Norwyck stopped in his tracks and rubbed his eyes to clear them.
A wave of dread overtook him as he looked upon a body lying prone in the sand. Long dark hair cloaked a narrow back, but did naught to hide pale, feminine buttocks.
A woman.
Anger was the first emotion he felt. A woman had been aboard that ship, and Bart’s conflicting emotions warred within him. The knight’s code had been deeply ingrained, so ’twas impossible to look upon her bruised and battered body without pity. No woman should meet such a violent and terrifying end.
Yet he had experienced a woman’s treachery, and he would lay odds that she had somehow been responsible for the shipwreck.
He crouched beside her and touched one shoulder, pushing her over. He did not know what he expected, but it was certainly not to cause a paroxysm of retching and coughing.
God’s blood, she was alive!
Praise for Margo Maguire’s latest titles
Celtic Bride
“A medieval lover’s delight!”
—Rendezvous
Dryden’s Bride
“Exquisitely detailed…an entrancing tale that will
enchant and envelop you as love conquers all.”
—Rendezvous
The Bride of Windermere
“Packed with action…fast, humorous, and familiar…
THE BRIDE OF WINDERMERE
will fit into your weekend just right.”
—Romantic Times
#635 BOUNTY HUNTER’S BRIDE
Carol Finch
#636 BADLANDS HEART
Ruth Langan
#638 LORD SEBASTIAN’S WIFE
Katy Cooper
Norwyck’s Lady
Margo Maguire
Available from Harlequin Historicals and
MARGO MAGUIRE
The Bride of Windermere #453
Dryden’s Bride #529
Celtic Bride #572
His Lady Fair #596
Bride of the Isle #609
Norwyck’s Lady #637
This book is dedicated to Julia, Joe and Mike.
No mother could be more proud.
Contents
Chapter One
The north coast of Northumberland
Late autumn, 1300
The air was still, but the North Sea surf crashed violently upon the beach, as a result of the morning’s terrible storm. Dark clouds hovered over the northern cliffs and over Norwyck Keep, threatening another burst of rain.
Bartholomew Holton, Earl of Norwyck, stalked up the beach, oblivious to the weather. His tall, powerful form was garbed in his usual dark tunic and hose, though he’d worn a cloak in deference to the harsh weather.
He cared not for clothing, or fashion, especially not now, while circumstances at Norwyck weighed so heavily upon him. His elder brother William’s untimely death had made Bartholomew earl. His new responsibilities disconcerted him, and his wife’s treachery and subsequent death preyed upon his heart and mind.
Felicia Holton had done the unthinkable. She had betrayed Bartholomew’s elder brother, delivering him to their Scottish neighbors to the north, the brutal and barbaric Armstrongs.
’Twas nearly a year now since William, Earl of Norwyck, had died at the hand of Lachann Armstrong, and Felicia herself had lost her own life soon thereafter in childbed, bearing an Armstrong bastard.
Bartholomew continued down the beach, brooding, heedless of Norwyck’s massive walls looming above the shore. He sorely missed his brother. He had never dreamed of being lord of this place, for Norwyck had always been Will’s legacy. William, lighthearted and fair, who seemed always to know what was expected, how to handle every situation. He’d had the respect of every Norwyck knight, including their father’s old adviser, Sir Walter.
Upon his return from the wars in Scotland, Bartholomew’s only wish was to retire to the demesne granted him by King Edward, enriched by the lands