The Novels of Ravenwood Book Tour & Giveaway

Night of the Owl The Novels of Ravenwood Book 4 by Judith Sterling Genre: Time Travel Fantasy Romance

PhD student Ardyth Nightshade has renounced men and pursues her twentieth-century career with single-minded focus. When fate whisks her to medieval England, she meets her match in a man whose passions mirror her own. Can she sacrifice ambition for a love she never sought? Hugh, Lord Seacrest confounds all who know him. He refuses to marry without a meeting of minds and hearts, and no lady has even approached his ideal…until Ardyth. But she’s an odd one, with unique skills, shocking habits, and total conviction she needs no man. She also harbors secrets, and in the midst of rumors, plots, and murder, trust is fragile. A woman outside of her time. A man ahead of his. They must take a leap of faith to forge a bond that will shape history. Add to GoodreadsAmazon * Apple * B&N * Google * Kobo

Shadow of the Swan The Novels of Ravenwood Book 3

Lady Constance de Bret was determined to be a nun, until shadows from the past eclipsed her present. Marriage is the safest option, but she insists on a spiritual union, in which physical intimacy is forbidden. Not so easy with a bridegroom who wields unparalleled charm! But a long- buried secret could taint his affection and cloak her in shadow forever. Back from the Crusades, Sir Robert le Donjon craves a home of his own and children to inherit it. From the moment he meets Constance, he feels a mysterious bond between them. When she’s threatened, he vows to protect her and agrees to the spiritual marriage, with the hope of one day persuading her to enjoy a “real” one. She captivates him but opens old wounds and challenges everything he thought he believed. Two souls in need of healing. Two hearts destined to beat as one. Add to GoodreadsAmazon * Apple * B&N * Google * Kobo

Soul of the Wolf The Novels of Ravenwood Book 2

A Norman loyalist, Lady Jocelyn bristles when ordered to marry Wulfstan, a Saxon sorcerer. She nurses a painful secret and would rather bathe in a cesspit than be pawed by such a man…until her lifelong dream of motherhood rears its head. A man of magic and mystery, Wulfstan has no time for wedded bliss. He fears that consummating their marriage will bind their souls and wrench his focus from the ancient riddle his dying mother begged him to solve. He’s a lone wolf, salving old wounds with endless work. But Jocelyn stirs him as no woman ever has. Their attraction is undeniable. Their fates are intertwined. Together, they must face their demons and bring light to a troubled land. Add to GoodreadsAmazon * Apple * B&N * Google

Flight of the Raven The Novels of Ravenwood Book 1

How eager would the bridegroom be if he knew he could never bed the bride? Lady Emma of Ravenwood Keep is prepared to give Sir William l’Orage land, wealth, and her hand in marriage. But her virginity? Not unless he loves her. The curse that claimed her mother is clear: unless a Ravenwood heir is conceived in love, the mother will die in childbirth. Emma is determined to dodge the curse. Then William arrives, brandishing raw sensuality which dares her to explore her own. William the Storm isn’t a man to be gainsaid. He’ll give her protection, loyalty, and as much tenderness as he can muster. But malignant memories quell the mere thought of love. To him, the curse is codswallop. He plans a seduction to breach Emma’s fears and raze her objections. What follows is a test of wills and an affirmation of the power of love. Add to GoodreadsAmazon * Apple * B&N * Google * Kobo

Judith Sterling is an award-winning author whose love of history and passion for the paranormal infuse everything she writes. Whether penning medieval romance (The Novels of Ravenwood) or young adult paranormal fantasy (the Guardians of Erin series), her favorite themes include true love, destiny, time travel, healing, redemption, and finding the hidden magic which exists all around us. She loves to share that magic with readers and whisk them far away from their troubles, particularly to locations in the British Isles. Her nonfiction books, written under Judith Marshall, have been translated into multiple languages. She has an MA in linguistics and a BA in history, with a minor in British Studies. Born in that sauna called Florida, she craved cooler climes, and once the travel bug bit, she lived in England, Scotland, Sweden, Wisconsin, Virginia, and on the island of Nantucket. She currently lives in Salem, Massachusetts with her husband and their identical twin sons. Website * Facebook * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads * The Wild Rose Press * The Captivating Quill

