The Lone Wolf's Lass Read online

  If you are new to my novels and would like to read more, I have a novella I think you will love to start with because it is the story of Ceara and Garreth! It’s a fun story and the prequel to my first Celtic Romance Series, The Sisters of Danu! Read on for an excerpt from Forsworn Fate!

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  Forsworn Fate (Excerpt)

  Chapter One

  Ériu 55 AD

  “Oh, the nerve of him!” Ceara stormed into the house, slamming the door and causing the fire to flicker with the wild gush of wind trailing in behind her. She heard her mother sigh in the corner of the house as she worked on another new dress at the loom. Her mother always sighed when Ceara and Garreth argued. For the life of her, she could not understand why her mother had arranged her marriage to the infuriating lad before either of them could have a say. It was not at all common in their village for such arrangements, and yet no amount of shouting about the lad would change Abigael’s mind.

  “You sigh again, Mother and yet you would have nay need to if you would just break this marriage agreement and allow me to be free of him.” She crossed her arms and spun on her heels to face her mother. “Do you know what he said to me just now?”

  Abigael looked up from the loom and actually gave Ceara her full attention. Ceara’s hopes rose for an instant, wondering if she had finally convinced her mother to listen to her many grievances against her intended husband, but then a slow smirk spread across her mother’s face and Ceara growled. “Och! It does not matter what he said, does it? The man could tell me he thinks me as hideous as a toad, and you would still encourage me to marry him, would you not?”

  Abigael waved a hand dismissively in her direction and scoffed. “Ceara. Nay man in their right mind would call you a toad. And certainly not Garreth. He is quite taken with you.”

  A snort escaped Ceara, so loud it shook her brain. “Taken with me? Is that what you call it when a lad has a new lass on his lap every day? I just ran into him at the gathering hall. He had that lass Mary Gallagher on his lap this time. When I asked him why he even bothered with other lassies when he knew he was to marry me, he replied that he needed to sample as many lassies as he could before he became my prisoner! Prisoner! Mama, the lad does not want to marry me. He has made himself quite clear.”

  That seemed to get her mother’s attention. Abigael stood up slowly and walked over with a sad smile on her face. “You care for the lad, do you not?” Abigael ran a finger down Ceara’s face and stared her in the eyes. Ceara wanted to balk at her mother, but she was never good at hiding her emotions from anyone, least of all her mama. When Ceara was happy, which was most days, she could not contain her jovial spirit and the urge to smile at every passing villager. But when she was angry, most of the time while in Garreth’s infuriating presence, she could feel the fire burning in her veins, like a force greater than herself controlling her every thought.

  What she felt now was much too close to despair and she hung her head low at the tenderness of her mother’s words. “How I feel about Garreth does not matter. He does not want me. And I cannot marry the lad. He will only resent me even more than he does now and take a concubine. I cannot live that way. I wish you had never arranged our marriage. I still do not understand.”

  “There are many things you will not understand, Ceara. But I promise you will one day. Until then, you must trust me.” Her mother tucked a red tendril of Ceara’s hair behind her ear and smiled. “His father, the king, and I came to the agreement together. I am afraid he wants this match for you both as much as I do, and that is that.”

  “So I am to just be the unwanted wife? I tell you, Mama, the man despises me!”

  Abigael laughed and gripped Ceara’s hand. “Nay. He despises that he has nay control over his own future, the same way you do. But it is not you who he despises. He is acting out. Perhaps because it is the only thing he can control, or perhaps tis to make you jealous. You are seven and ten summers now. Tis time the two of you married.”

  “You would not believe he is taken with me if you had seen him today with Mary. I barely tolerated the sight of her on his lap. When he kissed the lass, I pretended not to notice. But when he began to drag her into a dark corner by the hand, I felt humiliated! The whole tuath knows he is what he says: a prisoner to this arrangement.”

