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Claimed by Tarah Scott

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ClaimedSometimes, the hero must be the villain.

Fourteen months ago, Lady Rhoslyn lost her husband and infant son to a fever. Now, by order of King Edward I, she is yanked from the healing tranquility of a convent to marry the king’s favored bastard knight. Rhoslyn has no intention of returning to the home where her husband and child died. Neither does she intend to hand over her fortune to the “Dragon””no matter his sweet promises and warm kisses.

Talbot St. Claire tires of war. Seventeen years is enough. King Edward will never release him from service, but the king promises Talbot will find some peace in front of his own hearth. Talbot expects to find a horse-faced, hostile woman in the Scottish heiress Edward commands him to marry. Instead, he discovers a fiery Highland beauty worthy of a man’s respect…and love. Talbot determines to do anything to win his new bride’s acceptance. Anything except the one thing she demands: betray his king and embrace his Scottish heritage.

 

Excerpt–

August 1291

Chapter One

Your grandfather awaits you at Longford Castle where you will marry Lord Melrose immediately.”

Had she heard correctly?

Disorientation at being abruptly roused from a sound sleep combined with disbelief caused Rhoslyn’s heart to thud wildly. Pain shot down her left arm as Prioress Hildegard twisted the limb and shoved her hand into the sleeve of a gray, wool dress.

“I am sorry, child,” the prioress said, but she didn’t slow her hurried dressing of Rhoslyn.

Hildegard pulled the dress down over her body, then grabbed the belt she had tossed onto the pallet. She cinched it around Rhoslyn’s waist and snatched up the mantle hastily thrown across a nearby table. Rhoslyn recognized the fur-lined cloak as the one she’d worn the day she arrived at the convent fourteen months ago. The prioress swung the garment around Rhoslyn’s shoulder.

“Hildegard, please,” she began as the nun fastened the clasp at her neck.

Hildegard grasped her arm and started toward the door. “We must go. Your grandfather’s men wait outside.”

Rhoslyn stumbled over the hem of her skirts and barely righted herself as they passed through the doorway and into the convent’s narrow hallway.

“I must speak with Abbess Beatrice,” Rhoslyn demanded.

“She sent me,” Hildegard said as she made a hard right around a bend, her grip firm on Rhoslyn’s arm.

They reached the front entrance, where three nuns stood at the open door.

“Where is the abbess?” Rhoslyn demanded.

Hildegard pulled her through the door into the fog that hung in the lit bailey. Shock dug deeper when Rhoslyn saw men-at-arms, a dozen””no she realized, more, at least two dozen””up ahead. Was her respite at the convent truly over?

The prioress hurried her toward the men who waited near the gate.

As they approached, Sir Ascot, who held the bridle of his horse at the front of the company, dropped to one knee. “My lady.”

“Rise, Knight,” she instructed. “Quickly, tell me what has happened.”

He came to his feet, then reached inside the front of his mail shirt and produced a missive that he extended toward her. Her gaze caught on the broken seal—the Great Seal of England. She jerked her gaze to the knight’s face in shocked question. He said nothing and she took the document.

Rhoslyn unfolded the parchment and her heart beat faster at sight of the boldly scripted salutation addressed to her grandfather from “King Edward I, Lord Superior of the realm of Scotland,” she read out loud.

“God save us,” Hildegard breathed.

Rhoslyn snapped her gaze onto Sir Ascot. “How did King Edward come to be Lord Superior of Scotland?”

“Forgive me, my lady,” he glanced at the nun, “Sister. I assumed ye knew.”

“Knew what?” Rhoslyn demanded.

“The Maid of Norway is dead.”

Rhoslyn felt as if a horse had kicked her. Their future queen dead? “How?”

“She drowned in Orkney on the way to Scotland.”

Hildegard made the sign of the cross.

“She was but seven,” Rhoslyn breathed. Tears pricked her eyes. “When?”

“Eleven months past,” he said.

“Eleven months?” Only a few months after her arrival here.

She couldn’t think, couldn’t fathom all the consequences of Margaret’s death. Why hadn’t her grandfather told her? Because, she realized with a rush of emotion, it was like him to protect her. He had been protecting her since the death of her parents at age five. Then he rescued her again after the death of her husband…and son.

“More than a dozen claimants to the throne have come forward,” Sir Ascot went on. “The Guardians fear civil war between the Bruce and Balliol’s supporters, so asked King Edward to arbitrate.”

Rhoslyn snorted. “And he used the unrest to demand sovereign lordship of Scotland.”

And the Guardians acquiesced without a whimper. The pea-brained men had no sense. She forced her eyes back to the missive, ashamed to find that her hands trembled. Her heart stopped cold at sight of the royal command for her to”””Marry Sir Talbot St. Claire.” She pinned Hildegard with a stare. “Ye said I was to marry Lord Melrose.”

The nun looked helplessly at Sir Ascot.

“Aye, my lady,” he said. “Your grandfather has arranged for ye to marry Melrose before St. Claire can obey his king’s command.”

“What? That is madness.” To defy Edward at any time was dangerous, but to do so when he had such power was suicide.

Why St. Claire, a mere knight? A knight born in sin at that, despite the fact Edward legitimized him after their return from Wales. She was the daughter of a baron, widow to a wealthy earl. Her noble lineage stretched back two hundred years. Her mind spun and she suddenly wished she could return to her cell and bar the door against the world.

“My lady,” Ascot began, but she waved him off, tilted the parchment toward the light, and read on.

Edward commanded them to recite the vows a month from now. The letter outlined the details of the contract, which endowed her grandfather with property in England. Anger pricked at seeing the properties her husband had bequeathed her listed as part of her dowry to St. Claire””with Castle Glenbarr, the wealthiest of the properties””at the head. The castle abutted Dunfrey Castle, she realized with a flash of clarity. Edward had given Dunfrey Castle to St. Claire after he quelled a revolt in Wales three years ago.

Her property combined with St. Claire’s would make him a force to be reckoned with. But she couldn’t forget””and she was certain Edward hadn’t forgotten””her grandfather’s property would come to her upon his death. Combined, the lands would make the knight one of the most powerful lords in the northern Highlands. Here was why the king had chosen him. Only a man like St. Claire could defend and keep the land should the need arise. And the need would arise. Edward knew it. So did she.

Yet all this wasn’t enough, she read with mounting anger. Edward also demanded a year’s salary from these properties. How much of her dowry would pay the debts for his past military campaigns? She gave a grim smile. He generously allowed her grandfather two years to pay. No doubt Edward had already sent word to his money-lenders that they could expect a large payment in the coming months. How many other Scottish nobles would be paying Edward’s debt””a debt he incurred long before he achieved power in Scotland?

The sovereign had planned well. The English estates he bequeathed her grandfather would pass to St. Claire upon her grandfather’s death, and her Scottish property would pass from the house of Seward to St. Claire…and his liege lord, King Edward. Her stomach roiled. The bastard knight would even inherit her grandfather’s title as Baron Kinsley. She pictured the knight rising from their marriage bed “ere his seed dried inside her to take possession of Glenbarr. Her heart twisted. She had intended the castle as part of her stepdaughter’s dowry.

Aye, Edward knew his business, she thought bitterly. This was the king to whom the Guardians had handed Scotland.

“Forgive me, my lady.” Sir Ascot’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “We must make haste. Your grandfather is already on his way to Longford Castle.”

To prepare her future husband for battle, no doubt. St. Claire was well known for his ruthlessness in battle. He would not take well the news that his newly awarded prize had slipped through his fingers. The slight to him””and his king””would not go unanswered.

“We flee in the night like cowards,” Rhoslyn muttered.

Wasn’t that exactly what she had done fourteen months ago? Her heart clenched with memory of her son, not two months old, laid to rest in the cold ground. When he had died two weeks after his father, Rhoslyn begged her grandfather for time in a convent. The guilt she had submerged beneath long hours of exhausting work now resurfaced. She had left her stepdaughter Andreana in her grandfather’s care.

Rhoslyn thrust the letter back toward Sir Ascot. “My grandfather canno’ have thought this matter through.”

He took the letter with a deferential cant of his head. “Sir Talbot arrived a week ago, and Lord Melrose returned from Edinburgh tonight. Your grandfather could no’ act before now. But he wishes as much leeway as possible before Sir Talbot discovers ye are married.”

Shock reverberated through her. Her grandfather was hoping Melrose would get her pregnant before Sir Talbot learned he had been tricked. Sweet God, had her grandfather gone mad? Melrose was an honorable man, but he was sixty-five.

“How does my grandfather expect an old man to sire a child?”

Sir Ascot shook his head. “Ye are to marry Jacobus Auenel. The old earl is dead.”

“Dead?” She was to marry Lord Melrose’s son?

