Baron of Emberly Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Tamara Leigh Novels

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Epilogue

  LADY UNDAUNTED Excerpt

  Tamara Leigh Novels

  About The Author

  For new releases and special promotions, subscribe to Tamara Leigh’s mailing list: www.tamaraleigh.com

  BARON OF EMBERLY

  Book Two in The Feud Series

  TAMARA LEIGH, USA Today Best-Selling Author

  THE FEUD

  England, 1308. Three noblemen secretly gather to ally against their treacherous lord. But though each is elevated to a baron in his own right and given a portion of his lord’s lands, jealousy and reprisals lead to a twenty-five year feud, pitting family against family, passing father to son.

  A WARRIOR DANGEROUSLY IN CONTROL

  England, 1334. In the second book of The Feud series, Baron Magnus Verdun is a warrior whose handsome face gives little indication of the darkness he struggles to contain. While pursuing the murderous brigands who plague his lands, he becomes the unwitting savior of the woman the king has decreed he wed—the reckless Lady Thomasin, whose very presence threatens his carefully ordered life. And more so when she proves outspoken beyond what is required of a dutiful wife. Can he tame this woman whose willful ways ought to offend, but instead captivate? More, dare he allow her near and risk exposing the secret that could push her away?

  A LADY PERILOUSLY IMPROPER

  Despite efforts to make a proper lady of her, the illegitimate Thomasin de Arell knows she is no match for the Baron of Emberly. Though she expects her new husband will think her beneath him, she is unprepared when he insists on separate chambers. When he also demands she control her behavior, the spurned Thomasin rebels—and unknowingly becomes the pawn of forces determined to further the feud. But upon finding herself in Magnus’s arms, she discovers he is not as indifferent as he would have her believe. And when she glimpses his torment, she is determined to shine light on his darkness. Will he let her in? Or will their enemies use the distrust between husband and wife for their own ends?

  In this sequel to the bestselling medieval romance, Baron Of Godsmere, join Baron Verdun and his lady as they discover that true love seeks first the soul, and is as easily seen in the dark as in the light.

  TAMARA LEIGH NOVELS

  CLEAN READ HISTORICAL ROMANCE

  The Feud: A Medieval Romance Series

  Baron Of Godsmere: Book One 02/15: Amazon

  Baron Of Emberly: Book Two 12/15: Amazon

  Baron of Blackwood: Book Three 2016: Amazon

  Medieval Romance Series

  Lady At Arms: Book One 01/14 (1994 Bantam Books bestseller Warrior Bride clean read rewrite): Amazon

  Lady Of Eve: Book Two 06/14 (1994 Bantam Books bestseller Virgin Bride clean read rewrite): Amazon

  Stand-Alone Medieval Romance Novels

  Lady Of Fire 11/14 (1995 Bantam Books bestseller Pagan Bride clean read rewrite): Amazon

  Lady Of Conquest 06/15 (1996 Bantam Books bestseller Saxon Bride clean read rewrite): Amazon

  Lady Undaunted Late Winter 2016 (1996 HarperCollins bestseller Misbegotten clean read rewrite): Amazon

  Dreamspell: A Medieval Time Travel Romance 03/12: Amazon

  INSPIRATIONAL HISTORICAL ROMANCE

  Age of Faith: A Medieval Romance Series

  The Unveiling: Book One 08/12: Amazon

  The Yielding: Book Two 12/12: Amazon

  The Redeeming: Book Three 05/13: Amazon

  The Kindling: Book Four 11/13: Amazon

  The Longing: Book Five 05/14: Amazon

  INSPIRATIONAL CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE

  Head Over Heels: Stand-Alone Romance Novels

  Stealing Adda 05/12 (ebook): Amazon; 2006 (print): NavPress

  Perfecting Kate 03/15 (ebook): Amazon; 2007 (print): RandomHouse/Multnomah

  Splitting Harriet 06/15 (ebook): Amazon; 2007 (print): RandomHouse/Multnomah

  Faking Grace 2015 (ebook): Amazon; 2008 (print edition): RandomHouse/Multnomah

  Southern Discomfort: A Contemporary Romance Series

  Leaving Carolina: Book One 11/15 (ebook): Amazon; 2009 (print): RandomHouse/Multnomah

  Nowhere, Carolina: Book Two Early Winter 2016 re-release; 2010 (print): RandomHouse/Multnomah

  Restless in Carolina: Book Three 2011 (print): RandomHouse/Multnomah

  OUT-OF-PRINT GENERAL MARKET TITLES

  Warrior Bride 1994: Bantam Books

  *Virgin Bride 1994: Bantam Books

  Pagan Bride 1995: Bantam Books

  Saxon Bride 1995: Bantam Books

  Misbegotten 1996: HarperCollins

  Unforgotten 1997: HarperCollins

  Blackheart 2001: Dorchester Leisure

  *Virgin Bride is the sequel to Warrior Bride

  Pagan Pride and Saxon Bride are stand-alone novels

  www.tamaraleigh.com

  BARON OF EMBERLY: Book Two (The Feud) Copyright © 2015 by Tammy Schmanski, P.O. Box 1298, Goodlettsville, TN 37070, [email protected]

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents, and dialogues are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.

