Title: Spirit of the Knight
Author: Debbie Peterson
Genre: Fantasy Romance
She fell deeply in love with him in the early days of her childhood. And in return, she captured his heart the moment he first cast his gaze upon her...
Renowned artist, Mariah Jennings hired to paint a thirteenth-century Scottish castle, gets the shock of her life when she encounters the handsome knight who has dominated a lifetime of portraits and sketchbooks.
But Sir Cailen Braithnoch is no ordinary ghost, nor did he suffer an ordinary death. Magic of the blackest kind cast a pall over the knights centuries ago. As the ghost and his lady seek to unravel the paradox surrounding his death, black arts, otherworldly forces, and a jealous rival conspire against them.
Will those forces tear them apart, or is their love destined to last throughout the ages?
Mariah slowed her pace once she neared the river. The melody of the rushing water soothed and calmed her troubled mind. She sat down on the massive trunk of an old toppled tree that looked as though it had fallen along the riverbank ages ago. The clear water rippled over the rocky bottom. For a time, she mindlessly toyed with her fingers as she watched the swirling water run along its course. A gentle breeze trifled with her hair. More than once, she brushed the tousled locks away from her face and tossed them behind her shoulders. She banished all thoughts of insanity and concentrated solely on the beauty of her surroundings. Right now, she needed no more than that.
“Once upon a time, this river used to feed th’ moat,” the voice behind her said. “Nowadays only th’ runoff fills th’ trench.”
Mariah turned her head toward the sound. Her knight rested a broad shoulder against a tree as he regarded her. She made careful study of every curve and plane of his face and form. Not a single discrepancy revealed itself in the man that dominated a lifetime of sketchbooks. He looked her over just as thoroughly as she did him and all the while, she considered what he just said.
She never really thought about moats before, other than the fact they surrounded many of the castles she’d seen along the way. Whether or not a river fed them never once entered her mind. The term “runoff” never rolled off her tongue during conversation either. Therefore, she couldn’t have imagined him saying such things, could she? Did that mean the man she’d sketched and painted her entire life truly existed right here at Laird MacNaughton’s castle? If so, how could she have known that?
She said nothing in return as he approached and then sat down opposite her with an ease that suggested he’d done so a thousand times before. And in her dreams, he had.
He gave her one of his flirty grins and said, “We’ve not been properly introduced, Murriah Jennin’s. My name is Cailen Braithnoch, and I’m verra happy to make your acquaintance.”
The man looked—well, he looked mortal in almost every way, except she didn’t detect any movement of his chest, which would indicate the ability to breathe. He didn’t glide or float above the ground—he walked upon it as any mortal would. Most amazing? She could hear him speak as if he still possessed a body of flesh and blood. How could he do all that? Better yet, why would he do all that?
She worked up a bit of moisture inside her mouth, swallowed past the dry spot in her throat, and extended a cautious hand toward the incredibly handsome face she knew as well as she did her own. All the while, his eyes bore into hers. He made no move to halt her progress or avoid her touch. Once she arrived at the side of his face, her fingers glided along the length of his jaw and down to his chin. How would she describe the sensation of his ghostly form? Yes, she could easily go through him if she so desired. However, a perceptible barrier existed between his spiritual body and her fingers. She could feel that barrier just as well as she could feel anything else.
A touch of humor appeared in his eyes well before it touched the corners of his mouth. The grin made her feel a bit self-conscious and as she dropped her wayward hand into her lap, he said, “Is this your customary response to a man that introduces hisself to ye?”
The question made her laugh. She dropped her gaze and shook her head. “No, I can’t say that it is.”
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In Spirit of the Knight, you’ll find unruly ghosts, magic, mischief and a sweet, impossible love that might not be so impossible after all!
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Debbie is an author of sweet paranormal and fantasy romance. She has always had a soft spot for fairy tales, the joy of falling in love, making an impossible love possible, and happily ever after endings. She loves music, art, beautiful sunrises, sunsets, and thunderstorms.
When she's not busy conjuring her latest novel, She spends time with the members of her very large and nutty family in the lovely, arid deserts of southern Nevada. She also pursues her interests in family history, mythology, and history.
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