Regency Romance: The Rake's Fake Marriage (Historical Arranged Marriage Romance) (19th Century Victorian Romance) by Sarah Thorn
Authors: Sarah Thorn
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and began to stagger towards him, but soon the room was full of Muir and Irvine Clan. Warriors weary after battle , but sober and fighting for a just cause: to rescue the Laird's daughter and the wife of the new Laird Muir.
The drunken Sutherland warriors stood no chance, and most of them died in the great hall. Alexander thrust his bow and arrows to the ground and ran to the table where his wife lay. As he approached her, he bent down to Laird Sutherland, who was still in agony on the floor. ''Thank you for showing me how important she is to me.'' He took out his dagger and finished Sutherland off with a flourish of his arm.
He cut the ropes and scooped Eana into his arms, covering her with his tartan cloak. When they were a safe distance from the castle he stopped and sat down under a tree, still cradling her in his strong arms.
''What did you do? I was dying?'' he asked.
''Sutherland told me you were either dying or already dead. All I did was wish you were healthy. Nothing more.''
''Well, you frightened the life out of Laurie,'' he laughed. ''It was you that cured me, I am certain, and I am certain of one other thing: that I was wrong to doubt you. I now realize that you are the kindest woman alive, and you only know good. I am sorry, please forgive me, I love you.''
''And I love you too, Alexander Muir. Now please take me home and make love to me but more gently than last time, my knee won't stand up to the intensity of your passion for long.''
****
The Irvine Clan and the Muir Clan flourished under Alexander and Eana's leadership. The Sutherland Clan desperate for peace after many years of war, elected a new leader, a fierce but kind woman named Morag. The friendship she and Eana developed ensured peace for the next fifty years.
*****
THE END
ROCKSTAR Romance – Bad Boy British Rockstar
There was a flash of light when Josh Bloodstone entered the room. It was the biggest gathering of journalists the hotel had ever seen. Josh stood at the door and raised his arms above his head. Flash after flash illuminated his face. He was surrounded by bodyguards and press officers from his record label.
''Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen,'' a man in a suit said. ''I'm Harry Jones from Brandy, Josh's label . Thank you for coming to the Hilton today. We are so proud of Josh and what he has done. He's the world's number one recording artist as we speak.'' More flashes, this time as Josh reached the stage. ''As you have been told you have half an hour to ask Josh what you want. Please refrain from asking anything about his personal life. Keep it about his music.''
The man stood aside, and Josh stood by the microphone. He looked strangely out of place in the luxury hotel. It was supposed to be a place where gray-suited business people met, not a place for a tattooed, pierced pop star.
''Right,'' Josh said. ''I ain't got all fucking day. So ask your filth.'' His manager, standing just off stage, cringed. No matter how he tried, he couldn't get Josh to stop swearing. Surely it couldn't be so hard to stop. But Harry Jones had been to Eton and Josh had been to some unmentionable state school in the back streets of Manchester.
''Josh, I'm Simon Hetherton from the Telegraph, can I....?''
''Wow even the posh bastards are here today. I must be doing something right.'' There was a chuckle in the room.
Simon continued. ''Josh, can I ask you what you think about what the Prime Minster said about you the other day?''
''You mean that tone deaf tosser who's fucking our country? He's a liar and a cheat, and he should be put in the Tower of London.''
''But what do you say to his specific words? In the House of Commons he called you the worst of British,'' Simon pressed.
''I'll tell you who the worst of British are. Those faggot politicians. They're bleeding us dry.'' Josh swept his hand through his bleached hair and adjusted one of the rings on his fingers. ''No, but seriously. I have sold over sixty million records, this year.
The drunken Sutherland warriors stood no chance, and most of them died in the great hall. Alexander thrust his bow and arrows to the ground and ran to the table where his wife lay. As he approached her, he bent down to Laird Sutherland, who was still in agony on the floor. ''Thank you for showing me how important she is to me.'' He took out his dagger and finished Sutherland off with a flourish of his arm.
He cut the ropes and scooped Eana into his arms, covering her with his tartan cloak. When they were a safe distance from the castle he stopped and sat down under a tree, still cradling her in his strong arms.
''What did you do? I was dying?'' he asked.
''Sutherland told me you were either dying or already dead. All I did was wish you were healthy. Nothing more.''
''Well, you frightened the life out of Laurie,'' he laughed. ''It was you that cured me, I am certain, and I am certain of one other thing: that I was wrong to doubt you. I now realize that you are the kindest woman alive, and you only know good. I am sorry, please forgive me, I love you.''
''And I love you too, Alexander Muir. Now please take me home and make love to me but more gently than last time, my knee won't stand up to the intensity of your passion for long.''
****
The Irvine Clan and the Muir Clan flourished under Alexander and Eana's leadership. The Sutherland Clan desperate for peace after many years of war, elected a new leader, a fierce but kind woman named Morag. The friendship she and Eana developed ensured peace for the next fifty years.
*****
THE END
ROCKSTAR Romance – Bad Boy British Rockstar
There was a flash of light when Josh Bloodstone entered the room. It was the biggest gathering of journalists the hotel had ever seen. Josh stood at the door and raised his arms above his head. Flash after flash illuminated his face. He was surrounded by bodyguards and press officers from his record label.
''Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen,'' a man in a suit said. ''I'm Harry Jones from Brandy, Josh's label . Thank you for coming to the Hilton today. We are so proud of Josh and what he has done. He's the world's number one recording artist as we speak.'' More flashes, this time as Josh reached the stage. ''As you have been told you have half an hour to ask Josh what you want. Please refrain from asking anything about his personal life. Keep it about his music.''
The man stood aside, and Josh stood by the microphone. He looked strangely out of place in the luxury hotel. It was supposed to be a place where gray-suited business people met, not a place for a tattooed, pierced pop star.
''Right,'' Josh said. ''I ain't got all fucking day. So ask your filth.'' His manager, standing just off stage, cringed. No matter how he tried, he couldn't get Josh to stop swearing. Surely it couldn't be so hard to stop. But Harry Jones had been to Eton and Josh had been to some unmentionable state school in the back streets of Manchester.
''Josh, I'm Simon Hetherton from the Telegraph, can I....?''
''Wow even the posh bastards are here today. I must be doing something right.'' There was a chuckle in the room.
Simon continued. ''Josh, can I ask you what you think about what the Prime Minster said about you the other day?''
''You mean that tone deaf tosser who's fucking our country? He's a liar and a cheat, and he should be put in the Tower of London.''
''But what do you say to his specific words? In the House of Commons he called you the worst of British,'' Simon pressed.
''I'll tell you who the worst of British are. Those faggot politicians. They're bleeding us dry.'' Josh swept his hand through his bleached hair and adjusted one of the rings on his fingers. ''No, but seriously. I have sold over sixty million records, this year.
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