The Daring Heart (The Highland Heather and Hearts Scottish Romance Series) (39 page)

Is it the right one?

Book Four of the Glass Wall - The Egg (2014)

A death. A beginning. And the final Blue-Threaded decisions are made.

A NEW ADULT PARANORMAL SERIES

The first book of other-wordly creatures: "monster" (2014)

THE HIGHLAND HEATHER AND HEARTS SCOTTISH ROMANCE SERIES (PG-13)

The Kindling Heart

(Scotland, 1478) - Ruan MacLeod was through with women. They were nothing but trouble. Leaving the rash life of his youth behind, he returned to Skye, seeking peace. He never meant to split the clan or start a war with the MacDonald of Duntulm. He certainly never foresaw an arranged marriage to the most scandalous woman in Scotland. Even though she was twice his age, the size of a horse and mother to more than one illegitimate child, he agreed to secure his sister's freedom.

However, even that plan goes drastically awry. On his wedding day, he finds himself faced instead with an enticing, green-eyed lass named Bree. A walking disaster, his bride immediately turns his world into chaos and threatens to melt his resolve never to love again.

Betrayed by her own mother, Bree flees to Skye, thinking only to reunite with her long, lost father. Instead, she finds herself wed to Ruan MacLeod as a replacement bride. When she is forced to remain in the castle, she is soon caught between brothers and the mentally ill wife of the laird.

Shy, yet strong, Bree embarks on a journey of independence and learns along the way that all men are not necessarily evil. In fact, one particularly brooding, yet gentle-hearted warrior is worthy of love, and she soon loses her heart forever.

Award-Winning Novel: The Bedeviled Heart

"The Bedeviled Heart" is the ROMANCE SILVER MEDAL WINNER of the 2012 Independent Publisher Book Awards!

(Scotland, 1479) Cameron Malcolm Stewart, Earl of Lennox, had made his peace with destiny. It was not his fate to love as other men. Each of his politically arranged marriages had ended in disaster. And though he had never touched a one of his wives, he had come to believe that sharing his name would consign a woman to an early grave. So, on the sunny spring day Cameron encounters a delightfully devious, bright-eyed lass selling charmed stones in one of Stirling's alehouses, he tosses her a shilling, thinking only to steal a kiss. But it is a kiss that will change his life forever.

To care for her ailing father, the precocious Kate Ferguson has resorted to swindling the drunkards of Stirling. But a chance meeting with a handsome and seductively mysterious outlaw named Cameron ends with a kiss that changes the course of her destiny.

But as dark times descend upon Scotland, Kate is inadvertently caught in a deadly web of court intrigue spun by the royal favorite, Thomas Cochrane. And as King James III falls prey to his fear of the Black Arts, accusations of witchcraft and treachery abound. The fate of Scotland hangs in the balance, and while Cameron vows to defy destiny itself to hold Kate forever in his arms, he must unravel the plots of nobles and commoners alike to protect the country that he loves.

The Daring Heart

(Scotland, 1482) - To the scandalous Lord Julian Gray, marriage is a malady and nothing more. How can a man even court a lass longer than a fortnight when there are so many pouting lips to kiss?

Roaming the courts of Europe, Julian appears to spend his time drinking wine, wagering gold, and dandling willing lasses upon his knee. But no one knows the man behind the mask. No one knows that he is Le Marin--Europe's most daring and brazen spy.

But everything changes the night he finds a dagger pressed against his ribs and an alluring hazel-eyed minx in his bed.

Born into the Vindictam, the renowned Venetian family of assassins, Liselle dreams of the day she will be allowed to practice the family craft. And when she is sent to the Scottish court, her dream is finally realized. But is it an honor ... or a curse?

As the threat of civil war looms over Scotland, and the king's own brother conspires with the English to put himself on the Scottish throne, Julian can't help but be distracted by the mysterious Venetian beauty and her many secrets.

But will it be his undoing?

The Bold Heart(2013)

The story that started it all ends with the fated love of Merry and Ewan.

