The Baron's Bounty (25 page)
Read The Baron's Bounty Online
Authors: Elizabeth Rose
Here are some of my other series, followed by excerpts.
Daughters of the Dagger Series:
This series is followed by my Scottish
Madman MacKeefe
series, with the first book being about the girls’ brother
,
Onyx – Book 1,
who they thought was dead.
Aidan – Book 2
,
is next, followed by
Ian – Book 3
.
(Watch Book Trailer)
Greek Myth Fantasy Series:
The Legacy of the Blade Series:
The Elemental Series:
The Dragon and the Dreamwalker
Book 1: Fire
The Duke and the Dryad
Book 2: Earth
The Sword and the Sylph
Book 3: Air
The Sheik and the Siren
Book 4: Water
My latest new work has been writing short westerns such as
The Bounty Hunter
,
The Gambler
,
The Outlaw
,
The Drifter
and
The Gunslinger
. I have more planned in the future, so be sure to watch for them.
And one last series I’d like to tell you about is my
Tarnished Saints Series
.
Watch book trailer
.
This is a twelve book series about The Taylor Twelve: Sons of a preacher but far from saints, these men are nothing but trouble! Please be sure to visit my website at
Elizabethrosenovels.com
for more information on this series and to subscribe to my blog in order to receive updates about new releases. You can also read excerpts from any of my novels on my website as well as get sneak peeks at covers of upcoming books. And please remember that there are other authors by the same name, but my novels can be identified by the rose on every cover. If you’d like to follow me on twitter, my handle is
ElizRoseNovels,
and my facebook is
Elizabeth Rose – Author
(don’t forget the dash.)
I’d like to leave you now with excerpts from some of the series I’ve mentioned.
Elizabeth Rose
Excerpt from
The Baron’s Quest
– Book 1
(
Barons of the Cinque Ports Series
)
“Baron Romney,” said the Collector of Customs, nodding in a half bow. “We were just removing this woman and boy from the docks.”
“Were you,” he answered, seeing that they were not in control of the situation at all.
The wind blew the coif loose from the girl’s head. She caught it before it hit the ground, her cape opening in the process. Her golden hair came loose, blowing like a maelstrom around her. She was a small wench, the top of her head not even reaching his chin. Her hair was like spun cornsilk, and hung down to her waist – as was the customary length of hair for women of the time. She wore a sleeveless amber colored kirtle laced down the front and belted high on her waist that was long, all the way to the ground. It wasn’t the coarse, brown material, or canvas worn by the peasants. She also had what looked like a fine spun white, long sleeved chemise she wore underneath it. This told him she must be from the middle class instead. Probably a merchant, by the looks of the travel bag on her shoulder with the bolt of silk sticking out the top. “Who are you and why are you here?”
Her head snapped around at his command and she looked suddenly frightened. Her indigo eyes flashed over to the boy in the cart, and though there were no words exchanged between them, he recognized it as a warning to the boy to stay silent.
“My lord,” she said, curtseying dramatically, her sweet voice like the song of a meadowlark filling the air. The wind picked up her mantle and it blew in the breeze behind her, reminding him of a noble instead of who she really was. She quickly wound up her hair and replaced her coif, denying him the pleasure of seeing her silky long hair again. “We were just leaving.” She hurried around to the other side of the cart, giving him a wide berth.
“Not before you pay your fine, you don’t,” warned the Collector of Customs, reaching out and grabbing her by the arm.
“Let go of me,” she said, trying to shake him loose. “I didn’t sell anything, so I have no need to pay you a customs tax on my goods.” The song of the sweet meadowlark had suddenly turned into the sharp cackle of a raven instead.
“You are being fined not on the goods but for trying to peddle your wares on the docks, and on a Sunday after the noon hour no less,” the Tidewaiter told her.
“Let her go,” Nicholas ordered, in a low voice. He didn’t like to see any woman treated harshly, no matter if it was the norm for most men to do so.
The man dropped her arm and she hurriedly got into the wagon, settling herself on the wooden seat next to the boy. The rain started pouring down now, bringing with it a cold sting. She hurriedly placed her travel bag with the silk beneath her mantle, keeping it guarded from the weather.
“What about her fine?” asked the collector.
“Yes, the fine. Let me see.” Nicholas unsheathed his sword from his side, amused when he saw the looks of terror on their faces. Did she and the boy really think he was going to run them through with his blade just for trying to peddle their wares? “What have you got here?” He used the tip of his sword to push aside the blanket covering the goods in the cart. He saw about a dozen closed barrels and more bundles wrapped securely and wedged tightly into the spaces in between. “Open them,” he instructed his men, and stepped aside. As the dockmen moved forward to do so, the girl stopped them with her words.
“Nay! Please don’t. There is spun wool and bolts of finely woven cloth in there that will be soiled by the rain.”
“Don’t tell us what to do,” growled the Tidewaiter, reaching forward, but Nicholas stopped him.
“Leave it be,” he told the man, sheathing his sword in the process.
“But my lord,” started the man, but once again Nicholas stopped him.
“That’ll be all,” he said, dismissing the men.
