So I'm reposting my review of The Rogue and adding a little something just about the audio version.
So Sit back and let Claire/Deb take you back to Medieval Scotland where chivalry was born and where Claire brings it vivaciously and deliciously back to life.
- Audible Audio Edition
- Listening Length: 13 hours and 42 minutes
- Program Type: Audiobook
- Version: Unabridged
- Publisher: Deborah A. Cooke
- Audible.com Release Date: August 19, 2014
- Language: English
- ASIN: B00N33TSQI
OVERVIEW:
Dear Reader:
Seductive and mysterious, Merlyn was the laird of Ravensmuir - never had a man so stirred my body and soul. I gave myself to him - willingly, trustingly, passionately - and we soon wed. Then a horrible revelation emerged, shattering my innocence and my marriage...
Five years later, Merlyn returned to my doorstep, desperate for my help. The scoundrel swore he was haunted by memories of me, that a treasure locked in Ravensmuir could clear his name. Yet I could not surrender to his will again. Now he is said to be murdered and Ravensmuir has fallen into my hands.
Seductive and mysterious, Merlyn was the laird of Ravensmuir - never had a man so stirred my body and soul. I gave myself to him - willingly, trustingly, passionately - and we soon wed. Then a horrible revelation emerged, shattering my innocence and my marriage...
Five years later, Merlyn returned to my doorstep, desperate for my help. The scoundrel swore he was haunted by memories of me, that a treasure locked in Ravensmuir could clear his name. Yet I could not surrender to his will again. Now he is said to be murdered and Ravensmuir has fallen into my hands.
But even as I cross the threshold of this cursed keep, I hear his whisper in the darkness, feel his caress in the night, and I know that Merlyn has told me but part of his tale. Should I do as is right and expose his lair? Or dare I trust my alluring but deceptive spouse - the rogue who destroyed my heart?
-Ysabella
Read an Excerpt:
An excerpt from The Rogue:
It is
market day in Kinfairlie village some five years past, a fine spring day. The
sun is glorious, the wind filled with warmth. May Day is nigh upon us and there
is frolic in the air, as there so oft is when spring shows her face after an
arduous winter. All the village is merry. It is a day filled with
possibilities, a day when any dream could ripen unexpectedly. I am but eighteen
summers of age and my footstep is still light.
I hear the
nobleman before I see him. The horse could belong to no other, its shod hooves
and proud gallop revealing its value, size and lineage.
The
nobleman has ridden his destrier through the throng and between the stalls as
his ilk so oft do. The sound of that massive stallion’s hooves carry over the
chatter of the market.
Conversations
fall silent at the familiar sound, the villagers fearing what toll a nobleman
will take of us now.
This one
has not come for coin.
I feel the
nobleman’s presence, feel his gaze upon my back, feel my cheeks heat with the
awareness that I have been chosen.
Dread rises
within me. His is a stare so burning that it cannot be ignored. I try
desperately to do so, nonetheless.
I am not so
young that I do not know what happens to a peasant girl who snares a laird’s
desire, let alone one who boldly meets his eye.
Indeed, I
know my own assets. To be red of hair is not so much of a liability, not if
one’s hair is long and thick and curly as mine. I am tall and strong, though
not without a few curves. I know that I have become desirable, by whatever
measure was used by men, but I do not intend to give away what meager advantage
I have.
Marriage is
my sole chance of better circumstance, but marriage is not what noblemen offer
to village wenches who arouse their lust.
He walks
the horse not two steps behind me, but says nothing. Though I know my color
rises, I do not acknowledge him. People halt to watch, some nudging and
smiling, some whispering, some shaking their head with disapproval. As I hasten
my errands, and he patiently stalks me, I know the dread of a mouse cornered in
the kitchen. Are noblemen not said to adore the hunt above all else? I hope
against hope that this lord will choose more willing prey.
Had I known
more of Merlyn then, I would have understood the futility of this hope. Merlyn
never sways from winning his desire. He is the most patient man ever born, or
perhaps the most determined one. He always has a surety that he is right, and
that certainty ensures that he never sways from his objectives.
However
disreputable they might prove to be.
