Christine Young
Excerpt Heat Level: 1
Book Heat Level: 3
REVIEW:
|
4.0 out of 5
stars
February 24,
2013
By
|
I have enjoyed this series. Strong
alpha highlanders....what more could a girl want. The heroin is strong but
sometimes just doesn't think....but that makes for the drama. Off to the third
book.
BLURB:
Throughout the Highlands she is
known as Keely, the witch woman. She is a great healer-a woman whose dreams
come true. Ian MacPherson is a man who puts honor, loyalty and duty above
everything. Their lives are entwined when Ian is sent by the Scottish King to
bring Keely to trial for witchcraft. He is attacked and left for dead, but
Keely rescues him. When he wakes, he discovers he has no memory. As he
remembers his lost past, Ian finds that his need to protect the woman who has
saved his life eclipses his duty to his king and country. He is a man torn
between honor and duty to his country and the woman he loves.
Excerpt:
Scotland, Summer 1513:
For a moment the man's gaze met
hers, bored into her heart, questioned. Blood curdling war cries rode the wings
of death through the timeless night. Claymores clashed. Dark eyes the color of
midnight flashed a challenge. The holy man's opponents hesitated then lunged
once more.
Moonbeams reflected light from the
gold chain he wore around his neck. Brown robes fell from massive shoulders.
Three more enemies appeared from the trees. The priest fell to the ground,
wounded by the broadside of his enemy's weapon. Motionless, he lay on her
flower-strewn meadow, blood staining the grass and wildflowers, marring the
colorful, summer landscape.
Keely Gray woke, heart pounding a
rapid staccato. She pressed against her throbbing temples with sweat-slick
palms, hoping to ease the horrific pain that always accompanied the dreams.
Death--the scent of blood, fear and treachery still hung heavy in the darkened
hut. The prickling sensation radiating from her spine to encompass her body was
too familiar.
She listened and heard nothing.
A dark void impaled her. The usual
night sounds stilled. She heard no hoot of owl, no chirp of crickets, no croak
of frogs, nor could she hear the mournful sighing of the wind through the
branches of the old oak trees.
Silence emptied her heart as well as
her soul, leaving only an ever-present loneliness.
Keely wanted nothing more than to
cuddle into her bed and pull the covers over her head. Despite the unspeakable
agony deep in the pit of her stomach, she rose from her pallet. Her limbs
trembling, she slipped a shapeless tunic over her head and soft-soled shoes
onto her feet. As she swept past the front door, she grabbed her woolen cloak.
Light from a full moon illuminated
the path. She could see, but she could also be seen, the moonlight both a curse
and a blessing. Approaching the meadow she'd watched in her dreams, she slowed
her pace and waited. Her fingers wound tightly around the amber pendant she
always wore, her only keepsake from her mother.
The sounds and scents hovering on
the wind would tell her if danger still lurked. Caution guided her. A vigilance
she'd learned long ago held her motionless.
A familiar dragging sound reassured her she
wasn't alone. "Whipple?" she whispered.
A self-appointed guardian angel
appeared as if from nowhere then nodded, though there was a wary cast to his
faded blue eyes. "Aye, lass, I'm here. I heard ye leave your hut. I would
not leave ye alone to face whatever dangerous mission awaited."
Keely waited for Whipple to close
the distance between them before she spoke. "I would argue with you about
your appearance here at this great hour, but I ken it would do no good. You
should not be here. Your heart--"
Whipple spat. "My heart is
fine."
She determinedly stepped forward,
approaching the meadow of her dream, knowing she wouldn't like what she found.
"Have it your way, then."
Given a choice, Keely wouldn't have come to this meadow. But she had to know
the truth--had she seen the future or something happening at that very moment?
Whipple didn't reply. On his
clubfoot, he followed her, his trailing leg sliding behind him with a soft
swish. The hard thud of his crooked oak cane followed at a slightly skewed
interval.
Together they crested the hill.
Below her, she saw her dream. A priest lay on the ground, his head twisted at
an odd angle. For a moment her heart stopped. She bit down on her lower lip while
she studied the man.
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