Authors: Patricia Hagan
Derek sat upon a golden Palomino, black eyes shining in the first mists of dawn as he gazed down at her. He held the leather reins loosely as he cocked his head to one side, a slight, mocking smile on his handsome face as he murmured quietly, “So we meet again, misty eyes.”
She could not speak. She could not believe it was real.
“Derek, you old son of a gun!” Myles was standing up, reaching across Julie to shake his hand. “What in hell is going on? How can you be here? I don’t understand—”
Derek continued to smile as he raised his right arm in a signal. Another horse came pounding forward from beyond the wagon in front of them. It was Thomas, laughing as he told them he was their “assistant” wagon master, and he and Myles embraced.
But Julie could only stare into Derek’s smoldering black eyes, a hundred questions bubbling in her heart. She could not speak. Her body began to tremble.
“I told you once,” Derek murmured softly, “that when I had mastered the winds and the tides, I would come for you and conquer your love. That time is now.”
He reached out to lift her in his arms and placed her on the saddle in front of him. Holding her tightly, he spurred his horse forward.
The sun made its final lunge from the horizon to kiss the watermelon sky of a new day and a new life, for all of them.
About the Author
Patricia Hagan might be the New York Times bestselling author of 38 novels and 2500 short stories, but she can also lay claim to being among the vanguard of women writers covering NASCAR stock-car racing. The first woman granted garage passes to major speedways, she has awards in TV commentary, newspaper and magazine articles, and for several years wrote and produced a twice-weekly racing program heard on 42 radio stations in the south.
Patricia’s books have been translated into many languages, and she has made promotional trips to Europe, including England, France, Italy, Norway, Greece, Turkey, Croatia, Spain and Ireland.
Hagan’s exciting eight-book Coltrane saga, which spans from the Civil War to the Russian Revolution, has appeared on every major bestseller list and is one of the most popular series published in France, never having been out-of-print in that country in nearly 30 years.
Born in Atlanta, Georgia, Patricia grew up all across the United States due to her father’s position as a federal attorney, finally settling in Alabama where she graduated from the University of Alabama with a major in English. She now resides with her husband in south Florida where she volunteers as a Court-appointed Guardian Ad Litem for abused children.
But of all her accolades and accomplishments, Patricia most of all loves to boast of being the proud mom of a Navy SEAL.
Look for these titles by Patricia Hagan
Now Available:
The Coltrane Saga
Love and War
The Raging Hearts
Love and Glory
Love and Fury
Love and Splendor
Love and Dreams
Love and Honor
Love and Triumph
Coming Soon:
This Savage Heart
Passion’s Fury
Golden Roses
The incredible final book in the Coltrane Saga journeys to revolution-torn Russia, where love and danger go hand-in-hand.
Love and Triumph
© 2012 Patricia Hagan
Marilee Coltrane embarks on a long journey from Spain to Russia, determined to reclaim her heritage, both as a Coltrane and an adopted member of the imperial family. However, she finds herself in extreme danger when the centuries-old dynasty of the Czar begins to collapse, and revolutionaries take her prisoner, intending to hold her for ransom.
Unknown to Marilee, handsome, strong-willed Cord Brandt has secretly vowed that no harm will come to the woman he fell in love with on sight. But even after he confesses his true identity as a counterspy, Marilee doesn’t trust him, despite how he turns her blood to fire with just a touch.
In a Russia aflame with chaos and rebellion, Marilee summons the tenacious strength of her Coltrane blood for the will to survive bloodthirsty revolutionaries and the love of a determined man.
Enjoy the following excerpt for
Love and Triumph:
When she could trust her rubbery legs to move, Marilee fled back to her room.
She didn’t belong and never had, but she was going to see this wedding through, and then, by God, the Coltranes would not be bothered with her again.
She rolled over onto her back, stared up at the lace canopy, taking deep breaths to try and quell the turmoil within. The more she thought about what she’d just overheard, the more depressed she became.
It bothered her that she had never in her whole life made a decision concerning her own welfare. It had not been necessary. Kitty had pampered her. Then she’d gone off to school, where teachers and counselors made the rules. So here she was, grown, educated, and everyone thought she was so weak and helpless that her only hope for survival was to get married and have a man take care of her and make all the decisions.
She had to admit she had been thinking seriously of accepting Rudolf’s proposal, and now she found herself worrying whether the temptation had been due to her own subconscious telling her she could not face life on her own. After all, she could not truthfully say she loved him, but then how was she supposed to know what it would feel like if she did? His kisses gave her no particular thrill, but, again, no other man had ever kissed her, so how could she know?
Boyishly handsome with curly dark hair and brown eyes, he was also charming and intelligent, and she certainly admired his great talent and ambition to be a concert pianist. They had spent many pleasant evenings in the dormitory parlor, she sitting beside him on the piano bench as his slender fingers danced on the ivory keys to bring his music to life.
She had also enjoyed the company of Rudolf’s sister, and when Elenore had left school months ago, she’d stayed in touch, urging Marilee to accept her brother’s proposal.
When school ended, Rudolf and Elenore insisted she visit them for as long as she liked. Sympathetically, they pointed out that since she hadn’t heard from her father in so long, she really had nowhere to go except to the Coltranes.
Marilee had hesitated, wanting time away from Rudolf to search within herself and decide if she wanted to marry him. Now, she bitterly mused, it seemed she had no other choice, since everyone around her apparently considered her a moron.
