A chance encounter in a hospital waiting room between twenty-two
year old Will Messina and sixteen year old Josiah Pinkerton ends with a gift of
a stuffed dragon off the hospital gift cart and a memory neither of them can shake.
Five years later, when a lonely, buttoned-up Will ventures
into a gay club, he spots a pale, leather-clad specter with violet eyes tracking
his every move. Will realizes he’s being watched by the grown version of the boy
who’s haunted his thoughts for years.
Joey recognizes Will, but he’s no longer the sweet, brown-eyed
boy worthy of Will’s attention. He’s damaged and defective and lives in a
different world than Will now. When his childhood crush makes his way across
the bar, Joey doesn’t have time to decide whether to be enchanted or dismayed because,
unless he turns and runs, those worlds are about to collide.
Jaycee Edward is no longer seventeen years old but don’t
tell her that. She’s actually a tad older and lives in northeast Ohio with her
handsome husband and one, big gorgeous dog. She has two grown stepdaughters and
is proud to be the ultra-cool Nana to two amazingly incredible grand-teens.
Jaycee loves pistol shooting and is has earned her Bar 7 Sharpshooter status in
the Winchester/NRA Marksmanship Qualification Program and hopes to someday
reach the level of Expert Marksman. She is proud to be the token liberal at her
gun range. Jaycee knows way too much about the inner workings of Walt Disney
World and anything related to One Direction. She’d love to pull you into the
rabbit hole with her. All you have to do is ask. Find her there or contact her through
social media.
Twenty five year old Hailey Crossan takes a trip to Ireland during a sabbatical from her job in the LA record business. While there, she’s offered a job too good to turn down, so she stays.
Although Hailey works in Galway, she lives in the countryside of Connemara, a rural area famous for its Irish traditional music. When Hailey meets local musician, Liam Hennessey, a confusing relationship begins, which Hailey thinks is the result of differing cultures, for Liam is married to the music, and so unbalanced at the prospect of love, he won't come closer nor completely go away.
And so begins the dance of attraction that Hailey struggles to decipher. Thankfully, a handful of vibrant local friends come to her aid, and Hailey learns to love a land and its people, both with more charm than she ever imagined.
There’s an energy that hangs between strangers even in a crowd. Call it interest, or attraction, or the knowledge of things to come. It is awareness, and I was aware to the exclusion of all activity around me that Liam Hennessey was watching me. He was sitting at the corner of the bar by himself, and because I could feel his gaze upon me like an electrical current, I froze. I did not move an inch because I sensed I didn’t have to, that something would come about with little prompting from me. I don’t know how I knew this, but I was right, it came about within the hour. It began as a series of introductions to people near Liam, and drew itself closer until Liam was introduced to me.
Right before Leigh left, claiming she had to get up early the next day to drive to Cork, Kieran pointed out that the Irish traditional musicians playing in the corner were the father and older brother of the lad sitting at the end of the bar.
“That’s Liam Hennessey at the bar there,” Kieran gestured to my right. “He’s the best box player in Connemara – even in the whole of Ireland, many say. His family is long in Connemara; they’re all players, so. That’s Sean Liam, his da, and his brother Anthony there on the guitar.” Kieran seemed proud to know the facts. He next took my arm and led me straight to Liam.
“I’ve the pleasure of knowing this American here, her name is Hailey,” Kieran announced to Liam.
I had an uneasy feeling. It’s one thing to suspect you’ll cross paths with someone again, and quite another to be fully prepared when it actually happens. For some unknown reason, I kept thinking it was strange to see Liam this far out in the country from Galway, but then again, what did I know? I didn’t know anything about him.
Liam looked at me with large dark eyes and smiled brightly. He was different than I had imagined: he was friendlier, more candid. I assumed because he looked so dark and mysterious, there would be a personality to match. I assumed he would be reserved, aloof, perhaps arrogant in an artistic sort of way. I was paying close attention, and there was none of that about Liam. In seconds, I realized he was a nice guy. I moved a step to my right as an older man approached the bar.
“Would ye give us a hand there,” the man said to Liam, and for the next few minutes, Liam handed pints over his head to a group of men too far from the bar’s edge to grab the glasses themselves. Just then, Kieran said something that set off a chain of events and put the rest of the night in motion.
