The blond madman shifted her to an awkward position over his lap, and she could see stunned faces watching as the stallion bolted toward a side street. One of the guards managed to wheel his mount and block their path, his weapon ready. She heard the metallic ring of a sword being pulled free of its scabbard.
The horse reared, and she screamed again as she heard the clash of steel on steel just above her head. After only four thrusts, the guard was gripping a bloody wound and they were racing down the street. Behind them she heard another bellow that could only be de Villiers, then the sound of many hooves pounding after them. Terrified peasants flattened themselves against buildings as the horse thundered past.
They rounded a corner, the stallion’s muscles bunching and straining, and she could see two guards pushing a haycart into their path. She screamed again as the lunatic spurred his neighing mount onward. She felt the horse’s hooves leave the ground—and was suddenly looking down into the guards’ startled faces, then at the street rushing up to meet her.
She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable impact, but instead had the wind knocked out of her by the outlaw’s knees as they landed. He urged the horse on and they raced through the streets, scattering chickens and pigs from their path. They quickly reached the edge of town and sped across the open fields, a half dozen guards only an arrow’s flight behind.
She heard the airy whoosh of a crossbow bolt, then another. The rider hunched down over the horse’s neck, covering her. Despite the protection of her mantle, she was all too aware of the heavy wall of his chest pressed against her back, the feeling of her breasts flattened against the muscles of his thigh. She gasped short, terrified breaths, watching flying hooves and meadow grass rush by several feet below. Lather from the horse’s shoulder flecked her gown.
The arrows soon stopped. Laurien knew the guards were falling behind as the outlaw headed into the forest. He straightened as they left the path, charging through the trees. She could hear the guards crashing into the underbrush far away.
She struggled to sit up. “Wait! Stop—”
He stopped just long enough to right her so that she was sitting astride in front of him—then brought out a piece of cloth from his tunic and whipped it around her mouth as a gag. She had no chance to ask who on earth he was or demand that he release her. Helpless and mute, she could only hold on for sweet life as he spurred the stallion onward.
They galloped faster through the woods. Branches whipped past, tearing at her veil and dress. The brigand wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer, shielding her. He was so much bigger than her, the top of her head fit beneath his bearded chin. Surrounded by hard muscle and his male scent, she grew more frightened as they rode deeper into the wood. The gloom thickened around them, the sun only occasionally breaking through the branches overhead. What plans did this mad outlaw have for her?
It flashed through her head that, for the first time since she had arrived in Chartres, she was free of de Villiers. But the idea only struck new fear into her heart as she pictured what he would find after several days searching the forest: her body, raped and bloodied, hidden beneath a tangle of underbrush.
The trees became a blur and her eyes locked on the sword still in her abductor’s hand, the reddened blade resting across her knees. Though her mouth was bound, her mind screamed in a single, endless shriek as a cold wave of fear drenched her. She thought she would faint.
But even in shock, her mind refused to sink into darkness. The outlaw kept changing directions, turning left, left again, right, then back along their own trail until she no longer heard the sounds of other horses. She wanted to close her eyes and waken alone in her chamber at the convent, to find that all of this had only been a nightmare.
Instead, she was intensely aware of her captor’s every move as they galloped onward. She felt his powerful thighs easily guiding the charger. Felt the pounding of his heart against her back—or was that her own heart? He even filled her every breath as they raced through the forest, that unfamiliar, spicy maleness sending her senses reeling.
Would there be much pain when he took her? Or would she finally lose consciousness? She had only begun to imagine what horrors possibly lay ahead, when the ride came to an end as suddenly as it had begun.
He slowed the horse to a trot and gave an unusual whistle. A moment passed, then she heard an answering whistle rise eerily from the trees to their left. The stallion turned toward the sound. A few paces further on, her captor stopped, eased her to the ground, and moved off.
She felt disoriented, breathless, could barely see in the gloom. Her trembling legs threatened to give way. She reached out to steady herself against a tree, but a rough hand took her own and a masculine voice rumbled from the shadows. “Och, seo ise duais.”
