Jude Knight's Blog, page 42

Monday for Tea

Another excerpt post, this one from A Baron for Becky

When Aldridge sought her out the following afternoon, the Duchess of Haverford was resting from her exertions over the ball, by planning the next entertainment. She had her companion, her secretary, and three of the servants on the hop: writing guest lists, hunting out a fabric from the attic and a china pattern from the depths of the scullery that she was certain would go together in a Frost Fair theme; searching through her invitations to pick a date that would not clash with entertainments she wished to attend; leafing through the menus of previous parties to decide on food “that will not disgrace us, dear Aldridge, for one would not wish to do things in a harum-scarum fashion.”

“May I have a moment, Mama?” Aldridge asked. “It can wait if you wish.”

“Not at all, Aldridge. My dears, you all have jobs to do. I will be with my son. Aldridge, darling, shall we take a walk in the picture gallery? Very chilly, today, I am sure, but I will wrap up warm and the exercise will be good for us, do you not think? Ah, thank you, my dear.” She stepped back into the cloak Aldridge took from the waiting maid, and let him settle it on her shoulders.

“Now, my dear, tell me how Mama can help.”

Aldridge waited, though, until they were alone in the picture gallery, a great hall of a place thirty feet wide, twenty tall, and a hundred and twenty long. With the doors at each end shut, they could speak in private.

“Mama, Overton has asked me to look after his wife and daughters, if he dies before the girls are grown and married.”

Her Grace nodded. “And you have agreed, of course, dear? I will present the girls, in any case. Or your wife, if you have done your duty by then.”

Aldridge ignored his mother’s increasingly less subtle insistence. He would marry when he must and not before.

“Of course I have agreed, Mama. But I am wondering if something more might be done.”

The Duchess tapped her index finger against slightly pursed lips, her eyes distant.

“Something more might always be done. Have you an idea of what?”

Aldridge watched her closely. “It is not unknown for a daughter to inherit a barony.”

His mother blinked slowly as she considered the idea. Her answer was slow and contemplative.

“Only the old ones, dear, and if there is no son. But Overton is a relatively new peerage. The Restoration, I believe? And if his Letters Patent allowed female inheritance, he would have said.”

“Letters Patent can be changed, Mama. They did it for the first Marlborough.”

“Over a century ago, Aldridge, and I have never heard of it being done again.”

She fell silent, her eyes unfocused in thought. “But it does seem a pity our little Belle cannot be a baroness.”

Backlist spotlight on A Raging Madness

Their marriage is a fiction. Their enemies want them destroyed before they can make it real.

“Envy is a raging madness that cannot bear the wealth or fortune of others.”
François, Duc De La Rochefoucauld

Ella survived an abusive and philandering husband, in-laws who hate her, and public scorn. But she’s not sure she will survive love. It is too late to guard her heart from the man forced to pretend he has married such a disreputable widow, but at least she will not burden him with feelings he can never return.

Alex understands his supposed wife never wishes to remarry. And if she had chosen to wed, it would not have been to him. He should have wooed her when he was whole, when he could have had her love, not her pity. But it is too late now. She looks at him and sees a broken man. Perhaps she will learn to bear him.

In their masquerade of a marriage, Ella and Alex soon discover they are more well-matched than they expected. But then the couple’s blossoming trust is ripped apart by a malicious enemy. Two lost souls must together face the demons of their past to save their lives and give their love a future.

See more and buylinks.

Extract

They had history together, not all of it good

He had embarrassed Ella, which was not well done of him. Particularly since she would need to share his bed this night. Just as well Farnham could not possibly know that. The lousy carbuncle would undoubtedly share the news that Alex Redepenning had been seen with a woman in Stoke-on-Trent but would not be able to identify Ella; would not know that Alex and Ella had been living together since she turned up in his room at the inn.

Living together in the chastest of senses, but Society would say he had compromised her beyond all saving, except by marriage. He was surprised at how tempting that sounded! He’d vowed never to marry except for love, and had sworn off love by his early twenties: a bad experience with an older woman, and then with Ella.

The arrogant cub he’d been resented her choosing Melville instead of him, though he’d never let his interest in her show, certain she would find him as unworthy as Lady Carrington had.

Yes, marrying Ella would be a blessing, not a burden. For Alex. But it would not be fair to Ella.

She was moving around the small cabin, brewing his willow bark tea and pouring him a cup, retrieving the canister of tea leaves she had purchased at the market and brewing another pot, bringing him a cup of that, its fragrant delicacy taking away the bitterness of the willow bark.

