Bits 'n Bobs Author Blog
Jenna Jaxon gives us a knight with the knowledge of the language of flowers and his wife who longs for the language of love in her book, Time Enough to Love. EXCERPT: Snipping the stems of a sweetly-scented pale lavender Apothecary’s rose, she started when a shadow fell over the flower in her hand. She looked up to find Thomas standing before her, smiling at her basketful of blooms. “You wish to take a part of Knowlton’s Keep with us when we leave, my lady?” Her answering smile masked the strange thumping that became the beat of her heart. “I hope you approve, my lord. I would dry the petals and use them to remind us of home while we journey so far from it.” “Of course, my sweet. Whate’er your heart desires is yours.” He took a dark pink blossom from her and held it to his nose. “Sweet.” The warm brown eyes held her blue ones. “Thank you.” Alyse stared at him, uncertain what he meant. “I beg pardon, my lord?” He placed the rose in her basket. “’Tis what the dark pink color means. In the language of flowers. Thank you. At least,” he grinned at her, “according to my mother that is what it means. I am not sure how she came by this knowledge.” Curious idea. “What do the others mean?” He drew her arm through his and led her to a bush with snowy-white double blooms. “This is the Cheshire rose. The white blooms stand for purity.” Alyse bent to smell the delicate scent. “I suppose that would be expected.” Thomas took her shears and snipped the bloom, adding it to her basket. “Purity, for a pure heart.” Beside the Cheshire grew a large bush of clear pink blooms. “And this?” She could not contain her eagerness. The names and meanings of the roses had stirred up the banked embers in her soul. Or perhaps the nearness of Thomas’s masculine body excited other, more passionate yearnings. Suddenly, the feel of his arm in hers filled her senses. What was happening? Why this sudden lift in spirits? She had been more melancholy of late, ever since Thomas had abandoned her bed. But it made no sense. Did she not still love Geoffrey, heart and soul? The thought sobered her. The sharp pang of sorrow that always stabbed her heart at the thought of him had dulled. Was she coming to regard Thomas as her husband and long for him as such? “This is my favorite.” He clipped another pink bloom and held it under her nose. “What do you smell?” Puzzled, she sniffed the showy pink blossom, but he moved the stem and leaves for her to smell instead. A wonderful scent assailed her, but one she did not associate with roses. “Apples?” A smile lit his face as he placed an entire stem of the flowers, leaves and all, into her basket. “But what is it called?” “Eglantine or Sweet Briar Rose.” He looked down at his thumb where a fat drop of blood welled. “The latter is probably the more apt name.” He smiled ruefully. Seeing his glance, she took his hand and, without thinking, raised the injured thumb to her lips. She gently kissed the drop away, and he gasped. Their gazes met, his frankly searching hers for an answer. BLURB FOR TIME ENOUGH TO LOVE When Lady Alyse de Courcy is betrothed to Sir Geoffrey Longford, she has no choice but to make the best of a bad bargain. The hulking knight is far from her ideal man, and although he does possess some wit and charm, he is no match for the sinfully sensual man she secretly admires, Thomas, Earl of Braeton, her betrothed’s best friend. From the first, Sir Geoffrey finds himself smitten by Lady Alyse, and, despite her infatuation with his friend, vows to win her love. When Geoffrey puts his mind to wooing Alyse, he is delighted to find her succumbing to his seduction. But when cruel circumstances separate them, Geoffrey must watch helplessly as Thomas steps in to protect Alyse—and falls in love with her himself. As the three courtiers accompany Princess Joanna to her wedding in Spain, they run headlong into the Black Plague. With her world plunged into chaos, Alyse struggles with her feelings for both the men she loves. But which love will survive? BUY LINK: AMAZON: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B01ACF9L98?*Version*=1&*entries*=0
