Romantically Enchanted: A Twisted Fairytale Collection

by Madeline Martin

  Coventry smiled. “Welcome to the Wicked Earls’ Club. You have been nominated for admission—if you want to join. There are rules, of course,” Coventry told them. “Nothing too extreme, but you should all find them reasonable. Keep the club a secret, and you forfeit your membership once you marry—only the leader of the group is allowed to have a wife and retain his membership. If you’re wondering who that is—I am the currently in charge of the club and its members.” He glanced at each one of them and asked, “Do you wish to be a part of all this?” He held his arms out wide.

  They all nodded immediately. Jonas didn’t give it much thought, and figured the other two hadn’t either. The sheer excess of the place had won them over. The rest he could figure out later.

  It was a decision he never regretted…

  ABOUT DAWN BROWER

  Dawn Brower holds a Bachelor of Arts in Psychology, a Master of Arts in Education, and a Master of Arts in Liberal Arts with concentrations in Literature, History, and Sociology. She works as a substitute teacher and enjoys the flexibility it gives her to concentrate on her other endeavors.

  Growing up she was the only girl out of six children. She is a single mother of two teenage boys; there is never a dull moment in her life. Reading books is her favorite hobby. While she loves all genres she focuses most of her writing on historical and contemporary romance.

  There are always stories inside her head; she just never thought she could make them come to life. That creativity has finally found an outlet.

  For more information visit her website at: http://www.authordawnbrower.com/

  ALSO BY DAWN BROWER

  Broken Pearl

  Deadly Benevolence

  A Wallflower’s Christmas Kiss

  Snowflake Kiss

  Begin Again

  There You’ll Be

  Better as a Memory

  Won’t Let Go

  Bluestockings Defying Rogues

  Earl of Harrington

  A Lady Hoyden’s Secret

  Ever Beloved

  Forever My Earl

  Always My Viscount

  Infinitely My Marquess

  Marsden Romances

  A Flawed Jewel

  A Crystal Angel

  A Treasured Lily

  A Sanguine Gem

  A Hidden Ruby

  A Discarded Pearl

  Linked Across Time

  Saved by My Blackguard

  Searching for My Rogue

  Seduction of My Rake

  Surrendering to My Spy

  Spellbound by My Charmer

  Stolen by My Knave

  Separated from My Love

  Scandalized by My Prince

  Scheming with My Duke

  Secluded with My Hellion

  Heart’s Intent

  One Heart to Give

  Unveiled Hearts

  Heart of the Moment

  Kiss My Heart Goodbye

  Heart in Waiting

  Novak Springs

  Cowgirl Fever

  Dirty Proof

  Unbridled Pursuit

  Sensual Games

  Christmas Temptation

  Broken Curses

  The Enchanted Princess

  The Bespelled Knight

  The Magical Hunt

  Enduring Legacy

  The Legacy’s Origin

  Charming Her Rogue

  Scandal Meets Love

  Love Only Me (Amanda Mariel)

  Find Me Love (Dawn Brower)

  A Gypsy’s Christmas Kiss (Dawn Brower)

  IT MUST BE MAGIC

  SANDRA SOOKOO

  To everyone who has family issues, who is different than “normal” and who never thinks love will be found, this story is for you. Stay hopeful. It’s out there and when you find it, it’s magical.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Writing a book can be a solitary endeavor at times. And in others, it’s fun to ask for help. Thanks so much to the following people who offered up assistance in titling this piece.

  Angela Roe

  Jennifer Zander Wilck

  Rachel E. Moniz

  Kathleen Scranton Shaputis

  Christina Lorenzen

  Lisa Troy

  Crystal Marie

  Leanne Davis

  Mary L. Cottingham

  Michelle Miles

  Mimi Milan

  Kathleen Ann Gallagher

  Mary Dieterich

  CHAPTER 1

  AVERELL WOODE PICKED her way carefully through the heavily forested area around the enchanted tree house where she lived.

  Long ago, when she was just a wee babe, her father had brought them both here from the nearby village, and finding the large tree, he’d set up housekeeping. Of course, he’d called in a magical favor that masqueraded the tree as a two-story cottage. From an early age, she’d heard him say it would protect her from the evils found in life. And since her father was a huntsman of some acclaim for Queen Grimhilde, the ruler of Sarringden and the lands where their property lay, she had no reason not to believe him. If he said the world was full of evil, it must be the truth. He had seen many things.

  But now at the age of thirty, she’d become heartily tired of that tree and wanted the next chapter of her life to begin.

  She shifted the quiver of arrows to a more comfortable position on her back and held the bow—carved with swirls, birds, and flowers on the wooden parts—tightly in her right hand. The hem of her green cloak slapped at the back of her calves. Her brown lightweight wool skirts, gathered up at the sides and secured with leather straps and buckles to reveal doeskin leggings that hugged her legs, whispered with each step. Her brown leather knee boots made no sound on the soft earth as she moved. There was something life affirming in being surrounded by the woods and all the living things contained within.

