenna faced him unflinchingly; her tone was as bitter
as she felt. "Aye, lord, so it seems. I'm certain you have
proved your manhood now and will be pleased."
For a long moment he stared at her. "Aye," he said
finally, "I am pleased at the news. A child is welcome to
me."
"Is it?" she mocked. "How wonderful. Now every-
one but the one who must suffer and bear the brat is
delighted. The entire castle can rejoice at the news."
Rye stiffened. "It is a time of rejoicing, Brenna. Most
women give thanks when they find that they are not
barren."
"P'raps you haven't noticed, but I am not like most
women." Tilting back her head to meet his narrowed
gaze, she held back the wild hurt that she wanted to
fling at him, the terror she felt at the very thought of
bearing a child. He would not understand. Worse, he
would not care. If she died in childbirth, he would
 2 12 VIRG INIA LYNN
marry again. A man must have heirs. 'Twas the way of
life, and she had been a fool ever to think he might care
if she was frightened. He did not. He thought only of a
child.
"Aye," he said bitterly, "I have noticed that you are
not like most women. To my sorrow." He caught her
when she spun around to leave. "Nay, sweeting. I would
hear your intention s."
"I don't know what you mean."
"Don't you? What of the child? Do you mean to bear
it safely?" His voice grew harsh. "I would hear what you
intend."
"Would you? How novel that you wish to hear how I
feel for a change." Brenna gave a careless shrug that
infuriated him; she could see the anger flare in his eyes
and recklessly pushed him further. "Nay, lord, I owe
you no answers. Ifl decide to bear this Norman brat, 'tis
my business. After all, you have no say over my body
now, not in this way."
His grip tightened on her arms. "Brenna , I will not
allow you to do harm to yourself because of this. Do not
think it for a moment."
"Do you intend to stay with me every hour then, my
lord?" she shot back, jerking free of his grasp. "I cannot
think how else you would stop me from doing anything
I wanted to do!"
Two fine white Ii.lies bracketed his mouth, and his face
was paler than usual. Brenna felt a spurt of fear at the
fierce look he gave her and took a backward step.
"Damn you, Brenna. I will not allow you to harm
yourself or my child."
" And how do you think you can stop me?" she
flashed. Fear made her reckless, fear and the driving de-
sire to hurt him as he had her. "Do you think to
threaten me with a beating, as my father often did? What
manner of punishm ent will you contrive, my lord? Come
-let me hear your threats!"
"'Tis no threats I make, but promises ," Rye said
coldly. "Since you make no secret of your reluctance to
 LYON'S PRIZE 2 13
bear my child, I will make no secret of my intent that
you shall do so."
"You cannot stop me from doing whatever I wish to
do, my arrogant Norman husband. Do not think it."
His hands flashed out again to grip her by the shouJ-
ders, and he promised softly, "Yea, wife. I not only can
- I will."
"And that is all you think about?" Her throat ached.
Did he not think of her and how she felt? Her pain? Her
fear? Did he not care if she died giving birth to his heir,
or did he care only for a child he'd never seen?
He made an impatient motion with his hand. "I don't
know what you mean."
"Aye, 'tis plain enough." Brenna stiffened, summon-
ing rage to replace the pain his indifference caused.
Rye's eyes narrowed slightly, and he stood looking at
her with a trace of wariness. "You speak in riddles,
madam. I shall be plainer. You will not leave Moorleah
without a companion of my choosing. I will not chance
the safety of my unborn child with a woman who has
stated her distaste for motherhood."
Brenna shrugged. "As you will, my lord." She turned
away before he couJd see the naked, raw pain in her eyes
and wished that God had been kinder in the manner
children were brought into the world.
 CH AP TE R 1 4

"WHO 1s MY JAILER today, Raissa?" Brenna mocked .

"You?"
Raissa stirred uneasily. "Do not be too hard on my
brother, my lady. He worries about you."
"So I see. He worries so much I cannot visit the
garderobe without someone tagging along. It's become
embarrassing, and I assure you that poor Gowain was
near apoplexy at the mere notion of being so near my
lady's privacy."
Brenna' s voice was harsh, and her eyes flashed angrily
as she faced Raissa. Rye's sister shrugged helplessly.
"If you would but tell Rye you mean the child no
harm, p'raps he would -"
"And how do you know I mean the child no harm?"
Brenna gave an angry laugh. "Mayhap I do. Am I not
the evil witch he thinks me? Could it be that Rye de
Lyon is wrong? Nay, do not suggest it to him. Your head
will roll for it."
"You wrong him. He is not as harsh as he seems. Ifhe
appears to be cold at times, 'tis because he has never
known tenderness."
"And he is the only one who has suffered? I suppose
he thinks his suffering is all that matters."
2 14
 LYON'S PRIZE 2 15
"That's not true."
Raissa's quiet voice penetrated some of Brenna's an-
ger. Brenna turned to look at the young woman.
"My lady, do but think about what little I have told
you. Rye never knew a mother's tender love. At least
you had ten years to hold dear. He had nothing but a
father's careless hand, and a foster mother's hatred. My
father had his good qualities, but he never really under-
stood what he'd done to his son by loving him more
than his legal heir. My mother made Rye suffer in any
way possible for it, yet he has never turned her out when
he could do so."
Brenna turned to look out the slit window for a mo-
ment. "I know you think me hard, Raissa, and I'm sorry
for it. But I cannot undo what was done to him. I can-
not undo what was done to me."
"I know that. So does Rye. Has he asked for your
tenderness? I don't think so. He asks only that you care
for his heir as he wishes he'd been cared for. His mother
cast him away. He does not want you to do that to his
child."
Near tears, Brenna couldn't reply. She wished she
could find it in her to hate Rye, but she couldn't. Nor
could she hate the child growing i.n her, the innocent life
that terrified her as much as it intrigued her.
When Raissa sighed and moved to the door, Brenna
turned. "I will not hurt the child," she said softly. "But
neither will I make promises I may not keep. He will
have to content himself with that."
She turned back around to gaze out the window and
heard the door close softly. Lost in thought, she did not
hear it reopen until Rachel's worried voice came from
just behind her.
"Milady?"
Startled, Brenna turned. "I'm sorry. I did not hear
you enter, Rachel."
"So I guessed." Rachel spoke softly. "It's been a week
since you and the seigneur argued, milady. Don't you
think it's time to end this play? He will not give the
 2 16 VIRGIN IA LYNN
word to release you from being guarded unless you seek
him out to make amends."
"Make amends?" Brenna's brow lifted. "There can be
no amends in this, Rachel. He has set a guard upon me
at every hour, and I find that hard to forgive. There is
nothing to be said between us."
"But, milady, he has been so worried-"
"Faith! Must I listen to even you plead his cause?"
Brenna glared at her. "Have you taken his side in this,
too?"
"Nay, don't think it, milady! 'TIS just that I hate see-
ing you so miserable, when you could be free if you
would only say the word he wishes to hear."
"Give my oath not to disobey him, you mean,"
Brenna mocked. "Aye, he would enjoy that, I vow. Well,
I will not do it."
"You would stay inside until the babe is born?"
"If he decrees it. 'Twas his decision, not mine."
Rachel threw up her hands in despair. "I will not
mention it again."
"Thank you."
"But it's only fair to tell you that your husband paces
the floor and snarls at any who dare approach him. I
think he would like to release you but does not know
how without being made to look weak."
"Do you? Interesting. Unlikely, but interesting."
Brenna's hands clenched in her lap. Rye's order that she
be confined had hurt more than her pride, but she was
loathe to admit it to anyone, even gentle Rachel.
"I don't think it unlikely. I think it's true, milady."
Brenna looked up at Rachel's troubled expression. "I
know you do," she said gently. ''You're a good friend,
and I am glad you're here with me, though I think it
unfair. You should take the freedom I offered you."
"I could not enjoy it, knowing you were watched like
a bird in a cage, milady." Rachel smiled when Brenna
reached out to touch her lightly on the cheek. "Besides,
who would serve you as well as I?"
"No one, that is true. Can you see old Gwyneth
climbing these stairs three times a day?" Brenna man-
 LYON'S PRIZE 2 1 7
aged a laugh at the jest, for Gwyneth weighed more than
most men and was as cranky as an old boar. In the past
months she had come to depend on Rachel much more
than she'd ever considered she would, and now that Rye
bad locked her away, that dependence had grown
deeper. The bond of affection forged between the two
women had grown strong as well.
"Lady Raissa and Lord Lyon quarreled most bitterly
about your being watched," Rachel commented after a
few moments had passed.
"I'm certain Lady Madelon enjoyed that," Brenna re-
.marked dryly.
"Aye, she did. Lady Raissa chastised her for being so
glad about your situation. Then they quarreled, too, and
even young Gilles was heard to complain that his uncle
had grown cruel of late."
Brenna shook her head. "It sounds as if my husband
has his hands full even without my being there. I wonder
if he wishes I were free?"

"Ifl hear one more remark about my wife," Rye warned

Beaumont, "I will set the guilty man to cleaning out the
garderobes and make certain his next joust is waged with
a gomph stick." He stared across the bailey, watching as
rain pounded the dirt into mud. It was the inactivity the
rains had forced upon him that made his temper so taut,
he told himself, and he leaned against the stable wall.
Raoul simply looked at Rye without commenting. His
steady gaze finally penetrated to his lord, and Rye
turned to stare back at him with narrowed eyes.
"I take it that you disapprove as well, Beaumont."
"Have I not indicated so, my lord?"
"Nay, not in words, but your every action screams of
your disapproval." Rye kicked viciously at a pile of hay
and watched as it lifted on the wind. "So what is your
suggestion? I'm certain you have one. Every man in the
keep seems to have one, though none dare say it to my
face."
"Leave her be.;,
 2 1 8 VIRG INIA LYNN
"Leave her be." Rye glared at him. "Aye, and allow
her to harm herself or my child? Nay, Raoul, that is not a
good suggestion at all."
"She would not harm the child. I do not believe it.
No woman would harm her own child."
Rye fixed him with a broodin g stare. "You think not?
Do you recall those barbarian women who threw their
children off high walls rather than risk invaders' mercies?
I do. I can still hear those screams . .. nay, Raoul,
though I do not think Lady Brenna as afraid as that, I do
not trust her not to attempt some foolish act that will do
them both harm. She has told me she fears what lies
ahead, and I do not know how to ease those fears. I've
done all I know to do."
"She feared the weddin g night as well,'' Raoul
pointed out, ''yet nothing came of it."
A faint smile curved Rye's mouth, easing the sulky
line into grim amusement. "Nothi ng but a fierce battle.
She lost it, aye, but I dare not risk her waging war
against me like that again."
"I think you underestimate your lady." Raoul finished
deaning the leather harness he held and laid it aside,
wincing slightly as he rose from the bench where he sat.
It was obvious the wound still pained him, but he was
able to complete light tasks with no problem .
Rye watched him for a momen t. "I will think on it,"
he said finally. "P'raps you are right."
Surprised, Beaumo nt only nodded speechlessly, and
when Rye strode out into the rain and crossed to the
keep, he smiled.
Rye cursed the rain, his wife, and himself. He took the
steps to the keep two at a time and was thoroug hly
soaked by the time he reached the heavy door. When he
stepped into the smoky, dim-lig hted guardro om, he
found Myles waiting.
"I would have a word with you, my lord," the youth
said as Rye shrugge d out of his mantle.
"Speak. I have a notion you will whethe r I give you
permission or not."
"Aye, 'tis true." Myles drew in a deep breath and
 LYON'S PRIZE 2 19
cook the drenched mantle Rye handed him. "I do not
think Brenna should remain confined."
"No? You are not alone in that theory. I've yet to be
shown a good reason for her release, however." An-
noyed by the opinions and interference of most of the
keep, Rye's voice was cold and harsh. Dammit, must he
be set upon by each and every inhabitant? The next
thing he knew, even his destrier would voice disapproval.
Worst of all was the nagging voice inside him that whis-
pered they were right.
"Brenna may be a bit fiery-tempered," Myles was say-
ing, "but she is not vicious. She would never harm her-
self or an innocent life."
"You did not hear her threats, Master Myles. I did."
The cold finality of Rye's tone penetrated to the youth
at last, and his temper flared. "Devil take you, seigneur,
have you never said things in anger? Have you never
been angry enough to say things you don't mean?"
"Yea, I've been that angry," Rye growled softly, "but
I am rarely foolish enough to promise things I've no
intent of doing."
"You might take into consideration that my sister is
more volatile of temper and frequently makes threats she
does not mean."
Fixing the youth with a cold stare, Rye said, "Do you
want me to take the chance that she means it? If I do,
and she meant her hasty words, think on the conse-
quences."
"I do not think she would do herself or the child any
harm, my lord. No matter her words."
Looking past him, Rye said bitterly, "I wonder if I
dare risk it. When it would be too late, would I regret
my leniency, do you think?"
For a moment Myles gave no answer; then he said
softly, "I see your dilemma, seigneur. And I cannot say
what is best."
"Aye, and neither can I."
Rye strode from the guardroom and crossed the hall,
bound for the stairs that led to the small east tower.
When Lady Madelon barred his way, he was tempted to
 220 VIR GIN IA LYN N
push her aside and continue, but years of habit bade him
pause to hear her out with the courtesy drilled into him
as a child.
"Yea, my lady? What do you wish of me?"
"Lord Lyon ," she said briskly, "a word with you, if
you please."
"Aye, and why not?" Rye muttered, allowing her to
draw him to a covered alcove where none could over-
hear. He was impatient at the delay and shifted from one
foot to the other as Lady Madelon turned to face him.
" 'Tis about your wife. . . ."
"Nay , madam, I've heard enoug h from others about
my wife, if you please," he interrupted. "I'm weary of
more discussion about her release."
"Release!" Lady Madelon laughed shortly. "Nay,
Rye, 'tis not her release I seek. You are wise to keep her
under guard. I simply wish to commend you. She has
been a fomenter of trouble since you broug ht her here,
setting the servants against one another, yea-e ven
against us. Have you not noticed how they are different
since she came?"
Rye frowned. "I was not here much before she came,
so I cannot say, madam."
"Nay , p'raps not here at Moorleah, but in Normandy
you were accustomed to the obedience of servants. Here
the lowliest squire is wont to argue a comm and." Made
lon gave a light shrug. "Would your former servants-
have dared to voice disagreement with you? Nay, but
these do."
" 'Tis not completely unexpected that they would not
be happy with their lady's situation," Rye pointed out.
"This was her mother's keep at one time, and they are all
Saxons."
"Her mothe r wasn 't."
Rye could n't argue that. Brenna had made no secret
of the fact that she resented her mother's keep being
given as a bride-gift by William. Would she go so far as
to sow seeds of rebellion in the servants?
Lady Madelon was quick to press the advantage she
must have seen in Rye's scowling expression.
 LYON 'S PRIZE 2 2 1
"I've heard whispers, my lord. 'Tis said that there are
those who would follow your lady rather than you
should she raise her hand against you."
"And you do not think my men-at-arms capable of
defending themselves against simple serfs armed with a
feW pitchforks?" Rye asked coldly. "Not even my Saxon
wife would be so foolish."
"Nay, not foolish enough to set servant against sol-
dier perhaps, but would she be clever enough to call in
some of the rebel barons and have the servants open the
gates to them? Think of that."
"Have you heard of such?" Rye stared at her in the
dim light of a wall torch. He knew well his stepmothe r's
habit of malicious manipulation, but what she suggested
now was treason. Would she be wicked enough to invent
such a tale without reason? "If you have, my lady," he
said slowly, "I would know your sources."
"Father Gutierrez."
Rye gave a start. "Moorlea h's priest?"
"Aye. He hears much in the confessional but is not at
liberty to reveal his sources, of course. However, he has
grown concerned enough to confide that trouble may
brew if you do not exercise caution."
Rye clenched his fist, feeling suddenly as if he had
been struck in the pit of his stomach. It was possible that
Brenna may try such a thing, but he had not really
thought she would go that far. Not even as vengeance
against the Normans. Not even as vengeance against
him.. ..
"I will take precaution s," he said at last, and lifted a
brow when Lady Madelon made a sharp exclamation.
"If you do not take action at once, all may be lost!"
she added when she perceived Rye's attention. "Has she
got you so fooled already? She has had much time to set
her plan in action, and you should not delay a mo-
ment. . . ."
"Do you think even the Lady Brenna a magician, that
she could foment rebellion under the eye of my guards,
Lady Madelon?"
Bowing her head, Lady Madelon murmured , "As you
 222 VIRGINIA LYNN
will, my lord. But be careful she does not lead you by the
nose.»
Wheeling, Rye stalked from the alcove and . to the
tower stairs, his steps brisk and angry. He did not see the
faint smile hovering maliciously on his stepmother>s lips,
but it would have made little difference if he had. His
own doubts raged anew.
When he slammed open the door to Brenna>s cham-
ber, Rye saw her head jerk up in a startled reflex, then
her gold eyes widen. For an instant a smile hovered on
her lips, but as she gazed at him, that smile faded and
was replaced by a watchful expression.
"Greetings, Lord Rye." She set aside her needlework
and stood in a slow, graceful motion. "You seem over-
set.»
His frown deepened. This calm was unexpected.
Where was the raging virago he'd come to expect?
"Aye," he said shortly, "I find that your supporters
lurk around every comer and behind every door. ,Tis
enough to make the most peaceful man short-tem-
pered_ ,,
"Oh? Then, as you are far from a peaceful man, you
must be fit to burst by now." Brenna's smile flirted with
the comers of her mouth, and his gaze lingered on her
lips for a long moment. When he heard a polite cough,
he looked up to see Rachel standing nervously by the far
wall; he jerked his head to dismiss her.
"What game do you play, wench?" he growled when
Rachel slipped silently from the chamber. With an effort
he kept his thoughts from returning to memories of
Brenna's mouth on his, of her soft, satiny skin beneath
his hands. "Do you seek to sow dissension in my house-
hold?"
"How would I succeed in such when I am watched so
closely, my lord? Do you ascribe magical qualities to me,
mayhap?"
Her words so closely echoed his own, that Rye felt
suddenly foolish. He'd allowed Lady Madelon to raise
doubts where there should be none, though he reserved
any final judgment until Brenna>s loyalty could be
 LYON'S PRIZE 2 2 3
proved. And it was certain that Brenna did not look
~ty of more than boredom.
smiling, he said, "Nay, no magic, little one." His eyes
fastened on her hungrily when she moved toward the
window, away from him, yet he felt her presence as pow-
erfullY as if she were nestled under his arm. Rye put his
hands behind his back to keep from going to her and .
taking her in his arms, when to do so might brand him
weak. So he contented himself with merely gazing at her
from across the small chamber.
"Why are you here?" Brenna murmured after several
silent moments had passed. She waved a hand to indicate
the four solid walls and mounds of needlework. "As you
can see, I have little to occupy my time-plotting of
rebellion aside, of course."
"I came to release you from your guard, if you would
but offer a simple oath," Rye said when she had turned
to face him. He saw her eyes widen, the long, thick
lashes shading the golden depths beneath.
"Release me, my lord? Against all advice, I am certain.
Why do you offer my release? Do you think I have
mended my murderous ways?"
"I never thought you contemplated murder. I only
wanted to keep you from doing something foolish that
might result in your own harm, or that of our child."
"Our child. Our child. 'Tis comforting to know that
you include me. For a time now I have considered that I
was only a mistaken vessel for your child. 'Tis all I heard
of, it seems."
Flushing slightly, Rye met her clear gaze. "You must
admit that you threatened-"
"I threatened to do whatever I wished," she cut in.
"You supplied the rest of the threat yourself."
"You've frequently said you have no wish to bear my
child."
"Aye," she agreed thoughtfully, and moved to stand
behind a chair. lier fingers curled into the grained wood
of the back, toying absently with the intricate scrollwork.
"I did say that many times. And I meant it when I said
 2 2 4 VIRG INIA LYNN
it. I'm finding it difficult to recall exactly when I said I
would murder your babe, howeve r."
Rye made an impatient gesture. "I never said you
would go so far as to murder the child. But as you do
not want the babe, I meant to safeguard your life and
that of my heir. 'Tis a normal reaction, I think."
Brenna looked up at him, and he kept his expression
set into stem lines. "Not want iU" she repeated slowly,
her eyes widening to huge amber pools that soaked up
the light from window and lamp. Long lashes lowered to
shutter her eyes for a momen t, then she blinked. " 'Tis
difficult to tell you how I feel, my lord, when I have not
sorted out the tangle myself."
"Not so difficult, I would think, when faced with the
alternative I offer you," he said shortly. He tried to sec
beneath the mysterious shadows in her eyes to her
thought s.
"Alternative?"
"Aye," he said roughly, wonder ing at the pain he felt
like a raw wound in his chest. Was it so hard for her to
bear his child? Did she hate him that much? He'd not
been able to conceive of such dislike, even in this fiery
Saxon wench who defied him at every turn.
"I do not want my child ignored like an unwanted
mongre l," Rye said after a long, tense silence, "and if
you think to cast him aside, I would know it now."
Brenna didn't answer. Her face paled, and her eyes
looked like burning amber pools. Rye waited, and when
she didn't reply, he gave her a slight shake.
"Well?" he demanded. "Do you think to mother the
babe or shun it?"
Jerking away, Brenna's mouth curled with rage. "I
will care for any child I birth, my lord, never fear. What
must you think of me, that you would ask?"
Rye raked a hand through his hair. "'Tis a custom
among noblewomen to hand the child to another to give
suck, and ofttimes that child is left to its own devices. I
merely mean to learn your intentio ns."
"Norma n noblewomen must be rare mothers, indeed,
that you think I would be so cold!"
 LYON'S PRIZE 225
Rye's mouth twisted in a sardonic smile. "I've had
some experience with Norman mothers, chme, but have
yet to see how Saxon women treat their young. You
must forgive me for relying on what I have seen rather
than guessed."
"And you think me like Lady Madelon?" Brenna de-
manded angrily.
"Nay, but p'raps you might be as careless with your
child as my birth mother was with hers," Rye snarled in
a bitter tone, unable to stop himself. He saw Brenna's
surprise and held tightly to his·self-control. Curse it, he
had not meant to give so much of himself away, the pain
and rage he'd felt at being abandoned by a careless
mother.
"I assumed your mother died," Brenna said after a
moment.
"She did-when I was fourteen. Old enough, I assure
you, to feel the pangs of abandonment. If not for my
father . . . but none of this is what is important now. I
ask you-what are your intentions?"
"My lord," she said softly, "I will not see my babe go
to another. I will nurture any issue of my body, whether
I want the babe or not."
"Are you certain?" Rye released her arms, and looked
down at her for the space of several heartbeats. "And if
you find that you do not care for motherhood?"
"Regardless, I will keep my child with me. Do you
still dwell on words spoken in haste, anger, or fear? Do
not." She smiled slightly. "I am ever speaking too hast-
ily, I think."
Rye's expression softened. "I did not come up here to
dispute what has been said or not said. I came to release
you, if you would but promise that you will not try to do
anything foolish enough to cause harm."
Wmding a silken curl around her finger, Brenna gave
it her full attention until Rye made an impatient sound.
She looked up at him coolly.
"And if I don't promise?"
"Then I suppose I would leave you to your own com-
pany-and that of your guard."
 226 VIRG INIA LYNN
"I see." Brenna shrugged. "Very well, my lord. I
agree."
He eyed her suspiciously. "You agree to what?"
"To promise that I will not attempt harm to myself or
the child. Does that not satisfy you?"
"Aye, it would if I believed it."
An amused smile curved her generous mouth. "You
insist upon hearing it, then do not believe it. You arc a
puzzle, Rye de Lyon."
"Swear that you mean your words, madam, and I will
accept your oath."
She met his gaze steadily. "I swear on my mother' s
grave that I will not attempt to harm myself or my
child."
Rye felt slightly ashamed but nodded grimly. " 'Tis
done. You are free to go where you wish without es-
cort." He cleared his throat, then said, " William comes
tomorrow. I would have you in the hall to greet him."
Brenna stiffened, and the look she flashed him was
furious. "William? Herc, at Moorleah? What an honor
for you, my lord."
"Not as much an honor," Rye said ruefully, "as ex-
pense. He brings a great many people with him. Fortu-
nately, most will be quartered in the village. We are
expected to entertain only his immediate household."
"Which is why you arc so anxious to release me from
my self-imposed exile, I presum e."
"Not at all. Beaumont is an able steward, I've discov-
ered, and has made most of the arrangements."
"I will attend you, my lord, but do not expect mira-
cles. I'm not overly fond of your king."
"So I understand." A faint smile pressed at the cor-
ners of his mouth. "Tomor row should prove a most in-
teresting day."

