“I think you are wrong.” He placed another kiss on her belly. “But I bow to your wishes in allowing boring names for above-average children.”

  She crossed her arms over her belly. “Besides, you are assuming it is a girl, just as you assumed our first child was a son.”

  “I was right then, and I am correct now.”

  Rosemary rolled her eyes. “However, I do like the name Freya, and have been reconsidering.”

  Max straightened immediately. “You are not naming my daughter after the most sensual and passionate goddess.”

  Rosemary laughed as she’d anticipated his response. “Actually, I was thinking of Helena.”

  His features softened. “It goes well with Simeon.” The name they’d finally agreed on for their son.

  “Where is my son?” he asked.

  Rosemary pointed to the beach. “By the water.” Behind him, beneath an umbrella, stood Cronus, watching over their three-year-old son. Beside him, in a chair was Bess. Bess remained Rosemary’s maid, and Cronus had decided on the title of footman and protector for himself. After she had married Max, she’d told her guards that they were no longer necessary. It was then she had learned that Cronus and Bess were in love, and had been, but as they had duties to Rosemary, they had not pursued their love for one another. She and Max insisted that they marry and remain with the family, and the two had found a smaller home, not far from the one Rosemary and Max had purchased overlooking the Ionian Sea. The house she’d dreamed of, with balconies to sit upon and enjoy the sea breezes as she gazed out at the beauty of Greece. And Max had his yacht, and they were blissfully happy.

  “Shall we retire to the house where we can be alone?” he offered before kissing her neck in the very place she was most sensitive.

  Rosemary pushed him away. “I’m still angry.”

  He groaned. He’d hoped that by the time he returned her mood would have softened toward him.

  “As you can see, I’m still with child, so my accompanying you would have not been a hindrance.”

  He glanced down at her belly, heavy with his child. “I don’t mean to sound insensitive, and you know that I think you are the most beautiful woman God ever created, but you’re not exactly inconspicuous or could go about unnoticed.”

  She turned a glare on him, and Max weighed his next words carefully, debating whether he should simply hold his tongue.

  “You were afraid that our child would be born in Sarandë,” she demanded.

  “With good reason,” he argued. “Do you recall that Simeon was nearly born next to a sarcophagus?”

  “He was not,” Rosemary retorted.

  “Close enough. He certainly announced his imminent arrival in that blasted tomb.” As soon as Max realized that Rosemary was having pains, he couldn’t get her out of the tomb quickly enough, then back to the inn. He feared for her and for their child because Rosemary insisted that it wasn’t time. In that moment, he swore that never again would he let his wife be far from home when she was with child.

  He should have been more forceful and left Egypt much sooner. Rosemary insisted they had time enough to work on the excavation a bit longer, which turned into weeks, even though Bess told her daily how improper it was to be seen in public. Rosemary didn’t wish to be confined, which she also complained of daily, and because of her stubbornness, and Max’s inability to deny her much, Simeon was nearly born in an Egyptian tomb.

  “Were you at least successful?” she questioned, clearly still irritated.

  “I located the porcelain vase and returned it to its owner.”

  “You’ve been gone a fortnight. Had I been with you, it would have taken a fraction of the time.”

  Max knew better than to argue with her. “I brought you something.” From within his jacket, he withdrew a delicate golden chain from which a bluish pearl opal hung.

  “It’s beautiful,” she gasped, taking it from him and examining the necklace. “But I’m still angry.”

  “Does that mean that I must sleep on the yacht tonight?” It was always a threat, but Rosemary had yet to force him from their bed.

  “As much as I’d like to make you, I fear I will be in need of you.”

  Ah, so she wasn’t so angry. “Shall I escort you to our chamber?” Although they’d been married several years, Max never tired of being with Rosemary and doubted he ever would.

  “I’m not yet ready to retire.” She placed a hand at the small of her back and winced. “Though it’s likely you’ll need to fetch the doctor later.”

  Bloody hell, she was once again in labor. “You should be in bed, not standing on the dock.”

  “I know what is best for me.” She leaned and kissed him. “However, if you would like to accompany me inside, I’d very much like you to rub my back.”

  “You know I’d do anything for you.”

  “Except take me on quests,” she pouted.

  “Rosemary!” he warned. He really didn’t want to argue, but even she needed to realize that travel was dangerous when she was this far along.

  “Very well,” she sighed. “Though I hate to admit that you are correct, but had I been with you, you would have been most displeased to have awakened this morning to find that I’d begun my pains.”

  “This morning!” he practically yelled, then scooped her up in his arms and strode up to their house.

  “Really, Max. A simple rubbing of my lower back, and my feet, would have sufficed.”

  “I’m never getting you with child again,” he vowed. She could have delivered the child on the yacht, on the docks. Why the blazes was she walking around? Women were supposed to rest and relax, when not suffering. But not Rosemary. She stopped for nothing.

