Romancing the Guardians Series: Part One (Romancing the Guardians Box Set Book 1)
Page 1
ROMANCING THE GUARDIANS
Series * Part One
By
Lyn Horner
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters. places, organizations and events portrayed in this publication are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locals is purely coincidental.
ROMANCING THE GUARDIANS Box Set Part I
Copyright © 2016 by Lyn Horner
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
Cover design for box set by Lyn Horner
Cover graphics for individual books by Kim Killion, The Killion Group Inc.
Edited by Sharla Rae
Author contact information: lynhorner@outlook.com
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Rescuing Lara (Romancing the Guardians, Book One) © 2014 by Lyn Horner
Decoding Michaela (Romancing the Guardians, Book Two) © 2015 by Lyn Horner
Capturing Gabriel (Romancing the Guardians, Book Three) © 2015 by Lyn Horner
Touching Charlotte (Romancing the Guardians, Book Four) © 2016 by Lyn Horner
Table of Contents
ROMANCING THE GUARDIANS
COPYRIGHT
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PREFACE
RESCUING LARA
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
DECODING MICHAELA
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CAPTURING GABRIEL
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
TOUCHING CHARLOTTE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
TITLES BY LYN HORNER
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
REVIEW EXCERPTS
PREFACE
Dear Reader,
If you are familiar with my western historical romances, the Texas Devlins series, you know I imparted psychic gifts to the three Devlin siblings. With this new series, Romancing the Guardians, I leap into modern times with my trademark psychic phenomena. Plus, I’m dabbling more in Irish legend and folklore. As you and I progress through the series, you will also discover a growing apocalyptic theme.
However, I haven’t jumped totally into the realm of speculative fiction. Hardly! You will still find plenty of romance within these pages, with a determined but imperiled heroine, a warrior-like hero, and villains galore.
Thank you for buying my book and entrusting me with your time and, I hope, a little piece of your heart. ~ Lyn Horner
RESCUING LARA
Romancing the Guardians, Book One
By
Lyn Horner
“In Irish-Celtic mythology, the Tuatha Dé Danann (People of the goddess Danu) are the Irish race of gods, founded by the goddess Danu. These gods, who originally lived on ‘the islands in the west’, had perfected the use of magic. They traveled on a big cloud to the land that later would be called Ireland and settled there.” – Micha F. Lindemans, “Tuatha Dé Danann,” Encyclopedia Mythica Online.
CHAPTER ONE
A loud bang and the smashing of glass made Lara jump. Dear Lord! Had the Hellhounds found her? Were they breaking in? Heart hammering violently, she stared at the locked door of her study, all that stood between her and capture. It wouldn’t keep out the demons.
Clutching the small metal tube she’d just retrieved from its hiding place, she pressed it to her breast. She must protect it! Frantic, she spun her wheelchair around and started back into her adjoining bedroom. She stopped when she heard footsteps rushing from the back of the house.
“Och! Look what ye’ve done, ye wee hooligan!” cried a familiar Irish voice.
Lara sagged in relief. The voice belonged to Una, her cook and housekeeper. The ‘wee hooligan’ had to be Penguin, the black and white cat she’d found huddled on her back stoop in the middle of a rainstorm. Touched by his pitiful meowing, she’d let him in, against Una’s stern advice.
Dreading to learn what the little dickens had done, Lara tucked the bluish metal tube under the folds of her long skirt and wheeled over to the study door. She unlocked and opened it and maneuvered partway into the hall. Seeing Una shoo Penguin out the front door with angry swipes of her matronly bib apron, she grimaced at the jumble of red fuchsia, broken green vase and spilled water littering the oak floor near the entrance. Amid the destruction lay a small overturned table upon which the vase of flowers had rested.
“Oh dear!” she said in chagrin.
Una glanced at her, frizzy gray hair framing a scowl. “Your cat made a foin mess.”
“I see that.”
“I warned ye he’d be nothin’ but trouble, but ye’d no listen.”
“I’m sorry he’s caused you more work.” Lara bit back a sharper reply, reminding herself she didn’t want the woman to get really angry and quit. She’d interviewed at least half a dozen candidates for the job right after arriving in County Kerry from the States and renting this cottage. Sent by an employment agency in Killarney, Una was the only one willing to take on the responsibility of working for a cripple, with all the extra, sometimes very personal, work that entailed. Besides, the Irishwoman might be cranky but she was also goodhearted.
