Her honourable mercenary
An innocent maiden
And a legendary warrior
When captured and held prisoner in an enemy castle, Margery of Lyon is guarded by brooding mercenary Evrart, who’s been commanded to watch her—day and night. Margery’s determination to escape brings her closer to Evrart and the kind heart hidden beneath his granite-hard body. Now Margery is torn… Fleeing under the portcullis will mean leaving behind the man she’s falling for…
'What do you think, my dear,' Ian of Warstone waved before him. His posture, voice, and sweeping gesture every bit depicting that there was a correct answer, and for her sake, for her very life, she'd best know what it was.
Aware there was an audience waiting for her reply, Margery of Lyon craned her neck to take in the tilled fields and orchards that led down and then up to a sprawling village winding around a dark monstrosity of a structure which blotted out the soft blue sky.
Warstone Fortress was...menacing.
Giving the guards who circled her a smile, Margery adjusted her reins from one hand to the other in the vain hope the horse she rode somehow understood what she needed.
It didn't, just as it hadn't understood all the other hints she gave it on this journey for the past sennight. For instance, her begging it to gallop the other way, to dash off in a different direction. To help her escape. No such fortune for her, however.
The horse wasn't to blame; it simply followed its master, which wasn't her. The expansive lands and the forbidding fortress before her, and the man, Lord Warstone, weren't hers either. She wasn't even Ian's mistress, a role she was meant to play for however long he wanted her to play it.
In truth, if she were to give an opinion on his home and lands it wouldn't be hers.
Her true opinion would be that Warstone Fortress was beyond frightening. That she knew the moment they rode under the portcullis, she may never see her family again.
That opinion, she utterly knew, wouldn't be the correct answer.
'It's impressive,' she lied.