Emerald Knight
Page 34
“What did I do?” she asked in alarm. “What fault do you speak of?”
Wolfe turned to study her. He seemed to weigh his words carefully. Finally, he said, “It’s a very grave offense.”
“What?”
“And it has been a great disappointment to me.”
“What is it?!”
“It’s simply that my wife does not dance with me, and I am such a skilled dancer.” Wolfe grinned.
Ginevra gasped and stomped forward to hit his arm. Wolfe caught her hand easily and lifted it into the air. Pulling her tightly to this chest, he lifted her up into his embrace. Whispering into her ear, he hushed, “But, thankfully, it’s a fault I can soon remedy.”
“I should like to be taught. Would you show me?”
Wolfe nodded, happy to comply.
Ginevra threw back her head and laughed as Wolfe swayed. He hummed a delightful tune as he moved. Her body pressed and rubbed seductively against his.
“I don’t believe this is dancing,” she said through her happiness. Her emerald gaze sparkled and shone like a beacon to his soul. Thomas played happily in the background, oblivious to all but the love of his family. The sun sunk lower behind the earth. Wolfe swept his Sparkling Emerald away with him into the eternity of the starry sky.
“Oh, but it should be, my love,” he whispered. “It should be.’
THE END
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Maiden and the Monster
Medieval Historical Romance by Michelle M. Pillow
Maiden and the Monster
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Winner of the 2006 Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice Award
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Vladamir of Kessen, Duke of Lakeshire Castle, is feared as a demon in the land of Wessex. The Kings have granted him a title of nobility in exchange for his part as a political prisoner. Discontent, he bides his time in his new home until war will once again rip through the land. But boredom soon turns to devious pleasure as the daughter of his most hated enemy is left for dead at his castle gate. Now the monster bides his time plotting revenge.
Lady Eden of Hawks' Nest doesn't know what to think of the man who saved her life, but she can't wrench her thoughts away. His words are those of a tyrant, true to his vicious reputation, but his touch is that of a man, stirring passion and lust when there should only be fear. It would seem the infamous monster is not as monstrous as he appears.
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A Romantic Times Magazine TOP PICK!
“4 1/2 STARS! This is a perfect blend of history, emotion, tension, hot sex and fascinating and sympathetic characters, and the writing is superb. Pillow chooses magical details to set the scene, and they add to both the history and the emotion.”
Page Traynor, RT Bookclub Magazine, April 2006 Issue
Maiden and the Monster Excerpt
“If m’lady wouldn’t mind,” Ulric continued. “I had a few questions of my own. Mayhap then I’d be better able to answer yers.”
Eden again nodded, this time with more severity. What else could she do? She was trapped on the bed by her nakedness. Even if she was to brave an escape, she couldn’t see where to go.
“Who are you?” he asked. “Why were you in the forest alone outside this castle? Fer ‘tis obvious you are a lady by yer dress. Did you separate from yer traveling party?”
Eden’s eyes teared. She felt like a scared child, locked inside a dark room. “Yea.”
“You were separated?” Ulric persisted.
“Yea.”
“You are a lady of gentry?” She felt him move closer as if inspecting her.
“Yea.” Eden focused her eyes forward, intent on convincing him that she was a lady and above him.
“Who are you? Where were you heading?”
“I’m Lady Eden. I was on my way to a nunnery in East Anglia.” As she spoke her hands shook. She forced herself to swallow the lump that kept rising into her throat to crack her voice. “I’m to live there.”
“Which nunnery?” Ulric asked smoothly.
“The one to the south,” Eden weakly offered her lie. In truth she didn’t know the name of any nunneries in East Anglia. Surely, with the pagan king newly converted there would be something. She only hoped that whichever lord lived in the castle would see fit to send her there. “I don’t believe that they have named it, for ‘tis new.”
“Hmm.” Ulric’s voice pondered her answers. “So you have already taken yer orders? You are a nun?”
“Nay, I’m to take them there.” Eden turned her face away from him. She couldn’t lie about such a thing as already being ordained. It would be too blasphemous. The fact she said she was going to be was bad enough. “I’m sure they expect me. If you would see fit to send—”
“I see,” Ulric broke in, thoughtful.
Eden wondered at the delighted tone in his words. His blurry figure shifted away from her, only to come back. She leaned away the best she could on the uncomfortable bed.
“Please, good sir.” Eden sighed and tried to relax, feeling no immediate threat from the old man. “Where am I?”
