A mercenary convinced that each man must see to his own survival first, Rafael has learned to savor the moment and its pleasures. He is interested solely in conquest and coin, not any promise of the future—until an alluring maiden challenges him, defying him to stake a claim. Rafael cannot resist Ceara with her flame-red hair and keen wits, but their cat-and-mouse game takes a dangerous turn when Ceara is stolen by her kin. Rafael cannot stand aside when the damsel's survival is at risk—though if she has stolen his shielded heart, she must never know of his weakness...
Ceara fled an arranged marriage, determined to wed for love or not at all. A horsewoman and huntress herself, she has encountered no man worthy of her affection—until she matches wits with Rafael, with his flashing eyes and seductive touch. She knows the handsome warrior seeks only one prize from her, but hopes to steal his heart. When she is captured and compelled to return to her betrothed, she is thrilled that Rafael lends chase. When he claims her as his own bride, Ceara dares to hope for more than a marriage of convenience.
But Rafael appears to be interested solely in conquest and passion, and their match becomes a battle of wills. Will Ceara be cast aside when her newfound spouse is offered the prize he desires above all else? Warrior and damsel, can these two wounded souls learn to surrender the truth of their hearts—before their union is shattered forever?
Genre: FICTION / Romance / Historical / MedievalThis is the third book in the Blood Brothers series of medieval romances. Please do not offer for this book before the other two have been translated.
Amaury de Vries could not sleep.
The moon was new and the lands around Beaupoint’s tower were shadowed in darkness. He surveyed them, using the glass from Elizabeth’s father, frustrated by his sense that something was amiss. There had been an uncommon amount of activity on both firth and road of late. Warriors were arriving and departing from Stonehaven and Workington, as if a great force was being mustered, but he knew not where or why. Lord Henry Percy, the Warden of the Middle March on the English side, professed indifference to these tidings, since the warriors did not linger on English soil—they were sailing north. All of Amaury’s enquiries to his northern neighbors had gone unanswered, which hinted to him that they knew more than they were prepared to divulge.
On this night, he remained in the solar, watching and listening to the soft rhythm of Elizabeth’s breathing as she slept. Amaury’s dog, Grise, had readily taken his place in the bed and snored contentedly beside his wife. The large grey dog was protective of Elizabeth, which suited Amaury well. Bête, the largest and fiercest of his dogs, was undoubtedly asleep in the great hall below as had become his custom. Only sleek little Noisette was awake with Amaury, paws on the sill, ears alert and nose twitching as if she shared his concern.
The tide had come in since sunset and the water in the firth was as smooth as a dark mirror. The opposite shore was black, not a single lantern’s light piercing the shadows. Even the stars were obscured by a thin layer of high cloud. The wind was light but steady, blowing from the sea and bringing its scent.
Amaury scanned the view from east to west again, then he saw it.
A company of horses appeared on the road, riding east toward Carlisle.
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Italian
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Translation in progress.
Translated by Paola Sambruna and Alessandra Elisa Paganin
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