The taming, p.1
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       The Taming, p.1

         Part #1 of Peregrine series by Jude Deveraux
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The Taming

  The Door Was Thrown Open with

  a Crash, and Rogan Entered Like

  a Sudden Storm on a Peaceful Day…

  “You have gone too far, woman,” he bellowed at Liana. “You have not my permission to dismiss my servants.”

  Liana turned in the tub to look at him. He wore only his big white shirt that hung to the top of his thighs, a wide leather belt about his waist…His sleeves were rolled up at the elbows, exposing thickly muscled forearms.

  Liana could feel perspiration breaking out on her forehead. She stood in the tub, her slim, firm, full-breasted body rosy and warm from the hot water. “Would you please hand me that drying cloth?” she asked softly in the silence, for Rogan had ceased shouting.

  Rogan could only gape at her. She won’t be able to use her body to make me forget what she has done today, he thought, but his feet took a step toward her and one hand reached out to touch the curve of her breast.

  Liana told herself not to lose her head. She wanted this man, oh yes, but she wanted him for more than a few minutes. She put her hand out and untied the strings of his shirt at the throat, then touched his skin with her fingertips. “The water is still hot,” she said softly. “Perhaps you’d allow me to wash you…”

  Books by Jude Deveraux

  The Velvet Promise

  Highland Velvet

  Velvet Song

  Velvet Angel


  Counterfeit Lady

  Lost Lady

  River Lady

  Twin of Fire

  Twin of Ice

  The Temptress

  The Raider

  The Princess

  The Awakening

  The Maiden

  The Taming

  The Conquest

  A Knight in Shining Armor


  Mountain Laurel

  The Duchess


  Sweet Liar

  The Invitation


  The Heiress


  An Angel for Emily

  The Blessing

  High Tide


  The Summerhouse

  The Mulberry Tree

  Forever…A Novel of Good and Evil, Love and Hope

  This book is a work of historical fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents relating to nonhistorical figures are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance of such nonhistorical incidents, places or figures to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  An Original Publication of POCKET BOOKS

  POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  Copyright © 1989 by Deveraux Inc.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7434-5941-9

  ISBN-10: 0-7434-5941-5

  POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  Visit us on the World Wide Web:





  Either your daughter goes or I do,” Helen Neville said sternly, hands on hips as she looked down at her husband, Gilbert. He was stretched out on a cushioned window seat, the sun streaming in through the old stone window past blue-painted wooden shutters. He was rubbing the ears of his favorite hound while eating tasty little bits of ground meat.

  As usual, Gilbert didn’t make any response to Helen’s demand, and she clenched her fists in anger. He was twelve years older than she and lazy beyond anything she’d ever known. In spite of the fact that he spent most of his time on a horse following a soaring hawk, his belly was large and growing bigger by the day. She had married him for his money, of course, married him for his gold plate, for his thousands of hectares of land, for his eight castles (two of which he’d never seen), for his horses, his army of men, for the beautiful clothes he could give her and her two children. She had read a list of Gilbert Neville’s possessions and said yes to the marriage proposal without even asking to see the man.

  Now, a year after their marriage, Helen asked herself, If she had met Gilbert and seen his slothfulness, would she have wondered who ran his estates? Did he have a superior steward? She knew he had only one legitimate child, a pale, shy-looking girl who said not a word to Helen before the marriage, but perhaps Gilbert had an illegitimate son who ran his estates.

  After they were married and Helen knew she had a husband who was as lazy in bed as he was out of it, she found out who ran the Neville lands.

  Liana! Helen wished she’d never heard the name. That sweet-looking, shy-seeming daughter of Gilbert’s was a devil in disguise. Liana, like her mother before her, ran everything. Liana sat at the steward’s table while the peasants paid their yearly rents. Liana rode through the countryside and saw to fields and ordered broken roofs repaired. Liana decided when a castle had become too dirty and the crops depleted and told the retainers it was time to move. Three times in the last year Helen had first heard that they were moving when she saw a maid packing her bedding.

  It had done no good to explain to Gilbert or Liana that she, Helen, was now the lady of the manor and that Liana should relinquish her power to her stepmother. Both of them had merely looked at Helen curiously, as if one of the stone heads of the gutters had begun to speak, then Liana had gone back to ruling and Gilbert had returned to doing nothing.

  Helen had tried to take charge on her own, and for a while she thought she was succeeding—until she found out that each servant was asking Liana for verification before carrying out her order.

  At first, Helen’s complaints to Gilbert had been mild, and usually after she had pleased him in bed.

  Gilbert had paid her little mind. “Let Liana do what she likes. You can’t stop her. You could no more stop Liana or her mother than you could stop the fall of a boulder. It was and is best to get out of their way.” He’d turned over and gone to sleep, but Helen had lain awake all night, her body hot with rage.

