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Category: Teatime Tattler (Page 2 of 39)

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

Samuel Clemens visits Roman Britain

“I did have such an odd Summer visitor,” remarked Branwen, as she rolled out pastry. She picked up a small container of dried lovage and sprinkled a small pinch on the plums in the pie dish, then drizzled honey over them.

“What happened, mother?” Quintus sneaked a plum meant for the pie, and sat back with a mug of watered wine. Gossip from the bath house at Pons Aelius was always worth a listen. He wasn’t due for guard duty on Hadrian’s Wall for a little while yet, so he relaxed, savouring the plum and his wine.

“Well, I was at the market, and took a shortcut up the alley, chatting to all the working girls. Then a dark tunnel opened in the sky, and right at my feet this man fell out. Dressed very strangely, and with an abundance of white hair. He seemed a bit lost, so I took him back to the bath house, and dressed him in some spare trousers and shirt, he didn’t want a toga.”

“Who was he?” Quintus raised an eyebrow. “A druid maybe? That sounds like druid magic to me.”

“Nay son. a scholar, he said, so a bit like Janet with her teaching ways. But curious! I’ve never seen a man poke his nose into so many things — and the questions!” Branwen put the pie in the oven part of the stone cooking area and poked the coals. “And eat, by Jupiter that man could eat — bigger appetite for the unusual than Trajan, and he can eat snails faster than any man I’ve met.”

Quintus nodded, looking a bit green. “Snails, the Romans are fond of some vile things. That fishy garum sauce they put on everything.”

“The Romans brought many good things too — dates, wine, oil, herbs and spices. Not to mention an army with money.” She glanced at her son, admiring how he looked in his Roman uniform. It had been a good choice, he and his brother joining the Roman legions.

“Yes, I had better be getting back to the fort. Where is your man now?” he frowned. “You’re not getting ideas?”

Branwen blushed. “Now son, I am an old woman of forty, and he tells me Mrs Clemens is a fine woman. I’ve seen him pat a few of the bath girls on the behind, but nothing more.” She shook the flour off her hands and wiped the wooden table. “No, after a month he returned, to wherever that was. He did leave some drawings behind, I’ll get them.”

She returned with a scroll, and they cleared the table and unrolled it. The scroll was covered with drawings of ships with wheels on the side, quite a few sketches of cats, and a detailed drawing of a raft, with two boys and a dark skinned man on it, poling down a wide river.

Quintus shook his head. “I guess we will never know the meaning of these, or who he really was.”

“A dreamer, son.” Branwen smiled and rolled up the scroll, placing it carefully away in a cupboard. “And a fine man.”

About Druid’s Portal 

A portal closed for 2,000 years.

An ancient religion twisted by modern greed.

A love that crosses the centuries.

An ancient druid pendant shows archaeologist Janet visions of Roman soldier Trajan. The visions are of danger, death, and love — but are they a promise or a curse?

Her fiancé Daman hurts and abandons her before the wedding, her beloved museum is ransacked, and a robed man vanishes before her eyes. Haunted by visions of a time she knows long gone, Janet teeters on the edge of a breakdown.

In the shadow of Hadrian’s Wall and 2,000 years back in time, Janet’s past and present collide. Daman has vowed to drive the invaders from the shores of Britain, and march his barbarian hordes to Rome. Trajan swears vengeance against the man who threatens both his loves — Janet and the Empire.

Time is running out — for everyone.

Excerpt from “Druid’s Portal: The First Journey

In her dreams, she could sometimes drift across his face like mist, and she knew it well. A man she had conjured, one as familiar as if she had known him always. Strong featured and dark-haired, his bound body radiated muscular strength. She had seen his fight—he had not been easy to capture, and it made her heart ache to see him helpless, his grey eyes watching his captors prepare him for sacrifice. Even with no hope of rescue, he had emanated defiance, an indomitable will to survive.

He was a dream, a vision. But even if he was real, what could she do to save him?

Read a preview of Druid’s Portal here: https://goo.gl/ydf8qK

Meet Cindy Tomamichel

Cindy Tomamichel is a writer of action adventure novels, some with a touch of romance. The heroines don’t wait to be rescued, and the heroes earn that title the hard way.

