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The Book of Eleanor: A Novel of Eleanor of Aquitaine - kaufman, pamela
Vergriffenes Buch, derzeit bei uns nicht verfügbar.
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kaufman, pamela:

The Book of Eleanor: A Novel of Eleanor of Aquitaine - Taschenbuch

2003, ISBN: 9780609808092

ID: 909715634

US: Pocket Books. Mass Market Paperback. 0671739727 Book Description Bronwyn MacArran was a proud Scot. Stephen Montgomery was one of the hated English. He came to Scotland as a conqueror, saw her beauty and was vanquished. But still she would abhor him. She owned a temper hot enough to forge the armors of battle or inflame a valiant soldier's passion. Yet still she would resist him. She became his reason to live, his reason to love. And still she would deny him. But while clan fought clan, while brother took up sword against brother, and the highlands ran with blood -- their destiny was made...and this mighty warrior pledged himself to his woman's pride, her honor and her name -- and made of their love a torch to burn through the ages! Editorial Reviews About the Author Jude Deveraux is the author of more than forty New York Times bestsellers, including Moonlight in the Morning, The Scent of Jasmine, Scarlet Nights, Days of Gold, Lavender Morning, Return to Summerhouse, and Secrets. To date, there are more than sixty million copies of her books in print worldwide. To learn more, visit JudeDeveraux.com. Excerpt. ® Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Chapter One 1501 Bronwyn MacArran stood at the window of the English manor house, looking down at the courtyard below. The mullioned window was open against the warm summer sun. She leaned forward slightly to catch a whiff of fresh air. As she did so, one of the soldiers below grinned up at her suggestively. She stepped back quickly, grabbed the window, and slammed it shut. She turned away angrily. "The English pigs!" Bronwyn cursed under her breath. Her voice was soft, full of the heather and mist of the Highlands. Heavy footsteps sounded outside her door, and she caught her breath, then released it when they went past. She was a prisoner, held captive on England's northernmost border by men she'd always hated, men who now smiled and winked at her as if they were intimate with her most private thoughts. She walked to a small table in the center of the oak-paneled room. She clutched the edge of it, letting the wood cut into her palms. She'd do anything to keep those men from seeing how she felt inside. The English were her enemies. She'd seen them kill her father, his three chieftains. She'd seen her brother driven nearly insane with his futile attempts to repay the English in their own kind. And all her life she'd helped feed and clothe the members of her clan after the English had destroyed their crops and burned their houses. A month ago the English had taken her prisoner. Bronwyn smiled in memory of the wounds she and her men had inflicted upon the English soldiers. Later four of them had died. But in the end she was taken, by the order of the English Henry VII. The man said he wanted peace and therefore would name an Englishman as chief of Clan MacArran. He thought he could do this by marrying one of his knights to Bronwyn. She smiled at the ignorance of the English king. She was chief of Clan MacArran, and no man would take her power away. The stupid king thought her men would follow a foreigner, an Englishman, rather than their own chief because she was a woman. How little Henry knew of the Scots! She turned suddenly as Rab growled. He was an Irish wolfhound, the largest dog in the world, rangy, strong, hair like soft steel. Her father had given her the dog four years ago when Jamie'd returned from a trip to Ireland. Jamie had meant to have the dog trained as his daughter's guardian, but there was no need. Rab and Bronwyn took to each other immediately, and Rab had often shown that he'd give his life for his beloved mistress. Bronwyn's muscles relaxed when Rab's growl stopped -- only a friend produced such a reaction. She looked up expectantly. It was Morag who entered. Morag was a short, gnarled old woman, looking more like a dark burl of wood than a human being. Her eyes were like black glass, sparkling, penetrating, seeing more of a person than what was on the surface. She used her lithe little body to advantage, often slipping unnoticed amid people, her eyes and ears open. Morag moved silently across the room and opened the window. "Well?" Bronwyn demanded impatiently. "I saw ye slam the window. They laughed and said they'd take over the weddin' night ye'd be missin'." Bronwyn turned away from the old woman. "Ye give them too much to speak of. Ye should hold yer head high and ignore them. They're only Englishmen, while ye're a MacArran." Bronwyn whirled. "I don't need anyone to tell me how to act," she snapped. Rab, aware of his mistress's distress, came to stand beside her. She buried her fingers in his fur. Morag smiled at her, then watched as the girt moved toward the window seat. She had been placed in Morag's arms when Bronwyn was still wet from her birth. Morag had held the tiny bairn as she watched the mother die. It'd been Morag who'd found a wet nurse for the girl, who'd given her the name of her Welsh grandmother, and who'd cared for her until she was six and her father'd taken over. It was with pride that Morag looked at her charge now nearly twenty years old. Bronwyn was tall, taller than most men and as straight and supple as a reed. She didn't cover her hair like the Englishwoman, but let it flow down her back in a rich cascade. It was raven-black and so thick and heavy it was a wonder her slender neck could support the weight. She wore a satin dress in the English style. It was the color of the cream from the Highland cattle. The square neck was low and tight, showing Bronwyn's firm young breasts to advantage. It fit like skin to her small waist, then belled out in rich