" 'Tis good to see you looking so well, Lady Brenna,"

Raissa said with a fond smile.
Brenna nodded and managed a smile in return. She
was nervous . Meeting the king after all these years-t he
 LYON 'S PRIZE 227
man who had ruled her life for so long-ha d her poised
between outright defiance and stark terror. She wished
she had the courage to throw his meddling into his
teeth, but on the other hand, knew that it would only
complicate her life even more. There was nothing she
could do about his interference. He was, after all, the
king.
"ls the king here yet?" she asked softly. Raissa shook
her head.
"Nay, but Rye has gone out to meet him. He will be
here anon, and we must be ready." She took Brenna's
hand and flashed her a look of surprise. "You arc so
cold. Arc you afraid?"
Brenna surprised herself with her truthfulness. "Aye.
William frightens me with his power to do me more ill."
"More ill?"
With an impatient shake of her head, Brenna said, "It
does not matter now. My own chamber has been pre-
pared for the king's comfort this eve, with fresh linens
on the bed. He will sleep in my own bed. 'Tis a strange
feeling- " She halted abruptly as Raissa watched her and
asked calmly, "Has all else been done?"
"Yea, and well. Young Beaumon t has outdone himself
in his efforts to please William. He probably wishes to
press his suit with the king and thus seeks his favor."
"Press his suit with Rachel, I presume ," Brenna be-
gan, but before she could continue, there was the clamor
of raised voices and the unmistakable sound of armed
men in the guardroo m.
"They arrive," Raissa said with a gasp, and moved to
the dais where Lady Madelon already waited in regal
splendor.
Brenna's gaze shifted to that noble dame, and some-
thing inside her rebelled. She would not sit and wait for
William like some fawning lackey. Nay, not Brenna of
Marwald, whose life had been manipul at~ by that stem
Norman with no thought of her feelings whatsoeVer.
Brenna turned and fled to an alcove nearby and
slipped behind the heavy curtains. Her heart was pound-
ing fiercely, and she felt a spurt of foolishness that she
 228 VIRG INIA LYNN
would hide like a child to watch as William arrived. The
group of men were richly garbed, and the light from fire
and torches glinted from gold-enc rusted cloaks and tu-
nics as they began to fill the hall. Brenna saw Rye at
once, laughing as he listened to the banter around him.
Her breath caught. He looked so resplend ent in his
scarlet tunic and long cloak. Knee-hig h boots of fine
leather covered his calves, and he wore a sword at his left
side that had a jeweled hilt. For some reason, seeing him
garbed so richly made her uncertain of him. It was as if
he belonged in this elegant crowd, and she did not. He
laughed and moved easily, and jested with the king.
It was easy to tell which one of the men was William.
The tallest of all of them, his broad shoulder s and stately
aura was easily recognizable. Brenna pressed against the
cold stone around her and stared at him, filled with re-
sentmen t and awe. He looked like a king. Sharp-fea tured,
with an aquiline nose and short-cro pped hair, William
moved with easy grace to the raised dais.
Lady Madelon and Raissa dipped in a deep curtsy, not
rising until the king bade them do so, their obeisance
graceful and lovely. Brenna knew she could not have
managed it and was glad she had hidden at the last mo-
ment. To curtsy to the king would be hard enough, but
to pretend a respect she did not feel would have been
impossible. She would have revealed her anger and hate
for him, and Rye would have been furious. Yea, 'twas
much better that she remained hidden.
Brenna waited for the right moment to leave her hid-
ing place and flee, but it never seemed to come. Too
many people milled about in the hall, making a stealthy
exit impossible.
"My lady?" a deep voice said softly. Brenna swallowed
a gasp of dismay as she turned.
"Oh, 'tis you, Ballard." She felt a wave of relief. "I am
so glad. I thought 'twas someone else."
"And who would be looking for you behind heavy
curtains when the king is present? " Ballard teased, but
there was a puzzled light in his eyes as he observed her.
Brenna flushed . "I do not want to see him."
 LYON ' S PRIZE 2 2 9
"The king?" Ballard guessed. "Aye, I can understand
your not wanting to meet him. 'Twould be hard for
you."
She pleated the folds of velvet gunna between her fin-
gers as her glan<:e shifted to where William sat in the
high-backed chair Rye usually used. She didn't see her
husband and wondered if he had left the hall. If he had,
she didn't know where to go.
"Ballard, where is Lord Lyon?"
The minstrel shrugged. "I do not know, my lady.
P'raps he has gone on some errand for the king."
"And left him alone?"
Ballard laughed. "He is hardly alone, fair lady. There
are enough eager nobles surrounding him to fill the
royal palace. I daresay our William does not miss his
host."
"Nay, but I do. I do not want to chance an encounter
with Rye until . . . until later."
Ballard's shrewd eyes regarded her for a moment, and
he seemed to consider. "Would you like to leave the hall
unnoticed?"
She nodded. "Yea, I would like that above all things
right now. I don't feel ready to meet William. I'm afraid
I could not guard my hasty tongue, and my husband
would not be pleased."
"And that disturbs you." Ballard reached up to graze
her cheek with his finger, startling Brenna. "My lovely.
lady, I do not know of any man who could be cruel to
you."
"P'raps you do not recall my father that well," Brenna
said tartly, and moved away. Ballard's hand fell to his
side, and his mouth twisted in a wry smile.
"Aye, 'tis an unpleasant memory. There were many
times I had to leave the hall to keep from offering a
challenge on your behalf."
Brenna frowned. "What do you mean?"
"It pained me greatly to see your father use you so
roughly, my lady. The only reason I remained so long at
Marwald was to do what little I could to distract him
from his abuse."
 23 0 VIRGINIA LYNN
"You did that for me?" Brenna's eyes widened. "I
never knew."
"Nay, 'tis not something a common minstrel would
confess to the lady he loves from afar."
Brenna shifted uneasily. "Such conversation between
us is unseemly."
"I understand." Ballard took a step away from her,
and his smile was sad. " 'Tis enough for me to do what
little I can to give you aid, my lady. May I escort you to
the chapel, p'raps? It would be quiet and peaceful there,
and you could remain as long as you wished."
"Of course. The chapel-why did I not think of it?"
Brenna murmured. She darted Ballard a curious glance.
He'd never revealed by word or glance that he cared for
her in any but the most platonic way, and to discover
that he carried a secret affection for her was disturbing.
She knew that some great ladies enjoyed a light dalliance
with minstrels and knights, but she'd always viewed
them with scorn. Now, to have a handsome minstrel
declare his love for her was faintly flattering. Not that
she would act upon it.
"Here," Ballard was saying as he slipped out of his
long cloak and held it out. ''Wear this to disguise your-
self. It has a hood. No one should notice you in the
confusion."
Brenna allowed him to drape it around her, glad he
stood between her and the hall. Ballard's large frame
blocked her view of the crowd and kept them from rec-
ognizing her. The heavy wool covered her from head to
foot, and she clutched it tightly as she allowed Ballard to
escort her from the curtained alcove. No one even
glanced at them as they made their way through the
crowd.
"This way, my lady," Ballard said softly, and put an
arm around her waist to steer her toward another alcove.
He reached around her to open the door, and it creaked
loudly as he swung it back.
Brenna felt a blast of damp air sweep over her, smell-
ing of rain. Ballard was close behind her, so close she
 LYON'S PRIZE 2 3 1
heard his quick exclamation brush past her ear. She
turned, startled.
Then her breath left her in a rush as she saw Lyon spin
Ballard around, his face contorted with rage.
"What is this?" he snarled at the minstrel. "Do I find
you sneaking out with my wife, by God?"
"Nay, my lord," Ballard said quickly, making no
move to the sword at his side. It was obvious to even the
most unobservant that Rye held tightly to his temper,
and any sudden move might be wrong. "Not sneaking. I
was merely escorting your lady wife to the chapel."
"To the chapel?" Rye's incredulous gaze snapped to
Brenna; where she stood immobilized in the open door-
way, the wool cloak flapping loudly around her ankles.
"Do you feel you must go to pray in disguise, madam?
Do you think God would not know you?"
"Don't be a fool, Rye," Brenna said sharply, seeing
that unless she did something to distract him, Rye was
likely to set upon poor Ballard. Characteristically she
chose inflammatory words to distract him from his real
purpose. "I simply decided that I did not desire to meet
your king, 'tis all. An hour spent in the chapel praying
for his soul should suffice."
"God's eyes, Brenna, but you 're treading where you
should not," Rye grated softly. His gaze flicked to Bal-
lard, who still stood with a wooden expression, his
stance poised as if for flight. "Go, minstrel. And do not
come near my wife again, or I shall see you hanged for
it.,,
As Ballard bowed and backed away, Brenna glared at
Rye. "Do you wish to frighten away every friend I have,
my lord? Is that your intention? I wonder if you realize
how very foolish you sound when you make those
threats."
Rye reached out to draw her to him, his hand hard on
her wrist. He pulled the outer door shut, then tugged
back the hood to Ballard's cloak until Brenna's hair
shone in the torchlight. The coronet of flowers she wore
slipped slightly, and she adjusted it, faintly regretful that
 232 VIRG INIA LYNN
the lovely blossoms had been crushed by the weight of
the hood.
"I do not make threats," he said finally, and she heard
the barely repressed rage in his voice as he struggled to
remain calm. "I make promises, betimes, but I do not
make threats. That is for beardless boys and foolish
women to do."
"Counti ng me among the latter, I suppose?" Brenna
swallowed her next comment at the quick, hard look he
gave her.
"Come, wife," Rye said evenly. "The king wishes to
meet you."
"I do not wish to meet him."
"That is not a choice you were given. You will meet
William, and you will behave as you should, or before
God I will see that you are sorry you did not."
Brenna's chin lifted, and she made no answer as Rye
pulled her with him back into the hall. To the most
casual observer it would seem, perhaps, that he was
merely escorting his wife to meet the king. Only those
who knew them well would realize that Rye was furious
with Brenna.
Brenna intercepted a worried glance from Rachel and
was aware of Beaumont's concerned approach.
"My lord," he said softly when he reached Rye, "the
king has asked for you."
"And so he will have me." Rye smiled grimly. "I
merely went to fetch my wife, who has grown suddenly
shy. 'Tis a puzzle, is it not, Beaumont?"
"Loose my arm," Brenna said in a low voice to Rye.
"I am able to walk."
"You are able to do anything, sweeting." Rye's brow
lifted in a sardonic gesture as he released her. "'Tis what
worries me."
They had arrived at the front of the dais where Wil -
liam sat. Caught up in their private battle, they did not
realize how quiet the hall had grown, or that William
was looking at them with a thoughtful smile, gesturing
for the man behind him to quiet.
"Well?" Brenna prompted her scowling husband .
 LYON'S PRIZE 233
"Do you intend to present me, or must I present myself
to your precious overlord?"
"Brenna-"
His voice was a low warning that she ignored. The
hours of uncertainty, fear, and resentment made her in-
cautious, and Rye's apparent belief that she would be so
foolish or licentious as to sneak off with a minstrel had
fanned the flames of her wrath. Her voice was a low
whisper.
"Go ahead, Lord Lyon, preen before the man you
revere as if he were God. Present me to him and behave
as if you were a fearless knight. Only I will know the
truth."
Moving with jerky motions that did not disguise bis
rage, Rye presented Brenna to the king and stood stiffly
to the side as she managed a deep curtsy. His face re-
flected his fury when she said nothing to William's greet-
ing, but kept her eyes downcast. Custom decreed that
she remain in her curtsy until the king bade her rise.
"By God, madam," Rye ground out in a savage mut-
ter, ''you'd best be civil."
Brenna's head snapped up. "Civil? Or do you mean
servile? Speak plainly, my lord."
Laughter gleamed in William's eyes, and only an iron
control kept it from erupting as he viewed the domestic
squabble between his favored knight and his new wife.
He gave the signal for Brenna to rise. She did so and
moved to the side with the other guests.
"Before God," he murmured to a dismayed Raissa, "I
would not have thought any woman reckless enough to
taunt the Black Lion."
"Lady Brenna has more courage than most," Raissa
answered helplessly. Her knuckles whitened as she
gripped her wine goblet, and Lady Madelon was almost
choking with embarrassed rage.
"Aye," William replied with a low laugh, "I'd say she
docs. Or lack of fear, at any rate."
"Lack of common sense 'tis more the truth of it!"
Lady Madelon snapped furiously. "The Saxon bitch may
 2 3 4 VIRGI NIA LYNN
find her back striped for her if she continues with this
folly."
William regarded Madelon with a lifted brow. "Some-
how, my lady, I doubt that."
Lady Madelon ignored the warning pressure of her
daughter's hand on her arm. Her venom was obvious to
all those within earshot as she said, "I tell you that
haughty slut will be fortunate if she is able to walk when
he is through with her."
"Do you think so?" William's voice was cold. "I do
not think he will harm one hair on her head. And I
usually know my man."
Lady Madelon, sensing the king's displeasure, forbore
further comment. Raissa tried to breach the void with
desperate conversation, but she fell silent as the king rose
to his feet.
"Lady Lyon," William called, beckoning Brenna for-
ward. "Please do me the honor of sitting at my side."
His amused gaze shifted to Rye, who stepped forward
with a bow. "I was beginning to think you had hidden
such loveliness away from me, Lyon. I am certain you do
not mind if I become acquainted with your wife."
"Nay, sire," Rye replied.
William indicated to Lady Madelon, seated on his
right, that she was to give up her seat. She did so imme-
diately, flushing an ugly crimson.
Brenna's heart thumping erratically, she allowed Wil-
liam to seat her next to him. She could feel Rye's furious
gaze on her, willing her to behave herself. It would serve
him right if she made the king so mad he deseisened Rye
of every possession he had, she told herself, even as she
knew she would never do such a thing. Still, it was a
pleasing fantasy to envision his torment at such an event.
"My husband is, as usual, most considerate," Brenna
said sweetly. "I'm afraid that I became suddertly shy at
meeting you, sire, so do not blame him for my tardy
arrival."
The glib lie fell readily from her tongue, and she saw
that William was not fooled by it; his dark eyes gleamed
 LYON'S PRIZE 2 3 5
with laughter at the discomfort of his earl, and there was
a hint of appreciation at Brenna's daring.
"Lovely lady, I will acquit him of wrongdoing at your
request. He should be grateful for such a loyal wife."
"I'm certain he is, sire." Brenna dared not glance at
Rye, who was now seated on the other side of the king,
to gauge his reaction to her impudence. He would make
her suffer for it later, she was certain. His eyes had dark-
ened to a blue that was almost black, and the tight look
he gave her held a promise of retribution in it. Brenna
almost looked forward to it. She had a few things to say
to her noble husband that should singe his ears.
William of Normandy, Brenna discovered, was adept
at drawing out reluctant conversation. He spoke easily of
his family, of his wife Matilda and his growing brood of
children. All in England knew William's reputation as a
faithful husband; indeed, no man dared force a free
woman to have sex against her will, under threat of cas-
tration. Though William was known to be a stern and
violent king, Brenna found that he could converse
lightly when he chose.
She thawed slightly toward him, at least enough so
that she could make decent replies to his questions. It
wasn't until he asked casually, "How fares your family?"
that her old resentments surfaced again.
"Not as well as in the past," she said tartly, and saw
his brows lift. She immediately regretted her quick
tongue and hoped he would not pursue the matter. Un-
fortunately, he did.
"Lord Dunstan is ill?"
"Nay, sire. I spoke too quickly. 'Tis just that I know
nothing of my brothers, so did not know how to an-
swer."
"Do you still hate all things Norman, my lady?" Wil-
liam was asking in an idle tone that did not disguise his
interest.
It took Brenna a moment to form a reply. "At times,
sire," she said honestly. "I cannot help but recall how I
was taken from my home to a land of strangers, nor can
 236 VIRG INIA LYNN
I forget the things that happened when the Normans
came to Marwald."
"War begets brutality. One cannot condemn an entire
nation for the actions of a few."
"A child knows only what she sees. I have never for-
gotten the events of that day."
"Does not your husband prove that all Normans are
not to be blamed for the cruelty of a few?"
Brenna smiled ruefully. It was true that Rye had never
been deliberately cruel; nay, he had never laid a truly
harsh hand on her, and she could not say the same for
her own father.
"You are wiser than I ever credited you being, sire,"
she answered.
"From you, Lady Brenna, I accept that as high praise.
Would that I heard such sweet words from my Maud.
She ever bedevils me with her temper ."
"A wife, I have heard it said," Brenna ventured with a
sense of mischief, "is only a reflection of her husband. If
this is true, mayhap it is your own nature you see in the
queen. "
William laughed aloud. The sound drew Rye's atten-
tion, and he looked up to see Brenna laughing with the
king. Damn her, he reflected moodily. She ever surprised
him. Any other woman could be cowed with sharp
words or threats, but not that flame-haired witch who
bedeviled him at every turn. And here she was bewitch-
ing the king himself.
By the time the meal had ended and the entertain-
ment grown stale, Rye's temper had cooled, and he'd
realized that he had indeed behaved foolishly about the
minstrel. Married to a lovely termagant he might be, but
he had no reason to believe that he had been cuckolded.

Rye returned from accompanying William to the master

chamber to find Brenna in the dimly lit corridor.
"Well, madam? Why do you wait here?"
"I don't know where to go," she said simply. "Beau-
mont planned so well that he forgot to tell me where we
 LYON'S PRIZE 2 3 7
are to sleep. Perhaps I am to go to the ladies' quarters
with the others."
"Nay." Rye's hand cupped her elbow and turned her.
"Come with me."
She offered no protest but tried to keep up with Rye's
long strides as he left the corridor and moved to the far
stairwell.
He pulled her with him up the wide stairs and shoved
open the door to a tiny chamber. It was empty save for a
straw pallet like those the servants used.
"This is where we are to sleep?" Brenna asked, dis-
mayed.
" 'Tis better than the stable." Rye's short reply
sounded overloud in the small room; his voice echoed
from the stone walls.
"Not by much," Brenna muttered, and began drag-
ging off the coronet of wilted flowers she wore.
Rye watched her impassively. The single torch in the
room shed feeble light yet was enough for him to recog-
nize the familiar curves that haunted him. He set his
teeth.
"Did you enjoy William's company, sweeting?"
"Aye, better than I thought. I still do not like him,
but I can tolerate him better than most Normans."
"Including your husband?"
"If you will recall, my lord, I warned you not to take
me to wife. 'Tis only your just deserts that you are now
receiving. Are you enjoying them?"
A faint, secret smile quivered on her mouth, and Rye
was suddenly provoked into action. Damn her for mak-
ing him feel like an untried youth!
"'Tis just what I intend to do, sweet wife," he said,
and saw a flare of dismay light her eyes. "I will enjoy my
just deserts this eve, I vow."
He strode to her and took her into his arms, ignoring
her startled protest as he ground his mouth down on her
half-open lips. She was as sweet as he remembered , and
after a moment of brief struggle, she did not resist when
he took her to the straw pallet and laid her down.
For the first time Rye did not attempt to soothe her
 238 VIRG INIA LYNN
with gentle caresses. He was not brutal, but neither was
he tender. He took his pleasure, then rolled away from
her on the straw pallet and put an arm over his eyes.
Now that it was done, he felt a pang of remorse. She
was, after all, pregnant with his child. He should have
left her alone. .
Brenna stirred, sitting up to look at him in the dim
light. "I apologize, Rye."
He returned her gaze with narrowed eyes, suspecting
a trick. "What do you mean?"
"Merely that I taunted you when I should have held
my tongue. I owe you an apology, and I have now given
it.,,
"Before God," Rye muttered as she drew a blanket up
and over them, "I will never understand women."
Brenna laughed softly. "You may thank your Maker
for that, my lord. 'Twould probably curdle your brain if
you were to manage it."
Because he suspected she was right, Rye remained si-
lent. He lay for a long time, relishing the warmth of
Brenna's soft body next to him, inhaling the faint scent
of lavender that emanated from her hair. Lady Madelon
was likely right. He was obsessed with her, and if he did
not watch his step, he would end up looking a fool. He
tried to remember if he had ever expected love from a
woman and knew that he had not. Yet somehow, for a
short time, he'd hoped he might find that gentle emo-
tion with this one woman. He was a fool indeed, Rye
thought bitterly.