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A storm frightens Lady Emelin's horse and conjures a monster in Barbara Bettis' tale, Silverhawk. EXCERPT: (Lady Emelin has chosen a stormy night to launch an escape from her tempting kidnapper, Sir Giles) She shivered against the increasing cold and hunched forward to search the path ahead. Why hadn’t she thought to bring one of the blankets? Clouds scudded across the sky. Still she urged the horse onward. She had come too far to turn back now. Had Silverhawk regained consciousness? Discovered her absence? Imagine the surprise, when he awoke alone. She’d shown him she was not helpless. Satisfaction lightened the oppression she was feeling—from the approaching storm; that had to explain the growing dread. Then, carried on bursts of wind, came voices. At last. She’d found them. She straightened, the discomfort of the cold and riding bareback forgotten as she urged the mare forward. Onward down the trail she rode. Once she called out, “Lord Osbert, Garley, I’m here.” No answer came. In the distance, thunder rumbled, and white light knifed across the ominous sky. Please, not rain. Surely the good Lord wouldn’t be so cruel. Her throat constricted. She gulped. She would not panic. Concentrate on deep breaths. If only her heart would stop clamoring to get out. A cold, fat drop struck, followed by two more, a dozen. Then the downpour hit. A jagged streak snapped in front of her. A rolling crash shook the earth. The mare tossed its head, danced aside. Emelin murmured, petted the animal’s neck in an attempt to calm it. But at the next sharp crack, it reared, and shot down the path. Fisting the reins, she clung to its mane as the mount veered through the underbrush, away from the sharp zigzags of light. Branches struck her face, snatched at her skirts, nearly dragged her off. How she managed to keep her seat, she didn’t know. All she could think was, Don’t fall. Don’t fall. Don’t fall. At last the mare slowed. Emelin squinted through wet eyes, reached out to knock aside a soggy branch, dripping leaves. Finally, the animal stopped, blowing hard, trembling. Emelin shook. Breath came in gasps. Her mind could not form a coherent thought as cold wetness dripped from her hair to ooze down her back. The frightened flight of the horse had carried her far from the path. She was hopelessly lost. All around, wind-whipped shadows dipped, lunged forward, then back. Another spear of lightning wrenched into a nearby tree. Her shout of surprise was swallowed in the earth-shaking roar that followed. The winded mare only shook harder. Could they survive this nightmare? Then through the rain-drenched night a huge black object hurtled up, rearing as it just missed her. Emelin screamed. The monster swung around. Wet black tentacles wrapped around her, dragged her off the exhausted mare. She tried to struggle, but the iron hold wouldn’t allow it. At last her feet touched ground, and the tentacles embraced her until she couldn’t breathe. It took a moment for the roar to dissolve into understandable words. “Are you hurt? Are you hurt? Tell me if you’re hurt.” Silverhawk. Her arms flew around his waist and she nodded against his soaked tunic. Thank God, thank God. She was safe. BLURB: He’s everything a proper lady should never want; she’s everything a bastard mercenary can never have. Sir Giles has come to England to kill his father, who seduced and betrayed his mother. First, however, he’ll seek sweet revenge—kidnap the old lord’s new betrothed. But when Giles uncovers a plot against King Richard, he faces a dilemma: take the lady or track the traitors. What’s a good mercenary to do? Both, of course. Lady Emelin has had enough. Abandoned in a convent by her brother, she finally has a chance for home and family. Yet now she’s been abducted. Her kidnapper may be the image of her dream knight, but she won’t allow him to spoil this betrothal. Her only solution: escape Rescuing the intrepid lady—while hunting traitors—is a challenge Giles couldn’t anticipate. But the greatest challenge to Giles and Emelin is the fire blazing between them. For he’s everything a proper lady should never want, and she’s everything a bastard mercenary can never have. Buy Link: https://www.amazon.com/Silverhawk-Barbara-Bettis-ebook/dp/B015QIK9CE?ie=UTF8&keywords=silverhawk&qid=1464742126&ref_=sr_1_1&sr=8-1 The celebration is well underway in Mary Morgan's excerpt from her book, Dragon Knight's Medallion. Excerpt: Some of the men and women were already dancing around the fire. She laughed when she spied Betsy twirling around. Betsy waved her over. “Come dance with us.” Aileen held up her hand in protest. “Oh, no...I’m fine just watching.” Turning blindly, she stumbled into Brian. “May I have this dance, Lady Aileen?” he asked. “I really shouldn’t, Brian.” He looked so dejected she decided to