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November 6 - November 8, 2016
the Black Wolf was more evil than the devil himself, and more dangerous, for the devil was a spirit, while the Wolf was flesh and blood—the living Lord of Evil—a monstrous being who threatened their existence, right here on earth. He was the malevolent specter that the Scots used to terrify their offspring into behaving. “The Wolf will get you,” was the warning issued to keep children from straying into the woods or leaving their beds at night, or from disobeying their elders.
Royce Westmoreland thought she was the most magnificent creature he’d ever beheld; a wild, beautiful, enraged angel of retribution,
what else do ladies like?” “Loyalty and devotion. And words—especially words.”
“Some women need no jewels to make them sparkle. You are one of them.”
“It wasn’t a real kingdom with land and castles; it was a kingdom of dreams—a place where things would be just the way I wanted them to be.”
I wanted only to be loved by those whom I love; to be looked upon and not found wanting by those who know me.”
“And so I invented a kingdom of dreams where I could accomplish great and daring deeds to make it happen.”
“You are mad!” she snapped, her chest heaving. “And you are a devil!” “And you, my dear,” Royce imperturbably replied, “are a bitch.” With that, he turned to the horrified friar and unhesitatingly announced, “The lady and I wish to be wed.”
This entire scene (ride to Claymore) had me LOL
“Why is it when you yield, I feel like the one who has been conquered?” Jenny flinched and turned her back on him, her slim shoulders rigid. “ ’Twas no more than a minor skirmish I yielded, your grace; the war has yet to be fought.”
Royce wondered grimly how it was possible that he could intimidate knights, nobles, squires, and battle-hardened soldiers into doing his bidding with a single glance, and yet he could not seem to force one young, stubborn, defiant Scottish girl to behave.
“Behold your new mistress, my wife,” he pronounced, “and know that when she bids you, I have bidden you. What service you render her, you are rendering me. What loyalty you give or withhold from her, you give or withhold from me!”
“Why is it,” Royce murmured, gazing into her intoxicating eyes, “that every time you surrender willingly, like this, you make me feel like a king who has conquered. Yet when I conquer you against your will, you make me feel like a defeated beggar?”
Royce gave her a look of feigned affront. “Women are afraid of snakes,” he explained unequivocally. “Men hate them.” Then he spoiled the whole effect with a boyish grin. “It means the same thing, however.”
He could not stop saying her name. It played like a melody in his heart
“What is mine, I intend to keep.”
Royce frowned, trying to remember poems, but the only one he could recall went: There was a young lass named May Ever good for a toss in the hay . . .
hahahahaha
Who would have guessed,” she rambled on cheerfully, “that our fierce Wolf would become as tame as a kitten after less than two months of being wedded?”
How strange, Royce thought, that, after emerging victorious from more than a hundred real battles, the greatest moment of triumph he had ever known had come to him on a mock battlefield where he’d stood alone, unhorsed, and defeated.
After all, it’s not every day a woman is given a kingdom of dreams.