  “But I so enjoy having you as my lover. You’d deny me?”

  “Bloody hell,” he grumbled as he placed her on the bed. “Do not move.”

  He always knew she’d drive him to Bedlam. As much as she aggravated him, and no matter how much he worried about her, he loved her beyond what he thought it was possible to love anyone.

  And five hours later, as he held the newest female in his life, Helena, Max experienced that love again. The same that he felt when he first held Simeon.

  His life was full of hope and love beyond measure.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  * * *

  The ancient scroll Rosemary obtained in Jerusalem is fictional, and I know of no scrolls found during the early 19th century, though I find it quite possible there were. That was my thinking when I started the story, taking inspiration from how the Dead Sea Scrolls were found by a Bedouin in 1947 in a cave near Khirbet Qumran. Even though I know of no other scrolls, as I haven’t researched it in depth, there is the possibility that discoveries were made, or that was my thinking as I wrote of a fictional scroll. However, as it is fictional, I didn’t want to claim what may have been written on it, and thus we never learn.

  As for why neither of my characters were able to tell the difference between Aramaic or Hebrew, I apologize if the difference is obvious to others. I never excelled in learning a foreign language, which my high school report card can attest to, and I studied French. When researching the alphabets of both Aramaic and Hebrew, to my untrained eye, they were similar and therefore, since my characters carry the same limited knowledge as I do, I assumed they couldn’t tell the difference either. I mean no insult if the differences are clear to anyone else, and apologize for my ignorance on the matter.

  As for the swords of Joan of Arc, nobody knows what became of them. There are rumors, of course, and she did not answer what became of the sword taken from St. Catherine’s Church during the inquisition. One area of research does claim that artifacts of Joan of Arc were taken and destroyed during the French Revolution, however it is not known which sword, or if those claims are true. Therefore, I found it possible that someone may have claimed to have found her sword. I surmised when those rumors reached those who seek out antiquities, they wouldn’t ignore the possibility of finding it, and why Rosemary and Max couldn’t ignore the possibility either because of the what if…

  As for a piece of the cross located at the Holy Monastery of Xeropotamou, there are said to be thirteen pieces of the True Cross of Jesus Christ housed there. There is a story that in the eighteenth century, the village suffered from a deadly disease, and the Fathers brought the pieces of the True Cross and upon its procession around the village, the disease that had plagued the residents was eradicated. Thus, a miracle was proclaimed. I’ve no doubt that a selfish, evil man such as Fernsby, who wanted to be healed, would consider taking a piece for himself.

  Clerkenwell was considered a rookery during this era, and there was a Saint James Church Clerkenwell. However, the Rickety Cross Tavern is a fictional place I needed for the novel.

  Created with Vellum

  Dear Readers,

  * * *

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  Excerpt – Forgotten Marquess

  (Book #1 of The”Other” Trents Series)

  Released – October, 2019

  © Copyright 2019 – Jane Charles

  All Rights Reserved

  Cornwall, March, 1812

  “I forbid you to go!”

  Elaina Trent wheeled around, hands on her hips and pierced her husband with a glare. “Forbid me?”

  Tristan Trent, Marquess of Hopkins, knew immediately he’d said the wrong thing, but Elaina was not accepting reason. “It’s too dangerous. It’s bloody France, for God’s sake.”

  “It’s where my family is,” she argued.

  “Your family lives at Wyndhill Park, outside of Farnham, Surrey, England.”

  Elaina blew out a sigh. “My brothers live at Wyndhill Park. I wish to see my grandmother.”

  A grandmother who also happened to live in Dinan, France, currently ruled by Napoleon and at war with England. “Elaina, please understand, it’s too dangerous.”

  “Not for me.”

  “What of my children. It’s dangerous for them,” Tristan continued to argue.

  “Our children, and I’ll protect them. Besides, it’s not like I’m going to Paris or Calais. I’m sailing into Saint-Malo and will travel to Dinan from there.”

  “Elaina, please delay your holiday. I have a feeling…”

  “You just hate that I wish to do something for myself. Something that is important to me that doesn’t meet with your approval.”

  Tristan sucked in a breath. Was he really so controlling? Certainly not. Since their marriage, Elaina had been free to do what she wished, and go where she desired, such as visiting her brothers or off to London or Bath with her friends, often without Tristan, as he couldn’t always get away. However, none of those places were France in the middle of a war. “If this is so important, why aren’t your brothers going?”

  “Lucian can’t be pulled away from the estate at this time. Xavier cannot leave his studies in Edinburgh, Micah is with his regiment, Asher is in his last term, and Silas is at Eton.”

  “If this is so important, at least one of them would accompany you.”

  “They don’t know her,” Elaina screamed back in frustration.

  “Of course, they know her. She’s their grandmother as well.”

