Poetry. He'd shared himself, just as she'd hoped for all along. His wall had finally come down.
Or maybe she'd managed to scale it.
He came forward and took the paper from her trembling hands, setting it aside.
Then he stepped right into the water.
"Your boots!" she gasped.
In the big tub, he knelt at her feet. "I own a shipping line and a warehouse stacked with imported goods from all over the world. I can buy a hundred pairs of boots."
His voice was thick and unsteady, his amber eyes so intense they seemed to spear her to her very soul.
He reached beneath the water to take her hands in his. "Don't you understand, leannan? I can buy almost anything—anything, that is, except your love."
"You have it," she whispered.
EPILOGUE
Six years later
Kendra ran down Amberley's marble front steps, then, waiting for Trick, paused and looked back at the house. She smiled at the incongruous stone lintel over the elegant double front doors—a long, decidedly inelegant rock with symbols chiseled into it: the letters KC and PC, a ship, a heart, and a date. 1668.
"What's that?" she'd asked Trick the day she first came home from the orphanage to see it.
He'd blinked. "Do you not remember Falkland? And the marriage lintels?"
"Well, yes. But this isn't a weaver's cottage in Scotland—it's a mansion in Sussex. And this house wasn't built in 1668."
"Maybe it wasn't," he'd told her, pulling her toward him for a kiss. "But that was the year it became a home."
Remembering now, the same warmth filled her heart that had filled it then. She fingered the stones on her amber bracelet, knowing with a certainty that she'd never take it off again.
Trick finally sauntered out, displaying none of her own impatience.
"Hurry, Trick, or Cait's babe will be born before we get there."
"Slow down, or our babe will be born too early." Walking her over to the caleche, he smiled and ran a possessive hand over the slight bulge of her middle. "Besides, we were there already. It was you who insisted we leave everyone and return home to get the gift you forgot."
"It was you who insisted on the hour we just spent in the bedchamber." Grinning as he climbed up beside her, she leaned to give him a quick kiss.
With a hand on the back of her neck, he held her close, his lips meeting hers in a much longer, warmer caress. His mouth opened, his tongue circling hers, sending a wild swirl of excitement spiraling through her. Her senses reeled, and the soft, paper-wrapped package in her hands slipped to the caleche's boards.
He broke off and, with a low laugh, reached to snag it and set it back on her lap. "Do you want to go back upstairs, leannan?"
"Oh, yes," she breathed on a sigh. "But no."
"Women." He shook his own head, bright gold in the sun, and lifted the caleche's reins.
"Drive fast," she urged, and then, "Faster," until they were racing toward Cainewood at an alarming speed, considering her delicate state. "I want to be there with Cait when the babe greets the world."
But as she was hurrying up Cainewood's carved stone staircase, the thready cry of a newborn split the air. She paused with her hand on the gray marble rail.
Trick squeezed her around the shoulders. "Sorry we're late, lass, but do you not think our little interlude was worth it? We so rarely have time to ourselves these days."
"I suppose." She gave him a mock pout. "Let's go meet the child."
The door to Jason and Caithren's chamber was wide open, the room crammed with cooing Chases. Cait reclined like a queen in the cobalt-curtained bed, a squalling infant in her arms.
"For me?" she asked with a smile, indicating the gift in Kendra's hands. "Or the babe?"
"Both." Kendra handed it to her. "Though really it's from your cousin Cameron. I wrote asking him to send it. Then he wouldn't accept my money." Looking around the noisy chamber while Caithren opened the package, she spotted Jason and Colin, but not her twin. "Is Ford not here yet?"
Jason sat beside Cait. "He sent a message from Lakefield House that they'd be a bit late," he said, helping his wife unfold a green and blue plaid blanket. "Seems to think he's on the verge of some discovery."
"Turning iron into gold? He always did want to be Midas." Kendra laughed, moving closer as a grinning Cait wrapped her child in the Leslie tartan.
Like magic, the babe quieted.
Swathed in its mother's clan colors, the child looked so precious and content. Feeling her heart melt with tenderness, Kendra ran a fingertip along its downy cheek. "Everything went well?" she asked Cait while smiling down at the newborn. "The babe is healthy? And you're fine?"
"Aye. Everything went perfectly."
The baby grasped her finger with tiny fingers of its own. Such a miracle. Beneath the new blanket, it was swaddled in white, not blue or pink. She looked up. "Well, what is it?"
Cait gave a happy sigh. "A lad."
"Another boy?"
That made three. The Chase family had multiplied in the six years since Kendra and Trick were wed.
Cait's two older sons were bouncing on the canopied bed. Thankfully the babe didn't seem to mind the wild ride.
The rest of the chamber was no more calm. Amy and Colin's two boys were racing around the room, chasing Kendra and Trick's two giggling daughters and gleefully careening off the tapestried walls. The oldest of the cousins at seven, Jewel was a bit more sedate. Of course that was because she was busy at the moment, serenading the new arrival with a lullaby—at the top of her lungs.
One of Kendra's young daughters rammed into her knees, the result of a hopeless attempt to escape her pursuing cousins. As she lifted the girl into her arms, Trick moved close. "Chaos, as always," he whispered.
