The Highlander's Gift by Eliza Knight Spotlight and Giveaway!

Celebrate the Release of The Highlander’s Gift!

USA Today Bestselling Author Eliza Knight’s The Stolen Bride series
continues in this spin-off of our favorite hero and heroine's children.

“Ms. Knight has a gift for writing wonderful characters that pull the reader into the story. 
For fans of Highlander romance, this series is a must read. I highly recommend it.”

—Night Owls Reviewer, The Stolen Bride Series

Add THE HIGHLANDER’S GIFT to your TBR pile on Goodreads! Then keep reading to get an
EXCLUSIVE sneak peek and enter the giveaway for a $50 Amazon Gift Card or an eBook from Eliza!

Title: The Highlander’s Gift

Author: Eliza Knight

Genre: Historical Romance

Release Date: March 27, 2018

Publisher: Knight Media, LLC

Series: The Stolen Bride

Format: Digital & Paperback

ISBN-13: 978-0997377705

Synopsis:

An injured warrior… a lady who won’t let him fail…

Betrothed to a princess until she declares his battle wound has incapacitated him as a man,
Sir Niall Oliphant is glad to step aside and let the spoiled royal marry his brother. He’s more t
han content to fade into the background with his injuries and remain a bachelor forever, until
he meets the Earl of Sutherland’s daughter, a lass more beautiful than any other, a lass who
makes him want to stand up and fight again.

As daughter of one of the most powerful earls and Highland chieftains in Scotland,
Bella Sutherland can marry anyone she wants—but she doesn’t want a husband. When
she spies an injured warrior at the Yule festival who has been shunned by the Bruce’s own
daughter, she decides a husband in name only might be her best solution.

They both think they’re agreeing to a marriage of convenience, but love and fate has other plans…

Available at:

Amazon: http://amzn.to/2EzsFpE

B&N: https://goo.gl/hnkyXD

IBooks: https://goo.gl/UbHuDH

Kobo: https://goo.gl/Pm72sW

Enter to win a $50 Amazon Gift Card or an eBook from
Eliza!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Direct Link:

http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/b050ef29496/?

An excerpt from THE HIGHLANDER’S GIFT

Copyright © Eliza Knight 2018

“I fear I am lost,” he ground out.

“Then let me save ye.” There was a slight tremor in her jaw that showed
behind the strength, the teasing, she was vulnerable, too. But how? Why? “Now
go ahead and kiss me.”

“Kiss ye?” He stared at her lush lips, wanting more than anything to do what she asked.

“Aye. I did not entertain ye. Take your prize.”

Niall stared down at her creamy face, her wide blue eyes, and felt his body stir. She was so
beautiful. So cunning. So ornery. Lord, but he wanted her. Wanted to fight to prove he could
have her. To prove to her that he wasn’t broken. “A kiss from ye is not a prize, but a gift.”

“Then accept your gift,” she whispered.

Accept his gift. Accept the thing he’d dreamed about for nearly a decade. Niall bent and
brushed his lips over hers. At the sudden contact, she sucked in a breath through her nose,
and he instinctively tried to retreat, but she leaned into him.

“This time, I’ll need ye to be my lady,” he murmured.

“And ye will be my knight,” she whispered.

Tentatively, he touched her elbow, sliding his hand down to hers, entwining her
trembling fingers with his. He breathed in the heady, sweet scent of flowers and herbs.
Her lips were soft, warm and pliant. Sweet.

When had he last kissed a woman? He wasn’t certain. A year or more? And the kisses he’d
shared had never been as sweet or tender as this. What was it about Bella Sutherland?

He shook with restrained desire, madness even. Wanting to deepen the kiss and knowing it
was too soon, Niall pulled away.

She blinked her eyes open, staring up at him. Dazed. “Will ye fight tomorrow?”

“I will, but not because your father made a marriage between us contingent upon it.
Not because ye asked me to.”

Bella nodded, all seriousness as she watched him. “I know.”

“What do ye know?”

Her hands pressed to his thumping heart. “I know ye’re a warrior.”

“I was. But I am no longer.”

