By Royal Command
By Royal Command
By Laura Navarre
Two brothers. One woman. Three hearts at war.
Katrin of Courtenay’s husband is dead—and she doesn’t mourn him. He was cruel and controlling, and she doesn’t need a husband to hold her northern keep. But her vengeful uncle, the King of England, has other ideas: intent on marrying her off, he’s ordered his Viking-bred warrior to return her to court.
On the journey, the Viking captures her interest, and for the first time Katrin understands passion. But her guard is honor-bound to deliver her to the king, and so it is settled—she must wed the mysterious Rafael le Senay, the Baron of Belmaine.
A forced marriage to a stranger slowly becomes something more, and Katrin realizes she is in love with Rafael. But with the shadow of her former lover hanging over her, and Rafael’s powerful brother making dangerous plans, can Katrin negotiate the delicate balance between survival and happiness?
101,000 words
Dear Reader,
Inspiration comes from the strangest places. Every month, I whine a little when my coworker in charge of production, Jenny Bullough, emails to tell me it’s time to write a new Dear Reader letter. “But, but, I don’t know what to write about,” I say. This month, I added to my whine, “People have been telling me they actually READ these letters. Now there’s PRESSURE.” To which Jenny replied:
My usual offer still stands ;)
Dear Reader,
Angela is busy sunning herself on a beach somewhere; we’ll return to our regularly scheduled dear reader letter in August. Meanwhile, enjoy this book!
~Jenny Bullough
Unfortunately, since I write these letters months in advance, while this particular letter is going in the July books, and you’re perhaps reading this during the summer, the truth is, right now I’m dealing with allergy season, and not beach season. Though I did get to visit a beach in Florida a few weeks ago during a conference. Ahhh, memories…
But I hope, for your sake, as you’re reading this, you are sunning yourself on some beach. With a tropical drink or frosty beer in hand. And a good-looking cabana person of your choice serving it. Oh, and no biting insects (our beach has biting insects and they hurt!).
Still, I thank Jenny for the offer, and the inspiration to help me start off this letter. I have to admire the dedication of our authors who, every month, use their inspiration and write such fantastic stories that make great companions on the beach, by the pool, or even in your favorite reading spot indoors. This month, we have another creative and diverse group of releases for your reading pleasure.
Kicking off the month is a sweeping historical romance from Laura Navarre. By Royal Command offers everything you’re looking for in a great historical read: rich historical details, sweeping passion, intrigue and, I don’t think I’m giving anything away by saying this, an amazing happy ending! Joining Laura in starting off our month of releases is debut author Kait Gamble with her fascinating science-fiction romance Liar’s Game. Meanwhile, KC Burn keeps readers in the detailed science-fiction universe of Spice ’n’ Solace with her follow-up super-hot-and-spicy erotic m/m novella Alien ’n’ Outlaw.
Longing for a particularly delicious erotic romance to turn up the heat inside, while it’s hot outside? We’ve got you covered this month. In addition to Alien ’n’ Outlaw, check out erotic romance offerings from Delphine Dryden and Karen Erickson with The Theory of Attraction and A Scandalous Affair, respectively. And we’re proud to announce debut erotic romance author Samantha Ann King with her ménage novel Sharing Hailey, and debut author Zaide Bishop with her erotic historical novella Eliza’s Awakening.
Meanwhile, Michelle Garren Flye offers a compelling and emotional contemporary romance, Where the Heart Lies.
Also this month, join Allegra Fairweather in another paranormal adventure in Island of Secrets by Janni Nell. And make sure you check out Jeffe Kennedy’s Rogue’s Pawn, which kicks off her new fantasy romance series!
Other returning Carina Press authors this month include Natasha Hoar with The Ravenous Dead, the next installment in her Lost Souls series; Dee J. Adams’s Dangerously Close, which continues the high-octane Adrenaline Highs series; Anne Marie Becker, bringing you another slightly creepy and very suspenseful romance in Avenging Angel; and Hunter Raines with the paranormal m/m romance Sight Unseen.
In addition to Samantha Ann King, Kait Gamble and Zaide Bishop, we’re proud to introduce another debut author, R.L. Naquin. If you enjoy your urban fantasy with a cheeky edge and a sense of humor, while offering the urban fantasy and romantic elements you love, make sure to check out Naquin’s debut novel, Monster in My Closet.
I hope you these July 2012 releases as much as we do. And that you really do have a cabana person to wait on you ;)
Remember, we love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to generalinquiries@carinapress.com. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.
Happy reading!
~Angela James
Executive Editor, Carina Press
www.carinapress.com
www.twitter.com/carinapress
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Dedication
This one’s for my exceptional mentors Nancy Holder and Mike Kimball, and all my fellow writers at the Stonecoast MFA program.
And, always, for Steven—the inspiration for all my heroes.
