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Judith E. French

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Judith E. French

Goodreads Author


Born
The United States
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Member Since
August 2018

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ABOUT JUDITH E. FRENCH

Judith E. French captures the essence of passion and brings her special characters alive on every page. A multiple award winner, including RT's Historical Romance Lifetime Achievement Author, Best Historical Author of the Year, The PEARL award for Best Anthology, and The Delaware Diamond Award for Literary Excellence, she is best known for her American frontier historical fiction. A master storyteller, she finds inspiration in her Scottish, Irish, Welsh, English and Lenni-Lenape ancestry near Chesapeake Bay, where the French family has made its home for more than 300 years. Judith’s novels have sold millions and been translated into French, Spanish, German, Italian, Swedish, Norwegian, Bulgarian, and Mandarin. She ap

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Average rating: 3.99 · 2,488 ratings · 265 reviews · 41 distinct works
Fire Hawk’s Bride: Forbidde...

4.25 avg rating — 198 ratings4 editions
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McKenna’s Bride: A Searing ...

4.07 avg rating — 122 ratings — published 1995 — 8 editions
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The Irish Rogue

4.17 avg rating — 112 ratings4 editions
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Morgan’s Woman

4.30 avg rating — 103 ratings — published 2012 — 8 editions
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Rachel’s Choice

4.15 avg rating — 95 ratings — published 2011 — 8 editions
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The Conqueror (Alexander Tr...

3.78 avg rating — 99 ratings — published 2003 — 4 editions
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Fortune’s Mistress: The Roy...

4.19 avg rating — 89 ratings — published 1993 — 5 editions
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The Taming of Shaw MacCade

4.47 avg rating — 78 ratings — published 2001 — 4 editions
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Defiant Love (Triumphant He...

4.20 avg rating — 66 ratings4 editions
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By Love Alone (Triumphant H...

3.89 avg rating — 71 ratings — published 1987 — 6 editions
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Quotes by Judith E. French  (?)
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“You risked your own life to save me,” she said. “I won’t forget that.” His face grew expressionless again. “I told you, Becca. You belong to me. I will not let you go until my father is released.” You belong to me. You belong to me. The words echoed in her mind. “I belong to no one but myself,” she said throatily. But deep inside, she wished . . . “You are my captive.” “I could have left you to bleed to death,” she reminded him. “Ahikta. It is true. But my father is old. If I do not save him, he will die. It shames me to use a woman for a weapon, but sometimes a man must do what he must.” “I think I understand that now,” she said. As I must return to a husband that I can never love, as I might have loved this man were we not born mortal enemies. Talon did not speak again, and in a little while he drifted off to sleep. She sat beside him, hands in her lap, gazing at his sleeping face. How alien he is, she thought, and how beautiful. His skin tone was a warm red-bronze, his cheekbones high and prominent. His lips were thin but sensual, his eyes slightly slanted beneath raven-black brows. His forehead was high and broad, his chin and nose ruggedly defined. It was all she could do to keep from touching his face again. She wanted to stroke the smooth lines of his beardless jaw, to trace those fierce arching brows and commit them all to memory.”
Judith E. French, This Fierce Loving

“We’ll move again?” she asked. “We?” He tilted her chin up and looked full into her eyes. “This is not an easy life this man offers you.” “Yes, Talon. We. You and I, and the child I’ll bear you in springtime.” “A child?” He pulled her close and held her with strong, loving arms, and she heard the joyous throb of his heart. “When, ki-te-hi?” “When the wild strawberries ripen.” “Then we will break camp when the snows melt and take our canoes south so that our son will be born in Can-tuc-kee. It is a place of tall trees and is thick with game. The grass and water are sweet, and there are no white men there.” “Our son?” She smiled. “Are you a shaman as well that you can tell the sex of an unborn babe?” “Our son or daughter,” he conceded. “It matters not. I will love our child for your sake and mine.”
Judith E. French, This Fierce Loving

“In my lifetime there has been no peace,” he replied. “But there could be. Promise me that you’ll come for me or that I can come to you if things get better between the whites and the Indians. Promise me, Talon. Please, give me something to hope for.” For a long moment, he stood there holding her in utter silence. “If there is peace, this man will come for you.” “You promise?” “On my mother’s grave. This one will not forget you, my Sweet Water. If we can be together again in honor, it will be.”
Judith E. French, This Fierce Loving




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