Lone Arrow's Pride

by Karen Kay

  At the contact, her body reacted as though it was ready for so much more. She shut her eyes, feeling slightly faint.

  “But I would reserve the right…” He paused, causing her to open her eyes. Drat! His handsome face swam in front of her, and at the sight, a smoldering fire fanned to life within her; her stomach somersaulted. He stood close; so close, she could smell the scent of mint on his breath, the musky fragrance of his skin, the fresh odor of buckskin.

  “The right,” he continued, “to hold you in my arms when I kiss you.”

  “Oh, I see. I…I’m not sure.”

  “Are you afraid, then? Afraid you might start to feel something besides a white woman’s contempt for an Indian?”

  “You know that’s not true,” she whispered. “You know from speaking to me tonight that I don’t hold this opinion.”

  He drew in a deep, ragged breath. “Aa, yes,” he said. “You are right, and I apologize for saying that. You are not the kind of person to feel scorn for another, are you? Simply because he is different than you are. So if not that, what are you afraid of?”

  “I…I’m afraid that I might…” She didn’t finish the sentence. She wasn’t certain that she herself understood what she’d been about to say. Although there was one thing she knew she could count on…her mind’s ability to reason. She said, “Y-you are correct. The stakes should be something we are unwilling to part with. You, to aid something alien to you. Me, to give up my work, and a kiss.”

  He nodded. “Seems fair.”

  “All right, then I…I believe we have a venture, Mister, ah…Soaring Eagle. Sh-shall we shake on it?” She would have held out her hand, except that he stood too close to her to do so.

  “We could,” he said, “or perhaps we could do something better.”

  And before she could stop him, he gathered her hand in his, bringing it, glove and all, to his lips. She gasped. Not because of what he was doing, but because…

  He glanced up at her and smirked. “When I was at the white man’s school,” he said, “I learned an odd custom. At first I thought it was a strange practice, but the more I thought about it, the more and more I appreciated the wit of the white man.” And turning her hand palm up, he pressed another kiss against her wrist.

  Kali’s heartbeat raced out of proportion to the action, and it was all she could do to stand upright at the moment, for her knees threatened to collapse beneath her. And truth to tell, she had little time to hide her reaction from him, for when he raised his head and said, “I believe we have a wager, Little Miss Redhead,” his look was so full of mischief, she wondered if she had, perhaps, made a tactical error…

  To shape her life, she may have to sacrifice her heart.

  The Vow

  © 2012 Lindsay Chase

  Hannah Whitby’s dreams of marrying for love are dying too soon. Faced with backbreaking labor on her uncle’s tobacco farm or a loveless marriage, she chooses the lesser of the evils. Perhaps one day she and Reiver Shaw will become joined at the heart, as her long-dead parents once were.

  Time and again she proves her worth not only in the childbed, but as a helpmate in making Reiver’s silk mill a success. Yet even as she earns his respect, the ultimate prize—his love—eludes her.

  Only one man sees her true worth. Reiver’s artist brother, Samuel. Yet to succumb to Samuel’s desire to fulfill her, body and soul, could come at too high a price. As she fights a battle on several fronts—her marriage, her desire, and keeping the business afloat amid the escalating conflict between North and South—Hannah must come to a decision.

  To break under the strain, or grow strong…and make the choices that define a lifetime.

  This book has been previously published.

  Warning: Contains a plucky heroine who learns her true worth lies beyond a man’s definition. You may not agree with all of her choices, but you’ll cheer for her all the same. Happy ending guaranteed.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for The Vow:

  A light appeared in the downstairs parlor window, and Reiver watched as Cecelia, oblivious to his presence, lit an oil lamp. The light bathed her in golden warmth, reminding him of the night five years ago when he had first seen her.

  He had come to her father’s house hoping that the wealthy sea captain—one of Hartford’s “River Gods” with a fleet of tall-masted ships sailing out of New London for the West Indies—would hire a poor boy from Coldwater. Just as he climbed the front stairs he caught a glimpse of the captain’s lovely young daughter gracefully lighting an oil lamp. She symbolized all of Reiver’s aspirations, and he fell in love with her right then and there.