Una sighed. “Aye, well, I’ll fetch a broom and mop.” Stepping around the mess, she added, “There’s a lot o’ glass. Ye’d best stay away from here until I clear it up.”
“I will. Thank you.” Receiving a grumbled response from the older woman as she hurried after cleaning supplies, Lara backed into the study, closed and locked the door again, as she always did when working. She’d told Una she was a writer and didn’t want anyone to see what she was working on, the only excuse she could think of for her secretive behavior.
Crossing to the scarred table she used as a desk, she uncapped the metal tube and removed its contents. She gently unfurled the ancient scroll, spread it across the tabletop and set crystal weights on the corners to hold it flat. Thanks to the protec
tive container, whose magical properties remained strong even after thousands of years, the parchment document was as fresh as the day it had first been placed in the tube.
Despite many hours of memorizing the Old Ones’ pictographic alphabet under her uncle’s tutelage, Lara had found deciphering the ancient text a slow process. Making it more difficult, she didn’t dare write down the words as she translated them for fear they might fall into the wrong hands. If only Uncle Malcolm had told her what the scroll said before he died, but that was not the way of things, he’d insisted. Each new High Guardian must receive the Word of Danu direct from the scroll.
She might have finished this task months ago, but the car accident that killed her beloved uncle had also left her badly injured and sick with grief. Then, even more devastating, her twin sister Sara had been abducted by the Hellhounds. They’d threatened to kill her if Lara didn’t give them the scroll, but how could she? She’d sworn a sacred oath to protect the precious artifact. Although desperate to free her twin from the Hounds’ clutches, she’d made the most painful decision of her life and fled their Louisiana home, abandoning Sara to her fate.
Burdened by grief and guilt, she hadn’t been able to even think about translating the scroll until finding a small measure of peace in this out-of-the-way Irish cottage. During the past few weeks she’d finally felt secure enough to begin the translation, but now she sensed the Hellhounds closing in. She feared she would not be safe here much longer.
Bent over the document, she reviewed the portion she’d already translated, reading the same fear expressed by the long dead oracle whose message had been handed from one High Guardian to the next through the long centuries.
The Milesians draw near. They have destroyed my people, the Tuatha Dé Danann. Only I, Aodhfin, bearer of the white fire, and my council of mages remain above ground with a small force of protectors. Soon, we will join our brethren in the netherworld. Before I go, I must record one final prophesy.
Our laws forbid the Word of Danu to be written down. Yet, I was appointed to commit this sacrilege in order to preserve the Truth. She who taught me the Word entrusted me with this duty upon her deathbed, for she knew our race would not long endure above ground. At her direction, I have recorded our six greatest prophesies.
That was all Lara had so far deciphered. Anxious to know the final, ruling prophesy, she called upon Malcolm’s spirit to guide her as she focused on the next group of symbols. Their meaning slowly revealed itself. By early afternoon, following a short lunch break, she was able to read an additional sentence plus part of another.
This, my own vision of the distant future, brings that number to seven. Each scroll shall be carried into hiding by one of … .
A knock on the study door broke her concentration. Frowning, she glanced over her shoulder. “What is it, Una?”
“Mum, the man who telephoned yesterday has arrived.”
“Oh! Um, one moment please.” Engrossed in the task at hand, Lara had forgotten her appointment with the man who’d answered her ad in the The Kerryman, the local newspaper. Scolding herself for letting such a crucial matter slip her mind, she quickly rolled up the scroll, slipped it back into its tube and dropped the container in her knitting basket under the table. She nudged it beneath skeins of yarn with her good foot, making sure it was well hidden, then wheeled to the door and unlocked it.
“Come in,” she called, opening the door and backing away.
Una stepped into the room with a rolling pin gripped in one hand and flour dusting her apron. She partially closed the door behind her.
“Mum, he looks a bad un,” she whispered, worry lines creasing her brow. “Ye oughtn’t to be alone with him.”
Lara hesitated briefly then put the warning down to melodramatics. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. Please show him in, Una.”
“But mum, he’s –”
“Show him in,” Lara gently insisted, raising her hand to stave off further argument.
The Irishwoman issued a mournful sigh and nodded. “Aye, mum, as ye wish.”
While she went to fetch the man, Lara smoothed her long skirt and fingered the jagged scar running from her right cheekbone down almost to her jaw. She considered standing to create a stronger first impression but dismissed the idea. Her injured leg wasn’t strong enough to bear weight yet, if it ever would, and standing on one foot she’d risk losing her balance.
