Sandra Jones's Blog, page 2
April 27, 2015
Music for my Soul by Lauren Linwood #MedMonSpring
Each Monday this month we're featuring a different medieval romance author. Today's spotlight is on Lauren Linwood and her latest: MUSIC FOR MY SOUL
As the third wife of an abusive French vineyard owner, Madeleine Bouchard hasn’t produced the expected heir after three years of marriage. Fearing he plans to kill her, she flees during a trip to England. Unable to make her way home, she joins a troupe of traveling mummers and reinvents herself as the only woman troubadour in the land, captivating audiences with both song and story.
Nobleman Garrett Montayne’s fascination with Madeleine causes him to pay the troupe to bypass their next stop in order to journey to his estate. Though he suspects Madeleine of being a thief with dark secrets, love blossoms between them under the magical moon of summer solstice.
But Madeleine’s past is about to catch up with her, as her husband is set to arrive to conduct business with Garrett. Madeleine determines to free herself from her loveless marriage and make a new life with Garrett, no matter what the cost.
Excerpt:
Garrett peered into the angry face of the woman who haunted his dreams by night and left him absent-minded by day. Their encounter had been brief, but he doubted he had ever met a more remarkable woman. Not even his petite Lynnette had brought such a sweet longing to his loins as did the bewitching creature before him. Her honeyed hair, loosened from its intricate braid, curled around her shoulders. Tiny beads of sweat had formed just above her upper lip. Without thinking, Garrett reached his thumb towards her and wiped it away. She flinched slightly, her dark, amethyst eyes glowering at him. Garrett smiled in spite of himself, offering her a hand to pull her to her feet. He had forgotten how very tall she was as she stared at him, her cheeks flushed with anger. “Perhaps we could arrange a trade?” he suggested. She eyed him suspiciously. “I’m not sure if I could trust you, my lord,” she countered. “Trust me?” he sputtered. “This, from the woman who traipsed about the countryside claiming to be my wife?” She shrugged nonchalantly, an almost Gallic air about her. She didn’t sound French, but there was an unmistakable manner to her movement. Garrett spent enough time in France to recognize the behavior. However, when she spoke, he quickly put it from his mind. “I chose a bloody awful name to scare away anyone who accosted me on the road! How was I to know I’d run into you?” She snorted in an unladylike fashion. “I had heard tales of the wicked Lord Montayne, how he frightened old and young alike and gobbled up babes for his dinner. Why, the very mention of his name would cause grown men to plead for their lives and their loved ones. Oh, no, my lord, I was an honest liar. You were the one who resorted to trickery and hid your true identity from me." Her accusation so startled Garrett his jaw flew open. No sound came out for a moment. The woman lifted her chin high and turned on her heel. That brought Garrett into motion. He grabbed her elbow and pulled her around to face him. “Not so fast, my lady.” He studied her a second. Her eyes narrowed at him, but she remained silent. Finally faced with her visage square in front of him, Garrett was at a loss of what to do. His emotions swirled out of control as he spoke. “’Tis curiosity,” he sputtered. She looked puzzled. “Curiosity?” she echoed. He nodded, his words spilling forth rapidly. “I know not who you are, nor where you come from. I’ve dreamed of you since that night only to awaken to an emptiness.” His voice became low and tinged with sadness. “I don’t even know your name.”
***
Buy Link:
Amazon e-book copy: http://www.amazon.com/Music-For-My-Soul-ebook/dp/B00CSC14SA/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1368759384&sr=1-1&keywords=music+for+my+soul
Amazon print copy: http://www.amazon.com/Music-My-Soul-Lauren-Linwood/dp/1619354411/ref=tmm_pap_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1368759384&sr=1-1
Barnes & Noble print copy: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/music-for-my-soul-lauren-linwood/1119639140?ean=9781619354418
As the third wife of an abusive French vineyard owner, Madeleine Bouchard hasn’t produced the expected heir after three years of marriage. Fearing he plans to kill her, she flees during a trip to England. Unable to make her way home, she joins a troupe of traveling mummers and reinvents herself as the only woman troubadour in the land, captivating audiences with both song and story.
Nobleman Garrett Montayne’s fascination with Madeleine causes him to pay the troupe to bypass their next stop in order to journey to his estate. Though he suspects Madeleine of being a thief with dark secrets, love blossoms between them under the magical moon of summer solstice.
But Madeleine’s past is about to catch up with her, as her husband is set to arrive to conduct business with Garrett. Madeleine determines to free herself from her loveless marriage and make a new life with Garrett, no matter what the cost.
Excerpt:
Garrett peered into the angry face of the woman who haunted his dreams by night and left him absent-minded by day. Their encounter had been brief, but he doubted he had ever met a more remarkable woman. Not even his petite Lynnette had brought such a sweet longing to his loins as did the bewitching creature before him. Her honeyed hair, loosened from its intricate braid, curled around her shoulders. Tiny beads of sweat had formed just above her upper lip. Without thinking, Garrett reached his thumb towards her and wiped it away. She flinched slightly, her dark, amethyst eyes glowering at him. Garrett smiled in spite of himself, offering her a hand to pull her to her feet. He had forgotten how very tall she was as she stared at him, her cheeks flushed with anger. “Perhaps we could arrange a trade?” he suggested. She eyed him suspiciously. “I’m not sure if I could trust you, my lord,” she countered. “Trust me?” he sputtered. “This, from the woman who traipsed about the countryside claiming to be my wife?” She shrugged nonchalantly, an almost Gallic air about her. She didn’t sound French, but there was an unmistakable manner to her movement. Garrett spent enough time in France to recognize the behavior. However, when she spoke, he quickly put it from his mind. “I chose a bloody awful name to scare away anyone who accosted me on the road! How was I to know I’d run into you?” She snorted in an unladylike fashion. “I had heard tales of the wicked Lord Montayne, how he frightened old and young alike and gobbled up babes for his dinner. Why, the very mention of his name would cause grown men to plead for their lives and their loved ones. Oh, no, my lord, I was an honest liar. You were the one who resorted to trickery and hid your true identity from me." Her accusation so startled Garrett his jaw flew open. No sound came out for a moment. The woman lifted her chin high and turned on her heel. That brought Garrett into motion. He grabbed her elbow and pulled her around to face him. “Not so fast, my lady.” He studied her a second. Her eyes narrowed at him, but she remained silent. Finally faced with her visage square in front of him, Garrett was at a loss of what to do. His emotions swirled out of control as he spoke. “’Tis curiosity,” he sputtered. She looked puzzled. “Curiosity?” she echoed. He nodded, his words spilling forth rapidly. “I know not who you are, nor where you come from. I’ve dreamed of you since that night only to awaken to an emptiness.” His voice became low and tinged with sadness. “I don’t even know your name.”
***
Buy Link:
Amazon e-book copy: http://www.amazon.com/Music-For-My-Soul-ebook/dp/B00CSC14SA/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1368759384&sr=1-1&keywords=music+for+my+soul
Amazon print copy: http://www.amazon.com/Music-My-Soul-Lauren-Linwood/dp/1619354411/ref=tmm_pap_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1368759384&sr=1-1
Barnes & Noble print copy: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/music-for-my-soul-lauren-linwood/1119639140?ean=9781619354418
April 26, 2015
Release Week for HIS CAPTIVE PRINCESS
Okay, so the pun in the post title was unintentional, but it works! In two days (April 28), my first full-length medieval romance hits the shelves. Today I'm sharing the first chapter, and keep reading for a special GIVEAWAY!
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00TLIGB14 Earned respect is sweet…but deserved revenge is sweeter.Warren de Tracy was assured the Welsh village of Dinefwr would be an easy conquest, as would the widow of its fallen prince. Wedding her will appease the locals and win the respect of his liege, the usurper King Stephen.Instead, Warren is ambushed, taken prisoner by a hooded Welshwoman with skin that glows like moonlight. If he must die at her hands, at least his honorable death will silence the whispers of disloyalty hanging over his name.Princess Eleri has never seen a knight as stoic—and as eager to die—as Warren. She’d love to oblige the bastard, but something in his ocean-blue eyes stays her hand. Plus, suspicion nags at her, for the arrows that wounded him and killed his men are Norman, not Welsh.A ghostly prophecy portends danger that thrusts the enemies closer together, where hate explodes into passion that won’t allow Eleri to surrender Warren to her vengeful clan. But returning him to his king breaks more than it mends…and for Warren, retaliation will be sweet, indeed.
ExcerptCantref Mawr, Deheubarth, Wales, Winter 1136 A.D.
Warren de Tracy had led battles on two different continents against formidable enemiesof the Church and his Norman kings, and for his efforts he’d won spurs, a barony, more than a few scars and a complete lack of fear, which had served him well. Ironically, of all his venerable foes, a lowly dog killed him.
He watched the speckled greyhound resting on its dead master’s chest, growling lowat him, the stranger in its territory. The mongrel had already betrayed his Welsh owner’shiding spot in the dense thicket by protectively snarling at one of Warren’s mounted knights.
Then his hotheaded young soldier had wheeled back for the rebel enemy without caution,earning him a fatal arrow to the heart.
Making perhaps the worst tactical error of his life, Warren had followed to check onhis fallen man. The dog, far from done, howled over its master’s fate, thus calling attention to Warren’s presence, too. That was when an arrow from God-only-knew-where in the surrounding woods took him by surprise, its force unseating him. Quick and efficient, these archers were so stealthy he’d never seen their faces.
Now left to travel afoot with a useless sword arm, Warren collapsed at the base of anancient yew a few yards away from the two bodies. He stripped off his gloves and snapped the arrow’s wooden shaft in half, leaving the barb lodged in his muscle. Ice-hot pain exploded through his chest.
“Sang Dieu!” He cradled his throbbing arm and waited, head swimming and shoulderbleeding, as the voices from the skirmish went silent.
All five of his men were dead. He felt it in his bones. Soon he would join them, but notnearly soon enough.
Ever since King Henry had died earlier that year, the Welsh princes had led revoltstrying to take back lands they had lost in the Norman invasion. King Stephen, the newusurper, had ordered Warren to claim the Welsh Deheubarth camp of Dinefwr for Warren’s own. All Warren had ever wanted was to gain the respect of his liege. King Stephen had also told Warren to take one of the Welsh princesses for a bride, which, along with promises of clemency and protection, would surely appease the locals. Furthermore, his liege had suggested, the widow of one of the recently fallen princes would be “receptive” to the offer.
How wrong the king had been.
If only Warren had known there would be a rebel spy waiting upon the shore whenthey landed. Now the entire conroi was dead as a result.
At least none of Warren’s brothers had been with him this time. He could die withoutmore shame hanging over his head. His half-brother would live to look after their littlesister. With Warren dying honorably in battle, there would be no more questions of hisloyalty, no more whispers of treason.
The dead soldier’s quick end was a blessing compared to Warren’s wound. The arrow inhis shoulder wouldn’t budge, proving it was a ruthless Norman barb, probably stolen from one of Warren’s men, and the broken shaft offered no purchase with which to maneuver it. Each time he touched the splintered wood, a burst of fire spread through his chest. His heavy sword was meant for hacking bone, not useful for quickening his death, but perhaps he could knock himself unconscious while he waited for the arms of everlasting rest.