Raissa was waiting anxiously the next evening when

Brenna came to the hall. Her sweet face scanned Brenna
as if searching for sign of injury, and when she saw her
hale and hearty, she relaxed.
" 'Tis welcome to see you looking content, Lady
Brenna," she said, leaning close to smile at her.
Brenna took her seat next to Rye and smiled at his
sister. King William had the place of honor, and on his
 LYON'S PRIZE 239
other side sat Lady Madelon and a baron who had trav-
eled with the king.
"I am glad to be here," she said honestly. She
couldn't look directly at Rye. She was afraid others
would remark on it, and she wasn't certain how she
should feel about him. She'd expected anger from him
the night before, but not the almost desperate passion
he'd given her instead. It was a riddle without a solution.
Even the day had been spent differently, as Rye bad
msisted she accompany them to visit a nearby village.
Though she wasn't certain for the reason, she felt the
king's visit had something to do with the bandits that
still preyed on the land.
Servants approached from the unoccupied side of the
high table, then genuflected with their heavy platters of
broken meats. Wme was poured from jeweled flagons
into goblets at the high table, and into wooden cups at
the lower.
Distinguished guests were seated on the banquette at
the wall side of the high table, looking down on the
tables that had been placed perpendicular to the high
table. Huge salt cellars of silver divided the lower tables
between upper and lower classes, with the lower class
being seated below the salt. A nef, or silver ship contain-
ing spices, was placed on each table, near a maple mazer.
Each pair of guests shared a wooden bowl, or at the
lower tables, a hard trencher of bread. All brought their
own knives but were supplied with spoons.
Brenna recognized some of the guests, but not others.
These were the barons who had been away, fighting
campaigns for William, and had returned to find a new
overlord at Moorleah. Now they came, ready to do
homage to Rye de Lyon and offer their military service
should he need it.
Managing a smile for Raissa, Brenna was well aware of
Rye on her other side. She gave her full attention to
Raissa.
"How is Gilles? And little Perin?"
"They are both well," Raissa replied, "though Perin
grows so quickly, he will soon rival Gilles in size." She
 240 VIRGI NIA LYNN
smiled at Brenna. "Gilles asks about you frequently. He
is enamored of the tales of King Arthur now and insists
upon being entertaine d with recounts of knights of
old."
"I believe I shall one day be sorry I ever mentioned it
to him," Brenna said with a laugh. "But he grows as
well and will soon be interested in other things."
"Soon Gilles will be 8Cllt tor training to the keep of a
nobleman. Rye tells me he bas made arrangeme nts with
St. Aubin, who is here this ~ , to accept Gilles in his
household ."
"St. Aubin? Already?" Brenna looked toward the
men. "I had not thought 'twould begin so soon-how
old is Gilles?"
"He's soon seven years, but arrangeme nts must be
made early before there are too many young boys and
no place for him." Raissa looked away, biting her lower
lip. "I know it to be silly, but I worry about the time
when it comes."
"Of course you do." Brenna glanced at Rye, but he
did not appear to follow their discussion, and she looked
back at Raissa. " 'Tis customary , I know, for boys to be
sent away for training, but p'raps if you mentione~ to
your brother that Gilles is still so yqung, and with the
boy's father dead and his paternal family so far away-"
"I did," Raissa cut in softly, "but Rye is correct when
he says it is even more imperative for a boy brought up
among women to be taught the ways of a young man.
Since my husband died when Gilles was so young, it
would be distracting to have his mother fretting over
him."
"Then Gilles is to leave soon?"
"Not soon, but within the next year. He must gain his
knighthoo d, as his father's lands were left to the eldest
son by his first wife. Gilles has only my few dower lands,
and must win his own one day, so Rye would have him
begin his training early."
"Is that why you are here, instead of with your son's
kin?"
"That, and because . . ." Raissa halted and Bung
 LYON 'S PRIZE 2 4 1
Brenna an embarrassed look. "My mother had no one to
turn to after her holdings were razed in Anjou, you see,
so we came to Rye for succor. He has our father's lands
-who held to them as well against King Henri as Rye
does against King Philip, another greedy ruler." Sigh-
ing, Raissa murmured , "I grow weary of constant war
over land and power, and the hardships it puts upon
those of us who seek only to raise our children to adult-
hood. I fear for my sons, but I would fear more for
daughters, who might be wed to harsh men just to ally
lands and titles."
"That seems to be a woman's lot," Brenna agreed,
and her gaze slid to Rye. She could have been wed, as
Raissa had been, to a man much older, who already had
heirs for his lands. Young Gilles would not find it easy to
make his way in this world, and his uncle's power would
be a great advantage to him.
Thinking of her father, and how Dunstan had been
William's hostage in a time when death seemed immi-
nent, Brenna spared a moment's gratitude for the secu-
rity she now had. Though she was subject to the whims
of a husband, that husband was not as harsh as he could
have been. Nor did he mistreat her family, though she
was sorry for her brothers' plight. They had brought it
upon their own heads, she knew, by not ta.king the
mercy offered them. William dealt harshly with rebellion
and expected his earls to do the same. Rye would not
have kept the king's favor long if he had been less than
just to the outlaws. Open rebellion against the king
would have earned them death; outlawry had earned
them two score of stripes on their backs and banishmen t
from England.
Brenna had not witnessed their punishme nt and was
glad she had not. She'd not have been able to bear the
sight of her brothers being used so harshly, though she
thought it well deserved.
She slanted a surreptitio us glance at her husband and
found his gaze resting on her. She refused, flushing,
when he lifted his wine and offered her a sip.
 242 VIRGI NIA LYNN
"You seem solemn, chem. Why so? Are you not glad
to be free of your guard this past day?"
"Aye, I am well pleased to be free, my lord. I merely
wonder why you keep staring at me."
"I .missed your sweet temper." Rye laughed at her
quick frown. "P'raps I missed your sweet body more,"
he added in a low tone that made her flush deepen to a
scarlet shade. He stroked a hand down her arm, ignoring
her stiffuess as he lifted her wrist and turned her palm up
to kiss it. Murmurin g against her palm, "I did miss you,
sweeting, though I cannot say I missed your prickly tem-
per," he seemed to wait fur her anger.
Brenna withdrew her hand and met his blue gaze with
a careless shrug that hid the tumult he caused with his
touch and words. "Do I dare admit that I have not
missed your pricking words, my lord?"
"As I have ofttimes said, you would dare anything."
Rye sat back in his chair and let his gaze drift past
Brenna to where William sat deep in discussion with one
of his vassals. After a moment he said softly, "I wonder if
you would have wed me were it not for William's com-
mand."
"Of course not," Brenna replied. "Why?"
"Just a thought." .
Rye turned to answer a question from another, leav-
ing Brenna to muse on his enigmatic remarks. He was in
a strange mood, she decided, probably brought on by
her behavior the night before. Odd, that she'd felt no
anger toward him when he'd taken her so roughly and
without gentle words. Odder still, that he seemed to
regard her more gently, as if ashamed of his actions.
That was nonsense, of course. Rye de Lyon would never
feel remorse for his actions, particularly toward a
woman.
There were times she wondered why she cared if he
felt any tenderness for her. Hadn't he made it plain he
wanted only an heir from her? Why should she care?
And more confusing, she had begun to wonder about
the new life she carried within her. While she dreaded
the coming ordeal, there was an odd expectancy mingled
 LYON 'S PRIZE 243
with her apprehension. When she sat dreaming at the
window, she found herself wondering if the child was a
boy or girl, and if it would look like its sire. Would the
babe have that same ebony hair and stimulating blue
eyes? Or would it have softer features, with a crown of
red-gold curls and eyes as yellow as a cat's?
Brenna stifled a sigh and dragged her attention back
to her surroundings. She drifted often now, caught up in
what was going on inside her body, as much a prisoner
of it as she was an interested observer.
"Milady," Lady Madelon was saying in a honeyed
tone that immediately made Brenna wary, "tell me of
your health. There has been no illness of a morning?"
"Some," Brenna admitted. "It passes quickly."
"Ah, how fortunate you are. I remember when I had
my son. I was so ill for so long-but of course, the
women of Normandy arc more delicate, and not as used
to birthing babes as ax:e Saxon women."
Brenna stiffened. "How unfortunate for you."
"Some would say we are more gently made, and not
as sturdy. I knew at once that you would breed well. You
are near tall as a man."
"Mother, " Raissa put in, "do you think this conversa-
tion suitable for the table?''
Lady Madelon looked surprised. "Oh? ls it not? I am
certain I was just trying to impart my concern for my
daughter by law. After all, she will bear the next heir to
Lyonfield. Let us hope she survives it."
The last was a careless sally, but the effect on Brenna
was startling. She stood up with a wrenching gasp, and
her face grew so pale even Lady Madelon was surprised.
Madelon's brows lifted, and her eyes narrowed mali-
ciously. "Of course you will survive, child. Most women
do. 'Tis only the pain that makes some succumb to
death rather than-oh- have I distressed you?"
Brenna pushed back her chair before a squire could do
it for her and moved blindly away from the long table.
Though she hated giving Madelon more ammunition
against her, the cruel comments brought to mind too
many of her own fears to bear them.
 24 4 VIR GIN IA LYN N
Before she reached the doors from the hall,
caught up with her. Rye
''Wh at is it?" he asked, and there was such conc
his voice that Brenna forgot her resistance and turne ern in
into the comfort of his embrace. Her words were d
fled by his rich tunic. muf-
" 'Tis nothing, my lord. Noth ing you would unde
stand ." r-
"I might. The babe? Are you ill? Let me take you
our chamber and fetch Raebel to assist you. Bren to
He pushed her away and tilted her face up to look na-"
''You would tell me if you felt ill?" at her.
"Of course." She flushed slightly. "I gave you
oath on it, and I would not disregard it." my
"Well, I did not expect you to yield easily, I supp
Ah, sweeting, do not startle me like that againose.
thou ght you had become ill." . I
"Nay , I only need to have some privacy for
men t," she said lamely, offering the only excusa mo-
could contrive on such shor t notice. "To -to e she
garderobe." visit the
"Ah. " Rye nodd ed understanding. "The n you will
turn. "
re-
"Of course." Over his shoulder Brenna saw
Madelon gaze at her with speculative eyes and knewLady
she had fallen into her trap. It didn 't help to know that
her cruel words fell on fertile ground. She was that
ened, and to hear how she would suffer only fright-
made it
worse.
She managed a reassuring smile before she conti
down the torchlit corridor to the alcove concealin nued
garderobe from view. g the
When she returned, Rye smiled at her, and she
aware of William's regard as well. Several of Rye's was
vassa
were present, and one of them, Sire de Searcy, earne ls
soug ht the king's ear for a project he was consi stly
dering.
She found it difficult to eat, thou gh the cook
done well with the dishes. They included peaco had
had been roasted, then refeathered so that they cks that
looked
almost alive on huge platters; desserts that had
been
 LYO N'S PRI ZE 245
fashioned into clever shapes; and puddi ngs steam ing in
gigantic bowls. Wine flowed freely, but Brenn a had no
stomach for it and was glad when the meal was over and
the tables were being cleared.
Raissa's soft hand on her arm gaine d her attent ion.
The young woma n whispered, "My mothe r seeks to
drive a wedge betwe en you and Rye. Do not allow it.
She is jealous of his affection for you."
Thou gh she doubt ed that was the cause, Brenn a whis-
pered her thank s for Raissa's peace-making efforts.
Rye leaned against the high back of his chair as squires
and servants move d aside the lower tables. Scraps were
given to the poor and bones to the dogs, as was the
norm. Guests washed their hands at the lavabo, while
the aquamanile was offere d to those from the high table.
Several tense minut es passed for Brenna. She wante d
desperately to forget Lady Made lon's terrible words , but
her hands contin ued to tremb le. When she saw Raoul de
Beaum ont appro ach, she drew in a breath of relief at the
diversion. Beaum ont steppe d onto the low dais and
murm ured into Rye's ear for a mome nt. After bowing to
the king, he joined the vassals seated at the high table.
The king watch ed silently.
It grew quiet in the hall, with even the musicians quit-
ting their instru ments . A fight erupt ed betwe en two of
the huntin g dogs and was quickly hushe d with a well-
placed boot and a last startle d yelp.
Rising from their bench es, the vassals appro ached the
dais from below , bowin g first to the king, then to Rye.
Finally Rye s t ~ becko ning them forward.
"'Tis a law, that there be no lord witho ut land," he
said in ringin g tones , "and no land witho ut a lord. A fief
is more than land; 'tis a repres entati on of a vaisal
's
rights, and his obligations. Besides the armed knights
each vassal swears to rende r, I charge that each of you
shall be expected to attend court when summ oned to be
a judge in a case against your peers. Your taxes shall be
assessed according to the size of your holdings. St.
Aubin ," he said then, gestur ing, ''you hold the larges
t
demesne, and as such, shall pay me homa ge first."
 246 VIR GIN IA LYN N
Stepp ing forward, St. Aubin , a man almost as large as
the earl, knelt before him and placed his clasped hands
betwe en his lord's. Saying, "Lord , I becom e your man,"
he then took the oath of fealty.
Lifting St. Aubin to his feet, Rye gave him a cerem o-
nial kiss of acceptance, then repea ted the proce dure with
each vassal. One by one the men swore fealty to him,
accepting him as their new overlo rd, while King William
witnessed the ritual.
Brenn a remai ned silent as the powerful barons came
and bent the knee to her husba nd, thoug h she wond ered
with a trace of grim amuse ment if she shoul d feel such
satisfaction at seeing these men bare their heads and of-
fer fealty to her husba nd. It was a doubl e-edg ed sword
,
she mused , this humb ling of Norm ans in her presence.
She, a Saxon, was wed to a Norm an earl, yet by that very
token , accepting of the same homa ge due him. If Rye
were slain, these men would be forced to pay their child
the same homa ge, in fact, gave oaths that they would do
so.
Oaths, she had learne d, were oft broke n in times of
war and conflict, but the vassal who broke his
sworn
oath to an overlord was rarely truste d to give anoth er.
Men lived by those sworn words , and the breaking of
a
bond was a serious affair.
When the formalities of fealty were over and the vas-
sals accepted William's kiss of peace, Rye gave the signal
for lively entert ainme nt to begin. Music piped , and with
a swirl of diaph anous silk, dancers skipped betwe en the
wood en benches, slende r bodie s gleaming in the light of
torch and central fire. The tempo of mandolins, lutes,
and horns escalated, and so did the writhings of the
danci ng girls.
Brenn a had viewed danci ng girls before and admir ed
their lithe movements; now, however, she tensed when
Rye excha nged a laugh ing comm ent with Sire de Searcy
about the charms of a· supple young dancer.
Grinn ing, de Searcy obser ved, "She is very agile,
don't you think, my lord?" and Rye agreed with
a
bawdy remark that made Brenn a burn with silent anger
.
 LYON 'S PRIZ E 2 47
As if sensing the attentio n of the earl and his vassal,
the dancing girl bent and swayed with increasing sensu-
ality as she approac hed the dais. Her movements were
even more enhance d by the floating silk veils and skimpy
costume she wore, and her eyes were heavily outlined in
kohl.
Steppin g lightly, she skipped across the stone floor in
time with the music, and as it played faster and faster,
her feet moved more quickly, giving the observers ample
chance to glimpse the flash of her slender bare legs as the
silk lifted and swirled. Sweat misted her body, and the
gleaming flesh of her bared midriff and round breasts
promised ample delights to the man who wished to taste
them.
A faint feline smile curved the dancer's lips, as if she
knew she aroused the men who watched , and with a toss
of her long dark hair, she pranced directly to the dais.
Tiny silver bells gleamed and jangled around her ankles,
and her bare feet slapped -the stones. Silk swished in a
mist of scarlet color, and tawny flesh beckoned.
Then, as Rye and de Searcy still smiled their pleasure,
the girl boldly stepped up onto the dais, stepping lightly
between Rye's outspre ad legs in a flash of near-naked
legs. Sire de Searcy roared with appreciation, but Rye sat
with a lifted brow and his mouth still curved in a slight
smile.
To Brenna' s chagrin he made no move to halt the girl,
but watched as she undulat ed in the erotic moveme nts
of the dance, lifting her arms over her head and twining
them in a sensual glide, then bending to expose the full
charms of her young body. At this close range, the silk
costume bared more than it hid, and Rye seemed to
enjoy the view.
Growin g even bolder, the girl spun about to let her
arms drop over the earl's head, drawing him into a light
embrace and laughin g sultrily as she pressed his face to
her bosom.
Sire de Searcy gave another roar of approval, and even
William smiled. When Rye made no effort to extricate
himself, but allowed the girl to writhe upon his lap and
 248 VIRGI NIA LYNN
caress him with silk veils, Brenna could not contain her
fury.
She stood abruptly, capturing her husband's attention
as well as that of a startled de Searcy. "I think I shall
retire for the evening, my lord," Brenna said stiffly, not
looking at either Rye or the smirking girl. She made a
quick curtsy to the King. When she moved past Rye, he
caught her hand, still not dislodging the panting girl
from his lap.
"The evening is not yet ended," Rye said. "Linger."
"I do not wish to linger." Brenna still refused to look
at him, though she felt his intent gaze upon her. "I wish
to retire."
Leaning forward, Rye set the girl on her feet. "And
do dishonor to our king and the men who have come to
swear me homage? Nay, milady, I must insist that you
reconsider and stay a while longer."
She removed her hand from his grasp, and he did not
try to keep it. Pleating the folds of her gown with her
fingers, Brenna said haltingly, "I feel ill, milord, truly I
do. I do not think even your most sensitive vassal would
wish to see me faint at your feet."
"Take your maid with you," Rye said after a moment,
and gestured to Beaumont. "Find the Lady Rachel and
bid her see to her mistress," he told the knight. "I will
be occupied for some time here." Rye intercepted
Brenna's quick glare and added, "With the king and my
vassals."
Brenna fled the hall in relief as soon as Rachel came to
her, though Beaumont went with them as far as the door
to the chamber she shared with Rye.
"I've put your things back in here, milady," Rachel
said when the door had shut behind them. "Lord Lyon
bade me do so."
Sinking to the stark comfort of a hard chair, Brenna
buried her face in her palms. ''You did well, Rachel. I am
overweary, 'tis all."
It wasn't at all the truth, but she had no desire to
explain her reasons for fleeing the hall when she wasn't
certain of them herself. That they had something to do
 LYON ' S PRIZE 249
with Rye's reaction to the nubile dancing girl was a part
of it, but not all. Lady Madelon's vicious remarks had
left her feeling confused as well.
Did Rye de Lyon harbor soft feelings for her? If so,
why did he not reveal them himself? Why did he switch
back and forth between harshness and tenderness as er-
ratically as a willow limb in the wind?
"Damn the cur," she muttered, and did not realize
she'd spoken aloud until Rachel came to her side.
"I saw the girl dancing, milady, but 'tis of no mo-
ment, I am sure. She only teased him, and he would
not-"
"I am not at all sure what he will and won't do, I'm
afraid," Brenna snapped. "He certainly seemed not to
mind her efforts. P'raps as my form thickens, he will
choose another. 'Tis done frequently, I know."
"But not always." Rachel hesitated, as if seeking more
comforting words. "And I think him a more honorable
man than that."
Brenna looked at her consideringly. "Do you, Rachel?
I thought you feared him."
"I do. But not so much that I think him wicked and a
dishonorable man."
"Dishonor does not always mean the same thing to a
man as it does to a woman," Brenna muttered. She
looked down at her hands, twisting in her lap. "I oft-
times wonder what it does mean to him. He spoke of
justice, of Norman and Saxon living in peace, yet tonight
he asked his vassals to swear to him they would bring
men to war when he called.,,
"Milady," Rachel reproved, ''you know that there are
always wars, whether great or small. Greedy men will
always want what is not theirs."
"Aye," Brenna admitted with a sigh, "I suppose that
is true." She lapsed into silent contemplation, wonder-
ing if her brothers had been banished only to seek more
vengeance against the Normans. Would they be so fool-
ish? Is that what Rye expected?
"Shall I fetch you a soothing herbal drink, milady?"
 2 5 0 VIR GIN IA LYN N
Rachel was asking anxiously, and Brenna shook
head. her
"Nay. I just need to seek my bed, I think. There
been too much excit emen t this day." has
Rachel smiled. "For me as well, since the king
ap-
prove d Raou l's suit. I shall be able to see him
more now. With all the outlaws captu red and punis much
hed
or banished, your lord will be more often at home
too.
'Tis well that you rest, S<r-milady! Are you unwe
ll?"
Stand ing abrup tly, Brenn a made a helpless gestu
"Do not speak to me of the outlaws, please. I know re.
you
mean well, but I must -tell me, Rach el-ca n you
find
the squire know n as Myles and bring him here? "
"Myl es?" Rachel shifted nervously. "Are you sure
it
woul d be wise, milady? I know he is your broth er,
and
that Lord Lyon does not mislike him, but- "
"Plea se, Rachel. Rye will be some time below with
king and his barons, so it woul d be a perfect timethe
to
speak with Myles in privacy."
Reluctantly Rachel went to seek out the squire in
kitchens, but it took her the best part of an hourthe
bring him back. Brenn a was pacin g impatiently when to
the
door to her cham ber swun g open and Myles enter ed.
looke d wary and glanced abou t the lamp -lit room He
.
"You sent for me, Lady Brenn a?"
"Aye , come in, quickly, and shut the door behin
you." She put up a hand to stop Rachel. "I wish d
to
speak with him in comp lete privacy, please."
Rachel's dismay was obvious, but she nodd ed and left,
dosin g the door with a soft thud. Brenn a turne d back
to
her broth er.
"Tell me, quickly, of our broth ers. Any news?"
"Why this sudde n conce rn?" Myles asked carefu
lly.
"Did you have a chang e of heart ?"
Waving an impa tient hand , Brenn a shook her head.
"Nay , I just wish to know of them . All I now know
is
that they were whip ped, then banished. Do you
have
word of their wher eabou ts?"
"Bren na . . ." Myles pause d, and shook his head.
do not wish to discuss them with you." "I
 LYON 'S PRIZ E 2 5 1
"What? " She stared at him in disbelief. "Do you think
I would betray them? Or my husband?"
Spreading his arms, Myles said with a helpless shrug,
"I know only that you are not in favor with Lord Lyon
right now, and that you might do or say anything."
Glaring at him, Brenna snapped, "Do not think me
fool enough to play the traitor with either kin or hus-
band! 'Tis only that I fret about their actions, that is all.
Do they intend to start another rebellion? Must I ever
watch for my brothers to be hanged on some gibbet, or
from a town wall?"
Myles looked down at his feet and sighed. "I do not
know their intentions, only that they feel betrayed by
you and me. Whitley threaten ed once to see me dead
before I put in with the Normans, but I do not think he
really meant it. He had ample opportu nity, yet let me
go."
"Whitl ey-doe s he fare badly in exile with his
stUmp?"
Shrugging, Myles raked a hand through his hair. "He
does as well as can be expected. He cannot bear weapons
as well, of course, though he has learned to use his left
arm instead. 'Tis Ridgely we should fear, and Rannul f
and Corbet as well. They are dangerous, to us and to
your noble husband ."
At his last mocking words, Brenna shuddered. She'd
known it. There would be repercussions; her brothers
were violent men. They had lived so long with violence,
and with a need for vengeance, that she feared they were
no longer cautious.
"What can we do?" she whispered, and Myles strode
to her and took her by the arms.
"Nothin g. Do not even think of it. They will not lis-
ten to anyone, so do not try. Let them reap what they
sow. It is all we can do."
She shook free of his grip. "Do you not care what
happens, that they can destroy us with their rebellion?"
"They cannot destroy us, Brenna. Only themselves.
Did your husband berate you for their actions?"
Shaking her head, she said, "Nay, he did not."
 252 VIR GIN IA LYN N
"He will not. You should trust the man you married
more than you do." Myles gave a short, bitter laugh. "If
I do, I canno t see why you refuse.,,
"You trust Rye de Lyon? You, Myles, who once swore
to fight the Normans to your dying breath?"
"I was too young and foolish to realize the truth of it.
Now that I have served in his keep, and heard his men
speak of him, and seen his justice firsthand, I know that I
have chosen well." Myles smiled at his sister's skeptical
gaze. "Our own father bade me follow him. He said that
Lord Lyon was a man worth y of respect."
"Is that why you came here?"
"Partially. Another reason is that I drew my sword on
him in our bailey the day after you were wed and dared
him to fight me."
Brenna's eyes widened. "And that is why you chose to
follow him? Because you fough t him and lived?"
"Nay, because he was kind enoug h not to fight me,"
Myles replied with a rueful grin. "I was angry, and very
foolish. He could have split me in two with that great
sword of his, and I would not have been able to put a
scratch on him. Instead of shaming me, he offered me a
post as squire. I thoug ht about it a long time before I
came here."
"Well ," Brenna said, "you are a bit old to be squire, I
vow. You should be training for knighthood, if you can
coax our father into sponsoring you.,,
Still grinning, Myles lifted a foot to show her the silver
spurs attached to his boots. "I will be, soon. I've earned
the right to carry a shield and to wear a knight's helmet.
Thoug h I can wield a sword, I am to tilt at the quintain
and learn the lance from Sir de Beaumont.,,
"Sir de Beaumont?" Brenna's brows rose. "He is a
fair and noble knigh t."
"I agree."
"Then you will not ride with our brothers if they bid
you come to them?"
Surprised, Myles demanded angrily, "Is that why you
sent for me? To find out if I intend to betray your hus-
band with treachery?"
 LYON'S PRIZE 2 5 3
"Nay, do not scowl at me so. I merely fear that you
may find yourself caught up in something you cannot
escape."
"As you are?"
Startled, Brenna met her brother's gaze, saw his eyes
drop deliberately to her middle, and flushed.
''Yea, I am caught up, 'tis true. I may soon find that
my husband does not desire my company. If he has not
already reached that decision."
"I do not think he has," Myles said in amusement.
"Not if the past week has been any indication. He has
fretted like a boar in rut. I am amazed that he took so
long to find an excuse to free you."
" 'Twas no excuse he needed, only my oath not to
attempt escape," Brenna said bitterly. When Myles
looked surprised, she managed a faint smile. "He
harbors a suspicion that I may find a way to do myself
and the babe harm. He cannot believe that my mood has
changed, and that my threats were only angry words."
"A common mistake, I think." Myles laughed at her
quick frown. ''You rage often, fair sister, and mere men
might not realize your threats meaningless, especially as
you arc not known to make empty promises."
"Well- " She paused, then said lamely, "I have
changed a great deal of late. More than the obvious.
P'raps things are not as I once thought them."
"P'raps." Myles gave her a mocking smile. "And
p'raps you have grown up a little. Whichever, I must
leave here and tend my duties, or Beltair will be looking
for me with a stout cane. I do not need any stripes laid
upon my back for avoiding my tasks, nor do I feel I need
any more of that worthy man's discipline."
Laughing, Brenna kissed him quickly and said,
"You've changed, too, little brother. I do believe you
are learning responsibility."
"St. Benedict! I hope so," Myles said fervently. "I
grow weary of toting water buckets and doing the work
of a page."
When Myles had gone, Brenna lit another oil lamp,
making a face at the foul smell as the reed wick finally
 2 5 4 VIR GIN IA LYN N
caug ht and flared with feeble light. Vegetable
bette r than fish oil but gave just as little light oil was
burn ed better, but smoked horribly and dripp . Torches
pitch onto the floor and unwary persons. Bees ed hot
dles were too precious for any but royalty, and wax can-
candles they used at Moorleah were in shor the tallow
the mom ent. More were to be made as soont supply at
the servants to 1t. as she set
"Lad y Mad elon ," Brenna told Rachel when
turn ed to the chamber, "mu st have forgotten she re-
tallow pour ed into the candle mold s." to orde r
"It seems odd that she would, as she is trying
to Lord Lyon that she is a bette r mistress than to prove
girl said, smo othin g back the furs and wool you, " the
the bed. "If the smell of the lamps makes youcovers on
look for candle stubs ." ill, I can
"Nay , 'tis not necessary." Brenna looked at
and wondered when Rye would come to their the bed
Was he still with the dancing girl? Had he gone cham ber.
to some shadowed com er of the keep to taste with her
charms? The thou ght of him holding the her sultry
dark-haired
dancer made Brenna's teeth clench with fury
and pain.

Rye had thru st the girl from him as Brenna

left and did
not allow her in his lap again . Instead he
shov
towa rd a willing, delighted de Searcy, who took ed her
ate advantage of the girl's alluring charms andimmedi-
her away to a distant, more private corner of spirited
the
Tho ugh he gave his atten tion to King Willi keep.
found it wandering at times to his red-haired am, Rye
wife. She' d
looked angry and disturbed at the girl's play
with him,
and thou gh irritated, he was impatient to go
to
chafed at the delay forced upon him by hospitalit her. He
ventions, and watched as the tallow candles grewy's con-
and shor ter and the barons grew more boist shor ter
free drin k and lively entertainment. erous with
A jongleur chanted interminable tales, chan
geste and poetic romances, while striking melo sons de
vielle and inviting the audience to sing the dies on his
refrain.
 LYON 'S PRIZE 255
Merry it is in h11,lle to he1ir the h1irpe, I the minstrel/es
synge, the jongleurs carpe.
Rye drank wine mixed with honey, ginger, and cinna-
mon as he smiled politely and made conversation~ and
when he finally perceived that his vassals had passed the
paint of coherence, save for those who had already re-
tired along with the king, he rose from his chair. Few
noticed as he crossed the hall, paused to ensure that all
the doors were barred and his defenses manned with
sentinels, then moved to the staircase. Sounds of music
followed him as he mounted the spiral steps.
By the time he reached their chamber on the third
ftoor of the keep, nothing could be heard but a muted
melody, and that not clearly. Rachel lay on her straw
pallet in the outer room, and Rye ignored her as he
stalked toward his chamber and pushed open the door.
It was almost completely dark in the room. Only a
faint flicker of light showed him any direction, and that
from an oil lamp on a low table. No embers burned in
the brazier to give off heat and light, and it was cool in
the chamber in spite of the warm weather without the
keep. Rye could barely make out Brenna's covered form
in the wide canopied bed across the room.
Shruggin g out of his garments, he aimed them at the
clothes pole without pausing to see if they landed well
and walked naked to the bed. Brenna had her back to
him, the covers pulled up well over her shoulders. Her
hair fanned out over the pillows like silken fire, and he
gave a sigh of pleasure.
He had missed her more than he'd wanted to admit; it
was only right that she be back in his bed. As his eyes
adjusted to the lack of sufficient light, he saw that her
back was rigid and knew she was awake. He smiled. She
was angry, but he could deal with that. Most of their
evenings began this way, with Brenna angry, resisting his
touch until he gentled her with hot kisses and caresses.
Lifting the covers, he slid beneath and reached for her.
She shrugged off his hand, and he leaned forward to
brush the hair from her neck and kiss her nape. His lips
 256 VIR GIN IA LYN N
moved leisurely along the span of sweetly scent
ed
tasting, teasing as his arms circled her unyielding flesh,
body in
a light embrace. Her hair was fragrant, smelling
of the
soap she used.
Spreading his hand over her belly, Rye rested his
against the gentle swell for a mom ent. He could palm
feel her
hear t race bene ath his forearm and knew she waite
him to offer some word of comf ort. He tried d for
, but he
could think of noth ing that she migh t want to
hear, that
migh t ease her fears or give her solace.
He'd never felt his lack of easy conversation
with a
wom an more keenly. Sighing, Rye turne d Bren
na to her
back. Her eyes were wide in the shadows, mute
d gold
and shiny with emot ion. He wond ered what
she was
think ing and strok ed back the hair from her cheek
fore he bent to kiss her. be-
Desire rose hot and heavy in him, and his absti
nence
pricked him harshly as he tried to take his time
with her,
to arouse her to the poin t of surrender. She
made no
effor t to avoid him, but neith er did she yield to
passion.
"Nay , sweet Bren na," he murm ured when she
dose d
her eyes, "you won 't escape me that easily." One
move d to tease a budd ed peak of her breast, hand
while his
rnou th gave arden t atten tion to the other . He
threw a
leg over her thighs when she gasped and tried
to roll
away, scraping his free hand down over her body
damp deft betw een her legs. "See ?" he said softly the
to
when
he touch ed her, "you r own body betrays you
with a
long ing you woul d deny."
Shud derin g, Brenna moan ed when he began to
caress
her sensitive wom an's moun d. Rye's tong ue flicke
d over
her taut nipple in light ning strokes that made her
writhe,
and his hand manipulated the fiery cente r of
her with
such expe rt care that she was soon reaching for
him.
"Dam n you, " she whispered huskily as she clutc
hed at
his broa d shoulders, "dam n you. . . . . "
"If this is damn ation , cherie, I do not mind it at
Rye said betw een kisses. "Aye , I will seek it eage all,"
rly."
Whe n she cried out, her body arching unde r
him as
 LYO N'S PRIZ E 2 5 7
she surren dered to the sweep of ecstasy he provok ed,
Rye gave in to his own passion and slid inside her with a
smoot h thrust that buried him to the hilt. Sheath ed in
her warmt h, he held tightly to contro l as her body
pulsed aroun d him in velvet contra ctions . He waited un-
til she relaxed, sobbin g into his bare should er, before he
began to move.
Slowly at first, then more rapidly, Rye moved in the
erotic rhythm of pleasure; he felt Brenn a's respon se be-
fore she did, felt the tighte ning of her body begin again.
She was pantin g for breath , no longer resisting him, but
yielding to him witho ut though t. It was exhilarating. It
was sweet ecstasy that soon broug ht him to his own
release, and as he surged powerfully agains t her, feeling
her body melt aroun d him, Rye knew that he had never
felt such intens e pleasure befo~e weddi ng this rebellious
woman.
Perhaps, he thoug ht hazily when he allowed himsel f
to relax in satisfaction, Lady Madel on was right. Was
that so bad, to be attract ed to one's wife? In this way, at
any rate. And he would never be foolish enoug h to yield
to the pleasure of the body over the warnin gs of the
mind. Yea, if this was the rewards of being besott ed, he
might find it a pleasa nt pastime.
"Sleep , cherie,» he murm ured gently when Brenn a
shoved against his chest with her hands. "The night is
long, and we may yet seek more pleasure.,,
Tremb ling, she allowe d him to hold her in his em-
brace, and it occurr ed to him just before he drifted into
sleep that she had not argued with him.
 CHA PTE R 1 5

