Okay, White Wolf Christmas is not up for preorder yet, but will soon
be. I’ll post when it is. Between a Rock and a Hard Place is available
for preorder. They’re working on the cover now.
Between a Rock and a Hard Place
April 2017
Kobo: Coming
iBooks: Coming
A picture I took of Scotland and all the beautiful flowers in bloom.
Excerpt from The Highlander, copyrighted by Terry Spear
His side and the back of his head throbbed with pain and the sound of
flowing water filled Niall MacNeill’s ears. Where in God’s wounds was
he and what had happened to him? He opened his eyes to low morning
light—made grayer by a thick mist. His mind, cloaked in a hazy fuzz,
finally cleared enough for him to realize he was on his belly beside a
river. He groaned, his head pounding, and he recalled the Murray
clansman striking the blow that had knocked him out.
But Niall wondered where in the world he was.
He stared at the river, his thoughts so groggy, he couldn’t think
straight. The… the Scottish Lowlands. He must have been left for dead.
The back of his head and his side burned.
Gunnolf.
He twisted too quickly to see if his Viking friend, raised as a
brother, was nearby. Pain jabbed Niall where he’d been injured—a
glancing sword wound in his side, and his head felt like it would split
open if he moved again. He moaned a curse.
“Gunnolf,” he called out low, trying not to call attention to himself if any of the Murray clansmen were still about.
Gurgling water slipped over the stones near his head, the rushing
sound of the river in the deeper part, but he heard no voices. No sounds
of human movement. Just the river’s flow and birds twittering in a
nearby tree.
He prayed Gunnolf was well and not worse off than Niall was. Or worse… dead.
His head throbbed with a perpetual dull ache now. Reaching up, Niall
felt the back of his skull. A sticky wetness covered his fingers. Blood.
His blood. His thoughts jumbled, he could barely remember how he came to be here.
Ambushed! The brigands had struck right after he and Gunnolf
had washed in the river, dressed in fresh clothes, and intended to
sleep the night. The Clan Murray, he thought coldly, after they’d run
into them earlier in the day and asked one of the men if he knew
anything about a Frenchwoman living in the region.
Another ragged jab of pain radiated through the wound in his side,
and he reached out to scoop up some water in his hands and splashed it
on his face, the cold river jarring him from his stupor. Devil take the
bastard who’d cut him and struck such a blow to his skull that the man
had knocked him out. The man most likely believed him dead.
But where was Gunnolf? Niall had to find him as soon as he was able.
He thought he heard the bleating of sheep off in the distance in the
glen and roused himself to a sitting position. Pain in his skull and
side stabbed him so sharply, he fought drifting into a cave of blackness
again. The groan he heard, he belatedly realized, was his own. Somehow,
he managed to conquer the dizziness and focus again on his
surroundings.
Woods, green hills, jagged gray stone topping taller mountains in the distance, and the blue river behind him filled his view.
Sheep meant a sheepherder would be nearby, and he could seek his
help. As long as the man wasn’t one of Cian Murray’s men. Though, he
didn’t think it could be as the Murray Clan had settled farther west,
mostly living in the Highlands.
Niall surveyed the brush and trees along the river, his gaze fixing
on his sword half hidden in the long grasses and heather. He smiled
darkly. He could lose most anything else, but he couldn’t live without
his sword. Although not having his horse provided more of a challenge
also. He needed him back just as much.
Niall attempted to stand, and every move filled him with excruciating
pain. He fought an overwhelming lightheadedness and the blackness that
threatened to overcome him. After finally standing, listing to the side a
little, he retrieved his sword and sheathed it. Then he began the slow
walk in the direction of the sheep’s calls, remembering the task his
cousin, Laird James MacNeill, had put before him. He and Gunnolf were to
accompany the Chattan brothers and their kin on the way to see their
McEwan cousin and his ward. During the journey, Niall and Gunnolf were
to split off from them and continue on their way to the Lowlands, to the
area around Banbh. There, they were to locate a French lady whose
father had once saved James’s life in combat during the Crusades and now
needed the MacNeill’s protection—without alerting anyone as to their
business.
She was here, somewhere in the region, if Niall could discover her
location. As soon as he had her in hand, he and Gunnolf would return her
to James’s safekeeping. But he had to find his friend first. Once they
accomplished the task, he and Gunnolf would find some other worthy cause
to champion.
For now, Niall concentrated on putting one foot before the other and
not collapsing in a bloody heap in the tall green grasses again, worried
about Gunnolf, their horses, and another encounter with Cian and his
men.
***
An impenetrable mist cloaked the lands in a chilly grayness late that
morn, and the area appeared dark and more formidable, Anora thought as
she returned home after selling several of her sheep at market in Banbh.
A strange red glow in the sky to the north of her stone cottage caught
her attention. A campfire? She studied the sight as she latched the gate
to the pen.
Her dog suddenly growled a low warning, and she turned to watch him,
trying to discern what the matter was. His rusty brown and white fur
stood on end, his long flappy brown ears perked up, listening to only
sounds he could hear. He sniffed at the air, his white fringed tail
stiffening. Then he sniffed at the ground.
“What is wrong, Charlie?” Anora whispered.
He looked up at her and wagged his tail, then turned his attention to the cottage again.
