Jill Hughey http://www.jillhughey.com Mon, 18 Jul 2016 14:16:35 +0000 en hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=4.2.32 Romance with Love Historicals http://www.jillhughey.com/2015/02/romance-with-love-historicals.html http://www.jillhughey.com/2015/02/romance-with-love-historicals.html#comments Sat, 14 Feb 2015 06:00:44 +0000 http://www.jillhughey.com/?p=892 Thanks for visiting my stop on the Love Historical’s Valentine’s blog hop. Read my short excerpt to find the name of my hero in this scene where the heroine is fervently apologizing for a series of wrongs. It isn’t romantic in the sense of candles and flowers, but I chose this scene because it is the first time the heroine reveals her heart and any sign of weakness to the man she’s finally realized she loves. She has one opportunity to prove her love and win him back, though she may be too late.

Unbidden200x300EXCERPT

David listened carefully, not certain she realized tears were trickling down her face. She spoke methodically between gasping inhalations. She’d obviously put a great deal of careful thought into what she said and now concentrated mightily on getting all the words out in the right order.

Rochelle grabbed his hand, kissed the back of it then gripped it tightly between both her own hands. “I want to say that I am sorry for all of that. It is an immense number and magnitude of things to be sorry about, but I am. And the most important thing I want you to know is that I love you. I realized it too late, but I do. I love you and I want to be with you, no matter what happens.”

David stared at his hand held in a deathgrip. He cleared his throat. “I must confess, the combination of hearing your words and seeing you weep leaves me speechless.”

She released him, her hands wiping at her cheeks in distress. “ Oh, I did not want to cry! You will think it is some female trick!” She began to sob in earnest, dropping her head to her knees.

“Rochelle,” he murmured, putting an arm around her waist to straighten her. She curled toward him so easily, so naturally, to press her wet face to his neck, spasms of remorse wracking her frame. “Go easy now. Calm yourself.” He rubbed her back and spoke soft nonsense until she was able to recover.

She held on around his waist, drinking in his warmth and solidity and familiar scent, in full knowledge that this could be the last time she was this close to him.

“By this time tomorrow, all will be decided,” he said firmly.

She nodded, afraid to ask exactly what his decision would be.

“We will talk again, after the tournament.”

“Oh, David, please,” she cried, “please do not ask me to wait another day!”

“After the tournament,” he said firmly.

“You do mean tomorrow after the tournament, not five days after it?” she asked with a sniffle.

He chuckled. “Yes, tomorrow, as soon as I am able.”

END OF EXCERPT

Unbidden is book one in the Evolution Series and is free on most vendors. Learn more about Unbidden here, and leave a comment on this blog for a chance to win a print copy of my Evolution Series novella, Little Witch. WitchCover200x300Please have a mailing address in the continental US, and make sure you leave your email address so I can contact you. But don’t stop here, there’s more blogs to visit and a Rafflecopter to enter!

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]]> http://www.jillhughey.com/2015/02/romance-with-love-historicals.html/feed 0 Scandalous Wager on First Sight Saturday #excerpt #firstmeeting http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/05/scandalous-wager-on-first-sight.html http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/05/scandalous-wager-on-first-sight.html#comments Sat, 03 May 2014 11:00:00 +0000 http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/05/scandalous-wager-on-first-sight-saturday-excerpt-firstmeeting.html
     Each week an author shares a first meeting excerpt on First Sight Saturday. Today I welcome fellow Love Historicals author Christy Carlyle with her Victorian historical romance novella, Scandalous Wager. Christy’s fun fact is that she’s lived in London and and Ireland, and is married to a Scotsman. This excerpt is the first meeting between Lizzy, a volunteer teacher, and Ian, a detective in a poor area of London.  
EXCERPT     
     Lizzy thought back to the first moment she’d seen Detective Inspector Reed. Her father had brought him home to dine with the family. Papa had brought home other young men, promising police officers or freshly minted detectives who might make a good match for Sara. Lizzy knew they weren’t invited for her sake. She could never catch a man’s eye when her sister Sara was in the room, and at four and twenty she was well past what most men considered a favorable age for a wife. And, really, she was content to believe marriage was not her fate.
     So she watched the parade of hopeful young men that graced their dining room table and smoked a pipe afterwards with her father with minimal interest and all the detachment she could muster. Though kind, well-scrubbed, and faultlessly polite, none of them were for her. Their gaze lit only a moment on her plain brown hair and eyes before fixing themselves on the golden-haired, blue-eyed beauty of Sara. Sara was marriageable and possessed all the attractions men desired. Unfortunately, Sara was as picky as Lizzy was plain, and none captured her attention as she did theirs. None had truly captured Lizzy’s attention either until the night her father introduced them to Inspector Ian Reed.
     His dark beauty literally stole her breath away and she’d ducked out of the drawing room to cough and choke and attempt to tame her stampeding heart. Foolish, ridiculous feelings assailed her. Her mind raced and her body throbbed with an ache she’d never felt before. Panic struck too. She was no Sara. There was nothing about her that would set a man swooning or cause him to fancy her. She could not draw, embroider, or even carry on a polite conversation. Her tendency to mention politics always raised eyebrows or resulted in glares from her mother or father, letting her know she had overstepped the invisible boundary between charming young woman and bluestocking.
     She would never have her pick of this man or that. But Lizzy had never wanted this man or that. Only Ian Reed sparked wild emotions in her.
She’d peeked around the drawing room doorway and spied him firmly ensconced between her mother and sister on the settee. Papa was holding court, telling some story about Inspector Reed’s valiant work while sparing himself none of the glory. The way he told it, he had pulled the man out of obscurity and turned him into the most promising detective Scotland Yard had ever seen.
     Reed sat quietly and humbly accepted Papa’s profuse praise. Yet he also appeared slightly embarrassed and a bit lost, as if he’d been dropped into their company unexpectedly. He took regular sips of the cordial Papa had offered, and Lizzy enjoyed watching the movement of his mouth against the glass and the way he sometimes licked his bow-shaped upper lip after swallowing a bit of the concoction.
     Then he looked up and saw her there, listening furtively, lurking around the corner as if she didn’t belong. His eyes were so dark. For a moment she thought them black, but then the fireplace kicked up, brightening the room, and she noticed a hint of amber in their depths. His brows and lashes were dark and stood out in striking contrast against his pale skin. He wore his hair long, as detectives were allowed to do. It curled at the ends and curved in shiny black waves around his face. His clothes were neat and well cut, nearly as well tailored and fine as her father’s best. And his mouth. She could not look at his mouth—his wickedly full, perfectly shaped lips—without licking her own.
     He’d caught her staring. Her gaze shot up to his eyes and she found he still watched her. His gaze burned into her, melting her. Though separated by the space of the Ainsworth drawing room, it was as if they drew near each other.
END OF EXCERPT
You can find Scandalous Wager at Amazon:  http://amzn.com/B00I1HVPXA.

