So Speaks the Heart (24 page)

Q
uintin was not surprised to see Brigitte and Rowland walking closely together as they entered the hall, Rowland's arm wrapped possessively around Brigitte's waist. But the look of ecstatic joy about his sister struck Quintin speechless.

They stopped in the center of the hall, Rowland looking warily at Quintin. Quintin jumped to his feet. “For God's sake, Rowland. I am not a complete ogre,” he grinned good-naturedly. “And I am not so stubborn that I cannot admit I was wrong. I want Brigitte to be happy, and I can see she will be happy only with you.”

“We have your blessing, then?”

“My blessing and my best wishes for a long and happy life together,” Quintin said quietly.

“You see why I love Quintin so.” Brigitte smiled, going to her brother and hugging him. “Thank you, Quintin.”

“Do not thank me, little one. I am only sorry that you have been so long apart from the man you love. I hope you can forgive me for the heartache I have caused you.”

“Of course I forgive you. I have him now, and nothing will separate us again.”

Quintin smiled down at her fondly. “And did you tell him about…?”

Brigitte turned to Rowland and grabbed his hand. “Come. I have something very precious for you.”

She dragged him along after her, up the stairs and down the corridor to a closed door. A shaggy beast lay on the floor beside the door and had to scramble out of her way.

“I hope you haven't dragged me up here just to show me Wolff,” Rowland said with mock severity.

She grinned, her blue eyes locking with his. “Not him.”

“Then surely it can wait for this,” he murmured huskily as he kissed her soundly, molding her small frame to his.

But Brigitte wiggled out of his embrace. “Rowland, please…” She smiled at him, shaking her head, then opened the door very carefully. Brigitte led Rowland inside, cautioning him to be quiet, and pulled him to the center of the room, where there was a bed with raised sides draped in white lacing. Whatever he had expected to see, it certainly wasn't what was inside that bed.

He frowned at Brigitte. “Babies? You brought me up here to look at babies?”

“Are they not beautiful?”

“I suppose so,” he grunted.

She leaned over the bed and let a tiny hand grasp her finger. “They look alike, do they not?”

“I suppose.”

“Exactly alike?”

He looked from one small face to the other, noting the tufts of blond hair, the dark little eyes, the identical features. Then he laughed, understanding.

“Ha, twins! You wanted to show me twin babies because of Evarard and me.”

Brigitte was disappointed. He had not understood.

“These twins are very special.” She picked up one of the babies and held it toward Rowland. “This is Judith. Here, hold her.”

“No!” He stepped back, much alarmed.

“She will not hurt you, Rowland.” Brigitte grinned.

He scowled. “The babe is too small. It is I who might hurt her.”

“Nonsense.”

But she did not press him. He had obviously never held a baby before, but he would learn.

She placed Judith back in the bed and picked up the other infant. “And this is Arland.”

“A boy?” He was incredulous.

She was amused. “A boy.”

“But you said they were twins.”

“They are.”

He looked more closely at the two babies and asked hesitantly, “How did you know which was which?”

She laid Arland down and tickled his belly playfully. “I know, Rowland. You will know, too.” She gazed at him expectantly, but he had still not guessed, so she said pointedly, “I think they both look like you.”

In that moment, as her hints and her acute involvement with these twins finally made sense to him, Rowland lost a good deal of his color. “Yours-and mine?”

“Our children, my love.”

He drew her to him, staring at the babies over her shoulder. “To think you went through that without me. I never even
thought
.” And then he moved her
away from him suddenly. “And you would have let me leave here without knowing?”

“I would have,” she admitted, her chin tilting in that familiar way.

Rowland shook his head. “You are a stubborn witch,” he sighed.

“I am that,” Brigitte admitted, her mouth curving.

He pulled her back into his arms. His voice was tender. “But you are
my
stubborn witch. Mine!” He held her very close to him. “And they are mine, a boy and a girl, two jewels from my little jewel. What a wonder you are! And how I love you, lady. Oh, God, how I love you! I will never let you go.”

