No Greater Love - Eris Field

Table of Contents



Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20




New York




Cover Design by Ramona Lockwood

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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Published in the United States of America by

Soul Mate Publishing

P.O. Box 24

Macedon, New York, 14502



The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

No Greater Love is dedicated to those who give

of themselves to help the refugees of the world—

children, adults, and the elderly—who are fleeing

from conflict, terror, abuse, and losses.

May they be successful in helping their refugees

find the way to new homes, new lives.


It is with gratitude and deepest thanks that I wish to acknowledge those who gave so generously of their help in the preparation of No Greater Love: my family who listened and responded, the staff of the Roycroft Inn in East Aurora that introduced me to the beguiling charm of their tree house like suites, and friends who shared their family stories of enchanting, Circassian beauties. I am most appreciative of the comments of my fellow romance writers of Western New York Romance Writers and of the faith and hours of hard work of my editor at Soul Mate Publishing, Debby Gilbert.

Chapter 1

The flight from Amsterdam had granted no escape from the fear of what the next two days would reveal, and now, fighting against the ever-present fatigue, Pieter considered the amount of effort it would take to get out of the rental car and into the sprawling, brightly lit store, supposedly the premier liquor store in Western New York. He could not go empty-handed to see his old friend and mentor. But Carl was more than that. He was the one person in the world who cared for him without reservation, who saw beyond his defects. Holding on to the hope that the store would have Boomsma Oude Jenever, the golden Dutch gin that Carl loved, Pieter stepped out, drawing the collar of his light raincoat up to ward off as much of the wet March snow as possible.

As he neared the door of the store, Pieter became aware of a tall, slender woman racing toward the store. Her head was down and her long legs, covered in dark pants, closed the distance between them with quick grace. A curly mass of dark-brown hair topped by a saffron-colored knit cap bounced with each step. With automatic courtesy, Pieter stepped aside and held the door open for her to enter, and when she lifted her head to thank him, his breath caught as he registered the beauty of the elongated oval face—the skin as white as Limoges china, large, deep-set dark-brown eyes, long, straight-edged nose, and perfectly chiseled lips. A Circassian beauty. For a moment he was too stunned to speak. He had seen paintings of Circassian women—women from Georgia and the Russian Caucuses renowned as the most beautiful women in the world—but had never met one. What was a woman who, at one time, would have been a sought-after prize for a Sultan’s harem doing in this small town in Western New York? She had thanked Pieter in English but there had been a hint of an accent. His return “You’re welcome” had sounded awkward to his ears as he followed her through the door and then watched her speed to the side of the store.

The aisles, stocked with wines from every country, seemed endless to Pieter as he stood wearily looking for a sign that said Gin. He pushed himself erect and raised a finger to catch the