Saving Moirra's Heart .... The Prologue

Below is the prologue to Saving Moirra's Heart. I'm almost done!! Just finishing up the last chapter, then the epilogue. I promise NO CLIFF HANGERS!

Alysander woke at dawn with Moirra’s bottom snuggled into his groin. ’Twas surely heaven on earth to wake with her in his arms and not have to lie or pretend anymore. Tenderly, with an arm wrapped protectively around her stomach, he pulled her closer, doing his best not to disturb her slumber.   Yesterday had been an exhausting one, what with the wolves that had attacked Muriale and Orabilis and the fire that destroyed their little home. 

The air in the barn was crisp and smelled of straw and lavender — his wife’s favorite scent. He inhaled deeply with the intent to calm his ardor. It was a mistake. Though they had made love twice last night, having her so close to him and knowing he no longer had to hide his feelings for her, well, that just made him want her all the more. As much as he wanted to roll her over and kiss every square inch of her body, he decided to let her sleep. Knowing that they had long days ahead, she would need her rest. 

His heart felt much lighter now that their daughters knew the truth. Aye, they were his daughters now, no matter what blood might run through their veins and he’d defy anyone to tell him different. His daughters were in the loft, undoubtedly still asleep in the makeshift quarters. Alysander looked forward to rebuilding the cottage and getting everyone out of the barn. On top of having to build a new cottage, they would also need to begin the harvest in a few days. 

For the tiniest moment, he thought of reaching out to his father for help, but quickly dismissed the idea. Nay, his father would be of no help to him, for he still blamed the death of his favorite son on his least favorite son — Alysander. He had no doubt the man would let him starve to death before he lifted a finger to help him. He also knew it wouldn’t matter one bit that he had turned his life around, had married, and was now the proud father of four beautiful girls. 

With a sigh of resignation, he pulled the blankets up around his wife’s shoulders, and quietly rolled away. He pulled on tunic and trews, laced up his boots, and stepped away from the bed. He had taken no more than two steps away when he caught sight of Orabilis. The child was curled into a ball on the pallet next to Wulver, with one hand resting on the dog’s neck. Aye, she was a stubborn child but he could not blame her for wanting to care for the dog that had saved her life, as well as her sister’s.

He stepped out of the room, found a spare blanket amongst items people had left the night before. Carefully, he draped it over Orabilis and breathed a sigh of relief when Wulver lifted his head and looked at him. He sent a silent prayer up to God before leaving the barn. 

Smoke from their destroyed cottage still lingered in the crisp morning air. Morning dew immediately formed on his skin making him shiver. For now, the fire pit Moirra used to do laundry would have to suffice as a makeshift kitchen. Soon, Alysander had a nice fire going and water heating. 

He was able to find a few cooking pots inside the rubble of the burned out cottage. After scouring them thoroughly, they were as good as new. Going through some of the foodstuffs neighbors had thoughtfully brought to them last night, he set about making breakfast for his women. The smell of eggs and sausage frying made its way to the barn and he soon heard the women within shuffling around and readying themselves for the day ahead.

Moirra appeared in the doorway of the barn, looking every bit as beautiful as Aphrodite herself. Her hair was mussed and fell down her back in loose waves, still looking quite sleepy as she yawned and pulled her shawl around her shoulders. Her eyes searched the yard, and when they fell upon Alysander, a most brilliant smile came to her face. His heart slammed against his chest, his manhood twitched and his mouth went dry. God’s teeth the woman is magnificent. 

“Good morn to ye, husband,” she said as she crossed the yard, the smile growing with each step she took. 

Alysander swallowed hard as he fought the urge to take her back inside and make love to her again and again.

“Good morn—” his voice caught in his throat. He cleared it and tried again. “Good morn to ye, wife,” he said with a smile. 

Moirra came to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “I didna like wakin’ up alone,” she said against his chest. He placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head and returned her hug.

“But I did like wakin’ up to the smell of eggs and sausage,” she said as she pulled away. Looking into his eyes, she continued to smile. God above, he would never tire of looking at that smile.

“I do believe I told ye once that I know how to cook,” he reminded her. 

“Aye, and ye do yer own laundry as well,” she said playfully. “A man who cooks and cleans without complaint makes me heart go all aflutter. And it makes me want to take ye back up to the loft and have my way with ye.”

He swallowed again and was about to tell her she could do that anytime she wished when the sound of approaching horses drew his attention away. 

Instinct warned that ’twasn’t a social call that brought the five mounted men into Moirra’s yard. The two whoresons who had tried to attack Mariote, along with three men Alysander had never seen before, came bounding down the small incline and pulled their horses to a stop.

