Stolen Brides: Four Beauty-and-the-Beast Medieval Romances
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Thierry was hers alone, and that was more, far more, than Kira had hoped to possess.
Epilogue
After the visit of the Mongol emissaries, the king of France took the cross, pledging to fight the infidel in Palestine. While the king’s company took three years to prepare for their departure, the king was unaware of changes in Montsalvat. Thierry had decided that the keep was too high and too isolated to serve as an abode, so had invited a local company of holy men to make it their own. The windows in the chapel were removed and stored in the cellar beneath the hall, and women in the village made robes for the holy men. Thierry established his home in the village, keeping an arrangement with the men in the fortress that all could retreat there in time of need. The village at the foot of the road that wound to Montsalvat prospered beneath Thierry’s hand, becoming known as a place to trade goats, fleece, cheese and gems.
When the king’s company finally prepared to leave Paris three years later, Eustache de Sidon sent word, inviting the king to pray with the holy brethren at Montsalvat on his way to crusade. Eustache confessed their hope the king might support their request to the pope to have their establishment approved.
The king, content with this resolution for a holding that had caused him concern in the past, arrived in June. He found the keep austere yet beautiful in its way, and prayed in the chapel with the men he found there. He had heard over the years of the stained glass at Montsalvat, often in comparison with that of La Chapelle, the chapel he had ordered to house the crown of thorns. To his satisfaction, he found that rumor had portrayed Montsalvat’s windows as much finer than they were. Contrary to his expectation of lushly depicted scenes of the legacy of lost kings, these windows were simply blue with some painting upon them. They suited the simplicity of the place. He willingly signed the petition to Rome.
He did not realize that the apparently ancient man who swept the courtyard of Montsalvat was Dagobert de Pereille, a man whose demise he had once ordered, a man he believed was dead. The king never knew of the cave on the far side of the hill, the one where a pair of infidels hid with shaggy ponies until the royal company was long out of sight. He toured the village and tasted the cheese and pronounced himself satisfied.
The king blessed Eustache de Sidon for being a loyal vassal and accepted that knight’s plan to join the men sworn to God’s service in the old keep. He also accepted the pledge of fealty from the knight Eustache had chosen to succeed him in administering the area, a tall, strong man with eyes of clearest silver, name of Thierry de Havre. There was a resolve in this warrior that inspired confidence in his skills and the king respected Eustache’s choice. That the knight was married was an indication that he would be steadfast in defending the land that was his home.
The king marveled that the knight’s wife allowed her skin to tan so dark in the sun, but assumed her to be of peasant stock. Their daughter clung to her mother’s skirts, and ’twas clear the knight was fond of the child. A family man, in the king’s view, was the best choice for administration and he accepted this knight’s pledge of fealty gladly.
The king never realized that this knight, too, was a man whose execution he had ordered, much less a man he believed to be dead.
The king, well pleased, rode south, to sail for Palestine from the port of Aigues-Mortes. He died on that, his second, crusade of the dysentery that had plagued him once before, and his son took the crown of France after him.
Montsalvat became once again the fortress it had always been after the visit of the king, and the knight’s daughter grew up with the wind in her hair. She had a mark upon her chest, identical to that of her father and her grandfather, though no one saw it outside of her own family.
The vine had borne fruit yet again but because this girl’s father had chosen more modestly than was his due, Montsalvat remained in peace and prosperity. And if father and son examined the old banner once in a while, admiring the handwork and telling tales of the past, they did so in secret, well content with what Thierry and Kira wrought in these ancestral lands.
Unicorn Bride
Book 1 of the Unicorn Trilogy
For generations, legend had stalked the battlements of the fortress Montsalvat. And now Alienor de Perpignan found herself promised in marriage to the man at the heart of the oft-whispered tales: Dagobert, Count de Pereille. A near-mythic being rumored to be a beast by day – and more than a man by night.
That Alienor was his true-destined bride, Dagobert de Pereille had no doubt. Indeed, with her exotic beauty and blade-bright spirit, she could be none other. But could he who bore the mark – and the curse – of ancient kings ever trust her enough to open his heart?
“Another delicious Delacroix delight!”—Affaire de Coeur
Unicorn Bride
Book #1 of the Unicorn Trilogy
Available Now!
The Warrior
The Rogues of Ravensmuir #3
Dear Reader—
Alluring and dangerous, the Hawk of Inverfyre came to rest at my father’s house, his motives unknown. His seduction was breathtaking. I resisted him, this enigmatic warrior, but his kiss transported me to a time and place where his relentless pursuit and my passionate surrender made perfect sense.
’Twas then I erred. My defenses harried, I was tricked into marriage by the Hawk and taken by force to his lawless castle. I have vowed to flee: The grounds abound with rogues and whores, and the servants whisper of murdered wives. And yet, his dizzying touch hints that we have lived here before - he as the castle’s intrepid founder and I as his betrayed lover.
Am I the bride who will break the spell of Inverfyre? Or have I been captured by a scheming sorcerer, only to be ravished and discarded like so many before?