“Liam, will you watch Hailey for me, I’m off to join the sessiun.” With that, Kieran produced a harmonica from his shirt pocket and walked off to join the musicians in the corner.
I stood at the bar and waited for the next thing to happen. The world seemed to operate in slow motion. All the noise in the room subsided, and the only thing I knew was I was looking directly at Liam Hennessey. I searched his face for imperfections. I had never before seen such beauty in the face of a man. I hoped my thoughts didn’t show on my face. He was so good looking, I wondered why other people in the room weren’t staring at him, then I realized most of Hughes’ patrons knew him and were probably used to the way he looked. I was reticent, unsure of how to speak to Liam, unfamiliar with how provincial he may or may not have been. Words tend to get in the way in moments like this, but they lay in wait just the same.
About the AUTHOR
Claire Fullerton is the author of “A Portal in Time” and “Dancing to an Irish Reel,” both from Vinspire Publishing. She is an award winning essayist, a contributor to magazines (including “Southern Writers Magazine”) and a five time contributor to the “Chicken Soup for the Soul” book series. Claire grew up in Memphis, TN and now divides her time between Malibu and Carmel, CA with her husband, two German shepherds and one black cat. Currently, she is writing her third novel. Find Claire and the book: Amazon Kindle US - http://amzn.to/1E6Xflx
Available for 99cents/99pence for a limited time Add to Goodreads:
The temperature's rising in the Sweet Delights Bakery…
Entering the most popular baking competition on TV wasn't shy bakery owner
Vanessa Trent's idea. Especially as she prefers to steer clear of the media
attention her famous family constantly attracts. But she desperately needs the
prize money.
With his future on the line, Jake Walker vows to avoid trouble, which is
difficult to do when it lands in his lap…literally. Vanessa Trent is out of
bounds. He knows that. But if he can't resist her delicious cakes, how's he
supposed to resist her?
Vanessa and Jake both have secrets to hide. Combine that with a vengeful
ex-husband, sabotage, and throw in a little blackmail, and soon the spotlight
falls on both of them. Temperatures rise, and it's chaos in the kitchen. Can
they take the heat, or are they both about to get burned?
Content Warning: contains sensual sex and occasional strong language
Excerpt
Gripping the woman's wrist, Jake managed to restrain her before the weapon
made impact with his head again. He shoved his upper body forward and flipped
them both over.
Now this was much better. Or it would be if she'd quit squirming.
Not that it was a bad sensation or anything, but he was starting to enjoy this
more than the situation should allow.
With one hand free, her fingers scrabbled at the side of her. When her
fingers wrapped around the torch he snatched it out of reach. He grasped her
wrist and yanked both of her arms over her head, holding her captive with one
much larger hand than her daintier ones.
Picking up the torch, he pointed it at the large, temple-throb causing
weapon. As he read the first line on the bag he snorted in disbelief. Clearly
she was a novice in the weapon department.
"A confectionery product? What the hell was that meant to be—death by
chocolate?"
"God no," said the muffled, completely aghast voice from beneath
her mound of hair. "I would never hit someone with
chocolate."
Okay, so maybe she wasn't a threat to anyone at all. Jake released his grip
a little.
"Chocolate is way too expensive to waste," she continued.
"I hit you with a catering pack of marzipan."
He tightened his hold again. With her still wrestling beneath him, he
decided out of fear for his man parts, it was time for some answers. Reaching
out with his free hand, he brushed the silky strands from her face. She bucked
beneath him like a stray cat fighting for freedom. At first he thought she was
furious, but then he gazed into her green eyes and saw fear.
Although he took his work seriously—hell, sometimes caution had kept him
alive—no way was he a monster. Waiting for her movements to abate he lifted his
chest. In one smooth movement he traded position and surrounded her hips with
his legs, trying to take away the intimate contact steering him from sound
judgement, yet still stifling her leg movements with the grip of his thighs.
Resting more on his knees than pressing his full weight into her, the increased
gap between them gave him the perfect opportunity for another perusal of her
small frame.
With her arms upstretched, her small breasts raised higher with each dragged
in breath. Her shirt, trapped beneath his knees, pulled taut and had lifted to
reveal her scarlet knickers and a hint of smooth, pale skin peeking above. He
blinked. Maybe the glorious sight was a figment of his imagination due to his
recent lack of female companionship? His gaze drew to her parted lips, open to
allow the release of expended energy from her lungs. The fullness of her bottom
lip was so damned tempting.
