Therein lies the Pearl: Coffee Pot Book Club Blog Tour
Therein Lies The Pearl
History books record the experiences of the powerful, the rich, the famous. Their voices dominate the pages, commanding us to accept their perspective as truth. But what if we could hear the whispers of those who were never given a chance to speak? How would this affect our understanding of the past?
Normandy, 1064
Celia Campion, a girl of humble background, finds herself caught in a web of intrigue when Duke William commands her to work as his spy, holding her younger sister hostage. Her mission: to sail across the sea to Wilton Abbey and convince Margaret, daughter of Edward the Exile, to take final vows rather than form a marriage alliance with the newly crowned king to the North, Malcolm III of Scotland. Preventing a union between the Saxons and Scots is critical to the success of the Duke’s plan to take England, and more importantly for Celia, it is the only way to keep her sister alive.
In this sweeping epic that spans the years before and after the Conquest, two women from opposite sides of the English Channel whisper across the chasm of time to tell their story of the tumultuous days that eventually changed the course of history. As they struggle to survive in a world marked by danger, loss, and betrayal, their lives intersect, and they soon come to realize they are both searching for the same thing–someone they can trust amidst the treachery that surrounds them.
Together, their voices form a narrative never before told.
Excerpt 4:
By this time, Margaret had moved closer to the pair, coming to stand behind the kneeling man. Edgar was the first to heed her presence. His eyes lifted up toward her as if to ask what he should do.
This change in the boy’s gaze did not go unnoticed by Malcolm, a warrior trained to detect signs of danger. Immediately, he withdrew his extended hand, snatched the dirk from his belt, and swung round to confront the intruder.
Margaret squealed and jumped backwards, her eyes fixed upon the knife. In that instant, she could not know she was not the victim here. For although she stood before him without weapons or war gear, he was the one who had lost. Without shedding a single droplet of blood, he knew he had been conquered by a pair of emerald eyes that bore into his heart deeper than any dagger.
His hand trembled as the sunlight flashed erratically off the unsteadiness of his blade. Matching her look of shock with one of astonishment, Malcolm witnessed the young maiden falter, a move that coincided with the soft flutter of her pages drifting to the ground.
She paid no mind as to how they had slipped from her fingers so carelessly. His gaze held her captive. The connection between them held fast, like a rope encircling and cinching them together. Neither moved nor breathed.
Margaret broke the spell first when she leaned down to gather up the fallen pages that lay beside her feet. Before she could get very far, Malcolm was again on his knee, raising the sheets to her in offering.
“I am so verra, verra sorry, my lass,” he apologized in earnest. “I had no’ thought ‘twas a fine lady such as yerself who was movin’ behind me.” His hands shook and the pages rippled as he held them out toward her.
She cleared her throat that seemed clogged with emotion. “Thank you … Malcolm, son of Duncan.” Her eyes rested on the scarred hand and thick knuckles that clasped her writing before she reached out toward him to accept this token. Her fingertips lightly brushed against his as the exchange was completed.
“‘Tis my pleasure, milady.” He felt tongue-tied and foolish before this young girl and wondered if she could detect his frailty. He stood up and then bowed to her in deference. “Let it be said that I would be obliged to be o’ service to ye in more important ways beyond the mere retrieval of yer book.”
Looking around to acknowledge the splendor of their surroundings, he smiled amusedly and said, “And what ‘tis this great work that ye are writin’ that can rival the message o’ nature’s beauty in a meadow such as this? Surely, it must be o’ great import fer ye to choose to study dry pages rather gaze upon yon windin’ river and the
billowy clouds above?”
Margaret found more of her voice. “Oh, yes, milord. Nature’s bounty is glorious, but God’s word surpasses all temporal glamour. For these scenes will come and go,” she swept her hand over the landscape, “they will enthrall and disappoint, but His message endures forever.”
Malcolm’s eyes flashed with interest at the depth of her faith. He wanted to linger here with her, all afternoon if he could, just to be in her presence. The melody of her voice charmed him, her words like velvet so soft upon his ears. He felt himself drifting into a kind of reverie just listening to it.
Everything about her was perfect. Her green eyes gazed freely into his, rich and full of innocence, and her lips turned up at the corners in a look of perpetual joy. The two long braids that hung down on either side of her face had loosened, allowing a few stray strands to float around like wisps of yellow silk. She wore no shawl or covering, so he could see the beginning contours of her shoulders as well as her long, delicate neck, accentuating her vulnerability even more. He longed to touch her, to let his finger trace a path from her face to her neck to the more private places that lay hidden beneath the fabric of her dress. He imagined a future intimacy between them where he would hold her in his arms, taste her lips, and ultimately have her as his own. Such thoughts were improper to consider, for she was too sweet, too angelic to be claimed. What had he done to deserve an encounter such as this, a chance meeting with so divine a creature? How he wished he could take this moment and make it his forever!
Edgar’s footfall went unnoticed. He marched over toward the two, feeling rather disgruntled at having been supplanted by his sister. He wondered what it was about Margaret that was distracting this man who had so recently been interested only in him. Displaced and out of sorts, he sat down cross-legged in a huff, and when the two continued to pay him no mind, he began to gather up a few stray leaves that had drifted to the ground, pulling apart the stems of pairs that had landed together.
In his full posture, Malcolm stood before Margaret like a column of stone that dwarfed her in size. The crown of her head came barely to his collarbone, and her frame seemed incredibly fragile next to the width of his chest and the spread of his shoulders. Speaking with a gentleness in stark contrast to his physique, he asked, “Would ye read somethin’ o’ it to me?”
At first, she doubted his sincerity and thought perhaps that he was mocking her piety. But after peering more closely into his eyes, she found reassurance and began to turn the pages. “Of course. This is from Matthew’s gospel. ‘Again, the kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which a man found and hid; and for joy
over it he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field. Again, the kingdom of heaven is like unto a merchant man, seeking goodly pearls: Who, when he had found one pearl of great price, went and sold all that he had, and bought it…’”
As the soft breeze tickled the reeds at the water’s edge, so too did her words dance lightly upon his own thoughts. When she paused to look up at him, their eyes met again. Tacitly, she asked if she should continue. He could form no words. He had lost the power to speak. So taken he was with her beauty and virtue. Assuming his silence was her answer, she started to fold up her pages.
Abruptly, he gathered himself and croaked the word, “Wait.” He opened his hand toward her. “Please. Dinna’ stop.” He swallowed purposefully so that his speech could flow more freely. “I know nothin’ o’ heaven nor hell, but I do know what it may feel like to come across a pearl o’ great price. Fer that is just what has happened
this day to me. What is yer name, milady?” He made no move toward her save with his eyes which reached across the gap between them to touch her soul.
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