Excerpt
The Harp and the Sea
Lou Sylvre and Anne Barwell © 2020
All Rights Reserved
Chapter One
1605 the Scottish Border Marches
Robert Ker of Cessford, Lord Roxburgh wielded nearly autonomous power at the turn of the 17th century as Warden of the Scottish Middle March. Often called the Debatable Lands, the Border Marches had rough and fluid application of law. A violent nature and loyalty to kin and ally were all the tools Cessford needed to enforce his judgements. His position made him a powerful man, and though he owed allegiance to Scott of Buccleuch, he marched mostly to his own drummer.
But in the year of Our Lord 1603, King James VI of Scotland became also James I of England, and set about unifying the two countries into Great Britain. His “pacification” of the Border Marches in truth meant abolishing the office of Warden, renaming all the Marches the Middle Shires, and killing enough Borderers to make the rest bend the knee. Having lost autonomy, Ker wormed and weaselled his way into the king’s courts at Whitehall and Edinburgh and commenced warring on the people of the March without mercy as a way to impress the monarch.
*
On a rain-soaked day in autumn, 1605, the rough men who served Ker of Cessford and King James Stuart shoved Robbie Elliot into a damp prison cell beneath Hermitage—a stark and haunted castle located almost dead centre in the Middle March, a place Robbie had once called home. When he heard the heavy oaken door thunk shut behind him, rattling the rusty iron chains and window bars, he fell to his knees in the filthy straw that lay scattered over the stone floor. He and a half-dozen others had been force-marched sixteen miles from Hawick, bound, handled rough, and prodded with sticks. Now Robbie tried in vain to find a few square inches of his body that didn’t cry out in pain.
“There’s water, Robbie.” The weak, high-pitched male voice came from the darkest corner of the cell, and it gave Robbie a start for he’d thought himself alone. “In the barrel there,” the man continued. “It’s clean enough.”
Robbie’s legs obeyed him after only a brief argument, and he stood and walked to the barrel. Dust and chaff floated on the top, but when he dipped the single iron ladle and brought the water to his lips, it had no foul smell. “I’ve had far worse,” Robbie said, and then drank.
When he’d slaked his thirst enough, he turned to his cellmate, who’d stepped out of the shadows. “How’d you come to be here, Keithen?”
“Same as you, I’d wager. I’d heard the warden’s men were on the march, and I meant to hide at my old da’s holding, east of Kelso. But I was caught no more than ten miles from Hermitage castle and strung along with five others—including your stepbrother Jem. We’d thought we’d go no further than the gallows on the hill, but they brought us here.”
“Jem? He’s here?”
“Alas, Robbie, he was a lucky one, for he’ll never see these cells. He fell on the trail, and the warden’s man kicked his head a mite hard. Snapped his neck.”
Robbie piled up some straw and sat, slumping back against the wall, his own head pounding as if he’d been the one kicked. Keithen, who tended to prattle on most of the time, stayed blessedly silent until Robbie spoke up a few minutes later. “Yes, probably lucky to die then, quick like that. Do you ken why they brought us here? What they’re planning for us?”
A sudden rattle of heavy keys beyond the door interrupted the prisoners’ conversation, and a single, crusted pot was pushed inside, its contents warm enough to steam in the perpetual cold of the below-ground keep.
Keithen said, “Porridge, or what passes for it,” and then got up and lumbered stiffly to fetch the pot.
Robbie realised all at once that his insides had gone so hollow he’d be happy to fill them with a brick if it was all he had, and he wasted no time. Given no utensils, the two men scooped the thick, sticky oatmeal with their hands, minding neither the slight burn nor extra flavour of the dirt and blood on their own skin. By the time they finished, Robbie had forgotten his last question entirely until Keithen answered it.
“I heard a couple English talking yesterday—their voices come down clearly through the shaft, just there.” He pointed at a corner of the ceiling, a black, empty rectangle amid the grey stone. “They said we’ll be marched to Carlisle, and wicked James himself, the king, travels there too. They’ll hang us all at once—for his entertainment.”
Robbie said nothing for a long while, his mind focused instead on whether he could find a way to die sooner rather than give the king his satisfaction. He could think of nothing short of refusing water or smashing his head against the stones, and he knew he wouldn’t do either. Although small in stature, he’d proven himself brave in battle when he was no more than fourteen, and he’d borne his wounds as well as any man. But courage has its limits, he thought, and the pain of drying to dust from the inside out or smashing my own skull is beyond mine.
