Goodreads Book Giveaway
Enter to winWren (A Romany Epistles Novel)
A bounty hunter meets a denounced nobleman.
Wren Romany earns her living as a bounty hunter. As winter looms, she decides to stay in one place for the season. She offers Tourth Mynth her hunting skills in exchange for shelter and a share in the game. Facing a hard winter with little food, Tourth accepts.
Wren soon learns the residents of Iselyn need more than simply meat on their table. Unsolved murder and betrayal lurk in the Mynths’ not so distant past. And Tourth’s battle with his emotional scars from the recent civil war will determine the fate of the whole valley.
Excerpt -
Of all the days to resume wearing a dress, this was the worst. I peered up into the spreading branches of an apple tree and grimaced. If I still wore my trousers, climbing up to fetch the unblemished fruit from the branches would be easy work. However, I wasn’t able to do that decently in a skirt. Even if I tucked up the skirt, I would show off a lot of bare leg to anyone who happened to walk under my tree. I studied my empty bushel basket and debated doing just that.
“Need some help?” Arthus called as he strode down the row toward me. Under one arm, his good one, he carried a ladder. “Tourth sent me to assist you. He said I might find you up the tree already with your skirt about your knees.”
“It is a tempting thought,” I agreed. “However, I do have some sense of decorum.”
Arthus laughed as he lowered the ladder awkwardly to the ground. “I am sorry I have to say this, but it needs to be said. I can’t lift the ladder for you.” He pointed with his chin to his still bandaged shoulder. “I might have over done it with that demonstration of strength this morning.”
He fetched the water for breakfast to prove himself well enough to come with us on our next harvesting trip. It was the only way he was going to get out from under Kat’s watchful eye.
“I think I can manage it for you,” I offered. “Are you going to attempt to climb and pick as well?”
“Oh, no, the ladder is for you. I am here for the ladder, to make sure it doesn’t shift beneath you.”
“The others are not using ladders?”
“They are. They just don’t get a ladder assistant.”
I couldn’t hold back the smile that wanted out. “I thank you then.”
Together, we leaned the ladder up against the nearest tree. Arthus held it steady as I climbed. Once I reached the bottom branch and the first batch of apples, I gathered my apron end, looping it into the apron ties to make a temporary sack to carry my harvest. Arthus watched all of this with great interest.
“You have done this before?”
“Yes, many times.” I reached for the first fruit. As my fingers closed around the firm red orb, I smiled. “And you?”
“First time.” He shifted his hold on the ladder, securing it in the curve of his good shoulder and glanced down the way toward the caretaker’s cottage. “If you told me five years ago I would be playing the farmer, I would have called you a fool. I was convinced I was destined for greater things.”
“What kinds of things?”
“I would have told you that by thirty, I would have attended university, made a name for myself, and published at least one book of poetry.”
I almost dropped the apple in my hand. “Poetry?” I shifted on the ladder in order to look down at his tousled head.
“Aye. I thought I had a gift.”
“What stopped you?”
He sighed and replied, “The harsh truth that I have no talent for poetry. Although, I can analyze, savor, explain, and completely adore a beautifully formed verse of the stuff, I cannot write any worth selling if my life depended on it. And, at the time it did. I was literally starving for lack of decent words.”
“Coming down,” I warned and began to descend the ladder with my laden apron.
“So,” he continued, “I did what any starving man who has just realized his life dream is unattainable would do. I joined the army.”
I straightened from unloading my apples to scrutinize him seriously. Although he presented the soulful appearance of a poet, standing there with his rumpled shirt, tussled hair, roughly shaven cheek, and languishing attitude, I found myself pretty convinced that he was playing a joke on me.
“You don’t believe me. See, I told Dardon that it wouldn’t work. He didn’t believe me.”
“So, how much of what you just told me is false?”
He blushed and avoided my gaze. “About half. I do love the written word, I can’t turn a phrase, and I was starving before I enlisted.”
“I thought your words fair enough.” I climbed back up the ladder.
“Ah, but you haven’t seen it on paper. All I have to do is try to write the words onto the page and they turn wooden, clumsy, and awkward. I am much more skillful with the sword.”
“So I would guess, considering you are still alive.” I stretched for a particularly distant prize and asked the question I had been mulling for a while. “How did you, Svhen, and Dardon get involved with living here?”
