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Informationen zum Autor Lael St. James is a pseudonym for author Linda Lael Miller. The daughter of a town marshal, Linda Lael Miller is a #1 New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author of more than one hundred historical and contemporary novels, most of which reflect her love of the West. Raised in Northport, Washington, Linda pursued her wanderlust, living in London and Arizona and traveling the world before returning to the state of her birth to settle down on a horse property outside Spokane. Published since 1983, Linda was awarded the prestigious Nora Roberts Lifetime Achievement Award in 2007 by the Romance Writers of America. She was recently inducted into the Wild West Heritage Foundation's Walk of Fame for her dedication to preserving the heritage of the Wild West. When not writing, Linda loves to focus her creativity on a wide variety of art projects. Visit her online at LindaLaelMiller.com and Facebook.com/OfficialLindaLaelMiller. Klappentext Bestselling author Linda Lael Miller has captured the magic of love in more than thirty magnificent novels. Now, writing as Lael St. James, she embarks on a charming adventure of courtly love and loyalty in glorious medieval England.Sweet, sheltered Gabriella Redclift is betrothed to Sir Cyprian Avendall, whom she has met but once. When Gabriella is abducted in the Devonshire countryside en route to her nuptials, her innocence -- and her dream of true love -- hang in the balance.Morgan Chalstrey is not the rogue bandit that he appears. Seeking vengeance on Avendall for his role in the undoing of Morgan's beloved Rebecca, he means Gabriella no harm; her possible ruin is unavoidable, if unfortunate. But as Gabriella discovers that her fiancé is far from chivalrous, she might become a willing participant in her own corruption. And Morgan, who had sworn off love forever, may find that innocent Gabriella's love, and not revenge, is the one thing worth fighting for. Chapter 1 Late summer, 1369 St. Swithin's Abbey, Devonshire, England The uppermost branches of the oak, a gnarled and venerated tree, ancient of days and fully grown long before the first stones of the abbey's foundation had been laid, rustled beneath the bare and somewhat grubby feet of nineteen-year-old Gabriella Redclift, soon to be Lady Avendall. She peered into the distance, squinting a little, and held her breath, glad her expression was hidden from her sisters, standing below on the path. "Can you see Sir Avendall and his men?" called Margaret, her twin, who grew vexed if addressed by any name save 'Meg.' Her voice floated up through the green, bristling leaves, high and eager, for she, like everyone else at St. Swithin's, believed the fiction that Gabriella truly wanted the marriage arranged for her, long ago, by their late father. None must ever suspect that she was merely pretending to be pleased, for the sake of her mother and sisters and the crumbling old manor house, Redclift Hall, two days' journey north of the abbey, that was her heart's home. Her body and soul, indeed all she had, were her dowry; Avendall's gold, of which there was a surfeit, would assure Meg and Elizabeth's futures, whether they chose to wed or to take holy vows and remain at the abbey, and Ariel, their ever-fretful mother, would know security and peace at long last. "In the name of the Holy Mother," lamented sixteen-year-old Elizabeth, no doubt crossing herself as she spoke, for she, with her gentle nature and devout ways, was almost surely destined to take the veil, "do come down, Gabriella, lest you fall..." Ignoring Elizabeth's plea -- dear Elizabeth, she was forever apprehensive about something -- Gabriella gazed into the distance, beyond the walls of the abbey, at once comforting and confining, searching the horizon for any sign of her bridegroom, come to claim her. Although the weather was already growing cooler, the days moving inexo...