  While her father was in the village selling animal pelts and meat gathered from recent successful hunts, she meant to explore farther than she’d ever gone before. It was one thing to enjoy her current existence, and she was happy to be sure, but she’d always wondered if there was more out there. Why did everything need to end in death, which was essentially what she and her father dealt with on a daily basis. Yes, they killed for their survival and not for sport, but it was still death. Perhaps there was another way to make things happen and reach an end goal.

  The early afternoon sun filtered through the canopy and dappled leaves of shrubbery and the forest floor she trod. Averell lifted her face in an attempt to feel the warmth, and she sighed. What was the world alike away from these trees that hid everything—and her—from view? Perhaps if she was allowed to access the village or a town beyond those borders, she could meet a man and fall in love—she’d read enough books to know that such a thing was what humans aspired to—or indulge in whatever new adventure fate might offer, perhaps see the world.

  I’m tired of hiding. I’ll know my own destiny or I’ll die trying, but anything is better than living in fear. I am not my father.

  “Hold, men!” The soft cry rang as loud as a shout in the forest’s hush. It startled her and sent her heartbeat soaring. “Start tracking here.”

  No one came to this section of the woods, and especially not on her father’s holdings. As she trod the edge of a drop off, she peered into the dry creek bed below. Her breath caught. A hunting party of ten men spread out single-file as they twined between trees like an overly large snake. Low snickers from their horses broke the silence. The jangles of their harnesses added to their mysterious presence.

  Averell narrowed her eyes as she knelt on one knee behind a shrub and studied them. They were not from this kingdom, for the medallions bearing royal crests at the horse’s chests showed a dragon instead of the bear of Sarringden. The yellow and pale blue on their banners were also different than the blood red and black of the realm. Hunting was prohibited here unless granted special permission by the queen.

  And she hadn’t done that for years. In fact, only a few trusted men of thi
s kingdom were granted leave to hunt at all—her father included.

  A red-haired man came into view. The men around him joked and asked questions as to where they should go. He must have been the one who’d originally spoken. Averell sucked a breath as she stared. Broad of shoulder, the width of which was hidden by a cloak of moss green, but the dark leather tunic he wore over a long-sleeved shirt with flowing sleeves captured her imagination. With his every movement, the muscles of his lean frame flexed, and when she peered at his legs encased in dark leather leggings, curious flutters filled her belly. He carried himself like a man used to the rigidity of the military.

  Why, he’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.

  Not that she spent time with men unaccompanied. Her father was almost maniacal in his wont to keep her away from people—men or women alike. But occasionally he would bring acquaintances to the cottage for her to speak with, practice language skills upon, study with, and become comfortable in the presence of.

  She caressed her gaze over his face, the jaw and chin of which were covered with russet whiskers, and she knew a bizarre need to rub her palms over that stubble. What would it feel like against her skin? Matching hair gleamed in the sun and curled just at his collar. A dark leather, triangular-shaped cap sat at a rakish angle over his left eye. Did he possess a playful attitude to match the set of that hat?

  “There is evidence deer are in the area,” the man continued. “Follow the scat. Perhaps we shall have a buck in hand soon. Sarringden stags are the largest in the area and the most elusive. I’ll even lay down coin for pints tonight if you bring down a white one.”

  As silently as she could, Averell stood. A white stag’s pelt was highly sought after, and since that coloring of animal was rare, they’d have a hard time of it. Once, her father had happened upon such a beast. It had been mortally injured and he’d conducted a mercy killing. The pelt had then been fashioned into leggings and a sleeveless tunic for her, stitched by her own fingers.

  She followed the hunting party along the ridgeline as they moved forward. Conversation buzzed through the tangle of men, all so different from each other in looks and shapes that she couldn’t stop staring. Occasionally, they’d laugh and jest together so much, that she longed for such in life. Laughter was a rare commodity and wasn’t practiced in her house, for her father was often out of sorts and worried, especially of late. Intrigued, she continued, and when the ridge sloped naturally to the forest floor, she kept hidden among the trees.

  The hunting party pulled away, and since she kept a slower pace, soon the ten men vanished into the trees as the forest swallowed them. Disappointment cooled her spine when she lost sight of the red-haired man. She should have paid more attention, should have—

  A gloved hand slipped over her mouth while a strong arm stole about her waist. She was hauled against a man’s hard chest as panic climbed her spine. “If I were you, I wouldn’t cry out; you’ve gone to great pains to remain hidden thus far. Don’t reveal your presence now.”

  How had this man found her? She’d grown up in these woods, knew how to hide as well as the animals, yet he’d managed to spot her. Averell froze. She gripped her bow tight in her hand. He was too close and prevented her from drawing an arrow. The scents of leather, man and citrus wafted to her nose. It was… interesting and different. Delicious, really.

  “If you promise not to scream, I’ll release you,” he whispered and his breath warmed the shell of her ear. Trembling wonder crawled over her skin when she recognized the voice of the red-haired man. Still, was he one of the evil men her father constantly warned her about? “Do you agree?”

