Amazon kimberlykillion.com Her One Desire Category:  Romance Publisher: Kensington, Zebra ISBN-10:  142010442X Type: Fiction Pages: 352 Copyright: July 2008 ISBN-13: 9781420104424 15th century Scottish Medieval Romance “A sensual and spirited romance by a masterful new writer.” —Patricia Rice, New York Times Bestselling Author "I was absolutely engrossed. The author's attention to detail and setting is fantastic." —Maya Banks FOR HIS LOVE Astride a stolen horse, encircled by the shackled arms of Broderick Maxwell, a Scottish spy escaping certain death in the Tower of London, Lizbeth Ives rides to the north, hidden by the merciful darkness. By stealth and by cunning, the daughter of the Lord High Executioner has undone her father’s cruel work, compelled to save the innocent man with her. There is no turning back—they are bound as one in his iron chains. Consumed by mortal fear, driven by passion, they disappear into the night… A single raven follows them. Is it an omen? Or only the first of those who would capture them? They must ride on. If captured, they will face death together. But if they reach Scotland, he will claim her for his own…forever.           Excerpt Father must protect me or I am dead. Lizbeth Ives stumbled off the last step of the stairwell in her haste and landed hard on her knees. The guards’ footsteps echoed in the distance. She glanced over her shoulder. Dancing shadows brought the torch-lit stone walls to life and sent her already pounding heart into a frenzy. Scrambling to her feet, Lizzy clutched the neck of her mantle, safeguarding the document hidden in the bodice of her gown, already envisioning her head atop the chopping block. Her throat burned with every step. The passageway seemed longer, narrower, darker than it had when she was a child. She rounded the corner, and a bout of dizziness set her off balance. Her eyelids pinched shut, if only for a moment to ease her escalating fear. She swallowed hard then inhaled the sour stench of the dungeon, a smell she would never grow accustomed to regardless of the years she’d spent in the Tower. Two men, who’d guarded the dungeon since her childhood, straightened in front of the arched doorway as she approached. She forced her steps to a calm, even clip. “Good den, Lady Ives.” One guard dipped his head in greeting. “Sirs.” She acknowledged them with a quick bow. “I have need to speak with my father.” “He is at work,” the taller replied. “Lord Ives will not be pleased with your interruption, m’lady.” “Then I will suffer his fury of my own will. Now step aside, and allow me entrance.” The authority in her voice shocked her, but she had no time for niceties. Lord Hollister’s blackguards would be upon her any moment. “As ye wish.” Each guard slid sideways, granting her access. She entered the antechamber and set the bolt in place. A single rushlight illuminated the short passage before her. Only ten more steps. She clutched Mother’s rosary, sliding her fingers over the glass beads to count her steps, until she reached the chamber door. Crack. The sound of Father’s whip snapped in her ears and jarred her insides. Her fingers stilled over the door lever. She cursed her lack of bravery and wished for the thousandth time she’d been born to the smith or the miller. She wrapped her rosary around her wrist, shook out her hands, and then fisted them to cease their trembling. Father would not pity a coward. She summoned the courage to push open the heavy door. The sharp odor of burnt flesh singed her nostrils, sending her hand immediately to her face. She set the iron bar in its catch, then turned toward her father. Her presence went without notice. Father wouldn’t hear a tree if it fell behind him. Crack. He wielded his whip, delivering a blow that sliced into a man’s back in a slash of crimson. “Confess and pledge fealty to the sovereign liege of England or die as a result of your obstinacy,” Father demanded, his tone heinous, cold, cruel. She hated the person he portrayed beneath the black cloak. “I confess naught.” The prisoner’s white-knuckled fists gripped the iron rings binding his shackles to the stone wall. Thick blue veins laced through his forearms, matching the color of an ancient symbol inked around his muscular arm above his elbow. Black hair clung to his nape by the sweat of his suffering. He did not cry out or plead for mercy, though the bold red lines painting his bronze skin told her he’d been in Father’s company long enough to yield. Still, the fool held tight to his tongue. She turned her head away from the scene only to fall upon a blood-soaked man crumpled in the corner. He bore a similar mark around his arm, indicating an affiliation between the two prisoners. Father’s methods had obviously been more than he could withstand. The pallid color of his skin told her his blood had failed to flow some time ago. The scrape of metal knifed up her spine as Father released the prisoner’s manacles from the hooks in the wall. The large breath of relief he blew as he fell into a puddle at Father’s boots came prematurely. She knew Father’s routine—whipping preceded the burning. The man’s crime would determine what followed. She squared her shoulders. “Lord Ives.” Her voice sounded small, weak, and she abhorred herself for fearing her father. She cleared her throat and clutched the tails of her sleeves, now a tangled mass in her hands. “Lord Ives,” she called out louder. “I have need to speak with you.” Father whirled, his amber eyes filled with the light of madness. “Begone!” He raised his whip to her, and she searched for