If he drank it all, he would need to ask for her help to relieve himself. Just to pass him the pot and perhaps hold a blanket for his privacy. Not the prurient fantasies that flashed across his mind and stirred his recalcitrant member. Simmer down, he told it. Not for you.

She poured another mug of tea and took it to Big Dan at the tiller, receiving the man’s soft thanks.

Alex let his eyelids fall and watched Ella through his lashes as she moved around the cabin finding places to stow their possessions, every movement graceful and economic. She had blown out the candles she’d lit to illuminate her work on his leg, but plenty of light entered the cabin from the doorway and the small windows on either side of the boat. She slipped glances at him from time to time, the colour coming and going in her face. What was she thinking?

Was she as attracted to him as he was to her? Or was she just embarrassed at the situation in which they found themselves? He had never been able to read her. Sometimes, he was sure she saw him merely as a friend. Sometimes, not even that, though those occasions were mostly his own fault.

How often had he looked up across a campfire, or a room in a scurvy little billet in some benighted village on the fringes of a war, or a bedside where someone in his command lay depending on Ella’s care and met her eyes? And seen in them an echo of the wanting in his own?

Was it his imagination; his own longing misinterpreting an innocent glance? Even if it were not, she had never once, since her ill-judged marriage, by word or deed given him reason to think she would act on that attraction.

Only a reprobate would take advantage of a woman under his protection, especially a woman persecuted as Ella had been. Alex could not be such a scoundrel, but perhaps Jasper had unwittingly done him a favour. Because even with the increase in pain, his physical response to Ella’s presence had proven beyond doubt that the injury had not made a eunuch of him as he had feared. The pain would be a timely and much needed reminder to keep his hands and other bodily parts to himself.

Fun and games on WIP Wednesday

In my story for the coming collection The Wedding Wager, my heroine plays a game of pall mall.

Rilla found lunch surprisingly delightful, thanks to Lord Hythe. Useful, too. Two of the men who had shown her some attention during the morning had drifted away when the discussion turned serious, one after expressing doubt that ladies were capable of intelligence.

The day continued fine enough to return outdoors, though clouds suggested that they would not be as fortunate the next day. Lady Osbourne suggested Rilla might like to take part in a game of pall mall. She had never played before, but the rules seemed straightforward enough.

One played in a pall mall alley, with walls either side and an iron ring set in the ground around one hundred yards distant from where the players started. One used a mallet to hit a ball towards the ring, repeating the strokes until close. Then an implement with a spoon-like end was used to hit the ball through the ring.

It was harder than it looked to achieve the right direction and force. One of the other ladies playing, Miss Thompson, also claimed to be a novice, but Rilla soon guessed that the lady was pretending helplessness, presumably to impress the gentlemen.

Rilla came last in the first four contests, trailing one of the gentlemen, a Captain Hudson. “No room for a pall mall alley on a ship, Miss Fernhill,” he said, cheerfully.

“I imagine that waves would also inhibit play, Captain Hudson,” she replied, much to his amusement.

In the fifth contest, the others had once again finished before she and the captain were halfway down the alley. “I picked the game up quickly, did I not?” crowed Miss Thompson, whose combined scores made her third overall.

“I bet she is her village champion,” muttered Captain Hudson. Rilla agreed, but pretended she hadn’t heard.

Miss Thompson marched off on the arm of the overall winner, and the remaining couple came to let Rilla and Captain Hudson know they were going in out of the cold.

“Go ahead without us,” Captain Hudson said. “Miss Fernhill and I have to find out who wins last place.”

“It is a fight to the finish,” Rilla agreed.

The other couple stayed to cheer each stroke, cheering when a wild stroke of Rilla’s bounced off the alley walls and groaning when the captain’s ball shot past the edge of the ring.

In the end, the captain finished first, but Rilla was only one stroke behind him. The other couple clapped, Rilla curtseyed, the captain bowed, and they all laughed.

A few spots of rain hurried their steps, and they left the alley behind in favour of a warm fire and a hot drink.

Captain Hudson, Rilla concluded, was a pleasant gentleman. He could laugh at himself, and he saw right through Miss Thompson. Rilla had no objection to a half-pay officer, though there was always the risk—presumably Captain Hudson would say the hope—he would be called back into service.

Did she want a husband in the armed forces, who was away more than he was at home?

This is only the first day of the house party, she reminded herself. She had plenty of time to consider that question. Which would not even be a question if he was simply being polite to the lady he had inadvertently been stuck with at the end of the pall mall alley.

