Was there a part that bored or that you didn't really like in the book?

Even a character, a scene, or anything. You could say no if nothing bothered you.

Which was the part you liked most in the book?

Even a character, a scene, or anything that you enjoyed.

When do you usually start skipping in a historical romance? *

• When characters spend too much time alone thinking
• When there are too many clan names, places, or political details
• When nothing happens between the couple for too long and slow burn is killing me

What kind of backstory slows a book down for you? *

• A tragic past revealed too early and explained in full
• Repetitive inner monologue about something we already know
• Flashbacks that interrupt present-day tension

Anything else you'd like to share?

Submit

Three Months Later…

It had been so long since she had been home that it felt like an entirely new world as Francesca dismounted. Headen was already there, helping her down. A pair of stable boys appeared and nodded to her politely as they led their horses to the stables for feed, water, and a brushing.

“How are ye feelin’?” he asked.

Francesca looked around at the green, rolling fields dotted with colorful, flowering bushes, the array of outbuildings, then to the large manor house, built of dark stone—the world she had grown up in, the world she knew as intimately as the back of her hand. But somehow, it felt off. It somehow felt… wrong. She felt like a stranger.

“I feel as if I do not belong here any longer,” she said.

“Ye dae belong here,” he replied, his voice soft and gentle. “Ye’re the Lady of the manor now. ‘Tis yer house, yer home.”

“And yet, it does not feel that way.”

“Perhaps ‘tis because ye’ve nae been here in a while.”

“Perhaps,” she replied thoughtfully then turned to him and smiled. “Come. Let me show you where I grew up.”

Taking Headen’s hand in hers, Francesca led him into the manor. The household staff greeted her warmly as she made her way through the halls and introduced him. Everything was just as she remembered. The staff was still the same, the paintings on the walls hadn’t changed, and every room was just as she’d last seen it. And yet, she couldn’t help but feel like her childhood home had become a dress that she had grown out of.

After the events at Brochel Castle and the imprisonment of her father, Francesca, as the only living heir, had indeed become the Lady of the manor. She was responsible for it now. And to that end, she had appointed a man she trusted to oversee its day to day functions. He had been tasked with the upkeep and maintenance, and ensuring nothing fell into disrepair. Eventually, she and Headen might return to make it their home. If and when that happened, she wanted to be sure it was still in good keeping.

For the moment though, with their marriage ceremony looming, she’d returned to pick up a few things she wanted for her wedding. Things that once belonged to her mother that she wanted to have on her special day. Headen, of course, had accompanied her, rather than send his Wolves to guard her back. And the truth of it was, she was glad he was here with her. She loved waking up every day with him in bed next to her, loved spending her days by his side. She did not want to be apart, not even for a day.

“Tis a beautiful home,” he said.

“It was,” she replied.

Francesca led him through the house, eventually arriving at her mother’s old room. The door creaked softly as she pushed it open and when Francesca stepped inside, she felt as if she had been transported back in time. She recalled sitting at the dressing table, staring at herself in the looking glass as her mother brushed her hair. She remembered sitting by the fire as her mother read from the prayer book she now treasured.

A large, canopied bed stood atop an ornate and elegant rug on the far side of the room, the gauzy curtains hanging down over the empty bed like a funeral shroud. Francesca remembered lying in that bed with her mother so many nights, being read to when she was small. Everywhere she looked, she was assaulted by a barrage of memories that warmed her heart. And yet, at the same time, they also filled her with an emptiness that had plagued her since her mother’s death.

As if sensing the melancholy settling over her, Headen pulled her into a warm embrace. He stared down at her with his beautiful gray eyes, then placed a soft kiss on her forehead.

“Yer maither is always with ye. She’s watchin’ over ye right now,” he said, gently tapping her forehead and then her chest. “Those we love are never truly gone. They always live inside of us. And yer maither would be proud of the woman ye’ve become. I ken she would.”

“Do you really believe so?”