folds. Embroidery entwined with thin gold strands edged both the neck and the waist and fell in an intricate waterfall down the skirt. "Do I meet your approval?" Bronwyn asked sharply, still irritated over their quarrel about the English attire. She bad preferred Highland clothes, but Morag persuaded her to wear English garb, telling her to give the enemy no reason to laugh at her in what they referred to as "barbaric dress." Morag chuckled dryly. "I was thinkin' it was a shame no man would be takin' that gown from ye tonight." "An Englishman!" Bronwyn hissed. "Do you forget that so soon? Has the red of my father's blood faded before your eyes?" "Ye know it hasn't," Morag said quietly. Bronwyn sat down heavily on the window seat, the satin of the dress flowing about her. She ran her finger along the heavy embroidery. The dress had cost her a great deal, money that could have been spent on her clan. But she knew they would not have wanted to be shamed before the Englishmen, so she bought dresses that would have been the pride of any queen. Only this gown was to have been her wedding dress. She plucked violently at a piece of gold thread. "Here!" Morag commanded. "Don't destroy the dress because ye're mad at one Englishman. Perhaps the man had a reason to be late and miss his own weddin'." Bronwyn stood up quickly, causing Rab to move protectively to her side. "What do I care if the man never appears? I hope he had his throat cut and lies rotting in some ditch." Morag shrugged. "They'll only find ye a new husband, so what does it matter if this one dies or not? The sooner ye have yer English husband, the sooner we can go back to the Highlands." "It's easy for you to say!" Bronwyn snapped. "It's not you who must wed him and...and..." Morag's little black eyes danced. "And bed him? Is that what's worryin' ye? I'd gladly trade with ye if I could. Think this Stephen Montgomery would notice 'twere I to slip into his bed?" "What do I know of Stephen Montgomery except that he has no more respect for me than to leave me waiting in my wedding dress? You say the men laugh at me. The man who is to be my husband holds me up for their ridicule." She squinted at the door. "Were he to come through there now, I'd gladly take a knife to him." Morag smiled. Jamie MacArran would have been proud of his daughter. Even when she was still held prisoner she kept her pride and her spirit. Now she held her chin high, her eyes flashing with daggers of crystal-blue ice. Bronwyn was startlingly beautiful. Her hair was as black as a moonless midnight in the Scots mountains, her eyes as deep blue as the water of a sunlit loch. The contrast was arresting. It wasn't unusual for people, especially men, to be struck speechless the first time they saw her. Her lashes were thick and dark, her skin fine and creamy. Her lips of dark red were set above her father's chin, strong, square on the tip, and slightly cleft. "They'll think ye're a coward if ye hide in this room. What Scot is afraid of the smirks of an Englishman?" Bronwyn stiffened her back and looked down at the cream-colored gown. When she'd dressed that morning, she thought to be wed in the dress. Now it was hours past time for the marriage ceremony, and her bridegroom had not shown himself, nor had he sent any message of excuse or apology. "Help me unfasten this thing," Bronwyn said. The gown would have to be kept fresh until she did marry. If not today, then at another time. And perhaps to another man. The thought made her smile. "What are ye plannin'?" Morag asked, her hands at the back of Bronwyn's dress. "Ye've a look of the cat that got the cream." "You ask too many questions. Fetch me that green brocade gown. The Englishmen may think I'm a bride in tears at being snubbed, but they'll soon find the Scots are made of sterner stuff." Even though she was a prisoner and had been for over a month, Bronwyn was allowed the freedom of Sir Thomas Crichton's manor. She could walk about the house and, with an escort, on the grounds. The estate was heavily guarded, watched constantly. King Henry had told Bronwyn's clan that if a rescue attempt were made, she would be executed. No harm would come to her, but he meant to put an Englishman in the chiefship. The clan had recently seen the death of Jamie MacArran as well as of his three chieftains. The Scots retreated to watch their new laird held captive and planned what they'd do when the king's men dared to try to command them. Bronwyn slowly descended the stairs to the hall below. She knew her clansmen waited patiently just outside the grounds, hiding in the forest on the constantly turbulent border between England and Scotland. For herself she did not care if she died rather than accept the English dog she was to marry, but her death would cause strife within the clan. Jamie MacArran had designated his daughter as his successor, and she was to have married one of the chieftains who had died with her father. If Bronwyn were to die without issue, there would no doubt be a bloody battle over who would be the next laird. "I always knew the Montgomerys were smart men," laughed a man standing a few feet from Bronwyn. A thick tapestry hid her from his view. "Look at the way the eldest married that Revedoune heiress. He'd hardly got out of his marriage bed when her father was killed and he inherited the earldom." "And now Stephen is following in his brother's footsteps. Not only is this Bronwyn beautiful, but she owns hundreds of acres of land." "You can say what you like," said a third man. His sleeve was empty, his left arm missing. "But I don't envy Stephen. The woman is magnificent, but how long will he be able to enjoy her? I lost this fighting those devils in Scotland. They're only half human, I tell you. They grow up learning nothing but plunder and robbery. And they fight more like animals than men. They're a crude, savage lot." "And I heard their women stink to high heaven," the first man said. "For that black-haired Bronwyn I'd learn to