Heart of the Dove

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Overview

The darkest heart . . .

Everything that Randwulf of Greycliff loved was torn from his grasp in a night of fire and terror. His wife and child slain, his manor destroyed, Rand now lives for one thing alone: revenge on the man who ordered the attack. Armed with part of the legendary Dragon Chalice–the object his enemy most desires–Rand embarks on a deadly voyage to trap his foe. He will avenge his family . . . and let no one stand in his way.

The brightest hope . . .

On a stormswept shore in the wilds of northern England, a gentle maiden discovers a man lying on the beach, shipwrecked ...

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Overview

The darkest heart . . .

Everything that Randwulf of Greycliff loved was torn from his grasp in a night of fire and terror. His wife and child slain, his manor destroyed, Rand now lives for one thing alone: revenge on the man who ordered the attack. Armed with part of the legendary Dragon Chalice–the object his enemy most desires–Rand embarks on a deadly voyage to trap his foe. He will avenge his family . . . and let no one stand in his way.

The brightest hope . . .

On a stormswept shore in the wilds of northern England, a gentle maiden discovers a man lying on the beach, shipwrecked and in need of care. But helping him is forbidden. Serena has the gift of Knowing: with a mere touch, she can see all the secrets in a man’s heart. It is a gift that has kept her secluded from the outside world, wary of those who would use her powers for their own gain. But Rand’s wounded heart beckons, and his passionate nature draws her to him–daring her to surrender to a dangerous seduction that could destroy them both. . . .

Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
In the fast-paced final volume of St. John's popular medieval paranormal series (Heart of the Hunter, etc.), Randwulf of Greycliff lives only to avenge his slain wife and child, but he temporarily puts aside his quest after a shipwreck washes him ashore on the north English coast near a remote forest. There he's found by Serena, an innocent young maiden who has lived her entire 19 years alone with her mother in the ancient woods-and who possesses the gift of Knowing, which enables her to see into the minds and hearts of others if she touches them. Brief physical contact with Rand shows Serena his black hatred. However, since this gentle child of the forest also sees the hurt and grief Rand feels, her healing nature is drawn to him. When the outside world encroaches on their isolation, Serena defies her mother and gives her heart to Rand with consequences that almost prove disastrous. As usual, RITA Award finalist St. John peoples her tale with vibrant and engaging characters. (Dec.) Copyright 2005 Reed Business Information.

Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780345459961
  • Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
  • Publication date: 11/29/2005
  • Format: Mass Market Paperback
  • Pages: 352
  • Product dimensions: 4.15 (w) x 6.90 (h) x 0.90 (d)

Meet the Author

Hailed as “pure gold” (All About Romance) and among the “best of the best” (Oakland Press), Tina St. John, a Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice and National Readers’ Choice recipient, quit a full-time corporate job to pursue her dream of becoming an author. She sold her first completed manuscript, Lord of Vengeance, and has since gone on to pen several acclaimed medieval romances for Ballantine Books, including Lady of Valor, White Lion’s Lady, Black Lion’s Bride, Heart of the Hunter, and Heart of the Flame.

A Michigan native and descendant of Mayflower passenger William Bradford, later governor of the Plymouth Colony, Tina St. John makes her home in coastal New England with her husband, who is the inspiration for all her heroes and her most devoted fan.

Readers can learn more about Tina St. John’s upcoming works and sign up for her newsletter at www.TinaStJohn.com.

Read an Excerpt

Heart of the Dove


By Tina St. John

Random House

Tina St. John
All right reserved.

ISBN: 0345459962


Chapter One

The Irish Sea, off the coast of England
June, 1275

A huge wave gathered under coal black skies and rolled with deadly menace toward the side of the ship. It hit much as the dozens that had come before, a fist of crushing force that exploded against the wooden hull, rocking the vessel and spewing a sheet of drenching water over the already sodden deck. The cog lurched heavily under the pummel of the storm, the protesting strain of its joints screeching over the steady clap and roar of thunder.

Randwulf of Greycliff sat apart from the rest of the ship's few passengers on deck, his back pressed against the sheltering wall of the sterncastle, knees drawn up, boot heels braced apart to help steady him for the hurling pitch and swoon of the storm. It had only worsened since their departure from Liverpool's harbor, and showed no sign of reprieve. Three travelers had joined them in the port town when they docked for supplies that morning, two men and a young woman. At first Rand thought they were together, but the man and his wife had since moved off to share the cover of a moth-eaten blanket with five other passengers, all of them shivering, their gazes anxious and wide, holding similar looks of concern for their safe passage.

The man who also boarded in Liverpool seemed no more inclined to mingle with the others than Rand himself. One arm lashed around the railing, he sat less than a dozen paces from Rand on the same side of the deck. Rain pelted his uncovered head and beard, wetting shaggy dark hair to spiky bristles in the sudden flashes of lightning that illuminated the somber community of the vessel.