He leaned against the tree and battered the back of his skull, but the beating only madehis head ache and his vision blur. The agony of his shoulder remained.
He closed his eyes before the reeling made him vomit.
Despite the absence of wind, the nearby trees rustled softly. Warren cracked an eyeopen. A hooded rebel stood near De Gouin’s body. As silently as the first, another darkhooded figure dropped from the branches above. Dressed in deerskin chausses and heavy tunics, they studied the soldier’s corpse. Bon sang! Welsh rebels. Or Cymreig, as they called themselves. The smaller one nudged the dead knight’s arm with a booted foot.
Bows resting casually on their backs, the pair hadn’t seemed to notice Warren.
His left hand tightened around the sword’s hilt. One good throw would fell one of thelightweight bastards, but he had no way of fending off the other.
As if sensing Warren’s intentions, the greyhound’s growl deepened, and it glanceduncertainly between Warren and the rebels. The archers were still too far away to hear, too absorbed in retrieving his soldier’s weapons, but the dog might change that. His barking would bring them around, turning their attention to Warren. He couldn’t let that happen.
He was ready to die but not to be shamefully taken alive as a hostage for the local chieftain, where he would surely find unimaginable tortures.
He adjusted his grip on the sword in his left hand. His arm shook from the loss of blood.The beast hunkered over his master’s body, putting more of its belly on top of theman’s chest. Caesar, Warren’s own trained mastiff, would do the same. Now staring into this animal’s brown eyes, he saw unwavering loyalty and trust, so like Caesar’s.
The greyhound licked the dead Welshman’s face, and the sight put a knot in Warren’sthroat. He’d never harmed an animal before, nor would he this day.Before the wary tension in his muscles could relax, the dog woofed in his direction.
Damned traitor!
The enemies swiveled around. Assessing the situation, they drew their swords.
In Warren’s foggy vision, the two swarmed toward him like sylvan elves, multiplying asyet more rebels fell from the tree, at least a half-dozen of his enemies.
The first pair stood over him with weapons extended, while the newcomers surroundedtheir own fallen warrior and his canine.
“Gorthwr fud.” The one who’d kicked De Gouin spoke at him in a puzzle of confusingsounds, but the sneered tone was perfectly clear. More puzzling than the guttural language Warren had been trying to decipher since arriving on the Glamorgan shore a few days ago was the fact that the rebel’s voice was female, low and husky. The accented tones would be interesting, he reckoned, if they weren’t so full of hate.
He blinked hard to clear the cobwebs in his vision. A pale oval shape loomed beforehim, and soon he focused on a pair of dark golden eyes in a face with skin that seemed toglow as if lit by moonlight. She dropped her hood for a better look at him, revealing wildplaits of flaming red hair, which dangled around her perfect face.
“Aye. I called you a dumb Norman and now you’ve proven it,” she drawled.
He tried to lift his sword but the weight was more than he could wield. The red spriteabove him gestured with a small pointing finger. He followed it and found her deerskin boot firmly planted on his blade.
“I’ll finish him for you, Dywysoges. He killed Iolo ap Rhys.” The second hooded archerwas also a woman, with black hair worn in a single braid. She grabbed his wounded shoulder with a rough hand, pushing the broken arrow deeper with her thumb as she held her sword against his heart.
A wave of pain and nausea wrenched Warren. He thrust his chest against the blade,grimacing as the metal pierced his skin, determined not to empty his stomach in front ofthe dark-headed one and her fiery companion as he welcomed the swift death.
“Nay. This one wants to die, Nest.” The red maid pushed the other woman’s sword aside.Then, crouching in front of Warren, she studied him through narrowed eyes and strokedher full lips with the tip of her finger, thinking. The scent of the forest and wildflowersdrifted from her skin. Whether brave or stupid, she left the weapon in his hand carelesslyunattended as she watched him.
Ah, but she was right in her courage. He posed little threat to anyone now.
Staring at her mouth, Warren felt something within him stir. It had been a long timesince he’d touched a woman’s lips, but by the rood, to lust at such a time!The men hailed to the women in their tongue and the dark maid rallied them.Red rested her sword across her thighs. “It would be wrong to kill him this way. We’lltake him to the castell and let Lew decide what to do with him.” She shrugged, drawing his eye to her chest and further proof she was indeed female. Her curves tightened the leather tunic in the movement. “Besides, he spared the life of Iolo’s dog.”
“That’s because he is a dog.” A beastly black-headed man pushed through the newcomersand kicked Warren in the ribs. “Norman bastard!”
The blow knocked him to the ground, rattling his teeth. Warren tasted blood and histongue smarted from where he’d bitten it. His ribcage ached from the impact, but it would take much worse to kill him quickly.
Red spoke rapidly in her language at the barrel-chested soldier and the chastised manreddened, ducking his chin. He and another warrior grabbed Warren’s arms, disarminghim, and hoisted him to his feet. His head reeled with the pain of the hasty movement.
Following the lady archers, the other men carried the body of the one they called Ioloas the dog trailed behind. Warren concentrated on his feet, walking obediently between his captors. If these Welsh rebels respected Red as much as it appeared, mayhap he knew how to draw their wrath to hasten his death.
The group marched him into the woods. Watching the exposed roots of the forest glenbelow his boots, he stumbled once, twice, then a third time, making sure they assumed him too weak to be a threat. His captors were large men, perhaps the best warriors of their tribe, and Warren prayed they had hostile tempers to match.
Lulled into complacency, one of the brigands’ hands loosened on his arm, and Warrenhad his chance. Breaking free, he grabbed a handful of Red’s braids and tangled his fingers in the silky plaited coils. She cried out, flailing her arms, but he dragged her against him as he fell backward, pulling her down on top of him.
The warriors’ retaliation was prompt—a slightly less ignoble death than betrayal by dog.
First, Red jabbed an elbow into his groin, but he held tight. The men responded, kicking his head and sides.
Strike, kick, strike…
He shut his eyes and slid toward unconsciousness on the tide of agony, his senses closingwith the pleasant wildflower fragrance of Red’s hair in his face and her soft, wriggling bodyatop his.
ISBN:9781619224452
Buy Links: (Samhain store) https://www.samhainpublishing.com/book/5407/his-captive-princess
(Amazon) http://www.amazon.com/His-Captive-Princess-Sandra-Jones-ebook/dp/B00TLIGB14/
(Barnes & Noble) http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/his-captive-princess-sandra-jones/1121228851?ean=9781619224452
(All Romance) https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-hiscaptiveprincess-1748538-161.html
About the Author
Sandra proudly considers herself a history geek. She is the author of five historical romances including the new River Rogues series set in frontier America. When not researching or writing, she enjoys traveling, genealogy (she’s the direct descendant of a Norman knight) and watching British TV. She and her husband of twenty-five years live in a cabin with two spoiled cats and occasionally attend Renaissance fairs.
She also loves chatting with readers. You can connect with Sandra at any of the following links:
Author LinksWebsite: http://www.sandrajonesromance.comFacebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Sandra-Jones-Author/428923117143918 Twitter: https://twitter.com/SJonesRomanceGoodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/SandraJones
****GIVEAWAY****
If you'd like to be included in a drawing for an Amazon gift card this month, I'll be picking one name at random from my newsletter subscribers at the end of May. Each month, our newsletter includes exclusive excerpts, news, contests, and more.
If you're not on our mailing list, you can join here: Newsletter
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00TLIGB14 Earned respect is sweet…but deserved revenge is sweeter.Warren de Tracy was assured the Welsh village of Dinefwr would be an easy conquest, as would the widow of its fallen prince. Wedding her will appease the locals and win the respect of his liege, the usurper King Stephen.Instead, Warren is ambushed, taken prisoner by a hooded Welshwoman with skin that glows like moonlight. If he must die at her hands, at least his honorable death will silence the whispers of disloyalty hanging over his name.Princess Eleri has never seen a knight as stoic—and as eager to die—as Warren. She’d love to oblige the bastard, but something in his ocean-blue eyes stays her hand. Plus, suspicion nags at her, for the arrows that wounded him and killed his men are Norman, not Welsh.A ghostly prophecy portends danger that thrusts the enemies closer together, where hate explodes into passion that won’t allow Eleri to surrender Warren to her vengeful clan. But returning him to his king breaks more than it mends…and for Warren, retaliation will be sweet, indeed.
ExcerptCantref Mawr, Deheubarth, Wales, Winter 1136 A.D.
Warren de Tracy had led battles on two different continents against formidable enemiesof the Church and his Norman kings, and for his efforts he’d won spurs, a barony, more than a few scars and a complete lack of fear, which had served him well. Ironically, of all his venerable foes, a lowly dog killed him.
He watched the speckled greyhound resting on its dead master’s chest, growling lowat him, the stranger in its territory. The mongrel had already betrayed his Welsh owner’shiding spot in the dense thicket by protectively snarling at one of Warren’s mounted knights.
Then his hotheaded young soldier had wheeled back for the rebel enemy without caution,earning him a fatal arrow to the heart.
Making perhaps the worst tactical error of his life, Warren had followed to check onhis fallen man. The dog, far from done, howled over its master’s fate, thus calling attention to Warren’s presence, too. That was when an arrow from God-only-knew-where in the surrounding woods took him by surprise, its force unseating him. Quick and efficient, these archers were so stealthy he’d never seen their faces.
Now left to travel afoot with a useless sword arm, Warren collapsed at the base of anancient yew a few yards away from the two bodies. He stripped off his gloves and snapped the arrow’s wooden shaft in half, leaving the barb lodged in his muscle. Ice-hot pain exploded through his chest.
“Sang Dieu!” He cradled his throbbing arm and waited, head swimming and shoulderbleeding, as the voices from the skirmish went silent.
All five of his men were dead. He felt it in his bones. Soon he would join them, but notnearly soon enough.
Ever since King Henry had died earlier that year, the Welsh princes had led revoltstrying to take back lands they had lost in the Norman invasion. King Stephen, the newusurper, had ordered Warren to claim the Welsh Deheubarth camp of Dinefwr for Warren’s own. All Warren had ever wanted was to gain the respect of his liege. King Stephen had also told Warren to take one of the Welsh princesses for a bride, which, along with promises of clemency and protection, would surely appease the locals. Furthermore, his liege had suggested, the widow of one of the recently fallen princes would be “receptive” to the offer.
How wrong the king had been.
If only Warren had known there would be a rebel spy waiting upon the shore whenthey landed. Now the entire conroi was dead as a result.
At least none of Warren’s brothers had been with him this time. He could die withoutmore shame hanging over his head. His half-brother would live to look after their littlesister. With Warren dying honorably in battle, there would be no more questions of hisloyalty, no more whispers of treason.
The dead soldier’s quick end was a blessing compared to Warren’s wound. The arrow inhis shoulder wouldn’t budge, proving it was a ruthless Norman barb, probably stolen from one of Warren’s men, and the broken shaft offered no purchase with which to maneuver it. Each time he touched the splintered wood, a burst of fire spread through his chest. His heavy sword was meant for hacking bone, not useful for quickening his death, but perhaps he could knock himself unconscious while he waited for the arms of everlasting rest.
