by D. F. Jones
Suddenly his warm lips came down upon hers. All of her senses came alive. A flash of lightning launched through her innards, taking her by surprise. Her arms snaked their way around his neck, and she pulled him against her chest. His hands stroked up and down her sides. She breathed in his heady aroma, and her body went weak.
She knew in an instant this was what had been absent in her life. This is what she'd been missing. For years, the children were her only concern and she struggled daily with how to protect them. For so long, she'd felt alone and unloved by anyone except them. But, not anymore.
Her long-suppressed desires caught fire. He kissed her so hungrily her toes curled. Suddenly, she knew what heaven was about.
Miles pulled away and gazed into her eyes. "I've spent most of my years roaming the countryside and fighting. Since settling at Rosemont, I've wanted to make a life with the right woman. I knew you were the one the moment I met you. I admired your strength and capacity for love. I'm hoping you'll agree to be my wife. But before you say yes, I want you to know, I will never raise a hand to you and will never harm you or the children. I may get angry at times, but I will never hurt those I love."
Grace took in a sharp breath. "I trust you, Miles."
She had always hoped for a man who would treat her with kindness but never thought to find him. In her heart, she knew Miles was this man and his word was true. She'd never have to fear being abused again.
"Are you sure you want me for your wife?" She could hardly believe it.
"So sure, I've already spoken to Richard. He has offered us our own home behind the castle walls or rooms in the keep. Whichever, you prefer."
"Oh, Miles. Yes. Being with you is all I want. You are my destiny." She leaned forward until she was only a breath away.
"I give you all my heart," she whispered against his lips.
He rested his forehead against hers. "And you have mine."
About Karen Muir
Karen Muir is the author of Destiny's Way.
Karen writes Historical Romances in two different time periods: Medieval England and American Western. As she journeyed through her early life, she never imagined she would one day be a writer. Writing is hard! But when her dreams became stories, and her characters called out for her to write about their lives, she had no choice. Now she can't imagine a life without writing.
She lives in New England with her husband. When not working as an Occupational Therapist or writing, she enjoys visiting her two sons and their wives, hanging out with friends, going on Girl's Weekends, dinners out, watching Sci-fi and Fantasy, traveling up the coast, and lounging by the lake with family.
Whether writing about knights, damsels in distress, cowboys, or saloon girls you can bet a heart-tugging story is about to unfold. If you enjoyed, “Destiny's Way” please join her on another whimsical journey back in time and check out her other books:
Website: http://karen-muir.com/
Also by Karen Muir
Dagger's Destiny - Medieval Romance
* * *
Fated Beginnings - Western Romance
Forever Equals by Ruth A. Casie
A Stelton Legacy Story
Chapter 1
Caernarfon Castle
Wales - 1284
The clang of broadswords echoed in the unfinished hall. Alex Stelton advanced, slashing his sword. He took an angled step back to avoid his opponent, Morgan Stelton’s blade, as it came down in a decisive motion to block Alex’s assault.
Their swords locked. Neither willing to give an inch. Morgan applied pressure, tilting the razor-sharp edge until the blade rotated and was repositioned for attack.
In one fluid motion, Morgan lunged at Alex, scraped the weapon down Alex’s blade, pushed it aside, and with a final thrust, aimed at Alex’s head.
“You surprise me. You use the weight of the blade to your advantage,” Alex said. They both were out of breath, stepped back, their swords pointed at the floor. “You’re stronger than I remember.”
“You should come home more often so we can practice.” Morgan smiled pleased by the compliment and at seeing Alex winded.
“Morgan? Is that you?” called the voice behind them. “Of course, it’s you. Alex, you should be ashamed of encouraging her.”
Alex and his sister turned and faced the door.
Mary-Margaret, Morgan’s twin, marched in. “Where did you get those britches? Hurry, Mother is almost finished unpacking. With any luck, you can change into proper clothes before the evening meal.”
“You sound like Mother.” Morgan sheathed her sword and faced her brother. “I enjoyed the practice. If truth be told, I miss all seven of my brothers when they’re away. But I miss you the most.”
Every gesture, every expression was familiar and precious to her. His easy smile, the tilt of his head, and the soft creases around his eyes. He’d been away for months fighting in Wales. She was glad he was home without any injuries.
Mary-Margaret gave her sister a scathing look from head to toe. “Alex, don’t encourage her. Everyone will think I have eight brothers.”
“No one will mistake her for a boy, I assure you. She appears to have the essential parts of a lady.” He kissed Morgan on the forehead.
“She hopes to discourage suitors--” Mary-Margaret said.
“But—” Morgan interrupted.
“Don’t you dare deny it.” God’s toes, how Mary-Margaret enjoyed scolding her. “You’ve declined every eligible man who has approached you.”
“If Mother isn’t looking for me, why are you here?” Morgan asked. That should keep her quiet. From the tight-lipped expression on her sister’s face, she had succeeded.
“Ah, there you are.” The young Earl of Laurelton, Devon Saville, came through the half-finished doorway.
