Wild and Wicked Read Free

second’s hesitation.
    “Now,” Apryll ordered. “What is it you see?”
    Geneva lifted an elegant eyebrow. Her gaze fixed deep in Apryll’s. “In order for there to be peace and prosperity at Serennog again,” she said, “you will marry the Lord of Black Thorn.”
    Apryll’s blood turned to ice. “Never,” she said in a hoarse whisper that was far from her normal voice. Her stomach clenched in repulsion when she thought of the powerful, brooding baron and the rumors that had swirled around him. Cruel. Without a heart. Feared rather than loved, Lord Devlynn of Black Thorn was known throughout Wales for his unbending will. “Did he not kill his first wife and unborn babe?”
    “No one knows that for certain.” Geneva’s demeanor remained unmoved, expressionless.
    The wind seemed to have died. Apryll’s heart drummed a furious, denying tattoo. “And yet you think I would agree to marry him?” ’Twas absurd. Swiveling her head, she asked, “Payton? You knew of this?”
    He nodded stiffly, then snapped his fingers for more wine.
    “’Tis not about choice,” Geneva said with quiet conviction as she stepped closer, and Apryll was drawn once again to those unblinking pallid eyes. “’Tis about destiny, m’lady. Your destiny.”

Chapter One
    Black Thorn Forest
December 1283
    “Happy Christmas,” Lord Devlynn muttered without a trace of a smile. Tossing a sprig of mistletoe onto the grave where his wife and unborn daughter were buried, he couldn’t ignore the remorse that lay heavy upon his soul, nor the bitterness that had festered deep in his heart. He stared at the graying tombstone, fingered the rosary deep within his pocket, but could conjure up no prayer to ask God’s forgiveness.
    A raw December wind, promising snow, blew across the hillside. Frosted blades of grass crumpled beneath his boots. Two horses pawed the hard ground. Astride the bay, his brother sat, gloved hands over the pommel of his saddle, a long-suffering expression on a face considered handsome by nearly every woman in the barony. “Come along, m’lord, ” Collin mocked. “’Tis time to put away the ghosts and leave the dead buried where they belong. There is living to be done and now ’tis the time. Like it or not, the revels are upon us and soon the keep will be filled with guests and laughter and celebration.” In the coming darkness, Collin slanted a wicked grin, the likes of which had melted the ice around more than one young maid’s heart. “’Tis time to forget the past, get drunk, raise a skirt or two and make merry.”
    “Is it?”
    “Aye.” Deep lines of frustration furrowed across Collin’s brow. He rubbed his hands together and his breath fogged in the air. “Mayhap you fancy a tongue-lashing from our sweet sister but I, for one, would like to forgo that supreme pleasure at least for this night.”
    “Ride ahead.”
    “Nay—”
    “I’ll be along! Tell Miranda to heat my mazer and fill it with wine.” Mayhap his brother was right; ’twas time to look forward rather than back.
    Collin hesitated, then glanced across the stream and tops of the forest trees to the hill upon which Castle Black Thorn rose, a massive stone and mortar fortress with towers spiraling heavenward. The main gate was thrown open, the drawbridge lowered and portcullis raised, while high on poles above the watchtowers, twin standards emblazoned gold and black snapped in the harsh winter breeze.
    “Have it your way, then. After all, you be the lord.”
    “Forget it not,” Devlynn suggested, striving for humor and failing miserably. His brother sent him a look of pity, reined his stallion and, shaking his head, slapped the beast on his broad rump. With a snort the steed bolted, and Collin, fur-lined mantle swelling behind him, rode furiously down the hillside. The horse’s hooves thundered against the frozen ground. Overhead a startled hawk flapped its great wings as it soared toward the woods.
    Devlynn watched horse and rider