I spare a
glance back and my heart plummets. The nobleman’s horse is fine beyond belief,
blacker than black, larger than ever one such as me might imagine a horse to
be. It is so high-stepping and proud that it seems another kind of creature
entirely than the sole plough-horse in Kinfairlie. I turn and race away, a
glimpse of the steed enough to make me flee. Unwilling to lead him to my home,
I lead him upon a chase through the alleys of Kinfairlie.
He laughs
and clicks his tongue to the horse.
I duck
through every street – for there are not many – and every twisted alley that
should have been too narrow for his steed. Yet I fail to lose him nonetheless.
Breathless
and exasperated, I spin to confront him in the relative security of the
marketplace.
That first
sight of him nigh steals my breath away, as does his alarming proximity. My
heart lodges in my throat as I note the black of his garb, the golden bird with
outspread wings that forms the clasp of his cloak. He can be no other than the
scion of the Lammergeier family who have rebuilt Ravensmuir keep. Their wicked
repute has preceded them and my fears redouble. He is beside me in a heartbeat.
I have to look up, over his knee, to meet his gaze and then, I am lost.
Oh, this is
a wickedly handsome man, of that there can be no doubt. Black of hair and broad
of shoulder, he would be striking by his features alone. His lips curve in a
knowing smile, his carriage is proud and confident. He has been born to wealth,
and grown tall and straight beneath its advantages. His smile is crooked,
confident.
His eyes
temper my fear and awaken my curiosity. They brim with merriment, sparkling as
though wrought of stars. He seems amused yet mischievous at the same time.
There is a shadow of knowingness deep within those eyes, an awareness of dark
secrets, a certainty of not only his own allure but of my reaction to it.
The
reaction of any woman to him.
“What do
you want of me?” I demand, knowing full well the answer.
The rogue’s
smile broadens. He leans down from his saddle with a male grace unfamiliar to
me, and flicks his gloved fingertip across my cheek. It is a possessive and
intimate gesture, one that makes the old women in the market begin to whisper
and cluck.
I am struck to stone. His glove is soft, softer than I had believed leather
ever could be, and his touch is gentle. The glove is dyed to the most
remarkable shade of crimson.
I am
tempted to close my eyes and lean against his unexpected caress, tempted to
welcome the softness against my cheek, tempted to forget every warning I have
ever heard.
I do not
succumb.
“I desire
what all these men desire of you,” he whispers, his words deliciously low. “I
desire what you promise with the sway of your hips.”
“I promise
nothing to any man.” I give him a disparaging glance. “And grant them even
less.”
“Are you
wed then?”
“Nay.” I
spin and walk yet again, my fear changing to intrigue with startling ease. I
had expected violence of him, a capture and a rape, not an inquiry.
Not a
caress.
Not a
flirtation. I almost smile when I hear the horse trot behind me.
“Have you
been spoken for?”
“Nay.”
“Pledged to
the convent?”
“Nay.”
“Then, what
is your name?”
“It is not
for you to know.”
His voice
brims with laughter. “And what, my lady not-for-you-to-know, would it take for
you to grant a smile to a suitor?”
I glance
back to scoff. “You are no suitor!”
He feigns
such affront that I nearly laugh. Indeed, I enjoy myself overmuch with this
handsome rogue.
“But one
glance and the lady knows my intentions. What an uncommon prize of a woman!”
His eyes gleam. “I can only assume that you refer to knowledge in the biblical
sense.”
I survey
him from unruly hair to fine boot toe with apparent disdain. “In your case, I
most definitely do.”
The
villagers laugh.
He catches
at his heart and pretends to be injured. “The lady wounds me.”
The crowd
gathers closer, much entertained, nudging each other as they strain to catch
every word.
I prop my
basket upon my hip, toss back my braid and scoff. “Understand this, sir rogue,
I would grant such knowledge more willingly to a farmer than to one of your
ilk.”
He is not
insulted, as I might have hoped. He laughs aloud, the rich sound tempting me,
among others, to join his merriment. “Do you not imagine that a nobleman could
pay a finer price?”
“Oh,
undoubtedly he could, but I doubt that he would do so.” Certain our parlay is
done, I walk on.
He clicks
his tongue and the beast strolls after me.
A crowd of
villagers begins to follow us, clearly enjoying our wordplay. Their interest
makes me realize that my conquest has become a spectacle. I do not take kindly
to being the butt of a jest. The fact of my neighbors’ entertainment steals the
pleasure of matching words with this handsome nobleman.