Then he sealed that vow with a kiss, and Brigitte had no chance to tell him how much she loved him. But she would tell him later, and for the rest of their lives.

Welcome to the world of Johanna Lindsey, and enter into a fantasy of your choosing. Immerse yourself deep into times when men were warriors, tamed only by very special women, and romance reigned supreme. Whether it is against the backdrop of glamorous Regency England society, the pageantry of a medieval court, the wild wilderness of the American West, or any other you can imagine, Johanna Lindsey knows how to make a love story come alive. Enjoy!

Captive Bride

Johanna Lindsey touched deep into the soul of her readers with her first romance. The world realized a new star was born with this tale of an arrogant Arab prince cut down to size by a strong-minded English miss

 

Philip Caxton saw Christina as soon as she entered the room. She turned away with contempt when she saw him. Well, he didn't expect an easy conquest. She had seemed to hate him last night.

He sighed, cursing the lack of time. But perhaps Christina Wakefield was just playing hard to get. After all, young women came to London to look for husbands. And he wasn't such a bad catch. But still, with only one day's acquaintance, the odds were against him. Damn, why hadn't he met her sooner?

Anne Shadwell drew Christina toward Philip. ‘Miss Wakefield, I would like to introduce—'

She was cut off abruptly.

“We've met,” Christina said contemptuously.

Anne Shadwell looked startled, but Philip made an arrogantly graceful bow, took Christina's arm firmly, and walked her out onto the balcony. She resisted, but he was sure she wouldn't cause a scene.

When they reached the railing, she whirled to face him defiantly.

“Really, Mr. Caxton! I thought I made myself quite clear last night, but since you don't seem to understand, let me enlighten you. I don't like you. You are a rude, conceited man, and I find you quite intolerable.
Now if you will excuse me, I am going back to join my brother.” She turned to leave, but he grabbed her hand and pulled her back to him.

“Christina, wait,” he demanded huskily, forcing her to look into his dark eyes.

“I really don't think we have anything to say to each other, Mr. Caxton. And please refrain from using my first name.” She turned to leave again, but Philip still grasped her hand in his. She faced him once more, stamping her foot in fury.

“Let go of my hand!” she demanded.

“Not until you've heard what I have to say, Tina, he answered, pulling her closer to him.

“Tina!” She glared at him. “How dare—

“I dare anything I damn well please. Now shut up and listen to me.” He was amused at the disbelief written on her lovely face. “Tina, I want you. I would be honored if you would consent to be my wife. I would give you anything you want—jewels, beautiful gowns, my estates.”

She was looking at him in a most unusual way. She opened her mouth to say something, but the words wouldn't come out. And then he felt the sting of her hand across his cheek.

“I have never been so insulted in my—

But Philip didn't let her finish. He gathered her in his arms and silenced her words with a deep, penetrating kiss. He held her tightly against him, feeling her breasts pressed against his chest, crushing the breath from her body. She was struggling to free herself, but her efforts only increased his desire.

Then, unexpectedly, Christina went limp in his arms and threw him off guard. Philip thought she had
fainted but winced when he felt a sharp pain in his shin. He released her instantly to grab his leg, and when he looked up, Christina was running into the drawing room.

He should have known better, Philip told himself.

He should have gone to her home in Halstead and courted her slowly. But that wasn't his way. Besides, he had never courted a woman before. He was used to getting what he wanted immediately, and he wanted Christina.

A Gentle Feuding

Sheena Fergusson is the most prized beauty in Scotland. Every man wants to possess her—except for Jamie MacKinnion, the avowed enemy of her clan. But when the proud laird finally lays eyes on Sheena, his warrior's heart is conquered by the ethereal magnificence of this woman

 

James MacKinnion moved slowly. An enveloping mist still clung to the dewy ground, and he was sopping wet from crossing the second of the two Esk rivers. He was tired from lack of sleep and the rough ride south. There was something wrong in all this, but he didn't know what it could be.

