Author: judeknight

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Meeting the Matchmaker on WIP Wednesday

Here’s a short excerpt from the book that’s out on 20th March, Hook, Lyon, and Sinker

Mrs. Dove Lyon was not as Laurel had imagined her. Laurel had expected someone garishly painted and indiscreetly clad in gaudy colors. After all, she ran a gambling establishment which also offered other entertainments of the most scandalous kind.

The person who joined Laurel was clothed all in black and veiled. Her garb would not have looked out of place on the most dignified of Society’s fashionable matrons, and was far less revealing than many gowns worn by such august ladies. Her language and carriage too, as she invited Laurel to sit and asked her preference for beverage, were those of a lady.

The knowledge comforted Laurel. Perhaps this desperate scheme might work after all.

Once Laurel had her tea, Mrs. Dove Lyon came directly to the point, without any polite evasions. “Why have you asked to see me, my lady? Do you wish for me to find you a husband?”

Blunt and to the point. Also surprising, for Laurel had agreed to Benjamin’s request that the broken betrothal should not be made public just yet. Laurel thought he wanted to give Tiber time to talk Laurel into reversing her decision, as she had last time, but she had agreed anyway. It suited her to keep the gossips at bay for a week or so.

Her hostess must have guessed at her thoughts, because she said, “Lord Tiberius Hastings was here last night, and he is indiscreet when in his cups. Most of the gentlemen present will now be spreading the news that you have jilted him. Mind you, his loose tongue will work to your advantage, for he was bemoaning his own stupidity in putting off the wedding once again. And, making it clear that his chief regret was losing your dowry.”

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Tea with her husband and a problem

“Surely there is something we can do, James,” said Eleanor, the Duchess of Winshire to her husband. “It is outrageous that young Laurel must marry within a matter of weeks or lose her inheritance from her father.”

James shook his head. “Her father has been dead for years, Eleanor. If she was going to object, she should have done so before now. The fact that she has said nothing, and taken no action to challenge the will, means that the courts are unlikely to even listen to her at this late stage. And certainly not before the deadline of her twenty-fifth birthday.”

Eleanor sighed, impatiently. “She says she did not know about the provision, and indeed, how should she? Girls are not encouraged to attend the reading of a will, and apparently neither of her older brothers saw fit to enlighten her. Her youngest brother, who inherited when the older two died, was overseas with the army. He assumed that Laurel knew. Her fiance of the time should have known, but I gather he had not bothered to read the marriage settlements. Whether he really intended to marry her or not, I have no idea, but he has certainly lost his opportunity now.”

James frowned. “Is she certain, dearest? Would she not be better to marry the man she knows than to make herself and her dowry the subject of a contest in a gaming hall?”

Eleanor’s sigh was heartfelt. “So I suggested to her,” she said. “But Laurel says that she would rather be penniless and dependent on her brother for the rest of her life than to exchange another word with that snake, by which I take it she meant her former betrothed.”

“You might remember, Eleanor, that Mrs Dove Lyon’s has had great success as a matchmaker. Perhaps she will manage another of her love matches for your young friend Laurel.”

Eleanor managed a still deeper sigh. “If there is nothing we can do about the will, I suppose we must leave it to that woman. But James, if Laurel is not happy with the outcome of the contests, I am determined that we shall offer her a refuge.”

“Of course, dearest,” said her lovely husband.

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Find out what happens to Laurel in, Hook, Lyon, and Sinker, currently available at the preorder price of 99c, and published on 20th March. It is part of the Lyon’s Den series, and also a reinterpretation of The Little Mermaid, in the spirit of my A Twist Upon a Regency Tale series.

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Tea with Mrs Grant

“Your grace, I am grateful you are taking the time to see me today” The new bride seated across the table, Mrs. Grant, blushed furiously. “Lady Wallenford sends her deepest regrets that she could not join you today.”

