Synopsis

Against all odds, is true love strong enough to save a human soul?

After leaving her abusive ex, American scholar Brielle DeVolt embarks on a career-changing opportunity, the renovation of Laird Colin MacDougall’s Chapel ruin. The attractive, broad-shouldered Laird leaves her weak-kneed, but can she trust herself to love again?

Dusted in construction dirt, the curvy beauty in his study captivates Colin. As Brielle steps to the window, her brunette tresses halo in the sunlight, and he sees her as his dream soul mate. When he learns his hereditary duty is safeguarding magic Fae stones, all he wants is to protect Brielle from the evil forces of the Fae.

Traveling to the past to assume his forefather’s identity and find a missing magic stone is challenging enough. When Brielle appears, an undeniable attraction to his ancestor ignites, causing her confused passion. Faced with fighting an evil Fae to save the realms, Colin must choose between saving the stone or saving his love.

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Excerpt

At the study, the door was ajar. A low fire glowed around the room. Good, someone already lit the fire. Brielle slipped into the dim room, crossed to the fireplace, and set the candle on the mantel. A flash of lightning illuminated the room, drawing her gaze to the shelves beside the fireplace.

She perused the shelving, trying to find the perfect book. She realized the one she wanted was three shelves up, and she couldn’t reach that high. Climbing to her knees on the lower cabinet, she stood and reached to the shelving above. Her fingertips barely touched the book she wanted. She stretched a bit more, and just as she was about to reach the spine marked Love Poems and Sonnets, a crack of thunder startled her, and she fell backward off the bookcase. Her cry was cut short when she hit something solid. A warm, muscular chest shifted along her back, and strong arms cradled her. Mortified, she kept her eyes shut. How much worse could it get?

Then the chest shook with a chuckle. The voice that belonged to it said, “Careful what ye seek, lassie. Ye might find something ye aren’t looking for.” In utter embarrassment, she kept her eyes shut. It was Colin.

“Ye can open your eyes, Brielle.” She turned her head farther into his chest. That was a mistake. He was shirtless and smelled too damn good.

“Please put me down,” she breathed. Colin moved to the couch and lowered her to the cushions. A plaid wrap lay on the sofa, still warm from a human body. She was not the only one who hated storms. She peered up from the couch. Next to the bookcase, Colin bent and picked up the book from the floor. He glanced at the open book, then at her with a raised eyebrow, and read aloud:

Western wind, when wilt thou blow.

That the small rain down can rain?

Christ, that my love was in my arms

And I in my bed again.

“Some light reading for a storm?” Colin lifted an eyebrow.

“Something of the sort. I was hoping to pass the storm.” Thunder boomed again. She jumped and squeaked.

“Storms scare ye?” He closed the book and went to the couch, handing it to her.

She went to take it from his hands, their touch causing sparks to fly up her arm. She glanced up at Colin’s face. He stood there with his hand still outstretched. He gazed directly into her eyes. They paused a moment. She shook herself, put the book on the side table, then peeked from under her lashes at Colin.

He faced the fireplace, bending to turn up the gas. His back muscles rippled with the movement of his body. As he rose, his muscles undulated under the stretched material of his jeans. Sensual heat rose inside Brielle like a fiery flame. He twisted, gazing at her. His face had the same smoldering expression as the one in the portrait of his ancestor she’d seen the day she arrived.

Thunder surged again. She jumped, closing her eyes and keeping them shut. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. After a moment, a shuffling told her he had moved around the room. A clink of glasses and the sound of liquid pouring. The couch dipped, and his body shifted toward her. A familiar potent, tart smell filled her nostrils, making her mouth water, and she licked her lips. He had positioned the glass under her nose.

She opened her eyes and took the glass from him.

“Here, lass, we’re in for a blow tonight. Ye’ll need this. Power won’t be back until morning, when the crews can get out this far.” He reclined back on the cushions. “Have a wee nip, and we’ll get ye back to yerself in no time.”

She drew a sip, swallowing the liquor and welcoming the warming sensation. Colin took a sip of his. Another boom, and she jumped.

“Come lass, tuck in, and let me chase yer fears away.” He settled her in the crook of his arm as they lay back on the couch. Colin wrapped them up in the red plaid with green and blue patterns, just like the one on her bed.

About the Author

Margaret Izard is an award-winning author of historical fantasy and paranormal romance novels. She spent her early years through college and adulthood dedicated to dance, theater, and performing. Over the years, she developed a love for great storytelling in different mediums. She does not waste a good story, be it movement, the spoken, or the written word. She discovered historical romance novels in middle school, which combined her passion for romance, drama, and fantasy. She writes exciting plot lines, steamy love scenes and always falls for a strong male with a soft heart. She lives in Houston, Texas, with her husband and adult triplets and loves to hear from readers.

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