However, when she came back downstairs after taking off her outer garments, he waved to catch her attention as she entered the drawing room. He had hot chocolate and cake waiting for her on a low table next to the chair he had been holding ready for her.

Surely that meant he was interested in pursuing the acquaintance?

He seems to be a nice man. He is a possibility. Then her eyes drifted to the man who had just come through the door. Lord Hythe. Her heart gave a bound. Stupid heart. Lord Hythe was not for the likes of her.

Tea with Snowy White

An excerpt from my current work-in-progress.

On Monday, ten minutes before the appointed time, dressed in his finest, Snowy presented himself at the London home of the Duke and Duchess of Winshire. It took most of that time to be passed from the footman who opened the door to the butler who sent a message for yet another footman who conducted him up the opulent stairs and along elegant passages to Her Grace’s private sitting room.

“I do appreciate punctuality,” said the duchess. “Come in, my dear.” The room was like the lady herself, elegant and beautifully presented, but with a warmth about it that drew a person in.

Snowy took the chair she indicated, on the other side of a low table from the duchess herself. She busied herself with the tea makings and then dismissed all the servants, leaving the two of them alone.

“Being alone with a young man without facing untoward accusations is one of the benefits of advancing age and high social position, Lord Snowden,” she said. “They are fewer than you might think.” She handed him his cup of tea.

“Your Grace is a beautiful woman,” Snowy told her, ignoring the way she had addressed him. He had a feeling she used the title to unsettle him, and was determined not to show how well it was working.

“For an old lady.” The duchess’s eyes twinkled. “I have grandchildren, Snowden.You wince. If you plan to take the title, you had better get used to it.” With the precision of a needle, she added, “Do not think of it as your step-father’s name, my dear. Think of it as your father’s, God rest his soul.”

The woman read his mind like a witch. Or Lily. How his foster mother would laugh at being compared to a duchess!

“I will try, my lady.”

“Good. I knew your mother.” She took a sip of her own tea. “I owe you a debt, Snowden. When your mother disappeared from Society, I took your grandfather’s word that her mind was turned by your death and she was living retired while she recovered. I obeyed my husband’s command to stay out of your family’s private business. I should have insisted on visiting. Perhaps there is something I could have done.” She shook her head, sadly.

The duchess had previously been married to the Duke of Haverford, of whom Snowy had heard nothing good. “You could not have helped her, Your Grace.”

“I can help you, Snowden,” the duchess retorted. “What is it that you need?”

“I appreciate the thought, ma’am. I am not sure that anyone can give me what I really need.”

The duchess tipped her head to one side. “Tell me what that is, and we shall see.”

“Information, mostly. I believe we’ll find most of it. Lord Andrew has put me on to an enquiry agent. A man called Wakefield. He is apparently very good.”

“I can vouch for him,” her grace agreed. “He and his wife are connections of my family, and very good at their work. But tell me what information you are looking for, my dear. I have sources of my own.”

“I want the whole truth, Your Grace. I want to know if Snowden was behind my kidnapping. Whether it was attempted murder, as my mother and my foster mother believed. I want to know whether my father was murdered, what happened to my mother, everything about my past I should have grown up knowing. I will settle for evidence of two things. That the boy Aunt Lily found in that alley is the same boy that was stolen from a garden in Mayfair two days earlier. And that my mother’s second husband was responsible for my disappearance.”

“I see.” The duchess proved that she did see by adding, “The first will make it easier for you to claim the viscountcy. The second will allow you to seek justice.”

In truth, Snowy would settle for the first. He could leave seeking justice until Snowden tried to kill him again.

Backlist spotlight To Wed a Proper Lady

To Wed a Proper Lady

Everyone knows James needs a bride with impeccable blood lines. He needs Sophia’s love more.

James must marry to please his grandfather, the duke, and to win social acceptance for himself and his father’s other foreign-born children. But only Lady Sophia Belvoir makes his heart sing, and to win her, he must invite himself to spend Christmas at the home of his father’s greatest enemy.

Sophia keeps secret her tendre for James, Lord Elfingham. After all, the whole of Society knows he is pursuing the younger Belvoir sister, not the older one left on the shelf after two failed betrothals.

To Wed a Proper Lady is the first book in The Return of the Mountain King, and is currently reduced to 99c, and free if you buy from my bookstore.

Books2Read *  Jude Knight’s book shop

Excerpt

A country road in Buckinghamshire

They heard the two curricles before they saw them, the galloping hooves, the cacophony of harness and bounding wheels, the drivers shouting encouragement to their teams and insults to one another.