Her pulse sped up. Was it possible to become a wife and future mother in a few days’ time? Disgust displaced the hope that surged through her. Jacobus Melrose was but twenty-one. A pup. A pup would have no trouble siring a child. It was Rhoslyn who might not conceive.

Her heart chilled. She wanted neither child nor husband.

Damn the sovereign to hell. He interfered where he had no business. And her grandfather was still trying to protect her. In the process, he would get himself and young Melrose killed. This she could not allow.

Rhoslyn faced Hildegard and gave her a fierce hug. “Thank ye.”

The prioress’ gnarled fingers tightened on her shoulders. “May God keep ye safe, lady.”

They drew apart.

“Beatrice,” Rhoslyn began, a lump in her throat.

Hildegard smiled gently. “You will see the abbess again in God’s time.”

Rhoslyn gave the nun’s hand a final squeeze and turned to Sir Ascot. He helped her mount one of the horses and she kept her gaze straight when they passed through the gates. In the dark mist beyond the convent Rhoslyn saw only Edward’s bold script commanding that she marry Sir Talbot St. Claire.

* * *

Talbot opened the door to the ladies solar and took in the slim figure seated on the bench in front of the fire. Beautiful dark hair hung unbound about slim shoulders. Canny blue eyes met his stare. Beside her stood a tall warrior at least ten years Talbot’s senior, but fit as any man Talbot’s age. Firelight glistened off the polished hilt of the well-used broadsword at his hip.

Talbot paused inside the doorway and shifted his gaze to the woman. “Lady Finlay, I have not have the pleasure of meeting you before. I understand you wanted to see me.”

She rose. “Will ye enter and close the door?”

Talbot flicked a glance at her protector.

She said, “So long as ye do no’ harm me, he will not harm you.”

“So long as he stays at his side of the room, there will be no misunderstandings,” Talbot replied.

“He will do as I bid. Please, Sir Talbot, time is short.” She nodded toward the door. “I canna’ risk prying ears.”

Talbot closed the door, crossed his arms, and waited.

“I have news concerning your betrothed.”

He tensed, but kept his expression cool. “What news could you possibly have concerning my wife?”

Her mouth twitched in indulgent amusement. “Calling Lady Rhoslyn your wife will be meaningless if a priest blesses her union with another man.”

“Are you saying an illegal marriage has been performed?”

Amusement reached her eyes. “Until Lady Rhoslyn is in your home””and your bed””there is some doubt as to your claim.”

“I make no claim, madam. She is my wife by order of King Edward.”

“Then let King Edward come here and enforce the decree. But that would be doing things the hard way. As Abbess Beatrice of St. Mary’s convent, I can simplify things.”

“Abbess Beatrice?” he repeated.

“Forgive the deception,” she said. “I could no’ risk anyone here knowing my true identity. It is best Rhoslyn””and everyone else””never know I was here.” She paused. “I am a good woman to have as friend. Do ye wish me to be your friend?”

Talbot had found the church to be friend to no one but the church.

He canted his head. “I am always at the disposal of the church.”

“A wise man. I expect something in return for the favor I am about to bestow. This is no small matter, Sir Talbot. I am ensuring that your marriage to Lady Rhoslyn does not go awry.”

“That sounds like nothing short of a miracle.” And he didn’t believe in miracles.

“God works in mysterious ways,” the abbess said. “Are we agreed? A favor for a favor?”

“I give no favors that betray my king.”

She nodded. “Good. I do no’ like traitors and I trust them even less. Lady Rhoslyn has spent the last fourteen months at St. Mary’s mourning the death of her husband and son. Tonight, her grandfather’s men arrived at the convent to take her to Longford Castle where she will marry the new Earl of Melrose.”

Talbot had feared something like this. Upon arriving at Castle Glenbarr a week ago, he’d visited her grandfather with the betrothal contract. The old baron read the decree, then told Talbot he would have Lady Rhoslyn brought from her convent. No blustering, no rejection of the marriage terms, not so much as a cross word. Aside from the fact he refused to name the convent, the whole affair had been too easy.

“Seward cannot be fool enough to think I will give her up,” Talbot said.

“Dinna’ be dense,” she replied. “He plans to hold up in Longford Castle until she bears Jacobus a child.”

“Castles can be razed to the ground.”

“More easily said than done,” she said. “The castle is a veritable fortress. Lady Rhoslyn’s grandfather can wait you out.”

“Where is she now?” Talbot demanded.

“We are agreed?” the abbess pressed.

“Aye. We are agreed. But beware, Sister. I honor my word, but I will not commit murder any quicker than I will betray Edward.”

Her brows rose. “Murder is your way of life, Knight. But fear no’, murder is not God’s way. I will not ask anything he wouldna’ ask.”

That frightened Talbot more than anything man could ask. But he had no more intention of allowing God to force him into anything than he did man or woman.

“By now Rhoslyn is surely on her way to Longford Castle,” Beatrice said. “I had the prioress delay her departure. I pray we had an hour head start and Rhoslyn and her grandfather’s men willna’ have been able to ride as fast as we did.”

“You will not countenance betrayal in me, but have no compunction about betraying Lady Rhoslyn,” Talbot said.

She lifted her brows as if surprised. “It is no betrayal to carry out God’s will.”

* * *

A warning shout at the rear of the company caused Rhoslyn to snap her head toward the murky form of Sir Ascot, who rode beside her in the thickening fog.

The knight drew his sword. “Ride, my lady.”

After they’d left the convent, Sir Ascot had given her a dagger and instructed her to flee with two of his strongest men should they be discovered. She hadn’t thought there any great possibility that would happen, so hadn’t voiced the thought that she would not leave her father’s men at the mercy of Sir Talbot.

“Do not lose your head,” she shot back. “It is far more likely we have encountered robbers than St Claire. He cannot possibly know I have left the convent.”

Ascot lifted his sword and Rhoslyn realized his intention. She turned her horse’s head, but not quickly enough to avoid the flat side of his sword smacking across her steed’s rump. The beast leapt forward and the men parted for her when she shot through their ranks. As planned, Aland and David broke into a gallop alongside her.

She pulled on the reins, but her horse gave a cry and sped up when Aland slapped his reins against the beast’s neck. David drew closer on the other side, hemming her in. The fools were in league against her.

“I shall strip you both of your knighthood,” she shouted.

“Aye, my lady,” Aland replied. “But your grandfather will hang us if we do not bring ye to him safely.

Another, more distant shout went up amongst the men, this one followed by a clash of steel. Was it truly St. Claire who had accosted them? Anger whipped through Rhoslyn. The death of her grandfather’s knights would be on Edward’s head. He would pay. Oh, how he would pay.

The sounds of fighting faded. She could make out the murky shadows of trees alongside the road, but didn’t know where they were.

The pounding of her protectors’ horses’ hooves alongside her should have given comfort. Instead, she knew the sound would haunt her forever. It was the sound of cowardice. The sound of defeat.

A large silhouette abruptly appeared in front of them.

“My lady!” Aland cried.

He tore to the right and Rhoslyn followed while David galloped left. She heard a thwack, but couldn’t take time to guess at the source, and forced her horse back onto the road. She pulled on the reins. A man’s grunt sounded and a horse gave a shrill cry. Rhoslyn turned her mount toward the sound and one of the knights appeared nearby.

“Aland, is that you?” Or was it David?

He brought his horse up beside hers. Something struck her as odd, but before she could understand what, an arm snaked out and around her waist. She yanked the dagger from its sheath and drove the blade downward toward the arm gripping her as she was dragged from her horse. The blade snagged on his armor and he muttered a curse as she slammed into a wall of muscle protected by chainmail.

Fear sent a wave of dizziness through her. She raised the knife for another blow, but iron fingers clamped around her wrist. She cried out in pain and her grip faltered. He shook her wrist hard and she dropped the dagger.

Her legs dangled against the horse’s flanks and she gave a vicious kick to its ribs. The beast started forward, then the arm around her tightened as its owner pulled back on the reins. She kicked again””harder””and the horse reared. Her attacker crushed Rhoslyn between his chest and arms as he leaned forward in an effort to force the animal’s front hooves back onto the ground.

She gasped for breath through crushed lungs. The horse’s hooves hit the ground so hard her teeth jarred. Rhoslyn clawed at the arm that pinned her. Her fingers slipped on a warm, slick substance, and satisfaction surged through her at the realization that it was his blood. She must have cut him below his chainmail. His hold, however, did not weaken, despite the wound.

With a grunt, he seized her arms and trapped them against her body. He threw a leg over her thighs, pinning them against the horse’s side, before they shot forward.

Tears of rage stung her eyes even as she arched and twisted. Her grandfather’s men had died for nothing. Aland…David, had died without ever seeing their executioner.

Rhoslyn’s legs cramped and she struggled harder. She would plunge the first knife she found into the heart of Talbot St Claire. He was a fool to have acted so rashly. He would not have her, her lands, or the goodwill of his king. Nay. He would die.

