by Quinn, Paula
“It willna hold!” Cameron called up when Cain told him what he was doing.
“’Twill hold,” Cain called back confidently. “Ye dinna know the sewin’ skills of Berengaria and Margaret.” He smiled into the white, thinking of Nicky’s mother and dearest friend.
“Tie it around yer waist or wrap it many times around yer wrist. Call to me when ye are ready to come up.”
He prayed it would work while he dug in his heels and braced his weight in the snow. No one in the stronghold would believe he didn’t kill his enemy when he had the chance.
“Ready!” Cameron called.
“God, help us.” Cain tested the weight for a moment and wrapped both his wrists in the fabric and began to pull. He was about twenty breaths in when his muscles began to stiffen and cramp. Still he pulled, grinding his teeth, praying for more time. Just a little more time.
“I think a knot just came undone!” Cameron shouted. He was closer.
No! Do not let him fall this close to safety!
Suddenly, the weight was lifted and the makeshift rope went slack. Cain’s belly sank. Even though Cameron’s apology was given in order to save his life, Cain believed it and thought it was good to hear.
He heard another male voice, and then Cameron’s! The white fog was dissipating. He watched a hooded figure bent over and pulling Cameron up the rest of the way.
“How did ye find us, Son?”
Cameron’s son, Raphael.
“I followed yer voice.”
The one who came out in search of Elysande!
“My daughter!” Cain said from the ground, taking a moment or two to gather his breath and calm his muscles. “Did ye find her?”
“Yer daughter is fine and in good care thanks to Adam, one of yer shepherds. She is restin’ and anxiously awaits word of ye.”
“Restin’ from what?” Cain asked, straightening on his feet.
“I found her lyin’ in the snowdrifts. She was close to death.”
Cain gasped and stepped back. “Take me to her!”
The young Cameron agreed but checked to make sure his father could make the journey.
“Today, ye were given a gift of findin’ folks in a storm,” Cain gave in on the way up the hill and said something Father Timothy would approve of. “Ye arrived just in time to save my daughter and yer father. God is good.”
“Aye, He is,” Raphael replied. “I am verra thankful to have found them both. They are important—”
Cain’s expression suddenly grew dark. “Who is Adam? I dinna have a shepherd by that name.”
Neither one remarked but turned to the silhouette of different sized cottages on the hill and then they ran.
Chapter Seven
Elysande stood at the entrance to the kitchen and spread her gaze out over the great hall. It was lit by candles and warmed by the hearth fire. She looked around at the faces filling the hall from the main entrance. Not just her kin but all the villagers and their children living within the walls of the stronghold. She loved living here with all of them, celebrating with people she loved and who loved her.
It was Hogmanay and feasts and merriment were underway. Quail pottage had been prepared by her and the other women in her family, along with crannachan, made with fresh raspberries, honey, and whisky. There was crowdie cheese and oats, basil salmon pâté and spinach tarts, not including various other dishes and desserts.
She’d helped dress the tables in white ribbon and green laurel. She’d placed candles with care inside wreaths made of pine and their cones. Everyone had a place. Everyone had a seat. Her handsome Uncle Nicky and his wife, Julianna, made sure of it.
Elysande’s gaze swept to the table where the three brothers usually sat with their wives. Uncle Torin and his wife hadn’t yet arrived. She knew the stories of her uncles’ pasts, how the English tore their family apart when they were young children and set each on a different path. She knew her father grew up on the battlefield, Uncle Torin had grown up alone and fighting for his life every day, and Uncle Nicky was a servant with no voice and no kin. She knew what the brothers had endured. But they rose high above it and helped turn the tides of the war for independence in King Robert’s favor.
She wanted them to have peace. They deserved it.
She searched the other tables, but Raphael hadn’t yet arrived.
The aroma of hens and capercallies roasting and various bread puddings baking permeated the air and filled Elysande’s head with thoughts of eating. She’d been cooking and baking with her kin all day. Now was time to enjoy the fruit of her labors.
She pulled off her apron and smoothed out any wrinkles in her green skirts and embroidered kirtle.
It was going to be a night of celebrations, including the traditional first-footing. They would all visit their neighbor’s home. It boded well if a tall, dark man was the first to cross one’s threshold after midnight.
Elysande was certain many households wanted Raphael to be the first to visit.
She found him entering the hall and yanked off her baking bonnet. She patted her soft waves and she sized him up, admiring him from across the distance. He wore a loose léine, open at the collar. It had billowing sleeves that reached his long, broad fingers. He wore a black and green, short, sleeveless tunic belted at the waist. Elysande’s grandmother, Berengaria, crafted the tunic.
He took a step toward her, as if he could not defy the temptation. His muscular legs were encased in snug, black hose and boots that reached his calves.
Elysande wanted to run her hands over him and feel the steel from which he was crafted.
He was intercepted by her cousins, Elias, Galeren, Joel, and Robin. They didn’t go to him in anger but in friendship and with laughter and drinks.
“He has been accepted into the fold,” Uncle Torin said, appearing beside her, watching with her. “There will be peace at last.”
