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Category: Bluestocking Belles (Page 1 of 16)

Visions of what could be…

Kenna, the healer for Clan MacLaren, pushed her cart of herbs towards the lists where the Knights of Berwyck were training. They had not yet called for her aid but she knew from the vision she had this morn they would have need of her skills. The men would be training far into the night if their master was not pleased with their performance this day. ’Twould not be the first time such a happening occurred, nor would it be the last.

Once reaching the outer baily, she continued onward through the postern gate and gazed out to the wide field where the lists could be found. She saw her liege lord sitting upon his black steed inspecting his men. He was a formidable foe and known as the Devil’s Dragon of Berwyck. Not many could best this man on a field of honor nor upon the battlefield, or so the stories went.

Her own eyes scanned the men ’til she found the one her heart continuously sought. Geoffrey… even thinking his name brought a smile to her lips and when he saw that she neared, he gave her that lopsided grin she had come to cherish. He was a cocky one and knew what he did to her with just one look in her direction, the rogue!

Geoffrey continued to occupy her thoughts as she pushed her cart up near the wall of the castle. She had barely gotten the wagon in place when she felt herself slipping into another vision. A mist rolled over the mountains whilst she watched the images swiftly pass afore her eyes. Berwyck Castle and war, a red haired woman who played with fire, women who were not of this world coming to the castle gates, along with seeing far into the future of what the world would someday become. 

“Kenna…”

Her name being called brought her out of trance-like state. She rubbed at her eyes ’til she was at last able to see Geoffrey leaning over her.

“What happened?” she asked, although she already knew her answer especially since she was propped up against the wall.

“Kenna, you gave me such a fright,” Geoffrey murmured with green eyes filled with concern. “Can you stand?’

Kenna clutched at his sleeve. “You must needs prepare yourself for war, Geoffrey,” she warned.

His chuckle rumbled inside his chest. “War? We have secured Berwyck in the name of our king. There will be no war.”

“Said every man too sure of themselves and their ability,” she returned with crossed brows.

He laughed again causing her frown to deepen. “We are the Devil’s Dragon’s men and remain victorious. Have you not heard that no man or beast can defeat us?”

“You make light of a situation when you should be heeding my words instead,” she replied but could not hide the smile that turned up the corners of her lips. He was just too handsome for her to resist his charms.

He leaned closer to whisper in her ear. “You care for me, admit it,” he crooned softly.

Laughter bubbled forth from Kenna’s lips. “Never!” she cried out playfully. “You are already too sure of yourself. I shall not be the cause of your ego growing any larger, good sir. However would I deal with you then?”

“I am certain we could think of something, my lady,” he said afore placing a quick kiss to her cheek. He held out his hand for her to take but she hesitated knowing what could possibly happen if they were to touch.

Too late, he reached out to grasp her hand and vision’s once more swam afore her eyes with images of her and Geoffrey naked and kissing by a pond in a secluded cove. Just as quickly, she returned to the present. Her face flamed scarlet wondering if what she had just witnessed would come to pass. Afore she could make any attempt at speech, Geoffrey helped her gain her feet and placed a kiss above her knuckles.

“I must needs return to my training. You will sup with me this eve,” he stated, apparently sure of himself that he already knew her answer.

Kenna nodded and watched Geoffrey leave her side to return to the field. She was glad she had not mentioned the women from the future who would one day come to Berwyck to claim the hearts of the very knights who trained afore her. Geoffrey would surely think she was daft and, considering what she had just seen, she would not want him to think ill of her. Change was in the air and Kenna would look forward to what the future had in store for her and, of course, Geoffrey.

This is an original piece with Kenna and Geoffrey who are secondary characters in Sherry Ewing’s debut medieval romance, If My Heart Could See You available in audio book, eBook, and paperback.

When you’re enemies, does love have a fighting chance?

For Amiria of Berwyck, defeat does not come easily as she watches her home and clan being ripped asunder. When the very enemy who has laid siege to her home demands her fealty, she will do whatever it takes to protect her people including a hastily concocted ruse that quickly begins to unravel. All too soon, she starts to question whether she can forgive herself for betraying those she has sworn to protect.