At last he said, “Well, Keithen, some comfort. At least we’ll die among our own, and not alone.”
*
The distance from Hermitage to Carlisle measured a bit over thirty miles. The trip took three days, due to the need to move more than a hundred prisoners, most of them weak or lame. On the surface, the journey seemed a bit kinder than the forced march from Hawick. If a man fell and couldn’t rise to walk again, the guards tossed him onto the cart, rather than kill him or leave him to die, but that wasn’t compassion. They made no secret of their orders to bring as many as possible to Carlisle alive, for that castle’s lord meant to make a grand spectacle of the mass hanging.
Carlisle’s dungeon stank of offal and sweat accumulated through centuries of cruelty. When Robbie stumbled into the broad room with Keithen and a score of others, he first thought perhaps his sanity had fled, for some of the stone had a crimson colour that made him think of raw wounds, and all manner of eerie images had been carved by prisoners into the walls. The smell of damp made him think next of his thirst, but when he looked around, he saw no water barrel such as at Hermitage.
Then an old man—who looked much like Robbie imagined Death would appear—rose feebly and stumbled to a spot on the wall where water oozed from the stone, stuck out his swollen tongue, and licked away the droplets. Silence fell on the crowd of new arrivals as they watched the man, but a guard looking on from outside the iron bars of the door laughed.
“No need for you to lick the stones, Reivers, for the king is here, the gallows are ready, and the hangin’ is set for dawn.”
Robbie guessed dawn had arrived when he heard the rattle of keys moving cell to cell down the aisle. Many of the captive men began to pray, a few to weep, but this wasn’t the final call, not yet. When the door swung open to the room, six guards, heavily armed and armoured, entered the cell and lined the prisoners up against the long back wall, then four more guards entered with a soft, waxy-looking man cloaked in fur and wearing cloth of gold and royal purple.
“His Majesty!”
The shout came from a man alongside the foremost guard, rather a pretty fellow, Robbie thought. The prisoners all bowed after a few received blows, and Robbie didn’t see any point in doing otherwise, so he made the least bow he thought he could get away with. When he straightened he felt the king’s eyes burning into him, so he turned and met the man’s gaze. James but said nothing, only cocking his head to the side as if studying a rare bird.
Still, no one could have been more surprised than Robbie when the king addressed him. “Your name?”
“Robert Elliot.”
King James raised his eyes again, and one of the guards took a threatening step towards him, the butt of his sword raised, so Robbie added, “Your Majesty.”
A fleeting but cruel smile crossed the king’s lips. “Elliot? You are a Reiver, then?”
“Yes…Your Majesty. By birth.”
“Birth…” The king raised his right brow and turned his head slightly so it seemed he examined Robbie with that one large brown eye. His smile became a smirk. “You are young, though. Have you gone a-reiving?”
“I’m twenty-two years old come the new year, Majesty. And yes, I have ridden out with my clansmen.”
“Ah! But you have another trade?”
Keithen spoke up—quite bravely as he had not been addressed—“Your Majesty, Robbie is a bard, a piper, and has a sweet touch indeed on the strings of the harp.”
Robbie’s fingers twitched of their own accord at the mention of the instrument he so missed, but he said nothing. The king, too, stayed silent, and no one in that dungeon room moved—or even breathed, it seemed.
Finally, James nodded. “I see. I’ve a notion to hear you play, Robert Elliot.” He turned to his guards. “Take him. Feed him, clean him well, and bring him to me.”
The door clanged shut behind the king and his men, and all Robbie’s fellow prisoners moved away from him, crowding themselves in the far corner to give him berth. Some few cast him a pitying look, as if his fate to go before the king was worse than theirs, to hang. And Robbie felt inclined to agree. Keithen came to sit next to him on the straw pallet against the wall, and Robbie turned to him, angry.
“Why’d you tell him that, man? Why did you betray me?”
Keithen twisted his lips into something like a smile. The expression made him look mildly contrite, but he didn’t apologise. He whispered, “Robbie, are you forgetting that the first time you marched out to fight when you were fourteen, I took you under my wing and taught you to soldier? Do you not understand how thoroughly I know you?”
Robbie was afraid he knew what the older man was getting at. “Of course I remember, Keithen. If it hadn’t been for you, I’d have died in the very first clash. But say what you’re getting at, straight out.”
