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  With hues as vibrant as a medieval tapestry and characters so filled with passion they seem to breathe and live, award-winning author Charlene Cross writes “historical romance at its best” (Affaire de Coeur). Now she weaves a thrilling tale of a lady’s kidnapping, and a love that blossoms in an England and Normandy divided by war…

  Her abductor’s name was Rolfe de Mont St. Michel, and Lady Catherine hated him. Already, with each stride of his horse, everything she had ever known was fast disappearing into the morning mist. Today she was to have married in a perfect match, uniting two eminent families. Instead she heard her betrothed berated as a coward, was carried off by a mysterious knight…and became an unwilling pawn in a royal game of power.

  From the magnificent island abbey that bears Rolfe’s name, Catherine sees the road of destiny opening before her. Each step of the way she tries to escape. But unexpected, unbidden desire soon makes her a prisoner of her own heart — bound by love to this man whose true parentage remains a secret, whose loyalties make him a traitor, and whose passion makes her feel cherished and adored. Still, every change in the tides brings increasing desperation, for she knows that one day she must flee his embrace….

  PRAISE FOR CHARLENE CROSS

  AND

  ALMOST A WHISPER

  “A captivating story of lies, deception, desire, passion, and love. As the plot unfolds…the book becomes harder and harder to put down. A very enjoyable story from a talented writer.”

  —Rendezvous

  “Readers may remember Ian Sinclair from Charlene Cross’ Masque of Enchantment and will discover this love story to be even more powerful and captivating.”

  —Romantic Times

  “An enjoyable and delightfully different Victorian historical romance. Charlene Cross, who has written several award-winning novels, gifts the reader with the story of Ian Sinclair … Both he and Leah are entertaining, likable protagonists….”

  —Affaire de Coeur

  “An outstanding love story and you really feel close to both characters. You agonize with Leah over her dilemma and feel Ian’s betrayal. A very good story — a definite keeper.”

  — The Paperback Trader

  WATCH FOR CHARLENE CROSS’

  EVERLASTING

  Available Now from Pocket Books

  “STAY AWAY FROM ME,” CATHERINE ORDERED.

  “That’s not what you want, and you know it.”

  As Rolfe spoke, she was again watching his mouth. Sensation spun through her as she remembered fully its mastery. “’Tis what I want,” she insisted, stumbling away two more steps. She gasped when her back met solid wood. My God! She’d missed the door. “Stay away!” As she tried to break for the opening, his left hand hit the wall near her shoulder.

  “Too late, Catherine. You’re trapped.”

  Wide-eyed, she stared up at him. Why was he doing this? “Let me go … please?”

  He pressed himself closer. “Not until I’ve answered your question.”

  “What question?”

  “You’ve been staring at my lips again, which tells me you want to know if my kiss will feel the same now that your senses are no longer dulled by wine.”

  “You’re mad!” she told him.

  If he were mad, then she must be doubly so, for again she found herself staring at his lips. “Loose me,” she demanded.

  “If I do that, you’ll always be left to wonder,” he said, his warm breath fanning just above her lips. “But wonder no more, Catherine. ’Tis time you learn the truth. . . .”

  Turn the page for more wonderful praise for Charlene Cross….

  BOOKSELLERS LOVE ROMANCE … ESPECIALLY CHARLENE CROSS’S

  ALMOST A WHISPER

  “A real page turner and lively characters. Looking forward to her next one.”

  —Marie Betz and Susan Fitzgerald, Trover Shops

  “Outstanding romance, intrigue, unforgettable characters, everything a terrific story needs. A definite keeper. Once you start the book, you hate to put it down.”

  —Margaret Stilson, Paperback Exchange

  “Heartwarming, emotional, strong female character—great intimacy—terrific!”

  —Pat Strait, House of Books

  “Greatly enjoyed! A Keeper!”

  —Lucille Duhr, Crown Books

  “Absolutely FANTASTIC. A super book, the title fits it so well.”

  —Joan Adis, Paperbacks & Things

  “Charlene is a great writer; she combines romance, intrigue, passion and humor into a great story. Almost a Whisper is a definite 4+ read.”

  —Judy Krolikowski, Books Galore ’N’ More

  “Refreshingly witty and fast paced. A real attention-holder. Deeply emotional and sensitive.”

  —Nicki Kisner, Volume One Books

  “Excellent. 5 stars. I like the tie-in with Masque of Enchantment. Her books keep getting better and better. Her books are always keepers.”

  —Harvard Books

  “Very well done, an exceptional read! A well-written and moving story!”

  —Little Shoppe of Stories

  “A definite winner!”

  —Shelly Ryan, The Book Barn & A Thousand and One Paperbacks

  Books by Charlene Cross

  Masque of Enchantment

  A Heart So Innocent

  Deeper Than Roses

  Lord of Legend

  Almost a Whisper

  Splendor

  Published by POCKET BOOKS

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  An Original Publication of POCKET BOOKS

  POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster Inc.

