Protected by the Warrior

Allow me to do a little bragging!

Protected by the Warrior

And allow me to share this story with you!
 
FOR HONOR'S SAKE 
When Clara became a midwife, she vowed to preserve life above all. She'll keep that vow, even if it means defying a Norman baron by hiding a Saxon slave and her child. Yet when the ruthless lord threatens Clara's village—and her life—she's forced to rely on another Norman to keep her safe. 
Kenneth D'Entremont is a soldier, one who takes lives instead of healing them. Clara despairs of finding any common ground with him. But when he begins guarding her, she learns to see him in a new light. His care and compassion make her feel safe…even loved. Can she bring herself to put her secrets, and her heart, under the protection of the warrior?

Here is an excerpt from a humorous part in the story.  (Where Kenneth has slipped and fallen.)

Clara gasped. She could see the moon reflected in Kenneth’s eyes, wide between his swift blinks of stunned shock. She hurried over to him. “Are you all right?”

He groaned as he tested each limb and found them all working. “Aye. I’m not badly hurt. What was that thing?”

“A cat, I think. At night, they slip into the village from the keep to prowl.” Then, ensuring that he could see her intense expression as clearly as possible in the moonlight, she leaned close and planted her hands on either side of his shoulders. “Since you are unhurt, allow me to continue our conversation. You may believe you have the wisdom of God at your disposal, sir, but rest assured, I believe the same. Only time will tell whose wisdom prevails, but I have the advantage. Only I know where Rowena is and I plan to keep it that way.”

When she realized her proximity, she pushed away from him, and watched, ready to help as he stood. “I also have the advantage of being able to awaken on the morrow without any aches and pains. But do not worry. I have an excellent tea should you require something to ease your soreness. And I’d be happy to make it for you.”

With that, she spun and marched into the hut, going straight through the small main room and into the tiny bedchamber.

Brindi bounced back onto the pallet and under the covers. “You should be asleep,” she told the girl sharply.

“You and Kenneth made a lot of noise. And I can’t sleep without you. You usually come to bed at the same time I do.”

“You were on your own for a month, Brindi.” But what she said was true when they were together. In Colchester, the days were busy, but the nights were quiet, each person still too concerned with staying out of the Norman soldiers’ ways. Sometimes, though, after Brindi had fallen asleep, Clara would slip out and visit Rowena. The trip into the woods was dangerous, but not too far. All she’d had to do was follow a small stream upward to its bend and step into the thicket a few feet. A small, man-made warren, probably used to hide a thief at one time, had been Rowena’s temporary home after the baby was born.

When Clara had discovered that she was to come to Little Dunmow, she’d moved Rowena to a hut she’d discovered, deep in the woods that skirted a small, nearly depleted peat bog. `Twas why Rowena was so reluctant to have a fire there, for sometimes a Saxon would pilfer the scraps of peat for fuel.

After that moment of silent thought, Brindi spoke. “Shouldn’t you pray for forgiveness for tripping Kenneth?”

“I did not trip him! A stray cat darted out of our garden and he slipped on the flagstones.”

“He could have died.”

Clara groaned. “No, he couldn’t have. People don’t die from falling, unless they are very old.”

“He could have hit his head and then died. You should have prayed for God to forgive you.”

“He didn’t die. He’s fine and `twas his slippery shoes on the wet stones that caused his fall, not me.”

“You made him jump up. You were arguing with him.”

“Like you are arguing with me?” Clara sighed. “I will pray, but sometimes we have to fight for what we believe in. And you shouldn’t have been listening at the door. Now go to sleep.”

Brindi didn’t answer. Shortly after, Kenneth entered and prepared the table to be his bed. Clara refused to surrender to her curiosity and peer through the hearth to see if he was limping. She’d find out in the morning if his fall had left any ill effects.

Still, Brindi was right about one thing. She should pray for forgiveness. For she surely had lost her temper with the man and hadn’t really felt sorry for his fall.

Lord, forgive me. Keep Rowena safe. Help me find the best place for her and the babe.

She huddled deeper into the bedclothes. But Kenneth’s occasional groans were too much for her curiosity. She twisted about and peered over the dying fire.

He was limping. And rubbing his head. Clara bit her lip. She should check him out. Her aunt had told her of one old man who’d fallen and cracked his head open, only to die in his sleep.

She should check his head and see if he had any broken bones.

She sat up, and Brindi opened her eyes.

