Page 18 of Stolen Hours

“Promise what?” Diana ran her fingers across the newly minted letters, eyes awed and soft.

“Whatever you need me to. Believe that? Believe me?” he asked, fastening it around her neck with a practiced twist of his fingers.

“I do. I do believe you, in you, in us. Always.”

“Good.” Jan kissed her and snuggled her relaxed form against his chest, holding her tight, determined to keep any of the bad parts away from Diana and their love. “You can believe in us, Diana. After all—my word is golden.”

First Glance

Starring Ian and Farrah Fenclan fromThe Orc’s Christmas Romance

and a dozen other Pine Ridge books.

Ian Fenclan motioned to his eyes and ears, then to his bow.

Across from him, crouched down in thick clumps of Hebridean heather, Douglas Wickstaff, a half-grown lad who was just starting to hunt alone, looked up and nodded at him. He pointed to his bow and then back across the high hill. He would follow the trodden path through the heather, sure to find a stag, then head over the peak to the Wickstaff holdings.

Ian turned and headed into the forest, a far more dangerous and tricky place to hunt, but that was good. He wanted to keep productive and busy.

It was a good distraction. Finlay Wickstaff, Douglas’ older brother, had just proposed marriage to an Orc maiden he’d met at a gathering of the clans, and he was packing up and moving over the border, into York, to be with her clan, which was smaller and needed an infusion of fresh blood.

That wasn’t to say Clan Fenclan didn’t need the same thing. Ian had just been put off by the thought of leaving his clan for anyone. Clan was all.

But as he walked silently through the underbrush, a snarl on his features, tusks jutting as his jaw clenched, he couldn’t help replaying their last conversation.

“When you meet the one, Ian, you’ll know. She’ll be your all. You’ll see your own sons when she gives you that certain look. You’ll go anywhere in the world with her. And York isn’t so far away. You’ll look after Dougie for me, won’t you? I think you’d best teach him to hunt—God knows my father’s hopeless at it.”

“It’s 1990, Finlay. Your father’s a remote programmer for Aer Lingus.” Ian rolled his eyes.

“I still think Dougie ought to know how to hunt, and I’ll be too far away to take him except on the occasional weekend and at the summer holidays. You’re a real landsman.”

Ian sighed and smiled. “Aye.”

THAT CONVERSATION WASweeks ago. And now he was shepherding Dougie around, trying to teach him practical skills like hunting, fishing, planting, and maintaining the land while still being a bright young Orc, as braw and bonny as a clan could wish.

I’d like a boy like Douglas. Top marks in reading. With his father’s connections, he’ll be a programmer. Maybe an accountant. A solicitor.

Ian paused and sniffed the air.

Prey was somewhere near. He could hear rustling and snapping ahead of him, maybe a hundred yards, just where the stream ran into the woods. Plenty of game there.

A long, guttural howl followed by three short, sharp barks echoed throughout the woods.

Good. That was their agreed-upon signal to let him know that Dougie bagged his catch.