“Aye, m’lord,” they answered and turned away. The rain fell harder now as he looked back up to the girl. She stayed hidden under her coif and the boy wouldn’t make eye contact at all. He had the feeling he’d seen these two before, but couldn’t place them.
“You are obviously merchants, though your faces are only slightly familiar. Tell me – what are your names?”
Excerpt from
Aidan – Book 2
(MadMan MacKeefe Series)
The Scottish Highlands. Late summer 1362.
Only a madman would use a stone for his pillow. The Stone of Destiny to be precise.
Aidan MacKeefe tossed restlessly in his sleep, having used the Stone of Destiny as his pillow for the last six months now, hoping to have prophetic dreams. Supposedly, the stone was used back in the days of the Bible, and Jacob had used this exact stone and had dreams of angels.
Aidan was in the middle of a dream. Mist surrounded him in his little stone cottage in the MacKeefe camp. He couldn’t see anything in the darkened room, but then the door opened, and in the bright light – he saw an angel. She walked toward him, covered with a long, white, hooded cloak, her fiery red tresses falling in ringlets down to her shoulders. She stopped in front of him, and peeked out from under the hood. While he couldn’t see her face well in the dark, he could still see her wide, green eyes that reminded him of the color of the moors on a warm summer’s day. She steadied her gaze upon him. Then she lit a candle in her hand, illuminating her face beneath the hood.
Her skin was fair, like alabaster, and a smattering of fine freckles trailed down her nose and spread to her rosy cheeks. She was a bonnie lass, and though he couldn’t see her body under the robe, he knew it matched her beauty. He wanted her badly. Then she smiled at him, and her laugh rang out across the room like the sweet song of a small meadow pipit, bringing with it a fragile innocence to its tone. She was a fine angel. A perfect Scottish angel. He wanted naught more than to reach out his hands and touch her, but something weighted him down and he could not move.
Then, she reached out to him, and on her inner arm he saw a strawberry birthmark that looked like . . . a skull. He felt himself jerk away from her touch, and then she turned away from him and nodded toward the door. Aidan’s attention focused across the small room, and to his horror he saw English soldiers following her into the cottage with their weapons drawn.
He tried to cry out for help, but couldn’t speak. He tried to reach for his sword at his side, but couldn’t move. Then his eyes scanned down her body, and to his horror, he saw sticking out from the back of her robe right by her doup – a tail. A furry red tail! It reached out and brushed across his face, and in his only form of defense he leaned forward . . . and bit it.
The sickening screech of an animal cried out, pulling him from his slumber. His eyes popped open, bringing him out of the dream and he sat up quickly, not knowing what was happening.
Then he saw Reid, his pet red squirrel scurrying off his chest, scolding him, running in circles around the room. The door opened just then, but instead of his dream angel, his friend, Ian stood there with a dour expression upon his face.
“What in the clootie’s name was thet screech?” asked Ian. His tall, muscular form filled the entire doorway, and his dark hair looked wet as if he’d just come from bathing in the loch.
Aidan jumped up, realizing he was fully clothed, and that it was well into the morning hours. Then he remembered taking a nap, too full to move after eating his fill of skirlie, an oatmeal and onion dish topped off with a goose egg. The food for the clan had been prepared by his younger sister, Kyla, and the chieftain’s wife, Wren.
The door pushed open from behind Ian, and there stood their good friend Onyx, who had recently married an Englishwomen, Lady Lovelle of Worcestershire, after finding out that his true family was English, not Scottish at all.
“Aidan, ye dunderheid,” said Onyx, spying the squirrel running around the room in a heated frenzy. Onyx’s two different colored eyes stared back at him in question. “What the hell did ye do te yer damned squirrel?”
“I think I bit its tail,” he said, running a hand through his hair and leaning back against the stone. The Stone of Scone, or Stone of Destiny as most called it, was a large, black basalt rock with ancient hieroglyphs etched into it. It had iron-looped handles embedded into the sides, to use for carrying with a pole through it. It was a very heavy stone, and took at least two full-grown men to move it, if they were strong. He’d embedded the thick stone into the dirt of the cottage floor to lower it, and pulled his pallet over it, to it to use as his personal pillow.
Excerpt from
The Sheik and the Siren:
(Elemental Series, Book 4)
Book trailer video
Tied to the center mast, Ace’s heart beat quickly as the faint sound of the siren’s song floated across the water and to his ears. His men were thankfully safe in the hold, their own ears plugged by coarse wool. But he could hear every alluring beautiful, haunting note as a woman’s voice surrounded the air around him and about drove him from his mind.
She sang about the water and of the life beneath the sea. She sang of a coral cave and something about a mystical, magical crystal dolphin. He took it all in and tried to remember every word. But he found it hard to concentrate, as the bulge beneath his tunic distracted him and all he could think of was that he had to get this siren of the seas into his bed. He needed to take her, and he needed her badly. On the deck. In the water. It didn’t matter where, but all he knew was that his body cried out to mate with her and he needed to go toward the sound of her singing. Nothing else mattered anymore but this – nay, nothing at all.
He pulled at the ropes that bound him, unable to move, making him shout out in frustration.
