Siren of the Sea

By Tamora Rose

When Nimue, the only legitimate child of the Earl of Richford, is forced to marry her bastard half-brother, she thinks her life is over. Then she is convinced of it when he dies by accident and she will take the blame. So she flees, plunging into the cold ocean in an attempt to find a new life.

She finds Asher, the dashing Earl of Cliffside. And even though he pulls her from the water and saves her life, she cannot bring herself to confide in him. She cannot even bring herself to tell him her name. But she can bring herself to accept his hospitality.

Living in the splendor of his castle, Nimue can almost forget the horrors of her past. As she gets to know the handsome earl, she finds herself fluttering with feelings she never could have imagined. With her love blossoming, hope looms.

Until the shadow of her past comes back to haunt them both...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tear Drop Books
• Release date: Aug 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311036056

Tamora Rose

Tamora Rose was raised in the chill of Canada's North. She has been fascinated with literature and the human mind since she was a small child. As she grew into adulthood, a fascination with writing her own stories developed. She majored in English with a focus in creative writing when she attended university and is now pursuing her PhD. She also studies anthropology, religions, and politics, all of which contribute to her written work.Today, Tamora Rose resides in central Canada with her two sons. She is a full-time writer with several pseudonyms. She always has several projects in the works including fiction, non-fiction, poetry, and running several popular blogs.If you’re interested in discovering more about Tamora Rose and her work, connect with her through her blog which can be found at: http://tamorarose.blogspot.com/

Book preview

Chapter One

The waves crashed against the shore, deafening all who dared to come so close. The gulls dived and soared, making just enough noise to drive a sane person mad. Wind sprayed water everywhere and sand whipped about the beach, cutting into the softest flesh. And Nimue enjoyed it all. Nimue reveled in it all.

To her, the southern coast of England was not harsh at all. It was pure and good and everything she needed to feel free and happy. So much did she love this stretch of beach, this little strip of land beneath the cliffs, that she spent most days wandering its length, sometimes barefoot if she didn’t think she’d be caught. Every once in a while she’d even plunge into the freezing ocean and frolic like a little mermaid, but only if her maid was there to ensure her privacy. Anything was better than being up at the castle.

Nimue sighed heavily as she sat on the nearest rock and dangled her bare toes in the icy water. Shivering deliciously, she tried not to think about home, but it was a wasted effort. She always thought about home and how to avoid going back. As if drawn by some unseen force, her eyes moved up the cliffs until Richford Castle filled her gaze. Bleak and unyielding, just the sight of it made her tremble.

And yet it was home. As the only daughter of the Earl of Richford, Nimue was stuck. For seventeen years she’d been little more than a prisoner within its dark walls. With no other family to speak of, there was no place else for a young woman to go.

Until she married. Nimue prayed for her father to arrange a marriage every day. Even if she didn’t love the man, even if she barely liked him, it couldn’t be worse than here. Here, where her father could take a belt to her back whenever he chose. Here, where he could lock her in her room for days on end without food. Here where he could leave her in the less-than-tender care of her illegitimate half-brother. Anything was better than being trapped at Richford for the rest of her life.

Which was why she was so glad her father had gone to court. He had promised to announce her betrothal to a suitable man upon his return. In Nimue’s mind, any man was suitable so long as he lived far from here. She’d be away from her beloved coast, but it was worth it to get away from her brutal father and awful brother. Anything was worth it. Anything.

Another wave crashed into the rock she sat on, spraying her again. Nimue laughed with pure joy as her simple gown got wet. Her cares were momentarily forgotten in the harsh majesty of the sea.

Milady! came a shout from down the beach.

Nimue turned her head and smiled as Mildred hurried towards her. Mildred was her only solace within the dark walls of Richford. The loyal servant had been mother, friend, and confidant since Nimue had been born. Mildred had tended her wounds, dried her tears, and reminded her to never lose hope even in the darkest hours, even in the darkest corners of Richford. One day they would both be away from here. One day.

Mildred dashed across the sand, a woolen cloak in her arms. Taking the hint, Nimue crawled off the rock, a little annoyed her freedom had been cut short.