Dristan of Blackmore, champion knight of King Henry II, has a reputation to uphold as the Devil’s Dragon. After his invading army conquers Berwyck castle, he sets out to manage the newly claimed estate by training its knights in the art of proper defense. At first, everything appears as it should be, or is it? Betrayed by those he believed he could trust, he must first set aside his anger before he can make room in his heart for love.

Together they are tied by an unspoken bond. As they begin to rebuild the land and unite their people, forces beyond their control attempt to tear apart their fragile truce and only time will tell if love will forever bring them together.

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A Flower of Scotland in Flight

The Forfar Inn

Forfar, Angus, Scotland

Roslyn Grant pulled her cloak tighter around her as she watched the coach pull away from the inn, her thin shoulders shivering in the cold air. What to do now? The coach fare to Forfar had cost every last penny of her small savings, and what had it gained her but a mere forty miles from her villainous stepbrother?

“Kin I help ye wit’ yer bag, miss?”

A boy about twelve in a torn jacket and brown wool cap pointed at the small valise at her feet.

Roslyn blinked and bent down to pick it up herself. “Thank you, but no, I can manage it myself.” No doubt he was wanting to earn a coin or two, not knowing that her pockets were as bare as his. In any case, the bag was light enough, as she’d had time only to stuff inside a spare gown, stockings and undergarments, and her nightrail.

The boy stared at her curiously and she realized she must appear a strange sight, standing immobile in the middle of an inn yard with a cold wind whirling about her.

“I’d best go inside,” she said hesitantly.

“There’s a first-rate fire goin’ in the public room,” he offered.

She nodded. “Yes, of course.” The worst they could do was throw her out again. So she took brave steps to the door and made her way inside.

Two men sitting at the bar eyed her with interest, but she walked past them with practiced ease toward the fireplace, where she put down her bag and stretched her hands out toward the fire.

“Kin I git ye somethin’, miss?” A weary-looking woman carrying a jug approached her.

She yearned for a cup of tea, but without coin to pay for it, she shook her head. “No, thank you.”

The door opened again, letting in a gust of icy air and about a half-dozen rough-looking men, cursing and behaving raucously. Roslyn ignored them, leaning closer to the fire, but the harassed serving maid could not.

“Liz-zie! Git yerself over ‘n wait on the new folk! I ain’t payin’ ye to stand there ‘n flap yer tongue!”

Lizzie reddened. “Ye don’t pay me to do the work o’ two,” she said under her breath. “When I see that Ellen girl agin, I’ll give her a piece ‘o my mind, ‘n that’s a fact.”

Roslyn perked up. “Are you short of staff then? I-I might be able to help.”

Lizzie looked her up and down. “Needin’ some o’ the ready, are ye?”

Roslyn nodded. “I-I’m looking for a position, yes.”

“Ye sure ye kin handle rough folk like these ‘uns?” She waved her hand toward the newcomers.

Roslyn set her shoulders back, untied her cloak, and hung it across a chair before making long confident steps toward the table of hooligans.

“Can I get ye some ale, gentlemen? Or is it food yer wantin’ We’ve some fine stew this evenin’,” she said with a look at Lizzie, who appeared to be stifling laughter.

“That so?” said one man, taller and bigger than the rest. “Ole Jack’s stew’s never bin called ‘fine’ afore. Jack git a new cook?”

“He did,” she fibbed. “Me. I cooked up the stew tonight.”

The innkeeper, ‘Ole Jack,’ stared at her incredulously from the kitchen door.

“In that case,” said the big red-headed fellow, “we’ll each have a bowl o’ the pretty gel’s stew. Won’t we, mates?”

They all roared their agreement, and Roslyn hustled toward the kitchen, shrugging sheepishly at the innkeeper. “Yer hired,” he said. “Fer tonight. Wot’s yer name?”

“Ros-er-Rachel,” she lied, using the alias she’d invented previously, in an attempt to cover her tracks.

“Rachel,” he said with a conspiratorial wink. “Git in the kitchen ‘n serve up the stew. Mebbe fancy it up a little. Lizzie! Git ’em some ale!”

