My Books

Highland Treasure

Available now from Eternal Press.

Dedication: With love and devotion to my mother, Minnie. Thank you for life, faith and inspiration. You are my real-life heroine.

Can the Highlands survive a gifted soul with a tendency toward mischief?

Visit my website for excerpt and buy links.

The Sisters by Choice Series:

Sisters by Choice Book I: Highland Captive (Golden Heart Finalist)

Coming May, 2011 from Chapagne Books.

Dedication: To Adele, my sister, my friend, my mentor, you make my life richer. This one’s for you.

Can a captive escape when love claims her heart?

Blurb:

English-born Lady Alera of Arundrydge is a procrastinating defender and nurturer with a secret gift. She wishes to avenge crimes against her family and find her father, who is missing and presumed dead. When a nefarious uncle hands her over to Viking slavers, she escapes only to be caught by a big, sexy barbarian, whose touch ignites passion.

 Laird Duncan Ranald has good reason to hate all things English. They nearly wiped out his clan. Discovering the luscious beauty who washed up on his shore and stoked his lust is English, he decides to keep her as his leaman for a little revenge.

Realizing she’s his soul mate, Duncan decides to wed her, but Alera won’t cooperate. Escaping Duncan becomes nearly impossible for Alera as she helps his clan and he creeps into her heart. But if she stays, how will vengeance be had and what will become of her father?

Excerpt:

Duncan felt the shivers flowing through her body. “Damn it all, lass, you’ll catch a chill and die if we do not get you warmed.”

 He cradled her in of his arms and carried her to the pelt. With great care, he gently couched her upon the soft fur and removed her wet shift. Then he doffed his plaid and lay full length upon her, sending the heat of his hot body into her freezing bones. Her soft bouquet flamed his desires. He kissed her eyelids and tasted salty tears.

 “What is this power you have over me, Duncan?” she asked in a half-baffled, half-resigned voice.

 Duncan caressed her delicate jaw. “Ah, Alera, do you not yet know? You are the one with the power.”

Sisters by Choice Book II: Highland Promise

“Well she is ugly,” Michael insisted. “And I do not trust her. ‘Tis probably her task to lead us into an ambush.”

“Notice her frock?” the bearded man asked. His accent rang different than the others to Faith’s ear, though she couldn’t say why.

“Aye, Tormey,” Roland replied. “’Tis an ugly garment that has seen better days to be sure, but the fabric is fine. We might get a few coins for her. You want to take her, laird?”

Faith gasped. “Why, you … you … you are not taking me anywhere right now. Ride down the trail and get butchered. See if I weep over your ungrateful hides.”

 She whirled around and ran –- smack into a tree. She stumbled backward. Two giant branches reached out and caught her. Her eyes focused on a plaid strip crossing a tunic on a massive chest. Oh Lord, it wasn’t a tree, but a very solid giant.

Faith raised her gaze until her head tipped all the way back. Fiery eyes of the deepest blue seared into her. She couldn’t look away. Her breath hitched. A strange fluttering filled her stomach. She barely noticed the strong square jaw or the light-blond hair flowing over the giant’s shoulders. She couldn’t seem to get her mouth to shut either. What in heaven’s name was wrong with her?

Amusement gamboled in the blue eyes. The warrior’s hands tightened upon her waist then lifted her to his eye level.

Faith gasped as her feet left the ground. She quickly looked down then back at her captor and pushed against a pair of iron arms. “Put me down, you big … big … Oh Lord, you are big.”

“Who is the plump lassie to be calling a body big?” Roland chuckled.

The warrior, who held her, continued to stare. Faith couldn’t read his thoughts and prayed he wouldn’t see through her disguise.

Sisters by Choice Book III: Highland Legacy (work in progress: movie rights SOLD!)

Inside the smokehouse, Michael battled frustration. His arms were bound above his head to a rafter in such a way that his toes barely touched the ground. His arms were far enough apart that he couldn’t reach the knots of one hand with the other. Not only were his hands numb, but every inch of his body ached from the pounding he and his bothers received during the ambush.

At least four hours had passed since the sun set. He had no idea why he and his brothers were taken. Their Maclaren captors claimed they wouldn’t be killed if the lady cooperated – a real hope-dasher if one was needed. He’d never met a lady willing to cooperate with any plan not her own. Even Brendan and Duncan couldn’t get their wives to cooperate. Both Faith and Alera would smile and agree to anything their husbands said. Then the women calmly went about doing precisely as they damn well pleased.