Laurien knew several languages, but his words were utterly foreign to her. The speaker stepped forward and she found herself looking not at the outlaw, but at a second man, also garbed as a pilgrim. Older, with dark hair and a grizzled beard. The hint of a smile played about his lips as he looked at her. “Àlainn.” He glanced toward his companion. “Iadsan lean, companach?”
She looked to her left and saw the fair-haired outlaw saddling a fresh mount. “Air chall iadsan ann craobh.”
The older man reached toward her face. She started to back away, but he merely unwound the cloth that gagged her. She spat out a mouthful of damp fuzz and turned on the blond madman.
“Who—What—Who are you?” she sputtered. Then she realized that these men, who were clearly not French, might not understand her. “My … family … will … pay,” she said, speaking each word loudly and slowly, pointing to her coin purse to explain her meaning, “a … ransom … for … my … safe … return.”
She hoped that was true.
Both men burst into laughter.
“We speak your language, demoiselle,” the blond outlaw replied in lightly accented—and perfectly fluent—French, as he easily swung up on his new horse. “And ‘tis not money we want.”
“Our apologies, milady.” The older man also mounted a fresh stallion. “But there is no time for formal introductions. My friend here tells me he lost our pursuers for the moment, but we had best not linger. I am Sir Malcolm MacLennan. And this rogue”—he indicated his friend with a nod—”is Sir Connor of Glenshiel.”
“Of Scotland,” the rogue in question explained, giving her a half bow as he rode toward her. “And as for you, Lady Laurien d’Amboise…” He reached down with one burly arm to lift her onto his saddle again. “For the next fortnight, you are mine.”
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Bonus Content:
“The Making of HIS FORBIDDEN TOUCH: The Story Behind the Story”
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SPOILER ALERT
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Dear Reader,
I always love those “Behind the Scenes” bonus features on DVDs. I enjoy learning what inspired the stories, characters, and settings of my favorite movies. I love getting a peek at how the costumes were made, how the sets were built, and what changes were made in the editing room. When I first set out on this digital publishing adventure, I knew I wanted to include a “Behind the Scenes” bonus feature in each of my e-books.
But I realize that some people dislike “Behind the Scenes” features. For them, hearing the nuts-and-bolts of the creative process ruins their enjoyment of the story. I don’t want to ruin anyone’s enjoyment of my books, so if you’re someone who typically skips “Making of” features on DVDs, it’s probably best to skip this section.
Also, if you haven’t finished the whole book yet, you’ll want to finish before returning to this page. I’m about to give you an inside peek at the creative decisions that went into writing this story—so plot twists may be revealed and characters’ secrets spilled. (There are no spoilers for other books in this series, in case you haven’t read th
em all yet.)
So … if you’ve skipped ahead to this feature, please click back and finish the book. I totally understand the skipping-ahead impulse, because I’m a chronic skipper-aheader myself. But really, now is the best time to skip back. Before you see any spoilers.
When you’re all done, return to this page. I’ll be waiting right here for you.
Ready? Here we go.
Inspirations
Readers of previous “Making of” features know that I usually—okay, almost always—get my inspiration from movies. I’m a rabid movie fan, a visual thinker, and briefly flirted with a career as a screenwriter. (The main stumbling block, believe it or not, was the idea of moving to Los Angeles. I’m a lifelong Midwesterner and my favorite seasons are autumn and winter. I just can’t live without snow. Plus, that whole earthquake thing just freaks me out.)
Movies have had a huge influence on my writing. Whenever I’m starting a new novel, I “see” it first in scenes and visuals before I “hear” the dialogue.
