by Liz Fielding
'It is because of you that I have my country. Because of you that I am a man…'
Another veil fell, revealing a hand. He lifted it, kissed each finger, turned it over to kiss the pad of her thumb, her palm.
There was no fight. Just a slow, sensuous unwrapping of his beautiful bride. He kissed every trembling inch of her until she was melting, imploring, begging for him to make their marriage complete. At which point he discovered that the white sheet was no mere symbol.
That Violet Hamilton had, indeed, given him everything.
Liz Fielding
Liz Fielding was born with itchy feet. She made it to Zambia before her twenty-first birthday and, gathering her own special hero and a couple of children on the way, lived in Botswana, Kenya and Bahrain – with pauses for sightseeing pretty much everywhere in between.
She finally came to a full stop in a tiny Welsh village cradled by misty hills and these days, mostly, leaves her pen to do the travelling.
When she's not sorting out the lives and loves of her characters, she potters in the garden, reads her favourite authors and spends a lot of time wondering… "What if…"
For news of forthcoming books – and to sign up for her occasional newsletter – visit Liz's website at www.lizfielding.com
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