by Lucy Monroe
She’d thought never to see him again, been certain that even her return to Scotland would not cause their paths to cross.
After all, she hadn’t gone home to her former clan and she’d been careful to avoid their lands during the journey northward. She’d no desire to come into contact with her former laird and even less this man. How cruel of fate to dictate differently. To ensure that this man be in this place the one day out of time she would ever spend in the Sinclair keep.
The head of Shona’s mare jerked against her tightened hold on the reins and she knew gratitude that they were no longer moving. Marjory slept on, oblivious to the cataclysm happening inside her mother.
As if Caelis could feel the weight of Shona’s regard, he turned. Slowly and with no evidence of curiosity, his gaze slid over her, his expression dismissive as he took in her English clothing.
She could tell the moment he recognized her though, the very second he realized she was not just an Englishwoman, but a woman from his past.
He went rigid, his eyes widening with a shock so complete it would have been amusing if she were not so devastated at his appearance in her already turbulent life.
He moved as if to take a step and stumbled.
How odd. He was a surefooted man. Perhaps one of the other warriors had tripped him. Men played games with each other like that.
Even as the nonsensical thoughts floated through her mind, fear screamed through her body. He couldn’t see Eadan. Her son could never know the man who had denied his very existence and rejected the woman he had professed to love.
They had to leave. Now. The laird of the Sinclairs would simply have to do without the pleasure of making their acquaintance.
That thought alone gave her the strength to break her gaze from Caelis as she jerked her head around, wildly searching for Eadan.
He was already on the ground, his hand held in Niall’s giant paw, a smaller man standing nearby, talking to them both with an engaging smile.
Shona wanted to scream at them to put her son back on his horse and get out of their way. But no words left her lips because as frantic as her feelings were, she knew her desire to escape was hopeless.
The boy was out of Caelis’s line of sight, but that gave Shona little comfort. The warrior was bound to see her child soon, and when he did? He would know the truth, no matter how much he might like to deny it.
“Shona…”
She looked down and saw that both Audrey and Thomas were there, standing beside Shona’s mare. Audrey’s hands were upraised to take Marjory so Shona could dismount.
When had they gotten off their horses?
“Are you all right?” Thomas asked, clearly worried. He and Audrey wore matching expressions of concern. “We’ve said your name three times.”
“I…no…” she answered with honesty before she thought to control her tongue.
“What is it?” Suddenly Niall was there. “Lady Heronshire, do you need help dismounting?” He reached up as well. “Give me the babe.”
Dropping the horse’s reins, Shona wrapped her arms around her daughter in an instinctive move of protection.
“Do not touch her.” The snarl came from behind Niall, and then Caelis was there, shoving the other warrior away from Shona’s horse.
Niall spun on the other man, knocking him back and shouting. “The hell!”
“She’s mine,” Caelis growled, his voice so animallike the words were barely discernable.
“Calm yourself,” Niall snapped, sounding less angry for some reason, though he didn’t back away. “The Englishwoman—”
“She is not English.”
“Do ye see how she is dressed? She is a lady, Caelis. Stop and think.”
But Caelis appeared beyond reason, his aggression not lessening one iota. And Shona did not understand it. In no scenario that she might ever have imagined about this moment would she have considered him laying claim to her…or was it her daughter?
None of this made any sense.
Marjory chose that moment to awaken, squirming to sit up. “Mama! Want down.”
Caelis jerked as if pierced by an arrow, his gaze landing on the little girl in Shona’s arms. Some great emotion twisted his features, and then his blue eyes, so like their son’s, locked with hers, the accusation in them unmistakable.
She stared back, defiant, furious like she had not been since the night he told her it was over.
All the fear she’d felt over the past months, the anger she’d experienced at the perfidy of men since his betrayal, followed by others, bolstered her fury so that—if it were possible—she would have burned him to ash with her gaze.
His head snapped back, surprise again showing on his handsome features, this time mixed with confusion. Though what he had to be confused about she didn’t know. Did he think that just because he didn’t want her that no other man would ever want to wed her?
Arrogant blackguard.
“Mummy?” Eadan’s worried voice rose from where he stood beside Niall.
