Enchantment of a Highlander
Editions:Paperback: $ 14.99 USD
ISBN: 9781626819221
Size: 5.00 x 8.00 in
Pages: 290
ePub: $ 4.99 USD
ISBN: 9781626819214

The sweeping historical romance that began with Deception of a Highlander, and continued with Possession of a Highlander, reaches its dazzling conclusion in this scorcher set on the Scottish plains.

Alec MacLean returns home after a decade to find his recently deceased father has let his inheritance fall to ruin. As the new laird, it's Alec's responsibility to rebuild the castle and restore the lands. He must also regain the people's trust after having abandoned them so long ago, a feat not easily done when he fears he's plagued with the same darkness as his father.
Celia escaped the North Berwick witch trials at a young age, surviving because of the sacrifice of her beloved caretaker. She's made a life for herself in the wilds of Scotland where no laird rules, a life where she heals for coin, a life without love so she can never feel the hurt of loss again.
When the new laird comes back to claim his land, his determination to restore order threatens everything Celia has worked so hard to gain, especially with the undeniable attraction sizzling between them. Together, they will face all challenges, from the tangle of their own damaged pasts to the fire-fueled witch hunts sweeping the Isle of Mull. Together, they will find that the best way to overcome darkness and war is through the undeniable light of love.


Chapter One

Isle of Mull, Scotland, August 1608

If he was to die, Alec MacLean would take a couple of thieves with him.

The sharp scent of pine mingled with the thick odor of blood. His blood.

He edged back against the jagged rock wall and lifted his sword to the six advancing men. Blood flowed freely from the wound at his chest. The bastard had sliced him somewhere below the collarbone. His right arm was weakening.

At least the boy had gone ahead to the village and couldn't do anything stupid to get himself killed. With any luck, the woman Alec had rescued was there by now as well.

The largest man of the group lunged forward, but this time Alec was faster. He crouched low, gripped the sword between both hands, and thrust, using the power of his left arm to compensate for the weakness of his right. The black polished steel slid deep into the man's gut, a lethal wound.



Alec jerked his blade free. If he hadn't been so travel-weary, the fight would have been over minutes ago.

But Alec was not the kind of man who surrendered. Not while outlaws roamed the woods, not while innocents were subjected to their abuse, not while he was the new laird.

A charge of energy spiked through him. He would fight this battle and he would win. For his people.

The ones he'd abandoned so long ago.

The force of his resolve roared from his throat in a battle cry. His muscles swelled with crazed determination.

The semicircle of men stopped their advance and their blades dipped. Alec held his at the ready.

But they were not looking at Alec.

Their gazes crept up the rock wall behind him.

"Bana-bhuidseach," one of them murmured.


The men's eyes went wild and they scrambled back with their wounded man clutched between them. A gust swept around Alec so viciously it sent his kilt slapping against his knees and thighs.

Alec jerked around and looked up, but found only the rock wall and gray sky.

"Are you as foolish as those men?" A voice came through to him, soft, feminine, and impossible to locate with all the damn wind. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.

His heart slapped against his ribs.

A witch? On his father's lands—on his lands?


His gaze combed the forest in long sweeps. Naught was there but the trees bowing their limbs to the wind and the grass bending to its wrath.

"Who's there?" The words came out strong and gruff.

The other men had been afraid.

He would show no fear.

He licked his lips. "Reveal yerself."

"Perhaps you are foolish, then." The voice was behind him now.

He spun around, and his body pumped with a fight he resisted.

A tall, willowy woman stood before him with her hands clasped at her narrow waist, serene and eerily beautiful. Her long, silver-blonde hair blew loose behind her, like a cape rippling in the wind. That same wind flattened her pale blue dress to her body, hugging the curve of her breasts and the roundness of her hips.

He stared at her, fascinated. This was the witch? This was what had caused the men to run?

She stepped—nay, glided—toward him, and he had to stand firm to keep from staggering backward.

"Do you need so much comfort from your sword?" She nodded toward his blade. "Surely a strong man like you isn't afraid of one unarmed woman."

He grunted and slid the blade into the scabbard between his shoulder blades. Pain burned across his chest and a fresh stream of warmth ran down his torso.

Her careful, calculating gaze lowered to his chest, to his wound.

He wanted to stand there, to stare longer, to see if she was real.

