Beautiful Thorns

By Megan Hart

Tenacity and Eamon...

Ten years ago, she was his Handmaiden, and she left him.

No Handmaiden has ever been returned to a patron and no patron has ever been granted a second chance for absolute solace, but when Eamon's petition to the Mothers-in-Service is accepted, Tenacity goes back to Dugal House to confront the man who broke her heart and changed her life forever.

Eamon wants only the opportunity to prove himself worthy of not only Tenacity's service and the blessings of the Order, but also the chance to gain what he so foolishly cast aside those many years ago -- her love.

In the teachings of the Order of Solace, a flower is made more beautiful by its thorns, and in matters of the heart, even flaws must be a part of love. Tenacity and Eamon have been granted another chance to be together...but can they overcome their flaws and accept the chance to embrace the truth in their hearts?

Five Principles of the Order of Solace

There is no greater pleasure than providing absolute solace.

True patience is its own reward.

A flower is made more beautiful by its thorns.

Selfish is the heart that thinks first of itself.

Women we begin and women we shall end.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryant Street Publishing
• Release date: Sep 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9781094427430

Megan Hart

When she was in third grade, Megan Hart fell in love for the first time. Not with a boy (that would wait until fourth grade), but with a story. Homecoming by Ray Bradbury leaped out at her from the pages of a library book, and she tumbled head over heels. In the dark ages, before the days of photocopiers, the only way for her to keep a copy of this story was to copy it out by hand so she could read it over and over again. Something funny happened, though, as she carefully printed it on lined notebook paper. She made "improvements." At age twelve, reading Stephen King's The Stand for the first time one memorable summer, it occurred to her that people really did write books for a living. That's when she decided to become an author. Megan began writing short fantasy, horror and science fiction before graduating to novel-length romances. In 1998, now a stay-home mom, Megan took up writing in earnest, attending her first writing conference and getting her first request for a full manuscript. In 2002 she saw her first book in print, and she hasn't stopped since. She's published in almost every genre of romantic fiction, including historical, contemporary, romantic suspense, romantic comedy, futuristic, fantasy and perhaps most notably, erotic. She also writes non-erotic fantasy and science fiction, as well as continuing to occasionally dabble in horror. Megan's goal is to continue writing spicy, thrilling love stories with a twist. Her dream is to have a movie made of every one of her novels, starring herself as the heroine and Keanu Reeves as the hero. Megan lives in the deep, dark woods with her husband and two monsters...er...children. I love to hear from readers! Please contact me at: readinbed AT gmail DOT com

Book preview

Chapter 1

The windows needed new curtains.

An uncomplicated and irrelevant observation, but it was all Tenacity could think as she stared at the lengths of sheer fabric covering the vast expanses of floor-to-ceiling glass. The windows needed new curtains. Something better suited for the rooms inside, a fabric that could shut out the light and leave the Mother-in-Service’s office dim and shrouded. The room was too bright, now. Too full of light. It made the words the Mother had spoken far too difficult to dismiss, no matter how much Tenacity wished she could unhear them.

I do not understand, Tenacity said at last. Long moments of silence had stretched between them without either one speaking, but it was clear that the Mother-in-Service, Precision, could bear the quiet far longer than Tenacity could.

I’m quite certain you do understand, my dear. This is far from your first assignment. I should be most surprised if you truly do not comprehend the details of another. Precision peered over her half-rimmed spectacles, her pale blue eyes narrowing as she studied Tenacity.

The Order of Solace changed very little from season to season; as it had been when Precision sat on this side of the desk as a Sister, not yet a Mother, so it remained. So it would always remain. Precision had been the prime Mother-in-Service at the Motherhouse in Bethania for as long as Tenacity had been a Handmaiden and for as long as any of the Sisters who had been here before her could remember. That meant it had been a very long time.

Precision herself would have ceased accepting assignments to serve patrons a great number of seasons ago, but Tenacity could scarce use that as an excuse as for why Precision had now presented her with this task. No matter how few or how many Sisters were in active service, the Invisible Mother made certain there were always exactly the right number for what was needed. All of them serving the same purpose for the same goal, of aiding the Invisible Mother’s return by providing absolute solace. Each patron so served meant all were one incremental step closer to reuniting the Holy Family, and thus far, Tenacity had done her part with eleven patrons. She did, indeed, understand the process of being assigned to a patron, what was expected of her and what she in turn could expect.

But this…what Mother Precision had laid out for her moments before…this was unheard of.

Of course I comprehend the structure and etiquette of being assigned to a new patron, Tenacity replied, barely capable of keeping her tone neutral, much less respectful. She hated the sound of the waver in her voice, that evidence of weakness. Precision would notice it, too. They were all meant to work together, but that was not always the way it happened, not amongst strong women of individual opinion. She tried again. It is the assignment itself I am having difficulty understanding.