"Anytime you want to get the hell off me—please feel free."
Her sarcasm cut through his momentary lapse. One more second and he'd have
been tasting her mouth.
"Tell me who you are, and why the hell you think you have a right to be
on private property, and maybe I will." Just maybe.
With her fingers clenching beneath his palm, he felt the spike of her pulse
at the pad of his thumb.
"Me tell you?" She blinked several times before
glaring at him as though he'd just sprouted bunny ears. "I live
here!"
Author Bio
Usually found with a pen in my hand, or my head in a book, I’m a
contemporary romance author who also thinks fangs and wings are a very
attractive accessory.
A devourer of books from an early age, imagination was my best discovery. I
spent much of my childhood stepping into wardrobes, searching for that magical
snowy world where conversing with animals would be expected. When I wasn’t
searching for those worlds, I wrote about them instead. My first step into the
world of romance was when I stole sneak peeks into my nana’s books. I’m still
in that world and I refuse to leave.
I live in Staffordshire, UK, with my husband and three wonderful children.
An avid reader and writer of romance, I strongly believe that words make the
world go around. I like nothing more than to be swept away by the words on a
page. I hope I can sweep you away too.
TITLE – The Vampire's House of Pleasure – Part One
SERIES – The Vampire's House of Pleasure
AUTHOR – Rose Wynters
GENRE – Vampire Romance, Time Travel Romance
PUBLICATION DATE – 3/16/15
LENGTH (Pages/# Words) – 69 pages/ 20,850
PUBLISHER – Rose Wynters
COVER ARTIST – Tina Adams
Violet was fascinated with the legends and lore of New Orleans. She was so fascinated that she left everything behind to run a B&B in the French Quarter. But she never imagined that vampires were really real... not until the night she found herself swept back in time to 1797.
Beaten and scared, Violet quickly realizes she's trapped... and in the most exotic bordello of all. But its clients aren't mortal, at least not anymore. Locked in an era that's not her own, she must find a way to escape from the powerful lure of vampire seductiveness... before it's too late.
The fortune teller laughed to herself as she watched the red-haired mortal racing away. Fortune teller, indeed. It was a role, but an effective one. She'd pushed her further than she'd originally planned, but it didn't matter. Violet's fate had already been set into motion. There was nothing that the other woman could do to stop it, even once she realized the truth.
Theodosia tongued her erupted right fang, enjoying the heady taste that came from the droplet of blood, before smiling in satisfaction. The debt she owed could never fully be repaid, but that wasn't uncommon when it came to matters of life... or death. But Theodosia wasn't one to forget, especially when she found herself in the role of being indebted to another. It had taken hundreds of years, and more than a little black magic, but it was done.
Whether it would end in triumph or tragedy, she didn't know. And really, she didn't care. She'd done her part, the outcome was out of her control. A tall, muscular man walked by, his blood hot and heated from exertion. Her stomach growled, her thoughts turning carnal. Silently, she willed a nearby pedestrian to her table, before gifting the unassuming female the contents. In her life, she had little need of trinkets that foretold of her future. She controlled her own destiny, and fate answered to her.
Imagining how good the young man would taste, Theodosia disappeared into the crowd with a seductive, mysterious smile on her face.
AUTHOR BIO
I've often been asked how I'm inspired to write about werewolves, immortals, and zombies. The answer is easy. I adore them.
Be it the Wolf Town Guardians or the Endurers, these characters have been a joy to write about. And why not? What woman wouldn't love a sexy immortal male or a long-lived werewolf that is destined to have them?
Not all of my books contain plus-sized heroines, but many of them do. I believe in true love and true love isn't based on a size tag. If you agree with this, I think you will enjoy my books.
Did you ever have a crush on your babysitter? Or remember your first crush? OkVei SiLah is an only child whose closest companion is the GiNae SoJae, daughter of his father’s Domestic and four years older. OkVei is devastated when GiNae graduates from Primary School at age twelve and enters the Academy, the equivalent of junior/senior high school. NiKoh’s Chosen begins with OkVei and GiNae’s friendship, to show their closeness and perhaps give some insight as to why GiNae is reluctant to go through Maturity. I hope you enjoy eight-year-old OkVei’s first letter to her! Enjoy!