Perhaps she was a nymph come to tempt him from his path.

She beckoned him with a gentle curl of her finger. "Follow me."

Perhaps she was an angel and he was dead.

"Come with me and I will heal your wound."

He flexed his shoulders out in a motion he'd used before to intimidate men on the battlefield. "It isna more than a nick."

Her brow lifted. She reached out one long, delicate finger toward him and hooked the hole in his blood-soaked leine. His flesh was torn beneath, the muscle glistening red and exposed.

"Aye." She peered into his shirt. "A nick." She released his clothes and her hand fell away like a sigh. "Do what you want, but be warned—if you try to walk home, you will lose strength."

Alec forced himself not to take a step back. "Do ye curse me?"

She rolled her eyes. "You've already lost a considerable amount of blood. If you don't have enough in your body, you will die." Her words were slow and measured, as if she were speaking to an errant child.

"Why do ye aid me, witch?" He watched her carefully, marking the way the wind ripped against the trees, yet did little more than brush the length of her hair.

Her pointed chin jutted up and her eyes sparked. "I'm a healer, not a witch."

Alec kept his gaze fixed on her willowy frame and bent to retrieve the pack he'd thrown at the onset of battle. The forest pulsed hot white and spun.

Perhaps the wound was more than a nick after all.

He hefted the thick leather strap to his good side, but the torn skin on his chest still wrenched against its weight. A low grunt slipped from his throat.

She did not move to aid him with his bag, and for that he was grateful.

He didn't want the woman's pity.

"The villager you saved was with child," she said. "That was kind of you, to offer her your protection."

"How do ye know I saved a villager?" he asked.

She turned and glided away. The wind caressed her pale hair, sweeping it aside to blow like a tendril of linen caught in a breeze. Her waist was so narrow he could probably span it with his hands.

"Are you coming or not?" Irritation laced her tone. "I won't drag you."

Alec stumbled after her then, focusing on keeping his footing sure in a world where everything had begun to tip and rock. Certainly he was in no position to refuse her offer.

Even if she very well might be a witch.


Celia closed the door of her cottage against the push of wind. A stark quiet filled the room.

Gray light filtered in from the open shutters and highlighted the warrior's massive form. She studied him now in the privacy of her own home. His hair was black as peat and pulled into a braid long enough to graze the sheath he wore between his shoulder blades. Blood stained his shirt, a violent splash of color against otherwise muted tones.

Even with the wound, the man stood upright, his broad shoulders pulled back with the pride of someone who never bowed.

His eyes were pale blue, the color of a cloudless sky on a cold winter day, and his unwavering stare left her skin tight with awareness.

She pointed to a chair by the hearth. "Go sit by the fire."

His pack fell to the floor with a thunk that rattled the shutters.

She pulled open the plain wooden box of thread. Her back faced him, but she kept her ears strained for any sounds of his approach.

Bringing the injured man to her home by invitation was imprudent. She knew nothing of the stranger aside from the assistance he had offered Bessie when the woman was attacked.

He'd angled himself between the outlaws and Bessie so the young woman could escape. Only then had he backed against the rock wall to keep from being surrounded. Surely his valor spoke something of his morals.

The chair by the fire gave an aged groan. She dug a needle from another box and glanced over her shoulder. He watched her still with those cool blue eyes.

Rescuer of women he might be, but she would be keeping her dagger at her waist.

"Where was the woman's husband?" His voice was strong, commanding. The kind men obeyed without question.

But Celia wasn't a man.

She took her time pulling a bundle of thyme from the rafters. His gaze drifted to her naked ankles.

"Dead." She readjusted the hem of her dress with a snap.

She didn't typically know much about the people who sought her aid, and preferred to keep it that way. But Bessie had always taken Celia's silence as an invitation to chatter nonstop.

It had been impossible not to listen.

The stranger's gaze slid up to her face. "Where's yer husband?"

His inquiry was more than most men asked.

Fortunately, the rumor of her being a witch kept the men fearfully at bay. Ironic that the dangerous slur shrouding her life was the very thing protecting her.

Such had not always been the case.

"You should take off your leine so I can see your wound," she said. She shifted her gaze to the dried thyme in her hand to keep from watching him undress.

The dusky green leaves crackled against her palm and released a smooth, clean scent.