  She nodded, and when he relaxed his grip, she spun away, plucked out an arrow, nocked it tightly in her bowstring and drew the arrow back. “Don’t move or I will impale you.” When he reached for a sheathed hunting dagger at his lean hip, she clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Do it and die.”

  The man put his hands up, palms outward. A slight grin pulled at his lips that were neither thin nor full. “I merely need to call for help and my men will surround you post haste.”

  Averell snorted. “They will be too late, for I only have to release this arrow and it will skewer your heart. I rarely miss.” She arched an eyebrow and marveled at the anticipation coursing through her veins. Was it for defending herself or verbally bantering with this man who intrigued her? “What will you do?” The leather of her glove brushed her cheek as did the feathered fletching. It wouldn’t take much to send the arrow on its way.

  The man grinned, and butterfly wings tickled her belly. “Let me pose a question to you. I shall decide after that.”

  She frowned. “Speak then and save yourself if you can.” What was he about?

  His grin widened. “What would a man need to do to find himself in your favorable graces?”

  “Are you referring to yourself?”

  “I am.”

  Her hand shook slightly. The sound of his voice wrapped around her and resonated in her chest. “If a man wished such a thing, he wouldn’t creep up on a woman without some sort of warning.” He was average in height and she stood a couple of inches shorter.

  “Ah, but if he warned her, it wouldn’t be creeping.” He winked and the filtered sunlight caught his brown eyes, turning them a bright amber for the space of a heartbeat. “How else was such a man to gain the attention of a woman who was equally sneaking about?”

  His logic pulled a small smile from her. Inch by inch, she relaxed the arrow until it she grasped it in her free hand and returned it to the quiver. “I wasn’t sneaking. I was tracking.”

  “Who or what?” He lifted a red eyebrow in challenge.

  “Truth be known, you.” Embarrassment raged in her cheeks as she slung the bow about her right shoulder. “When I discovered your presence and that of your hunting party, I became fascinated.”

  “With me or the party?” Was that interest in his voice or merely curiosity?

  “The whole of it, but specifically you.” She refused to drop her gaze, for her own curiosity of him bloomed furiously. Why couldn’t she stop staring, and why did continuing to do so heat her body?

  “Ah.” He said nothing more but circled her and raked her person with an assessing gaze almost as if he were sizing her up, stalking her like a predator did with prey. “Is there something you want from me, since you were tracking my party?” A note of caution had crept into his voice and his expression hardened.

  She didn’t like this side of him, for it gave her pause. “How could I want anything from a man I’ve never met?” Yet talking with him felt exhilarating. Her contact with the world outside her cottage was nearly non-existent, and to find a fellow human, attractive though he may be, was a boon she wasn’t ready to relinquish so soon.

  “But now you have met me, what is your answer?”

  “It is true we’ve met only for the fact of speaking, but since I do not know your name or anything about you, my question still stands. You are a stranger and I have no designs upon you.” Puzzling out replies to this man was a confusing endeavor. Perhaps her father was right and she should indeed remain in the enchanted tree house.

  “I believe you.” He ceased his circling in favor of prowling toward her, his steps silent upon the moss-strewn ground. “So tell me, fair maiden of the wood, how might I gain your favor and bask in your smile?”

  “Tell me your name.” Surely that was how proper people interacted. Once a name was given, a personal connection was established.

  He stepped closer, stood merely a foot from her, and once more she caught a whiff of that citrus and cedarwood scent that belonged to him. “I am called Quinn, among other things, but when it is all boiled down, that is who I am most comfortable being.” He closed the remaining distance and dared to brush his gloved fingers along the side of her face. “What is your name?”

  Awareness rolled over her at his touch. She was more alive than she’d ever been before, as if she merely needed to meet him to enac
t that change. How curious and somewhat alarming. “I am Averell.”

  “A charming name for a lovely wood sprite.”

  She laughed. “I am not a wood sprite, but every inch a human.”

  “Even better, though my next guess would be an elf, for you quite look the part.” He smiled again and she caught her breath. It was extraordinary how his shifting moods affected her. “What are you doing out here in such a remote location?” When he slipped his hand to her shoulder and sailed it down her arm, she trembled.

  So wonderful did it feel, so intimate. She sucked in a shuddering breath and met his eyes. “My father owns this section of land. While he is out on an errand, I wished to further my knowledge of the area.”

  “I see.” He glanced around them. “Where do you live?”

  Averell chewed her bottom lip. She couldn’t tell him that, for it would be the worst sort of betrayal and might bring evil to her very doorstep. “In a tree, for perhaps I am a wood sprite after all.” It was such a delight conversing with this man. She smiled and his gaze dropped to her mouth, which spurred on the butterfly ballet currently performing in her lower belly.

  “A bit of mystery to entice an unsuspecting male?”

  “I didn’t realize my presence here was so tempting.” Her head spun from the conversation as well as his proximity.

  “Oh, but it is. And I’d like to know more.” He clasped her hand in his and gently tugged her closer. “I have hunted upon these grounds many times, and this is my first sighting of such a rare beauty. Why do you think that is?”