Movie Videos

Genealogy Charts


About Sandra

For Booksellers

For Readers

Order Books

Email Sandra

Mailing List

Cover Art


June 2011, Avon Books
ISBN-10: 0062019090
ISBN-13: 978-0062019097
January 1995, LoveSpell Timeswept
ISBN 0505520001
Reissue August 1998, ISBN 050552273X
August 1999, ISBN 0505522739


| | Barnes & Noble | Hastings |
| Powell's | Books-a-Million | IndieBound |
| Amazon Kindle | B&N Nook | Kobo |
| iTunes |


"ENOUGH!" Selik roared finally. The witch had bedeviled him overlong. With a mighty lunge, he tackled her from behind. She hit the ground with a loud "Oomph!" and he landed flat atop her. 

The fall knocked the wind out of Selik. He lay still for several moments with his face buried in the burnished gold web of the maid's luxuriant hair which had loosened from its braid. Its sweet, seductive fragrance, an odd mixture of flowers and spices, overwhelmed his senses, making him forget momentarily the brutality and emptiness of his life and remember a time when he had relished the leisure to appreciate the little things of life. Like a woman's scent. Or the feel of lush feminine curves molded perfectly in the cradle of his body. 

Selik's frozen heart thawed for a second with feelings he had long disciplined himself to disdain. Oh, Astrid, he thought suddenly, and a pain so fierce he could not stand it swelled his heart and threatened to burst the walls of his aching chest. He missed her so much. Tears welled in his eyes in memory of the last time he had seen his wife. The bloody, gruesome mind picture tormented him endlessly. Would it ever go away? 

A gentle nudge jarred him back from his unwelcome reverie. The horse had followed him through the woods. 

Thor's Blood! he growled in silent self-disgust over his maudlin daydreams. It was years since he had allowed himself such extravagant self-indulgence over his long-dead spouse. 

Raising himself on straightened elbows, Selik realized that the woman did not move beneath him. Had she died from the force of his hitting her with his substantial weight? 



The wench raised her head and grumbled, "Get off me, you big oaf. You must weigh as much as that horse, incidentally. Do you want to crush me to death--before you have a chance to eat my tongue?" 

With a soft, reluctant chuckle, Selik allowed her to roll over on her back but kept her pinned to the ground with his lower body. "Your shrewish tongue outruns your good sense, wench. Methinks 'twould be too tart for my tastes." 

Brushburns, grass and dirt covered her face and lips. Pieces of grass and twigs stuck in her disheveled hair and marred her silky shirt. She spit rudely to clear her mouth. 

Selik momentarily forgot the reason for his anger, so entranced was he by the allure of the woman who lay beneath him. He brushed several loose strands of golden hair off her shoulder. Like amber silk, it was. He rubbed the threads sensuously between his calloused fingers. 

Turning his eyes upward, he noticed a fearsome bruise high on her forehead, its purplish tones stark against her creamy skin. Selik couldn't stop himself from touching it gently with a forefinger, and her full lips, like crushed rose petals, parted involuntarily on an indrawn breath of pain, showing off uncommonly even, white teeth. 

The wench's honey brown eyes held his, questioning, probably wondering what he would do next, and for long moments Selik could not help himself from gazing at her with longing. The vast emptiness inside him felt suddenly full and warm. When had he last felt this way? Astrid, he realized immediately and berated himself scornfully, once again. 

Suddenly, Selik saw the foolishness of his action. He was behaving like a besotted lackbrain dawdling with a maid while the Saxon hounds nipped at his heels. He pulled out the dagger at his belt and held its razor edge against her neck. 

"What do you here, wench?" 

"What would you have me do? I can't move," she snapped shrewishly. 

"Do you deliberately mistake my words? You must needs take your situation more seriously." He pressed the gleaming blade tighter and drew a thin line of blood like a drizzle of wine in new snow. "Your paltry life means naught to me." 

"Oh, really! Don't you think you're being a bit dramatic?" the foolish witch said scornfully, as if she feared him not. "Besides, it would be a lot less messy if you didn't cut my jugular vein. I would suggest here at the kidney, or here through the diaphragm." 

She pointed to two places on her body that Selik knew would bring instant death, as well as the large blood-pumping spot on her neck. How did a simple female know such? And what was a die-frame? 

Rain saw the confusion on Selik's face. 

A voice echoed in her head, Save him. 

Surprisingly unafraid then, she stared up at the hardened warrior hovering over her. "Would you really kill me, Selik?" 

"In a trice." 

"I don't think you would," Rain asserted with more confidence than she felt, "and, furthermore, even though you act like a bear, I'm not afraid of you." 

"Then you are truly a halfwit, I warrant." 

Rain shrugged, trying to ignore the words in her head that kept repeating, Save him. Save him. Save him... 

Selik frowned, seeming disturbed by her brave front. Couldn't the fool hear her teeth chattering? 

"How dost thou know my name? Why were you at Brunanburh?" 

"I'm not sure," Rain admitted hesitantly. "I think...I think God sent me." 

Selik snorted rudely in disbelief. "Why would God do thus?" 

"To save you," Rain offered weakly. 

"Me? God cares naught for such as me." He surveyed her through slitted eyes while he sheathed his knife, then asked reluctantly, as if he couldn't believe he was saying the words, "Save me from what?" 

"From yourself." 

His mouth dropped open in amazement. Then he burst out laughing. "Bloody hell! The lackwit maid fashions herself my guardian angel!" 

Top of Page



Hosted and maintained by  

You are visitor