She needed to tell her son all was well, but she could not look away from Caelis’s face as he got his first look at the son they had made.
The child he had told her would never happen.
Dear Reader,
I so hope you’ve enjoyed the excerpt from my next full-length Children of the Moon novel, Warrior’s Moon. One of my more emotional and sexier stories, I’m really hoping readers connect as strongly to the characters as I did.
Following is an excerpt from the novella, Ecstasy Under the Moon, which will be released in a summer 2013 anthology with Lora Leigh, Alyssa Day and Meljean Brook. It will open up the world of the Éan living in the forest for my readers and introduce you to two very special characters: Bryant and Una. Una is one of the very rare eagle shifters, haunted by an experience with the Fearghall that has left her nervous of touch, particularly by large men who shift into wolves. Bryant immediately recognizes Una’s scent as that of his mate, but convincing the reticent woman to come within five feet of him, much less accept him as a mate? Not a job for the faint of heart or conviction. Luckily for both of these special Chrechte, Bryant is neither.
Let me know what you think of both excerpts!
Hugs and happy reading,
Lucy
http://lucymonroe.com/contactmail.htm
The Forests of the Éan, Highlands of Scotland
1144 AD, Reign of Dabíd mac Maíl Choluim, King of Scots and the Reign of Prince Eirik Taran Gra Gealach, Ruler of the Éan
Una stood in shock, terror coursing through her like fire in her veins, burning away reason, destroying the façade of peace she had worked so hard to foster for the past five years.
Her eagle screamed to be released. She wanted to take to the skies and fly as far as her wings could carry her until the sun sank over the waters and the moon rose and set again in the sky.
The high priestess, Anya Gra, smiled on the assembled Éan like she had not just made a pronouncement that could well spell their doom.
Faol were coming here? To the forest of the Éan? To their homeland kept secret for generations? Kept secret for very good reason.
Reason Una had learned to appreciate to the very marrow of her bones five years before.
“No,” she whispered into air laden with smoke from the feast’s cooking fires. “This cannot be.”
Other noises of dissent sounded around her, but her mind could not take them in. It was too busy replaying images she’d tried to bury under years of proper and obedient behavior. Years of not taking chances and staying far away from the human clans that had once intrigued her so.
She’d even avoided Lais, one of the few other eagle shifters among her people. Because he’d come from the outside. From the clan of the Donegal, the clan that spawned devils who called themselves men.
She’d not spoken to him once in the three years he’d lived among their people.
The grumbling around Una grew to such a level, even her own tormented thoughts could not
keep it out.
For the first time in her memory, the Éan of their tribe looked on their high priestess with disfavor. Many outright glared at the woman whose face might be lined with age, but maintained a translucent beauty that proclaimed her both princess and spiritual leader.
Others were yelling their displeasure toward the prince of the people, but their monarch let no emotion show on his handsome, though young, features. He merely looked on, his expression stoic, his thoughts hidden behind his amber gaze.
The dissension grew more heated. This was unheard of. In any other circumstance, Una would have been appalled by the behavior of her fellow Chrechte, but not this day.
She hoped beyond hope that the anger and dissent would sway their leaders toward reason.
“Enough!” The prince’s bellow was loud and commanding despite the fact he was only a few summers older than Una.
Silence fell like the blacksmith’s anvil.
Emotion showed now, his amber eyes glowing like the sacred stone during a ceremony. “We have had the Faol among us on many occasions these past three years.”
Those wolves had only come to visit. Una, and many like her—justifiably frightened by the race that had done so much to eradicate their own—had stayed away from the visitors. She’d avoided all contact and had not stolen so much as a peek at any of them.
Not like when she was younger and let her curiosity rule her common sense.
But Anya Gra said these ones, these emissaries from the Sinclair, Balmoral and Donegal clans, would live among the Éan for the foreseeable future.
Live. Among. Them. With no end in sight.
Una’s breath grew shorter as panic clawed at her insides with the sharpness of her eagle’s talons.
“It is time the Chrechte brethren are reunited.” Prince Eirik’s tone brooked no argument. “It has been foretold this is the only chance for our people to survive as a race. Do you suddenly doubt the visions of your high priestess?”