  Ceara swallowed hard but could not help the tear that trickled down her cheek and under her chin. Humiliation was only the beginning of what she felt when she thought of Garreth Mac Cecht. The man had been promised to her by the time she could walk. She was just as much a prisoner to this horrible arrangement as he was. Only, where she had always honored the match and looked forward to marrying the king’s son with his blonde tousled hair and bright hazel eyes, he saw her as a burden. She was no more than another responsibility for him in a world where he was born and bred to train as a warrior, and perhaps be a king one day. And who was she? Nothing. She was no more than the healer’s daughter, a woman bound to a man who did not want her.

  Nay. She would not disparage herself in this manner. She had much to offer a man. She would not allow Garreth to continually make her the feel at fault for their forced union, or cause her to always question her self-worth. One way or another, she would convince him to marry her or find a way to break this agreement. Ceara could stand to be stuck in the middle no longer.

  ***

  Pulling weeds in the garden was always tedious work, but it kept Ceara’s mind off a certain infuriating lad, or at least it usually did. She had seen Garreth run off with more lassies into more dark corners than she ever cared to remember, so why did the sight of him today with Mary affect her so? Perhaps it was his hurtful words or the way he looked at her with spite in his eyes before he dragged Mary away. Perhaps it was because she had never even once kissed a lad and the sting of that injustice was hard to shake. Every lad in the tuath knew she was promised to Garreth and there were few who would dare try and touch what belonged to the king’s son. No lad had ever tried to kiss her. Perhaps she was, in fact, a toad.

  Then there was her age. She was of an age to marry. Garreth should be done chasing the many young lassies of the tuath by now. It was time he honored the agreement their parents had made. Perhaps they need not marry right away, but could he not court her? Take a little time to know her better? He was five summers older than her and, though they had grown up together and always knew they would marry, Garreth had slowly pulled away from her over the years clearly resenting what she represented to him: responsibility, duty, and, as he described it, imprisonment.

  It rankled that he should think of her in such a foul manner. Ceara yanked another weed out of the ground by the roots and felt a small wave of accomplishment at pulling the entire thing out in one piece. The rain had been heavy this spring and the weeds attacked the garden’s vegetables with an unusual vengeance. She may not be able to control much of her life, but this she could, even if her mind did wander into dangerous territory as she worked.

  What was it like to be Mary? To feel Garreth’s lips on hers, his blonde beard scratching against her skin, his large calloused warrior hands roaming her body? Ceara closed her eyes and swallowed hard. She had to stop thinking such things. It tore her apart to watch her future husband paw another woman. He could have Ceara easily…and quite willingly if she was honest, yet he would choose any other woman instead of her. She should have more pride. But, how could she when the only man she could ever be with swatted her away as if she were a bothersome gnat?

  “There you are mo stór. I have been looking all over for you.” At the familiar, yet not often heard voice, Ceara gasped and dropped the weeds in her hand, spinning on her heels.

  “Doran!” Ceara squealed and, standing on her tiptoes, wrap
ped her arms around the large shoulders of her mother’s dear companion, a man who had come to be more like a father to Ceara than she could have ever expected. “What a surprise! Tis so lovely to see you!”

  “Och, you as well, mo leanbh.” She loved it when he referred to her as his child. She could never be so fortunate as to have a papa as kind and loving as King Doran, but for him to treat her as a daughter meant the world to her. Especially at a time in her life when she needed it most.

  Doran released her from the crushing embrace he always gave her and looked down at her with pure affection in his gaze. He was a good man. Her mama had grown to love him very much over the years as he came to visit on bartering trips. He came as often as he could, which was not very often at all, being king of his own people. But even kings must journey out at times, to protect their people, or in this case, secure alliances and trade with neighboring tribes.

  “Tis always good to see you, Ceara. I miss Gwynneth when I am away, but the two of you are so similar, I feel like I am close to her when I am with you.”