Arthus laughed a mirthless bark. “It was all the doing of Orac, if you must know. Not just the war, but Orac himself.” I shot him a look under my arm. “Although I enlisted in the army because I needed food, clothing and a way to earn my keep, Dardon and Svhen were two different stories. Dardon was a silversmith before the war, and a–” Arthus bit off the swear word before it left his tongue. “Pardon. He was quite a master. That is, he was until Orac’s men came through his village, killed his business partner, and burned down his forge. That was why he joined up, to get even. Then when we lost, he owned nothing.”
I brought down another load and remounted the ladder before he finally got to Svhen’s tale. “Old Svhen is an old master at war. Do you know how many wars he has fought in? Seven. Mercenary by trade, he decided that this war was going to be his last. Informed Tourth that he intended to go out fighting, and then our side surrendered. It took a pretty bit of fast and persuasive work on Tourth’s part, but he convinced him that life in the Mynth family’s employ was better than charging Orac’s castle.
“Of course, that all changed when we got here. The keep gone, the lord and his wife murdered, and Kat living on the charity of friends, it nearly broke Tourth. I had nowhere to go, but even if I had, I wouldn’t have left him like that.” Arthus cleared his throat uncomfortably and coughed. After a strained silence, he asked, “So, what brings you here?”
“Winter,” I replied as I descended with another load. “I didn’t fancy the thought of spending it out in the open this year. I wanted a roof over my head on snowy nights.”
I could sense Arthus’ unspoken questions as he sorted through them to decide which to ask next. I also suspected Tourth supplied some for Arthus to ask. My ladder-holder was just getting up the courage to try another one on me when a voice made us both pause.
“Ho, there, man.” A large, armed man appeared strolling through the trees, his chain mail glinting in the sun speckled shadows. “I am seeking a man named Joanor, the man who works this orchard. Orac’s enforcer wishes to speak with him.”
“I believe he is up at the cottage at the far end of the field,” Arthus offered quickly.
The soldier strode off in the direction Arthus indicated with barely a glance in my direction. I watched him through the tree branches until he was out of sight.
“I don’t know about you,” Arthus said, “but this appears mighty suspicious. Isn’t this the second time the enforcer’s men stopped while we were working for a farmer?”
I nodded. “Perhaps we should speak with Tourth.”
“I think we should.”
I descended the ladder and picked up the bushel of apples I already picked. Arthus managed to lower and carry the ladder. Switching rows, we started off toward where Arthus said he last saw Tourth.
Of all the days to resume wearing a dress, this was the worst. I peered up into the spreading branches of an apple tree and grimaced. If I still wore my trousers, climbing up to fetch the unblemished fruit from the branches would be easy work. However, I wasn’t able to do that decently in a skirt. Even if I tucked up the skirt, I would show off a lot of bare leg to anyone who happened to walk under my tree. I studied my empty bushel basket and debated doing just that.
“Need some help?” Arthus called as he strode down the row toward me. Under one arm, his good one, he carried a ladder. “Tourth sent me to assist you. He said I might find you up the tree already with your skirt about your knees.”
“It is a tempting thought,” I agreed. “However, I do have some sense of decorum.”
Arthus laughed as he lowered the ladder awkwardly to the ground. “I am sorry I have to say this, but it needs to be said. I can’t lift the ladder for you.” He pointed with his chin to his still bandaged shoulder. “I might have over done it with that demonstration of strength this morning.”
He fetched the water for breakfast to prove himself well enough to come with us on our next harvesting trip. It was the only way he was going to get out from under Kat’s watchful eye.
“I think I can manage it for you,” I offered. “Are you going to attempt to climb and pick as well?”
“Oh, no, the ladder is for you. I am here for the ladder, to make sure it doesn’t shift beneath you.”
“The others are not using ladders?”
“They are. They just don’t get a ladder assistant.”
I couldn’t hold back the smile that wanted out. “I thank you then.”
Together, we leaned the ladder up against the nearest tree. Arthus held it steady as I climbed. Once I reached the bottom branch and the first batch of apples, I gathered my apron end, looping it into the apron ties to make a temporary sack to carry my harvest. Arthus watched all of this with great interest.
“You have done this before?”
“Yes, many times.” I reached for the first fruit. As my fingers closed around the firm red orb, I smiled. “And you?”