Alysander heard Moirra’s gasp as she stood behind him. It was quickly followed by a flurry of activity inside the barn. Alysander could only assume the girls were either taking up arms or were planning to hide. Knowing him as they did, he imagined it was the former. 

A thin man, very much resembling a weasel with unusually large ears, brought his horse to within a few feet of Moirra’s door. His gray brown beard hung to the middle of his chest, while his hair was cut very close to his scalp. A hawkish nose sat between a pair of beady eyes. The hair on Alysander’s nape stood up. Instantly, he did not like the man who stared down at him as if Alysander were some disgusting creature. 

“I see ye hidin’, Moirra Wilgart,” the man said, looking and sounding perturbed. 

Moirra huffed and came to stand beside Alysander. “Me name is Moirra McCallum.”

The man huffed derisively and shook his head. “Be this yer latest victim?” he asked, referring to Alysander. 

Moirra started to give the man a piece of her mind, but Alysander stopped her by placing a hand on her shoulder. “Who are ye?” 

“I be Moirra’s brother-in-law, Almer Wilgart.”

“Ye are no’ me brother-in-law,” Moirra ground out. 

“Ye were married to me brother,” Almer said through gritted teeth.

“Nay! I was no’. ’Twas a handfastin’ and ye ken it as well as anyone else.” She looked then to Alysander. “This is the Sheriff of Glenkirby, and aye, he is Delmar Wilgart’s brother.” 

Alysander never took an eye from any of the men. He gave a slight nod as if he understood completely — which he did not — before asking why they were here. 

“I’ve come to arrest Moirra for the murder of me brother, Delmar Wilgart.”

You can pre-order your copy of Saving Moirra's Heart at Amazon and iBooks for only 99 cents. 

Book Four of The Clan MacDougall Series

Good morning beautiful readers!
McKenna's Honor is coming along quite nicely. July will be here before you know it. Amazon should have a pre-order link up and running for us on or around June 20th. Our target release date is July 26, 2013. I will keep you posted if anything changes.

I am thoroughly enjoying this book. While it will have some romance in it, McKenna's Honor is going to be just a wee bit different. There will be far more mystery and intrigue. I am bringing back many of our favorite characters who I think you will be glad to see. ;o)

McKenna's Honor

Prologue

An old adage declares that there is no honor among thieves. The same can be said of traitors. Traitors often hide in the open, in our full plane of vision. The truth is there, if we choose to see it, if we are determined to see things for what they are and not what we wish them to be.

In reality, traitors are nothing more than pretenders. Actors in a play in which only they know who is who and what is what. Master manipulators.

 And people tend to see only what they wish to see.

When a traitor performs, openly defending the weak, speaking only in the highest regard toward his king and country, and displaying an unequaled façade of honor, well, who among us would question his fealty? The traitor shows us only what he wishes us to see and only what we wish to believe.

All the while the traitor silently laughs at the folly he has created, taking great care in the absurdity of the entire situation.

And if he is extremely careful the world will never know who or what he truly is. 

However, as is often the case with thieves, traitors, and ne’er do wells, sometimes fate steps in at the most unexpected of times. It rips away the heavy curtain of subterfuge and duplicity, to openly display to the world not what it wishes to see, but what it in fact must see.

Such inaugurations to the truth are often painful and traumatic, leaving the newly inaugurated feeling stunned, stupefied, and bitter. For some, the only means of survival is outright denial. They shun the truth. Curse it. Preferring instead, to live in denial. Mayhap because they love the traitor so much, it is easy to justify the aforementioned traitor’s behavior. Or, they may not wish to believe they could have been so easily duped.

But as in all good plays, there are subtle twists and turns. Some are quite obvious, others, not so much. Mayhap the truth isn’t always what it seems. Mayhap there is far more to it than anyone realizes.

What then, motivates a man? A man like Angus McKenna?

Angus McKenna has spent his life defending the defenseless, offering hope to the hopeless, lifting up the weak. This is how the world see’s him: Honorable. Honest. Steadfast. A leader of men. A man loyal, to king and country. A man above reproach. That is the man his people see, the man other leaders see, the man the world sees.

Since the day he took his oath as chief of the Clan MacDougall and made the promise to uphold and protect his clan above all other things, Angus McKenna has always put his family and his clan first. Each decision he has made since that fateful day in 1331 has been made with only one thought in mind: how will this decision affect my family and my clan?

Nothing else mattered but the safety and well being of his people. Not his own comfort, his own desires, or his own needs could be taken into consideration when making decisions that would directly affect his people.

