Gabrielle Bisset

Tuesday, March 27, 2012

Author Laurie Sorensen Guest Post

I'm out and about on Destiny Redeemed's book tour at WordsInSync today, so I've let Laurie Sorensen take over the blog. Please extend a warm welcome to her. She's here to talk about her book, Ravenwood: Night's Salvation.  Here's the blurb to get started:

Duty, love and passion take flight on the wings of destiny. Compelled by honor and duty, Night Ravenwood leaves the only life he knows to return home after his brother’s death. He’s the new heir to Ravenwood Manor and the Earldom; at home an arranged marriage awaits him with a woman he’s never met. When tragedy strikes the newlywed couple, Night realizes he’s fallen in love with the beautiful Satine, but does she love him in return? Satine vows to make Night see his destiny includes her; meanwhile someone is willing to commit murder to keep them apart. Will love or murder shape the destiny of this love?

Chapter Three

Raven Hall, Night’s town residence.
An endless night of sensual dreams, haunted by a woman he couldn’t identify, left Night questioning his sanity.  His surly mood heightened by his restless night, he entered the dining room where Mrs. Latimer, his cook, had prepared a wonderful breakfast for him.  Scrambled eggs so light they seemed to float out of the dish, hot scones slathered in butter, and a variety of meats from which to choose.  He scowled when he spied one such dish.  Kippers.  He shivered, trying to imagine why they were even on his table.
Why do they insist on having these nasty, smelly things on my table?  Jason loved the damned things, so does my father.  I hate kippers.
Night opened the dining room window, picked up the dish of kippers and tossed them out, closing the window after he had done so.  Smiling now, he decided to talk to Mrs. Latimer about them.  The day seemed to improve slightly since he'd taken control once again, at least of his own breakfast.  At the sideboard, he filled a plate with thinly sliced ham, a ladle of eggs and two buttery scones.  As Night walked to the table, he bit into one of the scones and closed his eyes while he chewed and swallowed the first bite.  Absolutely delicious.
Opening his eyes, Night forked a piece of ham and placed it in his mouth, before he noticed Jarvis had joined him and had placed a sealed letter next to his coffee cup.  He didn’t leave as Night expected, instead he stood next to the chair as if he had a ramrod stuck up his back.  Night turned to his butler, finished chewing the ham and grinned like a fool.
“Is there a problem?”
If it was possible, Jarvis stiffened even more.  “No sir.  Not a problem per se.”
Night waited for him to say more but gave up when Jarvis was not forthcoming.  “All right, if it's not a problem, what is it, per se?
“The messenger was told to await a reply, sir.”  Jarvis watched as his employer’s eyes darkened and his brow creased.
“Tell the lad to go and fetch some food in the kitchen.  It will be some time before I answer.”  Night dismissed the butler, and took up the message.
Night hadn't read any of the letters from his father.  They had been in the enormous stack of mail that Jarvis had presented him upon his return home.  He knew exactly what they contained¾orders to return to his father’s home¾so he’d simply thrown them in the fireplace.  The seal on the new message was as clear as the others had been, the family’s crest.  Night opened this one and read the short message on the page.
Come HOME.
Night walked to the small writing desk against the wall, took up a piece of parchment and wrote one word in response.
He sprinkled the note with sand to dry the ink, then resealed the letter with his own signet ring.  Peering at the sealed message, Night growled in defeat and took the note to the boy waiting in the kitchen.
When he entered the kitchen the boy scrambled to stand, still chewing, and faced the master of the house.
“No, lad, finish eating.  Your errand can wait.  By all means, stay and eat your fill.”
The boy took his seat again, and resumed eating.
“Please see to it that he is given sufficient food for the return journey home,” Night told his cook, who was hovering in the corner of the kitchen.
“Yes, sir.  I'll see to it right away, sir.”  Mrs. Latimer hurried to fill a small flour sack with some food for the child.
“When you’ve finished lad, take this message back to my father.  God speed.”  Night had turned to leave the kitchen when he remembered he wanted to speak to cook about those ridiculous kippers on his table this morning.  I’ll talk to her later after the boy has left.
Out in the entry hall, Night took the stairs two at a time, his foul mood no better after answering his father.  He searched out Jarvis to pack his trunks.  A footman was sent to request the carriage be made ready for departure and to ensure Dumas, Night’s bay stallion, was fed and watered, ready for a journey.
“Jarvis, there you are.”  Night saw him as he entered his bedchamber.  “I would like you to follow me in the carriage with my trunks please.  I'll be riding on Dumas.  I need the time alone and Dumas will like the exercise.”  Having Dumas at Father’s home will make life there just a bit more manageable.
As he walked down the steps, his horse, Dumas was brought around the corner.  The sight of Dumas, a seventeen hand high stallion, black as midnight and completely devoted to his master, had Night grinning like a school boy.  He held his hand out to the horse, which Dumas bypassed to butt Night’s shoulder playfully.
Night laughed and gave the animal a sugar cube he had snatched from the kitchen before he patted his neck.  “I have missed you too, boy.”
The horse whinnied, shaking his head as if he understood exactly what Night had said.
Night mounted and urged Dumas forward, trotting out the front gate, not looking back.  He dreaded facing the inevitable.  He'd chosen to ride Dumas for many reasons, most importantly it would give him time to think.  Bringing his horse would also make Dumas available to him whenever he chose to ride.  The full day’s journey to Ravenwood Manor would give him plenty of time to examine his predicament without intrusion.


