Bride of the Beast
3.5/5
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About this ebook
Previously published in Nature of the Beast
Adrienne Basso
Adrienne Basso is an experienced author and librarian who has published over ten historical romance novels. Having loved storytelling since fifth grade, she left a job in accounting to pursue writing full time. She currently lives with her husband and two kids in New Jersey. For more information, visit adriennebasso.net.
Read more from Adrienne Basso
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Reviews for Bride of the Beast
19 ratings2 reviews
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5I so love anthologies. "Nature of the Beast" by Hannah Howell, Adrienne Basso, and Eve Silver is an anthology that historical vampire lovers will definitely want to acquire! "Dark Hero" by Hannah Howell. Howell continues her stories of the MacNachton clan with Berawald's tale. He's quiet and tormented by the ghosts who constantly whisper to him until he saves a young woman and her brother and discovers what true happiness is. I love the way Hannah Howell writes and her continuing stories of the MacNachton's are always on my must-buy list."Bride of the Beast" by Adrienne Basso. Years ago Haydn met Gwynedd when she risked her life to save him from her monstrous step-father. When Gwynedd sets out to beg the help of the Warrior of the North, she has no idea that not only is that famous Warrior the Haydn she rescued, but he is also a creature like her step-father. I like Adrienne Basso's historical novels and I'm pretty sure this is her first venture into the vampire genre. Very interesting and well done for her first vamp story."Kiss of the Vampire" by Eve Silver. Sarah is alone now. With the decline of her doctor father's health and then his disappearance, she's now forced to support herself on the pittance she earns trying to help the poor unfortunates at the King's College Hospital. She's attracted to Killian Thayne, a doctor who's recently come under suspicion of murdering patients. She's sure he's innocent, and she may have to give up her life to prove it! If you haven't read an Eve Silver historical, then shame on you. Her stories have a very gothic air to them that pulls me in time and again. I would probably say this was my favorite story out of the anthology.3 solid historical vamp stories for $12. Hard to beat!
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5It was a well written piece. It flowed well and made me laugh out loud a few times.
Book preview
Bride of the Beast - Adrienne Basso
Bride of the Beast
Wales, 1230: A woman reunites with the irresistible vampire who is her destiny—and ignites a passion quenched only by complete surrender . . .
When Haydn of Gwynedd first met Bethan of Lampeter, she was a brave and fearless young girl, risking her life to save his. Now Bethan has grown into a striking, courageous woman who needs Haydn’s help to defeat her tyrannical stepfather. Haydn’s dark gift compels him to offer marriage in name only, but he cannot deny the passion that sears them both—or his fierce desire to make her his for all time . . .
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eISBN: 978-1-5161-0539-7
ADRIENNE BASSO
BRIDE OF THE BEAST
Lyrical Press
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
kensingtonbooks.com
One
Lampeter, Wales, spring 1220
The swirl of wind was steady, yet not too strong. The light mist of rain that had been falling for the past week had finally stopped, but even at this early hour of the morning the clouds hung dark, low, and heavy. Thirteen-year-old Bethan of Lampeter stood on the highest rampart on the south edge of the timber castle, her mother at her side, her eyes pinned to the scene below.
The view down to the fortified bailey was unobstructed and Bethan watched with growing puzzlement as her stepfather, Sir Agnarr de Bellemare, walked among the hundreds of prisoners, barking out orders and separating them into groupings.
Whatever is he doing?
Bethan questioned, leaning forward to get a closer look.
I suppose he is arranging them into new squads of workers,
her mother speculated. She pulled the windblown veil away from her face and tucked a lock of honey-colored hair beneath it. He told me yesterday the foundation of the new castle has finally been completed, so the stones must be moved in order to begin construction on the lower half.
All he thinks about is building his wretched castle,
Bethan grumbled. She looked beyond the wall that surrounded the village and the dwellings protected within those walls to the acres of cleared land stretching between the forest and the manor. A portion of those men should be working the soil. We are already weeks behind. The fields need to be plowed and planted now or else we shall all go hungry this winter.
There are some furrows awaiting seed,
her mother replied, pointing to a small section where mounds of dirt sported neatly dug rows.
’Tis a pittance,
Bethan countered. I see but one oxen straining mightily to pull a single plow and less than a dozen villeins toiling behind. If this does not change soon, we shall once again be racing against time and weather to harvest whatever meager crops reach maturity.