You can find Christy at

Christy and I welcome any questions and comments, and I hope you’ll come back every Saturday for a new first meeting excerpt!
]]> http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/05/scandalous-wager-on-first-sight.html/feed 4 Scoundrel for Hire on First Sight Saturday http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/04/scoundrel-for-hire-on-first-sight.html http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/04/scoundrel-for-hire-on-first-sight.html#comments Sat, 26 Apr 2014 11:00:00 +0000 http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/04/scoundrel-for-hire-on-first-sight-saturday.html Each week I welcome a guest author to share a first meeting excerpt. Today I’m joined by fellow Love Historicals author Adrienne deWolfe with her historical western romance, Scoundrel for Hire, which Adrienne describes as a drawing room comedy. Scoundrel for Hire is book 1 in the Velvet Lies series.

I asked Adrienne for one fun fact, and she gave me five about herself and her book.

1) Rafe is Adrienne’s first rogue hero – and one of her funniest.  
2) Adrienne’s all-time favorite historical novel is THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL. In fact, she spoofed Percy Blakeney from PIMPERNEL when she created Rafe’s alter-ego, “Lord Chumley.” 
3) Adrienne’s favorite novel line from SCOUNDREL:  “Any man that full of himself has got to be constipated.” ~ Rafe Jones 
4) Adrienne set out to write a farce, so she gave Rafe an orphaned baby otter as a pet. The otter’s mother never got around to teaching her how to swim. So guess who has to do it – in the heroine’s bathtub?  
5) Adrienne is donating a portion of her royalties from SCOUNDREL and the rest of the Velvet Lies Series to urban reforestation efforts. 
SETUP OF SCENE:
Raphael Jones is a Kentucky-born scoundrel, who has never played by the rules. When Colorado mining heiress, Silver Nichols, hires him to stop her precious daddy from marrying a golddigger, Rafe sets out to seduce Silver and win her fortune.  But beneath Silver’s cool veneer, Rafe encounters a sweet vulnerability and an aching secret that threatens to send his whole world up in smoke. Now the wily scoundrel must choose: walk away or wager the one thing he can’t afford to lose—his heart.
EXCERPT
A gentle “Eh-hem” and the captivating whiff of lavender distracted Rafe from his worries about Fred’s mining hoax. To his surprise, he found Silver Nichols standing companionably by his side. The corner of her mouth curved in a half-smile. 
“I suppose,” she murmured, “the gentleman with the, er, diamonds is a friend of yours?” 
The velvety timbre of her voice claimed his attention more thoroughly than a clap of thunder. He hadn’t expected a mining heiress to sound like she looked: rich. Sinfully rich. He was entertaining a delicious vision of hot fudge and cherries, when the full implication of her words slammed into his brain. 
“I beg your pardon?” 
“The man in the top hat. I daresay he’s your accomplice?” 
Somehow, Rafe managed not to choke on his tongue. “My dear young woman, I fail to understand—” 
“I rather doubt that,” she cut in smoothly. “You look much too intelligent. Canny, in fact. However, I am willing to believe that you are naive about the swift justice that mining juries dole out.” She turned once more to watch Fred’s con, playing out so flawlessly before them. “So let me give you a tip. The geologist you’re impersonating is about two-thirds your height, twice your weight, and his pate is just shy of bald.” 
Rafe entertained a vision of throttling Fred, who had assured him that Bartholomew Markham, the renowned Pennsylvania geologist, hadn’t set foot in a western mining town since the war. 
However, Rafe hadn’t spent the last fifteen years as a professional flimflam artist to let some cheeky millionaire’s daughter get the upper hand now. He eyed Silver with a nerve that he’d honed at fourteen, bluffing his way through Shakespeare’s Juliet, while all-male audiences had pelted him with tomatoes. 
“Good heavens.” He chuckled. “Uncle Bartie and I look nothing alike. Now I’m beginning to understand your confusion, Miss Nichols.” 
He could feel her appraising gaze poring over him with the same attention that a bookkeeper might use on accounts. He couldn’t help but lament the irony. Here he was, standing thigh to thigh with an unmarried heiress, and he was insisting that he was some middle-aged greenhorn with a paunch! 
“So you claim to be Mr. Markham’s nephew,” she said slowly, an unmistakable lilt in her voice. “You must be from Philadelphia, then.” 
“The Cradle of Liberty itself.” 
“How delightful,” she drawled. “I’m from Philadelphia, too.” 
“Yes, well, I, er, was merely born there,” he recovered as gracefully as he could. Damn her anyway. Was she really from Philadelphia? 
Unable to take that chance, he hastened to add, “I spent most of my youth in…” Hesitating, he cast her a sideways glance. Where would a lawless sport be safe from female busy bodies? “…Abilene. And later, in Dodge City.” 
“Dodge City? Oh my.” Her eyes twinkled like twin stars as they laughed up at him. “A geologist in a cowtown. I can just imagine what you must have dug up.” 
He glowered at her. 
“So tell me Mr. Kansas geologist,” she purred, “in what sort of rock formation might one find bituminous coal?” 
Their eyes locked. 
Rafe’s heart sank. He didn’t have the vaguest idea.
END OF EXCERPT
You can find Adrienne’s books at these places

You can find Adrienne at these places:
Twitter (Novel Writing Tips & News) http://twitter.com/AdriennedeWolfe 
Twitter (Gratitude & Positive Thinking) http://Twitter.com/SolDawn 
Twitter (Fantasy Fiction) http://Twitter.com/SolMage 
Adrienne and I welcome any  questions and comments. Come back each Saturday for a new first meeting excerpt from a visiting author.
]]> http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/04/scoundrel-for-hire-on-first-sight.html/feed 8 Love and Vengeance on First Sight Saturday http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/04/love-and-vengeance.html http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/04/love-and-vengeance.html#comments Sat, 19 Apr 2014 11:00:00 +0000 http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/04/love-and-vengeance-on-first-sight-saturday.html Each week I welcome a guest to share an excerpt of a first meeting. This week, Gina Danna brings us a scene from ancient Rome. Her historical romance, Love and Vengeance, is scheduled for release on April 24, 2014.