Sitting without repose on one of the solar’s high-backed chairs, Constance shifted positions. An
unexpected chill crept in with the evening. The shutters were closed, and a fire danced and hissed on the
hearth. The room was aglow with candles whose light harmonized to showcase the exquisite tapestries on
the wall. Vibrant yet vulnerable, the flames quivered at the slightest draft.
Her stomach quivered, too, as she stared at her half-eaten pigeon pie. Whatever made me agree
to share his bed? The mention of rats? The thought of a prickly straw mat between her back and the cold,
hard floor?
From the other high-backed chair, Robert eyed the pie that lay unprotected on the table between
them. “Do you plan to eat that?”
A predator drawn to his prey. She shrugged. “I suppose not. Do you want it?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” He attacked the food.
She folded her hands in her lap. “Sir, your appetite is a thing of wonder.”
He swallowed, then grinned at her. “Why, thank you.” His smile disappeared. “Or do you
criticize?”
“Not criticize. Marvel.”
His dimples were back. The one on the right was deeper. “I’m a man of many talents, and eating
is one of them.” He took another bite.
“Evidently.” She cleared her throat. “I only wondered if…” Her stomach trembled as he licked
sauce from his fingers.
Abruptly, he ignored the food and studied her face. “If what?”
She sighed inwardly. Just say it! “If all your appetites run that strong.”
His intense stare roused something inside her. She’d never felt its like. Heat, not only in her face
but her entire body.
“You’re referring to appetites of the flesh.”
She lifted her chin. “I am.”
With a casual air, he leaned back. “I’ll admit, I’ve enjoyed the company of women. Have I ever!
Truly, deeply, unreservedly—”
“I grasp your meaning.” She shifted again on her chair. “Do you think you can live without it?”
“I’m willing to try.”
“Trying won’t suffice. If we’re to share a chamber, I need a clear statement of your intentions.”
He grabbed his wine, drained the cup, and plunked it down on the table. “We agreed to be
friends, did we not?”
“We did.”
“Friends don’t steal from one another. They take only what is willingly given.”
“Know this now: I shall never give it.”
His gaze held hers. “So you’ve said.”
“I mean what I say.”

“As do I, and you have my word. I shall never force you to consummate our marriage.”
Relief coursed through her. He was a man of his word; that much she knew. She was safe. All
would be well.
He slapped his thighs. “That said, shall we to bed?” He eased out of his chair and stretched his
limbs. “The mattress is calling my name.”
She hesitated only a second, then stood. “Odd. I thought it called mine.”
“You don’t mean—”
“No. The bed is as much yours as mine. We’ll share it.” ’Twas a simple matter of fairness. No
need to overthink it. Then why do my legs feel weak?
He glanced at her as they started toward the bedchamber. “Good. Feathers are far superior to the
floor.”
“So the mattress is stuffed with feathers. I noticed you testing it before; now I know why.”
“I thought perhaps it held wool, which would’ve been fine. But I’ll take luxury any day. Here we
are. After you, my lady.”
The lively fireplace greeted them as they entered the chamber. Already, the space was warmer
than before. Two stools stood in front of the fire. A table lined one wall; above it hung another fine
tapestry, whose threads wove the image of a swan on a secluded, tree-lined pond. Directly opposite sat the
bed. Its canopy was suspended from the ceiling, and rich green curtains spilled down around the carved,
wooden headboard and frame. The inner sanctum, with its turned-down linen and coverlets, waited in
shadow.
She stared. A person could lose herself in a bed like that. And in eyes as infinite as her
husband’s.

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