—Lady Aileen of Abernye
“Delacroix’s satisfying tale leaves the reader hungry for the next offering.”—Booklist
The Rogues of Ravensmuir
Medieval Scottish Romances
The Rogues of Ravensmuir is my original trilogy of stories featuring the families of Ravensmuir, Kinfairlie, and Inverfyre. There are currently four series set in this fictional world. First, in order of events, is the Rogues of Ravensmuir:
1. The Rogue
(Merlyn and Isabella)
2. The Scoundrel
(Gawain and Evangeline)
3. The Warrior
(Michael - the Hawk - and Aileen)
The Jewels of Kinfairlie series of medieval Scottish romances features the first three siblings of the next generation at Kinfairlie. These are Roland and Catherine’s children who visit Inverfyre at the end of The Warrior.
1. The Beauty Bride
(Madeline and Rhys)
2. The Rose Red Bride
(Vivienne and Erik)
3. The Snow White Bride
(Alexander and Eleanor)
4. The Ballad of Rosamunde
(Rosamunde and Padraig)
The True Love Brides series features four more of the eight siblings at Kinfairlie:
1. The Renegade’s Heart
(Isabella and Murdoch)
2. The Highlander’s Curse
(Annelise and Garrett)
3. The Frost Maiden’s Kiss
(Malcolm and Catriona)
4. The Warrior’s Prize
(Elizabeth and Rafael)
The story of Ross (the eighth sibling) is part of The Brides of Inverfyre series, which also features the children of the Hawk of Inverfyre and Aileen:
1. The Mercenary’s Bride
(Mhairi and Quentin)
2. The Runaway Bride
(Aiofe and Ross)
There’s a Ravensmuir tab on my website with all of the books set in this world, as well as links to download free family trees.
Many of the books in this world are also available in audio.
Sign up for my free guided tour of the world of Ravensmuir and the books set in my fictional medieval Scottish realm!
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k set in the world of Ravensmuir. You'll get a peek behind the scenes of that book’s creation, learn more about the historical details and my research for the book, and meet the characters. There will be discounts for you to buy books in my online store, too, and we’ll talk about my inspiration, too.
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Let’s visit medieval Scotland together!
Dear Reader
The Warrior was a book that captured my heart from the first moment that the Hawk and Aileen’s story came to me. I love reincarnation romances, and I particularly enjoy a skeptical hero who learns to believe in things he can’t see. The hero of this book, the Hawk, is both pragmatic and practical, while his partner, Aileen, is the daughter of a woman who was psychic but deemed to be mad. I had a wonderful time writing their story and watching love heal their respective wounds.
This story is the third book in my Rogues of Ravensmuir series, each of which features a strong hero. As with all of my re-releases, I’ve chosen not to revise this book, but to republish it essentially as it was published in the first place. In preparing these new editions, I fell in love with Merlyn, Gawain and the Hawk all over again. I hope that you enjoy reading their stories as much as I loved writing them.
You can continue to read more about this family in my Jewels of Kinfairlie series, my True Love Brides series and my Brides of Inverfyre series of medieval Scottish romances. These romances feature seven of the eight children of Roland, the Hawk’s milk-brother, who we first encounter at Inverfyre at the end of The Warrior. By the start of The Beauty Bride, they’re all grown up and ready for happy endings of their own. In the Brides of Inverfyre series, the children of the Hawk and Aileen will also find their HEA’s. There’s an excerpt from The Beauty Bride, the first book of the Jewels of Kinfairlie series, at the end of this book.
You can download free family trees for Kinfairlie and Inverfyre on my website, right here.
All of the Jewels of Kinfairlie and True Love Brides medieval Scottish romances are also available in audio.
You can also sign up for a free guided tour of Ravensmuir: this is a newsletter sequence, maintained separately from my main newsletter list. Each week, you’ll receive a newsletter featuring one book, each book in order, and take a peek behind the scenes at my inspiration and research for that story. Join the Ravensmuir tour here!
To stay up to date on new releases, sales, and other good news, please subscribe to my newsletter, Knights & Rogues.
Until next time, I hope you are well and have plenty of good books to read.
All my best,
Claire
http://delacroix.net
Prologue
Inverfyre, Scotland – November 1390
His father had been right.
Every step Michael took into the forests of Scotland made it more impossible to evade the astonishing truth. He had always assumed that his father’s tales of Scotland had been whimsy, heavily embellished with a nostalgia his mother would find appealing. Gawain Lammergeier was not above stretching the truth, especially when his tall tales prompted Evangeline’s laughter.
But all of those tales had been true. The land was so beautiful as to leave Michael breathless and it could be as mercilessly cruel as a woman with a heart of ice. What he had not expected was his growing sense these lands were not quite earthly. He might have stepped into the domain of the fey. Michael was uneasy with this awareness, for he had never heeded such tales and knew not what the rules of this land might be.
