Free Daring Passion by Katherine Kingston

Chapter One
    Anno Domini 1356
     
    Lady Anne paused before the closed door, chewing her nails
and trying to still the pounding of her heart. She had to renew her resolve
before she made a move that would forever change the course of her life.
    There was no help for what she must do, and little enough
for herself in this quest. The plan might backfire on her and blight her life,
but her future loomed bleak if she didn’t do something to influence it herself.
    She quietly lifted the latch. The door squealed on its
hinges as she pushed it open.
    She cringed a moment before she went in. The man in the bed
must know she was there. He couldn’t have slept through the noise the door had
made. But he lay still and quiet, giving no indication he was aware of her
presence.
    She moved quickly to the side of the bed, making her way
mostly by feel and memory in the darkness. She’d helped prepare this chamber
for honored guests often enough to know the space well. At the far end of the
room a few dying embers yet glowed, remains of the fire that had blazed
earlier. Though visible still, they provided little illumination in the room.
That was good. The darkness served her need.
    She wore only a light robe. It whispered softly as it fell
from her shoulders and puddled on the floor. The feather bed gave when she put
her hand on it. She ran her fingers across the surface of the linen cover until
they encountered warm, bare skin. She touched him lightly, hoping not to
startle him.
    Instead it was she who jumped when a large hand clamped
around her wrist and a cold, steel point pressed against her breast. She gasped
with shock.
    “My lord, I mean you no harm,” she said in what she hoped
was her most soothing voice.
    “Who are you?” a gruff, low male voice asked. “What
devilry’s afoot?”
    “No devilry, sir. I have no weapon, no tinctures, nothing to
do you any harm.”
    “I ask again. Who are you?” The blade moved not a fraction
from its position at her breast.
    “A gift, my lord. One offered for your comfort
and…entertainment.”
    “Who bestows so unexpected a boon upon me?”
    “My Lord D’Auberon.”
    “And why did he not apprise me of this boon earlier? Why
send you now?”
    “He… I believe my Lord D’Auberon thought you would value the
surprise. Please remove your blade, my lord. I pose no threat to you.”
    “I reserve my doubts on that score, madam,” he said. “Come
closer.”
    She moved toward him until she reached the edge of the bed.
A sliver of moonlight edged into the room through the window to her right,
letting her see him better. It wasn’t reassuring. The knife lay at his side,
but Lord Richard Hartwell had an intimidating presence even when he lay prone. She
knew him for a tall man, a physically imposing figure based on his height and
breadth of shoulder. He wore no nightshirt. A vast expanse of broad chest
narrowed from his shoulders down until it disappeared under the sheet pulled up
to his waist.
    At dinner earlier, he’d worn his dark hair pulled back in a
club held by a leather thong. Now it lay loose around his head. Anne fought an
urge to sink her fingers into the straight, thick mass. It looked invitingly
soft. Then she met the stern, intent gaze of his eyes. In the shadowy light,
they looked dark, although she knew they were blue. Whenever they had rested on
her these past few days, they’d glowed with a fire of either heaven or hell—she
knew not which—in their depths.
    She moved to the right to place herself between the ray of
moonlight and the bed, hoping he hadn’t been able to see her as clearly as
she’d seen him. She doubted he could.
    He reached out and found her arms. His hands trailed down
the skin to her palms, assuring himself she held no weapon. Then he skimmed
along the side of her body, starting just below her armpits and trailing down
her sides to her hips. Wherever he touched, he left trails of tingling skin and
a few ribbons of a hotter fire.
    She shivered as his