EXCERPT

Rome 108 CE
A menacing growl followed by an earth-shattering scream bellowed above the rafters. The roar of the crowd snapped her out of the numbness. The applause echoed through the chambers as particles of sand rained through the wood slats in the ceiling.
            She was filthy, covered in sweat, blood and grime. What damage could more dirt do? Toes on the dirt floor wiggled as she stared at them. Her hair hung around her face like a curtain, matted with dried blood. Inadvertently, she lifted her hand to tuck one side behind her ear but jerked to a halt, restrained by the iron cuffs around her wrists, bound together with a chain. The same chain connected to the metal collar around her neck. How had she forgotten its weight resting so heavily on her shoulders?
            Another scream and the sound of flesh ripping, laughter and clapping became louder above. Fear snaked down her spine and she shuddered.
            Gustina sat on the stone ledge, chained with the other miscreants, waiting to be forced up the ramp to the carnage above. If she could just return to the numbness again, where nothing mattered any more. The place she’d escaped to before she’d heard the animals attacking the condemned out there. But she couldn’t silence the roar of the crowds enjoying the executions as their noontime entertainment. Trembling, she pulled her sluggish legs up, wrapping her joined hands over them, and buried her face in her knees.
****
            In the hallway outside the chamber, Marcus stood, flexing his muscles, his arm extended with the metal disk in his hand. It equaled the weight of his sword—a weapon he would not have until it was his turn in the arena. Besides, there was no room in the corridor to swing it, to loosen his arms in preparations for the next fight.
            Christians and convicts. What a surly lot. But it was an easy way to feed the vast array of beasts the Empire kept to compete in the games. Did he ever feel sad for the poor souls about to perish by their claws? No. Nor did he mourn the loss of life at the end of his sword.
            He was one of the rare attractions people paid to see. He was gladiator. And he soon would be victor of all he opposed on the sands. Marcus’ victories gave him the privileges and money he wanted—as long as it remained wine and women. But not his freedom. Not what he had lost to the Romans. No, the only way to gain that came by victory in the arena and in front of the Emperor. And to earn that opportunity, he’d kill whomever they placed before him.
            He closed his eyes as the screams filtered downward. His soul heard them and his body tingled with the smell of blood and dirt. Breathing in the welcoming atmosphere, he exhaled and opened his lids to look straight into the captives’ chamber.
            He found her. Sitting, hunched on the small ledge, draped in chains and metal bands, her head down. But when she looked up, through all the muck and grime, her pale blue eyes shone, sparkling and bright. Her unmarred face was a rarity among captives dragged to this place, usually after rough treatment. He noticed her high cheekbones, a small nose, narrow chin but ripe mouth. Her eyes locked on him and his mouth went dry. When her tongue licked her lips, his body tightened.
            He had to have her. Period. Regardless if she was a convict, runaway or Christian, he wanted her.
            A guard butted past him into the room and yanked the chain, pulling all the captives up. Many moaned, some pleaded. She didn’t. She stood straight, pushing her shoulders back, waiting at the end of the line. Her eyes locked on his until the guard turned, chain in hand, to lead them out.
            Marcus stepped back. Instantly, his hand went to his stomach guard and pulled the narrow pick-knife out of its hidden sheath. As the captives stumbled past him, he extended his foot, causing her to trip. She fell into his grasp. His free hand placed the knife into the lock and twisted it open. His hand covered it to deaden the noise as his other arm encircled her tiny waist and pulled her against him.
            “Not a sound,” he whispered. He shoved her to the wall, his massive body hiding hers as he flexed his limbs. The guard stopped at the sound of the loose chain but didn’t look far when he saw the gladiator’s well-muscled body. Marcus glanced at him over his shoulder and gave the man a nod. His status as a victorious gladiator allowed some privilege. The guard shrugged and moved on. The frightened woman gasped for air and shook with fear.
            Quickly he lifted her. She was light, seemingly lighter than his sword, but he knew that couldn’t be. In a swift move, he turned. Next to the doorway was a covered alcove. He dropped her in it.
            “You’ll be safe here.” He looked her over. Her wide eyes, full of fear and mistrust, returned his gaze but she said nothing. He heard the gong of his master calling him, reminding him he fought next, after the final execution. “Remain here. I will be back for you.” He touched her cheek, his bulky hand swallowing half her face. Her skin was soft, like silk. Back in the days when he wore silk… He banked the anger. With a final nod to her, he left. He knew she’d be there when he returned.
To leave meant death.
END OF EXCERPT
Well, I suppose an unknown gladiator is better than a known death. One can only hope Marcus is as gorgeous as Russell Crowe was in the movie! And Gustina must be quite special to attract his attention even while she is in her reduced state.
If you want to learn more about Gina Danna, you can visit her at these websites:
Gina and I both welcome your comments and questions. I hope you will visit again next week for another fresh excerpt from a guest author.
]]> http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/04/love-and-vengeance.html/feed 11 A Knight’s Vengeance on First Sight Saturday #excerpt #firstmeeting http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/04/a-knights-vengeance-on-first-sight.html http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/04/a-knights-vengeance-on-first-sight.html#comments Sat, 12 Apr 2014 11:00:00 +0000 http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/04/a-knights-vengeance-on-first-sight-saturday-excerpt-firstmeeting.html Each week a guest shares a first meeting on First Sight Saturday. Today I welcome fellow Love Historicals author Catherine Kean with the first book in her Knight’s Series, called A Knight’s Vengeance. Catherine love antiques and collects Depression glass and Limoges porcelain. My mother inherited a beautiful set of Limoges dishes that I am afraid to use when she gets them out for special occasions….

Enough about dishes, let’s dish about romance! Let’s check out this first meeting between Geoffrey de Lanceau and Lady Elizabeth Brackendale.

