Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor
Page 146
All of a sudden, she shrieked and in a low monotone chanted, “If you harm man or mouse, disease and death shall befall your house. A man who nurtures fear and dread shall die in pain after months abed.”
Through narrowed eyes, she watched Warford drop his feet to the floor and inch his chair back for good measure.
Her laugh was mirthless. “You cannot distance yourself from a hex, my lord.”
He crossed himself.
“Even your God cannot help you, now.” Devoid of emotion, she half turned and pointed at Sir Stuart, who tried to sidle from his post near the peat-fed fire. “Repent, repent, you must repent or be condemned to eternal torment.”
Color drained from the guard’s cheeks with each utterance. Terrorized, he stared in horror at Warford. “I’ll not stay and be cursed for an eternity. Not for you or all the gold lining your coffers.”
Elisande’s heart pounded. “Forsake your riches, forsake your master or your life shall end in disaster.”
In his haste to escape, Stuart tripped over his feet and fell to his knees. Undeterred, he scrambled to the entry, jumped up at the last second, flipped the latch and hurtled through the door. Astounded, Warford overturned his chair and screamed for the guard to return. In moments, horse hooves pounded the earth as Stuart bolted from sight.
Elisande silently urged Warford to go after him. Her hopes were shattered when the enraged baron slammed the door shut, and turned on her, his face red, eyes wild. Provoking a mad man in such a state would only worsen her predicament, but, God help her, she had to try. He was on her before she reacted, seizing her upper arms in a steel grip, and kicked her legs out from beneath her. He dragged her across the small room to the roaring hearth fire.
“I will burn you for a witch!”
He grabbed the front of her tattered arasaid and back-handed her hard enough to snap her head sideways. She sucked air through her bloodied nose, kicking and clawing whatever she could reach, but her strength waned.
• • •
Aeden had ridden quite a distance when he heard a lone rider racing hard toward him off his left flank. He veered off the path to blend with the foliage. The jingle of chainmail became louder as the rider’s horse’s approached. No Scotsman would think to ride through enemy territory giving away his position. Only the English showed such stupidity. It was too much a coincidence not to believe this man was involved in Elisande’s abduction. A humorless smile curled his lips. Fury pulsed through his body and he sprung from the bushes leaned down, swung his broadsword and connected the flat of it to the horse’s chest. The startled mount stumbled toppling the soldier to the ground. Aeden vaulted from Honeybush’s back and tackled the man. He landed a punch to the face and the satisfying crunch from a broken nose filled the air. The man howled, grabbed his nose all the while trying to scuttle backwards.
“Where is she?” Aeden demanded after another blow to the soldier’s eye.
The man tried to ward off the next hit by blocking the punch. Aeden latched on to his windpipe and squeezed. On the verge of losing the Englishman, he let up just enough so he could draw a breath and answer his question.
“I’ll have an answer now, or I’ll snap your neck. ’Tis your choice.”
Words spilled from Englishman’s bloodied mouth. “She is being held in a cottage not far from here. Please let me go, I-I-I only followed orders. I never wanted to kill her. I wanted to keep her for my pleas — ”
Beyond enraged, Aeden reached for his dirk and wasted no more time on the coward. Gurgling noises filled the silence as the soldier drowned in his own blood. Swiftly remounting, Aeden wheeled Honeybush around and raced for the crofter’s hut.
• • •
Elisande slid out from Warford’s grip and dropped to the floor. Her palms dug into the loose earth. She scooped a handful of dirt and flung it into his eyes. He let out a roar, his eyes tearing and then he was on her. He pinned her to the floor and sunk his teeth into the soft, exposed flesh of her neck. Her ear-splitting scream filled the small room.
“Before you burn, I’ll take what should have been mine months ago.”
A whimper escaped her lips, and suddenly his hands were everywhere ripping, and pulling at her arasaid until he shredded the thin woolen.
“Please, stop … ” defeated, her pleas sounded pathetic to her own ears.
He lifted his lower half off of her and she curled into a ball. Light-headed and nauseous, she watched him fumble to free his organ from his hose. Unable to move, her mind shut down as she separated her rational thought from the degradation her body suffered. She willed her brain to drift away from the horror. Vivid images of Aeden filled her mind. She loved him so very much and would always be thankful for the precious time they shared.
A rough hand wedged between her knees as Warford pulled her thighs apart.
She choked back a sob. The thought of never holding or kissing Aeden again released a force of rage she never knew she possessed. How could she just lie there and allow this man to do as he pleased? Even if she died in the attempt, at least he would be made to work for it. She reached up and grabbed a fistful of Warford’s hair, giving it a vicious yank. The roots gave out and she snatched back a thin skein of hair and small piece of scalp.
Surprise and then agony lit his features. He fell to the side of her moaning in pain clutching his head. She scuttled out from under him and jumped to her feet. Gripping the shredded dress to her breasts, she swung her leg back and slammed her foot into his groin with as much force as he could muster. Swiveling around, she made a run for the door.