And truly,
I know what he wants and I know what he will do once he has it.
“Why would
you think as much?” he asks, his low voice making a part of me tingle in a most
unwelcome way.
I have
never been shy and my next words prove as much. “Village women are so much
chattel to noblemen,” I declare.”They plough our furrows and plant their seed,
then abandon the fruit to others.”
My fellow
villagers roar with laughter.
The
nobleman’s lips twitch. “And what man, fair damsel, will win the right to
plough your fields? Would you choose him solely for his experience at farming?”
The crowd
jostle around us, all certain that we do not truly speak of fields tilled.
“Of course
not.”
“No?”
“It is my
suspicion that all men are born with the knowledge of farming, so there is no
merit to be found in considerable experience.”
His smile
puts a dimple in his chin. My heart skips a beat, though I try to hide any
response from that bright gaze.
“What
then?” His tone is teasing, though his eyes are solemn. “What then are your
terms, my lady not-for-you-to-know?” He dares me, but he does not guess that I
will rise to his challenge.
I smile,
feeling my pulse quicken at his proximity, even though I know he will not
accept my demand. “My virgin fields, of course, shall solely be the right of my
rightful husband to furrow.”
The
villagers alternatively gasp and roar, thinking the matter resolved by my
audacity. I turn away, certain of that myself.
But the
nobleman seizes my elbow and pulls me to a halt. His gaze burns with unexpected
avidity. “Then marry me,” he says and I cannot summon a word to my lips for
shock.
Does he
mock me? Certainly, there is a reckless gleam in his eyes.
“But bed
you first, I am certain,” I scoff. “Or take vows before your priest, who will
be revealed to not be a priest with morning’s light.”
I pull my
arm from his grip and turn away. “You make a jest at my expense, sir, and I
need not linger to hear more of it. Unlike you and your kind, I have labor
enough to fill my waking hours.” I march blindly across the market with the
unwelcome sense that amusement has been provided at my expense.
“I make no
jest.” He speaks with such volume and resolve that the marketplace falls
silent.
I glance
back in surprise.
He stares
fixedly at me, the merry glint in his eyes gone and his smile banished. He is
the image of a man resolved, if inexplicably so. There is a majesty about him
that draws every eye, that compels every voice to silence. We all stare,
knowing we have never seen the like of him.
And I
understand suddenly that such men are different from those I know. This
resolve, this commanding presence, is why men follow other men, even to their
deaths.
He holds my
gaze for a long moment, then he raises his voice to address all in attendance.
“My name is
Merlyn Lammergeier, newly pronounced Laird of Ravensmuir by my father’s own
dictate. I seek a bride to grace my home.”
“Merlyn,” I
whisper, trying his name upon my tongue though I know I should not.
He turns
his horse that he might address all of the rapt crowd, the creature arching its
neck as it circles in place with perfect composure. The wind lifts the ends of
Merlyn’s cloak and the steed’s tail. The vivid blue of the sky shows the hues
of Merlyn’s garb and his eyes to advantage, the sunlight glints on the gold of
his cloak clasp and the silver of his steed’s harness. They are magnificent,
the two of them, as far beyond our daily lives as might be imagined.
“Let it be
known by all that I would wed this woman honorably on this very day, that I
will do so in the chapel before whosoever of you will witness the match.”
I stare at
him in shock. Is he mad?
Do I care?
“What about
the banns?” cries one bold woman as I grapple with the whimsy of his offer.
“There is
no consanguinity between us,” Merlyn declares, then winks at me. “Unless you
have kin in France.”
I shake my
head, marveling.
He nods but
once, the matter resolved. “And I have no kin here. I am certain that a
donation to the chapel can see such trivialities waived. We shall be wed by the
priest of the lady’s choosing.” He turns back to face me and his eyes shine.
“If my lady’s terms are truly as she declares.” He smiles, and as his voice
falls low, I have a sudden sense that I wager with the devil himself. “If her
deeds are truly as bold as her speech.”
The
villagers laugh, jostling each other at this unexpected marvel, then turn to
watch me. It is the first but not the last time that Merlyn astounds me with
his choices.
Nor is it
the last time that he makes my heart thunder.
“Are you
certain of your choice, Laird Merlyn?” shouts a bold villager. “This one has
the sharpest tongue of any damsel in Kinfairlie!”
