Soldier of Fortune: The King's Courtesan (Rakes and Rogues of the Retoration Book 2) (45 page)

Broken Wing

Winner of Independent Publisher’s IPPY Gold

Romance Novel TV Best Debut

Historical Novels Review Editor’s Choice

AAR Desert Island Keeper

AAR Honorable Mention Best Book

AAR Buried Treasure

If you like tortured heroes, exotic locales and a heart-breaking love story you might want to try
Broken Wing
and see what all the talk is about
.

“The Napoleonic era comes brilliantly alive in James’s debut adventure romance. Sarah, Lady Munroe, has traveled to post-revolution Paris with her half-brother, Ross, to find their long-lost younger brother. Young Jamie suffered few ill effects while residing at a Parisian brothel thanks to the protection of Gabriel St. Croix, a “glittering catamite” who returns to England with them at Jamie’s insistence. While Gabriel’s attraction to Sarah begins as an innocent shared admiration for astronomy, their sensual love scenes intensify as Gabriel reconciles his tender feelings with his sordid past. The pace never falters when the lovebirds are separated and pursue adventures on their own. The extensive historical detail goes a long way, but Sarah and Gabriel’s heart-wrenching struggle to keep their love alive is what will really keep readers entranced throughout this epic read.”

~
Publishers Weekly

~

“Judith James fearlessly bursts through the ceiling of the historical romance genre and soars to astounding heights. Her writing is intriguing, daring, exquisitely dark, and emotionally riveting. Never predictable, Broken Wing had me captivated from the first compelling page to the last passionate, heart stopping word. If you are looking for a book that is unique, bold and courageous – or a writer who is not afraid to break the rules – immerse yourself in Broken Wing. Judith James is a rare talent and a great discovery. She has made a stunning, magnificent debut.”

~USA Today bestselling author, Julianne MacLean

“From the seedy, underbelly of post-revolution Paris to the windswept Mediterranean Sea,
Broken Wing
takes the reader along on a grand adventure. Heartbreakingly lovely and passionate, the story of Gabriel and Sarah will stay with you long after you close the cover…beautifully written… Judith James creates a poignant story of loss and love that you won’t be able to put down.”

~
Romance Junkies

“When I think of what constitutes a superior historical romance, I think of real characters connecting on many levels with a believable setting that pulls me into the story and sweeps me along into another place and time. Judith James’s novel
Broken Wing
is such a tale; I was hooked from the first pages and found myself sighing with satisfaction at the end. Broken Wing is both well-written and compelling, and I found the pages flying by as I wrapped myself in the tale of the numb Gabriel being brought to life by the vivacious Sarah. I found there was much to love about this story of two star-crossed lovers finding one another in many ways. Superior reading indeed.”

~
Tamela McCann
Historical Novels Review
editor’s choice

“A very promising first novel, reminiscent of many books in the genre I love, from Laura Kinsale’s
The Shadow and The Star
to Laura London’s
The Windflower
, even to Christine Monson’s
Rangoon
, but also compelling in its own vision.”

~
Janet
Dear Author

“
Broken Wing
is a grand story of love, acceptance and forgiveness...one of the best love stories I’ve ever read.”

~
Romance Book Wyrm

“Judith James’ rich prose and witty, articulate dialogue enhance this story of a complex man, bitterly wounded by life, who finds self-worth through love. A fresh and passionate tale, Broken Wing enchants the reader with original characters and a compelling romance set against the colorful tapestry of England, France, and North Africa in the turbulent years of Napoleon’s rise to power.”

~
Laura Leone

“Every once in a while, if one is very lucky, they read a romance novel so lyrically written, so wonderfully conceived, so thoroughly researched, so full of interesting and different characters, it practically ruins reading for them for a few days, or weeks, or months. I very much fear that this will be the case for me after reading
Broken Wing
by Judith James...Many regular readers know that
The Windflower
by Tom and Sharon Curtis is my all time favorite romance. As such, I don’t invoke their names lightly, but the lightness of the prose and the wonderful wit and depth of the characters strongly evoked the Curtises for me. It is the highest possible compliment I could give an author

~
Kati Dancy
Romance Novel TV

“One of the greatest love stories I have read in a very long time...like all my fellow bloggers I highly recommend reading it… I have a long list of favorite books. But is rare that a book really moves me like this one did.”

~
Anna’s Book Blog

“Outstanding Read!”

~
Simply Romance Reviews

“6 out of 5 Stars! Wondrously written.”

~
Kristie Jenner
Ramblings on Romance

Preview

Gabriel crouched on bended knee, hunched against cold stone above an ancient alley fetid with the smell of piss and vomit and cooked sausage. A door slammed in the distance. The sound of cursing, a man’s and then a woman’s was followed by slaps, screams, and then silence. Far away, the sound of a guitar drifted to him, melancholy in the cold night air. There were sounds from the building behind him, closer, but muffled through stone and mortar and thick brick walls. He tilted his head back and took a long swallow from the decanter beside him, as he gazed, unfocused, into the distant heavens.

Once, years ago, before all sense of wonder had been beaten out of him, he’d climbed up here on a crisp, late, August night, and stumbled into an enchanted fairy- land. Magical lights had danced overhead, streaming across the sky, leaving arching trails of color and fire in their wake. He’d made wishes upon them, one after the other, and dreamt for a short time that they might come true. Stupid child!

This night’s sky was black, cold and uncaring; relieved only by the glittering shards of harsh and distant suns so far from his reach they offered no warmth, no illumination, and no comfort. Desperate to escape the nightmares that chased him through his sleep, he caressed the blade held tight between his fingers, wincing as cold steel slid delicately through tender flesh. There was a little frisson of pain, almost pleasure, as crimson life oozed in a delicate band, slowly encircling his wrist. Again and again, steel kissed flesh. Not too deep. Not now. Not yet. Dead inside, lifeless and empty, the crimson bracelets offered a needed proof that for now at least, he was still of this world.