Morgan leaned toward her sister. “Now I understand your concern. You didn’t want your fiancé to see--”
“Shush or I’ll tell Mother how you continue to race her new mare across the fields as well as what you and Alex are up to.” Mary-Margaret spun around and, with a bright smile, joined Devon.
“Surely you remember how you played the maiden in distress, and I was Alex’s squire,” Morgan called after her sister.
“We were children,” Mary-Margaret said.
For a moment, Morgan was back in the fields with her brothers at their family estate. She and Mary-Margaret were cheering them on from a safe distance. Alex was the lone adversary out of sight on the other side of the rise. Three of her brothers rode hard toward him. Alex couldn’t handle three opponents, so she decided to even the odds.
Morgan had lifted her skirts and raced down the rise against Mary-Margaret’s protest. She picked up a sword and stood by Alex’s side, her feet planted and her arm ready. Her brothers wore bruises for days from the wooden sword she wielded.
“Who taught you how to handle a sword?” Alex asked after the skirmish was over.
“You did,” she answered.
Her brother cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow.
“Me?” Alex was most confused.
“I watch you fight all the time. Afterward, I practice by myself in the barn.”
The following day he began to teach her everything he knew. He taught her how to wrestle and how to use a sword until one day he was reminded Morgan was his sister. An alarming fact, but one they both understood. While her training changed, it never stopped.
“Humor your sister, please,” Devon said to her and Alex. “Or I will hear nothing else from Mary-Margaret during our stay at court. Not even the new little prince will hold her attention.”
“For you, Devon, I will show restraint.” Morgan gave him a sympathetic smile and glared at her sister. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll put on more appropriate clothes.”
“I’ll go with you. Devon, I’ll meet you later in the Great Hall,” Mary-Margaret called as she whisked Morgan away.
Morgan trudged across the ward and up the circular staircase. “How did you f
ind us? We chose that remote unfinished part of the castle to keep out of everyone’s sight.”
Silence.
At the top of the staircase Morgan glanced over her shoulder. “And how did Devon know where to find you?”
“Hurry before someone sees you.” Mary-Margaret pushed Morgan ahead, her face bright red.
“It seems Alex and I weren’t the only ones who didn’t want to be seen.” Morgan didn’t try to stifle her laugh. It kept bubbling up all the way to her room.
Chapter 2
Dressed in the latest fashion, minus her britches, Morgan entered the Great Hall and made her way past the dais where her parents, Philip and Celeste Stelton, stood with King Edward, his wife, Eleanor of Castille, and their two-week-old son, Edward.
She slipped by Mary-Margaret, who gossiped with a clutch of women, the queen’s ladies-in-waiting. The group envied her sister for her betrothal to Devon. At first glance, the women appeared crestfallen to find the eligible lord already spoken for but recovered quickly. Now, each played at enticing a group of bachelors standing close by.
“Morgan.”
She spun and smiled at Geoffrey despite his grim tone which usually heralded an oncoming lecture. Being the sixth child in the family came with its disadvantages. Geoffrey, the eldest of the brood, often took it upon himself to instruct her. Very often. Of course, Mary-Margaret never did anything wrong to merit such attention.
“I want a word with you,” Geoffrey said. To make this worse, her other brothers stood behind him.
“Yes.” She gave him her perkiest smile but groaned inside.
“Gossip is you wear britches and brandish a sword in remote areas of the castle.”
“I swear I will use that sword on Mary-Margaret, but not until I tell Mother she’s been wearing her jewels,” Morgan murmured staring across the room at her sister. Morgan should have known her sister wouldn’t keep her secret.
“In truth, it isn’t our sister who gave you away, but rather our Queen.”
Morgan blanched at the prospect the Queen had seen her.
“Her Majesty thought your attire refreshing and asked the king’s man to find her something similar. But that isn’t the point. What you do at the family estate is your business, but you’re at court. Don’t look at me as if you have no idea what I mean. Father is here on important business and doesn’t need distractions.”
Her head whipped around. “I wouldn’t do anything to get in Father’s way.”
“I know you wouldn’t do anything purposefully.” Geoffrey let out a long sigh. “Father’s concerned. Edward is colonizing Wales. There are fears Scotland will be next.”
The family estate was close to the border, and the reivers were bad enough raiding the farms and taking cattle, but war? Everyone would be devastated. War would tear families and neighbors apart. Best to not dwell on it or better yet ignore the consequences.
“As much as there are many against war, others try to convince the king otherwise. There is strong support for Father, but a growing number of people are beginning to waiver. Many are betting on Edward winning a war with the Scots, relieving them of their land, and giving the estates to his favorites, much like what’s been done in Wales.”
“Who is talking war with Scotland?” she asked.
“Lord Westervelt. The gentleman standing with the king.” Geoffrey nodded toward the dais. “His son, Captain Rowland Westervelt, is headed this way.”
“Geoffrey, you’ve returned.” Rowland’s presence and stride marked him as an elite, wearing the King’s colors with an officer’s rank. His expression was hard, unkind. Could the man smile? If he did, it wouldn’t change his dour appearance.
“Rowland, let me introduce you to my brothers, Bennett, Damian, Edwin, Fayne, Cameron and Alex.”
