Jenyfer Matthews

Nancy spent her early years wanting to be an English countryside vet (à la James Herriot) and an adventure-seeking archaeologist (à la Indiana Jones). After studying biochemistry and earning an anthropology degree, she realized that her true passion is for writing fictional stories about smart, adventurous women and the men who are strong enough to love them.

Nancy lives in Maryland with her real-life hero/husband, talented musician daughter, and many, many rescued cats.

**BONUS** Through August, Nancy is having a weekly contest! Just visit her website and sign up for her newsletter – each week one winner will receive a pair of hand-made Native American beaded earrings. All people have to do is sign up for her newsletter at her website for automatic entry! Or send an email to nancy@nancyhunterbooks.com with a subject line newletter signup. Good luck!

Taste of Liberty
by
Nancy Hunter

Blurb

In a time of war and hope, loss and redemption, death and rebirth, tragedy unites two enemies who seek vengeance and find love, only to learn that it was never their destiny to be together…

Liberty MacRae, daughter of an American Revolutionary, and Sebastian Cole, a British soldier, share a vendetta against the brutal British commander who killed their loved ones. Each brings a special gift to their quest – Liberty has a second sight that allows her to predict death, and Sebastian is a Fated One, a man who died before he could kill his enemy and has been sent back by the spirits to complete the task. When they fall in love, they have to find a way to defeat not only the murderer, but destiny as well – a destiny that demands that Sebastian either forfeit his life to defeat his enemy or forfeit his soul. Can they find a way to change their destiny before Liberty’s most harrowing premonition – that of her lover’s death – comes true?

Taste of Liberty
Excerpt

Just come a little closer, you miserable bastard, Libbie thought, but she remained silent.

“Now, how could I kill you,” Winters said. “Let’s see, I could cut off your eyelids and tie you to a post, then watch while the sun burns out your eyes and you slowly die of thirst. Very long business, that—takes about a week. Or I could skin you alive, inch by beautiful inch.” His eyes raked over her. “But I would rather see every inch of you under more pleasant circumstances.”
He took another step toward her and Libbie breathed faster.

“I understand your name is beside your mother’s on the deed to your family farm. You simply need to sign over that deed to me. Then you and I will get to know each other better, much better.” He grinned wickedly. “It will almost be a shame to kill you but when it’s time, I’ll make it as painless as possible.” He waved the paper in the air again.

She shook her head, trying to make sense of it. “The deed? What good would my signature do? My mother will still own the farm.”

He shrugged. “Perhaps she could be persuaded to forfeit her share, as well. Especially if she believes it will save your pretty neck.”

Libbie fought to keep her wits about her as he stepped closer, almost within striking range. He wouldn’t go to the farm, not yet. Her dreams, then later visions, had always been clear about the timing of Winters’ attack—it was in springtime, after the first planting. On the first anniversary of her father’s and brother’s deaths.

Libbie’s fingers coiled expectantly around the knife hilt and her heart pounded hard but slowly, like a ceremonial drum. All else was quiet, the deepest quiet she had ever heard.

An explosion shattered the silence. Shrieks, howls and running feet shook the ground above them and then a soldier was calling for Winters. Something about a fire in the munitions building. And then he was farther away from her, throwing a promise to return over his shoulder and disappearing through the cell door.

Libbie turned to the wall and let out a shrill scream. She pounded her fists against her earthen prison walls, re-igniting the pain in her injured hand. She cradled it against her and dropped to her knees. So close. She had been so close, had nearly felt his blood flowing over her fingers, had almost avenged the deaths of her loved ones and saved those few still living. But the chance had passed and she had failed.

With a loud clang, her prison door swung open again. Libbie straightened her back, slipped the knife into her sleeve and waited. She slowed her breathing, tensed her muscles, prepared for a fight. Perhaps she would have another chance after all.

“Miss MacRae? What are you doing here? Did he hurt you?”

That voice. No, it couldn’t be. Her mind was playing tricks on her. She’d thought she must have imagined hearing Winters’ men say his name but now the months fell away as she turned to see that he truly stood in front of her, taller and broader than she remembered, hair as black as night, blue eyes preternaturally bright. Her vision narrowed until all she could see were Sebastian Cole’s hypnotic eyes.

She could almost smell the flowers in Lady Jane’s garden as he moved closer. She opened her mouth to say his name. The word did not come from her. Just a gasp as he pulled her close. He crushed his lips against hers. His mouth was cold and hard but warmed and softened as he deepened the kiss.

Terror and pain and fury and exhaustion swept over her at once. Given no time to think, only time to respond, she kissed him back. Passion rose to the surface of her skin under the touch of his fingers, just as it had that night.

But that night had been a lifetime ago, when she was barely a woman, just returned home from finishing school. Now her tranquil life had been shattered, her family destroyed, her mother’s and sister’s lives made pawns in some perverse game of a madman. And that naïve young woman was no more.

Libbie pushed him away from her and for the first time noticed his long, red coat. A sobering reminder of who and what he was. “How dare you?”

“You’re right. This is no time for a reunion. We have to get out of here.” He grabbed her hand.
A cold chill started at the point where he touched her and crept up her arm. She pulled away from him, then flung her open hand across his cheek. “I’m not going anywhere with you!”

He touched his reddening face and stared at her with those unflinching blue eyes. “Miss MacRae, Winters will soon return. Do you trust him or me?”

How could she respond when she didn’t know the answer herself? That Sebastian was a British soldier and a spy was clear. But one of Winters’ butchers? Was he more treacherous than she’d realized? And why did she still react to his touch? She backed away from him, ready to pull her knife.

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