Not taking any chances, Anora grabbed a pitchfork from the haystack. She had her
sgian dubh tucked in its sheath at her waist, but she was afraid someone still might get the best of her if she used the shorter knife.
Curses on anyone who might have slipped inside her home to steal from her,
again. Just because she lived alone, did not mean she was without resources.
Barely breathing, she crept toward the cottage. The tiny stones along
the path crunched with every step she took, setting her nerves on edge.
With the prongs of the fork, she pushed the door aside. The rusted
hinges creaked, and the noise made her stop dead. Her heart thundered so
out of control, she could scarcely hear anything else.
The flap of sheepskin over the window on the north side of her house
fluttered with the breeze, drawing her attention as Anora peered into
the dim light. Not seeing anyone inside, she took a step into the main
room. The door to her sleeping room rested slightly ajar, catching her
gaze next. Her mind raced as she tried to remember how she’d left it
that morning. Closed, she thought. Emitting a low growl, her dog still
stood at the front door, and Anora frowned.
“Some guard dog you are,” she whispered.
Bringing her pitchfork back to the ready, she steeled herself and
angled the weapon up. Holding her breath, she gingerly walked across the
stone floor. Charlie ran into the middle of the main room growling more
loudly this time, but remaining behind her—her rearguard.
“Shh, you are scaring me more than anyone else, Charlie,” Anora
whispered, holding her finger to her lips, fearing he would alert
whoever might be in her cottage that she had arrived. Not that the
creaking door wouldn’t have already done so. Though if the intruder was
still here, he was being very quiet.
Panting, Charlie settled his rump on the floor and waited for her
next command. Her hands clammy as she gripped the pitchfork tightly in
her clenched fists, Anora inched forward.
When she reached the simple slat door, she pushed at it with the
sharp prongs of her pitchfork, but finding the door resisted her
efforts, she paused, trying to figure out what could be blocking it.
Hand on the door, she pushed again and found a chair held it partly
jammed in place. She knew she should leave. Someone was still in the
room. But it was
her cottage. Well, she rented it from the
local laird, but still, she had nearly always lived here and it felt as
though it was hers. She had nowhere else to go and no one else who could
take care of this for her. She wasn’t going to allow it.
Steeling her back, she again tightened her grip on the pitchfork. If
she sucked in her breath, she could slip in through the sliver of the
makeshift entrance.
Heart thudding and holding her breath, Anora inched her way through
the doorway, careful not to make a sound on the cobblestone floor in
here. The windowless room was fairly dark, the scant bit of light
filtering in from the main room, allowing her to see the closest
objects, the bed and the small table next to it. Everything else faded
into the darkness.
Once inside, she saw a large lump of a figure sleeping in her bed,
half-buried in sheepskin covers. Her breath escaped in a whoosh. She
clasped her hand to her mouth to muffle her gasp. Even though she knew
someone had to be in her sleeping chamber, she still couldn’t contain
her surprise. Not when that
someone was a large man—half naked!—and sleeping in
her bed.
The Highlander, Book 5
Anna, the shepherdess, finds a half-naked man in her bed, so what’s a
woman living alone in a cottage in the Lowlands of Scotland supposed to
do? Prod him with her pitchfork to chase him off! Only the man is not
just a traveler seeking her bed for a rest—but a wounded Highlander, who
fights back, swinging his sword!
Niall MacNeill is searching for a Frenchwoman of nobility to escort
to his brother’s castle for safekeeping, when he and his friend,
Gunnolf, are attacked by another Highland clan, seeking the same woman.
The other Highlanders wish to sell her to the highest bidder—English or
French—it does not matter.
Niall takes refuge in a sheepherder’s cottage to heal up from his
wounds and discovers the shepherdess taking care of him may very well be
the woman he seeks. He has no intention of doing anything but what his
brother requests of him—ensure her safety on their way to Craigly
Castle—but when the lass so bravely wields her pitchfork at him, he is
thinking of other, more interesting possibilities.
Kobo
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Amazon
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ENCHANTING THE HIGHLANDER for pre-order!!! 99 Cents!
5 new Scottish romance novellas by 5 bestselling authors! BRAND NEW stories!
PROTECTED BY THE LAIRD by
Eliza Knight — When she needed a champion, he raised his sword…
VEXING THE HIGHLANDER by
Terry Spear — Saving the king’s life has unforeseen consequences for one Highlander and a lady, the king’s ward…
DEFENDED BY A HIGHLAND RENEGADE by
Vonda Sinclair — A bride on the run doesn’t expect a kilted outlaw to come to her rescue…
TARTANS AND TRYSTS by
Victoria Roberts — This Highland warrior is about to lose the battle to a lass who’s already won his heart…
HIS HIGHLAND ROSE by
Willa Blair — He is the one man who can see her soul and show her who she truly is—his only love…
Order now! Available November 1!
Amazon:
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01IYO64OE
ITunes:
https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/id1136905927
B&N:
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/books/1124144233
Kobo:
https://store.kobobooks.com/…/ebo…/enchanting-the-highlander
Okay, off to work on edits for SEAL Wolf Undercover!
Have a great one!!!
Terry Spear
“Giving new meaning to the term alpha male where fantasy is reality.”
Connect with Terry Spear:
Website:
http://www.terryspear.com
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https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/421434.Terry_Spear
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