Minutes passed in growing agony before her captor at last slowed his horse’s pace. Rhoslyn couldn’t deny her relief when he released the pressure on her legs. He shifted her bottom across his hard thighs and she straightened and stretched her legs. One large hand pressed her thigh in what she knew was a warning not to incite the beast again.

Pinpricks of light dotted the foggy darkness ahead. Was this Dunfrey Castle? She hadn’t seen lights to indicate they had passed Castle Glenbarr. Her captor wisely circled around her home to avoid detection. Once they reached Dunfrey Castle she would become a veritable prisoner. Dunfrey Castle, nicknamed “Dragon’s Lair’ by the Highlanders who had competed against St. Claire in the tainchel, the Great Hunt, a year ago, was smaller than Castle Glenbarr, but no less fortified. St. Claire would defeat any who attacked him, just as he had his competitors in the games. Truly, the castle was appropriately nicknamed Dragon’s Lair, for the knight, like the mythical dragon, decimated his enemies.

They drew closer, and an eerie yellow glow haloed the torches in the fog up on the battlements. Despite her resolve, her belly clenched with fear. She mouthed a silent prayer to Saint George for the strength to bind her dragon as St. George had his a millennia ago.

The keep loomed, a shadow in the fog that became a visible wall when they stopped. Something familiar niggled at her.

“‘Tis I,” her captor shouted, in a cultured English accent. So her future husband hadn’t sent a simple man-at-arms to collect her. Only a knight of the first order would do to kidnap his wife.

“Open in the name of peace,” he called.

Peace? What sort of jest was this? St. Claire represented anything but peace. But that was the point, she realized. Fury swept through Rhoslyn. “Ye speak of peace when you kidnap innocent women and slay men in the darkness? Neither you nor your master shall know peace the remainder of your days.”

Her captor gave a low laugh that sent a chill down her spine.

“What man knows peace when he takes a wife?” he said.

Rhoslyn stiffened. The man was a dog. How fitting that a dog should serve a dragon.

Wood creaked as the gates began a slow swing open. He spurred his horse forward when the opening was barely wide enough to accommodate allow entrance. The fog obscured their surroundings. He stopped and hugged her close as he swung his leg around the pommel. She threw her arms around his neck for fear of falling as he slid from the saddle. Rhoslyn jolted when his feet hit solid ground. Another warrior appeared beside the horse as her captor strode away from the animal.

“Put me down,” Rhoslyn demanded.

He lengthened his stride in response.

“Did ye hear me, Knight? I am Lady Rhoslyn Harper”””

“St. Claire,” he cut in.

“What?”

“Lady Rhoslyn St. Claire.”

“How dare you?” She slapped him.

They reached the castle. He stopped short and she tensed. Would he strike her back? Did his master countenance abusing women?

Her heart pounded. “Have ye something to say, Knight?”

“What should I say, my lady?”

“Put me down,” she ordered.

He pushed through the door and Rhoslyn drew a sharp breath upon realizing why she had experienced the sense of recognition. They weren’t at Dunfrey Castle. This was Castle Glenbarr.

“What thievery is this?” she demanded. “Your master has no right to claim my property. We are not yet wed.” But she knew the vows””and consummation””were a mere formality. Edward’s decree held as much power as did the priest’s benediction. Still, that gave him no right to occupy her home before even meeting her.

The monster carrying her gave no answer. She had expected none. He was an Englishman, and Englishmen considered their women chattel. St. Claire would soon learn that Lady Rhoslyn Harper, granddaughter of Sir Hugo Seward, Baron Kinsley, daughter of Ihon Seward, was no man’s property.

At the far end of the room burned a low fire in a large hearth. Flickering tongues of flame cast meager light across the room, revealing the forms of warriors sleeping on the floor. English men-at-arms, she would wager. Where were her men? Had there been a battle? Rhoslyn thanked God she had sent her stepdaughter to stay with her grandfather while she resided at the convent. The girl would have been terrified if she’d been at Castle Glenbarr when St. Claire took possession.

Her captor crossed left, to a narrow staircase. Rhoslyn expected to be put down on her feet, but he threw her over his shoulder and took the stairs two at a time.

“You beast,” she muttered, but kept still for fear of hitting her head in the narrow space.

He reached the second level and ascended another set of stairs to the third floor where lay the too-familiar private quarters. He took several paces, then pushed through a door that opened upon her late husband’s bedchambers. Rhoslyn was abruptly tossed from his shoulder. She cried out and tensed for impact with the stone floor, but bounced on a mattress.

The bed’s thick canopy curtain closed behind her. Surprise immobilized her for an instant, then the tread of boots on stone penetrated her stupor. Rhoslyn scrambled to the edge of the bed and threw back the curtain. She drew a sharp breath at sight of her abductor’s broad shoulders. His large body had nearly crushed her, but seeing him, she now understood how he had dispatched her protectors so easily””and why St. Claire sent him. He was even larger than the Dragon was rumored to be. Fear trembled in her core. Her husband died in this bed. Her son died in her adjoining bedchambers.

Rhoslyn leapt from the bed and stumbled before catching herself, then lunged toward the door. The knight reached it several long strides ahead of her. He slammed the door shut behind him and she collided with the wood.

 


Chapter Two

A hard rap on the solar door alerted Talbot to his captain’s return.

“Enter.”

Baxter D’Angers stepped into the room as Talbot splashed water on his face from the bowl on the table then grabbed a clean cloth to wipe his face.

Baxter crossed to him “I am gone three days and everything goes to hell. Alexander tells me your bride fled her convent.” His attention caught on the bloodied cloths on the table, then his eyes shifted to the bandage Talbot had wrapped around his wrist. “What in God’s name happened?”

“Lady Rhoslyn decided Melrose would make a better husband than me.”

“Melrose?” Baxter blurted. “What the devil? He is a supporter of Balliol. Seward openly supports Bruce””perhaps even William Wallace, if gossip is to be believed. He cannot possibly want to ally himself with a Balliol supporter. Seward’s support of Bruce is one reason Edward chose her as your bride.”

Talbot lifted a brow.

“I am not an idiot. Even I can see the obvious.” Baxter shook his head. “Tis not possible that Seward is fool enough to defy Edward””or you””much less succeed.”

“Had his granddaughter reached Longford Castle it would have been very possible. I understand the castle is a fortress and could likely survive a siege until Lady Rhoslyn bore him a child.”

Baxter shook his head. “Kinsley is a fool. Edward’s edict cannot be disputed. You have even taken possession of this hellish place.”

“Glenbarr Castle is no more hellish than Nightwell Hold.”

“Nightwell Hold is in England,” Baxter replied. “I told you the old baron was not to be trusted. How did you know”””

A knock at the door interrupted Baxter, and Talbot bid them enter.

Thom, one of his men-at-arms, entered and stopped just inside the room. “Her men are on the way here, including her two escorts. Three died in the fray.”

Talbot tossed the clean rag on the table. “Seward will have to explain to their wives why his treachery got them killed.”

“We lost one of our own,” Thom said.

Talbot cut his gaze to him. “Who?”

“Valance.”

Talbot wanted to find the old baron and beat him senseless. “Valance had a young wife. Seward will pension the widow.”

“You might take it out of his granddaughter’s hide,” Baxter said in a rare flash of anger.

Talbot was inclined to agree. “Inform me when the men arrive,” he ordered Thom.

Thom nodded, then left.

Baxter nodded at Talbot’s wound. “Which of his men wounded you?”

Talbot gave a harsh laugh. “Not a one. It was the lady.”

Baxter looked taken aback. “She was willing to go so far as kill you?”

“Aye, and she came closer than I care to admit.”

“A month chained in the dungeon will give her time to remember her wifely duties.”

“She will be chained, but to me, not the dungeon. She is in my bedchambers awaiting the priest who will officiate the vows.”

“Your bedchambers?” Baxter blurted.

Talbot nodded. “I sent word that Seward can attend us this week””at his leisure””for the wedding feast.”

“You are playing with fire.”

“With that woman?” He snorted. “Aye, that I am.”

He remembered his surprise””and shock””when her blade sliced the flesh of his wrist. He also hadn’t forgotten the feather-light weight of her body across his thighs. He hadn’t met her before tonight, hadn’t cared if the sight of her might shrivel his bollocks to the size of peas. She represented the possible end of constant warring, the birth of sons, and perhaps even daughters he would have to heavily dower if they, too, turned out to be horse-faced like their mother.

But Rhoslyn Harper wasn’t horse-faced, and her body””her body belonged to a woman who hated him. He would have no trouble consummating the marriage, but he would have to tie his wife’s hands to the bedpost to keep her from plunging a knife into his back while he drove into her. He felt himself harden at the thought and grimaced. It might not have been as pleasurable if she had been horse-faced, but it would have been safer.

