First Kiss Friday with Ruth A. Casie

Welcome to another First Kiss Friday on my blog. I’m so happy you stopped by. My guest today is Ruth A Casie who is back with an excerpt from Knight of Runes. We hope you enjoy this first kiss scene. Take it away, Ruth!

Setting the Stage:

In Knight of Runes, Rebeka’s journey through time lands her amidst the ancient walls of Fayne Manor in England circa 1605. Welcomed by Doward, the wandering tinker, Rebeka discovers that her only chance of returning to the 21st century rests in the hands of Lord Arik, the revered Druid Grand Master and owner of the estate. Amidst the dynamics of the manor’s social fabric, Rebeka finds herself ensnared with the envious Lady Katherine, Lord Arik’s sister-in-law, who views her as a rival for his affections. As suspicion and uncertainty swirl around her, Rebeka must dispel Lord Arik’s doubts about her loyalty, all while trying to find her way home. And in a moment that transcends the boundaries of time, their worlds converge in a tender and unforeseen first kiss, sparking a passion that defies the constraints of both time and destiny.

Excerpt:

The meal over, everyone gathered on the torch-lit terrace to enjoy the entertainment. Off in the field, a hulking pile of wood was a dark shadow awaiting its moment. The echoing strains of a flute and mandolin played in the background. Rebeka took a seat and reveled in the familiar feeling of sitting around a campfire.

“Here, Uncle Arik. Sing us a song,” Skylar asked.

Arik sings? She couldn’t imagine that. He was too cold and controlling to be emotional, although, after today, she saw a very different side of the man.

He tuned the mandolin.

“Arik, all the court enjoys when you sing Greensleeves,” Lady Beatrice said.

“For you, m’lady,” he said with a nod.

His phrasing and emotion made the words come alive. Rebeka found his rich baritone soothed her. He encouraged everyone to join in the chorus. At the end, he handed the mandolin to Rebeka.

“Here, it’s your turn.”

“I don’t know what to sing.”

“Anything but Lord Randal,” he said. They both laughed.

“Sing the boat song,” Arik said.

She found it impossible not to return his disarming smile and was surprised he remembered the song. “All right.” She played the introduction and began singing Row, Row, Row Your Boat. Logan played the flute, and Skylar and Aubrey got everyone singing the round. There was a demand for more choruses. Rebeka graciously complied and was surprised when Stuart and Arik added their voices.

“Rebeka,” Elfrida said when the song ended. “Sing me a love song.” Everyone laughed. “One of your own choosing will do fine.”

Rebeka’s repertoire was limited when it came to seventeenth-century love songs. She silently ticked off lyrics and eliminated one song after another. She decided on Ebb Tide by the Righteous Brothers, a love song filled with imagery and emotions but without any dated references. She stared at the mandolin. The melancholy song came from her heart. When she finished, the air was deadly silent.

She lifted her head.

Arik’s gaze bored into her. Still, under his scrutiny, she passed the mandolin to the next person. She took a deep breath and shook her head to rid herself of the trance, but she ached—for Arik.

“Beautiful,” Elfrida said. “You have my thanks.”

“Step back. Make room.” Several men moved the benches to the side.

The musicians began and played a lively dance. Everyone took a partner while Rebeka listened and watched.

Doward grabbed her and brought her into the dance circle with Logan, Stuart, Marcus, and their partners. One dance led to another. She danced with Alfred and other villagers. After a while, she lost track of the dances she was in. Tired and thirsty, she strolled to the table to get some mead.

“You seem to be having a good time.” Arik handed her a cup.

“It’s a wonderful festival.”

When the music started up again, Arik held out his hand in a silent request. She looked at him and held out her own. Again, he started making slow circles on her wrist. It must be the mead, the heat, the excitement. Her heart began to pound.

They took their position, and she was startled. This dance was not a country dance. It was the volta, the precursor to the waltz. The dance’s intricate steps, shocking lifts, and very close contact scandalized the first Queen Elizabeth. Only a few of the guests participated. Only a few knew the dance.

Rebeka and her Renaissance Studies class studied the dance, and it survives as a folk dance in France. In three-quarter time, the dance contained a series of intricate hops, steps, leaps, and turns. The scandal, also part of her class studies, was related to the closeness of the partners. In order to assist his partner with her high jumps, he had to hold her close with his left arm around her waist and their thighs touching. The woman,, in turn,, held her partner’s shoulder and leaped into the air. With the help of his thigh and free hand, he raised and turned her effortlessly, to the amazement of everyone.

