EXCERPT

She met the stone wall, felt the radiant heat of what had been an unseasonably warm October afternoon. She pressed against that warmth, sighed, let her eyes flutter closed as her fingers curled over the chalky surface near her head. To be full body against such warmth….

A brush of sound was the only warning before calloused hands settled on top of hers. Her eyes flew open as the contact and a harsh whisper braced her in place.

“You should not be out here alone.” The man smelled like horse and sweat and the thick dust of hard travel.

END OF EXCERPT

Who might he be? And what do you think of that cover? I know he’s kind of hairy, but Leo (the hero) has a hairy chest, and also those big square hands were perfect. Me like.

Learn more about Love Like A River and the Love Historicals collection of novellas here.

The entire set of eight stories is only 99 cents!

And when you’re done checking that out, visit the other authors participating in today’s Book Hooks blog hop!

Powered by Linky Tools

Click here to view the list of Books Hooks authors.

This excerpt shows Susan’s spunk as she argues with Alexander late one night in her backyard about his plans when he returns to England.

EXCERPT

“So you’re The Viscount of Nowhere.”

“Temporarily. When I marry well, I will repay my brother-in-law and return to my position.”

“Oh yes, the English girl again.” Susan sashayed to the well, holding her skirts wide as she lighted primly on the opposite side, trying to act as the proper English girl would though she had no real idea how that would be. “She must have money, tolerance for your mother, and must stay indoors after dark.”

“You possess the tongue of an asp.”

Susan shrugged. “If this woman holds the key to your life, why aren’t you in England finding her?”

“You do not comprehend the first thing about my life.”

“Maybe not, but I know I didn’t see one rich Englishwoman between Baltimore and here. It occurs to me you don’t really want one.”

“Ridiculous.” He shoved away from the well. Susan followed him as he hastened toward the house.

“Wait. I’m about to explain your life. If you don’t want the wife, then you don’t really want Furnivall, do you? Like I said, you are not sure who you are!”

He paused on the porch, turning to her slowly, his piercing eyes shooting daggers. “Your powers of inaccurate deduction astound me.”

“You strung together a lot of big words but I think you said I’m wrong. How?” She hopped on the porch to stand right in front of him, close enough to count the individual whiskers on his shadowy chin.

A ragged sigh tore through him. He lifted a lock of her hair, rubbing the strands between his thumb and finger as if testing the value. Susan’s breath locked in her throat. “It is all wrong, Susan.”

His scent wafted around her, spicy and unique. She stared into his eyes and saw trouble. Confusion, anger, and something else – something more base – blended into a turbulence of blue. “I’m not wrong, Alex.”

“Are you not, with your bare feet?”

“Yours are too,” she said defensively.

END OF EXCERPT

Conversation gets pricklier than a cactus and desert temperatures are bound to rise when American common sense meets British nobility in Arizona Territory. To learn more about the story, visit the Sass Meets Class page, or you can find it at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, iTunes, Kobo, and Smashwords.

Thanks for hopping with BookHooks. Make sure to visit some of the other authors. The list can be found by clicking the link below.

Powered by Linky Tools

Click here to enter your link and view this Linky Tools list…

In this passage from historical romance Unbidden, the heroine endures a journey in the unexpected snow as her villainous brother-in-law kidnaps her to Bavaria. Since many of us are feeling the effects of holiday spending, I offer this first book in my series for FREE. Treat yourself to a warm, sensual read with a classic hero and a feisty heroine.

EXCERPT

Snow began to fly on the third day, setting up a night of misery. Rochelle couldn’t help but imagine how different it would be if David were curled behind her. She wondered if he slept safe in their bed. The thought of that chilled her as much as the weather, that he might be ensconced at Alda while Doeg dragged her across the empire. Her thoughts preyed on her. She swung the gamut of imagining him healthy or dead or every possibility in between. Healthy meant he’d sent her away from him, her home, and their marriage. Injured or dead meant Doeg had finally succeeded at whatever nefarious motivation drove him. If that was the case, however, what did he want from her now?  For what purpose would he kidnap her?  Exhaustion eventually stemmed the wild flow of her thoughts, letting her sleep.

