LITMIR.BIZ

      Chapter One

      Northern England

      Autumn 1423

      Casting a grudging glance up at Castle Clairmont with his one good eye, Hugh Dryden stalked toward the huge stone fortress and again cursed the day he was born. He reviled the fates that intervened in his life, still refusing to let him be.

      His depth perception had never improved after losing the eye, so he had difficulty judging how far away the castle was, though his companion, Nicholas Becker, said they were a mere mile from Clairmont’s portcullis. They’d stayed one last night in the woods, planning to broach the castle at a civilized time of day—in the morning, after they’d had the opportunity to bathe and ready themselves.

      For Hugh’s bride.

      A pox on her, Hugh thought, muttering other more serious oaths under his breath. He had no interest in marrying. He cared not a whit about adding land to his estates, nor a woman to his life. He would never understand why his friend, Wolf Colston, the Duke of Carlisle, believed Hugh was the man to carry out the council’s wishes. Wolf and his wife could not be unaware of Hugh’s preference for solitude. It had taken many long months for him to recover from the injuries sustained during his imprisonment at Windermere, and in those months, Hugh had done nothing, said nothing, to indicate a need or an interest in a woman. If anything, he’d shown a decided lack of interest.

      He was a solitary man now. The agony he’d suffered alone and in the dark caverns under Windermere Castle, helpless to defend himself, powerless against the pain of mutilation, of near death…He shuddered with the unwelcome memory. Nightmare images plagued his daylight hours and tortured him as he lay tossing and turning every night.

      It was better to keep to himself now. He had nothing to offer the world of light. No strength or determination for his country. Certainly nothing left for a woman.

      Besides, Lady Marguerite Bradley would likely turn tail and run for cover when she saw his shattered visage, as all others did, save his closest friends.

      Hugh adjusted the patch that covered what was once his left eye, and walked on. It was a fool’s errand, he thought again. To Hugh’s recollection, widows were not usually overanxious to remarry…unless there was some good reason. He doubted he could provide reason enough for the widow of the Earl of Clairmont to remarry. In fact, if truth be told, the only one who benefited—

      A woman’s scream pierced the early morning silence. Acting on sheer reflex—reflex he hadn’t known he still possessed—Hugh turned toward the sound and ran through the thick wood toward the source of the panicked voice. Covering territory quickly, he moved determinedly,

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