He leaned against the tree and battered the back of his skull, but the beating only madehis head ache and his vision blur. The agony of his shoulder remained.
He closed his eyes before the reeling made him vomit.
Despite the absence of wind, the nearby trees rustled softly. Warren cracked an eyeopen. A hooded rebel stood near De Gouin’s body. As silently as the first, another darkhooded figure dropped from the branches above. Dressed in deerskin chausses and heavy tunics, they studied the soldier’s corpse. Bon sang! Welsh rebels. Or Cymreig, as they called themselves. The smaller one nudged the dead knight’s arm with a booted foot.
Bows resting casually on their backs, the pair hadn’t seemed to notice Warren.
His left hand tightened around the sword’s hilt. One good throw would fell one of thelightweight bastards, but he had no way of fending off the other.
As if sensing Warren’s intentions, the greyhound’s growl deepened, and it glanceduncertainly between Warren and the rebels. The archers were still too far away to hear, too absorbed in retrieving his soldier’s weapons, but the dog might change that. His barking would bring them around, turning their attention to Warren. He couldn’t let that happen.
He was ready to die but not to be shamefully taken alive as a hostage for the local chieftain, where he would surely find unimaginable tortures.
He adjusted his grip on the sword in his left hand. His arm shook from the loss of blood.The beast hunkered over his master’s body, putting more of its belly on top of theman’s chest. Caesar, Warren’s own trained mastiff, would do the same. Now staring into this animal’s brown eyes, he saw unwavering loyalty and trust, so like Caesar’s.
The greyhound licked the dead Welshman’s face, and the sight put a knot in Warren’sthroat. He’d never harmed an animal before, nor would he this day.Before the wary tension in his muscles could relax, the dog woofed in his direction.
Damned traitor!
The enemies swiveled around. Assessing the situation, they drew their swords.
In Warren’s foggy vision, the two swarmed toward him like sylvan elves, multiplying asyet more rebels fell from the tree, at least a half-dozen of his enemies.
The first pair stood over him with weapons extended, while the newcomers surroundedtheir own fallen warrior and his canine.
“Gorthwr fud.” The one who’d kicked De Gouin spoke at him in a puzzle of confusingsounds, but the sneered tone was perfectly clear. More puzzling than the guttural language Warren had been trying to decipher since arriving on the Glamorgan shore a few days ago was the fact that the rebel’s voice was female, low and husky. The accented tones would be interesting, he reckoned, if they weren’t so full of hate.
He blinked hard to clear the cobwebs in his vision. A pale oval shape loomed beforehim, and soon he focused on a pair of dark golden eyes in a face with skin that seemed toglow as if lit by moonlight. She dropped her hood for a better look at him, revealing wildplaits of flaming red hair, which dangled around her perfect face.
“Aye. I called you a dumb Norman and now you’ve proven it,” she drawled.
He tried to lift his sword but the weight was more than he could wield. The red spriteabove him gestured with a small pointing finger. He followed it and found her deerskin boot firmly planted on his blade.
“I’ll finish him for you, Dywysoges. He killed Iolo ap Rhys.” The second hooded archerwas also a woman, with black hair worn in a single braid. She grabbed his wounded shoulder with a rough hand, pushing the broken arrow deeper with her thumb as she held her sword against his heart.
A wave of pain and nausea wrenched Warren. He thrust his chest against the blade,grimacing as the metal pierced his skin, determined not to empty his stomach in front ofthe dark-headed one and her fiery companion as he welcomed the swift death.
“Nay. This one wants to die, Nest.” The red maid pushed the other woman’s sword aside.Then, crouching in front of Warren, she studied him through narrowed eyes and strokedher full lips with the tip of her finger, thinking. The scent of the forest and wildflowersdrifted from her skin. Whether brave or stupid, she left the weapon in his hand carelesslyunattended as she watched him.
Ah, but she was right in her courage. He posed little threat to anyone now.
Staring at her mouth, Warren felt something within him stir. It had been a long timesince he’d touched a woman’s lips, but by the rood, to lust at such a time!The men hailed to the women in their tongue and the dark maid rallied them.Red rested her sword across her thighs. “It would be wrong to kill him this way. We’lltake him to the castell and let Lew decide what to do with him.” She shrugged, drawing his eye to her chest and further proof she was indeed female. Her curves tightened the leather tunic in the movement. “Besides, he spared the life of Iolo’s dog.”
“That’s because he is a dog.” A beastly black-headed man pushed through the newcomersand kicked Warren in the ribs. “Norman bastard!”
The blow knocked him to the ground, rattling his teeth. Warren tasted blood and histongue smarted from where he’d bitten it. His ribcage ached from the impact, but it would take much worse to kill him quickly.
Red spoke rapidly in her language at the barrel-chested soldier and the chastised manreddened, ducking his chin. He and another warrior grabbed Warren’s arms, disarminghim, and hoisted him to his feet. His head reeled with the pain of the hasty movement.
Following the lady archers, the other men carried the body of the one they called Ioloas the dog trailed behind. Warren concentrated on his feet, walking obediently between his captors. If these Welsh rebels respected Red as much as it appeared, mayhap he knew how to draw their wrath to hasten his death.
The group marched him into the woods. Watching the exposed roots of the forest glenbelow his boots, he stumbled once, twice, then a third time, making sure they assumed him too weak to be a threat. His captors were large men, perhaps the best warriors of their tribe, and Warren prayed they had hostile tempers to match.
Lulled into complacency, one of the brigands’ hands loosened on his arm, and Warrenhad his chance. Breaking free, he grabbed a handful of Red’s braids and tangled his fingers in the silky plaited coils. She cried out, flailing her arms, but he dragged her against him as he fell backward, pulling her down on top of him.
The warriors’ retaliation was prompt—a slightly less ignoble death than betrayal by dog.
First, Red jabbed an elbow into his groin, but he held tight. The men responded, kicking his head and sides.
Strike, kick, strike…
He shut his eyes and slid toward unconsciousness on the tide of agony, his senses closingwith the pleasant wildflower fragrance of Red’s hair in his face and her soft, wriggling bodyatop his.
ISBN:9781619224452
Buy Links: (Samhain store) https://www.samhainpublishing.com/book/5407/his-captive-princess
(Amazon) http://www.amazon.com/His-Captive-Princess-Sandra-Jones-ebook/dp/B00TLIGB14/
(Barnes & Noble) http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/his-captive-princess-sandra-jones/1121228851?ean=9781619224452
(All Romance) https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-hiscaptiveprincess-1748538-161.html
About the Author
Sandra proudly considers herself a history geek. She is the author of five historical romances including the new River Rogues series set in frontier America. When not researching or writing, she enjoys traveling, genealogy (she’s the direct descendant of a Norman knight) and watching British TV. She and her husband of twenty-five years live in a cabin with two spoiled cats and occasionally attend Renaissance fairs.
She also loves chatting with readers. You can connect with Sandra at any of the following links:
Author LinksWebsite: http://www.sandrajonesromance.comFacebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Sandra-Jones-Author/428923117143918 Twitter: https://twitter.com/SJonesRomanceGoodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/SandraJones
****GIVEAWAY****
If you'd like to be included in a drawing for an Amazon gift card this month, I'll be picking one name at random from my newsletter subscribers at the end of May. Each month, our newsletter includes exclusive excerpts, news, contests, and more.
If you're not on our mailing list, you can join here: Newsletter
April 20, 2015
Medieval Monday Author--Bambi Lynn #MedMonSpring
It's my pleasure to introduce another Medieval Monday author: Bambi Lynn and her latest, Camulus.
BLURB:Camulus Vass wants a simple life, absent the power and responsibility that can consume a man. But being laird of a clan as large as the Munro does not offer such luxury. Always under the domineering heel of his uncle, Cam has allowed himself to become a pawn. But the arrival of a mysterious newcomer awakens a beast within him that will not be tamed. Màili has been given the task of rooting out the spawn of an ancient god. It’s the only way to take her revenge against the man who betrayed her. But getting what she wants means taking the life of the man she loves. Will her hunger for a mortal man wreak further havoc on her already bleak future?
EXCERPT: Cam pulled the linen from his shaggy, ebony mane and locked his rich brown eyes, glistening with excitement, on hers. He stepped out of the tub, dropping the linen to the floor. "Come to me, woman." Cam wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her against him. He claimed her mouth with his, prying her lips open and invading her with the sweetest tasting tongue she had ever known. Màili lost herself in that kiss. The power of it sent jolts of pleasure to every pore in her body. She tingled all over, her senses melding until she could no longer remember anything other than the man before her. She kissed him back with all the self–pity of a woman who had been betrayed by love and yearned to get even a piece of herself back. The power of her desire for Cam surprised her. Màili was certainly no stranger to the ways of men and women. She had learned a lot over the centuries. This was the first time she had found anyone she thought could teach her anything. A nagging possibility tickled the edge of her thoughts, but she pushed it aside. Màili dragged her mouth from his, nibbling along his jaw and across the pulse at his throat. With her hands on his chest, she urged him back toward the bed all the while trailing her lips, her tongue down his body. He tasted like nectar and all Màili could think of was more, more, more.
BUY LINKS:Amazon
Next week's Medieval Monday author: Lauren Linwood
BLURB:Camulus Vass wants a simple life, absent the power and responsibility that can consume a man. But being laird of a clan as large as the Munro does not offer such luxury. Always under the domineering heel of his uncle, Cam has allowed himself to become a pawn. But the arrival of a mysterious newcomer awakens a beast within him that will not be tamed. Màili has been given the task of rooting out the spawn of an ancient god. It’s the only way to take her revenge against the man who betrayed her. But getting what she wants means taking the life of the man she loves. Will her hunger for a mortal man wreak further havoc on her already bleak future?
EXCERPT: Cam pulled the linen from his shaggy, ebony mane and locked his rich brown eyes, glistening with excitement, on hers. He stepped out of the tub, dropping the linen to the floor. "Come to me, woman." Cam wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her against him. He claimed her mouth with his, prying her lips open and invading her with the sweetest tasting tongue she had ever known. Màili lost herself in that kiss. The power of it sent jolts of pleasure to every pore in her body. She tingled all over, her senses melding until she could no longer remember anything other than the man before her. She kissed him back with all the self–pity of a woman who had been betrayed by love and yearned to get even a piece of herself back. The power of her desire for Cam surprised her. Màili was certainly no stranger to the ways of men and women. She had learned a lot over the centuries. This was the first time she had found anyone she thought could teach her anything. A nagging possibility tickled the edge of her thoughts, but she pushed it aside. Màili dragged her mouth from his, nibbling along his jaw and across the pulse at his throat. With her hands on his chest, she urged him back toward the bed all the while trailing her lips, her tongue down his body. He tasted like nectar and all Màili could think of was more, more, more.
