the Holy City and our fate—the fight to keep Jerusalem in Christian hands.
—Addendum; early dawn. I dreamed of a woman. Not Isolde, but a temptress, covered in jewels and a veil. She whispered to me, beckoned BOUND GALLEY EDITION March 23, 2012
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CHARLOTTE FEATHERSTONE
59
to me in my sleep to a land of exotic pleasures. I awoke with the memory of the priest’s wild eyes as he gave his dire warnings to me. Some sinful temptation was following me, and it would be my ruination.
My brethren must never find out about Isolde, nor must they ever discover my dreams of the woman, for I have taken my Templar vows of chastity. But I am only a man. Man was not made to be celibate. The Dukes of Sussex were born to love women, to pleasure them with bodies honed by fighting. And I have my fair share of desires.
Even now, my body is hard and aching, with images clouding my judgement. Not images of beautiful Isolde, but the mysterious woman of my dreams.
I cannot help but think that this journey to the Holy City will change everything I have ever known—everything I am. I suspect it will not be the war we wage that does so, but instead, the woman of my dreams, whom I know awaits me in Jerusalem. Perhaps I am cursed as the mad priest claims, but no curse could prevent me from moving heaven and hell to find her.
No power on earth to prevent him from moving heaven and hell to find his beloved… Elizabeth wished she could find a man who felt that way about her. Silly, naïve dream, she thought as she clutched the diary to her breasts and allowed herself to slip into sleep. She owed it to Sinjin to discover this Veiled Lady. To reward his passion and devotion by learning their story, and perhaps one day recounting it to her nieces and nephews. For she did not dare think of her own children. She would not BOUND GALLEY EDITION March 23, 2012
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have a story like Sinjin and his lover. She had long ago given up that dream.
Move heaven and hell… She thought of that, heard it whispered in a dark, velvety, caressing voice, and saw the eyes of the devil himself. If only he had thought that way all those years ago.
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CHAPTER FOUR
“NOW, LARABIE,” Black growled as he came to his feet behind Alynwick. “This is uncalled for. Allow us to emerge from the carriage, and your second and myself will commence with officiating this duel—utilizing the proper rules.”
“Why should I?” Larabie snarled as he kept the barrel of the pistol raised to the spot between Alynwick’s eyes. “The bastard has never played by the rules before.
Defiling a man’s wife,” he grunted. “I should shoot off your bollocks instead of your head.”
“Larabie,” Alynwick drawled, “let us see if you’re man enough. Pull the damn trigger.”
“I wouldn’t,” Larabie’s second advised. “At that range, you’ll have the bastard’s brains splattered on your coat.” Larabie’s slow smile was downright chilling. “Good.
I’ll have my wife wash her lover’s blood and guts from the wool. Would serve the bitch right for what she’s done to me.”
“Gentlemen…” Black’s voice sounded much too resigned, and dare Iain say it, bored. “At this close range, we shall all be sprayed with Alynwick’s grey matter, considering he has some, of course.” If Iain hadn’t been watching Larabie’s trembling hand, and the softly bobbing barrel of the duelling pistol aimed at his head, he would have turned and sent his friend a glare.
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“Let us be reasonable,” Black murmured as he carefully shifted his tall body forward, filling up the door space of the coach. “A few paces out into the pasture, and then we may
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