The Unseelie Heir's Claim

 

 

A human servant who sees too much.

A lord cursed in a pitch-black maze.

A throne in crisis with a missing heir.

Welcome to the Courts in Conflict. 

The Unseelie Heir’s Claim

Courts in Conflict Book 3

by Elisa Rae

Genre: Light Fantasy Romance, Romantasy

The Unseelie throne is in crisis, and the whole Wild Wood is in an uproar as the hunt is on for the missing heir. Kent is aware of the news, and even the humans just beyond the borders of fae land have heard rumors. He didn’t think it had anything to do with him. But then he comes home to a Dullahan in his mother’s kitchen claiming Kent is the lost heir.

Rue doesn’t belong. Left on the doorstep of the foundling home as a baby, she only knows she has some fae blood. Now an adult, she hides her differences from the humans beneath a quiet demeanor. But that doesn’t stop her from seeing magical things, like a glowing crown on the head of her new friend.

The Unseelie Heir’s Claim is a light, fantasy romance novella about a relationship between an Unseelie and a fae of mixed blood. It features a reluctant lost heir, fated mates, and a romance between a noble and a servant, all played out against a backdrop of the peril, politics, and uncertainty of the Unseelie Court in crisis.

 

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Rue

 

 Leaning forward, Kent rested his folded forearms on the tabletop. “My turn. Why were you so upset at the sight of a human child in my arms?”

Greyson nodded as though he had expected the question. “There has been an increased trade in human child abduction among the Unseelie, and I feared you allied with the smugglers supplying children to the slavers.”

“I thought the fae had banned human slavery.” 

“They have.” Greyson’s mouth tightened as his brows lowered in a great frown. “But outlawing a behavior and preventing illegal practices are two different things.”

“Why does it matter to you?” I asked because it clearly did. His anger as he had realized Mela’s species struck me as fierce and genuine. “You are fae. Every fae I have encountered couldn’t care less about humans.”

“Not every fae,” Kent inserted.

I sighed. “I didn’t mean you.”

“Words matter,” he protested.

“They do. And binding words even more.” Leveling an annoyed glance at him, I pressed my lips together.

“Those words, I meant them.”

“No more bindings. I told you,” I shot back.

Kent attempted to appear at least a bit repentant. “I didn’t want him to get the wrong impression.”

“And what impression would that be?” I asked. “That we are bound more tightly than we are?” The implications of a binding made me uncomfortable after being on my own for so long. 

Before Mela, no one cared about what happened to me; no one depended on me, and I had learned to accept that. 

Then Mela arrived at the foundling home. Her needing me had been a drastic change in my life. She’d needed care and love, and I knew Mistress Prout wouldn’t offer that. So, I stepped in and provided what Mela needed. 

To my complete surprise, Mela loved me in return. I had grown comfortable with that arrangement, and then Kent—I shook away the thought. We were bound now, and although I wasn’t sure I liked it, I needed to accept it and move forward.

The Fae King’s Labyrinth

Courts in Conflict Book 2

Someone stole Azulin’s true name. Cursed to ride with the Wild Hunt during each full moon, he is helpless against the Unseelie king’s will. Over the years, the curse’s grip has strengthened, making Azulin’s magic difficult to control. Fighting the curse has exhausted his spirit to the point that he despairs of breaking its hold on him. Then one full moon, the curse places him in a labyrinth, not a hunt. Perhaps this is his chance, or maybe just a new form of torture.

Calypso is a shapeshifter who can’t change form. Living as an unpaid caregiver and laborer in her sister’s household, her presence is barely tolerated in their insular community. When a strange fae threatens her pregnant sister, Calypso sacrifices herself. Perhaps an honorable death would give her life purpose. Instead, she ended up fighting for her life in a pitch-black labyrinth.

The Fae King’s Labyrinth is a light, fantasy romance novella about a relationship between a Seelie fae and a mortal woman. It features fae, found family, fated mates, and a romance between a noble and a commoner, played out in a perilous maze and an equally dangerous fae court.