Holding his arms out, he turned them experimentally, left, right, his wrists barely visible in the pallid light, though his eyes had long since grown accustomed to the dark. The blood had thickened, slowed, almost stopped. Angry dark lines mingled with pa- per-thin silver and white ones, in an intricate pattern of defiance and despair. He allowed himself another swallow, a solitary pleasure, a small comfort on a cold and cavernous night. He sensed the dampness in the shifting wind as it lifted a strand of his hair and fluttered against his cheek. It was a cold caress that chilled him to the bone. Looking up, he saw clouds scudding and scurrying across the night, like frightened little creatures scrambling to escape some implacable, hungry beast.

Slumping down out of the wind, he rolled onto his back, fingering the blade. He drew it gently across his cheek, back and forth. His lips curved in a jaded smile. He knew he wouldn’t do it. He had no skills but those of a whore. No assets, nothing of value but his body and his face, and while he lived he needed them, treacherous and degraded though they were. As for death, well…there was the boy to consider. He didn’t understand it really, how he’d left himself vulnerable this way. There had been a plan, money hoarded and hidden, a goal, and always there had been some small measure of control. He could refuse a thing if he wanted. They would punish him, yes. Make him pay and try to make him regret it, but they were running a business and he was valuable, and they never went too far.

Then the child had come, and something inside him, something weak and treacherous, had betrayed him. He’d wanted…needed…to protect the boy, to keep him safe and innocent. Well, as innocent as a child could be this close to the brimstone, he reflected, with a grin and another swallow. They’d found it amusing, but more importantly, they had found it profitable, and so it was allowed, because Gabriel would do anything to protect the boy. And so he had, anything and everything.

He pulled himself up, sitting with one leg bent. Tucking the blade in a coat sleeve, he wrapped his arms around his knee and rested his chin. A chill had seized him. His task was almost done. It seemed the boy had a family. He supposed all stupid lost little boys dreamed of a family that would come to find them, moving heaven and earth until they were safe again at home. It never happened, though. But this time, against all odds, it appeared to be true.

Wee little Jamie, well, James, now, he supposed, had a family who’d been searching for him these past five years, and they’d found him, or the runners had. There were two of them now, posted in front of Madame’s establishment to make sure that the child would not be lost again. They were coming for him, this family of his, a man and a woman, all the way from England. They would arrive before the week was out.

Good! He was glad for the boy. He couldn’t have kept him safe much longer. He was a pretty child, fast growing succulent and sweet. There had been a close call already. He would soon be worth more than Gabriel’s obedience, and then he would be lost. Now he could scamper home, safe and sound, singed by the flames perhaps, but not consumed.

As for himself, well, the sooner the brat was gone, the better. He would be free at last. Free to leave, to look to his own best interests…Ah, Christ! Why bother pretending? Hooking the decanter with two fingers, he tipped it up again, draining the last few drops before hurling it to the cobblestones below. He chortled in drunken glee at the sound it made as it shattered and scattered into thousands of tiny pieces.
Take your enjoyment where you can, boy. You’re naught but a catamite, and a whore. There’s nothing to live for, no one who cares, and your pleasures are few and far between.

He settled back again with a grin. He was as stupid as any of them. He’d let himself pretend that Jamie Boy was his family. It had given him reason to go on from one day to the next, and though he was glad, truly glad, and deeply relieved that the boy would soon be gone, he dreaded it, as well. It was a bone- deep dread, a stomach-clenching terror of returning to the desolate, lonely void where he’d lived most of his life.

Maybe, once the boy was gone, he’d find the courage to give himself some peace. Not here, though. No. He had a distant recollection of being by the ocean, skin pricking, the smell, and taste of salt. It was the only peaceful reminiscence he owned. He guarded it jealously, embellishing it with memories borrowed from books and other people’s stories until it took on a luster and familiarity that felt like home. That’s where he’d go when the time came. He would journey to the ocean, lay himself down, and let the water wash him clean. He was so damn tired. Oh, Christ! He wasn’t crying, was he?

As if to mock him, a drop of rain, fat and gelid, splattered against his cheek, mingling with his own hot bitter tears. It was followed by another, and then another. Clouds were racing overhead now, and thunder moaned and grumbled in the distance. Good God, but drink could turn a fellow into a maudlin fool! Needing to piss, tired of self-pity, tired to the bone, he dragged himself stiffly to his feet.

Taking one last look at the angry sky, he sketched an elegant, mocking bow to whichever almighty sadist ruled the universe. Crossing his arms over his chest, shirt wet with blood, rain, and tears, he made his way back toward the sounds of shrill laughter, and the soft moans of men and women in pleasure and in pain. Opening the door, he stepped inside. Moist and seething, it smelled of whiskey and rum, tobacco and semen. It smelled like sex and desperation. He grinned. It smelled like home.

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Highland Rebel

A Barnes and Noble book of the year

One of the best of 2009 Barnes and Nobel

Historical Novels Review Editors Choice

One of the best of 2009 Dear Author

Highland Rebel
, my first foray into the 17
th
century, is a serious historical fiction and love story, chosen as a B&N Book of the Year.
Highland Rebel
 takes place in England, Ireland and Scotland after the death of Charles II and the ascension of James II to the throne. The 17th century coffee houses, called penny universities, and the court of James II at Whitehall feature prominently. The love interests are Cat Drummond, a Scottish heiress trying to keep her clan neutral and out of the brewing Jacobite rebellion, and Jamie Sinclair, a cynical English mercenary soldier and courtier who changes religions and sides as he operates as an agent for both James II and the man who would usurp him, William of Orange.