Embrace The Dawn. Jackie Summers

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      Embrace The Dawn

      Jackie Summers

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      This book is dedicated to my husband, Tom, who never doubted. I love you, Bear.

      My special thanks to a great writer, Linda Warren, for her friendship and unflagging enthusiasm. Thanks to Donna Martin, Trudy Zothner and Kelly McClymer for the compliments when I needed them. And to our daughter, Ellyn, for always being there.

      Contents

       Chapter One

       Chapter Two

       Chapter Three

       Chapter Four

       Chapter Five

       Chapter Six

       Chapter Seven

       Chapter Eight

       Chapter Nine

       Chapter Ten

       Chapter Eleven

       Chapter Twelve

       Chapter Thirteen

       Chapter Fourteen

       Chapter Fifteen

       Chapter Sixteen

       Chapter Seventeen

       Chapter Eighteen

       Chapter Nineteen

       Chapter Twenty

       Epilogue

      Chapter One

       England, September 1651

      She felt someone staring at her.

      Anne Lowell peeked through the leafy branches of the alders and studied the silent bank of the river. Too silent. The mallards had taken flight and a hush had fallen over the forest. From a nearby stand of oak, her mare whinnied. She drew back, clasping her arms in front of her. Someone was there!

      Perhaps her own presence had quieted the woods, Anne reasoned, forcing the jittery feeling away. Aye, it was only her fear of being discovered that plagued her mind with devils.

      At that moment, church bells pealed to signal the beginning of noon prayers. Dear God, she had no more time to behave like a poltroon. She must find her mother’s locket—God rest her soul—and sneak back to her chamber before her uncle discovered she had gone.

      With trembling hands, she scuffed off her slippers and woolen hose and tossed them aside. Next, she untied the blue ribbon lacings of her bodice. She yanked the loose-fitting day dress over her head, dropping it in a billow of white muslin on top of the slippers and hose. An unexpected breeze whipped the thin remaining undergarments about her young body. She shivered, feeling naked.

      The rough grass felt harsh to her tender feet as she stepped to the bank, gathered her shift close to her body and inched her way into the cold river.

      The slimy bottom oozed between her toes and she shuddered. By the time she had waded to the spot where Lyle, the scullery boy, had tossed the locket, the water reached above her knees. Damn that pesky little whelp! She’d nail Lyle’s ear to the buttery door when she saw him.

      Anne waded deeper into the rushing river. Taking a gulp of air, she dove beneath the river surface, stifling a gasp as the icy water engulfed her.

      She forced her eyes open. Frightful images of water monsters bubbled up in her mind like witch’s brew as her hands searched the swaying reeds and fanlike plants that danced along the river bottom. With shaking fingers, she scratched at the loose silt and pebbles, her mind willing the murky demons away.

      Despite the illumination of the sun, nothing glittered on the river bottom. When her lungs demanded it, she stood up and inhaled deeply of the crisp September air. Blinking, she shook the streaming rivulets from her face and wiped her long red hair back from her eyes. Her teeth chattered, but she ignored her trembling. As she prepared to dip beneath the water, a branch cracked and a horse’s whinny stopped her.

      She whirled in the direction of the noise, her heart thumping wildly. A branch of oak leaves separated. A Roundhead soldier stared down at her from astride the largest stallion she had ever seen. The horse’s white forelegs and blaze on its head flashed against the black sheen of its coat. Her heart doubled its rhythm when the soldier rode out of the shadows and stopped in a patch of sunlight near the shore.

      Anne froze for only a moment. She plunged into the river and crouched low, only her head above water.

      “What have we here, Shadow?” the soldier asked his horse while dismounting. Sunlight glinted from his round metal helmet and when he lifted his visor, she saw that his eyes were bold and dark. “I think she’s a mermaid, and a pretty one, she is.”

      Her uncle’s warning to keep away from the soldiers camped at Wycliffe Manor played back in her mind, although Anne didn’t need to be reminded what black-hearted devils all Roundheads were.

      The dark eyes flashed and brazenly assessed her with a gleam of satanic curiosity. “Who are you, mermaid, and what are you doing in the river?” His rich baritone voice with its blatant masculinity frightened her more than his question.

      She wanted to run, but what if there were more soldiers with him? Her mare could never outrun his steed. Ignoring the shiver that passed through her, she answered with a defiant lift of her chin, glared back and clamped her mouth shut. She saw his angular jaw tighten in response as he released the stallion’s reins, freeing the horse to drink.

      All her instincts warned her that he was dangerous. She stepped back, the water rushing below her ears. “Be off with you.” Her voice trembled as she hunched lower, water lapping at her chin. “You have no right to be here.”

      “No right to be here?” His deep voice feigned surprise, but his bold eyes glinted mockingly. “An officer of the Commonwealth not welcome at Wycliffe Manor? That’ll make hearty laughter tonight when I sup with George Lowell and his guests.”

      God’s bones! He would be at her uncle’s dinner party! “You can’t!” Anne’s hand shot to her mouth. She saw genuine surprise light his eyes. “I—I mean...of course, you can, but...” She could see him thinking, measuring her. “But