Free Lord of My Heart by Jo Beverley

see you end up like that, Mad. I’d be a loving husband.”
    “I’m sorry, Odo,” she said, trying to soften the refusal. “I must wait on the king’s pleasure.”
    She caught a flash of anger in his eyes, and her decision was reinforced. He reminded her unpleasantly of his father, who often took his fist to Celia. No, she didn’t want to marry Odo.
    The next day was Odo’s last, and his father called for a hunt for his son’s entertainment, and in the hope of supplementing the poor food available at Baddersley. Odo had recovered his good humor, and Madeleine was happy to slip back into sibling fondness. On the other hand she would be as glad to see him leave as she had been to see him arrive.
    It was a fine, sunny day, and as they rode out Madeleine saw that even neglect and unrest couldn’t steal the beauty of the English countryside. Once the people settled to new rule, this land would be rich, great, and good. And she would be a part of it, she and her descendants. “Ah, England.” She said it softly to herself, as if to a lover.
    Riders, huntsmen, and hounds gathered in an open meadow deep with a rainbow of flowers. Madeleine smiled and breathed the sweet air. England had a different flavor from Normandy. England was gentle, rich in the arts, and full of music and poetry. Even though she was still struggling with the language, she enjoyed the sagas and stories of love and loneliness, hope and pain.
    Normandy was harsher and rougher. Or perhaps, she thought, looking at her uncle, her cousin, and their men, it was just a harsher, rougher people. Now that the Norman lust for war had come to England, would it destroy Baddersley as it had destroyed Haute Vironge? Not if she could help it. Baddersley was hers.
    She pulled a leaf from a low-hanging branch and rubbed it between her fingers. The sap stained her skin, and the aroma rose like perfume to her nose. Her tree, her land, her deer, her people . . .
    All that was needed was a lord capable of holding the barony safe and making it prosper.
    Not Odo.
    But an English lord would be in tune with this land, she thought. Though Edwald had said he would not return, every time she was out in the countryside Madeleine looked for him, hoping he would appear again on silent, skillful feet . . .
    The hounds caught the scent of a deer and ran. The horn blew and the riders began the chase. Madeleine and Odo rode side by side, laughing for the pleasure of the hunt.
    “It’s heading over that hill!” shouted Odo. “This way. We can cut it off!”
    He swung his horse, and Madeleine followed as the rest of the riders took the hounds’ line. They galloped into a wood, heading toward the other side of the hill.
    And came up against a deep, fast-flowing stream.
    They both pulled up. The trees grew down close to the banks, and the chances of working their way along the edge of the water were poor.
    “Do you think we can ford the stream?” Madeleine asked, listening to the distant sounds of the hunt.
    “No, of course not.” Odo was looking at her strangely. Madeleine shivered with unease. It was surely just the dim coolness here among the trees. “Come on then.” She turned her mount. “Let’s go back around the hill and catch up.”
    His voice stopped her. “Hold on a moment. Mastery’s limping.” He swung off and raised a hoof for inspection. “Mad, can you come down and hold him?” called Odo, struggling with his sidling horse. “I think he’s picked up a thorn, but I can’t get a grip on it.”
    Madeleine swung out of her saddle with a sigh and went to help. She took Mastery’s reins, and the horse immediately calmed. After a moment she realized this was because Odo had stopped touching the beast. He came around the horse.
    “Odo, what are you—”
    He grabbed her.
    Her cry was smothered by his wet lips and stale breath. She kicked and twisted to frighteningly little effect. Fear and suffocation made her head swim, and her clawing hands found only the