BUY LINKS:Amazon
Next week's Medieval Monday author: Lauren Linwood
April 19, 2015
Spring Has Sprung
...all around our house. For those of you who don't know, I'm a total bird-brain birder and nature fanatic!
Here are a couple of the nests we discovered around the cabin today:
This one is currently in our much-used bluebird house.
And this one was a complete surprise, discovered underneath our deck!
I have no idea what bird made this. It's small and beautiful, though. Any guesses as to what kind of bird it is?
Here's hoping it has a nice song so as not to disturb my writing time. LOL
Seriously, I love all our birds. The hubs bought them this lovely feeder yesterday made from a recycled bowl:
Now maybe more will come and build more nests.
Don't forget to enter my Goodreads Giveaway. There are still a few days left to win one of two free books! Details here: Goodreads Giveaway
Here are a couple of the nests we discovered around the cabin today:
This one is currently in our much-used bluebird house.
And this one was a complete surprise, discovered underneath our deck!
I have no idea what bird made this. It's small and beautiful, though. Any guesses as to what kind of bird it is?
Here's hoping it has a nice song so as not to disturb my writing time. LOL
Seriously, I love all our birds. The hubs bought them this lovely feeder yesterday made from a recycled bowl:
Now maybe more will come and build more nests.
Don't forget to enter my Goodreads Giveaway. There are still a few days left to win one of two free books! Details here: Goodreads Giveaway
April 13, 2015
Dragon Knight's Medallion by Mary Morgan--Medieval Monday #MedMonSpring
Today it's my pleasure to welcome another Medieval Monday author: Mary Morgan with her latest, Dragon Knight's Medallion.
Blurb:To right a wrong, two souls are brought together only to shatter when they are torn apart by the deeds of an evil druid.Dragon Knight, Stephen MacKay’s powers are altered after the death of his sister. Now he is plagued with visions that threaten to destroy his soul. When Aileen Kerrigan falls through a time tunnel, he vows to keep her safe, despite the fact the beautiful but head-strong half-blooded fae could be the death of him.When Aileen finds out her dad is a Fenian Warrior, she flees to a nearby ruin. Armed with the medallion her mother gave her, and a matching one belonging to a long dead knight, she is flung into the past and finds a handsome but surly warrior who is on a quest. Now it seems her future could be entwined with his, if she doesn’t kill him first.
Excerpt:Stephen was gathering some food, which Betha had prepared for him understanding he would be away all night. She and Donal had pleaded with him to join in the feasting, but he waved them off rather rudely. He wanted no part of the festivities.Almost colliding with a couple, he swore softly. Placing the food across Grian, he shifted hesitantly. It was then he spotted…her.His hand froze on the leather sack. Sweet Mother! What was she doing? And dressed like that? She was a Goddess of the flame. He watched as she was swung up into the air by none other than Brian. Then he dared to slide her down against him.Dark fury burst somewhere deep inside Stephen. “I’m going to kill him,” he rasped out.The blood roared in his head, as he stormed across the open field, never hearing those who greeted him in passing—one hand held firm against his sword.Stephen waited as any warrior would. Let the enemy show himself, he thought. When their dancing brought them nearer to him, he darted in front blocking their path.They never saw him coming.Aileen’s back slammed into his chest, and his arms grasped her instantly in a firm grip. “Hey, ouch!” She tried to move, but he held her solid against his body.Brian skidded to a halt. “Greetings, Sir Stephen.”He went to grab for Aileen’s hand, when Stephen let out a growl of warning.“What is your problem? Did you just growl?” demanded Aileen. She tried to pry herself loose, but he continued to hold her firm.“Mine,” he snarled.Instantly, Brian’s face went white.“Thank ye for the dance, Lady Aileen,” Brian clipped out. Giving Stephen a curt nod, he stormed away.“Bloody. God. Damn. Hell,” Aileen snapped.Stephen released her, only spinning her around to face him. Something primal within him tore loose. He tried to reason with himself that this was insanity, though his mind and body would not yield. His gaze dropped to those lips—lips he had fantasized about for weeks.“Aileen,” he choked out before his mouth took hers in a plundering kiss. His lips moved over hers devouring their softness. The kiss became urgent, pleading in its need. His tongue sought hers, and the dance of desire seared their bodies. Raw passion took over his anger, and she opened fully, drawing him against her body. She took her hands and wrapped them around his head, threading her fingers in his locks and pulling him in deeper. Never in all of his life had he felt so right in someone’s arms.When he broke from the kiss, his breathing was labored. Her eyes were dark with desire for him, and he shook with such need, it frightened him.“By the hounds,” he uttered hoarsely. In one swift move, he picked her up. Carrying her to his horse, he ignored the hoots, and remarks coming from the crowd. Placing her on Grian, he swung around in back, taking off through a large group of oak trees with only one clear thought in mind.
Buy Links: Amazon The Wild Rose Press Barnes & Noble APPLE KOBO
Next week's Medieval Monday guest author is Bambi Lynn.
Blurb:To right a wrong, two souls are brought together only to shatter when they are torn apart by the deeds of an evil druid.Dragon Knight, Stephen MacKay’s powers are altered after the death of his sister. Now he is plagued with visions that threaten to destroy his soul. When Aileen Kerrigan falls through a time tunnel, he vows to keep her safe, despite the fact the beautiful but head-strong half-blooded fae could be the death of him.When Aileen finds out her dad is a Fenian Warrior, she flees to a nearby ruin. Armed with the medallion her mother gave her, and a matching one belonging to a long dead knight, she is flung into the past and finds a handsome but surly warrior who is on a quest. Now it seems her future could be entwined with his, if she doesn’t kill him first.
Excerpt:Stephen was gathering some food, which Betha had prepared for him understanding he would be away all night. She and Donal had pleaded with him to join in the feasting, but he waved them off rather rudely. He wanted no part of the festivities.Almost colliding with a couple, he swore softly. Placing the food across Grian, he shifted hesitantly. It was then he spotted…her.His hand froze on the leather sack. Sweet Mother! What was she doing? And dressed like that? She was a Goddess of the flame. He watched as she was swung up into the air by none other than Brian. Then he dared to slide her down against him.Dark fury burst somewhere deep inside Stephen. “I’m going to kill him,” he rasped out.The blood roared in his head, as he stormed across the open field, never hearing those who greeted him in passing—one hand held firm against his sword.Stephen waited as any warrior would. Let the enemy show himself, he thought. When their dancing brought them nearer to him, he darted in front blocking their path.They never saw him coming.Aileen’s back slammed into his chest, and his arms grasped her instantly in a firm grip. “Hey, ouch!” She tried to move, but he held her solid against his body.Brian skidded to a halt. “Greetings, Sir Stephen.”He went to grab for Aileen’s hand, when Stephen let out a growl of warning.“What is your problem? Did you just growl?” demanded Aileen. She tried to pry herself loose, but he continued to hold her firm.“Mine,” he snarled.Instantly, Brian’s face went white.“Thank ye for the dance, Lady Aileen,” Brian clipped out. Giving Stephen a curt nod, he stormed away.“Bloody. God. Damn. Hell,” Aileen snapped.Stephen released her, only spinning her around to face him. Something primal within him tore loose. He tried to reason with himself that this was insanity, though his mind and body would not yield. His gaze dropped to those lips—lips he had fantasized about for weeks.“Aileen,” he choked out before his mouth took hers in a plundering kiss. His lips moved over hers devouring their softness. The kiss became urgent, pleading in its need. His tongue sought hers, and the dance of desire seared their bodies. Raw passion took over his anger, and she opened fully, drawing him against her body. She took her hands and wrapped them around his head, threading her fingers in his locks and pulling him in deeper. Never in all of his life had he felt so right in someone’s arms.When he broke from the kiss, his breathing was labored. Her eyes were dark with desire for him, and he shook with such need, it frightened him.“By the hounds,” he uttered hoarsely. In one swift move, he picked her up. Carrying her to his horse, he ignored the hoots, and remarks coming from the crowd. Placing her on Grian, he swung around in back, taking off through a large group of oak trees with only one clear thought in mind.
Buy Links: Amazon The Wild Rose Press Barnes & Noble APPLE KOBO
Next week's Medieval Monday guest author is Bambi Lynn.
April 10, 2015
The Duke of Andelot, an Excerpt & a Giveaway!
It's my pleasure to share an excerpt from Delilah Marvelle's latest, The Duke of Andelot! And read on for an awesome Amazon GC giveaway!
An Excerpt:
His eyes became flat and unreadable. “Might I ask why you are walking alone in this forest?” His French was upper crust, well-educated and immaculate. “The closest village outside of Paris is a few hours away. Either you are stupid or you seem to think I am.”Her brows went up. She knew these well-to-do fils de basts were known for being overly righteous, but she didn’t expect them to live up to their reputation. “Be careful with those insults, monsieur. Back in my village, I can skin a pig in less than thirty minutes. My father is a butcher, and I will warn you, he taught me everything I know. So refrain from annoying me. I have a paring knife.”A tremor touched his lips as if he were fighting an amusement he didn’t wish to feel. “I have been duly warned.” He skimmed her appearance, including her bare feet and hesitated, lingering on the exposed skin above her breasts her knitted scarf didn’t cover. His jaw tightened. “The tops of your breasts are on full display. Is that intentional?”Her eyes widened, realizing he had a direct view down her sizable cleavage given he was up on a horse. “Of course not. How dare you look.” Thérèse rearranged her fichu over her décolletage and patted it into place, tucking it into her bodice. “It slipped,” she tossed back. “The wind is a bit strong. Or did you not notice given how fast you were going?”He puffed out a breath. Leaning back in the leather saddle enough to showcase his broad chest, he adjusted the reins in his large gloved hands. “Seeing you have no shoes, mademoiselle, and that the weather is about to turn dire, I suggest you make haste and go home.”Thérèse snorted. “Home is the last place I wish to be.” Rather pleased with herself for seizing her own independence, she cradled the basket against her corseted waist, knowing a little advertisement was in order. “My cousin is graciously giving me an opportunity to be part of an upcoming performance he thinks will change all of Paris. I am to be his leading actress in a controversial script he wrote called…The Delights of Life. I will be performing on stage this Friday at Spetacle des Variétés Amusantes. Would you like to hear a few lines and maybe consider coming to a performance? Tickets will be selling for three sols a piece. Quite the bargain.”His gaze snapped to hers.Without giving him a chance to decline, she breathlessly announced to her audience of one, “Is it possible for a mere commoner, like myself, to attain a measure of good cheer in a world dominated by men, politics, wealth, murder, intrigue and greed? Most certainly! Under the new Republic, one must simply know how to make these aristocrats in power crawl.” She slapped her derriere and gripped it. “And crawl you shall, o lords of this ravaged land. For I am your new harlot better known as the queen!” He stared.She grinned. “You ought to see my rendition of Calderón. I make death look real.” She curtsied and regally held out an open palm with the roll of her bare hand. “Might you offer an aspiring actress a few sols for her journey into stardom? It would be greatly appreciated.”He lowered his chin. “I only give money to those in need.”The cheeky bastard. “I am in need. I left the house without a single sol.” “And how is that my problem?”She dropped her hand to her side in exasperation. “I was hoping for a sliver of generosity. What else will you have me do? I sing. I dance. I also do a variety of impersonations. The only thing I will not do is bare my breasts or offer up sexual favors. However, if you insist, you may kiss my hand. But not with an open mouth or your tongue. I had a man once lick my hand and I swear I can still feel it.” An inexplicable look of withdrawal came over his face. “You and I are clearly at an impasse.”She pointed. “You really ought to work on that comedy routine. You are far too serious in nature.” He leaned back against his saddle, still staring her down. “What the hell is this? A forest and a show? Are you lost?” She puffed out a breath. “I dare not say it, but I could be. I have been walking for over two days now following signs that appear to be misplaced. I am trying to get to Paris.” She held up her basket and brightly offered, “I have apples. Might I barter a few in exchange for directions? Or maybe even a ride?” Still smiling, she enthusiastically patted the sleek, soft neck of his horse with one hand, while still holding the basket up. “He is so magnificent. I can barely breathe in his presence.”He edged his hand away from where she had been patting the horse. “Are you referring to me or the horse?”