Readers who are new to my work might think that His Forbidden Touch is a grown-up version of the Disney movie “Tangled,” about a sheltered princess experiencing life in the real world for the first time, and the handsome rogue who agrees to serve as her escort on a journey to a royal palace. My two daughters adore that DVD, and certain aspects of the movie do remind me of Royce & Ciara’s story. But His Forbidden Touch was first published in 1997, long before “Tangled” was even a pixel in Disney’s eye. So that’s a good guess, but “Tangled” is not the movie that inspired this book.
HFT actually combines three of my favorite movies: The 1987 Tom Berenger/Mimi Rogers crime drama “Someone to Watch Over Me,” Kevin Costner & Whitney Houston’s 1992 romance “The Bodyguard,” and Audrey Hepburn’s 1953 romp “Roman Holiday.”
The guardian plot has always been a classic in romantic fiction, and it’s one of my personal favorites. I just can’t resist a story about a dark-and-dangerous hero assigned to protect an elegant, aristocratic heroine. The guardian plot is all about the tantalizing appeal of forbidden fruit: the hero is supposed to protect the heroine, not seduce her, but he just can’t resist her—and the next thing he knows, he’s falling in love.
Both “Someone to Watch Over Me” and “The Bodyguard” use that plot, but in my opinion, neither movie is completely satisfying. The Mimi Rogers character in “Someone” is married to another man, and Kevin & Whitney go their separate ways in the “The Bodyguard.” At the end of both movies, I found myself thinking, “That’s not the way I would have written it…”
One of the great things about being a writer is that I can write it my way—by turning the plot into a novel and giving it the satisfying ending I wanted.
So that’s how His Forbidden Touch started. I knew I wanted to write a guardian book, and I already knew who my hero would be: Royce Saint-Michel, the roguish mercenary with a mysterious past who first appeared in Forever His.
But who would his heroine be?
That’s where “Roman Holiday” came in: it’s about a princess who wants to experience life as a commoner before assuming the responsibilities that come with her crown. But unlike Audrey Hepburn, my princess wouldn’t be on a sight-seeing lark. She’d be running for her life. My version of “Roman Holiday” would have assassins, sword fights, cliff-hangers (literally), and steamy love scenes.
What can I say? I love action/adventure almost as much as I love romance. My books always blend the two. As I once said to my agent, I don’t write historical romance; I write romantic suspense. I just happen to write romantic suspense that’s set in another time and place.
So now I had my mercenary, my princess, and my plot. I knew this would be a fun book to write, and that’s my main requirement before starting any manuscript. I need to have fun while I’m writing, because if I’m having fun, chances are the reader will, too.
Soundtrack
One of the first things I do when starting a new project is choose a theme song for my hero & heroine. It’s one of my little creative rituals, something that helps me connect emotionally with my protagonists as I begin working on the character sketches and plot outline. Most of the time, it’s a current song on the radio that captures some element of the story. Once in a while, as with Into the Sunset, it’s the spark that inspires the entire book.
I sometimes change my mind and switch to a different song if something better comes along, but usually, once I pick a theme, it sticks. I’ll listen to it now and then while working on the manuscript, typically when I’m in editing mode. I can’t listen to music with lyrics while writing my first drafts. The lyrics coming through the speakers get jumbled up with the words bouncing around in my head, and the whole thing ends up in a mangled tangle.
I do listen to music when writing, but it’s usually (surprise, surprise) an instrumental movie score. James Horner, James Newton Howard, John Barry, Thomas Newman and Gabriel Yared are the guys who keep me company while I work.
Royce & Ciara’s theme comes from “The Bodyguard” soundtrack: Whitney Houston’s “I Will Always Love You.” Yes, I know, that song is now considered terribly cliché. But I wrote this book in 1996, long before people started singing really bad renditions of “I Will Always Love You” while auditioning for “American Idol.” These days, we’ve all heard so many awful, screeching performances of that song, it’s hard to listen to it anymore. But once upon a time, it was a wonderful, moving love theme.
Actually, it still is. Listen to the vintage Whitney version some time, and see if Royce and Ciara can help erase some of those bad reality-TV memories.
