Telepathy of Hearts

By Eve Irving

Start Publishing LLC

Copyright © 2012 by Start Publishing LLC

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

First Start Publishing eBook edition October 2012

Start Publishing is a registered trademark of Start Publishing LLC

Manufactured in the United States of America

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

ISBN 
978-
1-
68146-
485-
5

by

Eve Irving

TORRID BOOKS
www.torridbooks.com

Published by
TORRID BOOKS
www.torridbooks.com
An Imprint of Whiskey Creek Press LLC

Copyright © 2016 by
AUTHOR

Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

ISBN: 978-1-68146-485-5

Credits
Cover Artist: Kelly MArtin
Editor: Dave Field

Printed in the United States of America

Read what some of Eve Irving
's fans have to say about

STE
P
PING OUT FROM THE SHADOWS

Fantastic!
Can
't wait for this new author to write more.

~ Tracey Kent
– Amazon Reader

Excellent read! Will be eagerly awaiting the next one.

~ sas401
– Amazon Reader

I
'm not usually a fan of paranormal or erotic fiction, but was persuaded to give Eve Irving
's new book a try. Modern, mystical, funny and steamy! I look forward to seeing more from this lovely lady, she
's a BOLD and BRA
CING cup of tea! Order the book! Do it now.

~ KLM
– Amazon Reader

Although erotic fiction isn
't my normal genre, I have to admit I was impressed.

Ms. Irving
's style and prose moved fluidly throughout the story, catching the reader and engrossing them in a well crafted world that begged to be explored.

Well done. Looking forward to more works from her in the future.

~ Dimsdale
– Amazon Reader

Other Books by Author Available at Torrid Books:

Kings Blood Series

Book 1: Stepping Out From the Shadows

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Creek
Press

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To my Mum aka wonder woman, and to
 
Crazy Uncle Ray for his encouragement

“I will ask you again child
…will you agree to the b
e
trothal?
”

Eleanor looked her jailor in the face, in spite of her u
n
ease
,
and straightened her small shoulders. Scowling, she met her jailor
's eyes as she pondered the question.

This day had dawned much like any other. But her blood quickened in her veins. Her belly knotted.

This was not a day like any other.

There would be few days left dawning on her freedom and few days left as a maid, if her jailor had her way.

Eleanor pondered for a while on her reply.

This was not a question, so why did she ask it? If I say no, I will be flogged until I say yea. I say yea, I will be be
d
ded by some battle sore brute, smelling of stale ale, sweat, and pig fat and put to a life of birthing him babies until my body is unable to carry no more.

Pray, make me a boy.

Small and seemingly dainty, the beautiful body of Ele
a
nor of Lancaster was a mere vessel for her soul. There was nothing dainty about her spirit. From blood and breeding, a she-
wolf to the core. Her mother and the mothers before her were made of the love of England
's Queen
s r
ight back to Matilda.

The niece of the King was impish and headstrong, a wild child nature courted. She would rather wear her flaxen hair loose than braided. She had no desire to wear embro
i
dered silks or fine slippers; her feet were often unshod and her robes mere wool. She rode astride, and in the hunt no man could catch her.

No stranger to the bark of her stepmother
's tongue or indeed, the bite of her birch. Neither birch nor scolding could change her. Eleanor of Lancaster was as defiant to the will of others as she was beautiful.

She often coped with the way of a woman
's world at
Court by entering her own dreams
,
delighting in the se
n
tience of them. She was already off and running. Her imag
i
nation taking her from the grey of stone walls to nature
's green. Far away from her punisher.

Up to her secret Eden. The kiss of the mountain-
mist thick in her hair. Arthur making light of the trail. His hooves gathering pace as she kicked him on to a gallop.

The sweet dance of nature available to her in scent and touch. She could almost smell it, feel it. Leather and horse in her nostrils. Wet heather fragrant in the air. The scratch of the gorse on her legs as she hitched her skirts and ran free. The still sound of water as it lapped on the stones.
Calm cool on her skin. Grass under bare feet and only
H
eaven above her.

Eleanor
's thoughts broke. Her internal disquiet returning once more.

The spit of Lady Bruce wetted her face.

Eleanor recoiled.

The smell as bitter as the words on her tongue as she spoke.
“Hear me well, for I jest ye not daughter. I shall birch you, with your skirts pinned and your smock risen, in font of these goodly ladies.
”

She spits as her cat. She is a witch, I am sure. What an unfortunate face she has in temper. As unfortunate as her sour nature.

Eleanor smirked, her eyes narrowed and her brow pinched. Her intrepid stare did not waiver in meeting her jailor
's eyes.

Lady Bruce
's words were not a threat. They were not spoken to frighten either. She would take great delight in putting her stepdaughter across the whipping horse.

The nodding heads of the courtiers looked on. The sound of their muffled voices agreed on Eleanor
's defiance and need for correction.

Damn you, madam, for I am not your daughter
. The threat of the birch could silence her voice only.
My thoughts, as my soul
—
they are mine and mine alone.

One maid, one woman and a battle of wills lay open b
e
tween them.

The King had decreed that Eleanor, his dead sister
's daughter would marry his favourite knight, a man he loved like family. He so venerated him, the king called him nep
h
ew despite his birth from a Yorkist mother. Matheus D
'Lanchette, Earl of Lincoln, a childless widower of five years was the eldest son of the King
's cousin.

It was often the custom in medieval England for the king himself to decide on the betrothal of his court. A good marriage in the King
's eyes could strengthen his throne or yield money to his coffers. This one was decided upon by His Majesty to stop the warring of
Cousins.

No knight or noble would dare question a betrothal a
r
ranged by the King. Their head would be settled upon a pike on London Bridge. But whether the marriage was decreed by the King or arranged between peasants, the law of the church and land insisted the brid
e married of her own volition, n
e
i
ther beaten nor forced.

Fixing her stepmother
's stare with her own
,
she snapped,
“No, I will not be wed to a knight I do not love
, yet alone know.
I will take myself to the nunnery and throw m
y
self in front of The Lady Abbess. Kiss her feet and beg her to make me a bride of the church, to serve our Lord in quiet contemplation before I will be bedded by a beast
…for the love of God, madam they call him The Lincoln Bull.
”

Lady Bruce
's eyes flashed, her temper clearly tickled by the challenging eyes of her stepdaughter.
Curling her lip, her green eyes narrowing, she snarled,
“Better a bull than a calf.
For you have a mighty will and
‘
twill be ultimately the strength of your sire alone that breaks you. I fear your father has favorited you. As for quiet contemplation, I have never heard the like. You have body enough to birth and no disp
o
sition for the discipline.
”