Each child such a precious blessing…and now the news that both Linette and Estelle were expecting babies only capping what had been a glorious reunion for them.
And presiding over it all in a comfortable chair, Papa Joseph, as the children loved to call their grandfather, his quiet delight at their antics warming Corie’s heart.
“It’s just as I imagined it would be.”
Corie glanced up at Donovan, who had a knowing look on his face that made her elbow him playfully. “Ah, so now you’re not only a matchmaker, but a clairvoyant, too?”
“Perhaps. But I think you knew as well as I that Estelle and Valentin were destined for each other. It just took some time—”
“And prayer. Lots of prayer.”
“Most definitely,” Donovan murmured, drawing Corie closer. “And a pledge made years ago that inspired every one of your sisters not to marry anyone less…”
“Than the man of her dreams,” Corie finished for him, her heart overflowing with love as she lifted her face to his tender kiss.
*****
Read on for an exciting excerpt from Miriam Minger’s Twin Passions,
Book 1 in the bestselling Captive Brides Collection and a winner of a
Best Medieval Historical Romance Award from Romantic Times!
About the Author
Miriam Minger is the bestselling author of emotion-packed action adventure historical romances that sweep you from lusty medieval times to Regency England—and with some dangerously seductive 18th century tales in between. With two dozen books published in five languages, Miriam is also the author of contemporary romance, romantic suspense, inspirational suspense, and children’s books. She is the winner of several Romantic Times Reviewer's Choice Awards—including Best Medieval Historical Romance of the Year for The Pagan's Prize—and a two-time RITA Award Finalist for The Brigand Bride and Captive Rose.
Miriam loves to create stories that make you feel the passion, live and breathe the adventure, laugh and cry, and that touch your heart.
For a complete listing of books as well as excerpts and news about upcoming releases, and to connect with Miriam:
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Now enjoy an exciting excerpt from Miriam Minger’s Twin Passions,
Book 1 in the bestselling Captive Brides Collection and a winner of a
Best Medieval Historical Romance Award from Romantic Times!
Twin Passions
Excerpt @ Copyright Miriam Minger
All Rights Reserved
Chapter 1
England, 973 A.D.
“‘Tis not safe for you to venture out alone, my lady,” murmured the shy young stableboy, almost to himself. Biting his lower lip, he fumbled nervously with the leather girths of the saddle. Surely Earl Godric would not allow one of his daughters to ride out of the stronghold without a guard to protect her. Perhaps he should offer to ride along with her? That thought made him flush bright red from his neck to the roots of his scalp. He shifted his feet uncomfortably, sensing her impatience, but for some reason he could not fasten the last buckle properly.
“Here, let me do that,” Gwendolyn said in exasperation. She knelt down beside him, her expert fingers deftly threading the leather strap through the metal buckle. “There, now,” she muttered, satisfied. Rising to her feet, she brushed the straw from the knees of her buckskin trousers. She looked steadily at the startled stableboy, her emerald eyes searching his ruddy face. “You must be new to the stables,” she said. “What is your name, lad?”
“G-Garric, m-mistress,” he stammered, awestruck by her fair beauty. For the life of him he could not understand why such a fine lady was dressed in men’s clothing almost as simple as his own. He looked down at his feet, fearful that she would think his gaze far too bold. “‘T-tis my first day in the stables, my lady.”
“Well, Garric, look over there,” Gwendolyn said, lifting the stableboy’s trembling chin. She nodded toward the far end of the darkened stable.
His eyes widened as he recognized two of Earl Godric’s most trusted thanes. The men were quickly saddling their horses, taking care to glance over at Gwendolyn every so often to make sure she had not yet left the stable.
“Though I am quite capable of watching out for myself,” she stated, her eyes flashing defiantly, “my father insists that those two thanes ride along with me whenever I leave the stronghold.” She lowered her voice, her tone softening as she smiled at the boy. “So, you see, Garric, your fears are for naught. But I thank you for your kind concern.”
