Bio
Author bio: Isobelle Cate is a
woman who wears different masks. Mother-writer, wife-professional,
scholar-novelist. Currently living in Manchester, she has been drawn to the
little known, the secret stories, about the people and the nations: the
English, the Irish, the Scots, the Welsh, and those who are now part of these
nations whatever their origins. Her vision and passion are fuelled by her
interest and background in history and paradoxically, shaped by growing up in a
clan steeped in lore, loyalty, and legend.
Isobelle is intrigued by forces that simmer beneath
the surface of these cultures, the hidden passions, unsaid desires, and
yearnings unfulfilled.
Rapture at Midnight
Excerpt
Roarke's family had taken Finn in
two centuries ago when his uncle, a Cynn mortal and monk had passed away.
Roarke was like an older brother to him. Roarke's parents had showered him with
all the love he could possibly ask for, While Finn was grateful and happy being
part of the Hamilton family, nothing could remove the gaping hole in his heart
that losing his parents had made.
“You okay?” Roarke looked at his second-in-command.
Finn nodded.
“Where is she?”
“It's not necessary, Roarke. She won't bother us,”
he said, his jaw clenching.
Finn heard him sigh slowly.
“You know I can't allow that.”
Finn swore underneath his breath before he breathed
heavily. Roarke was right. They needed to erase her memory about the existence
of the Cruor. For both their sakes. It was how the Cynn had survived this long.
It was also how mortals continued on with their lives, not knowing the depths
of evil existing in the world. A Cynn Cruor warrior could never reveal their
secrets to a human unless they claimed one as their Mate. Until then their two
worlds had to remain separate.
Erasing the female’s memory was also the only way to
help her remove the self-loathing she had for what they’d shared. She would not
remember him. She would not remember the kiss. Finn felt as if a stone lay
heavily in his gut.
“I'll do it.”
Roarke arched a thick eyebrow, his arms crossed over
his muscled chest.
“You sure about that? You're still healing, Finn.
Your strength is not at an optimum level,” he said. “It doesn't take a genius
to see that something happened between the two of you, or you wouldn’t be
partially healed.”
“I'm coming with you.” Finn said as he faced Roarke.
Irritation swept over Roarke's face. Finn didn't care. He wanted to be there
when Roarke erased her memory.
Roarke stared at Graeme, Blake, and Zac several feet
away from them. They were picking up the Scatha's clothes to dispose of them in
a safe place.
“Does she mean that much to you?” Roarke asked,
looking at him with curiosity.
The question was unexpected and it startled Finn.
His eyes narrowed before turning to look at his Cynn Cruor brethren as well.
“It will pass.”
For once Finn became uncomfortable under Roarke's
censure, but eventually his team leader’s shoulders appeared to relax. He
nodded.
“Let's hope so. For your sake.” He spared Finn a
glance before ordering the rest of the Cynn to head back to the Faesten.
Forever at Midnight
Excerpt
The fear of the unknown was
something he’d never felt before. And now that he had Deanna to think of, the
emotion held him in a stranglehold. He closed the door and pivoted around to
see Deanna kneeling in the middle of the bed. After a slight hesitation he
walked toward his clothes and immediately began to dress. He tamped the
uneasiness down and forced his hatred for the Scatha to the fore. So many Cynn
Cruor warriors and their spouses had been killed by the Scatha and their
leader, Dac Valerian. One of the most brilliant generals under Julius Caesar,
Dac used to be known as General Gnaeus Valerius Dacronius. Roarke had no
intention of allowing Dac to destroy his new found happiness. He was one of the
best warriors of the Cynn Cruor. He would protect Hamel Dun Creag.
And Deanna.
Roarke sat down on the bed to lace up his boots. He
couldn't look at Deanna as his hands jerked at the laces. He jerked when he
felt her hand on his arm. Roarke sighed deeply before turning to her, capturing
her mouth with his. His tongue speared through her lips, desperation and anger
in his kiss. Although Deanna shared his fear, she poured as much love and hope
into her embrace as possible. Their tongues mated eagerly, hungrily, stoking
their common desperation.
Reluctantly, he ended the kiss and placed his
forehead against hers.
“Roarke, you have to go,” she said before placing
her arms around him, her cheek resting on his shoulder.
He nodded, his face a mask of determination, the
planes harsh with commitment to his Cynn Cruor brethren.
“Stay here,” he ordered as he looked at her. She
gasped, bringing her hand to her throat. Roarke knew his mate saw his eyes
change to red-orange. His mouth pressed into a thin line. “I'm sorry if I
frighten you.”
She shook her head. “You don’t. I know it’s not the
time to say this, but I like it.”
Roarke's mouth twisted to a wry smile.
Deanna stood up when he did. Her hair covered one
breast as if to give her a modicum of modesty, but she was unabashedly
unashamed of her nudity, something which Roarke admired. He watched her as she
adjusted his leather belt before putting the rest of his tartan over his
shoulders. As she walked toward the chair by the corner of the room, the flames
from the hearth danced softly against her body. She picked up Roarke's dirk and
bent to try and pick up his claymore. Roarke tamped down the surge of lust
firing his loins at the sight of her round bottom and swaying hips.
“You'll have to pick up the sword, my laird,” she
said with the barest of smiles as she handed the small dagger to him, hilt
first. “I'm but a wee lass to carry the likes of that.”
He looked at her, then gestured toward the dagger
with a thrust of his chin. “Keep it. For your protection.”
Suddenly, she flung herself at him. Roarke crushed
her in his embrace, inhaling her scent of lavender and the smell of their
recent lovemaking. Closing his eyes, he kissed her hair. He felt her shudder
and give a soft sob. Roarke felt his heart tighten with pain.
“I will be back, Deanna,” he murmured. “No one can
separate us now. I have put my scent on you. You are mine.”
Gently, he moved back to look at her. “If I die, so
will you,” he said. “In the same way, I will become just a shell of myself and
eventually join you, should you pass ahead of me.”
“I will wait for you Roarke,” she said, caressing
his face.
Roarke couldn't help the feeling of pride that
filled his heart at her strength of will.
“I will wait for you to come back to me.”
“Unless it's necessary, stay here,” he instructed as
he grabbed his weapon. “Dinnae open the door to anyone. Understand?”
Deanna nodded.
Roarke swooped down to give her a hard kiss.
Then he was gone.
Please Stop by and join Beau Coup Author Isobelle Cate’s
fun and exciting “The Sexy Ides of March” event on March 15th. (The
link is below! ) We will see you there!
Happy St. Patty's Day!!
ReplyDeleteBette Platt bebopin128@yahoo.com