throw caution to the wind. “You know what? I haven’t danced in ages. I think I will take that dance.” “I would be honored,” he said proudly, holding out his hand. Aileen swallowed the last of her wine, before putting the cup on a log. Taking his hand, she gathered her dress and joined the others. In no time at all, she found herself being swept away with the contagious merriment. Letting her shields slip just a bit, she relished the gaiety—twirling and singing. When Brian would gather her close, she would move away, spinning in a circle. On and on, around the inferno, laughter peeling out. She felt young and carefree. *** Stephen had gathered some food from Betha as he intended to be away all night. She and Donal had pleaded with him to join in the feasting, but he waved them off rather rudely. He wanted no part of the festivities. Almost colliding with a couple, he swore softly. Placing the food across Grian, he shifted hesitantly. It was then he spotted...her. His hand froze on the leather sack. Sweet Mother! What was she doing? And dressed like that? She was a Goddess of the flame. He watched as she was swung up into the air by none other than Brian. Then the man dared to slide her down against him. Dark fury burst somewhere deep inside Stephen. “I’m going to kill him,” he rasped out. The blood roared in his head, as he stormed across the open field, never hearing those who greeted him in passing—one hand held firm against his sword. He slowed his pace and Stephen waited as any warrior would. Let the enemy show himself, he thought. When their dancing brought them nearer to him, he darted in front blocking their path. They never saw him coming. Aileen’s back slammed into his chest, and his arms grasped her instantly in a firm grip. “Hey, ouch!” She tried to move, but he held her solid against his body. Brian skidded to a halt. “Greetings, Sir Stephen.” He went to grab for Aileen’s hand, when Stephen let out a growl of warning. “What is your problem? Did you just growl?” demanded Aileen. She tried to pry herself loose, but he continued to hold her firm. “Mine,” he snarled. Instantly, Brian’s face went white. “Thank ye for the dance, Lady Aileen,” Brian clipped out. Giving Stephen a curt nod, he stomped away. “Bloody. God. Damn. Hell,” Aileen snapped. Stephen released her, only spinning her around to face him. Something primal within him tore loose. He tried to reason with himself that this was insanity, though his mind and body wouldn’t yield. His gaze dropped to those lips--lips he had fantasized about for weeks. “Aileen,” he choked out before his mouth took hers in a plundering kiss. His lips moved over hers devouring their softness. The kiss became urgent, pleading in its need. His tongue sought hers, and the dance of desire seared their bodies. Raw passion took over his anger, and she opened fully, drawing him against her body. She took her hands and wrapped them around his head, threading her fingers in his locks and pulling him in deeper. Never in all of his life had he felt so right in someone’s arms. When he broke from the kiss, his breathing was labored. Her eyes were dark with desire for him, and he shook with such need, it frightened him. “By the hounds,” he uttered hoarsely. In one swift move, he picked her up. Carrying her to his horse, he ignored the hoots and remarks coming from the crowd. Placing her on Grian, he swung around in back, taking off through a large group of oak trees with only one clear thought in mind. * * * Blurb: To right a wrong, two souls are brought together only to shatter when they are torn apart by the deeds of an evil druid. Dragon Knight, Stephen MacKay’s powers are altered after the death of his sister. Now he is plagued with visions that threaten to destroy his soul. When Aileen Kerrigan falls through a time tunnel, he vows to keep her safe, despite the fact the beautiful but head-strong half-blooded fae could be the death of him. When Aileen finds out her dad is a Fenian Warrior, she flees to a nearby ruin. Armed with the medallion her mother gave her, and a matching one belonging to a long dead knight, she is flung into the past and finds a handsome but surly warrior who is on a quest. Now it seems her future could be entwined with his, if she doesn’t kill him first. Buy Links: Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Dragon-Knights-Medallion-Order-Book-ebook/dp/B00P81C0EA/ Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/dragon-knights-medallion-mary-morgan/1120854028/ Apple iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/dragon-knights-medallion/id946798386/ The Wild Rose Press: http://catalog.thewildrosepress.com/1120_mary-morgan Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/dragon-knight-s-medallion Tisa's first glimpse of her new home is overshadowed by the weather. But what does her heart see? EXCERPT: The day Tisa arrived at her new home it was dark and stormy. They’d been keeping ahead of the impending rain the whole day. From the rise overlooking the sea, dark, angry clouds hugged the coastline, making it impossible to see the ocean. The sound of crashing waves pounding along the rocky shore made her stop. Her mount shifted beneath her as if wary as well. Darragh come up alongside and pointed out the little cluster of roundhouses nestled into the valley below. “That is yer new home,” he said. Several small buildings surrounded a larger longhouse in the center. It appeared quite peaceful despite the many barren trees no longer protecting it from the sea breezes. “It looks peaceful.” He snorted beside her. “Dunna be fooled. There is nothing about my father, including his clan, that is peaceful but ye’ve witnessed that yerself.” His father had been relentless in keeping track of their whereabouts. He’d continued to impose on them, making lewd suggestions when they separated from the group at night. Tisa would almost believe she had become dulled by his comments. Almost. “Darragh!” Aodh barked at his son. “See to the ships.” Her husband sighed. “Father, I will see my bride settled before leaving her alone.” Aodh laughed. A cruel laugh. The belittling laugh he often used with his son. “Afraid to leave her unprotected?” Darragh turned to face the man that had come up behind him. “Aye, I will have her well protected before I venture off to see to yer ships.” Aodh smiled at her. “But I’ve been so patient.” “Then be patient about yer ships!” Darragh took the reins of Tisa’s horse and led them both down the graceful hillside ahead of the others. Tisa dared not breathe at this blatant show of disobedience. Once out of earshot, she whispered to her husband. “Darragh, he is still not following.” “I’ve shocked him into immobility.” Blurb: Drogheda, Ireland 1075 The sixth son bears a curse as certain as the seventh son bears a blessing. When Tadhg MacNaughton’s betrothed is ripped from his arms and married to another, he believes the legend is true. Tisa O'Brien's life slams into a downward spiral at the news she is no longer betrothed to the love of her life but to the tanist of a warring, prideful clan with dangerous political aspirations, the Meic Lochlainn. She faces her destiny with all the strength and dignity of her Irish heritage despite dealing with a husband who resents her and meets his needs in the arms of others, fighting off the lustful advances of her father-in-law, Aodh, and longing for the husband of her heart. Tadhg MacNaughton makes a deal with the devil to ensure the survival of his clan as he is commanded to fight for Aodh who envisions himself the new High King of Eire. Up close and personal, Tadhg must witness his true love's marriage and remain silent even as it rips him apart. When a sinister plot to overthrow King William of England led by the exiled Leofrid Godwin and Clan Meic Lochlainn comes to light, Tadhg is faced with saving his clan or endangering his sister and her Norman husband. An Irish beauty and a warrior betrayed, doomed in love from the start or does fate have something else in store for them? Amazon By moonlight, Robert and Juliana flee a trap. The environment plays a huge part in the success or failure of their escape. Excerpt: Under cloudy skies, they made their way in silence to the stables and were lucky enough to encounter no one. Juliana kept watch while Robert saddled the horses and muffled their hooves with rags. He handed her the mare’s reins, then pointed toward an exit at the back of the stables. “But the gate is over there,” she whispered. “Aye, and ’twill be watched. We must find a postern and leave that way,” he whispered back. “And if that, too, is watched?” “’Tis likely to have only one guard, if that, and I can deal silently with one man.” Taking care to be quiet and watch for guards, they made their way along the wall until they found the unguarded postern. The gate opened with very little noise. Leading the horses, they picked their way carefully over the rocky ground that separated the country home from the hills a league