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Informationen zum Autor Jo-Ann Power is the author of romance novels, historical fiction, and mysteries. She lives in Texas. Find out more at Jo-AnnPower.com. Klappentext The Dragon is coming for Clare, countess of Trent. For years Clare-- secretly The Nightingale, writer of heroic adventures--has fought being wed to The Dragon's nephew. But in one glorious moment, The Dragon loses his heart to Clare. As desire and danger surround them, both The Nightingale and The Dragon feel their only hope beating in their hearts, their everlasting love. Chapter 1 Cheshire, England November 1403 "In winter's snow, at umber hour, he came most silent to my bower. Stark in his need, he built the fire with honor's ash for love's desire." "My lady, this knight is dishonorable?" Clare's scribe lifted her quill from the parchment, dribbling black ink upon the ivory expanse. "On the contrary, he is his liege lord's right arm." "But he intrudes upon his beloved's bedchamber? A lady whom he should respect from afar? He even arrives in the middle of the night, and clearly, he should not be there? My lady, I do not think this will sell -- !" "This is one of those stories of chivalry, Mary." Clare smiled tolerantly at the young woman whose skill for writing extended only to her dexterous hands, not yet to her heart. "We have created heroic adventures before, but never tales of love." "I know, but that does not mean we can't." "Nay." Mary shook her head, adamant. "But I thought you said we would next produce the life of our late King Richard." "We'll begin that soon." In a better place. Where I may write with a freer hand. "I wanted to record this new idea of mine quickly. We'll warm ourselves on these cold winter nights with this fiction about devotion. Fear not, the hero will uphold his honor and hers." "I am glad to hear it, my lady, for I do not want to write about men whom others cannot respect." "Nor I. So, let us continue. We've introduced him and now we must meet him, see him as the reader does, and then enjoy him." Does a man exist who can meet a woman, see her, and enjoy her for her mind? Clare laughed at that one! Mary looked at her as if she were losing her sanity again. Poor Mary. Being a scribe, she knew little about this imagination process and her tolerance for Clare's mental escapades was short. Clare cleared her throat and pretended seriousness. "Ah, well...we must have a few lines about his appearance, shouldn't we? His hair and his eyes." "Oh, my lady, that's a simple task. We give him the usual mien for these fables. Golden hair. Gray or pale blue eyes." "I think not. This man is larger -- " Clare spread her hands the width she'd wish his chest might span and knew no mortal man could match it. "Much larger than myth. Mayhaps, he is dark. Quite ruddy. With sturdy arms and thighs like -- " "Oak. The usual, I know." Mary was bored by this. "Trunks of oak!" Clare corrected her. "But if you give him black hair and eyes, no one will believe he is to be the hero. That is traditional coloring for an evil lord." "Aye, but when he first comes to the heroine's castle, he is her foe. The darkness suits him, Mary." "Well, I will try to like him...." The girl shook her head, unconvinced, but applied her goose feather quill to parchment again. "What happens next?" Mary was drumming her fingers on her tabletop by the time Clare spoke again. "I would like him to walk to her. When he stands before her, he should say something similar to Bid me stay or make me go, but tell me quick what I must know. Can you love me? Will you have me For one hour of bliss?" "Oh, that's lovely." Mary was scribbling madly. "You like this now?" "Not his looks, I don't. He doesn't have...