A slow, creeping blush burned the stableboy’s freckled cheeks as he stared at her, his heart beating hard against his narrow chest. He had never been gifted with such a smile before! A look of embarrassment crossed his face. Suddenly he turned and fled from the stable, the hearty laughter of the two thanes ringing in his ears.
“Lady Gwendolyn has power over us all.” The burlier thane grinned at his companion.
“Aye. Just like her sister,” agreed the other, chuckling to himself. With a sharp yank on the reins, he urged his steed forward and followed Gwendolyn, who was leading her dappled mare into the stable yard.
Once out in the open, the frisky mare nudged her mistress with her velvety nose. She whinnied expectantly, as if to speed them on their way. The cool autumn afternoon seemed to beckon to them. Without even a backward glance at the two thanes, Gwendolyn slid easily onto the mare’s back.
“We’ll soon be free, my Arrow,” she whispered softly, spurring the mare gently with her heel.
Passing through the protective walls that surrounded the stronghold of her father, Earl Godric of Cheshire, Gwendolyn reined in just outside the heavy, timbered gate. The main road before her led through open fields, rich with the bountiful autumn harvest. To her right lay a smaller path that wound toward the river through dense, forested woodlands. With little hesitation, she chose the less traveled path to the river. She had not been for a ride in several days, and yearned for nothing more than to be alone for a while.
Well, almost alone, she thought darkly, remembering the two silent thanes who were riding not far behind her. Clucking her tongue to her mare, she set off at a lively canter.
The late-afternoon sun was just beginning to settle into the gnarled oak trees. The brisk air was tinged with the sharp, pungent scents of autumn—damp earth, smoky wood fires—and Gwendolyn took in great breaths, filling her lungs. She loved this time of year, when the entire landscape was awash in vivid hues of crimson, orange, and russet.
Suddenly she sighed. It would not be a long ride today, for the hour was later than she had thought. She glanced over her shoulder at the two thanes wending their way along the leaf-strewn path not far behind her. They reminded her of great, hulking shadows. No doubt they would soon ride up and urge her to turn back.
She shivered, turning up the collar of her woolen shirt against the brisk north wind. She was grateful for the added warmth of her fur-lined leather jerkin, which she had donned only as an afterthought in her haste to get to the stable. She reached up and pulled her woolen cap down over her ears. Her short, silver-blond curls peered out from beneath the narrow brim, softly framing her delicate features.
Gwendolyn’s green eyes darkened as she reflected on the events of the past few months. Overtaken by her thoughts, she unwittingly relaxed her firm grip on the reins. The dappled mare nickered softly, tossing her head at this new freedom, and slowed her pace to a meandering walk along the familiar path.
God’s blood! Why must everything change? Gwendolyn asked herself, a frown creasing her forehead. As if in reply, a sudden gust of wind rustled through the trees. Dry leaves, tugged from their branches, whirled silently to the ground. Gazing at the half-naked limbs that until a few weeks ago had been green and full, Gwendolyn cursed herself for a fool.
If only Father had not made that agreement with King
Edgar, she thought fiercely. As if it had been yesterday, she recalled all too well the furtive conversation she had overheard in the chapel between the family priest, Father Leofwine, and Grimbald, her father’s steward, late last spring. She had been sitting on a far bench in the back of the small sanctuary, as was her wont when she wished to be alone, when the two men entered from the side door. Apparently they had not seen her, for they had not bothered to lower their voices. She listened, unbelieving, to their words, scarcely able to breathe.
“Is it true, then, Grimbald, that a marriage is being arranged?” Father Leofwine had asked, his wheezing cough echoing about the empty chapel.
“Aye, Holy Father,” Grimbald replied, nodding his balding head, “but the news is yet a secret. Lady Anora has not been told.”
“Hardly a well-kept secret. The very walls have ears,” the stooped priest said wryly. “Well, then, why the secrecy? Is it an ogre she will wed?”
Grimbald’s eyes narrowed as he leaned closer to the priest. “He is a Danish prince, Holy Father, and one of the most powerful men in the Danelaw! King Edgar himself has proposed the match as a reward, one could say, for the Dane’s recent oath of allegiance to an English king.”
