by Lexy Timms
“We could not.” Where the courage came from, she could not have said. She twisted the ring from her finger and turned his hand over to drop it into his palm. “You must forgive me, Cyrus. I could never be the wife you want.”
“You could,” he insisted.
She wavered. She would hurt him, and she had never wanted to hurt him. But at last, she saw something she had never noticed before. How his interest had changed, and when.
“Cyrus, tell me truly. How much of this is a boy’s infatuation?”
“I’m not a boy any longer and—”
“And how much,” Clara said, speaking over his protestations, “is your promise to Solomon?”
That stopped him. He closed his mouth, opened it to speak, and closed it once more.
“We’re not a good match,” Clara told him softly. “You thought of me fondly when we were children, and you thought you could love me—perhaps you even do. But someday you will wake up and realize I’m not your match. I know I am not.” He bowed his head, and she squeezed his hands. “Cyrus, you would protect me from all Solomon has done, but it is not your place. I am not a child any longer either. I will bear my grief and the trials of my family myself; I never needed you to carry that for me. You must make your peace with Solomon, and I will make my own.”
“Clara...” His voice trailed away.
“You don’t have to protect me anymore.”
“I see.” He leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “Then I will go. I wish you every happiness, Clara.” A glance at Solomon, and he left without stopping to retrieve his pistol, his steps heavy.
Clara looked down at her hands, too self-conscious, suddenly, to look around at her family.
“Solomon. Cecelia.” Millicent’s voice was implacable. “There are animals to be tended to. Come along.”
“Mother...”
“Your work will wait,” Millicent told her simply. Her eyes found Jasper’s, and she gave a tiny nod. “We’ll be waiting at the house.”
They were gone in what felt like a moment, and Clara found herself alone with Jasper.
Epilogue
“Clara.” The sound of his own voice startled him.
“Yes?” She would not look at him. Her wedding dress seemed too big for her all of a sudden, and she rubbed absently at where the ring had rested for only a few short days.
“Please look at me.”
At last, she did. Her blue eyes were full of tears.
“Yes?”
“I love you.” It was the only thing he could think of to say, but he was suddenly quite sure that it was the only thing in the world that mattered.
“And I love you.” She paused, and though he saw a smile at her lips, a tear found its way down her cheek. “But it’s not enough.”
“We can make it enough,” he said suddenly.
“What?”
He was across the clearing in an instant, kneeling at her feet, her hand clasped in both of his.
“Clara Dalton, I have loved you since the moment I first saw you. You faced me down not without fear, but in spite of it. You have sheltered your family through trials that would have broken any other person. You have saved the lives of men you did not know, men you could by rights have left to die. You are kinder, more passionate, more intelligent, than any woman I have ever known. I love you with all my heart.”
She knelt as well, heedless of the dirt and the leaves. She was shaking.
“And since the first moment I saw you,” she said, her voice soft, “I have loved you. You asked for what you could by rights have taken, to save your friend. You loved me despite what you had been told about me. You tried to hold yourself apart from me, even when I offered myself to you. You are an infuriatingly honorable man, Jasper Perry, and I love you.”
He laughed at that and reached out to brush the tears away from her cheeks.
“Clara Dalton, will you marry me?”
“But the people in town—”
“But nothing. Will you marry me?”
“They’ll hunt you down someday.” Her face was twisted with fear. “I can’t let you be hurt for love of me.”
“We will find a way,” he promised her. “You and I are meant to love one another all of our days. We will find a way.”
“Her lips curved, and she caught her breath.
“Then, yes. Yes, I will marry you.”
His lips met hers with bruising force, but she did not cry out. He felt her melt against him with a moan, and his blood heated.
“We should...”
“No.” She drew away only far enough to put a finger over his lips. Her hair was tumbling down in a cloud of gold. “Don’t stop.”
He lay back and she did not hesitate for a moment before laying her body alongside his. She gasped when he traced his fingers along her skirt, lifting the hem so he could feel the skin of her calf, her thigh. When her legs parted for him, he gave a groan.
“Do you think we have to go back immediately?” Jasper asked. His eyes were dark and warm, and he snaked an arm around her to pull her close.
Clara caught her breath. Their lips were nearly touching, the air between them warm, and he could feel her heart racing as he trailed his fingers up her other arm.
“No,” she said, biting her lip as she felt him harden against her. She grinned devilishly. “I think we can take a while.”
~ THE END ~
SIEGE of the HEART
Coming
Fall 2015
Southern Romance Series
Little Love Affair
Book 1
Siege of the Heart
Book 2
Freedom Forever
Book 3
More by Lexy Timms:
The Saving Forever Series
Part 1 is FREE!
Charity Thompson wants to the save world, one hospital at a time. Instead of finishing med school to become a doctor, she chooses a different path and raises money for hospitals – new wings, equipment or whatever they need. Except there is one hospital she would be happy to never set foot in again, her fathers. He hires her to create a gala for his sixty-fifth birthday. Charity can’t say no.
Now she is working in the one place she doesn’t want to be, attracted to Dr. Elijah Bennet, the handsome playboy chief, and trying to prove to her doctor father that’s she’s so much more than a med school dropout.
