This week, we're pleased to welcome author ELISABETH HOBBES with her newest release, FALLING FOR HER CAPTOR. Join us again on Sunday for an author interview, with more details about the story behind the story. One lucky visitor in the United States will get a free copy of Falling for Her Captor. Be sure to leave your email address in the comments of today's post or Sunday's author interview for a chance to win. Winner(s) are contacted privately by email. Here's the blurb.
"Set
me free. Say I escaped, or that you never found me."
Kidnapped heiress Lady
Aline of Leavingham has surrendered any hope of rescue when a mysterious figure
casts her assailant aside. But it's soon clear Aline's savior has no intention
of setting her free—he's sworn to deliver her to the Duke of Roxholm, her
family's enemy!
Sir Hugh of Eardham has
never seen anything quite like Aline's beauty and fighting spirit. There's no
doubt he's tempted more to protect her than keep her bound. But could this
loyal knight ever break his oath of allegiance for Aline's sake?
** An Excerpt from Falling for Her Captor **
The sun had set by the time they stopped in the
shelter of a high rock face. It was still not far enough, but the horses were
beginning to stumble on the loose ground. Duncan went to gather wood for the
fire, and Jack began preparing dinner. Hugh made some unnecessary adjustments
to Bayliss’s bridle and saddle, checked the contents of the seat box and kicked
the wheels of the cart before he finally admitted to himself there were no more
pretexts for ignoring Aline.
‘Will you come out,
please, my lady?’
There was no response.
Hugh cleared his throat and stopped himself in the act of smoothing his hair
back. He was about to stalk off when Aline climbed through the curtains. The
sight stopped him in his tracks. Her hair was free over her shoulders and she
had changed into the blue dress. It was too loose, but Aline had gathered it at
the waist with the belt and the billowing folds hinted invitingly at the
contours beneath. The wide neckline revealed the delicate hollow where neck met
collarbone, soft and oh, so tantalising.
Hugh’s scalp prickled
and his stomach flipped. He knew he was staring, and that she was waiting.
‘Lady Aline,’ he began
hesitantly, feeling as awkward as a youth propositioning his first bar wench,
‘I ask forgiveness for my behaviour earlier. I was rude and it was
unwarranted.’
Before Aline could speak
a soft whimper of terror broke the silence. They exchanged a glance of alarm.
Hugh took Aline by the arm and pulled her round the corner after him.
They both stopped short
at the sight before them. Jack had been skinning and boning a brace of rabbits
and the scent of blood had attracted a wolf. The animal must have been starving
and desperate, because the rangy beast had crept closer into the camp and had
now backed Jack against the wall of rock. It paced back and forth in front of
him, snarling. Whenever the boy made a move it snapped its teeth and pawed the
dirt.
‘Get back inside,’ Sir Hugh ordered Aline. He pushed
her towards the cart before turning to Jack. ‘Throw it the bloody rabbit!’ he
ordered.
The boy was frozen to the spot. He stood holding the
carcass as if in a trance, not even aware of the crossbow that lay on the log
next to him. The animal was confused by the shout and turned; emitting a low
growl, as if unable to decide which man seemed the most likely threat. It
turned back to Jack and bared its teeth, transferring its weight as though
preparing to attack.
Sir Hugh took his dagger out of its sheath and with a
roar crossed the ground between them. He made a feint at the animal. It turned
and tensed, then leapt forward, hitting him square in the chest and sending him
flailing painfully to the ground.
Above all else there was the smell: an intensely sweet
stench of blood and rotting meat. Then there was the heat: the wolf’s breath,
wet and overpowering on his face. A small part of Hugh’s mind was amazed that
it had registered such an irrelevant detail at such a time, as though his mind
was storing up memories while it still had the chance. His heartbeat pounded in
his ears, almost obliterating the shouts of alarm and the whinnying of horses
that seemed to come from a great distance. The wolf snarled and snapped
viciously at his face, its weight pinning him down. Claws scratched at his
torso through the thin shirt and he felt searing pain.
Hugh covered his face with his left arm, the leather
sleeve of his greatcoat offering some protection. With his right hand he swiped
out blindly with the dagger. The animal’s fur was too thick to penetrate and
the blade had little more effect than a feather. Enraged, the wolf shook its
head with a force that knocked the dagger from the man’s grasp. Hugh dug his
heels into the ground and twisted his body, his hand reaching desperately
towards where the dagger lay but falling short. The creature lunged down at him
again with a snarl, its grey muzzle wrinkled and teeth bared. Hugh felt a dull
pain rip across his chest and he bellowed with shock and anger.
The pain was not yet intense; he knew that would come
later—if he survived the attack. He was dimly aware of wetness down the side of
his neck, which he knew instinctively must be his blood. At the scent of the
blood the beast raised its head and gave a deep, triumphant howl. Waves of
panic coursed through Hugh’s body. He abandoned his hunt for the dagger and
pushed his hands against the animal’s chest with the strength he had left. His arms
felt heavy and he could barely make his fingers work as they brushed through
the wiry fur. The edges of the world became a grey blur. A thought passed
through his mind: What a
stupid way to die.
He closed his eyes, bracing himself for a final
assault.
No pain came. Instead he felt heaviness as the animal
slumped onto him. It twitched frantically, then lay still. A moment passed as
Hugh’s brain caught up with the sensations he was feeling. He opened his eyes
and craned his neck. The wolf was lying across his body, a crossbow bolt
protruding from one eye. Spittle and blood dripped from its open jaws. He
raised himself up onto his right elbow but it gave way immediately and he felt
the first true pulse of agony course through his body.
Hugh
collapsed back onto the dirt, his head spinning, and turned to look in the
direction the bolt had come from. Instead of Duncan or Jack, as he was
expecting, Aline stood white-faced, with the crossbow reloaded and now aimed menacingly at his heart.
Learn more about author
Elisabeth Hobbes at:
Amazon.com http://www.amazon.com/Elisabeth-Hobbes/e/B00LNFF9PC/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1409348098&sr=1-1
and her
blog http://elisabethhobbes.co.uk