When Night looked up into the sky, hours later, the sun was almost directly overhead.  The ache in his back and the crick in his leg called out for relief.  Life on a ship exercised very different muscles than life on land, especially when it came to riding horses.
“Time for a rest, old boy.”  He patted Dumas’ neck, though he was reasonably certain his horse didn’t need a rest as much as he did.  He moved toward a small stream, pleased to find fresh water for Dumas.  While his horse drank, Night sat beneath the largest gnarly oak tree he had ever seen.  It reminded him of the oak tree at Ravenwood Manor, the one in front of the house.  The happy childhood memory brought a small, fleeting smile.
He looked over at Dumas, who was quite happily munching on the lush grass that grew next to the stream.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be a horse?
No worries, no title and no marriage to a girl he didn’t know.  Dumas nudged Night out of his thoughts, indicating they should resume the ride.
He stood, took Dumas’ reins and patted his velvety nose before he slipped the apple out of his pocket and gave it to his very appreciative mount.
“So be it.  We shall be on our way.”
Dumas nickered in reply and Night tossed the reins across the huge stallion's back.
He hoisted himself into the saddle and set Dumas to a trot, his thoughts wandering to his ship and the young boy, Jones.  My ship, I’ll not be sailing on her again, and this boy, a child really, yet still so eager to please.  Have I done the right thing by allowing him to stay aboard?
He had not yet gotten a posting address from the little imp but he'd likely see him at the wedding.  Knowing Damon’s untrusting nature he would surely bring the boy with him when he returned for Night's wedding.
Marriage!  I am only four and twenty.  Why should I have to wed now?  And just who is it I’m to marry?  “This waiting bride of mine is probably one of those females who doesn’t like sex, leaving me to find pleasure with others.  I think siring an heir may be more difficult than anything I have ever had to do.”
Damn Jason’s eyes for dying on me.  What right had he to die, leaving me to fulfill his destiny?  I’m a second son, of no account.  “How I long for the breeze in my face, the sway of the ship and the taste of salt on my lips.  I’m a sailor at heart, I’m not really this heir my father insists I am.”
Dumas must have sensed Night’s agitation because he began to move erratically, a clear indication he wasn’t pleased.  When he suddenly stopped short, Night was pitched forward.  He tried to stop his motion by grabbing Dumas’ mane, but the silky hair slipped through his fingers and he found himself airborne.
The abrupt landing was a cold shock.  He found himself waist deep in a muddy pond.  When he looked at his damned horse Dumas cocked his head to the side and nickered.  Instead of cursing him as he started to do, Night laughed.  The bone-deep sadness and apprehension slipped away as he laughed, a deep hearty laugh that blessedly spread all the way through him.  He sat in the pond for a long while, laughing and shaking his head.  Night finally stood, leaving the laughter behind and waded through the pond to the edge, looked Dumas in the eye, and patted the horse’s neck.  “I know.  I was brooding, and you didn’t like it.  But you certainly put me in my place, now didn’t you?”
Dumas whinnied as if he understood every word, and butted Night’s shoulder, sending him scrambling to regain balance again.
Back in the saddle, Night turned Dumas away from the pond and headed in the direction of his boyhood home.  “Let’s just get going.  Only a bit further to go and you can have a nice, big bucket of oats.”  Night patted the horse and set him to a gallop.
He would arrive in a few hours’ time.  What would his father say to him?


