Spotlight &Giveaway: The Witch and the Gatekeeper by Leigh Ann Edwards

Today, HJ is pleased to share with you Leigh Ann Edwards’s new release: The Witch and the Gatekeeper

Ancient Celtic magic, forbidden longing, and destiny bind a healer and a guardian in ways neither can deny…

Eilis O’Brien has always found purpose as her village’s healer, a calling that helps quiet her secret love for Cian Rafferty—the low-born guard she can never hope to marry. But when she’s threatened, her overprotective father, the chieftain, forbids her to work. Retreating to a forgotten wing of their castle, Eilis discovers a hidden chamber and magical mirror, linking her across time to three young witches, descendants from the legendary Witches of Time. Together with the witches, Eilis must awaken her magic to fight the dark forces hunting her.

Cian Rafferty has fought his whole life the cursed burden of gatekeeper. His birthright destroyed his family, but under Chieftain O’Brien’s guidance, he finally has stability and a future—even though it cannot include Eilis, despite their deep love.

But when a demon captures Eilis and drags her into the realm that claimed his mother, Cian embraces the destiny he fought to save her. Together they challenge an ancient evil with only their love to protect them.

Enjoy an exclusive excerpt from The Witch and the Gatekeeper 

Chapter One

Ireland 1564

As a witch, Eilis O’Brien was well acquainted with magic, yet even for her there was something magical about market days. The familiar sounds made her smile. Children’s laughter, murmurs of numerous conversations, the steady trundling of horse-drawn carts. Always, at least one persistent dog barked hoping for a handout from the soft-hearted butcher, and farther down the lines of vendor stalls, someone merrily played a fiddle.

People from their chiefdom and this seaside Irish village seldom missed Saturday markets. Visiting with friends and neighbors to hear the latest news and local gossip was as elemental to this popular venue as perusing the various items offered. Breads, sweet and savory pies, freshly harvested seasonal fruits, vegetables, and grains, along with meat, fish, seafood, spices, pottery, jewelry, and a variety of fabrics could be purchased or bartered for here.

However, Eilis and her mother, Alainn, weren’t peddling wares … or gossiping. They were healers, providing services to people who couldn’t or wouldn’t go to the healing chamber at their castle. Some were too infirm to walk that distance. Others refused largely because of Castle O’Rorke’s infamous hauntings. Tales had been exaggerated but it was indeed haunted by a good many spirits, including Eilis’s great-grandfather, Niall O’Rorke who in life had been a Druid chieftain.

Smells of roasting meat, fresh bread, and cinnamon blended with the pungent odors wafting from the seafood and fishmonger’s stands near the docks to create a scent she’d come to associate with market days. The earthy smell of fallen leaves was also rife on the air. She looked toward the laugh-like chatter of seagulls to see white feathers shimmering against a brilliant autumn sky. Like her, the carefree birds favored this fine early October weather.

Late afternoon sunshine warmed her back as Eilis selected burn balm and bandages from her basket of healing supplies. She was attending Domhnall, the baker’s apprentice, who had a sizeable burn.

“This might sting,” Eilis said, dabbing a cooling remedy on his blistered palm.

He gazed at her with sheep-like adoration. “I felt only your sweet touch, dearest Lady Eilis.”

“Keep this clean and dry for three days,” she warned, securing a bandage tight enough to make him flinch. “Else next time I see you, you’ll be wailing while I clean out the rot.”

Eilis fought a grin at Domhnall’s expression and glanced over to where her mother stood nearby, stitching Tommy Boyne’s foot. The little boy had stepped on a shard of pottery broken when he’d knocked a pitcher off a vendor’s table. After the incident, her mother had carried the distraught child away while Eilis picked up the shattered pieces, cheerily calming the displeased potter. She’d compensated him well for the damage so he wouldn’t take it up with his overwhelmed mother. With fifteen children, including newborn twins, the exhausted woman stayed close to home.

Village children often attended markets unaccompanied by adults. Eilis remembered bygone days when she and her siblings ran about happily through the vendor stalls while Momma worked. If they disturbed anything Eilis usually employed magic to prevent breakage.

Her mother turned from her suturing to smirk at Eilis, sending a playful telepathic message.

“Do you s’pose Domhnall’s so smitten he purposely burned himself to make time with you, leanbh inine?”

The pet name—Irish Gaelic for baby girl—warmed her heart despite her siblings sometimes chaffing her about it. Even as the eldest child of eight, including two other daughters, the endearment remained hers alone.

“I do hope not.” Eilis shuddered, though she had seen the baker’s nephew the previous market day to have a splinter removed. And the one prior regarding a broken toe after dropping a pan.

“There’s many a clumsy lad around on market day, it seems,” Momma added with a mischievous sidelong glance.

Their telepathic bond was both useful and humorous, but most of all, it was special. Although all the O’Brien children had inherited magical maternal capabilities, only Eilis was a gifted healer and air witch like Alainn.

“I wouldn’t suffer a burn for anyone,” she replied.

Momma grimaced, sharing Eilis’s fear of fire.

From beyond the village gates, horses’ hooves and boisterous shouts of welcome home sounded, and they both turned.

Eilis touched her fluttering stomach. The competitors who’d taken part in the tournament in Munster, the neighboring county, had returned. Judging by the enthusiastic crowd, they’d made a good showing. Her father and brother were amongst the men returning after the contests.

Eilis’s heart quickened. Even if she couldn’t openly claim Cian Rafferty, he was her man, and he was back.

Her lovely mother smiled, radiant. After better than two and a half decades of loving one another, her parents remained like newlyweds. Eilis longed for a love like that.

One that didn’t have to be hidden.