EXCERPT

Ignoring the shouts and clop of hooves behind her, she sidestepped a puddle and quickened her steps.
“Milady, look out!”
Elizabeth whirled around. A wagon laden with wooden casks rumbled straight for her.
The driver yelled for her to get out of the way. He jerked hard on the horse’s reins. The wild-eyed beast tossed its head, snorted, and refused to obey its master’s command.
Elizabeth lunged to the side, expecting to feel the stinging weight of the animal’s hooves. A muscled arm snaked around her waist. She shrieked an instant before she was yanked to safety. The cart hurtled past.
Elizabeth coughed. Waving her hands, she tried to disperse the dust that burned her eyes and clung to her cloak, hair, and skin. Her legs wobbled. She prayed the stranger who had saved her would not release his hold, or she would topple face first on the ground. She closed her eyes against a wave of dizziness.
“You fool. Were you trying to get yourself killed?”
Her coughing subsided. She recognized the deep, rich voice that had called out moments ago. Fool? Who would dare to chastise her so? She, the daughter of Lord Arthur Brackendale.
Equally annoying, she had sagged into the stranger’s arms like a swooning maiden. Her cheek pressed against his warm chest.
Elizabeth took a steadying breath, calmed by the rhythmic thud beneath her ear, the pulse of life. This man did not deserve her anger, but her gratitude. He had risked himself great harm to save her from a painful death.
“Kind sir, I owe you my thanks,” she said.
His arms, curved around her waist, relaxed. He must have sensed her strength returning. “A moment more, and you would have been crushed beneath the wagon’s wheels,” he said. “A pity, indeed, if such a fair damsel were broken like a child’s toy.”
His breath stirred the hair at her forehead. Goosebumps shot down her arms. She did not like the sensation, or the trace of humor warming his voice.
“I did not see the wagon,” Elizabeth said.
“Nor did you heed my warning.”
He spoke in the same tone as her father when he told her of her betrothal, but her sire had gentled his words by insisting the arrangement was for her safety, to ensure she and Wode never fell into de Lanceau’s clutches. She scowled. Her whole life it seemed of late was governed by this rogue de Lanceau.
She tipped up her chin. Her savior was a tall man. Shoulder muscles stretched his gray wool tunic. She steeled herself against his enticing, musky scent. “You are bold to speak to me in such a manner.”
“Not half as bold, milady, as you appear to be.”
Elizabeth groaned, for he spoke true. Her hands curled into his tunic. The ribbon poked between her fingers.
“Or half so bold again,” he continued with a velvety drawl, “as if I had stolen a kiss from your sweet lips.”
Her breath caught in her throat, trapped like a robin in a hawk’s talons. She wrenched free of his hold. The ribbon slipped from her grasp and drifted toward the ground.
“You would not dare kiss me.”
The stranger chuckled, and Elizabeth glared up at him. Her gaze locked with eyes the color of cold steel. Magnificent, captivating eyes, framed by dark lashes. His gaze glinted with amusement. And challenge.
Unease shot through Elizabeth. Where were her guards?
The stranger’s stare did not waver. His eyebrows arched with unquestionable arrogance, and her heart beat like a frantic bird’s wings. Why did he not lower his gaze and show her due respect? He must realize her position. Her sky blue gown was tailored to the latest court fashion and sewn from the finest English wool, unlike his plain, homespun gray tunic and hose.
“You are a fool to challenge me,” she said, hoping to hear the loud roar that signaled the end of the jugglers’ act.
The stranger smiled. “I am the fool? I did not run into a wagon’s path.” His grin widened to reveal straight, white teeth without a spot of decay. “Mayhap your attention was claimed by more important thoughts, such as the whispered endearments of an eager suitor?”
She gasped, aware that curious townsfolk had gathered around them. Insolent knave. How dare he mock her before an audience, and her father’s people? “Do you not know who I am?”
“A lady, forsooth.” His gaze traveled the length of her cloak. “Come to market to buy a pretty trinket?”
Pride warmed her voice. “My father is lord of the keep which stands upon yonder hill, and the lands surrounding it for many leagues.”
Surprise and anger flashed in the man’s eyes. “You are Brackendale’s daughter?”
She had expected awe, not the fury and stark pain that ravaged his features. He looked wounded, cut to his soul. She wondered at the source of his anguish, even as the emotion vanished and his lips thinned into a bitter, controlled smile.
Over the crowd’s murmurs, she heard shouts and the thunder of approaching footsteps.
“Your faithful guards, milady.”
Elizabeth smothered a relieved sigh. “Good. My father will enjoy meeting a rogue who thought to kiss me.”
“Alas, I must miss that meeting, and bid you good day.”
Without warning, he caught her fingers. He bent at the waist, an elegant movement better suited to a chivalrous knight than a knave, and shiny brown hair fell over his face. Light as a feather, his lips brushed the back of her hand.
Heat skittered across Elizabeth’s skin, spiraled through her arm, and pooled in her belly. The odd sensation was both exciting and frightening.
She yanked her fingers free, and he smiled.
“Until we meet again, milady.”
END OF EXCERPT
Uh oh. Lady Elizabeth Brackendale has just unknowingly met her enemy. Will he prove to be a knight or a knave?
You can find A Knight’s Vengeance at the following ebook vendors:

For more about Catherine Kean, visit her website at http://www.catherinekean.com.

Catherine and I welcome your questions and comments. I hope you will return each Saturday for a first meeting from a new guest author!
]]> http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/04/a-knights-vengeance-on-first-sight.html/feed 8 An Irresistible Temptation on First Sight Saturday #excerpt #firstmeeting http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/04/an-irresistible-temptation-on-first.html http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/04/an-irresistible-temptation-on-first.html#comments Sat, 05 Apr 2014 11:00:00 +0000 http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/04/an-irresistible-temptation-on-first-sight-saturday-excerpt-firstmeeting.html Each Saturday, a guest author entertains us here with a first meeting scene – that moment when the sparks start to fly and anything is possible. Today, I welcome fellow Love Historical’s author Sydney Jane Baily who claims to be slightly psychic, at least where color is concerned. This is her fun fact: “If you hold a handful of items of different colors, say crayons or ribbons, and you choose one and concentrate hard on that one color, I can see it (or guess it) with my eyes closed with a fairly high rate of success. Psychic super-heroine? Maybe, but it’s a rather useless super-power in my humble opinion! Unless I am called on to defuse a bomb and need someone to telepathically tell me which color wire to cut.”

Now, let’s move on to some red sparks with an excerpt from Sydney’s Americana romance An Irresistible Temptation.