"Do ye always ignore questions or is it just me?" His sheath clattered to the ground followed by the slick peel of wet fabric sliding off skin.

"Do you always ask so many questions?" She dragged the extra chair toward the fire and sat upon its hard surface. "Or is it just me?"

The water had begun to boil, bubbling low in the pot, yet she did not pull it from the flames.

Her gaze fell on his bare torso and any comment she might have made died in her throat. She'd seen men without their shirts before—in fact, she'd seen men naked. Some were fleshy with inactivity or age and some were hard and sculpted like the one in front of her.

But never had she seen one with so many signs of past hurt.

"It's just ye."

She lifted her eyes and found him staring at her again. "What?"

He didn't reek of stale sweat and sour cloth as some of the other warriors she'd tended had. She drew in a long, discreet breath through her nostrils. No, he smelled like sun-warmed grass and leather.

"Ye're intriguing." His eyes searched hers.

She looked away, focusing instead on carefully removing the pot from the flames.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"Alec MacLean."

She knew that name. What resident on the Isle of Mull did not? Alec MacLean was the name of the laird who had recently died. Finally died. But not before destroying the land and breaking his people.

And this warrior bore his name.

"Our former laird had that very name, the one who just died."

He made a noncommittal sound.

"He was not well liked." Celia stated baldly.

"I've heard something of that."

"He ran this land into ruin and let its people starve."

The skin around his eyes tightened. "I've heard that too."

"Are you…?"

"Aye." A muscle flicked in his jaw. "I'm his son and I've returned home to claim my inheritance."

Reviews:Publishers Weekly wrote:

Romantic tension is an ever-present force as Celia is determined to avoid any romantic entanglements with Alec for fear of being hurt, and Alec is just as determined to have her in his life. This tension, coupled with the mysterious witch hunts, is the driving force behind this enchanting series conclusion.

RT Book Reviews wrote:

The third book in Martin’s Highlander series is filled with interesting characters and is an enjoyable read.

Kilts and Swords Blog wrote:

Madeline Martin is highly skilled at crafting characters that seep off the page with their emotions and words.

Possession of a Highlander
Editions:Paperback: $ 14.99 USD
ISBN: 9781626817098
Size: 5.00 x 8.00 in
Pages: 290
ePub: $ 4.99 USD
ISBN: 9781626817081

Love can be the greatest possession.

Brianna Lindsay's grip on the inheritance that is rightly hers hangs by a thread. If the town finds out her father has died, Brianna will be forced into marriage with her loathsome cousin, Lord Robert, and will lose all of Edzell Castle and its lands. To protect her home, she'll have to trust a complete stranger, a brooding Highland barbarian who sweeps into Edzell with a small retinue and insists on replacing her Captain of the Guard. He proves his worth by defeating her men and she has no choice but to accept his offer.
Though his motives are suspect, Colin MacKinnon has nobility in his blood and good intentions in coming to Edzell. He seeks his own kingdom, one to rival his father's, and sets out to conquer Brianna in the best way he knows how-with seduction.
Brianna never thought of all the wealth she protects, the one thing she has left completely vulnerable is her heart. Colin never thought that of everything he stands to achieve, he might have to face the unexpected pain of loss. Together, they must navigate a treacherous world of spies and intrigue, of legacy and fidelity, of love and betrayal, to find what is truly worth possessing.

Publisher: Diversion Books
Reviews:Publishers Weekly wrote:

Martin’s second 17th-century Highland novel sizzles as a Scottish Highlander meets his match with a lady of the Lowlands…Readers will greatly admire Martin’s ability to capture their attention with the combined allure of romance and the swift-moving elements of suspense.

Celtic Barb's Blog wrote:

Possession of Highland is another page turner with lots of plots within plots with so many curves and turns was simply a joy to read!

Goodreads Review by a reader wrote:

This is the second book by Madeline Martin. I had a hard time putting this book down...I smiled and cried while reading this book and look forward to Ms. Martin's next.

Kilts and Swords Book Review Blog wrote:

There is a lot of conflict in this story...This is where Madeline Martin demonstrates her brilliance as an author.  The conflicts never felt overwhelming to the reader, they were so tightly woven into the love story that it was natural.