 

 

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The Unseelie's Wallflower

Courts in Conflict Book 1

Greyson hides many things from the Unseelie Court when they invade his estate each autumn for the Wild Hunt. During his required appearance as host, he is surprised to find a human among the glittering fae. She can see him even when he is using his stealth magic, which means only one thing—they are soul mates. Can he protect her amidst the swirl of fae politics and a plot against her life?

Lyra has grown up among the fae. She has been trained to be the perfect servant. Then her master brings her to the Unseelie Court event of the year and demands she demonstrate her skills to nobles. With the promise of freedom as a motivator, she willingly agrees. Then she realizes her master’s true plan thanks to the intimidating fae lord hosting the event. Though why he would be invested in her fate is a mystery.

The Unseelie’s Wallflower is a light, fantasy romance novella about a relationship between an Unseelie and a human woman. It features faes, fated mates, and a romance between a noble and a servant, all played out against a backdrop of the peril, politics, and maneuverings of the Unseelie Court.

  

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A reader of fairytales and folklore, Elisa Rae loves a happy ending. Noblebright characters, dastardly villains, and chemistry between characters delight her. When she isn’t writing, she loves to watch superhero movies and literary dramas.

Elisa Rae is the pen name of Rachel Rossano.

 

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The Gyre

 

 

An atmospheric journey into the far northern wilds, THE GYRE spins one man’s search for meaning into an astonishing saga where adventure, folklore, and the Arctic converge.

The Gyre

by Stacy Carlson

Genre: Literary Fiction, Dark Arctic Survival, Slavic Magical Realism

***Winner of the Electric Book Award***

An atmospheric journey into the far northern wilds, THE GYRE spins one man’s search for meaning into an astonishing saga where adventure, folklore, and the Arctic converge.

Arkady Afanasyev is a nineteenth-century Russian monk who aims to be the northernmost holy man in the world when he hitches a ride to Spitsbergen, a remote island considered by most to be a no man’s land. As he struggles across the tundra, he’s haunted by regret, a long-lost family, and a chorus of Orthodox saints and Slavic pagan tricksters including hearth spirits, sea demons, and the Twelve Sisters of Scurvy. Amid their uncanny influence and the great, turning, harsh natural world, Arkady is brutally and deeply transformed.

 

Content Warning: language (mild), loss of faith, alcohol consumption (mild), cannibalism (mild), violence, gore, starvation, animal death, animal attacks, death, amputation, complications in childbirth, kidnapping (mild).

 

What readers are saying about the book:

“Stacy Carlson has written an enthralling story of flawed, fragile humanity and the uncanny redemptive power of nature at its most brutal. The Gyre is a journey through a stark, glittering wilderness, an unforgettable landscape both terrible and holy in equal measure.”
—Lynn Coady, Giller Prize-winning author of Hellgoing

 

“Mythic journeys, fairy tales of ice and snow, sailors’ vodka-addled and lusty dreams, a monk’s poetic yearnings—The Gyre has it all! As we follow Arkady Afanasyev on his journey into the farthest reaches of the Arctic in search of his teacher and himself, we encounter story upon story strung together, like pearls, showing us how we are connected to the water, the ice, the ground, the light, and each other. The Gyre pulls you in and in and into its profoundly beautiful spiral of a story.”
—Kathryn Nuernberger, author of Held: Essays in Belonging

 

“This is an absolutely astonishing saga, packed at every turn with innumerable tangential sagas of survival, magic, incomprehensible courage and persistence, and—always—the great, turning, harsh natural world. It zooms the reader to a long ago and far away universe of struggle, quest, agony, and enchantment. Fearlessly imagined and capably written, Stacy Carlson has created a particular, complex, and searingly unforgettable mythology.”
—Joan Frank, author of Juniper Street: A Novel

 

“A gripping novel—both a rip-roaring yarn and a deep inquiry into what makes us human. Like a Caspar David Friedrich painting, Carlson’s The Gyre places the human against the immense backdrop of an unforgiving landscape—here, the high-Arctic archipelago of Svalbard—with dazzling results.”
—Colin Dickey, author of Ghostland: An American History in Haunted Places and Afterlives of the Saints

 

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From Chapter 17

 

In the morning, Arkady tucks his flint, steel, and tinderbox into the pocket of his coat, which now he wears continuously, fully buttoned, day and night. He packs up the rest of his camp and ponders the mossy indentation that represents his earthly form.

