For more authors participating in Sweet Saturday Samples click Here.
Excerpt: Mora Campbell focused her giddy senses on the gentleman kneeling by her side. He stared at her as if she were a silkie or some other fantastic creature. Even with her head aching like the beating of a Hielan drum, the appeal of her rescuer wasn’t lost on her. My, but he’s a handsome one. Eyes colored like a brooding sky. The strength in his face bespoke the bearing of a great chieftain. His demeanor marked him as a leader. Surely he was a commanding laird.
As her vision cleared, she looked more closely. There was a dearly familiar quality about him, though she couldn’t fathom why. Searching the haze fogging her mind, she strained to remember.
Her thoughts swirled around the beloved image of a man. Niall. He looked like Niall. And he had the same masculine allure and deeply sensual air. Why was his thick brown hair clipped so short? It should fall down around his well-muscled shoulders. Outlanders might wear their hair shorn in sech a manner, but he didn’t seem to be foreign. Unless…
Her eyes dropped lower. What did he mean by wearing the clothes of an Englisher, if that’s what they were? They looked to be some sort of trews or breeches, she guessed, and a jacket right enough, but not in any fashion she’d ever seen before. The narrow striped scarf he wore at his neck was most peculiar. What purpose did it serve? And the cane he held in blood-stained fingers had the oddest face. Frightening even. If he were an Englisher, he had style all his own.
He laid the cane down, his intent gray eyes searching hers. “Who struck you?”
The force of his gaze held her. “The MacDonald, the divil.”
Her apparent champion narrowed his gaze. Lifting one hand, he lightly touched the tender lump on her forehead. His scent wafted around her—masculine and clean, like fresh wind on a braw day. She breathed it in, savoring his essence.
“You’ll need a Cat Scan, and the police will be here any moment.”
She had no notion what service this cat he spoke of might render her or what these police were, but she liked the gentle feel of his fingers and the way tufts of hair curled at his strong neck like tendrils of ivy on a stone wall. She wanted to smooth his hair with her fingers…stroke the line of his neck.
“Who are you? Why are you here?”
His query disrupted her musing in a low tone pleasing to her ears. Though his voice lacked any recognizable accent, she’d swear she knew it in her very being.~
“Beth Trissel has a way with her characters that brings them to life in your mind’s eye as fully realized people, who you want to win their battles, and find ever-lasting love. Her plot is complicated and unpredictable, and her eye for the detail of ancient Scotland is wonderful. Romantic fiction has been enriched by adding the time travel aspect to it, breathing new life into a genre that stretches back to the Jane Austen and the Bronte sisters.
The kind of book you can get lost in. Well-written and exciting, Trissel hits a home run with her time-crossed lovers.” ~Amazon Reviewer Robin Landry