“Is the king’s favor worth allying ourselves to such vipers?” Baxter’s voice disrupted his thoughts. “She will cause you misery all your days. I would not ask it of you. No one would.”

Talbot crossed to the table near the hearth where a pitcher of ale sat, and poured two mugs. He returned to his friend, handed him a mug, and motioned for him to sit on the bench in front of the fire.

They sat and Talbot took a long, fortifying drink of ale before he said, “My marriage is not about incurring favor with the king, as you well know. I can no more ignore Edward’s command than Lady Harper can ignore her duty.”

Though she had done just that tonight. That was unfair, he realized. What Scottish noblewoman would willingly marry an English knight, and a bastard knight at that, even if he had been legitimized?

Lady Rhoslyn Harper was not stupid, as he had learned tonight. Clearly, she did not agree with the pervading Scottish sentiment that the extended period of relative peace between Scotland and England meant that Edward wasn’t trying to bring Scotland under his rule.

Baxter finished his ale in one long draught and set the mug on the bench beside him. “You have enough land and wealth to live well the remainder of your days. You no longer need please Edward.”

Talbot took a draw on his ale. His wrist ached. He would need several mugs to ease the pain, but not so much as to dull his wits when he was finally alone with his bride. He glanced at the door connecting the solar to the antechamber that led to his bedchambers. He had expected more of the shouts she had uttered when he’d slammed the door in her face. She was too quiet. Had she accepted her fate? He snorted. Not that one.

He took another gulp of ale, then said, “You are naive if you believe Edward will ever release me from service.” Talbot flashed a tired smile. “I have made myself too valuable.”

“And this is how he rewards you? Exiled in this God forsaken country.”

Talbot stretched his legs toward the inviting fire. “God forsaken, perhaps. But also far from the certain trouble brewing in England.”

And if the Guardians cannot maintain peace in Scotland?” Baxter demanded. “How much peace will there be here, even this far north? Wallace has no intentions of letting Edward rule Scotland, even if the Guardians are fool enough to let Edward seize power.”

Talbot sighed. He could always count on his captain to name the worst of his fears. “The Guardians chose Edward to arbitrate the claims to the throne because he can break the deadlock, and he has the power to enforce his decision. No one wants war in Scotland. Not the Guardians, not Edward””nor I. You put too little faith in our king.”

“I know our king,” Baxter shot back, but with no real malice.

“No matter,” Talbot said. “Any rebellion that breaks out here is preferable to war with Wales or France.”

Or England, for that matter.

Truth be told, he had readily agreed to Edward’s command to marry Lady Rhoslyn for the very reason that he would have to spend a great deal of time here in the Scottish Highlands. If he could maintain order, Edward was unlikely to call him to service for anything short of a large campaign. He tired of killing. Seventeen years was enough.

“Let us pray the problems here in Scotland remain small,” he said.

Baxter regarded him from the corner of his eye. “Your betrothed tried to kill you.”

Talbot barked a laugh. “Women are troublesome. I cannot argue that.”

“You know Edward is counting on you to obey his command to marry her.” Baxter gave him a sidelong glance. “I have often wondered that he doesn’t worry that your mother’s Scottish blood might sway your allegiance.”

“Edward believes that I will be accepted because my mother was Scottish.” Talbot grunted. “I never knew her. I am no more Scottish than you are Flemish.” But he wouldn’t tell his Scottish wife that.

“I am loathe to admit it, but the place suits you,” Baxter said.

“And the rest of Lady Rhoslyn’s property will suit me as well.” Whether the lady likes it or not.

* * *

Rhoslyn faced the room St. Claire thought was her prison. Fool. He hadn’t stopped to realize that she knew this castle as well as the one she grew up in. This had been her husband’s bedchamber. And was now his bedchamber. A sudden chill threaded through her. There was but one reason St. Claire would lock her in his bedchambers. He intended to skip the wedding vows and consummate their marriage.

So why hadn’t he forced himself between her legs when he captured her? The contract was solid enough that no priest need validate their union. The marriage would stand. Another””more devastating””truth hit. He need not lay a hand on her. The mere fact she was in his bedchambers was enough to seal her fate.

Rhoslyn hurried to the bed. She stuffed the pillows beneath the blankets, then arranged them to look like a sleeping body. She lit a taper from the fire in the hearth then slid to the right and groped about the paneling for the hidden latch. A small click sounded and the panel opened to a secret passageway leading to a guest bedchamber on the far end of the west wing of the castle. Stepping inside, she pulled her mantle close around her and drew the panel shut.

Candle extended before her, she navigated the narrow passage. Anger, coursed through her. Two men she had never met controlled her life: King Edward and his puppet knight Sir Talbot St. Claire.

Knight.

The word echoed in her mind on a wave of disgust. What did a man like St. Claire know of honor, truth, or loyalty? Loyalty. Aye, perhaps he did understand that precept. Loyalty to a king who would fill his knights’ coffers with coin dripping with blood””Scottish blood, if need be.

What a fool she’d been to spend fourteen months grieving. He hadn’t said it, but she’d read the worry in her grandfather’s eyes when he agreed to her request. Before he died, he wanted a grandson to inherit the home and land that had been passed down in his family for generations. She had been too grief-stricken after losing her son to care about the future. Now, because of her selfishness, everything they owned would pass to St. Claire, including, she realized, her stepdaughter. He would replace her grandfather as their protector, and would decide who Andreana married. Another English knight, no doubt, who would secure more of her dead husband’s wealth for his king.

Perhaps Andreana’s future alone was worth fighting for. Was not her fate worth fighting for? How many good Scottish men would have to die to keep what was theirs from the greedy fingers of King Edward? As the king’s vassal, St. Claire, would pay any exorbitant tax Edward imposed upon the tenants that had faithfully served the Seward and Harper houses for generations.

Fear squeezed her heart. She wished mightily that she had reached her grandfather. She needed his strong shoulder to cry on, his reasoning to assure her they could keep what was theirs without throwing their clans into a war against England.

How had St. Claire learned she was fleeing the convent? Did he know she intended to marry Lord Melrose? Sir Ascot told her that only he and her grandfather knew the plans for her escape. Even their trusted men-at-arms hadn’t been told of their destination. She would find the traitor and cut out his heart.

She reached the end of the passageway and carefully eased open the panel an inch, then listened for any sounds in the room. Silence. She stepped inside, and stopped. Where could she go? How many hours before dawn? Getting a horse was impossible. Riding in this fog was dangerous. Even if she managed to reach the stables, St. Claire’s guards would never allow her through the gate.

Longford Castle was three quarters of an hour’s ride. Walking would take hours. She’d have to keep to the forest to avoid the men St. Claire would send in search of her. Her mind raced. Fraser Bell worked the farm nearest Castle Glenbarr. He would surely help her. No, she realized. She couldn’t ask his help. She must take care. St. Claire would punish anyone who aided her. A mental picture flashed of Fraser’s two daughters weeping over their father’s grave. Instead of asking Fraser’s help, she would steal one of his horses.

Rhoslyn forced her thoughts to slow. She needed a weapon. Three jeweled daggers lay hidden in a locked room beneath the castle, along the passageway leading to the dungeon. Only she, her grandfather, and Alec’s cousin Duncan held keys. Here was stored a chest filled with coin, a lifetime’s wealth saved for lean times or, God forbid, the financing of wars.

Did St. Claire know of the room? She imagined King Edward’s long fingers sifting through the coins. Anger tightened her insides. The money and valuables stored there did not belong to him or St. Claire. Rhoslyn forced a slow breath and concentrated on how she would reach the room undetected, then she realized something terrible… she had to return to Alec’s bedchamber for the key.

* * *

The fog wasn’t lifting and, instead, seemed to have thickened in the minutes he and Baxter had lingered in the bailey with the man who informed him that Baron Kinsley was besieged at Longford Castle by local chief Brodie Roberts. Talbot cursed. He hadn’t expected settling in Scotland to be easy, but neither had he expected to find himself in the middle of a family feud. Neither had Seward, he would wager. Otherwise, the old baron would have chosen someone other than an unseasoned twenty-one year old man to marry his granddaughter in Talbot’s place.

Talbot glanced at the light that penetrated the fog from a third floor window. Lady Rhoslyn was locked there in his bedchambers. He was cold and tired and had looked forward to a few hours sleep before rousing the priest to perform the benediction that would solidify their marriage. No man would dare defy the king””or Talbot””after that.

Talbot sighed and fixed his gaze on Androu. Light from the nearby wall sconce illuminated his intense gaze. Androu had been Seward’s captain for over twenty years. His loyalty to the baron could cut the fog. There would be no rest tonight.

“Is Melrose prepared for a battle?” Talbot asked.

“He is no’ his father,” the Highlander replied.

Talbot nodded. “I heard the old earl was a seasoned knight.”

