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with battle scars that shone whitely against his flesh. Deliberately, tauntingly, her hands slipped lower still, to his thick, muscular thighs and his manhood. The Lord shivered with pleasure as Isabella teased him tormentingly, her fingers trailing up and down his flanks before, at last, she grasped his shaft and began the motion slowly. After an eternity, it seemed, her lips closed over him, and her deliciously swirling tongue made him gasp aloud with joy. And then there was nothing for him but her and the things she was doing to him.
    Finally, he could bear no more. He caught her tangled mass of tresses, and as she lifted her head to look at him, he moaned,
    "My love..."
    She smiled at the words as he drew her up, rolled her over on her back, and parted her thighs. Urgently, his maleness probed between her legs, found her, entered her, penetrating her slowly,

    plunging down into the warm, inviting pool of her with a sudden assault that made her catch her breath, then cry out with delight. Just as languidly, he withdrew, then spiraled down into her once more. Then, without warning, the Lord grabbed great bunches of Isabella's cascading satin mane, twisting her mouth up to meet his own. Forcefully, demandingly, ravishing her now, he drove into her. The violence of his passion exhilarated her. Isabella thrust her hips upward to receive him again and again, faster and faster, until his hands caught hold of her buttocks, lifting her, crushing her against him as he took her savagely, bringing her rapidly to climax. His own release followed swiftly. He shuddered and was still.
    Their bodies throbbed against each other, gliding slowly back to earth as their rasps for breath mingled and filled the air. The Lord brushed a strand of hair from Isabella's face, then kissed her.
    "'Sabelle, my love," he said.
    It was enough. She sighed with happiness, snuggling within the cradle of his arms and laying her head upon his shoulder as he moved from her. The ghosts that had haunted her earlier were gone. There was only the Lord, her husband, now.
    She nestled quietly in his embrace, listening to the gentle sounds of his breathing as he slept, one arm about her to hold her close. The intimacy of the moment filled Isabella with as much contentment as the Lord's lovemaking had done. There was something so warm and comforting about lying next to him while he lay sleeping, vulnerable to her now as she had been to him earlier.
    Gently, Isabella kissed the Lord's mouth, then rose quietly so as not to disturb him. As she looked down tenderly at his sleeping figure, she smiled softly to herself How she loved him. He was her fate, her destiny for all time. She had known it from the very first moment she had ever looked into his eyes. Her mind drifted back... back to the beginning. How many years had come and gone since then? she wondered. How many years had passed since that day the Lord had come riding up to Rushden, and she had first beheld his handsome face?
    The sky was growing grey, as though it would soon rain; but Isabella paid no heed as she made her way to the moors that once more beckoned to her. The breeze soughed plaintively, rippling across the tall grass and rustling the leaves of the old oaks and yews; but Isabella did not hear the wind's faint whisper. She was

    lost in thought, far from the heaths upon which she walked, remembering.
    In her mind, it was springtime at her brother's keep, and she was just five years old—

    Chapter Two
    Rushden Castle, England, 1470
    THE TWO SMALL OCCUPANTS OF RUSHDEN CASTLE, which had been the home of the powerful Ashley family for centuries, huddled anxiously upon high stools and peered intently through the peep that looked out over the great hall of the fortress. The younger of the children, Isabella, had her tiny hand tucked securely within her brother Giles's for comfort, the only measure of solace she was brave enough to seek. She longed to cling closely to him to lessen the apprehension she felt