Of course, Michael hoped whoever the lady was that she wouldn’t cooperate. He doubted not that he and his brothers would free themselves. And there was no time like the present for a good feud.

“Michael, do you hear that?” Luthias whispered from several feet to his left in the dark.

“I hear nothing,” Michael whispered back.

“That’s what I mean. All has quieted.”

The four men stilled. Not so much as a cricket could be heard.

Without warning, the door slammed against the inner wall. A torch entered followed by a small black shadow of feminine curves. As the form strode forward to stand among them, light spilled upon a short woman dressed in black wearing black war paint on every spec of unclad flesh. That is if one could call her dressed. Why she wasn’t freezing from the late winter chill was a mystery. She wore a skimpy black sleeveless garment, cut low to dip between ripe breasts, belted at the waist, and cut shorter than his plaid. High black boot ascended sleek legs to meet the hem. He wasn’t sure but thought he detected leather wrist cuffs around her slender arms. The paint made it difficult to be sure. Ebony hair drawn back from finely carved features appeared to be tucked down the back of her gown.

She couldn’t stand much taller than his mid-chest, but an aura of authority and dauntless fortitude enveloped the woman. Who in Perdition was she?

The lass casually approached Duncan. Holding the torch near his face, she inspected him top to bottom. From there, she proceeded to Brendan, then Luthias, and finally stopped before Michael.

After scrutinizing him, she ambled over to the wall and placed the torch into a bracket. She returned to stand where she could take in all four of them at one time. Her fists settled on shapely hips. A throaty chuckle finally escaped her lips to shiver down Michael’s spine in an unexpected and arousing manner.

“’Tis ironic if you consider your situation through my eyes, lads,” she said in perfect Gaelic with an unusual – yet somehow familiar – sexy accent. “Four such prime cuts, you are. I suppose the smokehouse is the best place for you.” She chuckled again at her own jest and shook her head.

Then she sauntered toward Michael. He caught the gleam of steel as she neared. Unsure of her intentions, he quickly brought up both legs to entrap her.

Without a moment for thought, the wee woman slammed her knuckles into his Adam’s apple. Michael dropped his legs and sucked in short choppy breaths with great effort. How the hell had such a slip of a woman rendered him near useless while in a conscious state?

The sparkles in her black eyes turned to hard glints. She sheathed her dagger and returned her fists to her hips, not bothering to move away from his leg reach. “’Tis your own fault, Michael. Do you not know better than to attack someone rescuing you?” She cocked her head. “Come to think of it, has no one ever told you to look for snakes in the grass? I saw the Maclarens from a hill away. Our Sacred Alliance may prove troublesome if you are so easily captured and I have to rescue you often.”

“Who are you?” Luthias whispered.

She flashed sparkling teeth at him. “It has been a long time since we met, and you need not whisper. Your captors are disabled. I am Regina Arturius, The Sophia, and Tribuna of the First Alpine Legion of the Holy Roman Empire.” She favored Michael with an irritated frown. “Take a few long deep breaths and let them out slowly while I decide whether or not I still wish to rescue you.”

“You are welcome to rescue me,” Luthias replied with a seductive grin.

She slanted her head and grinned back. “Do you flirt with all women?”

“Only the desirable ones.”

Another chuckle spilled from the woman’s mouth to sizzle over Michael’s senses. What was it about her?

“Luthias, my brother,” she said. “Watch your words. I’d hate for one brother to have to kill another.”

Luthias looked at Michael then winked at the lass. “You might be worth fighting over. Where are you from and why do you rescue us?”

“I am from somewhere south of Heaven and north of Hell.”

“That covers a large territory,” Luthias rejoined.

Twinkles appeared in those big black eyes, reminding Michael of starry night. “Can you not tell from my perfect Gaelic? I am a Highlander.” She chuckled at Luthias’s incredulous expression. This time every muscle in Michael’s belly tensed at the sound. “I see your disbelief, so I will qualify my answer. My country, Arturia, extends from the Roman Alps to the Roman Sea. My palace is in the mountains.” 

Eden Calling (Inspirational in progress)

London, 1804

The epitaph taunted him.

