From the bestselling author of Lion’s Bride and The Ugly Duckling comes this passionate tale of danger, adventure, and romance that sweeps from a Saxon stronghold to a lovers’ bower in the cool, jade green forests of Wales.    She was a prisoner bound by duty and desire. . . .    Taken as a slave, fiery, tempestuous Brynn of Falkhaar was awed by the magnificent warrior who stood before her. Known for her skills as a healer, she had been brought to his battlefield tent to save his dying friend. Yet in the days and nights ahead, the sensual conqueror made it clear she might be more than nursemaid to his soldiers. She could be the intimate plaything of his seductive desires.   He was a conqueror for whom nothing was forbidden. . . .    Dark, brooding, and passionate, Lord Gage Dumont was a man used to conquest. And yet with one look at the beautiful slave he’s been given as his spoils, he realized she held him prisoner. As she fought to save his friend with her healing powers, Dumont felt her fiery touch deep in his scarred soul. Though he may have already owned her body, what he wanted was her heart—and for that he would risk everything. Given by her cruel master to Norman Lord Gage Dumont in order to help his dying friend, healer Brynn of Falkhaar uses her innate mystical talents to heal the wounded warrior and ends up attracting the interest of Gage in the process. Believable, thoughtfully constructed characters, complex plotting, and lively dialog characterize this sensual historical of 1066 England and Wales. Although not in the same mystical league as Penelope Williamson's Keeper of the Dream (Dell, 1992) or Kathleen Morgan's Fire Queen (below), this story by veteran historical author Johansen ("The Wind Dancer" trilogy) has enough of a magical quality to appeal to some readers of historical fantasies. Copyright 1994 Reed Business Information, Inc. A passionate tale of danger, adventure, and romance that sweeps from a Saxon stronghold to a lovers' bower in the cool, jade green forests of Wales. A passionate tale of danger, adventure, and romance that sweeps from a Saxon stronghold to a lovers' bower in the cool, jade green forests of Wales. Iris Johansen  is the  New York Times  bestselling author of many novels, including  Killer Dreams, On the Run, Countdown, Firestorm, Fatal Tide, Dead Aim,  and  No One to Trust.  She lives near Atlanta, Georgia. One April 20, 1066 Redfern, England THE LIGHT BLAZED across the dark heavens like a banner unfurled for battle. Brynn stared up at the midnight sky in fascination and delight. It was like watching a mysterious flower blossom in the shadowy depths of the forest. She had prayed it would still be there tonight. “Did you do it?” She stiffened but did not turn around. She had come to this tiny room in the back of the stable hoping to steal this time for herself, but she should have known she would not be permitted to enjoy this wonder alone. At least, it was only Delmas. Perhaps she could rid herself of him quickly. “Did I do what? I don’t know what you mean.” She heard his steps behind her and then felt his heavy hand on her shoulder. She felt a surge of revulsion but didn’t move. “Look at me.” She reluctantly turned her back on the glory in the heavens and gazed boldly at him. He immediately looked away as he usually did when she directly confronted him. “Be quick, I’m weary and would seek my bed,” she said. “Not too weary to do that ,” he snarled as he gestured at the sky. “I want it stopped. Do you hear? I want it gone.” She stared at him in astonishment. “I beg your pardon?” “Don’t pretend innocence.” His eyes glittered wildly in the moonlight. “It’s your doing. I know it. You brought it to destroy me so that you could return to your precious Gwynthal.” She wanted to laugh. She had not dreamed even Delmas could believe something so outrageous. “I waved my hand and a comet streaked through the sky? Don’t be foolish.” Pain streaked through her jaw as his palm made contact. “Send it away!” She shook her head to clear it of pain and darkness. It had been a long time since Delmas had struck her, and she cursed herself for miscalculating the depth of his fear and panic. She could not afford to make such mistakes. He might offer her little protection, but it was all she had in this foreign land. “I didn’t bring the comet.” “I watched your face when you saw it last night. Everyone else in the manor was filled with fear but you . . . you were triumphant.” He had mistaken her wonder for triumph. She supposed she should have pretended to share their fear, but it had not occurred to her. In truth, she had been amazed at their terror. Miracles occurred every day and this was only another. Wasn’t a rainbow a miracle? Why did they not marvel at the changing seasons? And surely the birth of a child was the most glorious of mysteries. “You were mistaken. I only–” He struck her again, harder. “I want it gone from here.” She reached out and