A wet covering of snow as deep as the horses’ fetlocks coated the ground by morning. The further east they traveled, the more remote the surroundings became.

Doeg announced heartily, “We will pass Eichstadt today. Tonight we sleep in a hut, and by tomorrow we should arrive at Atrum Calx, if the snow does not slow us down too badly.” He’d become less arrogant, perhaps even a bit cautious with her of late. He acted like someone who had belatedly realized his own blunder, finding himself set on a track he could not leave.

“What will you do with me there?” Rochelle asked cautiously, trying to make out his purpose.

“I will show you the estate,” he replied, “after you have had a day or so to rest, of course.

The strange answer threw her, but his caring whether she had rest was even stranger. They retreated into the usual uncomfortable silence, only heightened by the muffling effect of the falling snow.

END OF EXCERPT

Amazon     Barnes and Noble     Smashwords    Kobo

Unbidden is not free at these vendors, but still a bargain!

iTunes for 99 cents

In print at Createspace for $9.99

Whispersync audio version just $1.99

Audible for $1.99

Thanks for visiting my BookHooks post. Make sure to check out the other blogs on this lovely January day by choosing the “Click here” option below! Happy reading!

Powered by Linky Tools

Click here to enter your link and view this Linky Tools list…

EXCERPT

He had never heard Lily sing, not consciously. He had never seen Lily dance. Had she ever really laughed in his presence?

They danced for over an hour, carried in the sea of sweaty bodies and injured toes. Theo bought ale and roasted nuts, and they sat on his cloak in the grass watching the chaos, then he pulled Lily back into the fray. When the musicians finally tired and the torches started to sputter out, he had to search in the darkness for his cloak while Lily giggled behind him. He finally found it, probably ruined by grass stains and people tramping on it. He flung it around his shoulders anyway. He took her hand in both of his.

“May I walk you home?” he asked earnestly, like a boy with his first love.

Her smile faded. She stared up at him, her face pale and her eyes wide in the light of the harvest moon.

END OF EXCERPT

What is Vain about? A tailor’s abandoned daughter fashions a vain nobleman’s tunic, finding passion between the neckline and hem as misfortune forces her into his precarious aristocratic world. Vain is book three in the Evolution Series, but stands alone as a story. In fact, I wasted two hours skimming back through Theo and Lily’s story, and decided it is my favorite.

Amazon     Barnes and Noble    iTunes     Kobo

Thanks for hopping with Book Hooks.

Powered by Linky Tools

Click here to enter your link and view this Linky Tools list…

This first meeting excerpt is between Ganius, a Celtic slave turned gladiator, and Aurelia, who is a Roman lady and his owner. Aurelia has gone out of her way to meet the “beast” at her brother’s ludus (school for gladiators.)

EXCERPT

Rome 100 CE

Ganius walked between two guards, his shackles grating on his nerves just like his meeting with his dominus. The idea of gaining freedom by winning, not from the crowd’s insistence but as payment from his dominus twisted in his mind. Winning in the arena was easy—he’d already accomplished that—but after becoming champion, would dominus truly free him? Or was it more dependent on whatever time dominus decided he didn’t need coin?

Most importantly, could he trust his dominus? The man was a Roman and he knew they were liars.

He stumbled over the stone step leading out of the courtyard to the training area, his mind too distracted, arguing over the conversation. The chains tangled and he barely kept from falling.

“Move it, slave.” The guard shoved him.

Ganius growled. With his arms and legs chained, he had no advantage and there were two of them. Patience—not one of his stronger suits but one he needed to use, badly. He walked, his hands clenched.

Before them was a fountain. A round, stone structure. The center held a statue of Aphrodite holding a basket of flowers and water cascaded out of the middle of it. The sound of the water falling gave a serene feel to the place and it struck him how out of place it seemed, to have the goddess of love at a gladiatorial school, where death and humiliation were taught.

Around the edge of the fountain stood the girl. That beautiful creature who watched him from afar. He hoped it was him, begged the gods it wasn’t only to find they laughed at his request by placing her here, fueling his hope she wanted him.