Tenacity had made many boon companions amongst her Handmaiden Sisters. She shared common interests and affections with several of the Mothers, too. She had never cared for Precision, and the older woman had never seemed to have much of a fondness for Tenacity, either. Perhaps that was why, now, the Mother looked so smug as she settled back in her chair and steepled her fingers beneath her chin. Precision said nothing. Only stared.

"It simply is not done, Tenacity said finally. She swallowed hard against an uprush of bitterness, the taste of poison. Her heart thumped so fiercely she could feel the pulse of it in her throat. No one of us is ever expected to return to a patron we have previously…."

Her voice deserted her. She swallowed hard, seeking to force the growing lump of emotion down her throat so she might speak, but found herself incapable of producing more than a hissing sigh. Her hands shook, so she fisted them into her skirts, linking the fingers tight. Her eyes burned with the threat of tears.

Failed, inserted the Mother, when Tenacity could not finish her sentence. "A patron you have failed, is the phrase you meant to use, my dear. Yes?"

Tenacity bent her head. Her knotted fingers twisted, bunching the plain dark fabric of her gown. She wore charcoal gray today. She’d chosen her outfit this morning without any idea of what lay ahead for her. It was one of her favorites. She wished she wore a gown she admired less; she would hate if this dress became tainted by the bad memory of this conversation.

"Every one of us has failed, once or another of a time. Most of us have failed many times. Not a single one of us has never failed." Mother Precision pursed her lips and leaned forward to open a desk drawer.

Beneath the cloth covering her lap, the muscles of Tenacity’s thighs strained. Every bit of her, it seemed, had gone tense and stiff. Her throat closed, and again, she swallowed against the taste of rust and razorblades.

Mother Precision pulled forth a leather-bound notebook and drew a pen from the holder in front of her. She dipped it into the ink pot and waited a moment for the dark liquid to be drawn up into the pen’s nib. She tapped it lightly on the blotter and put the tip of it to the first page of the notebook. She scribbled a few words, glancing at Tenacity. Then she put the pen back in the holder and sat back once more.

Tenacity could not see what the Mother had written, but she suspected Precision wanted her to torture herself with the guessing of it. Deliberately, she averted her gaze from the book. If failure is somewhat we all suffer, why, then, are we meant to find it so shameful when we do?

Shameful? My dear girl —

Woman, interrupted Tenacity, but quietly. Woman I begin. Woman I shall end. I am no longer a girl, Mother Precision. I have earned the right not to be addressed as such.

Precision inclined her head. Indeed. Sister Tenacity, you are a woman, and a Handmaiden of the Order. I plead your mercy. I meant no insult. But still I say to you, there is naught to be found shameful when we are unable to provide solace to a patron. If it were easy enough to provide, the Invisible Mother would not be taking so long to return to us, yes? We should all do it, quick as cats, yes?

Tenacity wasn’t fooled by the Mother’s calm reply. The Motherhouse here in Bethania was the smallest of them all, with a core cadre of Sisters numbering fewer than could be counted on two hands on most occasions and only rarely an additional few visiting Sisters. In all the years Tenacity had been serving the Order of Solace, during her training as a novice and after taking the vows of a Handmaiden, she’d known many of her peers who’d returned without fulfilling their purpose, and not a one of them had come back without a heavy heart.

"When we return without having achieved our goal, we are all ashamed of it. And Handmaidens who consistently are not able to complete their assignments with a positive outcome don’t stay in the Order. They leave. Shamed," she added.

Once a Handmaiden is accepted as a Sister-in-Service, she is ever one of us. Any who leave do so of their own volition, for their own reasons.

That, Tenacity said tightly with a lift of her chin, is not the truth entire.

For once, it was Mother Precision who seemed put in her place. She gave Tenacity a small nod, and her smile showed only compassion. Somehow, this was harder to accept than her smugness had been.

A small few are asked to leave, yes, but never because they have failed a patron. It is not in keeping with the tenets of the Order of Solace to shame those who leave us, no matter the reason. After all, it is through failure that we achieve our greatest successes, Precision said.

It is fair impossible to fully give yourself to a faith that declares your work is important enough to bring about the return of the Holy Family and not berate yourself when you are incapable of completing it, Tenacity said. Any Sister who can simply accept defeat as part of her work is one whose faith is not fully strong. It cannot be. And yes, Mother Precision, I do count myself among those Sisters.

Precision smiled. Perhaps you should have been granted the name temerity instead of Tenacity.