Your father has returned, lamb, the servant chattered as she brushed the sand from her charge’s gown. Hurry and find your slippers, now.

Excited for the first time in years, Nimue danced off to find her slippers. Perhaps a new husband would await.

Chapter Two

Cover your hair, Mildred whispered as they approached the earl’s counting room. You know how your father feels about it.

Nimue nodded and pulled up the hood of the cloak. Her ebony hair and sapphire eyes were just like her mother’s. Demon-spawn, her father sometimes called her when she let too much of her hair fall forward. And those words were usually followed by a beating, so Nimue was doubly careful today. There wasn’t much she could do about her pale skin and tiny frame, but she’d keep her eyes lowered and her hair covered if it killed her.

Once her hair was safely tucked away, Nimue took a deep breath and nodded to Mildred. The servant knocked lightly on the door, waited for the earl’s terse command to enter, and pulled. The door swung open on silent hinges and Nimue glided inside.

The room was ornate, Nimue knew, but she saw little of it as she kept her eyes lowered. All she saw was the soft carpet beneath her feet, just one of many her father had brought back from the holy land when he’d travelled with the late King Richard. It was colorful and soft and kept her wild mind occupied as she crossed the counting room.

As soon as her father’s polished boots came into view, Nimue sank to her knees. He always demanded she kneel when brought before him, and was typically displeased when she forgot herself. Because she wanted to please him, if only to assure herself a decent marriage, Nimue was careful to abide by all his wishes. For this reason, she folded her hands on her lap and stared at her fingers.

Welcome home, Father, she murmured, keeping her voice soft and low as he felt a lady should.

Nimue. He never wasted time on pleasantries, so she wasn’t surprised when he got right to the point. It is past time for you to be married. The king has agreed to invest your husband with my title upon my death. So he and I have chosen a husband for you.

None of this came as a shock. It was much as she’d expected. Even what she’d hoped for. Practically trembling in her anticipation, Nimue waited for the name of her betrothed.

Her father didn’t make her wait long. You will marry Rodger.

Confused, Nimue forget herself as her head snapped up. Her mouth opened to object, but before the words could form her father’s hand connected with her cheek. Startled, she cried out and brought up her hands to protect her head.

She needn’t have bothered. Her father had already lost interest in her. As he wandered back to his desk, Nimue thought about what he’d said. Rodger. Her father’s young steward. The man who did nothing all day but order wine and chase the maids about. He was despicable. He smelled funny. He hated her. He was not husband material.

And he was her half-brother. Her father’s son, one born a decade before Nimue had been conceived. Rodger wasn’t her father’s only bastard, but he was certainly the favorite. And she was to marry him.

No, she couldn’t. She could not marry her brother, could not go to bed with him, and she certainly could not bear his children. Even if she wanted to, which she didn’t, marrying her brother was out of the question. He was her brother.

Her cheek still ached, so Nimue stayed on her knees and kept her eyes on the floor. Taking a deep breath, she struggled to find words that would save her from a marriage worse than death.

Father, she began, keeping her voice soft, Rodger is my brother.

Half-brother, he clarified, and I’ve never acknowledged him as such. Legally, at least, he’s no relation to you.

Her father poured himself a glass of wine and seated himself behind his large wooden desk. Nimue slowly raised her eyes, but only enough to be able to see her father’s booted feet.

It’s against God, she whispered.

The bishops have no problem with it.

Because they took bribes more often than the earls, she thought, but she didn’t dare say it out loud. Her frazzled mind darted about in search of another argument. Something, anything, that might persuade her father to arrange a different marriage. Even a marriage to a decrepit old man would be better than marrying her own brother.

Nimue nearly sobbed in distress as she thought of the further consequences of a marriage to Rodger. Not only would she be forced to share her husband’s bed, but she’d never be free. Never free of her husband and never free of her father. Nimue didn’t bother lying to herself. Her father, the powerful Earl of Richford, owned Rodger completely. Which meant he’d still own her completely. He’d be free to beat her and torment her, and Rodger would also have that right. It wasn’t to be borne.

