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“Your keep is filthy, pigs broke through the sty fence and are all over the bailey, I saw dozens of mice scampering in your great hall, thatch needs replacing on the cotters’ huts, you beget children like an acorn tree gone wild, your staff take their ease like high nobility, there are several blubbering servants arguing over who will bury the priest who is laid out in your chapel, and you…you slothful sluggard, you lie abed, sleeping off a drukkin night, no doubt.”
Whoa! One thing was for certain. This would not be yet another woman trying to crawl into his bed furs. “Stop shrieking. You will make my ears bleed.” Caedmon rolled over on his side, tugging the bed linen up to cover his lower half, then sat up.
“Bestir thyself!”
“Nay!”
“Have you no shame?”
“Not much.”
“Are you lackbrained?”
“No more than you for barging into my bedchamber.”
“Even if you have no coin, there is no excuse for the neglect.”
“Not even the fact that I have been gone nine long months in service to a king undeserving of service?”
“Where is the lady of this estate?”
’Tis just like a woman to think a woman is the answer to everything! “There is no lady.”
“Hmpfh! Why am I not surprised?”
Now he was getting annoyed. “Sarcasm ill suits you, m’lady. Have you ne’er been told that?”
“The blade goes both ways, knave.”
His eyes went wide at her foolhardy insults. “Who in bloody hell are you?”
“Breanne of Stoneheim.”
“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
“She’s a princess,” someone called out from the corridor. He saw now that a crowd of people were standing just outside the open doorway, being entertained by this shrew’s railing at him. Geoff and Wulf were in the forefront, of course, laughing their arses off.
“Well, Princess Breanne, what do you in my home and my bedchamber?”
She had the grace to blush. “My sisters and I came here, on our way…as a stopping-off place…for a…uh, visit…on our journey. Your castellan offered us hospitality.”
He could tell by the deepening red on her cheeks that she was either lying or stretching the truth.
“Sisters?”
“She has four sisters,” Geoff offered. “All princesses.”
Five princesses? Here? Oh, Lord!
“And they are accompanied by two scowling Vikings who are about this tall,” Wulf added, holding a hand high above his head. And Wulf was a big man by any standard.
“They were only scowling because your archers aimed their bows at them,” the lady declared, doing her own good job of scowling.
“’Tis a comfort, your explanation is. I feel so much better.”
Caedmon could practically hear the grinding of her small, white teeth.
“And there is a wise man from the eastern lands who has opinions on every bloody thing in the world, most of it involving camels.” As usual, Geoff was enjoying himself at his expense.
“Why me? I mean, why stop here at Larkspur?” he asked the bothersome woman. “Surely there are better places.”
“My sister Tyra is your cousin.”
He frowned. “I have no cousin named Tyra.” Leastways, he did not think he did, but then he was still wooly-witted from sleep.
“Her husband, Adam of Hawkshire, is your cousin by marriage…um, slightly removed,” the flame-haired witch explained.
He knew Adam, or rather he had heard of him. A famed healer. But their connection by blood was far removed.
“Did you know there is a child still in nappies walking about nigh naked? He could be trampled by dogs the size of small ponies roaming about indoors.”
“Have a caution, wench. You have already passed the bounds of good sense. Any more, and you may taste the flavor of my wrath.”
She started to respond, then stopped herself.
“I told Emma to take care of Piers,” Caedmon said.
“Would that be the same Emma who spent the night spreading her thighs for the blond god?”
“She is referring to me,” Geoff preened. “The blond god.”
“And, by the by, why do all the females in this keep appear to have big bosoms?”
“Huh?”
Geoff and Wulf were laughing so hard they were bent over at their waists, holding their sides. When he was able to speak, Geoff said, “’Twould seem that Gerard has a preference for big breasts when choosing maids for inside work.” He gave particular emphasis to “inside work.”
“Gerard? Bloody hell! He is old enough to…never mind.”