Deception of a Highlander
Editions:Paperback: $ 14.99 USD
ISBN: 9781626816312
Size: 5.00 x 8.00 in
Pages: 292
ePub: $ 4.99 USD
ISBN: 9781626816312

Scottish Romance doesn't get much steamier—or more dangerous—than a spy hunting her quarry, and losing her heart to him instead.

To pay a seemingly impossible debt, Mariel Brandon has become a spy for Aaron, one of England's deadliest minds. Aaron's latest mission for the sharp-witted and daring Mariel is to find two people in a heavily fortified castle on the Isle of Skye, a castle headed by the clan MacDonald and the powerful Kieran. Mariel is to seduce Kieran and get him to take her to Skye. If she succeeds, Aaron promises to let Mariel's young brother go, and to free both of them from their debt.  If she fails, her brother will die.

What she doesn't count on is craving Kieran MacDonald almost immediately upon meeting him. Now Mariel must keep a secret from Kieran-one that could get them both killed-as she tries to form a plan that will save her brother, get her out from under Aaron's thumb once and for all, and keep her in Kieran's strong arms forever.


Chapter One

London, January 1604

The drug had taken effect. Mariel Brandon caught the young earl as he slumped forward in a state of unnatural relaxation and eased him back against the lush velvet settee. A familiar ache tightened in her chest.

Aaron was wrong. She would never grow used to this.

The earl's silk doublet was cool beneath her fingertips and far superior to the fraying skirts she wore.

She averted her gaze, unable to bear the weight of her own shame. He was younger than she had initially presumed. Not any more a man than she was a woman.

His face would haunt her dreams. As the ones before him already did.


Like all the others, he had fallen prey to her flirtation and allowed himself to be pulled into the private, sumptuous room in the bowels of Hampton Court Palace. The information he'd been entrusted with fell from his lips with a few kisses and a bared shoulder. The laudanum laced wine kept her from having to make good on false promises.

A lock of dark hair fell across his forehead. It was a reminder of why she did all this, of why she endured her lost morality, of why she let part of herself die when she coaxed men's secrets. And every time, she slid deeper into the shadows of sin.

Jack. Sweet, innocent Jack with laughing blue eyes and silky black hair. He was but a pawn in the cruel game Aaron played. They all were.

How many more men would she be forced to betray until her brother would be released? Until the threat on his life would dissipate and she could be free from this hell?

She reached without thinking and brushed the black curl from the earl's brow. Forgive me.

"Are you growing sentimental?" The voice laced with sarcasm sounded from the shadows behind her.

The heavy odor of Aaron's perfume filled her nostrils and the familiar wave of nausea rolled her stomach. Mariel fought the flare of emotion that rose within her. The fear for what his presence represented and the hatred for what he had done. The helplessness he confined her to.

"Don't be silly." She let her hand fall to her side. "He's just a boy."

Aaron emerged from the dark corner of the room as she turned to face him. His breeches and jacket were midnight blue velvet, far more subtle than his usual attire.

She gave him a coy smile and sauntered in his direction, playing the game that had been forced upon her. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" Revulsion threatened her composure as she pressed her lips to his dry powdered cheek.

"I wanted to watch you work. I have to say, I'm most impressed." He glanced to where the earl snored softly behind her. "How long will he be like that?"

"He will not wake until morning. And with a wicked headache, poor man."

Aaron regarded her with obvious suspicion. "So long as he can never recognize you."

Mariel pulled the heavy blond wig from her hairline, revealing her black tresses beneath. The cool air was heavenly against her scalp. "He leaves tomorrow."

"And you never leave the house. I swear you are becoming a recluse, poppet. If you killed these men, you could be shopping and dancing like the rest of the girls."

"You know what I want." Keeping the malice from her voice was becoming more difficult as time went on.

"Yes, yes—your brother." He rolled his eyes heavenward.

"He is not yet ten," she added with great patience. "I haven't been allowed to see him, and no one gives me word of his welfare. Have you given him my letters?" She pursed her lips to stop her desperate words. Aaron would only use them against her.

A slow smile curved his thin lips upward and raised the hairs on the back of Mariel's neck.

"You will be most delighted with my news. I have one final job for you. The benefactor paid enough to cover the remainder of the fees you and your brother have accrued."

Despite her wariness, her pulse raced at the prospect of their freedom. Never before had she been offered the hope of immediate release. Mariel waited for him to continue, but a thick silence settled between them. No doubt intentional.