The Title
The working title of this book was … wait a minute, let me go check my files. The title was changed to His Forbidden Touch so early in the process, I can’t even remember what my original title was.
Okay, found it: the working title was Guardian of My Desire. Hmm, that’s really… not good. Awful, actually. No wonder I forgot it. I like His Forbidden Touch much better.
Authors who write for New York publishers learn very early in their careers that publishers, not authors, are in charge of titles. It’s spelled out right in the contract. Publishers feel that titles make a vital impact on sales, so they reserve the right to choose them. To a publisher, a title’s most important job is to serve as a marketing tool. Whether it bears any relation to the author’s story is purely a secondary consideration.
I learned that lesson the hard way on my first book, as I mentioned in the “Making of” chat in Falcon on the Wind (where I also revealed how the Stolen Brides series got its name). After that unsettling experience, I always kept a running list of at least ten alternate titles on hand for my book-in-progress. I wanted to be ready when my editor called and said, “Marketing feels that we need a new title.” Marketing pretty much always felt that we needed a new title. And I wanted to be the one to choose it, rather than leaving it in someone else’s hands.
The Falcon flap was only the first of many title fights I would have with my publishers. Sometimes I won the battle, sometimes I lost.
I must have been really worried about this book, because I’m looking at my list of possible titles right now—and it has 21 alternates on it. Guardian of My Heart. Beloved Guardian. The Protector. Sweet Protector. Fire and Ice. The Princess and the Swordsman. My Guardian’s Heart. My Guardian’s Touch. Forbidden. I wanted to include the word “guardian” or “protector” because I felt it was a key selling point. My editor disagreed. In the end, I combined the last two titles and came up with His Forbidden Touch.
Avon loved that title. They loved it so much that three years later, after my book had gone out of print, they used the identical title on another author’s book.
The Cover
You’ll find full-color photos of both the original paperback cover and my new digital cover on my Facebook page: http://www.facebook.com/AuthorShellyThacker
The front cover on the paperback edition of His Forbidden Touch is, ironically, my absolute
favorite of all my Avon covers. I like the lettering, the crown, even the colors they chose. I say “ironically” because this was my last book for Avon, published five months after I had left and signed a contract with Dell.
But then there’s the back cover on the Avon edition. Yikes, what a going-away present that was. The, um, “hero” looks like Donald Trump having a particularly bad hair day. Seriously, what made the art department think it was a good idea to give my tall-dark-and-handsome knight a mullet? Maybe it was supposed to look like helmet hair? And who smacked my “plain” princess with a mega-dose of Maybelline and an entire box of flaming red Clairol? Poor Ciara. And why, oh why, is there a paint pony in the background? In medieval Europe?
I can only guess that this painting was originally intended for some other author’s book—maybe a Western—and was re-touched to (kinda, sorta) fit mine. Recycling unused cover paintings used to be one way New York publishing houses saved money. (These days they save money by skipping the paintings entirely and using digital art.) Unfortunately, authors who write for New York publishers have zero control over their covers.
Indie authors, on the other hand, have total control over their covers.
One more reason why I love being an indie author.
The cover on the new digital edition of His Forbidden Touch, created by designer Kim Killion, is everything I wanted, everything the original cover wasn’t: it’s sexy, medieval, regal —it’s even a rich, royal purple—and it has mountains.
The “clinch” photo of the couple is actually a stock shot that Kim had on her website. I was amazed to find a stock photo that fit my story so perfectly. The first time I saw it, it immediately made me think of the steamy bathtub scene in chapter 12. Even the woman’s hair is perfect. That’s exactly how I imagine Ciara’s hair would look after Royce had to chop it while saving her life in the previous scene.
I know that some readers prefer covers that show the characters’ faces, but I love the new trend toward “cropped” people. I always find it jarring when the models’ faces don’t match the characters I imagined (take Mr. Trump and Ms. Maybelline, for example). That happened a lot with my New York-published books. I’d much rather leave the characters’ faces to each reader’s individual imagination.
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