Roslyn tied an apron around her waist and went to work on the stew, first siphoning the fat from the top and then adding in some finely chopped onion and thickening it with a little flour. The men, when they tasted it, declared it was the best stew they’d ever had. Roslyn brushed off their improper advances with such practiced good humor that their ringleader declared his intention to return the next night to wear down her resolve.

“Ye say ye need a job?” inquired the innkeeper. “Ye kin have Ellen’s. A lazier lass I never saw. Comes in late more ‘n half the time ‘n sometimes not atall.”

“I wouldn’t want to take Ellen’s position,” Roslyn said. “But I don’t mind helping out for a day or two, until I can find something permanent. In return for food and a place to sleep,” she added.

It would be too easy for Teryn to find her at the Forfar Inn, whatever name she used. Her most pressing need, however, was food and lodging. Once that was satisfied, she could work on devising a longer-term solution.

Roslyn Grant is fleeing the stepbrother who stole her inheritance and sold her to a brothel. Without money and facing the perilous Scottish winter weather, she has only her wits to keep her safe.

In search of one of the Flowers of Scotland, Quinn Murray finds her at his estranged uncle’s home, employed as a housekeeper. Slaying her dragons for her might not be enough, however. Can there be a happy ending for this earl’s heir and a long-lost descendent of Robert the Bruce?

This story will be coming out in the spring with the rest of the stories in the Flowers of Scotland series.

About The Flowers of Scotland series

Only The Marriage Maker can pull flowers from the ashes…

Few men are legends in their own time, great fame more often coming years, even centuries later, and by the pens of scribes who rely on long-told tales rather than fact. Even so, now and again, larger-than-life heroes appear, the sheer force of their personalities raising them above all others. These are the fabled ones, flesh and blood men whose lights blaze so bright they eclipse all who’ve gone before them, as well as those who follow.

In the early years of the thirteen century, when medieval Scotland was entrenched in the treachery and chaos of the Wars of Independence, one such man emerged from the tall shadow of the great William Wallace. This man went on to lead Scotland in a fierce fight for freedom that culminated with his 1306 crowning as King of Scots and then, in 1314, with his stunning victory against Edward II of England at the Battle of Bannockburn.

This man was Robert the Bruce, Scotland’s greatest hero king. Even after his triumph at Bannockburn, he railed against England for another fourteen years, finally securing full Scottish independence in 1328, one year before his death.

Extraordinarily beloved by his men, Robert Bruce was also known for his good looks and charm. Yes, he loved the ladies, and they flocked to him. Such adoration from beautiful women is hard for any man to ignore, especially a warrior king always on the move, long away from hearth and home. The Bruce was married twice and is known to have especially loved his second wife. Yet, medieval wars were brutal and it proved too great a temptation to decline the feminine comfort offered him at every turn.

In short, he succumbed. The hero king who came to be known as the Flower of Scotland for his chivalry, sired many bastards and, great-hearted as he was, he ensured that each one lacked for nothing.

But time rolls on, and after but a few centuries, glory-seekers claimed descent from Scotland’s most revered king. Fortunes turned, and some of his true descendants fell from favor. Eventually, no one remembered that their blood carried the richness of such a great and heroic man.

Of course, no one forgot Robert Bruce. His fame burns as brightly as ever. Some historians are obsessed with him, delving deep into history to uncover every nuance of his life and deeds, including the amorous tales.

When one such historian discovers four young women whose lineages trace directly to the Bruce, this man is deeply troubled. The Flowers of Scotland, as he views these Bruce descendants, should not suffer lives of hardship and obscurity as these women do.

Sir Stirling James

Something must be done and he knows just the man to help them; Sir Stirling James, The Marriage Maker. Sir James is a regular at the Inverness pub run by the hobby historian, an establishment named The Melrose for the final resting place of Robert the Bruce’s heart; Melrose Abbey.

Sir James, a true patriot, and history buff himself, agrees that the four young women deserve triumphs of their own. He knows just the four men worthy of them—men who, like the Bruce, possess charm, rank and standing. These heroes can sweep the lassies off their feet and into a world of happiness and love they never dreamed possible.

About the Author

Susana Ellis has always had stories in her head waiting to come out, especially when she learned to read and her imagination began to soar.

A former teacher, Susana lives in Toledo, Ohio in the summer and Florida in the winter. She is a member of the Central Florida Romance Writers and the Beau Monde chapters of RWA, Maumee Valley Romance Inc., and the (in)famous Bluestocking Belles.

