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The Warlord's Woman

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The Warlord's Woman,  2004 New Concepts Publishing Genre: Medieval Romance IBSN: 1-58608-541-7 Format: Ebook Driven by duty, ruthlessness and blind loyalty, Alexander of Kent kidnaps Catherine of Scotland and weds her for the sole purpose of providing an heir for his grandfather, Edward the Longshanks, to control. Catherine, on the other hand, has other ideas. Explosive wills clash, setting off a chain reaction of hot-blooded desire.

But beyond the glow of their passion, dark shadows loom with danger, an evil force that threatens to destroy everything they have come to know and love, including their very lives.

 

Reviews

 The Warlord's Woman is an excellent sequel to Desire's Promise. I really love the way Tracy L. Ranson brought the characters of Isabeau and Kendrick into this story. The cruelties Alexander was forced to endure in his grandfather's court are what made him the man he became, someone without a heart. When Catherine gets the opportunity to run away from Alexander when he becomes sick, she doesn't take it, instead electing to stay and nurse him back to health. You don't want to miss this heartwarming medieval story by Tracy L. Ranson!
- Sensual Romance Reviews

Ms. Ranson treats her readers to some delicious court intrigues not only within Alexander’s household, but within the Scottish and English courts.

A costumer’s delight unfolds as Ms. Ranson describes each dress worn by the ladies of the piece and period. One need only close their eyes to imagine how the richly colored velvet dresses would feel.

A thoroughly enjoyable read.
- Fallen Angel Reviews

 

Excerpt

Alexander flexed his fingers as the creaking grew louder, the stiff squeak of his leather gloves rising through the air, his anxiety rising. She would be rounding the bend any moment with a garrison of troops to see her safely on her way to Edinburgh. His lips thinned into a half smirk. If his information were correct, he certainly had more than enough men to overtake her party without much of a struggle. Good. The last thing he wanted to do was to hurt the girl, although she was of the hated Scottish blood. He merely wanted to be on English soil before the Scots discovered her capture.

Her wooden carriage emerged from around the corner, led by four magnificent chestnut stallions. The oak body, stamped with the crest and motto of the Scottish royal family, lurched drunkenly between the suspended axles above the wheels. He could see nothing inside of the carriage but he knew she was there just the same, almost as if some inner conscience confirmed it for him.

Her assigned garrison rode behind, led by a small half-armored knight with his head hooded by a large cowl. Alexander looked to the small cavalier, noting the size and girth. How could this woman assign this small man to head her party? He smirked. More than likely, she was completely inept when it came to military tactics.

The princess’ party moved forward, the groan of the wheels mingling with the clop of hooves on the dry earth. She was slowly coming in range of his grip.

Alexander raised his hand, signaling his men to get ready. Behind him, he could hear the creak of leather saddles soft and mellow as the men mounted, their tones much fainter than Princess Catherine’s party.

He nudged Longworth, gesturing that he wanted to battle the tiny knight personally. Longworth nodded. His lips spread further into a smile, tilting his head in agreement.

Together, they turned their attention to the road ahead. Princess Catherine was in range within a few feet, her dark carriage moving slowly. The men of the garrison were dressed in half armor while the foot soldiers really had no protection.

He mentally counted the lines, noting there were only a hundred to his three hundred. This battle would not take long, he surmised silently.

Without warning, they watched as the small knight, apparently the leader, moved to the head of the carriage, halting its progress. The rest of the party followed in kind to his upraised hand. He cocked his head as though he listened to the sounds of the forest.

Perfect. Now they were in range of his hand. With a swift wave of his arm, they mounted their horses in a fury, the animals' breath dancing in the chilly night air. Alexander pulled his cowl further forward, hiding his features. He did not want the girl to recognize him until the last possible moment.

They melted out of the darkness of the forest as if they were creatures of the night. Alexander’s heart pounded out of control as he halted his horse in front of the small knight’s steed. The rest of his men surrounded the remaining party, holding all of them at blade point.

"Halt," Alexander commanded, his sword drawn and pointed at the chest of the head of the garrison.

The tiny knight said nothing as he sat straight in his saddle, not questioning why Alexander surrounded his party.

"What is the meaning of this?" questioned a husky female voice from inside the rickety carriage, echoing through the hostile air.

Alexander’s hardened stare went to the carriage door and watched as a nutmeg hued head poked out of the open window. She turned to look at him, the fear written on her ugly features. "Are you Princess Catherine of Scotland?" he demanded, his vision of her crushed. He had half expected her to be beautiful but she was nothing of the sort. Even his horse appeared prettier than she did.

