Sometimes you need to lose it all to discover what is
truly important.
Lucien St. Martin, Marquess of Heartstone, is ordered to
travel to the "uncivilized" part of the world. America. Little does
he know, everything is about to shift on its axis.
Ciara McKay is known as "the heart of the
mountain." Her world is changed the day she encounters a strange man near
death on her mountain. Long winter nights lead to explosive passions before
they part. Seven years pass before they meet again.
Can they overcome the "accepted" rules of
society? Or will "the heart of the mountain" cease to be? Is it
possible that Lucien can convince her to give them another chance? Will Ciara
accept her destiny that together is the only way for them to be--as the
princess and the marquess?
EXCERPT
Ciara shivered as the cold wind blew around her. I should
have worn my heavier coat. Dressed in her buckskins, she did a final check on
her winter wood supply. It should last. Her father had made a shed right
outside the cabin and she had spent the past few months ensuring it was stocked
full. It was. Her food larders were full also. A grin split her face as she
gazed over at the valley below her. She took a slow, deep breath of the crisp
air and turned to Faolan, who was stretched out on the ground fast asleep. Snow
was coming—she could smell it in the air and see it in the clouds.
“Get up, old man. We have one more stop to make.”
At her voice, Faolan rose to stand beside her. His head
was higher than her hip and he was a sinister-looking wolf. He leaned on her
and Ciara knew that the wolf could push her over if he wanted to. Ciara pulled
on his ear with affection before she headed off.
With a quick stop-off at the cabin she picked up her
cloak and herb pouch. The rain had started and she knew that by this evening
there would be snow on the ground. Ciara started a fire to make sure her cabin
would be nice and warm when they returned. After closing the door behind her,
she stopped to fix her cloak.
The thickness was one reason she wore it—the hood helped.
The main reason was, however, it was a special cloak. She had made it to suit
her needs. It had the ability to cover her from head to ankle to wrap her in a
cocoon if she wished or had to sleep on the ground, keeping her warm, but it
also could be formed to fit her body like a second skin.
There was a row of buttons on the back that she could
undo so the cloak would split, which enabled her to secure each half to each
leg. The part by her waist could be pulled in for a snug fit. She could go from
a woman enveloped by a thick cloak to a woman who looked like she wore heavy
clothing.
When she needed to move quickly or carry a kill, she
would secure the cloak to her body so there was no loose material. She did so
now, not wanting to repeat the drenching experience of last night. Once ready,
she set off on her jog she always took through the woods, Faolan by her side.
When the rain switched to snow, she stopped gathering
herbs. She rose and turned to head back to the cabin when she heard it.
Faolan hackled and faced toward a deeper part of the
woods. It was the growling of a bear. Strange, they should all be sleeping now.
Ciara moved forward swiftly, albeit without noise, as she headed for the sound,
scanning the ground for signs. The ones she saw didn’t bode well for the object
the bear had in its clutches because she noticed the prints of a smaller cub
too.
Something came between a mama and her cub.
She heard another noise in there as well. A cry. A moan.
A scream. The closer she got, the more uncertain she became. A scrap of cloth
caught her attention. It was from a cloak. A person. The bear had a person in
its clutches.
Without conscious thought for her own safety, she ran
into the small clearing where a bear mauled a man, making him look like a rag
doll she’d had as a kid. She screamed at the creature.
“Get away from him! Get out of here!”
Faolan jumped in, drawing the bear’s attention from the
man. Faolan kept the bear moving backward to avoid the attack of the large wolf
that held no fear. Every time the bear turned to make a circle back to the man,
the canine was there to hold him at bay. When Faolan and the bear were clear of
the human on the ground, Ciara ran to him. He was alive, but not by much, and
unconscious.
She worked fast to make a paste from some of the herbs
and falling snow to help staunch the flow of blood. When she had ripped his
cloak, what was left of it, off she sucked in her breath.
Thick, silky black hair was plastered to his head. His
skin was pale from blood loss, but she knew that it would be a golden tan when
he was healthy. Ciara shook her head to regain her wits. He would never make
the night here.
Ciara hefted him to an upright position, unfastened her
cloak and put it over the shoulders of the man slumped against the tree. The
cloak barely fit him.
While she scanned for any signs of the bear or Faolan,
she bit her lip in concentration when she realized what she had to do for this
man to survive. Ciara crouched down in front of him then put her shoulder into
his stomach, as she pulled him so he toppled into her.
She rose slowly as she adjusted the large man who hung
over her shoulders, her legs staggering under his weight. When he was secure,
she headed off to her cabin. He was carried just like she would carry a kill
she made.
However, he wasn’t like any kill she’d made before. Even
in as good shape as she was in, she breathed harsh as she entered the copse
where her cabin resided. As she approached the cabin, Faolan came from out of
the trees unharmed and hit the latch with his head and let himself in before
her.
Ciara unceremoniously dumped the man on the bed nearest
to the fireplace, the one she’d used when her parents had been alive and they
had occupied the only bedroom. She shut the door against the increasing flakes
and cold. First, she built up the fire even more, then she prepared some more
pastes to heal those wounds and draw out any poison from the bear’s claw marks.
While the paste cooled, she stripped the man on the bed.
His chest was broad and covered with a dusting of dark hair. Even with his
given wounds she saw he was not a lazy man. He was in good shape so she hoped
he would heal without delay, which she told herself was the only reason she
looked.
She bathed his chest and applied the paste where
necessary, covering his injuries with bandages to keep the plaster in place.
There were three wounds that concerned her, but from the way the bear had
sounded and acted, she was worried there might be more.
His upper body done, she covered him with a quilt, and
after a short struggle to get his breeches off because they were wet with
blood, snow and mud, she muttered and slit them with a knife.
She cleaned his scratches and checked for broken bones.
His arm had been fractured and she splinted it. His legs seemed to be fine
aside from the scores and abrasions. She rolled him over and checked his back,
and backside. Other than the three deep gashes that went across his ribs and
onto his back, he was clean from any major wounds.
Sure there were no more wounds that needed to be tended,
she covered him with thick quilts to keep him warm then saw to herself. She
changed into a dry pair of buckskins. She hung his clothes over a chair by the
fire then made herself something to eat, but she still checked on her patient
every once in a while.
She made some willow bark tea and dribbled it into his
mouth, knowing if a fever did hit him, it wouldn’t be good. He seemed to be in
a peaceful slumber as she headed for her own bed, the door left open so she
could hear him in the night.
“No! Get off me. Damn it, I don’t want to die here.” In a
voice that almost broke her heart, he asked the elusive person in his dream,
“Why couldn’t you just love me? Why did you hate me so?” Even filled with so
much tormented pain, his voice was deep and smooth.
Ciara jumped out of bed at the masculine voice that
resonated through her cabin. She flew out to the bed where her stranger lay and
noticed that he was thrashing around, covered in sweat. He had a fever.
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