Contents
Part One: The Devil’s Minion
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Part Two: The Would-Be Bishop
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Afterword
About the Author
Copyright
Part One:
The Devil’s Minion
Chapter One
Northumbria
1005 A.D.
She’d murdered her husband when she prayed for his death. In secret, Lady Katrin of Courtenay had known God would call her to account for it.
Gripped by the vise of terror, her heart thudded against her ribcage. Her belly roiled and her hands were ice. No doubt she would die as she deserved: devoured by wolves, condemned by her own choices. Yet, divine judgment or no, she couldn’t resign herself.
Who would tend to their welfare without her—these precious folk who looked to her for safety?
She should never have returned alone to this keep she’d abandoned for the best of reasons. She should never have ventured so far beyond the uncertain shelter of her temporary walls, burrowed deep in the protective wood, and the swords that warded them. An act of sheer madness, when her lands crouched quivering beneath the twin menace of encroaching Scots and savage raiders from Denmark.
And if venture to these tragic ruins she must, why hadn’t she taken heed from the fire-blackened gates swinging inward into shadow, the silence that mocked her hesitant hail, the uneasy nicker of the goat in its pen? Instead, reckless, she’d dismounted—a man’s impulse rather than a woman’s—to seek the kindly steward who guarded the shell of her burned-out home. She’d barely lit a torch when her palfrey shied and bolted.
Now too late Katrin spied the wolf, lean and dangerous, slinking around the charred stable into the failing light of day. When his brethren slid from hiding, her heart sank to her boots. Six of them, for God’s love!
Her entire body ignited with the charge of flight. Well, that was a woman’s impulse, but come too late.
She thought desperately of her hunting bow, but it was strapped to her saddle, and the mare had fled. She had her belt-knife, but scarcely wished to allow the circling beasts close enough to use it. The wolves grinned at her as though they knew it, barely held at bay by the smoking torch.
Clenching her lip between her teeth, she thrust her flaming brand toward the nearest wolf. The monster bared yellow fangs, but inched back. Better.
Seizing her advantage, she edged sideways until her back bumped the stable. Now they couldn’t creep up behind her, perhaps she could sidle to the door and let herself in. It wasn’t as solid as she preferred, with her on one side of it and six wolves on the other. But she prayed it would be enough to hold them.
Aren’t these God’s creatures, driven by the spur of hunger? Who isn’t hungry, in this accursed land?
But hunger made them cunning, just as it had for her. When she dared to creep toward shelter, the lead wolf crouched, its snarls deepening. She thought the wolves sensed what she was about, and were clever enough to thwart her.
A gust of wind caught her rope of hair and flung it forward. The cord loosened, and a skein of red-gold curls unraveled across her face, blinding her. Swiftly she stripped it back, and tasted the bitter knowledge of her fate.
She would die here, in the bailey of this gutted ruin where she’d come as a reluctant bride. The castle was destroyed, her few retainers left cowering in the forest lodge where she, too, should have remained. God knew what dire fate had befallen the faithful steward and his wife. Her life, with its grim daily struggles for food and the strength to hold her meager lands, would be over. She’d spent her brief years uselessly, like a candle burning in an empty room. Now that struggling flame would be blown out.
Sudden fury surged through her, crowding her terror aside. A current of energy coursed down her spine. By God, they would not have her—not without the mother of all battles.
She bared her teeth at the wolves and shouted. “Come on then, you bloody great beasts! Come and try for a piece of me.”
She’d thrust her torch down the throat of the first to leap, and bury her knife to the hilt in its fierce beating heart. Beyond that, she didn’t think. Fiery hair streamed around her as she swept the torch before her.
The leader bunched its shaggy body and sprang, closing on her in a snarling rush. Savagely she swung her torch. It crunched into the monster’s head, the shock of impact slamming through her. Yelping, the beast tumbled sideways in a tangle of flailing limbs.
Already another wolf was leaping, eyes red and teeth snapping. Katrin swept her torch in a wide arc and screamed defiance. Two strides away, the beast lost its footing and collapsed, its nose against her boot—an arrow like a miracle sprouting between its ribs.
She scrambled back, floundering in her woolen kirtle, and wielded her torch with fear-driven strength. Through the veil of flying hair, the thunder of hoofbeats rolled over her, pierced by the metallic shing of steel. All around her, wolves were growling and snapping. As she shook back her hair, another high-pitched yelp rang out.
When her vision cleared, she found an impossible sight: a mounted warrior the size of a siege tower, encumbered in battle armor, head concealed in a cavernous helm as he commanded the yard. Gaping at this new menace, she pressed against the wall as he roared past, broadsword sweeping in a perilous arc. The blade sheared into another leaping wolf and grated against bone.
With brutal efficiency, the stranger unsheathed his sword from the dying wolf. His stallion screamed a challenge and reared, heavy hooves crushing the remains. Overwhelmed by this superior force, the other wolves took to their heels, gray bodies flying low to the ground as they streamed through the gates.
