|
Vow Of Gold Sworn to support King Edward, Sir Alex de Beaumont had to leave his new bride on their wedding night to fight in the Crusades. Captured and left to languish in a lonely prison, the warrior knight is kept alive by the memory of love—and of Lady Katherine’s innocent passion as she cried out his name in ecstasy and made him her own. Upon his escape and return to England, he is shocked to find his beloved is about to marry another man…
Kat refuses to forgive him. But Alex will not be gainsaid. He vows to seduce her all over again and his searching kisses reawaken the sensual fire they once knew—until an enemy determined to destroy them both closes in. Now Alex must risk everything for the one woman whose love he wants forever…
Angela Johnson’s two favorite subjects are history and romance—and Vow of Seduction is the result. A full time writer, Angela lives in Topeka, Kansas, with Joe, her very own hero of twenty-one years. Please visit her website at AngelaJohnsonAuthor.com
Prologue
In the year of our Lord 1267
Montclair Estate, Kent, England
Lady Katherine of Montclair squeezed her thighs tightly
around Hunter’s sleek body and rode him hard. Sunlight
speared the oak forest canopy, dappling them with heat. Leaning
over Hunter, she whispered loving words into his ear and
stroked her hand down the taut length of his neck and powerful
shoulders. In response, his flanks flexed beneath her,
thrusting harder, faster. Her heart pounded sharply and excitement
pulsed in her blood.
For her, there was naught more exhilarating than the raw
sensation of her steed’s muscled loins pumping between her
thighs as she rode at full gallop.
Her nose pressed to Hunter’s neck, Lady Katherine, or Kat as
she stubbornly insisted, inhaled deeply of the sharp tang of
heated horseflesh. A bead of perspiration trickled down between
her small breasts. And her short black hair, captured at her nape
by a leather band, came free and stuck to her moist skin.
Wearing green hose and a knee-length tunic, with her
cropped hair and a quiver of arrows across her back, she
looked like a lad instead of a girl age ten and four.
Without warning, Hunter slowed his pace, his ears pricked
forward. A sharp tickle rose on the back of Kat’s neck, chilling
the dampness there. She tugged on the reins and pulled
the black to an abrupt stop.
The shady woods were eerily quiet. “Aye, I sense it, too,
Hunter. But what?”
Her head cocked, she peered through the leafy screen
shielding the glen up ahead and listened for possible signs of
danger. The wind sighed. Smells of rich loamy earth and sun-
warmed leaves permeated the air.
The sudden clang of steel upon steel rang out. Her heart
jolted. Hunter whinnied. “Quiet, boy,” she crooned, patting
his silky black neck while the sounds of battle echoed through
the trees.
Kat removed her longbow from the saddle, slung a long,
slender leg over her horse’s rump, and slid softly to the moss-
covered ground.
She crept towards the clearing as quiet as a snail. Her blood
pumped hard and fast. Her hand caressed her well-oiled yew
bow, a ritual that never failed to calm her galloping nerves.
Caution ruled until she ascertained the identity of the intruders
on Montclair lands. Danger abounded from thieves and
rogues intent on mischief.
Stopping next to a stunted oak, Kat peered into the glade
and gasped. Upon seeing the carnage in the once peaceful
glen, she nearly dropped her bow from nerveless fingers.
Near the large pond in the center of the clearing, two men lay
dead, one with blood gushing from his neck, his head severed
from his body. Two more men fought with swords in a violent
dance of death.
Her heart about to burst in terror, Kat could not move. For
the shorter of the combatants was Alex de Beaumont, her intended
husband. But long training side by side her father’s
men-at-arms had taught her to fight through her fear. She
took a deep breath, and then exhaled. A sudden calm descended
upon her. A silent, fervent prayer upon her lips, she withdrew an arrow from her quiver and nocked the feathered
end, then waited for a clear shot.
Alex was at a disadvantage, wearing only his sherte, blood
oozing from a shallow slash across his thigh. His shoulder-
length black hair was wet and slicked back off his forehead. He
must have just emerged from the pond when these brigands attacked
him. The man he fought was dressed all in black and
wore a gambeson, a padded knee-length leather tunic. A great
hulking brute, he had a crooked nose and deep-lined forehead.
When the ruffian lunged at Alex, Kat tensed. But Alex, using
his smaller, more agile body to his advantage, sidestepped to the
right and shoved the larger man as he stumbled past.
The brute roared, turned with surprising speed, and charged
again. Alex swung his sword up at the last moment to meet the
other’s violent downward stroke. Their swords crashed to the
hilts, sparks flew. Struggling against one another, their eyes
glittered with malice.
Sweat trailed down Kat’s temples. She waited, her arms
tense with restraint.
Then in rapid succession, the dark outlaw shoved Alex
hard, Alex staggered back, and as he did, his sword came up
and slashed the bastard’s cheek open. Blood spurted and the
man howled in pain and surprise.
Unfortunately, Alex tripped over the foot of one of the dead
men sprawled in the grass and fell down. His head slammed
into the ground, his sword hand smashed against a boulder,
and he lost his grip. The hilt clattered against the rock and out
of his reach.
The dark fiend, his face contorted in rage, loomed over Alex
and raised his sword high for a killing thrust. Alex cursed; in
one smooth motion, Kat drew her bowstring, sighted her target,
and released her missile.
