A Highlander in Her Past -- Out now from The Wild Rose Press
Even soul mates need a push in the right direction, especially when that direction crosses centuries.
How bad could one little spell be?
Trish Sullivan, archeologist and favorite aunt to the MacKay children never thought she'd regret those words until Ramsay, eldest MacKay lad, hurls them back to the 1400's with a botched transportation spell. Now she and Ramsay must find a way back before accidently altering the past and unknowingly changing the future. That is, if Trish can survive the first trip across time without losing her life...or her heart.
What harm could come from a little soul-binding?
Proving his Highland honor alive and well, Maxwell Sullivan agrees to bind his soul to Trish's in order to save her life. But Highland honor isn't much help when Maxwell loses his heart in the bargain to the sassy woman headed back to the future.
A HIGHLANDER IN HER PAST is now available as an audiobook!
Here’s the link: Audible Audio Edition
Night Owl Reviews Top Pick!
“A Highlander in Her Past is the perfect mixture of time-travel, romance, and history which is woven together to create a breathtakingly sensual story of finding your soul mate.” 5 of 5 Stars!
“I dinna care what your mother said, Keagan. I’m no’ in need of a wife!” A familiar tingling tickled beneath Maxwell’s scalp as he stomped deeper into the tower library. “And ye’d best leave off trying to plant your wishes in m’mind. Both your parents will tell ye it canna be done.” Damn the headstrong boy. Relentless as his father and wily as his mother.
Keagan sat perched in front of the center work table, a polished bronze plate mounted between an upright pair of blackened iron posts balanced between his hands. The young boy pulled the mirror closer to his chest as Maxwell approached. His ever-widening eyes sparked with determination as he let go of the mirror long enough to rub the back of one hand across the end of his nose.
“I said leave it, Keagan!” Maxwell smacked an open palm atop the work table. The resounding thwack echoed through the high-ceilinged room. The force set the flames to dancing atop the table candelabra. Keagan’s nose was itching. Maxwell recognized the ominous telltale sign. The boy’s magic had shifted into the hell-bent surge of a warhorse spurred toward battle.
“All ye have to do is look. What harm could befall ye just by looking?” Keagan sat a bit straighter atop the stool while tapping a finger against the scrying disk. A conniving smile lit up his cherubic face as he eased the mirror closer to Maxwell.
Maxwell closed his eyes and scrubbed the roughened knuckles of one hand across his forehead. They needed to be done with this madness and get to the stables. The last thing he needed today was Faolan’s surly remarks about always having to wait whenever he sent Maxwell to fetch his son. The pulsating tingle evaporated away from the base of his skull. Good. Maybe the boy realized he was in no mood for this foolishness.
With a relieved huff, Maxwell dropped his hand to his side and opened his eyes. God’s beard. A startling image, a moving image, stared back at him from the highly polished scrying plate. Maxwell supported himself against the side of the table. As the woman winked then laughed, an uneasy weight of premonition settled in his gut. His gaze locked on the scrying plate, Maxwell lowered himself to a nearby stool.
Pushing an opened spell book and quill aside, Keagan chuckled as he propped his ink-smudged chin atop his folded hands. “She looks to be a fine woman. Do ye think?”
Maxwell glared at Keagan over the top of the mirror. “What have ye done, Keagan?”