There had been frost this morning when his company awakened, and all the trees were etched with silver filigree so fine as to rival the work of a master jeweler. The sky was a blue so bright as to hurt one’s gaze, but the shadows in the forest yielded their secrets to none. Michael surveyed his surroundings constantly as they rode, unable to dissuade himself of the conviction they were being watched.
And not by mortal eyes.
Certainly not by friendly eyes.
He urged the party onward, fighting to ignore the oppressive feeling that the forest disapproved of his intrusion. He was the seventh son of the line of Magnus Armstrong, the heir of Inverfyre, the warrior destined to fulfill an old prophecy, and the son of the greatest thief in Christendom besides.
Fortune would not dare deny him his due.
Or so he told himself.
At least, Michael was not alone. Tarsuinn had been invited to join this journey, his half-sister Rosamunde had not, but they both rode behind him all the same. He knew he should have anticipated that Rosamunde would have her way. Sebastien and Fernando, two good friends from Sicily who had proclaimed themselves in dire need of an adventure, accompanied him, as well. A dozen stalwart men from his father’s household and ship comprised the rest of the group that had sailed north.
Michael might have stolen his father’s vessel—a feat he did not doubt his father savored—but he was not fool enough to embark on a quest without information. He had commanded the crew to drop anchor at the Lammergeier stronghold of Ravensmuir to seek the counsel of his uncle, Merlyn. But Merlyn and his wife Ysabella had been away—in lieu of Merlyn’s counsel, Michael’s cousins Tynan and Roland insisted upon accompanying the party to Inverfyre, along with their trio of squires.
The company comprised more than twenty in all, but the sound of their passing was almost naught. The young squires had ceased their chattering as soon as the shadow of the woods closed around them. By the time Stirling had fallen into the forgotten distance, none of them dared to make so much as a whistle.
Just the day before, Michael would have counted it a blessing if Rosamunde and Tynan could have ceased their bickering over every inconsequential detail. On this day, he had the urge to provoke them, if only to hear mortal voices at normal volume. He felt they trod close to a sleeping demon whom they dared not awaken.
Yet not all slumbered, for something surveyed their progress. Michael halted suddenly and knew without glancing back that the rest of his party stopped behind him. Stillness settled on all sides, the shadows seemed impenetrable, the cold of pending winter chilled his marrow. The forest breathed on all sides, watching, waiting.
He shivered involuntarily and his heart quailed. It seemed suddenly to be tremendous folly that had brought him here, that he could never accomplish his objective, that he had made a fatal error.
Nonsense! He would not be defeated by silence!
“Are there wolves in these woods?” Michael demanded of his cousin.
Tynan shrugged. “There are wolves in all the forests of Christendom. They are not more numerous here.”
“Are they more malicious?” Rosamunde asked as she eased her steed closer to the pair.
Tynan snorted. “Have you amiable wolves in the south?”
Rosamunde lifted her chin and glared at her cousin. “Are they especially vicious in this barbaric land?”
“All predators are vicious, particularly those willing to prey upon men.” Tynan turned to scan the forest, excluding Rosamunde with his manner.
Michael did not miss the hot glance his half-sister cast at their inattentive cousin.
Rosamunde was a willful beauty, unused to any man showing disinterest in her charms. Michael and Rosamunde were of an age, but Tynan was some eight years their senior. Further, he was tall and dark and given to dismissing Rosamunde in a manner she clearly did not appreciate.
“What observes our progress, then?” Michael asked.
Tynan smiled. “I could tell you a thousand tales of ghosts and specters, each and every one of them purportedly true. One seldom feels alone in our woods, though I have never felt another presence so strongly.”
It was on Michael’s lips to ask how close they were to Inverfyre, but a cloaked figure stepped out of the forest ahead of them and silenced his query before it was uttered.
He saw her and he knew, he knew with unwavering certainty that he stood already upon his hereditary holding.
But how could he be so certain? They had passed no boundary ma
rker, indeed they were not even upon the road.
He blinked and looked again at this unexpected figure. Indeed, he could not have said that this soul truly stepped from anywhere—it was more that the figure had appeared where it had not been before. He might have thought he imagined its presence, but Rosamunde whispered a prayer and crossed herself. Tynan lifted a hand to stay him, suddenly as watchful and silent as a predator himself. Roland caught his breath, as if he bit back a warning.
Michael understood then that they, too, felt the uncanny power of this stranger.
“Do you shirk what you cannot see, heir of Magnus Armstrong?” the figure shouted, her voice revealing her gender. “Or is the blood of Magnus’ lineage so diminished that his heir has not the boldness of a babe?”
Tarsuinn gasped. “God in heaven, it cannot be.”
“Who is she?” Michael demanded.
“An old crone of the woods. I thought her dead years past.” Tarsuinn peered at the distant figure, shaking his head as he marveled. “But it is she. This one was of aid to your parents once, though she is unpredictable. I advise caution, my lord.” He eased his steed forward and raised his voice. “Adaira? Do you yet occupy these woods?”