It was a chastisement. Subtle, but unmistakable. Tenacity ducked her head, well aware her tone had been out of line. Your mercy, Mother Precious. I know that I, of all the Sisters in the Order, should not judge any who submit themselves to service in a manner different from mine own. My way is not the only way, nor the best.

Your way is yours, as the way of each of your Sisters is of their own. You live up to the name you were granted by the Mothers-in-Service, to be sure. You do not give up. You failed a patron, yet you’ve gone on to serve several more and bring them to absolute solace. Those you did not fail. Now, you are being asked to serve another. What matter should it make if he is one to whom you were previously assigned? Precision sounded truly curious, but her coy look made no secret that she knew exactly why Tenacity balked at being asked to return to this patron.

It isn’t done, Tenacity repeated. She sounded like a dullwit, even to herself, and shook her head. She met the Mother’s gaze with her own as steadily as she was able. "No Handmaiden is ever returned to a patron she previously failed."

Precision leaned forward across the desk, her lips skinning back in a grimace of a smile. Well, my dear. It would seem that in this you will be the first.

Chapter 2

Eamon Dugal had folded and unfolded the letter in his hand so often that the paper had worn thin and threatened to tear. He ought to have tossed it into the fire, but he could not bear to get rid of it. Not until the promises made by the written words had come to fruition or he had abandoned all hope of them.

She would be here today, or perhaps the day after. The day after that, at the latest. He had been waiting since two days ago, pacing the front room where he could see out to the drive and getting in the way of Bitse and Fraule until, in a fit of pique, he’d dismissed the housemaids to take a holiday. He’d given Kelske, the cook, her own holiday as well as turning out Rallins, the stablehand, and the houseman, Caspersen.

If it turned out that she did not come, Eamon would wish to be alone.

The letter from the Motherhouse had come last week, an utter surprise and one upon which he had ceased to pin his expectations. His first letter, sent five years ago, had been returned so quickly it scarce had time to have been delivered, and it came back with a NO scrawled across the top of the page of his own words. He could scarce have expected more, could he? The Order of Solace was well known to be particular in the granting of its services. Patrons must needs be found worthy, and not simply in the amount of coin in their accounts, although certainly it was understood that full coffers helped assure the approval of their petitions. The fact that Eamon had once already been found to be an appropriate candidate, that he’d once before been assigned his own Handmaiden, did not weigh in his favor. If ever a patron was granted a different Handmaiden because the first had left without fulfilling her purpose, he had not heard of it. If ever one had been given the same for a second chance, it was not a story often told.

He had made his request, anyway.

The only harm in asking would have been to his pride and heart, and the risk was worth taking if it meant his entreaty would be obliged. Still, that first letter had come back to him with such swift and fierce refusal that he had known it was foolishness to send more. He’d written and sent them anyway, one a season, and received refusals each time. Finally, when after a full twelvemonth had passed without any reply at all, he had decided to make his plea in person. It had taken him a good sennight’s journey to reach the Motherhouse in Bethania, where they tried three times to turn him away at the gate. Once he’d managed to get inside it and was granted an audience with the Mothers there, he was denied a final time.

Tenacity had not been there, not in the room and not at the Motherhouse at all. She’d been in the service of a patron, and none of the Mothers-in-Service gave him the slightest hint of where that might be or with whom. They had been worried he might try to find her, Eamon had thought at the time. Afraid he would disrupt her service to someone else.

He might have. He could admit that with only the barest edge of shame. If he’d known where she’d gone, knowing she served another, he might indeed have traveled wherever it was necessary so that he might be able to see her again. Instead, informed she was not there and there was no knowing when or if she would ever return, he had simply put forth his heartfelt request that, should there be a time when Tenacity came back, the Order would consider sending her to him again.

He would do whatever it took, he promised. Financial compensation. A new round of essays and forms to fill out. He would make offerings to the Temple, he would attend the Temple, he would become a Temple priest and devote his life to the worship and service of the Invisible Mother herself, if only, please, please, please, would they give him the chance to try again with Tenacity.

We are not a brothel, nor a bride service, the Mother-in-Service, Compassionata, had told him with a sniff and a scornful, sideways glance. Nor a prison. If Tenacity wishes to leave her service to the Order, she is able to do so at any moment. If she wished to go back to you —

She does not so wish, he’d said. I gave her every reason to never want to see me again.

The Mothers had exchanged looks. They knew what he had done, or rather what he had not. Of course they did. She would have told them her reasons for leaving him.

I take full blame, Eamon had told them, hoping it would make a difference if he showed them his abject contrition. I was granted a precious gift, and I squandered it.

It’s been near on thrice three years since Tenacity ended her service to you.

I know the span of it,