The mist swirled and parted before him in a gentle breeze, revealing for a moment a wooded glen not far ahead. Then the mist settled again, and the vision was gone. Jamie rode for it; the trees were a pleasant change from the barren moors and heather-clad hills.

He had never been this far east on Fergusson land before. He had never raided Lowlanders in the spring before, either.

Jamie's anger warred with his common sense. Dead men demanded he ride to avenge them. A scrap of plaid demanded he ride south. Yet why? He would have given anything for more evidence. The act bordered on insanity. Was he sure of what he was doing?

The mist was rising steadily as Jamie entered the wooden glen.

Then he heard a sound, and in a flash he slid off his
horse and ran for cover. But when he listened again, he recognized the sound as a giggle, a feminine giggle.

Leaving his horse behind, he moved stealthily through the bracken and trees toward the sound.

When Jamie saw her, he wasn't quite sure he believed the vision. A young girl was standing waistdeep in a small pool, the mist swirling about her head. She looked like a water sprite, a kelpie, unreal, yet real enough.

The girl laughed again as she splashed water across her naked breasts. The sound enchanted Jamie. He was mesmerized by the girl, rooted where he was, watching her play. She was frolicking and having a joyous time of it.

She was like nothing he had ever seen before, a beauty, and no mistake about it. In a moment she faced him, and he saw nearly all of her loveliness. Pearly white skin contrasted starkly with brilliant, deep red hair. Almost magenta, it was so dark and gleaming and long. Two strands waved around her breasts and floated in the water. And those breasts were tantalizing, round, high and proud in youthful glory, the peaks sharply pointed because of the caress of icy water. Her features were unmistakably delicate. The only thing not clear to Jamie was the color of her eyes. He was not quite close enough to see, and the reflection of the water made them appear a blue so clear and bright as to be glowing quite impossibly. Was his imagination running wild? He wanted to move closer and see.

What he really wanted was to join her in the water. It was an insane idea, born of the strange effect she was having on him. What if she let him come to her, let
him touch her as he ached to do? He had to leave before common sense completely fled. As if to point out his folly in tarrying, the first rays of sun broke through the glen, showing him the time he had wasted. His brother and the others would have all returned to the men by the river. They would all be waiting for him.

Jamie was suddenly sickened. Watching the girl, being transported to what seemed a sphere outside reality, he was appalled by the contrast between the lovely scene before him and the bloody one he would see in just a short while. Yet he could no more stop the one that was soon to happen than he could forget the one he was watching. Both seemed inevitable.

Jamie's last look at the girl was a wistful one. Beams of sunlight dotted the pool, and one touched the girl and lit her hair like a burst of flame. With a sigh, he turned away. That last vision of the mystical girl would be etched in his memory for a long time to come.

Love Only Once

With
Love Only Once,
Johanna Lindsey introduced her beloved Malory family. The romances of these outrageous and outspoken sensualists, set in the ever-popular Regency era, are pure magic Nicholas Eden, the rakish fourth Viscount of Montieth, is as enchanted as readers during this first encounter with Regina Ashton. Having just discovered that he has accidentally kidnapped the Malory ingenue, he is now setting her free. But if he is expecting anger from his unintended hostage, he's in for a surprise

 

She stood framed by the window, gazing at him in a startling direct way. There was no shyness in her look and no fear either on that exquisite, delicate, heartshaped face. The eyes were disturbing, with an exotic slant. Such dark blue eyes in that fair face, so blue and clear, like colored crystal. The lips were soft and full and the nose was straight and slender. A thick fringe of sooty lashes framed those extraordinary eyes, while black brows arched gently above them. Her hair was raven black, too, in tight little ringlets surrounding her face, giving her fair skin a glow like polished ivory.

She was breathtaking. The beauty didn't stop with her face, either. She was petite, yes, but there was nothing childlike about her form. Firm young breasts pressed against the thin muslin of her rose gown. He wanted to pull the rose muslin down a few inches and watch those lovely breasts spring free. He received another jolt then, feeling his manhood rise against his will. Lord, he hadn't lost control like that since his youth!