Website: http://www.SusanaEllis.com

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Some old acquaintance are better forgot


“Cici! Darling!” The tall lady in the fashionable dress turned at her name, and pasted on a smile as a willowy blonde in green hurried across the room to seize her hands and kiss in the vicinity of her cheek.

She returned the salute, the smile still not reaching her eyes. Lady Norton had retired to the country a year ago, perhaps because her husband was ill. And then, a few months ago, she was widowed; not an unexpected occurence with a groom some forty years her senior.

Apparently, she was back. “Vivi, I did not know you were out of mourning.”

Vivi waved at her gown, and laughed, the melodious tinkle that Cici had heard her practice every morning when they shared a room at the select ladies’ academy they had both attended. “As you see, my dear. And Guy says it will be perfectly acceptable for me to attend assemblies and the like, but not to dance.”

“You are staying with your brother?” Guy Kitteridge had been a suitor for Cecily’s hand. Thank goodness she had had the sense to select dear Thornley instead. And Thornley had chosen her instead of being distracted by Vivi’s obvious and openly proffered charms.

Girls were protected from the very knowledge that would keep them safe, but since her marriage she had learned that Kitteridge was vicious as well as rather stupid. Somewhat like his sister, in fact.

“With my aunt, though I have just come from meeting Guy. Cici, you will never guess who Guy and I ran into today. Candle Avery! Lord Avery, I suppose I should call him now, since his father died. Such a tragic accident. And his mother will never walk again, or so I hear.” She smiled, as if this news was particularly delightful. “I suppose it must be true, since he was at a business meeting with a designer of invalid chairs. He must be buying one for his mother, do you not suppose?”

“How sweet,” Cecily said. “He always was a very nice man.”

Vivi dismissed the comment. “I suppose. Odd-looking though. So tall and skinny, and his hair such a bright shade of red. No wonder his schoolfriends called him Candle!”

Not friends at all, from what Cecily had heard, but bullies led by Vivi’s own brother.

“Still,” Vivi was pursuing her own line of thought. “He is a viscount, and one can put up with a lot for a title. And he has inherited a fortune, as well, which is a thing I could do with, for Norton’s guardian is difficult about allowances.” She flicked impatiently at her gown, which was of the finest silk and bore the unmistakeable look of a London modiste. The new Lord Norton was in the custody of his much older cousin, who was known to heartily dislike his aunt-by-marriage. Cecily noted that Vivi’s only mention of her son so far was in relation to money for gowns.

“I could have had him three years ago, but he was poor then, and untitled,” Vivi continued. She nodded, decisively. “It is a good idea, I think.”

“Three years ago,” Cecily reminded the silly cat, “Candle Avery was courting Minerva Bradshaw. He wouldn’t have noticed you if you had appeared in his bed naked.”

Vivi laughed again. “Darling, a dead man would notice if I appeared in his bed naked, but so funny that you should mention little Minnie! Guess who Candle has hired to make his mother an invalid’s chair!”

Ah. Cecily had heard that the Bradshaw Carriage Makers, Minerva’s family business, also produced chairs for the many invalids of Bath. “The Bradshaws?” She said, since Vivi was clearly not going to go away until she had said whatever she had come to say.

“Close, darling, but not quite. Little Minnie herself! Not just from the shop, darling. She is an actual tradeswoman. How shocking, do you not think? Of course, Candle will never look at her now.”

Ah. Here came Thornley. Thank goodness. He smiled at his wife, and bowed coldly to Lady Norton. “You must excuse us, Lady Norton. My wife and I have an engagement.

Cecily took his arm and waved goodbye, hoping her relief was not apparent.

Though Thornley noticed, of course, saying once they were out in the road, “Really, my sweet widgeon, why do you talk to that fluff-headed she-cat? You do not even like her!”

“I haven’t talked to her in a year, Thornley,” she protested, but he informed her from his superior height that Lady Norton had been in the country for a year. “And I wish she had stayed there,” he added. “I tell you, Cecily, if you invite her to our house, I shall beat you.”

Cecily, who knew precisely the weight to put on such threats said, “You know that you will not, Thornley.”

