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  Table of Contents

  Get Tracy’s Free Starter Library

  About Born of No Man

  Praise for Tracy’s Historical Romances

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

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  The next book in the Once and Future Hearts series.

  About the Author

  Other books by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  Copyright Information

  About Born of No Man

  A LEGEND BEGINS…

  Can love triumph despite duty?

  Lynette, companion to Princess Vivian, has learned to trust the princess’ visions and so, guards the dark and powerful secret of the man in the cave.

  Cadfael the Black, battle commander to High King Vortigern, lives only to kill Saxons, to avenge the brutal murder of his family at their hands. At the court of King Gwilym, the very heart of Roman Britain, he meets the beautiful Lynette, a woman who could thaw his frozen heart.

  When duty thrusts them together, Lynette’s secret clashes with Cadfael’s suspicious nature and threatens to tear them and the entire kingdom asunder. But, Lynette must keep her secret at all costs to protect Princess Vivian’s unborn child. A child who would become known as…

  MERLIN.

  This novel is part of the ancient historical romance series, Once and Future Hearts, set in Britain during the time of King Arthur.

  1.0 Born of No Man

  2.0 Dragon Kin

  3.0 Pendragon Rises

  4.0 War Duke of Britain

  5.0 High King of Britain

  6.0 Battle of Mount Badon

  7.0 Abduction of Guenivere

  8.0 Downfall of Cornwall

  9.0 Vengeance of Arthur

  10.0 Grace of Lancelot

  11.0 The Grail and Glory

  12.0 Camlann

  Readers have described Tracy Cooper-Posey as “a superb story teller” and her ancient historical romances as “written art”.

  Praise for Tracy’s Historical Romances

  Another “can’t miss” by Cooper-Posey! Night Owl Reviews

  [She] creates realistic scenes of life and the struggles of that age. Lifts up hope for humanity and shows a remarkable, giving love that fills the heart with happiness. GOOD READING! Long and Short Reviews

  Gripping characters and descriptive writing makes this a book that you will want to read all over again. This reviewer had trouble putting this book down and found myself with tears in my eyes. Fallen Angel Reviews

  An amazing amount of detail to the time period. Love Romances

  Well researched with two very strong and appealing lead characters. Romance Reviews Today.

  One of the best historical romances I have read this year. The BookNook

  Prose which is distinctive, sharp, crisp and yet powerfully feminine. Wordweaving

  Chapter One

  Kingdom of Dyfed, Britain, 440AD.

  They came across the snared man in the hills behind Maridunum, well out of sight of the busy town. He sat on the sopping turf, his cloak pulled well over his head so the rain dripped from the edges onto the ground between his knees. One leg thrust out at an odd angle.

  The rain was a steady hiss against the ground and hid the sounds of their approach. They were beside him before he stiffened with caution. As people did at the approach of a stranger, he reached for his belt knife.

  However, the knife and a good sword rested on the grass out of his reach, both wet and reflecting the gray clouds among the green growth.

  The man’s shoulders hunched over once more. He brought the cloak around him.

  Lynette stopped her pony with a soft word. She lifted her head so she could see beyond the edges of her hood to look at the woman on the other horse. Vivian’s dark eyes held the same far-seeing, glassy expression that had been there when Vivian insisted they ride among the hills this morning, rain or not.

  “See if you can help him,” Vivian instructed.

  Lynette did not argue with the princess. When she was in one of these moods, there was no point. Just as Lynette had resigned herself to being soaked to the skin from riding out on such a miserable day, she now climbed from her horse with stoic silence.

  “He won’t harm you,” Vivian added, her voice louder. Her tone was firm and distant. She spoke with complete certainty.

  Cold fingers drifted up Lynette’s back, colder than the touch of the rain.

  She loosened her knife in her belt, anyway, and moved cautiously across the slippery turf toward the man. She crouched down in front of him, putting herself between him and the knife and sword.

  Black eyes looked back at her. White, clear skin. He was young, yet had big shoulders under the heavy cloak. The cloak, Lynette noted, was of good quality stuff. The fur lining it was thick, although it was bedraggled by water, now.

  “Could you cut me free?” the man asked. “I can’t reach my knife.”

  “I don’t know him,” Lynette called to Vivian. “He’s not from here.” She looked at the man’s outstretched leg. Around the heavy boot was a strip of leather, cinched in tight above the ankle. It had tightened enough to squeeze and crumple the boot, collapsing it against his calf.

  The other end of the snare was buried beneath a rock so heavy it would need two men to move it. Local hunters used rocks to weigh down their snares in this way. They would leave the snares in place for weeks at a time, while long grass grew up around the edges of the rock, beckoning prey to nibble upon it.

  The man must have struggled hard to yank the snare so tight. The rain made it impossible to ease open the snare.