When the leading guard reached her, she said, “Stop. I need to speak with him.”

The guard didn’t move.

“Go on.” She waved him aside. When he walked over to the sidewall, she gestured the one behind Ganius to do the same.

Alone with her in a sense, Ganius eyed her warily. When she grinned, he steeled himself.

“You are Ganius?”

He inhaled deep, not sure what she wanted. But it suddenly hit him that he needed to lower his gaze. Frankly, he did it as he shifted. “Yes, Domina.”

She chortled. Her voice sounded sweet, alluring. It, along with her beauty, stirred his blood.

“I’ve observed you at practice,” she said. “You’re very strong and move with the strength of the gods.”

Her accolades soothed his soul but his brain wasn’t trusting. He turned toward the fountain. It was cooler next to the falling water, taking the edge off the heat that still lingered. What he had a hard time discerning was whether the heat was borne from the day’s work or from her presence? He ignored the answer his body gave him.

She walked around the fountain, her fingers skimming the rim as she coyly looked at him. Damn, she was an innocent, taking liberties with her life being alone with him. But she couldn’t see the fire that burned inside him, the one that wanted to both kill her and to pull her into his arms.

“I’ve noticed you.” He wasn’t sure what she wanted.

She stopped and smiled. “You have?”

“How may I help you, Domina?” He emphasized her title. A shiver raced down his back. He heard stories. Some of his new “brothers” spoke of it, almost like it was a prize, this idea that Roman women paid to be with a winning gladiator. He couldn’t believe it.

If he won and moved to champion, it was possible it would happen to him. Another way to earn coin—and his freedom. Yet he hadn’t won as a gladiator, so why was she here tempting him? He squelched the urging in his blood to get her to pay for him. To want him.

“Oh, in more ways than you know,” she replied quietly.

He glanced at her. She was an innocent playing with fire. As she walked closer, her pale tunic shimmered in the torchlight. Her ivory skin with rosy cheeks reminded him of cream and strawberries. Those taste wonderful. He’d bet she did too. When she licked her lips, he thought he’d lose what little control he had and take her here, now.

The very idea made him tear his eyes from her. “I am only a slave, Domina.”

“Yes, you are.” She sounded seductive to his ears.

He was damned.

“I believe the gods put you here, to become our next champion.”

He frowned. “And what of Magos?”

She shrugged. “He may be, or you. Only the gods know.”

The air around him seemed to grow thick. He couldn’t breathe. She stood too close. With her lips curled in a lopsided, mischievous grin, his nerves caught on fire. He tensed, like an animal in the wild before being attacked, senses picking up on the scent of destruction. She took a step toward him, and her warm brown eyes swept down his body. He was doomed.

“I noticed your mark in the Colosseum.”

He blinked. “Domina?”

She pointed to his tattoo, her gaze glued to the spot. “The sun? A sign for the gods? Or perhaps from the gods?”

When her fingers touched the spot, flames exploded.

****

Aurelia pushed against his skin. It was as if he was breathing, hot and sweaty marble. Rock hard from the days drilling on the training field, his sculpted muscles showed prominently. She’d longed to touch him, to see how it felt to be so close to a man resembling the gods. Gladiators could attain the status of gods of the arena, and she knew he’d be one before too long. She was so close, his breath wafted across her arm that crossed before him as she reached forward. The indelible mark on his upper arm was magnificent. A circle with beams extending from it, like an angry sun. It rippled as the muscles twitched beneath her finger.

Exhilarated, she glanced at his face, looking for his reaction to the feel of her skin against his. Had he felt that sting flash through him as it had her? Like a lightning bolt, fully charged. Yet he held no reflection like that in his eyes. Instead, his gaze was straight forward, his expression void of showing anything, just like the bulk of the slaves. It would have irritated her had she not caught the flash in his amber-colored eyes before they turned darker and his jaw tensed.

Something deep inside her flipped. This beast roused sensations she couldn’t understand fully, hitting nerves hidden in her womb, as if the fire gods sent a jolt of heat from his arm, down through her hand and arm, to light an inferno inside. The man was dangerous. A slave, trained to fight in the arena, was a deadly animal but he didn’t scare her. Instead, he made her feel alive. She bit her bottom lip, the pain of her teeth into the flesh a reassuring gesture to gain focus.

