Excerpt of My Novel

I loved writing this book. I am a history buff, and have read all sorts of old history books - even Saxon scriptures and some of the writings of Calvin and Martin Luther. I absolutely love the 1510 - 1600 era. Three women ruled the modern world. Religion was in the wringer. And, the Puritans were inhabiting the new world.

It is such a rich era, the end of the medievil -dawn of the Renaissance. When a man could hold a caldemair (Claymore sword) and a pistol. A nobleman might ride a spotted mountain horse, or a Neapolitan/Spanish Import.

When has there ever been such fodder for an over active imagination :D


Calum is part of the old world, a Laird by the sword, who took his lands by force. He is cunning and wise, everything a hero should be, but he needs one thing to be complete - love.


Gillian is a part of the new world, a woman raised in one of the last Abbeys in England, virtually ignorant of her heritage and wealth, born for the courts, and raised with eyes to see the corruption around her.


I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing this novel.




THE PLEDGE


Calum MacKenna sat astride the black warhorse, unnoticed by the woman picking herbs in the glen below. A breeze moved the grass around her feet. She worked diligently, unaware that Scot warriors watched from a few yards away.

This woman posed no threat to him, even if she warned the village of their presence. Every Englishman within a day's ride feared The Wolfe and his reivers.

Curiosity kept him watching as she worked – and her beauty. Long dark braids hung to the ground. The few strands spun in the breeze. By the length of her hair and her height, he guessed she had lived enough summers to be wed with bairns to feed.

She walked a few steps, her gaze on the ground. Moments passed before she found the herb she sought.

He paused. He'd never sat this close to an English woman, or man, without terror draining the color from her face. Just the mention of the name, The Wolf, stirred fear in most people. He took pride in his reputation, while robbing him of sleep and peace.

Her movements caught his attention. A woman, even an English one, should have caught their scent by now. Sweat and foam dried in dark lines down the horse's sides. They reeked, hot and dank. The men fared no better. When they returned home, several bairns would recognize their father's scent before he crossed the meadow.

"Laird?"

Calum didn't respond to the warning. He would move when ready, not when goaded into action.

The smell of danger tainted the wind. Everyone within a league worried, except this woman. The odor of blood and smoke tainted the wind. The Winston Holdings lay wasted, but the Baron's enemy had vanished. Something did not feel right.

He turned to watch the Englishwoman. He caught the scent of sheep sorrel as she trampled the herbs.

A brief smile played at the corner of his mouth. He liked this. It felt good to find one person who did not fear him. At one time, it would have angered him. But, time dulled the hunger for revenge. Only the restless void remained to haunt his soul.

His horse whickered.

The woman turned at the sound.

Calum held his breath. His heart beat as he waited for the last person in ..."

His own self-loathing soured his mouth. As if bidden, their eyes locked. Neither moved. Suddenly he knew she would not die today.

His horse danced sideways under the unfamiliar movements of its master.

Calum narrowed his eyes he turned on his men. No one dared to meet his stare.

"Nay harm, Wolf."

Calum ignored Olen. The woman stared as if they were merely shepherds.

Olen rode forward to wait beside Calum's.

Calum respected Olen. They matched each other in strength and skill. But today, his anger strained.

"The woman is daft," Calum explained.

"Aye, Laird?" Olen sighed.

"The woman," Calum nodded, "is not right in the head."

Olen glanced at the woman and raised a brow. "I see she is not afraid of you."

A few nods and whispers of agreement echoed from the other men.

Calum cursed. He acted foolish in front of his men, like an old woman caught in a lie. He turned the stallion. He should kill her. The men expected it. "Am I mad?"

"Protecting the clan does not make you mad. We've rode two weeks and proved you right. There is trouble. The Butcher and his sons are dead, and not by your hand. A man is not mad when proven right." Olen leaned forward. "Whether the maid is or not mad, she is bonny. But, I remind my Laird that we sit on a hill, in the light of day."