Sutton turned his own horse to the shoulder of the road and the rest of the party followed his lead. As first one racing carriage and then the other careened by, James murmured soothingly to his horse. “Stand, Seistan. Stand still, my prince.”

Seistan obeyed. Only a stamp of the hind foot and muscles so tense he quivered displayed his eagerness to pursue the presumptuous British steeds and feed them his dust.

From their position at the top of what these English laughably called a hill, James could see the long curve of the road switching back at the junction with the road north and descending further until it passed through the village directly below them.

One of the fool drivers was trying to pass, standing at the reins, legs broadly astride. James hoped no hapless farmer tried to exit a gate in their path!

Seistan clearly decided that the idiots were beneath his contempt, for he relaxed as James continued to murmur to him. “You magnificent fellow. You have left us some foals, have you not, my beauty? You and Xander, there?”

The earl heard his horse’s name and flashed his son a grin. “A good crop of foals, if their handlers are right, and honours evenly divided between Seistan and Xander. Except for the stolen mares.” He laughed, then, and James laughed with him.

Once the herd recovered from the long sea voyage, many of the mares had come into season. Not satisfied with his allotment, Seistan had leapt several of the fences on the land they had rented near Southampton, and covered two mares belonging to other gentlemen. Most indignant their owners had been.

“They did not fully understand the honour Seistan had done them, sir,” James said. Which was putting it mildly. When James arrived, they had been demanding that the owner of the boarding stable shoot the stallion for his trespass, and probably the owner for good measure.

The earl laughed again. “I wish I had been there to hear you explain it, my son.”

A thirty-minute demonstration of Seistan’s skills as a hunter, racer, and war horse had been more convincing than any words of James’s, and a reminder of the famous oriental stallions who founded the lines of English thoroughbreds did the rest. In the end, he almost thought they would pay him the stud fee he had offered to magnanimously cut by half.

But he waived any fee at all, and they parted friends. Now two noblemen looked forward to the birth of their half-breed foals, while James had delivered the herd to his father’s property in Oxfordshire and was riding back to London to be put to stud himself.

“Nothing can be done about his mother, Sutton,” the Duke of Winshire, had grumbled, “but marry him to a girl from a good English family, and people will forget he is part cloth-head.”

The dust had settled. The earl gave the signal to move on, and his mount Xander took the lead back onto the road. James lingered a moment more, brooding on London’s Season, where he would be put through his paces before the maidens of the ton and their guardians. One viscount. Young, healthy, and well-travelled. Rich and titled. Available to any bride prepared to overlook foreign blood for the chance of one day being Duchess of Winshire.

Where was the love of which the traveling musicians spoke? The soul-deep love for which his own parents had defied their families? James couldn’t do that. Too many people depended on him—his father, his brothers and sisters, even the wider family and the servants and tenants who needed certainty about the future of the duchy. At least his cousins had adamantly turned him down. Not that he had anything against Sadie and Lola, but they did not make his heart sing.

The racing curricles had negotiated the bend without disaster and were now hurtling towards the village. Long habit had James studying the path, looking to make sure the villagers were safely out of the way, and an instant later, he put Seistan at the slope.

It was steep, but nothing to the mountains they had lived in all their lives, he and his horse, and Seistan was as sure-footed as any goat. Straight down by the shortest route they hurtled, for in the path of the thoughtless lackwits and their carriages was a child—a boy, by the trousers—who had just escaped through a gate from the village’s one large house, tripped as he crossed the road, and now lay still.

It would be close. As he cleared one stone fence and then another, he could see the child beginning to sit up, shaking his head. Just winded then, and easier to reach than lying flat, thank all the angels and saints.

Out of sight for a moment as he rounded a cottage, he could hear the carriages drawing closer. Had the child recovered enough to run? No. He was still sitting in the road, mouth open, white-faced, looking as his doom approached. What kind of selfish madmen raced breast to breast, wheel to wheel, into a village?

With hand, body and voice, James set Seistan at the child, and dropped off the saddle, trusting to the horse to sweep past in the right place for James to hoist the child out of harm’s way.

One mighty heave, and they were back in the saddle. James’s shoulders would feel the weight of the boy for days, but Seistan had continued across the road, and just in time. The racers hurtled by so close James could feel the wind of their passing.

They didn’t stop. Didn’t even slow. In moments, they were gone.

The boy shaking in his arms, James turned Seistan with his knees, and walked the horse back to the gates of the big house. A crowd of women waited for them, but only one came forward as he dismounted— a gentlewoman, if her aristocratic bearing and the quality of her fashionable gown were any indication.

“Forgive my temerity in speaking without an introduction, my lady,” he said, “but have you perchance mislaid this child?”