Five years had passed since he bid his wife of four months adieu, and one week since the private investigator he hired had found Liese’s grave in the small cemetery of a secluded church on the outskirts of London. Never would he have left her for a seven month voyage had he known she carried his child—or that seven months would turn into a year and a half while he and his crew were detained in a Moroccan prison.

He ran his fingers over the words etched into the expensive gray-veined pink marble. She had died but five months after he left her. The cold of the stone’s surface surged up his arm and froze in his chest. Here lies Liese Arabella Montgomery, Loving Wife, Devoted Mother, and Dearest Friend.

Trent had visited the grave every day since he learned of its whereabouts. Was he truly a father, or had his child died with Liese? Surely any child would have been buried with her, but none was mentioned on the stone’s cold surface. Who was her friend—the anonymous benefactor who paid for his wife’s burial and the continued upkeep of the grounds. The surrounding graves had been purchased and the surroundings landscaped into a garden of ethereal beauty, much like a shrine.

He frowned as his gaze fell upon a freshly cut violets tied with a purple satin bow. They had been Liese’s favorite flower, yet the bouquet hadn’t been there the previous day.

A shuffling gait approached and Trent glanced over his shoulder to see the elderly caretaker stop on the gravel path at the foot of the gravesite.

“Ah, it be you, Captain.” He pulled his tattered cap from his shiny head and squeezed it with nervous hands.

“Have you discovered who my wife’s benefactor is?”

“Nothing more than I already said to you?” He shifted from one foot to the other and cleared his throat. If he didn’t stop wringing his cap the threads would fall apart.

“Was there something more?” Trent asked quietly.

“Today, Captain…Well, I mean it be the twenty-second.” The elder nodded with a sigh.

“And?” Trent prodded when the man fell silent.

“Well, now…” He squinted up at the trees as if fearful of meeting Trent’s gaze. “It be the day your wife died, and I’m thinking maybe I forgot to tell you about the visit.”

“What visit?”

“The lady and her sons. They come regular.” The old man scratched his bald pate. “Every month on the twenty-second at nine in the morn. They left just a short while afore you came, they did.”

“Her name, man? Who is she?” Trent demanded.

“I’ve no notion. The lady don’t let no one near. Totes a big gun to keep folks away, and she constantly watches for danger. One day a man tried to approach her. She shoved them boys behind her back and whipped out a gun so fast, I figure she must of had it hid up her sleeve. From the look in her eyes, she would have used it if the feller hadn’t beat a retreat real fast like.”

“What makes you think she’s a lady?”

“Oh, she’s a lady alright, and her boys—they act proper for younguns. The oldest boy always puts violets on the grave. They used to come in a big coach with a crest on the door, but the last several months, they come in a plain black closed carriage—expensive like, but no crest.”

“And the gardener who provides upkeep of this landscaping—has he told you anything?”

“Nah, he don’t know nothing. Just that he gets five pounds a week for taking care of the garden. He’s an older man and right glad for the money. His bones ache something fierce and his wife—she’s sickly, but for a few hours work a week, they can live in tolerable comfort.”

Trent flipped a gold piece to the caretaker. “If I do not find the lady before the month is out, I’ll be here on the twenty-second early enough to meet her.”

Striding away from the cemetery in deep thought, Trent headed toward the waiting hack. Ah, Liese, why didn’t you tell me you carried my child? Because she knew you would have stayed and risked a fortune, you dolt, he answered himself. And therein lay his problem. She loved him more than he loved her. Oh, he cared about Liese—a great deal in fact. But Graiciene had taught him well about the vulnerability and pain a fickle woman could inflict. Though Liese fit a different category, Trent still had problems allowing another woman so close. She was probably the one woman who could have earned his trust and helped him love. He should have done more to see to her welfare before he sailed, but what more could he have done? She was dead and whether his child lived, he knew not. He released a self-castigating snort. Hindsight was for fools. It made them dwell on should-have-dones.

A few childish giggles reached him followed by a rich enchanting laugh that drew him like the most intoxicating siren’s song. He instructed the driver to wait a few moments more and followed the sound to a small secluded park across the narrow road from the church. He needed a few moments to take his mind off Liese’s guilt-inspiring death.

Except for a young mother and two children, the park was deserted. He sat on a bench to watch the frolicking trio.

Several yards away, a woman dressed to the height of fashion in a gown of black pinstripes on white held a brown-headed lad of about three summers by his hands and spun in circles, his feet flying through the air. Brown curls whipped behind her in disarray while her gown swirled about her, revealing shapely ankles and a froth of lace. Another boy, a year or so older with tawny curls, stood to the side calling out comments and enjoying their play.