“Ye are still. Ye were born to it. When I first met ye, ye were the only one confident
enough in your abilities to let a lass fight ye. Confident enough to let a lass name ye her lady.”

“Ye say confident. I say foolish.”

She smiled. “Just because ye’re impaired does not mean ye’re weak. If there is one thing I
know about men having grown up in a house full of them, ’tis that once a warrior always a
warrior.”

Niall grunted. “Why do ye care so much?”

Bella blinked, then flashed him a radiant smile. “Just a little encouragement.”

He shook his head. “From what I know of ye, my lady, if I had to guess, I’d say ye dinna do
anything only a little.”

She laughed. “Ye flatter me, Sir Niall.” She tapped his chest. “In that case, I think we shall
get along splendidly.”

About Eliza Knight

Eliza Knight is an award-winning and USA Today bestselling author of over fifty sizzling historical,
time-travel and contemporary romance novels. Under the name E. Knight, she pens rip-your- heart-out
historical fiction. While not reading, writing or researching for her latest book, she chases after her
three children. In her spare time (if there is such a thing…) she likes daydreaming, wine-tasting,
traveling, hiking, staring at the stars, watching movies, shopping and visiting with family and friends.
She lives atop a small mountain with her own knight in shining armor, three princesses and two very
naughty puppies.

Connect with Eliza at: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Instagram

The Shepherd's Calculus by C.S. Farrelly Showcase and Giveaway!

The Shepherd's Calculus

by C.S. Farrelly

on Tour February 1 - March 31, 2018

Synopsis:

When journalist Peter Merrick is asked to write a eulogy for his mentor, Jesuit priest James Ingram, his biggest concern is doing right by the man. But when his routine research reveals disturbing ties to sexual abuse and clues to a shadowy deal trading justice for power, everything he believed about his friend is called into question. With the US presidential election looming, incumbent Arthur Wyncott is quickly losing ground among religious voters. Meanwhile, Owen Feeney, head of the US Conference of Catholic Bishops, is facing nearly a billion dollars in payments to victims of sex abuse. When Feeney hits on a solution to both men’s problems, it seems the stars have aligned. That is until Ally Larkin—Wyncott’s brilliant campaign aide—starts to piece together the shocking details. As the election draws closer and the stakes get higher, each choice becomes a calculation: Your faith, or your church? Your principles, or your candidate? The person you most respect, or the truth that could destroy their legacy?

When the line between right and wrong is blurred, how do you act, and whom do you save?

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery/Thriller
Published by: Cavan Bridge Press
Publication Date: October 3, 2017
Number of Pages: 272
ISBN: 0998749303 (ISBN13: 9780998749303)
Purchase Links: Amazon  | Barnes & Noble  | Goodreads 

Read an excerpt:

When Peter Merrick’s cell phone rang around ten on a Monday morning, his first instinct was to ignore it. Anyone who knew him well enough to call that number would know he had a deadline for the last of a three-part series he was working on for the Economist. It was his first foray into magazine writing in some time, and he’d made it clear to his wife, his editors, and even the family dog that he wasn’t to be disturbed until after the last piece was done and delivered.
Several months had passed since his return from an extended and harrowing assignment tracking UN peacekeeping operations on the Kashmiri border with Pakistan, where violent protests had erupted following the death of a local Hizbul Mujahideen military commander. The assignment had left him with what his wife, Emma, solemnly declared to be post-traumatic stress disorder. It was, in his opinion, a dubious diagnosis she’d made based on nothing more than an Internet search, and he felt those covering the front lines in Iraq and Afghanistan deserved greater sympathy. He’d been a bystander to tragedy, he told anyone who asked, not a victim.
One morning as he’d stood drinking strong Turkish coffee on the terrace of his apartment in Jammu, he watched as a car bomb detonated in front of the school across the road. No children were killed. It was a Saturday, and teachers had gathered there to meet with members of a French NGO dedicated to training staff at schools in developing nations. The arm landed on his terrace with a loud thud before Peter realized what it was. Pinned to the shoulder of what remained of its shirt was a name tag identifying Sheeraza Akhtar, presumably one of the teachers. At the time, he marveled at his complete lack of reaction to the torn limb, at the way his response was to read the letters on the tag, grab a pen, and start writing down details of the event—a description of jewelry on the woman’s hand, the streak of half-cauterized flesh running from where it tore from the arm socket to the bottom of her palm, the way smoke curled from the remains of the school’s front entrance, and the pitiful two-ambulance response that limped its way to the scene nearly twenty minutes after the explosion.
Even now as he recalled the moment, he wouldn’t describe what he felt as horror or disgust, just a complete separation from everything around him, an encompassing numbness. His wife kept telling him he needed to talk to someone about what he was feeling. But that was just the point, he thought, even if he couldn’t say it to her. He couldn’t quite articulate what he was feeling, beyond paralysis. Making the most rudimentary decisions had been excruciating since his return. It required shaking off the dull fog he’d come to prefer, the one that rescued him from having to connect to anything. The pangs of anxiety constricting his chest as he glanced from the screen of the laptop to his jangling cell phone were the most palpable emotional response he’d had in recent memory. The interruption required a decision of some kind. He wasn’t certain he could comply.
But in keeping with the career he had chosen, curiosity got the better of him. He looked at the incoming number. The area code matched that of his hometown in central Connecticut, less than an hour from where he and Emma now lived in Tarrytown, but his parents had long since retired to South Carolina. He made his decision to answer just as the call went to voice mail, which infuriated him even more than the interruption. For Peter, missing something by mere minutes or seconds was the sign of a journalist who didn’t do his job, who failed to act in time. Worse, he’d allowed a good number of calls to go to voice mail while under his deadline, and the thought of having to sift through them all made him weary. The phone buzzed to announce a new message. He looked again from his screen to the phone, paralyzed by the uncertainty and all-consuming indecision he’d begun exhibiting upon his return from Kashmir. After several minutes of failed progress on his article, the right words refusing to come to him, he committed to the message.
He grabbed the phone and dialed, browsing online news sites as inconsequential voices droned on. His editor. His sister. His roommate from college asking if he’d heard the news and to call him back. Finally, a message from Patricia Roedlin in the Office of Public Affairs at his alma mater, Ignatius University in Greenwich, Connecticut. Father Ingram, the president of the university, had passed away unexpectedly, and the university would be delighted if one of their most successful graduates would be willing to write a piece celebrating his life for the Hartford Courant.
The news failed to register. Again, a somewhat common experience since his return. He tapped his fingers on the desk and spotted the newspaper on the floor where Emma had slipped it under the door. In the course of their ten-year marriage, Peter had almost never closed his office door. “If I can write an article with mortar shells falling around me, I think I can handle the sound of a food processor,” he had joked. But lately that had changed, and Emma had responded without comment, politely leaving him alone when the door was shut and sliding pieces of the outside world in to him with silent cooperation. He picked up the newspaper, scanned the front page, and moved on to the local news. There it was, in a small blurb on page three. “Pedestrian Killed in Aftermath of Ice Storm.” The aging president of a local university was the victim of an accident after leaving a diner in Bronxville. His body was found near the car he’d parked on a side street. Wounds to the back of his head were consistent with a fall on the ice, and hypothermia was believed to be the cause of death.
To Peter’s eye the name of the victim, James Ingram, stuck out in bold print. An optical illusion, he knew, but it felt real. He reached for the second drawer on the right side of his desk and opened it. A pile of envelopes rested within. He rooted around and grasped one. The stamp was American but the destination was Peter’s address in Jammu. The script was at once shaky and assured, flourishes on the ending consonants with trembling hesitation in the middle. Folded linen paper fell from the opened envelope with little prompting. He scanned the contents of the letter, front and back, until his eyes landed on the closing lines.