Mirror, mirror on WIP Wednesday

Here’s my first Mirror Mirror scene in my Snow White reinterpretation.

A candle either side of the mirror lit Richard’s face and upper body without relieving the gloom behind him. The black of his evening wear merged with the darkness, leaving the planes of his face and the folds of his white cravat to swim against the shadows.

“It cannot be him,” he told his reflection. “He’s dead. He died nearly two decades ago. A boy of that age? A soft spoiled brat like that? And a pretty one? He could never have survived.”

The dark eyes of the reflection stared back. He thought he saw an ironic twitch of the eyebrow.

“Curse Matt. He was meant to kill the little horror and throw the body somewhere it would be found.”

Richard scowled and the reflection scowled back. The plan should have succeeded. With a body to grieve over, Madeline would have recovered. Richard could have charmed her into believing in him again. Instead, she insisted that the boy was still alive.

“She was meant to be mine.” He nodded his head once, decisively, and his reflection nodded back, agreeing with him. He had seen the pretty girl first, begun to court her. Then she met cursed Edward. The man with everything. His grandfather’s favourite. The heir. The golden boy.

Tonight’s imposter looked just like him. “It cannot be the boy. He’s a by-blow; that must be it. Perfect Edward’s base born brat.”

How he would like to tell Madeline that Edward had been diddling someone else. His teeth flashed white in the candle light at the thought of her likely reaction. His own pain, though, was greater. He had won her for such a short time, and then lost her. She blamed him for the boy’s disappearance, and in the end, he had to put her away where she could do no harm.

It wasn’t fair. Matt had ruined everything. The boy had ruined everything by biting his abductor’s hand, wriggling from his grasp, and running away to die anonymously in the mean streets.

Matt was dead and could not pay for his mistake. The boy, too, was dead. He must be.

The reflection raised an eyebrow. Of course. It was right. He must take his revenge on the imposter.

Tea with the daughters

While Parliament was sitting, Eleanor, the Duchess of Winshire brought all her female brood together for tea once a week, or at least those who were in London. Her daughters of the heart, though she’d birthed none of them.

She looked around the room at them all chattering, sharing family news and discussing the issues facing their world and the charities to which each devoted time and attention.

Cherry, Duchess of Haverford, had her head close together with Matilda, Sophia, and Prue. Cherry was the beloved wife of Eleanor’s eldest son, and the lady responsible for the happiness that lit Haverford’s eyes and curved his lips into a smile whenever she was near, or even when they were briefly parted and he thought of her. She was also Eleanor’s niece by marriage, being the daughter of Eleanor’s husband’s deceased brother.

Matilda, Countess of Hamner, her eldest foster daughter, was once known to all the ton as the Ice Maiden, though no one would think it to see her now. Matilda had entered Eleanor’s nursery as a baby, and captivated the Duchess of Haverford, as she was then, with one fathomless gaze from those blue eyes.

Sophia, Countess of Sutton, wife to her husband’s eldest son, was a lady who coupled great dignity with enormous warmth. Sophia was another Eleanor had loved all her life, since her friend the Countess of Hythe had asked Eleanor to be godmother to the newborn babe. After Sophia’s marriage to Jamie and Eleanor’s marriage to his father Winshire, Sophia was now her daughter in law, as well as religion and affection.

Prudence Wakefield was the mother of a number of Eleanor’s grandchildren. It was true that the younger ones who were acknowledged as grandchildren were so only by courtesy, since Prue’s husband David was a by-blow of Eleanor’s first husband and no blood relation. The eldest could not be acknowledged as a blood relation, for she was the daughter of Prue and Eleanor’s eldest son, conceived in a long ago youthful folly that the family had no intention of sharing with the world. Those who noticed her resemblance to the Haverfords assumed David was her father, as he was in every way except biological. To make the relationship even more complicated, she and David had taken Tony into their family. He was a slum brat, rescued by Cherry, and discovered to be the offspring of Eleanor’s younger son, Jonathan.

Ruth, Sarah and Becky were also deep in conversation. Ruth was the Countess of Ashbury and the Duke of Winshire’s daughter, and Sarah was Countess of Lechton and twin sister to Cherry. From the serious looks on the two faces, Eleanor would guess that they were talking about the medical clinic that Ruth had founded and where Sarah’s husband Nate worked.

Like Prue’s, Becky’s relationship with the Haverfords had elements that most of the world did not know. She was Baroness Overton, wife to the current Duke of Haverford’s closest friend. But under another name, she had once been Haverford’s mistress. Bella, the youngest Overton daughter, was another unacknowledged grandchild.