• • •
Aeden rode as if the hounds of hell nipped his heels, pushing Honeybush relentlessly forward. He detected a faint glow through the break of trees. It had to be Warford. No one else would be so damn cocksure of going undiscovered. At the edge of the trees, he slowed his warhorse and dismounted. As much as he wanted to rush the door, surprise was on his side. He could not take the chance of alerting Warford and thrusting Elisande in a more dangerous position. Then, a scream disturbed the quiet and all rational thought fled. He drew his sword and charged the door just as it burst open. Elisande barreled into him, face swollen and bloodied, eyes wild and her dress hanging in scraps a limping Warford in pursuit.
Aeden hugged her close for a brief instant and then shoved her behind his back. He squared off with the baron. “Are you all right, love?”
She pressed a kiss to his back. “I am now.”
He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss the breath from her. “How many men are with him?”
“One, Stuart, but he abandoned Warford. The other men were Scots and then Addis.”
When Ronan appeared to his left, Aeden lifted Elisande up to him. “Take her out of here, I do no’ want her near the scum when I kill him.”
With Elisande out of harm’s way, he faced his opponent. Warford had come to an abrupt halt the moment he realized who he was and executed an about face, retreated to the cottage, and secured the door with the heavy slide arm. One determined kick splintered the warped door in two. Aeden caught the baron off guard by his show of force, yet, Warford tried to take control.
“Well, Chief Maxwell, I see you — ”
He never finished. Before he could raise his sword in an upswing, Aeden charged forward and plunged his broad sword deep into Warford’s rotund belly. He died instantly, an expression of shock frozen on his face. Aeden watched impassively while his lifeless body collapsed to the floor. He braced a booted foot on the dead man’s chest, pulled out his blade, and wiped it clean on Warford’s tunic. A creak in the floorboards and a gasp alerted Aeden to Elisande’s presence. He blocked her view of the body by ushering her outside into the fresh evening air. She threw herself into his arms. Unable to hold back her emotions, she broke down and sobbed until her voice was hoarse. After the tears subsided, she buried her head in the crook of his neck as he held her in a crushing embrace. She welcomed his strength.
“Mo chroi,” he murmured over a
nd over again.
“I knew you would find me,” she whispered brokenly.
“You should have waited with Ronan.” He admonished gently.
“I know, but I needed to be with you.”
He tilted her chin up and looked over her split lip, and other various wounds. His body tensed and she could feel the suppressed rage below the surface.
“I should have killed the bastard slowly.”
She laid gentle fingers against his lips. “I am glad you finished it quick. I will not have him steal any more of our time together. Now that he is dead, I think of him no more.”
“Kiss me.”
They broke apart awhile later and she laid her head on his chest.
“Aeden?” She stroked the strong tendons on the back of his neck.
His fingers entangled themselves in her hair. “Aye, lass?”
She lifted her head and stared into his extraordinary blue eyes brimming with love.
“Take me home.”
Epilogue
Stretching her body after an ardent round of love-making, Elisande shifted her weight and rolled into Aeden’s side. He reached for her, tucked her against him, and released a huge, jaw-cracking yawn.
“You’ve worn me out, woman.”
She giggled. This was her favorite part of the day, carving out a little piece of paradise for just the two of them.
“I suppose I should be embarrassed.” She mused remembering the strictures she once imposed on herself.
“Why is that?” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
She propped an elbow on his chest and rested her face in her hand.
“Most everyone is aware of our afternoon trysts. I swear, if your uncle waggles his eyebrows at me again, I’ll spike his uisge beatha with rugosa.”
“What does rugosa do?”
She grinned. “It would keep him running to the garderobe for a good day and a half.”
His deep appreciative laughter filled the bedchamber.
“I would no’ worry about what others think when — ”
A knock on the door interrupted him. Without preamble, Morag bustled into the room with the noon meal on a tray. Elisande barely had time to dive beneath the covers before the older woman set her burden on a low table.
Aeden had no such qualms, and rubbed his hands together. “Smells good. Your mistress has made certain I’ve worked up a mighty appetite.”
“Aeden!” Scandalized, she reached out and pinched his arm.
“Afternoon. milady. Don’t stay under there too long, your meal will get cold. You need to keep your strength up for the task ahead.”
Aeden chuckled. “Thank you Morag, you may leave us now.”
Elisande waited for the snick of the door latch before coming out from under the blanket. She palmed her hair and tossed it over her shoulder.
“How can you sit there and laugh? Keep my strength up, indeed. That woman is as bold as brass.”
Without thinking, she let the blanket slip to her waist. She looked at Aeden and all traces of humor vanished. He covered her with his body, the meal forgotten. A while later, she lay on her side and he pressed his front to her back.
“I never thought you would set aside time to lie abed,” she teased.
His lips caressed the back of her neck lingering for a moment or two.
