Hello all! I know you are out there Christmas shopping this weekend so I thought to bring you a suggestion… my new release, The Refuge: An Inspirational Novel of Scotland.
It’s the inspirational version of Rebel Warrior, the story of the Scottish lass, Catrìona of the Vale of Leven, who lost her parents and her home in an attack by Northman, and Steinar of Talisand, an English warrior who fled England after the Norman Conquest--two wounded souls seeking refuge. With its beautiful cover showing the Highlands, the paperback makes a perfect Christmas gift.
Once upon a time, in a land of tall peaks and deep lochs, there was a refuge where love flourished and faith was restored…
Read an excerpt... the romance begins:
“Here,” he said reaching toward her, “take my hand and allow me to help you out.”
There was fire in her eyes but she took his hand while clutching her dripping shoes close to her body.
He pulled her from the stream, sodden and shivering. It was the first time they had touched and even dripping wet, the feel of her skin caused a surge of desire to course through him. The wet gown clung to her body, revealing her curves in vivid detail. Wet, she was even more alluring than before. He wanted to pull her close, to feel her softness, but instead, he merely steadied her with his hands. “Did you not see the moss growing on the log? ’Tis quite apparent.”
Her brow furrowed. “You might have warned me.”
Given her reckless run through the woods he wondered if she would have listened. “You fell before I could.”
She brushed the water from her face and looked up at him, her eyes the green of the forest around them. Light filtering through the trees added a soft glow to her pale, damp skin. His gaze dropped to her lips, the color of wild roses. He ached to kiss them.
Bending his head, he moved his lips closer to hers.
Water suddenly dripped from her hair onto her nose, causing her to sniff and step back.
Still holding her shoes in one hand, she shivered. “I… I must look a mess.”
“Indeed not, but you are pale.” Recognizing her predicament, he said, “I wear no cloak to offer you, but I can give you the heat of my body.” He took the shoes she carried and dropped them to the ground, pulling her into his arms, ignoring the water soaking into his tunic. Her breasts pressed into his chest, warming him as his body responded to the nearness of the woman he could not dismiss from his thoughts.
She might be innocent but she possessed a natural seductiveness that promised passion to the man who would claim her. And he wanted to be that man. Every warrior in the king’s hall had noticed the girl. Of all the queen’s ladies, she was the most talked about. They had taken to calling her the Rose of Dunfermline, a coveted prize for the man who would gain her hand.