By Deborah Simmons
Although Marion Warenne's prior was once yet a dim nightmare, her current held a imaginative and prescient of glory - the ambitious Dunstan de Burgh. A fierce knight who was resolute to win their conflict of wills, the entire whereas protesting mightily that he didn't think in love.
Dunstan de Burgh, Baron of Wessex, had ofttimes heard himself likened to a wolf at the prowl: fierce, courageous and ever-alert to hazard. How so, then, may one soft-eyed damsel break out his watchful eye time and time back? or even extra harmful, slip previous his safeguard and locate her manner into his middle?
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Additional resources for Taming The Wolf
Of my strange visitor there was no sign. Herman was sitting on the hearth looking unruffled, and I envied him his peace of mind. I was still thoroughly alarmed by the trespass. Especially when I looked to the front door and found it closed but unbarred. A quick search revealed that Fergus’s journal was gone. So my mysterious visitor was a thief—but perhaps a kind one, since he had bothered to make up the fire and drape me with a blanket. He also felt enough at home to make a pot of tea before departing.
Doubtless he had visited many times and knew the tides and where it was safe to stow a boat. And he had even used the kitchen before, because he was human, subject to the cold, not a devil or a sea monster who had no need for tea. And he had come at night because of the stupid villagers who were so hostile to strangers. Look at how they still treated me! Findloss was necessarily hermetic given its geography, and while not inbred in any physical sense, it was unusually xenophobic and superstitious.
I needed more information, and my only real hope of getting it was if Fergus had left some other journals or letters behind: Surely if this stranger had been a friend, Fergus would make some mention of him. And if he wasn’t a friend…? Well, he would probably mention that too. My Aunt Sophie—acquired through marriage and thought of without affection—was originally from Texas. She always said to my mother that I had a lot of quit in me. The stupid woman didn’t know me very well. What I had had were a lot of good manners drilled into me, and that kept me from contradicting her even when what she said was idiotic, self-serving or vicious, which was most of the time.