The Magic Stone

The Magic Stone

Marie Sterbenz

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Siobhan is a master craftswoman, creating intricate miniatures from Connemara marble. When Brendan sees her exquisite work, he is determined to sell the pieces throughout the area.

In the midst of their business transaction, Siobhan comes to the realization that Brendan stays in her thoughts more often than he should. Determined to only marry a warrior, she does her best to avoid him at all costs.

Brendan, however, is not satisifed to let things lie. He's determined to show Siobhan how right they are for each other. He knows his kisses light her on fire. Now he needs her to understand that he is not merely a merchant, but is skilled with a sword. While he is capable of fighting against the best, he chooses a quieter life,where taking the life of another is not a requirement of day to day living.

Will Siobhan open up to him, allowing him to show her how wonderful they can be together? Or will her ideas of only marrying a man who is a warrior stand in their way?

 
PUBLISHED BY: Wild Horse Press
ISBN: 1442153865
PUBLICATION DATE: 2009
WORD COUNT: 53328
SEXUAL CONTENT RATING: 3 3 3
EBOOK READER RATING:
CATEGORIES: Romantic Fiction, Historical
KEYWORDS: artist, historical romance, ireland, marble, merchant, Marie Sterbenz
 

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EXCERPT
COPYRIGHT Marie Sterbenz/2009

Siobhan tripped and fell face first into a mud puddle. From the moment she had arisen this morning nothing had gone right. She wanted to cry, but it was not her way. Besides it might attract unwanted attention. She shuddered. Groaning, Siobhan sat up to survey the damage to her favorite yellow linen gown. Mud dripped from her hair and ran down the front of her gown and across the expensive gold trim. She raised her hand to wipe mud from her cheek; it was then that the stench of horse urine assailed her nostrils. She grimaced in disgust the fabric had been a gift from her father. She and her mother had made the lovely gown but now it was ruined. Siobhan was devastated. She treasured her father’s gift. The fact that it was her own clumsiness, made it worse. She had no one else to blame it on. She felt the cold wetness seep through her undergarments to her skin. She shuddered again, this time from the cold.

Even though it was spring, the weather in this part of Eire was still cool; the wind that blew across nearby Lough Gur was chilly. The yellow Gorse and purple Heather were starting to bloom in the warmth of the daytime sun but as evening came the air grew cooler.

“May I help you?” said an unfamiliar male voice.

Siobhan peeked up at the man standing beside her. He was tall with the most startling blue eyes she had ever seen. Her first instinct was to crawl away and hide. That would be the coward’s way out, and she was anything but.

“Nay,” she replied, “I can manage on my own. I do not think you would like your garments ruined with this foul mud. If you will excuse me I will go and clean up.” She rose up off the ground in one swift motion and started off across the bailey.

“Wait,” said the man, “you dropped this when you fell.” His hand held the green stone she had been carrying. She had forgotten that she had it in her hand before she fell. Siobhan turned and took two steps back to where the man stood.

“Thank you,” she said as she clenched the stone in her muddy fist. She looked at him fully now. His eyes drew her in, and a smile played about the corners of his mouth. It seemed to her that he was enjoying her predicament. “Who are you?” she inquired, “I do not believe I know you.”

 
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