Return
to Clan SinclairClan
Sinclair #3.5
By:
Karen Ranney
Releasing
December 23rd
Avon
Romance
Blurb
The
stunning follow-up novella in New York Times bestselling author Karen
Ranney’s beloved Clan Sinclair series.
It’s
true love in the Scottish highlands. When Ceana Sinclair Mead married
the youngest son of an Irish duke, she never dreamed that seven years
later her beloved Peter would die. Her three brothers-in-law thought
she should be grateful to remain a proper widow. After three years of
this, she’s ready to scream. She escapes to Scotland, only to
discover she’s so much more than just the Widow Mead.
In
Scotland, Ceana crosses paths with Bruce Preston, an American tasked
with a dangerous mission by her brother, Macrath. Bruce is too
attractive for her peace of mind, but she still finds him
fascinating. Their one night together is more wonderful than Ceana
could have imagined and she has never felt more alive.
But
when the past reaches out in the form of an old foe, Ceana’s life
is in danger. Now Bruce fights to become her savior-and more-if
she’ll let him.
Link
to Follow Tour:
http://www.tastybooktours.com/2014/11/return-to-clan-sinclair-clan-sinclair.html
Author
Info
Karen
Ranney began writing when she was five. Her first published work was
The Maple Leaf, read over the school intercom when she was in the
first grade. In addition to wanting to be a violinist (her parents
had a special violin crafted for her when she was seven), she wanted
to be a lawyer, a teacher, and, most of all, a writer. Though the
violin was discarded early, she still admits to a fascination with
the law, and she volunteers as a teacher whenever needed. Writing,
however, has remained the overwhelming love of her life.
Author Links: Website | Facebook | Twitter
Link
to Rafflecopter Page,
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Excerpt
July,
1880
Drumvagen,
Scotland
Her
driver slowed to a halt, no doubt getting an eyeful of Drumvagen and
the Scottish coast. Ceana would wager a goodly sum that by the time
the week was out, he would have posted a report of everything to her
brothers-in-law. The same intransigent, annoying, and beloved
brothers-in-law who were trying to render her as dead as her poor
husband, Peter.
She’d
been a widow for three years now, during which they’d been her
guardians. She couldn’t escape them. Wherever she went, one of the
three brothers was there.
“Do
you need anything, Ceana?”
“Can
I fetch anything from town for you?”
“Shall
we order something from London?”
“You’re
looking a little peaked, would you like to take the sun with me?”
They’d
offered their arms, their interest, their help, and their eternal
interference.
So
she had done what any self-respecting Scot would do when faced with
three Irish brothers-in-law: she’d run away from home.
She
dismounted from the carriage, standing there staring in awe.
Granted,
Iverclaire was a lovely place, an enchanted castle in Ireland, quite
a forbidding yet beautiful structure. But Drumvagen, this had been
created by her own brother.
They’d
been so poor once upon a time, but Macrath had taken his dream and
made it come true. Because of him, she’d had a season in London and
had married the son of a duke.
Yet
she always thought she had something to do with his happiness as
well. Her friendship with Virginia had led them to be introduced at
numerous events. When Virginia and Macrath were finally married after
her first husband died, she wasn’t the least surprised.
Nor
was she the least surprised when Alistair, Virginia’s first child,
looked just like Macrath.
The
seabirds called a greeting to her, swooping down on air currents
blowing the scent of the sea to her.
For
days, she’d been alone in the carriage, encased in a bubble of
silence. Other than speaking to the driver first thing in the morning
and when they stopped for a meal, she hadn’t talked to another
person.
At
first she’d missed her daughters terribly. Then she realized the
time was her own, to think, to mull, to remember. When she went home,
she’d be a better mother to Darina and Nessa.
She
stood at the base of the steps, staring upward. Virginia had told her
about Drumvagen, but even her description failed to convey just how
impressive the house was.
Built
of gray brick sparkling in the sunlight, it was four stories tall
with rows of windows reflecting both the sun and the sea to her
right. But most impressive of all was the twin staircase beginning at
the broad front doors and curving down and around like arms reaching
out to enfold her.
She
took the right staircase and, with her left hand gripping her skirt,
placed her right on the broad stone banister, slowly ascending the
steps.
At
the top, she stopped and turned and looked at the ocean. Far off in
the distance was the North Sea. Drumvagen and its neighboring
village, Kinloch, was the perfect place for Macrath to live. From
here he could simply sail away to anyplace in the world he wished to
be.
She
glanced down at the carriage and her driver, standing at the head of
the horses with his cap in his hand. Thomas was a good man, but he
was a toady to all the Meads. He was going to tell them everything
they wanted to know, which was a pity. The man had a good memory, and
she’d no doubt already erred in some manner.
Her
lips twitched at the brass knocker on one of the big broad doors.
Macrath had evidently had the refrigeration machine’s likeness made
especially for Drumvagen. She picked it up and let it drop, hearing
the echo in the foyer.
A
moment later the door was flung open. A body slammed into her, arms
gripping her waist, pulling so tightly on her dress her train almost
toppled in a flurry of fabric. She found herself falling, only
righting herself by gripping the door frame.
“Save
me! Please! Don’t let her get me!”
Ceana
stared down at her niece. The poor girl was trembling and she had
splotchy color on her cheeks.
“Fiona?”
She reached down, enfolding the girl in a hug. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s
Brianag, I’ve done something terrible and she made the sign of evil
over me just like a witch. I’m going to get sick and die, I know
it.”
Who
was this Brianag who was tormenting the poor child?
“Aunt
Ceana.”
She
looked up at the sound of the composed voice, blinking at her nephew.
Alistair was only fourteen but already had the height of his father,
not to mention his demeanor.
As
she stood on the doorstep, he extended his hand to her.
“How
nice to see you again Aunt Ceana,” he said. He glanced down at his
sister dismissively. “You must pardon Fiona. She’s a silly little
thing.”
“I
am not silly. I’ll tell Brianag you broke her jar of spices.”
To
Ceana’s great surprise, Alistair paled.
“That
wouldn’t be well done of you, Fiona. You know as well as I do it
was your carelessness that made the jar fall. Father always says we
have to deal with the consequences of our actions.”
“Where
are your parents?” Ceana asked. “Where are Macrath and Virginia?”
“They’ve
gone to Edinburgh, they have,” a voice said. “Leaving me to deal
with their spawn.”
She
looked up past Alistair and—God help her!—took a step back toward
the steep stairs.
Fiona
was more correct than she had assumed.
Drumvagen
did have a witch.
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