  Since Reiver had been too proud to use the back door that night, Cecelia’s contemptuous father didn’t hire him, and his daughter later married someone more suitable. But Reiver never forgot his desire for her. After Cecelia became a widow at the age of twenty-two, and Reiver became more prosperous, he wangled an introduction, and later they became lovers.

  He watched as Cecelia replaced the lamp’s glass chimney and moved away from the window with unselfconscious grace. Then he walked up the rest of the steps and knocked on the front door.

  When Cecelia answered it, her huge brown eyes danced with a mixture of pleasure at seeing him and confusion that he had come so late in the day. Still, her radiant smile was like a balm on turbulent waters.

  “Reiver!” she murmured in her soft, melodious voice that he had ached for days to hear. “I’m so glad to see you.” She took his hat, then drew him into the shadowed foyer.

  He closed the door behind him and swept her petite form into his arms, reaching hungrily for her mouth with his own. Cecelia stood on tiptoes for his kiss.

  Reiver groaned against her mouth, letting the delicious heat radiate from his groin. When it nearly consumed him, he set her away from him, held her at arm’s length, and studied her. “I’ve never seen a woman with such a tiny waist. That dress makes it look even smaller.”

  “Reiver Shaw, you’re the only man I know who pays attention to what a lady wears.”

  He grinned. “Or doesn’t wear.”

  Cecelia slapped his hand playfully. “Come into the parlor. We’ll have some elderberry wine and you can tell me all the latest news about your mill.”

  Reiver loved Cecelia Layton not for her amatory prowess as his mistress, but because she ministered so tenderly to his spirit. No matter how much time passed between Reiver’s visits, Cecelia never admonished him for neglecting her, never pressed to see him more often. When he was with her, he felt the worries of the world slide from his shoulders like an old skin and peace envelop him.

  He sat down on the settee and she glided over to the sideboard to pour two glasses of elderberry wine. Then she handed him one and sat down beside him, her wide skirt brushing his knee.

  She raised her glass. “To Shaw Silks.”

  He toasted the mill, took a sip, then set down his glass. He was about to hurt her cruelly, and if she never wanted to see him again, he wanted it over and done with.

  Her face clouded as she divined his mood with her usual perceptiveness, and she placed her hand on his. “Reiver, what’s wrong?”

  He knew no painless way to tell her. “I’m getting married.”

  Cecelia grew very still and the color drained from her face, leaching all the sweetness and joy with it, until she was as pale as a death mask.

  Reiver waited for her to scream, sob, claw his face to ribbons, or at least swoon, but all she did was stare wordlessly out of glazed brown eyes.

  He squeezed her lifeless hand. “Say something. Please.”

  Cecelia’s lips moved, but no sound came out. She finally croaked, “Do you love her?”

  He hadn’t expected that. He dangled his arms across his knees and bowed his head in shame. “No. I love you and I always will. I’m only marrying her for the land I need to expand the mill someday.”

  And while Cecelia listened, Reiver told her about Ezra Bickford’s offer and why he had agreed to marry
Hannah Whitby.

  He stared at the worn Turkish carpet, unable to look at the woman who deserved so much better for her love and loyalty. “I wish I had married you before this, but the mill has been struggling, and I wanted to be on more solid financial ground so I’d be worthy of you.”

  “Oh, Reiver, that wouldn’t have made any difference to me.”

  “I know that now, but it’s too late.” He sighed dismally. “I wouldn’t blame you if you told me to leave this house and never come back.”

  He heard Cecelia sigh, then felt her small gentle hands rest soothingly on his bent shoulders. She said, “I couldn’t bear not seeing you again.”

  Reiver sat up and looked at her. “Did you hear what I said? I’m going to marry someone else.”

  “I heard you.”

  “And you want to go on seeing me?”

  She nodded slowly. “If you’ll still have me. You may fall in love with your wife and not want me.”

  “Not want you?” He shook his head. “I’ve wanted you from the first moment I saw you in your father’s house, and I’ll always want you.”