“He was,” Androu said.

“I suppose you must aid Seward and the young fool,” Baxter said, “even if the matter has nothing to do with you.”

“It has everything to do with ye,” Androu interjected before Talbot could reply. “Until now, Roberts wouldna’ dared defy Seward. He knows Lady Rhoslyn would kill him herself.”

“God forbid I do any less,” Talbot said, “lest she kill me in my sleep. It is Seward that Roberts wants, then, not Melrose?”

“Roberts doesna’ love Melrose””he and the old baron fought constantly over cattle””but he hates Seward and I believe he is counting on ye being pleased he is dead.”

Talbot nodded. “What does Roberts hope to gain?”

“Revenge. He wanted to marry the Lady Rhoslyn, but Seward married her to Harper instead.”

Talbot wagered it was the lady who refused. He also suspected Roberts had more than revenge in mind.

Androu pinned him with a hard stare that Talbot felt as much as saw. “Ye chose this life, St. Claire. You must protect your own, or no’ a single Highlander will follow ye. I have fifty men waiting outside Castle Glenbarr willing to follow ye. It is a start. Dinna’ throw it away.”

Talbot knew he had to prove himself. But even if he saved all of Buchan, the one fight the Highlanders might not aid was the effort to drag his wife from one of their kinsman’s bed, especially if she carried that man’s child.

Frustration lashed through him. Seward had no leverage to stop their marriage. Even if Melrose got Rhoslyn with child, Talbot wouldn’t let her go. He wouldn’t be the first man to raise as heir a son that wasn’t his. Before this night ended, Seward would understand that fact.

Talbot considered having the priest perform the marriage ceremony before marching to Longford Castle. He relished the idea of surprising Seward with that news once Talbot rescued him. Though there would be no consummating the union before he left. Lady Rhoslyn certainly expected more than a three minute introduction to his skills as a lover, and he had to admit, he was warming up to the idea of giving more. There would be no horse-faced children with that woman.

He addressed Baxter. “Gather a hundred men and send them to Longford. Have Ross lead them with Androu and his men. “Tis a good opportunity to see what Harper’s captain is made of. You ride out, meet the men bringing Seward’s men-at-arms, and take them to Longford. Stay west of the castle, in the forest, until I arrive. Send scouts to assess Roberts’ men. Sunrise is another three hours. If luck is with us, we can end this before daylight.”

He experienced an uncharacteristic hesitation. With the hundred men he was sending to deal with Roberts, Castle Glenbarr would be less well guarded than he liked. He had yet to discover who were his friends and who were his enemies. Then there was the lady to consider. God only knew what she would attempt while he marched to save her grandfather.

What could she possibly do locked in his chambers? One of her friends in the castle might aid her escape. She wouldn’t need help, he realized with a start. Castle Glenbarr had been her home for eight years. She must know every door, window and passage””including any exits from the lord’s bedchambers he had yet to discover.

“Have Ross go on ahead,” Talbot told Baxter. “I will join you soon.”

“What if Roberts attacks before ye arrive?” Androu demanded.

“Then kill him.”

* * *

Rhoslyn slipped inside the room where slept some of the maids. She wanted information and hoped the one of the girls might have a knife, and so save her the risk of going to the storeroom. Embers burned red in the hearth, casting dim light across the room’s four beds. The two beds closest to the fire were empty, but the blankets were rumpled.

“Who is it?” a female voice demanded from one shadowy corner.

Rhoslyn recognized the voice emanating from amongst the several shapes huddled on the bed. “Sheila, it is I, Lady Rhoslyn.”

“Lady Rhoslyn?”

The girl jumped from the bed and hurriedly lit a candle from the hearth, then crossed to Rhoslyn. Her hand flew to her mouth, then she grasped one of Rhoslyn’s hands.

“My lady, thank God you are safe.”

Three more figures rose and crowded behind Sheila.

“Is something wrong?” Rhoslyn demanded. “Have St. Claire’s men abused you?”

“Nay. We are all treated well. But we have been afraid this last week.”

The Dragon had been there a week? “Did the Dra””er, St. Claire speak with Duncan?”

Sheila nodded. “They had a long meeting the day after he arrived.”

Of course they did. St. Claire would want to inform the steward that he was the new laird of Castle Glenbarr. But that didn’t mean Duncan had shown him the storeroom. Duncan was the official steward, but Rhoslyn kept the rolls. Each month, she and Alec put a little aside that wasn’t included in the accounts the tax collector saw. The accounts that accounted for all profits remained locked in the storeroom. Rhoslyn couldn’t ask the women if St. Claire had visited the storeroom, for they knew nothing of the room’s existence.

Is it true, my lady, are ye to marry Sir Talbot?” Sheila asked.

“I pray not,” Rhoslyn replied, but the more she thought on the matter, the more she wondered how they would turn St. Claire out of Castle Glenbarr now that he was here. “How many men does he have?” she asked.

“At least a hundred and fifty,” Sheila said. “And I hear talk three hundred more are on their way.”

“Four hundred and fifty?” Rhoslyn said. She envisioned their savings gone inside a year.

“Sir Talbot stocked the barn with cattle,” Shelia said.

Her cattle? “Have you a knife?” she asked.

Sheila’s eyes widened. “Nay, my lady.”

She would be forced to go to the storeroom. Truth be told, she burned to learn if St. Claire knew of the room.

“How fares the rest of Castle Glenbarr?” Rhoslyn asked. “Mistress Muira? St. Claire has not overworked her in the kitchen?”

“Oh no,” Lorna, a younger maid interjected. “Muira warned the knight that she will no’ tolerate misbehaving from the men. She threatened to cut off the bollocks of any man that touched the lasses. Sir Talbot told her that if any of his men harassed us, he would hold the dog down while she used her knife.”

“He did not say that,” Rhoslyn blurted.

Sheila nodded. “He did.”

“His is handsome,” Lorna said. “Very handsome.”

Rhoslyn gave the girl a critical look. “Your father would not be pleased to learn you are lusting after an English knight.”

The girl hung her head.

“What of Duncan?” Rhoslyn asked. Perhaps he could help her escape. She had elevated him from steward to lord in her absence. He couldn’t be pleased that another man had displaced him as lord of Castle Glenbarr.

“He was very angry,” Sheila said. “We feared he would challenge Sir Talbot, but when he read King Edward’s letter saying you and he were to wed, he left.”

Duncan gone? “Where did he go?”

“To your grandfather at Banmore House.”

So the craven turned tail and ran. Her grandfather wouldn’t be pleased.

“Return to your beds,” she ordered the maids.

They obeyed and Rhoslyn headed for the storeroom.

* * *

Talbot eyed the form beneath the blankets on the bed. Lady Rhoslyn hadn’t gone to much trouble to make the pillows look like a sleeping person. She clearly thought little of his intellect. It had been longer than he could remember since anyone underestimated him. He grunted. She hadn’t underestimated him. He had left her alone in a room that she had escaped in the time it took her to shove pillows beneath a blanket. She hadn’t even taken off her cloak.

This explained why he hadn’t heard shouts or demands to be released. The wench had probably laughed the instant he closed the door in her face. If she managed to escape it would serve him right. He should have tied her to his bed. His cock pulsed at the thought. There lay just as dangerous a road as did her escape.

He scanned the room. The door had been locked from the outside. Either someone helped her escape and was wise enough to lock the door when they left, or there was a passageway somewhere in the room. Talbot crossed to the hearth where the wall on each side was paneled wood, and immediately noticed the panel to the right was slightly misaligned. He carefully slid a finger into the seam, drew open the panel, and peered inside. A narrow passageway disappeared into darkness.

He got a torch from the hallway, then returned to the passageway. First, he examined the floor. The dust revealed small footprints. He started forward, grimacing when his broad shoulders brushed the walls several feet inside. He reached the end and eased open the door to find himself in an empty bedchamber. He recognized the room as one in the west wing of the castle. A hint of candle wax scented the air but he saw no candle. Where would Lady Rhoslyn have gone from here? The stables? Another hidey hole? Was there another passageway in this room that led outside the castle or perhaps below to the””yes, down below.

 

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The Ramseys in Time box set features spunky heroines, brooding heroes, and a trip through time. Each of the two novellas included have a 50k word count, making this box set top off at 100k.

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The Christmas Collection by Regina Scott

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Alien Fury by Janice Seagraves

The Arcon, Thorn Grindstone, finds himself alone and injured, thawing in a disabled cryogenics tank. Making an impulsive deal for a fighter, he launches into a battle with a pirate ship before beginning is search for his people.

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Down at the Shore by Karen Cino

An Author’s Twelve Days of Christmas

With the holiday season upon us, it is our time to reflect on the year gone by and start getting together a list of resolutions for the New Year. This is one of my comic relief poems. I refer to it as my quick pick-me-upper when my muse comes to a halt. This is my version of The Twelve Days of Christmas.

