The Bastard of Warkworth is no stranger to misfortune. Everything he held dear vanished one night in a wisp of smoke and fire, and he has been scarred by his encounters with Seren's own mother, Morwen Pendragon. Even so, when one of the witch’s daughters finds herself in trouble, Wilhelm must find the champion within and ride to her rescue.
“Where are you going?” she asked in surprise.
“Home,” he said irascibly.
“Nay, my lord—not lest you mean to go by ship. And you’ll not put me on another one after what I have witnessed. You would have to gag and bind me, and tis not very likely I would stand still to allow it.”
“I am not your lord,” he said again. “I’m no man’s lord.” And he kept riding, without bothering to turn back. Seren cast Jack a bewildered glance. The boy shrugged.
It was her habit, she supposed, to call every man of consequence lord. Somehow, it seemed better to give Wilhelm deference, but he clearly did not like it. And yet, he behaved like a willful lord, doing whatsoever pleased, keeping whatever pace he saw fit, and never bothering to ask what Seren would like to do. Hadn’t he said he was here to help? Well, he hadn’t had very much to say since insisting she accept his aid.
“Wait here,” she said to Jack, and spurred her mare to catch up with the sour-faced lout. “I do not mean to disparage you,” she confessed. “Tis but that you seem more a lord to me than most lords do.”
He grunted in answer, but kept going, and Seren frowned.
How was she supposed to travel with his man, who seemed so intent upon ignoring her? He hadn’t said much of anything since retrieving Jack.
“What in the name of St. Afan would you have me call you if not lord?”
“Wilhelm,” he replied. “And since when do you Pendragon sisters swear by the name of saints?”
Seren lifted her chin. “I lived most of my life in a priory,” she informed him. And then she whispered, “I cannot very well swear by the Goddess, can I? Else Jack will wonder.”
“Well,” he said. “That’s your fault. Had you left the boy in Dover you wouldn’t have to pretend you are someone you are not. And anyway, I doubt he knows St. Afan, either.”
Had he somehow taken offense? “Do you know St. Afan?”
“Nay,” he said. “And neither do I aspire to. He’s some Welshman, by the sounds of him. But, more importantly, do you know who he is?”
Seren frowned. “Nay, sir. I do not,” she confessed. “Though I did hear Father Ersinius invoke him on occasion. I am not so much impressed by saints.”
“What are you impressed by?”
Seren bristled. She was not going to confess herself to this impertinent stranger. “What I wouldst like to know is what you wish me to call you if not lord—can you, please, stop! Please?” She reined in her horse, peering back at Jack, who was staring at them with furrowed brows.
“Nay,” he replied, without turning.
Seren sighed, and moved forward once more. “Where are you going?”
“Home, I said.”
She furrowed her brow. “You are not going home! Did you not read that sign? You are going to Ramsgate, returning to the ocean, and, once again, I will remind you that lest you have a ship, or you and your horse would like to have a good swim, the road to Canterbury is the road best traveled.”
Finally, he stopped, turning to look at her, and his cheeks appeared to bloom. Without a word, he spun his mare about, trotting back toward Jack, who was still waiting right where Seren left him. Wilhelm passed him by, never sparing him or the signpost a glance.
He couldn’t read, she realized, with blinding insight.
“Home,” he said irascibly.
“Nay, my lord—not lest you mean to go by ship. And you’ll not put me on another one after what I have witnessed. You would have to gag and bind me, and tis not very likely I would stand still to allow it.”
“I am not your lord,” he said again. “I’m no man’s lord.” And he kept riding, without bothering to turn back. Seren cast Jack a bewildered glance. The boy shrugged.
It was her habit, she supposed, to call every man of consequence lord. Somehow, it seemed better to give Wilhelm deference, but he clearly did not like it. And yet, he behaved like a willful lord, doing whatsoever pleased, keeping whatever pace he saw fit, and never bothering to ask what Seren would like to do. Hadn’t he said he was here to help? Well, he hadn’t had very much to say since insisting she accept his aid.
“Wait here,” she said to Jack, and spurred her mare to catch up with the sour-faced lout. “I do not mean to disparage you,” she confessed. “Tis but that you seem more a lord to me than most lords do.”
He grunted in answer, but kept going, and Seren frowned.
How was she supposed to travel with his man, who seemed so intent upon ignoring her? He hadn’t said much of anything since retrieving Jack.
“What in the name of St. Afan would you have me call you if not lord?”
“Wilhelm,” he replied. “And since when do you Pendragon sisters swear by the name of saints?”
Seren lifted her chin. “I lived most of my life in a priory,” she informed him. And then she whispered, “I cannot very well swear by the Goddess, can I? Else Jack will wonder.”
“Well,” he said. “That’s your fault. Had you left the boy in Dover you wouldn’t have to pretend you are someone you are not. And anyway, I doubt he knows St. Afan, either.”
Had he somehow taken offense? “Do you know St. Afan?”
“Nay,” he said. “And neither do I aspire to. He’s some Welshman, by the sounds of him. But, more importantly, do you know who he is?”
Seren frowned. “Nay, sir. I do not,” she confessed. “Though I did hear Father Ersinius invoke him on occasion. I am not so much impressed by saints.”
“What are you impressed by?”