She had to say something. Anything. Preferably something that would convince him of the pure folly of this marriage.

Unfortunately, I can’t do it, was the only thing that tumbled from her lips.

It was a mistake. She knew that as soon as the barely-audible words drifted across the room. She knew it when her father’s legs tensed and he stood with a low growl. And she knew it when his hands dropped to his wide belt.

Nimue almost ran, almost tried to escape his wrath, but she forced herself to keep her place. She’d never outrun him. Even if she could, she’d never outrun his men. Her father was not above ordering his men to hold her down while he beat her. He’d done it before.

So she stayed still, barely flinching as he grabbed the back of her neck and hauled her to her feet. With a flick of his powerful arm he threw her across the desk. Her shoulder hit an inkwell, spilling the thick black ink across the deep brown wood. Her dress would be ruined, but that was the least of her concerns.

Air rushed over her backside as her father tossed up her skirts. Nimue tensed when he pressed his left arm into the small of her back, but forced herself to relax. The pain was always worse if she was taut as a bowstring.

The first blow brought a cry to her lips, one she didn’t even try to suppress. Forcing silence on herself gained her nothing and seemed to increase her pain, so when his belt connected with her bottom a second time, she let herself scream.

Those screams filled the counting room as the strapping went on for what seemed to Nimue an eternity. Only when her backside was on fire and she could barely move did he relent, releasing her so she could slump to the floor. Messy sobs and desperate gasps echoed as he fastened his belt.

Get you to your chamber, he ordered gruffly. The marriage will be on the morrow.

Nimue nodded and got up. Or tried to. Her buttocks and lower back burned, preventing her from standing. Her father’s brow furrowed, causing her to whimper and try again. The last thing she needed right now was to invite another beating.

But try as she might, she could not stand on her own. Her legs simply would not cooperate, not yet. Without help, she wasn’t going anywhere.

Anger pooling in his eyes, her father reached down, pulled her to her feet, and dragged her to the door. Nimue, afraid of what he might do, couldn’t help the fine trembling of her body or the quiet keening coming from her throat. He was going to hurt her. She was sure of it.

So it came as a surprise when he only yanked open the door and threw her into Mildred’s waiting arms.

Put her to bed, the earl ordered. In the morning, prepare her for her wedding. She will be Rodger’s wife or she’s no daughter of mine.

The door of the counting room slammed shut as the two women clutched at each other in distress.

Chapter Three

I could run away, Nimue whispered as Mildred wove flowers into her raven locks. The flowers were small and blue and pretty, but they did nothing to lift her mood. Perhaps Mildred could do that. Perhaps Mildred could help her escape. That would certainly lift her mood.

But her maid shook her head. Your father has already anticipated that. There are two guards outside your door.

Nimue almost whirled before the pain in her backside reminded her to move slowly. Very slowly. She was already bruised. The last thing she needed was to fall on her bottom and compound the damage. Especially on her wedding day. With a quiet sob she turned to face Mildred.

How long have they been out there? she asked, her breath catching just a little.

All night, Mildred replied as she straightened the laces on the blue wedding gown Nimue wore. Turn around now and let me finish your hair.

Nimue complied and faced the hazy mirror. Because she couldn’t sit comfortably, Mildred stepped up on a low stool as she fussed with the midnight tresses. Nimue would usually enjoy such attention, but today, with a horrific marriage close at hand, there was no joy in her. Her life was ending even as she stared at her own reflection.

The blue silk gown glittered in the morning light, but the silver shift she wore was even brighter. The pearls decorating the neckline and sleeves were lovely. The lace was soft and pretty. Yesterday, just yesterday, the beautiful gown had given her pleasure. It had given her even greater pleasure over the last month as she and Mildred had sat by the fire, stitching it night after night. Now she hated it. She wanted to strip it from her body and throw it into the banked fire. But if she did that…Nimue shivered as she remembered the strapping yesterday. If she destroyed her wedding gown in a fit of temper, he would do worse than take a belt to her bottom. A whip to her back wouldn’t be out of the question. And that was not to be borne.