Still mourning the tragic death of his beautiful mate, could another Chosen one already be waiting for NiKoh SiLah? To avoid what he’s not ready to accept, he throws himself into his work at Planet Security.
Leaving the Academy behind to follow her dream of working with animals, GiNae SoJae returns home. Preoccupied with work and not ready to take a mate, she’s horrified when her body enters Maturity. GiNae fights the changes occurring within her. But during nightly dreams she cannot control, an unknown man teaches her the secrets of her body.
Will NiKoh and GiNae succumb to the paths they think have been chosen for them or will they discover the true Chosen life that awaits them?
“But I don’t want you to go.” Eight-year-old OkVei SiLah watched in dismay as his friend GiNae SoJae packed her clothes. “Father leaves for Xaxa next week with Uncle LoGar, and I’ll have to go to the Council of Elders after school, to help Mother. You can’t leave me here all alone. Who will play with me and SuWeh?”
GiNae paused, then placed her tunic in her suitcase. “I would think you and SuWeh would be happier without me. You can play War to your heart’s content, instead of having me around to remind you to do your homework.” She sat down on the bed and put her arms around him, drawing him onto her lap. “I’ll be back for visits. You’re not getting rid of my entirely.”
“It’s not the same.” OkVei leaned his head against her shoulder. “Why can’t you take lessons at school anymore? I wish I could go with you.”
GiNae sighed. “It’s the way the system works. Everyone who’s eligible enters the Academy when you complete Primary school. When you’re nineteen, then you take the Placement Test, to see what occupation suits you best.”
“I’ll write you every day.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
“But I want to. I’m going to Bond with you someday, you’ll see.” OkVei slid off her lap and ran to the door.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m four years older than you are.” He looked back and saw her reach into her closet again. “Besides, I’m never going to Bond. I’m going to be too busy with my animals.”
“If Mother got the Council of Elders to approve her conservatory idea, then she can make the military approve an animal shelter near my base.” OkVei yanked open the door and ran to his room.
Mu’Tae 930155
Dear GiNae,
I am riting writing to you since my teacher wants us to write a letter, and you’ve been gone 2 hole whole weeks. I miss you. Are you missing me? How are your classes? SuWeh and I accidentally telporated teleprated went to the wrong place the first day after skool and interuptaded a meeting. Mother scolded us, but it was kinda fun, seeing all the Elders in that room with all the screens.
Write back soon and tell me all about it!
Sincerely yours,
OkVei SiLah
PS: Don’t fall in love with anyone. Remember, you have to wait until I grow up.
Thank you again for having me! I’m holding a month-long contest. Simply comment with your contact info and after the tour is over, all names will be tossed in a hat for a Grand Prize, a special gift pack full of goodies, along with a free book awarded daily. If you’re a member of the LRC chat loop, I would appreciate any votes cast for Book #1 in this series, Heart’s Last Chance, which has been nominated for Best Sci-Fi/Futuristic Book of 2014. Voting ends tomorrow! Here’s the link:
The lovely SJ Maylee nominated me for this blog award and set some questions for me to answer before I pass the award on and tag others. Thank you SJ.
The rules of the meme are:
Post the logo
Answer the questions asked by the nominator
Nominate any number of bloggers and link to their blogs
Let them know you nominated them
What’s your favorite thing to eat that you haven’t eaten in a long time?
Pancakes. I used to love pancakes, but as my allergies got worse I had to stop eating them. I used to love them with raspberries and blueberries, but now I can't have those fruits either. I have one of the worst forms of birch pollen allergy along with lactose intolerance ... so not much of my favorite foods are available to me anymore.
Is there a book that you’ve read over and over again or a book that you’d like to read again?
I haven't read a book over and over again, but I've read a few twice. I think the one I could read more times is by Christine Feehan from her Dark series. Its Dark Dream, and its fabulous. I even have a favorite few sentences from it, I am Falcon and I will never know you, but I have left this gift behind for you, a gift of the heart.
Are you a rule follower or rule breaker? And why? What is the payoff for that choice?
