nae poison you.”
Campbell leaned his head against Sarina’s. “Ye are sounding more like me with each passing day, my love.”
“Ye make me verra happy, husband.”
“Ach, love, ye are indeed my mate.” He paused to pluck a cake from the tray and hand it to Sarina. “I ken we havenae discussed the matter in a year, but tell me one thing, why when ye were in the dungeon, did Mariah refer to ye as Tacitus?”
“I was questioning that myself.” She accepted the cake and took a small bite of it. “Nevan and I discussed the matter and we figure that Mariah simply associated me with Nevan, whom she recognized as coming from Tacitus’s family.”
Campbell appeared pleased with the answer. “It makes sense. Mariah did have a strange way of identifying people.” He sat back and sighed.
“Is something wrong?”
“Nae really. It’s just I dunnae ken what to do next now that Lycansay Hall is no longer shadowed in darkness.”
She smiled. “Never let ye guard down, husband. Remember, we still have Nevan who is still a boy. And boys find trouble everywhere. And we can’t count out Ian, either. I am determined to see him and Octavia back together.”
“Ach, woman, ye will make the future more shadowed than before, if ye allow all that trouble under our roof.”
She reached for Campbell’s hand and squeezed. “At least we’ll be together to tackle it.”
Life with her Highlander may be sinful, thought Sarina, but she far preferred this life to her old one. Lycansay Hall is exactly where she belonged.
About the Author
USA Today best-selling author Angelique Armae is a native New Yorker who loves all things royal, can trace her Irish roots back to the Scottish Highlands, is half Italian, and is owned by a long-haired Tuxedo feline. As a child her favorite toy was Emerald the Witch, a small doll with green eyes, green hair and purple skin. She spends most days writing, unless her cat deems otherwise.
You can visit her online at: https://angeliquearmae.com/
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Always Your Love
Ellie St. Clair
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2020 Ellie St. Clair
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the express written permission of the publisher.
Chapter 1
Hannah Blackburn needed a moment.
A moment alone. A moment away from the crush of people. A moment away from Byron.
She took a shaky breath, closing her eyes as she pressed her hand against her throat and leaned against the back of the door.
As she began to restore her equilibrium, she opened her eyes, and allowed her gaze to wander over the shadows among the bookshelves, created by the dwindling flame in the fireplace at the far end of the room. It seemed she had stumbled upon a library. It had been the first door she had tried. The room was so full it was near bursting, with not only the expected books but also statues, vases, portraits, and unused frames littering the space.
A chesterfield sat in front of the fire, and Hannah took a step forward, drawn toward the warmth and comfort.
“What are you doing in here?”
Hannah jumped, whirling around to determine the voice’s origin. Her heart pounded within her chest, but she was proud she hadn’t emitted even the slightest of sounds.
“Who’s there?” she demanded, though there was a break in her tone.
“Did I frighten you?” His voice was dry, containing a hint of sarcasm, although Hannah didn’t see what could possibly be amusing about his words.
“You startled me,” she said, peering into the shadows, finally making out his silhouette in the corner, sitting in an armchair that had been pushed back against the wall. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you,” she said, thrown slightly off balance by the stranger who didn’t seem to have any desire to make his identity known. “I’ll leave you now.”
“Don’t go.” The command he issued somehow contained a hint of pleading in it, as though he was desperate for company. While she knew she should leave, Hannah found herself rooted to the floor, curious to solve this mystery of a man.
“Tell me why you’ve escaped the festivities,” he continued.
Hannah wandered over to the chesterfield now, where she would be closer to the enigma’s corner of solitude.
“I don’t particularly enjoy parties,” she admitted, though why she was saying so