  “I love you, Reiver,” she whispered. “When you love someone, you want them to be happy. Shaw Silks is your dream. And if you need that land to make your dream come true…”

  He buried his face in her silken chestnut hair that smelled faintly of sweet heliotrope. “I don’t deserve you, Cecelia Layton. I don’t deserve you.”

  “Let me be the judge of that.”

  “You’re too understanding.”

  “And you’re my life.”

  Later, after Reiver left, Cecelia lay in her dark bedchamber and stared at the ceiling. Her bed was still warm from her lover’s body and the tousled sheets smelled strongly of their shared passion.

  Reiver Shaw was not going to marry her after all. That realization was like winter ice encasing her heart.

  Cecelia knew she should have told him that their liaison was over, but the thought of never seeing him again, of never having him share her bed, hurt more than her shattered pride. But then, she had no pride where Reiver was concerned. She would accept whatever crumbs of his life he deigned to share with her, and accept them gladly.

  But his betrayal still hurt.

  She buried her face in her pillow and sobbed until she had no tears left to shed.

  Neither shipwreck, amnesia, kidnapping nor deception can keep these star-crossed lovers apart!

  Love and Dreams

  © 2012 Patricia Hagan

  The Coltrane Saga, Book 6

  When Colt Coltrane meets Russian prima ballerina Jade O'Bannon it is a case of love at first sight. But tragedy strikes when, on a voyage to America, a raging storm wrecks their ship, and Jade sees Colt swept overboard. Rescued from certain death by wealthy businessman Bryan Stevens, Jade slowly allows herself to think she might begin to love him. The only thing holding her back is the belief that Colt might actually be alive.

  Then at a glittering ball, Jade is jolted by the sight of Colt. When it appears he does not recognize her, she thinks he is pretending due to each of them being married to someone else. But then she discovers he suffers from amnesia due to the blow to his head when he fell overboard.

  Jade knows she cannot just announce the truth to Colt, that it will take time to ease into the reality of their situation. But, as when they first met, the two are inexplicably drawn together and fall helplessly into each other's arms…and in love. Too bad Bryan is willing to do anything to keep what he believes is his—Jade.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Love and Dreams:

  The first peach and melon fingers of dawn began to slowly creep above the shadowy domes, spires, and crosses that made up the skyline of St. Petersburg, Russia, to stealthily push aside the clawing vestiges of night, parting the skies for a new day…in that late summer of 1893.

  Jade O’Bannon stirred dreamily as she slept, there in the early morning mist of her mind. Visions of her world, past and present, passed in review, crowding out the anticipatory future.

  Jade’s current affluent status was far removed from the rusticity of her beginnings. Her home in the magnificent palace of the brother and sister-in-law of Czar Alexander III, the Grand Duke Vladimir and Grand Duchess Marie Pavlovna was so regally situated on the banks of the Neva River in St. Petersburg that it was more than just miles in distance from the small fishing village in Ireland where she’d spent the first years of her life as the daughter of a simple fisherman.

  Fate had decreed another destiny for the green-eyed colleen, due to her not being a pure-blooded colleen at all. Russian blood flowed in her veins—royal Russian blood. Jade’s mother, Natasia, had been a first cousin to Czar Alexander II. However, her marriage to not only a commoner but a foreigner as well brought disfavor from the Imperial family. But Natasia obeyed the callings of her heart, turned her back on her heritage, and went to live in the homeland of her beloved, Patrick O’Bannon. Several years later, when he was lost at sea, she was left destitute but managed to scrounge means to return to Russia for the funeral of her royal cousin, only to die there soon after.

  Jade, with her rare and special beauty, caught the eye and captured the heart of Marie Pavlovna, sister-in-law of the new Czar, Alexander III, and was unofficially adopted into the wealthy Romanov family, thus belatedly bestowing upon her a silver spoon of good fortune when she was eight years old.

  Exposed to the very best of the world of art and culture, Jade was given the ultimate advantages to pursue her love of ballet. Studying under the expert tutelage of the renowned chief ballet master, Manus Petipa, she became a member of the Imperial Ballet by the time she was only thirteen.