On the twelfth day of Christmas, my friends gave to me:

 	Twelve hours of nonstop writing,
 Eleven great plots ideas with a twist,
 Ten true to life characters,
 Nine boxes of tissues,
 Eight books on writing,
 Seven sites on marketing,
 Six unique promo tips,
 Five colored highlighters,
 Four packages of post it notes,
 Three colorful loose-leaf binders,
 Two boxes of colorful paperclips,
 And a bottle of Procesecco to stimulate my mind.

To all my writer friends and readers I'd like to wish you all a happy and healthy holiday season full of love and happiness! I'm sharing with you my Christmas tree and decorations.

If you stop by and leave a comment, you will be put in a drawing to receive an ebook of your choice: Roses or Seaside Reboot (Jersey Route 35 Cozy Mystery). All you need to do is tell me your favorite Christmas/Holiday treat and/or what you want Santa to bring! Good luck!
Down at the Shore
Brooke Dascoli is in a relationship that’s going nowhere. She moves into the beach house her grandmother left her at the Jersey Shore and forms a friendship with her neighbors, Flo Meadows and Jane Cummings. Flo carries around a huge secret that has haunted her since her first marriage and Jane is having a hard time dealing with a cheating husband who died shortly after their divorce. Together each woman shares their past indiscretions and future dreams, while dealing with loss, renewal and starting over.
Purchase Links:
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Down-Shore-Five-Beach-Road-ebook/dp/B09F6Z73FY
Books2Read: https://books2read.com/u/bzKJ7j

Where to find Karen
Her website: https://karencino.com
Facebook: https://facebook.com/karencino
X (formerly Twitter): @karencino
Instagram: @karencino
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/karencino

 

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Black Friday / ...

Down at the Shore by Karen Cino

An Author’s Twelve Days of Christmas

With the holiday season upon us, it is our time to reflect on the year gone by and start getting together a list of resolutions for the New Year. This is one of my comic relief poems. I refer to it as my quick pick-me-upper when my muse comes to a halt. This is my version of The Twelve Days of Christmas.

On the twelfth day of Christmas, my friends gave to me:

Twelve hours of nonstop writing,
Eleven great plots ideas with a twist,
Ten true to life characters,
Nine boxes of tissues,
Eight books on writing,
Seven sites on marketing,
Six unique promo tips,
Five colored highlighters,
Four packages of post it notes,
Three colorful loose-leaf binders,
Two boxes of colorful paperclips,
And a bottle of Procesecco to stimulate my mind.

To all my writer friends and readers I`d like to wish you all a happy and healthy holiday season full of love and happiness! I`m sharing with you my Christmas tree and decorations.

If you stop by and leave a comment, you will be put in a drawing to receive an ebook of your choice: Roses or Seaside Reboot (Jersey Route 35 Cozy Mystery). All you need to do is tell me your favorite Christmas/Holiday treat and/or what you want Santa to bring! Good luck!
Down at the Shore
Brooke Dascoli is in a relationship that’s going nowhere. She moves into the beach house her grandmother left her at the Jersey Shore and forms a friendship with her neighbors, Flo Meadows and Jane Cummings. Flo carries around a huge secret that has haunted her since her first marriage and Jane is having a hard time dealing with a cheating husband who died shortly after their divorce. Together each woman shares their past indiscretions and future dreams, while dealing with loss, renewal and starting over.
Purchase Links:
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Down-Shore-Five-Beach-Road-ebook/dp/B09F6Z73FY
Books2Read: https://books2read.com/u/bzKJ7j

Where to find Karen
Her website: https://karencino.com
Facebook: https://facebook.com/karencino
X (formerly Twitter): @karencino
Instagram: @karencino
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/karencino



1 of 3 ways to win

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My Fake Italian Marriage by Romy Sommer
Escape to Italy for a summer romance
As the nights draw in and winter approaches, you may be indulging in hot cocoa, woolly sweaters, and Hallmark holiday movies...or you might be indulging in dreams of summery destinations and strappy sundresses. I'm definitely in the latter camp. I don't do well with the cold, so I hibernate all winter, warming myself up by escaping to warmer climes in the pages of books. One of my favorite destinations, no matter the season, is Italy - the home of pizza, pasta, gelato, and amazing wines. (And yes, I am a tad obsessed with the taste of Italy!)

Enjoy your own escape to Italy with "My Fake Italian Marriage," a romance filled with sunshine, mouth-watering food and wine, and (of course!) a heart-warming fake marriage romance.

In the words of The Unrepentant Bookaholic: "Set in the beautiful Tuscan hills and vineyards, this story was delightful, sweetly steamy, and still romantic. Sworn off men after two failed relationships, Cleo is sent to Luca's family vineyard to protect her company's investment. Sparks fly, and a reluctant partnership is formed to keep the failing business alive. Fabulous!"

Purchase Links: 

https://www.romysommer.com/montalcino-romances

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3DYUWW1

Apple iBooks: http://aps.harpercollins.com/hc?isbn=9780008353605&retailer=apple

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/my-fake-italian-marriage-romy-sommer/1143776409

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ww/en/ebook/my-fake-italian-marriage

Google Books: http://aps.harpercollins.com/hc?isbn=9780008353605&retailer=googleplay

Where to find Romy:

Facebook:  https://facebook.com/RomySommerAuthor

Instagram:  https://www.instagram.com/romy_sommer_author/

Threads:  https://www.threads.net/@romy_sommer_author

Pinterest:  https://pinterest.com/romysommer/

Mastodon:  https://romancelandia.club/@romy

Goodreads:  https://goodreads.com/author/show/6603454.Romy_Sommer

 

1 of 3 ways to win

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https://coffeetimeromance.com/m...

My Fake Italian Marriage by Romy Sommer
Escape to Italy for a summer romance
As the nights draw in and winter approaches, you may be indulging in hot cocoa, woolly sweaters, and Hallmark holiday movies...or you might be indulging in dreams of summery destinations and strappy sundresses. I`m definitely in the latter camp. I don`t do well with the cold, so I hibernate all winter, warming myself up by escaping to warmer climes in the pages of books. One of my favorite destinations, no matter the season, is Italy - the home of pizza, pasta, gelato, and amazing wines. (And yes, I am a tad obsessed with the taste of Italy!)

Enjoy your own escape to Italy with "My Fake Italian Marriage," a romance filled with sunshine, mouth-watering food and wine, and (of course!) a heart-warming fake marriage romance.

In the words of The Unrepentant Bookaholic: "Set in the beautiful Tuscan hills and vineyards, this story was delightful, sweetly steamy, and still romantic. Sworn off men after two failed relationships, Cleo is sent to Luca`s family vineyard to protect her company`s investment. Sparks fly, and a reluctant partnership is formed to keep the failing business alive. Fabulous!"

Purchase Links:

https://www.romysommer.com/montalcino-romances

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3DYUWW1

Apple iBooks: http://aps.harpercollins.com/hc?isbn=9780008353605&retailer=apple

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/my-fake-italian-marriage-romy-sommer/1143776409

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ww/en/ebook/my-fake-italian-marriage

Google Books: http://aps.harpercollins.com/hc?isbn=9780008353605&retailer=googleplay

Where to find Romy:

Facebook: https://facebook.com/RomySommerAuthor

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/romy_sommer_author/

Threads: https://www.threads.net/@romy_sommer_author

Pinterest: https://pinterest.com/romysommer/

Mastodon: https://romancelandia.club/@romy

Goodreads: https://goodreads.com/author/show/6603454.Romy_Sommer



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Interview with Lucy Felthousehttps://bit.ly/4fJavT3Welcome, today we are talking with Lucy Felthouse! I would like to thank you for taking time out of your busy writing schedule to answer a few questions. First, let's delve into who you are. Some of the questions may be untraditional but you’d be surprised at what readers connect to, and sometimes the simplest ‘I can relate to that’ grabs their interest where nothing else can.

Can you share a little something about Lucy Felthouse that’s not mentioned in your bio on your website?

I try to counteract my love of chocolate by spending lots of time walking in the countryside, going to Zumba once a week and doing Yoga at home.

How long have you been writing?

Since I was a child. I was a huge reader from a young age, and loved adventure stories, so anything by Enid Blyton, that kind of thing. I would spend hours making up my own stories and scribbling into notebooks. I wish I still had them now—I’m intrigued as to whether any of it was any good!

In terms of writing for publication, it’s getting on for twenty years now, since I was at university.

What have you found most challenging about it?

That when you write in certain genres, i.e. romance, and particularly steamy romance, you will often find people look down on you and what you write. There are certain places where writers of other genres will be welcomed, but you won’t. I’ve learnt to live with it, and don’t try to insert myself where “my face doesn’t fit”, but I do find it quite annoying at times. In a lot of ways, we still live in a very narrow minded world.