Truly, it is better to fast than to starve. What else can we humans do but exert our puny will and, by the contours of our effort, see the framework upon which the universe is draped? What else can we do? My earthly husk is hungry, though my spirit still feeds.

The clouds have retreated to the sky’s upper reaches, and an elongated sunrise stretches a pale arm across the horizon. This triggers a strange glow over the tundra plain: a variegated chorus of green and stone.

Arkady moves on. He crosses a subtle point of land that ebbs into a narrow beach. Here, the stones reveal the outflow of a stream, whose course has eroded a rift in the mountain. Far above, Arkady hears but cannot see a waterfall. He drinks from the stream.

Foxes follow ice bears. That is their way. Foxes can hunt on their own, of course, but here on Spitsbergen mostly they follow bears out onto the ice. Arkady cannot say that foxes have faith, though his grandfather might have said so. But foxes operate on the promise of left-behind blood and entrails. Foxes follow ice bears. But this one follows Arkady.

As he drinks he watches the fox pick a delicate way across the wet ground.

“The animals live by rules unknown to us. Mysterious rules, little one. Rules we could learn from. If you are going to be wise about things, which I know you shall, you will keep your mind open to the very different rules of the four- and two-legged creatures of the earth. Do you hear?” His grandfather’s voice is so close.

Arkady walks for some time, then turns on his heel and kneels with one arm outstretched. He extends one quarter of one dried fish (a full eighth of his last remaining food) southward and waits. The fox edges up, sniffs the savory tidbit, bares his fangs, and plucks the torn fish from where Arkady has set it on the stones. The animal growls and retreats with the morsel.

From behind a driftwood log, the girl-saint Vasilissa frowns, confused by the human’s kindness. Each night when the fox comes to her to sleep with its tail curled luxuriously at her neck, she feels its ribs poking a little closer to the surface of its body. All night she hugs the animal tightly and watches flat, gray clouds drift overhead. With the animal close to her, she is part of this immense place; she creeps, hides, and persists just like the delicate purple saxifrage blossoms she saw when she first arrived on the island. With the animal near her, she is stronger. By loving it, she is somehow more able to consider helping the human, although for now, she does not.

The tundra plain extends its wide palm along the coast, and Arkady trudges in a daze of hunger through the afternoon. His prayers only skim the surface of things, and he can’t shake the feeling that his grandfather is walking just behind his right shoulder. Instead of a comfort, though, the presence unhinges Arkady’s composure so that, for two hours, he can’t keep from looking over his shoulder every few minutes.

Once, when he turns, the fox is following closely behind him, and, using some of his small store of willpower, Arkady tears off a second chunk of dried fish. This time the fox takes it directly from his hand. Walking on, Arkady sucks his fingers for the salty residue. Then, he unwraps his prayer rope from around his wrist and slips it into his pocket.

The third time he offers the fox a piece of fish, Arkady trembles with hunger. Vasilissa watches from the slope just above them. The fox will not go completely hungry today, and she is glad. She decides she will flag down the next patron saint. The human deserves a kindness in return for this one. Below her, by the curve of a stream, the fox plucks the last of the fish from Arkady’s outstretched left hand, and, quick as he can, Arkady grabs the animal by the throat with his other, gloved hand and holds on. He’s decided he can bear the animal’s claws but probably not its teeth.