"Well, Peter my boy, it’s time for me to close this missive. You may well be on your way to Kabul or Beirut by the time this reaches you, but I have no small belief that the comfort it is meant to bring will find its way to you regardless of borders.
You do God’s work, Peter. Remember, the point of faith isn’t to explain away all the evil in this world. It’s meant to help you live here in spite of it.
Benedictum Nomen Iesu,
Ingram, SJ

Peter dialed Patricia Roedlin’s number. She was so happy to hear from him it made him uncomfortable. “I’d be honored to write a piece,” he spoke into the phone. “He talked about you to anyone who would listen, you know,” she said. “I think he would be pleased. Really proud.” He heard her breath catch in her throat, the stifled sobs that had likely stricken her since she’d heard the news.
“It’s okay,” he found himself saying to this complete stranger, an effort to head off her tears. “I can’t imagine what I’d be doing now if it weren’t for him.” He hoped it would give her time to recover. “He was an extraordinary man and an outstanding teacher.”
Patricia’s breathing slowed as she regained control. “I hope to do him justice,” Peter finished. It was only when he hung up the phone that he noticed them, the drops of liquid that had accumulated on the desk where he’d been leaning forward as he talked. He lifted a hand to his face and felt the moisture line from his eye to his chin. After several long months at home, the tears had finally come.
***
Excerpt from The Shepherd's Calculus by C.S. Farrelly. Copyright © 2017 by C.S. Farrelly. Reproduced with permission from C.S. Farrelly. All rights reserved.

Author Bio:

C.S. Farrelly was raised in Wyoming and Pennsylvania. A graduate of Fordham University (BA, English), her eclectic career has spanned a Manhattan investment bank, the NYC Department of Education and, most recently, the British Government’s Foreign and Commonwealth Office. She was a 2015 Presidential Leadership Scholar and obtained a master’s degree from Trinity College Dublin, where she was a George J. Mitchell scholar.
She has lived in New York City, Washington, D.C., Ireland, and England. An avid hiker, she camped her way through East Africa, from Victoria Falls to Nairobi. She currently lives in Pennsylvania with her family.
The Shepherd’s Calculus is her first novel.

Catch Up With Our Author On: Website , Goodreads , Twitter , & Facebook !

Tour Participants:
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Join In:

This is a rafflecopter giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tours for C.S. Farrelly. There will be 1 winner of one (1) Amazon.com Giftcard. The giveaway begins on February 1, 2018 and runs through April 2, 2018. Void where prohibited.

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The Highlander's Gift Pre Order Alert and Giveaway!

Have you Pre-ordered The Highlander’s Gift?

USA Today Bestselling Author Eliza Knight’s The Stolen Bride series
continues in this spin-off of our favorite hero and heroine's children.

“Ms. Knight has a gift for writing wonderful characters that pull the reader into the story. 
For fans of Highlander romance, this series is a must read. I highly recommend it.”

—Night Owls Reviewer, The Stolen Bride Series

Add THE HIGHLANDER’S GIFT to your TBR pile on Goodreads! Then keep reading to get an
EXCLUSIVE sneak peek and enter the giveaway for a $50 Amazon Gift Card or an eBook from Eliza!

Title: The Highlander’s Gift

Author: Eliza Knight

Genre: Historical Romance

Release Date: March 27, 2018

Publisher: Knight Media, LLC

Series: The Stolen Bride

Format: Digital & Paperback

ISBN-13: 978-0997377705

Synopsis:

An injured warrior… a lady who won’t let him fail…

Betrothed to a princess until she declares his battle wound has incapacitated him as a man,
Sir Niall Oliphant is glad to step aside and let the spoiled royal marry his brother. He’s more
than content to fade into the background with his injuries and remain a bachelor forever, until
he meets the Earl of Sutherland’s daughter, a lass more beautiful than any other, a lass who makes
him want to stand up and fight again.

As daughter of one of the most powerful earls and Highland chieftains in Scotland, Bella Sutherland
can marry anyone she wants—but she doesn’t want a husband. When she spies an injured warrior
at the Yule festival who has been shunned by the Bruce’s own daughter, she decides a husband in
name only might be her best solution.

They both think they’re agreeing to a marriage of convenience, but love and fate has other plans…

Available at:

Amazon: http://amzn.to/2EzsFpE

B&N: https://goo.gl/hnkyXD

IBooks: https://goo.gl/UbHuDH

Kobo: https://goo.gl/Pm72sW

Enter to win a $50 Amazon Gift Card or an eBook from Eliza!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Direct Link:

http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/b050ef29496/?