Lady Wallenford had requested this opportunity to meet and to introduce one of her protégés, Mrs. Myra Grant. Before her marriage, Mrs. Grant had been a teacher at the charity home sponsored by Lady Wallenford and two other peeresses, and was the perfect person to answer any questions the duchess might have.

“As she explained to me in her note this morning. I think it is commendable of any mother to consider the health of the children more important than socializing. I do hope the twins recover soon from their fever.”

“As do I.”

“Though this is not really a social call, I’m given to understand.”

“Oh.” The young lady—she was indeed both young and a lady—turned a deeper shade of red.

Eleanor patted her hand. “I’m teasing you. I know you are here to seek my sponsorship of the children’s home. I’m told that Lady Wallenford resided and worked there, and that you took her place after her marriage.”

“Yes, your grace.”

“As a widow with a child to care for and no family, that must have been a great blessing.”

“Yes, your grace.”

Eleanor suppressed a chuckle. Instinct told her that Mrs. Grant was a very good sort of girl who’d had to overcome great obstacles. She had a deep admiration for women like that, as well as a deep curiosity to know more.

She was asking the wrong sorts of questions.

“I want to know more about the children’s home, Mrs. Grant, but first, tell me more about yourself. Where did you grow up, what happened to your baby’s father, and how did you land at the children’s home?”

Mrs. Grant cast her gaze upon the teacup held in now trembling hands and then sighed. “I am blessed in my marriage to Mr. Grant. He knows the truth, all of it, as do all of our lady sponsors and I daresay their husbands, as well. Lady Wallenford assures me the truth will not discourage your patronage.”

Eleanor refilled the younger woman’s cup. “To be lucky in love is no small thing, my dear. What came before such luck, well, it is a tale as old as time, is it not? But do tell me the story of this romance with Mr. Grant. I heard that it might not have taken place except that this was a Leap Year.”

Mrs. Grant smiled and then laughed. “Very well, your grace. Once upon a time, in a small village in Sussex…”

A Leap Into Love

Can a gentleman be too charming? The ladies of Upper Upton think so.

And it’s almost Leap Day, when a man who refuses a lady’s proposal of marriage must offer a forfeit.

When the single ladies of the village conspire to teach their charmer a lesson that might bankrupt him, the town’s loveliest young widow steps up to warn him.

His secrets and hers make them a perfect match—and she’s the lady he wants. But she won’t accept his proposal, not even to rescue him.

As Leap Day approaches, the clock is ticking. Can he convince her in time to say yes to his offer and take a leap into love?

 

An Excerpt for A Leap Into Love

They stepped out of the inn yard and onto the road. Arthur settled himself on his shoulder and snuffled his neck.

He should offer the lady his arm, but she’d put some distance between them, walking in the other wheel rut. “And so what is the verdict on the worsted?”

She bit her lip. “The worsted.” She sighed and squinted at Wills who was ranging far ahead. “We shall buy some of it. Depending upon your price, of course. Mrs. McClintock will be along tomorrow to examine it and talk to you. But in truth…” She stopped, bit down on her lip again and raised her eyes to him. “There is a plot, Mr. Grant. I feel honor-bound to tell you. You must…” Her gaze skittered along the bushes hedging the lane as if someone lurked there eavesdropping. “You must leave town on twenty-nine February. There is a plot.”

Twenty-nine February. “A plot.”

“Yes.”

Twenty-nine February was Leap Day.

The fog lifted. He’d heard of the tradition but never seen it practiced: on Leap Day a lass could propose marriage to a lad. Miss Gurnwood wanted Mrs. Smith to propose to her brother. The stringy young vicar needed a wife. And what had that to do with a plot against himself?

“They mean to conspire, all the unmarried ladies in town. They mean to ask you to marry them.”

He swallowed a chuckle. He’d drawn ladies to his handsome self since he’d begun sprouting whiskers. It was good to know he still had the knack. “And why would they do that?”

Her chest rose with a quick breath. “Why? You’re a widower, they say, and in need of a mother for your children.”

“Is that all?”