  By morning she was ready to be a boulder, too. She was older than Liana and, if need be, much more cunning. After her first husband had died and his younger brother had inherited the estates, Helen and her two little girls had been pushed aside by her sister-in-law. Helen had had to stand by and watch as duties that had once been hers were taken over by a younger, much less competent woman. When Gilbert Neville’s proposal came, she leaped at the chance to once again have her own household, her own home. But now her place was being usurped by a small, pale girl who should have been married and sent away from her father’s house years ago.

  Helen had tried to talk to Liana, had tried to tell her of the pleasures of having her own husband, her own children, her own household.

  Liana had blinked at her with those big blue eyes of hers, looking as meek as an angel on the chapel ceiling. “But who will take care of my father’s estates?” she’d asked simply.

  Helen gritted her teeth. “I am your father’s wife. I will do what needs to be done.”

  Liana’s eyes twinkled as she looked at Helen’s sumptuous velvet dress with a train in back, at the low V neck in front and in back that exposed a great deal of her beautiful shoulders, at the heavily embroidered, padded headdress, and smiled. “The sun would burn you in that.”

  Helen found herself defending her words. “I would dress suitably to ride a horse. I’m sure I can ride as well as you can. Liana, it’s not proper that you remain in your father’s house. You are nearly twenty years old. Y
ou should have your own home, your own—”

  “Yes, yes,” Liana said. “I’m sure you’re right, but I must go now. There was a fire in the village last night and I must see to the damage.”

  Helen had stood there, her face red, her temper black. What good did it do her to be married to one of the richest men in England, to live in one castle after another where the riches were more than she’d ever believed possible? Thick, colorful tapestries hung from every wall, every ceiling was painted with biblical scenes, every bed, table, and chair was covered with an embroidered cloth. Liana kept a roomful of women who did nothing but bend over tapestry frames and ply their needles. The food was divine, as Liana enticed cooks with excellent wages and fur-trimmed gowns for their wives. The latrines, the moat, the stables, the courtyards were always clean, as Liana liked cleanliness.

  Liana, Liana, Liana, Helen thought, putting her fists to her temples. With the servants, it was always what Lady Liana wanted, what Lady Liana had ordered, or even what Gilbert’s first wife had established. Helen might not have existed for all the power she had in the running of the Neville properties.

  It was when Helen’s two little girls had begun to quote Liana that Helen’s anger came to the boiling point. Young Elizabeth had wanted a pony of her own, and Helen had smiled and said she could have it. Elizabeth had merely blinked at her mother, then said, “I’ll ask Liana,” and run off.

  It was that incident that had caused Helen to now give her husband an ultimatum. “I am less than nothing in this house,” she said to Gilbert. She didn’t bother to keep her voice down, even though she was well aware of the listening servants around them. They were Liana’s servants, well-trained, obedient men and women who knew their young mistress’s generosity as well as her wrath and who would, upon request, have laid down their lives for her.

  “Either your daughter goes or I do,” Helen repeated.

  Gilbert looked over the tray of meats that were molded into shapes of the twelve apostles. He chose St. Paul and popped him into his mouth. “And what am I to do with her?” he asked lazily. There wasn’t much on earth that could excite Gilbert Neville. Comfort, a good hawk, a good hound, good food, and peace were all he asked in life. He had no idea what his first wife had done to increase the wealth his father had left him and the huge dowry she had brought to the marriage, nor did he know what his daughter did. To his mind, the estates ran themselves. The peasants farmed; the nobility hawked; the king made laws. And it also seemed that women quarreled.

  He had seen the beautiful young widow Helen Peverill as she rode across her dead husband’s land. Her dark hair had been streaming down her back, her large breasts were nearly coming out of her gown, and the wind plastered her skirts to strong, healthy thighs. Gilbert had experienced a rare moment of lust and had told her brother-in-law he’d like to marry Helen. Gilbert hadn’t done much after that until Liana told him it was time for the wedding. After one lusty wedding night, Gilbert was satisfied with Helen and expected her to go off and do whatever women did all day. But she hadn’t. Instead, she had begun to nag and nag—about Liana, of all things. Liana was such a sweet, pretty child, always seeing that the musicians played songs that Gilbert liked, telling the maids to bring him food and, on long winter evenings, telling stories to entertain him. He could not understand why Helen wanted Liana to go away. Liana was so quiet, one hardly knew she was around.

  “I guess Liana can have a husband if she wants one,” Gilbert said, yawning. He believed in people doing what they wanted to. He thought the men worked in the fields from daylight to dark because they wanted to.

  Helen tried to calm herself. “Of course Liana doesn’t want a husband. Whyever should she want a man to tell her what to do when she has absolute freedom—and absolute power—here? If I had had such power in my dead husband’s home, I would never have left.” She threw up her hands in a gesture of helpless anger. “To have power and no man to cater to! Liana has heaven on earth. She will never leave here.”

  Even though Gilbert didn’t understand Helen’s complaints, her screeching was beginning to bother him. “I will speak to Liana and see if there is a husband she wants.”

  “You have to command her to take a husband,” Helen said. “You have to choose a man for her and tell her she is to marry him.”

