ANNE GREENE delights in writing about wounded heroes
and gutsy heroines. Her second novel, a Scottish historical, Masquerade
Marriage, won numerous writing awards. The sequel Marriage By Arrangement releases in February. A
Texas Christmas Mystery also won awards. In 2014, her World War II
novel, Angel With Steel Wings, about WASPs, women test pilots will
release. She makes her home in McKinney, Texas. Tim LaHaye led her to the Lord
when she was twenty-one and Chuck Swindoll is her Pastor. In 1990, Anne
graduated summa cum laude with a
Bachelor’s degree in Literary Studies from the University of Texas.
View Anne’s other books, her blog, Addicted to Excellence, extensive travel
pictures, and art work at http://www.AnneGreeneAuthor.com.
Anne is active in ACFW, FHL, Sisters in Crime, The Writer’s View, and the
Southwest Chapter of ACFW. Anne loves to speak to book clubs, libraries, and
conferences. Her love of sailing,
horseback riding, history, and art, as well as her Citizens Plano Policy
Academy training, and military life sometime figure in her books. She maintains
a web site, two blogs, and judges the Rita, Golden Heart, and Book of the Year,
but she’s never too busy to talk with her fans.
A MARRIAGE
COVENANT
Why does a handsome,
powerful noble of the highest rank in England stoop to marry a mere Lady of
Lowland Scotland?
A
GREAT SECRET
Are the whispered
stories about him true? With his shadowy past and strange behavior what awful
secret does he hide? Each change of clothes transforms him into a different
man.
AN
IMPOSSIBLE CHOICE
Can Lady Cailin keep her
vow to make her marriage happy and successful, unlike that of her parents, or
to save her unborn child, must she arrange for the Duke’s accidental death?
CHAPTER ONE
Castle
Drummond, home of Lord and Lady MacMurry, near the Village of Kirkmichael in
Lowland Scotland -– April 19, 1746
“I won’t run.” A shudder skipped
down Lady Cailin MacMurry’s spine, and she stared at her younger sister. “I’m
committed.”
“It’s not too late. I heard another scandalous rumor about Duke
Avondale.” Lady Megan MacMurry grasped Cailin’s arm.
“I won’t listen to gossip.” Cailin
pulled away from her sister and lifted her wedding bouquet to inhale the white
rose fragrance. If only the sweet scent could overcome Megan’s words, and her
own misgivings. Though most arranged marriages turned out badly, surely God
would give her a loving one. After
all, since her earliest years, she’d prayed for a happily-ever-after love.
“Ask yourself why such a grand noble
would stoop to marry a Scottish lass with but the title Lady? Why did he not
choose an English Duchess or Marchioness or even a Countess?” Megan tilted her
head and lifted elegant brows.
Why indeed? Cailin clutched her
enormous diamond engagement necklace. The thing felt heavy with
responsibility.
“The man’s an English duke. He owns palaces all over England.” Megan
planted her hands on her slender, mossy-green silk covered hips. “Every noble
lass in the land should be offering to give her right arm to be in your shoes.
And yet they are not.”
New knots formed in the nape of Cailin’s neck. She held her finger to her
lips. “Too late to turn back now. The wedding chorus has begun.” She forced her
feet to take the first step and then began the slow glide from the stone
castle’s rear archway through the garden toward the rose arbor.
With a jerk, Megan lifted and straightened Cailin’s cumbersome satin
train. “In truth, beyond his wealth and titles, our family knows little about
the English Duke.” She gathered up her own long skirts, and ran ahead to lead
Cailin down the flower-strewn path.
Seven bridesmaids stopped giggling and chatting and moved to their places
in front of Megan to head the procession.
Beneath her veil, Cailin smoothed
her frown.
Papa had chosen to take this path in light of the violent upheaval
following England’s latest battle with the Highlanders. Her marriage to the
Duke would shelter her family with his great cloak of protection. Neither the
English nor the Scots would dare invade a castle guarded by the powerful Duke’s
Coat of Arms.