"Yes," she said, turning to him. "But a happy chaos, don't you think?"
He grinned and took her mouth in a kiss, right there in front of her brothers and everyone, like their first kiss in Cainewood's chapel so many years before.
And this kiss left her every bit as shaken.
A glorious thing, true love was, she thought as she pulled back with a smile, their daughter wriggling between them. Once, long ago, she'd promised Trick he'd find true love, and she'd followed through, hadn't she?
A Chase promise was never given lightly.
Thank you for reading Amber!
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If you'd like to learn more about the
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BONUS MATERIAL
Author's Note
Books by Lauren Royal
Contest
Excerpt from VIOLET
A Gift for You
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Contact Information
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Dear Reader,
King Charles I's baggage ferry really did go down in the Firth of Forth that fated summer of 1633, although—so far as I know!—nobody had substituted rocks for the treasure. Interestingly, the sinking wasn't common knowledge until the early 1990s. Apparently embarrassed by the loss, Charles did his best to keep it quiet, and it was centuries before a historian noticed a footnote and began to look into it. Since then, three accounts have been found that make mention of the sinking. But although all the writers were contemporary to the incident, none of them were actually present, and therefore little is known about what actually lies at the bottom of the Firth of Forth.
We know that one of two wooden ferries went down, carrying a portion of the king's household property, but which possessions were aboard remains to be seen. It is assumed to be mostly kitchen goods—a Royal "kitchen" consisting mainly of solid silver and gold serving pieces—but this is only a guess based on accountings of replacement i
tems that were ordered in the months afterward.
The search for the shipwreck began soon after discovery of its existence, but progress has been slow, because conditions in the Forth—frigid choppy water, strong tides, poor visibility—severely limit diving opportunities. Early on, an American team searched for several summers, but their efforts proved unsuccessful. Following two years of inactivity, the project resumed, this time under a nonprofit group formed for the purpose, Burntisland Heritage Trust. The search is being carried out in acceptance with strict archaeological guidelines, and Historic Scotland is responsible for assuring that those standards are met and maintained. The world waits with bated breath to see what will rise from the Firth of Forth...here's hoping they don't find chests filled with rocks!
As for the highwayman Jack Nevison (nicknamed Swift Nicks by King Charles II himself), the story Ford told of his ride from London to York was true, as well as the tale of his court visit and pardon from Charles. But alas, not one to learn from his mistakes, the notorious robber continued his life of crime. His escapes from prison were legendary, including the stunt I borrowed where a doctor friend painted him with blue spots and declared him dead. In 1685, he was caught for the last time in York. Brought to a hasty trial before he could devise an escape, he pleaded the king's most gracious pardon, which he claimed covered subsequent as well as prior misdeeds. Not surprisingly, the court dismissed his defense, and at the trip old age of forty-six, Swift Nicks found himself hanged.
The homes in my stories are usually inspired by real-life places, and this book is no exception. Although I put it in a different geographic location, Amberley House and its beautiful gardens were loosely modeled on Hatfield House in Hertfordshire, England. The original palace, built in 1497 by the Bishop of Ely, was the childhood and young-adult home of the first Queen Elizabeth. Two portraits of her can be viewed in the home today, along with some of her clothing and letters.
Elizabeth's successor, James I, didn't care for Hatfield as a home, preferring Theobalds, the residence of Robert Cecil, first Earl of Salisbury. He proposed an exchange, and the Cecils agreed. In 1608, the earl tore down most of the palace and began building the present house in what was then a modern style, at a cost of over £38,000, a staggering amount of money in those times. Though first designed by Robert Lyminge, the plans were modified by others, including, it is thought, young Inigo Jones. This is the house that you can visit today, and the one Kendra saw when she first rode up that long drive.
From the seventeenth century until present day, Hatfield House has served as both a social and political center, hosting luminaries from royalty on down. Well worth a visit, the magnificent house is open for tours from March through October, and most of the gardens are open year-round.
Duncraven Castle was invented when I stayed at Borthwick Castle, twin towers located just south of Edinburgh in Scotland (although, once again, I took the liberty of moving it). Built in 1430 by the first Lord Borthwick, whose sepulchre can still be seen with that of his Lady in the old village church, its virtually impregnable stone walls sheltered Mary Queen of Scots in her last days of freedom. When a force of some thousand men surrounded the castle, her husband, Bothwell, escaped, leaving Mary behind under the protection of the Borthwicks. Disguised as a page boy, Mary then climbed through a window in the great hall, lowered herself by rope to the ground below, and set off through the gate and across the glen in search of her husband. The stuff of romance novels, isn't it? But sadly, their reunion was a short one, and the tragic queen never again knew true freedom.