Hissing through the air, the arrow thumped into flesh, finding
its mark. The outlaw, shock palpable on his face, blood
dripping from his cheek wound, looked down at the arrow
protruding from his shoulder.
Another arrow nocked and ready to be drawn, Kat ordered
in a gruff voice, “Drop your sword and back away from him,
or my next arrow will sever your gullet.”
The stranger, his black gaze cold and merciless, spouted
inanely, “You’re naught but a lad.”
Kat grunted. “A lad I may be,” she said. Bitterness twisted
her lips. Though not a lad, neither was she a lady, meek and
mild. Never had she felt comfortable in the role to which the
Church and society dictated she conform. She followed her
own path the way she thought best for her. Kat continued,
“But this lad has the upper hand. Now do as I say.” She dared
not look at Alex.
The villain scowled, the wicked slash on his cheek like a
big gaping smile. He seemed to gauge his chances, unwilling
to accept defeat, before he finally dropped his sword to the
ground and stepped back several paces.
In a flash of white, Alex jumped to his feet with his sword
in hand, but he stumbled in his haste. His attacker seized the
moment of confusion and fled, charging for the trees.
Nay, the knave shall not escape my net so easily, she thought.
Kat turned and sighted her target. But at the last moment,
with a wicked smile, she lowered her aim and released her
missile. Just before he reached the woods, the man howled in
pain and clutched his right buttock. Limping, he ran into the
trees, an arrow embedded in his shoulder and another in the
vulnerable flesh of his nether cheek.
“Mayhap you shall think twice next time before attacking
me and mine!” Kat hollered after him. Her hands shook in belated
reaction.
Not wanting to reveal how afeared she had been, Kat
turned to greet Alex, a huge grin on her face.
He, on the other hand, glared at her, his hands clenched at
his sides. “You little fool, you could’ve been killed.” His gaze
skimmed over her, his full lips twisted in contempt. “Any
other young lady of breeding would have had the good sense
to run for her life and leave the battle to men. How could I
have forgotten you don’t have the sense God gave a ewe?”
Kat fumed at the injustice of his diatribe. If she were a
man—which she was not, unfortunately—Alex would be
thanking her for saving his life, instead of scolding her like
an errant child.
She raised her hand up in a swift motion. “Enough. If I
were any other lady, you would be dead right now. How is
that for sense?” she asked, not hiding her disgust.
Alex’s face reddened in fury, or embarrassment perhaps. In
several quick strides he towered over her like some ancient
monolith, grabbed her arms in a vise-like grip, and yanked
her up against his chest, eye to eye. Defiant, she glared into
his startlingly blue gaze, unnerved by the strange sensation of
her small breasts cushioned against his hard chest.
His eyes bore into her and an angry tic flared in his cheek.
“How arrogant you are, Lady Katherine. I have escaped
worse predicaments before and would have done so again. I
had no need of your interference. And I certainly don’t need
to be rescued by a skinny waif of a girl!”
“Oh,” she cried out, “you ungrateful wretch.” She squirmed
against him in an attempt to escape his painful grip, but he
held firm. “And I’m not a little girl anymore, Alex, but a
woman full-grown.”
The irritating man quirked his black eyebrow in disbelief,
sorely pricking her vaunted pride. I shall show him, Kat
thought. She arched her back and rubbed her breasts against
his hard body. “See you, I have breasts.”
Shock glazed his deep blue eyes and he staggered back, releasing
her.
Kat cupped her small breasts and lifted them, just in case
he needed solid proof. “Here. Look at them.”
Alex looked down at her chest with a penetrating stare.
Tingling heat suffused her and an odd sensation fluttered in
the pit of her stomach. Her anger soon gave way to confusion
and she dropped her hands. She glared up at him in challenge,
not that he noticed.
His sun-bronzed hand covered her breast and then squeezed.
Heat speared through the fabric and into the soft flesh cupped
in his palm. Kat inhaled, stunned.
“So, Kit-Kat, underneath all that armor you hide behind, you
have breasts,” Alex said, his expression bemused. “Though
hardly full-grown, as you say.”
The old endearment that rolled off his tongue warmed Kat
briefly—he had not called her thus in eons—but his insult
rankled.
Kat lashed out. “I’m not a kitten, so you may stop stroking
me like one!”
Alex cursed and dropped his hand as if burned. His face
turning red, he blustered, “Get your horse while I dress. ’Tis
growing late, we should leave anon. Why your father allows
you to roam the woods alone is beyond baffling. Were I him,
I would have tanned your arse long ago.” So said, Alex turned
his back on her, clearly expecting compliance.
At his condescending words, all the anxiety and fear for
her ailing father she had managed to suppress over the past
weeks threatened to overwhelm her. It was too much. White-
hot fury erupted inside her, consuming her, and she launched
herself at Alex.
Pounding her fists against his back, she screamed, “You arrogant
sod, how dare you criticize my father. He is the kindest,
most honorable man I know and you have no right to
judge him. He is worth a hundred of you!”
Alex turned around, grabbed her flailing arms, and pulled
her to his chest. “Easy now, Kit-Kat. I meant no offense. Your
father is the best man I know. Forgive me.”
| 
