SPELLBOUND HIGHLANDER

Haven MacKay, a budding witch, volunteers at a present day historical village at the New Hampshire Highland Games. She gets more than she bargains for when her love spell goes awry. Cast back in time, she does indeed meet her true love, kilt and all. Unfortunately, Laird Kirkwall Gunn has pledged to marry a woman from an enemy clan in order to end a century-old feud.

Her search for true love leaves her empty. After discovering her ex-boyfriend’s secret, she wants someone honest and open. With the aid of a creepy old crone’s potions, the unintentional addition of a violent storm, and her cry for help, she is transported back in time.

Kirk’s plans to sacrifice his future go slightly off course when he meets Haven wandering through the Scottish Highlands. Haven’s problems multiply when she fails to realize she is in 16th century Scotland. What follows involves two people who get on each other’s nerves. Passion simmers.

With a spy in their camp, a kidnapping, and Kirk’s secret betrothal, they fight a growing attraction. Spells, battles, and treachery collide. Kirk’s duty and Haven’s awakening desire lead them on a merry chase.

EXCERPT

As he walked, the urge to turn around and drink her in surprised Kirk. Convinced he needed to see if she still followed, he first listened for her footfalls. They’d cleared the underbrush and came upon the meadow which lay between the stream where he had hunted unsuccessfully and his temporary camp. Once or twice a muttered curse sprang forth.

He’d glanced back with a quick peek to ensure her good health when he saw that her skirts had caught on something. With all the noise such a small woman created, he really had no need to turn. But, he wanted to see her. More urgently, he again wanted to be close enough to smell her sweet fragrance. The scent made him recall fragrant springtime meadows filled with honeysuckle and wild strawberry.

When he survived the shock of seeing his dream woman in the flesh, he had clenched both fists so tight he feared he might snap his bow. She talked with a strange accent and showed no fear of him. The beauty had noted his scar — everyone did — but did not shy away. She said she had to get to camp. To work. Those words struck him as odd. Finding a well-dressed lady out in the woods alone had been odd as well. But, he knew their camp laid a day’s ride from a village. A crofter’s lodge or the home of a sheep tender might be close by, but he would swear on his sister’s soul that this woman had no affiliation with a mere sheep herding family.

Even so, though dressed in velvet and lace, her gown showed hard use and looked wet and muddy. Was that blood along her hip? Had she stolen the dress? Had she earned it selling her body? His cheeks heated at the thought. Would this lovely, sweet smelling, well-dressed lady, who traipsed behind him in the lonely woods, sell her body for a man’s pleasure? But even a whore usually set up shop at a village where a tavern provided a bed and plenty of clients.  

Then he remembered some women followed armies into battle or on annual weeklong hunts. She had admitted the camp was in need of her talents. Is she a gypsy whore? They traveled the country going camp to camp to sell themselves. And here he walked, leading her towards his camp full of lusty Highlanders. His men were always eager to lie betwixt creamy white thighs. The sudden image of her legs, spread wide, made Kirk’s body tighten.

He stopped so abruptly, the woman of his dreams slammed into his back and knocked his bow to the ground. Unbeknownst to him, she had run down the slope. The woman’s hands had gone out to keep her body from falling face-first into his back. Muscles all along his spine rippled at her touch, skin against skin. The two of them stood utterly alone but for a flock of sheep. Soft bleating echoed across the valley along with her short gasp when she had touched him.

He knew his breaths sounded harsh. Their rapid intake kept time with the brisk beat of his heart. He paused while she righted herself then turned to watch as she smoothed her skirt with both slender, white hands. When she looked up him, her eyes locked on his mouth, Or his scar. Kirk’s neck muscles trembled. The first stabs of pain pierced his skull and he rubbed the tense area with one palm. He knew the cause. He resumed his stance, with his back to her beauty, and sighed.

“Are you ill?”

Her voice, lush as a summer breeze, warmed his heart and hardened his cock. With deliberate care, he stepped to the side and let her come abreast.

“Some shade might relieve my illness,” he lied. He motioned towards a small stand of trees under which several ewes munched thick grass. An assortment of tiny lambs nudged their udders while songbirds filled the shelter’s branches with sweet noise. The animals bleated loudly before relinquishing their refuge to Kirk and his companion. His bow slid all the way off. He rested it against a tree. Bending slightly, he knew she watched as his quiver of arrows slipped off his shoulder and fell to the ground.

“What are you doing? I thought we were headed to camp.”

Without responding, he loosened the wide swath of wool from the clasp and pushed the material from his shoulder. The edge fluttered to the ground. With his chest totally bare, he dropped his leather-sheathed dirk to the grass. He glared at her face and held her gaze, but her eyes flickered away. Kirk followed her gaze as it sunk to the ground then turned his way.

Her attention slid up past his leather boots, past his tented plaid, to the naked chest which rose and fell with rapid breaths. She met his eyes and held his enthralled within their pale green shimmer. Thoughts of his current betrothed flashed and he froze.

He had met Lady Fia of Clan Keith during a short span of proclaimed peace. He and the young woman met during a Highland faire last May. Peace had reined between all attendees. He had not partaken of the Highland athletic competitions though Cam had urged him to join in mock battles.

“I have survived enough bloodshed to resist playing at such things,” he remembered answering. Instead, Lady Fia had bumped into him while walking with her guardian near a vendor selling honeyed ale. Though fair of face and with hair like spun gold, he had responded with no more than a quiet greeting.

“My lord,” she had replied while her eyelashes fluttered above eyes as blue as the river which flowed near Keldurunach.  Back then, when he had sported a perfect face, her demure smile and comely figure had failed to stir his passion more than any common castle maid or tavern wench did. If Lady Fia refused him once she got a good look at his recently ravaged face, war might continue another hundred years.

He forgot his lack of passion for his prospective bride when the black-haired beauty standing before him smiled. Desire washed over him and turned his member to stone. Kirk slipped the leather belt from his body. Her gaze followed it and the large piece of pleated wool as both fell on top of the weapons. Standing proud in his nakedness, desire washed over him as strong as when he had first fallen in love with his fiancée. His first fiancée.

His jaw clenched. Pain caused his hands to fist. When he let out a calming breath, renewed pleasure flew through him and made him step closer. The scent of her was intoxicating. To taste her was imperative. No such desire filled his heart where Lady Fia was concerned. But, the urgent need to taste this woman prodded his feet to move. 

In silence, he covered the distance between them and grabbed her by the upper arms. His trembling fingers circled the pale skin which peeked below the lace of her short, puffy sleeves. Her breath hitched. She met his gaze and raised her obstinate little chin. Her proud stance melted his heart, but his aching body forced his voice to break the silence.

“How much?”

Spellbound Highlander is a 90,000 word novel looking for an agent or publisher.

DRAGON'S CURSE