A love forged in fire lives on through the ages.
She stared at the man again. Was he real? Her mind returned to the ghostly figure by the shore and to her strange dream. No, he was not a figment of her imagination.
Skye Logan has been struggling to run her remote farm on Scotland’s west coast alone ever since her marriage fell apart. When a handsome stranger turns up looking for work, it seems that her wish for help has been granted.
Rafe Carlisle is searching for peace and somewhere he can forget about the last few years. But echoes of the distant past won’t leave Skye and Rafe alone, and they begin to experience vivid dreams which appear to be linked to the Viking jewellery they each wear.
It seems that the ghosts of the past have secrets . . . and they have something that they want Skye and Rafe to know.
Christina has shared an extract with us today. Enjoy!
*****beginning of extract*****
Skye Logan gripped her mug of tea tightly with both hands, trying to draw the warmth into her very bones, but it wasn’t working. She stared out towards the island of Jura, which could be glimpsed in the distance across the sea, a beautiful sight she’d never tire of looking at. The water between there and the mainland was calm today, below a layer of morning mist that also swathed most of the island. It crept up towards the cottage, its soft swirls stirring restlessly on an unseen breeze. Indoors, here in her cosy kitchen, she was safe and warm, but the chill was lodged deep inside her and not even the wood-burning Rayburn could thaw her out. She was starting to wonder if anything ever would.
It was barely light, but she’d been unable to sleep. She had always been an early riser, yet waking up pre-dawn was taking things a step too far. No point tossing and turning, though, not when she had so many chores always waiting for her attention. If she could just force down a bowl of porridge, she could get a head start.
She was about to turn away from the window when something caught her eye. A shadow came gliding into the little bay that belonged to her property, a rowing boat of some sort, although she couldn’t quite make it out. A shiver of unease slithered down her spine, making the hairs at the back of her neck stand on end.
‘Who on earth . . . ?’by
Novel Kicks is a blog for story tellers and book lovers.