  “I dropped my knife and sword when the snare tripped me,” he explained. His voice was strong and confident. “I won’t hurt you,” he added.

  A dim shadow cast over them, then Vivian dropped next to Lynette and studied the man, her hand on her knife.

  He stared back at her, a faint surprised expression in his eyes.

  Lynette had seen many men stare at the princess in that way and hid her smile. Poets had written verse about Vivian’s beauty and kings and princes from far and wide had sought to marry her.

  Her father, Gwilym, had refused them all.

  “It isn’t for lack of fortune,” Vivian had explained to Lynette when the last king had been sent away with his head down. “They are all as rich as anyone can be, these days. It is their political affiliations my father objects to.”

  Where King Gwilym’s true loyalties lay, no one knew for sure. He paid lip service to High King Vortigern, as did everyone, yet remained vague about sending troops to aid Vortigern’s efforts against the Saxons, despite his sons railing at him
to let them fight.

  Lynette had learned upon her arrival at Gwilym’s palace a year ago to step delicately around the subject of allegiances and the High King. Vivian remained unwed, offering hope to neighboring leaders. As long her father did not pursue a match for her, there was no need for formal alliances that could not be broken later. While she was unwed, his loyalties did not have to be declared via a joining of houses through marriage.

  In the meantime, Vivian bewitched every man who saw her. She was a Celtic beauty, with raven black hair, eyes that matched and clear fine skin. Her brows were two sweeping arches and her chin fine and pointed. Most men, when they saw her, missed the firm line of her jaw and the furrow that was quick to appear between the elegant brows.

  The snared man blinked, absorbing the impact of her appearance. He waved toward his ankle. “Will you free me?” he asked Vivian.

  “We don’t know him,” Lynette said. “Look, he has a good sword and boots and that cloak is no simple war cloak.” There was little else she could see beneath the cloak. However, the wrappings above his squeezed boot were leather, not torn linen. The boot itself was sturdy, thick leather, with a solid sole and leather lacings. He wore bronze wrist guards about both wrists. “Why would he drop his knife and sword when he fell, if they were in his belt?”

  Vivian looked at the man, raising her brow.

  “Yes, I was holding them,” the man said with a touch of impatience. “I almost walked into the middle of an encampment of soldiers last night and backed away with my blades out. I kept them out, while I looked for shelter from the rain.”

  It was a reasonable explanation. Soldiers, particularly the High King’s men, were inclined to act first, only asking for explanations later.

  “There are king’s men on the road?” Vivian asked, her tone sharp.

  “I did not say they were Vortigern’s people,” the man replied, his tone matching hers.

  Lynette rolled her eyes. “Then it might have been anyone. Or no one at all.”

  The man sighed. “There is a simple way about this. Take my sword and knife and toss them far out of reach. Then cut the snare. Then leave, before I can reach them.”

  Vivian plucked her knife from her belt. “I judge you to be as harmless as any rabbit.”

  “Vivian, no,” Lynette breathed. She shifted back on the grass and snatched up the knife and sword. She held them beneath her cloak. They were solid, heavy things. The sword’s hilt was inlaid with a great green jewel and wrapped with gold wire. It was no simple soldier’s tool.

  Vivian ignored Lynette’s protest. She sawed at the leather about his ankle. Even with a sharp blade, the leather was reluctant to separate. Then, with a wet snap, it loosened and fell.

  Almost as if the rain had been waiting for that moment, it stopped with a suddenness that made all three of them lift their chins and look up at the sky, startled.

  The man laughed. There was a wary note in his chuckle.

  Lynette pulled Vivian away, out of the man’s reach, as he stood and shook himself off. He stamped the foot that had been trapped and wriggled the ankle, testing it. He was taller than Lynette had guessed.

  They waited warily while he assessed himself. Then he squared his shoulders. “You have my thanks. Now, if you will point me toward my weapons, I will collect them and go.”

  Lynette glanced at Vivian. The princess nodded, raising her knife to a more useful height, in case he tried to attack them, after all.

  Lynette lifted her hand, displaying the knife and sword.

  “Ah.” He took a step toward her, then his knees buckled and he sank to the ground, one hand held out to save himself.

  Vivian leapt toward him and pushed at his shoulders to straighten him and prop him up.

  “I feel…strange,” he said, his voice distant. A great shiver wracked his body.

  Lynette lowered the weapons as Vivian pulled the hood off the man’s head and rested her fingers against his high forehead. His hair was black and short…and wet. The fine cloak had been no protection through the long, rainy night.

  “He is far too hot,” Vivian declared.

  “We should take him back to the palace. The physician will be here tomorrow,” Lynette said.

  “No physician,” the man said. “No towns.”

  “No king’s men, either, I presume,” Lynette said dryly.

  The man gave another violent shiver.

  “The hermit’s cave is up at the top of this hill,” Vivian said. “We can leave him there. I have herbs that will heal him. I can bring them back. Help me, Lynette.”