SETUP OF THE SCENE: In An Irresistible Temptation, heartbroken Sophie Malloy has just disembarked a train from Boston to Spring City, CO. Expecting to be met by her sister-in-law’s friends, she finds herself alone in a small and dusty western town. Not one to sit around waiting, she drags her trunk while carrying her carpet bag along the town’s main thoroughfare.
EXCERPT
“Main Street” stated the sign, as she approached the first block of buildings and she paused. It had to be a joke as she saw no other streets at all. But on the horizon were mountains, grand, even awe-inspiring. She shivered despite the heat of the day and the difficult task at hand. She really was on the edge of nowhere.
All the buildings looked similar, with flat fronts and squared off tops, though she could see behind the frontage that the roofs were slanted as any in the east. Some had a second story, with two windows over two, but that was the highest she saw. No wonder her sister-in-law had walked Boston’s streets staring up at the buildings for months after she’d arrived. 
Sophie had no idea a town could still look so . . . so primitive in this day and age. She saw no brick at all, only wood, even the sidewalks were wood, raised up a step from street level. 
Along the sidewalk was the occasional barrel, a trough, or a hitching post. Wagons were parked and horses pawed at the road that bisected the town before stretching, it seemed, all the way to the mountains in the distance. And, of course, there were people—not a lot, but some sitting on benches in front of stores, some standing in doorways. And every one of them turned to look at Sophie.  
She knew what she needed to find, either Fuller’s Hotel and Restaurant or Doc Cuthins’ surgery. She had to locate the people whom Charlotte considered friends and whom Sophie could ask for help. She dragged her trunk a few more yards, wishing she could set it down and walk briskly along unhampered, but she feared everything she’d brought would disappear in the blink of an eye. 
With almost all the strength gone in her arms, she was attempting to heave the trunk up onto the sidewalk, perching one end on the wooden planks, when someone collided with her from the rear.
“Oomph,” she expelled all the air from her lungs as her stomach caught on the tilted edge of her trunk, then she slid slowly down the length of it back onto the dirt road, head and hands first. For a dreadful moment, she sprawled there, knowing her dress was up at her waist and her drawers, lavender-colored and lacy, were on view. 
“Damn,” she heard before she could right herself. The man’s sentiment echoed what was in her head, though she was too much of a lady to voice it. And then, “Oh, Jesus, ma’am” as strong arms lifted her off the ground. 
Sophie was not one to take offense, though she was getting sorely tired. Anything she was about to say, however, died on her lips at the spectacle of the man who now had hold of her. 
To compose herself, she looked down to see what had happened to her things—her carpet bag was upended in the street—then she looked back to the man’s mud-splattered boots, up his worn, fitting blue jeans, and to what had once been a pale blue shirt now covered in grime. 
Her gaze traveled higher to his equally grubby but ridiculously handsome face that had stopped her cold for a moment, with his burnished brown eyes, dark eye lashes, and inviting mouth that curved as though it tended to smile often. 
He tipped his black brim to her, with a quick tap of his hand.
“Ma’am,” he said and gave her a brief smile that showed a dimple in his right cheek, his teeth looking all the whiter for appearing in the midst of his dirty face. Dirty and devastatingly attractive—a combination she hadn’t experienced before.
He was tall, clearly, for she had to look up to him, despite her own uncommon height, at least for a woman. And she realized he was still holding her arm with one hand, a strong capable hand. She felt his warmth right through the fabric of her dress and her mantle. 
Letting herself feel his fingers gripping her for a moment more, she then shook him off by taking one step back.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
Sophie looked at her hands, stretching them in front of her and wriggling her fingers. Everything seemed fine except for her white gloves being torn and filthy. 
“I’m fine,” she said at last, seeing as he was watching her careful examination. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
“Me neither,” he offered. “I was talking to Dan and walking out of Drew’s.” He gestured to the feed store. A man standing in the doorway, wearing a heavy apron, chuckled. 
“Yup, he was,” Dan confirmed. “Riley, don’t you know better than to leave a store ass first? Unless you’re trying to drum up future business for yourself.”
Riley laughed and looked back at Sophie, who tamped down the inappropriate notion that he had a very sweet, even sexy laugh and that his eyes sparkled wickedly when he was amused.
“Most women would have given me a tongue lashing for knocking them into the street and ruining their gloves.” 
“As long as you don’t make a habit of it,” she said, glad that she hadn’t been in Boston, where she would have been run over by a brougham within seconds. 
“I’ll try not to.” He treated her to a broad grin—a very sensual grin, too, Sophie mused. She must be very tired and lonely to keep having these incorrigible thoughts. 
“Can I make it up to you?” he asked. 
Without waiting for an answer, he lifted up her traveling trunk as though it weighed nothing and deposited it on the sidewalk in front of the feed store. 
      She retrieved her carpet bag from the street and stepped up beside him.
END OF EXCERPT
I’m guessing that Riley will make it up to Sophie in more ways than one!
An Irresistible Temptation along with Sydney’s other books are at http://www.amazon.com/Sydney-Jane-Baily/e/B009LAIOM6/
Sydney and I both welcome your questions and comments. Make sure to drop by every Saturday for a new excerpt from a visiting author!
]]> http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/04/an-irresistible-temptation-on-first.html/feed 8 The Angel and The Prince on First Sight Saturday http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/03/the-angel-and-prince-on-first-sight.html http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/03/the-angel-and-prince-on-first-sight.html#comments Sat, 29 Mar 2014 11:00:00 +0000 http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/03/the-angel-and-the-prince-on-first-sight-saturday.html Each week on my blog a guest author shares a first meeting between two characters. Today on First Sight Saturday, Laurel O’Donnell , a fellow Love Historicals‘s author, brings an excerpt from her medieval romance The Angel and The Prince. Laurel’s fun fact is that she learned to sword fight when she work at the renaissance faire in Wisconsin. That is a cool skill to have!

SETUP OF THE SCENE: During the One Hundred Years War, Ryen DeBouriez, a renowned French knight, has just captured her adversary, Bryce Princeton, an English knight.

EXCERPT

            The cloud of white parted slowly before Ryen as she stepped through the soft, whirling smoke created by the smoldering candles placed around the tent.  Quivers of anticipation rippled through her as she saw the whisps swirl around the shadowy shape.  She stopped, not wanting the thrill to dissipate from her veins.  So often in the past did a man not live up to her expectations that she was afraid she would be sorely disappointed by him, the mightiest of legends.  But his shadow beckoned to her and she pushed any doubts aside.  She had to know his secrets.
            Ryen continued to move through the frosty smoke, the dark blur of his body forming into a solid shape.  He had fought to the end, she thought, just as I would have.  Lucien said it had taken twenty men to bring him to his knees.  Twenty men?  She wanted to believe this, but surely Lucien must have been exaggerating.  Yet it wasn’t like him to inflate the truth.  She moved toward the figure chained to a post in the tent, stepping out of the mists.
            His head was hanging down, his long black mane draping over his chest.  So he did have black hair!  Was it truly hiding horns?
            Ryen moved closer, slowly, her gaze appraising him, his body.  He was no disappointment there.  The urge to touch him was overwhelming.  She stretched her fingers toward him and touched the hair on his naked chest, running her hands along his torso, marveling at the size of his muscles.  They were hard, sculptured curves of warm flesh.  Magnificent, she thought.  The smell of him, the heady musky scent of him, enveloped her.
            Her prisoner stirred, his head moving slightly from side to side, as if he were struggling to clear his mind.  His head slowly lifted.  A thrill of anticipation touched Ryen’s spine as his dark eyes, the eyes of midnight, rose like the moon to gleam at her.
            “Enjoying yourself?” he asked, his voice low, suggestive. 
            Through the darkness he wore like a veil, she saw the flash of his white teeth.  Ryen pulled her hands away and watched the shadows slide off his features as his face slowly came into the flame’s light.  A shiver snaked its way up her spine.  The candlelight revealed a sensual mouth with a cynical twist to it, a Spartan chin hewn from an ancient line of warriors.
            Ryen realized that she had been holding her breath and released it slowly in admiration.  She could not believe the sight that greeted her.  This is the man who was born without a heart?  The man who is in league with the devil?  The most feared barbarian in all of England?
            Then how can he be so handsome?
END OF EXCERPT
You can find The Angel and The Prince at the following places:

Amazon – http://amzn.com/B004LGTR1M

If you want to keep up with author Laurel O’Donnell, you can find her here:
Laurel and I would love to have some questions and comments. I hope you’ll return every week for a new First Sight Saturday excerpt from a visiting author.