distant. They had covered half the distance when a shout went up from the house. “Our departure is discovered. We must hurry.” Robert grasped Juliana about the waist and lifted her into her saddle, then bent to remove the cloth from the horses’ hooves and tossed the rags behind a nearby bush. “At least we still have the cover of the clouds. They do not yet know where we are.” “But not for long.” Robert leapt to his saddle and pointed toward the sky. Juliana followed his gesture to see the moon edging out from behind its cloudy curtain. “Oh no.” “The moment that moonlight strikes your white horse we will be as visible as if we had a beacon to light the way.” Juliana wasted no time in reply but set her mare to a ground-eating lope. Robert sent his destrier thundering after her, praying they would reach the hills in time to lose their pursuers. He held to the pace of her smaller mount, using himself and his larger horse to shelter Juliana. So swift a ride over unfamiliar terrain in the dark held as many dangers as a hoard of pursuers. One misstep could break a neck, but given the consequences of being caught, a broken neck was worth the risk. They raced onward. Still, the sounds of pursuit grew closer with each stride. He could see the mare was tiring. Arrows flew past his head. As Juliana’s steed continued to fail, he shifted the reins to one hand and with the other plucked her from her saddle to place her facing him on the broad pommel of his saddle. “Hold on,” he yelled. He waited only to feel her arms tighten around his waist, then urged the destrier to even greater speed. Fury washed through him. He wanted to kill the men who placed Juliana in such danger. But first he had to get her to safety. Mother of God, help us find cover quickly. He headed away from the trail to Palermo, hoping to create false confidence in their pursuers. He knew quite well where he was, but they would believe him to be lost. To make the deception work, he must first elude them. The howls from the pack of men sounded entirely too close. Robert spied a dip in the hillside and rode hard for it. He splashed over a small stream and turned to follow a rocky cleft that time had carved in the hill. Sharp cliffs rose on both sides, blocking the moonlight. The pursuers’ shouts echoed off the walls of the passage. He dodged between a pair of rocks, away from the stream and out of sight of the pack. He had to find shelter soon. His gelding could not keep this pace for much longer. “On your left. I think I see a space.” Juliana’s words flew at him. “It’s behind us now.” Robert hauled on the reins, guiding the horse at her direction. A bush blocked the way. He shifted his weight and tightened his thighs until the destrier leapt and cleared the bush. They hit the ground with a jarring thud and nearly ran headlong into the cliff face. He reined in hard, and the gelding turned, missing the wall by a hair. The awkward movement threw Robert off balance, and he crashed against the stone. Juliana grunted at the impact. “Left again.” Robert complied, spying the narrow gorge in that moment. He ordered the steed into the space. Instantly, the sounds of pursuit became muffled. With moonlight blocked, the gorge was darker than pitch. The horse had to step with slow care. Dotted with boulders and brush, eventually the way broadened. The moon cast huge shadows and distorted perception. Sounds of pursuit had ceased some time ago. But rage still flooded Robert. Half of him wished the pack would catch them so he could gut each and every one of the men. The saner half knew he would be lucky to get Juliana back to the beguinage in one piece. Robert moved from rock to bush to rock, winding and shifting his path in an attempt to confuse any followers. Sometime later, he stumbled upon a shallow cave. Keeping to the shadows, he reined to a halt and observed the lay of the land. The cliff face would guard their backs. Approach from the front was restricted by the slim crevasse through which they had just traveled. The place was defensible against a small number. If a large group attacked, he would just have to slit Juliana’s throat to save her a more painful fate and then kill as many of the attackers as possible before he died, too. His breath stopped for a moment at the thought of Juliana dead. The rage that sustained him since her capture faltered in the face of fear that she might die by his hand. He could not let her die, and if that meant he never took revenge on those who sought