"You look as miserable as I feel," the man called to him, chuckling wryly. With his free hand, he held something out to Rand. A hammered metal flask glinted in the brief arc of light that broke as another bolt ripped jaggedly overhead. "Irish whiskey. Have some, friend. It will warm you."

Although he had done nothing to warrant mistrust, Rand decided he did not like the man's look. Ignoring the offer, soaked to the marrow of his aching bones, he pulled the dripping hood of his mantle down a bit lower on his forehead and steeled himself to ride out the churning squall.

The weather had been unseasonably harsh since he had set out on this journey more than a fortnight past. His destination, Scotland, was still several days north--easily more if the conditions of the sea did not clear up. And judging from the furious roil of the thick, sooty clouds overhead, he doubted there would be any mercy forthcoming.

In truth, it seemed the farther north he sailed, the more ferocious the ocean's turbulence became. As though God Himself knew of the unholy purpose that drove him, and sought to dissuade him with the unrelenting lash of the elements.

Let Him rage, Rand thought with grim savagery as another gale shouldered the side of the vessel and sent it groaning into a listing starboard plunge. The women on board screamed as the prow dipped sharply and took on more water.

Rand did not so much as flinch where he sat. He refused to cow to the vicious tumble of the waves. Biting rain needled his face as the storm spat and hissed all around him. Let the ocean swell and the winds tear him apart. Not even godly fury would be enough to turn him away from his goal.

Revenge.

It was his sole intent now, all of his hatred focused on one man . . . if that's what the villain he sought truly was. Rand doubted it. Born of flesh and blood, perhaps, but there could be no shred of humanity left in the one called Silas de Mortaine. Not when he commanded a small army of changeling beasts from another world, sentries conjured by some manner of sorcery to aid him in his quest for wealth and power. De Mortaine would stop at nothing, and woe betide any who stood in his way.

Even innocents, for on his order two months past had come the brutal deaths of a woman and child.

Rand's wife and son.

They had been everything to him--life, love, more blessings than were deserving of him, he was certain of that. But they were gone now. With the slayings of fragile, sweet Elspeth and little Tod, Randwulf of Greycliff no longer had anything to live for.

Save to avenge them.

And he would, justice delivered with the slow and ago-nizing death of the one who took them away from him in a hellish night of fire and screams, and the waking nightmare of their blood spilling before his very eyes.

Rand carried the tool of his vengeance with him on the ship. Its weight knocked against his hip with the roll of the deck, an artifact secured within a leather satchel and concealed beneath the wide fall of his cloak. There was nothing Silas de Mortaine wanted more than the treasure that Rand and his brother-in-arms, Kenrick of Clairmont, had claimed from an abbey church at the crest of Glastonbury Tor three weeks ago.

That treasure--coupled with the final piece Rand was headed for Scotland to find--would be all the lure he would need. De Mortaine was certain to rise to the bait, and when he did, Rand's retribution would be dispatched by ruthless, savaging steel.

He did not expect he would survive to savor his victory. Nor did he delude himself with the notion that he might join his family in the hereafter when his heart was blackened with hatred, his hands soon to be willingly stained with the cold-blooded murder of his enemy. But it mattered naught. Elspeth's and Tod's deaths would not go unmet, even at the price of his very soul.

"For them," he muttered under his breath, the words misting in the rain before the rising howl of the storm swept them away.

The crash of another wave slammed the side of the cog, spraying briny water into his eyes. With the answering lurch of the deck, the young woman from Liverpool gave a sharp cry of distress. She flung her arm out to reach for a small purse that had come loose from her belongings. The tide washed across the deck, carrying the little pouch swiftly toward the edge. Too late to retrieve it, the errant purse rode the pull of the retreating wave right into the sea.

"My mother's brooch was in that bag!" the woman wailed to her husband as he gathered her close to comfort and protect her.

"Best keep a tighter hold on your treasures. Wouldn't you say, friend?"

Above the din of the storm, Rand heard the voice of the man seated down the deck from him. The query--and the oddly phrased advice--was directed at Rand, rather than the couple huddled across the deck. Rand lifted his head to peer at the stranger through the pelting rain. Dark eyes stared back at him from under the fall of a thick forelock, their narrowed, unflinching look too focused to be mistaken for anything less than cunning.

And now that he considered it, Rand noted with a degree of cool foreboding that the man had at some point moved closer to him. No longer a dozen paces, but less than half that distance. Just out of arm's reach.

"I am not your friend," Rand growled in warning, "and I've a blade at my hip that's itching to convince you of that fact. I don't like your look, sirrah. I'd advise you to back off."

The man gave an abrupt shout of laughter. "You advise me, do you?"