The Introduction of a New Romance Series “The Vindictam”:

“
Revenge”

Venice 1491

Pascal drummed his fingers on the side of the gondola
as it traversed the maze of canals.

He hadn’t been back to Venice since the Black Death arrived six years ago.

Many had died during that scourge, even the Doge himself. The Vindictam—arguably the most powerful family of assassins in Europe—had fled at once, knowing even they were no match for the plague.

He leaned back in the cushions for a time and simply enjoyed the soft splash of the oars dipping into the water. The smoothness of a gondola on the quiet canals of Venice was a far superior way to travel than the perpetual jolting rattle of a carriage on London’s bustling streets.

It was good to be home, and he had always meant to come back, but upon receiving his mother’s summons, his vague intentions had turned into speedy actions.

Pascal’s lip curled in dark amusement.

As the Grand Master, the Dominus Granditer of the Vindictam, men followed his orders without question. He answered to no one.

Save his mother.

His smile widened.

He was nothing more than a slave to her happiness. She was prickly, overbearing, and demanding. And she ruled her children with an iron fist. But she truly loved them, and they knew it well.

So when his mother demanded his appearance no later than noon of St. John’s Day, he had dropped matters of the gravest importance to go home at once.

But the journey had been a rough one, and judging by the sun’s arc in the sky, noon had passed some time ago.

He tapped the side of the gondola a little impatiently. “A silver coin for you should you get me there sooner!” he said, tossing the coin at the man’s feet.

The gondolier grinned and put more muscle into the oar, and as the magnificent buildings on the Grand Canal flew past him, his thoughts wandered once again.

His mother hadn’t stated the reason for his summons, but he could guess well enough.

Several months ago, he had succumbed to her pressure and to that of the Quattuor Gladiis, his four right-hand men.

They had demanded that he marry.

He had signed his name to the parchment as a show of good faith, knowing full well that with his mother involved, he had no say in the matter. They would choose the appropriate bride, one with the needed political ties.

No doubt, they had made their choice, or several, and had called him to meet his prospective brides. And most likely, the woman would be dull and tedious to deal with, but if it kept his mother appeased and the Quattuor satisfied, then what did he care if he had a wife?

It was just a marriage. How could that affect him?

He would be traveling again soon enough. There were matters in France that required his attention.

And then the gondolier called out, shaking him from his thoughts.

Leaving the Grand Canal, they glided into a new waterway, and as they passed under the arched stairs spanning the canal, Pascal beheld his ancestral home.

He eyed the place in dry amusement.

Returning home never failed to fill him with a wondrous yet disquieting sense of barbaric gloom.

The familial home of the da Vilardino was a striking marble creation perched on the water’s edge. In his mind’s eye, he could already see the rich paintings adorning the walls, the heavy velvet curtains hanging above the Moorish windows and the ornate frescos gracing the ceilings.

Yet there was another side to this luxurious domain.

The place was a virtual stew of plotting, scheming men engaged in the never-ending quest to gain more power and gold.

And then the gondolier maneuvered the boat to the landing, and Pascal stepped out onto the marble stairs leading from the water to the door.

He had arrived.

Dusting the slashed sleeves of his white travel-stained shirt and his close-fitting leather-studded breeches, he eyed his clothing with a wry twist of his lip. He far more resembled a highwayman than a Venetian noble, but he was already late.

He’d pay homage to his mother first before changing into proper attire.

But he had taken only a step toward the door before it was yanked open to reveal his elder sister, Anna.

A lithe dark-haired woman of proud bearing, she viewed him with her customary frown and a chilling gaze rife with disapproval. “You are late.”

“And how have you fared these years, Anna?” Pascal asked in a dry undertone.

Anna’s dark brows knitted into a frown. “This is a matter of the utmost importance, Pascal,” she warned.

Pascal lifted a single brow in query. “Cristofo? Rigi?” he asked in a soft, dangerous voice.

Angry that he, the youngest of the sons, had been chosen as the Grand Master of the Vindictam, his elder brothers had never ceased plotting against him. They were sly and wily, and though it had never been proven, all knew it was they who were behind the attempts to unseat him in the past few years.