An excerpt from THE HIGHLANDER’S GIFT

Copyright © Eliza Knight 2018

Dunrobin Castle, Scottish Highlands

Fall, 1306

“I want to be knight for the day.” A petulant lass with golden locks crossed her arms over
her chest and glowered at the line of grubby lads with their wooden swords tucked into the
corded belts of their plaids. For the first time in her short life, she had the chance to prove
something.

“Ye canna. Ye’re a lass. Go back to the keep and help the maids with their chores.”
Several of them snickered and rubbed elbows at that.

Snorting, another added, “Aye, go and milk a cow.”

“Or knead the bread.”

The list of chores typically delegated to females continued on for several minutes.
All the while, the young lass’s face grew redder and redder, her fists tighter and tighter,
until one particular lad stepped forward.

He opened his mouth to say something, but she didn’t let him get further than that. She
tugged her arm back as she’d seen her brothers do, and let her tiny fist fly, landing hard
on his chin.

Zounds, that hurt.

Her knuckles were instantly red and stinging. She thought the whole point of hitting a lad
would be to hurt him, not herself.

Surprised, the lad stumbled back a few paces, eyes wide. “What the hell did ye go and do
that for? I was going to tell these raven-gut idiots to give ye a shot.”

She was immediately contrite, but being as stubborn as she was, and feeling more than
mildly embarrassed, she pursed her lips in a frown and refused to say anything at all.

The other lads were laughing, doubled over as they slapped their knees and rolled around
on the ground, clearly not taking her seriously.

“Ye’re on your own then, wee chicken,” the lad said, backing away and rubbing his reddened
jaw.

“Wait,” she whispered, stepping forward and looking at him nervously. “Ye’ll really let me try?”

He smirked, green eyes flashing with some emotion she couldn’t understand. “I’m not so sure
anymore after the way ye just walloped me.”

The lass stiffened her spine, knowing exactly what mocking was when directed at her.
“Why’s that? Ye think I fight like a lass?”

“Nay, just the opposite.”

Most of the lads had stopped laughing long enough to listen, surprised perhaps that the
older lad had just admitted her blow had hurt.

“What do ye say, lads, are we scared to have her join in our tournament?”

“Scared?” They laughed. “Not on her life.”

“All right then,” the one she’d given a good smack to said. “We’ll let ye join us.”

She’d not planned for them to actually allow her. Och, she had all sorts of plans involving
revenge and sneaking in dressed as a lad, but not once had she thought they’d welcome her.
“And if I win?”

His smirk widened. “We’ll let ye be knight for the day.”

Thrusting her chin forward, she gave him a righteous smile. The other lads balked, because
it wouldn’t be right for a lass to be the knight for the day, given that she was…well, a lass.

The lad, a little taller than his friends, raised his hand for their silence. “But laddies, ye recall
what happens to the knight for a day?”

They narrowed their eyes, unsure what to say, for there was an ominous tone to his voice.

The lass wasn’t certain of what he spoke, either. She only wanted to prove she was good
enough, show her da she could beat the lads at their own game, that sewing and wearing
dresses wasn’t all she was good at. To prove that her brothers weren’t the only ones who
could help defend their castle. But…what else happened?

“The knight has to choose his lady. Who will be your lady?” the lad asked her, his grin
growing wider.

Well, she wasn’t going to be sucked into whatever trick he was trying to lay on her.
Crossing her arms over her chest, she looked at him confidently. “Why ye of course.”

About Eliza Knight

Eliza Knight is an award-winning and USA Today bestselling author of over fifty sizzling historical,
time-travel and contemporary romance novels. Under the name E. Knight, she pens rip-your- heart-out
historical fiction. While not reading, writing or researching for her latest book, she chases after her
three children. In her spare time (if there is such a thing…) she likes daydreaming, wine-tasting,
traveling, hiking, staring at the stars, watching movies, shopping and visiting with family and friends.
She lives atop a small mountain with her own knight in shining armor, three princesses and two very
naughty puppies.

Connect with Eliza at: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Instagram