Desperate to bring everything under control, he cast about for something—anything—to say. “Hello.”

His tone implied “What have we here?” And Reggie grinned despite herself. He was gorgeous, simply gorgeous. It wasn't just his face, though that was striking. There was a sexual magnetism about him that was quite unnerving.

“Hello, yourself,” Reggie said impishly. “I was beginning to wonder when you would realize your mistake. You certainly took enough time about it.”

“I am just now wondering if I have in fact made a mistake at all. You don't look like a mistake. You look very much like something I did right for a change.”

He quietly closed the door and leaned back against it, those beautiful amber eyes boldly moving over her from head to foot. It was not at all safe for a young lady to be alone with a man of his stamp, and Reggie recognized that. Yet for some reason he couldn't fathom, she wasn't afraid of this man. Scandalously, she wondered if it would be such a terrible thing to lose her virtue to him. Oh, it was a reckless mood she was suddenly in!

She eyed the closed door and his large frame blocking that only exit. “Fie on you, sir. I hope you don't mean to compromise me more than you already have.”

“I will if you will let me. Will you? Think carefully before you answer,” he said with a devastating smile. “My heart is in jeopardy.”

She giggled, delighted. “Stuff! Rakes like you don't
have
hearts. Everyone knows that.”

Nicholas was enchanted.

Hearts Aflame

Kristen Haardrad has been imprisoned by the Saxon warlord Royce when her shipmates dared to attack Royce's lands. The Viking maiden has been searching for a man who could stir her senses and make her blood sing, and now she's finally found him in Royce. So with the full force of her Viking determination she sets out to win the heart and love of her captor

 

Kristen had been stretching when she heard the steps crossing the floor, coming from the entrance. She jumped up curiously, her heartbeat quickening when she saw Royce coming out of the shadows, his direction not the stairs, but toward her, straight to her.

She did not move, waiting for him to reach her. His expression was intense, harsh, and her heart beat even faster, not in fear but in expectation. When he stopped, she felt only a moment's surprise when his hand went to the back of her neck, his fingers gripping her hair to yank her head back. She held her breath as his eyes moved angrily over her face.

“Why do you tempt me so?” He asked this not of her but to himself.

“Do I, milord?”

“You do it apurpose,” he hissed before his mouth slashed down over hers.

Kristen had waited for this, to know the feel of lips, to be able to touch him. She had wanted this to happen, but she had not guessed how devastating the actuality would be. Nothing could have prepared her for
such a violent jolt of desire, when she had never felt desire before.

His mouth moved over hers brutally in his anger. He gripped her hair, holding her still for this ravishment, yet he did not touch her otherwise. Kristen was the one to lean into him, until she could feel the full length of his body and knew the extent of his desire. This inflamed her more. She didn't care that this was not what he wanted, that he was kissing her against his own will and probably hating her more because of it. She wrapped her arms around his back, moving her hands up over the hard muscle there until she gripped his shoulders, holding him tight to her.

She heard him groan at her complete acceptance of him, and his other arm slipped about her waist, crushing her tighter to him. His tongue plunged into her mouth and she drew on it, capturing it like a prize, refusing to let go. God in heaven, this was wonderful, more thrilling than anything she had ever felt before. She would have let him take her there, in the hall, on the table, the floor—she didn't care. She wanted to make love with him now, before he came to his senses and stopped.

He did stop, and Kristen sighed miserably when his lips left hers. He looked down at her, his eyes fierce, filled half with passion, half with fury. She met his look boldly, but this served only to anger him more.

With a snarl, he shoved her away from him. “My God, you have no shame, do you?”

“I feel no shame in wanting you,” she told him softly. She smiled then at his snort of disbelief. Deliberately, she added in a teasing tone, “You are my heartmake, Royce. Begin to accept it. You will eventually.”

“You will never count me as one of your lovers, wench,” he stated emphatically.

She shrugged, the sigh she gave louder than necessary. “Very well, milord, if that is your wish.”