Just a few hours now until its time to party! Is everybody ready? We have some very lovely ladies and totally drool-worthy dates wholl be sharing the time with us. You wont want to miss it! Heres an except from Rose of Hope, my post-Conquest novel set in 1078 England, released in February of this year, to whet your appetite for tonight: I must move from this parapet or I will fall. Would that not be the ultimate irony? Bound feet shuffling, Ysane managed a half turn away from the dangerous edge, but the movement unbalanced her. She swayed toward the gulf below even as a giant of a man with shoulders as broad as the mountains and hair as dark as the night sprinted toward her. Dressed all in black, even to the blackened chain metal of his hauberk, he appeared larger than life. The only spot of color about him was a scarlet sash around his waist that covered the wide leather belt supporting his sword scabbard. Within the folds of the sash, she glimpsed the twin gold lions passant of King Williams escutcheon. Norman! He is Norman. The realization sent little shocks pulsing through her frame, vying with the icy shivers that already bedeviled her. She noted these things even as her knees buckled. Determined intent blazed from the giants eyes as he vaulted onto the parapet just in time to catch her as she fell. ∞∞§∞∞ As his arms swept round Ysane, elation tightened Fallards jaw. A moment longer and he would not have reached her in time. He cradled her to his chest, startled at the intense heat that radiated from beneath the ladys tattered cyrtel. Saints teeth! She was burning up. Ignoring the noxious stench that emanated from her person and the lank, matted skeins of her hair after days in the foul pit, Fallards eyes raked her features, noting the fever glaze in her own. A large, fading bruise marred the left side of her face. Wondering if she would understand him, he spoke. My lady, surrender. I have won you fairly and with honor. As he awaited her response, she blinked; a languid movement of the lids over eyes the color of the emerald green moss that grew beneath the forest canopy. She inhaled, slowly and deeply of the cool air of a freshening morn. ∞∞§∞∞ His voice was husky, and deep as the sea. In that moment, in the fevered imagining that ruled her mind, it seemed to Ysane he must surely be a fantasy, appearing out of a dream of mists, destined to rescue her from death. Handsome as the dawn, dark as the night, he held her with arms as powerful as they were gentle. He appeared the epitome of all of her youthful, maidenly reveries, so ruthlessly crushed by her husband. She felt her eyes burn as her look met his, and she whispered her answer. He was, after all, only a vision in what was surely a dream. Could she not say what she would to a delusion, and twould make no difference? My lord, I surrender in truth. Do with me as you will. His smile in that moment was triumphant, and wholly male. Aye, my lady. That is how it will be.
Posted on: Fri, 18 Jul 2014 18:54:22 +0000
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