Trent grinned as their cavorting took him back many years to similar fun with his siblings. He almost wished he could join in their game. The mere fact that the lady, who was obviously mother and not nanny, balked at Society’s norms by enjoying her children and ignoring grass stains proved refreshing.

She gradually slowed to a stop and let the boy’s feet touch the ground for an easy landing then released his hands. Musical laughter spilled from splendid lips as her lad kept spinning.

“Dizzy!” he cried in childish glee and fell on the ground on his back.

“Me too,” the lady agreed and fell to her back with her head near her son.

“Wait for me!” The tawny headed boy raced over, jumped over his mother and lay on his back with his head near the other two.

“Shall we play the cloud game?” she asked.

 “I want to play riddle-ma-riddle-marie,” the older lad said.

“Me too,” the younger agreed.

“All right.” The woman glanced about and stared at Trent as if she had noticed him for the first time. She studied him through narrowed eyes and glanced about the area before returning her gaze to him. She must have decided he posed no threat, because without warning her luscious rosy lips curved upward and she flashed him a wink of an amber eye. As she dropped her head on the ground, Trent would have sworn he’d be zinged by a bolt of mischief and his heart skipped a beat.

“Riddle-ma-riddle-marie,” she chanted. “I see something you don’t see, and it is green.”

“That tree,” the older boy said pointing.

“That tree,” the younger said, following suit.

Trent chuckled. The boys named everything green right down to the grass and clover. He had to shake his head. Green in a park just wasn’t fair.

“Tell us,” the older boy finally said.

“Are you sure you don’t want to keep looking, Seth?”

“No,” he grumbled. “Just about everything here is green.”

“What about you, Andrew?”

“Tell,” the younger lad shouted.

The lady pointed at Trent. “That gentleman’s eyes.”

Trent couldn’t keep his jaw from going slack. Both boys turned, jumped to their feet and ran over to stare at him. The woman slowly rose. Amber eyes as brilliant as the sun setting over the Appalachians twinkled at him from one of the purest complexions he’d ever seen. Burnish highlights reflected from her dark brown disheveled hair as it fell about her heart-shaped face.

“His eyes are green,” Seth said. “They are just like mine.”

“No, they are bigger than yours, but surely just as green. Thus, I win our game. Now go get your jackets and caps. If we do not hurry home, I’ll be late for my appointment this afternoon.

Seth gasped, took Andrew’s hand and rushed to collect their belongings. “Hurry, Drew. Mama can’t be late.”

“How come?” Andrew toddled alongside his brother, trying to keep up.

“Cause we don’t want to wait two more months here. We want to go home now.”

The woman followed the boys as they scampered to pick up their belongings, Seth handed her a bonnet, gloves, and reticule. She swept him a curtsey. “Thank you, kind sir.”

The boy flushed and bowed to her. Then he flashed a rosy-cheeked smile toward Trent. “Godspeed, man with green eyes.”

The toddler waved at him. The woman surprised him. She tossed him another of those zinging winks. Then taking each boy by a hand, she led them out of the small park to a waiting carriage.

The sun dimmed as he watched them go. Trent wiped a hand over his face. As tempting as it may be to go after her, she came with baggage and he needed to find baggage of his own. Besides, she was probably married and he’d never have a relationship with a married woman.

If he didn’t hurry, he’d miss his own appointment. He still needed to go by the warehouse and check in with the Port Master’s office to notify them he wouldn’t need a berth until he found his child. He walked toward the waiting hack and glanced at the black carriage speeding away. A sense of loss settled over him.

Warlord’s Guardian (In progress)

Raedanwald, England

1084

 She was going to War, and it grieved her terribly. She hadn’t expected the Almighty’s swift response to her prayers would involve bloodshed, but she knew better than to question His supreme will.

The very notion of her father lying in a pool of blood made her tummy twist into knots until it ached something fierce. Learning he was a bad man made her chest hurt too.

She had always loved her father and thought him the most wonderful man in the world. Whenever she wanted to train with the warriors, he took her side against her mother. He always did just about anything she asked. She probably even could have talked him into letting her go to their overlord, Baron Montvale, for training next year when she reached the great age of seven. Of course that wasn’t possible now. Her father would be dead and her mother would surely put a stop to her training. She would probably have to learn the sorry task of sewing too.