“No, because I love you to distraction,” he agreed. “But really, my dear, will you not cut the connection? I know she was your friend at school, but I can do without being propositioned under the very eye of my own wife.”

Cecily pulled to a stop, tugging on his arm until he faced her. “She didn’t! She did!” She dropped his arm, and turned on her heel to march back down the hill.

“Wait!” Thornley caught up and stood in front of her. “It was a year ago, darling, and I had a word with her husband. That’s why he took her home to his country estate. Of course, then he died, but I thought she’d be out of circulation for at least another six months.”

“And when did you plan to tell me,” Cecily demanded.

“I didn’t. The barbarian in me delights in the idea of your scratching the nasty cat’s eyes out.” He heaved large sigh. “But I know you are too much of a lady to descend to her level. So it seemed pointless to upset you, especially when you were so fretf— so impatiently waiting for the arrival of our son.”

Cecily thought about this and decided the excuse could be accepted.

“Very well, Thornley, but do not think to keep such secrets from me again,” she said sternly. Her husband hung his head and did his best to look contrite, though his eyes twinkled so that she relented and told him, “And I will cut the connection.

Can a viscount and a carriage maker’s daughter find love?

Randal Avery, known as Candle, comes to buy an invalid chair for his mother, and finds the woman who has been haunting his dreams for three years. He has until she finishes the chair for his mother to convince her to marry him. If he says it with flowers, will she understand?

Minerva Bradshaw, educated beyond her station, once dreamed of stepping into the fairy tale world of the ton, only to have her dreams crushed. Now the man she cannot forget is back, and he seems determined to raise those false hopes all over again. But she only has to resist until Christmas.

Buy links on my website at http://judeknightauthor.com/books/candles-christmas-chair/

Excerpt

“Tha’ wants to talk to Min about they chairs,” said the man in the office, and directed Candle Avery to the far corner of the carriage-maker’s yard.

Candle strode through the light rain, dodging or leaping the worst of the mud and puddles. Min. Short for Benjamin, perhaps? Or Dominic?

No, he concluded, as his eyes adjusted to the light inside the shed. The delightful posterior presented to his eyes belonged to neither a Benjamin nor a Dominic. The overalls were masculine, but the curves they covered were not.

She was on a ladder, leaning so far into a bank of shelves that lined the wall opposite the door that her upper half was hidden, but he had no objection to the current view—said delightful posterior at his eye level and neatly outlined as she stretched, a pair of trim ankles showing between the tops of her sensible half boots and the hems of the overalls.

“Botheration.” Whatever she was reaching for up there, it was not obliging her by coming to her hand. Perhaps his lofty height might be of service?

“May I help, Ma’am?” he asked.

There was a crash as she jerked upright at the sound of his voice, and hit her head on the shelf above. As she flinched backward from the collision, the ladder tipped sideways, spilling its occupant into Candle’s hastily outstretched arms.

The curves were everything he thought, and the face lived up to them. A Venus in miniature, black curls spilling from the kerchief that held them away from the heart-shaped face, that quintessentially English complexion known as peaches and cream, grey eyes fringed with dark lashes.

Grey eyes that had haunted his dreams for three long years, ever since she’d led him on at a house party for the amusement of her friends, and then left without saying goodbye.

Grey eyes that turned stormy as he held her a moment too long. He hastily set her down.

“Miss Bradshaw.”

“Captain Avery. No, it is Lord Avery, now, is it not? My condolences on the death of your father.”

He bowed his acknowledgement, his mind racing. Bradshaw Carriages. He hadn’t made the connection. Had he known when he was courting her that she was a carriage-maker’s daughter? He didn’t remember anyone mentioning it.

But he did remember that her friends called her Minnie. Miss Minerva Bradshaw. Min.

Lord Avery was broader than she remembered. He’d been little more than a boy at that horrid house party, but even then the tallest man she had ever met. Isolated and nervous in that crowd of scheming cats who had only invited her to humiliate her, she’d believed him when he claimed to care. She’d been thrilled when he called her a little goddess, and asked for leave to worship her.

