Norman Lord, Saxon Lady by Lynna Banning

 

England, Late Summer 1067

The Normans have arrived at the Saxon castle of Belven. Faced with the proof that her home and lands have been granted to Norman knight Alain de Chalus, Saxon Lady Edra of Belven knows she must surrender for the good of her people. On his deathbed, Lady Edra’s father startles her by encouraging her to work with the interlopers rather than offer resistance. Has he gone mad? How can he suggest such a thing?

Norman knight Alain de Chalus is proud of his standing as the new lord—but how will he be able to force the Saxons to work with him? The key, he realizes, is Edra—he must win her over, and that will be no easy feat. But time passes and love flares between them—and then the day comes when Alain’s bride, Henriette, arrives unexpectedly.

How can Alain remain faithful to the child-bride he barely knew before he left for war? How can Edra turn her back on the young woman who only wants a friend in this place that is foreign to her? When Edra is kidnapped by a beast of a man, Alain only knows he must save her—no matter what. Can there be a happy ending for this NORMAN LORD, SAXON LADY?

EXCERPT

England, Late Summer 1067

 

Something dark was moving between the field of wheat and the village turnstile. A man. Edra sucked in a breath and stood motionless, watching. In the bailey behind her a motherless baby goat butted her hand and bleated for the soft leather teat she had been using to feed it. Now it leaked whey over her fingers, but she paid no attention. She stepped forward, brushed the kid out of her path and squinted at the dark figure in her field.

When she heard the scream, she hiked up her kirtle and began to run. The woman screamed again, and now Edra saw why. The man had her beneath him, was yanking up her kirtle.

“Stop!” Edra flew toward them through the tasseled wheat, her throat tight with fear. “Stop!” She threw herself onto the man’s broad back, and when he twisted away, the woman rolled free. It was Egitha, the shoemaker’s wife.

Edra pounded the man’s shoulders with both fists. She would kill him! No matter that he was armored in chain mail, she would grip his throat and strangle the last bit of life out of him. The iron links cut into the skin of her hands.

“My lady!” Egitha’s hoarse voice penetrated her maddened haze, but Edra did not stop her pummeling.

“Egitha, run!” she shouted. “Get help!” She grabbed the wooden pitchfork the older woman had dropped and plunged the sharp prongs into the man’s mail-covered chest. The blow knocked him flat, and she raised the pitchfork to stab him again.