Gabrielle of Raedanwald ran as fast as her stubby legs would carry her. Her friend, Daniel, raced along at her side, and they had almost reached the top of the huge hill beyond the manor. The camp she sought lay on the other side. She puffed air and gritted her teeth with determination. She was about as tired as a worm left to bake in the sun and her side burned something fierce.

“Are you hurting, Gab?” Daniel asked through heavy breaths. “You’re holding your side.”

“I’ll not let a puny stitch stop me,” she vowed without slowing and clutched tighter against her stabbing side pain. “We have to reach War before Papa hurts my mother again.”

She had to tell herself over and over that she was a loyal and dutiful daughter. It didn’t matter that her father always treated her well or that he had once even admitted to the terrible weakness of loving her. His gentleness around her didn’t fool her any longer. He hurt her dear mother, and even a loyal dutiful daughter knew that was wrong and had to be stopped. She had heard her mother scream for God’s help often enough. She had covered her ears and added her own plea that Almighty God would find a way to end the terrible torture and suffering.

He had answered her prayers.

All her life the jongleurs had sung the heroic deeds of the great Justin of Warrick. She had heard them so many times she had them memorized. The man was a living legend and the defender of innocents and honor. He always fought for his name. Aye, Justine fought for justice. His great feats had earned him a special name too. People called him War. Her mother had said she didn’t know if that was because he was truly wise or because he had spilled more blood with his mighty sword, Valoria, than all the rest of England’s warriors put together.

Her mother had also said he was a young man to have accomplished so much. Gabrielle thought twenty was ancient, but that didn’t matter now. The legendary warlord was near enough to help, and surely that was an act of God.

When he entered the hall to share the evening meal with her father, Gabrielle tried desperately to think of a way to speak with the powerful warlord, but she never got his attention. Then her mother sent her from the hall without her meal just because she couldn’t quit fidgeting.

She hadn’t given up though. She snuck out of the manor, and she would reach her hero this very night so he could end her poor mother’s terrible pain.

Reaching the top of the hill, she staggered slightly and halted. Leaning her hands against her knees, she panted like a weary puppy, every breath bursting from her mouth like little puff clouds in the crisp late-autumn air. She took in the view of the camp below. There were so many fires! She prayed the big one on the edge of the camp near the bottom of the hill belonged to War– or at least someone who would help her find him. It was almost time for her mama’s torture to begin and she needed him fast.

A hooting white owl swooped toward them, flew low over their heads, then soared into the night – a flash against the dark sky.

“God’s wounds!” Daniel exclaimed, his pants as rapid and ragged as hers. “I’m going back.”

As he turned, Gabrielle grasped his arm with both hands. “We cannot go back now,” she pleaded. “I need War to save my mother.”

Daniel shook his head and tugged his arm free. “Your mother looks fine to me. I think you just want to meet War.”

“I want to meet him, so he can save my mother,” she insisted, fisting her hands at her sides.

“Then go find him yourself. I am not risking the owl’s bad sign.”

“But ‘twas a white owl,” Gabrielle pointed out. “My mother said white owls mean good and brown owls bode bad.”

“I never heard that, but I hope ‘tis a good omen for you, because you are going alone.” Daniel fled back down the hill.

“Coward!” she called after him.

A man shouted, running toward her. She took off and raced down the hill toward the camp. She couldn’t let anyone keep her from reaching War.

Footsteps thudded the ground, snapping twigs, and she could almost feel her pursuer’s hot breath on the back of her neck. Another warrior stepped in her path and braced his feet apart with his hands outstretched to catch her. She did like she had practiced when training with her father. She tucked her chin against her chest, scrunched into a ball, and rolled right between his legs. Then she sprang to her feet and kept going. Loud curses exploded behind her as the man who had chased her crashed into the man who had tried to block her way.

A hand grabbed her arm, jerking her backward. She latched onto the leg of this captor with her other arm then leaned down and sank her teeth into the back of his knee with all her might. He cursed and released her, lost his balance, and fell.

Her heart hammered so hard in her chest, she could barely breath, but she whirled around to flee. These must be evil demons sent by Satan to stop her. Surely Almighty God hadn’t meant for her to have so much trouble reaching her mother’s savior.