Katrin’s brain functioned with painful slowness. She couldn’t seem to grasp that she’d survived. Not divine judgment after all, since God spared me. Yet she couldn’t turn her thinking so swiftly to counter this new threat.
She stood trembling, clutching the torch, and dragged in great gulps of air. Tremors of aftershock rippled through her. This stranger may have saved her from the wolves. Still, the instrument of destruction filling her courtyard with his dangerous presence was no guardian angel dispatched by God to rescue one reckless woman from folly.
Four years of exile astride the shifting Scottish borders had taught her to view armed strangers with the utmost suspicion.
As if sensing her fear, he turned slowly in his saddle to study her, ring-mail chiming in soft menace. Behind him, the red sun hovered low and burning.
Katrin braced herself and seized the offensive. “Declare yourself, stranger.”
He swung down from his saddle with the chink of steel on steel. Her chest tightened with alarm as the intruder cleaned his blade on the slain wolf’s pelt. When he sheathed his sword, she released her breath.
Whatever his intent, at least he wouldn’t hew her down where she stood. Was he a Scottish border thief or Viking raider or some new peril? When he strode toward her, she brandished her torch.
“Declare yourself, I say!”
Brave words. What will you do if he doesn’t?
He halted, cast in silhouette against the bloody sun. One hand rose, clumsy in a steel-ringed gauntlet, and hoisted off his helm. The wind unraveled a mane of tawny hair behind him.
She circled sideways, lifting a hand against the light. With a sinking heart, she took him in: utterly foreign, stern and unrelenting, with scything cheekbones, the blade of a nose, keen eyes glittering. Copper whiskers blazed against cold-reddened skin.
Katrin stared into those eyes, heart bumping against her ribs. By his coloring, he looked like a Viking. May all the saints defend her if he was.
Bracing his helm beneath one arm, he said gruffly, “Have no fear, girl. The wolves are fled.”
Ah, but a woman has more to fear than wolves. At least he spoke a civilized tongue, clear of the guttural Danish accent.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
“I am Eomond, sword-theyn and captain for Ethelred, king of England.”
Her belly knotted. Surprise and uncertainty fluttered in her chest. Not a Viking after all—unless he was lying. But if he came from her royal uncle, she would fare no better.
“What purpose brings you to Courtenay Hall?”
His eyes swept left and right across the ruins. “Girl, take me to your mistress.”
She suffered a stab of bitterness. Clearly she’d grown so shabby since her exile this royal emissary thought her a baseborn serf. Her green kirtle was fine-woven, but she wore no jewels, just the brooch that pinned her cloak. Her hair still streamed, unbound and wind-tangled, around her slim frame. She knew men called her fair, but no man would think her a lady now.
“You seek an audience with Lady Katrin?” Still wary, she held the smoking torch between them. “What is your business with her?”
“That business is best discussed with the lady.” The man called Eomond pushed out a breath. “Odin’s pain, girl, I mean you no harm. Lower your weapon.”
A flash of humor chased across his face. How could he not scorn her feeble defense? If this formidable figure meant her ill, she
would hardly be able to fend him off with a dying torch. Reluctantly, she lowered the brand, thoughts racing.
The king of England had banished her to an unwilling marriage, sealing the fealty of a border lord who was the key to England’s defense against the Danes. He’d offered no assistance when Maldred of Courtenay died, leaving her unprotected as plague decimated the land. That she survived the pestilence while it mowed down her neighbors like summer wheat, that she contrived to keep starvation and bitter cold at bay, owed nothing to Ethelred.
So she viewed this emissary with no good will. At this late hour, the king couldn’t mean to aid her.
Settling on a strategy, she sent a swift prayer toward Heaven. Forgive the lie, but it’s needful.
“Lady Katrin isn’t here. Perhaps you’ve noticed this keep stands in some neglect.”
He eyed the fire-blackened timbers. “Neglect indeed, when serving girls must fend off wolves in the bailey with little more than bare hands and courage. ’Twas a brave thing you did, girl, standing your ground.”
For an instant, she burned in the dark flames that kindled in his gaze. Sweet Jesus, he unsettled her. Perhaps he meant nothing more than casual appreciation for a fair face. But, unguarded and alone, she couldn’t afford to draw his interest.
Katrin turned away from his stare. “It requires little courage to defend one’s own life. What else was I to do?”
“I’ve seen grown men behave less bravely.” Suddenly, he closed the distance between them. When he lifted the dead torch from her grasp, her heart lodged in her throat.
Now he was too close, overwhelming her with the size of him. All men looked massive to her in their armor—even Maldred, though he hadn’t been tall.
Of course, Maldred hadn’t needed size to frighten her.
But this monumental fellow towered over her like a war-engine. She was painfully conscious of her own slight frame, wrapped in a few layers of wind-whipped wool, vulnerable before his armored strength. Swiftly she slipped aside, catching fistfuls of her flying hair.