  1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  Copyright © 1995 by Charlene Cross

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  ISBN: 0-671-79432-9

  ISBN: 978-1-45168-267-0 (eBook)

  First Pocket Books printing January 1995

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster Inc.

  IN MEMORY OF:

  Donald R. Cross

  Edwin J. Baum

  George and Doris Falconer

  Maurice and Thelma Falconer

  Thank you for purchasing this Pocket Books eBook.

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  'Everlasting' Teaser

  CHAPTER

  1

  Avranches, Normandy

  January 1153

  WANDERLUST RAN IN THE VEINS OF ROLFE DE MONT ST. MICHEL as though it
were his life’s blood. The thought of marriage had never once entered his mind.

  Not, that was, until four days ago.

  The sinking winter sun at his back, Rolfe looked up at the gray stone fortress and its imposing tower. What he sought lay just beyond the castle walls. He had a quest, and by his knight’s oath, he’d not fail his mission, or the duke of Normandy could fail his.

  By Rolfe’s calculations, the force of slightly over three thousand should have made the crossing, perilous waters notwithstanding. As the rightful heir to England’s throne, Henry would at last face Stephen, intent on claiming his due. Should Eustace, Stephen’s son, follow the invading troops—and no one doubted that he would—it was Rolfe’s duty to keep the barons of Avranches and Mortain from joining in the fray, Geoffrey d’Avranches especially. To that end, a diversion was planned, one ensuring that both men were kept busy for some time to come.

  And if Rolfe somehow failed?

  Henry would welcome the chance to again face Geoffrey, to settle his grievance against the man once and for all.

  Though Rolfe had vowed his allegiance to Henry, he knew he had not volunteered his services simply to ensure the duke’s success. Something else had given Rolfe the impetus to seek this task.

  As he continued to study the fortress, exhilaration surged through him; his confidence grew. Revenge. He could almost taste its sweet reward. Miles d’Avranches would suffer for his cowardice. This Rolfe promised himself.

  A frigid wind swept the barren hillside, sending a chill down Rolfe’s spine. He raked back the strands of hair that had whipped across his face to settle them at his shoulder. Devoid of the protection of his hauberk and the quilted aketon he wore beneath it, he shivered as the cold air penetrated his clothing.

  Catching the edge of his hood, Rolfe covered his head. Five years had passed since he and Miles had last met, five years in which Rolfe had matured and hardened in both aspect and character. He was no longer the young knight-errant eagerly seeking wealth and adventure on his first crusade. Although Rolfe doubted that the weak-kneed Miles would recognize him, he nevertheless thought it might be wise to keep his face hidden.

  His steed had strayed slightly from the path, and Rolfe reined the great destrier in line with the procession of men, women, and attendants as they made their way up the lane toward the gate.

  “Smile, Garrick,” he ordered his companion after spying the man’s pensive visage. “You look as though you’re about to attend a funeral.”

  The statement drew a sharp glance from the grizzle-haired knight. He pressed his mount close to Rolfe’s.

  “ ’Tis a possibility,” Garrick replied in a low voice. “What worries me is that it may be our own.”

  Rolfe chuckled. “You’re becoming an old woman. Stop wringing your hands. Naught will happen to us.”

  “Had you a solid plan in mind, I might agree with you. As it is, we go in blind. I don’t like it, my young friend. ’Tis too dangerous.”

  “Have faith, Garrick. I know what it is I want to accomplish. ’Tis just a matter of discovering how to go about it.”

  “Risky, I say,” the older man grumbled. “Especially when there is only we two.”

  “The smaller our number, the less suspicion we draw. Now lighten your mood and pretend you are enjoying the day. We promised Henry we’d keep the barons occupied, and that we shall.”

  Garrick snorted. “I hope by ‘occupied’ you have more in mind than our providing the entertainment at the wedding feast as we are baited by a pack of ravenous hounds. Should we get caught, that’s precisely what we’ll be doing.”

  Along with the others, the pair passed through the gates into the castle. “Have no fear of that, Garrick,” Rolfe reassured the man as he carefully scanned the high stone walls of the inner courtyard. His gaze stopped on the comely young woman framed in an open window. “There’ll be no celebration tomorrow. No wedding, either. Not without the bride.”

  Tomorrow was her wedding day.

  Excitement bubbled inside Catherine de Mortain as she watched the activity in the courtyard below. Invited from far and wide, the guests were arriving with less continuity now, and she imagined that this particular group might be the last.

  Miles.

  The name of her betrothed whispered through her mind, and Catherine’s heart raced with anticipation. To think, as had happened to all the young men who had previously sought her hand in marriage, their fathers eager to enter into negotiations with her own, that she’d nearly rejected Miles without so much as ever seeing him.

