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Fergus continues to plot to gain more power in the devious world of London politics inside the capital of the English Province. Taking matters into his own bloodied hands, he lets nothing stand in the way of becoming the high priest. But there are others as ruthless as he.
General Mixcoatl must lead an army into Scotland before he can assume the rank of governor of the province. Once in that precarious position, old debts and old passions will return to plague him and those he loves as a new and deadly crisis rises from across the ocean.
Rowena's lover has left her for the wars across the Channel and she fears he will not return, or if he does, it will be impossible for him to wed her and be a father to her unborn child. Hunted by assassins, she must leave those she loves and once more strike out on her own.
Religious politics in the Empire blaze hot, wars rage and blood is shed as these three struggle, sometimes at cross-purposes, for power and the ultimate good of the land.
Toltec Year 301 (1216AD)
Fergus Mac Ogma closed his eyes, imagined wrapping his fingers around Edwine’s pale throat and slowly squeezing the soft flesh until he crushed the life out of her, or at the least, generated ten minutes of silence.
“You are a disgrace to your own people. You do no honest day’s work. You are a curse upon the land, betrayed your own countrymen for gold and living only to do the devil’s foul deeds.”
Her sharp tongue echoed in his ears. He clenched his jaw and set his cup on the table. “I saved your life. Don’t you forget it.”
“Yes, by murdering a man right in front of me. I still have nightmares from that terrible night.”
He rolled his eyes heavenward. “No, not that. I meant I rescued you and the rest of our family from slavery or worse and brought you here with the freedom to start anew.”
READ MORE“Freedom? I’m supposed to wait on you hand and foot and ignore the evil heathen folk who cross your threshold at all wee hours of the night.” She kicked over a chair as she stormed out of the room and flung words back over her shoulder. “And now dear Niall has moved out on his own, leaving us at the mercy of your pagan gods. May the saints have mercy on our souls. For certain you are destined to spend eternity in the pit.”
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