Why would she try to put together so many things that are clearly broken? Or will she realize in time that they just need to be fixed?
The University of Gatica Series
The Recruiting Trip
Book 1 if FREE!
Book Trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5FdSZUaJ2q0
Aspiring college athlete Aileen Nessa is finding the recruiting process beyond daunting. Being ranked #10 in the world for the 100m hurdles at the age of eighteen is not a fluke, even though she believes that one race, where everything clinked magically together, might be. American universities don’t seem to think so. Letters are pouring in from all over the country.
As she faces the challenge of differentiating between a college’s genuine commitment to her or just empty promises from talent-seeking coaches, Aileen heads to Gatica State University, a Division One school, on a recruiting trip.
The university’s athletic program boasts one of the top sprint coaches in the country. The beautiful old buildings on campus and Ivy League smarts seems so above her little Ohio town upbringing. All Aileen needs to convince her to sign her letter of intent is a recruiting trip that takes her breath away.
Tyler Jensen is the school’s NCAA champion in the hurdles and Jim Thorpe recipient for top defensive back in football. His incredible ocean blue eyes and confident smile make Aileen stutter and forget why she is visiting GSU. His offer to take her under his wing, should she choose to come to Gatica, is a temping proposition that has her wondering if she might be making a deal with an angel or the devil himself.
* This is NOT erotica* It is a new adult & college sport roma
nce.
For mature readers only. There are sexual situations, but no graphic sex.
Heart of the Battle Series
Celtic Viking
SAMPLE INCLUDED
Book 1 is FREE
Celtic Rune
Book 2
Celtic Mann
Book 3
CELTIC VIKING
The Heart of the Battle Series
Book 1
By
Lexy Timms
Copyright 2015 by Lexy Timms
In a world plagued with darkness, she would be his salvation.
No one gave Erik a choice as to whether he would fight or not. Duty to the crown belonged to him, his father's legacy remaining beyond the grave.
Taken by the beauty of the countryside surrounding her, Linzi would do anything to protect her father's land. Britain is under attack and Scotland is next. At a time she should be focused on suitors, the men of her country have gone to war and she's left to stand alone.
Love will become available, but will passion at the touch of the enemy unravel her strong hold first?
** This is NOT Erotica. It's Romance and a love story.
* This is book 1 of a 3 book series *
Celtic Viking Chapter 1
872 A.D.
Somewhere in North-East England
The fog hung in the air like a habit belonging to a monk, as if never meant to depart from the body. It was impossible to see more than twenty feet in front, or behind, or anywhere, as a matter of fact. The English could be standing in the middle of the field advancing and neither party would know until they bumped into the Viking army. They'd been awake since dawn, but no one knew what time it was now because the grey clouds would give no hint of where the sun might be. The Vikings were willing to battle and die for this country?
Erik squinted, trying to will his eyes to see through the thick, smoky-grey mist. He imagined the field before him, without the fog, the lush green of the grass and surrounding trees. The land stood perfect for agriculture, not battle. He tried to keep his thoughts in check. At twenty, he should be home in Denmark, maybe farming but definitely married, with a slew of sons and some daughters. Instead, he stood here, in the cold, wet mud of this forsaken country. All his training and education made him an excellent military commander. Except he really just wanted a simple life.
"The men are saying King Halfdan's going to speak with us. He and his guards are coming up the rear of the hill," Marcus spoke, bringing Erik back to the present.
"King Halfdan? Who's calling him that now, cousin?" Erik kept his face blank, though his insides were boiling.
Marcus stood beside him, grinning. "I think 'tis safe to assume the rumor was started by the king himself. He plans to lead this Great Heathen Army to battle."
Erik glanced the small distance he could see in front of him and glared. His body stood erect and it took an effort to unclench his jaw. "We are not the Great Heathen Army. It's the Great Danish Army." He bit the inside of his cheek, tasting blood. "Halfdan will not lead us today. He's a man of words," Erik couldn't hold back a snort, "and smart enough not to risk his life to appear heroic in this bloody fog. He'll do as he always does; talk with the commanders, ride amongst the men and then hide behind the dog's tail."
Marcus sucked in his breath. "As much as you don't like the man, I suggest keeping those opinions inside your head, or in the privy of your tent. I know how you feel, cousin, but there are many who disagree."
"The man's a tyrant. His goal is to pillage and conquer as much of England as he can. He has no respect for the people who have toiled to make this land livable. He would prefer to kill and burn them all." He felt Marcus' elbow sharp in his ribs, even through his chain mail. He'd seen the carnage Halfdan had created throughout Europe. Fighting for him was not something he would have chosen.
"Enough! If your father heard you speak –"
"I'm sure he's turning in his grave. I know who my father was and what he wanted of me. I'm here, am I not? I'm still doing his duty, years after his death."
"At least try to enjoy it." Marcus meant well and Erik was fond of his younger cousin. Marcus had risen through the ranks, both on his own accord but also through Erik's guidance.
Erik also knew only he himself had the power to speak his mind, and none of the other commanders would challenge him. He may be one of the youngest leaders of the Vikings, but he'd been fighting and organizing battles alongside his father longer than he could remember. He had earned their respect.
