~SHE WAS A HIGHLAND CHIEFTAIN—PURSED BY THE LEGACY OF HER PAST
“When the night is bright, and the blood is high, the Armstrongs gather atop the windswept Border fells. Swords gleaming, horses pawing the turf, we make ready to go ‘a reiving’—to burn, spoil, and take whatever we please. As we pick up our reins and spur our horses forward, my clansmen raise their voices in a mighty yell. ‘Tis not a battle cry, but four words, quaint, but powerful—
There’ll be moonlight again.
Emblazon them upon your memory, Lady Anna, for between you and I, most assuredly, there will be moonlight again.”
True to his word, Braddon rides back into Anna’s life, but this time he is more than a seeker of horses—Braddon Armstrong has become a mighty warrior and a ruthless strategist, and he is bent on shaking the ancient Keep of Gildevon to its very foundations.
As unforeseen tragedy hovers over Gildevon, Anna must confront her deepest fears. A moonlight chase across the mountains, a dark tale told by the Lord of the Isles, a hellish clan war—all test Anna’s courage. But, the greatest trials are yet to come, for Anna is forced to choose between her heart and her honor, and she must face a daunting prophecy that threatens to hurtle her into the formidable chasm of her destiny.
A tale of loss and love, Gildevon Chronicles II swirls with mystery, magic, and ancient witchery. A saga of a woman pursued by the legacy of her past and by a man with motives as deep and unfathomable as the frigid lochs, Moonlight Again Over Scotland transports the reader to the raw carnality of the Medieval Highlands.
Swiftly, she swung around and disappeared. Mist swirling around her, she rode as if Arawn and his hounds pursued her soul. Through groves of mountain oaks she galloped. She knew these hillsides well, for she had hunted there many times. Skye’s flanks heaved and flecks of foam flew from her mouth, but Anna dared not stop. Oaks gave away to pine and still she climbed.
As her horse leapt atop a rocky ledge, Anna pulled her to a halt. Far below, expletives pierced the night. The reivers had discovered her absence. She wheeled the mare. “Fly, Skye, we best be off.”
Working wildly, her mind plotted her escape. The upland way by the fairy stones, she decided. She would ride all night, reach Gildevon by dawn, rescue Rhiannon, and be off to Wales. She would find Dylan and raise Rhiannon amongst Gwydion’s kin. A perfect plan, she congratulated herself. She knew these hills far better than her captors. With her present lead, they would never catch her.
Forest gave away to scrub. A stag bounded before her. Strange, she thought. Her mere passage should not have startled him from hiding. Then she heard the galloping of steel shod hooves. A single horse—in hot pursuit. Blood pounded in her ears like beating tambours. A half-crazed laugh broke from her lips. Ha! Whoever it is will never catch me. I know a trick or two.
The full moon peeped through misty fingers. Lightning flickered ‘cross the distant bens. The ragged summit loomed above her. A circlet of stones ringed its bracken peak—not the towering megaliths of the henge, but dwarf stones standing sentinel in the moonlight. Skye’s mighty haunches pumped, propelling her up the steep incline. The mare’s breath came hard and fast, matching Anna’s own. The pursuer did not flag.
Reaching the stones, Anna cantered carefully around the ancient site, for ’twould bring the worst of luck to set one hoof within the sacred ring. “Easy, Skye…slow…slow,” she crooned. Shortening her reins, she prayed there was enough light for Skye to see the Devil’s Furrow.
She dug her heels into the mare’s wet barrel and collected her, cantering slowly. The moon burned through the mist. Skye pricked her ears forward, judging her leap over the ancient cleft that rent the earth. She gathered her haunches. Iron shoes scrabbled at the jagged edge.
Anna leaned over Skye’s crest, thrust the reins forward and prayed. Flattening her body in full suspension, the mare sailed over the dark cleavage and landed safely on the other side. Anna let out a whoop of delight. Galloping forward, she glanced over her shoulder. Her pursuer still came on, galloping through the stone circle, arriving at the cleft. She ventured another glance. Like Skye, the horse pricked its ears and gathered itself for the leap. A shadow broke from the furze. Disturbed by midnight trampling, a rabbit streaked across the horse’s path. Eyes rolling wildly, the terrified horse shied and skittered sideways. Hooves struck the ledge. Sparks joined moonbeams. Haunches to the right, head to the left, the creature writhed through the air like a serpent. “God’s Blood,” Anna whispered, as she recognized Braddon’s magnificent mount.