Allie Mackay Guardians of Cridhe

COVER HIHD II - AllieMackay_Highlander In Her Dreams

 

They met through Highland Magic, can true love keep them together?

After stepping through a magical gateway, Kira Bedwell finds herself in fourteenth century Scotland, face-to-face with Aidan MacDonald, the irresistible Highlander who has visited her in dreams. Now that their romance transcends dreams to reality, they find themselves under attack by Aidan’s enemies. And it will take all of their courage and will for their love to survive beyond time itself”¦

Aidan is a Romantic Times K.I.S.S of the Month Hero!

 

 

 

Set-Up: The hero and heroine’s first meeting, at a cliff-top castle ruin on the Isle of Skye.

 

Castle Wrath was perfect.

A labyrinth of tall rough-hewn walls, uneven ground, and tumbled stone, the ruins stopped Kira’s heart. Remains of the curtain walls clung to the cliff edges, windswept and dangerous, but what really drew her was the top half of an imposing medieval gateway.

She froze, certain she’d never seen a wilder, more romantic place. A one-time Norse fortalice, Vikings had walked and caroused here.

Real live Vikings.

Big brawny men shouting praise to Thor and Odin as they raised mead horns and gnawed on huge ribs of fire-roasted beef.

The notion excited her.

She drew a deep breath, trying hard not to pinch herself.

Especially when she thought about the Norsemen’s successors. Celtic warrior chieftains, the larger-than-life heroes she loved to dream about. Bold, virile men who could only belong to a place like this.

A place of myth and legend.

Looking around, she was sure of it.

Mist swirled everywhere, drifting low across the grass and fallen masonry. The half-light softened edges, making it seem as if she were seeing the world through a translucent silken veil.

And what a world it was.

The roar of the sea and the wind were fitting, too, giving the place an otherworldly feel she wouldn’t have experienced on a clear, sun-bright day.

She set down her lunch packet and stepped into the sheltering lee of a wall, not quite ready to spoil the moment.

Nor was she reckless.

Rough bent grass and fallen stones weren’t the only things littering the ground that must’ve once been the castle’s inner bailey. Deep crevices opened into the earth. Silent abysses of blackness that could only be the underground passages, stairwells, and vaults, she’d been warned about.

Mysterious openings into nothingness.

Gaping black voids that proved the greatest temptation she’d ever struggled to resist. Almost tasting her need to explore those abysses, she felt an irresistible shimmer of excitement she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

The fanciful notion that Castle Wrath’s once-pulsating heart still beat beneath its pitted, age-darkened stones.

She pressed her hands against a wall, splaying her fingers across the cold and gritty surface, not surprised to note a faint vibration somewhere deep inside them.

A distant thrumming real enough to send a chill through her and even lead her to imagine bursts of masculine laughter and song. Barking dogs, the murmur of voices, and even the skirl of pipes.

Kira frowned and took her hands off the wall.

The sounds stopped at once.

Or she’d simply recognized them for what they’d been: the wind, and nothing else. Even if the tingles spilling through her said otherwise.

An odd prickling she knew wouldn’t stop until she’d peered into the one of the earth-and-rubble clogged gaps in Castle Wrath’s bailey.

Her lunch forgotten, she considered her options. She wasn’t about to march across the nettle-filled courtyard and risk plunging into some bottomless medieval pit, meeting an early grave. Or, at the very least, twisting an ankle and ruining the remainder of her trip. But the shell of one of Castle Wrath’s drum-towers stood to her left, a scant fifty feet away.

Best of all, in the shadow of the tower’s hulk she could make out the remains of a stairwell. Dark, downward spiraling steps that filled her with such wonder shedidn’t realize she’d moved until she found herself on the threshold. Inky darkness stared back at her, an impenetrable blackness so deep its dank, earthy-smelling chill lifted the fine hairs on her nape.

Something was down there.

Something more than nerves and imagination.

The sudden tightness in her chest and the cold hard knot in her belly assured her of it. As did the increasing dryness of her mouth and the racing of her pulse, the faint flickering torchlight filling the stairwell.

Flickering torchlight?

Kira’s eyes flew wide, her jaw dropping. She grabbed the crumbling edges of the doorway, holding tight. The light flared brighter now, shining hotly and illuminating the cold stone walls and the impossibly medieval-looking Highland chieftain staring up at her from the bottom of the stairs, the vaulted hallows of his crowded, well-lit great hall looming behind him.

That it was his hall couldn’t be questioned.

She’d bet her plane ticket back to Newark that a more lairdly man had never walked the earth. Nor a sexier one. A towering raven-haired giant, he was clad in rough-looking tartan and calfskin, and hung about with gleaming mail and bold Celtic jewelry. Power and sheer male magnetism rolled off him, stealing her breath and weakening her knees.

Making her question her sanity.