  Ceara smiled at his words. He always told her about his own daughter, Gwynneth, and how very similar they were. She hoped to meet his daughter one day but knew it was unlikely. Gwynneth had recently married a man named Baine and would likely not be traveling anytime soon. “How is Gwynneth?” Ceara asked.

  There was a flicker of something in Doran’s eyes. If she didn’t know any better, she would have thought it was regret. Sadness pulled his mouth down at the corners. “I fear I made a mistake in marrying her to Baine. He promised to take good care of my daughter and seems to love her well. But she was in love with another and I kept them apart. I’m not certain she will ever forgive me for it.”

  “Oh, Doran.” Ceara squeezed his arm in reassurance and gave him a sad smile. “You are a good father. I am certain you had your reasons and she will learn to love Baine.” He forced a smile and nodded, but Ceara could tell her words gave him little comfort.

  Ceara’s heart constricted in her chest as she thought about Gwynneth’s unfortunate position. Was Garreth being forced into a marriage with her when he loved another? That could explain his obvious disdain for her. Did Garreth love Mary? Unlikely. He seemed to be with a new woman quite often. But, what if he did? Perhaps this was why he resented her so. Marriage to her may be preventing him from wedding the lass he truly loved. She could never live with herself if she were the cause of pain between two lovers. The thought of Garreth in love with another woman made her feel ill, but not as ill as being the woman who kept them apart would make her.

  She had grown quite fond of Garreth over the years. Knowing they were destined to wed was a strange feeling, and yet, at one point, Garreth seemed to embrace it. When Garreth was a small lad they would laugh and play together often, pretending to be husband and wife. He would defend their imaginary home with his wooden sword while she cuddled her rag doll to her chest, rocking its tightly swaddled linen body in her arms.

  But time passed and, as Garreth turned into more of a man than a lad, the five years of age separating them became a gaping void of differences. He grew taller, stronger, and more handsome by the day. Lassies his age began to take notice and Garreth no longer had time to play with his childish intended wife as he trained to be a warrior. The playful days they had once spent together became lonely days of following Garreth around sadly, hoping he would turn and pay her notice. She was no more than a gangly lass, not quite a woman and not quite a child, while lassies with blooming curves started gaining his attention.

  Her feelings for him had slowly become more than just curiosity and admiration over the years. She yearned for his returned affection. Even as she crossed over into womanhood and grew soft curves of her own, Garreth did not seem to take notice. By then, many years had passed and Garreth was well deserving of his reputation with the other lassies. She had somehow become nothing more than a lingering responsibility to him, a memory of a child he had once known, and nothing more.

  Those years of pining for him and following in his powerful wake had worn down her patience. Ceara considered herself a spirited lass with many companions who thoroughly enjoyed dancing and laughing at nightly gatherings. But, as the other lassies began to marry and have babes of their own, Ceara became lonelier and even more aggravated as Garreth continued to push away from his responsibility to her. Too many nights of sitting alone in the hall while all other men avoided her, knowing she was already spoken for, and Garreth disappearing into the shadows with a new lass, had inflamed her anger.

  Somewhere during the many embarrassingly lonely gatherings over the years, her affection for Garreth had morphed into a resentment of her own, and one he well deserved, unlike the resentment he seemed to harbor for her.

  Their encounters had become increasingly hostile recently, as her pride refused to allow her to simply sit back and be disrespected. She would approach him with good intentions, but it always led to a spiteful exchange of words, shouting, and a more and more frequent agreement that neither wished to marry the other. And, after his cruel words to her this morn, calling himself a prisoner and parading Mary in front of her, Ceara had had enough.

  She was done. Done with being the forlorn lass in his presence while he sent her angry glares and flirted with all the other lassies. She wanted to enjoy herself, be confident in who she was, toad or not. Garreth clearly did not want to marry her and it was weighing her down like rocks tied to her ankles. Enough, indeed. Tonight, she would speak with Garreth and tell him once and for all that she would not marry him. He could have Mary or any other lass he wanted. She was done waiting for him to choose her, and if her mother would not release her from this arrangement, she would release herself. It was time to live. She would forswear their cursed fate.