"A TORCH DANCE!" Raissa exclaimed, clapping her hands

together with delight. She gazed happily at the line of
dancers with lit tapers in their hands. The hall was filled
with guests and Moorleah's inhabitants, and the warm
July weather lent a festive air to the evening that had not
been present since the king's departure the month be-
fore. Raissa laughed. "I've not danced thus since I was a
young maid."
"And you are so old now," Brenna teased, smiling
fondly at the young woman. Her gaze took in Raissa's
high color, sleek, dark hair, and shining eyes; Rye's half
sister was a lovely woman. Offers had been made for her
hand, and as the widowed sister to a powerful earl, she
would bring much to the man who married her. Several
suitors had traveled to Moorleah or sent their offers by
courier.
Leaning close, Brenna whispered to Raissa, "Now
that the evening meal is done and we are to play, who
will you choose to dance with you? Lord Pierre Rechin,
perhaps? He is very handsome, and still young. Of
course, Geoffroi le Bressan is a bit older, though not as
handsome, don't you agree? However-h e is very rich."
Laughter danced in Raissa's eyes as she listened to
258
 LYON'S PRIZE 2 5 9
Brenna's teasing words. "What say you, Brenna? Do I
choose beauty over wealth in a husband, as well?"
"Do you get to choose?" Brenna's brow lifted. "I
heard your brother say he was still considering your
match, but I never heard him say you were being con-
sulted."
"True enough." Raissa smiled. "He will choose
wisely, I am sure. Rye knows the advantages of having a
contented wife."
"I hope you aren't suggesting that I am content,"
Brenna said more sharply than she intended, and Raissa
gave her a hurt look.
"Aren't you? I have seen my brother soften in the past
month, and he ever lingers near your side."
Shifting uncomfortably, Brenna murmured, "'Tis
concern for the babe, I perceive."
"You know that's not true." Raissa met her lifted gaze
with a smile. "You've pierced my brother's armor,
Brenna. I believe he loves you."
"He loves what is his, as a rich man loves his gold."
Brenna looked down at her hands, feeling Raissa's trou-
bled eyes on her. She glanced up and shrugged help-
lessly. "I do admit that I have soft feelings for him, if
that is what you are trying to discover with this round-
about play of words."
"It was." Raissa smiled impishly. "I'm glad. He needs
your tenderness more than he will show."
"I've seen nothing in his manner to indicate that he
would welcome softness from me. Surrender yes, but
not soft words of love." Shrugging to ease the pain
those words cost her, Brenna added lightly, "Of course,
your brother would not show you that side of his nature,
I am certain."
"I am well aware of Rye's manner toward women, as I
have had some years to observe. You are the first woman
he has ever sought to please in any way but the most
casual." Raissa leaned forward and lowered her voice.
"He's never been kind to women before, as it was not
his nature. I do believe my mother had much to do with
that side of him, but he has never said. I've told you how
 260 VIRG INIA LYNN
she treated him most cruelly as a young lad, and it hard-
ened his heart toward our sex."
A fuint smile curved Brenna's mouth. "If your mother
gave him cause to distrust women , you are the only rea-
son he has any softness at all, Raissa. I've seen how he
loves you and am glad that you love him as well. No one
should be alone in this world, left to face their fears
without a hope of help." Impulsively she put her hand
atop Raissa's. "If he has been kind to me in ways, I owe
it to you."
"Nay, sister, you owe it to the courage he admires in
you, the fire that tempers his steel. That is what attracts
my brother to you-yo ur strength ."
"My strength ?" Brenna stared at her in surprise,
hardly hearing the music or people around her. "I am
not strong, but weak."
"Not where it matters -in the heart. You have a
strong heart, Brenna. You love fiercely and loyally, and
the man who wins that love will win much. Rye can see
this in you; any man can see it."
''You observe much," Brenna said slowly. "I'm not
certain you are right, but I will think on what you have
said."
"And you will dance at my weddin g?" Raissa asked in
a light tone, steering the conversation back to safer top-
ics. "I should know the decision soon."
Shaking her head, Brenna said, "You will be fortunate
to know his name before the weddin g."
"Rye will tell me. He does consult me, though when
it is time to make the final decision, his opinion will
weigh more than mine."
"He will force you into marriage with a man you do
not want?" Brenna asked, angry sparks beginning to
flash in her tawny eyes. Raissa's situation too closely par-
alleled hers for her to be comfortable at the thought of
the sweet girl being forced to wed a harsh man just for
lands and profit. Her hands clenched into fists in her lap,
and she slid a quick glare toward her husband .
"Nay," Raissa said swiftly, putting a hand on Brenna's
arm. "He will not. He has said that I will be at liberty to
 LYON'S PRIZE 2 6 1
refuse any husband he chooses, but he asks that I con-
sider my choice carefully." She smiled at Brenna's anger.
"Don't worry so about me. Rye will not allow harm to
come to me or force me into a marriage I do not want."
"He did me," Brc;nna muttered, then flushed when
Rai,ssa arched a brow. ·
"'Twas different," Raissa reproved. "You had to wed
the king's man; think about the consequences had you
wed a man who might have dealt harshly with you."
Staring at her, Brenna realized that Raissa was right.
Rye, though harsh enough in a way, had not been cruel
to her, or locked her in a cell as he might have done.
And if she was to be honest with herself, she would
admit that she had gradually begun to care more deeply
for him. It was galling that she had begun to love the
man she'd sworn to hate, but she had. Not just his touch
-though her body craved that despite her efforts to
resist-but his crooked smile,-and the way he'd begun to
linger near her side more and more often to listen to her,
made her soften toward him. Her heart lurched when he
spoke to her, and her breath caught at his attentions.
"Uh-oh,'' Raissa said with a laugh, "I see your hus-
band looking this way, and he has a gentleman with him.
I do believe that we are about to be asked to join the
dancers." She glanced at Brenna with an anxious expres-
sion. "Do you feel well enough to dance?"
"Of course. My sickness of mornings has largely
passed, and though 'tis hard to credit my condition with
my still slender appearance, I feel well."
Lady Madelon approached as Brenna said this last and
gave a malicious laugh upon hearing her words._"Wait
until you are overlarge, my lady. Then see if your hus-
band waits you so eagerly, or if he seeks his pleasure in
another's arms. I warrant he'll not linger long at your
side when his arms will no longer go around you."
Brenna gave Madelon an even stare. "Do you? I as-
sume you speak from your experience with your own
husband, my lady."
Stiffening, Lady Madelon glared at her. "Remember
this, you impudent Saxon slut, that the acorn never falls
 262 VIR GIN IA LYN N
far from the tree. Rye's father was a man who could
not
be loyal to one woman, and neith er will he be. Do
you
think your charms so endurable that he will never
look
elsewhere? You fool only yourself if you do."
"Mot her," Raissa interr upted , rising to her feet
take the older woman by the arm, "do not spread to
your
hatre d and pain to others. What happened with my
fa-
ther was many years ago and shoul d be forgo tten."
Shaking free of her daug hter's clasp, Madelon said in
low, harsh tone ," 'Twil l never be forgotten, not as a
long
as I draw breath. Nor will I allow his misbegotten son
forget how he came into this world !" to
Brenna lapsed into silence. In a way she understoo
d
Lady Madelon's pain and shame, thoug h she could
not
accept her abuse witho ut speaking out. It would be diffi-
cult for any wife to accept her husba nd's child with
an-
other woman, especially a wom an who had stolen
affections. Yet even so, it was not the child's fault,
his
and
the part of Brenna that dema nded justice could not
con-
done Lady Madelon's abuse of a helpless lad who' d
had
no fault in his birth.
"Lad y Madelon," she said softly when Raissa gave
a
cry of dismay, "I am sorry for your pain, but I will
not
allow you to spread your venom in my hall. And I do
not
wish to suffer my lord's chagrin at your hurtful word
so I advise you to keep your silence in his presence. s,
He
may treat you with courtesy as his moth er, but I feel
no
such compunction to do so."
Lady Madelon met Brenna's coldly determined gaze,
and her eyes narrowed slightly as she apparently saw
no
weakness there . "So, my fine Saxon upstart, you decla
war between us." re
"Sinc e the first day I arrived, madam. I am aware
your fine hand in some of the problems that have arisen of
in my household, but I have allowed you free rein.
No
more. I shall take you to task the next time I find drop-
pings in my grain, or sour wine in my casks, or my
ser-
vants sent on silly errands to delay some necessary
task.
Do not think to earn sympathy from your son becau
se of
 LYON'S PRIZE 263
it, either, for he is not as blind to your nature as you may
think-"
"I never thought he was," Lady Madelon said stiffi.y.
"I have only sought to remind him of the generosity of
his father in leaving his lands to a bastard, and to remind
Rye of his duty toward his father's widow."
"He is not a man who needs to be reminded of his
duty," Brenna said shortly. "He knows it well. Too well
at times, I vow. Do you think a weak man could have
held his father's lands against the odds that Rye faced?
Nay, yet he has held them well and earned more lands
besides. Do not belittle his achievements, my lady."
"Ah, how you've changed your tune in the past three
months, my eager Saxon slut," Madelon sneered. "Now
you defend your lusty husband. Does he play the bed-
game that well, to make you rise to his defense against a
woman who seeks only to keep him in favor with his
king?"
"He plays the bed-game well enough," Brenna
stepped close to say, her temper flaring that this woman
would bring up such a subject in public. "But 'tis not
what gives me cause to defend him behind his back.
Normans prate long and hard of justice, but rarely have I
seen it, save in the man you call your son when it pleases
you, yet speak of him as enemy when it does not. He
seems to have a sense of true justice I find lacking in
most, especially those who use the term bastard the
loudest. Perhaps you should look to your own life before
you are so free with labels, madam." _
"Do you dare attempt to lesson me?" Madelon shook
with fury. "I do not countenance haughty words from a
common-"
"Common? " Brenna broke in, her eyes glittering with
anger like orbs of gold. "An accident of birth made you
noble, madam, not your nature, I vow. I've seen more
regal behavior in the lowest serf than I have in you."
Hissing with rage, Lady Madelon drew back a hand as
if to strike, but Raissa quickly grabbed her wrist.
"Mother, curb your temper! Rye approaches, and I
do not think he would like to hear us squabble like she-
 264 VIRGINIA LYNN
cats, nor less would he appreciate hearing the reason for
it."
·Raissa' s desperate words penetrated Lady Madelon's
rage enough that she lowered her hand, but her fingers
were still curved into talons as if to claw at Brenna. It
would have been obvious to a blind man that there was
dissension between the women, and Rye was dear-
sighted.
"So," he said pleasantly, "do I interrupt a discussion
about something important?" He caught Brenna's arm
when she shifted away, pulling her gently to him.
Garbed in a rich velvet tunic of bright red embroidered
with glittering gold threads and tiny figures of prancing
lions, he looked every inch the fine lord he was. His gaze
moved to his wife, and his brow lifted questioningly.
"Woman talk, my lord," Brenna said, and flicked
Madelon a glance that dared her to contradict her.
"Woman talk?'' Rye's mouth curled with amusement
as well as disbelief. Something shadowed his eyes as he
met Brenna's gaze, but his words revealed nothing of his
private thoughts. "Would you not prefer dancing to
talking, my sweet? And Raissa, I have been bold enough
to promise a dance to Lord le Bressan."
Raissa smiled prettily and put her hand in the palm the
baron stretched out to her. "I accept, Lord le Bressan,
with great pleasure." She stepped daintily to the middle
of the cleared floor of the hall with the tall, lean Nor-
man, who looked down at her with a pleased smile.
Left alone with Rye and Lady Madelon, Brenna won-
dered uneasily if the older woman would take the oppor-
tunity for further insult, but she did not. She merely
moved to take a seat in the chair Brenna had abandoned.
"Come," Rye said, amusement edging his voice as he
looked at Brenna, "dance with me, my sweet."
"How do you know I won't blow out your taper, my
lordt" Brenna retorted, accepting the lighted taper he
took from a squire and gave to her.
"Do you think you can, chme?"
Smiling impishly, she said, "Aye, when I choose to do
so."
 LYON ' S PRIZE 2 65
Rye laughed and took her hand as he led her in the
steps of the dance. The torch dance was a favorite of
most in the hall, as it allowed not only lively dancing,
but a game. The one who held the last lit taper was the
victor, and there was much merriment as tapers were
blown out by dancers. People dodged and ducked, hold-
ing candles high over their heads, shielding the tiny flick-
ering flames with upheld palms when possible, swirling
away when not. Hot wax spilled to the rushes and on
clothes, but no one seemed to mind in the excitement of
the play.
"Here," Raissa said, coming quickly to Brenna, "re-
light my taper for me!"
Giggling as she touched the flaming wick to the still
smoldering taper Raissa held, Brenna said, "Do you dare
cheat, my lady?"
"If I can," was the merry reply, and amid much
squealing and laughter, the game continued.
Finally winded, only Rye, Raoul de Beaumont,
Brenna, and the Baroness of Stutely held lit tapers.
Brenna saw Rye bearing down at her with a determined
expression, and she allowed Beaumont to wheel her
away in the steps of the dance.
"Quickly," she cried, laughing. "Don't let him catch
us!" Barely managing to elude Rye, Brenna skipped
down the length of the hall with Beaumont.
Other dancers, still moving in the steps of the dance,
laughed at the play between the earl and his wife. Flashes
ofred tunic dogged Brenna's heels as Rye pursued her,
and as she dipped and whirled, watching the flickering
flame of her candle, she saw him from the corner of her
eye. It was hard to concentrate on the dance steps while
keeping the flame alive, harder still to keep another from
blowing out her taper.
She whirled, saw Rye advancing toward her, and
pivoted on her toes to skip away, Beaumont laughing
behind her. She was panting, and her gown clung to her
in damp drapes of fabric as she exerted herself. Rushes
clung to her feet as she moved and shifted, aware all the
time of Rye's determined pursuit and Beaumont's grin-
 266 VIRGINIA LYNN
ning countenance. It had so~ehow become more than
just a game to her.
He plJ.I'Sued her in play as he did in reality, and she was
equally determined that he must put forth all his effort
to capture her attentions. In the dance she could step
under her partner's outstretched arms, pivot, take three
steps, then turn again. Instead she ducked under Beau-
mont's arms and turned in the opposite direction, barely
avoiding Rye, who took advantage of poor Beaumont by
blowing out his taper as he turned. The Baroness of
Stutely, a tall, willowy brunette with a sweet face, man-
aged to elude Beaumont's effort to extinguish her taper,
only to come up against Brenna.
Laughing, Brenna quickly blew out the taper, saw the
expression of laughing dismay on the baroness's face,
then turned again. This time she came up against Rye's
broad, inflexible chest.
"I have you now, cherie/' he said, bending a bit to
blow out her candle. But Brenna took in a quick breath
and extinguished the taper he held at arm's length. The
expression of shock on Rye's face sent her-and Beau-
mont as well as the rest of the hall-into gales of merri-
ment.
"Well done," Rye said ruefully, grinning at her. He
held up his taper for all to see, the thin curl of smoke still
rising from the blackened wick. "And to the victors go
the spoils."
Still panting and out of breath, Brenna asked with an
impish smile, "And what do I win, my lord?"
She looked up at him and saw a quick flare in his eyes
that made her breath catch, and wondered if he could
tell that she loved him. Aye, she admitted to herself with
painful reservation, she did love him, though she won-
dered if it was not too late. This was her secret, an ad-
mission she would make to no one else. Aye, she loved
this fierce Norman warlord despite her vows not to, and
it frightened her at times.
"You have won," Rye was saying, his smile crooked as
he grasped her still-lit taper and held it high, "and you
and Beaumont are King and Queen of the Festivities."
 LYON'S PRIZE 2 6 7
"Truly?" Brenna could not hold back a delighted
laugh. "Do you hear that, Beaumont? We are to rule the
evening's play! What say you, gentle knight, to a game
of blindrnan's buff?"
When the lively game began, with Beaumont and
Brenna presiding and naming le Bressan as the first to
wear the hood over his eyes, Brenna had time to catch
her breath. She was more winded than she wanted to
admit, having used quite a bit of energy in the torch
dance. Sitting beside Rye's favorite knight on the dais,
Brenna happened to catch Rachel's eye as she glanced
their way.
On impulse she leaned close to the Norman knight
and whispered in his ear, "I feel a bit weary after such
play, Sir Beaumont. Do you think Rachel Vemay would
mind taking my place on this seat?"
Startled, Raoul flashed her a quick glance and a smile,
then nodded. "She could be persuaded, perchance. But
you do the honor of asking her, milady, as I would not
want to be thought presumptuous."
Within the space of a few minutes, Rachel-blushing
-had taken Brenna's place in the high-backed chair on
the dais. Brenna moved back against a wall, watching
with a fond smile as her maid cast shy glances at the
handsome knight sitting beside her.
"Matchmaking, cherie?" a deep voice inquired at her
side, and Brenna looked up to smile at Rye.
"P'raps. Though I would not have thought of it if
they had not thought it first, I think."
Rye cupped her chin in bis warm palm and lifted her
face to his. "Would you not? Only a blind man could
ignore what shines in that maid's eyes when she looks at
Raoul."
"Does it displease you?"
He shook his dark head. "Nay, not at all. I am fond of
Sir Beaumont and would see him content."
"And you think Rachel would be content?" Brenna
asked.
" 'Tis not important what I think." Rye shrugged
 268 VIRG INIA LYNN
when she stared at him in surprise. " 'Tis most impor-
tant what Rachel thinks."
Smiling, Brenna allowed Rye to pull her into a light
embrace . Her heart quicken ed at his proximity, the
strength of his sturdy body beneath her hands, the spark.
of interest she recogni7,ed in his eyes. There were times
when she felt a sense of chagrin that she held such
tender emotion s for a Norman , and times when she felt
a pang of dismay for her rejectio ns of him in the past.
She had behaved badly, had been the shrew she was
named so loudly, yet Rye had persisted. P'raps he had
not vowed love, but neither had he been cruel. Shame
made her look away from him and say the first thing that
came to mind.
"And you, my lord?" she murmu red before she could
stop the words. "ls it importa nt to you what your wife
thinks?"
He seemed surprised. "Aye, sweeting. If you are not
of a like mind concern ing the two, why have you gone
to such lengths? "
"I did not mean Rachel and Raoul," Brenna said
quickly, and felt her face flame at his scrutiny. "I spoke
of you. I wonder at times if you truly care what thought s
fill my head."
Rye didn't answer for a momen t; he gazed at her in
the shadow of the wall. They stood some few feet behind
the dais where the others sat and were alone in the midst
of a crowd. Few paid them any mind as they sought their
frolic in the games, free-flowing wine, and platters of
sweetm eats being served by harried squires and laboring
maids. As the music swirled and laughte r pervade d the
hall, Rye seemed finally to perceive Brenna' s mood.
«Cherie," he said softly, his fingers caressing the tilt of
her chin in a lingerin g touch, "I always care what
thought s fill your mind. Have you not guessed that
there is more in my attentio ns than just your welfare?"
She looked up at him, hardly daring to hope he held
her in affection. "Duty, I know, weighs heavily upon
you, but I would know, Rye, if you think softly of me
because of the babe."
 LYON'S PRIZE 269
"That, for certain," he replied, then smiled at her
quick, downcast look. "But before the babe I felt a
tender warmth for you that I cannot deny ."
Brenna gave him a searching look, trying to see if he
was only teasing her again. At his steady regard she knew
he was not.
"I, too, feel warmth toward you/' she admitted,
"though at times you do not deserve it."
Grinning at her tart amendment, Rye held her hard
against his body. "I vow that your words are the closest
I shall come to hearing sweet romance from you."
"You haven't exactly impressed me as a lovesick swain,
yourself," Brenna pointed out. Snuggling close to him,
not caring who saw or remarked upon it, she curled her
fingers into the rich velvet of his tunic. She felt the
quickened pace of his heart beneath her hand, felt his
arms tighten around her.
"P'raps I can impress you more completely in the pri-
vacy of our chamber," Rye said in a rough voice that
betrayed the passion he felt, and Brenna rubbed her
cheek against his chest.
"Do you think so? What would our guests think, my
lord, if we took our leave so prematurely?"
"That I wanted to lie abed with the most beautiful
woman in all of England," Rye replied with a grin, ig-
noring Brenna's faint flush. "And they would be correct
in that guess. Come, sweeting, we will never be missed."
Laughing, they stole away from the hall like two guilty
children, holding hands and running lightly up the wide
stone stairs that led to their chamber. Brenna felt a surge
of love so strong as to be almost overpowering, and
when Rye closed their chamber door and took her into
his arms, she wondered why she had delayed so long in
loving him. .
"There are times," she murmured as he laid her
gently on the canopied bed and began to peel away her
garments, "that I can act the absolute fool." .
Engrossed in the satiny skin revealed with the removal
of each layer of clothes, Rye was breathing more heavily
than he had while dancing the strenuous torch dance. A
 270 VIRG INIA LYNN
faint smile curved the hard line of his mouth when he
pulled away the last garmen t and sat back on his heels,
and he looked up at her flushed face at last. ·
"Aye," he agreed, "you can act almost as big a fool as
your husban d, cherie. Pray that we have learned our les-
son well."
His big hands cupped her breasts, grown much larger
in the past weeks, with the creamy globes blue-veined
and ripe in his palms. He caressed them softly, watching
his hands as he did, his breathing growing apace with his
movements. Then, stroking downward, he slid his palms
over her belly in gentle caresses before touchin g the red-
gold nest of curls below. Brenna squirmed beneath his
touch, and her eyes lifted to his face.
"My lord-a re you not overdressed for this play?"
Laughing softly, Rye lifted a dark brow. "Do you seek
to tempt me, wench?"
"Nay, lord." She smiled at his disapp ointme nt. "I
seek to do much more than just tempt you. . . ."
With a deft motion she turned and rose to her knees,
her hands moving to the gold clasp at his shoulder. She
unfastened it, holding his gaze with her eyes, seeing his
eyes darken with passion as she pulled away his mantle,
then sought to unbuckle the wide leather belt that cir-
cled his lean waist.
Grabbi ng her in a fierce embrace, Rye mutter ed
against the rich, fragrant wealth of her russet hair,
"Sweet lady, I think we may yet find that elusive con-
tentme nt that I've heard can exist between lovers."
"I'm depend ing on it, Rye de Lyon," Brenna an-
swered, tossing aside his belt and tuggin g at his tunic. "I
assure you, I'm depend ing on it."
 CHAPTER 1 6