With him at her side, she’d braved the crush at the ball. Short as she was, she usually found such occasions overwhelming. People looked over her, bumped into her, ignored her. But Lord Avery—Captain Avery he’d been then—kept her safe. She’d even, for the first time in her life, been enjoying herself at a ball. Right up until she overheard his best friend talking to him, and it became clear that Lord Avery despised her common origins and was only courting her for her money.

All in the name of love…

Rolf stood over his opponent, his sword aimed at the fallen man’s chest. “Do you yield or do you wish to continue your quest to win yourself a bride?”

“I yield,” the knight growled tossing aside his sword.

“’Tis a wise choice,” Rolf declared with a smirk knowing he had one less man to defeat in order to win the fair Lynet as his bride.

Leaving the field, he made his way to the raised platform where the lady who owned his heart watched whilst he won yet another match. She smiled at his approach and whispered something in her sister’s ear afore she left her side.

She stood at the stairs and he held out his hand to assist her. Her fingertips trembled in his palm afore he raised them to his lips once she descended to the ground. “Lady Lynet,” he said when she raised her head to stare at him with clear blue eyes. “you are like a beam of warm sunshine to brighten my day.”

“Sir Rolf,” she murmured giving a short curtsey. “You flatter me with your words, kind sir. You have won yet another match I see?”

He chuckled. “Did you have any doubt I would not do all in my power to win?”

“’Tis not every day a woman has an entire company of men vying for her hand in marriage,” she answered whilst her smile faded.

He hated seeing her sad. Pulling off his glove, Rolf brushed her cheek. “I vow you shall not be saddled with any of these fools who think they are worthy to have you as their wife.”

Her hand came to rest on his cheek and Rolf’s heart soared knowing she at least held some small measure of affection for him. “Oh Rolf,” she said in a breathy whisper, “how I wish your words held some small measure of hope my life would turn out as I always imagined.”

Afore he could reply, a cheer upon this lists rose, and their attention turned to see who had become victorious in the next match. Rolf grimaced seeing Ian MacGillivray raising his sword in a salute to Lord Dristan and Lady Amiria. He looked down upon the lady at his side and saw for one moment her eyes sparkling in delight afore such a look faded as quickly as it had appeared.

“Lynet,” Lord Dristan called out motioning to her vacant chair next to his wife.

“I must return,” she murmured and did nothing to hide her shudder when the next two warriors took to the field. “I shall see you at the festivities this eve and look forward to when you claim your victory dance.”

But ’twas not the two soldiers upon the field that held Rolf’s attention but the woman who had yet to leave his side. He gave her a formal bow that would have rivaled any at court. “I shall look forward to claiming my prize as long as ’tis you who shall be in my arms.”

She stepped forward. A smile broke out upon her face yet again whilst she her hand moved to his chest. Gently she began to rub at the fabric on his tunic afore she took hold of the ribbon she had placed up his arm. “How I wish this tragedy was over…”

“You must needs know, my lady, I will do all in my power to win your hand,” and your love he thought but could not voice such thoughts aloud.

“I know,” Lynet replied afore she left him to resume her place next to her sister.

Rolf watched her for several moments and was even more irritated when Ian came afore the platform and bowed. Lynet lifted her chin, her gesture defiant but Rolf was not fooled into thinking the lady had no feelings for the knight who now stood afore her.

Rolf shook his head and left the lists, no longer wishing to witness the scene between Lynet and Ian. He was a fool to think the lady would come to love him as much as she had always loved Ian. But until Ian was the last man standing, Rolf would resolve himself to fight with ever fiber of his being in order to claim the lady for himself. He began to wonder what else he would have to do all in the name of love…


Rolf is a secondary character in Bluestocking Belle Sherry Ewing’s novel A Knight To Call My Own. Currently the eBook can be read in the box set Romance Ever After for just $0.99 or read it for free in Kindle Unlimited!

A bundle of novels like nothing else you’ve ever seen before – eight bestselling authors, seven top-rated novels, and one brand-new story by a NYT Bestselling author. Welcome to ROMANCE EVER AFTER!

In this collection, you’ll be swept away on the warm breezes of Time, from the romance and chivalry of Medieval & Elizabethan England, to the raw sex appeal of the Scottish Highlands, to the pageantry of the Regency era, and finally to the beautiful yet wild lands of the American West. Every hero has a heart, every heroine a fiery spirit, and every story a soul that bleeds passion. Indulge in this limited-edition collection with some of the top authors in their genre.

