Forever His (54 page)

The horse reared, and she screamed again as she heard the clash of steel on steel just above her head. After only four thrusts, the guard was gripping a bloody wound and they were racing down the street. Behind them she heard another bellow that could only be de Villiers, then the sound of many hooves pounding after them. Terrified peasants flattened themselves against buildings as the horse thundered past.

They rounded a corner, the stallion’s muscles bunching and straining, and she could see two guards pushing a haycart into their path. She screamed again as the lunatic spurred his neighing mount onward. She felt the horse’s hooves leave the ground—and was suddenly looking down into the guards’ startled faces, then at the street rushing up to meet her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable impact, but instead had the wind knocked out of her by the outlaw’s knees as they landed. He urged the horse on and they raced through the streets, scattering chickens and pigs from their path. They quickly reached the edge of town and sped across the open fields, a half dozen guards only an arrow’s flight behind.

She heard the airy whoosh of a crossbow bolt, then another. The rider hunched down over the horse’s neck, covering her. Despite the protection of her mantle, she was all too aware of the heavy wall of his chest pressed against her back, the feeling of her breasts flattened against the muscles of his thigh. She gasped short, terrified breaths, watching flying hooves and meadow grass rush by several feet below. Lather from the horse’s shoulder flecked her gown.

The arrows soon stopped. Laurien knew the guards were falling behind as the outlaw headed into the forest. He straightened as they left the path, charging through the trees. She could hear the guards crashing into the underbrush far away.

She struggled to sit up. “Wait! Stop—”

He stopped just long enough to right her so that she was sitting astride in front of him—then brought out a piece of cloth from his tunic and whipped it around her mouth as a gag. She had no chance to ask who on earth he was or demand that he release her. Helpless and mute, she could only hold on for sweet life as he spurred the stallion onward.

They galloped faster through the woods. Branches whipped past, tearing at her veil and dress. The brigand wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer, shielding her. He was so much bigger than her, the top of her head fit beneath his bearded chin. Surrounded by hard muscle and his male scent, she grew more frightened as they rode deeper into the wood. The gloom thickened around them, the sun only occasionally breaking through the branches overhead. What plans did this mad outlaw have for her?

It flashed through her head that, for the first time since she had arrived in Chartres, she was free of de Villiers. But the idea only struck new fear into her heart as she pictured what he would find after several days searching the forest: her body, raped and bloodied, hidden beneath a tangle of underbrush.

The trees became a blur and her eyes locked on the sword still in her abductor’s hand, the reddened blade resting across her knees. Though her mouth was bound, her mind screamed in a single, endless shriek as a cold wave of fear drenched her. She thought she would faint.

But even in shock, her mind refused to sink into darkness. The outlaw kept changing directions, turning left, left again, right, then back along their own trail until she no longer heard the sounds of other horses. She wanted to close her eyes and waken alone in her chamber at the convent, to find that all of this had only been a nightmare.

Instead, she was intensely aware of her captor’s every move as they galloped onward. She felt his powerful thighs easily guiding the charger. Felt the pounding of his heart against her back—or was that her own heart? He even filled her every breath as they raced through the forest, that unfamiliar, spicy maleness sending her senses reeling.

Would there be much pain when he took her? Or would she finally lose consciousness?  She had only begun to imagine what horrors possibly lay ahead, when the ride came to an end as suddenly as it had begun.

He slowed the horse to a trot and gave an unusual whistle. A moment passed, then she heard an answering whistle rise eerily from the trees to their left. The stallion turned toward the sound. A few paces further on, her captor stopped, eased her to the ground, and moved off.

She felt disoriented, breathless, could barely see in the gloom. Her trembling legs threatened to give way. She reached out to steady herself against a tree, but a rough hand took her own and a masculine voice rumbled from the shadows.
“Och, seo ise duais.”