SUMMER LENGTHENED INTO fall, and the harvest came in

with great abundance, promising plenty for the long
winter to come. The depredations of the outlaws had
been long and hard but had done no lasting damage to
the lands of Moorleah. As was the norm, the serfs la-
bored three days for their lord, three for themselves, and
rested on the Sabbath.
The stores at Moorleah were filled nearly to bursting,
and Brenna saw to the placement of the supplies. On
one day of the week peasants were required to bring to
the keep a small portion of their yield, sheaves of corn,
chickens, cakes of beeswax, or in lieu of such, a few
coins. This kept the castle well supplied and provided for
the lean times to come when it would be doled back to
the very folk who brought it.
Grain was ground at Moorleah's gristmill, wine made
in the castle winepress, and bread baked in the castle
ovens, all for a small fee that went into the castle coffers.
Men labored to build stone walls, roads, and new build-
ings for the abundance of foodstuffs being collected.
The castle even collected from the village fish pond a
certain share of the fish, though a much larger share was
2 7 1
 272 VIR GIN IA LYN N
garnered from the sea and fishermen, salted, and kept in
huge barrels in the stores.
Rye, as designated by William, kept detailed ledgers of
every sheaf of wheat, sow, or lamb, and was responsible
for the census of his people. It was a full-time task, and
one he was glad to share with his stewards and the priest.
The only custom Rye scorned was the heriot and mor-
tuary by which he was to claim the best beast at a 8Clf'a
death and allow the rector to claim the second-best.
"Nay ,,, Rye refus ed." ,Twill be hard enough to make
it through a bitter winter if the family must give up its
best to one who has plent y!'
Brenna grew even more impressed with Rye's sense of
justice as time passed and began to fully realize the na-
ture of the man she'd married. Aye, he was harsh with
those who had earned it, and his temper ofttimes was
much strained by Brenna's occasional sharpness, but on
the whole of it, he was a more tractable knight than he'd
been in the past. No longer did Rachel tremble in his
presence but saw in her lord a kindness beneath the
gruff exterior.
Thou gh Rye retained a certain wariness, and had
never said aloud that he loved Brenna, she began to feel
that he did. That certainty lent her a serenity she'd never
felt before, and for the first time since she was a small
child, Brenna radiated contentment.
The only thorn in her newfound happiness was Rye's
stepmother, and that dame still sough t to prick at
Brenna with the few weapons at her disposal.
"You've grown as large as a she-boar,,, Lady Madelon
commented one crisp afternoon when the ladies of the
keep sought fresh air atop the castle walls. "How much
longer do you think Rye will seek your bed?,,
Giving Lady Madelon a startled glance, Brenn
glimpsed Raissa>s indignant face and the matching angera
on Rachel's. The responses of her two friends made her ·
more accepting of Madelon's attempts to prick her, and
she shrugged lightly.
"I cannot imagine why you would be interested in
where your son sleeps, my lady. Unless, of course, you
 LYON'S PRIZE 273
feel the need to share, however remotely, someone else's
happiness?"
"Happiness?" Lady Madelon's face had mottled into
an ugly shade of purple, but she did not back down.
Waving a painted fan bought in London, she gave a deri-
sive snort. "He only sports for now. I know him, and I
know his nature. You are a fool if you think he will not
leave your bed as soon as you can no longer serve his
needs."
Pushing at a heavy strand of hair escaped from its neat
knot on her nape, Brenna searched for a neutral reply to
silence Madelon. It was growing more difficult to field
the woman's barbs; with her growing belly and more
lumbering gait, she felt clumsy and unattractive. Only
Rye's ardent attentions at night when he sought her
company in bed made her feel better, and she couldn't
help a small prick of disquiet at the thought he would
soon find her bulky shape repugnant.
"Really, Mother," Raissa put in when Brenna lapsed
into silence, "I do not know why you must torment her
with your ridiculous notions."
"Ridiculous?" Lady Madelon waved her painted fan
of thin shell more vigorously. "I seem to recall another
man swearing fidelity even as he sought his pleasure in
the bed of a highborn Norman whore."
"At least," Brenna observed with rueful humor,
" 'twas not a Saxon who stole his attentions."
Furious, Lady Madelon rounded on Brenna. "Do not
think to play the fool with me, Brenna of Marwald! I
know your game and recognize your ends."
"Do you?" Brenna's temper, held tightly in check,
began to rise sharply. "Then, pray, tell me what I seek to
gain by being loyal to my husband. Wealth? Nay, not
that, for he willingly sees to my needs. Power? I think
not, for as his lady I have more power than I ever
wanted. Yea, my lady, I think I have much more than I
ever dreamed of having and am well satisfied." She
waved an arm to encompass the lands beyond the castle
walls, the rolling hills and forests rich with fall hues of
red, yellow, and brown. "Moorleah once belonged to
 274 VIR GIN IA LYN N
my mothe r, 'tis true, but 'twas never a home to me.
Now I find to my amazement and delight that I view
this cold stone domicile as more home than I've ever
had."
Lady Madelon's voice vibrated with spite. "Yet 'tis not
your home , but his, and once you are gone, he will share
it with who pleases him."
"You speak easily of 'once I am gone, ' but I see no
evidence that he wishes me away. Do you know some-
thing that I do not?"
Madelon leaned close. ''Who says you will survive the
birth, little Saxon whore?"
Brenna paled but faced her defiantly. "If you survived
giving birth, mada m-an d we've all heard how delicate
you are-t hen I assure you that a comm on Saxon wench
has a much better chance of mothe ring her babe."
Laughing cruelly, Madelon shook her head. Malice
sparked in her eyes, and she mocked, "Do not equat e
inner streng th with comm on blood. The two do not
mix. You are a comm on wenc ~ for all that you preten
d
to nobility. And if you do survive the birth -" She
paused, then shrug ged. "It will be a miracle, I say."
''You speak as if you wish me gone yourself, milady.
Do you intend to suggest it to Rye?"
"Onc e you birth that brat, my fine Saxon, he will find
a way to rid himself of you. William bade him build and
hold these lands and sire a son to follow. 'Tis the way of
Normans, to ensure the lands stay in their family . Why
do you think my husband left his lands to a bastard?"
She gave a harsh laugh. " 'Twas not out of fondness, but
the need to keep the lands away from those who would
take them. Rye but seeks the same end, to keep these
lands for his heirs."
"You speak of me," Brenna said with an angry toss of
her head, "as if I am but a brood mare. Yet when he wed
me, he did not know if I would ever give him a child.
Nay, in my anger I swore I would not."
''Yet here you are, just as Rye said you would be,
heavy with his child, his heir."
Brenna tried to ignore the tingling of alarm that beat
 LYO N'S PRIZ E 275
in her brain and felt Raissa 's anxious gaze on her as she
shook her head.
"You lie, Lady Madelo n, and other than satisfaction at
having sown seeds of discon tent, I cannot imagin e what
you hope to gain with your malicious words. "
Shrugg ing, Lady Madelo n smooth ed the velvet of her
gown over her knees and looked out over the walls to
where Rye and his men-at -arms trained in the field.
Clods of earth churne d beneat h the great hooves of the
destriers as the men made mock battle in the late au-
tumn sun.
"I think," she said into the tense silence that crackled
with her hatred, "that you know my reasons but do not
wish to see them."
"I only know that you wish to make us both unhapp y.
I will not allow it," Brenna said in a flat, calm tone that
did not, thankfully, betray her inner turmoi l.
"Moth er," Raissa begged , her voice breakin g with her
distress, "please do not speak so cruelly! I cannot bear it
if you continu e, and-"
"Silenc e," Lady Madelo n snappe d at her daught er,
her dark gaze turning to the slender girl. "You have a
new life ahead of you, and when you marry le Bressan,
you will leave here for his house. What do you know of
what I will have to bear once you are gone?"
Shrink ing back, Raissa said in a low tone, "That is not
for some time yet, and I did ask that you go with me."
"And what did my noble bastard stepson say?" Made-
lon deman ded harshly. "Shall I tell you? He said that he
would not wish to inflict a disrupt ive scold into the
househ old of the king's vassal, and that he would shut
me into a nunner y if I would only agree."
Paling, Raissa whispe red, "Nay, he did not say it like
that. He only sugges ted that you would be more conten t
in a quiet, peaceful place where you could spend your
days in comfo rt."
At that Brenna unders tood the motive s behind Lady
Madelo n's fury and relaxed slightly. It was a dreadful
misund erstand ing, and when she explained it to Rye, he
would ease the dowag er's mind, and perhap s her venom .
 2 7 6 VIRG INIA LYNN
But Rye, Brenna discovered, had no intention of eas-
ing Lady Madelon's mind.
"Nay, she is quite right," he said bluntly, "though I
cannot like her habit of eavesdropping."
Brenna looked up from the small garment she was
sewing for the coming child, watching Rye in the early-
evening light that streamed through the window of their
chamber. "But Rye-yo u would put her aside?"
He met her gaze with a lifted brow. "Defending her,
my sweet? I thought there was little love between the
two of you."
"There is no affection, that is true, but just to put her
away like an unwanted, frayed garment . . ."
"She's made her own choices." The stubborn set of
Rye's mouth should have warned Brenna, but when she
offered the argument that it would be unkind to shut
away the woman who was his father's widow, he
growled at her to leave the topic alone.
"Lady Madelon has caused more trouble here than I
care to discuss with you, Brenna, and though I appreci-
ate your belated, misguided compassion, I caution you
to keep your tongue from matters that do not concern
you. This is men's business, not to be meddled in by a
woman."
Angry now, Brenna carefully set aside the linen shirt
and rose from her chair near the brass brazier. "Men's
business, you say? To put aside a woman into a nunnery?
Is that what you consider men's business?"
"Leave off, Brenna," Rye muttered , not meeting her
eyes as he raked a hand through his thick black hair. It
had grown down over his ears again and curled on the
nape of his neck in tiny wisps that normally would have
beckoned her attention. Now, however, she gazed at
him with growing consternation.
Lady Madelon's situation too closely paralleled her
own should Rye decide to put her aside. It was common
for a wife to flee a brutal husband and take refuge in a
convent, even more common for that woman to take the
veil to keep from finding herself ordered back to the
husband and risk being killed, or allow herself to be put
 LYON' S PRIZE 277
aside. Many a wife had chosen the veil over being mur-
dered, and now Brenna began to wonder if Lady Made-
lon was paving the way for her own removal.
Doubts assailed her, though she ad.qritted to herself
that it was unlikely. Rye treated her with genuine con-
cern and tender care, and she could not be mistaken in
that. He was not always sweet-tempered, but neither was
she.
"Don't worry," Rye said, seeing her troubled face, "I
won't force her to it, only suggest most strongly that she
seek her peace in the nunnery of her choice. I've even
offered to settle lands and vineyards on the chosen nun-
nery, or arrange a marriage for her, but she has refused
my offers."
"She does seek discord, it is true," Brenna agreed,
"but I think banishmen t a harsh reward."
"Banishm ent?" Rye gave her an astonished look. "I
do not seek to banish her, but to put her where she will
not cause more trouble. I know my duty to my father's
wife and will not shirk it."
Brenna recognize d the growing irritation in his voice
and decided to hold her tongue. Nothing would be
gained by pricking his temper further, and in truth, she
did not know why she defended a woman who only
sought to hurt her.
When she quieted, Rye looked at her with a soft smile.
"Brenna, I think you have changed more than just in
your round form," he teased. "I detect a tenderness in
you that was not there when we first met."
"Do you?" she murmured , flashing him a fiery glance
that made him grin. "Be certain you do not feel the
sting of my tongue when you least expect it."
"Ah, I look forward to the flick of your tongue," he
jested, laughing when she flushed. "Still shy, cherie? I
vow, you are the only woman I've ever known who can
be so filled with child, yet so easily embarrass ed."
"It's the company of Normans that sets my face
afire," Brenna retorted, but her eyes began to gleam
with amused lights as Rye chuckled at her display of
temper.
 278 VIRG INIA LYNN
"Let me set more than your face afire, my sweet," he
said with a meaningful glance at her rounde d breasts,
and when he pulled her to him, she forgot all about
Lady Madelon and her own doubts .

Brenna's newfound conten tment was not marred until

her brothe r sought her out one chilly autumn eve, com-
ing to the chamb er she shared with Rye.
"Myles ," Brenna said with genuin e pleasure, trying to
heave her bulky form from the chair to stand.
"Nay, please do not rise," Myles begged, eying her
with trepidation. "I fear you will harm yourself in the
attempt. I came only to bid you farewell for a time, as I
must leave Moorle ah."
"Leave? But why, Myles? I though t you were in train-
ing to Sir de Beaum ont as a squire. "
"I am." Myles's mobile mouth tightened into a taut
line that made his young face look suddenly older and
harsh. "I cannot explain but knew that you would worry
if you heard of my absence."
Grabbi ng at his arm, Brenna said with a cautious
glance toward the open door, "Is it our kin who draw
you away?"
Myles gave her a sharp look. "Why do you ask that?"
"Because I can think of little else that would make
you risk your position as knight ," Brenna retorte d.
"You've heard something, haven' t you?"
"Aye," he admitte d after a momen t, and knelt close
by her side to speak softly. "They' re planning someth ing
rash, Brenna, and I must stop them before it's too late."
"Too late? What can our brother s do that will not end
in their untimely deaths?"
Raking a spread hand throug h his silky russet hair, he
mutter ed, "Raise an army and seek to join forces with
King Philip of France. You know he would leap at the
chance to prick William."
Brenna felt a stab of fear. Still clutching his arm, she
said earnestly, "Do not risk yourself by warning them,
Myles."
 LYON 'S PRIZE 279
"Warning them?" He stared at her. " I go to stop
them, not warn them, Brenna. I do not want their dis-
loyalty to reflect on Lord Lyon; therefore, I want to be
far from his demesne when I seek an end to their treach-
ery."
"How did you hear of this?"
Myles gave a start at a noise in the corridor, but when
no one came within sight, he whispered, "I saw Rannulf
in the village last week. He sought to enlist my aid."
"How?"
His mouth twisted bitterly. "By threatening to expose
my part in the raids this past spring if I do not open the
castle gates one night to allow them inside."
Brenna felt faint, and the child within her moved in a
strong motion that made her clutch her belly. Myles
gave an alarmed exclamation, but she shook her head.
"Nay, 'tis just an active babe. Listen to me, Myles,
you must tell Rye. . . ."
"Nay!" His face whitened . "I cannot. He trusted me,
you see, and I do not wish to admit that I participated in
the raids that I find shameful now. It was only a few, and
Jong before I came here, but I am afraid that-Bre nna,"
he said swiftly, grabbing her arm and holding it tightly,
"do not betray me to him, swear to me you won't!"
"Nay," she gasped out, "I won't. But please-t rust
him. He will not deal harshly with you if you tell him the
truth of it, Myles."
"I dare not risk it." Myles gave her the look she knew
as his most obstinate, and she felt a sinking misgiving
that he was risking much more than Rye's displeasure.
"When do you go?" she asked miserably.
"This eve, after the midnight hour."
"But what is your plan? How do you hope to stop
them from accomplishing their ends?"
Myles hesitated, then shook his head. "The less you
know about it, the less you will fret. Do not believe all
that you hear, and do not trust anyone but your most
loyal servants. Do you understand what I am telling
you?"
 280 VIRGIN IA LYNN
A frown creased her brow. "Are there those in this
keep who would harm Rye?"
"A man of his prowess and power will always have
grim enemies that seek his destruction. Rye de Lyon is
capable of dealing with them, but you are a liability he
cannot risk." He caught her hand. "Brenna, do not do
anything foolish, or you might risk your husband."
"I don't understand. . . ."
"Pray God I'm wrong, but if I'm not-" He paused,
then said, "Trust no one, do you hear?"
"Yea, I hear, but I do not know whom you mean."
"That's the crux of it-neither do I. I only know that
there is someone here who stirs trouble with both
hands."
Rising to his feet, Myles looked behind him, then bent
and kissed his sister on the forehead. At that moment,
with his sword at his side and his young face set in lines
of grim determination, he looked much older than the
seventeen he'd just turned. Brenna's throat dosed with
fear for him, and she dung to his hand until he pulled
free.
"Fare thee well," she whispered as he stepped to the
door and peered out, then turned and blew her an impu-
dent kiss on his fingertips before leaving. She stared at
the spot where his mantle had whirled in a splash of
bright blue velvet and felt the nameless dread that had
once dogged her days steal into the marrow of her
bones.
Danger and death stalked her family again, as it had in
those days she'd thought gone forever.
 CHAPTER 1 7

"MoRE OUTIAws?" BRENNA repeated, feeling an icy chill

grab at her heart. "But Rye-are you certain?"
"How certain does one have to be in the face of
burned huts and dead or raped serfs?" he asked bitterly.
Donning his mail chausses, he pulled them over his legs
and tied them at his waist. He already wore the leather
aketon, or tunic over a woolen shirt, as well as a padded
cap over his head.
Brenna watched with a leaden heart as he accepted the
help of his squire into the mail hauberk. Gowain laced it
in the back as Rye reached for the coif of chain mail that
he wore over his head. Such armor denoted his intention
to engage in fierce battle, and she tried not to protest. It
was his duty as overlord to keep his people safe, and the
depredations of the outlaws were a deliberate flaunting
of his authority as well as injurious to those he'd sworn
to protect.
"Where do you seek them?" she asked when she knew
she could speak without pleading.
"Beyond Haverleigh, to the north." Rye tugged on
the conical helmet and lifted up his sword as Gowain
buckled on the thick belt that would hold the leather
scabbard.
28 1
 282 VIRG INIA LYNN
" 'Tis a far distanc e," Brenna comme nted, and earned
a glance from Rye.
"Aye, it is. But not far enough . It's as if the bandits
want me to follow them." He flicked her a glance, then
said in a heavy voice, "You know that your brothe r
Myles is gone from Moorle ah."
Brenna couldn 't meet the steady blue gaze he bent on
her but looked away and murmu red, "Aye. So I was
told."
"Do you know where he went?" he asked sharply, and
when she shook her head, he mutter ed a soft oath.
"Curse it, Brenna , I though t the boy loyal. Beltair has
told me-bu t that is of no matter now."
Steppin g close, Brenna put a hand on his mailed arm
as he stuck one hand into a heavy leather gauntlet.
"Please , Rye, beware of a trap."
"Do you think I haven' t though t of that?" he re-
turned shortly. "I have. And you might as well know -I
suspec t your brother s of being behind these latest as-
saults."
Brenna nodded . "I suspect the same."
Startle d, Rye peered at her closely. The nasal, or strip
of metal that guarde d the nose from sword cuts, hid his
face, but she could see the surprise in his expression.
"Do you? You do not object? "
"Yea, I object." Her chin lifted angrily. "I object to
men slaying the innoce nt and preying on those weaker,
just to draw out an enemy. Oh yes, I object most heart-
ily, my lord, and I hope you find them and stop them."
Rye smiled faintly. ''You ever astoun d me, my sweet."
"Why should it surprise you that I do not approve of
slaught er?"
"If you will recall, I once chastised you for not having
any loyalty, then endure d your ire because you did not
care for my treatm ent of your kin. I can never be sure of
your temper ."
"Be certain of this-" Brenna stepped dose, looking
up into his brilliant blue eyes. "I will pray every momen t
for your safe return, my lord, and will light so many
 LYON'S PRIZE 283
candles in the chapel that Father Gutierrez will think the
altar on fire."
Chuckling, Rye pulled her to him, jerking off his hel-
met to kiss her hard. When he lifted his head, bis eyes
were smoky with passion, and his smile rueful.
" 'Twas not well advised to kiss you so long, my
sweet, as I am almost swayed from riding out to do my
duty."
"Come back to me safely, and I promise you another
kind of ride that has nothing to do with duty," she whis-
pered against his lips.
"In your condition, cherie, I fear we must wait a long
time for your keeping of that promise." Rye gave a
lengthy sigh tinged with regret and set her back from
him. Bellowing for Beaumont, he stalked swiftly from
the guardroom with Gowain hastening to follow.
Brenna watched from a parapet as the armed soldiers
and knights rode out of the keep. Shivering, she paid no
attention to the harsh bite of the cold or whip of the
wind and continued gazing in the direction the men had
gone till only the faint mists could be seen lying on the
land.
Few men remained, except for the guard Rye had left
to protect the keep in case of attack. Those men were
soldiers trained to defense, led by Beltair, the crusty ser-
geant-at-arms who'd been with Rye for many years. In-
side the keep itself, however, the only males to be seen
were those young enough to serve as pages. Even the
squires were gone with their lord.
The hall felt strangely empty, though there were
plenty of servants scurrying about, stirring up the central
fire so that smoke rose in thick clouds toward the hole in
the high ceiling, carrying platters of food to the lower
tables. Dogs quarreled noisily over scraps in the rushes,
and Brenna made a mental note to have them set loose
in the keep after dusk instead of chained as usual. If Rye
was not there, and the keep guarded with a contingent
of soldiers, she wanted as much warning as possible
should an enemy try to sneak in. She'd not forgotten
 284 VIR GIN IA LYN N
Myles's bitter words about their broth ers' efforts to
sneak into the gates at night.
It was enoug h of a worry , that she sough t out Beltair
to tell him of her disquiet.
"I have fough t many battles, my lady," the old soldier
assured her, "and I know how to defen d a keep. Do not
worry about your safety. Your lord would not have left
you to a man who could not prote ct you."
There was an implied rebuk e in his calm words , and
Brenn a mana ged a smile. "I apologize if I have offended
you or cast aspersions on your ability, Beltair, but it was
made know n to me that at one time outlaws plann ed to
sneak throu gh the leper gates by stealthy mean s."
"I under stand, my lady." Beltair's mann er was short,
but respectful. "I have already set guard s in every tower
and seen to those possibilities."
"Than k you," Brenn a said, "and forgive a nervo us
woma n her fears."
Bowin g, Beltair's crusty face eased into a slight smile
that soften ed his harsh count enanc e. "Your lord would
never take a chance with so precious a jewel, Lady Lyon,
so do not worry overm uch."
It was much easier to hear his reassurances than it was
to heed them, Brenn a thoug ht as she went about her
daily duties. She was so much slower these days, that
it
took twice as long as norma l to comp lete the simplest
task.
"I rival Rye's destrier in size," Brenn a mutte red when
Rachel had to help her up from a low bench. " 'Tis no
wond er he seeks dange r instea d of our cham ber."
Laugh ing, Rachel held to her arm as she escort ed her
to the room where the looms were set up. Cloth was
being woven on a horizo ntal loom, and several servants
sat on stools, weaving industriously. Their hands flew
nimbly at the task, and the soft, muted sweep of the
shuttl e across the warp filled the chamber. Distaffs and
cardin g devices were set up on the far wall, and the room
was in neat order .
"You 're doing a splendid job," Brenn a approved as a
girl glanced up at her shyly. The wool was soft and fine
 LYON'S PRIZE 2 8 5
and was producing a superb quality of cloth. Brenna
paused to discuss the pattern with her, then moved on.
By the time she'd finished inspecting the material, the
smell of shorn wool and the fluff in the air had made her
seek a chamber without chaff. She paused to breathe
deeply and cast Rachel a rueful glance.
"No one ever told me I would be so uncomfortable
with my burden," she commented. "I wonder do I bear
a babe with more than the normal legs and arms."
" 'Tis good that the child is lusty, Mistress Martel
said. A weak babe could not survive the winter months."
Brenna could not suppress a sudden shiver and
glanced up to sec Rachel's frown. "A chill," she ex-
plained, "from remaining too long on the walls."
Raebel nodded. She, too, had stood on the parapets
and watched the men ride away. Her heart had gone
with Raoul de Beaumont, though no banns had been
posted, nor offer made.
"Shall we sit by the fire in the hall, milady?" Rachel
asked, and they made their way down the curved stair-
case.
Brenna bit back a frustrated groan when she saw Lady
Madelon in the hall, seated on a cushioned chair. No
one sat dose to her, and to withdraw now would seem
rude, so she sighed with resignation and moved across
the hall.
"Good day, my lady," Brenna murmured as Rachel
helped her sit down in a high-backed chair made com-
fortable with stuffed cushions. "I hope you 're faring
well."
"Well enough," Lady Madelon answered in a civil
tone, but her eyes were sharp as she observed Brenna.
"Is it near your time?"
The question, on the surface, was innocent. But as the
wedding had been in late March, and it was now Octo-
ber, any babe born now would have been conceived be-
fore marriage. Brenna's chin lifted slightly.
"Nay, milady, I still have some time left before the
child is due. By the midwife's calculations, it should be
born near Christmas."
 2 8 6 VIRG INIA LYNN
"Christmas?" Madelon gave her a shrewd glance.
"That is over two months away. You're much too large
to have that long a time left to you."
"Nonetheless, that is the time the child is due."
Brenna leaned dose when Rachel murmured softly to
her and nodded her acceptance at her suggestion. When
the maid brought a goblet of warm herbal drink for her,
Brenna took it gratefully. She shifted uncomfortably in
the chair and tried to appear interested in the chess game
two soldiers were engaged in at one of the lower tables.
With the raw, chilled weather, all sought warmth in the
keep.
Even Father Gutierrez, Moorleah's priest, sought
warmth and comfort in the hall, his chaujfe-mains dan-
gling from his side to keep him warm. He had been,
these past days of rain and wind, conducting morning
mass in the hall so that the ladies would not have to
brave the elements . An altar had been set up in a small
chamber and draped with cloths.
Brenna found the priest a pleasant companion, witty
and filled with amusing anecdotes, and enjoyed his com-
pany. She smiled when the priest badgered a soldier with
genial humor into playing him at chess, and the two men
bent over the board with avid attention. Gutierrez
pushed back his heavy cowl and propped his chin on the
bridge of his hands as the soldier promptly took his
bishop.
Lady Madelon did not seem to find the priest's pres-
ence as entertaining and grumbled that he should be
tending to his business instead of drinking wine and
playing chess.
''You would have a man of God live like a monk who
has taken the vow of silence?" Brenna inquired with a
shrug. "I do not think him blasphemous."
"Do you not?" A faint smile curved Lady Madelon's
mouth as she regarded Brenna. "That is very interesting,
milady."
Frowning, Brenna turned away from Lady Madelon's
cold eyes and vicious tongue. There were times the
 LYON'S PRIZE 2 8 7
woman made her feel threatened, and lately she detected
rnore hatred than usual in her manner. She shivered.
"Cold, milady?" Rachel asked, and offered to take her
chair closer to the central fire. ·
"Nay, I am not that chilled. Do not bother yourself."
Garbed in layers of heavy wool, Brenna wasn't as cold
as she might have been otherwise; her only complaint
was that her shape made it necessary to sit propped on
cushions instead of sitting up properly. She alternately
cursed Rye for causing her condition, and missed him.
"If you weren't so slender," Lady Madelon observed
in a voice that set Brenna's teeth on edge, "you would
be better able to carry children. Your hips are too nar-
row. If I'd seen you before the wedding, I would have
warned Rye about your improbability of carrying a babe
to full term."
''Would you?" Brenna asked sweetly. "How kind of
you to think of my welfare. I vow, if anyone had been
bold enough to speak out and save me from a marriage I
detested at the time, I might have kissed her feet."
Smirking, Lady Madelon observed, "Some Saxons
have tried to rise above their stations by marriage but
must always pay a heavy price in the end."
"Aye," Brenna agreed, wishing she felt well enough
to slap that dame's aristocratic face, "but I was fortunate
in being chosen by a man who brooks little resistance.
To that end I am now well content with my lot. It seems
that he was the more farseeing of the two of us, for he
once said that I would feel this way."
Sitting back with a jerk of irritation, Lady Madelon
snapped, "You rattle like an empty gourd, spewing
phrases to his glory that none has ever said. You cannot
be foolish enough to think I believe in your devotion."
"Madam, you cannot be foolish enough to think I care
what you believe," Brenna retorted, goaded beyond en-
durance into being rude. She'd tried to ease the tension
between them in the past weeks, noting Raissa's dismay
and Rye's growing annoyance, but devil take the
woman, if she would not try the patience of a saint! And
 2 8 8 VIRGINIA LYNN
Brenna, for all that she had tried hard to curb her natural
temper, was far from saintly.
Leaning forward, Lady Madelon fixed Brenna with a
hot glare and said slowly, "One day, my fine lady, you
shall regret your haughty words.,,
"No doubt. I certainly regret a few other things that
have been thrust upon me of late." Brenna turned her
back to Lady Madelon and beckoned to Rachel. "I
would go to my chamber now, Rachel. Please see that
the evening meal is as I ordered it.,,
Never having forgotten Madelon's interference with
the cook, Brenna always ensured that the meal was being
prepared on time and as she ordered. There had been no
more skimpy fare.
By the time Rachel had helped Brenna to her chamber
and eased her onto the bed, dusk shrouded the land.
Weariness and cold seeped into her very bones as she lay
back on the thick feather mattress. The bed cords
creaked with her movement, and Brenna couldn't help a
laugh.
"I never thought I would be in danger of ruining a
bed with my bulk," she observed.
Rachel smiled as she stripped away Brenna's stockings
and shoes, then reached to help her out of her overtunic.
"Nay, with Rye gone I need the extra warmth,''
Brenna murmured. "Besides-I do not feel like going to
the trouble of undressing and dressing. I'm certain I
shall be roundly chastised for this laziness, but the day
has been long.,,
"No one would chastise you, my lady."· Rachel tucked
a thick fur pelt around Brenna's feet and legs. "Shall I
bring more coals for the brazier, and perhaps move it
close to the bed?"
"Aye, that would be nice. If it's this chilly in the au-
tumn, what shall I do this winter?"
"Cuddle up to your husband, and after Christmas, to
the babe," Rachel answered promptly.
A faint smile curved Brenna's mouth, and after Rachel
left, she closed her eyes and tried to envision the child
she carried beneath her heart. Dark hair, and bright blue
 LYON'S PRIZE 289
eyes like brilliant jewels, kept appearing before her, and
she hoped their child would bear Rye's coloring. She'd
once asked Rachel, did she not think their lord was the
most well-favored man in all of England, and then
laughed at the maid's expression.
"Except Sir de Beaumont, of course," she'd
amended, and Rachel had laughed and nodded.
"Aye, milady, the most well-favored. 'Tis bis eyes, I
think, that brand him as remarkable."
"Yea," Brenna had murmured. "Even his scar only
makes him more attractive. It lends a rakish air that is
quite appealing, I think."
This night, as she lay dreaming of him, drifting in and
out of light slumber, she eased her fears with memories
of his increasingly loving attitude. Would he ever admit
to that kind of emotion? she wondered. Or ever feel it~
'Twas one thing to have a softness for her, but quite
another to love her as a man should Love a woman.
Patience, she scolded herself, patience.
One day Rye would love her, and he would tell her so
without her ever having to ask. She knew irt, and knew
that she could then tell him of her own love for him.
 CHAPT ER 1 8