“Not yet in his dotage, if he can still appreciate a buxom bosom,” Wulf observed.
Breanne waved a hand airily. “You are not to worry. My sisters and I will set your keep aright whilst we are here.”
Alarm rippled through Caedmon’s body. “How long do you intend to stay?” he asked bluntly.
Another blush. “I am not certain. But you are not to worry.”
“I was not reassured the first time you said that.”
“You will hardly notice we are here.”
“I doubt that heartily.”
She went stiff as a pike, apparently not liking it when the sarcasm came from his direction, but she pressed her lips together. Very nice lips, he noticed, if he were attracted to tall, skinny, red-haired women with barbed tongues, which he was not. At least she was making an effort to be polite now.
Something very strange was going on, but he had more urgent matters to take care of. He’d drunk a tun of ale yestereve and now he needed to piss. Badly.
“Go down to the great hall and wait for me. We will discuss this later.”
The shrew lifted her chin defiantly and said, “I am not leaving until you get your lazy self out of bed. If no one else cares about those children…” On and on she blathered in her shrill voice.
Really, this woman’s tongue flaps like a loose shingle. I could rebuke her in a way she would not soon forget. Hell, I could kick her cheeky arse out the door, if I choose. But wait. I know another way. “You say me nay? Be careful, you may find I am more than you wagered for.”
“Do you threaten me, troll?”
“So be it,” he said, tossing the sheet aside and standing. How do you like that trollsome part?
Immediately her eyes fixed on a part of his naked body, which was displaying a powerful morning thickening, standing out like a flagpole. “You, you, you…” she sputtered, but could not seem to raise her eyes, which he noticed, irrelevantly, were a beautiful shade of green, like summer grass on the moors.
“Do not be offended, m’lady.” He pointed at his nether part. “This is not for you. Your virtue is not forfeit…from this quarter. ’Tis just that I must needs visit the garderobe.”
“What an insufferable, crude, arrogant, loathsome lout!” she exclaimed as she sailed through the doorway, where the crowd had magically parted like the Red Sea of Biblical lore.
“Damn, but it is good to be home, is it not, Caedmon?” Geoff inquired sweetly, then ducked just in time to miss the pillow he sent his way.
A short time later, Caedmon realized he had one more thing to add to his list of things to do today: Get rid of princesses.
Coming March 2010
The Vampire and the Virgin
from New York Times bestselling author
Kerrelyn Sparks’s
Love at Stake series
After doing battle with evil vampires intent on world domination, Robby MacKay is in dire need of a vacation. And calm, cool nights on a tropical island are exactly what the doctor ordered…but there’s nothing cool about Olivia Sotiris. Also on vacation, the very sexy, very hot psychologist can make Robby’s eyebrows singe with just one look. Soon, those nights aren’t calm or cool…
Olivia rested her elbows on the patio wall and gazed at the beach below. A breeze swept a tendril of hair across her face, and she shoved i
t aside. Most of her long hair was secured on the back of her head with a big claw clip, but as usual, there were always a few unruly strands that managed to escape.
She took a deep breath, savoring her solitude. There were times, like during the party that evening, when the constant bombardment of everyone’s emotions became hard to bear. It would feel like she was drowning, her own emotions submerged under the flood of those around her, to the point that she feared losing herself entirely. She’d learned over the years to handle it, but still, every now and then, she had to escape the maddening crowd.
Being an empath had certainly helped her with her job. Unfortunately, her unique abilities had also caused the monster to become obsessed with her. Don’t think about him. You’re safe here.
A movement far to the left caught her eye. She focused on a grove of tamarisk trees but only saw them swaying with a breeze. Nothing strange there.
Then she saw him. A lone figure emerging from the dark shadow of the trees. He was jogging along the beach. At this time of night? He reached a clear, sandy expanse where the moon shone brightly, and Olivia forgot to breathe.