Seren bristled. She was not going to confess herself to this impertinent stranger. “What I wouldst like to know is what you wish me to call you if not lord—can you, please, stop! Please?” She reined in her horse, peering back at Jack, who was staring at them with furrowed brows.
“Nay,” he replied, without turning.
Seren sighed, and moved forward once more. “Where are you going?”
“Home, I said.”
She furrowed her brow. “You are not going home! Did you not read that sign? You are going to Ramsgate, returning to the ocean, and, once again, I will remind you that lest you have a ship, or you and your horse would like to have a good swim, the road to Canterbury is the road best traveled.”
Finally, he stopped, turning to look at her, and his cheeks appeared to bloom. Without a word, he spun his mare about, trotting back toward Jack, who was still waiting right where Seren left him. Wilhelm passed him by, never sparing him or the signpost a glance.
He couldn’t read, she realized, with blinding insight.
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Traditional Scottish Historical spiked with Fantasy…well played Crosby," says Whiskey and Wit Book Reviews
Fearing her "gifts" will be used to defeat her sister Matilda, Elspeth Pendragon escapes the Black Mountain priory that has sheltered her and her four sisters since King Henry's death, only to find herself indebted to, of all men, a Scotsman, whose loyalties are in question... Left to face the wrath of a new sovereign, Malcom Scott is forced to swear fealty to Stephen of Blois to keep the castle he won by slaying his own grandfather. But having done that, he's pitted himself against Scotland, and even his own father. But even as Malcom realizes there's no turning back, the late King's favorite illegitimate daughter may offer him more than he ever bargained for. Tanya Anne Crosby pens a tale that touches your soul and lives forever in your heart. - Sherrilyn Kenyon, #1 NYT Bestselling Author. "Tanya Anne Crosby returns to writing historical fiction as only she can: superbly and beautifully...." - Suzan Tisdale, bestselling author of Rowan's Lady "Tanya Anne Crosby builds worlds that immediately draw you in, with multi-dimensional characters and rich, detailed storylines. Her stories are absolutely riveting." -Kathryn Le Veque, USA Today Bestselling Author & Amazon All-Star Author "Tanya Anne Crosby is a master of her genre." -Internationally Bestselling Author, Laurin Wittig Books in this Series Book 1: The King's Favorite Book 2: The Holly & the Ivy Book 3: A Winter's Rose Book 4: Fire Song Book 5: Rhiannon |
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Join the MacKinnon clan for a magical reunion, bringing together old friends and new for a Yuletide never to be forgotten.
Malcom MacKinnon has been gone from Chreagach Mhor for more than ten years. He’s never met the youngest MacKinnon, but while he’s looking forward to their first meeting, Alexander Ailbeart MacKinnon isn’t quite as enthusiastic to meet the brother who, in his eyes, abandoned their clan. Having received word Malcom and his new wife are on the way, he’s on his heels now, making sure their home is safeguarded from forces that threaten his family’s joy. Will the brothers finally come together after so long? This short story can be read as a stand-alone but will make more sense if read after reading THE KING’S FAVORITE in the Daughters of Avalon series.  |
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"Homage paid to medieval England and Scottish historical romance WITH a sprinkling of magic... Perfect." - Whiskey & Wit Book Reviews
Facing the grim prospect of a forced marriage to a feckless minion of King Stephen's, Rosalynde, the defiant youngest daughter of Morwen Pendragon takes matters into her own hands. With the help of her mother's spell book and a stolen wimple, she disguises herself as a plain, matronly nun and flees her loveless fate... Giles de Vere, lord of Warkworth, is facing his own arranged marriage--to Rose's sister, the reclusive Seren, reputed to be the loveliest woman in all of Wales. But destiny has its own wayward plans, and when the bold knight finds himself a reluctant champion to a runaway nun, he hasn't any clue of the lady's true identity. All he knows is that while Rose is far from beautiful, there's something magical about her that speaks to his heart... |
Rhiannon’s destiny is fated from the moment of her birth. She and her dewine sisters must defeat an ancient evil, or Britain itself will go the way of Avalon. Her sisters and their champions have set the stage for a final battle against the Witch Goddess Cerridwen, but Rhiannon can only fulfill her destiny if she can win the heart of the man who holds her prisoner.
Cael d’Lucy’s ambition has raised him to the pinnacle of power. He’s the King’s executioner, and when the dust of battle has settled he stands to rule as Duke over Wales, bending the knee only to King Stephen of England. All he must do is break a slip of a girl—Morwen’s most formidable daughter. Trouble is… Rhiannon is his match, mind, body and soul. Winning her means losing Blackwood; and losing her means winning Wales, but what shall it profit a man if he gain the entire world, but lose his soul?
💕 To be released August 25, 2020 💕
Tanya has been featured in magazines, such as People, Romantic Times and Publisher’s Weekly, and her stories have been translated into eight languages. Her first novel (Angel of Fire) was published in 1992 by Avon Books, where she was hailed as “one of Avon’s fastest rising stars.” Her fourth book (Once Upon a Kiss) was chosen to launch the company’s Avon Romantic Treasure imprint. She and her writer husband currently split their time between Charleston, SC, where she was raised, and northern Michigan, where the couple make their home.
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