The Duke of Andelot ©2015 Delilah Marvelle
MEET DELILAH:USA TODAY Bestselling Author Delilah Marvelle is the winner of the Reviewer's Choice for Best Sensual Historical Romance of the Year and had Booklist name her historical romance 'Forever and a Day' one of the TOP 10 Romances of the year. When she isn't writing, she's digging through inappropriate research books that include anything in history having to do with courtesans, brothels, sexual contraptions that were never properly used and other fascinating forms of dirty history that never made it into college textbooks. You can visit her at her website at www.DelilahMarvelle.com
LINKS—Website: www.DelilahMarvelle.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Delilah-Marvelle/73234401876
Twitter: https://twitter.com/DelilahMarvelle
Delilah’s Newsletter: http://delilahmarvelle.wordpress.com/
ABOUT THE DUKE OF ANDELOT: For fans of Tom Jones and The Scarlet Pimpernel comes a twisted, sexy tale that takes the French Revolution to smoldering new heights.Goodreads Page: http://bit.ly/1GAiUkL
Buy Links:Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00VGT0NQ0B&N: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/books/1121666231iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/the-duke-of-andelot/id977831286Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/the-duke-of-andelotGoogle Play: https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Delilah_Marvelle_The_Duke_of_Andelot?id=qrK9BwAAQBAJ
Other Books in Series:Mistress of Pleasure http://www.delilahmarvelle.com/#!mistress_of_pleasure/c18pLord of Pleasure http://www.delilahmarvelle.com/#!lord_of_pleasure/cltLady of Pleasure http://www.delilahmarvelle.com/#!lady-of-pleasure/c1zmzNight of Pleasure http://www.delilahmarvelle.com/#!night-of-pleasure/c1676Master of Pleasure http://www.delilahmarvelle.com/#!master-of-pleasure/c2kaRomancing Lady Stone (novella) http://www.delilahmarvelle.com/#!romancing-lady-stone/cfh7
Giveaway:Delilah is giving away the following:—5 $10 Amazon GC—2 $25 Amazon GC—GRAND PRIZE $100 Amazon GC
RAFFLECOPTER FORM:a Rafflecopter giveaway
FACEBOOK PARTY:Date: Tuesday, April 14thTime: 8-11PM EDTLink: https://www.facebook.com/events/15670...
GOODREADS GIVEAWAY:Delilah is also giving away 25 copies of THE DUKE OF ANDELOT on Goodreads. Open to US, CA, AU and GB. Ends May 1st.
https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/131624-the-duke-of-andelot
An Excerpt:
His eyes became flat and unreadable. “Might I ask why you are walking alone in this forest?” His French was upper crust, well-educated and immaculate. “The closest village outside of Paris is a few hours away. Either you are stupid or you seem to think I am.”Her brows went up. She knew these well-to-do fils de basts were known for being overly righteous, but she didn’t expect them to live up to their reputation. “Be careful with those insults, monsieur. Back in my village, I can skin a pig in less than thirty minutes. My father is a butcher, and I will warn you, he taught me everything I know. So refrain from annoying me. I have a paring knife.”A tremor touched his lips as if he were fighting an amusement he didn’t wish to feel. “I have been duly warned.” He skimmed her appearance, including her bare feet and hesitated, lingering on the exposed skin above her breasts her knitted scarf didn’t cover. His jaw tightened. “The tops of your breasts are on full display. Is that intentional?”Her eyes widened, realizing he had a direct view down her sizable cleavage given he was up on a horse. “Of course not. How dare you look.” Thérèse rearranged her fichu over her décolletage and patted it into place, tucking it into her bodice. “It slipped,” she tossed back. “The wind is a bit strong. Or did you not notice given how fast you were going?”He puffed out a breath. Leaning back in the leather saddle enough to showcase his broad chest, he adjusted the reins in his large gloved hands. “Seeing you have no shoes, mademoiselle, and that the weather is about to turn dire, I suggest you make haste and go home.”Thérèse snorted. “Home is the last place I wish to be.” Rather pleased with herself for seizing her own independence, she cradled the basket against her corseted waist, knowing a little advertisement was in order. “My cousin is graciously giving me an opportunity to be part of an upcoming performance he thinks will change all of Paris. I am to be his leading actress in a controversial script he wrote called…The Delights of Life. I will be performing on stage this Friday at Spetacle des Variétés Amusantes. Would you like to hear a few lines and maybe consider coming to a performance? Tickets will be selling for three sols a piece. Quite the bargain.”His gaze snapped to hers.Without giving him a chance to decline, she breathlessly announced to her audience of one, “Is it possible for a mere commoner, like myself, to attain a measure of good cheer in a world dominated by men, politics, wealth, murder, intrigue and greed? Most certainly! Under the new Republic, one must simply know how to make these aristocrats in power crawl.” She slapped her derriere and gripped it. “And crawl you shall, o lords of this ravaged land. For I am your new harlot better known as the queen!” He stared.She grinned. “You ought to see my rendition of Calderón. I make death look real.” She curtsied and regally held out an open palm with the roll of her bare hand. “Might you offer an aspiring actress a few sols for her journey into stardom? It would be greatly appreciated.”He lowered his chin. “I only give money to those in need.”The cheeky bastard. “I am in need. I left the house without a single sol.” “And how is that my problem?”She dropped her hand to her side in exasperation. “I was hoping for a sliver of generosity. What else will you have me do? I sing. I dance. I also do a variety of impersonations. The only thing I will not do is bare my breasts or offer up sexual favors. However, if you insist, you may kiss my hand. But not with an open mouth or your tongue. I had a man once lick my hand and I swear I can still feel it.” An inexplicable look of withdrawal came over his face. “You and I are clearly at an impasse.”She pointed. “You really ought to work on that comedy routine. You are far too serious in nature.” He leaned back against his saddle, still staring her down. “What the hell is this? A forest and a show? Are you lost?” She puffed out a breath. “I dare not say it, but I could be. I have been walking for over two days now following signs that appear to be misplaced. I am trying to get to Paris.” She held up her basket and brightly offered, “I have apples. Might I barter a few in exchange for directions? Or maybe even a ride?” Still smiling, she enthusiastically patted the sleek, soft neck of his horse with one hand, while still holding the basket up. “He is so magnificent. I can barely breathe in his presence.”He edged his hand away from where she had been patting the horse. “Are you referring to me or the horse?”
The Duke of Andelot ©2015 Delilah Marvelle
MEET DELILAH:USA TODAY Bestselling Author Delilah Marvelle is the winner of the Reviewer's Choice for Best Sensual Historical Romance of the Year and had Booklist name her historical romance 'Forever and a Day' one of the TOP 10 Romances of the year. When she isn't writing, she's digging through inappropriate research books that include anything in history having to do with courtesans, brothels, sexual contraptions that were never properly used and other fascinating forms of dirty history that never made it into college textbooks. You can visit her at her website at www.DelilahMarvelle.com
LINKS—Website: www.DelilahMarvelle.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Delilah-Marvelle/73234401876
Twitter: https://twitter.com/DelilahMarvelle
Delilah’s Newsletter: http://delilahmarvelle.wordpress.com/
ABOUT THE DUKE OF ANDELOT: For fans of Tom Jones and The Scarlet Pimpernel comes a twisted, sexy tale that takes the French Revolution to smoldering new heights.Goodreads Page: http://bit.ly/1GAiUkL
Buy Links:Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00VGT0NQ0B&N: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/books/1121666231iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/the-duke-of-andelot/id977831286Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/the-duke-of-andelotGoogle Play: https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Delilah_Marvelle_The_Duke_of_Andelot?id=qrK9BwAAQBAJ
Other Books in Series:Mistress of Pleasure http://www.delilahmarvelle.com/#!mistress_of_pleasure/c18pLord of Pleasure http://www.delilahmarvelle.com/#!lord_of_pleasure/cltLady of Pleasure http://www.delilahmarvelle.com/#!lady-of-pleasure/c1zmzNight of Pleasure http://www.delilahmarvelle.com/#!night-of-pleasure/c1676Master of Pleasure http://www.delilahmarvelle.com/#!master-of-pleasure/c2kaRomancing Lady Stone (novella) http://www.delilahmarvelle.com/#!romancing-lady-stone/cfh7
Giveaway:Delilah is giving away the following:—5 $10 Amazon GC—2 $25 Amazon GC—GRAND PRIZE $100 Amazon GC
RAFFLECOPTER FORM:a Rafflecopter giveaway
FACEBOOK PARTY:Date: Tuesday, April 14thTime: 8-11PM EDTLink: https://www.facebook.com/events/15670...
GOODREADS GIVEAWAY:Delilah is also giving away 25 copies of THE DUKE OF ANDELOT on Goodreads. Open to US, CA, AU and GB. Ends May 1st.
https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/131624-the-duke-of-andelot
April 7, 2015
Welcome Kim Kasch & The Viking Princess
Today it's my pleasure to share the latest by Kim Kasch!
Hi everyone! Kim Kasch here. I'm a new romance writer and just wanted to take a minute to introduce myself by telling you a little bit about me. I've always loved books. . .maybe partly because I never got to pick the t.v. shows we watched. You see, I grew up in a family with 9 kids and 1 t.v. So I spent my days reading and, later, writing.
My favorite romance novels are The Hunger Games, the Twilight Books, and The Fifty Shades books. I guess I love series. Oh and Mary Janice Davidson’s books and Charlaine Harris’s books, and…I could go on and on but I also really love paranormal, Horror and even light little books like Dewey the Small Town Library Cat... Mainly, I just love to read. . . and write. And, I've just recently had my first novel published and was looking for ways to share it with the world when Sandra popped into the picture.
I was inspired to write THE VIKING PRINCESS after visiting Hamlet's Castle and seeing an enormous Viking statue down in the tunnels next to the dungeons.
THE VIKING PRINCESS is the story of legendary Viking, Holger Danske, and his forbidden romance with King Arthur’s half-sister. This tale has never been told outside of Denmark...until now. Morgaine and Holger faced an attraction more powerful than any sword, stronger than any warrior and more magical than all the powers of Merlin.