“You don’t know?” Ulric laughed lightly in surprise. “You are at Lakeshire Castle. We found you near death in front of the castle gates. Methought you might be able to tell us how you came to be here and most importantly why.”
“Lakeshire?” Eden gasped in horror, looking down as she mumbled in shock, “He left me here? How could he have left me here?”
“Who left you?”
Eden stiffened. The irritated voice wasn’t that of Ulric. It instead came from her left, near the fireplace. Her skin tingled and she noticed that the fire burned hotter than before. The man’s tone sounded wicked, spoken in a strange accent. The word “who” was murmured with a softened “v”.
“Are you…?” she began, but had to take a calming breath. It didn’t help.
She was frazzled. Her heart already beat in fear only to pound in time with her head, resounding in her ears like a battle drum. She shook with fear, her body so hot it was surely on fire. The way the flames spread through her, she wondered if she was in the company of the devil himself. Rubbing her chin on the fur to make sure it still covered her body, she asked weakly, “Are you the Monster of Lakeshire?”
Vladamir eyed the trembling creature before him with unconcealed disdain. The way his nickname came from her lips irritated him to no end, and he was all too aware that she refused to answer his question. By her own admission it was obvious someone planted her in front of his castle, perhaps thinking she was already dead.
It was clear from the first moment that she didn’t know he was in the chamber. The way she kept squinting at Ulric belied the fact that she couldn’t make out the figure before her. Was her impaired eyesight due to her natural vision or a result of her beating? He told himself he didn’t care and didn’t wish to be in her company long enough to find out. In fact, he didn’t want her in his home longer than necessary.
The maiden’s hair was dirtily matted to her head, so much so that he was unable to make out its true color. From what he saw of her frame under the thin fur, she seemed slender in stature, probably more so due to her prolonged illness. Her skin pulled tautly against her cheekbones, bones that were high and proud. Beyond that simple observation he couldn’t make out her features.
“Are you the monster?” Her breath continued to come out in audible pants and her one good eye searched for him. “Am I to be your sacrifice?”
Vladamir watched her lips tremble at the question. Her mouth was in the best condition of her whole face with a fine arch of the upper lip and the full pout of the lower. If the rest of her face healed to displeasure, he would be contented to look only at her delicate mouth. His body hummed to life, reminding him how long it had been since he’d taken a woman to his bed. The painful mass between
his thighs only annoyed him. He didn’t want to feel desire—not for her, not for any woman.
Who could ever willingly accept a monster into their bed?
The duke felt a glimmer of regret at the timid way she searched for him with her troubled, swollen gaze. The faint white of her eye was a bloody red as if she’d been strangled near death. He suddenly frowned as he realized that someone indeed had tried to kill her. Did they think to have succeeded? Who would want her dead? What exactly had she done?
He saw the fear in her and didn’t believe for an instant that the woman planned on joining a nunnery. There was something in the proud way she lifted her chin and the aristocratic tilt of her head. He saw her breeding, even through her marred expression.
“I have been called that,” he answered at last, afraid if he didn’t respond, she would continue to grow pale until she passed out once more on the bed. He needed too many answers from her to let her rest quite yet.
Yea, m’lady, there are those who would think me a monster.
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About Michelle M. Pillow
New York Times & USA TODAY Bestselling Author
Michelle loves to travel and try new things, whether it's a paranormal investigation of an old Vaudeville Theatre or climbing Mayan temples in Belize. She believes life is an adventure fueled by copious amounts of coffee.
Newly relocated to the American South, Michelle is involved in various film and documentary projects with her talented director husband. She is mom to a fantastic artist. And she's managed by a dog and cat who make sure she's meeting her deadlines.
For the most part she can be found wearing pajama pants and working in her office. There may or may not be dancing. It’s all part of the creative process.
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Lord of Fire, Lady of Ice
Medieval Historical Romance by Michelle M. Pillow
Lord of Fire, Lady of Ice
“She found herself unimpressed with him, having expected more of the legendary man—Brant. Lord Blackwell. Brant the Gladiator. Brant the Vigorous. Brant the Flame. Brant the Viking Hero. Della snorted in unladylike disgust. More like, Brant the Thorn in my Arse!”