She pressed her lips together. “A man who is…well-spoken, reasonably young, and well-established is rare in a village like this.”

“And braw and handsome.”

“Yes, and a…a…well, I must say it: a man friendly with all the ladies. They mean to take you to task. They mean to ask you to marry them, and when you say no, they mean to ask as a forfeit the silk and muslin cloth you purchased at auction today.”

Artie squirmed and looked to his mother, sensing her disquiet.

He patted the plump bottom, and the babe settled. “If I say no. And of course I’ll have to since I’m not some eastern potentate setting up a harem. It’s a diabolical plan. Not too far ahead, Wills,” he called.

“So you see, you must leave.”

“I’m not one to run from trouble, Mrs. Smith.”

Not any kind of trouble. As an officer of the 42nd Foot, he’d fought every skirmish he came across with nary a scratch. It had been an act of charity, taking food to a sick family in Lisbon, that had felled him with a dire case of the mumps and sent him home on half pay.

In the distance Will swung his lantern, well out of earshot.

And Wills was more proof that Alexander Grant didn’t run, not even if the problem was not his own.

He’d set his mind to what was right, so he might as well go ahead with it, and directly too. She’d not go away thinking he was anything but dead serious.

He touched her arm.

“Mrs. Smith, there is another way to thwart them.”

Meet Alina K. Field

USA Today Bestselling and Award-winning author Alina K. Field earned a Bachelor of Arts Degree in English and German literature, but prefers the much happier world of romance fiction. Though her roots are in the Midwestern U.S., after six very, very, very cold years in Chicago, she moved to Southern California where she shares a midcentury home with her husband and her spunky, blonde, rescued terrier.

She is the author of several Regency romances, including the 2014 Book Buyer’s Best winner, Rosalyn’s Ring. She is hard at work on her next series of Regency romances, but loves to hear from readers!

Visit her at:

http://alinakfield.com/

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Amazon Author Page https://www.amazon.com/Alina-K.-Field/e/B00DZHWOKY

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Backlist spotlight on To Mend the Broken-Hearted

The ebook of To Mend the Broken-Hearted is set to Free at all retailers for the month of March, starting now. In fact, since the first in series, To Wed a Proper Lady, is only 99c, and the other two novels are $3.99, you can buy all four novels in the series for under $10, and add the 2 novellas and 1 set of vignettes in Paradise Triptych, plus the novella Melting Matilda, for less than $3 more. That’s a lot of reading!

To Mend the Broken-Hearted

Ruth is a healer, not a social gadfly. She’s glad to leave the foreign world of the ton to run an errand for her sister-in-law. She doesn’t expect to be caught up in a smallpox epidemic, nor to meet the man of her dreams.

War and betrayal have wounded Val beyond bearing. The woman who arrives at his retreat with patients who need shelter says she’s a healer. But he is beyond healing. Isn’t he?

Book links at Books2Read https://books2read.com/Broken-Hearted
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Tea with a Pirate

Friends, welcome Ruth A. Casie to the blog today, with her account of an interesting visit to Her Grace, the Duchess of Haverford

Eleanor, the Duchess of Haverford is a progressive woman for her time. She judges a person by their character and not their title or purse. Some think she must have been a handful growing up, always open to meeting all sorts of people. There was one time when she visited Sommer-by-the-Sea, a village near Newcastle Upon Tyne, and had tea at the Rostov Tearoom. She was certain she saw the Grand Duke Nikolai Baranov, a Russian spy. Her astute self quickly identified His Imperial Highness’s interest, Lady Patrice Edgemont. Ah, but that is another story for another time.

Today, Eleanor is having tea with a pirate and his wench. Oh, dear reader, did you spill your tea? I should have been more clever in introducing them. Eleanor is expecting Lord and Lady Reynolds today. They have become dear friends who do not stand on ceremony. They are close enough to address each other by their given names. I know, it is outrageous. And close enough to divulge their deepest secrets.