“Lad, you have a great gift with the harp and song. You’re not a Reiver true; your only crime against the king is your birth into the Elliot clan. You’re young, and you should have your life ahead. It’s not my words that are going to buy you a chance at it. I know how you are, Robbie, about men—not women. You don’t hide it well. The king, they say he’s like you in that. It’s your person, then, and perhaps your songs, that might spare you hanging. My words just gave him the excuse he needed to separate you out from the rest of us—who are certainly damned.”
Keithen shook his head and blew out an exasperated breath, then concluded, “Live if you can, Robbie. Live for all of us.”
*
Robbie had followed the guard sent to fetch him up to a small room one level up from the dungeon cell. He’d eaten the food he found on a rough table there, having no qualms about filling his belly at the Keeper of Carlisle’s expense. Not food from the nobles’ table, clearly, but solid fare—mutton stew and dark, heavy bread. Likely what the servants ate. He had both water and dark ale to drink, and by the time he pushed away his bowl, his belly felt packed fuller than it had in months. After the meal, two women came in—one young, one old, both coarse—bearing pitchers, lye soap, and thick cloths. Two men followed bearing a round oaken tub filled with water warm enough to steam.
“Sithee,” said the younger of the two women in the cadence of Highland speech. “If the king is no’ happy wi’ the job we do cleanin’ and dressin’ ye, he’ll be punishin’ us. Please, mon, strip and step into the tub!”
They scrubbed every inch of Robbie’s skin to the point he felt too raw to wear clothes, but he donned the shirt, breeks, and stockings they’d brought for him, and put the slippers on his feet. The clothes were of finer cloth than any he’d worn since he’d fled the king’s ‘pacification’ with his cousins a year ago to hide in the caves at Glenshee, the centuries-ago Elliot clan home in the Highlands. He spent only a single thought wishing he’d never come home. He had more immediate concerns. As he dressed, he argued with himself.
I could get used to a full belly and soft slippers.
Sure, and you know what you’ll have to do for it.
Perhaps James is looking for a good bard?
Don’t be daft, Robbie Elliot.
It doesn’t matter, really, does it? For I’ll no more sing for him than serve him in bed.
And so you’ll hang, then, Rob, after all.
“I will,” Robbie said aloud into the now empty chamber, and then sighed. “But I’ll hang with a full belly, and that’s something.”
*
The sun was about an hour past dawn when Robbie was taken up to the castle proper. It hurt his eyes, and it gave him a start; the hanging had been slated for dawn—why hadn’t he felt anything when so many kinsmen died?
But when he was marched into the king’s solar, he saw out the broad windows the gallows lined up on the greensward, each with a Borderer standing beside it with a guard—he wasn’t to miss the hanging after all. Something sharp twisted inside Robbie’s belly, and he clenched his teeth to keep tears from forming. He didn’t entirely understand his own reaction. He didn’t love most of these men. Many had been cruel to him because they knew him, knew what he was and who he was likely to lie with. But they were kin, even those of rival families, and if Borderers were rough and hard and sometimes lawless, they’d been pushed into it by the avarice of royalty, nobility, and church. “They’re only men,” he whispered, not thinking.
“Be silent,” one of James’s men said, then pushed Robbie forward in front of the king, knocking him to his knees.
“Robert Elliot,” James said. “You will watch this spectacle with us so that you can make a song of it. You’ll sing it at our celebration this night.”
Robbie wanted to refuse, but he couldn’t find breath. The king snapped his fingers and pointed to a corner, and the guard all but dragged him there, facing a tall window. Robbie looked outside. Directly across, Keithen was being led to the rope. Startled, he drew a sharp breath and turned his face away—and that was when he saw Melisandre, Lady Talwyn, the Witch of the Hermitage, standing a short distance away facing the gallows.
She chanted and drew her hands through the air in sweeping gestures, and when she finished on a last loud syllable, Robbie thought—just for a moment—that he saw a curtain of gold light drop over the windows. The witch turned to the king and bowed, though not deeply. “Your Majesty,” she said. “It’s done.”
“Good,” James said from his chair. “The last thing we need, in this world full of demons and dark things, is to suffer a barrage of curses from dying Borderers. You are certain none can penetrate the shield you have set?”
“Yes, sire.”
“Go then and collect your reward from Carlisle’s treasury. But know this, if you have tricked us, if any curse touches us this night or if we ever find out you borrow your magic from the Devil and not from the Holy Spirit as you claim, you will burn.”