What does writing do for you? Is it fun, cathartic, do you get emotional? 

All of the above! I’ve made myself laugh writing, I’ve made myself cry writing. I take it as a good sign, to be honest. As the writer, I know what’s going to happen, so if I still get emotional about it, then surely that means I’m doing something right!

Describe what your writing routine looks like. Are you disciplined with a strict schedule or do you have to be in the mood?

I don’t have a routine. I don’t write full time, and I don’t always have a book or story on the go. So it all depends. When I am writing a book, I t...

Interview with Lucy Felthousehttps://bit.ly/4fJavT3Welcome, today we are talking with Lucy Felthouse! I would like to thank you for taking time out of your busy writing schedule to answer a few questions. First, let`s delve into who you are. Some of the questions may be untraditional but you’d be surprised at what readers connect to, and sometimes the simplest ‘I can relate to that’ grabs their interest where nothing else can.

Can you share a little something about Lucy Felthouse that’s not mentioned in your bio on your website?

I try to counteract my love of chocolate by spending lots of time walking in the countryside, going to Zumba once a week and doing Yoga at home.

How long have you been writing?

Since I was a child. I was a huge reader from a young age, and loved adventure stories, so anything by Enid Blyton, that kind of thing. I would spend hours making up my own stories and scribbling into notebooks. I wish I still had them now—I’m intrigued as to whether any of it was any good!

In terms of writing for publication, it’s getting on for twenty years now, since I was at university.

What have you found most challenging about it?

That when you write in certain genres, i.e. romance, and particularly steamy romance, you will often find people look down on you and what you write. There are certain places where writers of other genres will be welcomed, but you won’t. I’ve learnt to live with it, and don’t try to insert myself where “my face doesn’t fit”, but I do find it quite annoying at times. In a lot of ways, we still live in a very narrow minded world.

What does writing do for you? Is it fun, cathartic, do you get emotional?

All of the above! I’ve made myself laugh writing, I’ve made myself cry writing. I take it as a good sign, to be honest. As the writer, I know what’s going to happen, so if I still get emotional about it, then surely that means I’m doing something right!

Describe what your writing routine looks like. Are you disciplined with a strict schedule or do you have to be in the mood?

I don’t have a routine. I don’t write full time, and I don’t always have a book or story on the go. So it all depends. When I am writing a book, I t...
...

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Coffee and Crushes at the Cat Café by Kris Bock
Find #Romance at a Cat Café! #books
Start the Furrever Friends Sweet Romance series for only 99 cents with Coffee and Crushes at the Cat Café!

Readers say: "I absolutely love this heartfelt series."

"I loved this book so much that I purchased the next in the series, and it is just as sweet!"

What do you do when you meet the guy of your dreams? Set him up with your sister, of course.

Kari doesn't have time for love when she's opening her new cat café. She's busy hiring employees, fighting with the health inspector – oh, and welcoming 16 shelter cats. She's doing this for the cats, the community, and her family. The café will give her sister, Marley, a job worthy of her baking skills.

Then a tattooed military vet wanders in claiming he's a master baker. Surely Marley will fall for a guy this sweet.

Colin has other ideas. It's Kari who makes him want to turn up the heat. But he's spent the last two years recovering from physical and psychological wounds. Is he really ready for a relationship? He's not even sure he should commit to Samson, the sweet Siamese cat who steals his heart.

The Furrever Friends Sweet Romance series is available in ebook or print at all major retailers. Start the series for only 99 cents! Find it on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B084GRN7CC

Or at all retailers: https://storyoriginapp.com/collections/6eb320a9-c5ab-45f9-ba44-46a902be614e

The Furrever Friends Sweet Romance series features the workers and customers at a small-town cat café, and the adorable cats and kittens looking for their forever homes. Each book is a complete story with a happy ending for one couple.

Get Lions and Love at the Cat Café, a sweet romance novella, free when you sign up for Kris Bock's Romance and Mystery newsletter: https://sendfox.com/KrisBock

Kris Bock writes romance, mystery, and suspense. In the Accidental Billionaire Cowboys series, a Texas ranching family wins a billion-dollar lottery. Can they build new dreams and find love amidst the chaos? In the Accidental Detective humorous mystery series, a witty journalist solves mysteries in Arizona and tackles the challenges of turning fifty....

Coffee and Crushes at the Cat Café by Kris Bock
Find #Romance at a Cat Café! #books
Start the Furrever Friends Sweet Romance series for only 99 cents with Coffee and Crushes at the Cat Café!

Readers say: "I absolutely love this heartfelt series."

"I loved this book so much that I purchased the next in the series, and it is just as sweet!"

What do you do when you meet the guy of your dreams? Set him up with your sister, of course.

Kari doesn`t have time for love when she`s opening her new cat café. She`s busy hiring employees, fighting with the health inspector – oh, and welcoming 16 shelter cats. She`s doing this for the cats, the community, and her family. The café will give her sister, Marley, a job worthy of her baking skills.

Then a tattooed military vet wanders in claiming he`s a master baker. Surely Marley will fall for a guy this sweet.

Colin has other ideas. It`s Kari who makes him want to turn up the heat. But he`s spent the last two years recovering from physical and psychological wounds. Is he really ready for a relationship? He`s not even sure he should commit to Samson, the sweet Siamese cat who steals his heart.

The Furrever Friends Sweet Romance series is available in ebook or print at all major retailers. Start the series for only 99 cents! Find it on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B084GRN7CC

Or at all retailers: https://storyoriginapp.com/collections/6eb320a9-c5ab-45f9-ba44-46a902be614e

The Furrever Friends Sweet Romance series features the workers and customers at a small-town cat café, and the adorable cats and kittens looking for their forever homes. Each book is a complete story with a happy ending for one couple.

Get Lions and Love at the Cat Café, a sweet romance novella, free when you sign up for Kris Bock`s Romance and Mystery newsletter: https://sendfox.com/KrisBock

Kris Bock writes romance, mystery, and suspense. In the Accidental Billionaire Cowboys series, a Texas ranching family wins a billion-dollar lottery. Can they build new dreams and find love amidst the chaos? In the Accidental Detective humorous mystery series, a witty journalist solves mysteries in Arizona and tackles the challenges of turning fifty....
...

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Breaker by AK Nevermore
Check out Breaker, a Spicy Dystopian Romance...
Hey all, AK Nevermore back with the first book in a brand new series, Breaker. If you're a fan of Spicy Dystopian Romance, then this is the series for you!

Beware the Coming Storm...

On an alternate earth, a cataclysm has altered a subset of the population. Talents are persecuted for their psychic and physical mutations, giving rise to two conflicting societies based upon maintaining genetic purity. And the Source, a shadowy corporate entity dependent upon the exploitation of captive Talents, is hunting them...

Self-exiled to the Outside, Flynn Scot is oath-bound to a life of strict penance.

Cursed with a vicious temper and haunted by the blood-stained debauchery of his past, Flynn's sworn off women, whiskey, and violence, and doesn't give a damn about whispers of the coming war. He sure as hell isn't in the mood to make good on a debt when it's called in, especially when playing white knight outs him as a Talent, and the damsel in distress as his soulmate.

On the run from her future as a broodmare for the Source, escaped Talent Kara Jester is no distressed damsel.

And the last thing she wants is to be trapped in a blizzard with a surly—and frustratingly captivating—thug. Without the suppression meds holding her libido in check, her biology's primed to procreate, and Flynn's growled assurances that he won't touch her doesn't match the hunger in his eyes.

It doesn't align with what fate has in store for them, either.

With elite troops hot on their heels and the border set to close, it's a race to the North, away from Kara's horrific future and towards the dark past Flynn wants to keep buried. Clinging to the shreds of his oath, he's forced to choose between protecting the woman he's afraid to love and letting out the animal he swore he'd never be again. Either may destroy him, if Kara's secrets don't get them killed first.

Want more? It's free to read in Kindle Unlimited, and you can download the Breeder, the series prequel, for free here: https://dl.bookfunnel.com/91ffk852qo

Purchase Link: Books2Read https://books2read.com/BreakerOne

Where to find AK Nevermore:

Facebook: ...

Breaker by AK Nevermore
Check out Breaker, a Spicy Dystopian Romance...
Hey all, AK Nevermore back with the first book in a brand new series, Breaker. If you`re a fan of Spicy Dystopian Romance, then this is the series for you!

Beware the Coming Storm...

On an alternate earth, a cataclysm has altered a subset of the population. Talents are persecuted for their psychic and physical mutations, giving rise to two conflicting societies based upon maintaining genetic purity. And the Source, a shadowy corporate entity dependent upon the exploitation of captive Talents, is hunting them...

Self-exiled to the Outside, Flynn Scot is oath-bound to a life of strict penance.