hold my nose." Bronwyn took a step forward, a feral snarl on her lips. When a hand caught her arm, she looked up into a young man's face. He was handsome, with dark eyes, a firm mouth. Her eyes were on a level with his. "Allow me, my lady," he said quietly. He stepped forward to the group of men. His strong legs were encased in tight hose, his velvet jacket emphasizing the width of his shoulders. "Have you nothing better to do than gossip like old women? You talk of things you know nothing about." His voice was commanding. The three men looked startled. "Why, Roger, what's wrong with you?" one asked, then stared over Roger's shoulder and saw Bronwyn, her eyes glittering in stormy anger. "I think Stephen had better come soon and guard his property," one of the other men laughed. "Get out of here!" Roger ordered. "Or shall I draw my sword to get your attention?" "Deliver me from the hot blood of youth," one man said wearily. "Go to her. Come, the outside is cooler. The passions have more room to expand in the out-of-doors." When the men were gone, Roger turned back to Bronwyn. "May I apologize for my countrymen? Their rudeness is based on ignorance. They meant no harm." Bronwyn glared at him. "I fear it is you who are ignorant. They meant great harm, or do you consider murdering Scots no sin?" "I protest! You're unfair to me. I have killed few men in my life and no Scots." He paused. "May I introduce myself? I am Roger Chatworth." He swept his velvet cap from his head and bowed low before her. "And I, sir, am Bronwyn MacArran, prisoner to the English and, of late, discarded bride." "Lady Bronwyn, will you walk with me in the garden? Perhaps the sunshine will take away some of the misery Stephen has foisted upon you." She turned and walked beside him. At least he might keep the guards from tossing rude jests at her. Once they were outside, she spoke again. "You speak Montgomery's name as if you know him." "Have you not met him yourself?" Bronwyn whirled on him. "Since when have I been afforded any courtesy by your English king? My father thought enough of me to name me laird of Clan MacArran, but your king thinks I have too little sense to even choose my own husband. No, I have not seen this Stephen Montgomery, nor do I know anything about him. I was told one morning I was to marry him. Since then he has not so much as acknowledged my presence. " Roger lifted a handsome eyebrow at her. Her hostility made her eyes sp, Pocket Books, 1991, This is a soft cover(paperback) book. In very good condition, a nice, clean book! some bent pgs.  Glued binding. 560 p. Audience: General/trade.One of history's greatest women, celebrated by her contemporaries, descendants, and biographers, comes to life in this mesmerizing novel by bestselling author Pamela Kaufman.In 1137, fifteen-year-old Eleanor became Duchess of Aquitaine, a wealthy and powerful province in the South of France. Rich and influential in her own right, her tumultuous marriages thrust Eleanor into the political and cultural spotlight, where she would remain for more than half a century. Still in her teens, Eleanor married Louis VII of France, a sickly religious fanatic so obsessed with adultery that he kept his beautiful wife under lock and key. A lifelong rebel, Eleanor would defy her husband and the Church and eventually strong-arm the Pope into annulling her unhappy marriage.Once free, she thought to marry Baron Rancon, her childhood love, but found herself forced into another political marriage with Henry II of England, a ruthless soldier known as ?the red star of malice.? In Henry, Eleanor found a man whose iron will and political cunning matched her own, but the marriage was a bitter and brutal one, which escalated into open warfare when Eleanor backed their sons in an armed rebellion against Henry. Vowing revenge, he imprisoned her for seventeen years, hoping she would die in obscurity. But Eleanor would not go quietly. In prison, she wrote her memoir. This is her story.Carcerem1174We departed London on the Winchester Royal Road riding ten abreast, a royal guard in smart scarlet, helmets and swords glittering in the low winter sun, and my spirits suddenly burst with happiness. I'm not called "Joy" for nothing, eh? I loved being in open air again, loved the jingle of harnesses and clop of hooves, even loved the bright crimson standard with its three lions bobbing ahead of me; most of all, I was happy that it was necessary to move me. We must be winning-otherwise, why whisk me out of the White Tower without the other women? Why send me to the great palace at Winchester? For where else did this road lead?We stopped about an hour short of Winchester at the river ford."Perhaps they're worried about the ice," I said to my handmaid.  Amaria's green eyes slid toward the wood. "Or those men."  At first the branches looked bare, but gradually I saw men as alike as mushrooms crouched silently on the limbs, men with shaved pates and legs, white tunics with green sashes, toes curled around icy bark."Welshmen! God's feet, what are they doing here?"I spurred my steed to the front of the line where Ranulf de Glanvill was talking to a dour middle-aged Welshman with a scarlet cape over his white tunic."Why have we stopped, my lord?" I demanded.Glanvill's darting black eyes avoided me. "Queen Eleanor, may I present Lord Ciarron ap Dwyddyn?" He raised his arm abruptly and shouted, "Reverse direction!"The lines of ten abreast turned smartly around and began trotting back to London with their jingling harnesses and standard. Instantly, I roiled my horse to join them, but Glanvill and Ciarron crowded my mount on either side and I found myself splashing across a shallow ditch directly into the forest with Amaria beside me. I was too shocked to be afraid, but I certainly recognized the danger."Stop at once!" I jerked my reins. "I'll not leave the road!"Ciarron grabbed my bridle."Lord Glanvill!" I cried.He stared straight ahead, and I knew my fate., Three Rivers Press, 2003