Merlyn’s
gaze darkens, his smile turns seductive. “I have a fancy for maidens with sharp
tongues.” He coaxes the steed closer and offers his hand to me. “But is this
lady of bold speech equally bold in deed? Is she bold enough to accept me, the
heir of the Lammergeier? Or have I guessed wrongly that she is stalwart enough
to face any challenge?”
There it is
again, that mischief, that certainty that not only is his family’s repute well
known but that I will not rise to his dare.
Perhaps it
is a test of whether I will make a fitting bride for him.
Perhaps it
is a warning.
The truth
is that I do not care. I know only that Fortune smiles upon me. I know that
Merlyn has wealth, I know that he is handsome, I know that he is not a fool. I
know that he makes my heart leap. I know that even if he is a rogue, even if he
is mad, that as his wife I could still live well enough on his coin. I know
that this chance would only be mine if I seize it immediately.
And most
importantly of all, I know that I want to surprise him. I am seduced by that
dimple and by that dare in his eyes.
He is irresistible, and he desires me. I have no intent of granting him the
time to change his thinking.
I hand my
basket to the woman beside me, an elderly neighbor of ours. “Take this home to
my mother, if you will, Anna, and please bid her hasten to the chapel if she
would see me wed to Laird Merlyn of Ravensmuir by Kinfairlie’s own priest.”
The crowd
hoots with glee but I see only Merlyn’s brilliant smile. My heart lurches, but
I take his hand as if there is nothing uncommon in what I do. I catch my breath
at his strength and surety when he grasps me around the waist and pulls me
directly into the saddle before him.
And I find
the evidence of his desire pressed against my buttocks, my breath deserting me
as his lips touch my ear.
“So, you
are indeed as audacious a woman as I suspected.” He murmurs, his voice making
me shiver. He seems untroubled by what has always been perceived as a liability
in my character by others. “Your intrepid nature will serve you well at
Ravensmuir.”
I wonder
then if there is more to the tale of him, more to his need for a bride than I
might be pleased to learn.
But such
concerns grow no roots in my thoughts, not then. He kisses me, possessively,
thoroughly, exhilaratingly, coaxing the spark between us to a smoldering blaze.
When he lifts his head, he smiles knowingly at me, fully aware of the hunger he
has awakened within me.
“Well met,
bride of mine,” he whispers. He flings his cloak around me and spurs his steed
to the chapel, his hand rising in the shadows to cup the weight of my breast.
My flesh tingles in a startling new way. I know with dreadful certainly that I
have been claimed by demon, and that with my own consent.
But I do
not step away from the flame Merlyn kindles. The devil has chosen me as his
handmaiden, and for the moment, I do not care.
©2003, 2011
Claire Delacroix, Inc.
An excerpt from The Rogue:
It is
market day in Kinfairlie village some five years past, a fine spring day. The
sun is glorious, the wind filled with warmth. May Day is nigh upon us and there
is frolic in the air, as there so oft is when spring shows her face after an
arduous winter. All the village is merry. It is a day filled with
possibilities, a day when any dream could ripen unexpectedly. I am but eighteen
summers of age and my footstep is still light.
I hear the
nobleman before I see him. The horse could belong to no other, its shod hooves
and proud gallop revealing its value, size and lineage.
The
nobleman has ridden his destrier through the throng and between the stalls as
his ilk so oft do. The sound of that massive stallion’s hooves carry over the
chatter of the market.
Conversations
fall silent at the familiar sound, the villagers fearing what toll a nobleman
will take of us now.
This one
has not come for coin.
I feel the
nobleman’s presence, feel his gaze upon my back, feel my cheeks heat with the
awareness that I have been chosen.
Dread rises
within me. His is a stare so burning that it cannot be ignored. I try
desperately to do so, nonetheless.
I am not so
young that I do not know what happens to a peasant girl who snares a laird’s
desire, let alone one who boldly meets his eye.
Indeed, I
know my own assets. To be red of hair is not so much of a liability, not if
one’s hair is long and thick and curly as mine. I am tall and strong, though
not without a few curves. I know that I have become desirable, by whatever
measure was used by men, but I do not intend to give away what meager advantage
I have.
Marriage is
my sole chance of better circumstance, but marriage is not what noblemen offer
to village wenches who arouse their lust.
