Dreamer (Highland Treasure Trilogy) (39 page)
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Authors: May McGoldrick,Nicole Cody,Jan Coffey,Nikoo McGoldrick,James McGoldrick
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McGoldrick
e-mail:
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www.MayMcGoldrick.com
www.JanCoffey.com
The
'May McGoldrick Family Tree' Book Information
Our 16th Century books...
In
The Thistle and the Rose
,
Colin Campbell and Celia Muir are introduced...
And we also introduce Alec
Macpherson, who is the hero of our second book,
An
gel of Skye
...
Alec has two brothers, Ambrose and
John, who are the heroes of
Heart of Gold
and
The Beauty of the Mist
, respectively...
In
An
gel of Skye,
we also introduce a little boy, Malcolm MacLeod, and in
Heart of Gold
we
introduce a little girl, Jaime...
When Malcolm MacLeod and Jaime grow
up, they are the hero and heroine of
The Intended
...
In
Heart of Gold
, we also
introduce Gavin Kerr, who becomes the hero of
Flame
...
In
Flame,
we introduce a
number of characters who show up in
The Dreamer, The Enchantress,
and
The Firebrand
(the Highland Treasure Trilogy), including John Stewart, the
earl of Athol and a number of villains...
The Highland Treasure Trilogy is
the story of three sisters...Catherine Percy of
The Dreamer,
Laura Percy
of
The Enchantress
, and Adrianne Percy of
The Firebrand
...
In
The Enchantress
, we
introduce Sir Wyntoun MacLean, who also appears in
The Firebrand
...
In
The Firebrand
, we also
introduce Gillie the Fairie-Borne, who may just have a story of his own one
day...
Colin Campbell and Celia (from
The
Thistle and the Rose
) also make a 'cameo' appearance in
The Firebrand
...
Alec Macpherson and Fiona (from
An
gel of Skye
) have three sons. The youngest, Colin Macpherson, is the hero of
Tess
and the Highlander
(a young adult novel published by HarperCollins in
November 2002)...
Arsenic and Old Armor
(Love
and Mayhem) By Nicole Cody is a retelling of Arsenic and Old Lace. Reference
made to Angel of Skye.
Our 18th Century Books
In
The Promise,
Samuel
Wakefield, the Earl of Stanmore, and Rebecca Neville/Ford are the hero and
heroine...
In that book we also introduce
Stanmore's friend, Sir Nicholas Spencer, who becomes the hero of
The Rebel
,
which is set in Ireland...
Stanmore and Rebecca also appear in
The Rebel
...
In
The Promise
, we also
introduce Rebecca's friend, Millicent Wentworth, who becomes the heroine of
B
orrowed Dreams
...
B
orrowed Dreams
is
the start of a new trilogy about three Scottish brothers, starting with Lyon
Pennington, Earl of Aytoun. We also meet a new cast of characters who show up
in the trilogy. Violet, from
The Promise,
plays a big role in this book,
too. She will show up again in the third book in the trilogy,
Dreams of
Destiny.
In
Captured Dreams,
we see
Lyon and Millicent and the entire household of Baronsford in Scotland, along with wonderful heroes and villains that David Pennington meets in colonial Boston.
In
Dreams of Destiny,
the
mystery of Emma's death is solved...
Our 19th Century Book
Ghost of the Thames—
a
Dickensian novel
Stay tuned...
Complete Book List as of 2013
Writing As May McGoldrick:
Dreams Of Destiny
Captured Dreams
Borrowed Dreams
Tess
and The Highlander (A YA Novel)
The Firebrand
The Enchantress
The Dreamer
Beauty Of The Mist
Heart Of Gold
Angel Of Skye
Writing As Nicole Cody & May McGoldrick:
Love and Mayhem (reissued as
Arsenic
and Old Armor
)
Writing As Jan Coffey:
Mercy
Blind Eye
The Puppet Master
The Deadliest Strain
The Project
Silent Waters
Five in a Row
Tropical Kiss (A YA Novel)
Fourth Victim
Triple Threat
Twice Burned
Trust Me Once
And for everyone who asks how we write together:
Writing Exercises for twenty-first century:
Writing as Nikoo Kafi:
Here's an excerpt from the next book in Highland Treasure
Trilogy
Enchantress
By
May McGoldrick
Fearnoch,
the Northern Highlands
December,
1535
The gold coin tumbled slowly across
the knuckles of the silent Highlander standing against the sandstone wall. When
the group across the open square stopped at a stall containing bundled wool,
the coin paused as well, its Tudor rose gleaming even in the shadows.
“The one with a face like a pig’s
arse called her Laura, master.” The toothless farmer talking to him spat into the half-frozen mud and glared across the market square. “The lass might be dressed
only in the rags they’ve given her, but she’s of quality, there’s no doubtin’.”
Across the cold, windswept square,
the two watched the Sinclair men herding the women along. The gold coin resumed
its journey along the deft knuckles of the tall Highlander.
“Though she’s a young thing, from
the way she talks, there’s no doubt she’s English. If ‘tweren’t for that, I’d wager
more ‘n one of yer crofters would have stolen her already from these swine.” He
spat again. “Aye, ‘tis a fearful shame, master. Why, if I were twenty years
younger, I’d...”
William Ross of Blackfearn left the farmer without a word and, tucking the gold sovereign into his wide leather
belt, stepped out of the shadows of Fearnoch Cathedral and into the midday sun.
As he strode through the scattered crowds of townsfolk and farmers to a cart by
the ancient stone cross at the center of the square, he was immediately joined
by two of his men.