Almost dry, but rumpled, Night arrived at the entrance gates to Ravenwood Manor.  Reluctance held him back for a moment more, his head lowered in dejection and defeat.  Here I am for the beginning of my hollow future.
The manor hadn’t changed in the seven years he had been gone.  It was still surrounded by a multitude of flowering bushes and the drive was lined with stately maple and oak trees.  Crushed seashells paved the way opening onto a circular drive in front of the house.  Ivy climbed the walls giving the appearance of a living, breathing entity swallowing the house whole.  Night gave Dumas his head and waited until they had reached the front of the house before taking him in hand again.
Dismounting, he looked up at the house.  The windows were the only visible parts of the house not covered by the ivy and they gleamed in the sun.  The front steps were made of marble and lead to the heavy, oversized oak door that had always been so intimidating to Night as a child.  The house was still as imposing as ever.  A stable lad appeared to take the reins.  As he led the horse away from Night, the boy jumped at the sound of Night’s voice.
“He likes a lump of sugar and an apple while he's being curried.  Make sure to give him a full bucket of oats.  He's had a long ride today.”
“Aye, sir,” the boy answered and was gone from sight a moment later.
As he mounted the steps a slight movement called his attention and he turned to see a woman, really only a slip of a girl.  She was sitting on the stone bench beneath the large oak tree that had been there for as long as Night could remember.
The woman’s back was toward him, but she had the most beautiful hair he'd ever seen.  Light hair, so light it was almost white.  The pale cascade flowed to her waist, a lovely contrast to the pale blue gown she wore.  The plain silver band that circled her head was fashionable in the Highlands and the style of her dress would definitely be considered dowdy among the circles of the London Ton.
Night’s hand rose as if to run his fingers through the woman’s hair, and he felt a tightening in his groin he wouldn't want displayed in mixed company.  Catching his thoughts before they wandered where they had no business being, he dropped his hand and pulled his wayward mind back to where it was supposed to be, the present, and his waiting bride.
She must be the daughter of one of Father’s Scottish friends.  I bet she is beautiful¾I've never seen a Scottish lass who wasn't.
He smiled and walked through the huge double doors which had swung open on well oiled hinges the moment Night set a foot on the first marble stair.  Archibald, his father’s butler for more years than Night had been alive, stood waiting to greet him in the entrance hall.  Night’s smile encompassed his entire face at the sight of the old man.
“Archie.  It’s good to see you, man.”  Night embraced him warmly, not the usual custom for heir and butler but Archibald had often seemed more of a father to him than Jason had ever been.
“I never could get you to call me Archibald, could I, sir?  ’Tis unseemly for you to be embracing the help.  We have been a very sad household, sir.  That will change, now you’re home.”
Night handed Archibald his cloak and gloves.  “I know I'm a sight.  Dumas dumped me in a pond a few hours ago.”  He laughed as he caught Archibald inspecting him from head to toe.  “I had been brooding and he let me know he didn’t like it.  And as for it being unseemly to embrace the help, since when have I ever been concerned with such frivolous stupidity?”
“I remember that well, sir.  As long as you have been alive and able to talk, you have cared very little for the frivolity of courtly life among the aristocracy.  Though as a man who has known you since you drew breath for the first time, I feel at liberty to say perhaps you should consider changing that small imperfection in your personage.  Would you like to refresh yourself before going to see your father?  Do you have a change of clothing with you?  I am certain I can freshen up some of Master Jason’s if they are needed.”
Night glanced at his rumpled clothes, still damp in places and very dusty from the extended ride.  He smiled at Archibald.  “Yes, Archie, I have a change of clothing in my satchel.  Thank you.  That imperfection as you call it is part of who I am, and I am as likely to change that as I am to grow a purple nose.”  Archie harrumphed, shaking his head.
“Please don’t tell Father I am here just yet.  Where may I find him after I have changed?”
“He is in the parlor, sir, with Lord Reginald,”
