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LENGTH: Novella
SENSUALITY: Spicy/Carnal

Cover art (c) Jenny Dixon 2004
ISBN 1-58608-437-2
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Rating: Contains graphic sexual content and explicit/suggestive language.

"Four Roses! THE MIST RIDER, by Fiona Neal is a fast paced novella that keeps the reader turning the pages to find out the outcome of a once more intriguing tale. I have read Ms. Neal before and she always seems to keep my attention with believable characters, an interesting plot and excellent writing. If you like steamy sex and a happy ending, her books are for you. I highly recommend her and am looking forward to her next great story." Romance Reader at Heart

"Ms. Neal then takes us on a wonderful journey of love, jealousy, intrigue and discovery. All in all, a good story, and one that you have to keep reading until the end. Well plotted, adventurous and romantic. If you are a fan of historical romance, then this novella will, for sure, tickle your fancy." Love Romances

"Four Hearts! The Mist Rider is an awesome story with great historical detail...This is a great afternoon read and an excellent read." The Romance Studio

THE MIST RIDER

By

Fiona Neal

© copyright April 2004 by Carolyn Rickenbaker
Cover Art by Jenny Dixon, © copyright April 2004
ISBN 1-58608-437-2
New Concepts Publishing
www.newconceptspublishing.com

Chapter One

The Border of England

1314

"Do not fret so, my lady." Standing before the hearth in the tower bedchamber, old Maude drew back her gnarled hands from the warmth of the leaping hearth flames. "Your marriage to Lord Bosworth will never take place."

Agitated, Rosalyn, Lady Carrigston stopped pacing and met the maidservant's gaze. "You have been predicting that for months, Maude. Yet, Walter, Lord Bosworth bides here with his entourage. The wedding guests, including King Edward, have arrived." Shuddering, she wrung her hands and blinked away her tears of desperation. "Tomorrow, his lordship and I exchange our vows, and I would sooner bed a wild boar!"

Lord Bosworth's hygiene left much to be desired. Besides being twenty-five years her senior, the man had a huge crescent-shaped scar, extending from his temple to his chin, which gave his face a sinister appearance.

When she had played her harp and sung a ballad in the great hall earlier this evening, he leered at her like a cat looking at a bowl of cream. Rosalyn cringed, just thinking about him.

"Have faith, my lady." Maude began to unlace Rosalyn's kirtle. "Help will come from where you least expect it."

"From whom may I expect this miraculous assistance?" Testy, Rosalyn brushed back a lock of blonde hair that had fallen over her face.

Maude's dark, hooded eyes glowed with intensity. "From a man who rides the back of the mist."

"Nonsense! No man can ride the mist."

"This one will." The woman cackled as she drew off Rosalyn's kirtle

"Enough, Maude! I will hear no more wild ravings. 'Tis late. You may retire."

I must take matters into my own hands and escape.

"I shall go as quickly as my old sore knees will permit, but you will soon learn that I have spoken the truth." Folding the kirtle and putting it into the open trunk at the foot of the bed, Maude set down the lid and turned toward Rosalyn. "You will soon discover that my prophecies always come true, my lady." Shuffling slowly through the rushes on the floor, she left the room.

Rosalyn dashed across the bedchamber to the row of leaded casements set in the tower wall. Below, night stalked the misty dale like a black cat on silent paws. Luckily, the weather provided a perfect opportunity to escape because the fog had diminished the visibility to the length of a man's extended arm.

Beyond the hills lay Scotland and Inversruthan Abbey. Would the good nuns give sanctuary to a woman who was fleeing her sacred responsibilities to marry and provide heirs?

Moreover, she was English. It was common knowledge that the holy sisters there had remained fiercely loyal to Robert the Bruce, the king of Scotland. Still, they might accept her into their order if they knew she was escaping from an English Lord and that her late mother had been Scottish.

If they rejected her, she would find some other way to live.

Now, however, she had no time for conjecture. She must gather a few necessary possessions and leave immediately. She hurried to the trunk.

Suddenly, the door burst open.

Smothering a gasp, she bitterly regretted failing to lock the door behind Maude, for in Lord Bosworth strode. Rosalyn's heartbeat broke into a gallop as he left the door ajar and swaggered toward her, a lecherous smile on his marred face.

"And now, my golden-haired beauty, we are alone at last." A hard gleam in his eyes, he reached for her.

Rosalyn skittered away. "Nay, my lord."

"You dare deny your husband?"

"We are not yet man and wife. I've not yet signed the marriage contract, nor have we spoken our vows before the priest, my lord." She hoped to God that somehow they never would.

"Mere formalities that we shall fulfill on the morrow." He grabbed her wrist and pulled her close. "Besides, you have been enticing me all night with your looks and songs of love."

Rosalyn had hardly given him eye contact. How could he possibly think that she had encouraged him?

"And why did you leave your door unlocked and wait for me clad only in your shift if you did not want me here, my coy lady?"

An omission I shall regret for the rest of my life.

Still, she never dreamed anyone would intrude to ravish her in her own chamber.

"If you do not go, my lord, I shall scream and alert the guards."

He chuckled lasciviously. "Go ahead. Scream your bloody lungs out. No one will hear you. The guards on the ramparts are too far away, and the others, including your father, are unconscious from their overindulgence in drink. That is why I didn't bother to bar the door."

Rosalyn's heart was battering against her ribs so rapidly she could barely breathe. Worse, Bosworth had backed her against the wall. "You mean to rape me!"

"Nonsense, a man cannot rape his wife."

"But we are not -- "

He slapped his hand over her mouth. "No more nonsense about vows and signatures. You are mine, Lady Rosalyn, and I will take you when I want you. You may as well get accustomed to that right now."

His breath reeked with strong drink, nauseating her. His arms binding her like a vice, Rosalyn fought furiously, but to no avail.

"Aye. Resist me, my lady. It makes the sport all the more interesting."

She tried to put her knee to his groin, but he blocked her attempt. Then he dragged her down to the warm flagstones before the fire. The rushes on the floor dung into her back, adding to her pain.

"I thought to take you in bed your first time, but I see you need a lesson in submission," he growled. "A good grinding on these stones will tame your rebellious spirit."

The firelight flickering on his damaged visage gave him the look of a gargoyle. Overcome with revulsion, Rosalyn screamed.

If only she could reach the poker and render him unconscious.

Hiking up the skirt of her shift, Bosworth put his knee between her thighs and pinioned her wrists to the floor with one hand. He pulled at the drawstring around his waist, which held his long hose, but the cord would not yield.

When he released her hands to snap the cincture, Rosalyn clawed at his face. He roared. Leaping up, she ran. He caught her, and they crashed into the bedstead. He lifted his hand and struck her face. Pain exploded like a shower of shooting stars. Then all went dark.