To buy Love and Reckoning and feel more of this heat visit

Amazon:  http://amzn.to/1zJkc9C

iBooks:  http://bit.ly/1GgbgL1

Smashwords:  http://bit.ly/12KfDRf

ARe:  http://bit.ly/1vB1JIa

Turquoise Morning Press:  http://bit.ly/1qwEnYp

For more about Gina Danna, visit

website: www.ginadanna.com

Facebook:  www.facebook.com/GinaDannaAuthor

Twitter:  @GinaDanna1

Thank you, Gina, for sharing an intriguing part of your story with us!

SETUP OF THE SCENE: Tristan, Marquis of Wrenworth, is a spy for the Empire, serving in Afghanistan; he’s returned home to claim the title & must marry, though he doesn’t want any of this; he’d rather return to the fight; Evelyn is returning to London Society at a ball, more so to help her friend claim a husband though she needs one. She’s afraid of men and the intimacy marriage will bring because she’d been ruined years before. Here they meet at the ball & he asks her to dance & she accepts.

EXCERPT

Tristan watched her small, white, leather-gloved hand come to rest on his. Even through the fabric, the stiff fingers cooled his warm palm. Interesting. She was an ice queen. He could hardly wait to learn whether her disposition was too. With lips curving into a grin, his fingers wrapped around hers.

“Enchante,” he murmured, the French churl flowed easily from his mouth. One of many languages he learned over the years. His specialty—an ability to pick up the common dialect of wherever he was. A gift he’d twisted for the sake of Her Majesty and the Empire…The darkness beckoned to him. Silently, he beat the demon back. Not here, not now!

An amazing feat, one he’d congratulate himself on later with drink in hand. He maintained his rakish grin and managed to avoid squashing her fingers while escorting her onto the dance floor.

Spinning her before him, he raised her hand and placed his other lightly on her back. She took her position, her other gloved hand attempting to raise to his shoulder. But her petite height and the confines of her gown with its off-shoulder neckline prevented her from reaching that high. Poor lady, he mused inwardly. Fashion could be such a devil. His grin grew.

The orchestra began playing a waltz. Tristan took a step to his left, guiding her with him. From the boning in her corset to the stays in her bodice, Evelyn’s clothing encased her upper body. She was shielded from the warmth of his hand, his arm and his chest. The fancy skirt, with all its material swept up in front and bustled and a horsehair crinoline underneath, also formed another barrier. For the love of God, dress the army this way and no harm would come to the soldiers. Tristan chuckled absently.

The lady frowned, an eyebrow raised. “Dancing with me makes you laugh?”

He glanced down and discovered her sapphire blue eyes sparkled. The Ice Queen’s question hinted at a sense of humor and warmth. It made him wonder whether she was warm in other ways as well. His cock twitched at this thought. Quickly he tried to recall the idea of her being an icicle before he embarrassed himself.

“Not at all, Miss Hurstine. Please accept my apologies. It was a momentary lapse of thought regarding the design of ladies’ clothing.” He twisted, bending her back for a split second over his arm and then back upright before him.

She gasped in surprise, stiff in his arms. He grimaced. So much for bed sport with her…Once again, another mental shake of his brains. A bride. An English bride to bed and produce a proper heir with, not another mistress. She appeared fragile, like a rose, but even with her floating in his arms, he sensed her backbone. There was a strength there, albeit well concealed. Strength to protect her from the rigor of the ton’s gossip and duplicity.

“You dance very well for a soldier,” her light feminine voice commented.

He blinked. She seemed to snarl the last word. His rose did not like the military. “But of course,” he began. “Officer’s learn well. We are gentlemen of the finest measure.”

Her blue eyes narrowed. “Of course, you would be an officer, considering your title. Please excuse me. I’m just not accustomed to…” her voice failed.