Depending on the situation I can follow or break the rules. Frankly it's a matter of how important it is that I follow the rules. If it's law I follow, but say it's a fashion thing or something that doesn't hurt others then I might break the rules. I wouldn't wear fur though. I've worn black stockings with white high heels LOL
What advice would you give your 18-year-old self?
Have as much sex as possible (safely of course).
What blog post or story are you most proud of?
That's a hard question to answer. I tend not to think in terms of being proud. I think in terms of like, for instance I will finish a story and think, I really like this story. It's a matter of degrees of like, too, because if I don't, like, really like, or love, I won't submit a story to my publishers.
Do you have a current goal you are working towards? What is it? If not, where would you like to see yourself 5 years from now in April 2020?
I don't set goals anymore. I used to, but life is full of tricks and surprises that often means there's no way you can achieve goals and that can be damaging to the psyche I've found.
I'd like to think I'm still writing in five years time and that I have more readers. I always put so much of my heart into my characters and stories and it would be good to think that reaches more people who love romance in all its genres eventually.
I think I'd like to have moved house too. I used to live close to the ocean and still don't live that far away, but not right next to it so that I could see it through the window, and I miss that. I miss the movement and reflections of emotions in the ocean. I'd like to be living next to the ocean. I could say I'd like to have found love too, the kind I write about in my stories, but I'me not holding my breath.
My nominations for the blog award and to answer the questions:
Oliver Birmingham,
Earl of Leith, is an aristocrat—albeit socially minded—and in the market for a
bride. Beautiful, intelligent Abigayle Windsor is a commoner, one the Earl is
impossibly drawn to, and when he accidentally compromises her, he insists they
wed.
Despite her
misgivings, Abby agrees to marry Oliver and their honeymoon lays the foundation
for a loving, wonderful marriage. But back in London, Oliver is again the Earl,
and Abby finds herself adrift and uncertain, unable to fit in, and she garners
considerable attention from the gentlemen of the ton.
Frustrated with Abby’s
apparent refusal to adapt, and driven wild with jealousy he refuses to acknowledge,
Oliver disciplines his bride one fateful night. He then decrees that if she
won’t act the part of his Countess, providing him heirs will suffice, and
effectively breaks her heart.
Have Oliver’s actions
cost him Abby’s love? Or can he leave his father’s influence behind, and make
it up to her?
STORY EXCERPT
No matter how she
cajoled, Mr. Landbourne wouldn’t be convinced to share anything with her, other
than his information was relevant to a bill being discussed in Parliament on
the morrow. He insisted it wasn’t for the ears of ladies, no matter if this
lady had her husband’s ear as she implied, and Abby’s mood soured by the
minute. Her curiosity ran rampant as well.
Thomas brought
refreshments—tea and pastries. Nothing stronger to give the impression the
small gathering was anything more than innocent. And he left the door wide
open, his shadow passing by frequently. Belatedly, Abby came to the conclusion
that entertaining Edwin might not have been the best choice. She wished for
Oliver to hurry home.
Be careful what you
wish for. The ominous words filled her head as the front door opened and
closed, loud in the quiet of the house, followed by a murmur of voices. Her
husband’s large frame filled the doorway, incredulity a dire mask on his
features before he composed them. Abby chilled to the bone in the face of it.
“My lady. Landbourne.”
His freezing tone
didn’t totally hide the bubbling fury in his voice. Abby intuited that Oliver
was in a towering rage such as she’d never witnessed, and instinctively stood
to insert herself between him and Edwin, who was also on his feet and babbling
anxiously.
“Leave. Now.” Where
was the Earl of Leith, that paragon of manners and proper behavior? The Earl of
Hauteur? Mr. Landbourne obviously looked for him too, going pale and blinking
frantically. His lips flapped but nothing intelligible emerged.
Then this new Oliver
set her aside, merely grasping her upper arms and lifting her clear to set her
away from them, before bearing down on the inoffensive Edwin. Twisting the
youth’s arm up behind his back, Oliver frogmarched him out of the room before
her astonished eyes, ignoring his pleas. The sounds of a scuffle diminished,
then she distinctly heard the slamming of the entry. Thomas dashed in to widen
his eyes at her, and tried to say something, only to retreat, as with a
measured tread, Oliver gained the room again and crossed to loom over her. Had
he always been so tall?
“What were you
thinking?” His intimidating near growl frightened her but also sparked her
temper, a faint hint of guilt fueling the fire.