A murmur began through the men. Erik heard the quiet talk before those ones in his line of vision started to form two lines, bending down to one knee. Marcus dropped down, his right hand making a fist and covering his heart. Erik reached to settle his brown Arabian mare, rubbing her nose. He would bow to no leader who called himself a king. Their king was in Denmark, safe in his castle.
Halfdan rode in on a large, white horse. Erik didn't understand the white horse. It stood out in battle, like a target. Maybe it would be best if the man stayed at the rear of today's skirmish. As much as Halfdan loved the kill and fight, he would be marking himself for certain death.
"Erik," Halfdan spoke, his voice raspy and deep.
"Yes... Sire," he added grudgingly. He met Halfdan's unwavering gaze with no fear. Halfdan's blue eyes were full of ice and hatred, even as he spoke among his own men. The two were the same height, but Erik was lean, muscular and all legs. Halfdan was broader shouldered, still fit but age had begun to creep up on him. He hid his slight belly behind the full-length, fur cape.
"Are the men ready to fight?" It sounded like he needed to clear his throat though the man never coughed.
"They are, but visibility's very limited. The fog seems to stay connected to the ground, refusing to dissipate."
Halfdan waved his hand as if swatting a fly. "It will sharpen the men's senses. They'll have to be thorough; any English man partially alive could kill them."
"Yes."
Halfdan glared at Erik and gave him a once over. "You're not afraid to die?"
"No."
"You're fearless. Maybe stupid, but the soldiers follow you and that's good enough for me. Lead the men today, and when the victory is done give me the credit. You'll be rewarded as per your station. Make an example to the rest of the people in this god-forsaken country."
Erik rubbed his mare's neck. The horse snorted and side stepped. Erik forced himself to relax and scratched the horse behind the ears, bringing her back toward him. He said nothing to Halfdan.
"The men may loot the nearby town afterwards. They can help themselves to any valuables, food or cattle." Halfdan turned to go but swung the horse back around. He stared at Erik, a dark smile playing on his lips. "They're welcome to anything, but warn them not to touch the women. Kill them. No touching or gratifying from our men. I'll put a sword to any of the men who do. We will not weaken our Viking blood with this tainted, dirty race. No breeding, or death by my hand."
Erik swallowed, his throat now dry in the moist air. Halfdan's radical beliefs would be impossible to instill in the soldiers. Erik agreed with not touching the women but for entirely different reasons. They were not part of this war for land.
In order to prepare for the fight for the British island, the Vikings needed men, a lot of men. They took prisoners willing to fight and die for their freedom. Some of the men were decent but most fought for themselves, not their king and country.
On top of this, the men had been travelling for weeks with more time spent in preparing for battle. They hadn't seen, let alone been with, a woman in months, and for Halfdan to give them freedom to loot but not touch. Erik would have a bigger battle there than on this field.
"Is it understood?" Halfdan's raspy voice showed his impatience from Erik's lack of response.
"It'll be done, Sire," Marcus spoke, still kneeling on the ground by Erik. "I'll be sure and let the men know, and hold them to their word." He tapped his sword.
"Good. Get this battle done b
efore sundown. I'll watch this one from the hill. This one's easy. Our next battle is critical, and I plan to be fresh to lead the men myself." Halfdan clicked his horse forward. "Erik, I expect a full report after." He turned and rode away, the fog swallowing him up.
Erik stood beside his mare, brushing dried dirt off her coat. He felt Marcus rise beside him and spoke, not bothering to look in his direction. "Do not tell the men they are free to loot but not to touch the women till after the fight. Some of our soldiers are short-witted and it will be enough to distract them from their duty. Let the combat finish and then tell them about their next charge."
"As you wish."
Marcus' curt reply had Erik turn his head in the direction of his second-in-command. Their mothers were sisters, but they looked nothing alike. Marcus had dark, curly hair and brown eyes. Erik's blonde, almost white, hair stood out on the battlefield like Halfdan's new horse.
Erik earned respect and loyalty. He knew his men would never forsake him. Marcus was different. He could command a group of men simply by the threat in his voice. When they played as lads, Erik often believed that Marcus could burn someone alive, simply by speaking.
"Don't be hostile with me, Marcus. I'm still above you."
"Fine, Sire. Might I suggest that you learn to reply to your king then, instead of leaving it to me?" Marcus stalked away toward his horse to prepare.
"He's not my king," muttered Erik. Lifting his chain mail shirt so it lay properly in place, he checked his clothing and gear. He'd sharpened his sword upon rising this morning. His axe had been sharpened the night before and he'd also attached his small, hand-size knife to the belt. It had been the last gift from his father, engraved on the handle by his mother.
He pulled it from his belt and held the handle, gazing at the knotted pattern and the name on the worn wood. He had been named after his father, Erik Jorgen. He could see the care his mother had taken to carve the pattern. He hoped to pass it on one day to a son. Turning it over, he noticed the red and brown stained into the wood. He meticulously cleaned it after each battle, but years of blood and gore had permanently stained the one side and found its way nestled into the carvings. It brought him back to the focus at hand.