Aaron ran his gloved finger over the glossy top of a marble table beside him. "There's a Scottish barbarian at court presently. You need to compel him with your…" His gaze slid down her body. "…talents." He rubbed his fingertips together with a look of disinterest. "You must discover the location of two people: Blair and Dougal Hampton. If you can't do this, you must kill him."

"I don't kill," Mariel reminded him gently.

"And I am not refused." The threat glinted like ice in Aaron's pale blue eyes. "Do you really think I would fund your training if I only needed you to lure men to private rooms and slip them a sleeping draught?"

Heat touched her cheeks and she hated that he would see her discomfort, that he would know she had been so naïve.

Under his insistence, she had been educated in foreign languages and customs. With honeyed lies served on a silver tongue, he had prompted her to learn the art of weaponry along with the ability to defend and kill using only her hands, skills taught by Aaron's famed Chinaman. For her protection should something go awry, he had said. And like a fool, she had believed him.

His bark of laughter rang out sharp in the heavy silence of the room. "For one so intelligent, you can be so foolish, poppet." He shook his head. "Any whore can garner secrets, but you…" He drew a deep breath and his eyes widened, "…you are something special."

His face eased into a wide smile that revealed one crooked bottom tooth. "Besides, you need not kill him. You are given three months to obtain the information you need. After what I witnessed tonight, I doubt you will need even half that."

"Why so much time?" Her cheeks flared with heat. Asking questions would only prolong the inevitable.

He gave a derisive snort. "Those Scottish beasts are always wary of strangers. I've held the manor for years and still the ghastly creatures don't trust me enough to do my bidding without question. Do you have any idea how much it costs to staff a household with English servants so far from home?" A sound of annoyance rolled from the back of his throat. "Even you might need the full three months to gain his trust. You'll need to travel to Scotland with him as I can assure you he won't stay in London long. You've perfected your Gaelic, I assume?"

Before she could answer, Aaron waved his hand dismissively. "Of course you have."

"What is the barbarian's name?" The crude question sat bitter on her tongue, but she knew to reference the Scotsman otherwise would give Aaron cause to question her sympathies.

"His name is Kieran MacDonald. You need to seek him out tonight." He glanced around the room. "Jane is with you, correct?"

Mariel bit back a grimace. Jane had been sent to act as her lady's maid. For appearance's sake, or so Aaron had claimed. But Mariel knew the truth. He wanted her watched at all times, especially after she had discovered where they were keeping Jack. He'd since been moved, and Jane had become her permanent shadow. As much as Mariel hated it, she knew Jane hated it more and considered the task beneath her.

"She is outside the door. While she may follow me at your bidding, I work alone." She lifted her chin, her heart racing with the boldness of her challenge.

He studied her carefully for a moment. "Very well, but she will travel with you to Scotland. That is not up for debate."

"Of course, I wouldn't suggest otherwise."

His bony knuckle rested beneath her chin and tilted her face up toward his. "Heaven help the man when he looks into your violet eyes and falls prey to the words whispered from your sweet lips."

She met his gaze and silently willed the impossible. "Let me see Jack before I go. Just once."

Aaron dropped his hand and sighed with impatience. "You are wasting time. Go find the savage and secure a place for you and Jane in his party as they travel back to Scotland. I don't care who you have to kill or seduce to get there."

Her heart sank low into her belly. Of course she wouldn't be able to see Jack. That she should have known better did little to ease the burn of disappointment.

"I'll make sure to give your regards to your brother when I see him next." The edge of warning in Aaron's tone was unmistakable.

*    *    *

Mariel's gaze swept over the crowded room once more, but to no avail. Several Highlanders stood out in King James's new court, but not one in particular looked approachable to question about Kieran MacDonald. Concentrating on the task at hand was impossible with the heat of so many bodies in one small area. The air was thick with heavy perfumes and left little room for breathing. White spots dotted her vision and a cold sweat broke out along her brow. She needed to get outside, to breathe fresh air. Fainting would call far too much attention.

She threw open the heavy glass door and found herself submerged in the quiet dark of night. All traces of the party were shut out as the door snapped closed behind her. The late winter air nipped her heated cheeks and turned her breath to white fog. Shadows stretched over the garden below and shrouded various shaped hedges.

Did Aaron lurk in the darkness?

