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stolen heiressbyjoanna make peaceDID YOU PURCHASE THIS BOOK WITHOUT A COVER?If you did, you should be aware it is sao len property as it wasreported unsold and destroyed by a retailer. Neither the Author northe publisher has received any payment for this bookAll the characters in this book have no existence outside theimagination of the author. and have no relation whatsoever to anyonebearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspiredby any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidentsare pure invention.All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or inpart in any form, This edition is published by arrangement withHarlequin Enterprises H B. V. The text of this publication or any partthereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by anymeans, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without thewritten permission of the publisher.This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way oftrade or otherwise, be lent, resola~ hired, out or otherwise circulatedwithout the prior consent of the pubFtsher in any form of binding orcover other than that in which it. is published and without a similarcondition including 'this condition being imposed on the subsequentpurchaser.MILLS & BOON and MILLS & BOON with the Rose Device are registeredtrademarks of the publisher.First pub l! shed in Great i Britain 1996Harlequin Mills & iBoon: Limited;Eton House, 18,24 Para~ Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 I SRJoanna Makerace i996Set in 10 on 11Vz pt Linotron Times 04-9701. 86419Printedand'bound in Great Britain by BPC Paperbacks Limitec~ AylesburyCHAPTER ONECLARE HOY LAND stood near the glazed window of the solar, looking outover the herb plot. It had snowed three days ago, but there had been apartial thaw. and most of the snow had melted. However, last nightthere had been a hard frost and the remainder had iced over so thebrown earth was iron hard. It would be difficult going for the men onthis foray.Clare shrugged her squirrel-lined cloak round her shoulders for it wasstill cold within the solar, despite the logs burning brightly in thehearth and an extra brazier near the side window. She had put on thecloak for extra warmth, yet perhaps it was her misgiving for thisventure which caused her to shiver so violently. In this winter of1461, who could know what the future would hold?Certainly'the hopes of the Duke of York had foundered at Sandal onlyweeks ago. Her uncle, Sir Gilbert Hoyland, and her brother, Peter, hadcrowed over the Lancastrian victory which had given Queen' Margaret theday and allowed her the vindictive pleasure of having the unfortunateDuke's head placed high on Micklegate Bar in York and topped with acrude paper crown some wag in her train had made for her. In such afashion was the Yorkist victory of St. Albans overturned and, to SirGilbert's and Peter's joy, the death of her father avenged.Clare could not be glad of these tidings. The wars had continued forso many months now and so many unfortunates slain both in the severalbattles and skirmishes and also within the constant armed sallies ofcompanies on both sides. She had mourned her father deeply, of course,but nothing could bring him- back to them. This useless quarrel withtheir neighboUrs, the Devanes, in her estimation, could do no goodwhatever.She sighed as she returned to her chair by the fire and leaned forwardto warm her chilled hands at the blaze. This latest feud had startedin so senseless a fashion: a sucking pig stolen from one of theirsties, meant for the final feast of Twelfth Night. Their steward hadinvestigated and determined that one of the men-at-arms from the Devanemanor had been responsible.Certainly there were tales that a roasted pig had been enjoyed by theDevane retainers on the last but one night of the Christmasfestivities. A man-at-arms had boasted of the plunder to some villagewench and a skirmish had broken out between armed men from both manors.A Hoyland sergeant had died and Sir Gilbert had declared his intentionof demanding satisfaction and compensation.Sir Humphrey Devane had sent' back an insulting reply and, early thismorning, a company of Hoyland men-at-arms had sallied out, breathingthreats of fire and slaughter against their habitual rivals. It wasall so pointless. Clare prayed that no other Soul paid with his lifefor such senseless folly, nor any man be badly wounded as a result ofthis ceaseless wrangling between the manor lords.She could not believe the Devanes in any way-responsible for herfather's death at St. Albans. The Devanes were declared Yorkists. Itwas said that the younger son, Robert, served in the train of the Earlof Warwick, cousin to great York. Sir Humphrey and his son, Walter,had fought at