As Melisandre left, she slid her eyes sideways to meet Robbie’s puzzled gaze for just a moment. As she passed, Robbie could have sworn that in his mind he heard her say, “Not a word, Robbie Elliot. You do not know me!” He knew it for a warning.
Robbie watched his kin hang, and by some gift of ancient gods, he didn’t flinch, neither looked away nor cried out. He watched, but not for the king. He stood witness for the Borderers whose lives were so brutally, so unjustly wasted that day. And while he did not envy them, he did think that his lot, to bear this knowledge and live, might be the worse fate.
When that was over, the king ordered him to take off his shirt. Robbie refused, and the king’s men ripped it off.
The king told Robbie to sing. He refused, and at a signal from James, a guard struck him open handed until he couldn’t stop a cry of pain.
The king asked, “Do you know why we brought you here, Robert Elliot?”
Robbie didn’t answer.
The king’s voice grew husky, and he shifted in his chair. “You seem extraordinary, compared to the worthless souls we hung today. Beautiful, in fact. If you will come to us willingly, Robbie. If you will perhaps sing and play for us, and grant our other wishes, you will live—perhaps a long life. Perhaps in luxury, with all your wants and needs fulfilled.”
The king waited, but Robbie gave no reply, so he spoke again, this time with a tone of anger. “What do you answer, Robert Elliot.”
“No,” Robbie said, and let his disgust and defiance show on his face. “No, Your Majesty. I’d rather die than lie with you, or even sing at your command.”
“Ah,” said James and sighed—a genuinely sad sound. “Well, then you shall.”
James Stuart clapped his hands, and the guards marched Robbie away.
Maryann Kafka –
The first time I read Lou Sylvre was 2011 “Loving Luki Vasquez” the first book in the “Vasquez and James” series. In 2012 I read my first Anne Barwell book “Shadow Boxing” from the “Echoes Rising” series. I continued on reading both these authors and recently they collaborated with “Sunset at Pencarrow” a sweet, romantic tale and very entertaining. With “The Harp and The Sea” Sylvre and Barwell are becoming an outstanding writing team. I was so impressed with the research of the 16th and 17th century history and mythology of Scotland’s events, places and clans that created this superb novel.
“Sometimes stories exist because some part of them used to be true.”
Robert “Robbie” Elliott was a Reiver, not a very good one, but very talented at playing the harp. Unfortunately, he’s captured during the battle of Border Marches in 1605. He’s up against many dangerous situations; with the Border Marches, King James, dungeon and death. While watching the death of many, men that he didn’t know and some he did, he spies Melisandre, Witch of Hermitage. Robbie has no idea what he’s up against when Melisandre saves his life.
In the year 1744, Ian MacDonald the husky, kilt wearing, Highlander had put himself in a few situations that are looked down upon. His Laird and Uncle Alistair loves his nephew like a son but to help Ian he has a plan. Although, it leaves Ian feeling banished, he goes with the plan and is off to live a lonely life on the Isle of Skye. He does so with a dangerous assignment and that’s to protect the treasure for a Prince.
When Ian eventually saves Robbie and the harp, they find themselves on a dangerous and amazing quest to protect the treasure and to gain freedom and love for themselves.
I don’t often say “I loved the characters” but Ian and Robbie were wonderful. Even though Ian is leery of Robbie he still accepts him magic and all. The romance the authors create for Ian and Robbie couldn’t be more perfect. Not only did the authors create a story with two lovable characters but they transport the reader back to 16th and 17th century Scotland.
When I got to 60% of “The Harp & The Sea” I couldn’t read any further. Sylvre & Barwell made this novel so enticing I went in search of the Scottish clans: Elliott, MacDonald, MacQuarrie, Campbell, MacLeod, with their crests and tartans. Places and events: Duntulm Castle, An Uaimh Bhinn, Manannan mac Lir, Carlisle Castle, Border Marches battle and Jacobite rising of 1745. I went so far as finding a map to locate all the Isle’s: Skye, Staffa, Rum, Man and so many more fascinating things to read about.
I highly recommend this amazing, page-turning tale of: fact, fiction, fantasy, magic, romance, suspense, adventure and action. “The Harp and The Sea” was not what I expected and I thank Lou Sylvre and Anne Barwell for surprising me and keeping me thoroughly entertained!