More goosebump fingers shivered her
spine. Surely jealousy fueled the flagrant tittle-tattle. She pulled in a deep
breath, straightened her shoulders, and took measured steps in time to the
music toward the loch gleaming in the late afternoon sunlight. She would not
let whispers spoil her wedding. She laid her hand lightly on her father’s
offered arm.
Their procession passed the scores
of guests assembled on both sides of the flowered path. Ahead her groom stood
beneath the rose bower, sunlight from the loch gleaming on him, the pastor, and
his groomsman.
Her heart fluttered.
The Duke looked the perfect picture of manhood. He towered above his
shorter groomsman and the pastor. Sun glinting off his iceberg blue satin coat,
heavily laced with gold, almost blinded her. His chocolate eyes gazed past the
dazzling crowd of guests and focused on her. Beneath those beckoning eyes, the
straight bridge of his nose above softly smiling lips formed the most handsome
face she’d ever seen. Her pulse quickened. Butterflies flitted from her stomach
to her heart and back.
As she reached her groom and the chamber music died, her high-heeled
slippers sunk into the grassy moor, but her foreboding dissolved like fog
before the sunshine.
The rose bower in the garden where she and the Duke stood together and
promised their fidelity was pure romance with its lush greenery, heavy scent of
roses, and panorama of softly rolling, newly green glen. Though she didn’t know
the man she wed, she repeated with all her heart to love, honor, and obey him
as long as she should live.
Marrying a man one had barely met happened more often than not to
daughters of Lords. So why were her knees shaking? Her attractive groom, with
his mahogany hair, wide shoulders, and square jaw, held her hand gently in his
warm, strong grasp. Rumors were just rumors, and, truth be told, if he were not
perfect, neither was she.
A breeze loosened strands of brown hair from the gold band that tied the
thick mass neatly behind his muscular neck to dance around his face.
She was glad he had not powdered his hair. Her throat tightened. Loving
him would be easy.
Oh God, please let him love me.
She would love him so greatly, with everything inside her heart. Surely
he would love her in return. She would work hard to make certain her marriage
turned out differently from Mums. There would be no coldness, nor violent
arguments between her and her grand Duke. No sleeping in separate parts of the
castle. No making their daughters’ lives miserable with the dislike they bore
one another.
As the magnificent sunset painted him gold, the Duke’s chestnut eyes
stared into hers with promise, his inviting lips tipped upwards at the corners,
and his demeanor was affectionate and approving.
Joy burst through her chest, and she gave him a brilliant smile. Yes, her
marriage would be happy. A storybook marriage like Cinderella’s.
The English parson the Duke had brought with him raised a hand in
blessing. “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
She handed her heavy bouquet of roses and lilies to Megan and tipped her
chin up.
The tall, lithe, young Duke stepped forward and lifted her expensive
Brussels veil. She was so very fortunate he was not old.
She closed her eyes.
He touched his lips to hers.
Oh! Her eyes flew open. The
bridal kiss had been so short…and disappointing. The pledge in his gaze had led
her to expect so much more. She frowned. Their first kiss was like melding lips
with someone on stage, acting a part.
He dropped his arms and moved back.
She’d scarcely been around men, and the Duke was a stranger. She frowned.
And his kiss had held so little promise.
A terrifying thought swirled through her brain like a ghost. Since Papa
had betrothed Megan to a cruel man, what type of man had he selected for her?
Were safety and titles and lands more important to Papa than both his
daughters’ happiness?
She shivered.
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Patty Froese started writing seriously when she graduated from her degree in English Lit. She horrified her parents by quitting her full time job for a part time position, moving into a tiny dive of an apartment and writing like mad every spare minute. It paid off, and she produced her first published novel. Ten years later, she's married, has a child and is still pounding out novel after novel. She no longer starves. 