“Arrrgggghhh!” If he didn’t have her soon, he swore he would burst. And if Boots hadn’t tied him to the mast, he’d have dove into the water by now and be swimming toward the rocky crags straight toward the sound of the siren and toward his death as well.
“Show yourself!” He shouted at the top of his lungs. “Come to me, my siren of the sea. I hear your voice. I want you – I need you.” He looked toward the bulkhead of the ship but could see naught through the thick fog.
The humid salt air weighed heavy on his lungs and he felt as if he could barely breathe. The winds had oddly diminished, and the ship hardly moved now. All was silent – too silent around him and he felt as if he were in the eye of a very deadly storm. If he were to stay here, dead in the water and haunted by her alluring song much longer, he’d chew through the ropes just to get to her, he swore he would.
Then he saw the oddest thing. A long line of dead fish that the ship was about to cross over. And once the bow of the Paradigm crossed this line of death, a gale of wind blasted from nowhere, hitting the larboard – the loading side of the ship so hard, the masts and sails were nearly touching the water on the opposite starboard side. One more gust of wind and the ship shot forward, moving at a good clip straight through Death’s Door.
The plan was now in motion and even if he wanted to, he could do naught to stop it. They were in Death’s Door now, with the song of the siren driving him mad. And he prayed he’d been accurate in plotting the course, because if not, he will have not only sentenced himself to death, but by his own hand he will have taken the lives of every man on his ship as well.
Rain now pelted him in the face, his long hair whipping, and stinging him in the eyes. His hands over his head, he could do naught to stop it. And that damned siren’s song still floated on the breeze and echoed in his head, calling him closer . . . closer . . . to his death.
Then, when he thought he would burst with want from a nymph he had never even seen, the sound of grappling hooks hitting the starboard side of the ship caught his attention. Someone meant to board. He couldn’t even believe this. How could it be true?
Then, the hands and dirtied faces and bodies of a dozen broken men made their appearance as they hoisted themselves over the side rail and climbed aboard his ship. The men were scarred, obviously from a furious battle. Some were missing fingers, and one man was missing an entire arm. Several of them had eye patches and one was missing his leg from the knee down, a wooden peg tied to his stump in its place.
“What is this?” he called out. “Who are you and what do you want?”
They seemed surprised he was talking to them. Even more surprised he was tied to his own ship. That amused them and they laughed, taking wool from their ears as they scurried aboard.
“You can’t do anything to stop us, you fool!” said one, picking up a skein of rope and ripping a canvas covering from over a barrel and tossing them over the side into one of their boats. They proceeded to take his fishing net. Next, they cut free and rolled a barrel of wine over the deck, obviously meaning to take that as well.
“Where’s your cargo?” asked a man who was built like a retaining wall with a long scar across the side of his entire face. “You are a trade ship, are you not?”
“I’ll not tell you a thing, now leave my ship anon or I’ll . . .”
“You’ll what?” asked the man with the peg leg, smiling and spitting at Ace’s feet. He had a dagger in his hand and held it up in front of Ace’s face. “We’ll take your provisions too as well as the clothes on your back.” He reached over with the dagger as if he meant to cut the clothes right off of Ace.
“Leave him be!” called a female voice from the side of the ship. “Get the goods and let’s be on our way. You are not to harm any of them, do you understand? That is not our purpose here.”
Ace turned his head to see a young woman with alabaster skin lifting her body over the side of the ship. She had large brown eyes and long black lashes, and light pink lips that looked like a little bow. Her hair was long and wavy, and a blue-black, mostly blue, that reminded him of the color of the sea. It hung in front of her body, covering her chest. With one brush of her hand to push it away, it was almost like she was tempting him purposely, as his eyes traveled quickly from her face scanning her entire being.
She stood there nearly naked, just a small, thin linen shift covering her body. It hung only halfway down to her knees. It was white and wet, and left naught to the imagination, and his eyes settled on the two pink spots beneath the fabric just atop her large rounded swells. He also noticed a dark patch showing through her shift at the juncture of her thighs and would bet a bag of gold that it was blue as well.
“Who are you?” she asked curiously, gliding barefooted over the deck toward him, not at all affected by the ship rocking to and fro. A necklace made from shells was around her neck and clicked together as she walked toward him. Shells of many sizes and colors were interwoven in her long hair, as well as starfish and an occasional strand of seaweed. She looked like she was a part of the sea. He found himself drinking in her beauty as she stopped right in front of him and her eyes looked to the depths of his very soul.
The band of men were now ransacking his ship, having found some of the provisions and throwing barrels of apples and nuts over the side of the ship and into their boats, eating as they pillaged his wares.
“I said . . . who are you?” she asked once again, coming even closer. When he didn’t answer, she started once again to sing softly so only he could hear her, and though he didn’t think he could grow any harder, he was wrong. His arousal strained beneath his braies, making his tunic stick out like a sail filled with wind. She noticed it as well, and smiled.
“Stop,” he cried out, shaking his head back and forth, straining at the ropes. Damn, why’d he tell Boots to tie such tight knots? “Stop and I’ll tell you what you want to know.”