Satan's Mark. Anne Herries

      Annelise had naturally helped her aunt to nurse him, and she had been distressed by the change in Sir Hugh. He seemed to have aged overnight and was prone to fits of weeping. Worst of all had been the way he had clung to Annelise’s hand and begged for forgiveness. She had tried to reassure him that he had done nothing that needed to be forgiven, but his mind was no longer as clear as it had been and he would not be comforted.

      The sun was so warm, but beneath the canopy of leaves Annelise felt cool and refreshed. She began to sing as she danced, abandoning all restraint in the knowledge that she was alone. Her song was one of those she had learned at her mother’s knee, a song of love and betrayal, a song that she would never have dared to sing in her uncle’s hearing.

      And so, my love, come lie with me…

      There beneath the apple tree…

      Give me, sweet, your own true lips,

      And I’ll not press for…

      Hearing a sound behind her, Annelise swung round, conscious that she was being watched. Her song ceased abruptly as she saw the man. It was the Cavalier she had met in the village—the one with the mocking eyes! The one who had made her heart behave so oddly.

      ‘Forgive me if I startled you, mistress. Your singing was sweet. It is long since I listened to a maid singing in the woods.’

      ‘You startled me, sir. I had not thought to see anyone here…’ She blushed as she realised she was in fact trespassing: these woods belonged to Longton Hall. ‘Master Clarke allowed me to come here and I had forgotten there was a new owner…’ She faltered as his eyes narrowed. He was angry. What had she said to make him look like that?

      ‘Say rather the rightful owner has come home. And none too soon, it seems, by what we have found here.’

      ‘Master Clarke was a good steward for some years,’ Annelise replied, eyes sparking at the criticism. ‘He was a good man, a godly man—the neglect began only after his wife and David died of the fever. And he died soon after, so cannot be blamed for what you have found.’

      ‘You are staunch in their defence,’ Justin said, his eyes intent on her face. ‘They were perhaps your friends, mistress?’

      ‘They were neighbours and friends,’ she replied, still on her mettle, her face proud, back stiff. ‘Had David lived only a year or so longer, I might have been his wife.’

      ‘Ah…I see why you defend Master Clarke.’

      Justin nodded his understanding. At first he had not been sure that this enchanting creature was the little Puritan wench from the village. Without her cap to hide that hair she was indeed beautiful. Ralph had been right; she was well worth the bedding. A smile touched his mouth as he imagined her beneath him, her body naked as nature intended, her mouth soft, inviting his kiss. Her drab clothes belied the true nature of the wench. Beneath that veneer of modesty lay passion. He’d dare swear there was fire in her, though she no doubt did her best to quench it—perhaps not with her sweetheart, though.

      ‘Master Clarke’s son was your sweetheart, then. That is why you come here, to remember him and the delights of love he taught you here in some secret glade.’ He moved towards her, feeling the desire stir in him. A surprising thing, since his tastes usually ran to more sophisticated ladies of the Court. She looked up, eyes wide and, to his mind, inviting. He reached out, touching her cheek, his thumb brushing over her mouth, tempted to kiss her. ‘Perhaps you came looking for a lover today?’

      ‘No, indeed you are wrong!’ Annelise was horrified. Why was he looking at her so strangely? She stepped back hastily, her heart racing like the wind. How could he say such lewd, wicked things to her? ‘You mistake the matter, sir. My uncle spoke of arranging a match—to unite our families and lands, that is all.’

      ‘To unite…’ Justin frowned as he was struck by a sudden thought. Robert’s lands marched with those of Lord Woodward. Of course, why had he not realised at once? ‘Are you by chance the niece of Sir Hugh Featherstone?’

      ‘Yes.’ She was puzzled by the immediate change in his expression; the hot, intense look had gone from his eyes and he seemed stunned. ‘I am Annelise Woodward—do you know my uncle, sir?’

      ‘I know of him,’ Justin replied, his gaze narrowing. He was aware of frustration, of an unreasoning anger. ‘I had not thought him a man to allow his niece to run wild. It is hardly proper for you to be wandering about in this manner, Mistress Woodward. You could be mistaken for…’ He recollected himself. His own behaviour had been less than correct, but he had thought her a village girl. ‘I should have expected a girl of your station to be more closely watched.’

      How dared he suggest that she was a hoyden—or worse? Annelise glared at him, her wrath simmering.

      ‘I have always been safe in these woods until today,’ she said, temper suddenly flaring. ‘Indeed, there were only godly people here—until you came with your friends, sir. My uncle knew me to be safe.’

      ‘Indeed, mistress, I will bow to your uncle’s superior knowledge.’

      Justin smiled inwardly as he recovered from the shock. Damn it! He had come close to seducing his own ward; the knowledge that he had been on the verge of kissing her…of far more if she had been willing…shook him to the core. It was his duty to protect her, to challenge any who would dishonour or harm her—and to see her safely wed to a decent man.

      Now that Justin had seen her, seen the beauty and the passion that lay beneath the surface, he knew that her marriage was a matter of urgency. Perhaps she had been safe in this place, but life in England was bound to change now that the old inhibitions had been swept away. The people had been repressed for so long that some were bound to fall into bad ways—he knew only too well the nature of men. He had taken his women where he’d found them, often on the ground, sheltered only by the warmth of a velvet night and a shared blanket. He was not the only soldier to have forgotten that a lady should be treated with tenderness and chivalry. And England would be awash with men who had lost their youth, lost all the finer feelings they had once had, together with their land and houses.

      His next thought surprised him. This girl was too beautiful to be left to wither away in a tiny Cambridgeshire village. She should have the chance to live, to shine in the right surroundings—and it was his responsibility, his duty, to see that she had that chance.

      She was turning away, her face reflecting the troubled nature of her thoughts. He had frightened her, distressed her. He did not want her to leave with harsh words unresolved between them.

      ‘Stay a moment, mistress,’ he said, catching at her sleeve. ‘I meant no disrespect, nor did I intend to imply your uncle was at fault. I have been a soldier too long, and my manners leave much to be desired. If I have upset you, I apologise.’

      Annelise hesitated. There was something about him that attracted her, even when he made her angry. She sensed the power of the man—a man who had seen too much of war and killing. Yet there was a softer nature, an inner self he kept hidden but which she had glimpsed when he’d teased his friends. She thought she might like that other man very well.

      ‘There is no need for apology,’ she said. ‘It was my fault for taking off my cap. You thought me something I was not. It is only…that I needed some release. My uncle has been confined to his sick bed these past five days and I have been anxious. It was good to run wild for a moment, to feel free…but it was not proper and I should not have done it.’

      The stubborn pride had gone from her lovely face, replaced by a look of shame. Justin felt a surge of anger at himself and those who had trodden down her spirit, making her believe that to live for pleasure was sin. He had scolded her, but in truth why should she not enjoy her innocent pleasures?

      ‘You were not at fault, Mistress Woodward,’ he said, and now the softness in his voice sent little tremors down her spine. ‘But perhaps you ought not to come here alone in future—for your own sake. There are men who might be tempted beyond bearing by such loveliness as yours, men who could not be trusted