Tuesday, January 12, 2016
NEW RELEASE! MISTRESS ANGEL BY LINDSAY TOWNSEND!
Prairie Rose Publications announces a brand new release today from Lindsay Townsend! This is a wonderful medieval novella, available on Kindle for only $1.99
Once a child-bride, married with the intent to stop a blood-feud between rich and ambitious families in fourteenth century London, Isabella is now a young widow, a medieval Cinderella, tormented and blamed.
Seeking always to escape her grim destiny, she can do nothing but endure. But when her beloved son, Matthew, is torn away from her care, spirited somewhere into the country by her malicious in-laws, Isabella stoic endurance turns to desperation. To save her son she will do anything, risk anything—even if it means she must lose the love of her life, the handsome, brave armorer Stephen Fletcher.
But Stephen is determined to help her. Though he’d thought to never love again, he has no choice when his Mistress Angel enters his life—and changes their destinies forever.
Snap up this wonderful medieval tale, and look for the accompanying story, AMICE AND THE MERCENARY, coming in February!
Here's an excerpt from MISTRESS ANGEL:
Somewhere, please all the saints, somewhere in that glittering retinue was surely Stephen Fletcher.
Please, Holy Mother, let him be here with his prince and lord, please, for the sake of my son.
She swung round in her cage, clasping one of the gilded wooden bars for support, giving Amice a quick smile to show she was safe and tipping another golden hailstorm of posies over the closing nobility. Pretending an imperiousness she was far from feeling, she lowered her head slowly, as if the retinues clustered in the street beneath her were as insignificant as bugs.
He's here! At once her breathing quickened as her body jolted. The gilded cage shook around her, as if caught in a sudden storm.
“He is here?” Forgetting her fear of heights, Amice leaned right out of the window. Isabella caught her back.
“Stephen is the tall, well-made man on the gray horse, just behind that fat knight of the garter,” she said, the admission huge in her mouth as if she was chewing on pebbles.
“Saffron and pepper, he is handsome! A man to dream of when he is not busy in your bed.”
“Hush, Isabella, I speak my mind. Yes, your man is very fine, shapely and fine. Does he smell of mint? I wager he does. Not very colorful in his dress, though you can ginger him up, and my, his horse is old…”
Isabella did not hear the rest of her friend's pithy remarks. Looking down she was lost, her mind a whirlpool of thoughts and impressions as the rest of the street vanished to her. She had forgotten how magnetic his eyes were, with their soft tones of green and hard notes of gray, and how aquiline his nose. He was watching her, indulgence sparkling in his tanned, craggy face and tugging at the corners of his singer's mouth, as if he knew very well what she was about and did not care. Even in the earliest days of her marriage Richard had never stared at her like this, as if he kissed her with his eyes.
He had caught one of her flowers, she realized as he held it aloft, showing it to her before tucking it away into one of his big, black, serviceable leather gloves.
“Fine as my best black pepper,” Amice was concluding, while Isabella struggled to hold onto herself, not abandon her sense utterly. Remember Sir William's threats and the danger to Matthew. She lifted her hand away from the edge of the cage and waved to the tall, strong figure below. Stephen is surely my lord, my kind and noble lord, and I am forced to beguile him. Shame engulfed her in a scalding tide.
I must do this, for Matthew.
Not in so extreme a way, her mind scolded, but it was as if her body no longer obeyed her reason. Stephen's smile was a welcome and in truth what time had she? In another moment he would be gone, passed, and her family would blame her. If she did not do this now they might never allow her to see her son.
It was the work of a single step and then done. As she forced her stiffened limbs to stir, Isabella glimpsed the rich tapestries, captured in France and hung from the first floors as trophies. She saw the shields, taken from the battlefield of Poitiers and ranged along the street in a triumphant display, glinting back at her. She thought of Matthew in his brave blue coat and fell out of the cage, a desperate launch, wondering if the cobbles would hurt.
Catch me, please catch me.
In a slow fall, slow as a snail, she saw Stephen's smile falter, heard Amice's desperate, “Issa!” and then she was floating, down and down.
Catch me, please catch me.
Here are the buy links for MISTRESS ANGEL, a medieval read you will NOT want to miss!