Anna’s harsh tone cut into his thoughts. “You have been wed, Pascal. Rigi stood in as proxy for you.”

Pascal nearly missed a step.

But then reaching the door, he slouched gracefully against the frame, folded his arms, and peered down at his sister from under hooded eyes. “And who did I wed?” he asked in an even tone.

At that, her lips thinned. “Mama’s choice! The Quattuor Gladiis brought her this very day.” Her critical gaze took in the state of his clothing and she added, “Come as you are, you are too late already.”

“And why such haste?” he began.

But she had already turned away in a rustle of silks.

With a growing sense of apprehension, Pascal followed his sister through the hall and down a narrow twisting passage that led to the garden.

But as he approached the walled enclosure, he heard the sound of his mother’s angry voice engaged in a heated argument.

“I am truly home,” he murmured under his breath with a snort of private laughter.

Stepping through the door, a sea of faces turned to greet him. The voices around him were hushed, and a cloud of anxiety hung in the air. With a heightened sense of vigilance, he scanned the gathering, recognizing only a few of the guests.

And then his mother’s displeased tones sounded again, and he saw her standing near the statues clustered around the massive bronze cistern on the far side of the garden.

She was a sharp, shrewish, bony woman with a steady hand and dark hair despite her advancing age. The expression on her face was a fierce one, and her brown eyes flashed as she wagged a finger at a tall gray-haired man standing before her.

“And by what authority do you even dare
imply
that my son is disobedient?” Her voice rang throughout the garden as loud as a church bell.

Pascal’s lip lifted in amusement.

And then spidery, wizened fingers clutched his sleeve, and he glanced down into the wrinkled face of his aged grandmother.

“Be brave, my sweet boy,” the old woman encouraged in her weak, gravelly voice. “Be brave! I do not know why she has done this to you!”

Pascal patted her hand in warm affection. “Do not fret,
nòna
. I will not suffer!”

“Pascal! Attend!” his mother’s voice ordered sharply.

Leaving his grandmother to the care of one of the guests, Pascal approached his mother and bowed. She had aged since he’d seen her last. Frowning with concern, he gently took her hands between his.

“Are you well—” he began.

“You are late,” she observed with a crusty smile. Squeezing his fingers in a brief gesture of affection, she snapped her fan open, and waving it near her face, she turned to the tall gray-haired man still standing before her. “He is here, so I’ll hear no more libelous words from you!”

Curious,
Pascal glanced over his shoulder.

And then froze.

He recognized the man at once.

It was Antonio Saluzzo, the leader of the Saluzzi.

For years, the Vindictam and the Saluzzi—the rival assassins of Ferrara—had been the bitterest of enemies. That is, until Pascal’s father had forged a treaty, an exceedingly fragile and uneasy one.

Clasping his hands calmly behind his back, Pascal smiled, but it was a dangerous smile and one that few would fail to recognize as a threat.

“Antonio Saluzzo,” he said the name slowly.
“And why, pray tell, is a Saluzzo present during the marriage festivities of a da Vilardino?”

Antonio did not answer him. Instead, he folded his arms and peered down at him silently from the lengths of his large aquiline nose.

And then a soft musical voice spoke from behind him. “How much longer will you insult me, husband?”

Startled, Pascal turned to behold a young woman clad from head-to-toe in black. She was standing beneath a gnarled olive tree in the center of the garden.

“Your bride,” his mother murmured from his side. “Gemma.”

But Pascal scarcely heard her.

His attention was captivated by the stunning creature dressed in black.

Moving forward slowly, his eyes raked her
in ironic amusement. The fact that she was dressed in funeral attire was not lost upon him. Clearly, she was less eager to wed than even he had been.

But she was certainly not what he had expected.

She was a woman of breathtaking beauty.
Her hair fell in soft golden waves and her eyes reminded him of the sea. And the black lace of her attire only accentuated her ivory slenderness, giving her the appearance of an
exquisite carving.

She stood there, haughty and aloof, meeting his bold appraisal with one of her own.