Katrina “Kit” Lawson goes on a camping trip only to awaken
in twelfth century England. She’s lost her horse, her time,
and from the sword at her throat, most likely her freedom.
Her captor however, allows her to remain unconfined and she
fights her attraction for the baron as she searches for a
Marcus Quinn, Baron of Blackthorne, is one of the king’s
legendary knights, known as The Devil. Until he meets this
woman who goes by the name Kit, he believed himself ready
for anything. Unlike any woman he’s ever met, she
continually challenges him, pushes him, and enthralls him.
Day by day she ingrains herself further into his life,
changing it for the better. Unfortunately, the king has
plans for him, plans that don’t include Kit. He knows he has
to let her go but he rebels against the very idea.
When she vanishes, he vows he will find her once more. Will
these two lovers find a way to be together for all time? Can
Kit trust that once made it will never be broken? Perhaps.
It is after all, A KNIGHT’S VOW.
Trim but definitely not little; perhaps, fit would be a
better word. Her hair was short and tightly curled. It
looked puffy and gleamed. When he had her on his horse, he’d
smelled something subtle. Fresh. Unique. The cut of her hair
showed her neck, unlike women he knew who covered their hair
and neck. Her height indicative of how she would fit nicely
under his chin. Eyes that were a steely gray currently were
calm as they observed, straightforward, him in return. There
was intelligence and suspicion lingering in their depths.
Her smooth, healthy skin shone a darker tan, creating a
magnificent background for her dazzling white, even teeth.
Her nose was petite and slightly flat. She had full lips
that just cried out to be kissed. She was, in a word,
exotic. Very much so. Very alluring. Thick dark lashes
framed her eyes, giving her a hooded sensual gaze without
even trying. His cock pushed against his braies even more.
“What are you doing here, Katrina Lawson?” Marcus finally
broke the silence, stopping the direction of his thoughts.
“Where do you come from? What is your purpose here, and how
is it you travel with no escort?” He would discover the
truth. She would answer all his questions, and that would be
that. In no way would he allow her to realize the effect her
appearance had on his body. She leaned back in the chair
with a small shake of her head, appearing completely
comfortable with her surroundings. “Look, last thing I knew
I was falling asleep in the mountains by my home. I’m from
Wyoming. You know, the United States. Where am I, and how
did you get here? Although I’m getting a horrible feeling
that I’m the one who has been misplaced.” She spoke that
last sentence so quietly he almost didn’t hear it. She may
truly well be insane. And, perhaps, she’s not as calm as she
is letting on. “What means this Why-ohm-in? What are these
United States? I do not understand what they are. Explain.
Why were you sleeping by a stream? Have you no home?” She
lifted an eyebrow in his direction. “They are states, you
know, as in the fifty states? America? Land of the free,
home of the brave. That United States. That’s where I’m
from. I was out camping; that’s why I was by the stream.
Just like I said, I was doing that near my home. Let me ask
you something, now. Can you tell me where I am? And, what
year is it?” She worried her hands, and her lip, she rolled
in her teeth. “This is England. It is the year of our Lord
eleven hundred and three.”