A shiver slid down Mariel's spine as she imagined his eyes trained on her. Would she ever live a life where she was not constantly watched?

Doubtless Jane stood just inside the door—waiting, spying…

Jack would be free once she betrayed Kieran MacDonald…or killed him. Doubt niggled her conscience. Could Aaron be trusted? Would he really free them when this was done? She drew a deep breath of the frigid air in an effort to steady herself. Women had been released from his clutches before; she'd seen it with her own eyes. Besides, what choice did she have? He had Jack, and if this was her only opportunity, she had to take that chance at freedom.

Aaron had been correct in his reason for the length of time she had been granted. The Scottish did not take well to strangers, especially English strangers.

Winning a Highlander's trust was a most impossible feat, and if she managed it, her betrayal would be all the more painful. No longer would her victim be someone she knew only several hours.

A hard knot balled in her throat. Completing this task would tear away the final vestiges of her morality.

To kill a man…She gripped the coiled iron railing and let the metal bite into her damp palms. No, the option was hers and she refused to kill. The truth would be found, no matter what the cost to her conscience.

Who were these people being sought? Blair and Dougal Hampton. Obviously brothers or perhaps father and son. Most likely political refugees. Whoever they were, they had caught the attention of the wrong people.

"If ye squeeze that bar any harder, ye may snap it from the wall." A man's voice sounded behind her, startling her from her reverie.

"What?" she gasped and spun around to face him. She had not heard the door open.

Dark brown hair grew past the stranger's shoulders, and he stood a head taller than any man she'd seen in London. His eyes were black against the darkness of night as he studied her. "Why do ye cry?"

Had she been crying? She touched her cheek and met the cold wetness of her tears.

The hard lines of his face softened as he regarded her with a tenderness that made her long for the ability to speak candidly to him, to be comforted by him. But she was no ordinary woman with ordinary fears that were able to be soothed.

She dragged her gaze from the warmth of his stare, severing the delicate connection between them and kept her silence.

"Will ye tell me yer name?" He moved closer, and a subtle breeze carried the light masculine spice of his scent toward her. She breathed deep before she realized what she was doing.

"Mariel Brandon." Her response came automatic and without thought. Her heart slammed erratically within her chest. She had given her real name. For the last two years she had maintained an alias, her own name nothing more than a memory. Yet here, in the face of a foreign stranger, she had announced her true name without hesitation.

"Mariel," he repeated in his hypnotic burr. The corners of his lips tugged up in a ghost of a smile.

Something about him gave her a reassuring sense of comfort and made him feel somehow trustworthy. Doubtless he could help her find Kieran MacDonald. She drew a slow breath around the sudden tightness in her chest. Like so many before him, she would have to use this kind man to her benefit. And she hated herself for it.

"Perhaps you might help me." She stared up at him, keeping her gaze innocent.

The golden glow of the lights from inside the palace spilled onto the balcony and highlighted his strong features. His jaw was hard, too sharp for his sensual mouth, and his nose appeared bent as if it had been broken before. He wore a kilt belted around his waist and a simple jacket over his plain white leine, the garb of a Highlander.

His eyes searched hers; his thoughts were impossible to discern from his impassive expression. "What is it ye need?"

"I'm looking for Kieran MacDonald." It was a direct approach, but Highlanders were a direct sort of people.

His face did not reflect any kind of recognition. "Why do ye seek him?"

"I heard he returns soon to Scotland and hoped to secure passage with his party." She glanced down, unable to meet his gaze. "I cannot stay in London any longer, and I have nowhere else to go."

"I hate to add to yer sadness, lass, but I dinna think he will take ye."

Mariel's heart raced. So he did know him? "Why do you say that?"

"Because I'm Kieran MacDonald." His eyes narrowed. "And I'm curious how ye came to know my name."

Reviews:Publishers Weekly wrote:

Martin’s promising debut sets a dramatic romance…The core of the book is a tightly plotted sequence of events that focuses and deepens the relationship of the main couple.

Kilts and Swords Book Review Blog wrote:

This is the first book by Madeline Martin and after blasting through this story, I have very high expectations of her career.

Lady A, Literary Junkie Extraordinaire wrote:

Deception of a Highlander is enchanting, adventurous and down-right breath-taking!

My Book Addiction Reviews wrote:

An awesome story by a new author and one I look forward to reading again. A must read!