Cursed with a vicious temper and haunted by the blood-stained debauchery of his past, Flynn`s sworn off women, whiskey, and violence, and doesn`t give a damn about whispers of the coming war. He sure as hell isn`t in the mood to make good on a debt when it`s called in, especially when playing white knight outs him as a Talent, and the damsel in distress as his soulmate.

On the run from her future as a broodmare for the Source, escaped Talent Kara Jester is no distressed damsel.

And the last thing she wants is to be trapped in a blizzard with a surly—and frustratingly captivating—thug. Without the suppression meds holding her libido in check, her biology`s primed to procreate, and Flynn`s growled assurances that he won`t touch her doesn`t match the hunger in his eyes.

It doesn`t align with what fate has in store for them, either.

With elite troops hot on their heels and the border set to close, it`s a race to the North, away from Kara`s horrific future and towards the dark past Flynn wants to keep buried. Clinging to the shreds of his oath, he`s forced to choose between protecting the woman he`s afraid to love and letting out the animal he swore he`d never be again. Either may destroy him, if Kara`s secrets don`t get them killed first.

Want more? It`s free to read in Kindle Unlimited, and you can download the Breeder, the series prequel, for free here: https://dl.bookfunnel.com/91ffk852qo

Purchase Link: Books2Read https://books2read.com/BreakerOne

Where to find AK Nevermore:

Facebook: ...
...

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Interview with Zara WestWelcome, today we are talking with Zara West! I would like to thank you for taking time out of your busy writing schedule to answer a few questions. First, let's delve into who you are. Some of the questions may be untraditional but you’d be surprised at what readers connect to, and sometimes the simplest ‘I can relate to that’ grabs their interest where nothing else can.

Can you share a little something about yourself that’s not mentioned in your bio on your website?

I am a champion hand spinner with a collection blue ribbons from the New York State Fair. My spinning wheel was handmade by a local carpenter who used the same tools used during the Colonial Period.

How long have you been writing?

I have been writing forever. As a child, I loved art, horses, and storytelling. I wrote hundreds of tiny, illustrated books full of talking horses, which I sold to my classmates for a penny. Then I grew up and turned to writing non-fiction. I have written magazine and academic articles, how-to-manuals, craft books, and college textbooks on a wide range of topics, including art, ethnography, weaving, technology, and writing. But for the last fifteen years I have returned to writing the fiction I love to read – historical fiction and romance.

What have you found most challenging about it?

The change to fiction from non-fiction was hard. The structure of each is totally different. The biggest difference is that non-fiction is full of telling, but fiction needs to reach deep inside a character’s psyche and show how they experience the things they are doing and the things happening to them, emotionally. When lovers kiss in a romance, the reader needs to feel that kiss as real.

What does writing do for you? Is it fun, cathartic, do you get emotional?

Writing a story is pure release. I practice a technique called fast drafting (I have published a book about it Fast Draft Your Manuscript and Get it Done Now).

When I am writing, I focus totally on the story. I don’t worry about grammar or spelling or being precise. Instead, I just let the ideas and character’s voices flow out of my fingers. I am that character. I’m in that experience. I’m in the...

Interview with Zara WestWelcome, today we are talking with Zara West! I would like to thank you for taking time out of your busy writing schedule to answer a few questions. First, let`s delve into who you are. Some of the questions may be untraditional but you’d be surprised at what readers connect to, and sometimes the simplest ‘I can relate to that’ grabs their interest where nothing else can.

Can you share a little something about yourself that’s not mentioned in your bio on your website?

I am a champion hand spinner with a collection blue ribbons from the New York State Fair. My spinning wheel was handmade by a local carpenter who used the same tools used during the Colonial Period.

How long have you been writing?

I have been writing forever. As a child, I loved art, horses, and storytelling. I wrote hundreds of tiny, illustrated books full of talking horses, which I sold to my classmates for a penny. Then I grew up and turned to writing non-fiction. I have written magazine and academic articles, how-to-manuals, craft books, and college textbooks on a wide range of topics, including art, ethnography, weaving, technology, and writing. But for the last fifteen years I have returned to writing the fiction I love to read – historical fiction and romance.

What have you found most challenging about it?

The change to fiction from non-fiction was hard. The structure of each is totally different. The biggest difference is that non-fiction is full of telling, but fiction needs to reach deep inside a character’s psyche and show how they experience the things they are doing and the things happening to them, emotionally. When lovers kiss in a romance, the reader needs to feel that kiss as real.

What does writing do for you? Is it fun, cathartic, do you get emotional?

Writing a story is pure release. I practice a technique called fast drafting (I have published a book about it Fast Draft Your Manuscript and Get it Done Now).

When I am writing, I focus totally on the story. I don’t worry about grammar or spelling or being precise. Instead, I just let the ideas and character’s voices flow out of my fingers. I am that character. I’m in that experience. I’m in the...
...

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The Marquis and the Vixen by Collette Cameron
The only thing more passionate than their differences is their chemistry...
There is nothing Blythe Culpepper wants less than a Season in London. Except Lord Leventhrope. She definitely wants nothing to do with that odious (and admittedly handsome) man. So, imagine her dismay when she's saddled with both...

Tristan has no interest in social gatherings. Which is why he's as surprised as everyone else when he agrees to help present the Culpeppers to Society. If only he could determine why the sharp-tongued Blythe captivates him like no other...

Tristan and Blythe soon learn there's nothing like a little forced proximity—and a deadly enemy—to help a pair of polar opposites see what they truly mean to each other. But is happily ever after in the cards for this tormented marquis and the vivacious vixen of his dreams?

EXCERPT

The Marquis and the Vixen
Copyright by Collette Cameron®

A woman of noble character will at all times remember, calm composure flummoxes the schemes of evil-intended people. ~ Dignity and Decorum—The Genteel Lady's Guide to Practical Living

London, England, Late May, 1822

Flimflam and goose-butt feathers!

One hand hiding her mouth, Blythe Culpepper gaped as she trailed her cousin, Brooke, and Brooke's husband, Heath, the Earl of Ravensdale, into the mansion.

Surely that wasn't authentic gold gilding the ornate cornices? Squinting to see better, she surveyed the grand entrance. Yes. It is.

And not just the sculpted cornices either. The plasterwork and practically every other surface, excluding the coffered ceiling's elaborate paintings and the rose-tinted marble floor, boasted the shiny adornment.

Everything pink and gold and glittery. And costly.

"What a despicable waste of money." Flinging Heath a hasty glance, Blythe checked her muttering. It wouldn't do to offend him or their hostess within a minute of arrival.

The peeress, swathed in gold satin and dripping in diamonds—three diamond bracelets? On each wrist?—stood beside an enormous urn. Blythe fought the scowl tugging at her mouth and brows. Disgusting, this brazen flaunting of wealth.

Clamping her slack mouth closed, she relucta...

The Marquis and the Vixen by Collette Cameron
The only thing more passionate than their differences is their chemistry...
There is nothing Blythe Culpepper wants less than a Season in London. Except Lord Leventhrope. She definitely wants nothing to do with that odious (and admittedly handsome) man. So, imagine her dismay when she`s saddled with both...

Tristan has no interest in social gatherings. Which is why he`s as surprised as everyone else when he agrees to help present the Culpeppers to Society. If only he could determine why the sharp-tongued Blythe captivates him like no other...

Tristan and Blythe soon learn there`s nothing like a little forced proximity—and a deadly enemy—to help a pair of polar opposites see what they truly mean to each other. But is happily ever after in the cards for this tormented marquis and the vivacious vixen of his dreams?

EXCERPT

The Marquis and the Vixen
Copyright by Collette Cameron®

A woman of noble character will at all times remember, calm composure flummoxes the schemes of evil-intended people. ~ Dignity and Decorum—The Genteel Lady`s Guide to Practical Living

London, England, Late May, 1822

Flimflam and goose-butt feathers!

One hand hiding her mouth, Blythe Culpepper gaped as she trailed her cousin, Brooke, and Brooke`s husband, Heath, the Earl of Ravensdale, into the mansion.

Surely that wasn`t authentic gold gilding the ornate cornices? Squinting to see better, she surveyed the grand entrance. Yes. It is.

And not just the sculpted cornices either. The plasterwork and practically every other surface, excluding the coffered ceiling`s elaborate paintings and the rose-tinted marble floor, boasted the shiny adornment.

Everything pink and gold and glittery. And costly.

"What a despicable waste of money." Flinging Heath a hasty glance, Blythe checked her muttering. It wouldn`t do to offend him or their hostess within a minute of arrival.

The peeress, swathed in gold satin and dripping in diamonds—three diamond bracelets? On each wrist?—stood beside an enormous urn. Blythe fought the scowl tugging at her mouth and brows. Disgusting, this brazen flaunting of wealth.

Clamping her slack mouth closed, she relucta...
...

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