Arkady will never forget the way the fox fought for its life. It drew both its hind legs close to its body and thrust them at Arkady again and again, faster than he thought possible, with its claws outstretched. It used these powerful tools to shred the wool in one section of Arkady’s coat and to gash the skin of his right hand and wrist, and once even his face, as he fought to secure those legs. The fox writhed and used its front claws as shield and sword both, but a man’s arms are longer than a fox’s reach, and when a creature is gripped by the throat, it is difficult to persevere. After he secures the hind legs, Arkady shuffles on his knees to the bank of the stream and plunges the fox into the icy water. Unfortunately for the fox, the water is just deep enough, and Arkady’s hunger just strong enough, for the man to succeed.

Vasilissa watches Arkady struggling with the fox and gradually understands she is watching a battle to the death. Her sight periscopes back and upward until she is a cloud observing a tiny diorama far below. But when the human finally raises the fox’s limp and dripping form, the whole scene collapses in on itself, and she goes blind with rage. Then, inevitably, the pain unto death blooms into something else: She is no longer a little girl. She is a figment, a force, and a bright, small terror adrift in time. This knowledge fills her mind and heart, and her rage fades as suddenly as it arose, and she is back in a stark northern land, kneeling on a cushion of intricate moss filaments, clenching her fists.

Vasilissa rises and turns from the human world, because she can. She glides over the ground. She continues up the scree slope, away from Arkady and his pathetic travails.  Vasilissa will be folded into the mysteries of Spitsbergen, comforted by the crags, and nourished by endless plains of ice and stone. In some future form, she will emerge from this sanctuary, but for now, she disappears.

STACY CARLSON is a novelist, naturalist, and educator. Publishers Weekly called her debut novel, Among the Wonderful, “Intelligent, engrossing, and utterly unique.” Stacy’s essays and fiction have appeared in Tin House, Post Road, Inkwell, and elsewhere, and she has received fellowships and residencies from the Mesa Refuge, The Arctic Circle, Djerassi Resident Artists Program, and Signal Fire. Her background includes work as a historical ecologist, fish cannery worker, hot springs caretaker, and hiking guide in Big Sur. She grew up between mountains and sea in the Pacific Northwest and has lived in New England, New York, Northern California, and the Upper Midwest.

 

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I Was Just a Radioman -- True Stories

 Know someone who loves WW2 stories? This is straight out of the horses mouth! No fluff.

Their hearts were strong, and their courage endless.

Pearl Harbor survivor, Black Cat radioman, and decorated WW 2 veteran. ARM H. P. Lawrence, tells the true story of the fight against the Japanese in this compilation of his memoirs.

One of only a handful of non-Native American code-talkers, H. P. Lawrence became a member of an elite fighting force, the Black Cats. Flying in their nocturnal missions, the Cats claws were sharp and their aim deadly.

From devastation to victory, the story of these brave men−the deadly, mysterious, and illusive Black Cats is a journey into the past where nightmares came true and hatred reigned. A time in history we should never, ever forget.

The day which will live in infamy…was just the beginning.

Grab your copy today.

Available in 

Ebook   Paperback  LARGE PRINT Audible and Hardcover

From his words to paper. No fluff, just plain talk from Radioman H P Lawrence, WW2 decorated veteran, Black Cat, and Pearl Harbor survivor.

Grab your copy today.

Reviewed by Charles H. Bogart (NavyHistory.org)

This self-published monograph was compiled by Ms. Ackerson to preserve the family history of Aviation Chief Radioman Henry Lawrence's service in World War II. The audience at which the book is directed is family and friends. Henry Lawrence, in June 1940 at the age of seventeen, joined the U.S. Navy Reserve unit at Newport, Rhode Island. On 12 May 1941, he was called to active duty and sent to Aviation Radio School at NAS Sand Point outside of Seattle, Washington. On 19 November 1941, he arrived in Hawaii as an Aviation Radioman and was assigned to VP 22 located on Ford Island. VP 22 at this time was flying PBY-5 Catalina flying boats.

