The Night Side
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As a spy for Henry VIII, Colin Mortlock is sent to Scotland and finds himself called upon to break the curse hanging over his alleged enemy, the beautiful yet haunted Frances Balfour.
do—particularly men of property. And, before you ask, none have anything to do with a secret marriage to a woman in York. However, I do not care to share the list of these bonds with you at this moment, as they are not relevant to our task and would require some explanation.” Frances glanced swiftly at George, and then wisely held her peace, though Colin suspected she wished to question him about the women in his life who might not live in York. Colin went on: “What is of import to you is the
is supposed to be some sort of imp—a shaggy thing—who helps you find paths in the dark. And sometimes he helps lost fisherman ashore when it is storming.” “Ah, and you don’t think that this nameless beast might be a broonie?” “Well…” George’s tone was considering. Frances began to smile and paused to listen. “Do you not think that since I have a hound now, I should have a lymerer’s coat?” George asked. “Ask your cousin. Better yet, you may borrow my plaid of office. It’s a splendid shade.
prayer. He supposed he should be happy the bishop hadn’t sent John Knox. “…and shall defend the same, according to our vocation and power, all the days of our lives; under the pains contained in the law, and danger both of body and soul in the day of God’s fearful judgment.” Colin saw a flush of anger stain his bride’s cheekbones and wondered if much of the congregation looked the same. He didn’t think the bishop would understand if his soldiers ended up dead, poisoned by angry Balfour women.
seemingly undirected rambles took him in this new direction, previously unexplored because of the ruggedness of the coastline, but now made attractive because of this very discouraging geographical unpleasantness. The path soon disappeared and he was obliged to carry on, using both hands and feet to find his way over the slimy stone intrusions while water drooled down upon him from the sullen sky. It seemed ridiculous to persist in this quest with the weather worsening overhead, but an inner
could expect no help from that quarter. “Gi’e us a hand here, Iain!” the man puffed as he tried to subdue her. As the villain began to drag her toward the front of the cave where a large lantern glowed, Frances tightened her hands about her club, preparing to defend herself. Her assailant’s most vulnerable parts were his naked shins. She prayed for a true aim and the strength to deliver a crippling blow. She knew she was unlikely to have another chance once the second man finished with the