The Damsel

Kiltorren Castle, IrelandApril 1172

Burke de Montvieux crested a rise, reined in his destrier, and stared at the scene spread before him. He had ridden hard for three days, pushing his steed to the limits of the beast's endurance, Brianna of Tullymullagh's challenge in his ears.

'Twas true enough that Burke had not departed upon the bride quest Brianna had issued to the three brothers Fitzgavin with the enthusiasm the lady thought her command deserved. Nor had he brought her a gift that he truly believed would win her heart--because Burke had no desire for Brianna's affections.

For 'twas Alys of Kiltorren who haunted Burke's dreams.

Burke's guilty awareness of his unchivalrous behavior had taken him back to Tullymullagh, only to find Brianna happily wed to his elder brother, Luc. It had seemed to Burke that matters would end there, but Brianna was not so readily satisfied with a mere apology--she not only demanded the truth, but insisted he set matters to rights.

Brianna had sent Burke upon his own bride quest, not only to seek the lady who still held his heart but to win her hand.

Now his objective lay before his very eyes and Burke's heart pounded in trepidation of what he might find. He paused and surveyed the estate he had not seen these two long years.

Castle Kiltorren clung to the craggy west coast of Ireland, its moss-encrusted stone walls rising from the rock as if they always had been thus. With the fey moodiness of early spring, clouds swept in from the west to blanket the sky in pearly silver as the air turned chill. The sun hung low over the horizon, an angry red glow that pierced the clouds and painted the sea with a ribbon of light.

It had been two years since Burke had last seen the squat tower of Kiltorren, three years since a maid's sparkling eyes had captivated his heart beneath that tower's shadow. Twice he had been here, twice he had found naught but heartache at Castle Kiltorren. A deluge of memories swept over him.

The summons to tournament could not have come at a better moment, for a decade beneath his father's command had left Burke prepared for a new challenge. He was in need of frivolity, yet he was not alone in answering the Lord of Kiltorren's call.

Burke was, however, alone in noting that lord's niece, Alys of Kiltorren.

The lord Cedric and his lady wife, Deirdre, were arrayed in their finest to meet the arriving party of knights, jewels flashing on every finger in the summer sunlight. The way they pushed their two daughters forward made their true objectives more than clear, although those two young women were scarcely worthy of note.

One had been spared no indulgence in her garb and was ornamented far beyond her family's station, her tiny eyes taking greedy note of the calibre of each knight's steed and entourage. The second seemed terrified to be singled out thus and spent the better part of the ceremonies staring at her hands.

But one lady was there, standing to the back of the party, not part of the servants yet not of the family proper. She stood with the dignity of a queen, her proud pose in marked contrast to the way the family ignored her very presence.

And once he drew near and looked upon her, the lady's gentle beauty snared Burke's interest fully. Her heart-shaped face was as sweet as that in any bard's tale, her full lips looked in dire need of a smile. The unadorned indigo of her fitted kirtle showed her slim curves to...