* * *
Lady Della the Cold-Hearted
Lady Della despises all things Viking. They may rule the land, but they will never rule her. Unfortunately, her father doesn’t seem to agree. To prove his continued allegiance to the Viking king, the Ealdorman of Strathfeld betroths his only daughter to a respected Viking Lord—a warrior who’s legendary prowess isn’t reserved for the battlefield. Fighting the newfound craving in her body and the unwelcome fire in her heart, Della must choose between everything she knows to be true and the one thing she never expected…
* * *
Lord Brant of Blackwell, the Fiery One
Lord Blackwell is as fiery on the battlefield as he is in his passions. He has fought valiantly for King Guthrum and has earned the respect of the nobles. When his overlord offers the hand of his beautiful daughter and the right to inherit his lands, Blackwell can hardly refuse. However, he soon discovers that his noble bride is anything but the meek and mild woman he envisioned for his wife. One minute she’s kissing him back, the next she’s swearing to do whatever it takes to dissuaded him from their marriage. Can his lust for life and his new bride melt the ice that surrounds her heart? Or will Lady Della the Cold be this warrior’s undoing?
* * *
Lord of Fire, Lady of Ice Excerpt
“Lord Strathfeld is a good man.” The Viking prevented her from asking more. There was a yielding respect in his voice as he spoke. “He has truly proved his worth in battle.”
“Yea, my father has fought in many battles,” Della said.
Those battles were the reason for her hasty marriage. He’d fought bravely several months ago at the Battle of Martin, where King Aethelred had been brought low, and had caught the notice of King Guthrum. Together they had formulated a plan to help ensure Strathfeld’s continued allegiance to the Viking clans. Their arrangement was simply to unite the prominent Strathfeld line in marriage to a Viking noble and have male heirs of mixed blood produced to join the people. Her father had readily offered her up to be a political sacrifice. Not only did he seek to assure peace with King Guthrum, but he also wanted to ensure continued loyalty between his manor and the neighboring Nordic manor of Blackwell. So it came to be that she was betrothed to Brant of Blackwell, Viking Barbarian.
A jarl, Lord Blackwell was one of the few nobles truly descended of pure Norse blood. Generations of raiding and pillaging the land had given way to Norsemen taking Saxon brides and the children of such matches were considered Viking by birth. If her father had been a pure or even half Viking, he would have been Blackwell’s better. Lord Strathfeld was richer and had more land. However, by Viking law, the circumstance of Blackwell’s birth made him more powerful than Della’s father.
While he is titled, it does not make him noble. He is still naught more than a Viking barbarian, a Viking barbarian who is soon to be my husband.
Della closed her eyes as a wave of disgust rose in her chest. Taking a deep breath, she steeled her nerves.
“M’lady has a look of distaste. Do you feel ill?”
She sensed the man kept his emotions well-guarded and couldn’t tell if he disapproved of her earlier remarks regarding her intended. His stony expression puzzled her. She could usually sense what others were thinking.
Mayhap he is as displeased by this match as I! It’s likely he does not care for the Saxons as much as I do not care for the Vikings. Mayhap I can convince him to persuade his friend to leave before the nuptial vows are spoken.
Della turned her most charming smile to her unknowing ally. She ignored his surprise at her sudden change in attitude toward him. “Methinks this marriage between our people is a mistake. Perchance, it is the same for you?”
The Viking’s eyes narrowed and shot flames in her direction, but he kept quiet.
Della took his silence as a fervent agreement. “I do not wish to marry Lord Blackwell and it’s obvious you dislike the match as well. Perchance you can whisper a few words of discouragement into my intended’s unsuspecting ears. It would be well worth your while to do so.”
“And what would these whispers say?” The Viking leaned closer, his face devoid of emotion as he scratched at his beard.
“They would say I love a
nother, that I would not be faithful. They would say I carry the bastard child of Stuart of Grayson in my belly. They would say aught you would see fit.” Della’s tongue edged the line of her upper lip in nervous agitation. She barely believed the lies spilling from her mouth. But she didn’t care, for they could be disproved when it was discovered she carried no babe. “I care naught what the whispers say of me, only that they meet their purpose.”
“It would appear that m’lady has little care for her reputation, nor for the reputation of her betrothed, to speak thusly of herself.” The Viking’s lips pressed together into a thin line.
Was it possible she’d been mistaken in her assessment of him? He didn’t appear as daft as she first assumed and he didn’t seem pleased at her intention to overthrow the betrothment. Jutting her chin up in defiance, she said quietly, “I care naught of his lordship’s reputation. If you are a true and loyal friend to him, you will warn him against me. Do you understand my words?”