Rosemary was laughing with Jessica and Frances. They were probably talking about Frances’s debut ball, which had been a grand success.  Lady Rosemary Winderfield was Winshire’s youngest daughter, and the only one yet unmarried. Perhaps she would choose a husband this year. Certainly, she would need one to chase away the wistful look Eleanor had caught from time to time when Ruth watched the other ladies with their children.

Jessica’s laugh was good to hear. Eleanor’s middle foster daughter, the Countess of Colyford, still wore black for her husband, though Eleanor wondered how she could mourn him after what he’d done to her, and tried to do. She was laughing again, though, and would perhaps put off her blacks soon.

Frances’s laugher was unforced. The sweetest of Eleanor’s three foster daughters was also the smartest. She had quickly summed up the majority of her suitors as fribbles without serious intention and had picked out the fortune-tellers with unerring accuracy. Eleanor, Winshire, and even her brother Haverford told her to marry for love, and Eleanor hoped that she would.

A little medieval history to go with Promises Made at Midnight

Step back in time with Sherry Ewing

Thank you to Jude for featuring a little bit of research that occurred for my latest release, Promises Made at Midnight. This medieval/time travel romance is in my Knights of Berwyck, A Quest Through Time series although it can easily be read as a standalone novel.

How about a little history for the times?

Eleanor of Aquitaine and her younger sons

Early on in this book, we catch a glimpse of Ulrick’s confusion when Bridgette mentioned she was one of the Queen’s ladies in waiting. While she was thinking of the fair she had been attending and the Tudor Queen, Ulrick’s natural assumption was that of Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine. To get the full picture we need to go back a few years to the spring of 1173 when Henry II’s son by the same name was upset with his lack of power and encouraged to do something about it by his father’s enemies. The younger Henry then launched the Revolt of 1173-1174. He fled to Paris, devising evil against his father from every angle at the advice of the French King. He then secretly went into Aquitaine where his two brothers, Richard and Geoffrey, were currently living with their mother. He incited them to join him in his quest for power. Some say the queen may have sent her younger sons to France “to join with him against their father the king.”

Between the end of March and the beginning of May, Eleanor left Poitiers, but was arrested and sent to the king at Rouen. Her arrest wasn’t announced publicly. On July 8, 1174, Henry and Eleanor took a ship for England from Barfleur and as soon as they disembarked at Southampton, Eleanor was taken either to Winchester Castle or Sarum Castle and held there. For the next sixteen years she was imprisoned at various locations in England.

Jumping ahead to the year 1183 and we find young King Henry tried again to force his father to hand over some of his patrimony. In debt and refused control of Normandy, he tried to ambush his father at Limoges. He was joined by troops sent by his brother Geoffrey and Philip II of France. But Henry II’s troops besieged the town, forcing his son to flee. After wandering aimlessly through Aquitaine, Henry the Younger caught dysentery. On Saturday, June 11, 1183, the young king realized he was dying and was overcome with remorse for his sins. When his father’s ring was sent to him, he begged his father to show mercy to his mother, and all his companions would plead with Henry to set her free.

I thought it would be interesting to add this little bit of history into the story and having Dristan and his men being sent to France. Of course, I must admit, any time I can bring my characters back to Bamburgh Castle is always a joy to my heart. I do have a fondness for the place and can only hope that one day I may actually be able to stand in its shadows or walk its grounds!

The legend of King Arthur

And thinking of my modern heroine and what story she might tell a child from twelfth century England had me researching the legendary King Arthur. I had to ensure this would have been something a child from this time period would have heard about. The historical basis for this king has been debated but I learned that an actual person had been talked about since the late 5th and 6th centuries. Legend or a real person… I always found this story fascinating and hope you enjoyed this tiny glimpse of it.

My castles are real places

The original medieval keep as it is today

As for Dunster Castle that became Ulrick’s home, I can’t begin to tell you why I chose this location. Let’s just say that Google Earth is this author’s best friend! The castle was a former motte and bailey castle, now a country house, located in the village of Dunster, Somerset, England. The castle lies on the top of a steep hill called the Tor, and has been fortified since the late Anglo-Saxon period. After the Norman conquest of England in the 11th century, William de Mohun constructed a timber castle on the site as part of the pacification of Somerset. A stone shell keep was built on the motte by the start of the 12th century, and the castle survived a siege during the early years of the Anarchy. At the end of the 14th century the de Mohuns sold the castle to the Luttrell family, who continued to occupy the property until the late 20th century. During the early medieval period the sea reached the base of the hill, close to the mouth of the River Avill, offering a natural defense and making the village an inland port.