“‘Tis
her
, master! ‘Tis the
same one you’ve been looking for!”
William absently dug the fingers of
one hand into the coarse wool bundled in the wagon.
“And all of them don’t go together.
The two other women are nuns from that tumble-down convent near Little Ferry.”
Watching the group stop by another
stall, William stared at the hooded Englishwoman’s back. Encircled by the
Sinclair brutes, she appeared to be a wee, fragile thing. At this point,
though, he didn’t want to even think about the hardship she must have gone
through over these past three months, living as a captive among those
blackguards. He reminded himself that there couldn’t be any bloodshed. Not
while he was trying to rescue her, at any rate. He’d promised his brother that
much.
“Should we take her now?” his man
continued, glancing at the scar-faced farmer standing with them. The other
man’s hand moved to the hilt of a dirk half hidden beneath the red and black
plaid of the Ross tartan. His face showed his eagerness for a fight. “They’ve
been plenty rough with her. The ugly one shoved her without so much as a ‘by
yer leave’--right out of the wool seller’s tent up by the north road.”
“There was talk of the dungeons at Rumster Castle.”
“They’ve been locking her up for
months, master.”
“The lass had her hood pulled low
over her face to hide the tears.”
“Aye, and her shame, the poor
woman.”
“There’s only a half dozen Sinclair
men with her. We can take them, master!” the first man growled. “‘Twould be a
good deed to help the wee lass and set the bastards back a--”
“Wait here.” William turned his
back, leaving the two looking helplessly after him as he strode unhurriedly
around the stone cross toward the wool merchant’s stall.
As William approached, the Sinclair
men visibly stiffened. They knew who he was. He ignored them.
The two nuns, gathered right
outside the wool merchant’s stall, were whispering in French, and William heard snatches of their conversation. They, too, seemed to know him, though he couldn’t
for the life of him imagine why. He’d never had any dealings with the little
group of French nuns living at the convent on Loch Fleet.
Brushing past the Sinclair men, William sauntered into the stall, casually picking up a piece of fleece and setting it down. The
Englishwoman, reaching over, immediately picked up the fleece and set it in
another pile. Though she was speaking quietly and continuously to the merchant,
she appeared resolute about bringing some organization to the jumbled piles of
wool the man had carted to market.
Suddenly, William found himself
listening intently. There was something captivating about the soft lilt in her
voice. Although her timid attempt at mimicking the Highland tongue was
charming, her English accent--as Ren, the old farmer, had said--gave her away
immediately. Peering covertly at her, he could just see a lock of black hair
that had fallen free of her worn hood. Looking back down at her small hands,
chafed by hard work and cold weather, he realized that she was sorting the fleece
by color and quality.
An amused smile tugged at his
mouth.
Out of the corner of his eye he
could see that the leader of the Sinclairs was watching him carefully. William picked up another fleece, one that still retained marks of black tar in the thick wool.
He intentionally dropped the fleece on the ground and moved over a step.
The Englishwoman immediately picked
it up, but as she did, raised voices could be heard from the square. Glancing
around, the Highlander realized that a shouting match between a haughty
townswoman and a crofter driving a dozen red shaggy-haired steers through the
market square had drawn the Sinclairs’ attention momentarily.
William looked at the Englishwoman.
She was standing with the fleece in her hand, ignoring the commotion in the
square. She was clearly undecided about which pile the fleece belonged in.
Without a word, he took it out of her hands and placed it on the pile of fleece
that she’d deemed of the poorest quality.
She turned in shock at his
forwardness, a scowl darkening her face. But then, for William Ross of Blackfearn, something stopped, and the world stopped with it. Perhaps it was her eyes that
halted him in his tracks. Their deep, violet-blue color was not like any he’d
ever seen. Except perhaps for Molly, the wench he visited occasionally at the
Three Cups on the Inverness road. Nay, these eyes were even deeper, more violet
than Molly’s.
An eon may have passed--William couldn’t be sure--and still he found himself staring. It occurred to him that perhaps it
was the surprise in her pale face that made his heart pause for that lingering moment. It was a face of an enchantress, English or no.
William thought she was about to
speak, but the woman hesitated as one of her captors eyed her menacingly. She
said nothing and looked away.
When he glanced back at the
Sinclair men, he saw the nuns had separated themselves from the party, each
moving toward a different part of the marketplace. Turning away, William ambled as casually as he could out of the stall, stopping a young lad who was walking
about and hawking apples. The uproar had died down, and the cattle were
disappearing down the dirt street.
“Hurry on, lass!”
Shooting a quick look back at them,
William could see that the Englishwoman was still standing in the stall. The
Sinclair men had no patience with her and the leader tugged at her elbow.
“If you’re not back by vespers,”
the leader growled, “it’ll mean a dozen lashes...if you understand my meaning.”
With a hasty nod she left the
fleece behind, and immediately the group moved through the crowd toward a group
of tented stalls belonging to traveling merchants in from Inverness.
At the next stall the woman paused
again, but this time only for a moment as she straightened out a display of
women’s shoes. The disgusted curses of one of the Sinclair warriors rose above
the sounds of the market throng.
Flipping his uneaten apple to a
street urchin running by, William crossed the way and slipped into the alley
between the merchants’ tents and a low wall behind them. Beyond the wall was a
ditch, and a stand of trees was visible beyond that.
Working his way past serving lads
sitting idly on half-empty carts of merchandise, he moved silently into the
alleyway between the third and fourth tents. A merchant selling brightly colored
Flemish cloth was calling out to the guarded woman. The cloaked and hooded
Englishwoman drew near the tented stall, and William stepped back into the
shadows.