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Highland Magic

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Title: Highland Magic
Series: Druids Glen #5
Release Date: January 9, 2017
ISBN13: 978-0312381226

 
Overview

One prophecy to save the world. Two realms fighting for control. Three Druid sisters who hold the key to salvation and the hearts of the men who would love them. Join New York Times bestselling author Donna Grant as she transports you into the dark and dangerous world of the Druids.

A vow made…

For centuries Frang has kept a secret – he’s immortal. ‘Tis a curse instead of a blessing though. His immortality was bestowed upon him to teach him a lesson, and instead of remaining youthful, the curse turned him into the image of an old man. He’s waited for the day he could return to a mortal man, but when that day arrives and he must leave his beloved Druid’s Glen, he suddenly finds he might not want to be mortal after all.

A secret kept…

Kenna holds a great secret, one that if discovered could have her burned at the stake. She’s not just a healer, she’s a Druid. ‘Tis a secret she has buried deep inside her. Until Frang. He offers freedom in the Druids, a promise too heady to ignore.


Awards

#1 Top Rated on Fictionwise for erotica

Reviews

“HIGHLAND MAGIC is an enchanting romance that will sweep you off your feet. I loved this story, and cannot wait to see where Ms. Grant takes us next.
–Melissa, Novel Talk



Also in this series:

Excerpt

Northwestern Scotland
Fall 1625

For as long as he could remember, Frang had yearned to rid himself of the curse. How many years had passed as he stood in the peaceful magical stones of the Druid’s Glen?

Too many.

And it didn’t matter anymore. He had left his stones, though they weren’t really his. He had guarded the Druids as best he could with the help of the lairds of the MacInnes.

Frang ran a hand down his face and sighed loudly. So many people he watched die, many before their time. He had seen love lost and love found, foes vanquished and even seen the enemy invade a castle to kill innocent children.

Yet, it was all in the past now.

He looked down in to the waters of the lake at his reflection. He had gotten used to seeing the long white hair and beard. It seemed rather…odd…that he looked again as he had that fateful day over three hundred years before.

Frang sat back on his heels and looked over his shoulder. His need to return to the Glen was strong. With the prophecy finished he was no longer needed, but it didn’t matter. He could return now. No one would recognize him, but he knew it was just wishful thinking. His time at the Druid’s Glen was over. He needed to accept that.

A soft movement filled the air, the only thing that alerted him he was no longer alone. Slowly, Frang rose and turned to face his long time friend.

“Aimery,” he said with a welcoming smile.

The Fae commander returned the smile and held out his arm. After they clasped forearms, Aimery stepped back and looked him up and down. “It will take some time for me to get used to this appearance again.”

Frang laughed as he raked his hands through his hair and glanced over the impeccably dressed Fae. Aimery’s long flaxen hair was held away from his face by several rows of tiny intricate braids that would have looked feminine on anyone else but Aimery.

“The first thing I did was shave the beard.” Frang scratched his chin absently. “It has been on my face so long my skin doesn’t know what to do.”

“It won’t take long.” Aimery clapped him on the back and smiled as they sat on a fallen tree. “What are your plans?”

Frang shrugged and looked toward the still waters of the lake. “I don’t really know. The Druid’s were my life, even before the curse. What can I do now?”

“You get to start over,” Aimery said after a short silence. “Do anything you want, become anyone you want. Not many get that chance.”

“I like who I am,” Frang argued. “I am a Druid High Priest who knows more about the Fae and the Druids than any human on this realm.”

Aimery’s swirling blue eyes met his. The Fae’s gaze was intense, never wavering as he peered deep into Frang’s soul.

There was no doubt that Aimery was looking into his future. The longer he stared, the more worried Frang became. “What do you see?” Frang asked softly.

Aimery blinked and turned away. “I’m not in the habit of telling someone their future.”

“I’m not just someone,” Frang reminded him.

With a loud sigh Aimery turned his fair head until his gaze returned to Frang. “You don’t want to know your future, my friend. No one ever really does. Live this new life you’ve been granted and don’t look back.”

Frang swallowed and stood to pace the edge of the lake. “There are only two reasons you wouldn’t tell me my future. One possibility is that I’m going to die very soon. The second is that I’m going to have to make a very difficult choice that by telling me the future, you’ll influence me.”

He turned to look at the Fae commander only to find Aimery grinning. “I taught you well,” Aimery said with a nod. “You’ll do fine, Frang.”

And with that, Aimery was gone.

For several long moments Frang stared at the log and where Aimery had sat. Decade after decade he had given to the Druids and the Fae, giving his blood as well as his soul all because of one stupid, reckless night that had cursed him for three hundred years.

He looked down at the robes that had been his daily wear as the Druid High Priest. They would only serve to draw attention to him, something he wanted to avoid at all costs. With a sigh he turned toward the road that would take him to the nearest village where he could buy some new clothes.

“And new life,” he muttered as he slapped his hand on his leg in agitation of the unknown.

Then promptly noticed the clothes neatly folded on the log. Frang didn’t have to wonder if the clothes fit, he knew they would.

“Thank you, Aimery,” he said as he reached for the clothes.

With one final glance at his Druid robes, he pulled them over his head. After a quick wash in the loch, he returned to the log and reached for Aimery’s gift.

Frang had to admit he liked his new clothes. He looked down at the saffron shirt and bold blue and green plaid with red and orange accents, it was a plaid he knew well, very well. The tall boots were made of supple leather that fit his foot and legs to perfection, and the broach holding his plaid was made of silver and held the crest of the Fae, a dragon head with intricate knot work surrounding it.

There was only one thing left. The sword.

It had been three hundred years since he had last held a sword. He lifted the sword and held it in both hands and he looked over the weapon.

A more beautiful sword Frang had never seen. The pommel was fluted and fit his hand flawlessly. The cross guards and pommel were adorned with the same intricate and beautiful knots that decorated his brooch.

Slowly, he gripped the pommel and pulled the sword from its scabbard. The weight of the weapon was as near to perfect as it could get. Frang stared in awe at the blade where the Fae symbol had been added, and surrounding it was even more of the knot work he had come to love.

He lunged and swung the sword around him testing its weight as he tested himself. By the time he was satisfied with himself, sweat soaked his shirt and ran down his face.

Frang returned the sword to its sheath with a smile. After he folded his Druid robes and left them on the log, he picked up his sword and slung the strap over his head so the sword settled between his shoulder blades. With a sigh, he turned to face his future. No longer was he a Druid, but a warrior.

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