Chief Lawrence's tale of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor is told in six pages, which add little to what has already been written about the 7 December 1941 Japanese attack on Ford Island. His service in the Pacific Theater from 1943 to 1945 was as a radioman on board PBY-5 Catalinas of VPB 71. His service in VPB 71 is told through a series of vignettes that focus on the carrying out of nocturnal patrols in the waters of the Southwest Pacific and off the coast of Formosa. These flights, Black Cat Missions, were carried out by flying at 1,000 feet above the sea, searching for Japanese merchant ships to attack. These vignettes are full of nuggets of information about U.S. Navy Black Cat operations during World War II.

Chief Lawrence's account of his service in World War II ends with The war's over! I will thank Colonel Paul Tibbets, his Enola Gay, and celebrate August 14th for the rest of my life. Once discharged from the Navy, Chief Lawrence spent the next 18-years in the Naval Reserves.

This book is an interesting read, but I suspect that only the hard-core World War II naval aviation aficionado will place this book in his library.

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The Ghost of Border House

 

 

Welcome to Border House—where checkout time is optional, and some guests have been extending their stay for centuries.

Border House has stood on the River Tweed since 1100, witnessing centuries of Scottish history and accumulating many permanent residents along the way. This ancient fortified manor, once a hunting lodge and defensive tower, now serves as both a charming hotel and an unintentional retirement home for spirits who can’t or won’t move on to the next realm.

The house is home to a medieval king, a turncoat scribe, a lonesome English soldier, two Victorian ladies, one unhappy go-go girl, a Scottish Brewmaster, and more. Each ghost brings their own quirks, complaints, and centuries-old drama to daily life at Border House. Whether you’re a living guest checking in for the weekend or a long-dead resident who’s been here for ages, everyone has a story to tell.

This series features standalone paranormal romances written by various authors.

Ann’s Undoing

Ghosts of Border House Book 4

by Leah Miles

Genre: Paranormal Ghost Romance

Ghost Dogs, a performing troupe, and a murder to solve.

Ann Darby was a rising movie star but died alone in a river in 1975. It seems she’s destined to spend eternity alone at Border House in Scotland. Halloween is the one night she can be visible to the living, but this year she plans to skip the party. That is, until a giant Highlander steps out of a green van in front of the house.

Callum McLeod performs in a small troupe for parties and events, waiting for his big break. Betrayed by the lover he trusted and fired by the employer he outperformed, he’s at the end of the road—personally, financially, and emotionally. His paycheck was supposed to cover rent. Now he’ll be evicted the moment he gets home.

Then a killer strikes in the maze, and Callum never makes it home at all. The house ghosts must work together to catch a murderer, and Ann has some hard choices to make if she wants her future to look different from her past.

 

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Instead of walking through the hedge, she came around the path, walking slowly and not attempting to make herself visible, but hoping he’d see her anyway. The two hounds lifted their heads to watch her approach. Callum hadn’t noticed her as he was intent on staring at the smartphone in his hands.

“Hello,” Ann said in a normal voice.

His gaze swung up, and a wide smile creased his cheeks. She blushed or would have if she could. “There’s the little roof dove. Whatever were ye doing on the roof tonight?”

She grinned. “Watching the arrivals to find the most interesting person here.”

He huffed a short laugh. “I’m not so interesting, but I’d love a friendly chat. My night hasn’t been the best,” he said, gesturing beside him, to the spot where the great gray beast lay, his head raised to watch her. “My name’s Callum McLeod. Care to share yours with me?”

“Ann Darby,” she licked her lips, suddenly nervous. Maybe she should’ve given him a false name, but then, she’d been dead half a century. He wouldn’t know her name.

At her hesitation, he added, “Ye followed me through a maze, Ann Darby. So ye may as well sit with me. Yer safe with me, lass. Aren’t ye cold?” he asked, reaching toward the silver pin to unlatch the cape.

She held up her palm to forestall him. “No. I like this weather. I’m one of those people who loves the cold.” She eased forward, and the big dog growled a warning.

He patted the stone ledge beside him, and his hand went right through the growling dog. Ghost dogs? She had never seen one before or known it was possible. Amazing that none of the house ghosts had noticed the dogs weren’t living.