Laurien knew several languages, but his words were utterly foreign to her. The speaker stepped forward and she found herself looking not at the outlaw, but at a second man, also garbed as a pilgrim. Older, with dark hair and a grizzled beard. The hint of a smile played about his lips as he looked at her.
“
Àlainn.”
He glanced toward his companion.
“Iadsan lean, companach?”

She looked to her left and saw the fair-haired outlaw saddling a fresh mount.
“Air chall iadsan ann craobh.”

The older man reached toward her face. She started to back away, but he merely unwound the cloth that gagged her. She spat out a mouthful of damp fuzz and turned on the blond madman.

“Who—What—Who
are
you?” she sputtered. Then she realized that these men, who were clearly not French, might not understand her. “My ... family ... will ... pay,” she said, speaking each word loudly and slowly, pointing to her coin purse to explain her meaning, “a ... ransom ... for ... my ... safe ... return.”

She hoped that was true.

Both men burst into laughter.

“We speak your language,
demoiselle
,” the blond outlaw replied in lightly accented—and perfectly fluent—French, as he easily swung up on his new horse. “And ‘tis not money we want.”

“Our apologies, milady.” The older man also mounted a fresh stallion. “But there is no time for formal introductions. My friend here tells me he lost our pursuers for the moment, but we had best not linger. I am Sir Malcolm MacLennan. And this rogue”—he indicated his friend with a nod—”is Sir Connor of Glenshiel.”

“Of Scotland,” the rogue in question explained, giving her a half bow as he rode toward her. “And as for you, Lady Laurien d’Amboise...” He reached down with one burly arm to lift her onto his saddle again. “For the next fortnight, you are mine.”

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SPOILER ALERT

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Dear Reader,

I always love those “Behind the Scenes” bonus features on DVDs. I enjoy learning what inspired the stories, characters, and settings of my favorite movies. I love getting a peek at how the costumes were made, how the sets were built, and what changes were made in the editing room. When I first set out on this digital publishing adventure, I knew I wanted to include a “Behind the Scenes” bonus feature in each of my e-books.

But I realize that some people dislike “Behind the Scenes” features. For them, hearing the nuts-and-bolts of the creative process ruins their enjoyment of the story. I don’t want to ruin anyone’s enjoyment of my books, so if you’re someone who typically skips “Making of” features on DVDs, it’s probably best to skip this section.

Also, if you haven’t finished the whole book yet, you’ll want to finish before returning to this page. I’m about to give you an inside peek at the creative decisions that went into writing this story—so plot twists may be revealed and characters’ secrets spilled. (There are no spoilers for
other
books in this series, in case you haven’t read them all yet.)

So ... if you’ve skipped ahead to this feature, please click back and finish the book. I totally understand the skipping-ahead impulse, because I’m a chronic skipper-aheader myself. But really, now is the best time to skip back. Before you see any spoilers.

When you’re all done, return to this page. I’ll be waiting right here for you.

Ready? Here we go.

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Inspirations

Readers of previous “Making of” features know that movies provide much of the inspiration for my books.
Forever His
was actually inspired by three different movies and a TV news report ... but it was a long and winding road from first spark to published book.

I started writing
Forever His
in January 1990, right after I mailed my first manuscript,
Falcon on the Wind
, to my newly acquired New York agent. I figured it would take months for her to sell
Falcon
to a publisher, and I wanted to have my next book finished by the time an offer came in. Gaston’s story was quite different at that time, with a plot that involved a lady thief and stolen jewels.

To my surprise and joy,
Falcon
sold almost immediately, just one week after my agent submitted it to three major publishing houses. Editor Nancy Yost of Avon Books offered me a two-book contract, and I needed to send her a proposal for the second book—but my agent suggested that it shouldn’t be a medieval romance. She wanted me to show versatility in order to attract a wider audience.