Lost in the music, her body swayed, and she reveled in Arik’s arm around her, his hands touching her. It was a heady feeling, better than champagne. The music ended to loud cheers. Arik led her off the dance floor. They stood by themselves. He bent, lifted her hand, and kissed it without taking his eyes from hers. Her breath caught. The magic of the festival locked in his gaze.

“Lord Arik,” Katherine interrupted. “Sir Stuart is waiting for you in the hall.”

Arik dropped Rebeka’s hand, but his gaze held her. A few heartbeats passed before he bowed and left to meet Stuart.

Rebeka stood motionless, staring at Arik’s retreating back. His muscles rippled as he wove his way through the crowd. He hesitated and glanced back at her, then with a gentle nod and an arresting smile, he continued on to meet Sir Stuart.

She didn’t miss Katherine’s glare and didn’t care. Rebeka picked up a goblet of mead and drank thirstily, trying to quench the fire low in her belly.

As evening fell, the time for the bonfire grew near. Stuart and Arik led the way, each with a firebrand. Rebeka watched and cheered from the terrace when both men threw their torches onto the pile, and it burst into flames.

Only the adults remained, the children bundled off to bed sometime earlier. More barrels of mead and beer came out, and the revelers danced around the fire. Slowly, couples embraced, laughed, and wandered off. As the crowd thinned, Rebeka helped Jeannie clear away the remnants of the feast, then returned to the bonfire. She sat, gazing into the blue flames.

“Woman.” The sultry tone came from behind her.

She spun to find Arik. The reflection of the fire blazed in his eyes. For a few brief moments, with their gazes locked on each other, nothing else existed. All she heard was her heart beating. All she saw was him. He took her hand and brought it to his mouth. Slowly, he turned it over and kissed her palm.

Her lids fluttered closed. Shivers raced up her spine and turned into molten heat radiating through her.

Out of nowhere, Katherine appeared. “Arik. Come to me. Our guests are getting ready to bid us good eve.”

The passion leached out of his eyes.

“M’lord, duty calls,” Rebeka whispered. She was determined not to let Katherine know how she ached.

He handed her a goblet of wine from a nearby tray and took one for himself. “To duty, m’lady,” he said, only a trace of irony in his words.

Arik’s calm body belied the anger in his eyes as he turned toward Katherine, but it faded as the shadow of his friend came up behind her.

“Yes, Arik,” Stuart said. “Come bid us good eve so I can take my wife to bed.”

Arik smiled and put the goblet down. “I wouldn’t want to come between you and your wife, Stuart. I’ll be along in a moment.” He took Katherine’s arm and followed his friends into the hall.

Rebeka wondered whether it was midnight and, therefore, the appropriate bewitching hour for any good spell to be broken. If she were lucky, she’d be able to hold the magic of the day a bit longer. She walked around the terrace, through the gate, to the cottage beyond.

* * *

Katherine,” Arik said as they walked into the Manor. “I will say this once and only once. These are not our guests. They’re my guests. You’re here because you’re family, and I’m obligated to see to your well-being. Do I make myself clear? What I do and with whom I do it is none of your concern. Do you understand? Because if you do not, I’ll be happy to return you to your family.” He would not tolerate any more of her interference or her toxic attitudes about Rebeka or anyone else.

“Lord Arik, I’ve only tried to help you and the children in your time of need. I only seek to protect you and yours from wicked outside influences.”

He saw fear, stark and vivid, glitter in her eyes. He’d never been this angry at her. He’d certainly never before threatened to send her back. “Leave me, Katherine,” he commanded.

She turned silently and retreated to her room, a sulky look on her face.

Arik spent the next hour drinking mead and sorting things out.

Logan’s been right about Katherine all along. It was so easy to let her take over what he couldn’t face doing himself. He stood on the terrace, watching his men tend the bonfire while it burned itself out. In the veil of smoke, he saw Rebeka’s penetrating violet eyes. The bonfire was no match for the fire of desire that claimed every part of him. He finished the mead and headed to the cottage.

What is the woman’s purpose? Is she like Katherine?

He saw her standing in front of the cottage door, staring up at the clear sky with her arms wrapped around herself.

“Do you always come out at this time to gaze at the sky?”

She turned and smiled as he joined her on the small porch. “It is beautiful, but no, I don’t come out here often.” A gentle sigh escaped her lips. “I simply didn’t want the evening to end.” She placed her hand on his chest. “It was a wonderful festival. Thank you.”

He covered her hand with his and started his campaign. He took her eyes first. Once secured, he moved his initiative forward. He put his hand behind her head and drew her close to him.

Her tongue flashed out as she moistened her lips.

The movement tantalized him, so he ran his thumb over her full lower lip.

The intimate touch burned him like a brand.

He focused on her eyes and the silver flecks that sparkled in the moonlight. He memorized her face, devouring the image of her. Mine, was all he heard, beating like a drum from some deep dark place. Mine.