She ran down the hill toward the big fire. As she neared the base, she tried to slow down, but she had picked up too much speed and her legs just kept right on going. She could almost feel the burning coals singeing her nostrils. “Spit and damnation, I am going to toast alive!”

Two giant hands reached out from nowhere and swooped her up, up, up until she feared she might go right through the roof of the black starry sky. Her ascent stopped when she was nose to nose with the meanest looking man in the whole world. He was as big as the holy priest had told her the giant Goliath was, and he had a scar that ran from the bottom of his right eye all the way down his cheek and curved around his jaw.

Relief rushed through her, but being near her favorite legend stole away the use of her tongue.

Steel gray eyes twinkled like happy stars as he gave her a quick inspection. Then he tossed a big white grin over her shoulder. “Welladay, Clayton! I never thought to see you brought low by a tiny urchin. I ought to take on the training of this boy, for he is sure to grow into the fiercest of warriors.”

“Let me have the lad,” an angry voice growled in reply. “I’ll start his training in manners with a few well-placed swats to his skinny arse.”

Gabrielle shook her head vigorously and clutched the warlord’s tunic, trying to press closer. The action jostled the dark-green woolen cap on her head. It fell to the ground and her unruly gold curls dangled about her, blocking her view.

The men gasped behind her, and the warrior holding her sucked in his breath. “You are young Gabrielle from Raedanwald. You couldn’t sit still, and your mother sent you from the hall.”

She nodded and blew at the curls hanging over her face. She wanted to talk and worried because she couldn’t. A big lump was stuck in her throat, and her neck was beginning to ache something fierce.

“What are you doing out here alone?”

She was so frustrated over her uncooperative tongue that tears blurred her eyes. Hadn’t her mother told her that her mouth would get her into trouble one day? It was surely giving her trouble now. The great War didn’t look mean anymore either. He looked downright nice, and that was a worry too. If he didn’t turn mean again, he might not be able to handle her father.

Justin kept his expression calm, hoping the child would lose her fear. He couldn’t believe she wasn’t screaming her head off, because that was the reaction children her age usually had around him. For all that the noise irritated him, this young girl’s tears and trembling lower lip made him feel like an ogre.

He adjusted his hold until his forearm supported her bottom and she rested against him. Then he awkwardly patted her head. “No need for fear, little one. Are you lost?”

Gabrielle’s reaction was swift. She shoved against him and gave him a good frown so he would know she didn’t appreciate his insult. She was so mad she got her voice back too. “Of course, I am not lost. Think me an idiot?”

“Then why are you here?”

His question suddenly brought back to mind the horror that spurred her to seek him. She threw her arms around his neck and told him the dreaded secret that had been twisting her tummy for so many days. “I need you to help my mother. My father hurts her something terrible, and I prayed so Almighty God sent you here. We have to hurry, or he will hurt her again. I cannot stand it anymore. It makes my belly ache something fierce.”

Justin narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw until he could feel the scar pulsate in his cheek. He had seen enough abuse growing up. Now he abided no one who abused the weak. Though he didn’t want trouble with another baron’s vassal, he wouldn’t allow this spirited child or her mother to continue to live with fear or pain.

“Lars, saddle my horse,” he ordered.

His squire, who stood to his side, rushed to obey.

“Are you certain you wish to involve yourself in this matter?” the surly warrior, whom Gabrielle had bitten, asked.

She gave him her meanest frown. “He has to help, because he is War.”

Justin released a sigh that blew her hair out of her face. He was beginning to weary of all those tales exaggerated by the jongleurs. “’Tis not a matter of what I wish, Clayton. ‘Tis a matter of what is right. Gabrielle must return home and she and her mother must be safe there.”

“I knew you would help.” She threw her arms back around his neck and gave him a hug. Then she decided he might think her weak because she hadn’t handled this herself. She leaned back and looked into his eyes. “I would have helped her myself if I was bigger. I am training to be a warrior, only I may not be as good of one as you yet.”

Suppressing his initial urge to burst into laughter required hard-won self-control until her words sank in. “Who would train a girl for a man’s task?”

“A father who wanted a son, but didn’t get one.” She shrugged then flashed him a smile worthy of heaven’s highest order of angels. “I’m pretty good so far. My father says I show promise. I knocked Daniel down from the wall with my quarterstaff and he is two whole years bigger than me. I can ride my pony standing up too. I am not supposed to though. My father said his heart nearly burst clean from his chest when he saw me. I’m thinking I may start throwing bigger rocks next week because maybe I’ll get stronger that way. I like you. You smell like peppermint.”