He nodded. “I dae. How could she nae be proud of ye? Ye’ve grown intae an amazin’, wonderful, strong, and intelligent woman. What’s nae tae be proud of? And from what ye’ve told me about her, ye’re just like she was.”

Francesca wrapped her arms around him and squeezed him tight as she was buffeted by emotions and memories. And for the first time since they’d caught sight of the manor house from the road, she felt her heart lighten. Her smile came a bit easier, and her soul felt at ease.

“Thank you for saying that.”

He kissed her forehead again. “So, what did ye come tae get?”

She smiled then turned and walked over to the dressing table. She sat down and pulled a wooden box that was lacquered and carved with ornate designs to her. Headen stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders as she gently stroked the top of the box, letting the tips of her fingers trace the designs.

“This box belonged to my grandmother,” she explained. “My grandfather carved it for her.”

“’Tis beautiful work.”

The hinges squeaked softly as she opened the lid, revealing an array of different jewelry inside. With delicate fingers, Francesca reached in and plucked out a ring made of white gold with red and green stones set into the top. She handed it to Headen, then turned and pulled a silver brooch with intricately engraved scrollwork around the edges and a blue stone in the center.

“These have been in my family for… a very long time,” she explained. “My mother brought these from France, they belonged to her grandmother’s grandmother.”

“They’re beautiful,” he said.

“I think they will make me look beautiful on our wedding day.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled softly at her. “Ye dinnae need jewels tae make ye look beautiful. Ye’d look beautiful in naethin’ but a flour sack.”

Francesca got to her feet and wrapped him in a warm embrace. “You might be the sweetest man in the world.”

“Nay. I just tell the truth.”

“Yes, I suppose you do,” she said and placed a soft kiss on his lips.

“Are ye all right?”

She paused for a moment before nodding. “Yes. I am just dreading what we must do next.”

“We dinnae have tae go. There’s nay reason ye have tae see him,” he said, his voice gruff. “He daesnae deserve yer time.”

“I do not go for his sake,” she replies a little sadly. “But for my own.”

Headen held her hands and stared deeply into her eyes. “Ye are a good woman, Francesca.”

Her smile was small. “You make me believe I am.”

“Like I said, I only tell the truth,” he said. “If this is what ye need, then let us go and be done with this. And with him.”

She nodded. “Yes. Let us put the past behind us so we may move forward. Together.”

“Aye. Taegther.”

***

Francesca was allowed into the dark cells beneath the castle where the king had had him imprisoned. She swallowed hard as she descended the stairs. Francesca’s heart fluttered and her stomach churned wildly as a wave of nausea washed over her. Her mind screamed at her to turn and run. It told her that Headen was right, that he did not deserve her time or attention. She closed her eyes and let out a soft breath, silently telling herself to be calm. Reminding herself that this was not for him.

A strong hand lighted upon her shoulder. “Are ye all right?”

She swallowed down her fear and nodded. “Yes. I am fine.”

Francesca started off again with Headen walking silently behind her. She drew strength from his presence. With him, she was not quite as afraid and felt a sense of peace inside her. He never failed to help calm and settle her, and for that she was grateful.

At the end of the corridor, Francesca turned through the doorway and found a man in dark leather sitting at a table, feet up, half asleep. His eyes opened wide and he jumped to his feet. He stood stiff and at attention then gave her a respectful bow.

“Beg your pardon, Lady Francesca,” he said. “Me lord told me to expect you, but not for some time yet.”

“Be at ease,” she said and gestured to the door behind him. “How is he?”

The man pulled a face. “Despondent most days, defiant on others.”

“Has he been made comfortable?”

“He has, m’lady. Just as you instructed, my lord has seen that he has what he requires to be comfortable,” he replied.

“That is good,” she said. “I am grateful for that. Thank you for caring for him.”

“Of course, m’lady.”

The man grabbed the ring of keys from the hook on the wall and quickly opened the door for her. As she stepped in, he stopped her.

“I will be right out here if you need me,” he said.

“Thank you.”

He bowed his head. “At your service, m’lady.”