“Thank you, Archie.  I'll show myself in when I'm ready.”  Night mounted the steps two at a time, taking himself to his old room.
So that creature with the glorious hair must be Lord Reginald’s daughter.  All that glorious hair makes my body come awake.  Just the thought of having all that hair spread out over the pillows, over me…No, these aren’t the kinds of thoughts I need to have right before I greet father or meet this wife of mine.
In his bedroom Night changed clothes and decided a bath could wait for this evening.  He walked down the stairs and found himself back where he had been a few moment before, though Archie was no longer in sight.
Night made his way to the parlor.  Hands shaking, he reached out for the door handle only to stop before touching it.  Wishing for the entire world that he didn’t need to be here, he sucked in a deep, fortifying breath and he burst inside.  “Your long lost son has come home.”
“Night, my boy.  It has been too long since we last saw one another.”  Lord Reginald stood and walked toward him with his hand outstretched.  “I was sorry to hear of Jason’s death.  But glad to see you have come home to shoulder the duties that now befall you as heir.”
Night cast a glance toward Reginald.  “Thank you for your sympathies, they are greatly appreciated.”  He shook hands and then turned away, trying to cover the frustration he believed was visible in his eyes.
“I should never have been the heir, I am the second son.  This was for Jason, not me.”  Night swiped his hand through his hair before turning back toward the men.
“That may be Night, but things have changed, you know that.”  Lord Reginald returned to his seat.
The Earl, Night’s father, had not risen to greet his son, but sat glaring at him.  When Lord Reginald turned back to Jason the glare quickly left the Earl's eyes.
“I must be getting back.  My Sarah is ready to give birth any day now."
“Yet another birth.  How many does this make for you, Reggie?”  Night used the familiar nickname with respect.
Lord Reginald laughed, his ample midsection shaking.  “This is number twelve.  Sarah has told me it will be the last.”  He walked to the parlor door.  “She so wanted a girl child to spoil.  Eleven boys so far¾big strapping boys.  Reggie is going to be nine and ten next month.  I'm grooming him to be the future Duke.”
Night shook the older man's hand one more time.  “Give Lady Sarah my best wishes.  I will come by sometime next week to see you both, and hopefully, to congratulate you on yet another fine child, a girl perhaps?”
“That I will, that I will.”  Lord Reginald turned toward his friend.  “Goodbye, Jason, I expect to see you next week to welcome my child with a celebration.”
“Most certainly.  Tell Sarah that Elizabeth is packing as we speak, and will follow you later this very afternoon.”  The Earl's brow furrowed as he watched his friend leave the room.
Night’s eyebrow shot up.  “Mother is going to Lord Reginald’s home?”
“Yes, she is.  If you had been home more often, you would know she goes to help in any way she can when Sarah is this close to, well, Sarah is simply in need of your mother’s assistance.
“I offer my apologies, Father.  I have been at sea and have had little time to come home.”  He favored his father with a curt bow and followed Lord Reginald who waited for him by the door.
“Try not to be too hard on him, Night.”  With that cryptic advice hanging in the air Lord Reginald left the house and disappeared around the corner in search of his driver and carriage.
As the door shut, Night’s mother’s voice floated down the stairs.
“I think just two trunks will do, after all, Christine¼
Her voice trailed off as she locked gazes with Night.  A lump formed in his throat, one he couldn’t rid himself of no matter how much he swallowed.  She stopped on the stairs, tears in her beautiful green eyes¾the very same eyes he saw in the mirror each morning.
She brought her hand to her throat as if she were having trouble breathing.  “Night, is it really you?”
Night couldn’t help but smile at her small bit of drama.  “Yes, Mother, I’m home.”  The lump in his throat had firmly embedded itself and he found it difficult to speak clearly.
A moment later his mother was off the stairs and in his arms, tears streaming down her face.  “Oh, God, you are home, you really are home.”
Lady Elizabeth finally released him from her fierce hug but she refused to let her hands leave his body.  She touched his arms, his face and his shoulders, tears still streaming down her cheeks.
Guilt washed through him.  Guilt for not writing, for not coming home for seven years¾but most of all for causing her worry.  Night knew his mother loved, missed and worried about him.  Yet he had shown no concern for her feelings.  He felt profoundly sorry.  I will make it up to you somehow, some way.  I promise you that, Mother.