Lady Reynolds, the former Darla Maxwell, was her father’s greatest prize. Graeme Maxwell and his close friend and business partner, Ewan MacDougall, collaborated in searching for a suitable husband for her. Darla has a … magical background, which, as a young woman, she sought to deny. She found it off-putting to those who knew. Therefore, she had it in her mind to never marry. Eleanor is hoping to find out more about how Darla’s magic influenced her life and what changed her mind about marriage.

Lord Wesley Reynolds, the son of the well-known silk merchant, has a most interesting background. Eleanor is looking forward to hearing more about it.

“More tea?” Eleanor asked with the pot in her hand.

“You can warm mine.” Darla smiled brightly and lifted her cup.

“Wesley,” Eleanor said as she warmed Darla’s cup, “you’ve teased me long enough. I still find it difficult to believe that you were ever a pirate and now one of the King’s most trusted men.”

“Wesley’s personal history has several twists and turns.” Darla put down her teacup and placed her hand on the arm of Wesley’s chair. “It has made him the man he is today.” 

Eleanor knew that Darla was Wesley’s devoted advocate. She smiled, understanding theirs was a sincere love match.

Wesley patted his wife’s hand. It was a tender touch, one that didn’t escape Eleanor’s notice.

Wesley turned toward Eleanor. “As a young man, I followed in my father’s footsteps. He was both an excellent silk merchant and businessman. He taught me the silk business, from cultivating the silkworms to making the final cloth to selling and shipping the bolts. I learned by traveling with him and observing him at his work. He was a well-respected merchant and excellent negotiator. When he passed away, I was ready to take over, although I would never be able to take his place.

He picked up his teacup and finished the brew.

“You are aware that there are rumors that you sailed out of the Cinque Ports in southern Europe in the service of the King.” Eleanor was determined to find out more about his pirate days and what he had done to be awarded a title and Glen Kirk Castle. The estate sat on the border with Scotland.

Wesley moved back in his seat as if he wanted to avoid the subject.

“Wesley,” Eleanor’s quiet voice broke the building tension. He looked at her. “If this is difficult—”

Wesley glanced at Darla, who gave him an encouraging nod. He let out a breath and continued.

“I provided the king with the silks he wanted, as I did with many monarchs across Europe. Because of my connections, I was a good sounding board for him. I had my own ships, and one thing led to another.”

“That led you to become a pirate?” Eleanor was not going to let the subject go.

“I had no love for the Spanish. They thought I was a charity, taking my goods off my ship without paying for them. So, I simply took from their ships as payment of their debt. All in all, a fair transaction.”

Eleanor chuckled, a bit unladylike, but she was with friends. “I dare say they deserved it. It sounds like a good life.”

“Over the years, my brother told me what happened while I was in boarding school, how we had to leave our home, and why. I believed Darla’s father and MacDougall, my father’s closest friends, plotted against him and my family. I thought they ruined his business and took his property, all circumstances that led to his death.”

“Oh, dear. That is a deep betrayal. Darla’s father, you say? I surmise you don’t believe that tale now. What made you believe it in the first place? And why the change of heart?” Eleanor’s interest was piqued.

Wesley’s eyes darkened, and his jaw tensed as he struggled to contain his emotions. “I put my trust in someone close and was deceived,” he finally admitted, his voice strained with regret.

Eleanor, seeing Wesley’s turmoil, poured a glass of port and handed it to him.

Wesley accepted the drink with a nod of thanks. His gaze dropped to the ruby liquid as he took a sip.

“Did this have anything to do with the pirate king, McAlpin?”

Wesley chuckled and drank the last of his port.

“I understand why you ask.” He returned Eleanor’s gaze, his eyes reflecting his resolve. “The MacAlpin has the reputation of being a ruthless, savage pirate. But, in all my dealings with him, he proved to be fair and trustworthy. He was instrumental in seeing justice served.”