He walks
the horse not two steps behind me, but says nothing. Though I know my color
rises, I do not acknowledge him. People halt to watch, some nudging and
smiling, some whispering, some shaking their head with disapproval. As I hasten
my errands, and he patiently stalks me, I know the dread of a mouse cornered in
the kitchen. Are noblemen not said to adore the hunt above all else? I hope
against hope that this lord will choose more willing prey.
Had I known
more of Merlyn then, I would have understood the futility of this hope. Merlyn
never sways from winning his desire. He is the most patient man ever born, or
perhaps the most determined one. He always has a surety that he is right, and
that certainty ensures that he never sways from his objectives.
However
disreputable they might prove to be.
I spare a
glance back and my heart plummets. The nobleman’s horse is fine beyond belief,
blacker than black, larger than ever one such as me might imagine a horse to
be. It is so high-stepping and proud that it seems another kind of creature
entirely than the sole plough-horse in Kinfairlie. I turn and race away, a
glimpse of the steed enough to make me flee. Unwilling to lead him to my home,
I lead him upon a chase through the alleys of Kinfairlie.
He laughs
and clicks his tongue to the horse.
I duck
through every street – for there are not many – and every twisted alley that
should have been too narrow for his steed. Yet I fail to lose him nonetheless.
Breathless
and exasperated, I spin to confront him in the relative security of the
marketplace.
That first
sight of him nigh steals my breath away, as does his alarming proximity. My
heart lodges in my throat as I note the black of his garb, the golden bird with
outspread wings that forms the clasp of his cloak. He can be no other than the
scion of the Lammergeier family who have rebuilt Ravensmuir keep. Their wicked
repute has preceded them and my fears redouble. He is beside me in a heartbeat.
I have to look up, over his knee, to meet his gaze and then, I am lost.
Oh, this is
a wickedly handsome man, of that there can be no doubt. Black of hair and broad
of shoulder, he would be striking by his features alone. His lips curve in a
knowing smile, his carriage is proud and confident. He has been born to wealth,
and grown tall and straight beneath its advantages. His smile is crooked,
confident.
His eyes
temper my fear and awaken my curiosity. They brim with merriment, sparkling as
though wrought of stars. He seems amused yet mischievous at the same time.
There is a shadow of knowingness deep within those eyes, an awareness of dark
secrets, a certainty of not only his own allure but of my reaction to it.
The
reaction of any woman to him.
“What do
you want of me?” I demand, knowing full well the answer.
The rogue’s
smile broadens. He leans down from his saddle with a male grace unfamiliar to
me, and flicks his gloved fingertip across my cheek. It is a possessive and
intimate gesture, one that makes the old women in the market begin to whisper
and cluck.
I am struck to stone. His glove is soft, softer than I had believed leather ever could be, and his touch is gentle. The glove is dyed to the most remarkable shade of crimson.
I am struck to stone. His glove is soft, softer than I had believed leather ever could be, and his touch is gentle. The glove is dyed to the most remarkable shade of crimson.
I am
tempted to close my eyes and lean against his unexpected caress, tempted to
welcome the softness against my cheek, tempted to forget every warning I have
ever heard.
I do not
succumb.
“I desire
what all these men desire of you,” he whispers, his words deliciously low. “I
desire what you promise with the sway of your hips.”
“I promise
nothing to any man.” I give him a disparaging glance. “And grant them even
less.”
“Are you
wed then?”
“Nay.” I
spin and walk yet again, my fear changing to intrigue with startling ease. I
had expected violence of him, a capture and a rape, not an inquiry.
Not a
caress.
Not a
flirtation. I almost smile when I hear the horse trot behind me.
“Have you
been spoken for?”
“Nay.”
“Pledged to
the convent?”
“Nay.”
“Then, what
is your name?”
“It is not
for you to know.”
His voice
brims with laughter. “And what, my lady not-for-you-to-know, would it take for
you to grant a smile to a suitor?”
I glance
back to scoff. “You are no suitor!”
He feigns
such affront that I nearly laugh. Indeed, I enjoy myself overmuch with this
handsome rogue.
“But one
glance and the lady knows my intentions. What an uncommon prize of a woman!”
His eyes gleam. “I can only assume that you refer to knowledge in the biblical
sense.”