His body was beautiful and she suspected his face was, too, but it was hard to tell at this distance. Dressed in dark jogging shorts and a plain white T-shirt, he moved quickly and easily along the beach. His skin seemed pale, but that could be caused by the moonlight.
She sucked in a deep breath as he came closer. He was a big man. His T-shirt was stretched across wonderfully broad shoulders, the short sleeves tight around his biceps.
If only she could see his face better. Her gaze drifted over to the telescope. Why not? She rushed over, pointed the telescope in the man’s direction, and peered through the eyepiece.
Oh, yeah, he did not disappoint. His eyes looked sharp and intelligent, pale, though she couldn’t tell the color. Green, she hoped, since that was her favorite. He had a straight, strong nose, a wide mouth, and a strong jaw with a sexy hint of dark whiskers. There was a grim expression on his face, but it didn’t make him unattractive. Quite the opposite. It added to his aura of masculine power.
He passed by the house, and she admired his sharp profile for a few seconds, then lowered the scope to his body. His chest expanded with each deep breath, and she found herself matching her breaths to his. Even lower, she noted his muscular thighs and calves. His white running shoes pounded on the sand, leaving a steady trail.
He continued down the beach toward the rock known as Petra, giving her a glorious view of his backside.
“Opa,” she muttered as she continued to spy on him through the telescope. She’d seen plenty of fit men during her training days for the Bureau, but this guy put them to shame. While their muscles had seemed forced and clumpy, this guy looked completely natural, moving with an easy, graceful control.
She was still focused on his rump when she noticed the attached legs were no longer moving. Did he run out of steam? He hadn’t seemed tired. His jogging shorts slowly turned, affording her a long look at his groin. She gulped.
She raised the scope to his chest. Oh dear. That huge expanse of chest was now facing her direction. Surely, he wasn’t…she lifted the scope to his face and gasped.
He was looking straight at her!
She jumped back, pulling her blanket tight around her. How could he see her? The courtyard was dark and the walls reached to her waist. But then the walls were whitewashed and she was cocooned in a white blanket, and the moon and stars were bright. Maybe he could see this far. Surely he hadn’t been able to hear her? She’d barely spoken over a whisper.
He stepped toward her, gazing at her with intense eyes. Oh God, he’d caught her ogling him with a telescope! She pressed a hand against her mouth to keep from groaning out loud. Apparently, the smallest of sounds was carrying across the beach.
He took another step toward her, and the moon glinted off his hair. Red? She hadn’t met any redheaded men at the party that night. Who was this man?
“Olivia,” Eleni called through the open door. “Your tea is steeping.”
She strode into the kitchen and waited impatiently for her mug of tea. “There’s a man on the beach.”
“Are you sure? It’s almost two in the morning.”
“Come and see. Maybe you know him.” Olivia wandered back to the patio and peered over the wall.
He was gone.
“He—he was there.” Olivia pointed south toward Petra. There was no sign of him anywhere.
Eleni gave her a sympathetic look. “You’re exhausted and seeing shadows. Drink your tea, child, and go to bed.”
“He was real,” she whispered. And the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. Dear God, please let him be real.
Coming April 2010
Nine Rules to Break
When Romancing a Rake
A delightful new romance from debut author
Sarah MacLean
Kiss someone passionately, fire a pistol, attend a duel…
Lady Calpurnia Hartwell has had enough. Sick and tired of following rules and never having any fun, the inveterate spinster decides it’s time to throw caution to the wind…at least just this once. But when a little fun leads her into the arms of a devastating rake, good Lady Callie must decide if she’ll retreat to the life she knows…or succumb to a most ruinous temptation.
Who are you?” The Marquess of Ralston’s eyes narrowed in the darkness, taking in the soft angles of Callie’s face. “Wait…” She imagined his eyes flashing with recognition. “You’re Allendale’s daughter. I noticed you earlier.”
She could not contain her sarcastic response. “I’m sure you did, my lord. It would be rather hard to miss me.” She covered her mouth immediately, shocked that she had spoken so boldly.