His mother drew back, drinking in the sight of him.  Clearly it was difficult for her to believe he was really home.  “You’re too thin.  You need to eat more.”  Lady Elizabeth took his arm in hers as he escorted her back into the parlor where his father still sat.
The Earl turned toward them.
“Look Jason.  Night has come home again.  Isn’t it wonderful?”  Lady Elizabeth was all aflutter.
“Yes darling, he is home, and this time to stay.”  The Earl looked Night in the eye.  Night hung his head in shame, not wishing to meet his father’s eyes.
“Yes Father, Mother, I am here to stay, for a while at least.  After the wedding my bride and I will take up residence at Raven Hall.”  He regretted his hasty words a moment later seeing the sadness spring back into his mother's eyes.  Perhaps I have spoken more sternly than I should.
Lady Elizabeth pulled the cord to ring for tea.  “You are here with us now.  That is all that matters at the moment.  And you've come home in time for tea.”
A few moments later, a servant brought a tray with tea and small lemon cakes, Night’s favorite.
He remembered something the duke had said earlier.  Boys, all strapping boys so far.
If the glorious-haired creature was not Lord Reginald’s daughter, then just who the devil was she?
A few moments later, the glorious haired creature herself walked into the parlor and the answer to Night’s question became wonderfully clear.  He felt as if he had been punched in the gut, and all his breath stolen from him.
“Satine, I'm glad you joined us, dear.  I want you to meet your future husband.”  Lady Elizabeth was practically singing with happiness.
Night released the breath he didn’t know he'd been holding, his stomach turned back over and he felt queasy enough to render him speechless.
Surely this could not be the simpering little virgin I'm to marry?
He had been right.  She was beautiful¾gloriously, painfully beautifulHer hair had only hidden how perfectly made she was.  Everything about her caused a reaction completely inappropriate in mixed company.  His breeches were suddenly much tighter than they had been a moment ago and he was forced to shift position so that the tightness would not be plainly visible to everyone in the room.
Satine’s eyes were a crystal-blue that reminded him of the waters in tropical locations he'd seen on his many travels, and her pale blue gown set them off perfectly.  Her skin had a lovely sheen to it, making Satine look pale and soft.  She was beyond stunning.  Slowly, with shaking knees, he walked toward her, finding the journey across the room difficult in his condition.  Satine lowered her eyes and she trembled where she stood.
When he took her hand he discovered her skin was soft as velvet.  He was almost afraid he would hurt her.  “’Tis a pleasure to meet you, sir.”  Satine didn’t raise her eyes to meet his.
“The pleasure is mine, Satine.  Please, call me Night,” He’d finally found his voice, though it seemed he had swallowed a frog.  No one told me what she looked like.  Of course, I never stopped to ask, did I?
She smiled up at him.  “Night.  It is an unusual name, though I do like it.”
When she smiled, it lit her face from within, making her even more lovely.
Night realized he still had her hand in his and he let it go reluctantly.
I wonder what she will look like naked, lying in the sun on the shore of the lake?  He lowered his gaze so she couldn't see his expression.  His cock stiffened to a point he couldn’t bear much longer.  He excused himself from tea, claiming he was tired and needed a bath after the long ride.  His mother started to protest but he swiftly left the room leaving everyone to stare after his retreating form.
Adjusting his breeches, he mounted the stairs thinking that his cock was usually better behaved than this.  His bride-to-be seemed to have an amazing effect on him.  A soft smile spread across his face.
Night found a hot bath waiting for him in his chamber.  After meeting Satine he would really have preferred cold water but hot would have to do.
He bathed quickly and then lay on his bed naked, thinking of her.
She certainly didn’t seem like a simpering fool.  Irrational fear of the unknown quite possibly could bring down the world if men such as I continue to imagine things long before we are shown the truth of the matter.
He fell asleep, his dreams filled with beautiful, flowing white-gold hair and crystal blue eyes.

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