Message From The Author

Author's Message

The Witch and the Warrior

"Your hero is crazy?" sputters my darling husband, looking utterly appalled. His concern is understandable, since I have always assured my beloved that he is the model for my heroes.

It's bad enough that the hero of my last novel was a fallen Scottish warrior with a limp and a severely weakened arm. That seemed just a trifle unfair to my husband, whose lineage is so proudly Scottish, and who had so gallantly braved countless dank castles and rain-soaked ruins during our trip to his ancestral ground.

But now he's faced with being compared to Alex MacDunn, a depressed laird whose penchant for endless monologues to his dead wife and erratic behavior has earned him the nickname 'Mad MacDunn.' Hardly the stuff of which heroes are made, at least in my dearest's opinion.

"Alex MacDunn is daring and brave-except of course when it comes to his fear of illness, drafts, and rain," I qualify absently, "and anything else that might affect the health of the beautiful witch that he has abducted. He must force her to use her powers to heal his dying son."

"This is your Scottish hero?" my husband demands, clearly horrified. "A madman who abducts women and is afraid of drafts?"

"No, my love," I reply tenderly, aware of our babe moving within me as I wrap my arms around his neck. "You are."

As you read this I am probably cuddling my first baby-he or she is due to arrive just before my novel hits the shelves. I have a little tartan blanket to wrap the wee thing in, as well as a tiny pair of plaid shoes, both purchased during my adventures in the Highlands. Oddly enough, I have been craving oatcakes with Scottish marmalade lately-it seems the baby's Scottish blood is already asserting its preferences.

Here's an excerpt from The Witch and the Warrior:

"Do you have any idea how close you just came to death?" Alex demanded softly.

"MacDunn, I-"

He grabbed her by her slim, bare shoulders, needing to touch her, to be sure she was still whole and well.

Gwendolyn stood paralyzed as MacDunn's mouth covered hers. She had never been kissed before, for no one in her clan would have dared dally with the girl marked from childhood as a witch. But even in her innocence she could feel his unleashed passion. A flame burst to life in the pit of her stomach and her blood quickened, making her feel flushed and strange.

Alex began to explore the narrow path of her back, the satiny skin of her shoulders, the delicate cage of her ribs. He wanted to take this witch now, here, in the forest, to lay her down on a bed of fragrant pine and bury himself deep inside her, to lose himself to her softness and heat, without even taking the time to remove her gown...

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