He chuckled. “Yes. Well, it isn’t the most flattering of gowns.”
She couldn’t help her own laughter from slipping out. “How very diplomatic of you, my lord. You may admit it. I look rather too much like an apricot.”
This time, he laughed aloud. “An apt comparison. But I wonder, is there ever a point where one looks enough like an apricot?” He indicated that she should resume her place on the bench and, after a moment’s hesitation, she did so.
“Likely not.” She smiled broadly, amazed that she wasn’t nearly as humiliated by his agreement as she would have expected. No, indeed, she found it rather freeing. “My mother…she’s desperate for a daughter she can dress like a fashion plate. Sadly, I shall never be such a child. How I long for my sister to come out and distract the countess from my person.”
He joined her on the bench. “How old is your sister?”
“Eight,” she said mournfully.
“Ah. Not ideal.”
“An understatement.” She looked up at the star-filled sky. “No, I shall be long on the shelf by the time she makes her debut.”
“What makes you so certain you’re shelf-bound?”
She cast him a sidelong glance. “While I appreciate your chivalry, my lord, your feigned ignorance insults us both.” When he failed to reply, she stared down at her hands and replied, “My choices are rather limited.”
“How so?”
“I seem able to have my pick of the impoverished, the aged, and the deadly dull,” she said, ticking the categories off on her fingers as she spoke.
He chuckled. “I find that difficult to believe.”
“Oh, it’s true. I’m not the type of young lady who brings gentlemen to heel. Anyone with eyes can see that.”
“I have eyes. And I see no such thing.” His voice lowered, soft and rich as velvet as he reached out to stroke her cheek. Her breath caught and she wondered at the intense wave of awareness coursing through her.
She leaned into his caress, unable to resist, as he moved his hand to grasp her chin. “What is your name?” he asked softly.
She winced, knowing what was to come. “Calpurnia.” She closed her eyes again, embarrassed by the extravagant name—a name with which no one but a hopelessly romantic mother
with an unhealthy obsession with Shakespeare would have considered saddling a child.
“Calpurnia.” He tested the name on his tongue. “As in, Caesar’s wife?”
The blush flared higher as she nodded. “The very same.”
He smiled. “I must make it a point to better acquaint myself with your parents. That is a bold name, to be sure.”
“It’s a horrible name.”
“Nonsense. Calpurnia was Empress of Rome—strong and beautiful and smarter than the men who surrounded her. She saw the future. She stood strong in the face of her husband’s assassination. She is a marvelous namesake.” He shook her chin firmly as he spoke. “It is a name to be lived up to. And I think you are well able to do so, if only you would attempt it.”
She was speechless in the wake of his frank lecture. Before she had a chance to reply, he continued. “Now, I must take my leave. And you, Lady Calpurnia, must return to the ballroom, head held high. Do you think you can do that?” He gave her chin a final tap and stood, leaving her cold in the wake of his departure.
She stood with him and nodded, starry-eyed. “Yes, my lord.”
“Good girl.” He leaned closer and whispered, his breath fanning the hair at her nape and sending a thrill through her, warming her in the cool April night. “Remember, you are an empress. Behave as one and they will have no choice but to see you as such. I already do…” He paused, and she held her breath, waiting for his words. “Your Highness.”
And with that, he was off, disappearing deeper into the maze and leaving Callie with a silly grin on her face. She did not think twice before following him, so keen she was to be near him. At that moment, she would have followed him anywhere, this prince among men who had noticed her, not her dowry or her horrible dress, but her!
If I am an empress, he is the only man worthy enough to be my emperor.
She did not have to go far to catch him. Several yards in, the maze opened on a clearing that featured a large, gleaming fountain adorned with cherubs. There, bathed in a silvery glow was her prince, all broad shoulders and long legs. Callie held her breath at the sight of him—exquisite, as though he himself had been carved from marble.
