by Christine Young
Throughout the Highlands she is known as Keely, the witch woman. She is a great healer-a woman whose dreams come true. Ian MacPherson is a man who puts honor, loyalty and duty above everything. Their lives are entwined when Ian is sent by the Scottish King to bring Keely to trial for witchcraft. He is attacked and left for dead, but Keely rescues him. When he wakes, he discovers he has no memory. As he remembers his lost past, Ian finds that his need to protect the woman who has saved his life eclipses his duty to his king and country., He is a man torn between honor and duty to his country and the woman he loves.
Whipple's touch upon her caused her no pain.
But Whipple was an old man, ancient in these times. According to his own recollection, he would celebrate his seventieth birthday when the snow fell again.
The man on her bed, in contrast to Whipple, was young and handsome, broad of chest, threatening. He did not belong here with her. Whipple was right to fear for her safety. This stranger was not only very handsome but virile, well-muscled, obviously powerful. His purpose here was unknown.
"Who are you?" she whispered to no one. “And why did someone want to kill you?”
She watched the man, continuing her study of him. An irregularity of feature in his face kept him from perfection. His forehead was broad, fine lines feathering from eyes set well apart and thickly lashed. His cheekbones were high and well defined above black beard stubble, his nose straight, his jaw fully reflecting a persistent nature.
"Why have you come here? And why does it seem as if I've known you before?"
She wondered about the color of his eyes. Beneath the blood, his hair was thick, straight as an arrow, and the color of a raven's wing. His hair tempted her to run her fingers through it, test its texture.
He is a man of God, she chided herself.
Yet that simple reminder did not ease her fears nor the temptations besieging her.
Whipple's hacking cough alarmed her again, bringing her back to the situation at hand. But then he cleared his throat and spoke more roughly than usual. "This mon is no' a priest."
Her heart stammered beneath her breast even while she agreed wholeheartedly with Whipple. "Do you think there is treachery here? Perhaps 'tis why he pretends to be something he is not."
"Aye, deceit and lies abound here this night."
Christine Young ~
Born in Medford, Oregon, novelist Christine Young has lived in Oregon all of her life. After graduating from Oregon State University with a BS in science, she spent another year at Southern Oregon State University working on her teaching certificate, and a few years later received her Master's degree in secondary education and counseling. Now the long, hot days of summer provide the perfect setting for creating romance. She sold her first book, Dakota's Bride, the summer of 1998 and her second book, My Angel to Kensington. Her teaching and writing careers have intertwined with raising three children. Christine's newest venture is the creation of Rogue Phoenix Press. Christine is the founder, editor and co-owner with her husband. They live in Salem, Oregon.
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