THE QUIET OF the night was broken by a shrill yell, and

dogs began barking in a chorus of snarls and yaps.
Brenna, jerked wide awake, sat up so quickly the babe
kicked out in protest.
"Rachel?" she called out, frightened by the sound of
more shouts, then the clash of arms. "Rachel!"
"Aye, milady." Rachel scurried toward her from her
straw pallet on the floor near the door. With Rye gone
the maid had spread her pallet inside the chamber in case
her lady needed her in the night. Now she hurried to her
side.
' 'What are those noises?"
"I do not know, but I can see if you-"
"No. Don't leave me. Here, help me up. . . ."
Brenna struggled to the side of the bed and swung her
legs over the side, taking Rachel's arm to help rise.
By the time she stood on her feet, there was a pound-
ing on her door that made it rattle on its frame. Fright-
ened, she exchanged a quick glance with Rachel, seeing
in the light of a hastily lit candle her own fear mirrored
in her eyes.
"Open!" bellowed a deep male voice, and Brenna
shivered when she failed to recognize it.
290
 LYON'S PRIZE 2 9 1
"What shall we do?" Rachel wailed, twisting her
hands together and glancing about the chamber.
"If there are men this far into the keep," Brenna said
calmly, though her legs were shaking and she was trem-
bling from head to foot, "then there is nothing we can
do but open the door. See to it, while I ready myself"
Armed with a dagger in her hand and one concealed
under the loose material of her sleeve, Brenna waited as
Rachel swung open the chamber door. To her relief it
was Father Gutierrez, and he strode swiftly into the
chamber, glancing about him.
"Lady Brenna, you must hurry," he demanded, "so
that I can get you to safety."
"What has happened?" Brenna asked anxiously as she
put her hand on his proffered arm. "Who has dared to
attack us here?"
"I know not. Come. Quickly," he said impatiently.
Rachel accompanied them, and as they made their way
down the dark corridors of the keep to a small doorway
that had been built into the corner tower, Brenna heard
the unmistakable sounds of battle. Her -breath caught as
the din of danging swords and yelling men grew louder.
"This way," Father Gutierrez said, thrusting aside a
heavy curtain to pull her through. Torches dimly lit a
narrow stairwell that dipped steeply, and Brenna held to
his arm as he helped her down the steps.
When they emerged from the keep into the inner bai-
ley, the sight that met her eyes was chilling. Soldiers
fought armored men; some of Moorleah's men-at-arms
having been surprised on their pallets, they were only
half-dressed.
"Who has attacked us?" Brenna asked again, but in
the clamor of swinging swords and shouting, the priest
did not answer.
She clung to him as they made their way to the chapel
near the far wall, and the wind whipped cruelly at her
bare legs as she stumbled along. Rachel held her other
arm, and when they finally stepped into the safety of the
small stone building, Brenna heaved a sigh of relief.
Surely those men who attacked them would not violate
 292 VIRGINIA LYNN
God's house. Even among harsh, cruel men, few dared
anger the Church and risk God's vengeance.
"Come with me, Lady Brenna," Father Gutierrez
said, and pulled her toward the back of the chapel where
his own compartments were located. He shoved open a
heavy door and thrust her inside. A fire blazed, and
Brenna moved toward it gratefully, holding out her
hands.
Shadows danced across the tapestried walls, and as she
grew warmer, she took notice of the gold and gilt fur-
nishings. It was a rich chamber, decorated with statues
of ivory, gold, and bronze. Luxurious furs and embroi-
dered hangings were everywhere, and Brenna marveled
that the priest had fared so well.
Wax candles burned instead of tallow, and there were
no smelly oil lamps to foul the air. Yea, the priest had
done well, indeed.
"My lady," Rachel whispered timidly, "I do not like
the feel of this."
Brenna gave her a sharp glance. In her fright and the
effort it cost her to hurry in her condition, Brenna had
not paid the same attention to detail as her maid had
done. Now she saw the reason for Rachel's concern.
Turning slowly, Brenna faced an armed, mailed sol-
dier, who grinned at her insolently.
"Lady Brenna of Marwald and Moorleah, wife of Rye
de Lyon?" the man asked boldly, and when she nodded,
he strode forward. "I take you as prisoner, my lady, and
will treat you with kind attention as long as you do not
resist."
Brenna stared at him. His words made little sense to
her in her extremity, and she glanced helplessly at Father
Gutierrez. The priest lifted his sloping shoulders in a
shrug.
"You are prisoner, Lady Lyon, and best go quietly."
It took Brenna a moment to realize that the priest had
not offered a protest but, indeed, seemed to know that
she was to be taken. Myles's final warning to her came
back in a rush, and she remembered his worried expres-
sion when he'd told her to trust no one. Perhaps he'd
 LYON'S PRIZE 293
suspected the priest but had not wanted to believe that a
man of the cloth would behave so treacherously.
Father Gutierrez observed her from beneath hooded
lids with a quiet regard that finally penetrated her stu-
por. He did not look away, nor seem in the least sur-
prised by what was happening.
Taking a step forward, Brenna looked at him, her am-
ber eyes sparking angrily as he met her gaze. "I see," she
said quietly. "This is all a ruse, a trap to take me and
hold me as prisoner against my husband's actions. I do
not know who is behind it, but I have my suspicions,
Father. I do know this"-she stepped so close her hands
brushed against the rough wool of his habit-"that the
thirty pieces of silver you have no doubt taken for this
deed is not enough. Rye will hunt you down, and he will
run you through with his sword, priest or no."
Gutierrez took a step back and swallowed heavily.
"Do not make idle threats, milady. Your husband is far
away from here, and by the time he returns, you will be
safely hidden." He pulled a rolled sheet of parchment
from his wide sleeve and spread it on a nearby table,
bringing a candle close for her to see. "This is a list of
demands to be met, and you will make your mark at the
bottom."
"I will not." Brenna stood stiffly, barely glancing at
the document. She could read fu.i.rly well, but the words
seemed to be in Latin instead of French or English, and
she had never been taught that script.
A soldier she'd not noticed stepped forward at a signal
from the priest and took Rachel by the arm. The girl
screamed as he tore at the neck of her gown, curling his
fingers into the material and tugging it away. Sobbing
and fighting, Rachel could not avoid his hands. The man
was grinning, obviously enjoying her struggles, and
Brenna made a small sound of horror.
"Enough!" she said as the man began to push Rachel
on her back, intent upon raping her there in the priest's
own chamber. Fury rode Brenna hard, fury and fright,
that these men would stop at nothing. "Enough," she
choked out. "If you will release my maid, I will sign."
 294 VIRGINIA LYNN
She signed with a flourish and wondered if Rye would
know that she had been forced. Surely he would realize
the truth.
As the soldier came close and Father Gutierrez began
to roll up the parchment, Brenna said softly, "I will see
you all hanging from the castle walls before this is done
and do not envy you your deaths."
Pivoting on her heel, Brenna had the satisfaction of
seeing the priest's face turn pale. He gave a signal with
one hand, and the soldier took her by the elbow. An-
other man came to take Rachel, and they were escorted
from the chapel to a gate in the wall just behind it.
Hoods were put over their heads, and they stood shiver-
ing.
"Milady," Rachel sobbed, clinging blindly to
Brenna's arm, "are you all right?"
"Yea, I am well," Brenna said softly, "but I have not
felt such rage in my entire life. IfI were not encumbered
with child, I swear I would slit the gullet of every man
who has dared touch us. . . ."
"Silence!" a soldier growled, and lifted Brenna in his
arms.
She couldn't help a gasp and felt the hard comfort of a
cart beneath her body as he laid her roughly on the straw
bed. Blinded by the hood, choking with fear, she felt a
thud next to her. More straw was piled atop her, and she
felt its gentle, prickly weight with dread. They were to
be ta.ken away from Moorleah, and that suspicion was
confirmed when the cart jerked into a creaking roll.
Rachel's muffled voice reached her ears. "Are you
well, Lady Brenna?"
"Of course. Do not worry. The straw is a nice enough
bed. And warm."
Lying cushioned on straw, unable to see, and the
noise of the cart so loµd it drowned out almost every-
thing, Brenna lay wondering what had brought her to
this end. Who meant to harm Rye? That someone did
was obvious. She was a pawn-not the first time a
woman had been used thusly, but Brenna had never
considered that she herself might suffer such a fate .
 LYON'S PRIZE 2 9 5
There was plenty of time to think in the hours that
followed her abduction, and her frantic thoughts
skipped to her brothers, among them Myles. He would
never have allowed this to happen if he knew, so she was
certain he had been taken, or at the worst, killed. Myles
would have found a way to warn Rye, she knew. She
couldn't be that wrong about her own brother.

Crouching in the dirt of a rude hut, Myles listened to his

brothers with an impassive expression. No reaction was
revealed, none of his thoughts.
"Here," Rannulf said, "the earl rides to hunt down
the men we set upon Haverleigh." He scratched in the
smooth dirt with the point of a stick. "And here we wait
until they are fresh from battle, wounded and weary.
Then we set upon them." .
"And after that?" Myles asked, lifting his head to gaze
at his older brother. "What do we do if we manage to
take the Black Lion of Normandy?"
"Use him as barter, of course," Rannulf replied in a
voice rich with satisfaction. ''We will use hostages just as
William does."
"What do we gain?"
A frown creased Rannulf's brow, and he tilted his
head to stare at his younger brother for a long moment.
"There are times, Myles, when you sound as if you do
not approve. Are you with us as you said you were?"
"I swore it, didn't I?" Myles looked at him coolly.
''Yea, you swore, and you gave us vital information.
But there are times I doubt your loyalty."
Myles looked round at Rannulf, Corbet, and Ridgely.
All looked at him steadily, and he rose from his crouch
and drew his sword.
"Let the first man who doubts me test my skill with a
blade," he said boldly, "and my steel shall speak for
me."
Laughing, Corbet observed, ''You are a strutting little
cockerel, that's for certain. Your months of training with
the Black Lion have made you cocky."
 2 9 6 VIRGINIA LYNN
"Nay, brother, they have made me strong." Myles
looked at his brothers. "There is one less of us now,
with Whitley dead, and we do not need to be quarreling
among ourselves."
"He's right," Ridgely said after a moment, lifting a
tawny brow. All the brothers bore a strong resemblance,
with fair hair worn long in the Saxon mode, and heavy
beards on their jaws. They were big men, brawny and
thick with muscle. Myles showed the same promise in his
slighter frame.
"Aye," Rannulf said slowly, "p'raps he is. If we are to
take back that which is ours, we must be united."
They returned their attention to the plans being made
and were still engrossed in the details when a commo-
tion sounded outside the hut. Myles jerked to his feet, as
did his brothers.
Sticking his head out the door, Rannulf bellowed,
"What goes?"
"A messenger," came the reply from one of their
men, and Rannulf looked surprised.
"A messenger?" He exchanged quizzical glances with
his brothers, who looked equally puzzled. Turning back,
he bade the man, "Bring him to us."
The man was brought to the hut, looking nervous
without his weapons. He was ringed by several roughly
dressed men, the Saxon outlaws who followed Dunstan's
sons.
"Who are you, and what do you want?" Rannulf de-
manded, and the messenger bent a knee.
"I bring you an offer."
"An offer? Of what? Who would make us an offer?"
Drawing in a deep breath, the soldier replied, ''We
have your sister hostage and would barter with you for
her."
Myles growled an oath and took a step forward before
his brother put out an arm to stop him.
"Barter for our sister?" Rannulf repeated, and a slow
smile curved his mouth. "How did you come by her?
And why?"
"Faith," Corbet muttered, "knowing Brenna, they
 LYON'S PRIZE 2 9 7
are anxious to rid themselves of that vile-tempered
shrew."
The messenger looked up. "She does have a sharp
tongue, it is true. But my master bade me offer her to
you in an exchange."
"Exchange?" Rannulf looked interested. "Let us hear
more of this. . . . "

Brenna glared at her captor. She was seated in a low

wooden chair, with Rachel at her side.
Smiling faintly, the man facing her said, "You are a
pawn, milady. Your wishes are of no moment here. You
will do as you are bid or suffer the consequences."
"Do you think to escape my husband's wrath, sir? I
vow, you will not be so pleased when he comes for me."
"Ifhe can find you." The man shrugged. "England is
not so well occupied that your presence here will be
marked. It is possible that you will linger here for years
without him knowing your location." Shifting position,
he moved to a table and poured a goblet of wine, sip-
ping at it as he regarded her over the rim. "Your best
option is to placate us, milady."
"By writing a letter that he will see through at once?"
"Nay, by writing a message that will bring him to his
knees."
"Why do you think I would do such a thing?" Frus-
tration filled her as she met the man's implacable gaze,
and she tried not to let it show on her face.
"Because you have no choice."
The blunt words filled her with cold dread, and she let
her gaze shift around the chamber of the small square
keep where she'd been taken. Rachel made no sound but
sat as stiffly as she, her face strained.
Brenna cleared her throat. "Who are you? I would
know who I am dealing with."
"Not that it matters, but I am the Count d'Esteray, of
Anjou, now of Hemphill."
''What do you here?" Brenna asked with a frown.
Laughing, the count said, "I seek to increase my lands
 298 VIRG INIA LYNN
and fortune, Lady Lyon. Hemphill is mine by my labors.
And I have an old score to settle with your husband ."
Brenna regarded him silently, her mind racing as she
frantically tried to think of a way out of her situation. If
this man was bent on vengeance, it would not matter to
him what condition she was in as hostage. Nor would it
give him pause to harm Rachel in the process.
''What could my husband have ever done to you?"
she asked in her haughtiest tone. "And why would you
think he cares about my welfare? I am just a nuisance to
him, as you probably are aware. King William forced us
into marriage, and there has been no love lost between
us."'
"Even if that were true," d'Esteray said, gazing at her
swollen belly pointedly, "you bear a token of his atten-
tion that will surely bring him to me. No man desires
that his heir be taken."
Shrugging carelessly, Brenna laughed. "You have
been misinformed, sir. Rye de Lyon has said time and
time over that he does not care to have half-Saxon brats
tagging at his heels. I do not think he will concern him-
self for long with an unborn child that he did not de-
sire."
An ugly expression creased d'Esteray's face. His hand
clenched into a fist, and he swore softly.
"I know that you lie, milady, and I swear to you that I
will make you sorry if you continue! Lyon bears you
some affection, and he will cotne for you. When he
does . . . when he does, I will cut him to pieces, just as
he did my father. Your husband ruined me, milady, tak-
ing lands that should have been mine when my father
died. Instead he laid claim to them, and William took
them from me."
"What lands are those?" Brenna frowned, twisting her
hands togethe r when d'Esteray laughed cruelly.
"What lands, milady? Why, Moorleah, of
course. . . ."
"You lie," she whispered. "Rye was given those lands
by William in reward for his fighting in Anjou."
"Aye, that and the fact that when William came over
 LYON'S PRIZE 299
to beat Harold, Rye de Lyon was the knight who mar-
shaled the forces that took Marwald, as well as Moor-
Jeah. Yea, I can see that you did not know. 'Twas your
husband who savaged your lands and leveled your keep,
and he would have stayed to settle his claim if not for
William's desire to have him fight for him in Nor-
mandy."
It made sense. Rye, ever obedient to William's wishes,
would have waited for his reward. After all, by then he
had inherited his father's lands and would have to see to
them before the less important estates going to ruin in
England. Brenna felt a pang of betrayal. He'd never told
her. He'd never revealed by word or deed that he had
been a part of those mail-clad men who had terrorized
her early days.
Grief rendered her incapable of speech for a moment,
and she heard d'Esteray's bitter words through a haze of
pain.
"I will lure Rye de Lyon here to Hemphill and will
slay him," the count was saying, striking one fist into his
palm. "I have waited overlong for this and planned it
too well to fail now. And you are better bait than I had
first thought, I am assured, so do not think to sway me."
"Better bait?" Brenna repeated numbly.
"Aye, at first I had planned on taking his sister as the
lure, but was persuaded after his marriage that you
would suffice much better."
"Persuaded? By whom? Father Gutierrez?"
"Nay, that prelate is only a pawn," d'Esteray said with
a scornful laugh. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and he
kept his gaze on Brenna for a long moment. ''Who,
milady, do you think hates you enough to see this
through? And who is it who bears your husband little
affection?"
Rachel made a small, strangled sound, and d'Esteray
smiled. "See? Even your simple maid knows."
"Lady Madelon would not be so foolish," Brenna
said, but knew even as she said it that Rye's stepmother
would not hesitate to do him harm.
Moving to where she sat, d'Esteray reached out to
 300 VIRGI NIA LYNN
trail a finger along the curve of Brenna's cheek, laughing
when she jerked away.
"Do not be so haughty, my beauty. Once your brat is
born and buried, I intend to take you to wife myself.
Part of my just due, don't you think?"
"Your just due," Brenna grated, ''will be a sword in
the belly. And if Rye fails to do it, William will succeed.
You are a fool, sir, a dead fool."
"William?" Another laugh erupted from d'Esteray.
"Even now your own brothers seek to bring the French
king to rout William from England, thus gaining even
more land and wealth. Those fools-you r brothers are
too stupid to know that Philip will not honor his prom-
ises to return England to the Saxons, but will put
his own mark upon it if he can wrest it from William's
iron grip. Aye, with Saxon rising against him here,
and his armies beleaguered in Normandy, it will be only
a matter of time before William must choose between
the land of his birth, and this wet country he took by
trickery."
As much as Brenna would have liked to have England
in Saxon hands again, her loyalties were tom. Less
would she like to have the French king, Philip, as mon-
arch, and even though she felt angry because of Rye's
part in the razing of her home, she loved him. She was
wed to him, and she had his child beneath her heart.
Nay, she would not willingly betray the man she loved.
After several moments of silent thought, she looked
up at d'Esteray. Rachel gasped when she said, "So, my
lord, how do you wish me to help you snare the man
who burned my home and took my lands away?"

A frown creased Rye's brows into a knot, and he slid

Beaumont a thoughtful glance.
"Do you not think it strange that these outlaws tarry,
Raoul?"
"Aye, seigneur. They linger overlong instead of flee-
ing like hares from what they have done."
Rye's knees tightened, and his huge destrier moved in
 LYON'S PRIZE 3 0 1
a restless prance to one side. Holding his shield on his
left arm, and his lance in his right fist, Rye regarded the
men in the field beyond him. They ran, as he'd expected,
when confronted with armed soldiers, but they did not
flee as they had before into the glens and woods that hid
them so well. The outlaws had lingered in a still-burning
village until the Normans had ridden almost upon them,
then fled to the north across bare fields.
With the fields fallow, it was easy to sec their path.
Garbed in bright colors for outlaws, they made excellent
targets for arrows, Rye thought, and motioned for his
master-at-arms to attend him. Within moments the ar-
chers had strung their bows and loosed a volley of ar-
rows.
Surprised by this tactic, the outlaws dispersed into the
woods at last, and Rye smiled. "They arc too obvious,
Raoul. We are to follow. Sec? They make no provision
for our pursuit but seem almost to invite it."
Beaumont agreed, adding, ''We have used that ploy
before too, and if done just right, it works. These men
expect us to follow so they can turn on us with more
men and cut us to pieces."
"My thoughts exactly. Shall we do as expected?"
Startled, Beaumont blurted, "My lord? Surely you do
not mean . . . "
"Nay, I do not mean we are to be cut to pieces. I
mean we are to let them think we do not see through
their ploy, then turn the tables on them."
Grinning, Beaumont nodded. "I relish the opportu-
nity to feel my blade cut into men who think us fools."
Spurring his destrier, Rye gave the signal to charge,
and bracing his lance against his booted foot, he led his
men after the straggling outlaws. They caught some of
them at the edge of the woods and quickly disposed of
them with lance and sword. Rye fought furiously, feeling
a certain satisfaction in slaying men who preyed upon
the innocent.
Having left soldiers behind to stall a retreat from the
enemy, Rye swept a line of men to left and right while
he and Beaumont moved down the middle of the open
 302 VIRGINIA LYNN
field toward the outlaws caught out in the open. A man
turned, deciding to make a stand, and braced his lance
against the ground while gripping his sword with his
other hand. Rye's lance took him full in the chest before
he could do mote than offer a single thrust, bearing the
man back to the ground. Jerking his lance free, Rye
wheeled his mount to meet the swing of a sword, parry-
ing it with his shield, then jabbing his lance again and
again.
Drawing his sword, Rye hacked about him without
pause, hearing the chaos of battle rage louder and louder
as he fought viciously. Even in the chill air, sweat
streamed under his helmet, wetting his face and blurring
his vision.
It wasn't until the worst of the fray was over that he
wiped a hand across his eyes and turned to survey the
field. It was littered with bodies, most dead, some dying.
"Beaumont," he said tersely, "strip the dead, tend the
wounded. And bring me any man able to talk."
"Aye, milord." Beaumont wheeled his weary mount
to see to the earl's orders. By the time he brought Rye
three men still able-bodied enough to be questioned,
the prisoners knew what was intended. They cast fearful
eyes toward the bright fire blazing, and the irons thrust
into the flames.
Rye smiled pleasantly. He was bareheaded and leaned
upon the hilt of the sword he'd thrust into the ground as
he regarded the wary men.
"Are you chilled?" he asked, and swept a hand toward
the fire to be certain they saw their possible fates. "I will
be glad for you to warm yourselves once you have given
me a few answers to things that puzzle me."
One man fell to his knees, ignoring the curses of his
fellows. "Milord, pray forgive me!" he choked out. His
hands were tied behind him, and his head was bowed.
Blood streaked his face and arms, and his garments were
tattered and tom.
Looming over him, Rye asked almost gently, ''Who
leads you?"
The man looked up with glazed eyes. "Leads me?"
 LYON'S PRIZE 303
Nudging him with a booted foot, Rye's gaze shifted
to the fire, then back. "Aye, who leads the men in their
raids against the villages?"
There was an instant's hesitation as the prisoner gave a
quick glance at the fire, then back at Rye.
Beaumont stepped close, snarling, "Do not be so pa-
tient with a brigand like this, my lord. Let me apply the
hot iron to his face until he feels more talkative."
The effect of Beaumont's words on the prisoner were
immediate. Babbling almost incoherently, the man
spouted names and places in an endless stream. Rye had
to stop him twice, for speaking too swiftly to follow.
Then, nodding with satisfaction, he exchanged
glances with Beaumont. "It seems that the Saxons were
too lenient with the outlaws before. Now these men will
see William's justice at first hand."
Stepping back, Rye gave the order for the prisoners to
be tried by the surviving villagers they had raided, then
hanged from the trees as a warning to others.
"If they are not found guilty," Rye said grimly, eyeing
the townsfolk clustered within hearing, "I would know
why. Mayhap some of the raiders who prey upon this
land come from this very town."
It was an oblique warning that none of the villagers
missed. As Rye mounted and rode away with most of his
force beside him, he saw the soldiers left behind begin to
swing hemp ropes from sturdy branches. Before the day
passed, the trees were heavy with convicted outlaws left
as an example of swift justice.
"They grow ever bolder, milord," Beaumont mut-
tered. "I still think we should just slay them instead of
bothering with a trial. It's only a mock trial at any rate,
for every man can see that the raiders caught in the act
are guilty."
"Therein lies the lesson, Beaumont. Even a guilty
man gets a trial, thus proving to one and all his guilt,
and he must reflect upon his eventual fate while he hears
the evidence against him." Shrugging, Rye nudged his
destrier into a faster pace. "Now we will give that same
kind of justice to Dunstan's sons. . . ."
 304 VIRGINIA LYNN
The band of knights rode at a fast pace toward the
deep woods where they'd been told the outlaws made
their camp, pausing only to rest their mounts before rid-
ing again. Rye rode at a furious pace, determined to
catch the men who ravaged his lands, and his wife's
brothers or not, he would show them no mercy when he
caught them.
 CH APT ER 1 9

"MnAoy?" RAcHEL's vo1cE was a soft sob, and Brenna

summoned her strength to answer kindly.
"Yes, Rachel, what is it?"
"Do you think . . ." She paused and gulped. "Do
you think that we shall be rescued?"
"Of course." Brenna injected more assurance into her
voice than she felt, not wishing to be subjected to fits of
hysteria when she felt so bad herself. "Do you doubt
Rye de Lyon for an instant? I do not. When he discovers
that we have been taken, he will hunt down those foul
enough to have committed this deed and take us from
them without delay."
Brave words, she reflected as Rachel nodded, biting
her lower lip and fretting even with Brenna's assurances.
But she had to believe her own words or go mad. Rye
would find her, would take her away from the madman
who believed he could actually take Lyon's wife.
D'Esteray's casual reference to her "born and buried
brat" had frightened Brenna almost into incoherence,
and it had taken all her willpower to remain calm and
pretend an emotion she did not feel. She had lied glibly
to d'Esteray, telling him she wanted vengeance for Rye's
305
 306 VIRGINIA LYNN
razing of her childhood home, when she'd only sought
to learn what she could.
Unfortunately d'Esteray was more clever than to re-
veal any plans, merely saying that he was delighted she
saw the sense in his intentions. Brenna had forced herself
to stay still when the man had stroked her cheek again
and said that she might make a dutiful wife after all,
though he had heard tales of her temper.
Looking down, Brenna had murmured, "All exagger-
ated, my lord. 'Twas only my husband's nature that
brought out the worst in me."
That had pleased d'Esteray, and he'd spoken of the
power he would have once his enemy was in his hands.
With the Lady Brenna as his wife, he would have the
lands of Moorleah, and whatever King Philip sought to
bestow on him in gratitude for his efforts.
Once he'd gone, barring the door on the outside to
lock them in, Brenna had turned to Rachel in despair.
"D'Esteray is completely mad," she'd said. "He can
never hope to accomplish any of those ends."
Poor Rachel was no help at all, Brenna quickly found,
and she sought to soothe her while she tried to think of
a way out of her predicament. Weary, and with the child
she carried kicking energetically, she found thinking a
more laborious process than it should have been.
Still, before the night was spent, Brenna had formed a
plan of sorts.