Masking his initial surprise at the steward’s outburst, the old priest nodded his head solemnly. “So, our king is seeking an alliance with the Danelaw,” he murmured, rubbing his stubbled chin. “Perhaps this marriage is part of a larger plan…aye, a great plan—one that might end the bloodshed and hate between our two people, and further King Edgar’s quest for unity…” His voice trailed off, and Gwendolyn strained to hear his next words. “And Earl Godric has agreed to this?”
“Aye, Your Holiness, but not without some misgivings. You know as well as I that Anora is very dear to his heart. He is not convinced that this is the best match for her.” He paused, catching his breath. “The king also asked about Lady Gwendolyn! But Earl Godric insisted that as the elder of his twin daughters, Anora was the first to be wed.”
Shaking his head, Father Leofwine sighed heavily. “Pity that the child must play a pawn in a king’s game, even for so great a cause. Perhaps she will go to him willingly.” He was suddenly seized by another fit of coughing. “Go now, Grimbald. I am weary of this intrigue.”
Gwendolyn watched furtively through lowered lashes as the priest turned toward the gilded altar, abruptly dismissing the steward. Then, wheeling around suddenly, he reached out his gnarled hand and caught Grimbald’s sleeve. “Wait! One more question before you go. What is the name of this mighty prince of the Danelaw?”
“Wulfgar Ragnarson, Holy Father.”
***
Gwendolyn had not noticed that her hands had tightened on the reins until the dappled mare snorted loudly at the rough treatment, tossing her head in protest. Gwendolyn quickly loosened her fierce grip. “Forgive me, Arrow,” she soothed, stroking the rough gray hairs on the mare’s neck. Her voice was calm, belying the bitter turmoil that raged within her.
He is a Dane, an enemy of our people, Gwendolyn thought angrily. How could Father ever have agreed to such a proposal? Yet, she knew the answer. A king’s pawn…a reward… The words echoed in her mind. After that day in the chapel, she had known that her life would never be the same. The grim realization that she and Anora could be used as barter at the whim of a king, their fates so easily decided by others, had shaken her to the very depths of her being.
And now, not only had her father betrayed her, but Anora, too. Gwendolyn raged silently. Though her sister had been given the right to refuse this Wulfgar Ragnarson if she so desired, she had fallen in love with him, agreeing to be his wife! How could Anora let herself be used so? Gwendolyn wondered, shaking her head in dismay.
Yet she had to admit that it wasn’t just that Anora was to marry a Dane that upset her so. Nay, there was something else, something even more painful.
She had watched in silence while her sister underwent a mysterious transformation during the summer months. Where she and Anora had once been inseparable, sharing laughter and tears, secret dreams and hopes, and hiding nothing from each other, Gwendolyn now found herself alone. From their first meeting, Anora and Wulfgar had seemed as if they were in a world that only two could share. Aye, perhaps it was this that had hurt her most of all.
Gwendolyn shook her head fiercely. Nay, she didn’t want to think of the wedding, of Wulfgar Ragnarson, or of Anora’s betrayal anymore! But suddenly an odd thought struck her. She laughed ruefully, startling her mare.
It could have been my fate that was decided by the king, except for an accident of birth. She wondered if her own betrothal was being planned to follow shortly after Anora’s marriage, now just three days away. The thought of being subject to any man made her stomach knot angrily. Why, she could ride a horse and wield a weapon as well as any of her father’s thanes, if not better!
“A king’s pawn!” Gwendolyn snorted derisively. “Nay, I will not settle for any man unless it is by my own choosing!” Urging the mare into a full gallop, she looked mischievously over her shoulder. She could barely make out the two thanes through the thick trees. They were riding hard and fast, yet she had the advantage of distance as she rebelliously spurred her mare onward.
Spying a path that led away from the river, Gwendolyn veered down the steep side of a hill. She hid behind some low branches, watching breathlessly as the two thanes thundered past her, their steeds flecked with sweat and foam. Confident that she had eluded them, she left the shelter of the trees and urged the mare once again into a gallop.
