Tales of romance, adventure, and virtue set in a medieval fantasy world are her preference, but she also writes speculative fantasy and a bit of science fiction.
The royal wedding approaches and the country is alive with anticipation.
Among the craftsmen traveling to the capital is Constance Rendare and her family. An artist, a widow of an unhappy marriage, and the mother of a young son, she dreams of escaping the cruel servitude of her father’s household.
Wilard Naron serves the Earl of Dentin. He returns to the capital, his childhood home, to collect his earnings and finally free himself from his father’s reputation.
Kidnappings, bandits, and a plot against the king complicate the journey. The conflicts throw Constance and Wilard together as their circumstances grow steadily worse. The more the pair uncovers, the direr the future looks for the country and for them.
Constance’s point of view:
Then, I was once again alone in the empty room with Wilard. When I turned to ask him if he wished to stay for the meal, I discovered he had fallen asleep. His mussed-up head of caramel curls rested on his crossed arms amidst the half-unpacked food.
I was tempted to let him sleep there, but I knew from experience he would wake with a crick in his neck and a pain in his head if I did.
“Wilard,” I said clearly, hoping he would respond.
Behind me, the back door opened. Owen’s loud explanation of where the men were to go with the contents of my wagon was partially drowned out by the clatter of their boots on the steps to the upper floor. Despite the increased noise, Wilard didn’t stir.
As I realized I was going to have to jostle him to wake him, the men stomped back down the stairs and out into the yard again.
Grabbing the few seconds of quiet, I knelt at his shoulder. “Wilard.” I rested a hand on his shoulder and was surprised at how muscled his shoulder was beneath the layers of his tunics and outer wrap. “You need to wake up. You can’t sleep here.” He didn’t move. Only the slight movement of his breathing gave any indication he still lived.
The sounds of the men returning gave me a moment of panic. Wilard needed to wake. He couldn’t sleep here in the midst of the only place I could serve the workers food. I knelt next to him so I could see into his face. Then smoothing his curls from where they fell across his forehead, I called his name again.
For a moment it looked like he wasn’t going to wake, but then his azure eyes opened partway, and he blinked.
“You are going to ache if you stay there.”
He closed his eyes and then straightened with visible effort. “I am sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Did you sleep at all last night?”
He shook his head and rubbed it, setting his hair on end in a very boyish manner. With his sleepy eyes and riot of curls, he looked appealingly vulnerable. I couldn’t help the smile that pulled at my mouth. Instead, I turned away to continue unpacking the basket.