Collection.
BLURB
Waleran de Marche
promised he wouldn’t marry her, but it was a promise he couldn’t keep. Cateline
de Armiens has the land and coin he
needs to distance himself from his father and the coming war in England.
Cate is through
with broken promises and betrayal. When Wal vows to keep her safe and secure,
she ignores his promise and welcomes his departure on a royal errand. In his
absence, she creates a home without him, and finds his return each Yule an
annoyance, not a joyful homecoming.
But when the king’s
enemy takes her hostage, she will learn just how far her husband will go to
keep his word to protect her—but will he reach her in time to save her life and
their marriage or will this be their last Yule?
EXCERPT
Clutching
the bundle close, Cate walked toward the ramp. Her heart felt as if it dragged
a plow. She didn’t want to go. Couldn’t go. Once she stepped onto that ship,
she would be gone. Lost forever. Papa was dying, and he’d die alone if she
left.
She stopped,
swallowed a sob, turned back. The soldier stood in her way.
“Keep
going.” His eyes were an unnaturally clear, bright blue that reminded her of a
summer sky when it peaks between clouds at dusk.
“I cannot.”
She looked down the road. At the end of it was her father’s donjon. There would
be a warm fire in the hearth, music, and stew made from last night’s roast
beef. “My father—”
“Did this
for you.” He put his hands on her shoulders, turned her around. “Go.”
At first,
shock stilled her tongue. He’d touched her. He had no right to lay hands on
her! “Lâche-moi!”
“I will
unhand you when you go.”
“I order—”
“Servants do
not order me,” he said as he marched her up the ramp. “I order them. Now,
move.”
She whirled
to glare at him. “I am the daughter of James de Armiens, the niece of Robert of
Beaumont and betrothed to Richard of Brinklow. I may be masquerading as a
servant, but I am not one. Who are you to speak to me thus?”
“Move on,
Wal!” someone shouted behind them. “We have horses to load.”
Wall was a
good name for the man who blocked her path. He was as obtuse as he was large.
He smirked
down at her. “You may be daughter and niece, as you claim, but Brinklow died
last summer, so you are no one’s betrothed. Now move. You have work to do.”
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