Elaine White –
** I WAS GIVEN THIS BOOK FOR MY READING PLEASURE **
Copy received through Netgalley
Reviewed for Divine Magazine
~
The Harp and the Sea (Magic in the Isles, Book 1)
by Lou Sylvre and Anne Barwell
★★★★☆
308 Pages
POV: 3rd person, dual POV
Genre: LGBT, Historical, Jacobite, Fantasy, Magic/Curse, Action
Content Warning: graphic violence and battle scenes, implied off-page assault
The Harp and the Sea is the first intriguing novel in the Magic in the Isles series. Full of mystery, action, romance and adventure, it has everything you could hope for in a historical novel. Historical accuracy, with a touch of fantasy, and characters you fall in love with instantly, allow you to delve headlong into this long-ago period of Scottish History that touched this Scottish lassie’s heart.
CHARACTERS
From page one, Robbie was a young, sweet lad of the Borders, caught up in political turmoil, jostling between two rulers and trying desperately to find a way to live while being true to his heritage.
Then Ian came along – a Highlander, and a Jacobite rebel – as a big, strapping lad who had a vital task to complete for his uncle and his country.
PLOT
The minute I read the blurb for this book, I had to have it. I’m Scottish to my bones and proud of it, and I love reading well-written accounts of my heritage. And that’s exactly what this was. Unlike some books I’ve read (and loathed for their mistakes!) this one is so steeped in historical accuracy and attention to detail that I got lost in a world that is both mine and so long ago in my history that it’s almost forgotten.
Reading these characters, visiting the isles of Scotland, and taking this journey with Robbie and Ian felt like a homecoming from long ago. The accents were on point. Not your stereotypical “och, th’ noo” but true Scots, and appropriate for the characters origins, e.g. Ian’s accent being more brogue and thick than Robbie’s, as they’re from two different ends of the country. The recognition that not every Scot knows Gaelic, the old songs, the tartan/plaid, the clans and the deep love we have for our heritage and our fierce fight for independence that goes back to our very roots in the dirt of this land, is everything I could have hoped for and more.
Yet, the authors didn’t shy away from the unfortunate truth of this country’s past, either. The fact that so many of our hard-won battles and bloody efforts were ruined by political divide, that we fought more amongst ourselves than with outsiders, and that most of our efforts to save this country from infiltration were sabotages from inside our own walls. They did a great job of capturing the clan squabbles, the internal conflict, and the constant threat of outside forces.
The fact the story included fantasy elements – magic and a curse – only made it better. King James was obsessed with the occult, so it made complete sense that he would have a witch on hand to protect him. It made sense that witch would sense another with magical ability and try to protect him. It made sense that, (though I didn’t buy the reason for it), she would curse someone who had wronged her.
Historical issues covered:
The Scottish Border Marches
Bonnie Prince Charlie
Jacobite Rebellion
ISSUES
There are quite a few inconsistencies within the story. As this is an ARC, I’m not counting these towards my rating, because I honestly feel that they’re little niggly things that will be picked up in final edits. For instances:
Ian draws his dirk, yet a few pages before (without having moved location) he reaches for it and realises he left it behind.
It states “for more than two centuries” despite only 139/140 years passing between Robbie being cursed and appearing in Ian’s timeline.
In centuries – again, implies more than one.
An entire sentence is repeated in Chapter 11
The claim the jewels hidden in Ian’s sporran “weigh a hell of a bloody lot” when carried in Robbie’s breeks (trousers). However, anything that can fit in a sporran – which the authors admit later is only the size of two fists – can’t possible weigh enough for Ian to struggle carrying Robbie. It’s not physically possible.
It’s claimed late in the story that Robbie was cursed on the Firth of Forth, but it was actually the river Eden. The river Eden is actually part of the Solway Forth, not the Firth of Forth, so this is a geographical issue. (The Firth of Forth is on the East, and the river Eden on the West)
because the size of harp is never specified – the size of a forearm, the size of a man, etc – it’s really hard to picture it being lugged about by Robbie like a small backpack. It’s either on his back, or tucked under his arm.
There are three big issues, that meant I couldn’t give this novel the 5* it truly deserves. Part of me was desperate to find a way to make it happen, but I can’t ignore the plotting issues that got in the way.
Issue 1: the Parts of the novel
The plot is divided into 2 parts.
For me, the Part 1 and 2 aspect would have made more sense if it divided the two separate timelines, e.g. Robbie’s initial life in 1605, and Ian’s appearance in 1744. But, in this case, we get Robbie’s 1605 life until 8%, then it switches to Ian’s POV in 1744, and we continue to get Ian’s POV for another 8%.