Link to book: http://www.amazon.com/Viking-Princess-Book-ebook/dp/B00UFXBIBC/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1425951445&sr=8-1&keywords=kim+kasch+The+Viking+Princess
EXCERPT OF THE VIKING PRINCESSHe laughed at her, making her senses bristle.She was not amused. “Am I humorous?”“I have heard you are many things,” he replied, “but humor has never been cited as one of your virtues.” “First you laugh at me, and then you belittle me. Is this the way you treat all women?” He pulled back on the reins. His horse slid to an immediate standstill. Then, burying his face into her hair, he whispered in her ear, “I have shown enormous restraint. Would you like me to show you how I treat all women?” The burning ember inside her flared to a flame. The muscles low in her belly tightened, as she clenched her legs tighter, wrapping them around his steed. Sucking air into her lungs, she felt the immediate pulse of desire race through the core of her body. She wanted to reach back over her head and wrap her arms around his neck, to pull him even closer. It was all she could do to hold her tongue and keep from begging him, when all she wanted to say was, “Yes, yes, please show me.” Her body motionless, she could feel the warmth of him as his hands grew bold, slipping beneath the soft linens covering her, his fingers gently gliding up over her stomach, travelling beneath her breasts and edging up… A voice whispered inside her head. What are you doing? This man is your enemy. He intends to kill you, your brother, everyone you love… She grabbed his wrists, holding him still and steady. “You have caught me, kidnapped me, and dragged me here. I may be your prisoner, but do not think that I am interested in your advances.” His body tensed and he pulled back his hands, gripping her firmly about the waist. “I, Holger, the prince over all the Norse lands, have never had a woman decline the privilege of being my lover.” “Prince or pauper, it matters not to me what rank you hold, for I, too, am highborn and accustomed to many privileges,” she snapped back, unwilling to let him bask in his own conceit. “And being your lover is not a privilege I would prize.” “Perhaps,” he said, softening his touch. Slowly he ran his finger down the length of her neck, taunting her. “But are you accustomed to this?” He swung her around to face him; his mouth moved to her neck, gently caressing her throat with his lips and tongue. The warrior with the devil’s horns was surprisingly gentle and tender with his affections. Morgaine could not contain her pleasure. A small sigh moved up from her throat, over her lips, unexpectedly escaping into the night air. “This is nothing,” he whispered against her flesh, his hand moving down over her navel. Travelling to the valley between her thighs, he pressed his fingers into her apex and she gasped at his touch. He pulled his hand back. “After your shrill tongue and insults, the next time you will have to beg for my attentions.” His tone shocked her back into the present. No man had ever spoken to her in this manner. He had no idea of her power. She was not some peasant he could toy with. Morgaine Le Fey was a princess, the sister of King Arthur. It was her turn to laugh…and it came out of her loud and hard. He must not know of her talents. She was the most powerful sorceress in Camelot and perhaps a dozen other kingdoms. “Me? Beg? To think you will ever witness such an act from me,” she started to say but then shook her head and continued, “You must be more than foolish.” “We will see,” he said, sounding more arrogant and insolent than ever. “Yes, we shall see,” she replied, as he gave his horse a nudge and they continued riding.
Kim Kasch grew up in a family with nine kids. She graduated from Portland State University with a B.S. in psychology and has written dozens of articles for publications like romantic homes, Our Family, bird & blooms and more.
Nook Link: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-viking-princess-kim-kasch/1121488709?ean=2940151759601Amazon Link: http://www.amazon.com/Viking-Princess-Book-ebook/dp/B00UFXBIBC/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1425951445&sr=8-1&keywords=kim+kasch+The+Viking+Princess
Hi everyone! Kim Kasch here. I'm a new romance writer and just wanted to take a minute to introduce myself by telling you a little bit about me. I've always loved books. . .maybe partly because I never got to pick the t.v. shows we watched. You see, I grew up in a family with 9 kids and 1 t.v. So I spent my days reading and, later, writing.
My favorite romance novels are The Hunger Games, the Twilight Books, and The Fifty Shades books. I guess I love series. Oh and Mary Janice Davidson’s books and Charlaine Harris’s books, and…I could go on and on but I also really love paranormal, Horror and even light little books like Dewey the Small Town Library Cat... Mainly, I just love to read. . . and write. And, I've just recently had my first novel published and was looking for ways to share it with the world when Sandra popped into the picture.
I was inspired to write THE VIKING PRINCESS after visiting Hamlet's Castle and seeing an enormous Viking statue down in the tunnels next to the dungeons.
THE VIKING PRINCESS is the story of legendary Viking, Holger Danske, and his forbidden romance with King Arthur’s half-sister. This tale has never been told outside of Denmark...until now. Morgaine and Holger faced an attraction more powerful than any sword, stronger than any warrior and more magical than all the powers of Merlin.
Link to book: http://www.amazon.com/Viking-Princess-Book-ebook/dp/B00UFXBIBC/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1425951445&sr=8-1&keywords=kim+kasch+The+Viking+Princess
EXCERPT OF THE VIKING PRINCESSHe laughed at her, making her senses bristle.She was not amused. “Am I humorous?”“I have heard you are many things,” he replied, “but humor has never been cited as one of your virtues.” “First you laugh at me, and then you belittle me. Is this the way you treat all women?” He pulled back on the reins. His horse slid to an immediate standstill. Then, burying his face into her hair, he whispered in her ear, “I have shown enormous restraint. Would you like me to show you how I treat all women?” The burning ember inside her flared to a flame. The muscles low in her belly tightened, as she clenched her legs tighter, wrapping them around his steed. Sucking air into her lungs, she felt the immediate pulse of desire race through the core of her body. She wanted to reach back over her head and wrap her arms around his neck, to pull him even closer. It was all she could do to hold her tongue and keep from begging him, when all she wanted to say was, “Yes, yes, please show me.” Her body motionless, she could feel the warmth of him as his hands grew bold, slipping beneath the soft linens covering her, his fingers gently gliding up over her stomach, travelling beneath her breasts and edging up… A voice whispered inside her head. What are you doing? This man is your enemy. He intends to kill you, your brother, everyone you love… She grabbed his wrists, holding him still and steady. “You have caught me, kidnapped me, and dragged me here. I may be your prisoner, but do not think that I am interested in your advances.” His body tensed and he pulled back his hands, gripping her firmly about the waist. “I, Holger, the prince over all the Norse lands, have never had a woman decline the privilege of being my lover.” “Prince or pauper, it matters not to me what rank you hold, for I, too, am highborn and accustomed to many privileges,” she snapped back, unwilling to let him bask in his own conceit. “And being your lover is not a privilege I would prize.” “Perhaps,” he said, softening his touch. Slowly he ran his finger down the length of her neck, taunting her. “But are you accustomed to this?” He swung her around to face him; his mouth moved to her neck, gently caressing her throat with his lips and tongue. The warrior with the devil’s horns was surprisingly gentle and tender with his affections. Morgaine could not contain her pleasure. A small sigh moved up from her throat, over her lips, unexpectedly escaping into the night air. “This is nothing,” he whispered against her flesh, his hand moving down over her navel. Travelling to the valley between her thighs, he pressed his fingers into her apex and she gasped at his touch. He pulled his hand back. “After your shrill tongue and insults, the next time you will have to beg for my attentions.” His tone shocked her back into the present. No man had ever spoken to her in this manner. He had no idea of her power. She was not some peasant he could toy with. Morgaine Le Fey was a princess, the sister of King Arthur. It was her turn to laugh…and it came out of her loud and hard. He must not know of her talents. She was the most powerful sorceress in Camelot and perhaps a dozen other kingdoms. “Me? Beg? To think you will ever witness such an act from me,” she started to say but then shook her head and continued, “You must be more than foolish.” “We will see,” he said, sounding more arrogant and insolent than ever. “Yes, we shall see,” she replied, as he gave his horse a nudge and they continued riding.
Kim Kasch grew up in a family with nine kids. She graduated from Portland State University with a B.S. in psychology and has written dozens of articles for publications like romantic homes, Our Family, bird & blooms and more.
Nook Link: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-viking-princess-kim-kasch/1121488709?ean=2940151759601Amazon Link: http://www.amazon.com/Viking-Princess-Book-ebook/dp/B00UFXBIBC/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1425951445&sr=8-1&keywords=kim+kasch+The+Viking+Princess
April 6, 2015
Medieval Monday-- His Captive Princess #MedMonSpring
Welcome back for another Medieval Monday! Today is the kickoff for our month of medieval romance authors, so to get things started, I'm sharing my upcoming release, His Captive Princess, which is now available for pre-order in print and ebook at all retailers and will be released April 28.
EXCERPT
“‘Your Highness’?” Warren jerked in astonishment, pulling against his bonds. The ropes chafed his raw skin, sending a fresh wave of pain down his arms. “You’re of royal blood?” She leaned over him, reaching for his bonds. “Hush! In addition to your arrow wound, I trow your tongue has healed as well these past days. It would behoove you to use it less and just be grateful you’re alive.” Her breasts hovered inches above his face. In fact, if he lifted his head, he could bury his face between them. What would she do, this spirited wench, if he chose to do so? He would’ve enjoyed finding out if circumstances had been different. “I’d rather be dead than be a prisoner. But first...I’ll kiss your feet if you’d scratch my nose.” She made a choking noise in her throat that almost sounded like amusement. He felt a tug at his ropes and the friction of a knife. By the saints, she was freeing him. He couldn’t allow it. Air stung his raw skin as soon as one of his wrists came loose. With his one arm still useless in its restraints, he shot out his free hand and clutched her forearm. Using all his strength, he turned her over beneath him, wedging her between his torso and the bed. Nose to nose, he could make out her eyes gone wide with shock in the darkness. “No!” he growled. “Do not let me leave here alive.” Suddenly, her warrior was upon him and his knife back against Warren’s throat. “Get off the princess, you cur!” The woman’s blade touched his chest plate. She could dispatch him with ease. Her arms were strong and lean. Her body was far from frail, and he recalled her skillful defeat of his conroi. She twisted beneath his pelvis defensively, and the grinding of her soft mound awoke his sex. Shame heated his cheeks at his sudden need and dark desires. This one time, he would allow himself to speak his mind. “If you release me, Princess, I’ll go to Kidwelly and inform my commanders what has befallen my five men at the hands of you and your people. The king will strike at the subjects of Cantref Mawr with vengeance such as you’ve never known.” Her expression shifted from stark panic to slow derision as her saucy lips curved up at one corner. “You think I don’t know what you’re capable of?” Her eyes flashed downward meaningfully, and he knew she’d noted the turn of his wicked thoughts. “You want to have your way with me. To tear my clothing from my body and part my legs. But you know nothing of my people, Norman. You haven’t even bothered to learn the language—” she broke off, slurring in Welsh at her vassal. The burly guard grabbed Warren’s bandaged shoulder, twisting it back until bile climbed in his throat. “Umpff!” While he convulsed in pain, the woman slipped loose and turned him on his back, pinning his groin beneath two very sharp knees. He hissed through his teeth, “Par les saints!” If he’d been successful in his mission, this devil-wench would’ve been his bride? “You are my prisoner, knight.” She planted the flat of her hand against his neck, leaving no doubt of her desire for domination as her angry pulse drummed against his skin. “I am the Princess of Deheubarth, widow of Prince Owain ap Daffyd, murdered by your Norman peers. It will be my pleasure keeping you alive. We’re taking you to those who will do with you what they will. I care not. Until then, you are my dog. My captive. My slave. And you will obey!”
