I thoroughly enjoyed writing the story of the romance between the two main characters in LORD OF THE FOREST, Book 3 in the Trysts and Treachery series. I thought I might experiment by putting a few excerpts and extracts out there.
Here’s the main drive of the story-
You can take a man out of the wild, but you can’t take the wild out of the man.
She failed to save the man she loved. She won’t make the same mistake again.
Desperate to avoid a suffocating marriage, Clemence plans to dazzle at court, and remain as chaste as The Virgin Queen. Then she’s rescued from kidnappers by the mysterious Lancelot, and only a betrothal to him can save her reputation. But what could induce her father to give her to a man with no memory, no status, and no home but the forest? Especially when that man has a propensity for throwing people into horse troughs, getting himself poisoned, and being accused of murder.
In his forest home, he’s a king among both beasts and men.
Lancelot does everything differently. He can’t help it; he’s been living free in the forest with no memory of shame, sin or the reason for wearing clothes. No memory of anything at all, in fact, although his dreams reveal he’s had a close brush with death. But was he a victim or quite the opposite?
Living hand-to-mouth in his woodland lair, Lancelot is used to helping himself to what he wants, and he wants Clemence. But when she drags him back into the real world, he soon realizes that she will bring him either salvation… or oblivion.
Here’s the excerpt. If you’re wondering about the sword, the setting is England in 1585. Our hero has just been taken back to his home, though he has no memory of the place. The heroine is trying to restore his memory, despite him being concerned about what dark secrets might be unearthed…
“He tried the weight of the sword, then swung it around in an arc. His arm seemed to move of its own accord, blocking imaginary blows to his shoulders and legs.
“Some of my knowledge has been restored by reading your father’s books. Some things I simply remember—or at least the knowledge comes back if I worry at it like a terrier at a rat. And sometimes, skills return to me—like this.” He swung the sword again, stabbing it with pinpoint accuracy at the center of a red poppy on the tapestry. “Hopefully, more abilities will return if I have need of them.”
“You have scars on your back. Someone attacked you with a sword or a knife, and evidently bested you.”
A fact he had to face, though he hated it. “Mayhap I had no weapon with which to defend myself. Or was already incapacitated.”
She grimaced. “Then it was a cowardly attack. Mayhap I should have a sword, too, in case I need to defend myself.”
He immediately sheathed the ancient weapon he’d found, and fastened the belt around his hips. “Not while I draw breath, you won’t. If you hold a blade, your attacker will feel forced to use his own. If you have no weapon, he’ll be more inclined to parley. Besides, what need have you of steel when you have me to protect you?”
She tossed her head. “I suppose you’ll tell me next that swordplay isn’t so much fun as it looks. And I thought you a free spirit, with a mind open to new ideas, eschewing the everyday rules by which we live.”
He’d thought himself a free spirit, too, by comparison. But when it came to Clemence, he found he could happily follow the rules if it kept her safe.
“When I know what I know and how I know it, I might then be in a position to teach you, oh, courageous maid. But for now, I am the one wearing the sword, and intend to keep it that way.”
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