The tremor down her spine became noticeable under his touch. A look of fear flashed in her eyes and disappeared like smoke, a quick smile taking its place. It intrigued him because it was reminiscent of a mask, like the one he wore all the time. But what would a proper young English lady have to fear? Was she not here hunting for a husband? All smiles and charm, a promise of happiness in an angelic frame? The momentary anxiety that flashed in her eyes he’d seen before in the eyes of soldiers on the battlefield but not ladies at a ball.

“If I may ask, are you home for good?”

He laughed, spinning her to the outer edge of the floor. Ah, yes, the question of whether he’d sold his commission was to be expected. He wouldn’t lie—he needed a wife, and the money marriage would bring to him would help extend his career, but no reason to tell her that yet. “I’ve gained a title, hence I need a wife.”

As they danced, she moved like quicksilver in his hands, flexible despite the stiff stays. Floating. Like a feather in the air. His ice queen warmed him inside.

“Then, my lord, you should ask Lady Sarah for a dance,” she commented, averting her eyes from his as they turned.

“Really?”

“Yes, she is truly a perfect match for you,” Evelyn said. “Don’t you find her beautiful?”

Tristan frowned. His partner was beautiful, stunning, even if she appeared cooler than London in January. He looked to where she was staring. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the lady dancing with Harry. They appeared to be having a good time, laughing as they turned the floor. But then again, Harry never failed in getting others to laugh. No doubt he’d get Tris’ partner to as well…and that thought irked Tristan. He wanted to see her smile again. It was quite beautiful.

He glanced down at the woman in his arms as they made their final turn. “Yes, she is lovely.”

She gave him a pleased look and nodded her head. “By all means, you should ask her to dance, my lord.” And with that statement, as the music stopped, she stepped out of his arms and lifted her hand, waiting for his escort off the floor.

Quelling a glare at the twist of events, of being forced toward another, he returned her to the sides, bowed, thanking her for the dance and walked away befuddled and angry. Where was Northman and his brandy?

Where to find Great and Unfortunate Desires:

Amazon:  http://amzn.to/1ERFHZb

Nook:  http://bit.ly/1xpB0lQ

iTunes:  http://bit.ly/1sAsmg9

Scribd:  http://bit.ly/1498YBk

To learn more about Gina Danna, visit her on the web.

web:  www.ginadanna.com

Facebook:  www.facebook.com/GinaDannaAuthor

Twitter:  @GinaDAnna1

Here’s the blurb, and an excerpt follows.

Duncan Mackay will do anything to lift the curse from his family – even forfeit his own life. But his plans change when he encounters the woman from his dreams, literally. She is from the future, somehow has his lost sword, and can talk to the Dragon that is able to lift his family’s curse.

Brigid O’Neill has spent her life listening to the mythological legends from Ireland and Scotland. So, when an ancient sword lands at her doorstep and she starts dreaming of a rugged Highlander, she drops everything and takes on a quest that will alter everything she believes.

Before their journey ends, not only will Duncan and Brigid battle an ancient curse, they must also find the courage to believe in the destiny that brought them together.

EXCERPT

He stood next to the waterfall. Beads of water glistened from his dark locks.

Brigid watched as they trailed down his chiseled torso, traveling down to where his tartan was wrapped low on his waist. The wind whipped at the folds of his plaid, the power coiling within and around him, as mystical as the land he stood on.

“Ancient warrior,” she uttered softly.

When she looked up into his eyes, they smoldered with desire, and it startled her. A sensual shiver ran through her, wanting to be crushed within his embrace. The raw desire to be in this man’s arms, touching and tasting him, was so potent, she could feel her heart hammering inside her chest.

He tilted his head to the side, as if studying his prey.

Brigid didn’t know if she should run or step into his massive arms.

He took a step toward her, and her pulse quickened. The very air around her seemed electrified. He then took another…and another, until he stood
merely inches in front of her.

Her breathing became labored, as he bent his head leaning close to her ear. She was engulfed in a sensual haze wanting his lips to touch her anywhere and put an end to her torture. His mouth was so close, she could feel a dark lock of his hair against her cheek, and she shuddered.

“Bring me back my sword,” he growled into her ear.

Brigid’s eyes flew open, clutching the sheets as the last fragments of her dream faded.