  Elaina rubbed her temples as if a headache was coming on. “Not like I do,” Elaina ground out. “They have met our grandparents twice in their life. Twice.”

  Tristan took a step back at her anger.

  “When our parents died, Lucian was still at Eton and my younger brothers were allowed to remain at Wyndhill Park with their tutors until they could also attend Eton. I, however, was sent to my grandparents in Dinan because the guardian wasn’t certain what to do with a girl. After all, it was the sons, more specifically, Lucian and Xavier who mattered.”

  Tristan knew that Elaina had been sent to her grandparents and lived there from the time she was thirteen until she was seventeen. He’d just never realized the impact the separation had on her, or that her relationship with her grandparents was different from that of her siblings.

  “Grandmother took the place of my mother.” Tears welled in Elaina’s eyes. “She was all I had after my parents were gone and I’d been taken from my home.”

  A tear slipped out of the corner of her eye and for perhaps the first time, Tristan realized how painful that time of her life must have been, and why being with her grandmother before she was gone was so important.

  “I couldn’t go back when grandfather died because it happened so quickly, and now that Grandmother is failing, I need to go.”

  Tristan took her hands in his. He understood. He truly did. And in any other circumstance, he would have moved heaven and earth to grant his wife this request. Except in this instance, every part of his being warned that Elaina should not sail to France. A feeling of foreboding, the likes of which he’d never experienced before, had settled into the pit of his stomach at the first announcement of her intentions and it wasn’t something he’d been able to push aside. He couldn’t even explain it to himself, and he could not allow his wife and children to board a ship. “She’ll understand why you can’t attend her and she’d not wish for you to put yourself or the children in danger. I am certain that once you explain in a letter...”

  Elaina yanked her hands from his. “I will not simply write a letter.” She wheeled away, her arms gesturing madly toward the ceiling. “What do you suppose I write? I’m sorry you are dying, but unfortunately, I’m not allowed to take a holiday at this time. I’ll remember you fondly.”

  Now she was screaming, which was very uncharacteristic for his wife. They’d had arguments in the past, several actually, but not to this extent.

  “You are not being reasonable,” Tristan ground out.

  “You are being a tyrant. What else must I have permission for, my lord?”

  “I only want my family safe.” Now he was yelling, and this would get them nowhere. If anything, it would cause Elaina to dig her heels in further. She was the most stubborn woman he’d ever met.

  “Tristan, I need to see my grandmother,” her tone softened. “I want her to meet my children before it’s too late.” A tear slipped out of the corner of her eye.

  Elaina wasn’t one to cry unless she was truly upset, usually angry, and she’d never been one to use tears in a manner to get around him, so he knew how important this trip was to her. He just couldn’t allow it, no matter how much she pleaded or begged.

  “They are infants. You can’t take them across the Channel. You might encounter the French, storms, pirates.”

  “And you believe I’m fanciful,” Elaina snorted. “When was the last time pirates sailed between here and there?” Elaina laughed.

  “Privateers, then. They are a serious concern. Harrison has written of them, Elaina. It is not a fanciful notion.”

  “Harrison’s ship is the one giving us passage.”

  Harrison, his younger brother, had taken to sailing once he’d completed his education. Instead of joining the navy, Harrison gained a position on a merchant ship to learn the trade with every intention of owning his own ship one day. That was nearly five years ago, and Harrison had been saving his earnings for the day he’d captain a merchant vessel.

  Shock rocked through him after her words sank in. “You are traveling on a merchant ship?” The very idea was outrageous. “And the captain of Harrison’s ship agreed to this? Can a merchant ship even get within sight of France without being shot at?” Except, Tristan was fairly certain that the ship was a smuggling vessel more than a merchant ship. Regardless, if stopped by the French, it would be confiscated, detained…anything could happen and who was to say the French wouldn’t try to sink her.

  “The trip is short, and we will be safe with him,” Elaina insisted.

  “Until you’re not.” Tristan thrust his fingers through his hair. As soon as his brother returned, Tristan intended to have a long talk with Harrison because Elaina was not getting on that ship. “Forget Napoleon and privateers, they are dangerous enough. Have you forgotten smugglers?” The dangers of making this voyage were endless, especially if his wife and children had gained passage on a smuggling vessel, except he was certain Elaina didn’t know the true purpose of Harrison’s employer.

  This time she looked at him as if he was insane when he was quite certain that it was Elaina who was not in her right mind. Then again, Elaina had a way of driving him to Bedlam.

  “It’s not safe.”

  “So you’ve insisted, but I still intend to go. With or without your permission.”

  He knew she was stubborn when they married, but he’d never seen Elaina fight so hard for something she wanted. And, if he were being honest with himself, Tristan usually gave into her requests. However, this time he would not. There was no way he was going to allow his wife and children to sail to France. Not in the middle of a bloody war or across a body of water where they could encounter a French ship.