Her first book Druid’s Portal: The First Journey — time travel romance in Roman Britain near Hadrian’s Wall — has been published with Soul Mate publishing.

Cindy’s other published work includes winning a fractured fairy tale competition with a twist on the Rapunzel story. The fundraising event Madwomen Monologues has presented two of her monologues on stage. This year she has had poetry and short stories in three anthologies by Rhetoric Askew, a scifi story in Quantum Soul, and an alternate history story in a forthcoming anthology. An Australian rural romance story was recently featured (June) in Uncaged Books magazine.

Her next book, Druid’s Portal: The Second Journey is in progress. An action adventure time travel with a touch of romance set in Roman Britain. Follow the series- as time travel, adventure and romance become impossibly tangled.

 

Readers can find a variety of short stories on her website, and a blog on practical world building, and lots of romance, scifi and fantasy author interviews.

Contact Cindy on

Website: www.cindytomamichel.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CindyTomamichelAuthor/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/CindyTomamichel

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/16194822.Cindy_Tomamichel

Google+: https://plus.google.com/+CindyTomamichel

Pinterest:  https://au.pinterest.com/cindytomamichel/

Druid’s Portal preview: https://goo.gl/ydf8qK

Amazon Author page: https://amazon.com/author/cindytomamichel

Librarything: https://www.librarything.com/profile/Cindy.Tomamichel

 

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.

 

In Regards to Rats and Bon-Bons

10 September 1824

To my most esteemed employer Lady Nicholas Asquith:

Although you assured me that you would return from your most surprising Parisian shopping excursion before any letter would reach you, as its headmistress, I consider it my most solemn duty to keep you apprised of the goings-on at The Progressive School for Young Ladies and the Education of Their Minds.

As you employ me for my directness, I’ll come straight to the multiple points of this letter.

First, we have rats. I’ve contacted the rat catcher, and he, along with his one terrier and three ferrets, will have the run of the school premises for the next week. Parents have been told that the building is to receive a fresh coat of paint and are advised to take a holiday for the duration.

To make this a partial telling of the truth, I’ve taken the liberty of hiring painters for when the rat catcher and his animals vacate the building. After careful deliberation of a variety of samples, I’ve chosen Invisible Green to be the color of our school forthwith. I have it on good authority that it is a most felicitous shade for the erudition of the mind as it invites Nature inside our walls. Only time will tell.

Second, I must relate to you the gossip flying about the school. Namely, rumor has it that you have journeyed to Paris to secure a French cook and a French French teacher. As I know you rely on my good judgement for a variety of matters, I shan’t do you the disservice of withholding it here.

In regards to the first rumor, you must consider the probable moral consequences of the introduction of French fare inside our virtuous English walls, our Invisible Green English walls, a color devised by none other than an Englishman. To my point, English foods sustain not only our corporeal forms, but our very Englishness. It is plain and solid and right. Who knows how all those French creams and butters might lead an influenceable girl down the path of licentiousness and ultimately ruin? What price the bon-bon? We mustn’t venture down that path, not even a step.

Now, about the French French teacher . . . Given my preceding point, need I say more? Need I elucidate the particulars of the path such a personage might set a naïve girl upon? We shall never speak of it.

I wish you a safe and swift journey back to London, at which time we shall discuss your niece Lucy and her penchant for most scandalous reading materials. (I shudder to think what she learned from Francis Grose’s Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue before its confiscation.)

Your trusted headmistress in the righteous bringing up of young ladies,

Mrs. Calpurnia Bloomquist

Excerpt from Three Lessons in Seduction

“Are you going to skulk behind me all night?”

They were the first words she ever spoke to him. His heart kicked up a notch, and his tongue became a sodden blanket in his mouth as a series of facts occurred to him:

He’d followed her. He was alone with her. And he wanted nothing more than to touch her and know the scent of her. His stride increased in length to catch her.

“Do we need a formal introduction before you will speak to me?” she teased, presenting him her flawless profile. The moon above limned her features in a contradictory soft, yet crisp, glow. “Or are you simply shy?”

“You must know who I am,” he called out to her back.