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The Book of Eleanor: A Novel of Eleanor of Aquitaine - kaufman, pamela
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kaufman, pamela:

The Book of Eleanor: A Novel of Eleanor of Aquitaine - Taschenbuch

2003, ISBN: 9780609808092

ID: 405772622

This is a soft cover(paperback) book. In very good condition, a nice, clean book! some bent pgs.  Glued binding. 560 p. Audience: General/trade.One of history's greatest women, celebrated by her contemporaries, descendants, and biographers, comes to life in this mesmerizing novel by bestselling author Pamela Kaufman.In 1137, fifteen-year-old Eleanor became Duchess of Aquitaine, a wealthy and powerful province in the South of France. Rich and influential in her own right, her tumultuous marriages thrust Eleanor into the political and cultural spotlight, where she would remain for more than half a century. Still in her teens, Eleanor married Louis VII of France, a sickly religious fanatic so obsessed with adultery that he kept his beautiful wife under lock and key. A lifelong rebel, Eleanor would defy her husband and the Church and eventually strong-arm the Pope into annulling her unhappy marriage.Once free, she thought to marry Baron Rancon, her childhood love, but found herself forced into another political marriage with Henry II of England, a ruthless soldier known as ?the red star of malice.? In Henry, Eleanor found a man whose iron will and political cunning matched her own, but the marriage was a bitter and brutal one, which escalated into open warfare when Eleanor backed their sons in an armed rebellion against Henry. Vowing revenge, he imprisoned her for seventeen years, hoping she would die in obscurity. But Eleanor would not go quietly. In prison, she wrote her memoir. This is her story.Carcerem1174We departed London on the Winchester Royal Road riding ten abreast, a royal guard in smart scarlet, helmets and swords glittering in the low winter sun, and my spirits suddenly burst with happiness. I'm not called "Joy" for nothing, eh? I loved being in open air again, loved the jingle of harnesses and clop of hooves, even loved the bright crimson standard with its three lions bobbing ahead of me; most of all, I was happy that it was necessary to move me. We must be winning-otherwise, why whisk me out of the White Tower without the other women? Why send me to the great palace at Winchester? For where else did this road lead?We stopped about an hour short of Winchester at the river ford."Perhaps they're worried about the ice," I said to my handmaid.  Amaria's green eyes slid toward the wood. "Or those men."  At first the branches looked bare, but gradually I saw men as alike as mushrooms crouched silently on the limbs, men with shaved pates and legs, white tunics with green sashes, toes curled around icy bark."Welshmen! God's feet, what are they doing here?"I spurred my steed to the front of the line where Ranulf de Glanvill was talking to a dour middle-aged Welshman with a scarlet cape over his white tunic."Why have we stopped, my lord?" I demanded.Glanvill's darting black eyes avoided me. "Queen Eleanor, may I present Lord Ciarron ap Dwyddyn?" He raised his arm abruptly and shouted, "Reverse direction!"The lines of ten abreast turned smartly around and began trotting back to London with their jingling harnesses and standard. Instantly, I roiled my horse to join them, but Glanvill and Ciarron crowded my mount on either side and I found myself splashing across a shallow ditch directly into the forest with Amaria beside me. I was too shocked to be afraid, but I certainly recognized the danger."Stop at once!" I jerked my reins. "I'll not leave the road!"Ciarron grabbed my bridle."Lord Glanvill!" I cried.He stared straight ahead, and I knew my fate., Three Rivers Press, 2003