“Twice I almost lost you. I will no’ squander a moment of our love.”
She turned in his arms and clung to him. “I am greedy. I want to spend every moment with you. Still, in the future, I predict our special time together will become that much more precious to us.”
She peeked at his face from beneath her lashes.
A frown of concern creased his forehead. “Why should that be, lass?”
By way of an answer, she splayed his warm palm across her belly and shyly observed his reaction.
“Truly?” Stunned, his fingers tightened on her stomach.
She nodded. “Are you pleased?”
After a few attempts at speech, he rasped, “Aye,” and drew her into his arms for a long, lingering kiss.
About the Author
Deanie Roman is a proud mom, veteran, and devoted Air Force wife to her very own Scottish warrior. She has lived in nine States and two European countries. A tenor saxophonist who dabbles in jazz, she is an active supporter of Humane Society International, and continues her quest for the perfect cup of cappuccino. If you’d like to learn more, please visit www.deanieroman.com
A Sneak Peek from Crimson Romance
Brave in Heart by Emma Barry
Through Gypsy Eyes
Killarney Sheffield
Avon, Massachusetts
This edition published by
Crimson Romance
an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.
10151 Carver Road, Suite 200
Blue Ash, Ohio 45242
www.crimsonromance.com
Copyright © 2013 by Killarney Sheffield
ISBN 10: 1-4405-6666-6
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6666-0
eISBN 10: 1-4405-6667-4
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6667-7
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Cover art © iStockPhoto.com/RetroAtelier, GlobalP; 123rf.com
To all the faithful companions out there. Whether they are canine, feline, or equine, they enrich our lives with companionship and unbiased love.
“A guide dog is almost equal in many ways to giving a blind man sight itself.”
~Britain’s first recipient of a seeing eye dog, 1931.
“Everything has its wonders, even darkness and silence, and I learn, whatever state I may be in, therein to be content.”
~Helen Keller
Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
About the Author
A Sneak Peek from Crimson Romance
Chapter One
English countryside, fall 1803.
Lightning forked across the sky. A lone tree on the incline exploded. Static sparks crackled through the air. His mount shied and almost unseated him, but the squire pulled the frightened animal up and steadied it. A deafening wave of thunder drowned out all other sounds and the horse lost its nerve, rearing to paw at the heavens. The rider struggled to stay in the saddle and reined in his mount. He settled the gelding with a few unintelligible words and a hand along its neck. The sky opened, dousing him with torrents of icy water. He hunched against the weather and swiped his face with a shaky hand. Giving the horse its head he urged it on, its feet slipping and scrab
bling for purchase in the muck. The animal stumbled, almost launching him from the saddle before regaining its footing and lurching the rest of the way up the slope.
The squire sawed on the reins as a dark figure separated from the shadows. He leaped from the gelding’s back, great coat flapping in the wind, gray hair plastered to his head. Another flash of lightning lit the sky, followed by booming thunder. The animal shied, almost jerking him off his feet. Despite the skittish horse’s reluctance he made his way to the man. “We must talk, for your pursuit of my daughter will end here and now.”
The shadowed figure advanced toward him. “Old man, I have had enough of your refusals to see reason.”
“You do not understand, boy.”
The unidentified figure shoved him, causing the squire to lose his precarious stance. He landed spread-eagled, face up in the mud. With a groan he scrambled to one knee in the slop. “Please — ”
“You will not keep me from what is rightfully mine, noddy old man,” The younger aggressor raised his fist.
The squire reached up a hand to fend him off. “I must! Let me explain — ” He tried in vain to stagger to his feet, but a second blow toppled him to the edge of the cliff. Again he struggled to rise. “Listen — ” His second plea fell on deaf ears as the attacker's foot landed squarely on his chest. In desperation he flailed with grasping fingers, only to meet air as he tumbled over and over down the steep slope.
Delilah sat up with a jolt, her heart pounding against her breastbone. The mugginess of the stale air and the silken sheets beneath confirmed her rightful place in bed. She took a deep breath knowing she was safe, despite the fear the dream instilled looming as dark and endless as her future. Why this nightmare every night since her father’s death? Was it some sick sense of need that made her unwilling to believe his fall an accident? There was no proof to the contrary. Her fingers curled around the hem of the sweat-dampened sheets as her heart protested. One day she would prove it wasn’t an accident. Somehow.
Pushing the morbid dream out of mind, she donned her slippers. She tossed a simple peasant gown over her head and then tiptoed from her bedchamber. Sweat dampened her brow and the undersides of her breasts straining against the thin fabric. After easing the door closed behind, she paused to be sure there was no hint of movement in the hall. The mansion was silent as always at this time of night. With a grin of expectant pleasure she made her way along the corridor and then down the stairs when the familiar smooth banister met her fingertips. So far so good. It seemed a fool’s errand to worry over discovery, for there was no one to question her mission except the servants, and they were easy to fool.