ISBN:9781619224452
Buy Links: (Samhain store) https://www.samhainpublishing.com/book/5407/his-captive-princess
(Amazon) http://www.amazon.com/His-Captive-Princess-Sandra-Jones-ebook/dp/B00TLIGB14/
(Barnes & Noble) http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/his-captive-princess-sandra-jones/1121228851?ean=9781619224452
(All Romance) https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-hiscaptiveprincess-1748538-161.html
About the Author
Sandra proudly considers herself a history geek. She is the author of five historical romances including the new River Rogues series set in frontier America. When not researching or writing, she enjoys traveling, genealogy (she’s the direct descendant of a Norman knight) and watching British TV. She and her husband of twenty-five years live in a cabin with two spoiled cats and occasionally attend Renaissance fairs.
She also loves chatting with readers. You can connect with Sandra at any of the following links:
Author LinksWebsite: http://www.sandrajonesromance.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Sandra-Jones-Author/428923117143918
Twitter: https://twitter.com/SJonesRomance
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/SandraJones
EXCERPT
“‘Your Highness’?” Warren jerked in astonishment, pulling against his bonds. The ropes chafed his raw skin, sending a fresh wave of pain down his arms. “You’re of royal blood?” She leaned over him, reaching for his bonds. “Hush! In addition to your arrow wound, I trow your tongue has healed as well these past days. It would behoove you to use it less and just be grateful you’re alive.” Her breasts hovered inches above his face. In fact, if he lifted his head, he could bury his face between them. What would she do, this spirited wench, if he chose to do so? He would’ve enjoyed finding out if circumstances had been different. “I’d rather be dead than be a prisoner. But first...I’ll kiss your feet if you’d scratch my nose.” She made a choking noise in her throat that almost sounded like amusement. He felt a tug at his ropes and the friction of a knife. By the saints, she was freeing him. He couldn’t allow it. Air stung his raw skin as soon as one of his wrists came loose. With his one arm still useless in its restraints, he shot out his free hand and clutched her forearm. Using all his strength, he turned her over beneath him, wedging her between his torso and the bed. Nose to nose, he could make out her eyes gone wide with shock in the darkness. “No!” he growled. “Do not let me leave here alive.” Suddenly, her warrior was upon him and his knife back against Warren’s throat. “Get off the princess, you cur!” The woman’s blade touched his chest plate. She could dispatch him with ease. Her arms were strong and lean. Her body was far from frail, and he recalled her skillful defeat of his conroi. She twisted beneath his pelvis defensively, and the grinding of her soft mound awoke his sex. Shame heated his cheeks at his sudden need and dark desires. This one time, he would allow himself to speak his mind. “If you release me, Princess, I’ll go to Kidwelly and inform my commanders what has befallen my five men at the hands of you and your people. The king will strike at the subjects of Cantref Mawr with vengeance such as you’ve never known.” Her expression shifted from stark panic to slow derision as her saucy lips curved up at one corner. “You think I don’t know what you’re capable of?” Her eyes flashed downward meaningfully, and he knew she’d noted the turn of his wicked thoughts. “You want to have your way with me. To tear my clothing from my body and part my legs. But you know nothing of my people, Norman. You haven’t even bothered to learn the language—” she broke off, slurring in Welsh at her vassal. The burly guard grabbed Warren’s bandaged shoulder, twisting it back until bile climbed in his throat. “Umpff!” While he convulsed in pain, the woman slipped loose and turned him on his back, pinning his groin beneath two very sharp knees. He hissed through his teeth, “Par les saints!” If he’d been successful in his mission, this devil-wench would’ve been his bride? “You are my prisoner, knight.” She planted the flat of her hand against his neck, leaving no doubt of her desire for domination as her angry pulse drummed against his skin. “I am the Princess of Deheubarth, widow of Prince Owain ap Daffyd, murdered by your Norman peers. It will be my pleasure keeping you alive. We’re taking you to those who will do with you what they will. I care not. Until then, you are my dog. My captive. My slave. And you will obey!”
ISBN:9781619224452
Buy Links: (Samhain store) https://www.samhainpublishing.com/book/5407/his-captive-princess
(Amazon) http://www.amazon.com/His-Captive-Princess-Sandra-Jones-ebook/dp/B00TLIGB14/
(Barnes & Noble) http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/his-captive-princess-sandra-jones/1121228851?ean=9781619224452
(All Romance) https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-hiscaptiveprincess-1748538-161.html
About the Author
Sandra proudly considers herself a history geek. She is the author of five historical romances including the new River Rogues series set in frontier America. When not researching or writing, she enjoys traveling, genealogy (she’s the direct descendant of a Norman knight) and watching British TV. She and her husband of twenty-five years live in a cabin with two spoiled cats and occasionally attend Renaissance fairs.
She also loves chatting with readers. You can connect with Sandra at any of the following links:
Author LinksWebsite: http://www.sandrajonesromance.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Sandra-Jones-Author/428923117143918
Twitter: https://twitter.com/SJonesRomance
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/SandraJones
#MMSpring-- His Captive Princess
Welcome back for another Medieval Monday! Today is the kickoff for our month of medieval romance authors, so to get things started, I'm sharing my upcoming release, His Captive Princess, which is now available for pre-order in print and ebook at all retailers and will be released April 28.
EXCERPT
“‘Your Highness’?” Warren jerked in astonishment, pulling against his bonds. The ropes chafed his raw skin, sending a fresh wave of pain down his arms. “You’re of royal blood?” She leaned over him, reaching for his bonds. “Hush! In addition to your arrow wound, I trow your tongue has healed as well these past days. It would behoove you to use it less and just be grateful you’re alive.” Her breasts hovered inches above his face. In fact, if he lifted his head, he could bury his face between them. What would she do, this spirited wench, if he chose to do so? He would’ve enjoyed finding out if circumstances had been different. “I’d rather be dead than be a prisoner. But first...I’ll kiss your feet if you’d scratch my nose.” She made a choking noise in her throat that almost sounded like amusement. He felt a tug at his ropes and the friction of a knife. By the saints, she was freeing him. He couldn’t allow it. Air stung his raw skin as soon as one of his wrists came loose. With his one arm still useless in its restraints, he shot out his free hand and clutched her forearm. Using all his strength, he turned her over beneath him, wedging her between his torso and the bed. Nose to nose, he could make out her eyes gone wide with shock in the darkness. “No!” he growled. “Do not let me leave here alive.” Suddenly, her warrior was upon him and his knife back against Warren’s throat. “Get off the princess, you cur!” The woman’s blade touched his chest plate. She could dispatch him with ease. Her arms were strong and lean. Her body was far from frail, and he recalled her skillful defeat of his conroi. She twisted beneath his pelvis defensively, and the grinding of her soft mound awoke his sex. Shame heated his cheeks at his sudden need and dark desires. This one time, he would allow himself to speak his mind. “If you release me, Princess, I’ll go to Kidwelly and inform my commanders what has befallen my five men at the hands of you and your people. The king will strike at the subjects of Cantref Mawr with vengeance such as you’ve never known.” Her expression shifted from stark panic to slow derision as her saucy lips curved up at one corner. “You think I don’t know what you’re capable of?” Her eyes flashed downward meaningfully, and he knew she’d noted the turn of his wicked thoughts. “You want to have your way with me. To tear my clothing from my body and part my legs. But you know nothing of my people, Norman. You haven’t even bothered to learn the language—” she broke off, slurring in Welsh at her vassal. The burly guard grabbed Warren’s bandaged shoulder, twisting it back until bile climbed in his throat. “Umpff!” While he convulsed in pain, the woman slipped loose and turned him on his back, pinning his groin beneath two very sharp knees. He hissed through his teeth, “Par les saints!” If he’d been successful in his mission, this devil-wench would’ve been his bride? “You are my prisoner, knight.” She planted the flat of her hand against his neck, leaving no doubt of her desire for domination as her angry pulse drummed against his skin. “I am the Princess of Deheubarth, widow of Prince Owain ap Daffyd, murdered by your Norman peers. It will be my pleasure keeping you alive. We’re taking you to those who will do with you what they will. I care not. Until then, you are my dog. My captive. My slave. And you will obey!”
ISBN:9781619224452
Buy Links: (Samhain store) https://www.samhainpublishing.com/book/5407/his-captive-princess
(Amazon) http://www.amazon.com/His-Captive-Princess-Sandra-Jones-ebook/dp/B00TLIGB14/
(Barnes & Noble) http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/his-captive-princess-sandra-jones/1121228851?ean=9781619224452
(All Romance) https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-hiscaptiveprincess-1748538-161.html
About the Author
Sandra proudly considers herself a history geek. She is the author of five historical romances including the new River Rogues series set in frontier America. When not researching or writing, she enjoys traveling, genealogy (she’s the direct descendant of a Norman knight) and watching British TV. She and her husband of twenty-five years live in a cabin with two spoiled cats and occasionally attend Renaissance fairs.
She also loves chatting with readers. You can connect with Sandra at any of the following links:
Author LinksWebsite: http://www.sandrajonesromance.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Sandra-Jones-Author/428923117143918
Twitter: https://twitter.com/SJonesRomance
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/SandraJones
EXCERPT
“‘Your Highness’?” Warren jerked in astonishment, pulling against his bonds. The ropes chafed his raw skin, sending a fresh wave of pain down his arms. “You’re of royal blood?” She leaned over him, reaching for his bonds. “Hush! In addition to your arrow wound, I trow your tongue has healed as well these past days. It would behoove you to use it less and just be grateful you’re alive.” Her breasts hovered inches above his face. In fact, if he lifted his head, he could bury his face between them. What would she do, this spirited wench, if he chose to do so? He would’ve enjoyed finding out if circumstances had been different. “I’d rather be dead than be a prisoner. But first...I’ll kiss your feet if you’d scratch my nose.” She made a choking noise in her throat that almost sounded like amusement. He felt a tug at his ropes and the friction of a knife. By the saints, she was freeing him. He couldn’t allow it. Air stung his raw skin as soon as one of his wrists came loose. With his one arm still useless in its restraints, he shot out his free hand and clutched her forearm. Using all his strength, he turned her over beneath him, wedging her between his torso and the bed. Nose to nose, he could make out her eyes gone wide with shock in the darkness. “No!” he growled. “Do not let me leave here alive.” Suddenly, her warrior was upon him and his knife back against Warren’s throat. “Get off the princess, you cur!” The woman’s blade touched his chest plate. She could dispatch him with ease. Her arms were strong and lean. Her body was far from frail, and he recalled her skillful defeat of his conroi. She twisted beneath his pelvis defensively, and the grinding of her soft mound awoke his sex. Shame heated his cheeks at his sudden need and dark desires. This one time, he would allow himself to speak his mind. “If you release me, Princess, I’ll go to Kidwelly and inform my commanders what has befallen my five men at the hands of you and your people. The king will strike at the subjects of Cantref Mawr with vengeance such as you’ve never known.” Her expression shifted from stark panic to slow derision as her saucy lips curved up at one corner. “You think I don’t know what you’re capable of?” Her eyes flashed downward meaningfully, and he knew she’d noted the turn of his wicked thoughts. “You want to have your way with me. To tear my clothing from my body and part my legs. But you know nothing of my people, Norman. You haven’t even bothered to learn the language—” she broke off, slurring in Welsh at her vassal. The burly guard grabbed Warren’s bandaged shoulder, twisting it back until bile climbed in his throat. “Umpff!” While he convulsed in pain, the woman slipped loose and turned him on his back, pinning his groin beneath two very sharp knees. He hissed through his teeth, “Par les saints!” If he’d been successful in his mission, this devil-wench would’ve been his bride? “You are my prisoner, knight.” She planted the flat of her hand against his neck, leaving no doubt of her desire for domination as her angry pulse drummed against his skin. “I am the Princess of Deheubarth, widow of Prince Owain ap Daffyd, murdered by your Norman peers. It will be my pleasure keeping you alive. We’re taking you to those who will do with you what they will. I care not. Until then, you are my dog. My captive. My slave. And you will obey!”