So I put
Forever His
on the shelf and started
Midnight Raider
, a book set in 18th-century England about a lady highwayman and her handsome, dangerous rival. Two years, two books, and one new editor later, I got the green light for another medieval ... but by then I had used up my entire plot for
Forever His
. The lady thief went into
Midnight Raider
, the stolen jewels into
Silver and Sapphires
, and poor Gaston was left without a story, a plot, or—most important from his point of view—a heroine.

I spent weeks trying to come up with a lady equal to the task of taming Gaston’s macho male ego. But every idea I came up with bored me, and my first rule of storytelling is Thou Shalt Not Bore the Reader. My deadline was looming and I was frittering away far too much time on research, hoping inspiration would strike.

Then one night it did. All because my husband went on a fishing trip.

While Mark headed out for his weekend with the guys, I settled in at home with a big bowl of popcorn, a box of Kleenex, and a couple of guaranteed three-hankie movies. You know, the kind husbands hate to sit through. In Mark’s opinion, any movie that doesn’t have guns and/or buildings exploding qualifies as a chick flick.

With no male critic in the house, I cuddled up in front of the TV and popped the Julia Roberts movie “Dying Young” into the VCR, all ready for a good cry ... but I didn’t get it. “Dying Young” didn’t make me shed a single tear. The whole time I was watching it, I kept thinking,
But I wouldn’t have written it that way ...

A few days later, my desire for a good cry clicked with a local TV news report about a carjacking. Those twin seeds of inspiration finally gave me my heroine. A modern woman would be the
perfect
foil for Gaston! His only possible heroine.

As a teenager, I had fallen in love with the Christopher Reeve/Jane Seymour movie “Somewhere in Time” and the Malcolm McDowell/Mary Steenburgen movie “Time After Time.” (Yes, believe it or not, Malcolm McDowell as a romantic lead. Great movie. Worth adding to your Netflix queue.) I had always hoped to write a time-travel book someday.

What if I wrote
Forever His
as a time-travel romance?

My agent loved the idea, but we still had to pitch it to my editor at Avon. Paranormal romances were considered
hugely
risky at that time, a relatively new sub-genre with uncertain sales potential. Avon had only published one or two in their romance program. And I was still a relatively new author. Would they let me take such a risk?

Fortunately for me, my editor at the time was Marjorie Braman, the kind of supportive editor who’s a true blessing in the lives of her authors. Marjorie never worried about rules or genre restrictions or what a romance novel “should” be. She asked only that I deliver great characters and a compelling romance, and left the rest up to me.

At the 1992 RWA National Conference in Chicago, my agent and I pitched her the idea for
Forever His
, and she absolutely loved it. She was every bit as excited as I’d hoped she’d be.

This new digital edition is dedicated to Marjorie, in gratitude for taking that leap of faith with me. Without her enthusiastic support, I never could have written
Forever His
.

Soundtrack

As I’ve mentioned in other “Making of” chats, I always choose a theme song for my hero & heroine when starting a new book. It’s one of my little creative rituals, something that helps me connect emotionally with my protagonists. Gaston & Celine’s theme is “I Will Remember You” by Amy Grant, from her 1991 album
Heart in Motion
. I listened to it many times while writing the original manuscript, especially chapters 22 through 24, when Celine thinks about returning to her own time, knowing Gaston can’t come with her. The song captures all her emotions as she imagines her future without him. If you’ve never heard it, the MP3 single is worth a listen. Keep a box of Kleenex handy.

The Title

The working title on this book was
Stolen Glory
—and I was absolutely certain that it would be the final title. My first editor at Avon, Nancy Yost, had explained that books with “Stolen” in the title sell well, so I felt confident that Avon would love that title. I didn’t even bother coming up with any alternates.

So imagine my surprise when Marjorie called one afternoon to say that the sales department didn’t like my title. They felt that “Stolen Glory” lacked excitement. They wanted something with more spark.

For once, I didn’t have to agonize over it, or even think about it for more than a minute. I had just finished revising the love scene in chapter 25 that day, and I immediately suggested my favorite line from that scene:
Forever His
.