“Get to sleep, Brindi.”

“Are you going to see if his brains are falling out?” the girl whispered.

“I’m sure his brains are fine. I will check him for broken bones. But if you don’t get to sleep right now, I will have you doing all the chores tomorrow.”

With that threat, Brindi flopped over on her side and fell silent. Clara pulled on her cyrtel and hastily tied up the belt and neck. Kenneth had already seen her hair, so her spare wimple wasn’t necessary. She shoved back the curtain and stepped into the light of the main room. “Let me see your head.”

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One secret to happiness

There will be many people telling you what the secret to happiness is. And most of them will be correct. But it's up to you to find your own secret. Still, we can share our own successes in that search and hope that they will help you.
Here's one.
Give it away.
"It" is this. Your smile, your extra wealth. Your good news. Your bad news. Your love. Give away your happiness. Give away congratulations. Share your jealousy....
Wait! Share jealousy?  What kind of advice is that?
Let me explain by example. Your friend has just told you some good news. Something you've always wanted. And they have it. And like it or not, you can't have it, for whatever reason.
Share your jealousy. Tell him or her you're jealous. Let it go out there. 
And while you're at it, look at my first bits of advice. Give them your smile, share your good news. Buy them lunch. Share your heartbreak.
Share your love for them.
And by letting go of all of this, you'll be letting go of your jealousy, too. 
You see, negative things in our lives are like vampires. They suck life from us, and they really don't do well in bright light. So slay them. Expose them to light, and let them go. They'll shrivel and die away.
And while you're sharing all those wonderful things above with people around you, the negative things in your lives will drown in positive energy.
Love, live, smile.
I don't care if your face cracks. Smile. Force it out. Laugh to get it out and then laugh at yourself. Yes, you're not feeling well, but you can do it!  Go for it!
Each day is a new beginning. Don't sweat yesterday. Don't sweat tomorrow. Love like there *is* no tomorrow.
And each small success, be it getting the kids down for a nap, or getting that report done on time, or even having that one neighbor smile at you, or managing to walk away only once from a temptation, they are all successes and need to be treated like the fantastic things they are.
You deserve the celebrate the good things in your life. 
Find them, celebrate them, and go out to find your happiness. Then share it!

Countdown to my book

Or as I should title this, testing to see if I can add a picture to my blog!

This is my next book, due out June 8th.

Hunter Gordon had pleaded guilty to a crime he hadn't committed. And served ten long years in prison. All to save the family who had taken him in: beautiful Rae Benton and her father. But right before Rae's father died, he revealed his daughter was in danger. Hunter had to keep her safe. How was he supposed to get close? Rae didn't know the truth and blamed him for the loss of all she held dear. Hunter would have to earn Rae's trust—without ever telling her what really happened a decade ago.

Excerpt:

Rae Benton could not believe who had just walked into the mortuary chapel. The man who'd killed her father had the gall to attend his victim's funeral.

With hands clenched as tightly as her jaw, she lifted her gaze from the inexpensive casket, up Hunter Gordon's lean frame to meet his eyes. In the muted light, she couldn't see the vivid blue, just the intensity that carried both empathy and wariness. She could buy the wariness; after all, he couldn't expect to be welcomed here. But empathy? Hunter might not have pulled a trigger, but he was responsible for her father's untimely death. He had no right to show any compassion.

He came to stand near her. "I'm sorry, Rae." His voice had deepened during his years in prison, yet she could barely hear it in the quiet chapel. His words were obviously meant for her alone. "I wish I could have been here sooner."

"Because you've just been released?" she muttered. "How did you get here so fast? Dorchester Penitentiary is a two-hour drive from here. They don't release inmates at dawn."

"I hitched a ride with a guard coming off duty."

"Who told you Dad had died?"

His compassionate expression faltered slightly, but his voice stayed calm. "We stopped for gas up the road. The clerk told me. I came straight here."

Edith Waterbrook owned the only gas station in the small New Brunswick village of Green Valley. Which meant if she'd recognized Hunter after ten years, everyone would soon know he'd been released. And had headed straight to the funeral.

Rae found herself fighting back the conflicting urges to smack him, and to feel again the comforting embrace he'd given her that day a decade ago when her family's shop had burned to the ground.

Correction. The day Hunter had burned the workshop to the ground and destroyed Benton Woodworking, a livelihood the family had relied on for nearly a century. The day the police had arrested him for arson.