描述
开 本: 32开纸 张: 胶版纸包 装: 平装是否套装: 否国际标准书号ISBN: 9780345500748
Throughout her acclaimed writing career, Julie Garwood has
captivated readers with characters who are compelling, daring, and
bursting with life. Now one of the most popular novelists of our
time proudly returns to her beloved historical romance roots-in a
thrilling tale of love, murder, adventure, and mystery set against
the haunting landscape of medieval Scotland. For Princess Gabrielle
of St. Biel, Scotland is a land of stunning vistas, wild
chieftains, treacherous glens, and steep shadows-skullduggery,
betrayal, and now murder. Prized for her exquisite beauty, the
daughter of one of England’s most influential barons, Gabrielle is
also a perfect bargaining chip for a king who needs peace in the
Highlands: King John has arranged Gabrielle’s marriage to a good
and gentle laird. But this marriage will never take place. For
Gabrielle, everything changes in one last burst of freedom-when she
and her guards come upon a scene of unimaginable cruelty. With one
shot from her bow and arrow, Gabrielle takes a life, saves a life,
and begins a war. Within days, the Highlands are aflame with
passions as a battle royal flares between enemies old and new.
Having come to Scotland to be married, Gabrielle is instead
entangled in Highland intrigue. For two sadistic noblemen,
underestimating Gabrielle’s bravery and prowess may prove fatal.
But thanks to a secret Gabrielle possesses, Colm MacHugh, the most
feared man in Scotland, finds a new cause for courage. Under his
penetrating gaze, neither Gabrielle’s body nor heart is safe. A
gripping novel that delves into the heart of emotions-unyielding
passions of love, hate, revenge, and raw desire-Shadow Music is
magnificent gift from Julie Garwood and a crowning achievement in
her amazing career. “From the Hardcover edition.”
One
Wellingshire, England
Princess Gabrielle was barely six years old when she was summoned
to her mother’s deathbed. Escorting her was her faithful guard, two
soldiers on either side, their gait slow so she could keep up with
them as they solemnly made their way down the long corridor. The
only sound was their boots clicking against the cold stone
floor.
Gabrielle had been called to her mother’s deathbed so many times
she’d lost count.
As she walked, she kept her head bowed, staring intently at the
shiny rock she’d found. Mother was going to love it. It was black
with a tiny white streak zigzagging all around it. One side was as
smooth as her mother’s hand when she stroked the side of
Gabrielle’s face. The rock’s other side was as rough as her papa’s
whiskers.
Every day at sunset Gabrielle brought her mother a different
treasure. Two days ago she’d captured a butterfly. It had such
pretty wings, gold with purple splotches. Mother declared it was
the most beautiful butterfly she’d ever seen. She praised Gabrielle
for being so gentle with one of God’s creatures as she walked to
the window and let it fly away.
Yesterday Gabrielle had gathered flowers from the hill outside the
castle walls. The scent of heather and honey had surrounded her,
and she thought the lovely aroma even more pleasing than her
mother’s special oils and perfumes. Gabrielle had tied a pretty
ribbon around the stems and tried to fashion a nice bow, but she
didn’t know how and she’d made a mess of it. The ribbon had come
undone before she handed the bouquet to her mother.
Rocks were Mother’s favorite treasures. She kept a basketful that
Gabrielle had collected for her on a table next to her bed, and she
would love this rock most of all.
Gabrielle wasn’t worried about today’s visit. Her mother had
promised that she wouldn’t go away to heaven any time soon, and she
never broke her promises.
The sun cast shadows along the stone walls and floor. If Gabrielle
hadn’t been on an errand with her rock, she would have liked to
chase the shadows and try to capture one. The long corridor was one
of her favorite places to play. She loved to hop on one foot from
one stone to another and see how far she could get before falling.
She hadn’t made it to the second arched window yet, and there were
five more windows to go.
Sometimes she closed her eyes, stretched her arms out wide, and
spun and spun until she lost her balance and tumbled to the floor,
so dizzy the walls seemed to fly about her head.
Most of all, she loved to run down the corridor, especially when
her father was home. He was such a big, grand man, taller than any
of the pillars in the church. Her papa would call to her and wait
until she reached him. Then he scooped her up into his arms and
lifted her high above his head. If they were in the courtyard, she
raised her hands to the sky, certain she could almost touch a
cloud. Papa always pretended to lose his grip so that she would
think he was about to drop her. She knew he never would, but she
squealed with delight over the possibility. She wrapped her arms
around his neck and held tight as he strode toward her mother’s
rooms. When he was in an especially happy mood he would sing. Papa
had a terrible singing voice, and sometimes Gabrielle giggled and
covered her ears it was so awful, but she never really laughed. She
didn’t want to hurt his tender feelings.
Papa wasn’t at home today. He had left Wellingshire to visit his
uncle Morgan in northern England, and he wouldn’t be home for
several days. Gabrielle wasn’t concerned. Mother wouldn’t die
without him by her side.