  At seventeen, Catherine was well past the usual age to be wed; but, desiring a husband whom she could respect and love, one who respected and loved her in return, she’d resisted any proposed match, threatening to sequester herself in a convent if the man her father chose wasn’t to her liking.

  In the past, William de Mortain had always acceded to Catherine’s wishes, she being his only heir. But when Geoffrey d’Avranches had sent word that he and his son were interested in arranging a contract for the joining of their two families, Catherine’s luck had run out. This time her threats fell on deaf ears, her father stating it was time she wed. No amount of cajoling or badgering could change his edict. The marriage would go forth. Catherine was now glad her father had stood fast.

  Their betrothal had taken place four months ago, and as was the custom, Catherine immediately withdrew to Avranches to learn her own responsibilities within the daily workings of the castle, to thereby become a dutiful wife. Now only the nuptials remained.

  Miles, she thought again, giddiness overtaking her. Proud, handsome, and well-mannered, he was the epitome of what she desired in a husband. For unlike most men—her father being the exception, of course—he seemed genuinely interested in her opinions. Complete agreement with her views was something else entirely, but at least Miles didn’t chastise her for speaking her mind, something that was highly uncharacteristic for his gender.

  Yes, in an age when women suffered from the curse of Eve’s deceit, when females were considered to be the lowest of all God’s creatures, Miles exalted his betrothed, honoring and respecting her. That was why Catherine loved him so.

  “A cold wind blows through that window. Come away from there, child, or else you’ll catch your death.”

  A smile still playing on her lips, Catherine turned to see her nurse ambling toward her from the far side of the vast chamber. “But Eloise, much is happening below. Can I not watch?”

  “No,” the woman said firmly. “Now come away from there.”

  “I’ll marry only once, you know. Don’t be so eager to spoil my pleasure.”

  Eloise brushed past Catherine. “You’ll not marry at all should you take a chill,” she stated, shuttering the window and securing it with an iron bar.

  “You worry far too much, Eloise. I have never been sick a day in my life.”

  “True, good fortune has shined on you. But remember, there is always a first time for everything. Come along now. You are expected below to greet your guests. Your father awaits you.”

  “And Miles?”

  “He’s there too.”

  Catherine studied her nurse. Eloise was akin to a mother to her, had acted in that very capacity since Catherine was twelve, when her mother had died of an illness. She valued Eloise’s opinion and, in this situation, wanted desperately to win the woman’s approval. “You don’t agree with my marrying him, do you?”

  “’Tis not for me to say whom you marry or don’t marry.”

  “That’s not what I’m asking. You don’t like Miles. Why?”

  “He is not what he seems,” Eloise grumbled.

  Catherine thought to defend her betrothed, but her words died on her lips as Clotilde scurried into the room.

  “M-milady,” she said on an awkward curtsy, then fell silent.

  Eloise’s niece was painfully shy and equally as plain. Catherine always felt the former in the girl was a direct result of the latter. Knowing Clotilde would say no mor
e unless prompted to do so, Catherine smiled gently, then asked, “What is it?”

  “I—I just came from the chaplain. H-he says the bishop has arrived along with several clerics. He will be meeting with them shortly, and he won’t be able to hear your confession until tomorrow. He’ll meet you at dawn in the chapel.”

  “Thank you, Clotilde. I know how difficult it was for you to speak to him on my behalf. Now fetch my comb, will you?”

  After Clotilde did as she was bade, Eloise quickly groomed Catherine’s hair, then the three exited the women’s quarters and descended to the great hall.

  Seeing the servants’ strained expressions as they hurried about the huge room, Catherine instructed both Eloise and Clotilde to assist with the serving. The pair immediately took up flagons of wine and began filling the empty goblets at one of the many tables.

  Searching out Miles’s whereabouts, Catherine saw he was already seated in his place of honor at the head table. Miles’s father sat to his right, while to his left, an empty chair between, was her father.

  Her heart tripping lightly, Catherine promptly sought her betrothed’s side. But her pace slowed when she heard the raised voices, particularly her father’s, as they swelled in restrained anger.

  “Don’t attempt to convince me that Stephen is a strong and just king. If things stay as they are, England will not survive under his rule,” said William de Mortain. “His barons do naught but pillage and rape the land. Because of their lawlessness, I must keep my own estate heavily guarded. You know as well as I, Geoffrey, that a knight’s pay is not meager of coin. I cannot say about your circumstance, but my coffers are fast becoming empty. Stephen has lost control, I tell you.”

  Geoffrey d’Avranches issued a short laugh. “Since you have far more wealth than most, William, I think you exaggerate the magnitude of your financial woes. Likewise, you worry too much. Just because a few barons stand in disagreement with each other doesn’t mean all of England is in the throes of civil unrest.”

  “‘Civil unrest’?” William questioned. “With the empress and Henry’s sympathizers gathered to the west and Stephen’s gathered to the east and most of the south, England has been in the throes of civil unrest for the past fifteen years. You are doltish, sir, if you think otherwise.”