A Laird without a Past
His past is forgotten…Can his mysterious healer unlock his future?When Royce wakes with no memories and suddenly blind, his situation seems dire. The only thing he remembers is being attacked by shadowy figures...but not the beautiful woman who came to his rescue. Now Iona MacKenzie’s every touch drives Royce wild. But when news of a manhunt for him reaches them, Royce must uncover his past if he has any chance of saving himself—and the woman he’s falling for…
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Jeanine Englert’s love affair with mysteries and romance began with Nancy Drew, Murder She Wrote, and her Grandmother’s bookshelves full of romance novels. She is a VIVIAN® and Golden Heart® Finalist as well as a Silver Falchion, Maggie, and Daphne du Maurier Award Winner in historical romance and mystery. Her Scottish Highland historical and historical romantic suspense novels revolve around characters seeking self-acceptance and redemption. When she isn’t wrangling with her characters on the page, she can be found trying to convince her husband to watch her latest Masterpiece or BBC show obsession. She loves to talk about books, writing, her beloved rescue pups, as well as mysteries and romance with other readers. Visit her website at www.jeaninewrites.com.
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Extract from Chapter 1 of Jeanine Englert’s A Laird without a Past
Context: In Chapter 1, village healer Iona MacKenzie is taking her nightly swim in the loch off the coast of Lismore, Scotland when she witnesses a group of lads wandering along the sands and then stealing from a poor dead man that has washed ashore. Not able to stand by and watch what is happening without interceding, she reveals herself despite the risk she places herself in to protect the dead man’s dignity.
Excerpt from Chapter 1 of A Laird without a Past:
The full moon shone brightly in the dark sky, allowing her to see their staggering shadowy forms and hear their muffled voices as they passed the small cottages and homes dotting the shoreline of Lismore. Soon, they would be on their way to The Laughing Goat Inn nestled at the other end of the beach at the edge of town. Although it wasn’t unusual for men to traverse along this way as a throughway from one inn to another, they were usually earlier in the eve in their travels and a touch faster.
She stretched her arms in and out like a bird spreading its wings preparing for flight, propelling herself through the loch. She turned back over and swam for a few strokes before treading water again and glancing back to the shoreline. The men were still there, but why? What were they doing? Two of them were hunched over something on the beach, while the other two men watched.
Her pulse increased. Something was amiss. Was it a wounded animal on the shore? Or a person? Curiosity surpassed her fear of discovery and she increased the speed of her strokes. Her limbs sliced through the water until she was finally able to hear the men clearly. She made certain to remain far enough from shore to be hidden from sight. Drunk men were as dangerous as rabid dogs.
‘Just take it all. He doesna’ need it now,’ one man said and then cackled aloud.
‘Check the pockets,’ the largest of the men ordered. ‘I’ll lift ’im.’
Iona baulked. There was a man on the shoreline lying on the sand and rocks, half tangled in sea netting. They were rifling through his pockets. She swallowed hard. The man must be dead.
‘Stop!’ she called.
When they turned to her, she realised her error. What if they had killed him? She should have had a plan in mind before she’d revealed herself, but she’d acted on instinct to protect the poor man. She swam faster until she stumbled up the shoreline, her bare feet struggling to grip the sand and pebbles beneath. ‘Leave him!’ she shouted.
They gaped at her. She knew she wasn’t decent. Most likely the sight of her was obscene with her thin, soaked shift clinging to her flesh and hiding little if any of her form, but she didn’t care. She was no respectable lady and never would be, and this man who lay still and lifeless in the sand mattered far more than mere propriety.
The sight of the poor man was a brutal reminder of her father and how she’d found him, face down on the shoreline days after the boating accident that had killed him and changed her life for ever. No one deserved to die that way or be pillaged about like they were rubbish. Not her father and not this man either.
His dark wet hair covered much of his face like kelp, his still-open hands clutching the sand as if he had struggled ashore with his last breath. Her heart thundered in her ears and her chest heaved from the exertion. Gooseflesh rose on her skin as the cool air hit her body.
‘Glory,’ the largest man jeered and whistled. ‘Seems a sea nymph has arrived just in time, lads.’ His eyes roved over every inch of her and her cheeks heated at the implication and overt lust in his gaze. ‘I think I’d like a turn first,’ he called, grabbing at his trews, his intent clear and menacing. Fear licked along her skin, but she steeled her spine. It was far too late for anything else.
‘Leave him alone,’ she said again, louder this time, as another man with a pronounced limp yanked a ring from the dead man’s finger.
‘Ye gonna stop me, are ye? He has no need fer ’is fancy signet ring now, does he?’ he scoffed and shoved the ring in his pocket, letting the man’s arm fall lifeless back into the sand.
The band of moonlight was but steps away. All she had to do was step into it, but her stomach made a sickening turn. She knew what would follow.
Do what is right and you will never be alone, my little fish. Her father’s words echoed in her ears. She stepped into the moonlight.
‘Saints be,’ the man who’d ogled her spat out.
‘It be the Seafarer’s Daughter, the Witch of the Loch,’ the largest man murmured, taking a step back.
Iona fought the urge to roll her eyes. The men were dolts.
The man with a limp chimed in. ‘Aye,’ he said, pointing to her scarred cheek. ‘My pa says the sea did that to her. Punishment for all her witchcraft.’
‘Nay. She be a healer. Not a witch,’ the youngest one attempted to whisper, even though it came out as a slurred shout.
‘Aye,’ she answered, trying to look as terrifying as she could with her soaked shift and wet, tangled black hair draping down her face and back. ‘Are you lads in need of healing?’ she mocked, opening her arms and meeting the man’s gaze with a wicked smile.
‘Nay. Let us go, boys,’ he said. ‘Ye can have him, witch.’
‘Go!’ she shouted. ‘Before I change my mind.’ She lunged at them and they sprinted off, kicking up sand in their wake.
Cozy Up with the Camerons Giveaway!
Enjoy a romantic escape to the Scottish Highlands with two signed print copies of Jeanine Englert’s latest Harlequin Historicals! Also included is a rose quartz bracelet and some amazing book swag including a pair of earrings, bookmark, and keepsake. Happy reading!
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