“First time.” He shifted his hold on the ladder, securing it in the curve of his good shoulder and glanced down the way toward the caretaker’s cottage. “If you told me five years ago I would be playing the farmer, I would have called you a fool. I was convinced I was destined for greater things.”
“What kinds of things?”
“I would have told you that by thirty, I would have attended university, made a name for myself, and published at least one book of poetry.”
I almost dropped the apple in my hand. “Poetry?” I shifted on the ladder in order to look down at his tousled head.
“Aye. I thought I had a gift.”
“What stopped you?”
He sighed and replied, “The harsh truth that I have no talent for poetry. Although, I can analyze, savor, explain, and completely adore a beautifully formed verse of the stuff, I cannot write any worth selling if my life depended on it. And, at the time it did. I was literally starving for lack of decent words.”
“Coming down,” I warned and began to descend the ladder with my laden apron.
“So,” he continued, “I did what any starving man who has just realized his life dream is unattainable would do. I joined the army.”
I straightened from unloading my apples to scrutinize him seriously. Although he presented the soulful appearance of a poet, standing there with his rumpled shirt, tussled hair, roughly shaven cheek, and languishing attitude, I found myself pretty convinced that he was playing a joke on me.
“You don’t believe me. See, I told Dardon that it wouldn’t work. He didn’t believe me.”
“So, how much of what you just told me is false?”
He blushed and avoided my gaze. “About half. I do love the written word, I can’t turn a phrase, and I was starving before I enlisted.”
“I thought your words fair enough.” I climbed back up the ladder.
“Ah, but you haven’t seen it on paper. All I have to do is try to write the words onto the page and they turn wooden, clumsy, and awkward. I am much more skillful with the sword.”
“So I would guess, considering you are still alive.” I stretched for a particularly distant prize and asked the question I had been mulling for a while. “How did you, Svhen, and Dardon get involved with living here?”
Arthus laughed a mirthless bark. “It was all the doing of Orac, if you must know. Not just the war, but Orac himself.” I shot him a look under my arm. “Although I enlisted in the army because I needed food, clothing and a way to earn my keep, Dardon and Svhen were two different stories. Dardon was a silversmith before the war, and a–” Arthus bit off the swear word before it left his tongue. “Pardon. He was quite a master. That is, he was until Orac’s men came through his village, killed his business partner, and burned down his forge. That was why he joined up, to get even. Then when we lost, he owned nothing.”
I brought down another load and remounted the ladder before he finally got to Svhen’s tale. “Old Svhen is an old master at war. Do you know how many wars he has fought in? Seven. Mercenary by trade, he decided that this war was going to be his last. Informed Tourth that he intended to go out fighting, and then our side surrendered. It took a pretty bit of fast and persuasive work on Tourth’s part, but he convinced him that life in the Mynth family’s employ was better than charging Orac’s castle.
“Of course, that all changed when we got here. The keep gone, the lord and his wife murdered, and Kat living on the charity of friends, it nearly broke Tourth. I had nowhere to go, but even if I had, I wouldn’t have left him like that.” Arthus cleared his throat uncomfortably and coughed. After a strained silence, he asked, “So, what brings you here?”
“Winter,” I replied as I descended with another load. “I didn’t fancy the thought of spending it out in the open this year. I wanted a roof over my head on snowy nights.”
I could sense Arthus’ unspoken questions as he sorted through them to decide which to ask next. I also suspected Tourth supplied some for Arthus to ask. My ladder-holder was just getting up the courage to try another one on me when a voice made us both pause.
“Ho, there, man.” A large, armed man appeared strolling through the trees, his chain mail glinting in the sun speckled shadows. “I am seeking a man named Joanor, the man who works this orchard. Orac’s enforcer wishes to speak with him.”
“I believe he is up at the cottage at the far end of the field,” Arthus offered quickly.
The soldier strode off in the direction Arthus indicated with barely a glance in my direction. I watched him through the tree branches until he was out of sight.
“I don’t know about you,” Arthus said, “but this appears mighty suspicious. Isn’t this the second time the enforcer’s men stopped while we were working for a farmer?”
I nodded. “Perhaps we should speak with Tourth.”
“I think we should.”
I descended the ladder and picked up the bushel of apples I already picked. Arthus managed to lower and carry the ladder. Switching rows, we started off toward where Arthus said he last saw Tourth.