There were huge timeline/plot aspects that could have better utilised a Part divide.
The fact the book never encounters another Part divide after Part 2 also makes it feel obsolete.
Because of this odd Part divide, the timeline faces issues. For example, Chapter 1 begins the story in 1605, Chapter 3 jumps ahead to 1744, Chapter 4 jumps to 1745, and then Chapter 5 (the beginning of Part 2) jumps to a few months ahead. Because of the huge timeline jump – 139 years – it would have made more sense for Part 2 to begin with Ian’s POV in 1744, the year the rest of the novel takes place.
Issue 2: the curse
The blurb is misleading. It states: “He has seven chances to come alive, come ashore, and find true love. For over a century, Robbie’s been lost to that magic; six times love has failed.”
Now: 1) nowhere in the story are we told he has 7 chances to come ashore again. 2) nowhere it is mentioned that “six times love has failed”. In fact, the story mentions Ian is the first man to EVER find the harp: “For the first time in so many that he’d lost count, a man had found harp.” Which means Robbie couldn’t have failed to find love before, because there was never a man for him to fall in love with, until now.
The idea of 7 chances and 6 failed loves is never mentioned IN the story. Only in the blurb. In the story, Robbie can’t remember how many times he’s come ashore, but he was always found by woman, and the novel makes no implication Robbie bisexual, so there is no mention, explicit or implied, that he’s ever had the opportunity to fall in love. Perhaps if Robbie had been bisexual, or had been found my men before, I might believe the fact he’s had chances to fall in love but never been able to break the curse.
However, due to the lack of consistency between the blurb and the story, there is no sense of why *this* chance is so vital, until Robbie tells Ian this is his last life.
Issue 3: Melisandre
The Melisandre/Fargy aspect was rushed, slowed the pace of the story, and didn’t add much we needed to see. I understand we needed to be introduced to the curse, why it was given, and that Robbie had his own magic, but the pages it took to get there felt laborious.
Fargy, as a character, didn’t make any sense to the story. He was used as a tool to spare Robbie’s life, making the curse necessary, but there were other (better) ways to do this. In fact, I think the story would have been stronger if the whole King James seduction had been ignored, Fargy removed, and those pages used to give more weight to Melisandre’s anger at Robbie. Something more substantial would have been more believable. It’s hard to imagine a woman as wily and clever as her teaching Robbie magic, knowing she’d have to kill him if he refused her. This ruthless, cunning woman cursed him for such a lame reason. If her curse was possible, why didn’t she just make him forget the magic she’d taught him and make Fargy forget Robbie existed?
The fact Robbie went from a feisty, strong young warrior who was willing to die for his cause, defying a King and a witch, to becoming her puppet with blind obedience didn’t sit well with me, either. Nor did it come across clearly that it was her magic making him behave that way. I loved Robbie until that part, and then he became a bit of a simpering stereotypical female lead.
I would have liked a lot more internal struggle from him, something to show that he knew he was acting out of character, but that he was unable to fight it, rather than the blatant submission and acceptance of his situation than ran throughout.
OVERALL
The Harp and the Sea took me home to my deepest Scottish roots, and reminded me equally of why I love my country so much, and how deeply we betrayed ourselves in the past. Filled to the rafters with a roaring adventure, magic, mystery, mayhem and forbidden love, it has everything you could want in a historical novel. Clans clash, a harp plays, and the sea drives two man together as often as it tries to tear them apart.
In the end, while there were inconsistencies, and some issues with the plot, I fell in love with Robbie and Ian. Their love, their adventure, and their fight for freedom, victory and the welcome of the Bonnie Prince, grabbed me and refused to let go. The book is a monster, divided between Robbie – searching for a cure to his curse, and lost in the passivitiy of its sway – and Ian – hankering for victory, but willing to put his life on the line for the man he loves.
It has bags of potential to be a re-read, permanent favourite, and I can’t wait to read more in the series. I’m looking forward to getting this one in paperback, and seeing what else these two authors bring to the series.
~
Favourite Quotes
Keithen shook his head and blew out an exasperated breath, then concluded, “Live if you can, Robbie. Live for all of us.”
“Whatever fear ye found in your dreams, it’ll nae have ye whilst I hold ye.”
“I do love ye, Robbie. Know that, and take it with ye into your dreams.”