“He speaks.” An enchanting giggle floated over her shoulder. “I know you are one of many young men who venture out to my uncle’s estate to discuss England’s politics. But who you are specifically, I can’t say.”

They reached the ha-ha, and he watched her clear its low wall with ease before turning toward the edge of the woods, him following at her heels like a lap dog hungry for the tiniest crumb of her attention.

He found himself close behind her, close enough to catch her scent of jasmine and neroli. It struck him that this wasn’t the one-note scent of a debutante. On the surface, the floral jasmine indicated the shallow innocence of her peers, but the deep bitter-orange neroli complicated that assessment and made for a more interesting conclusion. She was different.

“Why did you leave the house?” he asked.

“I was hot.”

Three simpler words didn’t exist in the English language. Yet that one simple word—hot—sent a spike of longing straight through him. “I suppose the air was a bit stale,” he rasped.

“I wasn’t hot from stale air.” She faced him, her amber eyes, clear and unflinching, gauging his reaction. “It was you. I was hot because of you.”

No longer could he keep his emotions under a tight rein. She’d negated that control with a few careless words that struck his core with the precision of a well-aimed arrow.

“Did no one ever teach you not to say such things to strange men?”

“They tried,” she said with the assuredness of a woman with far too much experience, or maybe it was far too little. “There is nothing strange about you.”

“You should try those words on a different man,” he said, straining for a tone of paternal guidance. If she believed it, he might, too. “One who would marry you.”

“Oh, I care naught for that,” she said on a laugh.

Instinctively, protectively, he reached out and pulled her close, her upturned lips a hairsbreadth away from his, her playful eyes inviting him to bridge the distance. “Society doesn’t tolerate ladies who entertain loose morals.”

With feelings of longing, desire, and bewilderment warring inside him, he lowered his head and touched his mouth to hers, unprepared for the responding punch of electricity.

Kisses had the power to reveal truths about two people that extended far beyond trivialities like compatibility and incompatibility. This kiss revealed a single unshakeable truth: she was the only woman for him.

It was a truth that shook him clear through to his bones.

His eyes flew open, and he broke the kiss, eliciting a tiny gasp of protest from her. He watched with a mixture of self-loathing and thwarted passion as she opened desire-glazed eyes and closed kiss-crushed lips.

“A girl like you is a girl one could marry,” he murmured. They were heedless and dangerous words that fell from his lips, and he couldn’t understand why he spoke them.

“A girl like me?”

“You.”

One could marry?”

“I.”

“Careful,” she whispered into the space between their lips. It was the only space that mattered in the universe. “I might hold you to such words.”

“I might hope you do.”

Again, words fell from his mouth of their own accord, and he’d proposed to her. There had been no biting it back.

And he hadn’t wanted to.

At least, not for another five seconds.

He’d proposed to Lady Mariana Montfort, a girl he didn’t know.

That wasn’t precisely true.

In the ways that mattered, he knew her.

About Three Lessons in Seduction

Paris, September 1824

Lord Nicholas Asquith needs his wife. Too bad he broke her heart ten years ago.

Can he resist a second chance at the love he lost?

When Mariana catches the eye of the man at the center of an assassination plot, Nick puts aside their painful past and enlists her to obtain information by any means necessary, even if it means seducing the enemy agent.

Even if the thought makes his blood boil.

Only by keeping his distance from Mariana these last ten years was he able to pretend indifference to her. With every moment spent with her, he feels his tightly held control slipping . . .

Can she trust the spy who broke her heart?

Mariana spent the last decade forgetting Nick. Now she has the chance to best him at his own game, an opportunity she can’t resist, even as her view of him begins to shift. Increasingly, she wants nothing more than to seduce her own husband . . .

Soon, mad passion ignites, a passion never convincingly extinguished. A passion that insists on surrendering to the yearning of the flesh and, quite possibly, of the heart.

Buy: https://www.amazon.com/Three-Lessons-Seduction-Sofie-Darling-ebook/dp/B074WGWGMK/

Meet Sofie Darling

Sofie spent much of her twenties raising two boys and reading every book she could get her hands on. Once she realized that she was no longer satisfied with simply reading the books she loved, that she must write them, too, she decided to finish her degree and embark on a writing career. Mr. Darling and the boys gave her their wholehearted blessing.