I survey
him from unruly hair to fine boot toe with apparent disdain. “In your case, I
most definitely do.”
The
villagers laugh.
He catches
at his heart and pretends to be injured. “The lady wounds me.”
The crowd
gathers closer, much entertained, nudging each other as they strain to catch
every word.
I prop my
basket upon my hip, toss back my braid and scoff. “Understand this, sir rogue,
I would grant such knowledge more willingly to a farmer than to one of your
ilk.”
He is not
insulted, as I might have hoped. He laughs aloud, the rich sound tempting me,
among others, to join his merriment. “Do you not imagine that a nobleman could
pay a finer price?”
“Oh,
undoubtedly he could, but I doubt that he would do so.” Certain our parlay is
done, I walk on.
He clicks
his tongue and the beast strolls after me.
A crowd of
villagers begins to follow us, clearly enjoying our wordplay. Their interest
makes me realize that my conquest has become a spectacle. I do not take kindly
to being the butt of a jest. The fact of my neighbors’ entertainment steals the
pleasure of matching words with this handsome nobleman.
And truly,
I know what he wants and I know what he will do once he has it.
“Why would
you think as much?” he asks, his low voice making a part of me tingle in a most
unwelcome way.
I have
never been shy and my next words prove as much. “Village women are so much
chattel to noblemen,” I declare.”They plough our furrows and plant their seed,
then abandon the fruit to others.”
My fellow
villagers roar with laughter.
The
nobleman’s lips twitch. “And what man, fair damsel, will win the right to
plough your fields? Would you choose him solely for his experience at farming?”
The crowd
jostle around us, all certain that we do not truly speak of fields tilled.
“Of course
not.”
“No?”
“It is my
suspicion that all men are born with the knowledge of farming, so there is no
merit to be found in considerable experience.”
His smile
puts a dimple in his chin. My heart skips a beat, though I try to hide any
response from that bright gaze.
“What
then?” His tone is teasing, though his eyes are solemn. “What then are your
terms, my lady not-for-you-to-know?” He dares me, but he does not guess that I
will rise to his challenge.
I smile,
feeling my pulse quicken at his proximity, even though I know he will not
accept my demand. “My virgin fields, of course, shall solely be the right of my
rightful husband to furrow.”
The
villagers alternatively gasp and roar, thinking the matter resolved by my
audacity. I turn away, certain of that myself.
But the
nobleman seizes my elbow and pulls me to a halt. His gaze burns with unexpected
avidity. “Then marry me,” he says and I cannot summon a word to my lips for
shock.
Does he
mock me? Certainly, there is a reckless gleam in his eyes.
“But bed
you first, I am certain,” I scoff. “Or take vows before your priest, who will
be revealed to not be a priest with morning’s light.”
I pull my
arm from his grip and turn away. “You make a jest at my expense, sir, and I
need not linger to hear more of it. Unlike you and your kind, I have labor
enough to fill my waking hours.” I march blindly across the market with the
unwelcome sense that amusement has been provided at my expense.
“I make no
jest.” He speaks with such volume and resolve that the marketplace falls
silent.
I glance
back in surprise.
He stares
fixedly at me, the merry glint in his eyes gone and his smile banished. He is
the image of a man resolved, if inexplicably so. There is a majesty about him
that draws every eye, that compels every voice to silence. We all stare,
knowing we have never seen the like of him.
And I
understand suddenly that such men are different from those I know. This
resolve, this commanding presence, is why men follow other men, even to their
deaths.
He holds my
gaze for a long moment, then he raises his voice to address all in attendance.
“My name is
Merlyn Lammergeier, newly pronounced Laird of Ravensmuir by my father’s own
dictate. I seek a bride to grace my home.”
“Merlyn,” I
whisper, trying his name upon my tongue though I know I should not.
He turns
his horse that he might address all of the rapt crowd, the creature arching its
neck as it circles in place with perfect composure. The wind lifts the ends of
Merlyn’s cloak and the steed’s tail. The vivid blue of the sky shows the hues
of Merlyn’s garb and his eyes to advantage, the sunlight glints on the gold of
his cloak clasp and the silver of his steed’s harness. They are magnificent,
the two of them, as far beyond our daily lives as might be imagined.
“Let it be
known by all that I would wed this woman honorably on this very day, that I
will do so in the chapel before whosoever of you will witness the match.”