a glimpse of the gentle man she once knew. Her heart jumped. She pushed the hood of her mantle back. “Nay, Father! ’Tis I, Lizzy.” Holding her arm in front of her face, she braced herself for the biting sting, all the while praying he would not deliver the blow. His grip on the knout eased the same time a raspy howl filled the chamber. The prisoner reared up from the floor, all flesh and rigid muscles. With his fingers clasped into a giant fist, he drove the iron cuffs into Father’s temple, knocking him sideways into a trestle table. Wood splintered like miniature arrows. Metal instruments clanked onto the floor. Father faltered but retained his footing. “Nay!” She vaulted across the chamber and clung to the prisoner’s forearm as his powerful fist caught Father in the nose. Osborn Ives was a big man indeed, but the force behind that blow knocked him off his feet and into the wall. The impact sent a jolt through her breast. Father staggered. The black whip slipped from his gloved hand and coiled into a ring like a dead serpent. The lump sliding down her throat mimicked her father’s body withering to the floor along with her hope for protection. Desperation, hopelessness, and anger surged. “Get away from him.” She shoved the prisoner hard. He grunted, but remained steadfast to his position. His fingers curled around her forearm. “Scream, and ye will cease to breathe.” “I will not. I vow it upon my soul.” She struggled to break free of his bruising grip, her eyes fixed on the only person she had left in the world. “Please, he is my father.” The brute released her and made only a slight hesitation before going to the other prisoner. She dropped to her knees alongside her father and checked his breathing. The pulse in his neck flittered, but he remained unmoving. She feared Lord Hollister would see her head in the basket before Father awoke. In truth, that act would be preferred to the fate Lord Hollister planned for her. She would be no man’s concubine. As the chief warder he might hold favor with the king’s council now, but once she exposed his association with the man conspiring against the crown, she and Father would finally be free of Lord Hollister’s personal vendetta. “…May God sustain you, and the company of Heaven enfold you, my brother,” the prisoner whispered in Latin. In communion with all the faithful, may you dwell this day in peace. She couldn’t prevent her mind from finishing the familiar chant. She looked up. The prisoner reflected her pose. His large hands cupped the dead man’s face. Try as she might to quell her sympathy, she knew the pain of losing someone close and her heart ached for him. A crash blasted and nearly sent her heart through her ribs. Only seconds later, the chamber door shook within its frame. “Open, by order of Lord Hollister.” A shuffling of feet accompanied the guard’s order. Her breath caught. She shook Father’s shoulders. “Please wake. You must help me.” Tears she’d held back for years dripped from her chin and splashed over his cheek. The prisoner stood and swayed. His weight fell against the wall. Hugging his midsection, he drew a deep breath then turned toward her. Piercing ice-blue eyes held her paralyzed. No words passed between them, but the dire consequences of their situation grew in volumes. Another bang at the door set them into motion. She sprang to her feet. The prisoner collected two daggers from the floor and tucked them into the waistband of light-colored trews. He hesitated only long enough to snarl at her. “Where are the keys?” She scoffed internally. The man was a fool if he thought she would release his shackles and give him an advantage over her. She had enough trouble of her own. She knew too much and had to find protection. Lord Hollister was an adversary she could not fight alone. “The keys, lass.” The prisoner held out lightly fisted hands. “You are a prisoner of the crown. I cannot help you.” His response came in the form of a glare and a snort, both of which she ignored. She rushed across the chamber and frantically dug her fingertips along the wall’s seam. The secret door ground open, her passage into the darkened maze beneath the city. A burst of musty air brushed her face. The blackness promised freedom, but curse her coward’s heart, she was terrified to enter. Three and twenty was far too old to fear the dark, yet she couldn’t prevent the panic taking over her mind and body. Her breath came in tight gulps. She reached for the wall torch as another crash splintered the door behind her. “Go!” The prisoner pushed her into the narrow tunnel. Her fingers fell short of retrieving the torch. The thick stone door sealed shut behind them, blinding her instantly. Her eyes widened, searching the pitch for the smallest existence of light. A pinhole. A slit. But the only source she found was the bright white explosion of terror behind her eyes. Arms bent, she steadied herself between the walls closing in around her. In one sweeping motion, she was hauled up against the prisoner’s chest. She sucked in an audible breath. A strong hand covered her mouth and trapped the scream inside her. Raising high up on her toes, she clawed at the forearm imprisoning her. Oh, God, protect me. She had to get back on the other side of the wall. Back to the light. She couldn’t breathe. Her legs wilted beneath her. A palm pressed flat against her stomach. The chain binding his manacles draped between her heaving breasts and pressed against the document that had brought her here—a document promising to endanger the crown, and now, her only hope of freedom.

