The Before Series, Book 5
Fantasy
Date Published: 02-28-2024
Publisher: Sword and Thistle LLC
In a time nearly ancient, before a brave Scottish princess defied her
mother, a young woman has lost everything.
Except for her unexplainable talent for magic.
Now Magda’s being hunted, and in her attempt to survive, loneliness and
desperation take control.
Until she meets someone who offers her a chance at happiness, at normalcy,
at the fullness of life. Then she discovers something wrong, so shockingly
wrong with this hopeful future, and she must make a harrowing decision to
ensure her survival.
And she will have to draw on all her magic to do it.
Actions have repercussions — Magda knows this better than anyone else —
and with her magic, she will ensure everyone else learns that lesson as
well.
EXCERPT
All the sound suddenly died and I whirled around, dropping my basket of fruit and stepping back quickly. I wished I’d brought my whittling knife with me.
He was taller than me by at least a head, not that I was tall, and his dark brown-black hair peeked out from under a slouched cap perched precariously on his head, covered in a light dusting of snow.
Bright green eyes, greener than Geneen’s or the elder leaves at summer, than the glen at midday, than an emerald in a silver setting, sparkled at me from under that dark hair sweeping across his forehead.
They did not seem like suspicious or mean eyes, nothing like Robbie’s eyes when he had come to Geneen’s and met me.
My eyes dropped to his broad shoulders wrapped in a black and brown tartan wool cloak, down past his heather-hued tunic and brown braies to high leather books.
He could have been a fae stepping from a fairy ring for how easily he came up on me and how he blended into the woods.
His brilliant eyes squinted slightly. “Did ye hear me, lass? Are ye far from home? Or lost?”
I cleared my throat and focused my attention on my fallen basket. As I crouched to collect the bruised fruit, he joined me, placing a handful of berries into the basket.
“I’m no’ lost,” I answered in a shaky voice.
Why was my voice shaky? Or my hands? The grainy, frost-burned apple threatened to fall from my hand.
“Och, no’ lost? What, a lass by herself in the woods this far north?”
This far north?
Oh nay. How far south had I come in search of food? Had I stumbled upon a MacCarron?
Or, mother-maiden-crone, a Galbraith?
My breath caught in my chest.
I’d have to be more careful in the future.
I may have rambled too close to the Galbraith lands.
“Who are ye?” I asked, trying to keep my voice from quivering.
The man’s head bobbed up so those deep green eyes bore into mine.
“How rude I am! Grant. Grant MacCarron at your service.”
He bowed slightly as he spoke his name.
I thin, relieved breath escaped from between my lips.
So not a Galbraith.
The animals near me must have read my emotions because their low chattering resumed. Not nearly as loud as it had been, but enough for me to hear.
Their sounds soothed me.
“And ye are?” he asked.
I rocked back on my heels, brushing snow away with a flip of my cloak. Despite the snowy nip in the air, my skin was hot. Inflamed. Fevered.
What was wrong with me?
And those green eyes made my brain as hot as my skin.
“Magda,” I finally answered, then bit my lip hard enough to draw blood.
Gads! I should not have given him my real name!
“Magda. From which clan? Are ye a MacCarron I’ve no’ met?”
I shook my head, Geneen’s caution reverberating in my ears.
I sucked in a deep breath. “Nay. Magda Ferguson.”
“Ferguson. From the north? Ye are verra far from home!”
I shook my head as I rose and adjusted my basket on my arm.
“No’ too far. I live in these woods, to the south of Ferguson lands.”
Why was I telling this stranger so much? Giving him so much information about myself? Geneen would be sorely disappointed.
Grant swiveled his head, studying the woods around us and giving me a good look at his chiseled jaw and strong, handsome profile.
“Far, I think. Why are ye this far south on your own?” He glanced at my basket. “Food?”
An odd nervous shame came over me. I snatched the basket close to my chest. “A wee bit. Extra for the winter. And I walk these woods on my own all the time.”
I hope my voice conveyed more confidence than I felt.
His eyebrows creased slightly. “The woods can be dangerous. Wild animals and the like, aye?”
I bit my lips again so the grin that yearned to burst forth was held at bay. The wee creatures nearby tittered at his suggestion.
“I dinna think the animals are anything I must fear. Truly, I’m quite safe here.”
He did not appear convinced.
“Are ye done collecting food? I’d feel better if I could walk ye home, make sure ye arrive safe.”
Now it was my turn to narrow my gaze at him. He might be a MacCarron, but was he a man I could trust or not?
The tingling at the back of my head bloomed hard, and the animals nearby chattered, speaking into my thoughts about him.
They sensed nothing amiss about the man, thus my confidence in him grew.
A bit.
About the Author
Michelle Deerwester-Dalrymple is an award-winning author of historical
romance — Scottish, Highlanders, and Ancient! To Dance in the Glen was
recently a bestseller! She also writes contemporary romance as M.D.
Dalrymple — police and campus romances, and as Strawberry Chase, paranormal
romance author.
Winner of the Top Ten Author Academy Award for 2018, Best Indie Book 2019,
and N.N Night’s 2021 Winner for Scottish Romance.
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