Quiet hung heavily in the dense wood. Muted calls of

birds warbled from the empty trees, and beneath the feet
of man and beast, dead leaves rustled in thin whispers.
Here and there came the muffled jangle of bits or spurs,
and the creakings of saddle trappings. A horse snorted,
and in the back of the line of mounted troops, a man
coughed. '
"Can we be certain of our direction?" Beaumont
grumbled to no one in particular, though his question
was directed at Rye.
"Certainty is rare," Rye responded. His destrier
 LYON'S PRIZE 3 0 7
picked carefully over fallen limbs and thick underbrush
that straggled across the narrow path, and there was an
air of waiting that dogged him with tension.
It was near dusk, and the outlaws' lair should be nigh.
His men were weary from the previous skirmish, and
some had wounds that left them sore and stiff. Yet he
did not dare tum back, knowing that should any have
escaped and gone to warn the outlaws, he would lose
whatever opportunity he had to take them unawares.
The still air was chill, and breath blew in frosty clouds
in front of horses and men, yet Rye pushed on with no
hint of pausing for night. It grew dark more quickly in
the forest, but when he considered stopping, he caught a
faint whiff of smoke.
Reining in his mount, he said softly to Beaumont, "I
think we have found our quarry."
As the troops came to a halt behind him, waiting for
instruction, a loud bellow rent the air. Men swarmed
from trees and hollows, waving swords, and the battle
was joined at once. Rye's reactions were swift, as were
those of his men, all trained well.
Sword met sword, and lances jabbed with lethal fury
as the men closed with one another. Horses screamed,
men gave voice to hoarse shouts, and Rye swung around
him with his sword. They had been expected, it was ap-
parent, and he gave little thought to the reason as he
fought furiously. Behind him Beaumont guarded his
back while fighting men bent on reaching the leader,
and Rye began to realize that there was more to this
assault than on the surface.
Along with the outlaws there were mailed knights,
men who fought as ruthlessly as the earl's troops, and it
soon became obvious that Rye's men were in danger of
being cut to pieces. Marshaling his troops, Rye bellowed
orders that kept them from being divided and slaugh-
tered, and Beaumont rode to see that they were passed
to the rearguard.
Falling back, offering puny resistance to the attackers
yet not giving too much quarter, Rye's men retreated
slowly to the edge of the forest. Triumphant, the out-
 308 VIRGINIA LYNN
laws and French knights followed, seizing their advan-
tage and giving enthusiastic pursuit. It seemed to be a
complete rout, and the assailants savored the coming
victory and spoils that would be theirs.
But as the struggling combatants reached the clear
edge of land that fringed the forest, and broke into the
clearing with clashing swords and shouts, men swept
down from behind low hills to join the fray. More
mounted men circled in from behind, catching the out-
laws in a vise.
Pandemonium broke loose, and Beaumont found it
most difficult to keep up with his earl as he fought. Rye
was not wont to press inexorably forward in a battle,
mowing down his opponents in a straight line as was
usual, but instead rode hither and yon, giving his sword
and strength where it was most needed. Ofttimes, he
saved one of his men from being butchered, and they
looked to their lord with eager determination.
When Rye came up against a mounted blond giant
clad in light armor and wielding a massive sword about
him as if it were no more than a thin willow switch, he
knew immediately that this was one of Dunstan's sons.
The blond giant bore too great a resemblance to his kin.
"Dunstan's get," he growled, and saw recognition
light the giant's eyes.
"Aye! Rannulf, late of Marwald, soon to be lord of
the keep you share with my sister," came the taunting
reply.
Swinging around with a grin and blood-lust in his
eyes, Rannulflashed out with the sword, opening a shal-
low gash in Rye's arm- as he instinctively shifted away.
Grimacing against the pain, Rye thrust forward with his
blade, but it was deflected by Rannulf's shield. His
sword slid away in a harmless blow. Disengaging so
quickly that his opponent had no opportunity to bring
up a defense against his return, Rye thrust his sword
forward again, this time managing to inflict a wound on
Rannulf's exposed leg.
Blood gushed, and with a grunt of pain the blond
giant covered himself against further attack with the fl.at
 LYON'S PRIZE 309
of his blade, deflecting Rye's swift return. Bringing up
his sword in a high arc, Rye brought it down in a wicked
slash that would have severed Rannulf's arm if he had
not brought up his shield just in time.
The force of the blow, though deflected, was enough
to wrest the sword away and leave him weaponless, and
Brenna's brother fumbled for the mace he carried at his
belt, taking advantage of Rye's time-consuming upswing
for a death blow. As Rye brought down his sword to
smash it through his helm and skull, the heavy metal ball
at the end of the chain came up and caught him on the
shoulder, delivering a punishing blow that sent him reel-
ing and destroyed his aim.
Plunging and squealing, Rye's destrier reared up with
gnashing teeth, was caught by the weight of its unbal-
anced rider, and fell heavily, hooves thrashing and flail-
ing dangerously. Though wounded, and more than a
little stunned by the fall, Rye tried to roll clear, hoping
desperately that he could remount. A mailed knight on
foot was in dire peril during a battle and easy to ride
down and dispatch with sword, lance, or mace.
Stumbling, the destrier managed to rise, but Rye was
not able to grasp the pommel of his saddle to remount as
he saw the silver glitter of a sword swing above him. He
ducked the swing of the sword Rannulf had reclaimed,
and pivoted on his feet to bring up the shield attached to
his left arm, thrusting up and hard with his blade.
Rannulf's destrier reared, screaming, hooves slashing
at him as Rye managed to slice into the beast with a
blow that sent the horse to its knees. When Rannulf
rolled clear in a single motion and heaved to his feet, he
faced Rye in the midst of battle.
The odds were even now, and Rannulf laughed as he
began to circle slowly.
"So, my fine earl, you come to slay the bandits and
stay to spill your own blood, I see."
Panting, Rye tried to gauge the strengths and weak-
nesses of his opponent while stalling for time. The first
battle had sapped his own strength, and the long ride
 3 10 VIRGI NIA LYNN
had not given him rest. He knew that Rannulf was aware
of this, as he must be aware of his fate should he fail.
"A scratch does not send me whimperin g from the
field as it does puny Saxons," Rye returned coolly. He
bent his head toward Rannulf's bleeding thigh. "Do I
see your blood staining the field also?"
Growling an oath, Rannulf swung his sword at Rye
and missed, the effort sending him slightly past. Rye's
quick sword flashed up and slipped under Rannulf's
shield, barely grazing his ribs as it was deflected by re-
flexive action.
Obviously this blond giant was unused to a man who
was his equal in battle, and slightly disoriented, Rannulf
swung around to face Rye again, fury riding his features.
"Bastard earl," he snarled, ''you have purchased your
fate this day for certain."
"Then come," Rye taunted, "give it to me if you
can."
Breathing heavily, Rannulf swung his sword again,
lifting it over his head and bringing it down in a glit-
tering arc to cleave head or arm or shoulder. Moving
agilely, Rye pivoted away in a graceful motion, turning
and swinging his sword to catch Rannulf aero~ the back
of his neck. If he had not been so weary, his blade would
have cut through the mail and severed the Saxon's head.
The sharp edge was not quite aligned, and the mail held
its strength so that Rannulf was only slightly cut.
Uttering a hoarse oath, the Saxon staggered forward
as the blow sent him reeling, but Rye had foreseen such
an event and caught him with a booted foot behind his
leg, bringing him crashing down to sprawl his length
upon the damp ground. With a swift motion Rye
brought the point of his sword to rest against Rannulf's
throat, the tip pressing harshly against the mail links pro-
tecting him.
"Yield,
,, Rannulf of Marwald, " Rye said evenly, "or
die.
Glaring his hatred up at Rye, the Saxon's lips drew
back over his teeth. "Nay, I will not yield to any man."
Rye felt a wave of reluctant admiration and recog-
 LYON'S PRIZE 3 1 1
nized in this man the same spirit he'd seen in his sister.
Brenna bore that bold courage of heart and will and
would not have bowed the knee to any man who had
not earned her deep respect. That he knew, as fully as he
knew that should he lose her respect, he would lose her
affection.
Hesitating, Rye stared down at Brenna's brother with
an unfamiliar sense of indecision.

Bloody, bruised, and with shallow cuts over his head,

shoulders, and torso, Myles of Marwald looked up to see
Rye de Lyon leaning on the sword he had pressed to his
brother's throat. Though angry with Rannulf, Myles
could not stay quietly back and watch him die.
Scrambling to his feet, ducking the swing of a sword
and parrying swiftly, Myles shouted, "My lord! Wait, I
pray you, Lord Lyon!"
A sinking feeling gripped Myles when Rye's head
turned, his blue eyes chilling to ice as he recognized
him.
"So, little traitor," he growled, the scar on his face a
livid red against the darker skin, ''you broke your oath."
Reaching him, Myles dropped to his knees, his sword
still in one hand, blood staining the steel. "Nay, lord.
Not as you think." He was panting and out of breath,
scarce able to lift his head to look up at the earl.
Rye laughed harshly, his sword point still at Rannulf's
throat. "At least your brother who is about to die is
more honest than you. And honorable. He's not given
an oath."
As the battle around them slowed, Rye's men over-
powering the outlaws and taking prisoners, Myles knew
he had only a few seconds to convince Rye he was telling
the truth. His tawny head bowed, and reversing his
sword hilt-first, he held it out to Rye.
"Lord, I yield the day. But in truth, I was not fighting
against you. I came to learn what I could, and-"
"Save your breath," Rye said with a contemptuo us
 3 12 VIRGINIA LYNN
sneer, and beckoned a man forward to take Myles's
sword.
Desperately Myles blurted, "You must listen! Brenna
has been taken, and if you don't-"
Rannulfkicked out with one leg, striking Myles on his
shin and shouting, "Shut up!" as best he could with the
tip of Rye's sword still pricking his throat. The mail kept
him from being pierced, but a strong man had only to
lean on the hilt until the blade choked the breath from
him.
"It's true, lord!" Myles persisted, choking back a
moan as his brother's foot slammed into his injured
thigh.
Increasing the pressure of the sword he held, Rye
snarled at Rannulf to be still before he spitted him, then
looked back at Myles.
"You lie, little Saxon. I left Brenna at Moorleah with
Beltair as guard. No man could get into that keep with-
out a fight, and Beltair is too wily an old fox to allow
that."
"Mayhap you're right, lord, but-no, don't let them
take me away until I tell you!" he begged as two men-at-
anns came up and dragged him roughly away. Hanging
between them, struggling, Myles managed to break free
and throw himself back at Rye's feet, clasping the earl's
mail-clad legs with desperation. He could see the star-
tled expression on Rye's face and said quickly, "The
priest! Gutierrez was meeting with-" Kicking back, he
managed to knock away the man-at-arms who reached
for him, turning swiftly back and saying, "Curse you,
listen to me! Lady Madelon and your priest plotted with
d'Esteray to use my brothers to get to you. . . . He has
if you will
,, it on my mother's grave,
her, my lord! I swear
only Iisten. . . .
By this time the two men-at-arms had managed to
drag Myles back, cuffing him viciously and slamming
him to the ground. Rye watched impassively for a mo-
ment, then gave a curt order.
"Let him up. I would hear more."
Beneath the point of Rye's sword, Rannulf panted for
 LYON'S PRIZE 3 13
breath, snarling as the tip lifted slightly to allow him to
breathe, "He's lying, and if you are fool e.vough to lis-
ten, you are fool enough to die."
Rye flicked him a cold glance. "For the moment you
are saved, Rannulf. Don't think I won't slit your throat if
you annoy me, however."
"Do you think I fear death?"
"Nay," Rye said with a slight smile, "but I think you
fear the kind of life I might give you."
The implications were enough to silence Rannulf, and
he cast sullen glances at his younger brother as Myles
was half dragged, half led to a nearby tree to converse
with the earl.
Fully aware of his brother's malevolent stare and Rye's
distrusting gaze, Myles tried to get his breathing under
control so that he could speak coherently. He ached all
over, and the bruises and wounds he'd suffered began to
hurt.
"Speak, before you're hanged with the rest," Rye said
in a cold voice, and Myles sucked in a deep breath.
"D'Esteray has Brenna and holds her until you yield."
Rye's facial muscles altered slightly, and the men who
were near took instinctive steps backward at the look of
ferocity he directed toward Myles.
"How do I know/' he asked in a soft tone that fooled
no one, "that you do not lie?"
Seized with uncontrollable trembling, it took Myles a
moment to reply. "You do not. You must trust me-
nay, lord! If you kill me now, you may not learn the
truth until it's too late . . . ."
Rye had taken a step forward, a dagger in his mailed
fist and his arm lifted, but jerked to a halt. "Very well,"
he said after a long moment had passed, "I'll listen to
the rest. But if you lie, Myles, there is nothing that will
save you."
Shivering in relief, Myles nodded. ''Yea, lord. If you
will but listen, I have a plan that might save my sister."

* * *
 3 14 VIRGINIA LYNN
Brenna, her poniard clutched tightly in her hand, sat
stiffly in the high-backed chair and awaited d'Esteray's
return. She'd not been searched and had not had to
yield either of the small daggers she'd thought to grab
the night of her abduction. Rachel carried the other,
hidden in the wide sleeve of her kirtle.
"It has been a week, milady," Rachel said softly. "Do
you think they'll come?"
It was the same question--couched in different terms,
but the same question. Brenna sighed.
"Yea, Rye will come."
The sound of the bar being lifted from outside the
door was not comforting. The two women exchanged
glances before composing themselves. Brenna held tight
to her self-discipline, hoping d'Esteray would not see
through her ruse until she was able to turn it against
him.
The door swung open, and she glimpsed two men as
they entered, one tall and blond, the other the dark
d'Esteray.
The man with d'Esteray was her brother. She was at
first overjoyed, then stunned into silence as Myles gave
her a cold glance and said, "Lord Lyon will be happy to
pay well for her, though I don't know why."
Count d'Esteray smiled at Brenna, who sat with
widening eyes. "Look, Lord Myles, I don't think the
Lady Brenna knew of your defection to the rebels."
"She should have. I tried to tell her often enough."
Myles shrugged. "She was fool enough to be swayed by
Lyon, but I was more clever. Now the time for ven-
geance is here, and Lord Lyon thinks I'm with him."
Hazel eyes came to rest on Brenna's shocked face. "Rye
de Lyon believes me to be bound by my oath, but he
discounts the oath I gave to my kin long before."
Brenna felt the beginning of fury escalate. Her mouth
tightened, and her eyes began to glow with rage.
"Traitor!" she couldn't keep from snapping, not car-
ing what d'Esteray thought at the moment. Her throat
tightened with pain as Myles merely smiled, a thinning
of his lips into a curve of indifference.
 LYON'S PRIZE 3 15
Laughing, d'Esteray observed, "Why young lord.ling,
your sister does not seem glad to see you."
"Nay," Myles said, "she does not. P'raps 'tis because
she knows the reason I'm here."
Stiffening, Brenna wondered wildly how she could
have been so wrong before she snapped, "It should be
obvious that I care little for the reason! You are cut from
the same cloth as the rest of my kin, so I'm not surprised
that you have been as treacherous."
"Which leaves you where, Brenna?" Myles shrugged
at her furious oath. "You were traitor to your own land,
so do not rail at me for the path I have chosen."
Aware of Rachel beside her, shivering with terror and
confusion, Brenna drew in a deep, calming breath. Her
plan was futile now that she'd allowed d'Esteray to rec-
ognize her anger, so she took another path.
"If! must choose, Myles, I will choose a man who has
kept all oaths given, or not given them at all. It seems to
me that honor belongs to those who live it, not speak of
it so lightly."
"Enough," d'Esteray said roughly. "I weary of these
interminable discussions. Now that you know your hus-
band is surrounded by those who seek his downfall, my
lady, p'raps you will cease your resistance. I have a docu-
ment for you to sign. Your brother is to deliver it."
Glaring at them both, Brenna shook her head. "Nay, I
will not sign."
" 'Tis useless to refuse. Myles has informed me of Rye
de Lyon's every move, how many men he has called to
arms, and his route to reach here. It seems that he man-
aged to persuade your brother Rannulf to divulge the
information he needed, so he will be here within the
week. I must be ready, and I must have a lever to use
against him. You will sign, or I will send him pieces of
you." .
Brenna shrugged. "If you send one lock of my hair,
you will not be able to find a hole deep enough to hide
in when he comes for you." Her steady gaze obviously
unnerved him, and when d'Esteray muttered a low oath
and stepped back, Myles laughed.
 3 16 VIRGINIA LYNN
"You allow my sister to frighten you, d'Esteray? I
vow, I ·should have stayed with the Lion. He, at least,
never feared her pricking words."
Flushing, d'Esteray snarled, "Do you suggest that I
kill her?"
Something flickered in Myles's hazel eyes, and he said
quietly, "Nay, never that. But I have a better plan than
the one you would use."
"Always men have better plans." D'Esteray glared at
him. "You've seen her; you know your sister is well, so
we shall go to my chamber and hear this 'better plan'
you tell of"
Myles nodded and slid Brenna a cool glance. "Aye,
and it will work much more quickly than sending mes-
sages back and forth."
"We'll see, Lord Myles, we'll see." D'Esteray shot a
fierce glance at Brenna. "I would enjoy bringing Lyon
low, but do not think me fool enough to trust either of
you."
"Trust no one, my lord," Myles said before Brenna
could comment. " 'Tis always much safer."
"Yea," Brenna whispered huskily. "You speak the
truth." ....
Myles flushed slightly but ignored his sister, keeping
his eyes on d'Esteray as he moved to cup Brenna's chin
in his palm.
"She is lovely, Lord Myles," d'Esteray murmured,
"and when I take her to wife, I will use her well."
Stiffening, Myles said curtly, "You must see her hus-
band dead first, my lord."
D'Esteray laughed. "Aye, and to that end you will aid
me."
Brenna jerked away, striding to the window slit at the
far side of the room. Oiled cloth covered it, allowing in a
diffused light but no view of the outside. "I cannot
think why you would find an advantage in wedding me.
After all, I am not a great heiress or well-dowered, and
until I was wed to Rye de Lyon, of little consequence at
all except as King William saw fit to use me as a pawn."
She turned to look at d'Esteray, ignoring her brother.
 LYON'S PRIZE 3 1 7
"I told you-"
"You told me," Brenna interrupted, "that I was the
lure to draw your enemy. After that end there is no fur-
ther use for me." She shrugged. "William will not re-
lease my lands to you, and in truth, I have none once my
husband is dead. Moorleah was not dowry, but prize."
D'Esteray's face tightened with anger. "You are not
so big a fool that you do not know the man who holds
lands and power, holds kings in thrall. William has his
hands full across the Channel and soon will have his
hands full here in England. One small earldom will not
save his kingdom for him, nor lose it. If he does happen
to be driven back to his duchy in Normandy, then I will
be rewarded. Ifhe does·not"-d.'Esteray shrugged again
-"then he will have more to ponder than the loss of
Moorleah."
Brenna snarled, "You stupid toad! Does William strike
you as a king who fears his vassals and barons? Nay, he
does not. Mistrusts them, perhaps, but never fears them.
Are you so certain he will not protest the taking of lands
he gave as a prize?"
"Not under the right circumstances.,, Smiling,
d'Esteray added, "Philip has long yearned to have Wil-
liam under his heel, and with enough men and arms, I
can aid him. William will havc.: to turn like a terrier to
every keep that rises against him. Half your Saxon bar-
ons are now in France, and they will be only too glad to
war against the bastard duke, I assure you."
Forcing a bright smile, Brenna said, "Aye, and I pray
that we both survive what will surely befall, my lord.,,
Startled, d'Esteray, who had been turning back to-
ward Myles, whirled around. "What do you mean?''
With tawny eyes wide in innocence, Brenna said,
"Why, only that should my husband's forces fail to find
and take me back, thus avenging the insult you have
done him, my father's forces will surely join np with the
king to seek out the man who has dared take his daugh-
ter."
"Dunstan. I had not considered . . ."
"You forgot my father? Oh dear," Brenna said with a
 3 18 VIRGINIA LYNN
shake of her head, "that was most unwise. He was a
powerful baron in his time and, with William's aid, has
grown in power again. I understand that he commands
more ~d more vassals as he proves his loyalty and can
summon several thousand men to his banner."
"Several thou-" Staring, d'Esteray seemed not to
grasp this for a moment. His face paled, and his hands
shook with visible tremors as he regarded Brenna
through wide eyes. "I have not heard of his newfound
favor, my lady."
"Had you not? Someone must have been remiss."
"Aye," he growled, "and I can imagine why. I would
never have undertaken a doomed project just for the
sake of vengeance alone. I have men who will war for
me, and the mercenaries I pay, but~everal thousand!"
He turned to glare at Myles. "You did not tell me of
Dunstan."
Myles shrugged. "My father vacillates, battling his
own oath to William with loyalty to his sons. I daresay
he will drag his feet in aiding Lyon."
"And your brothers?"
. "My brothers bring their force of French knights and
outlawed Saxons to your aid. They will cqme in the
cover of night, and we will let them in the postern
doors."
Smiling, d'Esteray nodded, swinging his gaze back to
Brenna. "You see, my lady? We shall win, after all."
 CHAPTER 20

STILL CLUTCHING HER poniard in her hand as if for reassur-

ance, Brenna heard a faint sound at the door. She
tensed, peering through the darkness toward Rachel. It
had been a week since Myles had come to her chamber,
and time had passed with agonizing slowness.
Now, quivering in the dark, she waited.
The scratching sound grew louder, then there was a
soft rasp that made her shudder. She felt Rachel's hand
grasp her arm, and her grip on the small dagger tight-
ened as the door to their chamber swung slowly open.
A shadowed figure paused in the opening, and as
Brenna readied herself for whatever was to come, she
heard Myles's familiar voice whisper, "Brenna? Come
quickly if you would be safe."
For a moment she remained still. Anger flooded her,
mixed with pain that the boy she had trusted betrayed
her love. Myles stepped into the room, and the faint
light from a torch in the corridor glittered from the
blade he held.
"Brenna," he called softly again, insistently, his tone
growing sharper. "Do not tarry, or all will be lost. Rye is
here for you, but I must take you to him without being
seen by d'Esteray. Brenna!"
3 19
 320 VIRGINIA LYNN
Loathe to trust him, yet afraid not to, Brenna took a
deep breath and tightened her grip on her poniard. If
Myles betrayed her again, she would kill him with her
own hand.
"Here," she answered softly, and stood, Rachel cling-
ing to her arm.
Searching in the shadows, not daring to light a taper,
Myles reached for her. His voice quivered with relief.
"I began to think you would believe my words to that
.knave. I am glad to see that you do not. Come quickly,
and you can-"
''Wait." Brenna's voice stopped him. "How do I
know you do not play me false again?"
Impatient, Myles said roughly, "Because I swore to
your husband I would bring you safely to him or surren-
der my own body to the rack. Do you think I would take
such risks if I play you false?"
"I do not know what to think." Brenna put a hand on
the rise of her belly, then said, "Lead on, brother. If I
am to die, it might as well be while trying to escape."
"Sweet Mary, but you make me feel like a churlish
knave myself," Myles grumbled. "I'm guilty of trying to
persuade pig-headed men to another course, but little
else. Come."
Brenna and Rachel followed Myles down dimly lit
halls to a small curved flight of stairs. Gripping her
tightly by the elbow, Myles helped his sister navigate the
steep steps in safety. He seemed to know where he was
going, and when they emerged from the keep into the
inner bailey, a blast of icy air hit Brenna.
Shivering, she bit her lip to keep her teeth from chat-
tering too loudly as she followed, Rachel in her wake. A
current of tension filled the air, and she heard muffled
noises and vague rumblings.
"Where are we?" she leaned close to whisper in
Myles's ear, and he· put a finger to his lips. Motioning
her forward with one hand, he led her to a small gate in
the curtain walls. The hinges had obviously been well
oiled, as it opened without a sound.
Thrusting Brenna through the opening, Myles held
 LYON'S PRIZE 3 2 1
the door wide as someone grabbed her. Fear flooded
her, and she began to struggle, opening her mouth to
cry out.
"Quiet, cherie," a voice growled in her ear, and
Brenna felt a wave of relief.
"Rye," she whispered, looking up at his dark, familiar
face. Her throat clogged with love for him, and the relief
of being in his arms again made her cling to him with
both hands. She kissed him wherever she could reach,
the bottom of his jaw, the mail coif around his neck, his
broad chest. She felt his laughter, and he kissed her
quick and hard.
''Wait." Enveloping her in a smothering clasp, he
then put her away from him. "There is little time. Do as
you're told for once, and make no sound," he said
against her ear.
Nodding, Brenna allowed a man to lead her and Ra-
chel away from the walls, stealing through the dark
night. She glimpsed a line of men that stretched along
the foot of the high walls, blending in with the dark
stone and brush to be almost invisible. No man on top
of the walls could have seen them, and she realized sud-
denly what Rye and Myles were about.
By the time she and Rachel were taken safely to the
top of a distant rise, Brenna could hear the sounds of
battle coming from the keep. Surprised by the entry of
the enemy through the postem gate, the men defending
d'Esteray's keep fought back as best they could, but it
was a losing battle.
Though d'Esteray quartered a thousand soldiers, Rye
had brought almost two thousand troops with him,
gathering them in only a fortnight and riding hard. The
men were ready to take back their overlord's wife from
the man who had dared steal her, and no quarter was
given.