If only she could get in touch with her father, she thought desperately. She would not let herself believe he was dead. When his letters had abruptly stopped, she’d written in desperation to Czar Nicholas, only to learn a few days later of the revolution and his forced abdication…and she knew there would be no reply. Fear for her father’s safety grew with each passing day.
When Rudolf had gently pointed out that she really had no home of her own, she had proudly reminded him of Daniberry. He was horrified that she could even consider going there, with Germany at war with France. Still, she knew if she had a home, it was the palatial estate just outside Paris that her father had so lovingly built for her mother. Forever would she treasure the memories of that Christmas she’d spent there with her father, the year after Kitty died. They had been so happy, so close, sharing ten beautiful days together. When, sadly, it had to end, he had promised that when her schooling was finished, he would leave Russia and, at long last, they would be together as father and daughter, and make Daniberry the home it was meant to be.
But now, standing at a crossroads in her life, she was determined that she would, ultimately, make the decision on which road to take, and no matter what anyone thought, said, or did, it was going to be
her
choice.
With a sigh of resignation, she got up, bathed, and dressed for the wedding breakfast. Staring at her reflection in the full-length mirror, she frowned. She had chosen a simple gray dress with a square neckline, short sleeves, a wide waist belt, and pleated skirt. Her shoes were black leather, with pointed toes and a silver buckle. She wore her chestnut hair parted in the middle, then wound in rolls above her ears. Rudolf liked it that way, just as he approved of conservative colors and styles. She’d never really cared much for fashion, feeling that since she was tall and slender, demure and alluring designs would only look ridiculous on her. Tiny, petite girls like Elenore were meant to wear them. Now, however, she wondered what it would be like to try something new. Her gown for the wedding was certainly different—peach chiffon with a slightly plunging neckline, pouf sleeves, a wide satin belt, and a gently billowing skirt that daintily touched her ankles above silver shoes with the highest heels she’d ever worn. Yet she knew that despite everything, she would still look dull, colorless.
There was a knock, and she heard Jade calling to her. When she opened the door, she could not help thinking that the look of disappointment in her aunt’s eyes matched her own in the mirror.
With a forced smile, Jade said, “Well, I see you’re up and ready for the breakfast, and since we’ve got a few minutes, I’d like to talk to you, if I may.”
Marilee shrugged, gestured to the chairs in front of the fireplace. They sat down, and Jade got straight to the point.
“We’re worried about you, dear,” she began gently. “All of us. You seem so unhappy.”
“I’m sorry if I’m making everyone uncomfortable,” Marilee coolly said, not looking at her but staring down at her folded hands.
“Oh, no, dear. It’s not that. We care. We really do. I just wanted to know if there’s anything I can do, if there’s anything you want to talk about. Heavens, I know you’re worried about your father. We all are, but for the moment, there’s nothing we can do but pray for his safety.”
“I wish I could go look for him,” Marilee said miserably. “I feel so helpless.”
“If I thought it would help, I’d encourage you to do just that.”
No one ever said winning a Goddess’s love was easy…
Goddess of Eire
© 2012 Janeen O’Kerry
Parlan, the new high king of Ireland, has been chosen by his people. Now he must be seen as a king in the eyes of the gods of ancient Ireland. He must take the goddess Eriu as his wife for one night, but he quickly realizes that one night will never be enough. Yet even a king must work for the love of a goddess. And when his arrogance opens his country up to a terrible curse, Parlan must depend on Eriu’s mercy to save them all.
Despite her temptation to give in to the strong and handsome mortal king, her pride does not allow Eriu to let Parlan take her as his wife. Yet as the goddess of the land, Eriu’s fate is tied directly to that of the country the Black Dragon is destroying. Although she has vowed to help Parlan defeat the Dragon, her power is weakening and Parlan is left to fight a battle with the odds, gods, and even his own men against him.
Enjoy the following excerpt for
Goddess of Eire:
“The new king awaits you, Lady Eriu,” said the goddess Brighid, as she walked through the sunlit meadow with her red wool gown trailing over the lush green grass and the bright yellow primroses. “I wonder if your anticipation is anywhere near as great as his.”
Eriu looked up from her seat on the sun-warmed boulder and smiled faintly at her sister goddess. “He cannot be a king if I do not find him worthy. No doubt his apprehension is great indeed.”
Brighid stood before her and took Eriu’s hands in her own. “My dear sister, I do not mean simply whether he will become the next High King or no. I am thinking of the ritual itself. Does it truly mean no more to you than the mere appointment of yet another leader for the world of Men?”
Gently Eriu withdrew her hands and gazed out over the meadow to the tall deep forest of oak and holly that surrounded it. As it always was here in the Otherworld, that mystical plane of existence where the gods and goddesses made their home, the season was springtime and the weather sunlit and pleasant. She stood up and took a few slow steps across the soft thick grass, smoothing her green wool gown as she paced.
“I have performed the kingmaking ritual countless times,” Eriu said. “From the very first days, when the gods and goddesses began to teach mortals to live as humans and not as animals, the task that fell to me as the Goddess of the Land was to confer Sovereignty on the king—to show his people in the clearest terms that this man was worthy to be their king.”
Brighid nodded, taking a step towards her. “And since the king is no less than the husband and protector of the Land, it is only right that no other but the Goddess of the Land—the Goddess of Eire—should be the one to approve him.”
“Indeed. I have never turned away from this duty. Each time a new king is chosen, I leave the Otherworld and step into the world of Men…there to test the man they have put forward and decide whether he is worthy of being a king.”
“Yet you do this in the most intimate manner possible for any woman, Lady Eriu—for any woman, goddess or no. If the man passes your test, you take him as your husband for that night.”