  “Where is your mother?” Doran’s voice pulled her out of her dark musings and her head snapped up.

  “She is in the village. The ironsmith’s wife just birthed a babe. She should be home soon.” Ceara looked around at all the arriving warriors from Iverni as they dismounted their horses, laughing as they stretched their backs. One warrior openly rubbed his backside and she swore she heard him say something about his “sore arse”. Ceara couldn’t help but laugh. Men could get away with anything in public. That same warrior spotted her staring and sent her a wink.

  Her eyes widened at his obvious display and she felt herself blush. No lads in Coraindt dared wink at her. She had never known if it was for fear of Garreth or because she was a hideous toad, but this warrior from Iverni with his strong jaw covered in a short black beard and his long disheveled hair floating about his face as he removed his bronze helm, looked at her with an intense lust in his blue eyes and she felt herself shiver.

  Doran watched her and the warrior with a frown. “Watch it, Mac Tavish,” Doran pointed at the man in warning before shifting his gaze to Ceara. “I imagine Garreth would not appreciate Aaron’s attentions on you.”

  Ceara growled under her breath at the reminder that she belonged to a man who did not care about her at all. But tonight, all of that would change. It would hurt to break away from Garreth, but not as much as being an unwanted bride did.

  I hope you enjoyed your Sneak peek at Forsworn Fate (Sisters of Danu prequel novella)! Read on for an excerpt from The Warrior’s Salvation (The Warriors of Ériu- Book one)!

  Pick up your copy of Forsworn Fate for only 99 cents on Amazon, or FREE on Kindle Unlimited!

  The Warrior’s Salvation (Excerpt)

  Chapter One

  Alba (Scotland) 78 AD

  “By the gods man. You will never get a lass into your bed if you continue to scowl down into the bottom of your ale mug.” A strong hand came down and clapped Jeoffrey between the shoulder blades and his grimace deepened. Would his best mate ever leave him be?

  “I care not for any lass,” Jeoffrey responded as he picked up his clay mug and took a long pull of ale into his mouth. The froth tickled the hairs of his upper lip, but he kept chugging, ignoring the l
iquid dripping down his chin. He wiped the ale off his mouth with his blue tunic sleeve and slammed the mug back down on the knobby wooden table before him. “I came to the gathering hall to think, not to be pestered by your cursed cheerful nature again.”

  Alastar scoffed and plopped down on the bench next to Jeoffrey. His best mate could take a hint, he just did not care to take it. Nay, that was what Alastar did best. He kept an infallible smile on his face and pretended the world around him did not efficiently torture a man’s soul. Although, in truth, Alastar was much too content being alone in this world and bedding any willing lassie who walked passed him. The scars of war may still show on the surface of Alastar’s back, but the scars of love had not yet destroyed his heart, as they had Jeoffrey’s.

  “Since we made our journey to Alba from Ériu, you have been horrible company,” Alastar commented as he grabbed a mug of ale from a serving lass passing by with a wink.

  Jeoffrey rolled his eyes at Alastar. Alastar wasn’t wrong. He knew he had changed since the fateful battle that had led him to kill his father and leave their homeland. But too much had happened to Jeoffrey in the past few years and all he wanted to do now was tend the farm he had worked so hard to earn since arriving in Alba. He wanted to be left alone to work his land and forget not only the battle, but two women who seemed to haunt his dreams.

  It was well known to all the people in his new village of Miathi that Jeoffrey was the son of Elim Mac Conrach, the man who had usurped the throne from the rightful High King of Ériu over twenty summers ago. He was also the son who slew his own father when the rightful High King’s son, Tuathal Techtmar, came out of exile from Alba to take back his father’s throne.