Lars led a giant dapple gray war horse to his master. Justin mounted then settled Gabrielle in his lap. He didn’t seem nearly impressed enough to suit her, and she thought maybe he didn’t believe her either. She boasted of every compliment her father had ever given her on their ride over the hill and across the field to Raedanwald.

Her complete trust in him stunned Justin. He had never been around children much, but he decided this one could grow on him with her big sky-blue eyes and embellished tales. In fact, he would disgrace himself by falling from his horse with laughter if he weren’t seething inside over the atrocity of her mother’s abuse.

When they arrived at the manor, the courtyard was ablaze with torches, and a crowd of men had gathered. Vaden, Gabrielle’s father, stood on the landing of the fortified manor house bellowing commands. His brow furrowed with concern, and his brown hair stood askew as he jerked his fingers through the short curly locks.

A shout went up at their approach.

“Praise the saints, you found her!” Vaden cried as he rushed forward.

Devona, Gabrielle’s mother who hovered behind her husband, rushed down the steps to join them.

Justin kept his face a blank mask and halted his steed. While the vassal appeared fraught with worry, plenty of men hid their true selves, and Justin wasn’t about to give the child over until he knew the man’s character.

Dismounting, he shifted Gabrielle to his hip and anchored her with one arm while she kept her arms around his neck. He faced her father. “Your daughter came looking for me.”

Devona shook her head. Twinkles danced in pale blue eyes as she smiled. “I should have known something like this would happen when I sent her from the hall. You are Gabrielle’s hero and –”

“She asked me to save her mother from you,” Justin said, never taking his gaze from Vaden’s face.

The vassal’s jaw dropped with astonishment.

“She said you hurt her mother, and she can no longer bear the agony of her suffering.”

Vaden glowered at Justin and drew his shoulders back. “I do not believe it. My daughter would never tell such a lie.”

“My husband would never hurt me,” Devona declared, placing her hand on her husband’s arm to show her loyalty and trust.

Gabrielle gasped and tightened her hold on Justin’s neck. “He does hurt her! Maybe she is afraid to tell! You have to believe me!”

Vaden took a step toward them. “Gabrielle, I have heard enough of –”

“Tell him, Mother! War will not let papa hurt you for telling.” She placed a hand against Justin’s cheek and made him look at her. “It happens almost every night. I’m afraid to go to sleep, but I pray to because I don’t want to hear. He slams his whole body against her and grunts his battle grunt. She moans and groans. Then she calls for God. I cover my ears and I call for God too.”

“God’s bones,” Vaden muttered and wiped a hand over his face in exasperation.

Devona blushed redder than a sunburned babe and cleared her throat. “Milord, I believe I should have a talk with my daughter.”

“I believe that would be wise.” Justin didn’t know how he managed to keep a straight face, but for some reason the thought of embarrassing Gabrielle didn’t set well with him. He turned his full attention on the child. “You have no need to fear for your mother. I know she is safe with your father.”

“But –”

“He does not hurt her. He … worships her.” Justin arched a brow at her wary frown. “Do you believe I would lie to you?”

She shook her head vigorously. “You cannot lie. You are the mighty War, Baron of Warrick, defender of England, and protector of all the people.”

He crouched down and set her feet on the ground, but she didn’t let go of his neck. Tousling her curls, he grinned. “My fame will be short-lived, for if you grow up to be all you claimed, you will replace me as England’s greatest legend.”

Her lips curved into her angelic smile. “I maybe exaggerated some. I didn’t want you to think I was weak and puny. Besides,” she cocked her head and stared intensely into his eyes, placing a small hand against his scarred cheek, “I do not wish to be England’s greatest legend.”

“Then what do you wish to be?”

She leaned close and whispered in his ear, “His wife.”

With those bold words, she kissed his cheek then turned and fled to her mother’s side.

“Gabrielle,” he called.

She faced him, revealing blazing cheeks and a beatific grin. “Aye, War?”

“My name is not War. From this day forward, you will call me Justin.” He winked at her.

“Aye, Justin, I surely will.” She tossed him a saucy wink of her own as the surrounding crowd expelled a collective gasp.

Lord, he wanted to laugh. She didn’t know what it meant for him to grant her this honor, but everyone else obviously did.

“Gabrielle, consider yourself betrothed.”