So my next book, Irish Strength, is scheduled for release Wednesday, January 1, 2014 so instead of my usual Q&A session, I will be giving you all an exclusive preview!
Irish Strength is the first book in The Irish Treasures Saga. The remaining books are Irish Heart, Irish Sight and Irish Truth.
Here's the back cover blurb:
Long ago, before men came to the shores of Ireland, there lived a race of gods who fought a great evil to keep their island from sinking into the sea. Knowing men were destined to rule the land they loved, the gods created four great treasures to guard their beloved isle should the great evil rise to destroy it once more. Thousands of years would come to pass before the treasures were needed, before man would have to fight, to save Ireland from destruction.
Morgan MacQuill flees America with her newborn son, running from an abusive husband. She finds herself in Ireland, with family she never knew existed. She soon discovers a heritage and power kept hidden from her and a destiny that will change her life forever.
Quinn MacGreen has dreamed of a mysterious blonde woman his entire life. He meets his new neighbor, Morgan, and is shocked to see she has stepped out of his dreams and into reality. He struggles to accept his fate while protecting the woman he doesn't want to fall in love with. Morgan’s estranged husband begins a deadly search for her and Quinn must do everything in his power to keep them safe.
When an ancient evil returns to destroy the world, Morgan and Quinn must work together to guard a great treasure forged by Celtic gods. Morgan’s past collides with the evil they are battling and the mythical war they are fighting becomes personal.
With a mix of magic, suspense and plenty of romance, Irish Strength will take you on a journey that turns myth into reality and proves that love really is the most powerful magic of all.
And now, a preview of Irish Strength.
Morgan
found the path easily as the sky started to lighten. The mist began to recede
as she walked further on. Her breath made clouds of steam, trailing after her as
she came closer to the end of MacQuill land.
The
empty silence was broken by a quick whack followed by two thuds. Curious, she
stepped off the path towards the noise. The closer she got the MacGreen Castle,
the louder it became, joined now by a distinct male grunt. Rounding the hill,
she found Quinn, chopping firewood in the hazy, pre-dawn light.
Stopping
suddenly, Morgan watched as he continued to split log after log in rhythmic
precision. She could see his muscles outlined beneath his wool blazer. His
breath came in short puffs from sculpted lips. His long legs braced apart, shifted slightly as he reached for another log.
She
didn’t understand any of this: why he was here, why she’d dreamt of him for so
long. Since the night Braden was born, her whole life seemed to have turned
upside down.
Quinn
had felt her coming, long before she rounded the bend. He let her watch him as
he continued to swing his ax, slightly annoyed at the emotions he sensed from
her. Surprise and confusion. But mostly desire; hot, quick and very passionate.
He barely had to probe to see it, making his male arrogance swell with pride.
Then
he sensed her shame and saw her quick blush out of the corner of his eye. His
temper flared with anger. Fate had pushed them together though it seemed it was
what neither of them had wanted.
“Top
of the mornin’ to ye, Morgan,” he called before swinging the ax again. She
jumped when he spoke; clearly unaware that he had seen her.
“Do
the Irish really say that?” she asked, stepping closer to him.
“Rarely
and mostly for tourists,” he answered, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “Yer
Uncle Jamie is rather fond of the phrase though. I thought ye’d enjoy it.”
“Thanks,”
she answered, a smile threatening on her face.
“Yer
out early.” Quinn set the ax against the stump and sat down on a large log.
“Jetlag,”
she answered. “And I, uh, wanted to see the sun come up,” she sat down on a log
next to him. “It’s the first day of my new life.” Quinn nodded his head in
approval at her words. Whatever his feelings against destiny, he was beginning
to like this Morgan MacQuill.
“Castle
MacGreen sits on high elevation,” he explained, pointing off to the East. “The
perfect place to watch the sunrise. Yer more than welcome to stay.”
“Thank
you,” Morgan answered. “Are all Irish people so welcoming to strangers?” she
asked as the sky became brighter. Quinn just shrugged and looked towards the
sky.
In
the East, just over the mist-covered hills, the sun was beginning to peak over
the horizon. Morgan gasped as the sky became brilliant with
oranges, reds and pinks. The dew on the grass sparkled as if each blade had
been covered in diamonds. She swore she could feel its warmth filling her up.
“It’s
amazing,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around her middle. Quinn snorted in
response, not wanting to like this woman any more than he already was.
“Come in and have a spot of tea before ye go
back.” Quinn stood suddenly, wanting to end the magic that he could feel
radiating through the sunrise.
“I
should get back to Braden,” Morgan began, standing up next to him.
“Bridget
will look after him,” he answered gruffly. “Ye look pale and ye probably
haven’t eaten yet, eh?”