Her plain eyes widened and grew rounder with the each passing moment. "Aye, that I am. Who are you and what are you doing?"

His anger flared. "I have come to claim you," he announced as he shifted in his saddle, his battle practiced gaze watching every move of her company. Should any of them make a false move, he would have no choice but to cut them down.

Her white hands flexed hard on the windowsill. He smelled her fear, even from the distance. "Who are you and what do you intend to claim me for?"

"Marriage."

"Marriage?" she laughed nervously. "Marriage to whom?"

Alexander thrust his chest out slightly to show his true power. "To me."

Her mouth curled into a startled ‘o’ and closed, the slight lips pulled into a taut line. "Who are you?"

"The Butcher of the Isles, woman."

Catherine’s head slumped as the reality of his identity sank in, her dark braids thumping lightly against the wood of the carriage. "I knew this would happen and I hoped to avoid it by going to Edinburgh but you were too swift for me," she announced in a defeat-laden voice and looked to her lead man. "Give him your sword. We must surrender."

The knight held his gloved hands out in question but she nodded. He returned the gesture with a small tilt of his head, withdrawing the sword. Catherine looked to him, her eyes turning watery with fear. "His sword is yours."

Alexander warily dismounted and closed the distance between the lead man’s horse and his, all the while his stare remained on the cavalier. This could be a ruse. "Give that to me," he snarled, holding his hand out.

The man nodded, turning the hilt around for him to grasp it. Just as he was about to lay a hand on the hilt, Alexander felt the hard leather heel of the man’s boot smash against his lower jaw, driving him to the ground. Pain radiated up from the area, firing his fury. "Destroy them all except for the princess!" he ordered, drawing his sword and rising from the dusty floor of the forest. "You belong to me bastard!" he shouted, pointing his blade at the offensive knight. With that, the young man turned his horse around and attempted to flee but the horse stumbled and fell, spilling the youth loose on the ground.

Alexander sensed his opportunity. That boy was going to pay for what he did.

He charged after the youth, closing in with swift strides. His quarry stayed in sight weaving in and out of the trees. Alexander kept close at his heels, almost like a dog giving chase. Once the boy was in range, he launched himself on the youth, bringing him to the ground. Underneath his hands, the boy felt lithe and slender, almost like a woman would. Small growls echoed from the knight’s throat, mingling with the horrific battle sounds a few yards away.

Alexander straddled the youth, holding the boy's back. "You will pay for that little injury, boy."

With that, he ripped the cowl back and was awestruck by what he saw, his jaw falling slack. Golden hair, pulled into a tight braid, flowed down the head and disappeared beneath the edge of the cloak.

He quickly moved to the side and rolled the boy over, only it was not a boy. It was a most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Deep emerald eyes, filled with fear, stared at him, fanned by a long set of blonde lashes. High cheekbones etched her face, making a perfect setting for an expertly sculpted nose. Full, luscious lips rested underneath, trembling slightly and beading with slight moisture. "Well, well, what do we have here?" he remarked in a low tone as lust nipped at his loins while his gaze traveled up and down her luscious body. From the way her armor rode away from her chest, he sensed her breasts were large and no doubt creamy, an attribute that never escaped his attention.

"None of your concern," she asserted, trying to push past him and rise. He refused to let her, instead capturing both slender wrists above her head. She was far too beautiful not to look at.

"Aye, it is my concern when I capture such a beautiful woman." She intrigued him, from her soft breath to the aura of womanhood surrounding her. Since he would rid himself of Catherine once she bore his child, perhaps this one could warm his bed very well.

"Let me go," she snapped, her jaw clenched tight.

"No," he informed her as his fingers touched the hard shelf of her jaw, traveling upwards to caress her magnificent hair. "You are a most beautiful woman, vixen. What is your name?"

Her features softened as a smile spread across her lips. "’Tis a name I am sure you will not forget quickly."

Blood pulsed to his midsection at the sound of her voice, making the leather of his braes tighter. "What it is it?"

"This." She drove her knee hard into his groin. Explosions of pain erupted, making him lose the grip on her wrists. She pushed past him, bypassing his outstretched hand. Biting through the pain, he leapt to his feet and took off after her. His stride was slow because of his injury but his anger, mingled with the unrequited lust, energized him nonetheless. The girl had hurt him twice and he was damned sure he was going to punish her thoroughly, but not before he tasted a little of her succulent fruit.

Alexander rounded a tree and discovered her in the arms of one of his men, quivering and shaking. Her flight from him was over. "What shall we do with her, my lord?"

He stopped before her, crossing his thick arms over his chest. They would do nothing with her. She was his. "That is up to me, now, is it not?"


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