“And who is this?” Rowland leered. “Don’t keep her all to yourselves. Leave some for your betters.”
The air turned icy. Morgan preferred a casual interaction, and maybe that was his intent. But it fell short. The man was rude.
“I’m Morgan,” she said in a light tone, determined to reduce the tension before her brothers took it upon themselves to defend her.
His startled expression made him look like a frightened hart. “I thought Morgan was another of Philip’s sons.”
He was unaware she was a Stelton, which put a different meaning to his words. This man was more insulting than rude. Over the last two years her brothers paraded eligible men past her. She quickly learned how to separate the wheat from the chaff. Rowland was sorted with the others in the dust bin.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’m sure you have things to discuss with my brothers.” Morgan couldn’t get away from him fast enough. Let her brothers deal with the man.
“May I take the more beautiful of the Steltons for a turn around the hall?” He offered her his arm before she could step away.
“Ah, that would be Alex or Damian. Those two are the best looking of the lot,” she teased.
Rowland regarded her quizzically for a moment. Morgan glanced at Geoffrey, who dipped his head with a ‘get-him-away-from-us’ gleam in his eye.
“Thank you, Captain, that would be lovely.” She placed her hand on Rowland’s arm. The two made their way around the hall. All the while, she was thinking how she could make Geoffrey pay for her coming to his rescue.
“Morgan. A strange name for a woman,” Rowland said as the people they passed nodded and smiled at them.
“My name is Morgana, although my family has always called me Morgan. My parents expected a son.”
He chuckled. The sound had no joy to it, but rather labored. He must be out of practice.
They passed her parents. Her father gave her a quick smile, and her heart swelled at his warmth before he brought his attention back to the senior Westervelt. They walked by Mary-Margaret, who still stood in the midst of a gaggle of women. The surprised expression on her sister’s face made the stroll worthwhile.
“Geoffrey told me Morgan was an excellent card player. I never thought Morgan would be a beautiful woman. I hope you will forgive my error.”
The words flowed easily off his lips but were in contrast with the strain in his voice. A glance proved her right. His insincerity was chiseled on his face.
As they continued about the room, they spoke of the weather, the coming summer, and agreed that while the king’s builders were good at their work, there were more unfinished than finished rooms in Caernarfon Castle. Finally, he brought her to the garden doors; her brothers were not far away.
“Would you like to take a breath of fresh air? Or a tour of the garden?” Rowland leaned in close. “There is a quiet spot in the far corner where we can, talk.” He tilted his head, his mouth close to her ear.
The deep purr in his voice startled her and sent an uncomfortable chill across her shoulders. She faced him to respond and saw something in his eyes that made her stop.
“I think not.” She let go of his arm and started toward her brothers.
With a quick move, he stepped in front of her. “I didn’t intend to offend you.”
“That you would think it appropriate for me to be alone with you outside the garden door or in an isolated area of the garden leaves me thinking you’re less than a gentleman.”
The muscle tightening along his jaw was the only indication her words stung. She had chosen them carefully, attacking what he held dear, his chivalry. Before she could step around him, he guided her along and returned her to Geoffrey.
“Thank you, Captain.” Her tone dismissed him.
“My pleasure.” The king’s officer smiled and bowed. “Gentlemen.” He nodded to her brothers then walked away.
“What was that about?” Cameron, her younger brother, asked, staring at Rowland’s retreating back. “What did you say to him? He can’t get away from you fast enough.”
“Nothing really.” The man didn’t merit another thought.
“You don’t need to pretend to be disinterested to make yourself more a
ttractive,” Cameron said.
“What makes you think I was pretending?” She gaped at her brother. Attract that man? She had no intention of telling Cameron what had happened, especially with her father involved with the king. She did, however, decide she did not like Captain Rowland Westervelt.
“You and Mary-Margaret are the talk of the court.”
Morgan stared at Cameron with a startled gaze, Rowland’s insult quickly forgotten.
“Don’t give me that smirk. You shouldn’t be surprised. You both are beautiful, congenial, and smart. The gentlemen at court are fascinated that you are identical twins. People place wagers on who is whom. All good-natured, of course.”
In the buzz of the many conversations, the sound of a rich baritone voice amid the crowd made her heart flutter. It was a familiar voice unheard for years that reached her ears. A handsome face came to mind followed by a flash of memories and anger.
She heard his voice again and steeled herself. Curious, she glanced around the room; her gaze found him at once. He stood with her brothers. His appearance was wildly rugged, more commanding, and more handsome then she remembered.
Memories locked away for years assaulted her--walks in the garden, hikes by the cliffs, sunsets at the ruins on the hill, her first kiss. Her heart pounded until she remembered standing on the battlements as he rode out of her life.
Morgan pulled her gaze away and concentrated on arranging her kirtle, then glanced back. He was gone and her heart sank.
“Morgan,” her brother, Bennett, called from behind her. “It’s Gray, Grayson MacDonald. King Alexander’s champion.”
She spun about. He stood next to Bennett, with a warm smile. Morgan swallowed her thoughts then returned his smile. Gone was the easy comfort between them. Now, it was like meeting a stranger.