He paused, a heavy sigh escaping his lips, and then he continued. “It was difficult, after years of believing something so strongly that had woven its way into your soul, to become fundamental, your very essence, and then to uncover the truth and recognize you’d been lied to for a very long time.”

He glanced at his wife, his expression showing that the hurt of the deception still remained.

“From the first moment we met on the docks by my father’s ship,” Darla offered, “and I mistook him for MacDougall’s son-in-law, Magnus, I was drawn to Wesley. I was exceedingly relieved to learn he was unencumbered. Very pleased indeed.”

“Darla’s father is a gem merchant. Maxwell and MacDougall were nothing like I expected. After my father’s death, I was told again of their thievery. I had it stamped into my brain, and I didn’t question it. You see, from an early age, I was fostered by the Highland Maxwells. When I came back and worked with my father, he had already moved the family from our home on MacDougall’s island, forced out, I was told. I accepted it as truth, and when my father died, I vowed to take revenge for all the injustices Maxwell and MacDougall did to my father and my family.”

“Wesley thought to use me as a pawn in his effort to hurt my father.” Darla sat still, holding Wesley’s hand.

Wesley gazed at Darla, their hands naturally entwined, a silent bond between them. “That wasn’t one of my shining moments,” he admitted. “The more time we spent together and the more I knew you, your father, and MacDougall, the more I knew I had it all wrong, but evil kept buzzing in my ear, pushing me to carry out my plans.”

Darla met his gaze with understanding. “You found the truth,” she said calmly, her voice steady. “It’s all over now.”

Wesley’s gaze softened, filled with gratitude and admiration as he gazed at his wife. “I’m a very lucky man.” His tone carried a warmth and passion that couldn’t be mistaken.

“More tea? Cook made some delicious scones,” Eleanor offered with a warm smile. “Darla, I understand you have unique insight—”

Wesley’s expression tightened as he got to his feet. “Come, Darla.” His tone was clipped. “We’ve imposed on Eleanor long enough.” He extended his hand to his wife, a silent signal he wanted to leave.

Eleanor, surprised at Wesley’s change in behavior, put down the plate of scones she was offering and, for a moment, was startled into silence. “Forgive me, my lord, if I have offended you or your wife.”

“No, Eleanor. You have done nothing of the sort. Wesley is very overprotective.” Darla, still in her seat, gently took his hand and pulled him toward her. He remained as he was. “I do have a unique ability. I have second sight. I see things before they happen. Some people—”

“Unintelligent, witless ones—” Wesley spit out between clenched teeth.

“Eleanor understands your meaning.” Darla acknowledged before turning toward their host. “Some people believe it’s witchcraft. They say and do foolish things. It is why I kept to myself while growing up. Why I never allowed myself to become attached to a gentleman. How could I get someone I loved tangled in that rat’s nest? Some may see my gift as a blessing, but I assure you it is not. Imagine knowing something terrible is going to happen, and you’re not able to influence it at all.”

Darla put her hands in her lap. “I thought I would never marry. I was satisfied with being alone for the rest of my life. I was wrong. I had no idea that I was waiting for the right person, my soul mate. I never saw that coming until I met Wesley. So much for my second sight. When I found him, I knew I would never let him go. He is my love,” Darla declared as she rose from her seat and stood next to Wesley, “my life.”

“As you are mine,” Wesley said, his wife in his arms. He turned to Eleanor. “Deception and family honor were at stake.”

Darla glanced at Eleanor. “So was my heart.”

Eleanor stood. “I’m glad you found each other. Your story is a breathtaking adventure. I am honored and want to thank you for sharing so much with me.”

“Eleanor.” Darla left her husband’s side and embraced her dear friend. “Thank you for your invitation. We have a long journey ahead of us to Glen Kirk Castle.”

Eleanor walked her guests to the door. “I wish you both safe travels. The lesson I learned from your story is a very profound one. It is a cautionary tale about the destructive nature of revenge and the healing power of forgiveness and love.” She hugged Darla. “Please, you must visit me again.”  

The Pirate’s Jewel

Deception and family honor are at stake – so is her heart.

