Historical Romance
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England, 1192: He looked at Powell. “Do you blame me for wanting her?” She pursed her lips at that. “No, my lord. She’s not only the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, all respect,” he ducked his head to her, “but I suspect her sons will be as fierce as she is.” She plopped down…
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I’ve talked about how I’d published books before, wasn’t happy with them, and then went into a sort of hermit mode while I figured myself out. I also started this blog, near the tail end of that time. But even in my most hermit-like moment I’d never stopped writing. I couldn’t shut my brain off…
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Oh… Going to get myself in trouble here, but I LOVE writing romance, and I’m perfectly happy to stick with this genre for the rest of my life. It’s a habit I don’t want to break. …He joined her a minute later. She had to squish in to make room. He hadn’t dressed either and…
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I write stories for two reasons. One, I like it. Duh, right? Two, because I like sharing them with other people. It’s not enough for me to just just sit on those stories. I could, I mean I could just write for myself and all. Actually, I do write for myself (and all) but there…
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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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…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…
Darcy Branwyn 