I stare at
him in shock. Is he mad?
Do I care?
“What about
the banns?” cries one bold woman as I grapple with the whimsy of his offer.
“There is
no consanguinity between us,” Merlyn declares, then winks at me. “Unless you
have kin in France.”
I shake my
head, marveling.
He nods but
once, the matter resolved. “And I have no kin here. I am certain that a
donation to the chapel can see such trivialities waived. We shall be wed by the
priest of the lady’s choosing.” He turns back to face me and his eyes shine.
“If my lady’s terms are truly as she declares.” He smiles, and as his voice
falls low, I have a sudden sense that I wager with the devil himself. “If her
deeds are truly as bold as her speech.”
The
villagers laugh, jostling each other at this unexpected marvel, then turn to
watch me. It is the first but not the last time that Merlyn astounds me with
his choices.
Nor is it
the last time that he makes my heart thunder.
“Are you
certain of your choice, Laird Merlyn?” shouts a bold villager. “This one has
the sharpest tongue of any damsel in Kinfairlie!”
Merlyn’s
gaze darkens, his smile turns seductive. “I have a fancy for maidens with sharp
tongues.” He coaxes the steed closer and offers his hand to me. “But is this
lady of bold speech equally bold in deed? Is she bold enough to accept me, the
heir of the Lammergeier? Or have I guessed wrongly that she is stalwart enough
to face any challenge?”
There it is
again, that mischief, that certainty that not only is his family’s repute well
known but that I will not rise to his dare.
Perhaps it
is a test of whether I will make a fitting bride for him.
Perhaps it
is a warning.
The truth
is that I do not care. I know only that Fortune smiles upon me. I know that
Merlyn has wealth, I know that he is handsome, I know that he is not a fool. I
know that he makes my heart leap. I know that even if he is a rogue, even if he
is mad, that as his wife I could still live well enough on his coin. I know
that this chance would only be mine if I seize it immediately.
And most
importantly of all, I know that I want to surprise him. I am seduced by that
dimple and by that dare in his eyes.
He is irresistible, and he desires me. I have no intent of granting him the time to change his thinking.
He is irresistible, and he desires me. I have no intent of granting him the time to change his thinking.
I hand my
basket to the woman beside me, an elderly neighbor of ours. “Take this home to
my mother, if you will, Anna, and please bid her hasten to the chapel if she
would see me wed to Laird Merlyn of Ravensmuir by Kinfairlie’s own priest.”
The crowd
hoots with glee but I see only Merlyn’s brilliant smile. My heart lurches, but
I take his hand as if there is nothing uncommon in what I do. I catch my breath
at his strength and surety when he grasps me around the waist and pulls me
directly into the saddle before him.
And I find
the evidence of his desire pressed against my buttocks, my breath deserting me
as his lips touch my ear.
“So, you
are indeed as audacious a woman as I suspected.” He murmurs, his voice making
me shiver. He seems untroubled by what has always been perceived as a liability
in my character by others. “Your intrepid nature will serve you well at
Ravensmuir.”
I wonder
then if there is more to the tale of him, more to his need for a bride than I
might be pleased to learn.
But such
concerns grow no roots in my thoughts, not then. He kisses me, possessively,
thoroughly, exhilaratingly, coaxing the spark between us to a smoldering blaze.
When he lifts his head, he smiles knowingly at me, fully aware of the hunger he
has awakened within me.
“Well met,
bride of mine,” he whispers. He flings his cloak around me and spurs his steed
to the chapel, his hand rising in the shadows to cup the weight of my breast.
My flesh tingles in a startling new way. I know with dreadful certainly that I
have been claimed by demon, and that with my own consent.
But I do
not step away from the flame Merlyn kindles. The devil has chosen me as his
handmaiden, and for the moment, I do not care.
©2003, 2011
Claire Delacroix, Inc.
My Review
Five years ago Ysabella gave her love to Merlyn of
Ravensmuir, she knew the rumors, she heard the whispers but he somehow just
moved her, it didn’t take long for him to show his true colors, his true nature
so Ysabella left Ravensmuir and left “The Rogue”. Merlyn has always had to live
down the reputation set by his father, he wants to be known as an honorable
man, but it’s hard to do especially when your own wife doesn’t believe you.