Elysande smiled and felt the sting of tears behind her eyes. Apparently, Raphael’s father asked forgiveness for killing Amish MacRae, her father’s friend. There was a bit of trouble for a little while about Adam the shepherd who led them out of the storm and into the cottage and warmth. There were seven shepherds who lived just outside the stronghold, guarding the sheep. None of them were called Adam. None of them matched the description Raphael gave.
Father Timothy and Brother Simon believed Adam was an angel, sent to save Elysande. Her father and others were a bit more skeptical until grandmother Berengaria claimed to have seen Adam twice. One of those times was Christmas day when she saw him inside the stronghold.
When questioned about what she knew of him, she shrugged her delicate shoulders and replied, “He comes and he goes.”
Elysande greeted Aunt Braya when she approached, looking like a radiant angel in a pale coral gown and her hair pinned up above her head like a bright halo. Elysande smiled when her uncle dipped his wife backward and kissed her.
“Ye enter a room and I can breathe again,” he told her as he escorted her to her chair.
Elysande sighed as they took their seats and leaned closer to each other to speak more intimately.
She would have such romance with Raphael! Tonight, she would tell her father.
He hadn’t said whether he believed Raphael about the angel or not, but he told everyone what Raphael had done for her and for his father. He would accept a peace treaty with the Camerons but he still didn’t want her spending too much time with Cameron’s son.
She had never defied her father before, but she spent as much time with Raphael as possible. They snuck off together many times during the twelve days he and his father were here. They kissed and laughed and kissed some more. They spoke about a future together and even planned a family. Elysande felt as if she’d known Raphael for years instead of days. She wanted no one but him as a husband. She wanted her betrothal to Hugh Tanner broken and she wanted her father’s blessing when she became a Cameron. She knew it was a lot to ask. But she would marry Raphael with or without her father’s
support. She would prefer to have it.
Suddenly, there was a flutter of giggles around her. Adela and her younger sister, Geva, along with other gels from the village. Their giggles had to do with Raphael, of course. His slow, confident gait oozed strength and sensuality. How would she tell them all that Raphael was hers?
Her eyes cut away from the girls as if with a will of their own to him, trying politely to break free of her cousins and get to her. She giggled that this was what their life would be like, filled with family.
Her father stood up from his seat and held up his arm for silence.
Elysande’s heart pounded hard in her chest. Her feet began moving, taking her to her cousins’ table. Raphael met her there and they shared a bold smile. She turned to her cousin, Elias, and caught the wink he tossed her. She had told him about loving Raphael and telling her father. He promised to stand with her and urged her not to fear.
“There is somethin’ I wish to say this night,” her father began. “To my family. To my friends. First to my brothers.” He looked down at them and raised his cup of warm wassail. “My entire childhood was spent prayin’ to find ye both. It didna happen until we were men, hardened by life and by the world. We lived through much—but here we are, together, a family. With us are our wives, strong determined women who sought our hearts in the wasteland and pulled us back to life.” He lifted his cup and the people cheered again. He spoke to Father Timothy, his loyal and truest friend, Brother Simon, who burst from his spot at the table and ran, terrified at the cat under his chair.
Elias rose from his chair right away to rescue the cat from the howling man.
People laughed and, finally, when Elias held the cat securely, so did Brother Simon.
“I want to let ye all know that Robbie Cameron and I signed the treaty of peace between us.” More cheering. Then, “I’m thankful fer ye all,” he continued. “I’m thankful that my brother and I found one another. I’m thankful fer a good, loyal, lovin’, beautiful wife who can set me flat on my arse when she wants to!”
Everyone laughed.
“I’m thankful fer my friends, old and new. And mostly, I’m thankful fer my children—all our children. They will do better things than we did.
“And lastly, I’m thankful that God brought a man of courage and integrity here to the stronghold.”
He set his sapphire eyes on Raphael and Elysande’s heart quaked so hard she was sure everyone could hear it.
“I revoke my daughter’s betrothal to Hugh Tanner and offer her hand, if she wishes, to Raphael Cameron.”
For a moment, Elysande just stared at him, and then at Raphael, and then at Hugh—who must have known about this because of his lowered gaze and silent tongue.
“D’ye wish it?”
“Aye!” She wasn’t sure whom she answered, but she said it loud enough for everyone’s ears. She leaped into Raphael’s arms and let him kiss her face. Her father gave his blessing! Not only for her to marry, but for her to marry a Cameron!
Truly, it was a miracle.
She looked up with a heart filled with thanks, and then she laughed when all her cousins and friends swallowed her and Raphael up in their arms to congratulate her.
She had everything she could ever desire right here in the great hall of the even greater MacPherson stronghold.
THE END
Additional Dragonblade books by Author Paula Quinn
Rulers of the Sky Series
Scorched
Ember
White Hot
Hearts of the Highlands Series
Heart of Ashes
Heart of Shadows
Heart of Stone
About the Author
Paula Quinn is a New York Times bestselling author and a sappy romantic moved by music, beautiful words, and the sight of a really nice pen. She lives in New York with her three beautiful children, six over-protective chihuahuas, and three adorable parrots. She loves to read romance and science fiction and has been writing since she was eleven. She’s a faithful believer in God and thanks Him daily for all the blessings in her life. She loves all things medieval, but it is her love for Scotland that pulls at her heartstrings.
