I believe in magic. It’s difficult not to believe in something that surrounds us every day. There is an enchantment in the turning of the seasons and a strength in the elements that make up the natural world. If you doubt that, just go outside on a clear night and cast your eyes up to the sky. See what our ancestors saw, the gods and animals from whom they believed they might sue favor, or that governed their lives. Or take off your shoes on a warm autumn day and dig your toes into the earth. Breathe in the scents of weeds and trees and herbs all dying. Watch the leaves fall with perfect faith that life will return.
As an author, I weave a lot of magic into my writing. Anything that comes from the heart must flow out of well-rooted belief. It creeps into my books in the attitudes of my characters. It echoes in the music to which they listen and in the love they share with one another, a love that reaches beyond the ordinary.
When I was asked to create a new historical series for Dragonblade Publishing, I knew it would have to be set in Scotland, a fond place of my heart. And I knew it would contain magic, that of the braes and glens, the wild skies and depthless lochs residing there. What if there were three sisters rooted in the ancient magic of the glen they loved? What if they were the sisters MacBeith, not witches but each gifted by their ancestors with a special gift. The strength to defend. The strength to comfort. The strength to believe.
In the ancient world, women were often underestimated. Bartered and sold as chattel, and used as pawns in the schemes of men. The Celts saw it a bit differently. In the far-off days of Ireland’s glory, a woman could divorce her husband merely by saying, “I dismiss you.” So I made my three sisters strong. I made them intelligent, and I made each of them, in her own way, fierce enough to defy the most determined men and overcome them—with the magic of love.
I hope you’ll join the Three Sisters MacBeith on their journey. The first sister, Moria, is the Keeper of the Gate and her story is available now.
Blurb for Keeper of the Gate:
Since time out of mind, two clans have contested for dominance in bonny glen Bronach, known as the glen of sorrows. But now, fierce young Rory MacLeod has taken over as chief of his lands and vowed to seize all rival MacBeith holdings. Moira MacBeith, the eldest of chief Iain MacBeith’s three daughters, finds herself with her back to the wall and a sword in her hand. A born defender, she’s not afraid to don armor and march out to fight. But if her enemies discover her secret, that her father has fallen in battle, it will be seen as a weakness. She has no choice but to assume his place and fight on. And then there’s the dratted MacLeod captive who’s fallen into her hands…
Farlan MacLeod is Rory’s lifelong best friend, sworn to follow him in good times and bad. Being seized during a bloody battle was not part of the plan, and the accursed woman who appears to lead clan MacBeith means to use him as a weapon against his chief. He knows he should hate her. Instead, there’s a wild, undeniable attraction growing between them. He can’t possibly be so weak as to give into it, even though he’s never seen a woman to match her for beauty or strength.
Excerpt:
They had no women of her ilk at MacLeod. Not to say their women were not strong and could not give as good as they got. They would take up weapons to defend their homes.
So far, none of them had marched out to battle.
He’d never seen a woman to match this one. Ainsley—aye, Ainsley had possessed her strengths. They had not included the tendency to brandish weapons. And by any road, she was gone.
His gaze strayed to the irons heating in the fire. Och, it had to be the irons, did it? He wondered if he could endure it without shaming himself. Aye, so he must.
The woman, Moira MacBeith, looked at Alasdair. “Untie him.”
The hulking war chief did not hesitate. He drew his dirk and came at Farlan, cutting his bonds roughly and nicking the skin.
“Now.” Moira MacBeith seated herself comfortably, taking the large chair that must be her father’s, though she did not invite Farlan to do likewise. Alasdair remained standing also, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
Farlan calculated the distance to the door. Could he make it before Alasdair drew that weapon? Likely not. Anyway, once he got out beyond, he would run the gauntlet of the clansfolk and would likely be taken down by a woman wielding a stew pot.
“Why d’ye no’ tell me, Farlan MacLeod, what ye be to your chief, Rory?”
Farlan shrugged. “A clansman, no more.”
“Are ye sure o’ that?”
He nodded.
She addressed the war chief. “This man, Alasdair, maun think we are stupid. He has no’ the sense God gave a hen.”
“It appears not.” Alasdair’s voice rumbled. His dangerous, dark eyes did not waver from Farlan’s face.
Moira MacBeith leaned forward in her seat. “You were fighting close beside your chief last night, when you and your kind—” the word was a sneer “—came to steal our cattle.”
“The battle ha’ become heated. I fought where e’er I could.” He wondered what they’d done with his sword. The old chief, Camraith, had given him that the summer he turned sixteen—had given one to both him and Rory.
He wanted that sword back, felt its loss like another wound.
“I do no’ believe him,” Alasdair growled.
Moira turned her head again, giving Farlan the side view that had initially betrayed the fact that she was a woman. Her profile looked delicate and beautiful. Her sentiments, when she turned back, did not. “Nor do I.”
Buy links:
Amazon US | Amazon Canada | Amazon UK | Amazon Australia
About Laura Strickland:
Laura Strickland enjoys researching interesting new settings for her books. Married, with one grown daughter, she has also mothered several rescue dogs and is intensely interested in animal welfare. Her love of dogs and her lifelong interest in Celtic history, magic and music, are all reflected in her writing.
Leave a Comment