Buy Links:

Amazon       Barnes & Noble      TWRP – The Wild Rose Press

Find Mary Morgan on social media

Facebook http://www.facebook.com/mary.morgan.564

Twitter  http://www.twitter.com/m_morganauthor

Pinterest   http://www.pinterest.com/marymorgan50

Mary and I welcome your questions and comments. Also, make sure to return next Monday for a new medieval author.

Book cover blurb, The Highlander’s Reluctant Bride:

Determined to keep the Macrory clan’s holdings out of the clutches of marauding pirates, King Robert II sends his man, Lord Ranald Scott, to hold Scaurness Castle. There, Laird Macrory lays dying, awaiting word from his son who is missing on the battlefields of France. If the son is not found before the old laird dies, Ranald will take over as laird—and marry Laird Macrory’s headstrong daughter.

Lady Caitriona sees no reason she cannot rule the clan in her brother’s stead, and is bitterly disappointed with the king’s decision to send a man to oversee the castle and people. Not only is Ranald Scott only distantly related to the Macrory clan, but he was her childhood nemesis. She has little trust or like for him.

Her disappointment turns to panic when the king’s plan is completely revealed and she realizes she must wed Ranald. Pirates, treachery, and a 4-year-old girl stand between her and Ranald’s chance at happiness. What will it take for them to learn to trust each other and find the love they both deserve?

* * *

Excerpt:

“So, the king forced Eaden to wed,” she murmured. Her gaze caught Ranald’s. “What will he do to me?”

Ranald noted Riona’s sudden pallor, her gray eyes widening until they were naught but huge silver orbs glowing against her skin. Now was as good a time as any to tell her what King Robert intended for her, but he could not force the words.

“Ye are a laird’s daughter,” he reminded her. “And an heiress. Yer mother’s dower lands north of here are of great value to the king.”

“And I am of little worth, aye?” Riona flared.

“Nae. Ye are of great worth.”

“But a pawn to the king.”

Ranald sighed. This was not going as he planned. “We are all pawns in one way or another, Ree. The king willnae let ye stay on yer own. Ye are a ward of the crown, now.”

“So, he’ll marry me off to some rebellious laird he wants to drag over to his side, using me and my lands to hold him?”

“Nae. No’ so bad as all that.”

“Mayhap to a wealthy laird who’s all but doddering in his cups, hoping I’ll no’ breed an heir before he dies, giving title of the land to the king and my next husband?”

Ranald lifted an eyebrow. The lass was getting worked up over nothing. “Marriage, yes. Doddering auld man, no.”

Riona snapped her head to one side, a glower on her face. “Then, who?”

Ranald swallowed and offered a crooked smile.

“Me.”

* * *

Amazon Buy Link: www.amzn.com/B00J1PNPPC/

Please visit Cathy on her website: www.cathymacraeauthor.com

Email: cathymacrae@cathymacraeauthor.com

Cathy and I love to hear from readers! What is your favorite Medieval place/time?

Thanks for checking out this new series of posts! Come back next Monday for a new guest author.

BLURB

Rochelle of Alda, a feisty Frank noblewoman, expects to continue her industrious life managing her family’s estate. When her emperor summons her to the palace to meet the skilled soldier she is required to marry, Rochelle engages in a battle for independence from David of Bavaria. As her own deceptions multiply, she suspects another of also plotting against their marriage. To her surprise, and too late, David’s passion and patience begin to win her heart. Can their love survive the tangled web of her schemes and the secret adversary David refuses to see?

In this excerpt of David and Rochelle’s first meeting, David has arrived to take Rochelle to the palace for the betrothal, and is dismayed to learn her mother has told her nothing about it.

EXCERPT

David turned his head as the noise from the door escalated, unsure what he expected to enter his life. Given her mother’s shocking hair, he didn’t hold his hopes too high for the girl’s appearance, no matter what Theo said. The need for deception to even get her to Aix did not indicate a particularly biddable personality. Based on the increasingly violent rattling from the latch, she couldn’t even open doors for herself.

