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LENGTH: Mid Novel, Borderline Full Novel
SENSUALITY: Sensual

Cover art (c) Eliza Black 2006
ISBN 1-58608-873-4
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“He will bring death to your door. Take the man with no name back to the woods where you found him.” The ominous warning rings in Rachel Summerfield’s ears as she stumbles from the dilapidated hovel of the old woman she seeks for poultices to heals the man’s wounds. Even, when she discovers he has no memory, no name, she finds herself drawn to the mysterious man, left for dead at the edge of the woods.

For Christopher Albright, the young woman who drags him from the shallow grave is an angel, a savior when death is left hungering for him. Yet, he quickly realizes, she is also very human, when James Maxwell, captain of the queen’s guard, threatens her life and home for his sake. Yet, he can recall no reason for his flight, in fact, can recall no hint to his past at all.

Haunted by fragmented dreams and images of murder and betrayal, together they journey from the slums of London to the grandeur of Elizabeth’s palace in an attempt to put together his lost past, and discover a love that is unforgettable…

Rating: Contains violence, adult language, and sexual content.

UNFORGETTABLE LOVE

By

Carolyn Hinchy-Wertman

© copyright May 2006, Carolyn Hinchy-Wertman

Cover art by Eliza Black, © copyright May 2006

ISBN 1-58608-873-4

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

PROLOGUE

Derbyshire, England 1560

The man bent low against the horse’s neck, exhausted. Their sweat mixed together. Gasps of labored breath were drawn into burning lungs. For several moments they remained thus, unable to continue, and unwilling to relinquish this small reprieve. Eventually, paranoia began to play tricks with his mind. Each sound, each shadow had the potential to be those who chased him for nigh on two days. His mount snorted. The man searched the darkness apprehensively. Was the animal simply eager to be on his way, or was there something in the woods which caused him to prick his ears back, and sent him into a nervous prance? The ebony gloom revealed nothing, gave up no secrets. At last, the night itself forced him to move. No longer warmed by his wild flight, the chill air bit into his flesh until it stung, and left him shivering. Reluctantly, he spurred the steed beneath him, and once more raced along the edge of the road, flitting from one shadow to the next.

Ahead there was a break in the trees, a place where roads crossed and he would have to risk being in the open. He paused in the thicket, just before the crossing, and surveyed the area. The hairs at his nape bristled. His eyes glinted as he scanned the thick brush. Somewhere in the distance an owl hooted; its call returned by the mournful howl of a wolf. In response, his mount snorted, and absently he patted the animal’s neck to calm it. Then he kicked the steed in the flanks, spurring him into a fast gallop, and they leapt toward the expanse of trees on the other side of the clearing.

Instantly the night filled with sound. Riders merged from the woods, cutting off escape. He reined his mount, attempted to switch direction. More men joined the chase. From the woods they materialized, quickly surrounding the one they sought. His adrenaline pulsing through his veins, he made a valiant leap for the safety of the trees. Digging his heels into his steed’s flanks, both took flight, arcing over several of those in pursuit.

One dark figure, hidden beneath the folds of a voluminous cloak took flight from his mount. Like a bird he soared until his body crashed against the one who fled and they both fell toward earth. Tangled in the folds of his captor’s cape, the man found no opportunity at freedom. Fists made contact with flesh. Blood stained the earth beneath them. He fought, knowing his very life depended upon gaining the safety of the trees. Yet, he could not attain the upper hand. Others joined the foray. Outnumbered, his strength waning, he prayed for victory. But the only triumphant one in this battle was the group which set upon him.

Eventually his head sagged on his shoulders and his knees buckled. They continued to beat him. A knife glinted in the moonlight. He thought it strange he felt no pain as the blade disappeared between his ribs. There was only a slight tug as the dagger was pulled free, then plunged in once more. His blood moistened his shirt. The smell of it, like forged iron, assailed his nostrils. His eyes rolled back in his head, and his body crumbled to the road. Barely conscious, he could feel death hovering above him. Weary, he let the darkness fill his mind, and lay unmoving in a pool of blood.

CHAPTER ONE

The chill air sent a shiver along Rachel’s spine. The thread-bare cloak wrapped about her shoulders did little to warm her. Huddled deep in its folds, she clucked to the mule before her small cart, eager for him to traverse the road quickly. He only brayed in protest, and ambled on at his slow steady pace. Had it not been for the coins she earned selling pies and breads in town, Rachel would have never ventured out on such a ghastly day. An eerie fog clung to the dead leaves on the ground and wafted amidst the trees and overgrown brush. Its dense gray mist obscured all but that just before her, which left her little choice save to move along the road cautiously.

Near the crossroads the mule snorted in agitation, and sidestepped as if frightened. Rachel sat forward in the cart, peering into the haze. It was unusual for dangerous animals to be in this part of the woods, but not unheard of. Seeing nothing to alert her to danger, she gently slapped the reins to the animal’s back, and urged him on. He brayed once more and stubbornly refused to move. Instead, he twisted about, and released a mournful wail to his mistress. Exasperated, Rachel slid to the road and cursed the mule under her breath. Many was the time she led the cart, while the nag gratefully ambled behind. Pursing her lips in frustration, she moved before him, and wove her finger beneath his nose menacingly. “I’ll not hear of it this morn, Claudius! You’ll pull the cart whether you like it or not.” Even as she admonished the old half-breed, she nuzzled his muzzle lovingly.

As she turned to climb back into the wagon, something in the road caught her gaze, and she peered apprehensively through the mist. Blood stained the soil. It trailed off into the woods, as if whatever spilt it was dragged in that direction. A knot formed in Rachel’s throat. Willing her feet to move, she followed the smear of crimson until it disappeared into the dense underbrush. The fog and the heavy bed of dead leaves carpeting the forest floor obscured the animal she knew must be there.

Only the thought of it suffering urged her on. A twig beneath her feet snapped, echoing in the mist like an explosion. It blended with the pounding of her heart. At an unnatural mound, she halted. Trepidatiously she kicked at the pile of leaves with the tip of her toe. They scattered to the forest floor, revealing a hint of white material … and a human hand. Rachel’s breath caught in her throat, blocking the threatening scream. Slowly she sank to her knees. Trembling fingers brushed against the cold flesh. Clawing at the leaves and dirt, she tossed them frantically to the sides.

Her breath lodged in her throat. It was a man, his face swollen , with both eyes fat like over-ripe melons, his lips split, and a gash along one cheek now caked with dried blood. Sitting back on her heels, she perused him with wide eyes and slack jaw. The doubt was strong even his own mother would recognize him at this moment. Blood saturated his clothing, leaving only a small piece of his sleeve to testify that his shirt was once white. Her hand to her mouth, she fought a wave of nausea. Knees quaking, she rose. Her feet barely moved when his hand darted toward her skirts, and wrapped about her ankle. This time the scream escaped with little effort.

Frightened, Rachel kicked at him until he released his hold. Stumbling back to a nearby tree, she leaned to it for support, the wild beating of her heart drumming in her ears, and at the base of her throat. Several seconds elapsed before she was able to regain some semblance of control. Until this moment she thought him dead. On quaking limbs she staggered back to his battered body, and reached trembling fingers to his neck. Though faint, a pulse beat there.

Prickling fear crawled up her arms, and nestled at her nape, where the hairs bristled. It was obvious he did not place himself beneath the shallow bed of leaves which obscured him from view. Mayhap those who had would return….