After a series of failed relationships, Bridgette Harris would like a fresh start. If only she could escape her ex-boyfriend since they participate in the same renaissance fairs. While gazing at a granite statue of a handsome knight—her dream man—at one such fair, a mysterious elderly Scottish woman offers her a coin to toss into the fountain and make a wish. Bridgette can’t resist, but nothing prepares her to suddenly slip through time.

Sir Ulrick de Mohan does not have time for love. He is charged with training possible recruits to become worthy guardsmen for the Devil’s Dragon. The woman who magically appears out of thin air and falls into his arms must be one of those future ladies who continue to show up at Berwyck’s gate. But she can’t be for him.

Fate has brought two people together despite the centuries that should be keeping them apart. Will the growing love between them be enough to keep Bridgette in the past or will Time return her to where she should belong?

Books2Read: https://books2read.com/u/4Ap6xd

First Kiss on WIP Wednesday

Just over half way through Snowy and the Seven Blossoms, and my hero and heroine have had their first kiss.

Mr Snowden, exhausted, had fallen into an uneasy sleep, and hardly stirred when a messenger arrived back from the House of Blossoms with clean linen and blankets to make the bed. A bag of clothing for Snowy, too, from which he produced a nightshirt for Mr Snowden.

Ash and Peter helped to move the patient from one side of the bed to the other so that Snowy and Margaret could make it, and then said their farewells.

“I’ll have my cook’s assistant sent over with breakfast makings tomorrow morning,” Peter said. “She’s competent to take over your kitchen until you can hire servants. I’ll send some maids, too, Snowy.”

“And I shall send a couple of maids, too, Snowy, and some footmen,” Ash added. “Are you ready to leave, Margaret?”

“Not yet, Ash. Have my carriage take you home and come back for me.”

Peter protested. “We cannot leave you alone with to two unmarried men, Margaret.”

“I won’t tell anyone if you will not,” Margaret retorted.

The two men exchanged glances and then inclined their heads in acceptance. When Snowy returned from seeing them out, he protested, too. “You cannot stay alone with me during the night, my lady. Tell me what I must watch for.”

“I am staying with my patient, Snowy. It is likely that it will take both of us to care for him tonight. If you have paper and ink, I shall write a note for my household and send it with the carriage when it returns.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but must have seen the determination in her eyes, for what he said was, “Whatever fate did I offend that independent-minded women beleaguer me at every turn?” But his eyes were warm when he said it.

It was a long night. Several times, Margaret and Snowy sponged Mr Snowden—Ned, as Snowy called him—to bring down his temperature. Snowy sang to him when he was restless, and Margaret soon learned the words and took her turn with the lullaby.

Every few minutes she dribbled water into his throat, and from time to time fed him willow-bark tea from a spoon.

Towards morning, the fever broke and he woke with sense in his eyes for the first time. “Hal! You came!” He looked around. “Lady Charmain! You are here, too? Where are we?”

“In a house of my own, Ned,” Snowy replied. “One I have only just purchased, so it is bit bare at the moment. But it has the advantage that no one will know where we are.”

“Ah.” It was a sigh of satisfaction as Ned’s eyes closed again. This time, his sleep was more settled.

“A natural sleep,” Margaret said, pleased.

Snowy took her hand. “You’ve done it, Lady Charmain. I am forever in your debt.”

As he bent forward, she turned her head and the kiss he perhaps intended for her cheek landed on her mouth, tentative and gentle. Margaret closed her eyes and leaned into the kiss. It had been a long time, and never like this—a leisurely exploration that beckoned and enticed.

It went on forever, and was over too soon.

A knock on the front door downstairs broke through the pleasant haze that absorbed Margaret, and Snowy, too, drew back. Margaret was pleased to see he looked as dazed as she felt, and, as he shuddered as he took a deep breath. “I’ll see to that,” he said.

Spotlight on Promises Made At Midnight

Promises Made At Midnight: The Knights of Berwyck, A Quest Through Time (Book Six)

By Sherry Ewing

Sometimes all it takes to find your heart’s desire is to make a wish…

After a series of failed relationships, Bridgette Harris would like a fresh start. If only she could escape her ex-boyfriend since they participate in the same renaissance fairs. While gazing at a granite statue of a handsome knight—her dream man—at one such fair, a mysterious elderly Scottish woman offers her a coin to toss into the fountain and make a wish. Bridgette can’t resist, but nothing prepares her to suddenly slip through time.