—Barbara Vey, Reviewer for Publisher Weekly
"In 1483, Lizbeth Ives has faced loneliness and isolation because her father is the Lord High Executioner. When she runs to him for help, Lizbeth finds she needs the assistance of escaped prisoner Broderick Maxwell, a Scottish spy.

This debut novel totally rocked! How depressing to know that your father is responsible for torturing, maiming and decapitating prisioners. But through all this, Lizbeth tries to be the best person she can, by helping others. Of course, having Broderick be a Scot sold me. Passionate and poignant, I'm looking forward to this author's next book.”

4.5 Ribbons —J.T., Romance Junkies Reviewer
Lizbeth Ives's last resort for safety went out with her father
when Laird Broderick Maxwell struck down Osborn Ives, Lord High Executioner of the infamous London Tower, in his bid for freedom. What she did not expect is that the prisoner, just recently liberated from her father's torture session will be her only salvation from the licentious and murdering attention of Lord Hollister, King Edward IV's chief warder.

However, the determined Broc proves to be more than just her savior. As they escape from perilous England to the wilds of Scotland, Lizzy finds herself irresistibly drawn towards this brave, tempting, son of Scotland, just as Broc finds himself falling for the exotic charms of the petite red head.

While battling with enemies and family alike, will Broc survive deceitful conspiracies and unforeseen dangers to give this independent angel of fire, HER ONE DESIRE?

Kimberly Killion skillfully draws readers into her world of political upheaval during the end of the fifteenth century by weaving a tapestry of a love between two extraordinary individuals whose story is enriched with the presence of some very intriguing characters. One can only wonder at what else she has in store for us, and if this is to become the very captivating start of an engrossing series.

5/5 stars—Amelia Richard, Singletitles.com
For her first release, Kimberly Killion thoroughly entertains readers with daring schemes and passionate desires throughout her adventurous romance. The imaginative blending of an intriguing time during the 15th Century into the lives of two fictional characters keeps this story mesmerizing at all times.

When Lizbeth Ives discovers proof of a conspiracy against the King of England by his chief warder, she quickly reacts in the hope she can reveal the plot. Seeking the aid of her father, who is the Lord High Executioner of her country, she comes upon him torturing a prisoner for a confession. When her arrival in the dungeon leads to the prisoner overpowering her father, Lizzy unexpectedly finds herself being taken from England by the man who she learns is accused of being a Scottish spy. Although she has secretly helped others in the past, she is fearful of what may happen to not only her but the proof she has concerning a man she knows is evil.

Determined to take advantage of this chance to flee back to his homeland of Scotland and the duties awaiting him, Broderick Maxwell comes to realize Lizzy is nothing like her father. When she in turn asks for his help, Broc believes he may come to be sorry for his decision but still offers to help her. As they leave England behind them, they find themselves unwillingly attracted to each other with almost uncontrollable longings. However, Broc and Lizzy must face numerous obstacles before any true happiness can ever enter their lives.

Although this is her first published book, the talent of Kimberly Killion shines from the compelling first page of this story to the stirring conclusion. Between dangerous threats, life-altering decisions and sky-high sexual tension, the story never slows down as it takes the reader on an enthralling romantic adventure. The suspense of what could possibly happen next is gripping, as both friends and foes surround Broc and Lizzy. There are several unnerving scenes where peril and even death could occur in an instant, keeping the anxiety level high. During every moment depicted, there is also an abundance of emotion portrayed between the characters, making each one of them come across as truly lifelike. The many colorful secondary characters are each unique in nature, and they make the story engaging plus interesting.

As for Broc and Lizzy, they are one of the most endearing couples about whom I have ever read. Their lives are fascinating, and the events which take place around them are creatively original. Ms. Killion cleverly intertwines what are possible historical truths with a love story full of heartfelt moments, giving readers a rewarding historical novel. The hopes and dreams felt by Broc and Lizzy are poignantly shown as their dramatic lives are divulged, and these sincere inner feelings and thoughts seem genuine in every way. When their yearning for one another becomes too much to control, the scene describes their desires in fiery yet affectionate detail.

HER ONE DESIRE is packed with vivid imagery, likable characters and an absorbing premise by a talented new author.