Well it’s been five long years without her, and now he needs her, he still has
deep feelings for her and it’s now or never because someone wants to silence
“The Rogue” forever.
You know there are so many great contemporary romances out
there that I sometimes forget just how passionate historical romance can be,
and this author is the Queen of historical romance as far as I’m concerned. It
takes a certain kind of magic to describe to a media savvy world the interior
of a 12th Century keep, to make her readers use their imagination
when picturing characters of that era and no one does it better than Ms.
Delacroix. So it’s very fortunate we are that her Ravensmuir series is being
re-released for the Kindle right now with the cover that shows Merlyn as the rogue
he truly is. She takes us to her imaginary castle in a real Scotland at a long
ago time, she gives us a history text book worthy plot, with Oscar worthy
characters. The first thing you’ll notice is the antiquated dialogue that fits
right in with the times and which shows off effectively her history background.
She introduces us to her historically accurate men, women and children she
showcases the hard life, the cruelty but she shows us that even in the mean old
middle ages love still not only survives but conquers all. Her hero and heroine
are head butting, one moment and cleaving to each other the next, does it work,
you bet it does. Her romance is of
second chances, my favorite, it’s sweet while at the same time heady and
innocence mixed with potent sexuality. The love scenes are daydream like and
impressionistic and then she’ll hit us up side the head with in your face
earthy, visceral action, but she does shade it with innuendo and adult language
and it won’t offend any true romance lover.
If you’ve forgotten the allure of historical romance or if
you just want to fall in love again with the old fashioned kind of knight and
lady then come back to Ravensmuir, come back to Scotland, come back to “The
Rogue” and come back to Clair Delacroix. You’ll be glad you did.
The Audible edition here
Audible Exclusive Review:
The Narrator, Ashley Klanac is
wonderful. Her voice is soothing and strong and she varies it perfectly for the
different characters and inflections. I was especially excited to hear some of
the word pronunciations that escaped me when I read the book.
The audible experience is a richer
more involved feeling. You feel like you’re actually in the scene with the
characters. If you haven’t read The Rogue this is a fantastic way to experience
it the first time and if you’ve already had the pleasure of these character’s
company it’s a fabulous way to reacquaint with them. I highly recommend this.
The Rogues other Covers
Original Cover Re-Issue in Paperback
Meet the Author:
Bestselling author Claire Delacroix sold her first book in 1992, a medieval romance called THE ROMANCE OF THE ROSE. Since then, she has published over forty-five romance novels and numerous novellas in a variety of sub-genres. She has also written under the name Claire Cross and as Deborah Cooke. THE BEAUTY, part of her successful Bride Quest series, was her first book to land on the NYT List of Bestselling Books. In 2009, she was the writer-in-residence at the Toronto Public Library, the first time that TPL hosted a residency focused on the romance genre. In 2012, she was honored to receive the RWA PRO Mentor of the Year Award. She lives in Canada with her husband.
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Thanks for the great review, Deb! I'm glad you enjoyed the audio production - I just love it!
ReplyDeleteDeborah
aka Claire Delacroix
Thank You for finding such a wonderful voice to share your unforgettable characters with us Deb!
DeleteI can tell how much you love this author Debbie, which means I need to give her books a try!
ReplyDeleteOh I hope you love her too Kindlemom :)
Deletethanks
Oh this sounds good Debbie I am going to go listen to a sample of it on audible.
ReplyDeleteEnjoy Kim ;)
DeleteI just got back from my vac. But I wanted to stop real quick and tell you how excited I'm about your audio review YAY! I'll be back tonight and read it, I have to run to work now...yukk! LOL
ReplyDeleteSounds wonderful! And I'd have never thought it was a Historical Romance with that cover! I'm big fan of this genre, and I do believe this is a genre that is so much more enjoyable on audio with the right narrator, and for the sounds of it, Ashley did a great job...I'm adding this to my list :)
DeleteI'm so glad you're enjoying Audiobooks too! YAY!
Loupe welcome back to the real world he he he ;), I hope you had a fabulous time on vacation. Thanks and yeah I'm really not a fan of this cover but what's inside is definitely worth it.
Deletexo
deb
Oh yay. Glad you enjoyed it Debbie! I've got a couple audible credits waiting for me so might have give this one a go :)
ReplyDelete