top of page

In Debt to the enemy lord

Publication: Harlequin/Mills and Boon (December 2016)
ISBN13: 9780373307524

“You have a debt to pay. You owe me your life.”

Anwen, bastard of Brynmor, has fought hard to find her place in the world. But she’s forced to rethink everything when she’s saved from death by her enemy Teague, Lord of Gwalchdu. Instead of releasing her, he holds her captive…


Teague trusts no one. So, with ominous messages threatening his life, he must keep Anwen under his watch, no matter how much her presence drives him wild. And when passionate arguments turn to passionate encounters, Teague must believe that the strength of their bond will conquer all!


Available from:


Website icons.png


Unusual Historical Best Bets November 2016 - Wendy the Super Librarian, Heroes and Heartbreakers

Chapter One

Wales — 1290

     ‘I’m going to die,’ Anwen of Brynmor muttered. ‘And why would that be? Because I climbed a tree and plunged to my death. That’s why.’

     She circled the giant oak again. The thick lower branches could easily hold her weight. But it wasn’t the lowest branches terrifying her. No, it was the thinnest sprays of green at the top where she needed to go. She could no longer see her hunting goshawk tangled in the highest branches, but she could hear his screeching.

     ‘Oh, now you need me, do you? It would have been useful if you heeded me when you broke your creance and flew into Dameg Forest.’

     She jumped, reached and missed the lowest branch. Her great blue gown billowed heavily around her legs. She quickly began unlacing the bodice.

     ‘No, I called and called and you just flapped your little wings, trailing your leather jesses behind you. You care now, don’t you? Now your jesses are tangled.’

     Finished unlacing, she shrugged her shoulders until the gown pooled at her feet. Shivering, teeth chattering, she stepped out of the material. It was too cold to be in the forest, certainly too cold to be shedding any layers of clothing. At least it was also too cold for many people to be in the forest at this time of morning so there was no one to protest her lack of modesty. Shaking out any mud or wrinkles, she laid the gown gently on a fallen tree. It was her best dress despite the worn hem and hole in the sleeve.

     ‘I’d leave you if I could, Gully. But we have England’s fine King, and Gwalchdu’s arrogant lord, who’d order a hand chopping for losing you.’

     The tiny hawk let out a wild screech.

     ‘Oh, you’re for the death punishment as well, are you? It won’t be me who will be punished, it will be Melun. That kind old falconer never hurt you one day in his life. So I’ll fetch you for his sake, not for your stringy neck.’

     Stepping closer to the trunk, she crouched low and leapt. She was rewarded with shredding her hands against the bark and falling on her backside in cold partially frozen mud.


     She sat catching her breath, but not able to catch her anger which bloomed up out of her. Punching the mud, she vented her frustration. ‘Why couldn’t I simply go home peacefully? You know I loathe visiting Gwalchdu village with all its perfectly thatched houses and perfectly cleaned streets.’

     Thinking of Gwalchdu angered her more. She sprang up and threw mud at the tree trunk. ‘Then you fly off, making more work for me. And now I’m ranting, you rotten bird!’

     Jumping, she grabbed the branch with her lacerated hands. Pain knifed through her arms, but she wouldn’t let go. Swinging her legs, she pushed her feet on to the roughened bark. Her grip slipped and fury arced through her.

     It was bad enough losing her pride and yelling at a bird. It was worse yet wanting to sulk. And for what? Only so she could compare Brynmor with Gwalchdu? Her home was superior to Gwalchdu and it always would be.

     She bit her fingers deep into the bark. She refused to slip. Strongly Welsh, Brynmor had fought to the end of the war against the English and so would she. Pulling up with all her might, she screamed.


     ‘Did you hear that?’ Teague, Lord of Gwalchdu, halted his horse.

     ‘There is nothing here in Dameg’s Forest but the beasts, the trees and the icicles clinging to my stirrups.’ Rhain shuddered. ‘In fact, I can think of little reason to be this deep in God’s forgotten forest this early in the morning.’


     Rhain snorted, but pulled his horse closer.

     Teague forced his ears to listen for any sounds above the frozen ground crunching beneath the horses’ hooves. The late autumn air was heavy with the smells of pine and damp earth and the fluttering sounds of small creatures. If there was someone in the forest, they weren’t nearby.

     Dismissing the sound as a bird’s cry, he growled. ‘You know why we are here. It’s the only place left to hide.’

     ‘We hold no chance of finding anyone here,’ Rhain said. ‘It’s been hours since we received the threat and the enemy is gone by now. We search for only a trace.’

     Teague’s frustration mounted as he urged his horse forward. ‘Then we search for a trace.’

     It was too early in the morning for this search and too cold with a storm threatening. If the enemy was in the forest, they were more foolish than he thought. But it had to be a fool who threatened a Marcher Lord. One who retained and gained more power and land through the wars between Wales and England over a decade ago. One who could request aid from King Edward himself.

     But Teague didn’t want aid, didn’t want to call attention to what threatened his home. So he and his brother searched alone. But so far had found no trace of an enemy. An enemy who, without provocation, left him hostile messages.