  Gilbert looked down at his hound and smiled in memory. “I crossed Liana’s mother once and only once. I am not about to make the same error again and cross her daughter.”

  “If you do not get your daughter out of my house, you will regret crossing me,” Helen said before turning on her heel and leaving the room.

  Gilbert scratched his hound’s ears. This new wife was as a kitten to a lion compared to his first wife. He really couldn’t understand what Helen was angry about. It had never crossed his mind that a person would actually want responsibility. He picked up a molded St. Mark and ate it thoughtfully. Vaguely, he remembered someone warning him against having two women in the same household. Perhaps he would talk to Liana and see what she thought of this idea of getting a husband. If Helen carried out her threat and moved to another estate, he’d miss her in his bed. But if Liana did marry, perhaps she would marry someone with good breeding hawks.

  “So,” Liana said softly, “my esteemed stepmother wants to throw me out of my own home, out of the home my mother worked to increase and I have managed for three years.”

  Gilbert thought perhaps his head was beginning to hurt. Helen had ranted at him for hours on end last night. It seems Liana had given some order for new cottages to be built in the walled town at the foot of the castle. Helen was horrified that Liana planned to use Neville money to pay for these cottages rather than let the peasants pay for them themselves. Helen had been so angry and screeched so loudly that all six of Gilbert’s hawks had flown from their perches into the rafters. They had been hooded to keep them calm and the blind, panicked flight had caused one bird to break its neck. Gilbert knew that something had to be done; he couldn’t bear losing more of his beloved hawks.

  His first thought was to fit the two women with armor and let them joust for who remained and who left, but women had weapons harder than steel: They had words.

  “I think Helen believes you’ll be, well, happier in your own home. With your own husband and a few brats.” Gilbert couldn’t imagine being happier than on the Neville lands, but who knew about women?

  Liana walked to the window and looked out across the inner courtyard, across the thick castle walls and below to the walled town. This was just one of the estates her family owned, only one of the many she managed. Her mother had spent long years training Liana how to treat the people, how to check the steward’s records, and how to bring in a profit every year that would be used to buy more land.

  Liana had been angry when her father said he was going to marry a pretty young widow. She didn’t like the idea of another woman’s trying to take her mother’s place and she had a premonition of trouble, but Gilbert Neville had his own stubborn streak and sincerely believed he should be allowed to do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. For the most part, Liana was pleased he wasn’t one of those men who thought of nothing but war and weapons. He stayed with his hounds and his hawks and left the more important matters first to his wife, then to his daughter.

  Until now. Now he’d married the vain Helen, whose foremost thought was profit so that she could buy more and richer clothes. Helen kept five women working long hours sewing on her gowns. There was one woman who did nothing but sew on seed pearls. Last month alone, Helen had purchased twenty-four pelts of fur, and the month before that she had bought a basketful of ermine pelts, thinking no more of the expense than if she’d purchased a basket of corn. Liana knew that if she turned over the running of the estates to Helen, she’d bleed the peasants dry just so she could have a belt of gold and diamonds.

  “Well?” Gilbert asked from behind Liana. Women! he thought. He was going to miss the day’s hunting if he didn’t get an answer from his daughter
. The way Helen was acting, she might climb on a horse and follow him just so she could continue to berate him.

  Liana turned to her father. “Tell my stepmother I will marry if I find a suitable man.”

  Gilbert looked relieved. “That seems fair enough. I’ll tell her, and she’ll be happy.” He started out the door, then paused and put his hand on his daughter’s shoulder in a rare display of affection. Gilbert wasn’t a man to look at the past, but at this moment he wished he’d never seen Helen, never married her. He hadn’t realized how comfortable he’d been with his daughter to look after his simple needs and a maid now and then to care for his baser needs. He shrugged. There was no use regretting what couldn’t be changed. “We’ll find you a lusty young man who’ll give you a dozen brats to fret over.” He left the room.

  Liana sat down hard on the feather mattress of her bed and waved her maid out of the room. Liana held her hands up and saw how they were shaking. She’d once faced a crowd of peasants armed with sickles and axes alone, with three terrified maids behind her, yet she’d kept her head and turned the rabble away by giving them what food she carried with her and jobs on her land. She’d dealt with drunken soldiers; she had once escaped a rape by an overzealous suitor. She had been able to deflect one disaster after another with calmness, assurance, and peace of mind.

  But the idea of marriage terrified her. Not just frightened her, but deep-down, inside-her-soul terrified her. Two years ago she had seen her cousin Margaret married off to a man chosen by the girl’s father. Before the marriage the man had written love sonnets to Margaret’s beauty. Margaret used to talk about how her forthcoming marriage was a love match and she so looked forward to a life with this beloved man.

  After the marriage, the man showed his true self. He sold most of Margaret’s immense dowry to pay his huge debts. He left Margaret in an old, decaying, cold castle with but a few retainers, then went to court, where he spent most of the rest of her dowry on jewels for his many high-born whores.

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