Wesley Reynolds will do anything to avenge his family’s banishment from Dundhragon Castle, even throw in the notorious pirate MacAlpin. His plan is to ruin Lord Ewan’s trading network. He has a more devious plan for his father’s ‘best friend,’ the man who abandoned them at the eleventh hour. He’ll ruin the man’s most precious jewel, his daughter Darla. Wesley’s so close to ruining the trade network and succeeding he can almost taste it, but revenge is not nearly as sweet as Darla’s kisses.

Darla Maxwell, beloved by her parents, has no prospects of marriage. Her father and Lord Ewan search to find her the right husband. Darla’s special gifts are frightening to many. She has visions that often come true. The murky image of a man haunts her. She’s sure it’s Lord Ewan’s soon-to-be son-in-law, but the vision morphs when she meets Wesley. The meaning couldn’t be any clearer to her; her destiny lay with Wesley.

When revelations surface, indicating Wesley has been deceived and his revenge misplaced. Will he find the truth of what really happened to his family in time to stop the pirates? Will Darla ever forgive him? Will he ever forgive himself?

Buy Link: Kindle Unlimited

An Excerpt

The ship glided out of the protection of the dock and sailed into the churning channel. Huddled under the sail, hugging her knees, Darla thought she might as well be blind. To add to her discomfort, the aroma of beer from the surrounding barrels was overpowering in the small space.

The rise and fall of the ship had her holding on to the barrels for dear life. Large raindrops that randomly pelted Darla’s shelter intensified. The ends of her canvas hideout fluttered and hammered a beat as gusts of wind plowed into the standing barrels, sending sprays of water through the spaces between them. The tight ropes holding her sanctuary together sang as they strained against the pitching of the ship and the onslaught of the wind and rain.

From her hiding place, she had no sense of what happened beyond its boundary. No way to prepare for the next roll of the ship, gust of wind, or drenching rush of water. Shouted orders, along with the grunts and salty words of the crew, reached her ears above the sound of the howling wind and crashing water.

“Take in the sail. Toss out the sea anchor. We need to keep the ship headed into the wind. Tie a bag of oil to the windward side and toss it over. Let’s hope that keeps the waves from breaking over the side.”

Water that soaked through her makeshift canopy gathered above her and rained down on her, adding to her misery. She lifted her skirt, tucked her mantle close, but the water wicked through her clothes. Soaked and tired to the bone, she gave up trying to keep dry. Drained of any warmth, she shivered and waited for her ordeal to end.

Riding up and down the swelling sea, the rise and fall of the ship continued. The limited air in her space soured. Woozy, she needed fresh air but was trapped with no way out. With her head on her knees, she closed her eyes and prayed for the journey to end.

The thundering snap of a rope, followed by the full force of the wind and water startled her from her daze. Part of the sail slid off the barrels. She grabbed at it, but the wind pulled the canvas from her hand. For a moment, she delighted in the salty air and took a deep breath. The ship lurched and the barrels protecting her came loose from their bindings and turned into crushing weapons.

Strong arms grasped her. She didn’t care if her father found her. Getting free of her prison was all she wanted.

The wind roared down the deck, sprays of water erupted from the prow as the ship bounced and rolled in the sea. Nothing hindered the man’s grip. Finally, she raised her head, but the shroud of fog blanketing the ship made it difficult to see.

Darla strained and made out dark wet hair plastered to his face. The ship shifted beneath her feet. Unsteady, he held her close, she clung to him. She didn’t have to see clearly to know who held her.

Close to his chest, she made out rivulets of blood sliding down the side of his head, but she clung hard to him. She pulled away from his chest and stretched to reach his ear with her mouth.

“You’re hurt.”

He said nothing as he moved them forward.

“You have my thanks.”

He turned and gave her a flash of a smile.

“Wesley.” She smiled at him.