“I beg your pardon?”
She too could sound icy and forbidding, having been schooled by some of the
best in the ton, and Oliver’s eyes flashed in response.
“Entertaining Edwin
Landbourne. When you were unwell, too ill to attend the Dowager Duchess’s ball.
The event of the season and one extremely important to my status in Parliament.
I would have thought you’d hope to showcase your considerable charms to a wider
audience.”
The attack on her
reputation was the final straw. She’d had enough. Damn his status. And damn his
insinuations. What about their marriage? What about her? If Oliver chose not to
hear Mr. Landbourne out then it wasn’t her place to tell him the young man had
come to share information perhaps very relevant to tomorrow’s day in
Parliament. To her husband’s oh-so-precious duty.
“There is nothing to
say. And certainly nothing to defend. I have no interest in those balls and
parties and soirees you insist upon. I have no interest in any part of this
social life you have thrust me into, using me to further your political
interests! That you no longer even share with me! I have no interest in being
your wife.”
A horrible stillness
settled over Oliver, and the difference in him became even more pronounced. He
somehow grew taller, his shoulders wider, and the very flesh on his cheekbones
thinned to give him a cruel, finely etched appearance. She barely recognized
him. His next words flayed her, delivered in such a silky tone it nearly masked
the venom.
“But you are my
wife, Abigayle. My countess. And as my wife you will take my direction and
advice and obey me henceforth. Without negotiation. Without complaint or
protest, or pay a very dear price for defying me.”
Aghast, she retreated
as far as the couch behind her would allow and shook her head. “No. I can’t
live like that.”
“Then you leave me no
choice.”
Bearing her out of the
room with no care to her protests and struggles, he took her to a small room at
the end of the hall. Her eye caught the quick movements of the servants and she
was mortally embarrassed to be handled in such a way in front of them. What
transpired next was something she somehow retreated from in order to deny him
further and only consider later when alone again in her room, deposited there
by a man she no longer knew, yet was married to and forced to deal with for her
lifetime. If only at his time and choosing.
Peri Elizabeth Scott lives in Manitoba,
Canada.
She and her husband have a wonderful son, and a houseful of animals. She closed
her part time private practice as a social worker and child play therapist to
spend more time with her husband. Peri has written for years, mostly short
stories and poetry, and reads everything she can lay her hands on. She more
recently turned to penning contemporary romance, although has published dark
erotica under another pen name.
TITLE – Morning’s Journey
SERIES – The Dragon’s Dove Chronicles, book 2
AUTHOR – Kim Iverson Headlee
GENRE – Myths, Legends, Historical, Spiritual, Romance
PUBLICATION DATE – 2013
LENGTH (Pages/# Words) – 439 pages/140K words
PUBLISHER – Pendragon Cove Press
COVER ARTIST – Natasha Brown
In a violent age when enemies besiege Brydein and alliances shift as swiftly as the wind, stand two remarkable leaders: the Caledonian warrior-queen Gyanhumara and her consort, Arthur the Pendragon. Their fiery love is tempered only by their conviction to forge unity between their disparate peoples. Arthur and Gyan must create an impenetrable front to protect Brydein and Caledonia from land-lusting Saxons and the marauding Angli raiders who may be massing forces in the east, near Arthur’s sister and those he has sworn to protect.
But their biggest threat is an enemy within: Urien, Arthur’s rival and the man Gyan was treaty-bound to marry until she broke that promise for Arthur’s love. When Urien becomes chieftain of his clan, his increase in wealth and power is matched only by the magnitude of his hatred of Arthur and Gyan
—and his threat to their infant son.
Morning’s Journey, sequel to the critically acclaimed Dawnflight, propels the reader from the heights of triumph to the depths of despair, through the struggles of some of the most fascinating characters in all of Arthurian literature. Those struggles are exacerbated by the characters’ own flawed choices. Gyan and Arthur must learn that while extending forgiveness to others may be difficult, forgiveness of self is the most excruciating—yet ultimately the most healing—step of the entire journey.
THE CLASH OF arms resounds in the torchlit corridor. Blood oozes where leather has yielded to the bite of steel, yet both sweating, panting warriors refuse to relent.
Her heart thundering, Gyan grips her sword’s hilt, desperate to help the man she loves. Caledonach law forbids it.