  Sought after by the rich, noble, and royal, Jade evaded romance in favor of her dancing. She was fanatically committed to her art…until John Travis Coltrane, known as “Colt,” came into her life…and her heart.

  She had met him when she agreed to help a dear and beloved friend, Drakar Mikhailonov, as he sought to claim Colt’s sister, Daniella Coltrane.

  Jade had always been a mischievous, fun-loving sort, given to pranks and practical jokes. To take part in Drakar’s scheme, by pretending to be a hard-working servant girl of poor background, seemed only a lark, at first.

  The plan called for Colt, the handsome son of an American millionaire, long plagued by fortune-seeking women, to become smitten with Jade only to be rejected, thus eventually restoring faith in himself and dissipating doubts that a woman could care for him for any reason save his wealth. After all, he was to finally reason, if a poor servant girl could turn him down, then surely there was something to be said for the honesty of some, if not all, women, wasn’t there? This was to become blatantly obvious when, ultimately, he was to learn who Jade actually was: a wealthy member of the famous Romanov family, who would certainly never have to resort to being attracted to a man for money alone.

  However, Drakar Mikhailonov’s plan went awry when Jade fell genuinely in love with Colt and, likewise, his heart was helplessly, hopelessly, mesmerized by the Irish-Russian ballerina named for the color of her devastatingly beautiful eyes.

  For a time, Jade felt torn between her devotion to her dancing and her growing affinity for Colt. After all, a prima ballerina does not give every shred of her being over to her craft only to toss it aside the first time love beckons. But as time passed, Jade became achingly aware of the temptation to allow nothing, not even ballet, to take precedence over the great and abiding love thatgrew for Colt each day.

  Yet, despite the stirrings within, the passion they shared, Jade spent much time wondering why Colt did not ask her to marry him. He professed to love her; he neglected his family in Paris and took up residence in Russia, studying the people and the language, and spending almost every moment with her.

  But he did not speak of marriage…or of a future together.

  A few months after they met, they attended the most lavish wedding Paris society had ever seen when Colt’s sister, Dani, married Drakar. During the ceremony
their eyes had met and held with secret, heated messages of love, but still their own future matrimony was never discussed.

  Then came the night when she was asked to dance as Imperial Prima Ballerina in Tchaikovsky’s The Nutcracker, choreographed by Lev Ivanov. It was truly the moment every dancer dreams of, and Jade was ecstatic. Costumed in frothy net, chiffon, and satin, she sparkled before the audience like the diamonds entwined in her coppery chignon. The Czar and his family sat in the royal box, but Jade did not see them or anyone in the aristocratic audience of the opulent blue and gold Mariinsky Theater. Her heart, mind, body, and soul were enraptured and dedicated to the hour for which she had surely been born.

  When the performance was over, the patrons stood on their feet and applauded until the very floors and walls shook with the echoing thunder. Again and again the thick brocade drapes swished open and closed as Jade accepted the accolades, tears streaming down her cheeks. Bouquets of flowers were brought to her by ushers. Czar Alexander himself stood up to throw an armload of red roses at her feet. She blew him a kiss, then turned glistening, happy eyes to her adoptive mother, the Grand Duchess Marie.

  The other dancers in the Imperial Ballet company gathered about her, themselves applauding and heralding their new star. The master himself, Petipa, came up on the stage to kiss her hand and bow before her.

  Then, as the cheers and applause diminished, and the other dancers moved away from Jade, one man began to walk purposefully down the aisle toward the stage. Jade blinked against the bright lights, felt the sudden rush of love within as she realized it was Colt. She’d thought him to be in Paris, called there suddenly by his mother due to his father’s being ill, but now he was here to share her glory, her triumph, the culmination of every ballerina’s dream.

  He stood beneath her in front of the stage, holding up a single yellow rose tied with a slender satin ribbon of green. She smiled through her tears of joy and gracefully leaned down to accept it—then froze, blinking in bewilderment.