“I was afraid you’d think I was Magnus.” He cupped her head and drew her to his chest. He staggered forward, fighting his way against the wind to reach the entrance. Here, there was some protection from the wind. He made fast work of the door.

The wind howled outside. She let out a breath, but Wesley didn’t stop. He hurried down the narrow passageway into a cabin.

“You’ll be safe here.” He sat her in a chair and then went to leave. “Whatever you do, stay inside.”

A secretive smile softened his lips before he left, closing the door behind him. She ran to the door, looked through the small hole, and watched him make his way down the passageway, his broad shoulders nearly scraping both walls.

About Ruth A. Casie

Hi! I’m Ruth A Casie. I write historical adventures from the shores of medieval Scotland to the cobblestone streets of Regency London. My stories embrace strong woman and the men who deserve them. Within the pages you’ll discover ‘edge-of-your-seat suspense, mind boggling drama, and heart melting emotions. Grab your favorite cup of tea, or an ale if you prefer, and join my heroes and heroines as they race across the pages to find their happily ever after. I hope my stories are your next favorite adventures!

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Spotlight on Knight of Darkness

Knight of Darkness:
Knights of the Anarchy (Book One)

By Sherry Ewing

Sometimes finding love can become our biggest weakness… 

Wymar Norwood understands responsibility. His two brothers have been in his care since his parent’s death. With his title and lands stripped from him by the usurper Stephen, he aligns himself with the Empress Matilda, the rightful Queen of England. If he can win her favor and become her champion knight, he prays all will be returned to him.

Lady Ceridwen Ward of Norwich is out to prove not only to herself but the Empress that she is more than capable of protecting those she loves. She hides herself in the guise of a knight and follows along with her men to Lincoln to raise her sword for the Empress’s cause. But life can become complicated, especially after your identity is revealed.

But Wymar and Ceridwen have a common enemy who is bent on revenge. They will need to search their souls and overcome grief in order for their love to survive life’s greatest test.

Buy Links or Read for #FREE in Kindle Unlimited:

Dragonblade Link: https://amzn.to/47Gu0Hp

Learn more on Sherry’s website at: https://www.sherryewing.com/books/knight-of-darkness-the-knights-of-the-anarchy-book-one/

Excerpt from Knight of Darkness

He shivered at her touch for ’twas most unexpected. He was even more surprised when she leaned toward him. She hesitated but an instant before she placed a chaste kiss upon his lips. She must have realized the inappropriateness of her impulsive gesture for just as suddenly as her kiss had occurred, she jumped from his lap and began to leave the river’s side.

“I should not have done that,” she tossed over her shoulder as she climbed up the bank.

“Ceridwen,” he called to her.

“Here is your mantel,” she answered, barely looking at him as she tossed the garment into his face.

He whipped it away and reached for her hand. ’Twas then he saw her tears cascading down her cheeks when she raised her face to meet his. “Tears on so fierce a warrior as you?” he teased her gently as he wiped them away with his thumb. He hoped the words would spark her indignation. Surely that would be enough to distract her from her sadness and fear. But to his dismay, her tears did not abate.

“I am a woman before all else and even I can have a moment of weakness.” She turned away from him even though he did not let her go.

“You are hardly weak, Ceridwen. In fact, I have never met another woman with the courage to enter battle as you have done.”

“But I was weak back there,” she shouted pointing toward the river. “I should never have kissed you, let alone gone into the woods without my guards to protect me.”

“Are you truly crying over such a little kiss or are you more upset with yourself for what almost happened to you?” he questioned. He turned her around and saw the anguish upon her visage.

“Perchance all of it! I do not make it a habit of kissing men, I assure you.”

He tried to make light of the situation. “I never assumed you did with the meager sampling you gave me. ’Twas not the kiss of an experienced woman.”

“’Tis not the first time I have been kissed.” She defiantly lifted her chin as though to prove the truth of her words.

“Then ’tis apparent you have only been kissed by a relative or someone who knew not how to pleasure a woman.”

“Are you mocking me?”