Urien makes a low lunge. As Arthur tries to whirl clear, the blade tears a gash in his shield-side thigh. The injured leg collapses, and Arthur drops to one knee. Crowing triumphantly, Urien raises his sword for the deathblow.
Devil take the law!
Gyan springs to block the stroke. Its force jars her arms and twists the hilt in her grasp. She barely holds on through the searing pain.
Urien slips past her guard to slice at her brooch. The gold dragon clatters to the floor. Her cloak slithers to her ankles, fouling her stance. As she tries to kick free, Urien grabs her braid, jerks up her head, and kisses her, hard. Shock loosens her grip. Her sword falls. She thrashes and writhes, but he holds her fast, smirking lewdly.
“You are mine, Pictish whore.”
Urien’s breath reeks of ale and evil promises. She spits in his face. He slaps her. She reels backward, her cheek burning. He grabs her forearms and yanks her close.
“Artyr, help me!”
No response.
Her spirits plummet. Weaponless, she can do nothing—wait. A glint catches her eye.
When Urien kisses her again, she surrenders. He grunts his pleasure, redoubling the force of the kiss. Slowly, she works her hands over his chest until her left hand touches cold bronze on his shoulder. She snatches the brooch and rips it free, hoping to stab him with the pin.
Her elation vanishes with her balance as her tangled cloak thwarts her plans. Face contorted with rage, Urien lunges and catches her wrist. She grits her teeth as his fingers dig in to make her drop the brooch. Pain shoots up her arm. She pushes away. Together, they fall—
***
Gyan gasped and sat bolt upright, pulse hammering. Sweat plastered her hair to her head, which felt like the ball in an all-night game of buill-coise. Bed linens ensnared her legs.
Fingers grazed her shoulder. She recoiled and cocked a fist. Her consort ducked behind his hand. “Easy, Gyan!” She relaxed, and he wrapped his arm about her. “What’s wrong?”
She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. “A dream,” she replied, hoping that for once he’d be satisfied with a vague answer.
“Some dream.”
She sighed. “It was the fight—and yet not the fight.” Gently, she traced the thin red line at the base of his neck where she’d scratched him with Caleberyllus to seal his Oath of Fealty to her and to her clan. But dreams cared naught for oaths. “This time, Urien won.”
Arthur grimaced. “That’s no dream.” He hugged her, and she burrowed into his embrace. “I’d call it a nightmare.”
“Ha.” She bent forward to disengage the linens from her feet. The unyielding fabric ignited her ire. She pounded the straw-stuffed mattress, furious at Urien and even more furious at herself for allowing him to creep into her wedding chamber, if only in spirit. “Why must that cù-puc keep coming between us?” She gazed at the table where Braonshaffir, named for the egg-size sapphire that crowned its hilt, lay sheathed inside its etched bronze scabbard beside Caleberyllus. Indulging in the fantasy of her new sword shearing through Urien’s neck, she bared her teeth in a fierce grin. “Just let him cross me openly, and by the One God, I’ll settle this matter!”
Arthur’s warm sigh ruffled her hair. Together they righted the linens, but when she would have risen, he clasped her hands and regarded her earnestly. “I can’t afford to lose either of you.”
She looked at those hands, young and yet already scarred and callused by years of war: hands that cradled the future of Breatein. “I know.” Briefly, she squeezed his hands, hoping to convey her desire to help him forge unity among his people, the Breatanaich, as well as with Caledonaich, her countrymen.
One legion soldier in five called the northwestern Breatanach territory of Dailriata home, and one in three of those men hailed from Urien’s own Clan Móran. In a duel between Gyan and Urien, Arthur’s Dailriatanach alliance would die regardless of the victor.
If politics ever failed to constrain the Urien of the waking world, however, she couldn’t guarantee that diplomacy would govern her response.
She averted her gaze again to the table where their arms and adornments lay. Their dragon cloak-pins sparked a memory. Something else had been odd about that dream, but its details had receded like the morning tide. She couldn’t decide whether to be troubled or relieved.
Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply, trying to purge Urien map Dumarec from her mind. Moist pressure against her lips announced her consort’s plans. She welcomed his kiss and deepened it. He ran his fingers through her unbraided hair, following the tresses down her neck and over her breasts. Her nipples firmed under his touch. She arched back, and he kissed his way down to one breast, then the other, drawing the nipples forth even farther and awakening the exquisite ache in her banasròn.