“Do you like dogs?” she asked softly, not wanting to irritate the beast. If Callum could see her but didn’t see his dogs, what would she look like with them attacking her? They were both growling, and she caught flashes of sharp white teeth.

Callum’s shoulders rolled forward. “I love dogs, but I have none. My Irish Wolfhound Fergus passed last summer, and I haven’t had the heart, or funds, to train another. He was the best dog.”

She licked her lips, wondering again why he could see her, but not the animals. “Did you have more than one dog? With Fergus, I mean?”

He gave her a quizzical look. “Aye. I had a second dog for a time. Both my boys performed with me. Brodie was older, and as faithful a friend as a man could want. He passed a few months before Fergus.”

How sweet that both his friends had stayed with him. Ann had never had a pet, unless you counted goldfish. The dogs looked similar, with iron gray fur, but one was smaller and thinner. “Was Brodie also a wolfhound?”

“Nae. Brodie was a Scottish Deerhound.” He said the words with great pride. “Hard to find those dogs. I lucked up on him for certain. Deerhounds are brilliant. Gorgeous too, but smaller than wolfhounds. Similar to a greyhound, but with nice long fur. I trained them using Gaelic commands to perform on stage. They were a sight, and the audiences adored them.”

“Were you in this same group?”

“Nae,” his lip curled slightly. “I wasn’t with the Pratt group then. My boys and I made enough money, just the three of us. Not getting rich, mind you, but I never had a desire for wealth.”

“How do you say ‘friend’ in Gaelic?”

He gave her a quizzical look. “Caraid.”

She stayed where she was and fixed on her best smile. “Would you say it a couple more times so I can get the pronunciation right?”

“Caraid, caraid. I’m happy to tell you some other words if you’re wanting to learn Gaelic.”

It worked. Both hounds ceased growling, and the bigger one, Fergus, jumped off the ledge to sit in front of his master. “Caraid,” she said a few times for good measure, then eased down on the fountain ledge a good three feet away from Callum. If he touched her, his hand would pass through. Fergus yipped and jumped back up to lay his giant head in her lap. “Caraid,” she whispered, glancing up to see if Callum noticed. 

Black Cat Devotion

Ghosts of Border House Book 3

by Vanessa Victoria Kilmer

Genre: Paranormal Ghost Romance 

Black cats love sunshine.

Bubbly but lonely Scottish heiress, Morven Blair, connects with Black Kat, a cranky internet pixie with a secret identity and a reputation as a myth buster. Morven asks Black Kat to prove the existence of ghosts and certify Border House, “the most haunted place in the world.” Black Kat intends to prove it’s all a con. Opposites do attract, but do they really know love at all?

 

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I smoothed and adjusted my tartan stole pinned over my shoulder, the green plaid with blue and red lines standing out on my black dress. “Except…” I said with a wink. “Border House really is full of ghosts.”

Sara Mae taped her temple with a fingertip. “I know that. And you know that. But will you be able to prove it to her?” She raised her eyebrows. “If she’s really a she. She might be a fifty-year-old guy.”

We both laughed.

“Well, when you get back, I’ll have a house full of guests that you can teach Scottish history and give Gaelic lessons to while Thomas provides them with period costumes. Oh, movie sets. I bet we could have movies filmed on the estate.” I bounce in my chair.

“Finish your lunch, Morven,” she says automatically. “You need the energy for all your high plans. You are far too thin. It’s like you are trying to take up as little space in this world as possible.

I felt my cheeks heat up. Thank goodness the waiter returned, so I didn’t have to answer. Except it’s not our waiter. It’s the maître d.

“I beg your pardon, Lady Blair.” He clears his throat as he hands me my credit card. “Your payment was not authorized. The card was declined.”

The Brewmaster’s Kiss

Ghosts of Border House Book 2

by Leah Miles

Genre: Paranormal Ghost Romance

After fifty-five years, Nova Guthrie has returned to Scotland for the annual Halloween Ball at Border House. Or that is her excuse to return to the home of her youth and bid farewell to memories of her lost lover.