What then, could have made Angus McKenna don a red and black plaid and turn against his king? His country? How could a man like Angus McKenna do such a thing? What could be of such a value that he would plot to murder his king and to forge a pact with the English? A pact that would cause the fall of his country and put it squarely into the hands of the very people he has spent his entire life fighting against.

Gold?

Silver?

Power?

Something more?

Through time and experience, we learn that things are not always as they appear.

Chapter One Rowan's Lady

This is still in rough draft form. My beautiful editor hasn't even had the chance to look at it yet. But I did want to give you a little peek! ;o)

One

The Highlands, Autumn 1354

“Do ye love me?”

       Lady Arline’s knees shook and her stomach clenched tightly when she stared into the dangerously dark blue eyes that belonged to her husband. She wasn’t at all certain if it was the question that gnawed, or the cold, stony glare his face held when he asked it.

She swallowed hard, willed her legs to settle and decided honesty was at all times the best policy.

       “I am sure I could learn to love you, m’laird.” She prayed she didn’t sound like a fool. 

       Laird Blackburn of Ayrshire, was indeed a very handsome man. Tall, lean, and well muscled, he stood at least four inches taller than Lady Arline. He kept his straight blonde hair cut short. She imagined most women would swoon if he chose to look upon them with those dark blue eyes of his. And if the eyes didn’t do it, then perhaps the muscles that rippled under his taught tunic certainly would.

      Truth be told, Lady Arline nearly swooned herself when she met him for the first time three days ago. They had been introduced just moments before exchanging their wedding vows.

      She had to admit to feeling a bit more than just a twinge of excitement when she had first set eyes on him. He wasn’t at all what she had expected. Not in appearance or manner. And she had been more than thankful that he had not been old.  

      Their marriage had been arranged, as all her marriages had been. He was by far the most handsome man she had ever been married to, and the youngest, though he was still ten years her senior.

      But there was something…. something she could not quite yet put a name to, something in those blue eyes that held…what? A secret? She was as yet uncertain and doubly nervous. Whatever it was, she found it difficult to keep her knees from knocking together or her fingers from trembling. She clasped her hands tightly in front of her and tried to at least appear as if she were not completely terrified.

      Perhaps it was the anticipation of what lay ahead, on this their first night in her new home. Her husband had yet to lay a hand on her, save for the chaste kiss at the alter three days passed. He had barely spoken to her during the journey from Lochbraene to Ayrshire.

      She wondered, if by chance, he too, was just as nervous as she.

      It was doubtful. A man as handsome as Garrick Blackburn must certainly have a significant amount of experience with women and loving. Nay, it could not be nervousness she saw in the depths of those dark eyes. It was something else.

      Lady Arline reckoned that perhaps it was her own widespread nervousness that made her mouth go dry and her legs weak. Undoubtedly he would want to consummate their marriage and perhaps before doing so, he wanted to know what her feelings toward him might be.

      The thought of consummation nearly made her legs give out.

      It was early evening and they stood in Lady Arline’s appointed chamber. She wore a heavy silk robe over her thick linen nightdress. Her long, wavy auburn hair she left loose and unbound. She was as nervous as she could ever remember feeling.

      It was those cursed eyes of his that left her with such a sense of discomfit.  

      She studied him more closely as he paced in front of the tall window. He did not look pleased with her honest answer. He raised an eyebrow ever so slightly when she gave her fretful answer. Mayhap, she told herself, honesty would not be the best policy with this man.

      After several long moments, Laird Blackburn stopped pacing and turned his gaze back toward Lady Arline.

      “Ya see, lass, therein lay the problem.”

      There was no mistaking the disdain his face held. It was quite evident in the tightening of his jaw and the hard, icy glower he pinned her in place with.

     “Ye see,” he said as he continued to pace, “I want ye not to get any notions of fallin’ in love with me. Fer tis a certainty that will never love ye.”

     There was no mistaking the tone of his voice. Controlled anger, contempt, and derision dripped from his mouth. There was no mistaking that he meant exactly what he said.

     Any hope that she may have had at someday forging a bond with her new husband, one made of mutual admiration and respect, fell as rapidly as a rock from a tall cliff. It plummeted to her toes with a thud. Why am I so cursed when it comes to husbands?

     “This marriage,” he told her as he turned away and looked out the window. “’Tis but a farce.”

     She forced herself to remain steady as she tried to tamp down the welling fear.

     “Are ye aware of what was in the agreement?” He asked her, as he continued to look not at her, but at something unseen outside the window. “Of what all it entails?”

     Words were lodged in her throat, so she grunted aye, she knew.  She knew what her father had agreed to, or at least she thought she did. Knowing her father as she did however, he had probably left out very important details.

