Brogan MacLochlainn never thought he'd visit the non-magical lands of the earth, nor did he ever want to. He is well-suited as the warrior-protector of his home isle, Coruain. But the murder of his father, high chieftain of his people, compels him to go to the land of the inferior Tuath, where a powerful talisman is hidden. 'Tis only with this talisman - the blood stone - that Brogan and his brother will be able to defeat the evil sorceress who would destroy his people and enslave the Tuath. Brogan MacLochlainn never thought he would meet a Tuath he could respect, yet Sarah Granger is more interesting than any of the women he's known on Coruain. And she possesses a powerful magic of her own ... Paperback: 370 pages Publisher: Avon Books ISBN: 978-0-06-12526-4          Order the book: Amazon   or   Barnes and Noble         Copyright © 2007 by Margo Maguire     Ravensfield, Western England, 1813 Brogan could not credit that Sarah would waste her aspirations on Squire Crowell, a dandified milksop who couldn’t bear a bit of rain on his precious top hat and cloak. There was too much fire in her to be satisfied with that scrawny, over-fastidious dandy. The taste of her kiss was still on his lips, and he could still feel the impression of her soft curves pressed against his body. Crowell was the last man she should consider with his pale skin and soft hands. She would be better off with a man who was poor as dirt, but knew how to make love to his céile mate. "And what would you know of it, Mr. Locke?" She spoke with annoyance, and started to go 'round him. He stopped her and prevented her from leaving. "I know how your mouth feels against mine." Her jaw clenched tightly, and he moved in front of her to stand toe to toe. "I know how your body feels against mine." She closed her eyes and tightened her lips into a straight line. "And you should forget such things, Mr. Locke. Now, if you’ll let me pass—" "You could attract any man in the district, Sarah." "Miss Granger, if you please, sir." He reached up and pulled two wire pins from her hair. She protested as the curling mass drifted to her shoulders and down her back, but Brogan did not relent. He slid an arm 'round her waist and pulled her close, preventing her from hindering his actions. "You are soft and feminine, Sarah. And your hair is beautiful." She trembled in his arms. Or mayhap ’twas his own arms quaking. "You jest, sir. ’Tis wild and unruly, as you can very well see. No man would ever want—" He placed two fingers against her lips. "I am a man and I like to see it curling softly about your face …" He swallowed heavily and stepped away. "If I were to stay and court you." She turned 'round and headed for the stairs. "But you are not staying." "Nay, I am no’," he said. "So your opinion is of little consequence," she snapped. "Perhaps Scottish women—" "Wear their hair down for their men. Aye." He slid his fingers through her soft curls. "You are lively and spirited, lass. You need a husband to match your own mettle." "I need a husband who understands how a woman wishes to be treated." "And you believe Squire Crowell is that man," Brogan demanded. Angry that she could not see that fop for what he was, he pulled Sarah into his arms again. "You canna think that such a lùigean, such a mollycoddle of a nim-nam like Crowell could ever satisfy you." The blacks of her eyes dilated and she started to yank away from him, indignant at his words. Brogan prevented her, crushing his mouth to hers, hungry for another taste of her, yet furious that she could cause such a primitive reaction in him. She stood perfectly still at first, but her lips quickly softened against his, and when he thrust his tongue through her lips, she did not resist. He invaded her mouth as he drew her close, savoring the tightening of her nipples against his chest and the sweet softness of her body cradling his erection. Gladly would he show her the kind of fire that could be shared between a man and a woman. She wound her hands 'round his neck and touched her tongue to his, tentatively moving her body against his, seeking the promise of pleasure as intensely as Brogan did. She made a small sound in the back of her throat and Brogan broke the kiss, pressing his lips to her jaw, then her neck, savoring her essence as he moved his mouth toward the edge of her bodice. He heard a desperate whimper, then her eyes flew open with a suddenness that left him breathless and bewildered. Breathing hard, she wrenched her arms away from his neck and pushed against his chest, turning at the same time, propelling herself out of the room and up the staircase. Brogan stood still, his heart pounding, his arousal pressing painfully against his trews. He closed his eyes and struggled to recover his own breath, telling himself that he’d only demonstrated the kind of passion Sarah would miss if she won Crowell for her mate. ’Twas not personal. Not at all.