Many shook their head, but not Una. Because for the first time in her life, she did doubt the wisdom of the woman who had led their people spiritually since before Una was born.
“Emissaries are coming to live among us, to learn our ways and teach us the way of the Faol.” This time it was another of the royal family who spoke, the head healer. “We will all benefit.”
“We know the way of the Faol,” one brave soul shouted out. “They kill, maim and destroy the Éan. That is the way of the Faol.”
“Not these wolves. The Balmoral, the Sinclair, and the Donegal lairds are as committed to keeping our people safe as I am.” The prince’s tone rang with sincerity.
The man believed his own words. That was clear.
But Una couldn’t bring herself to do so. No wolf would ever care for the Éan as a true brother. It was not in their violent, often sadistic and deceitful natures.
“It is only a few among the Faol today who would harm our people. Far more would see us joined with the clans for our safety and all our advantage.”
Join with the clans? Who had conceived of that horrific notion? First they were talking about having wolves come to live among them and now their leaders were mentioning leaving the forest so the Éan could join the clans?
Una’s eagle fought for control, the desperate need to get away growing with each of her rapid heartbeats.
“In the future, we will have no choice,” Anya Gra said, as if reading Una’s mind. “But for this moment in time, we must only make these few trustworthy wolves welcome among us.”
Only? There was no only about it. This thing the royal family asked, it was monumental. Beyond terrifying.
It was impossible.
“You ask too much.” The sound of Una’s father’s voice brought a mixture of emotions, as it always did.
Guilt. Grief. Relief. Safety.
Stooped from the grievous wound he had received at the hands of the Faol when rescuing Una from their clutches, he nevertheless made an imposing figure as he pushed his way toward the prince and priestess.
The leather patch covering the eye he’d lost in the same battle gave her father a sinister air she knew to be false. He was the best of men.
And forever marred by wounds that would never allow him to take to the skies again…because of her.
“You ask us to make welcome those who did this,” he gestured toward himself in a way he would never usually do.
He ignored his disfigurements and expected others to do the same.
“Nay.” The prince’s arrogant stance was far beyond his years, but entirely fitting his station as the leader of their people. “I demand you make welcome wolves who would die to protect you from anything like that happening again.”
“Die, for the likes of me?” her father scoffed. “That would be a fine day, indeed, would it not? When a wolf would die to protect a bird.”
“Do you doubt my desire to protect you and all of my people?” the prince demanded, a flicker of vulnerability quickly gone from his amber eyes.
“Nay. My prince, you love us as your father did before you. But this? This risk you would take with all our safety, it is foolishness.”
Suddenly Anya Gra was standing right in front of Una’s father, her expression livid, no desire for conciliation in evidence at all. “Fionn, son of Micael, You dare call me foolish?”
Oh, the woman was beyond angry. Even more furious than Una’s father had a wont to get.
“Nay, Priestess. Your wisdom has guided our people for many long years.”
“Then, it is my visions you doubt,” the celi di accused with no less fury in her tone.
Una’s father shook his head vigorously. “Your visions have always been right and true.”
“Then you, and all those who stand before me today,” she said, including everyone at the feast with her sharp raven’s stare. “All of my people will give these wolves a chance to prove that not every Faol would murder us in our sleep.”
“And if you are wrong? If they turn on us?” her father dared to question.
Una’s respect for her parent grew. It took great strength to stand up to Anya Gra, spiritual leader and one of the oldest among them.
“Then I will cast my fire and destroy their clans without mercy,” the prince promised in a tone no one, even her stalwart father, could deny.
Her father nodded, though he looked no happier at the assurance. “Aye, that’s the right of it then.”
Prince Eirik let his gaze encompass the whole of their community, his expression one of unequivocal certainty. “I will always protect my people to the best of my ability. Welcoming these honorable men is part of that.”
Una noted how he continued to push forth the message that these wolves were good men, trustworthy and honorable.
He was her prince and she should believe him.
But she couldn’t.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Glossary of Terms
Warrior’s Moon
; -ms-filter: grayscale(100%); filter: grayscale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share
