Judith E. French

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The United States
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August 2018

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ABOUT JUDITH E. FRENCH

Judith E. French captures the essence of passion and brings her special characters alive on every page. A multiple award winner, including RT's Historical Romance Lifetime Achievement Author, Best Historical Author of the Year, The PEARL award for Best Anthology, and The Delaware Diamond Award for Literary Excellence, she is best known for her American frontier historical fiction. A master storyteller, she finds inspiration in her Scottish, Irish, Welsh, English and Lenni-Lenape ancestry near Chesapeake Bay, where the French family has made its home for more than 300 years. Judith’s novels have sold millions and been translated into French, Spanish, German, Italian, Swedish, Norwegian, Bulgarian, and Mandarin. She ap

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Average rating: 3.93 · 1,878 ratings · 220 reviews · 43 distinct works
The Conqueror (Alexander Tr...

3.76 avg rating — 90 ratings — published 2003 — 3 editions
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The Barbarian (Alexander Tr...

3.40 avg rating — 63 ratings3 editions
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The Warrior (Alexander Tril...

3.64 avg rating — 53 ratings5 editions
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The Taming of Shaw MacCade

4.57 avg rating — 44 ratings — published 2001 — 2 editions
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Morgan’s Woman: The Bounty ...

4.24 avg rating — 66 ratings5 editions
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Blood Ties

3.54 avg rating — 46 ratings — published 2007 — 8 editions
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McKenna’s Bride: A Searing ...

4.04 avg rating — 77 ratings5 editions
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Blood Kin

3.78 avg rating — 54 ratings — published 2006 — 8 editions
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Rachel’s Choice: She Found ...

4.16 avg rating — 73 ratings5 editions
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Fortune’s Mistress: The Roy...

4.20 avg rating — 66 ratings — published 1993 — 5 editions
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More books by Judith E. French…
Defiant Love Fortune’s Flame: The Highla... Bold Surrender By Love Alone
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4.14 avg rating — 172 ratings

Fortune’s Mistress: The Roy... Fortune’s Flame: The Highla... Fortune's Bride: The Outlaw...
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4.18 avg rating — 142 ratings

The Conqueror Fortune’s Flame: The Highla...
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3.84 avg rating — 129 ratings

Blood Kin Blood Ties
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3.67 avg rating — 100 ratings

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The Fur Trader's Daughter by Colleen French
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Fortune’s Mistress by Judith E. French
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In Close Pursuit by Colleen French
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His Wild Heart by Colleen French
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Outrider by Colleen French
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Heaven in My Arms by Colleen French
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Star Quality by Jennifer  Hall
Star Quality
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Once Innocent by Jennifer  Hall
Once Innocent
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Once Innocent by Jennifer  Hall
Once Innocent
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Dear Sister by John          Hall
Dear Sister
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More of Judith's books…
“You risked your own life to save me,” she said. “I won’t forget that.” His face grew expressionless again. “I told you, Becca. You belong to me. I will not let you go until my father is released.” You belong to me. You belong to me. The words echoed in her mind. “I belong to no one but myself,” she said throatily. But deep inside, she wished . . . “You are my captive.” “I could have left you to bleed to death,” she reminded him. “Ahikta. It is true. But my father is old. If I do not save him, he will die. It shames me to use a woman for a weapon, but sometimes a man must do what he must.” “I think I understand that now,” she said. As I must return to a husband that I can never love, as I might have loved this man were we not born mortal enemies. Talon did not speak again, and in a little while he drifted off to sleep. She sat beside him, hands in her lap, gazing at his sleeping face. How alien he is, she thought, and how beautiful. His skin tone was a warm red-bronze, his cheekbones high and prominent. His lips were thin but sensual, his eyes slightly slanted beneath raven-black brows. His forehead was high and broad, his chin and nose ruggedly defined. It was all she could do to keep from touching his face again. She wanted to stroke the smooth lines of his beardless jaw, to trace those fierce arching brows and commit them all to memory.”
Judith E. French, The Fierce Loving

“He glanced at Sweet Water and thought how short their time together had been . . . not even the turn of a single season. And he wished with all his heart that he and Sweet Water could have seen the wild strawberries blossom in spring and the does lead their young, wobbly legged fawns to the river to drink. He wished they could have lain in each other’s arms and watched the sun go down on a warm summer’s night. He wanted to show her the morning mist on the Ohio, and the first flight of a young eaglet. He wanted to make a child with her . . . a child of their love . . . and see that infant nurse at her warm breast and grow strong and wise. Sweet Water and I could sit by a fire in the autumn of our lives, while shared memories of love and laughter drifted around us like bright fall leaves, he mused . . . while grandchildren tumbled around our feet.”
Judith E. French, The Fierce Loving

“Sweat streaked her face and darkened her red hair. Her free hand was scratched and bleeding where she had scraped it against a thorn tree. He caught that small hand in his and held it up to examine the wound. The tip of a broken thorn was embedded in her palm. He raised her hand to his lips and felt the splinter with the tip of his tongue. She gasped and pulled her hand back. “Be still,” he admonished. “Do you want me to cut it out with my knife?” A thorn could fester and turn flesh black with poison. Dead, she was of no use to him. She shook her head. Her hand trembled as she held it out to him. Her sky eyes were wary, the expression like that of a doe he had once seen crossing a frozen lake in winter. The ice had been rotten, and it creaked ominously with each step the deer took. Still she had continued on until she reached the far bank and safety. He wondered if firm earth waited for this female with the strange blue eyes. Eventual safety or . . . A shudder of revulsion rippled through him. War should be between men, he thought. And no matter how much contempt he felt for Simon Brandt and those he led to Indian country, he could not find it in his heart to despise this courageous woman, even if she was without honor. Gently, he bent and brushed his lips against her hand, then, when he found the thorn with his tongue, he closed his teeth on it and pulled it free. Blood welled up from her palm as he spat out the bit of wood. He scooped up a handful of snow and pressed it against the injury. She blinked. Moisture glistened in her round eyes and for a second he thought she might begin to cry. Then her eyes narrowed and the expression gleaming there hardened. Again, Talon reminded himself that she was his enemy’s wife, and that she wished him dead.”
Judith E. French, The Fierce Loving

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