This bundle includes:

My Girl by Debra Holland – (NEW STORY) When a logging accident kills his friend and Felicity Woodbury’s fiancé, Lars Aagaard steps in to lend his support. To keep Felicity’s suitors at bay during her mourning period, the two act as if Lars is wooing her. But, already smitten, Lars hopes to turn the pretend courtship to real love.

The Iron Knight by Kathryn Le Veque – When hardened knight Lucien de Russe saves the life of widow Sophina de Gournay, their wonderful chance meeting starts a chain of events that could destroy them both.

The Rogue by Claire Delacroix – Ysabella knows better than to trust her charming husband—even when he insists he is being hunted. When Merlyn is killed, Ysabella is again Lady of Ravensmuir, where the truth must be hidden. Is Merlyn dead? If so, who loves her so sweetly in the night? If not, what is that wicked rogue’s scheme?

Wicked at Heart by Danelle Harmon – A Beauty-and-the-Beast tale of love and redemption between a dark and brooding marquess and the woman who is determined to heal his tortured heart.

Highland Hunger by Eliza Knight – Ceana can’t stand the arrogant Highlander she’s up against in the war games, and yet she can’t walk away. Macrath wants nothing more than to be rid of the troublesome need to protect the warrior lass. What starts out as a race to survive turns into passion to endure together.

Lady in Waiting by Denise Domning – Christopher Hollier will do anything to reclaim the title of Lord Graistan for his invalid brother. Maid-of-honor to the Virgin Queen, Anne Blanchemain hides a dangerous secret, one that sweeps them into events that might ultimately cost them their lives, and their love.

My Lady’s Treasure by Catherine Kean – Lady Faye Rivellaux is desperate to save a kidnapped child. Former crusading knight Brant Meslarches seeks redemption from his past. Forming an uneasy alliance, they search for lost riches and find treasure worth more than gold.

A Knight to Call My Own by Sherry Ewing – Lynet of Clan MacLaren knows how it feels to love someone and not have that love returned. Ian MacGillivray has returned to Berwyck in search of a bride. Who will claim the fair Lynet? The price will be high to ensure her safety and even higher to win her love.

The Seventh Son by Ashley York – The sixth son bears a curse as certain as the seventh bears a blessing. When Tadhg MacNaughton’s betrothed is ripped from his arms and married to another, he believes the legend is true. Is the warrior’s love for the Irish beauty already doomed or does fate have something else planned?

Add this bundle to your library to savor again and again!

Buy Links or read for #FREE in Kindle Unlimited:
Amazon US  |  Amazon AU  |  Amazon CA  |  Amazon UK

A Knight To Call My Own is also available now as an audiobook.

Audio book buy links:

Amazon: http://amzn.to/2zc5oGz
Audible: http://adbl.co/2iGB54Q
iTunes: http://apple.co/2jP9ba5

The Motley Meddler Strikes Again!

England 1814

G— St . V— never saw it coming.

And he never stood a chance.

Once again, we’re delighted to announce that the gentleman in question proved no match for the machinations of Lady Harriett Ross and her infamous Umbrella.

The betting books at Whites are on fire.

The gossips at every holiday party are all atwitter.

And if you’ve been following along, you, our dear readers, were the first to know as we’ve regaled you with all the delightful details every step of the way via firsthand accounts through the humorous musings of Lady Harriett Ross…straight from that dear woman’s own pen…as she set the scene for the downfall…aka—betrothal…of G— St . V—, the Future M— of S— and Miss Do—a W—e.

Her machinations have met with unquestionable success…you may have noticed their betrothal announcement in all the major papers this Monday past.

If you want all the details of their whirlwind courtship, you can read about it here.

Now, we have it on good authority that Lady Harriett Ross herself will be writing us again soon, her sights set on a new person of interest: Lord J— Q—, 8th M— of M— and heir to the Duchy of S— W—.

But this time, in an unusual development, the persons of interest just might have initiated certain events with Lady Harriett Ross first!

Stay tuned…

She’s just an old woman with opinions. On everything.

 

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