From the #1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR. When heiress Hastings Trent is joined with warrior Severin Langthorne in marriage, she must uncover the mystery surrounding a secluded estate known as Rosehaven.
There are no customer reviews available at this time. Would you like to write a review?
December 18, 2002
Number of Print Pages*
Adobe DRM EPUB
* Number of eBook pages may differ. Click here for more information.
Excerpt from Rosehaven by Catherine Coulter
Early Summer, 1277, East Anglia, England
Oxborough Castle, Home of Fawke of Trent, Earl of Oxborough
HER FATHER DIDN'T LIKE HER, BUT HE WOULD NEVER DO THIS to her, never.
Even as she swore over and over to herself that it couldn't be true, she couldn't stop staring at the man. The air seemed to stir in seamless folds about him as he stood utterly still and silent. She knew somehow that he wouldn't move, not until he had judged all the occupants of the great hall of Oxborough Castle. Only then would he act.
His face was dark, his expression calm and untroubled. Sharp sunlight poured in through the open doors of the great hall, framing him there as he stood motionless. She stared at him from the shadows of the winding stone stairs. She didn't want to look at him, didn't want to accept that he was here at Oxborough. But he was here, and he didn't look like he had any intention at all of leaving.
His eyes were as blue as the sea beneath the bright morning sun, yet they seemed somehow old and filled with knowledge and experience a man his age shouldn't possess, and distant, as if part of himself was locked away. She could feel the strength of him from where she stood, feel the determination in him, the utter control, the deliberate arrogance. He looked to her like the Devil's dearest friend.
His finely made gray cloak moved and swelled about him even though there was no wind. The black whip coiled about his wrist seemed to whisper in that thick, contained air. But he made no movement. He was still and calm, waiting, watching.
He wasn't wearing armor, the whip around his wrist and the huge sword that was sheathed to his wide leather belt were his only weapons. He was dressed entirely in gray, even his boots were a soft, supple gray leather. His tunic was pewter gray, a rich wool, his undertunic a lighter gray, fitting him closely. His cross garters were gray leather strips, binding his leggings close.
No, her father couldn't mean this. Surely this wasn't the man her father had brought to Oxborough to marry her. Hastings wasn't afraid. She was terrified. Marry this man He would be her husband, her lord No, surely this couldn't be the man, more like he was an emissary from Hades or a messenger from the mystical shades of Avalon.
Her father wanted to make this man of his line Leave him all his possessions and land Bestow upon him his titles since all her father had produced was her, a single female, of little account in the long scheme of things. Except for this marriage. Except to bind her to a man who scared her to her very toes.