C. Marie Bowen
Immortal Jurian Locke is haunted by ancient memories as he walks the road toward London to enter King Edward’s last tournament of the season. Cursed by a jealous enchantress in distant times, Jurian is bound to await his soul mate’s rebirth and respond to her need in times of danger.
Lady Elena Gregory blames her lame leg for her lack of suitors. As the Earl of Hawthorn’s only daughter, she has received only two unacceptable marriage proposals. Somehow, Elena must appear less damaged and more desirable at the Yule tournament. No easy task when the simple act of crossing a broken field is almost more than she can accomplish.
In a time when acts of valor and chivalry gain favor, can a lowly man-at-arms ever hope to be deemed worthy of an Earl’s daughter, and the only woman he can ever love?
Hawthorn and Mistletoe
A Cursed Immortal story
Jurian tipped his head back, closed his eyes and listened to the river gurgle its way toward London. He planned to enter the lists as a man-at-arms and perhaps win a purse at one or two of the competitions. Even though most mercenaries hoped to take service with a noble house during the tournament, Jurian had neither the expectation nor the desire to be bound in service. He’d already been bonded by love and magic to Agaria sim Biraci nearly 1400 years ago.
Although centuries had passed, the memory of that night refused to fade. Despite his father’s wish for him to take the Druidess Nescato as his mate, his passion for Agaria could not be forsworn.
When Nescato had discovered Agaria in his arms, the Druidess had cursed them. Bitter with jealousy, she raised her bone staff, decorated with feathers and small skulls, pointed the stave at the couple, and evoked a curse that changed his life.
“For this deceit, I curse you to love only her for all eternity—in whatever form she is reborn. You will watch her die a thousand times, knowing your life goes on. Bound to her call, you will never rest in the slumber of death’s arms. Your torment shall be everlasting.”
Her head thrown back, Nescato had laughed as the wind whipped fallen leaves around her.
Jurian startled awake from the dream of Nescato’s hate-filled eyes and gazed unseeing at the dark water until the sound of blade on blade and a warning shout drew his attention. Leaving his bag, he pulled his sword from its scabbard and came to his feet. The morning light filtered through the trees as he trampled over the forest brush and onto the road.