     “Tell me, what you know.” His voice was low and steady, commanding.

     “I am to be your wife, in exchange for the troth of three wagons of food and ten horses, as well as land.” Her mouth was beyond just dry. Her tongue felt thick and swollen. What she wouldn’t give for a tipple of whiskey at this moment.

     “And?” he asked.

     She felt her brow crease, swallowed hard and willed herself to answer. “If I’ve no’ gotten with child or produced an heir after one year, one month and a day, then we may annul the marriage.”

     The arrangement was not unlike a traditional handfasting. The difference however, was that they’d married in a church. It would take an annulment from the church in order for them to go their separate ways, if they so chose, at the end of the prescribed time period. Lady Arline had not given much thought to that clause in the agreement when her father had explained it. She hadn’t really cared at the time.

     Lord Blackburn came to stand before her, just a step away.

     “Aye. One year, one month and one day.” He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “And if there be no heir, the marriage will be annulled.” 

     He continued to glare at her, with one eyebrow arched as if he was waiting for clarity on her part.   When Lady Arline remained silent, he shook his head and snorted.

     “There will be no heir,” he said coolly.

     It was a statement of fact. A point that would not be argued further or open for any discussion at a future time.  

     “I’ll not bed ye,” he said bluntly, looking at her as if her found the mere thought of sharing a bed with her repulsive.

     “I do not love ye Arline. And I never, ever will.” He turned away from her again. “Do ye understand?”

     Aye, she thought to herself. I understand far more than ye know. She took a deep breath and muttered her affirmation at his back.

     “I think ye need to understand more fully what be at stake here.” He took a deep breath. “Ya see, I am capable of lovin’ a woman. Unlike yer last husband.”

     Lady Arline’s stomach fell to her toes again. Apparently, her current husband knew of her last.

     “I simply will not, under any circumstance love ye. Me heart, ye see, belongs to another,” he tossed his remark over his shoulder.

     Lady Arline felt not so much stunned as she did numb. Her question passed through her lips before she could rein it in. “If yer heart belongs to another, then why did ye agree to marry me?”

     He turned around slowly, the derision he felt toward her plainly written in the hard lines of his face.                   

     “Have ye met me father yet?”

     Lady Arline shook her head. “Nay, I haven’t.”

     “Ye be no’ missin’ much. He’s a whoreson if ever there was one. He does no’ like the woman who does own me heart. I had to marry ye in order to get the fool off me back.” Crossing his arms over his broad chest, the lines of his face hardened further, deeper. “In a years time, this marriage will be annulled. Make no mistake of that.”

     Arline lifted her chin showing him that she did not care. ’Twas in fact, the opposite of what she truly felt. She did care.

     Not for him precisely, but for all that could have been.

     “So we will pretend then, m’laird, to be married for the next year, only to satisfy the marriage agreement?” she asked him through gritted teeth.

     For the first time she saw him smile. The curve of his lips did nothing to make her feel better.

     “Yer not nearly as daft as I’ve been told,” he said. “I’m glad ya see it then, lass. One year, one month and one day. The marriage will be annulled.”

     Arline wondered what her father would think of this and immediately decided that she did not care. In a year’s time she would be of an age where she would no longer be forced to marry any man. Ever.

If Laird Blackburn did not want her, then so be it. She would play along with this farce to gain the freedom she had been denied her entire life. She could travel the world, come and go as she pleased and she’d never be forced to answer to anyone but her own heart.

      Although the thought of freedom brought a tingling sensation clear to her toes, her heart felt empty. Void. And she felt severely lacking.

      It was enough to break a weaker woman’s heart. But Lady Arline refused to be weak. There wasn’t a man in all this world worthy of her heart, let alone one worthy of breaking it.  

      He turned to face her again. “I’ll no hear any complainin’ from ye. Ye’ll do as I say, when I say it. Ye’ll stay in yer room unless I give ye permission to leave,” he began listing his rules, ticking them off one by one. “Do no’ ever question me or any decision I make fer ye’ll suffer fer it, that I promise.”

      He came to stand before her again. This time, he lowered his face only inches from hers. It took every ounce of courage she had to look him in the eye.

      “Lady Arline, ye will heed me warnin’. Ye do as I say, and ye may just get out of this marriage alive.”

      He quit her chamber then, without so much as a by your leave. His warning hung the air, long after he left, like damp, heavy fog. Though a fire burned in the fireplace, the air still felt chilled, cold, filled with his pervasive warning.

      It finally occurred to her just what lay hidden behind those dark eyes her husband possessed: sheer unadulterated hatred and all of it reserved for her.

