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Sinclair
Clan Sinclair #3.5
Clan Sinclair #3.5
By: Karen Ranney
Releasing December 23rd
Avon Romance
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.
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.
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.
Thank you for hosting today! Happy Holidays!
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