“Mayhap I am. I have the distinct feeling you should be kissed often and I may be the man to show you how ’tis properly done.” He pulled her closer.

“Do you honestly think you are man enough?” She did not seem to object to him pulling her closer into his embrace, although she was not agreeing to anything like him giving her a demonstration either.

“Now ’tis you who are but jesting with me. I can assure you that you will not go wanting whilst in my bed.”

“I never said I would bed you. We were talking about a simple kiss, and nothing more,” she protested.

“There is nothing simple about a kiss, when it is done properly. Why, I am told if you put in enough effort, the act can be most pleasant.” He took a step closer and heat radiated between them like a burst of fire.

“What is it you are doing?”

His arm snaked around her waist and he pulled her completely up against his body. “Testing the theory that I am man enough for the likes of a Viking shield maiden like you.”

“I am no Viking shield…”

“…who talks entirely too much.”

Wymar lowered his head and he watched whilst her eyes widened in surprise. She may be fierce on the outside but he had the distinct feeling that despite what she had said, she had not much experience with a man. His lips gently brushed against hers. Teasing her to awaken the woman hiding just beneath the surface of the fierce warrior she had chosen to become. His name passing her lips whispered between them on her breath. He almost smiled in satisfaction that he had been right.

’Twas enough for him to continue his exploration of her mouth and from her response as he deepened their kiss, she was more than willing to allow him to instruct her on the art of kissing.

Meet Sherry Ewing:

Sherry Ewing picked up her first historical romance when she was a teenager and has been hooked ever since. An award-winning and bestselling author, she writes historical and time travel romances to awaken the soul one heart at a time. When not writing, she can be found in the San Francisco area at her day job as an Information Technology Specialist. You can learn more about Sherry and her books on her website where a new adventure awaits you on every page at www.SherryEwing.com.

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Accepting the mission on WIP Wednesday

Generated with the help of hotspot.ai

In Hold Me Fast, my hero chooses to go looking for his childhood sweetheart:

“Tamsyn is back in England,” he said, more to himself than to his brother, testing the words out loud as if hearing them would make them truer. She was still seperated from him, as much by her chosen lifestyle as by three hundred and fifty miles and seven years. But she was, at least, in the same country.

“You should go to London,” Bran said. “Find out why she stopped writing. Find out why she didn’t come home.”

She stopped loving him. The thought cut the way it always did, lacerating his heart yet again. But what else could it be? She had a ticket she could have used at any time. The Earl of Coombe might have stopped franking her letters, but he did keep his promise to make her famous. She had just been on her second tour through Europe, for crying out loud. She must have money to burn, plenty to buy her own tickets, frank her own letters.

Her silence was her message to Jowan, and all the more fool him for the hope that lingered, somewhere in the remote corners of his mind and heart.

“I must assume she changed her mind,” and if his jaw was set and his foot tapped with the tension in his frame, his voice was commendably even.

“Or she thinks you did,” argued Bran. “Look, Jowan, the girl you told me about isn’t one who would cut you without a word.”

Why was Bran pressing this? Couldn’t he see how much it hurt? “She changed,” Jowan pointed out. “Or I was wrong.”

Bran shook his head. “You are not wrong about people. You recognised me right off. In any case, you haven’t let her go. If you’re right, this is your chance to dig out the last of your hope and start to heal. If I’m right, the lady might need to be rescued.”

Jowan was still thinking about the pain of losing all of his hope, and Bran’s last few words took a moment to make sense. “Rescued?”

“If she wants to come home and can’t? For whatever reason? Yes. Rescued.”

Jowan shook his head. “How can I leave? We haven’t finished the shearing and then it will be planting time. I’ve the plans to sign off for the new mine.” He shrugged. “You know the list as well as I.”

“And how to make it all happen,” Bran pointed out.

Jowan put his knife and fork down while he thought about that. Bran was right. He could stay here with Jowan’s authority, and do everything Jowan would do himself. “I could go to London,” he said, testing the words on his tongue.