The swelling shaft of sunlight heralded a reminder of their duties.
“The cavalry games will be starting soon, mo laochan.” No other man had earned the Caledonaiche endearment from her, and none ever would. Her “little champion” bore her down onto the pillows, and his lips interrupted any other comment she might have made. As they explored the curve of her throat, she whispered, “We must make an appearance.”
“We will, Gyan.” His fingertips teased her banasròn, discovering its damp readiness. “Eventually.”
She stilled his hand. He looked at her, puzzled.
Being à rd-banoigin obligated her to ensure her clan’s future by bearing heirs, but was she ready to abandon the warrior’s path and devote her life to a bairn? She gave a mental shrug. A swift calculation assured her that her courses would return soon, leaving the question to be faced another day. Smiling, she began caressing one of the reasons he’d earned “laochan” as an endearment.
He cupped her face and kissed her, urgency for both of them soaring on the wings of desire. His thigh rubbed hers with slow, firm strokes. Gyanhumara nic Hymar, Chieftainess of Clan Argyll of Caledon, yielded to her consort’s unspoken command. She opened to him, and he plunged her into their sacred realm of mind-blanking bliss.
Whenever Arthur map Uther, Pendragon of Breatein, issued an order, on the battlefield or off, only a fool disobeyed.
BOOK TRAILER (with older cover by Jennifer Doneske)
CHARACTER BIOS
From Legion Headquarters in Caer Lugubalion, Brydein, I send you greetings.
I put pen to parchment in honor of my wife, Gyan—formally, Chieftainess Gyanhumara nic Hymar of Clan Argyll of Caledonia. We have been married a few short months, just since the calends of July, and we met each other for the first time only three months before that. Yet I feel so closely bonded with her in heart, soul, and mind that it seems as if I have known her my entire life.
If you were to ask me what first caught my attention about this remarkable woman, I would have to confess it was her exotic beauty. Her brilliant copper hair, sea-green eyes, berry lips, the wild blue doves winging across her forearm all beckoned to me to learn more about her. Since I knew her to be a warrior—though untried in battle at the time of our meeting—I had expected her to act aloof, cold, haughty, arrogant. From the moment my hand gripped her arm in welcome, I knew she was none of those things.
And I think I knew—on some level, at least, if not overtly—that my heart stood in grave danger of declaring its undying allegiance to her even as I realized that to do while she remained betrothed to Urien might plunge our lands into another war.
Fortunately for both our peoples, Gyan proved herself a canny diplomat and hid her feelings about me until the time was right for both of us to declare our love.
Problems remain, of course. Though together Gyan and I defeated the Scots and bought peace from that quarter for a season, the Saxon and Angli kings remain a looming threat. Urien stands to become chieftain of his clan, and may God deliver us all from that day. And I cannot shake the disturbing thought that, should Gyan and I have children, they might fall victim to treachery from without—or within.
But I also have deep abiding faith in that which makes us strongest: our love for each other, and the love of our God, our families, our clans, and our friends. Against an alliance of that nature no power in heaven or on earth stands a chance.
Arturus Aurelius Vetarus, Dux Britanniarum
Also called by many Arthur the Pendragon
Kim Headlee lives on a farm in southwestern Virginia with her family, cats, goats, and assorted wildlife. People & creatures come and go, but the cave and the 250-year-old house ruins -- the latter having been occupied as recently as the mid-20th century -- seem to be sticking around for a while yet.
Kim is a Seattle native (when she used to live in the Metro DC area, she loved telling people she was from "the other Washington") and a direct descendent of 20th-century Russian nobility. Her grandmother was a childhood friend of the doomed Grand Duchess Anastasia, and the romantic yet tragic story of how Lydia escaped Communist Russia with the aid of her American husband will most certainly one day fuel one of Kim's novels. Another novel in the queue will involve her husband's ancestor, the 7th-century proto-Viking king of the Swedish colony in Russia.
For the time being, however, Kim has plenty of work to do in creating her projected 8-book Arthurian series, The Dragon's Dove Chronicles, and other novels under her new imprint, Pendragon Cove Press.
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