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I love all my stories, all of my characters, but something magical happens whenever I’m working on Tangled Moon, especially if it has anything to do with Danielle and Lothar. I get this odd little tingle over my skin, and I feel suddenly more alive and whole. It’s weird, to say that a pair of…
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Enduringly Yours The year of our Lord, 1192 …He shrugged. “I haven’t been sleeping well since we got home.” He rolled the stem of the goblet in his hands. “Maybe I’m not settling in here like I should be.” John was the one that had adjusted to life on campaign as if he’d belonged there…
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Enduringly Yours The year of our Lord, 1192 …John reined in next to Peter. The maids in the wagon were whispering. A lad of about five and ten held the reins, blanching, but keeping a steady seat nonetheless. “Let me talk to him,” John said. “It’ll be best if I handle it.” John might be…
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Enduringly Yours The year of the Lord, 1192 …Peter took her hand, walking with her in silence. He never liked silence between them and had the urge to fill it. His wagging tongue was rarely what she needed though. They met up with Alana in the great hall. John seemed grateful that he was no…
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I might get myself into trouble for this but my comfort food is a corpse. 🤷♀️ Sorry vegans. Maybe look away now? I heard somewhere that beef has some enzyme in it that can calm you down? Not sure if that’s true or not, but it does make me feel all around better, stronger, and…
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…She wasn’t blind. Peter was right, Gilburn did want her. Zipporah backed away from her mother. She looked down the stone corridor to make sure no one was there. “I’ve been having dreams about her again,” she said, pressing her hand to her stomach, as if she could make her baby come back to life…
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Enduringly Yours The year of our Lord, 1192 …“Zipporah…” He kissed her once. “I’d do anything.” He didn’t say more, even though that had sounded like an incomplete thought to her. Anything for what, to bed her, to keep her safe, to fix what had torn them apart in the first place? He leaned around…
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Enduringly Yours England The year of our Lord, 1192 …“Sir Peter,” Lady Havendell faced him. He straightened, hands clasped behind his back like the soldier that he was. “I’m counting on you now. Don’t you dare let me down.” He nodded stiffly. For her mother, letting her down could mean… Oh, good Lord, but her…
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Darcy Branwyn 