to capture her, so be it. Her safety came first. This place was as safe as any other the night would provide. The horse huffed, drawing in great gulps of air. The destrier needed rest and water. Robert ached in every bone. Juliana must feel ten times his pain. She could scarce be used to such hard riding. She was strangely silent, he thought, as he shifted to help her to the ground. Blood trickled from a cut on her forehead, where a lump formed. More blood oozed from a band of scrapes across one cheek and dripped down her neck. Below that, from shoulder to wrist of one arm, her sleeve lay in shreds, dotted with flecks of dirt and a darker red. “Juliana?” She slipped sideways, and he caught her before she fell. ’Twas a wonder she had not fallen off during their escape. He struggled to lower them both to the ground. That the horse was too exhausted to object to the awkward process was a dubious blessing. He carried Juliana into the cave, checked for sign of animal inhabitants, then searched her for more injuries. Try though he might, he could find nothing but scrapes and bruises. What had happened to her? Could he have done anything to prevent it? He knew he could not, and fury rippled through him once more that the monk and his men had dared threaten her well-being. He clenched his fists against the urge to strike out. He forced gentleness into his hands and made her as comfortable as possible. Then he went back to the horse for his small store of water and a cloth to clean her cuts as best he could. Close inspection of her face showed him parched lips. Robert soaked a clean corner of the cloth and squeezed a trickle of water between her lips, then passed the dampened rag over her mouth. Her tongue licked out, and a groan issued as she turned her head to follow the moisture. “Juliana? Can you hear me?” Her eyelids fluttered open. “Robert,” she croaked and lifted the hand of her uninjured arm to her face. “My head hurts. My whole body hurts, and my arm feels like it is on fire.” He nearly laughed with relief at her small complaints when he had been so very worried about her. “The skin is scraped, but your arm is whole. Do you know where you are?” She cast a sideways glance and quirked a brow at him. “Lying in the dirt, more than a day’s ride from Palermo?” “Good. You have not lost your senses. Do you know what happened? How you scraped your face and tore the skin of your arm to shreds?” She coughed. He gave her more water. “The cliff. When you jumped the bush and turned so quickly, I hit the cliff face with that side of my body and head.” He nodded. “I should kill that monk and his men for forcing you to this.” “One against so many?” She gave a dry laugh. “You are a mighty warrior, Robert, but even you could not take out more than one at a time.” “True.” He had to laugh with her. She was right. “Still, I regret that I cannot wreak vengeance on them. ’Twould ease the pain of failing to save other women from death and destruction.” Juliana yawned, stretched, and reclined on the ground, cushioning her cheek on her hand. “I am so tired, I thought you spoke of rescuing other women. That’s foolish. There are no other women here.” He stared at her before turning away. “Sleep. I will keep watch from atop that rock.” He pointed at a man-sized boulder beside the cave. “If you need aught, come to me there. Do not call out. That could alert any searchers to our position.” “Mmm-hmm.” She nodded but was asleep before he left. After Robert checked the horse, he tethered him loosely near some sparse grass within sight of both cave and rock. He climbed the rock, finding a sheltered perch from which he could survey the surrounding countryside. While moonlight faded to dawn, he spent the time plotting what he would do should he ever meet Fra Giovanni again. When he could no longer fight sleep and the day was too hot for their pursuers to continue the search, Robert climbed down and joined Juliana in the cave. * * * Blurb: Beguine follower Juliana Verault holds the key to upending the power structure throughout Europe - a letter from the pope that could radically change the church's stance on women - but only if she can dodge the bounty hunter her cousin, King Edward I of England, has sent for her. Sir Robert Clarwyn has never failed to bring home his target before . . . but he has also never encountered a quarry like Lady Juliana. Buy Links: Amazon B & N Google Books iTunes Kobo Crimson Romance |
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