To date, four of her books have garnered Starred reviews from Publishers Weekly. She has been nominated as Historical Storyteller of the Year by RT Book Reviews, and all the books in her MacGregor and Children of the Mist series have received Top Picks from RT Book Reviews. Her work has also been honored as Amazons Best of the Year in Romance, and in 2008 she won the Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence for Historical Romance.
Website:
pa0854.wixsite.com/paulaquinn
Paula Quinn on Amazon
The Hope of Love
Meara Platt
Chapter One
Wellesford, England
December 1815
“Will you join us for Christmas supper, Miss Billings?” Lady Poppy, Countess of Welles, asked, clutching the books she’d just purchased from Felicity’s bookshop.
Felicity smiled at the newlywed countess, genuinely touched she’d come to the bookshop in person to make the request when she could have merely sent a footman to deliver the invitation or not invited her at all. What other humble shopkeeper could boast of friendship with a countess? It still amazed Felicity that she was also friendly with Olivia, the Duchess of Hartford, and Penelope, sister to the Earl of Welles.
Those three lovely ladies seemed to have taken her in as one of their own, and she truly adored all of them. She shook her head and laughed softly. “I would love to.”
“We’ll see you at Sherbourne next week then. I was hoping you weren’t otherwise engaged. It will be a small gathering, only about thirty friends and family. Don’t lace your corset too tightly, for there’ll be plenty of food.” Poppy gave her a quick hug and hurried out, climbing into her waiting carriage, a sleek, black conveyance embossed with the Welles family crest. “I’ll send our carriage around to pick you up. It won’t do to have you walking through the snow. Feels like a big storm brewing, doesn’t it? I can feel it in the air. I don’t want you ruining your gown and slippers. You’ll stay over, of course, if the festivities run late.”
Felicity had followed her to the door and waved as the carriage rolled off, laughing with pleasure when Poppy stuck her head out the window and continued to chatter about the party even as the driver turned the corner and her conveyance rattled out of sight.
Now alone, Felicity inhaled the chill air, letting it out in a soft breath that formed a vapor in front of her lips. Snowflakes were beginning to fall, and the scent of freshly baked raisin cakes from Mr. Holland’s bakery across the street carried in the air.
For the most part, she enjoyed this time of year, loved the bite to the air, the scent of chestnuts roasting on the fire, and the smiles on everyone’s faces as they hurried past on one errand or another. The festive suppers were also a treat. Her favorite dish happened to be roast goose, but it wasn’t something she ate other than at Christmas.
Often, she ate alone. This was the part she enjoyed least, for holidays were a time for family and she had none. Sometimes she would return to the Birdsong Orphanage to share the holiday meal with the other orphaned girls, but she hadn’t been able to visit much lately. Her bookshop, The Bee Hive, had become a favorite meeting place for the ladies of Wellesford.
Duchess Olivia often jested that the place was abuzz with activity. Felicity hadn’t wanted to suddenly close up shop and leave for a week to travel to the orphanage when everyone was counting on her to be here. Besides, as a businesswoman, she knew it was folly to close her shop the week before Christmas when it was always the busiest time of the year.
“Miss Billings!” the vicar, Adam Carstairs, called to her as he ran by on his way to the vicarage. “Did you just get your invite to the big house?”
She waved to him. “I did.”
Although she kept her voice cheery, she could not hold back the bittersweet feeling now taking hold of her. She’d been raised
in the orphanage, had never known her parents or ever been told who they were. So, while everyone rushed about town purchasing little gifts and making preparations for their family celebrations, she had only herself and the books on her shelves to keep her company.
She had just sent off a box of woolen mittens, hats, and a few books for the orphans, and knew she would receive a note of appreciation in response. It would be enough to sustain her until next year. She supposed it was not in the spirit of the season to wish, just once, that she’d be the one receiving a gift.
It wasn’t for the gift, but for knowing someone was thinking of her.
The vicar paused beside her, his breath short. “I’m glad you were invited. I was hoping the Sherbournes would think of you. I’ll be there as well. They’ve invited the Plimptons and the doctor, of course. He’s everyone’s favorite. And I hear the dowager duchess Matilda will attend as well.”
He tossed off the names of a few more lords and ladies. Felicity’s eyes widened in surprise. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms to ward off the icy wind, too curious to end the conversation and retreat into the warmth of her shop. “I’m not certain how I fit in with such exalted company, but they’ve always made me feel most welcome. Oh, dear. I’ll have to find something suitably fine to wear.”
“You’ll look lovely in whatever gown you choose.” He arched a devilish eyebrow, drawing her gaze to his exquisite blue eyes. They stood out, but were a perfect complement to his dark hair and boyishly appealing features. It struck her as quite odd that a man as pious as this vicar should also look so wickedly tempting.
All the women in town fancied themselves in love with him.
She didn’t, of course.
He was too young for her.