Nearly a century later, Borthwick Castle was besieged by the forces of Oliver Cromwell, whose letter demanding surrender—the same one read by Trick in my story—hangs framed in today's great hall. Weathered and nobly scarred, Borthwick still stands hundreds of years later. Sir Walter Scott described Borthwick as by far the finest example of the Scottish castles which consist of a single "donjon," or keep. So it was, and so it still is, now run as a bed and breakfast. Do treat yourself with a stay there if ever you get a chance. After a delicious gourmet dinner, you may sit before the immense fireplace, sipping spirits while the caretakers regale you with stories of ghosts and legends. And when you climb the winding staircase to your chamber, don't be surprised if you find yourself looking over your shoulder...
To see pictures and learn more about the real people and real places in Amber, please visit my website at www.LaurenRoyal.com. There you may also enter a contest, sign up for my newsletter, and find recipes for some of the seventeenth-century foods that Kendra and Trick ate in this story. My favorite is the Tarte of Spinage (otherwise known as spinach pie), which my daughter and I make every Thanksgiving. I adore reader mail, so I hope you will e-mail me at [email protected] and tell me which recipe you like the best!
For a chance to revisit Kendra and Trick, look for Violet, which is Ford Chase's story and the first book in my Flower Trilogy. You'll find an excerpt in the back of this book. If you missed Colin and Amy's story, you can find it in Amethyst, the first book in my Jewel Trilogy, and Jason and Cait's story can be found in Emerald, the second book of this series.
To hear about my upcoming releases, my contests, and other news, please sign up for my newsletter, friend me on Facebook, or follow me on Twitter (@readLaurenRoyal) or Pinterest. I love to keep up with my readers!
I hope you enjoyed Amber—thank you for reading!
Till next time,
BOOKS BY LAUREN ROYAL
The Jewel Trilogy
Amethyst
Emerald
Amber
Forevermore (a Jewel Trilogy novella)
The Flower Trilogy
Violet
Lily
Rose
The Temptations Trilogy
Lost in Temptation
Tempting Juliana
The Art of Temptation
ENTER FOR A CHANCE TO WIN
a 54" strand of cultured freshwater pearls,
similar to the pearls Trick gives Kendra in this book!*
To enter, visit the contest page on Lauren's website at
www.LaurenRoyal.com and answer a question
to be entered in the monthly drawing.
No purchase necessary. See complete rules on the site.
*Please note: Depending on when you enter, the prize may be another piece of jewelry associated with one of Lauren's books.
Violet's story,
first in the Flower Trilogy
is also
Ford Chase's story,
concluding the Jewel Trilogy!
Excerpt from
VIOLET
Book One of the
Flower Trilogy
by Lauren Royal
England
July 15, 1673
St. Swithin's Day. Well, it was fitting.
Viscount Lakefield stared out his carriage window at the miserable, wet landscape. According to St. Swithin's legend, if it rained on the fifteenth of July, it would continue for forty days and nights. Normally not a man given to superstition, today Ford Chase found such nonsense plausible.
This was shaping up to be the worst day of his life.
The carriage rattled over the drawbridge and into the modest courtyard of Greystone, his older brother's small castle. Cold raindrops pelted Ford's head when he shoved open the door and leapt to the circular drive. Drenched gravel crunching beneath his boots, he made his way down a short, covered passageway and banged the knocker on the unassuming oak door.
Benchley cracked open the door, then slipped outside and shut it behind him. "My lord, what brings you here today?"
"I wish to speak with my brother." Ford frowned down at the small, wiry valet. What was he doing answering the door? "Will you be letting me in?"
"I think not." Benchley lifted his beak of a nose. "I'll fetch Lord Greystone." And with that, he disappeared back into the ancient castle.
Shivering, Ford stood frozen in disbelief before deciding this treatment fit in with the res
t of his day. Rain dripped from his long brown hair to sprinkle on the stones at his feet. Wondering why he should need permission to enter his brother's home, he moved to reach for the latch.
The door opened, and his brother stepped out. He looked haggard, his face a pasty gray, his green eyes and black hair dull.
"Colin? What the devil's going on?"
"Illness. Measles, we think. Thank God you're here."
Ford pulled his surcoat tighter around himself. "Come again?"
"Amy is ill, along with little Hugh and the baby. And half of the servants. One of them died yesterday," Colin added grimly.
"Died?" Ford's gut twisted as he thought of Amy—Colin's beautiful, raven-haired wife—and their bright four-year-old son, Hugh, and the baby, Aidan…all dead.
"It's not so bad as all that," Colin rushed to assure him, evidently reading the concern on his face. "The poor maid was eighty if she were a day, and the disease went straight to her lungs. I'm not expecting my family to perish."
"At least you won't be getting it. If you'll remember, all four of us had it while in exile on the Continent."
"I could hardly forget." Appearing as though he could barely hold himself up, Colin leaned against the doorpost. "But what does that have to do with now?"
"At a Royal Society lecture, I learned one cannot fall ill with the same disease twice," Ford explained.
"I've had measles more than once."
"Not true measles, the one with the high fever. Spotted skin is a symptom of many different conditions."
"Trust you to know something like that." Although Colin looked relieved, his smile was bleak. "Still, the fever is savage, and Jewel has yet to suffer measles. True measles, as you put it. Will you take her from here before she succumbs as well? It would relieve my mind, and Amy's too, I'm sure. The worry is doing her recovery no good."
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