St. Albans on the Yorkist side but many men had done so.The death of her own father couldn't be laid at their door. But thefeuding had continued.Now, since thee Yorkists had been driven from their stronghold ofLudlow Castle by Queen Margaret's force and York's widow, Proud Cecily,taken prisoner with her two youngest sons, the fortunes of the Yorkistshad declined and, with the death of York at Sandal near Wakefield, wereat their lowest ebb.Clare could not dismiss the thought that it was this very notion thathad prompted her uncle to risk an unprovoked attack upon his neighbour.Sir Humphrey was unlikely to complain to the King's justices, whateverthe outcome, as many Yorkists had been proscribed and their estates andproperty seized by the vengeful Queen.Throughout Clare's eighteen years of life she had had to listen to herfather's, her brother's, and now her uncle's constant carping:complaints about their neighbours. She sighed again. Since the deathof her mother, almost five years ago, she had been forced to gradually~take into her own hands the management of the manor. She knew, wellenough, her father had been wealthy enough to harbour no feeling ofenvy towards the Devanes, whose prosperity could never match theirown.Now Peter, at twenty-one, had inherited and she wondered how soon itwould be before he brought a bride home, to oust Clare from herposition of authority within the household. It was a moment she bothdreaded and welcomed. She would be glad to be rid of theresponsibility, for her endeavours were rarely praised by her brother.Since childhood he had bullied and despised his younger sister,resenting the love their father had had for her, and now he made nosecret of the fact that he considered her a decided encumbrance."Sweet Virgin," he had declared only last night at supper, 'what is tobe done with a plain creature like you? I don't know. With thecountry in such a state of disarray it will be even more difficult tofind a suitable husband for you, and God knows I'm disinclined toprovide a dowry for you to become a Bride of Christ. "Clare had been heartily thankful for that decision. She had novocation to take the veil, but neither had she any desire to remain onthe manor, a poor relation, the butt of Peter's unkindness and eitherignored or resented by a new mistress of Peter's choosing.So far he had made no attempt to seek a wife. The Court had moved fromplace to place, constantly on the move 'under the fretful rule of thewarlike Queen Margaret and neither she or the saint like andfeebleminded King Henry showed any inclination to arrange Courtalliances.Peter aimed high, since his wealth entitled him to the hand of somelady from an influential family who 'could assist him into the counselsof the nobility. For so long as he was prepared to wait, Clare wouldbe expected to manage Hoyland Manor for him competently and withoutcomplaint.AWare that she was not beautiful, not even remotely pretty, Clareseldom bothered to press for elaborate gowns or jewellery andinfrequently looked at her reflection in the small ornamental mirror ofitalian glass presented to her' by her father on her tenth birthday.In it she had seen that her features were, indeed, unremarkable. Herhair was brown, almost mousey, she thought ruefully, her face oval, buther brows were too dark and heavy and dominated her olive-tinted face.She would have preferred to have had a pink and white complexion likeher uncle's daughter, I'sabel, whose golden locks and large' blue eyeshad been greatly admired. Clare's eyes were large and her father hadfondly declared them luminous, but were an undistinguished grey.Peter's dark good looks were attractive to the manor wenches, Clare hadnoticed, but her own, by comparison, were simply acceptable, though shewas not ugly. She possessed some good features; her mouth was wide andgenerous but she determined her nose too large and not enhanced by theslightest tendency to tilt up at the end. To add to all this, she wasover-tall for a woman and gawky, her clumsiness increased by beingcontinually under the critical gaze of her older brother.Clare stayed huddled near the fire, glad to be alone for-a while. Shehad been busy inspecting the kitchen, buttery and dairy. Soon she mustgo into the hall and make sure the trestles were being put up inreadiness for the evening meal. She hoped the corner she had curtainedoff would not be required to house any wounded men her uncle broughtback with him. She leaned her head back against the padded head-restof her chair and closed her eyes.It was good to be here, quiet without the fussy attentions of Bridget,the kitchen wench she had tried to train as a personal maid. The girlwas willing b... [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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