ARROW TO THE HEART
Fletcher St. Giles has always felt alone. But being a bastard rarely troubles his mind…until Lady Geljon Seacrest comes to the mighty fortress of Coinnleir Wood. Though Geljon is betrothed to another, she vexes him at every turn, following him like a shadow. With little to offer a woman of her station, Fletcher keeps his distance. Only, denied love becomes an arrow to the heart.
In the season of Yuletide, all things are possible…
and even wishes of the heart can be granted.
With the invincible spirt of the heather mead coursing through him, and the renewed acceptance he might be able to stop this coming marriage, he brought the staff down with such might that it shattered Leslie’s weapon and sent him sprawling backwards, and into the group of people near the fire. Everyone gasped and scrambled.
The Tanist was shocked, but that emotion quickly morphed into rage, a deep glowing resentment that saw from this day forward they would be mortal enemies. So be it. Fletcher tossed the quarterstaff down at the feet of Leslie and gave him a crooked smile.
A gasped silence lingered in the Great Hall as his words rang out. “It seems the Oak King was not strong enough to defeat the Holly King this season. Pity that.”
Fletcher turned, seeking to find Geljon. He wanted to go to her and tell her of his plans. Just as he spotted her standing with Aithinne, there were shouts behind him. He spun around in time to see Leslie had picked up the other staff and had made a wide swing toward the back of his head. A killing blow had he not been alerted of the attack. Without a weapon to block the strike, all he could do was duck to the side. Even that maneuver was not good enough, for the staff caught him a glancing jolt on the back of his shoulder. The pain lanced through his body causing him to stagger. People jumped to their feet and several men rushed to stop Leslie.
Damian stepped before Fletcher and Leslie. “You are in my home, a guest and yet you struck a coward’s blow to Fletcher. That is a blow to my brother and shall be addressed as such. I do not think your sire shall appreciate the affront to kinsmen of the Black Dragon. Think hard on that before your heated head causes you to make enemy of one of the mightiest warriors on either side of the border.”
Leslie’s men, gathering behind him, shared expressions of worry as they looked to their leader. One reached out and touched the man’s back in gesture of caution.
Fletcher blinked thrice to push back against the pain. He could just barely raise his right hand to his belt, for the numbing was spreading down is arm. Tugging out the leather gauntlets tucked up under it, he allowed one to fall to the floor whilst he took hold of its mate. Walking past Damian, he stopped before Leslie and just stared at him. In a move that he had witnessed Julian Challon do a hundred times, he just flicked his eyelashes in a condescending manner that said the man was beneath him.
Leslie dare not move. His pride would not let him. Still, as Fletcher simply looked at him, he read cowardice in the man’s hazel eyes. “I never trusted a man with no brows. Now I know why.” So fast, before the Tanist saw the blow coming, he slapped him with the leather glove. Hard. The crack echoed around the room. “On the Field of Honor and on a date of your choosing. The sooner the better.”
Leslie’s hand went to his mouth, and dabbed at the trickle bleeding from the corner of his lower lip. He drew it back and glanced at the blood on his fingers. “To the death, then.
The print version is now available!!! on Amazon -- coming soon to Books A Million and Wal-mart