Jenyfer Matthews

Please welcome Jean Hart Stewart!

Even though a freak accident killed my father when I was six (hit by a golf ball, of all crazy things), I’ve always regarded myself as a very lucky person. My wonderful mother went back to work as a school teacher. Since her hours were longer than mine, after school I was confined to the house until she returned home. As a result, I began to read early and steadily. She saw to it I had plenty of books from the library, and I read through everything she brought home. I knew by the age of ten I wanted to be a writer, preferably exactly like Jane Austen who I discovered early and read over and over. At twelve I wrote my first romance. It was doubtless dreadful and is fortunately lost! Still, my early isolation turned out to bless the rest of my life.

I found a group of other semi-nerds in high school, and always loved school. Ohio State University School of Journalism was a natural, and when I dated the editor of the student magazine he featured me as Campus Queen of the Month. Goes to prove who you know definitely does count! I didn’t even recognize the picture the professional photographer took of me.

The only importance of this long forgotten fact is my future husband’s brother knew me from a class we took together, saw the picture and asked his older brother Hugh to come along to meet me and put in a good word for him. Hugh (the handsome brother) was then a graduate assistant in physics. Not interested in anybody’s brother, (not very bright of me!) I sloughed off the request for several weeks, until one night when we arranged to meet at the library. When I saw Hugh and his brother walking down the long stone steps to me I knew in my heart I’d found, the real thing, love at first sight. I told the girl with me that same night I’d met the man I was going to marry. Two years later the brother was best man at our wedding!

Don’t let anybody tell you instant love doesn’t exist. We’ve had two children, two grandchildren, and a wonderful life together as Hugh’s job sent him to Europe a lot and often I went along. After that came my 20 year career as a real estate broker, lots of fun but I wouldn’t want to be in that field today. Too many sharks circling the waters.

(I can tell some good stories, though, like the client who didn’t keep his appointment because his jealous brother murdered him that morning!)

Then I started writing, and here I am six years later, a senior citizen with seven books accepted by Cerridwen Press in my Garland of Druid series, and an eighth on the way. I LOVE my Druids, each and everyone. Druid Triumphant, book six came out in June, with Druid Disdained is to be released in Sept. For more information about me or my books, visit my website.

Druid Triumphant
by
Jean Hart Stewart

Blurb

Adam is the last bachelor of the handsome Dellafield brothers. He’s had no trouble attracting women until the beautiful ballerina, Slaide Rivendell, insults him and then walks away. Furious, he determines to make her pay, but when he pursues her, he finds she has secrets that are destroying her and threatening her small niece. And keeping her from him. Yet Becca and Slaide need him, even if Slaide refuses to accept his help.

The villain menaces Slaide and Becca, capturing them both in spite of Adam’s protective measures. Now Adam must call on all his own and his Druid power to try to save them. Will he be in time, and will his powers be enough? And will Slaide reveal her secrets so he can fulfill their dream of love?

Excerpt

In the proper evening attire, with his thick crop of hair slicked down and shining, Adam paid his respects to his host and hostess, effortlessly charming them both. Then he propped himself against a wall until enough time had elapsed so he could leave. Still, guests at such a stuffy affair were always amusing, and he liked to people-watch.

His eyes roamed around the room, noting the buzz of conversations going on, the obvious flirtations and the usual meaningless exchanges he disliked.

Then he spotted her.

A shiver went down his spine, and he straightened his stance a little. Something about this girl, the aura shimmering around her head, a distinct blue haze enveloping her like a cloud, called to him to come to her side. The aura wasn’t quite as clear as he’d like it to be, but it radiated a beautiful color. He’d like to know what caused the haziness in her aura, though.

The willowy girl, tall and slender, stood talking to a young man leaning close to her and whispering in her ear. He looked pleading, she appeared stiffly uninterested. She moved away from him, looking back over her shoulder with a slight smile. A polished dismissal, but as definite a dismissal as Adam could imagine.

Before he had time to ponder her identity his hostess appeared. Adam was always slightly amused at how any member of his family seemed to be viewed as a trophy when one of them appeared at social functions. Adam turned to her with a smile, wondering how soon he’d have been there long enough for his departure to be unremarkable.

“I saw you eyeing our beautiful ballerina, Adam,” she gushed, tapping him on the shoulder. “Would you like to meet her?”

Quite suddenly Adam thought he would. Better than leaning against the wall all night. Something about the blonde’s air of absolute disdain intrigued him.

“So she’s a ballerina, my lady. That explains the unusual poise. Yes, introducing us would be most kind of you, ma’am.”

Lady Erickson, wife of the Swedish ambassador, smiled with just a touch of malice. “The beauty has spurned conversation with almost every other man in the room. Let’s see if she can resist the last of the elusive and handsome Dellafield bachelors.”

She grabbed his hand and escorted him across the room. She cut ahead to cross in the path of the blonde girl. Adam caught his breath. Her pale golden hair shone in the lights from the chandelier. Her cobalt eyes were fringed with extraordinary thick lashes. Those arresting eyes stared at him from regular features which were without a flaw. She held her head proudly on her slender neck, her gorgeous hair, pulled back almost too tightly from her beautiful face formed a coil at the nape of her tilted head. Much more suitable to her than the current piling of hair in a bunch on top. The size of the confined mass begged a man to rip it loose and admire the flow of gold as her hair tumbled. She was perfection. An icy perfection, with no hint of warmth in the depths of those stunning eyes.

Adam took a step toward her, once again admiring the lovely blue of the aura floating round her head. To his surprise, it glowed in a shade similar to his mother’s. Morgan’s never showed this frosty edging but the colors of their hovering auras were much alike.

At this short range his interest flared anew. Her skin looked absurdly soft. What would she taste like if an amorous man kissed his way down every inch of that exquisite flesh?

Lady Erickson came to a halt, looking triumphant although Adam didn’t want to think why.
“Slaide, this is Adam Dellafield, probably the most eligible bachelor in London and doubtless the most handsome. Adam, Slaide Rivendell, the newest star of the Royal Ballet. I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.”

She hurried off, quite obviously satisfied with herself. Adam winced. Just the kind of introduction he didn’t want.

Before Adam could speak Slaide Rivendell did. She looked at him for one second, her eyes the most brilliant blue he’d ever seen. A much deeper blue than her aura. After glancing at him, she half-turned as if to leave. She spoke almost mechanically, her voice devoid of any feeling but annoyance.
“You’re indeed handsome, but you doubtless know it, Mr. Dellafield. You don’t require my adulation.”

She turned to walk away, but Adam caught her arm and held her back.

“Have I met you before and offended you, Miss Rivendell? If so I apologize. Otherwise I find it hard to understand your rather offensive attitude. And I seriously doubt I’d forget meeting you.”

He allowed his voice to be edged with his resentment. This girl was lovely, but no amount of beauty could excuse such blatant rudeness.

An inner elegance seemed to take over as she flushed with embarrassment.

“I was perhaps too curt. But I’m so very tired of being presented to so-called eligible men like some box of chewable candy. You caught me just as I started to leave. My apologies, Mr. Dellafield. Good evening.”

Her voice showed not a trace of regret, nor did her apology sound deep-felt. As she turned to leave, she looked down at his hand still on her arm. She frowned just a little, brushed off his fingers with light grace, and glided away.

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