Perhaps someone on the bus tour had slipped something into her tepid breakfast tea.

Something that would make her hallucinate.

Imagine the hunky Highlander who couldn’t really be there.

Just as she couldn’t be hearing the sounds of medieval merrymaking.

Feasting noises, she was sure. Not that it mattered. A marching band could strut past and blast her off the cliff-top, as long as he stood glaring up at her, the world as she’d had known and loved it, ceased to exist.

He’d locked gazes with her, glowering as only a fierce, hot-eyed, sword-packing Highlander could do. A truth she hadn’t known until this moment, but one she’d take with her to her grave.

If she lived that long.

The too-gorgeous-to-be-real Highlander might have a patent on sex appeal, but he was also armed to the teeth. A huge two-handed sword hung from a wide leather shoulder-belt slung across his chest and a glittering array of other equally wicked-looking medieval weapons peeked at her from beneath his plaid.

Kira swallowed, pressing her fingers more firmly against the stone edges of the door arch. Any further movement wasn’t an option. Her legs had gone all rubbery and even if she could take a step backward, away from the opening, she just knew he’d charge up the stairs if she did.

Steps that no longer looked worn and crumbling. They appeared new and unlittered, free of the fallen rubble, earth, and weeds that had clogged the stairwell just moments before.

“This can’t be happening.” She jerked her hands off the now-smooth edges of the door arch.

“Nae, it cannae be,” the Highlander agreed, his voice a deep velvety burr as he angled his head at her, his gaze narrowing. “Though I would know why it is!”

His words held a challenge, the suspicion in his eyes changing swiftly to something else.

Something darkly seductive and dangerous.

“Och, aye, I would hear the why of it.” He tossed back his hair, his gaze almost a physical touch. “Nor am I one to no’ welcome a comely lass into my hall ““ howe’er strange her raiments.”

“Raiments?” Kira blinked.

“Your hose, sweet.” His gaze dropped to her legs, lingering just long enough to make her squirm. “I’ve ne’er seen the like on a woman. No’ that I’m complaining.”

Kira swallowed. “You can’t be anything. You’re not even there.”

“Ho! So you say?” He glanced down at his plaid, flicking its edge. “If my plaid’s real, than I vow I am, too. Nae, lass, “tis you who cannae be here.”

“You’re a ghost.”

He laughed. “Since I haven’t died yet, that’s no’ possible.”

“I was told anything is possible in Scotland and now I believe it.” Kira stared at him. “Whatever you are.”

He flashed a roguish grin and started forward, mounting the tight, winding steps with long, easy strides. “Tis laird of this keep, I am.” His deep voice filled the stairwell, rich, luscious, and real as the chill bumps on her arms. “I’m also a man ““ as I can prove if you wish!”

Reaching her, he seized her shoulders, his grip strong and firm, warm even through the thickness of her jacket. He stepped close, so near that the hilt of his sword pressed into her hip. “Now, lass, tell me.” His gaze scorched her. “Do I feel like a haint?”

“No, but-“

“Aye, right.” He flashed a triumphant smile. “Tis you who is out of place, no’ me. Though I vow you dinnae feel like a ghost either.”

Then his smile turned wicked, his eyes darkening as he pulled her tighter against him, lowering his head as if to give her a hard, bruising kiss. Instead, his lips only brushed hers lightly, just barely touching her before he disappeared into darkness.

Kira screamed, but only the wind and the crashing sea answered.

That, and the stair’s emptiness. The total blackness, icy cold, and dank, that she’d been staring into all along.

There could be no other explanation.

Her imagination had run away with her. She’d wished for a Highlander with a wolfish smile and a honeyed tongue and so she’d conjured him.

Simple as that.

She’d just lean against the wall of the drum-tower and wait until her knees stopped knocking before she gathered her untouched lunch packet and returned to the road to wait for the tour bus.

Castle Wrath wasn’t a home to ghosts.

An empty shell was all it was, and whoever or whatever he’d been, her Highlander couldn’t have been real.

Never in all her dreams.

 

 About the Author

A - SE - Sue-Ellen Bio Pix

 

USA Today bestselling author, Sue-Ellen Welfonder, is most defined by her passion for Scotland. She also loves animals, medieval history, and the paranormal. She puts her pen where her heart is, writing Scottish romance with a touch of Highland magic. A former flight attendant, she’s proud of her Hebridean ancestry, spent fifteen years in Europe, and visits Scotland as often as she can. She’s devoted to her Jack Russell terrier, enjoys living quietly, and shares her desk with her alter-ego, Allie Mackay, who writes Scottish-set contemporary paranormals. Sue-Ellen is married and resides on Florida’s Gulf Coast.

 

 

https://www.facebook.com/SueEllenWelfonderAuthor

http://sue-ellenwelfonder.com/sue-ellen-welfonder-2/

 

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