  It was the same flat tone Vivian had used to announce she wanted to ride, this morning.

  Lynette wanted to protest. They should not be helping this man. He avoided kings’ men, travelled well-armed and didn’t want to be seen by ordinary folk. To help him would entangle them in the danger that followed him.

  Only, Vivian had made up her mind.

  She was normally highly cautious of being seen as anything other than a loyal daughter. Sometimes, though, the way she had of glimpsing the future directed her to foolish and risky acts.

  This seemed to be one of those times.

  Vivian’s gaze held Lynette’s, willing her to help.

  Lynette didn’t quite sigh. She enjoyed a close friendship with the princess, yet she was still in service to her and sworn to obey her. Vivian’s unmoving stare was a reminder of that obligation.

  Lynette threaded the sword and knife through her pony’s saddle cloth, then bought both ponies closer to where Vivian held up the man. His head was hanging forward, although he was not unconscious. He helped them get him up into Vivian’s saddle and held himself in it while they coaxed the reluctant ponies up the sharp slope to the summit.

  While Vivian led the ponies, Lynette collected wood, carrying it in a fold of her cloak.

  As they walked, a watery sun emerged from a break in the clouds and the gray day turned into one of rain-washed colors. It was March. Daisies and foxgloves, bluebells and primrose were lifting their buds to the sun. Swifts and sandpipers called from the higher branches of the trees.

  A merlin gave a harsh cry as it dove straight down, its talons spread, and speared its prey.

  The reminder was not wasted. Lynette stopped gathering wood and watched behind and around her. They were a good way from the town and it was not unknown for Saxons to move this far west in their search for land and food and sometimes, simple conquest.

  The cave was empty. No one had lived in it for many years despite it being an excellent shelter. There was even a small spring at the front, seeping up from among the rocks at the mouth. The water was pure and cool.

  Vivian and her women had delighted in telling Lynette the story of the haunted cave. The ghosts of those who lived and died there lingered. The last man to use the cave had gone mad. True, he had lived alone for thirty years, which might be enough to make anyone mad. Yet the townsfolk of Maridunum were convinced it was the fault of the ghosts whispering in his ears all those years.

  Vivian helped the man down from the saddle. He leaned on her and shuffled into the cave. Lynette followed.

  The sandy floor was even, the cave itself a rounded oblong, deeper than it was wide. The air was crisp with a chill more biting than the cold of the rain outside.

  “I’ll get a fire going,” Lynette said, moving toward a ring of blackened flat stones in the middle of the cave with her armful of wood.

  Her voice whispered, repeating itself, over and over, rising toward the craggy roof. Lynette froze, startled.

  Vivian’s eyes were large, almost unfocused, as she met Lynette’s gaze. “Voices of the dead,” she murmured. Her voice ran on, too.

  There was a soft stirring sound above their heads. The roof was dark with shadow. The shadow moved.

  “Bats,” Lynette said.

  “Bats that are used to humans. They won’t bother us,” Vivian replied. She guided the man over to a shelf of rock deepened and smoothed by previous residen
ts to make a sleeping shelf.

  Lynette dropped the wood into the old ashes and used her knife to shave off bark for kindling. A flint and striker sat on one of the flat rocks. No one wandering into the cave had dared take them, too frightened by the tales of vengeful ghosts to risk thievery.

  In a few minutes, the fire crackled. She fed it the damp wood in stages, making it grow.

  “Your cloak, Lynette,” Vivian said.

  Lynette looked up from the flames. The man was lying on the shelf, now. Vivian’s cloak was beneath him. His own hung from a sharp projection on the wall, dripping. The sand beneath it was dark with water. The puddle spread.

  Lynette slid her cloak from her shoulders and gave it to Vivian. Vivian spread it over the man. His eyes were closed. In the low orange light cast by the fire, Lynette could see sweat on his brow.

  Lynette shivered at the cold touch of the air in the cave and rubbed her arms. The thin linen of her gown gave no warmth. She went in search of more wood. Instinct told her to look deeper inside the cave. It had been used by men for generations and where man ventured, he left his mark.

  She found a cache of thick logs at the back of the cave, stacked neatly. Thick dust coated them. They would be dry enough to burn well. Pleased, she carried them back to the fire and dropped them onto the flames. By the time she returned with another armful, the fire leapt high and the cave filled with light. The air was already warmer.

  Lynette stacked more wood next to the man’s shelf, within arm’s reach. He could tend the fire himself by tossing a log onto it when needed.

  “Knife…” the man whispered and swallowed.

  “I’ll get them,” Vivian said and walked outside. She came back and propped the sword against the shelf next to the wood. She handed the knife to the man. Lynette didn’t protest. He was incapable of tackling either of them.

  Vivian looked down at him. “I’ll be back with medicine and food.”