By daylight Hemphill castle was quiet. Only the muffied

groans of the wounded and dying drifted on the chill
wind, reaching Brenna's ears as she rode slowly back into
 3 2 2 VIRGINIA LYNN
the keep at her father's side. Dunstan had been unusu-
ally silent, keeping his own counsel when he went to
retrieve his daughter from the bill, and she wondered at
it.
Finally, as their horses clattered over the wooden
drawbridge, Brenna ventured to ask, "Father, are you
angry with me? You did say Rye was well, and un-
harmed."
"Aye, he is well," Dunstan replied shortly.
Brenna frowned. "You joined his army to come for
me."
"He is my overlord," Dunstan growled, his hefty
body shifting slightly in the saddle as he tried to ease the
pain of a wound suffered in the battle.
"And that troubles you? That he is your overlord and
you must obey?"
Dunstan flashed her a baffled glare that made Brenna
think of a bear she'd once seen fighting a pack of dogs.
It had had the same agonized expression, as if not know-
ing how to keep fighting and not daring to stop.
"Nay, not that. I've come to accept William's hand, if
not liking it. I answered the call to arms quickly enough
for more than your sake, daughter, though little you
may credit it."
Brenna's eyes widened. It began to dawn on her what
pained her father, and she looked slowly around.
"My brothers-I have not heard."
"Dead."
"All of them?" Brenna's throat constricted.
"Nay, only Rannulf and Myles still live. Whitley,
Corbet, Ridgely-dead."
After a moment Brenna leaned from her mount to say
softly, "They made their choices, Father, and would
never have been content in a land ruled by a man they
hate."
"Nay, they would not." Dunstan stared straight
ahead, and Brenna saw his mouth set into a taut line.
She lapsed into silence, feeling grief for her brothers,
but sorrowing that it could not have ended differently.
 LYON'S PRIZE 323
She'd come to terms with the conquerors, and indeed,
loved one of them. ·
"I'm sorry, Father," she whispered finally, and when
he turned to her, she saw the need in his expression.
"Aye, child, so am I. I've loved all of you and would
not have lost a single one willingly. I thank God your
poor mother is not here to grieve with me."
"Mother . . ." Brenna felt sudden surprise. Rarely
had her father mentioned her mother, as if afraid she
would censor him for it, as she often had, to her remem-
bered shame. Impulsively she put out a hand to touch
his bloody sleeve. "You miss her, don't you."
"Aye," Dunstan said with a long sigh. "There has
been no other woman to touch my heart since my lovely
Clarice. If I could have taken her place in death, I swear
I would have done so. She was brave, much braver than
most men, and when I found that she was again with
child, I begged her to see the midwife rather than risk
her own life. She would not, saying that a new life was
always precious, and worth the pain it might give to
bring it into the world."
Brenna's throat constricted. As if knowing the bend of
the discussion, the child inside her womb kicked lustily,
and she put a protective hand on the rise of her belly.
For the first time she fully understood wliat her mother
must have felt.
"I've wronged you," she said simply, and Dunstan
shook his shaggy head.
"Nay, child. You just did not understand until you
loved someone yourself. I would never have risked my
lovely lady, just as your husband would not risk you. 'Tis
the way of life, at times, that it costs us that which is
dear."
Dear. Yea, Rye de Lyon was dear to her, and so was
the child she carried beneath her heart. She regretted all
her hasty words in the past and hoped that she could
somehow make them up to him. ·
Turning io look ahead of her, Brenna's heart leapt
when she saw Rye. He stood in the middle of the inner
bailey, his head bare, blood streaking his mail and sword
 324 VIRGINIA LYNN
arm. Suddenly Brenna was nervous. The past fortnight
had been spent earnestly praying for this moment, but
now that it was here, she feared her own reaction to him.
Reining in her mount as she reached Rye, Brenna
looked down at him and tried to think of a gentle wel-
come to let him know she cared. Unfortunately, she
blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
"It's about time you got here!"
Rye looked startled, his blue eyes widening and his
brows lifting; then he grinned.
"Yea, cherie, I must agree. I missed you, too."
"Good," she said lamely, flushing" at his smiling re-
gard and wishing she'd not been so sharp. "I began to
think you might have decided you were well rid of me."
Reaching up, Rye pulled her from her mount and into
his arms, not seeming to mind that it took both of them
to go around her. Brushing her lips with his, he held her
close to his heart, and his voice was rough with emotion
when he muttered, "Sweet wife, I have gone through
hell to get here in time, and I would not part with you
now." '
"You've missed me?" she dared ask, looking up at
him. "You didn't come just to avenge the insult?"
In answer Rye bent his head and kissed her fiercely,
ignoring the grinning men around him, the burning
buildings and thick smoke. When he set her back on her
feet, Brenna found it hard to breathe normally. Her
hands clung to his muscled forearms, digging into the
mail as she held him.
Sighing, she laid her cheek against his chest. It wasn't
a declaration oflove, but it was the closest he'd yet come
to letting her see the depth of his feelings for her. Some
of the tension in him eased as he held her, and Brenna
paid little attention to what went on around her as she
stood in the protected circle of his arms.
As Rye set about taking over the captured keep and
putting his men in the place of those taken prisoner,
Brenna saw Rachel clasped tightly in Raoul de Beau-
mont's arms. She smiled. Her maid was clinging to
 LYON'S PRIZE 325
the knight with loving determination, and Beaumont
seemed pleased to keep her there.
Shifting slightly in Rye's embrace as he gave his mas-
ter-at-arms directions to chain the prisoners below in the
dungeons, Brenna saw her brother Myles propped
against a wall. Her breath caught.
"Myles . . ."
Looking down at her, Rye followed her gaze. "He is
not badly injured. Go to him, see if you can ease his
comfort."
He released her, turning back to his master-at-arms as
Brenna moved toward her brother. She lifted her skirts
over the littered ground, trying not to notice what some
of the splotches were as she made her way to Myles.
When she reached him, she knelt at his side.
"Myles? Myles, can you speak?"
His eyelids lifted, and he managed a weak grin. "Aye,
but not much. If you want to rail at me, please let it wait
until I can shout back."
Her hand curved over his shoulder, and she examined
his injuries. He had a broken collarbone that pained
him, but his wound was a long, bloody scratch that was
not mortal. After she tied a strip of doth torn from her
skin around his cut, she met his quizzical gaze and
cleared her throat.
"I owe you an apology."
Shaking his head and wincing at the pain that move-
ment brought, Myles muttered, "Nay. You were sup-
posed to think I was a traitor, else d'Esteray would not
have believed me."
Brenna started. She'd not even thought of the man
who had taken her, beyond a relief that he had not killed
Rye.
''Where is d'Esteray?"
"Dead, I think, the spawn of Satan." Myles groaned
a little and shifted position, drawing up one leg. He
looked at his sister. ''Your sweet-tempered husband gut-
ted him, so I presume d'Esteray is either dead or dying.
With a wound like that, 'twould be more merciful if he
 326 VIRGI NIA LYNN
were dead, but I cannot help but pray that he still suf-
fers. He caused much trouble for all of us."
Brenna shuddered. She smoothed back a damp strand
of Myles's hair, noting the tightness of his features.
"And Rannulf? Where is he?"
Myles looked away, his lips thinning to a taut line that
warned her of his distress.
"Rannulf is prisoner." Myles glanced back at her, then
added gruffiy, "I tried to persuade him to give up his
mad quest, but he will not. Now he has no choices left.
He will swear an oath of fealty, or he will die."
"Myles, I know you suffer because of their actions,
but you should not. You tried to convince them differ-
ently, and it is not your will if they choose another path.
Rannulf must make his own decisions."
A sad smile flickered on his mouth for a moment, and
Myles said, "Aye, but 'tis hard to see a brother suffer, no
matter the circumstances."
"I agree." Brenna met his glance steadily. "I thought
you had broken your oath, and it grieved me."
Leaning his head back against the wall, Myles closed
his eyes. "I came to respect Lord Lyon, though it took
me some time to come to his banner," he murmured
softly. "When I saw that you could love him, I knew that
he must be a man who could command affection from
those who served him."
"I?" Brenna was startled. "Who told you that I loved
him?"
"No one needed to." Myles opened his eyes, chuck-
ling at the irate expression on her face. "'Twas plain
enough to see, Brenna. The only two dolts in the entire
castle who could not see it were you and Lyon. I find
myself amazed that you haven't slashed each other to
ribbons in the process of figuring it out."
Indignant, Brenna made to rise, but her bulk pre-
vented her from doing so, and she glared at Myles as he
beckoned for a man to come to her aid.
"You'd better tell him," Myles advised when the sol-
dier had helped Brenna to her feet and she brushed the
 LYON 'S PRIZE 327
dirt from her skirts. "Lyon doesn't seem to be very
good at guessing what's staring him in the face."
Pivoting on her heel, Brenna stalked away, hearing her
brother's soft laughter behind her. She wasn't certain
why she should be so irritated, except that it was vaguely
embarrassing to conduct one's private affairs in front of
an entire keep full of interested spectators. She'd always
tried to keep her most personal emotions to herself, and
it galled her that everyone had guessed her deepest feel-
ings.
Everyone, it seemed, except Rye.

Moorleah welcomed back its lord and lady with happy

arms, and the hall rang with music and laughter as Raissa
provided a welcoming feast. Brenna found it difficult to
move quickly now, and her sister by law took over the
reins of management without a qualm.
Lady Madelon had fled long before Rye's return,
wisely guessing his intentions. She'd taken refuge in a
nunnery in France, far from lier stepson's reach, or that
of William. Her plot had gone far deeper than just rid-
ding herself of a stepson she hated; she'd drawn French
nobles into her web, making promises of English spoils
as well as what lands in Normandy they could grasp.
Father Gutierrez had gone with Lady Madelon, and a
new priest conducted morning mass in the chapel. This
priest, Father Remy, announced the banns for Rachel
Vernay and Raoul de Beaumont two Sundays after the
seige of Hemphill.
For successfully taking the keep, William had granted
it to Rye, who had in turn given Hemphill to Beaumont
as his vassal. Now a landed knight and baron, Beaumont
had promptly asked for Rachel's hand in marriage,
which Rye and Brenna had granted gladly.
Just before Christmas, Rye and Brenna attended the
wedding mass of the happy couple. It was cold, and the
chapel was filled with people.
Leaning on Rye's arm, Brenna felt an odd heaviness
 328 VIRGINIA LYNN
that settled slowly on her. Her back ached, and she
shifted with discomfort.
Rye bent over her, his arm around her waist, his voice
soft. "Sweeting, are you all right?"
She gave him a troubled glance, whispering so that
she would not distract the priest or nuptials. "There is a
dull ache that I cannot ease, but 'tis nothing."
The "nothing" quickly became a pressing ache that
shot into a surge of pain, making Brenna gasp aloud.
Rye's hand tightened on her arm, and ignoring the
stares, he swept her into his embrace and carried her
from the chapel.
Clasping her arms around his neck, Brenna buried her
face in the angle of his neck and shoulder.
"Do not fear, cherie," he said softly against her hair as
he held her dose, "I will not leave you."
Brenna glanced up at him, love surging in her and
making her forget her vow not to speak ofit until he did.
"I love you," she whispered, then gave a startled gasp
.as a pain hit. He tightened his grip, his pace quickening.
By the time they reached the hall, servants had come
running. Preparations for the wedding feast were still
being made, and Raissa came running behind them.
"It's her time, isn't it," she said matter-of-factly, in-
structing Rye to carry Brenna to their chamber. "Then
go back to the chapel. There is no need of you here. You
will only be in the way."
Brenna had to laugh at the mixture of irritation and
uncertainty on Rye's face, but he bent swiftly and kissed
her on the cheek before straightening. He stood by the
bed as Raissa threw off her mantle and began making
the necessary preparations, shifting from one foot to the
other as he gazed down at Brenna.
"My lord?" she murmured, wondering if he wanted
to say something, but when he opened his mouth, Raissa
came up and gave him a sharp nudge.
"Begone, brother. Men are never good at this sort of
thing, and you are in the way."
Releasing her hand, Rye took a step back and away
from the bed, and Brenna gave him an encouraging
 LYON'S PRIZE 329
smile. She had to hold tight to her control until he left,
then looked up at Raissa.
"I'm frightened," she whispered, unable to stop the
words.
Nodding, Raissa said, "You are only human, Brenna.
Most women are frightened, the first time or the fifth.
Do not worry. I know what helps ease the pain. We'll be
here awhile, so let me make you comfortable."

Rye returned to the hall, but he was not in the mood for
happy celebrations. He did his best as the wedding party
..eturned, but his thoughts strayed again and again to the
girl upstairs.
When he'd thought her lost to him, it had near driven
him mad with anxiety, but at least he'd had some con-
trol of the situation. Now there was nothing he could
do. It was in the hands of a higher power than his, and
he felt more helpless than he'd ever felt in his life.
Rachel was hard-pressed not to stay with her lady, but
when she was convinced that there was plenty of help
and Brenna would feel better if she remained with her
bridegroom, she returned to the hall. Though she had
served Brenna long and well, she now had her duty to
her husband, and knew it well.
As the noise in the hall grew louder, and toasts were
drunk to Rachel and Beaumont, Rye slipped away. He
found himself outside, seeking his master-at-arms for
company.
"I heard," Beltair said, his breath blowing a frosty
cloud in the chill air. "'Tis what women are made for,
to bear children." -
"Aye, and 'tis what kills a great many of them," Rye
muttered. He pulled his mantle closer around him, tak-
ing the proffered skin of wine Beltair held out. He drank
deeply, then gave it back. '.' Why aren't you inside with
the others, celebrating Beaumont's marriage?"
Shrugging, the old man gazed up at the night sky. It
was a clear night, and the stars twinkled like pinpoints of
light against dark velvet.
 330 VIRGINIA LYNN
"I like the quiet. Too much noise and smoke inside.
Out here a man can think about things that are impor-
tant." He slid Rye a crafty glance. "Do you congratulate
yourself, my lord, on your success?"
"My success? You mean Hemphill?"
Shaking his head, Beltair said, "Nay. On taming the
Saxon shrew. You once said you would, and you have.
Keeping a babe in her belly may help."
Rye scowled. "I have not thought of it.,,
Smiling at his short reply, Beltair said, "You have cer-
tainly shown her who's master. I vow, I've not heard her
say you nay in months.,,
"She still says me nay when the mood strikes her. I've
not wed a docile wench, by any means. But I did not
want ,,a woman who would cringe and leap to my bid-
ding.
"Did you not?" Beltair looked at him curiously. "I
once thought I heard you say-"
"Beltair." Rye turned to face him, staring hard at the
old man. "Do you think to lesson me?"
"Aye, my lord. You have said often and long that you
will not swallow a woman's independence, yet I see you
now justifying doing just that. Does this mean that
you've decided independence and rebellion.are two dif-
ferent things?"
For a moment Rye just stared at him. Then he smiled.
"I think you have made your point.,,
"Then is it so hard to admit that you love her?"
Startled, Rye glanced at the square keep towering
above them. A light shone in the room where Brenna lay
in labor with his child, and he realized in that instant
that the reason he was full of fear for her was because he
loved her too much to lose her. It wasn't pride that kept
him bound to her, or honor. It was love.
And he'd not told her. He might never have the
chance to tell her if she did not survive the birth of her
child.
Without responding to Beltair, Rye pivoted on his
heel and strode back to the keep, taking the steps to his
chamber two at a time.
 CHAPT ER 2 1
B]

"BRENNA." RYE KNELT beside the bed, ignoring Raissa's

suggestion that he wait. He smoothed back the damp
hair from Brenna's forehead. Her eyes were closed, but
at his voice she opened them, long lashes lifting to reveal
the soft glow of muted gold.
"Rye," she whispered, her voice weak. A faint smile
quivered on her lips, and she summoned enough
strength to ask, "Did you see them?"
He nodded. "You are not a woman to do things by
half measure, 'tis plain to see. But two sons? I shall need
more lands, I can tell you."
Shifting slightly in the bed, Brenna glanced up and
beyond Rye to Raissa, and her hand reached out. ·
Raissa, a babe in each arm, bent and laid them beside
their mother. The two infants were wrapped in swad-
dling clothes so that only pink, wrinkled faces showed.
Rye looked at them for a moment, then glanced up at
Brenna.
''Well, they are not very lovely, but being males, they
don't have to be."
Raissa struck him sharply on the shoulder, and he gave
her a frowning glance that made her smile. "Idiot! All
33 1
 332 VIRGINIA LYNN
babies look thus when they are born. The wrinkles will
go away, and their faces will not be so red.,,
Pulling aside the edge of the clothes, Brenna peered at
the infants closely. "They look like their father, don't
you think, Raissa?"
Appalled, Rye looked uncertainly at the children when
Raissa agreed. He put out a finger to touch the dark hair
atop the head of the nearest child, then shrugged.
Brenna was cradling them in loving arms, and her eyes
glowed with a contentment that warmed him. Before he
knew he was going to say it, Rye said softly, "I love you,
cherie."
Her eyes widened, then began to fill with tears.
Uncomfortable, slightly embarrassed by his admis-
sion, Rye cleared his throat. "I would have told you
before, but you never seemed to want to hear it."
"Not want-?" She laughed weakly. "'Tis true what
the midwife once told me. Mistress Maisie said that men
meant well ofttimes but were usually too thick-pated to
know how to convey their feelings. Nay, Rye," she said
when his brow snapped down in a scowl, "don't frown
at me so. I did not mean you any dishonor, only that
we've both been such thick-pated clods we couldn't see
what was in front of us. I love you so much-and have, I
think, since that day you dared to drag me in front of my
father and declare your intention to wed me-that it's all
been muddled in my mind. Forgive me for being an
idiot" She smiled. "And I will forgive you for being
twice an idiot."
For a moment Rye just stared at her, his eyes smoky
with irritation, then he began to grin. "Aye, I should
know well enough that you would never make such a
declaration easy on a man, sweeting."
Rubbing his huge hands over the small dark head of
his newborn son, Rye shifted his gaze back to the in-
fants, then up to Brenna again. "Of all the treasures and
prizes I could have won from William, you, chine, are
the best. And the most valuable."
"You say that now," Brenna returned, her smile weary
 LYON'S PRIZE 3 3 3
but pleased. "I vow, I heard you sing a different melody
only a few months past."
"And you will hear me singing many different melo-
dies in the future, I'm certain. But beneath everything,
know that you are the prize that I value most.,,
Catching her breath, Brenna looked deep into his
eyes. In the blue depths she saw all her wishes come
true, the things she'd longed for and not even realized,
and she put her face up for his kiss, thinking that she was
the most fortunate woman in all of England.
 EPILOGUE

HoLDtNG HER NEXT to him, Rye reined the black stallion

to a halt at the top of a rise. Spring lay softly on the land,
and a warm breeze caressed their faces. He held Brenna
in front of him, her slender body cradled in the angle of
his arm and chest.
"One day," he murmured against the fragrant mass of
her fiery hair, "this will all belong to Brandon."
Snuggling closer, Brenna nodded, taking in the roll of
hills green with new grass, and the flowers beginning to
bud under hedge and tree. "And Barret shall have the
lands that belonged to your father in Normandy."
''If we have more sons," Rye said with a laugh, "I
shall have to go to battle again. Of course, there is the
small keep to the south. . . ."
"Not Marwald!"
"Nay, love, your brother Myles will inherit that when
Dunstan is gone. As Rannulf fled to Normandy and can-
not return, Myles is next in line. I am pleased. He will be
a good man in a fight should I need him."
Rubbing her nose against the velvet sleeve of his tunic,
Brenna said, "Nay, no more war. I fear for you."
"'Tis my duty, cherie," he reminded her. "But I am
in no hurry, I promise you that."
334
 LYON'S PRIZE 335
Turning against him so that her breasts pressed
against his chest and she could put her arm around his
neck, Brenna teased, "Did I not hear you tell Beltair that
you longed for a good fight again?"
"And did you not give me one scarce a half hour later,
·when I dared suggest you make arrangements to send
our sons to Raissa and Geoffroi when '1iey are old
enough? You fair scorched my ears with your curses. I
only thought to secure them a place well in advance, but
you-"
"I am not ready to send them away yet." Brenna
raked a fingertip over the stubble of beard on his strong
jaw. "My lord, I have something I must confess. . . ."
Rye groaned. "Not another expenditure, I hope, be-
cause our coffers have been strained from the king's re-
cent visit as well as the monies I must-"
"Nay, not that. Not yet, at any rate." Brenna took a
deep breath and said softly, "I am with child again."
Rye's arm tightened involuntarily around her.
"Again? And how do you feel?"
"Excited. I want a daughter. One with my hair and
your sweet nature."
"Thank God. I do not think I could bear a daughter
with your sweet nature. . . ." Rye ducked the slap she
aimed at him, and keeping the stallion under control
with his knees, he managed to dismount, dragging her
with him.
"Come, sweeting," he cajoled, pulling her across the
field to spread his mantle beneath a wide-limbed oak,
"let us rest for a time. Your stallion is not accustomed to
the weight of both of us."
"Saladin does better than your mount. At least he has
not killed his handler." Brenna allowed him to seat her
on his scarlet mantle, knowing what he wanted.
It was a beautiful spring day, and the keep was always
too crowded with people for much privacy. This day
nurses tended the infants so that she could escape for a
time, and she looked forward to her time with Rye. Her
heart ached as she looked up at his handsome face, trac-
ing the line of his scar with a tender finger.
 336 VIRGINIA LYNN
Rye's mouth found hers in a hungry kiss, and his arms
went around her, hands spreading beneath her hips to
hold her hard against him. Gently, trying to curb his
impatience and failing, he pulled away her garments, re-
vealing the pale, sweet curves beneath.
He sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes smoky with de-
sire and love. "]esu, but you are more lovely than I had
ever thought a woman could be."
Brenna was busily tugging at his tunic and chausses,
and when she made a sound of frustration, he laughed
and reached down to help her untie the tapes that held
them.
Sunlight and shadow dappled their bodies as they lay
stretched beneath the tree, and when Rye could bear the
waiting no longer, he slid between her willing thighs and
entered her slowly. Brenna arched to meet him, her arms
around his neck, her mouth clinging to his as she met his
hard, driving thrusts eagerly.
"I love you," she said over and over, and his reply
mingled with hers and drifted on the soft breeze.
"And I love you, sweet wife. Now and always. . . ."
Dear Readers,

I hope you enjoyed R}": and Brenna's story. I cer-

tainly did enjoy writing it. The medieval. period has al-
ways been a fascinating time fur me, and I learned a
great deal that I would like to explain a bit further.
In the first place, stone castles were not yet built in
England when William came over-a fact that escaped
me until doing research for LyonJs Prize. Most Saxon
forts were called donjons, and built of wood and dirt.
The first recorded stone keep was built in 1074 by the
bishop of W~chester and was rather crude in appear-
ance. I have, you will note, taken a bit of liberty with
history here, assuming that a castle complete with inner
and outer bailey and drawbridge could have been built
by l 077. This is possible, though I did not find actual
evidence to confirm it.
I also found out all sorts of interesting tidbits that I
tried to weave into the story, such as the fact that no
castles--even in Normandy-had fireplaces. Those
didn't come until the twelfth century. Heat was pro-
vided by a central fire, and at times by a fire in a brazier
in the lord's chamber. Another fact was that soap came
in liquid form-and we thought we were so modem!-
and that cotton did not reach France until the twelfth
century. Linen was the chief material for nobles but was
rare, as flax did not grow readily.
No nightwear was worn until it became an innovation
in the late fourteenth century-hence the portraits we
have of ~e king and queen naked in bed, wearing only
their crowns. Underwear was unheard of, except for the
undergarments worn by knights to prevent their rough
armor from chafing them too badly. Chemises, as well,
337
 338 VIRGINIA LYNN
were not worn until the fourteenth century, truly an age
of enlightenment.
As for marriages, most brides did not even meet their
bridegroom until the wedding, unless he was a neigh-
bor. The betrothals were usually formed by parents or
guardians, to gain more lands or power, or to unite fam-
ilies. Also, in that time, women were more chattel than
helpmate. Men ruled, and they were not always fair and
just. It was considered very unmanly to allow one's wife
to be impertinent, but I imagine many indulgent hus-
bands did their best to live that down. Certainly love did
exist between husbands and wives, despite the arranged
marriages.
I tried to make my characters true to the times, keep-
ing in mind that women like Brenna were not very com-
mon-though they did, indeed, exist. There are even
records of women leading their own armies, defying not
only husbands, but kings. I like to think that Brenna of
Marwald would be such a woman, if the need arose.
If you would like to let me know if you enjoyed Lyon's
Prize, please write me at the following:
Virginia Lynn
c/ o Bantam Books
666 Fifth Avenue
New York, New York 10103
 ABOUT THE AUTHOR

VIRGINIA LYNN has over one million copies of her books

in print written under the names Virginia Lynn, Vrrginia
Brown, Emma Harrington, and Virginia Bianchi.
Shortly after her writing debut, Affair de Coeur hailed
this author as "a bright new star on the romance hori-
zon." Since then she has more than lived up to her
promise as three of her titles have either won or have
been finalists for the Romantic Times Reviewer's Choice
Award, and she has appeared on Today in an interview
with Jane Pauley. She currently lives in her native Mem-
phis, Tennessee with her husband, writer Chuck Bianchi.