When she’s not writing heroes who make her swoon, she runs a marathon in a different state every year, visits crumbling medieval castles whenever she gets a chance, and enjoys a slightly codependent relationship with her beagle, Bosco.

Website: www.sofiedarling.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/sofiedarlingauthor/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/sofie_darling

A Box of Tittle-Tattle

Tin Box1914. The date, printed on a tin box got our attention. One supposes it could be an error of some sort, the date being one-hundred years in the future, but given the odd goings on at Vauxhall last week and at the Marquess of Dansbury’s estate—blue lights and claims of travel to distant times—your Teatime Tattler staff believes the date is correct. Besides, it purports to hold tobacco from “Princess Mary’s Christmas Fund,” and who, pray tell, is Princess Mary?

What was inside, once we pried it open, however, was not tobacco. A folded sheet of paper, oddly yellowed, lay in it. When unfolded (carefully so as not to damage the brittle pages) the text turned out to be in French. Luckily, the Tattler staff was up to the task of translating.

Amiens, Christmas 1916

Dear Aunt Lumina,
The family sends greetings of the holy season along with our hope that those of you in Marseilles, far from the pounding of the guns, fare well and have plenty to eat.

We eke by here in Picardy, with fighting all around. In spite of it all the Christmas market went on in front of the Cathedral as it has in the past. If the booths held fewer goods, the cheer made up for it. The people of the city hold on to hope and (with a few exceptions) good morale.

Tin Box

Rosemarie Legrand

I regret to tell you that one exception is your niece by marriage Sabine Legrand. Even you must know she has ever been a bitter woman and the war has not softened her. I often thought the Good Lord chose to withhold the blessing of motherhood from her lest she inflict her misery on a child. Her jealousy of her poor sister in law Rosemarie—obvious for years—became a river of bile after the birth of little Marcel.

As you know Raoul Legrand died at the hands of the Germans last year, leaving Rosemarie in poverty and at the mercy of his sister. She was forced to move to her father’s cabin in the Floating Islands. Sabine would have us believe that that Rosemarie collaborated with German soldiers, selling her body for food and money. I could almost forgive a mother desperate to feed her son for doing something of that sort, but I find it difficult to believe Sabine. Bernard says Raoul made similar accusations in the taverns during his last leave. He told anyone who would listen that the German boy found dead among the Islands was Rosemarie’s lover. I don’t know what to believe.

Harry Wheatly, her Canadian soldier

Since the Christmas Market Sabine has taken up a different story. We all saw Rosemarie and Marcel walking about with a Canadian soldier who bought sweet cakes for the boy and his mother. Rosemarie certainly couldn’t afford them herself. Sabine tries to make this something dirty and scandalous. I refuse to listen to her.

The British, Canadian, and Australian troops stationed along the Somme have been kind in our dealings with them. One of them gave my Papa the enclosed box still half full of tobacco after commandeering use of his farm wagon to haul supplies. Papa as you know does not use tobacco. He asked me to send it on to Uncle Herbert.

Pray for us in Picardy, particularly for poor mothers such as Rosemarie Legrand struggling to survive long enough to see this war end. I hope she finds joy with her Canadian soldier, if only to spite Sabine. She deserves a crumb of happiness.

My love to the rest of the family,
Josephine

We at the Tattler hope so too.


 

 

About Never Too Late

Eight authors and eight different takes on four dramatic elements selected by our readers—an older heroine, a wise man, a Bible, and a compromising situation that isn’t. Set in a variety of locations around the world over eight centuries, welcome to the romance of the Bluestocking Belles’ 2017 Holiday and More Anthology.
It’s Never Too Late to find love!

Click here for a list of retailers and to find out about each story.

Click here to climb into the Bluestocking Belle’s Time Machine and hop through time with the Bluestocking Belles.

Caroline Warfield’s contribution, “Roses in Picardy” takes place in 1916

tin box

About the Author

 Caroline Warfield has been many things. Now retired to the urban wilds of Eastern Pennsylvania, she divides her time between writing and seeking adventures with her grandbuddy and the prince among men she married. Her new series sends the children of the heroes of her earlier books to seek their own happiness in the far-flung corners of the British Empire

 

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