"That's right." Beneath his mantle, Rand wrapped his fingers around the hilt of a dagger sheathed on his belt. "I won't tell you again."

There was something peculiar about the stranger's face. Indeed, something peculiar in his very being. The sheeting rain seemed to distort his features, sharpening the man's bearded jaw, bulking his dark brow. The eyes that stared at Rand with such boldness seemed lifeless and devoid of color now, coldly black. In the scant light, they took on a feral glint.

Battle instinct clamored an alarm in Rand's gut. He pressed his spine against the sterncastle wall, feet planted firmly apart as he prepared to spring into combat mode in an instant, heedless of the raging weather.

The stranger grabbed the railing of the deck and hauled himself to his feet. The man chuckled now, his mouth filled with sharp, bared teeth. "You arrogant, stupid . . . human."

He spat the word, as much a curse as the one Rand hissed when he realized what faced him now.

A bolt of light cut across the blackened sky. Thunder cracked and rolled in ominous fury. Rand ignored the tempest, sluicing water out of his eyes as he rose to confront one of Silas de Mortaine's deadly minions.

"Give me the satchel," the man snarled, his lips curling against the bright slash of his teeth.

"I'll see you dead first--and gladly," Rand told him. He did not wait for the attack to come to him. Preferring to be on the offensive, he made the first move, drawing a dagger from his baldric as he took a step forward.

One of the other passengers across the deck shouted through the driving force of another shuddering, spitting gale. "Sit down, fools! The storm will sweep you over!"

The warning went unheeded, wholly insignificant when one understood the truth of what was at stake here. The storm was brutal, to be sure, but there was a deadlier force at work on the rain-slickened deck of the ship. Rand was not about to let that threat go unmet.

He surged forward, lunging for de Mortaine's man and locking him in a punishing choke hold. The dagger found vulnerable flesh and sank in, tearing a roar of pain and anger from the man's throat. Blood flowed at once, tainting the briny darkness with the stench of rising death. De Mortaine's henchman struggled to reach his own weapon, but Rand's blade drove home again, this time plunging into the heaving barrel chest.

Where Rand anticipated surrender, he felt further resistance from the bearded man. The bleeding bulk of his body seemed to shift in his grasp, rippling with a queer power. Fingers that curled into Rand's back for support grew longer, digging into his flesh with the hard bite of beastly claws.


Excerpted from Heart of the Dove by Tina St. John Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted December 6, 2005

    Book 3

    Our story begins in June, 1275. Randwulf of Greycliff has part of the legendary Dragon Chalice. Rand plans to use it for revenge against the sorcerer who had his wife and child killed. The sorcerer's name is Silas de Montaine and he has shapeshifters to help aid in his dark cause. During a fight with one of these demons, Rand finds himself tossed off a ship. Rand's only thought at the time is to survive and hold onto the pouch containing the Chalice. .................. Rand washes ashore on the north English coast. He is found my Serena, a young lady with a magical gift called 'the Knowing'. With a simple touch, Serena sees directly into a person's heart. Serena and her mother, Calandra, live in isolation, by choice. They take no chances on someone learning of Serena's gift and using it for ill deeds or to have her labeled 'witch' and killed. Yet Serena cannot ignore her own heart, which demands she help Rand. ................... ***** Author Tina St. John writes magical dreams for us to enjoy. This one overflows in romance and magic. By the time you finish reading you will find yourself totally believing magic exists, and glad of the fact. I highly recommend this entire trilogy. *****

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  • Posted December 9, 2008

    more from this reviewer

    Intriguing story line

    In 1275 Randwulf of Greycliff lives for revenge only. He needs to kill sorcerer Silas de Montaine and send the magician¿s changeling beasts back to the hell they came from because they killed his wife Elspeth and six year old son Tod. Randwulf possesses part of an ancient artifact that gives him hope of succeeding in his endeavor and currently sails to Scotland to pick up another segment when he is attacked by one of the beasts. He and the beast fall overboard where he kills the evil thing, but he is forced to swim to safety as his ship has kept sailing.................. On a deserted beach he meets Serena and her mother Calandra. Serena can see a man¿s darkest secrets by touching them so she avoids doing such. However, they touch several times and she realizes he is a bitter person seeking to avenge a terrible affront. As they become closer while he heals physically she helps him also mend his torn soul and heart, but Silas remains at lodge with plans to conquer the world..................... Though the emphasis is on the historical romantic elements, there is plenty of fantasy segments in this fine thirteenth century tale caused by Serena¿s touch which can see your deepest feelings (nice barometer on whether someone loves you). The intriguing story line grips the audience as Serena enables Randwulf to regain the soul he lost when the evil Montaine killed his family, but his quest still remains strong................. Harriet Klausner

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 3, 2011

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