     At first, he dismissed the messages. After all, he’d never been liked by his own countrymen, the Welsh, and certainly not by the English. Still, he earned the right to both sides’ respect. Though his countrymen continued to roll with hatred toward the English, the war was over. It was just a matter of the Welsh accepting their fate. He’d certainly accepted his fate as a traitor when he sided with the English. When he helped win King Edward’s war and kept Gwalchdu as his home.

     No, he wasn’t well liked by his countrymen and he could dismiss petty threats. However, now the messages no longer just threatened his own life, but those of Gwalchdu’s inhabitants. When the enemy attached bloodied carcasses of animals he protected within Gwalchdu’s stone walls and showed that his fortress’s defences could be breached, Teague could no longer dismiss the threats.

     He didn’t understand why the messages began so long after the war and didn’t understand the purpose of them, since the enemy demanded nothing. But Teague understood that he would put an end to them.

     ‘It’s uncannily quiet here.’ Rhain slowed his horse to follow him through the narrow passages between the trees. ‘What I wonder, dear Brother, is why you are risking your precious neck for this purpose? If your enemy hides here, you disadvantage yourself by going blindly into his lair.’

Teague leaned to avoid a branch. The skittish horse sidestepped and he pulled the reins sharply to avoid slicing his leg against bark. ‘The coward will not show his face to me, but by God’s breath, I will find him.’

     He would find the enemy, and when he did… But it would not happen with words. And it would not happen while he discussed his safety with his brother. ‘I have no patience for this conversation. We will separate until the sun reaches midday.’


     His sword ready and hidden by dense foliage, Teague stood awestruck. At any moment Rhain could rejoin him, but he couldn’t clear his thoughts. His blood, coursing hotly through his body, pooled lower. Whatever he was expecting when he heard the harsh creaking of shaken branches, this woodland nymph was not it.

     She stood on the branch of an enormous oak tree. Her back was to him and her arms were wrapped around the trunk. Her blonde loose hair fell far down her back as she gazed upwards.

     But it was not her standing in a tree that riveted him. It was the fact she was almost…naked. The grey chemise she wore was so threadbare he could see the rosiness of her rear and the large holes gave him glimpses of pure soft skin underneath.

     She pulled herself over a higher branch and straddled it. When she grasped it between her hands, her chemise pulled tight and the position outlined the generous curves of her body.

     By necessity, he leaned forward to get a better view. It was not enough; he stepped forward. He was less quiet, less hidden, but he did not care. She wore the most tantalising outfit ever conjured in his fantasies.

     ‘And there I’ll be, trapped in purgatory!’

     He paused mid-step and adjusted his sword. Her husky voice was not that of a woodland nymph, but vengeful harpy. Someone was with her. And that cracked through his desire like the tip of a cold sword pricking his neck.

     ‘If it wasn’t for the food you hunt…’ she stood clumsily, her feet and hands finding little purchase until she braced herself against the tree ‘…food we desperately need, I might risk my hand with the false King Edward.’

     Crouching back into the shadows, but not out of sight, Teague listened to her treasonous talk.

     Her movements were abrupt, shaky, as she pulled herself up to the next branch. ‘It’s the Traitor’s fault I’m climbing this tree.’

     Whoever was with her remained silent. She not only spoke of treason, she talked like his enemy. Higher and higher she climbed, to the slenderest branches, and still she did not stop.

     ‘All I wanted to do was give you a little training, purchase some fine jesses and return home.’ Adjusting her weight, she stretched out far from the trunk and the branch creaked loudly until she grabbed one above her. ‘I didn’t want to get stuck in this rotten forest. And I certainly didn’t want to have to purchase your jesses from my tanner that the Traitor stole.’

     He edged closer, now confident she was alone. It was then he saw her goal: a bird caught by the leather straps around its legs. She talked to the bird and was spouting foolhardy words he was sure she’d want no one to hear.

     Especially him.

     ‘Just like the Traitor stole everything else when he sided with the English vermin.’ Her hands sliding above her, she shuffled away from the trunk until she stood beneath the bird’s branch. With one hand she tore at the thin strips of leather until the bird rose free. ‘Wales should have won the war. Would have, too, if the almighty Lord of Gwalchdu hadn’t switched sides. And why? So he could feed his fat belly!’

     His enemy was here. And not a man, but a mere woman, who was neatly trapped in a tree.

     Teague slashed the brown dried undergrowth with his sword and strode out underneath the oak’s branches.

     Startled, the woman’s hand slipped off the upper limb of the tree. The thin branch she stood on swayed as it took her entire weight. ‘You!’

     Even from this distance, he saw her incredulity, then recognition, then a look so full of venom, he knew it mirrored his own.

     ‘Yes, me.’ Teague’s satisfaction was so complete, he felt like a fox sinking fangs deep into prey. ‘And you will come down to pay your due.’

     ‘My due?’ she spat, her body tight with ferocity. ‘My due!’ she repeated, as the branch she stood on protested with sickening snaps.

     She spun towards the trunk. Too late.

     ‘Catch me!’ she demanded as the branch cracked.

bottom of page