]]> http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/03/the-angel-and-prince-on-first-sight.html/feed 2 An Accidental Affair on First Sight Saturday #excerpt #romance http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/03/an-accidental-affair-on-first-sight.html http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/03/an-accidental-affair-on-first-sight.html#comments Sat, 22 Mar 2014 11:00:00 +0000 http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/03/an-accidental-affair-on-first-sight-saturday-excerpt-romance.html
Each week a guest shares a first meeting excerpt on First Sight Saturday. Today I welcome Heather Boyd, a fellow Love Historicals author, with her new release, An Accidental Affair. Take it away, Heather!
Hi Jill and readers! Thanks so much for inviting me to visit today to share an excerpt from my latest regency romance, An Accidental Affair. 
Jill asks us to share a fun fact about ourselves and I must admit that seemed easy in the beginning. I’m a woman of many vices (though nothing illegal). I’ll go out of my way for good coffee and cheesecake, I don’t skimp on entertainment (movies, TV or books) and I’m probably a great source of humor for my children. (I don’t mind them laughing as long as its with me.) The one fact about me, though I’m not sure if it’s fun or just odd, is that I have done a 180 turn and followed a complete stranger down the street on foot. He was smoking a pipe and the scent reminded me of my grandfather and his very bad habit. LOL
I’m so happy to share an excerpt from my latest novel, An Accidental Affair. This scene is from the heroine’s point of view and we get a glimpse into how she moves through the ton. Please enjoy…
EXCERPT:
Arabella studied the men around her as she moved through the crowd in search of Cecily and contented herself yet again with inspecting the lords present. Arabella was tall herself, so her eye was drawn to the men of equal or greater height more often than not.
When it came to choosing a lover, Arabella also had a short list of requirements: Cleanliness was essential, though not the suggestion of it that came from heavy-handed application of perfumes. Unmarried and unattached by affection for the season was her main requirement, however. She could not contemplate usurping another woman’s place. What she wanted was someone to be hers alone when they started, someone who did not mind that one short affair might be enough but would not be averse to a repeat meeting if their tryst proved enjoyable. Arabella blushed as she gained the entrance hall and looked around. She didn’t have the first idea under what circumstances that might be possible. She only had the guidance of a distant friend’s confidences to rely upon that the sexual act was both pleasant and worth repeating.
As she traveled through the card room and came up empty-handed, she marveled that there were so many widows in London for the season, many of whom already seemed in the company of unattached men. She envied them their confidence. Arabella couldn’t look at a certain well-known rake with whom she was acquainted without a blush heating her cheeks. But from all she’d heard, Lord Rothwell had a similar effect on every woman.
She fanned her face quickly, then snapped the fan shut. Now was not the time to dwell on her own interests. She had a niece to find before society noticed her absence and scandal caught them. She was almost satisfied she would survive one more night without incident until she ventured to the retiring room. Cecily was not there either, and Arabella retraced her steps, hoping they had passed each other unseen.
As she regained the ballroom and looked around for her niece, an elegant, silver-haired matron caught her eye. Lady Penelope Ford, society’s most intimidating stickler when it came to propriety, met her gaze steadily as she drew closer. Arabella straightened her spine instantly, even while concentrating on appearing as unperturbed as possible.
“Good evening, Lady Farnsworth,” Lady Penelope Ford murmured as she drew near.
“Good evening, Lady Penelope. A pleasure to see you again.”
After a long, uncomfortable moment, Lady Penelope nodded regally and returned to her own party, a half dozen members of the Ford family by their looks. Arabella continued on with as much calm grace as she could manage, but her heart was pounding. Quite frankly, Lady Penelope’s scrutiny terrified her. It always had. One curt word from that lady would ruin Cecily’s chances of making a good match and put the family out of favor with those who mattered.
She glanced behind her self-consciously and shuddered. Every time she crossed paths with the Fords, Arabella developed an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Society called them the Fighting Fords. Navy men, every last one, and with tempers little suited to conforming to society’s expectations. No one doubted their loyalty to king and country, but they were said to fight as much amongst themselves as against the French.
A prickle of awareness caressed her neck. She turned her head a fraction, startled to meet the Earl of Rothwell’s intense stare. Lady Penelope Ford’s wayward nephew was known to her through a neighbor and friend in Wiltshire, so she smiled kindly.
His attention did not waver when dancers formed lines between them, and he did not smile at her as he had done with Lady Harrison. Heat swept up her neck and cheeks, making her wish her discomfort wouldn’t be obvious should she reach for her fan and beat it furiously before her face.
Arabella returned her gaze to the path ahead, determined not to appear as virginal as she felt at that moment. Rothwell’s scrutiny, even from across a crowded ballroom, was worse than his aunt’s. He had the most remarkable effect on her nerves, sending them in all directions at once. Yet when she peeked in his direction again, Rothwell had vanished, leaving her to sadly conclude that he’d certainly had no trouble forgetting her as soon as his gaze moved on.
I hope you enjoyed the excerpt and if you’re interested you can visit my 
or read the first three chapters on Wattpad http://bit.ly/1e90A6E
AUTHOR BIO: 
Bestselling historical author Heather Boyd believes every character she creates deserves their own happily-ever-after, no matter how much trouble she puts them through. With that goal in mind, she weaves sizzling English set love stories that push the boundaries of regency era propriety to keep readers enthralled until the wee hours of the morning. Brimming with new ideas, she frequently wishes she could type as fast as she conjures new storylines. While writing full time north of Sydney, Australia, Heather collects dust bunnies in all corners of the house and does her best to wrangle her testosterone-fuelled family into submission. You can catch up with her at www.heather-boyd.com,  Facebook http://bit.ly/heatherboyd  and Twitter http://bit.ly/1cjN6X5 
BUY LINKS:
Heather on Amazon: http://amzn.to/1gmKOn1
Heather on Apple iBooks: http://bit.ly/1cjMtwJ
Heather on B&N: http://bit.ly/1gJMEOI
Heather on Google Play: http://bit.ly/1i2ZTzr 
Heather on Kobo: http://bit.ly/1gOQDfn 
Heather on Smashwords: http://bit.ly/NfUVBn 
Thanks so much for visiting, Heather. I hope everyone leaves comments and questions, and I especially hope for readers to return each Saturday for a fresh new excerpt from a visiting author.
]]> http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/03/an-accidental-affair-on-first-sight.html/feed 3 Unraveling Secrets on First Sight Saturday http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/03/unraveling-secrets-on-first-sight.html http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/03/unraveling-secrets-on-first-sight.html#comments Sat, 15 Mar 2014 11:00:00 +0000 http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/03/unraveling-secrets-on-first-sight-saturday.html
Each week I welcome a guest author to share a first meeting excerpt. I’m happy to have Lana Williams, a fellow Love Historical’s author, here this week with her paranormal historical romance. Take it away, Lana!
Hi Jill! Thank you so much for having me! 
You asked me to share something fun about me…I am hopelessly addicted to M&Ms! I don’t think a day passes when I don’t have them. My husband always teases me, asking me why I bother to work out if I’m going to eat candy, and I tell him that I work out so I CAN have candy! 
I’m excited to share the “First Meet” of the hero and heroine from my latest release, Unraveling Secrets, set in Victorian London. I must say, the first meet is a little unusual.  Take a look and see if you agree.
Here’s the blurb to set the stage:
When her father’s murderer returns from the dead to threaten her family, Abigail Bradford attempts to warn him off, but soon learns chasing a ghost is no easy task.
Stephen Nolton, Viscount Ashbury, stumbles upon Abigail in the dirty streets of London’s East End. Able to read auras of good and evil after an electromagnetic experiment went terribly wrong, Stephen hovers on society’s edge, keeping secret his unique skill and personal mission. Despite his fascination with the lady and her unique golden aura, he intends to keep his distance.
Desperate to protect her family, Abigail turns to the one man she believes can aid her. In Stephen’s arms, she finds so much more than she hoped. Stephen tries to resist his desire for the independent beauty, afraid she’ll unravel his secrets. But when he discovers the murderer is linked to his own past, he must decide how much he’s willing to risk for love.
And here’s the First Meet:
As Stephen Nolton, Viscount Ashbury neared the corner of an alley, a muffled curse sounded. The hair on the back of his neck rose. In recent years, he’d become adept at detecting trouble.
Angry voices grew distinguishable and Stephen eased forward, trying to catch the words and locate the speakers.
“Tell me what rock!”
Stephen frowned at the educated diction to the woman’s voice—something completely out of place amidst the hopeless poverty of this neighborhood. He looked around the corner of the building into the alley where three shadows came into view.
The shadows of three men.
He studied the area more closely, trying to ascertain what was happening. The smallest—a boy judging by his size—aimed a gun at a man with a knife. The third man, dressed as a servant, stood just to the side of the boy. He couldn’t see where the woman was, but it was the boy who caught his full attention.
Despite his obvious ill intent as he aimed the pistol, golden light hovered around his head and shoulders.
In Stephen’s experience, a light-colored aura meant a good, honorable person. Yet this aura, speared with deep blue and yellow, defied description and left him speechless. The vibrant yellow meant success and intelligence. The dark blue indicated spirituality.
He doubted he’d ever get used to his ability to see auras, and rarely did he see anything but gray and black. But in the ten years he’d had the damned skill, never had he seen anything like this one.
The nervous servant’s aura was gray and murky—the color he saw most often as people’s auras were a mixture of their thoughts. The man with the knife had the imprint of the street on him—a worn, dirty jacket, a few days worth of beard on his thin, pale face, soot smeared on his cheek. His aura was dark with flashes of black permeating it, proof of bad intentions for certain. Auras told Stephen only a small part of the story, giving him clues to follow. The rest he had to discern by listening and observing.
“Answer me,” the woman’s voice demanded.
Not a boy after all. Even as Stephen processed that fact, the man with the knife lunged forward.
“No!” The servant yelled as he rushed toward him, using his hand to block his advance.
“Thomas!” she cried out. The gun she held quivered, just like her voice, but she quickly steadied both. “Get back,” she ordered the knife holder.
Though she put on a brave front, she was clearly frightened and unwilling to fire her weapon. Stephen didn’t blame her. Killing a man was no easy feat, nor was it easy to live with.
He stepped into the alley. “What goes here?”
As he feared, the lady swung the pistol at him. He held up his hands to show her he had no weapon. He preferred to use his fists when the occasion called for force. “Aim that elsewhere,” he ordered.
“Who are you?” she asked as she moved the gun toward her intended victim. The bill of her cap cast a shadow over her eyes, but the delicate line of her jaw was visible. An overly large jacket covered her frame. Her disguise was quite effective and hid the majority of her femininity. Despite yielding the weapon, her aura remained bright and colorful. She held steady, obviously not allowing her fear to overwhelm her.
What on earth was she doing here?
“I was passing by and thought you might require assistance,” he answered at last, then tore his gaze from the woman to glance at the man with the knife.
Her intended victim remained in place, trying to decide if he should fight or flee, the lady’s wobbling gun seeming to add to his uncertainty. Stephen’s presence helped block his escape route.
“You’ve interrupted a discussion of a personal nature,” she informed Stephen. “Please continue on your way.”
“Miss?” The servant held out his hand. Blood dripped from a deep cut across his palm.
She gasped, her gun trembling when she saw the blood. “Thomas, are you all right?”
“We’d best hurry this discussion along.” The servant withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket to wrap around his hand.
“Answer me, damn you!” Clearly angry, she steadied the pistol once again at her target.
Stephen lowered his hands and eased closer, watching the cornered man’s aura to see what he would do next. The thoughts and urges people had, even if only temporary, shot out spears of color. The man’s aura remained black as coal, his gaze fixed on the pistol. Not a good sign.
“Leave off,” the man snarled at her. The knife he held glimmered in the faint light.
Though Stephen couldn’t deduce what had brought the lady to this alley with a gun, her aura put him squarely on her side. She might have the more effective weapon, but her inexperience created a huge disadvantage. Stephen doubted she’d be able to pull the trigger, not with her aura.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man lunge toward her.
“Christ.” Stephen rushed forward to block him.
A shot echoed in the alley, disturbing the quiet of the night.
Stephen jerked, his arm no longer his own. Blinding pain speared through him, stealing his breath.
“Damn me! I’ve had enough.” The intended victim plowed past Stephen, knocking down the footman as he flew into the street.
“Oh!” The woman cried as her pistol clattered to the cobblestones. “Sir, are you all right?”
Stephen dropped to his knees, shocked at the depth of the pain in his body. He’d known this night would come but hadn’t expected it quite so soon.
END OF EXCERPT 
Thanks again for having me, Jill!
Unraveling Secrets is available at:
Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/1cyNx9I 
Find more about Lana and her other books at:

Lana and I both welcome questions and comments, and I hope you will come back each week for a fresh excerpt from a visiting author.
]]> http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/03/unraveling-secrets-on-first-sight.html/feed 12 Fatal Truths on First Sight Saturday http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/03/fatal-truths-on-first-sight-saturday.html http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/03/fatal-truths-on-first-sight-saturday.html#comments Sat, 08 Mar 2014 13:00:00 +0000 http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/03/fatal-truths-on-first-sight-saturday.html
Each week I welcome a guest author to share an excerpt of a first meeting. My visitor today is Anna Markland, the prolific writer of historical romances and fellow Love Historicals author. Anna and I share an enthusiasm for medieval love stories. Take it away, Anna!
Thanks for hosting me today, Jill. You’ve asked for a “fun fact” about me. Most people don’t know that the initial impetus for me to write a novel was jealousy. About 25 years ago, my cousin wrote a historical romance and became an overnight success—NY times bestseller among her accomplishments. She has since authored many wonderful books, and I’ve read them all more than once.
The thought niggled at the back of my mind for years—I could write a book, too. So I did, essentially for my own satisfaction. That was three years ago. Now I have 15 published novels for sale. They can all be read as stand-alone stories, but you could say they are one series, since they are about successive generations of the family in my first book, Conquering Passion. Fatal Truths is the latest release. The hero is Alex de Montbryce, grandson of the hero of Conquering Passion.
Alex first meets his heroine, Elayne, in the Great Hall of his castle. He is a rich and powerful Norman Count, chosen as host for two royal children, good faith hostages handed over by the Scottish king. Such exchanges were common practice in medieval times.
Elayne is masquerading as nursemaid to her own children. Neither she nor her twins are who they purport to be. Only lies can keep them alive.
EXCERPT
Montbryce Castle, Normandie, August 1136 AD