Goodness, Bethan, such gloomy thoughts. When I was a girl of your age I thought only of my needlework, my prayers, and my future husband.
I have not that luxury, Mother,
Bethan replied with honesty. Nor would I wish for it. I want only to see our people safe and prosperous.
As do I,
her mother whispered, a tremble of emotion in her words.
Guilt instantly washed over Bethan and she silently cursed her wicked tongue. She had not meant her remarks as a criticism. She knew there were many within the walls of Lampeter who blamed her mother for inflicting de Bellemare and his iron-fisted rule upon them all. Life, while never easy in this harsh, rugged climate and wild countryside of Wales, had been good for nearly everyone when Bethan’s father had been alive.
To the surprise of many, within days of her husband’s death Lady Caryn had married Sir Agnarr de Bellemare, a man who spoke the Norman French of England’s noble class, yet fought with the ferocity of his Viking given name. For the past three years, discord, discontent, and fear were the predominate emotions among those who lived within these walls.
The soldiers, tradesmen, even some of the peasants thought Lady Caryn a weak female, frail in figure, spirit, and mind. In their eyes she did little to stop her husband from his often abusive behavior toward them.
But others knew the truth, including Bethan. Lady Caryn had no choice in the matter. If she had not accepted de Bellemare he would have laid siege to the castle and taken it by force. Many would have died; all would have suffered horribly.
Come, Mother. Let us walk out to the fields and see what crops are being sowed today. The fresh air will do you good.
Taking hold of her mother’s arm, Bethan led her slowly down the winding staircase. Lady Caryn’s thin frame seemed more frail and fragile this morning, the burden of her swollen belly almost too much for her to carry. The constant sickness she had experienced since first quickening with child had weakened her previously strong constitution. Each day she seemed to wilt more and more.
Bethan worried about her mother, resenting this unborn child for myriad reasons. The very last thing she wanted was a blood tie to a whelp of de Bellemare. Still, Bethan was astute enough to realize there were times when it was only the promise of the child her mother carried within her body that kept them safe from the worst of her stepfather’s wrath. The knight had made no secret of his desire to have a son and heir, regardless of the toll it took upon his wife’s health.
When Lady Caryn had miscarried two other infants, de Bellemare’s anger had been felt throughout the castle, but he saved the majority of his displeasure for his wife. Though she never spoke of it, Bethan knew her mother feared what would happen if she could not successfully deliver the son her husband demanded.
As they strode through the large wooden front doors of the keep, Bethan saw her stepfather heading in their direction, the captain of the garrison at his side. She quickly steered her mother out of his line of view, hoping to escape an encounter.
Unfortunately, de Bellemare stopped before entering the keep. Bethan braced herself for his comments, but he apparently did not take notice of them, for he turned his back and spoke directly to the captain.
Kill them,
he commanded in a deep, emotionless tone. Start with the group on the left and finish with those I have placed in the center. I want them all dead and buried by tonight.
But my lord, we need these men to move the stones,
the captain protested.
I culled out the larger men for that job. They will carry the stones and begin building. The rest can be eliminated.
The captain frowned. Moving the stones is an enormous task. All these men are needed.
If you need more workers, then press more of the villeins into service.
The captain frowned. We have already recruited every able-bodied man on the estate. There are none left who are strong enough to do the work. Grumblings have started among the people because there are no fit men to till the fields and plant the spring crops.
I do not give a damn about the peasants’ complaints!
De Bellemare dragged his hand through his hair and cursed loudly. I will grant you this day to complete the moving of the stones. Tomorrow morning I want those men killed.
The gasp of shock and horror that Bethan had struggled to contain burst forth and squealed from her throat. At the sound, the men turned toward her. The gleam of annoyance in de Bellemare’s eyes was unmistakable. The unsettling feeling prickling in Bethan’s belly deepened, but she did not lower her gaze.
She could not allow this to happen. She could not! Helplessly, Bethan cast her eyes beseechingly toward the captain of the guard, hoping for support, a voice of reason to state an objection. He cleared his throat, then lowered his eyes, avoiding her imploring gaze.
She next turned to her mother. Lady Caryn’s eyes were wide with distress, her hand lowered to hover protectively over her swollen belly. She licked her lips in obvious distress, yet remained silent.
Please, my lord, I beg of you to show mercy. You cannot possibly kill all these men,
Bethan cried, fearing her protests would fall upon deaf ears, yet unable to stop herself. ’Tis unthinkable.
"These men are prisoners, captured after I