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One of history's greatest women, celebrated by her contemporaries, descendants, and biographers, now comes to life in this mesmerizing new novel by bestselling author Pamela Kaufman. In 1137, fifteen-year-old Eleanor became Duchess of Aquitaine, a wealthy and powerful province in the south of France. Rich and influential in her own right, her tumultuous marriages thrust Eleanor into the political and cultural spotlight, where she would remain for more than half a century. Still in her teens, young Eleanor of Aquitaine married Louis VII of France, a sickly religious fanatic so obsessed with fears of adultery that he kept his beautiful wife under lock and key, even forcing her to go on a long and dangerous crusade with him. But Eleanor was delighted by the freedom of the crusader's life. Her handsome Aquitanian knights, her deeds on horseback, and her scandalous attire were the talk of Europe; it soon became clear that Louis's young wife was more than he could handle. A lifelong rebel, Eleanor would defy her husband and the Church, and eventually strong-arm the Pope into annulling her unhappy marriage. Once free of Louis, Eleanor thought to marry Baron Rancon, her childhood love, but found herself forced into another political marriage, this time with a younger and more dangerous husbandHenry II of England, a ruthless soldier known throughout Europe as the red star of malice. In Henry Eleanor found a man whose iron will and political cunning matched her own, but the marriage was a bitter and brutal one, which escalated into open warfare when Eleanor backed their sons in an armed rebellion against Henry. Vowing revenge, he imprisoned her for fifteen years, hoping she would die in obscurity. But Eleanor would not go quietly. In prison, she wrote her memoir; this is Eleanor's book. Fiction Fiction eBook, Crown/Archetype

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The Book of Eleanor: A Novel of Eleanor of Aquitaine - Taschenbuch

2003, ISBN: 9780609808092

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Three Rivers Press, 2003-03-25. Paperback. Very Good. VG Nice copy with light cover wear. Pages clean with tight binding., Three Rivers Press, 2003-03-25

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2002, neuwertig und wie ungelesen - sofort lieferbar #22733, [SC: 1.90], gebraucht wie neu, gewerbliches Angebot, [GW: 404g], [PU: Crown Publishing Group]

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The Book of Eleanor: A Novel of Eleanor of Aquitaine
Autor:

Kaufman, Pamela

Titel:

The Book of Eleanor: A Novel of Eleanor of Aquitaine

ISBN-Nummer:

9780609808092

One of history's greatest women comes to life in this first-person narrative--historical fiction that evokes the passion, intelligence, and political savvy of Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine.

Detailangaben zum Buch - The Book of Eleanor: A Novel of Eleanor of Aquitaine


EAN (ISBN-13): 9780609808092
ISBN (ISBN-10): 0609808095
Taschenbuch
Erscheinungsjahr: 2003
Herausgeber: THREE RIVERS PR
560 Seiten
Gewicht: 0,413 kg
Sprache: eng/Englisch

Buch in der Datenbank seit 20.10.2007 07:43:54
Buch zuletzt gefunden am 25.11.2016 08:59:57
ISBN/EAN: 9780609808092

ISBN - alternative Schreibweisen:
0-609-80809-5, 978-0-609-80809-2

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