“Remind me,” Alex said to his brother, “what are the hostages’ names?”
Romain rolled his eyes. “Henry and Claricia.”
Both doors to the Hall creaked open. Steward Bonhomme ushered in the hostages, grandchildren of King David of Scotland. They’d been handed over to Comte Geoffrey of Anjou and his wife, the former Holy Roman Empress Maud as a token of good faith to guarantee David’s support. Maud had requested they be kept at Montbryce.
Alex had known they were children, but hadn’t expected a boy and a girl so alike in appearance they could be twins.
A murmur of delight rippled through the Hall at the sight of the fair-haired enfants, but it ceased gradually as the clink and drag of chains echoed off the stone floor. Alex had been led to believe the hostages were at least fifteen years of age. Henry and Claricia Dunkeld couldn’t be more than seven or eight. They’d been chained together, wrists manacled, ankles shackled.
Anger surged up his throat. He leapt to his feet. “Why in the name of all the saints are they in irons? Remove their bonds at once.”
Murmurs of agreement with his fury rippled through the crowd of onlookers.
A soldier wearing the devise of Comte Geoffrey shuffled forward, a large key in hand. Alex struggled to control the urge to strangle him with his bare hands as the chains clunked to the floor and the man gathered them up. “How long have these children been manacled?”
“Only since they arrived in your land, milord.”
Caught off guard by the undisguised resentment in the speaker’s words, he glanced up sharply and for the first time noticed the young woman who now gripped the hand of each twin. Though her head was covered with a chequered shawl of brown and grey, curls of flame-red hair framed her face. Freckles dotted her nose. High cheekbones and a proud chin added nobility to a woman in servant’s garb. Her fresh beauty stunned him. He’d never journeyed to Scotland, but easily conjured a vision of her galloping across wild moorlands on a white horse, her hair a ribbon of red whipped by the wind.
She stared at him defiantly for long moments, rendering him speechless, though he doubted she would reach his shoulder if they stood side by side. Inexplicably, that was an appealing notion.
At her nod the royal infants made their bow to Alex. It was a commendable effort considering their age and condition, though the woman kept hold of their hands, providing an anchor. They flushed at the barely discernible smile she bestowed when they glanced up for her approval.
Alex had a peculiar urge to bask in the glow of her smile, but it quickly disappeared when she looked back at him. Though he understood it, he was strangely distressed by the hatred evident in her gaze. She was nursemaid to hostages and thus deprived of freedom. Geoffrey had cruelly ordered her small charges manacled for some ridiculous reason. She was far from her homeland, and probably not by choice. She was a servant—yet hadn’t offered the courtesy of a bow.
At a score and twelve years of age, Alex had become used to his bachelor life. He had remained celibate throughout the half year of intrigue and conflict that had swept Normandie as King Stephen and Empress Maud vied for the throne of England after King Henry’s death. It hadn’t been a hardship.
Now, astonishingly, a discourteous servant in drab clothing, albeit a stunningly beautiful redhead, had caused his body to respond in a way he’d not experienced in many a year.
She was a servant, who, seemingly without much effort, had taken control of this gathering that should have seen her quaking with fear.
The nursemaid bent to whisper something to the child in a language he supposed was Gaelic. The shawl slipped off her head, revealing a glorious cascade of thick red hair. His breath caught in his throat.
The woman quickly covered her head, her blush the first chink in the armored mantle of composure.
Alex licked his dry lips, unsure what had happened. Suddenly all he could think of was taking her to his bed.
She stiffened her spine, eyes flashing defiance. “The prince and princess have had a long journey. May I take them to their chambers? And perhaps a salve could be fetched for the lacerations on their wrists.”
Alex dragged his eyes from her full breasts to her face. The gall of the woman, reminding him of his obligation as their host. “I am their guardian now, Mistress Elayne. You need not instruct me as to my responsibilities.”
She stared back. “Guardian, or jailer,” she muttered.
She’d spoken softly, yet it was evident from the indrawn breaths around him, she’d been heard. Anxious faces awaited his reaction.
Romain’s loud cough slowed his headlong rush to reprimand the woman again. He clenched his fists in an effort to slow his breathing. Her lack of deference had done nothing to discourage his arousal. He summoned Bonhomme. “Show our guests to their chambers.”
Romain stepped forward. “I’ll accompany them.”
Elayne thrust her chin in the air, picked up Claricia and followed Romain and Bonhomme, Henry in tow.
Low murmurs of conversation began again.
At the door, Claricia lifted her head from the nursemaid’s shoulder and curled her little fingers into a wave of farewell, smiling at Alex. A soul deep longing pierced his heart, a pain he’d long since thought dead and buried—a yearning for a child of his own.

END OF EXCERPT
Twitter @annamarkland
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Anna and I welcome any questions or comments. I hope you will come back every Saturday for a fresh new excerpt from a visiting author.
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