Quebec, Canada, 1847.
While trying to escape the Potato Famine, shipwrecked Irish immigrant Breanna Clarey awakens injured and alone on an unfamiliar beach. To make matters worse, she has been separated from her family, and her friend, Crow, is lying dead at her feet. But when Dawson Roberts, a reclusive fisherman with a guarded past and big dreams for his future, finds Breanna, he puts his plans on hold to offer her shelter and help find her family.
But life for an Irish immigrant isn't easy. Facing a deadly quarantine station, dangerous immigration officials, and grief over her missing family, Breanna struggles to exert her independence and navigate her new world. While Breanna confronts an unknown future, Dawson is plagued by a painful past. They each must determine their own course, even if it means ignoring the pull they have on each other.
When the future takes an unexpected turn, only the ocean that has brought them so much devastation can help them find their way back to where they belong.
Excerpt
Now that his ribs were taken care of, she turned her attention to his wounded brow, and to another matter of importance—the fact that he had gambled his boat money. ‘Twould be a safer topic, at least.
She dabbed at the gaping wound above his left eye and asked, “Why do ye take such risks, Dawson? Ye worked so hard for that boat money.”
He shrugged and waited a heartbeat before saying, “Why do you take risks?” It was an unfair swipe, but she chalked it up to the effects of the alcohol. Perhaps he couldn’t resist.
“I don’t take risks. I like to know exactly what I am getting myself into before I commit.”
“Liar.” He looked at her with accusing eyes, and for a moment, she didn’t know how to respond. “You took a risk once when you boarded the Carricks.”
“And ye see where that got me.”
“And then again, when you went into town that first time.”
“That didn’t end well either, if ye recall.”
“And then there was that little scheme to put yourself on a crabbing boat. You saw how I almost died, yet you were right back out there the next day. You don’t call those risks?” His voice was husky and full of emotion now, and it made her pulse quicken beneath her skin.
She moved across the room to retrieve a needle and some thread—or to escape. She wasn’t sure which need was more urgent. She cleaned the needle, taking a moment to regain her wits before returning to him. She pulled the edges of his open wound together and cautioned, “This might sting a little.”
He barely flinched when she poked the needle through the tender flesh. She finished quickly, then tied the end off in a little knot.
“There. Now ye be good as new.” She made to turn away from him, but before she could move, he grabbed the back of her thigh, holding her securely to him.
She looked down into the liquid warmth of his amber eyes. There was a storm brewing there and they glowed now with an intense heat that left no doubt as to the thoughts in his head.
“I told ye,” she said, feeling breathless, “I’m not one for taking risks. I be one for needing assurance.”
He held her tightly to him, staring into her eyes for a moment. His hand seared her flesh where he gripped, sending flames nipping at her core. His thumb swiped a smoldering lick across her leg. It was faint but she felt it, nonetheless. Breanna was thankful for the barrier of her skirts, for they kept her from completely melting.
After a moment, his eyes fell to her mouth, and she instinctively bit her bottom lip. Then he suddenly released her, cursing under his breath. He did not push her away, but the loss of his hold was forceful—and painful.
“Forgive me. I fear I’ve had a little too much to drink.” He stood to go, and his body pitched forward as he lost his footing. From loss of blood or the drink, she knew not. But one thing was certain, if he collapsed trying to make it to his bed in the barn, she’d never be able to get him up.
Rushing to him, she propped up his bulk with her hands. The energy between them seemed to vibrate as he stared down into her face.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. The words felt like warm honey being poured over her limbs. No one had ever said those words to her before. Fair was a common compliment she received. And becoming. But never beautiful.
She let out a soft laugh. “And ye are drunk.” She shifted her hold on him. “I hear spirits can make a barmaid look like a princess.”
“That’s not the alcohol talking.” His voice was dangerously low. “I’ve always thought that.” His lips were so close to hers now that she ran her tongue over hers without thinking. His eyes blew wide in response, and he dragged a long breath through his nose like he was trying to steady himself.
He leaned forward and set his mouth against her temple. He planted a soft kiss along her hairline and lingered there as if he were drinking her in. They stood like that for several minutes until Breanna could feel the bulk of him leaning even more heavily upon her. She turned slightly and slipped his arm over her shoulder, then led him to the sofa.
“Why don’t ye just lie down here for tonight?”
“I thought you weren’t a risk taker, Breanna Clarey. Aren’t you afraid your reputation might be damaged?”
She snickered. “I doubt there be any risk tonight, Dawson Roberts. Besides, no one comes this far out on the peninsula. I think my reputation will be safe.” He lay back, and she helped him lift his legs onto the sofa. Breanna went to her room to grab a blanket from the trunk, but by the time she returned, he was already snoring softly.
Tonya Ulynn Brown
Tonya Ulynn Brown is an award-winning historical romance author who writes emotionally rich tales of ancient castles, treacherous plots, and forbidden love. With a deep passion for the turbulent histories of England and Scotland, she brings the past vividly to life through stories where danger and desire walk hand in hand.
Tonya holds a master’s degree and teaches Reading and Writing at the elementary level. Fueled by iced coffees, beautiful books, and an enduring obsession with Mary, Queen of Scots, she fills her days writing, teaching, and researching the lives of long-dead monarchs and other historical figures.
Most of all, she loves spending time with her husband, two sons, and one very spoiled French bulldog.
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