Calum bit back his retort. He would not insult Olen in front of the men. Except for treason, Olen would be Laird of his own clan. It was his right by birth.

"She is bonny." Olen grinned.

Calum pulled the stallion around sharp. The large black reared and hit the ground in a full gallop.

No power on earth would return his bonny wife, nor alter his destiny. Not the lass in the meadow. Not retribution. Not God's mercy. His knees demanded more speed from his mount, leaving the woman far behind, with the rest of his memories.

The Wolf and his reivers needed to cover more ground before night fell.

****

"I saw them." Gillian Winston raced through the chapel doors, gasping for breath. She stumbled. Her legs throbbed from running.

"Lady Gillian!" Mother snapped without interrupting her prayer.

Gillian stopped. What did she do wrong this time? Mother Abbess only called her Lady Gillian when she broke something.

"I apologize Abbot Mother." Gillian slowed and drew in two breaths, forcing her to gain control. "I saw them, painted blue, and half naked, on horses…"

Mother raised a hand and tilted her head without looking over her shoulder.

The gesture annoyed Gillian. She slowly drew in a long breath and held it, and stood straighter. She sent a quick prayer to the ceiling, offering several promises to God before she tried again to give Mother the important message.

"Ten men." She interrupted Mother's prayer again, keeping her voice demure, and controlled. "I have important news you must hear --"

"The men are of no concern," Mother cut in. "They must wait."

"They are Scots, Scottish men." Gillian blurted out, hardly believing her ears. Mother didn't understand the danger.

"Hush and listen." Mother's voice rose, indicating she intended to be heard "The reivers have been coming for as long as I remember. Raiders and soldiers will certainly come long after I am dead and gone."

"What if they attack?"

"They have."

Gillian dropped to a pew as if struck.

The image of the Scot raiders and their mountain horses flashed before her eyes. No saddles or bridles, they looked so wild. She closed her eyes and envisioned the large black horse take off like it knew how to fly. His master has sat there watching her. Her skin shivered.

"They attacked yesterday. They return home now, thank God above. God spared your life -- perhaps a worse fate. How many times have I told you to stay within the Abbey walls?" Mother crossed to a bench and patted the spot beside her.

Whom did they attack? Gillian turned away from mother. "I ran straight here. How could they already attack?"

"They attacked yesterday."

"Yesterday?" Gillian's shoulders. She rubbed her thumb between her fingers.

The Abbess sat quietly beside her, eyes fixed on the cross hanging on the wall.

"You need to return to your father, Gillian."

"To my father?" Gillian asked stupidly. Father. The word held no meaning for her. Two years had passed since the last time he summoned her, only to present her to an old man who wore too much lace. A cold child filled the pit of her stomach at the memory of her inspecting her as if considering the purchase of a horse. Gillian feared her father found a man willing to satisfy his insatiable greed, but the betrothal contract never came.

She never heard from either of them again.

Home? Abbot Mother scolded every time Gillian's tongue slipped and she called the Abbey home, but she knew no other.

"Your father is not at the hall." Mother sat motionlessly, her gaze fixed on the gilded cross. Shadows hid her face and eyes, "Nor are your brothers."

"Where did they go?" Gillian's words echoed through the empty hall. Mother's head droop lower. "Where are my brothers?"

When Mother didn't answer, Gillian tried to speak, and choked. Her strength drained as they sat in silence. Her arms and legs grew numb. She repeated familiar texts trying to block the truth from her mind.

"Are my family alive?" How would she survive with no family? She would need to live at the abbey her whole life. The Queen might demand she marry to suit her purposes. Her father tried to force the issue to increase his own power and wealth.

"... A raid on your father's home." Mother's voice penetrated her stupor. "The messenger said the entire household is dead. Your father's men either died or fled to the forest." Mother turned and waited. "The Baron is dead along with his sons. You must go home now and get ready."

"Ready ...?" Gillian repeated.

"For your wedding."