A man’s heavy tread accompanied Una’s footsteps up the hall. The door opened again and the plump Irishwoman warily ushered in a tall stranger. He halted just over the threshold to stare at Lara, obviously unprepared for her appearance. She stiffened self-consciously and gulped at the sight of him. Six-foot-two or three, he had shaggy coffee-brown hair, and several days’ growth of beard shaded his square jaw. A slight bump marred the bridge of his Roman nose, revealing it had once been broken. Clothed in faded jeans, a dark blue shirt, black leather jacket and boots, with studded leather gloves protruding from the jacket pockets, he looked like he belonged in a motorcycle gang.
“Mum, this is Mr. O’Shea,” Una said tightly, eyeing the man with a disapproving scowl.
Lara forced a smile. “Thank you for coming, Mr. O’Shea. I’m Lara Spenser.” Receiving a silent nod from him, she glanced at her housekeeper. “That’s all for now, Una. I’ll ring if I need you.”
Sticking out her chin, the woman appeared ready to argue but evidently thought better of it. “Aye, mum. Excuse me,” she snapped at O’Shea, who finally stepped farther into the room.
As the door closed behind him, he cleared his throat. “Sorry for staring. I wasn’t expecting … .” He pointed at her wheelchair.
“You needn’t apologize. Perhaps I should have mentioned this when we spoke.” She tapped her fingers on an arm of the chair, thinking he was probably more shocked by her scarred face. She’d deliberately not told him about her infirmities when he phoned yesterday. He was a complete stranger and in her situation it didn’t pay to give out too much information. Besides, his southern drawl had rattled her, causing her to stammer like a tongue-tied adolescent.
“Maybe so, ma’am, but my mama would have my hide for my bad manners,” he said in those deep, familiar tones – Texan, she thought. He added a genial smile that softened his rugged features. However, the smile didn’t reach his steel-gray eyes, eyes that watched her intently, causing her skin to prickle and her hands to sweat. Maybe she should have listened to Una.
Don’t be a goose, she scolded herself. You need a tough, strong man like him.
“Yes, well, please sit down,” she invited, indicating the chintz covered lounge chair where she often rested in the afternoon. Primly folding her hands in her lap, she watched him amble over to the chair, push the matching ottoman out of the way, and gingerly lower his large frame onto the seat, which creaked under his weight. Lara coughed to smother her amusement at the sight of his masculine figure against the dainty flowered fabric.
“Now then, as I stated in my ad, I’m in need of a driver who’s also physically strong.” She couldn’t say more than that in the ad, fearing it might draw her enemies to her.
“Yes, ma’am, and when I called, you promised to explain that last part once we met, but I can see the reason for myself. You’ll need the man you hire to lift you in and out of the car and push your chair when you go into Killarney, right?”
She shifted uncomfortably. “Right, but there’s more to it than that.”
He arched his brows and waited for her to explain.
Looking away, she toyed with the silver pendant dangling on a fine chain at her throat, tracing the Celtic knot pattern engraved upon it with her fingertip. “You see, I believe I’m being pursued by someone with a grudge against my family. We … we have something he wants. I came to Ireland to escape him and his … friends, but I’m afraid they will find me.”
She met O’Shea’s steely gaze. “I’m terrified of them. They’ve killed one person I loved, possibly two. If they capture me, I fear I’m as good as
dead.” She paused, allowing him to absorb what she’d said before adding, “Confined to this chair, with no way to protect myself, I need someone to keep an eye out for suspicious strangers and to be here in the house at night. In short, I need a bodyguard.”
Frowning, he studied her for a moment then leaned forward, hands loosely clasped and elbows resting on his knees. “Ma’am, I agree you need protection, but I’m not the man for you.”
“What! W-why not?” She couldn’t believe he was refusing the job before she’d actually offered it to him.
He bent his head and raked a hand through his wavy dark hair. “It’s like this. I’m foreman for a crew of oil and gas well firefighters. We just finished capping a blowout in the North Sea. I’m here on a sort of extended vacation for a couple months. Then I’m due back home in Texas, where the company I work for is based.”
Lara stared at him, dumfounded. “But if you knew you weren’t going to be staying here long, why did you answer my ad?”
“I got curious, a bad habit. I figured I’d just call and find out why an Irish lady needed a strong chauffeur. Never planned on interviewing for the job. Then I phoned and realized you’re an American, but you wouldn’t explain things over the phone. That made me even more curious, so I decided to come see what the big mystery was.” He gave a lopsided grin, revealing one dimple. “And the truth is I wanted to meet the woman with that sexy voice.”