  ISBN-10: 1-942326-09-0

  ISBN-13: 978-1-942326-09-0

  All rights reserved. This book is a copyrighted work and no part of it may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photographic, audio recording, or any information storage and retrieval system) without permission in writing from the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the author’s permission is illegal and punishable by law. Thank you for supporting authors’ rights by purchasing only authorized editions.

  Cover Design: Ravven

  CHAPTER ONE

  Barony of Blackwood, Northern England

  Mid-Spring, 1334

  She liked to imagine she entered the lair of a beast. It excited her, though not as it had in years past. But then, she had tamed this particular beast—clipped its claws and dulled its teeth. Somewhat.

  Hand on the door, Thomasin listened for voices on the other side. It was quiet but for an occasional muttering. Either something so bedeviled the beast that he could not contain his irritation, or his dreams were of such weight he spoke aloud his hauntings. Regardless, he was alone, meaning she was welcome—rather, tolerated, which was as near as one could come who was as disliked as the misbegotten Thomasin de Arell. br />
  Disliked, but no longer hated, she mused with satisfaction that would have warranted a smile were it not best to enter without even the suggestion of happiness upon her lips.

  She gave a quick rap, counted to twenty as further required, and opened the door.

  The chamber was dully lit, evidencing some of the shuttered windows had been latched back and the one who more often dwelt amid the glow of candles was better of body and milder of mind than usual. Though such a mood presented less of a challenge, on this day and with these tidings, she did not mind. Were she bored, she might feel different.

  She stepped inside, closed the door, and leaned against it. The room was second in size only to the great hall belowstairs. Extravagant, some would say—those whose lives had few boundaries—but in this instance, it was more a necessity for one who had once known the depth and breadth of these lands and enjoyed sufficient wealth to exploit their every corner. Now, as he was wont to grumble, his life was lived on the point of a great mountain. This chamber. In Castle Mathe. Upon the barony of Blackwood. In the vastness of England. In a world through which he would never again swing a sword.

  “My father—your son—is displeased,” she said of the brooding man she had left belowstairs, the same who had unwittingly fathered her while a squire of ten and six years of age.

  The silence that followed was expectant. Somewhere beyond the floor-to-ceiling hangings that rippled and fluttered in the breeze that dared enter this place, was the one she had once thrillingly feared.

  “Fiend?” she called.

  Still he gave no answer, though what she named him ought to arouse some anger—mock, of course, for the expression born of mutual dislike had long ago become nearly an affection. Nearly, for who could truly care for one such as he?

  I do, she silently admitted what she could not speak lest he wielded it against her.

  “What say ye, fiend?” she tried again, deliberately slipping into the commoner’s speech he detested.

  “I have a name,” he rebuked.

  Ulric de Arell, reviled by the neighboring barons who, for twenty and more years, had been his adversaries. Soon, marriage would make them his family’s allies.

  Moving in the direction of his voice that sounded from beyond the curtained bed, Thomasin gave the usual response. “For me, that name is Grandfather, but since ye deny me its use just as ye deny me my proper name, fiend it be.”

  The hanging that partitioned off the far end of the chamber rustled, indicating he stood before the window affording him the best view of all that was no longer his to command. Well before her existence had been made known to the De Arells four years past and she had come to Castle Mathe, Ulric had been forced to relinquish the barony to her father, Griffin. And that loss remained a heavy one.

  With slow, considered steps, he came around the hanging. Between the edges of the embroidered shawl draped over his head, she could just make sense of his shadowed features, evidence he did not wear the carved mask that put an eerie, though relatively comely, face on the ravaged one he allowed none but the physician to gaze upon.

  “Is this to be a tediously long or blessedly short visit?” he asked.

  She lowered her gaze to where his tunic swept the floor. The garment was longer than most, but there was purpose to it—to conceal legs either misshapen or emaciated. Of added benefit, the tunic provided cover for the small creature who often traveled beneath it. It did not do so out of fear, well capable of being as bold as the wolfhounds in the hall below. Rather, affection and mischief caused it to so closely seek its master's side.

  “Well?” her grandfather demanded. “Tedious or blessed?”

  “No need to get all twitched,” she snapped. “I can tell what ye wish told in but a few minutes.”

  “But you will not.”

  She did have an abundance of words about her, though they were not beyond her control as most believed. She knew when to leash and when to loose them. Mostly.

  She made an exaggerated tsk. “If ye be content with bein’ the last to know what I know, I can leave.”

  “Cease with that vulgar tongue, girl. Speak proper!”