“No,
I…”
“And
ye just walked a mile in the cold and dark in an unfamiliar place.”
“Yes,
but…”
“No
buts,” he interrupted again. “Come, have some tea.” He turned towards the
castle and began walking away, smiling to himself when he heard her follow
behind him.
They'd
no sooner taken two steps before a big, dark shape came rushing around the
corner, straight towards Morgan. Seeing it, she squealed in terror, freezing in
the middle of the path. Quinn shouted for the animal to stop but it was too
late. The mass of fur and muscle was already leaping towards her. The last
thing Morgan saw was large, yellow eyes locking onto hers before slipping away
into blackness.
“Morgan,”
the Irish lilt had become rough with concern. “Open yer eyes.” Her eyes
fluttered open and locked with golden ones, full of worry.
“Are
ye hurt?” Quinn asked softly. Swallowing the lump in her throat, Morgan
struggled to sit up.
“I
don’t think so,” she mumbled, brushing a few clumps of grass from her hair.
“What the hell was that?”
“My
damned dog, that’s what,” Quinn growled, pulling Morgan to her feet. “Bloody
wretch does’na listen to a word I say.” The dog in question, huge by anyone’s
comparison, chose that moment to come trotting up to Morgan. Her face paled
slightly at the size of the animal but she bravely reached out a hand for it to
smell. Slowly, the dog stretched its nose towards her hand, sniffing furiously.
“Hello
there,” Morgan whispered, smiling at the dog. “You gave me quite a scare. But
you didn’t mean to, did you?” The dog cocked his head and stepped closer to
her. “You’re awfully handsome.” It woofed in response. “And you know it too,”
she giggled.
“Welcome, Morgan of the MacQuill’s.”
The
voice in her mind was loud, strong and utterly canine. Morgan shook her head,
wondering if she’d bumped it harder than she’d thought. The dog simply stared
at her with an expression that closely resembled a smile. Quinn
had heard the welcome and ground his teeth in frustration. Even his dog liked
her.
“I
do believe you have yourself a wolf instead of a dog, Quinn.”
“In
a manner of speaking,” Quinn answered, finally smiling. “He’s an Irish
Wolfhound.”
“Of
course he is,” Morgan answered, dryly.
“Merlin,
meet Morgan. Morgan, this is Merlin.”
“Merlin?”
she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“The
mutt does’na live up to the name,” Quinn answered, smiling broadly. “But he’s
usually a good dog. Just wanted to come say hello to ye.”
“By
knocking me off my feet?”
“Aye
well, he needs some work on the finer points of greeting a guest,” Morgan
wobbled on her feet as she tried to laugh. Quinn reached out to steady her
before she fell. “Ye all right, lass?”
“Mmm,
yes. Just a little dizzy.” Before she could object, Quinn swept her into his
arms and began to walk towards the castle. “Quinn, put me down,” she growled,
pushing against his solid chest.
“Don’na
need ye going into a faint on my land,” he answered, not listening to her
orders. He tried not to think about how light she was in his arms or how sweet
she smelled. Like lilacs and spring. “Bridget would have my hide,” he
complained, trying to distract himself.
“Really,
Quinn,” she protested. “I’m fine.”
“We’ll
see,” he answered, easily opening the large oak door with one hand. He
unceremoniously dropped her down in a kitchen chair and went to pull a kettle
off the hearth. Coming back to the table, he poured her a cup of tea and sat
down opposite of her. “Try it,” he told her when she didn’t move. Sighing, she
reached for the cup and took a tentative drink.
“It’s
delicious,” she admitted, taking another drink.
“Tis’
one of Bridget’s concoctions,” he told her as she drank more of the steaming
tea. He realized he was smiling at her and quickly dropped the grin. He wouldn’t
allow fate to push him into something that he wasn’t willing to do. Wanting her
to dislike him, he decided to be blunt with her.
“So,
did Clare tell ye that yer a witch?” he asked, calmly. Morgan spluttered into
her tea and coughed to clear her throat.
“Excuse
me?”
“She
did’na tell ye?” He kicked his feet up onto the table. Morgan stared at him,
unsure if she should be laughing at an attempt at a bad joke but he just stared
at her with no expression at all.
“That’s
not funny, Quinn,” she said, carefully.
“Of
course it is’na,” he answered. “She should’a warned ye about who ye are,” he
raised an eyebrow as confusion ran across Morgan’s face. “She should’a warned
ye about all of us.”
“Warned
me about what?” Morgan asked, fear trickling down her spine.
“That
we’re witches too.”
Irish Strength will be available through Amazon and CreateSpace (print) and the Amazon Kindle Store (eBook) starting Wednesday!