“Faster, Arrow, faster!” Gwendolyn laughed with joyful exhilaration. She rode through the woods with wild abandon, her painful thoughts forgotten, at least for now. The brisk air enlivened her senses.
Aye, it had been a long time since she had felt so lighthearted and free!
Chapter 2
Damp evening mists parted before the mare’s flashing hooves as Gwendolyn rode through a clearing in the densely wooded forest. At her urging, the mare plunged back into the woods nimbly dodging the shadowed trees that loomed all around them. A loud clap of thunder suddenly exploded in the distance, startling the spirited animal. The mare reared in fright, nearly throwing Gwendolyn off her back.
“Whoa, Arrow!” she shouted, pulling firmly on the reins. Another clap of thunder echoed through the strangely silent woods, startling a flock of resting blackbirds into flight. Their raucous cries shattered the growing stillness as lightning was etched against the sky. Looking up at the dark, menacing clouds, Gwendolyn realized she had not noticed the approaching storm. She had been riding for hours, and knew it was long past the time when she should have returned to the stronghold.
She twisted around in the saddle, peering about her, but she could not make out any familiar landmarks in the gathering darkness.
Now you’ve done it, my girl, she thought, cursing her foolhardiness. She had never ridden so far from the stronghold before, and doubted she was even on her father’s lands.
Stifling a twinge of apprehension, Gwendolyn decided to ride toward the river. Aye, surely from there she would find a path leading back to the stronghold. She wheeled her frightened mare around, and set out the way she had come.
Riding hard through the woods with the storm surging and shrieking about her, Gwendolyn finally reached the churning river. Wracked by shivering spasms, she felt chilled to the bone. Cold, stinging rain lashed at her body through her soaking clothes. Her numbed hands could barely grasp the reins. Shielding her eyes from the rain, she searched anxiously for any signs of a path, but there was none. Desperately she plunged the mare into the heavy underbrush that choked the muddy banks of the river.
A bright bolt of lightning suddenly flashed across the sky and dashed into an ancient oak right in front of them. Orange flames leaped from the ground where the bolt pierced the earth, as if shooting up from the very depths of hell.
Rearing and snorting in fright, the mare frantically pawed the air, the whites of her eyes gleaming in the da
rk. Another veined streak of lightning lit the sky, illuminating the swollen waters of the river.
Suddenly, Gwendolyn’s face constricted in terror, her breath jamming in her throat. Before her very eyes, a demon creature, dragon-like, floated across the rushing torrents of water, leering at her with devilish glee. Then just as suddenly as it had appeared, it was gone.
“Holy Mother Mary, protect me!” she screamed, crossing herself frantically. Hot tears streaked her cheeks as she clung to her mare’s wet mane. She felt herself slipping from the saddle as unconsciousness drew her deeper into a frightening maelstrom of darkness.
The sound of hooves thundering toward her flooded her with relief, and revived her failing senses. Peering into the surrounding trees, Gwendolyn recognized the familiar shapes of the two thanes as they rode up beside her.
“Lady Gwendolyn, are you all right?” questioned the burly thane, his voice filled with concern. Receiving no response, he gazed fearfully at her pale, stricken face. Her emerald eyes were glazed and overbright.
Acting quickly, the thane lifted her onto his saddle and covered her with his woolen cloak. Although sodden, it would offer her some protection from the cold rain. Cursing to himself, he knew there would be hell to pay for this misadventure. “Outwitted by a chit of a girl,” he muttered darkly. Lady Gwendolyn was well known for her willful exploits, but this time he feared she had gone too far. Signaling to his companion to grab the reins of her mare, he kicked the heaving sides of his steed and headed for the stronghold at a full gallop.
Nestled within the heavy cloak, Gwendolyn could feel the warmth slowly returning to her aching limbs. The burly thane’s arms about her were reassuring, and she attempted to dispel the memory of the nightmare vision from her mind.
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