He was about to climb the steps to offer assistance when the door finally wrenched open, releasing a storm of muttering about city workmanship and rotten carpentry carried in a whirlwind of deep blue linen. She all but flung herself onto the narrow staircase. Not exactly light of foot nor entirely graceful, she rushed down the stairs, noticing his presence in time to abruptly stop on the bottom step.

She stared at him.

From across the room he could feel the chill of cold caution. Even so, his concern about her looks evaporated. She stood taller than her mother, clear skinned, with eyes of a soft green. The gold circlet on her head held her veil neatly in place, covering what it was intended to cover. An unexpected desire to see the color of her hair shot through him. He could only approximate it from her eyebrows:  not quite brown, but certainly not red either. And her female attributes remained a mystery to him as well, hidden under layers of varying shades of blue, though a heavy gold girdle studded with aquamarines suggested narrow hips.

“Mother?” she queried.

David reluctantly turned to Marian, who, it appeared, had been watching him stare at her daughter. A small smile quirked her lips. Her tightly clasped hands now lay on her chest as if in prayer. She did not find her voice until David cleared his throat expectantly.

“Rochelle!” she said too loudly. “Theophilus, the gentleman who has helped us so much, sent this burly young man to escort ye to yer audience with the emperor. He is called David. A Bavarian, no less!”

David raised his brow at her rather obtuse explanation of his role in the upcoming event. Marian gave him a slight warning shake of her head. Well, if the woman hadn’t the courage to tell this girl the truth of the matter, he certainly did. He didn’t know much about getting along with women, but he guessed that starting his marriage with deception – and necessarily short-lived deception at that – could not be wise.

As he opened his mouth to explain exactly who he was, Rochelle spoke, “I do not see why I need an escort. I found the palace yesterday.”  She lowered herself off the last step and strode toward him with a confident swing of her arms. “But if Theophilus wants to share his guard, so be it.”

Marian bobbed her head. “It was quite thoughtful of him.”

David held up a hand. “I am not Theo’s guard. And did you just suggest you were wandering about the city yesterday, alone?”

Rochelle studied him assessingly. Yes, assessingly was the only word for it and, God help him, she was lovely up close. Her not brown, not red brows arched over green eyes flecked with hazel. A dusting of freckles decorated a thin nose that flared pertly at the nostrils. Her soft pink lips were slightly parted exposing straight teeth.

“Not alone. Our servant, Gilbert, was with me.”

“Gilbert, the bag of bones who opened the door?” David scoffed. “He could not keep a street rat away much less a pack of thieves. From this day forth, you will not leave here without an able-bodied man at your side.”  She smelled nice.

Rochelle placed her hands on her hips, pleasantly outlining a slim waist beneath her clothing. “What has given you the idea you can make pronouncements such as that to me?  I will go where I wish, when I wish, escorted or not, as I wish!”  Her chest heaved a bit and there were breasts under that tunic, he could tell, and damn it when was the last time he’d lain with a woman?  He mentally bridled himself. First, betrothal. Betrothal was the task set before him today. It was time to attend to that task.

He stepped forward, purposely crowding her and letting his hard gaze bore into her fiery eyes, daring her to challenge him. “I will tell you what gives me the right –“

Marian made a strangled sound before finding her words. “Ye should be going!  It will not do to be late to the palace.”

Rochelle eyed first him, then Marian, before backing away to grasp her mother’s hands. “Mother, I do wish you would reconsider. Certainly the nobles have forgotten your circumstances by now. Father would want you to have the honor of meeting Charlemagne’s son.”

Marian laughed a bit shrilly. “No, that is no place for me. Ye shall have the glory today, daughter. Here is your cloak.”  She kept babbling as she closed the gold and aquamarine clasp at the neckline of the pale blue garment. “David will keep you safe. Do as he says, my dear. He is in charge of you today. And possibly tomorrow.”

Rochelle chortled. “Mother, do not be ridiculous. This will be over in an hour or two and then we are going home!  Home, where I also do not require an escort!”  She fixed David with a significant look before she walked to the door, wrenched it open with relative ease, and stepped onto the street without him.

Medieval Monday is a regular feature on this blog. Subscribe today, or stop by regularly to find new historical romance authors.