Stephen, the leader of the guards, opened the door to her mother’s
chamber and coaxed Gabrielle to enter by giving her a gentle little
nudge between her shoulder blades. “Go on, Princess,” he
urged.
She turned around with a disgruntled frown. “Papa says you’re to
call my mama Princess Genevieve, and you’re supposed to call me
Lady Gabrielle.”
“Here in England, you are Lady Gabrielle,” He tapped the crest
emblazoned on his tunic, “But in St. Biel, you are our princess.
Now go, your mother is waiting.”
Seeing Gabrielle, her mother called out. Her voice was weak, and
she looked terribly pale. For as long as Gabrielle could remember,
her mother had stayed in bed. Her legs had forgotten how to walk,
she’d explained to Gabrielle, but she was hopeful, praying that
they would one day remember. If that miracle were to happen, she
promised Gabrielle that she would stand barefoot in the clear
stream to gather stones with her daughter.
And she would dance with Papa, too.
The chamber was crowded with people. They made a narrow path for
her. The priest, Father Gartner, was chanting his prayer in a low
whisper near the alcove, and the royal physician, who always
frowned and liked to make her mother bleed with his black, slimy
bugs, was also in attendance. Gabrielle was thankful he hadn’t put
any bugs on her mother’s arms today.
The maids, the stewards, and the housekeeper hovered beside the
bed. Mother put down her tapestry and needle, shooed the servants
away, and motioned to Gabrielle.
“Come and sit with me,” she ordered.
Gabrielle ran across the room, climbed up onto the platform, and
thrust the rock at her mother.
“Oh, it’s beautiful,” she whispered as she took the rock and
carefully examined it. “This is the best one yet,” she added with a
nod.
“Mother, you say that every time I bring you a rock. It’s always
the best one.”
Her mother patted a spot next to her. Gabrielle scooted closer and
said, “You can’t die today. Remember? You promised.”
“I remember.”
“Papa will be awful angry, too, so you better not.”
“Lean closer, Gabrielle,” her mother said. “I have need to
whisper.”
The sparkle in her eyes told Gabrielle she was playing her game
again.
“A secret? Are you going to tell me a secret?”
The crowd moved forward. All were eager to hear what she would
say.
Gabrielle looked around the room. “Mother, why are all these people
here? Why?”
Her mother kissed her cheek. “They think that I know where a great
treasure is hidden, and they hope that I will tell you where it
is.”
Gabrielle giggled. She liked this game. “Are you going to tell
me?”
“Not today,” she answered.
“Not today,” Gabrielle repeated so that the curious onlookers would
hear.
Her mother struggled to sit up. The housekeeper rushed forward to
place pillows behind her back. A moment later the physician
announced that her color was improving.
“I am feeling much better,” she said. “Leave us now,” she ordered,
her voice growing stronger with each word. “I would like a moment
alone with my daughter.”
The physician looked as though he wanted to protest, but he kept
silent as he ushered the group from the chamber. He motioned for
two maids to stay behind. The women waited by the door to do their
mistress’s bidding.
“Are you feeling so much better you can tell me a story today?”
Gabrielle asked.
“I am,” she replied. “Which story would you like to hear?”
“The princess story,” she eagerly answered.
Her mother wasn’t surprised. Gabrielle always asked for the same
story.
“There once was a princess who lived in a faraway land called St.
Biel,” her mother began. “Her home was a magnificent white castle
high on the top of a mountain. Her uncle was the king. He was very
kind to the princess, and she was very happy.”
When her mother paused, Gabrielle blurted impatiently, “You’re the
princess.”
“Gabrielle, you know that I am and that this story is about your
father and me.”
“I know, but I like to hear you tell it.”
Her mother continued. “When the princess was of age, a bargain was
struck with Baron Geoffrey of Wellingshire. The princess was to
marry the baron and live with him in England.”
Because she knew that her daughter loved to hear about the wedding
ceremony, the gowns, and the music, she went into great detail. The
little girl clapped her hands with delight when she heard about the
banquet feast, especially the description of the fruit tarts and
honey cakes. By the end of the story, the mother’s narrative had
become slow and labored. Exhaustion was catching up with her. The
little girl took notice and, as was her ritual, she again made her
mother promise she wouldn’t die today.
“I promise. Now it is your turn to tell me the story I taught
you.”
“Every word just like you taught me, Mother? And just like your
mother taught you?”
She smiled. “Every word. And you will remember it and tell your
daughters one day so they will know of their family and St.
Biel.”
Gabrielle grew solemn and closed her eyes to concentrate. She knew
she must not forget a word of the story. This was her heritage, and
her mother assured her that one day she would understand what that
meant. She folded her hands in her lap and then opened her eyes
again. Focusing on her mother’s encouraging smile, she began.
“Once upon a time in the year of the violent storms that tore in
from the sea . . .”
From the Hardcover edition.
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