With Headen walking softly and silently behind her, Francesca passed the rows of empty cells on either side of her. But the last cell on her left, the largest of them all, was the only one currently occupied. Furs and blankets sat atop a comfortable bed rather than the piles of straw that filled the others. Her father sat at the desk he had been given holding one of the many books that were piled on top of it. More books sat in several stacks on the floor beside it.

He looked at her over the top of the book in his hand, watching her approach. And when she stood on the other side of the steel bars, he closed the tome and set it down. His eyes flicked to Headen, who stood silently behind her, his mere presence a heavy weight in the air that comforted Francesca, gave her strength. He finally turned his eyes to her and they appraised each other in silence for several long moments, the air thick with tension and the weight of many unspoken words. Her heart fluttered with fear, but Francesca swallowed it down, letting out a silent breath as she mastered her emotions.

“I am told you are to wed,” he said, finally breaking the silence.

She nodded. “I am.”

“Is it too bold of me to presume that I am invited?”

“We will not be holding our wedding here in the dark cells.”

His eye twitched and displeasure crossed his face. He quickly controlled it and let out the sigh of a long-suffering man.

“And how long do you intend to keep me in here, Francesca?”

“That is for the king to decide, for it is he who imposed this penalty on you. Not me,” she answered honestly. “When the king sees fit to grant you pardon, you will be freed.

Her father stood up and walked to the bars, wrapping his long fingers around the cold steel. He stared at her in silence for a moment. And as he did, she saw something on his face she never thought she would see… regret. An expression of contrition, perhaps even tinged with sorrow, crossed his face and he nodded.

“I suppose I do not deserve any less,” he said.

“You tried to kill me.”

“It was not my intent, but… I was upset. I let my emotions master me. And for that, I am sorry, Francesca. I am sorrier than you will ever know.”

“I appreciate that, but it does not change the fact that, if not for Headen intervening, I would not be standing here right now.”

“I know. And I regret my actions, daughter. If I could take it back—”

“You cannot undo what you have done.”

“I know I cannot.”

His voice was heavy and thicker with emotion than Francesca had ever heard. He truly did sound remorseful. And while it struck a chord deep inside of her, she could not forget what he had done to her that day. What he’d almost done, if not for Headen…

He raised his head. “I know that I have no right to ask anything of you, but… I wish to ask something of you all the same. Might you hear my request?”

“You may ask, Father.”

He licked his lips and paused for a moment, seeming to gather his thoughts. “Francesca, I… I wish to beg for your forgiveness for what I did.”

A thousand thoughts swirled through her mind all at once and she was having trouble putting order to any of them. Of all the things he could have asked, that was the one thing she had not been prepared for. In a lifetime of indifference and cold authority, if not full-on cruelty, he had never once asked her forgiveness for anything. Truly, he had never seemed to regret a single thing he’d said to, or expected of, her.

But his words struck home for her. He sounded sincere. He seemed genuinely remorseful for what he had done to her that day in Brochel Castle, if not for the rest.

“Please, daughter. Forgive me,” he pleaded.

Francesca swallowed down the emotions that bubbled up inside of her. “I forgive you, Father. With all my heart, I forgive you,” she said. “But I will not forget what you did. Nor will I have anything do with you again. Ever.”

Before he could reply, she turned and strode out of the dark cells, having said what she came to say.

Forgiving him was good for her. The anger she’d felt since that day in Brochel Castle had festered inside of her, turning into a bitter poison in her veins. She knew she had to be rid of it, she needed to cleanse her soul. By releasing the anger and forgiving her father, she would remove the shadow his actions had cast upon her heart. Forgiving was necessary to free her mind and soul.

And by choosing to remove him from her life, forever, she would be free to live and love as she pleased, without reservation. To live a life free from the fear and hold her past had on her. The chains would forever be broken. She loved Headen with every fiber of her being and nobody would ever come between them again. Squeezing his hand tightly, they ascended the stairs together, her heart growing lighter and the shadow that lingered upon it diminishing with every step.

She was finally free.

The End

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