Her hair fell softly around her shoulders, and a gentle wave escaped to cover her right eye. With his forefinger, he gently pushed the dark brown veil away and hooked the hair behind her ear. His hand lingered there. Her hair soft like fine silk. He crushed it in his hand as he brought her head to his chest in a gentle caress. He closed his eyes, enjoying the sweet torture as her body melted into his. Mine.

Reluctantly, he released her, and she moved away, the soft gown that hugged her body, accentuating every curve. His eyes gravitated to the large sapphire in its resting place.

“There have been several times during this evening that I’ve envied that gem.” His voice sounded husky even to him. His arms circled her.

She looked down at the sapphire, then up at him with a devastating smile. “I’ll have to ask Jeannie if I can borrow it again.” A blush painted her face a soft pink.

He pulled her close, his heart pounding an erratic rhythm. The anticipation was almost unbearable. “Sweet Rebeka, make me immortal with your kiss.” He covered her mouth with his, tasting the mead still on her breath, and then he pulled away and gazed into her eyes. The very air around them sizzled.

She stared at him.

“‘Her lips suck forth my soul; see where it flies! Come, give me my soul again.’”

“You surprise me, quoting Christopher Marlowe,” she whispered so softly he could barely hear. “I wouldn’t think you a romantic.”

“It seems there is much about me you don’t know.” He raised one eyebrow with a flourish that made her giggle. He took a seat in the lone chair on the porch and gently pulled her into his lap. Tenderly, he drew her closer and seared her with another kiss, this one long and deep. Her lips parted for him and let the tip of his tongue advance, a small victory. He deepened the kiss, and her arms around him tightened.

He lifted his head and nibbled on her earlobe. A soft moan escaped her lips. With a shudder, she held on to him, stretching to place kisses up his neck.

It was a delicious sensation. When she reached his lips, he knew he was lost. He took her face in both his hands and looked at her passion-drenched eyes and swollen, bruised lips. His decision made, he nestled her head to his chest and tried to will the storm to subside. He stroked her hair as the charged air settled, and a warm breeze caressed them both. After several minutes, her deep breathing told him she had fallen asleep. He sat for a few minutes and enjoyed holding her. He would tell the king he would not give her back.

“Beka. It’s time to wake.” The short form of her name slipped out, like an endearment.

“Hmm.” She snuggled deeper into his arms.

He brushed the hair out of her eyes and stood with her in his arms. He pushed the cottage door open, laid her on the bed and covered her with the blanket.

“Pleasant dreams,” he whispered in her ear. He closed the door behind him. Whistling, he crossed the road to the Manor.

Knight of Runes
By Ruth A. Casie

Rebeka Tyler, a distinguished expert in medieval and Renaissance studies and a casual martial arts enthusiast, never envisioned herself as a warrior. However, thrust into the 17th century, she finds herself caught in the conflict between two powerful druid masters. While deciphering ancient runes and unraveling a family secret to secure her return, Rebeka engages in battles for survival against in a society she knows well from her studies, as well as against the malevolent druid, Bran.

Amidst the struggle, emotional complexities arise with Lord Arik, the druid knight, as long-buried truths about their shared past come to light. The key to triumph lies not in individual efforts but in a partnership between Rebeka and Arik. Yet, this alliance comes at a steep price – her heart and, if fate favors her, her rightful future. For Rebeka, this journey isn’t a mere journey into the past but a return to where she truly belongs. In this riveting tale, the boundaries between love, destiny, and sacrifice blur as Rebeka navigates a world of ancient mysteries and profound connections.

Buy Link: https://amzn.to/2C73zRV

About the Author:

RUTH A. CASIE is a USA Today bestselling author. She writes historical adventures from the shores of medieval Scotland to the cobblestone streets of Regency London. Within the pages, you’ll discover ‘edge-of-your-seat’ suspense, mind-boggling drama, and heart-melting emotions featuring strong women and the men who deserve them. She currently has four historical series: The Druid Knight, The Stelton Legacy, and The Ladies of Sommer-by-the-Sea, and she participates in The Connected World of The Pirates of Britannia. 

Ruth lives in New Jersey with her hero, three empty bedrooms, and a growing number of incomplete counted cross-stitch projects. Before she found her voice, she was a speech therapist (pun intended), client liaison for a corrugated manufacturer, and vice president at a major international bank where she was a product/marketing manager, but her favorite job is the one she’s doing now—writing romance. Grab your favorite cup of tea, or an ale if you prefer, and join her heroes and heroines as they race across the pages to find their happily ever after.  Ruth hopes her stories are your next favorite adventures!

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