  There. Now that he had exerted his superiority, they could proceed more civilly. “I shall do me—er, my—best.”

  With a hand whose glove could not entirely hide its bunched affliction, he motioned toward the stool she was made to perch upon when she visited. As uncomfortable as it was, it was a better arrangement than when she had initially ventured to the uppermost floor her father had forbidden her. That first year, her grandfather had taken no such precautions, drawing near enough that she could smell and feel his breath. Only later had she realized it had been done in the hope she would be struck down by the disease that isolated him.

  “Sit, Sin,” he commanded.

  Sin, what most would think an abomination of Thomasin, and which he had named her for the wrong her father had committed in begetting a child on a commoner—more, for claiming her as a De Arell. Not that she minded the name. It made her feel naughty, something it would be interesting to explore beyond her penchant for improprieties that others—nobles, mostly—deemed sinful.

  But she gave her grandfather his due, making a show of irritation by flicking her eyes heavenward as she lowered to the hard seat. “Should I begin, or would you first seek your own comfort?” She nodded at the overstuffed armchair that ensured him as much ease as possible.

  “As I have been sitting much of the day, I shall stand.” He took another step forward, so labored her eyes were drawn to a tall, elaborately carved wardrobe against which her latest offering was propped—one of dozens of walking sticks she had foraged from the wood and pared down. Wonderfully gnarled and twisted through with light and dark grains, it was much like the man for whom it had been fashioned. As with its predecessors, it would be tested by fire. And fail. However, providing he did not toss it on the flames in her presence as he had done with the first, she could bear it.

  “Now, tell—” His voice cracked, and with much effort, he cleared his throat. “For what is my son displeased?”

  The hem of his tunic ruffled, and the creature’s front paws peeked out from beneath, evidencing it had settled in where its master had halted ten feet distant from her.

  Thomasin drew up her legs, wrapped her arms around her knees, and tilted back until she balanced on her rear. Terribly unlike a lady. “A missive has come from King Edward.”

  “Its contents?”

  Telling herself she was not disturbed by the tidings, that she would make the best of what was asked of her to keep the king’s displeasure from falling on her father and his people, she said, “It speaks of the next marriage to be made.” Three in total that would see the De Arells, Boursiers, and Verduns wed into one another’s families in the expectation such alliances would end their feuding.

  The Boursier—as that baron was better known, a name in which Thomasin delighted—had wed Lady Elianor of the Verduns nearly six months past. Therefore, the next marriage was to be between Thomasin’s father, Baron De Arell, and Quintin Boursier. The final marriage, several months from now, was to have been her own with Baron Verdun. But the king’s missive set all on its head.

  Ulric de Arell’s growl was echoed by a growl from the one whose paws quivered. “Then the time has come for the house of De Arell to unite with the Boursiers,” he spat. “My blood ever fouled.”

  “Further fouled,” she reminded him of what he had oft said of her, and would have been secretly pleased it was no longer fast off his lips if not for what the missive told.

  She breathed deep. “But first it shall be Verdun blood that offends.”

  His startle was so large, it caused the shawl to slip off his brow. In the moment before he snatched the material forward, she saw the pale and dark patches on his face. The last time she had been afforded a glimpse, the disfigurement had featured on his cheeks and nose, but now also his brow and chin. And she secretly hurt for him, for he would not tolerate pity, esp
ecially from one who was more to be pitied for the noble blood infected by the common blood scuttling through her veins.

  Using the least deformed hand she had not seen out of a glove these past two years, he jerked one trailing end of the shawl across the lower half of his face and settled it over the opposite shoulder to prevent it from slipping again.

  If not that she listened for his breath of relief, she would not have heard it. Once more as formidable as it was possible for a perishing man to be, he crossed his arms over his chest. “So the Boursier termagant is granted another delay in wedding your father.” It was said with rancor so keen, it reminded her of when he had truly hated her.

  She released her knees, set her feet to the middle rung, and leaned forward. “’Tis said Lady Quintin continues to mourn her mother.”

  His snort became a cough so wracking, she tensed to keep from bounding off the stool and pounding him between the shoulders. When he recovered, he seemed a smaller man, a bow to his back and slump to his shoulders that caused the tunic to puddle over the paws.

  “The time for mourning is months past,” he said. “Nay, what that woman does is roll the dice well.”

  There could be truth in that, but during Lady Quintin’s captivity at Castle Mathe last Christmas, Thomasin had been afforded many occasions to observe the slightly older woman and several to converse with her, and the lady had not seemed one to feign weakness—she who had drawn a dagger on Thomasin’s formidable father.

  “’Tis told her mother was murdered,” Thomasin said, though still it was hard to accept, for the woman who had befriended Thomasin years past had played a large part in that wickedness. “That can be no easy thing.” Especially, Thomasin silently added, had Maeve Boursier been a devoted mother. Unlike mine.