What she doesn’t know is that Donnal Stuart still haunts the grand mansion, along with a few other ghostly characters—one of whom will do everything she can to keep them apart.

This story is about true love and secret ghost powers bundled up in a haunting tale of second chances.

 

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“C’mere with me, love,” Donnal said, twining their fingers and tugging her deeper into the garden.

Nova lifted her skirts to avoid tripping as they rushed down the path. “Where are we going?”

He laughed and didn’t answer. Hope filled her down to her toes. Would this be the night he proposed? Nova giggled, and her feet skipped over the grass as he led her to the edge of the orchard.

Today was the anniversary of their first date, and what better occasion to make their union official than right before the Border House costume party? She already wore her authentic Guthrie tartan gown, and he was in his traditional feileadh beag.

She wanted a short engagement—definitely—and to ring in the New Year as husband and wife. Her mother might balk and try to get her to wait, but it was her life and her love. The world had changed, even in the last decade, and women’s options weren’t as limited as they once were. A diamond ring would be splendid, but Donnal was practical, so she didn’t expect more than a simple band. It didn’t matter either way, because she cared more about him than any piece of jewelry.

“We’re here,” he said with a mile-wide smile. He positioned her in front of him and clasped both her hands tightly. “I’m excited.”

Her heart beat like a caged bird, ready to fly away. “Me too, my love,” she whispered, gazing into his azure eyes, the color of a clear summer sky. She was going to spend the rest of her life with this handsome man. Nova held her breath, waiting for him to pop the question.

His cheeks creased in happy lines, and he leaned down to press his forehead against hers. “You’re a bonny lass with yer pink cheeks and bright eyes. I could almost forget why I brought ye here.”

The first hint of confusion caused her to pull back and glance around. “Who else is here?” she asked, surreptitiously looking to glimpse whichever one of their friends was hiding to take a photo of the big moment.

“Just us, my love. You’re the first to know.”

“I don’t understand. Donnal, I thought we were coming here to, you know…” She couldn’t embarrass herself by saying the words.

He wrapped his arms around her and spun them around in a quick circle. “I would dearly love to tumble in the grass with ye, my darlin’. ‘Tis too important. Are ye ready?”

Relief washed through her. “I’ve never been more ready. You’re everything to me.”

“Aye.” He nodded, plucked an apple from the branch over her head, and extended the red and gold fruit to her. “I’m about to become the most famous brewmaster in Scotland.”

“That’s an apple,” she said stupidly.

“Look at it! See the color? The red and lighter yellow spots? The Bloody Ploughman apple is a dark red variety. I spliced it with the yellow-red James Greive apple almost four years ago.” He whipped out a knife and cut off a generous slice. “Taste it. The sweet-crisp-tart flavor is extraordinary. Perfect even, with a hint of—I dinna ken how best to describe it. This apple will make my brew the greatest ever created.”

Nova’s disappointment was sharp enough to have her gulping for breath. “No,” she said, fighting tears as she pushed away his hand and stepped back. “Tell me ye didn’t bring me here only to look at fruit.”

His countenance fell. “Not just any fruit. I’ve waited years for the trees to produce. You’re the first person I’ve told.”

“You brought me here to show me apples you’ve grown for yer beer making?”

Donnal ran a hand through his messy curls, tipping his chin to study her. “Sweetheart, come back to my shed, and I’ll give ye a sample. Tis a perfect blend of spice with the tiniest effervescent bubbles.”

“Ye promised we would go to the Halloween Ball this year. It’s the anniversary of our first date.”

“Alright then. I’ll share it with ye another night. Give me an hour, and I’ll be back to the house for the dancing.”

Her heart ached with self-pity. “No. Tonight, I thought … it doesn’t matter. I’m through with being the second-best thing in yer life. Find me when ye decide which is more important, me or your brews.”

“Nova—”

“Mayhap ye should marry the apple tree.” She spun on her heels and took off at a run lest he see the tears rolling down her cheeks.