So she stood there, completely still, as Mildred finished arranging her long hair. But when the maid stepped down off the stool, Nimue turned to her with tears streaming down her cheeks.

I cannot do this, she whimpered. I cannot marry my own brother.

Equally distraught, Mildred forced back her own fears and took her charge’s face in her hands. You can. You must. I know you don’t want to. I know the very idea is repulsive to you. But you are not the first woman to be forced into an unpalatable marriage. You won’t be the last. If you do as you’re told, it won’t be so bad. You will endure.

Small sobs escaped Nimue’s lips as she spoke haltingly. Are you…are you sure?

Of course, Mildred lied. Rodger isn’t an awful man. I’m sure he’ll treasure a wife such as you. She hated herself for telling such a falsehood to a girl she loved as a daughter, but she had to do what she could to help her charge through the next few hours.

It worked, because Nimue dried her eyes and hiccupped. Though she was still afraid, and quite repulsed by the idea of what was to come, she knew she had no choice. What woman did? If her father and her king decreed it, there wasn’t much she could do. Oh, she could cry and scream all day, but the marriage could be accomplished with her bound and gagged at the altar if it was deemed necessary. Nimue had too much pride to allow that, so she had no choice but to go willingly.

A knock sounded at the solid door to her chambers. Her father had arrived to escort her to the church. Mildred hugged her, kissed her cheek, and scampered to open the door.

Nimue plastered a fake smile on her face and tried not to collapse from sheer terror.

Chapter Four

The smile didn’t last long, but in the end it didn’t matter. No one cared if she smiled. No one cared if she was happy. She’d said her vows on the steps of the church, sat beside her new husband as the priest blessed the union, and now sat on the dais in the great hall while barely picking at her food. And no one even noticed that she could only barely hold back her tears. They wouldn’t have cared if they had spared a moment to take note of her feelings. It was a woman’s lot, she supposed, but that didn’t make it any easier to bear.

Rodger, her brother and now her husband, was eating and drinking like the lord he now was. Her father was doing the same even as the rest of the men followed suit. Before long, every single man and many of the women would be falling down in their drunkenness. Nimue could only hope her husband would be among them. It was the only hope she had of avoiding what was coming next.

Alas, it wasn’t long before Rodger belched long and loud as he stood. His heavy body wavered for a moment, giving Nimue a breath of hope, before he found his balance and reached down for her. His blue tunic was covered in bits of food, his breath was fouled from the copious amount of wine and ale he’d consumed, and still he hauled her against her. Nimue flinched as his hands pawed at her and his lips searched for hers. A whimper crept from her throat as a cheer went up from the assembled guests.

A bedding! someone in the crowd demanded.

Then the rest of them took up the cry. A bedding! A bedding!

Rodger laughed and raised an arm.

Oh, please, Nimue begged, gazing up at him with wide eyes. Please, no.

But he only laughed again and pushed her into the waiting arms of a dozen women. Nimue cried and pleaded, but they dragged her away from the dais and up the stairs anyway. After tripping twice, Nimue decided fighting right now would only lead to bruised knees. Tears rolling down her face, she entered the bridal chamber only barely stumbling.

The crowd of women didn’t spare her. They stripped her wedding finery from her delicate body, even tearing the blue and silver silk when she resisted. In moments Nimue was standing naked before them all. She searched desperately for a friendly woman among them, but when no one came to her aid she put her face in her hands and cried. She couldn’t bare this.

She had no choice. One woman wiped her eyes while another pinched her cheeks to bring some color to her pale face. Her neck and breasts were perfumed to please her new husband. Someone offered to rub her body with a scented oil, but Nimue shook her head in distress. She might have to live through a bedding and the consummation of her farce of a marriage, but she didn’t have to lie still while they oiled her body for the pleasure of her new husband.

A moment later she was glad she’d refused. The door swung open to admit the bridegroom, wrapped in a dressing gown, and his attendants just as the last of the perfume was applied. Nimue was still very naked and the shelter of the bed was too far away, so she sobbed and turned her back on the men who’d just entered the bridal chamber. Her dark hair fell around her body like a