     With her arms and hands still trembling, she walked to her closet, found the trunk that held her writing materials, her embroidery, and art supplies. On shaking knees, she rummaged through until she found a piece of charcoal she used for sketching.

      Quietly, she closed the lid and scooted across the wood floor to the back of the closet. She drew a short line on the wall. One day down.  With a heavy sense of dread, she slid the trunk across the floor to hide the mark that had begun her countdown to freedom.

      Taking in steady breaths to try to calm her nerves, she left the closet and climbed into her bed, drawing the covers up to her chin.

      Earlier, before speaking with her husband, she had been worried over things that now seemed mundane by comparison. Less than an hour ago, she had been nervously pacing her room, hopeful that she would be able to please her husband and build a future with him.

      She cursed under her breath; angry with her heart for allowing even a glimmer of hope at the life she so desperately wanted. A husband who would care about her feelings, a husband she could admire and respect. She wanted children. Lots of children. Arline longed for a home filled with love, laugher, bairns…peace.

      She would survive the next year. She would not let Laird Blackburn of Ayrshire win. 

I look forward to hearing what you think. ;o) 

Romantic Historical Lovers

This weekend, I am blogging over at the Romantic Historical Lovers site. ;o)

I am discussing the character, Wee William and the overwhelming response I have received from readers around the world regarding him.

Stop by the RHL site and let me know what you think of this sweet, big, honorable character!

Hugs,
Suzan

The Much Anticipated Release of Wee William's Woman

Hello everyone!!!

I am so happy to announce today that we do have an official release date for Wee William's Woman,
Book Three of the Clan MacDougall Series. This novel will be released on March 8, 2013!! It will be available in both electronic and paperback formats. I will post the cover very soon! ;o)

Scotland, 1345

They call him Wee William. Though he stands nearly seven feet tall, with arms and legs the size of tree trunks and hands as big as buckets, there is nothing wee about him. His scowl alone is enough to make most men's bones rattle with fear. And women, rather than swooning, tend to run in the opposite direction.

The giant Highlander is a self-proclaimed bachelor who has sworn for years that there isn't a woman in all of Scotland worth shaving his beard for, and for good reason. Years ago, after a bonny young lass broke his heart and left his dignity in shreds, he swore never again to put it in such peril. As a testament to his sincerity, he vowed never again to shave his beard.

Then he met her.  In a single heartbeat, Wee William was lost. Forever lost to a brown-haired beauty with gray-blue eyes brimming with tears -- a woman in need.

On her wedding night, Nora realized she made a terrible mistake. She had agreed to wed Horace Crawford when he promised her younger siblings would live with them. He soon broke his word and sent them away. Horace soon proved a harsh, cruel husband who owned no heart, nor a shred of decency.

On a dark, cold winter’s night, when Nora had almost given up hope of ever saving her siblings and herself, God answered her prayers in a most peculiar way. Through a band of fierce Highlanders on a mission to retrieve small but priceless treasures. Treasures she had unwittingly harbored.

Little did the Highlanders know they would return with more than those treasures… They would return with Wee William’s Woman. 

The Description for Wee William's Woman...

This is the blurb, or book description that we will use on the back of the book and various other places.  I'd love to know what you think! ;o)

They call him Wee William. Though he stands nearly seven feet tall, with arms and legs the size of tree trunks and hands as big as buckets, there is nothing wee about him. His scowl alone is enough to make most men's bones rattle. And women, rather than swooning, tend to run in the opposite direction.

The giant Highlander is a self-proclaimed bachelor who has sworn for years that there isn't a woman in all of Scotland worth shaving his beard for, and for good reason. Years ago, after a young woman broke his heart and left his dignity torn to shreds, he swore never again to put it in such peril. As a testament to his sincerity, he vowed never again to shave his beard.

Then he met her.  In a single heartbeat, Wee William was lost. Forever lost to a brown-haired beauty with gray-blue eyes brimming with tears -- a woman in need.

On her wedding night, Nora realized she made a terrible mistake. She had agreed to wed Horace Crawford when he promised her younger brother and sister would live with them. But he broke his word and sent them to Castle Firth. Horace soon proved a harsh, cruel husband who owned no heart, nor a shred of decency. Merciless as he was brutal with a violent temper that knew no bounds.

On a dark, cold winter’s night, when Nora had almost given up hope of ever saving her siblings…and herself, God answered her prayers in a most peculiar way. Through a band of fierce, fur-covered, Gaelic speaking Highlanders on a mission to retrieve small but priceless treasures. Treasures she had unwittingly harbored.

Little did the Highlanders know that in setting off to recover Aishlinn’s treasures that they would return with something far more valuable. They would return with Wee William’s Woman.