* * *

That long-ago night, after her flash of anger, she’d hoped Donnal would follow her from the garden. He did not, and that exchange was the last they ever shared. Shortly after nine, the valve on his homemade pressure fermenting device overloaded and blew apart. A jagged piece of metal lodged in Donnal’s heart, killing him instantly.

Love Lost & Found

Ghosts of Border House Book 1

by Vanessa Victoria Kilmer

Genre: Paranormal Ghost Romance

2026 National Excellence in Romance Fiction Award (NERFA) - Romance Novella category

In 1566, Thomas Kincaid is murdered at Border House by agents of the Scottish King. Thinking himself betrayed by his soulmate, Sara Mae Stuart, Thomas curses her to a life of reincarnation with his dying breath.

When Sara Mae dies of a broken heart, she is reborn again and again.

After 450 years of reincarnation, Sara Mae returns to Border House to perform a séance and break her curse. She discovers a host of unsettled spirits, each harboring their own hidden agendas, and Thomas, lurking inside her crystal ball.

Can love survive revenge, guilt, and a quirky spiritual divide?

 

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Sara Mae glanced down at her simple black slacks and black silk T-shirt with the arms of her sweater tied across her chest. “Isn’t it nice enough?”

“The quality is not the issue.” She tucked Sara Mae’s black hair behind her ears. “You look like a nanny, all prim and proper. You’re even wearing pearls. You look nothing like a woman who speaks with dead people.”

Heat rushed to Sara Mae’s cheeks. She still couldn’t get used to Morven’s casual treatment of her and the woman’s genuine affection. She was part of a long line of the nobility, and Sara Mae, on her fifth reincarnation, was an orphan who attended university on a scholarship. While she enjoyed their friendship, she felt uncomfortable, unable to forget her ongoing humble beginnings.

But here she was, back at Border House. Finally. Thanks to her friend.

“We’ll need to make you look more ‘woo-woo’ for later,” Morven said with a giggle. “If you don’t have anything that fits the image, I’m sure we can dig something up in the attics.” She pulled Sara Mae by the hand. “For now, I’ll take you on a tour of the house. It’s easy for people unfamiliar with it to get a bit turned around.”

Chuckling inwardly, Sara Mae let her hostess drag her around the building from the basement cellars and up to the servants’ quarters and attics under the eaves on the fourth floor. Sara Mae took her time, remembering the house as it was in her time and how it had changed since then. Electricity sure made a difference, as did the running water in the bathrooms and toilets. These were her most favorite changes to the building. The many narrow stairs were the same, though, and she did not care for them.

As they went along on their tour, Sara Mae kept an eye out for places where her locket might be hidden. She felt its presence in the house but couldn’t pinpoint the location. “My locket is here somewhere,” Sara Mae said under her breath.

Cold and hot spots dotted rooms on each floor, a sure sign of paranormal activity, and that interfered with her locating spell. She tried to keep in mind where Thomas might have hidden it after he ripped his gift from her neck during their fight and last moment together.

 

Leah Miles grew up in Atlanta, Georgia, and planned to have a career as either a television anchor or a successful author. After getting a bachelor’s degree in English and communications, she worked at CNN for more than a dozen years in technical news production. Her second career is managing an insurance agency in rural Georgia, along with six brand-new Airbnb-style rentals, with her husband. When not writing insurance or cleaning cabins, she cherishes quality time with her hubby and their cocker spaniel, Hootie. They have three adult kids—a doctor, a lawyer, and a journalist. Leah is currently writing a series with military elements involving take-charge heroes and women who stand up for themselves and the people they love. For updates, visit leahmilesauthor.com.

 

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Vanessa Victoria Kilmer told her first story to an angel who visited her when she was locked in a dark, medieval attic at the age of four.

She grew up surrounded by fortified castles, primal salt mines, and the drama of ancient places. Her fantasy fiction teems with murder, magic, and madness. She explores the abuse inflicted by those closest to us and the various ways people deal with the damage. Between writing novels, she blogs, paints, and takes pictures with her white camera named Traitor and embroiders tapestries.

 

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