ISBN:9781619224452
Buy Links: (Samhain store) https://www.samhainpublishing.com/book/5407/his-captive-princess
(Amazon) http://www.amazon.com/His-Captive-Princess-Sandra-Jones-ebook/dp/B00TLIGB14/
(Barnes & Noble) http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/his-captive-princess-sandra-jones/1121228851?ean=9781619224452
(All Romance) https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-hiscaptiveprincess-1748538-161.html
About the Author
Sandra proudly considers herself a history geek. She is the author of five historical romances including the new River Rogues series set in frontier America. When not researching or writing, she enjoys traveling, genealogy (she’s the direct descendant of a Norman knight) and watching British TV. She and her husband of twenty-five years live in a cabin with two spoiled cats and occasionally attend Renaissance fairs.
She also loves chatting with readers. You can connect with Sandra at any of the following links:
Author LinksWebsite: http://www.sandrajonesromance.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Sandra-Jones-Author/428923117143918
Twitter: https://twitter.com/SJonesRomance
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/SandraJones
April 3, 2015
An Excerpt of Viking Fame by Andrea Cooper
Please welcome Andrea Cooper, author of Viking Flame. Isn't the cover gorgeous?
[image error] Viking Flame Prequel to Viking FireGenre: Historical Romance Forthcoming – February 2015
Blurb: Bram has agreed to marry an Irish nobleman’s daughter in exchange for land and his services fighting with the Laird Liannon’s clan against rival Irishmen. However, Bram’s intended does not stir his heart. Not like the Laird’s daughter, Kaireen. Somehow, he must not only convince the Laird to amend his marriage contract, but win the heart of the stubborn feisty Kaireen.
Excerpt: Near the beach, the man quit rowing and yanked out a knife. Bram didn’t move. “You go against your Captain’s orders t—”“You made it to shore. That’s all we’s promised.” He spat at Bram’s boots. “No one said anything about you living afterwards.” When he dove forward, Bram ducked to the side and snatched the sailor’s arm, pinning it to his side. When the sailor slung with his free arm, Bram increased the pressure until the man was on his knees.“Cease, or I will break your arm.” If it wasn’t for his pledge to Morga, he’d have snapped the man’s arm already. Once his contract was signed with the Laird, then he’d be free to fight in Ireland—or at least against other Vikings and rival Irishmen. The man continued to struggle, “Or perhaps a leg as well? What will your Captain say if you return without your weapon and injured? Will he be merciful and allow you to recover or throw you to the sharks?”“Heathen scum!” He twisted his body to escape Bram’s grip. As he did, Bram snapped the man’s wrist backward and the first mate let out a howl before the blade came closer to Bram’s chest. “Now, hand me the knife.” When the man glared at him, he increased pressure on the bent wrist. “Or this heathen might do worse so that not even the sharks would want you.”The first mate gulped and released his hold of the knife. Bram broke his hold and snatched the blade out of the air before it hit the water. “Tell your Captain, I will not forget his hospitality nor will any of my eight brothers.”The man paled. “What brings you to our island? To rape our women and pillage our churches?”“No.” Bram rose and tucked the small blade into his boot. “To find my bride.”Signup for Andrea’s newsletter for details on Viking Flame and get advanced notice on sales, new releases, contests, and more.Amazon only – Buy Link: http://amzn.com/B00U1OLDQU[image error] V iking Fire Blurb: In 856 CE, Ireland is a land of myth, magic, and blood. Viking raiders have fought the Irish for over half a century. Rival Irish clans promise only betrayal and carnage.Kaireen, daughter of Laird Liannon, is suddenly forced into an arranged marriage with her sworn enemy, a Viking. She refuses to submit. With no mention of love, only land and the protection of her clan, she endeavors to get her betrothed banished from her country. Will love find its way around her stubborn heart?
Bram, the Viking, finds himself without future or inheritance as a younger son in his family. A marriage to the Laird’s daughter would grant him land if he swears fidelity and if his men will fight along with the Liannons against any foe—Irish or Viking. However, the Laird’s feisty daughter only holds animosity for him and his kind. Is marriage worth the battle scars of such a relentless opponent?
With the blame for a rival laird’s death treacherously set against the Liannons, Kaireen and Bram must find a way to lay aside their differences as an unforeseen darkness sends death snapping at their heels.
[image error]Andrea’s Bio:, Andrea has always created characters and stories. But it wasn't until she was in her late twenties that she started writing novels. What happened that ignited the writing flame in her fingers? Divorced, and disillusioned by love songs and stories. They exaggerate. She thought. Love and Romance are not like that in the real world. Then she met her husband and realized, yes love and romance are exactly like the songs and stories say. She is now a happy wife, and a mom to three kids (two boys and a girl).Andrea writes fantasy, paranormal, historical, and contemporary romance suspense. When not writing or reading, one may find Andrea dancing in Zumba or playing tag with her kids. She believes in the power of change and counting each moment as a blessing. But most importantly, she believes in love.Viking Fire Book Trailer: http://youtu.be/m1bPZ3nUyzsFacebook: https://www.facebook.com/AndreaRCooper.authorTwitter: @AndreaRCooperAuthor Website: www.AndreaRCooper.comGoodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6934877.Andrea_R_CooperViking Fire Buy Links:Viking Fire Amazon: http://goo.gl/71VAsf Viking Fire B & N: http://goo.gl/EvBxwf Viking Fire iTunes: http://goo.gl/fQuKBd
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[image error] Viking Flame Prequel to Viking FireGenre: Historical Romance Forthcoming – February 2015
Blurb: Bram has agreed to marry an Irish nobleman’s daughter in exchange for land and his services fighting with the Laird Liannon’s clan against rival Irishmen. However, Bram’s intended does not stir his heart. Not like the Laird’s daughter, Kaireen. Somehow, he must not only convince the Laird to amend his marriage contract, but win the heart of the stubborn feisty Kaireen.
Excerpt: Near the beach, the man quit rowing and yanked out a knife. Bram didn’t move. “You go against your Captain’s orders t—”“You made it to shore. That’s all we’s promised.” He spat at Bram’s boots. “No one said anything about you living afterwards.” When he dove forward, Bram ducked to the side and snatched the sailor’s arm, pinning it to his side. When the sailor slung with his free arm, Bram increased the pressure until the man was on his knees.“Cease, or I will break your arm.” If it wasn’t for his pledge to Morga, he’d have snapped the man’s arm already. Once his contract was signed with the Laird, then he’d be free to fight in Ireland—or at least against other Vikings and rival Irishmen. The man continued to struggle, “Or perhaps a leg as well? What will your Captain say if you return without your weapon and injured? Will he be merciful and allow you to recover or throw you to the sharks?”“Heathen scum!” He twisted his body to escape Bram’s grip. As he did, Bram snapped the man’s wrist backward and the first mate let out a howl before the blade came closer to Bram’s chest. “Now, hand me the knife.” When the man glared at him, he increased pressure on the bent wrist. “Or this heathen might do worse so that not even the sharks would want you.”The first mate gulped and released his hold of the knife. Bram broke his hold and snatched the blade out of the air before it hit the water. “Tell your Captain, I will not forget his hospitality nor will any of my eight brothers.”The man paled. “What brings you to our island? To rape our women and pillage our churches?”“No.” Bram rose and tucked the small blade into his boot. “To find my bride.”Signup for Andrea’s newsletter for details on Viking Flame and get advanced notice on sales, new releases, contests, and more.Amazon only – Buy Link: http://amzn.com/B00U1OLDQU[image error] V iking Fire Blurb: In 856 CE, Ireland is a land of myth, magic, and blood. Viking raiders have fought the Irish for over half a century. Rival Irish clans promise only betrayal and carnage.Kaireen, daughter of Laird Liannon, is suddenly forced into an arranged marriage with her sworn enemy, a Viking. She refuses to submit. With no mention of love, only land and the protection of her clan, she endeavors to get her betrothed banished from her country. Will love find its way around her stubborn heart?
Bram, the Viking, finds himself without future or inheritance as a younger son in his family. A marriage to the Laird’s daughter would grant him land if he swears fidelity and if his men will fight along with the Liannons against any foe—Irish or Viking. However, the Laird’s feisty daughter only holds animosity for him and his kind. Is marriage worth the battle scars of such a relentless opponent?
With the blame for a rival laird’s death treacherously set against the Liannons, Kaireen and Bram must find a way to lay aside their differences as an unforeseen darkness sends death snapping at their heels.
[image error]Andrea’s Bio:, Andrea has always created characters and stories. But it wasn't until she was in her late twenties that she started writing novels. What happened that ignited the writing flame in her fingers? Divorced, and disillusioned by love songs and stories. They exaggerate. She thought. Love and Romance are not like that in the real world. Then she met her husband and realized, yes love and romance are exactly like the songs and stories say. She is now a happy wife, and a mom to three kids (two boys and a girl).Andrea writes fantasy, paranormal, historical, and contemporary romance suspense. When not writing or reading, one may find Andrea dancing in Zumba or playing tag with her kids. She believes in the power of change and counting each moment as a blessing. But most importantly, she believes in love.Viking Fire Book Trailer: http://youtu.be/m1bPZ3nUyzsFacebook: https://www.facebook.com/AndreaRCooper.authorTwitter: @AndreaRCooperAuthor Website: www.AndreaRCooper.comGoodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6934877.Andrea_R_CooperViking Fire Buy Links:Viking Fire Amazon: http://goo.gl/71VAsf Viking Fire B & N: http://goo.gl/EvBxwf Viking Fire iTunes: http://goo.gl/fQuKBd
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