Sir Ulrick de Mohan does not have time for love. He is charged with training possible recruits to become worthy guardsmen for the Devil’s Dragon. The woman who magically appears out of thin air and falls into his arms must be one of those future ladies who continue to show up at Berwyck’s gate. But she can’t be for him.

Fate has brought two people together despite the centuries that should be keeping them apart. Will the growing love between them be enough to keep Bridgette in the past or will Time return her to where she should belong?

Buy Links:

Amazon US: https://amzn.to/36NpNrv

Apple Books: https://apple.co/3C1muIK

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My review: Another of Sherry Ewing’s delectable knights

Follow Bridgette through time to meet Ulrick. She falls for his looks when she sees him carved in stone. How much more when she lands in his arms? He is everything she had never been able to find in real life. Honourable, kind, protective. Ewing’s knights are amazing, and Ulrick is one of the best. Of course, the course of true love cannot run smooth, and time travel in Ewing’s books is only one way when the couple are truly in love and meant to be together. Even when they defeat overcome that obstacle, there’s a murderer out there who has it in for them.  A wonderful adventure. I enjoyed every exciting twist and turn.

First Kiss Excerpt

“You came,” she whispered in a breathy tone and she at once realized how fast her heart was hammering away inside her chest. She was excited and scared all at the same time while she tilted her head back to see his face. She felt so tiny next to this giant of a man, who must be well over six feet tall.

“Aye.”

Bridgette searched his face, waiting for more of a reply but he appeared unsure of himself and that was entirely out of character of the man she had come to know.

“You didn’t want to?” she couldn’t help herself from asking.

“I am uncertain if this is wise, Lady Bridgette. Lord Dristan…”

She placed her fingertips on his mouth. “Let me worry about Lord Dristan,” she replied, stepping closer.

His brow rose at her statement. “You have no idea what you are asking of me when I defy my liege lord by being alone here with you.”

“I just wanted some time with just the two of us, Ulrick. Is that too much to ask?” She took hold of his arms, and he placed his hands gently on her waist. “I promise I won’t bite… much.”

She gave him what she hoped was a wicked wink. A deep chuckle erupted from him, and his smile brightened her whole mood.

“I hardly know what to reply after such a comment. You are a feisty one, to be sure, Lady Bridgette.”

“I just know what I want,” she replied with a sincere heart.

“And what is that exactly?” he asked pulling her fully into his body.

“You have to ask?” She moved her palms to rest on his chest. One hand continued upward until she fingers brushed over the back of his head feeling the softness of his hair before settling on his neck. She began a gentle message with small circular motions and heard a soft moan escape him.

“Aye,” came a strained reply.

“You are a man of little words sometimes. Do you know that?”

“If I am going to be damned for my actions, then I must needs know your mind. What do you want, Bridgette?” He asked, again ignoring her comment, but she could tell that whatever control he was briefly holding onto where she was concerned, it was about to break.

“What do I want? You… I want you, Ulrick” She let her answer linger in the space between them, but she didn’t have to wait long for his nonverbal reply.

His arms tighten around her waist, lifting her up and bringing them chest to chest. And in that one brief moment, their heartbeats fused as one. As she stared up into those mesmerizing blue-grey eyes, the reflection from the stars above were twinkling in their depths. Her gaze was drawn to the sensual chiseled lines of his mouth. His lips turned up with a slow roguish grin before swooping down to take full possession of her. A gasp of surprise gave him what he wanted when his tongue dipped inside her mouth to dance with her own while their bodies all but melted together as one. She lost all thought of anything else but this man who claimed her. Bridgette had released Ulrick from whatever restraints he had been holding onto and she was delighted he was equally moved to finally share their first kiss.

A hushed moan escaped her when his lips moved from her mouth to place a trail of soft kisses as he went from her cheek to her neck. His teeth nibbled at the lobe of her ear and the warmth of his breath was almost her undoing.

Taking hold of his cheeks, she all but demanded another kiss in her attempts to take back control of their moment together. But who was she kidding? She lost any attempt of self-control the moment Ulrick stepped through the turret portal.

Their kiss continued for several more minutes—an exploration of two missing souls who had finally found one another. It was as binding as if they had already promised themselves an eternity together… at least in Bridgette’s mind.

About the Author:

Sherry Ewing picked up her first historical romance when she was a teenager and has been hooked ever since. A bestselling author, she writes historical and time travel romances to awaken the soul one heart at a time. When not writing, she can be found in the San Francisco area at her day job as an Information Technology Specialist. You can learn more about Sherry and her books on her website where a new adventure awaits you on every page at www.SherryEwing.com.

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