Category: Romance Publisher: Five Star
ISBN-10: 1594146503
Type: Fiction
Pages: 343
Copyright: January 22, 2008
ISBN-13: 9781594146503
When Tessa macFindlaech is stolen from her uncle's castle by handsome English spy Jeffrey Brixton, she struggles to overcome invading soldiers, ruthless outlaws, and the disturbing whispers of her own heart.
Scotland, Shakespeare and Romance:
an Unbeatable Combination
Macbeth’s Niece is a novel that appeals to both heart and mind. Yes, there’s romance and danger and a love-conquers-all finale, but amidst the derring-do readers glimpse of one of Shakespeare’s most interesting characters, one of history’s most maligned kings, the eleventh-century Scottish king Macbeth.
Tessa macFindlaech is sent to her uncle’s castle for training because her mother considers her too headstrong. There she becomes acquainted with Lord and Lady Macbeth, but she is soon stolen from their care by Jeffrey Brixton, an English spy. Her life takes several odd turns, stranger still because they are predicted by three old women met on the moors, the same three who predict Macbeth’s rise to power.
Left in England with Jeffrey’s family, Tessa finds some peace but must resist a growing attraction to her abductor. When he goes missing and is presumed dead she returns to Scotland, where she finds her aunt and uncle much changed. When Tessa meets the witches a second time, their message sends her on a dangerous journey to find Jeffrey, led by her heart and sustained by courage and determination. Despite outlaws, soldiers, and a host of other dangers, Tessa succeeds in her quest while Macbeth fails in his. Unlike her uncle, Tessa remains true to herself, relying not on magic and murder but on the irresistible power of love.
Excerpt
Rain fell, but that was not unusual in the Highlands, and the three creatures making their way over the hills paid no heed to the weather. What they did take note of was unclear, for they seemed to sense things that were not there, answering voices unheard and peering at sights unseen. They were an odd trio: women, to be sure, but less and more than that term implied. Their hair, once different colors and textures, had faded now to the same matted gray. Clothing hung in tatters, long unwashed and uncared-for. The three cunning, leering faces seemed at once knowing and unaware.
The tallest, who led the way, suddenly stopped and faced the other two, bony face alight with enthusiasm.
“Shall we tell?” she asked. “What say you both?”
“Tell!” said the second, and the third echoed, “Tell!”
“If it be ill?” The crone’s crooked finger pointed at them and her eyes narrowed.
“Tell!” the two repeated.
The smallest of the three, whose skin was gray with dirt and scaly from some vile disease, spoke. “They must make of it what they will. We are not to blame.”
“No, not to blame,” said the third, who lacked an eye, having only smooth skin over the spot where the right one should be. “They think themselves better, all of ‘em. We shall tell and then see how it goes for them.”
With nods all around, the three again made their way across the hillside, sometimes taking a dancing step or two, sometimes speaking to the air, and, as they melted into the nearby woods, muttering words that pleased them but would make no sense to anyone else: “Double, double, toil and trouble …”
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