Excerpt!
Flora
The fire crackles around the last remnants of the Ever’s bloody bandages and clothing, acrid smoke curling into the shadows. I blink away exhaustion as dawn approaches. Chyr teeters beside the bed, one hand white-knuckled on the chair for balance while I lace him into the bodice of Catriona’s dress. The wool stretches over bandaging and bare skin, his fevered heat seeping into my fingers.
Given that I’ve practically carved him apart like a joint of beef and stitched him back together, only his willpower and stubborn strength keep him upright. If I can get him back to the keep alive, let alone pass him off as a believable companion for my mother, it will be a miracle.
On the bright side, being half-dead has made him accept the indignity of the disguise with less argument than expected.
For a warrior, it must be a true humiliation. The sheep’s fleece rolled over the bandaging gives him a bosom nearly as large as Catriona’s, and elsewhere, he fills the dress out by being wide and hard where she is softly padded. Overall, the fit isn’t as bad as I feared, apart from being a foot too short. As a final touch, I arrange the shawl low over his forehead in the way pious old women wear them to church.
“There.” I tuck the ends of the shawl under the bodice. “Now stay seated, hunched over, and quiet, and you’ll be drab enough to pass as a giant’s spinster aunt.”
He shoots me a look that promises retribution. “If this is subtle revenge for all that Siorai have done to you, your mind is devious.”
“My idea of revenge would be more painful, trust me. This is self-preservation. Dunhaelic has no men left of fighting age. You’d stand out a mile if anyone saw you.”
“Then I’ll hide so no one sees me.”
“There’s nowhere safe in your condition. Dressed as a lady’s companion, you’ll be invisible in plain sight. No one would imagine a Rider stooping to disguise himself in a dress.”
“Why would they?” the Ever asks. “Wearing a skirt would make it damned difficult to intimidate, much less kill, someone. And that’s literally half my job.”
“You’re welcome to change back into trousers as soon as you’re strong enough to kill again. Or whenever your magic is back and you can do better.”
“A dress won’t fool anyone. Look at me.”
I let myself look. His stained-glass eyes shift from honey to gold to brown and green as I look deeper. They glitter with fever, and the soft drape of the shawl only highlights the strength of the jaw and the straight, sure nose, the harsh perfection of his features.
Even half-dead and wearing a dress, Chyr is more treacherously male than any warrior I’ve ever met. Every movement hums with coiled strength, tempered by intelligence and command. He’s a predator, a hunter. Every sensible part of me wants to run.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“Nothing. You’ll be fine. Your face is pretty enough,” I say too honestly.
“Pretty?” he repeats. Then he smiles—a slow, wide grin made slightly crooked by a thin silver scar at the corner of his mouth. The imperfection only makes the rest of his face more dangerously beautiful. His eyes light with amusement, and a wicked spark hooks low and deep inside me. I turn away with an unfamiliar ache drying out my throat.
The smile is trouble. It’s the first unguarded expression he’s given me, and I don’t know what to do with the part of me that wants him to give me more.
Bloody stupid Evers.
She’s the Highlander who saves his life with forbidden magic. He’s the immortal stranger who falls first—one healing touch, one fierce kindness at a time.
A romantic fantasy inspired by Scottish history, where the land itself is magic and chooses a woman as its champion.
Flora Domhnall is the last of her line: a healer, a strategist, her clan’s only defence in a war neither side can win. When she finds a dying immortal warrior in her woods, saving him is a terrible risk. But if he dies on her land, her clan will pay the price.
Her choice binds her fate to his.
Chyr has spent four centuries chained by the oaths carved into his flesh—oaths that read his every thought. Violence and honour are all he knows, and Flora’s brave, impossible mercy breaks him open.
Hunted across the burning Highlands, they can rely only on each other. Their longing grows with every mile they share a saddle, every sacrifice made in silence, and every night they guard each other in the dark.
He’s hopelessly fallen. She’s fighting not to fall.
Then the ancient sovereignty magic of the Cailleach Queens awakens in Flora—and marks her as something the world hasn’t seen in four hundred years.
And Chyr’s oaths may demand he destroy the one person he can’t bear to lose.
For her, he’ll try to break his oaths. Even if it kills him.
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Author bio:
Martina Boone is the award-winning author of romantic fiction set in magical places. Her books blend lush writing, strong heroines, wounded heroes, atmospheric landscapes, history, folklore, family secrets, and magic woven through the ordinary world. When she isn’t writing, she can usually be found traveling, reading, studying history and folklore, wrangling wildflower meadows, or playing with Shetland Sheepdogs and tuxedo cats.
Martina Boone is the award-winning author of romantic fiction set in magical places. Her books blend lush writing, strong heroines, wounded heroes, atmospheric landscapes, history, folklore, family secrets, and magic woven through the ordinary world. When she isn’t writing, she can usually be found traveling, reading, studying history and folklore, wrangling wildflower meadows, or playing with Shetland Sheepdogs and tuxedo cats.