She glanced toward the street where friends and family and wives and sweethearts hurried to greet the two dozen men on horseback. As they rode through the village gates, a parade of eager well-wishers accompanied them, surely having tagged along seeing the men on the road.

Her father, Killian O’ Brien, chieftain of Clan O’ Rorke, led the way. Still fine, tall, and attractive in his late forties, he was widely respected. Once champion of three counties, he was still a stalwart warrior. Although he seldom competed any longer, he was responsible for training his castle guards and all tournament competitors.

At only seven and ten years old, her brother Ian—short for Killian the Younger—was following in his namesake’s footsteps and proudly lifted his silver medallion. But, as usual, it was Cian Rafferty—Raff to his friends—who wore the largest, shiniest medallion around his neck. It glistened in the sun. That golden badge indicated he was overall tournament champion, a high honor applauded by everyone.

The men loudly sang his praises, already recounting the thrilling bouts that led to his victories. His comrades and admirers who’d gathered in the street pulled Raff off his horse, then hoisted him above the crowd on their shoulders. Knowing his quiet demeanor as she did, she recognized his discomfort at their adulation.

She tried not to look at Raff too long—or too longingly—and instead focused on giving Domhnall instructions for wound care before sending him off. Grinning back at her, he nearly tripped over his own feet. Perhaps Domhnall was smitten, but he also lacked coordination.

When the crowd finally set Raff to his feet, they congratulated him and the others who’d taken part, with claps on the back and punches on the arms. Eilis shook her head. Men were certainly a peculiar bunch in how they showed affection toward one another.

She poured an astringent over her hands, then dried them on a clean rag. Her father glanced in their direction and beamed. Her mother’s eyes brightened. Eilis smiled at their obvious love.

“Go to him, Momma.” She nudged her. “I’ll finish here.”

“You’re a gem, darlin’ girl.” Her mother patted her shoulder then handed the threaded needle to Eilis.

Little Tommy wasn’t bothered about the change of healers. Her mother had given him a honey cake and whispered a calming spell.

Her father dismounted and dropped his steed’s reins. There on the cobbled street her parents hastened toward one another, embracing, then sharing a kiss, despite the crowd of onlookers. Eilis wasn’t put off by their affectionate display. She felt blessed having parents whose profound love endured. They were like young lovers who’d not seen each other in months rather than longtime spouses parted only a fortnight.

Though God’s blood … it had seemed an insufferably long time since she’d been in Raff’s arms.

She sighed, wishing she could likewise rush to Raff and express her gratitude for his safe return or congratulate him on his victory. Resentment stirred within her. Still, she took a breath, resuming her always ready smile.

“Almost done, Tommy,” Eilis told the child.

She cut the thread, secured a bandage around the wound, and helped him put on his timeworn, now damaged shoe. She ran her finger along the slash, magically mending it, then gave him another honey cake.

“There’s a brave lad.” She tapped his head. “Come back next market day. Momma or I will remove the stitches.”

He nodded, cheeky. “Will I get another honey cake?”

“Perhaps two.” She winked.

“Thank you, Lady Eilis. That didn’t hurt a wit. Now I must go see Leinster’s finest warriors.” He limped off, smiling.

“Isn’t the tournament champion to receive a kiss from the fairest lass in the land?” Eilis’s brother called.

She glanced up to see Ian and Raff looking at her. Ian’s voice was loud enough that all would hear, but she suspected it was for her benefit. Raff’s face revealed nothing.

Several bold young women offered agreement of the consideration of being kissed by him. Naturally, Eilis believed tall, brawny Cian Rafferty the most handsome eligible man in this or any other chiefdom; however, her hopelessly lovelorn opinion was shared by nearly every unwed woman. Even a few married ones looked at him with admiration—sometimes blatant desire.

Presently second guard of her father’s entire battalion and working his way to be commander, he was also Leinster’s champion, now the third year running. Numerous women would give much for the honor of kissing him. Or more.

“Who would determine that?” Eilis’s father asked. “For the fairest woman in my eyes is my lady and you’ll not be kissin’ her, no matter how well you did in the tournament, lad!”

He also patted Raff on the back. Her father was fond of him and held him in high esteem for his prowess as a warrior, but even more for his trustworthiness and humility.

Cheeks aflame, Raff tugged an unruly tuft of hair from his eyes. He never gloated no matter his unrivaled standings in weaponry competitions.

Tyrone Walsh, the previous champion, had no such humility. Instead, he’d pounded his chest like the male gorillas Eilis had read about, expecting constant fanfare. His arrogance eventually led to her father dismissing him, which had caused animosity between the O’Briens and Tyrone’s noble-born family. Tyrone still resided in the area but was affiliated with a neighboring chiefdom.

Even now, the former hero stood across market square scowling, doubtlessly jealous of the attention Raff was getting. Rumors were he’d participated in the Munster games but had been eliminated for unsportsmanlike behavior. She didn’t know the details and rarely paid heed to gossip.

Tyrone sneered in her direction, and she hoped he would refrain from making rude comments. In the past, he’d tried to ingratiate himself with her, behaving as if she should be grateful for his interest. After all, she remained unwed despite being past the age most women were promised. He’d once attempted to kiss her and refused to believe she would thwart his advances. When he’d also presumed she wanted him to squeeze her breast, she’d clarified her position by kneeing him in the ballocks. When he could speak again, he’d called her an offensive name.

Tyrone had been furious when her father rejected him as a clansman, and Eilis suspected he blamed her. In fact, she hadn’t told her father about the incident and didn’t ask that Tyrone be dismembered. Her father had few faults; however, he was rather protective of her.

“I s’pose you could kiss Lady Eilis.” Ian jabbed Raff with his elbow. “For she looks much like our mother, save having Da’s green eyes.”

“You want him to kiss your sister?” asked another man who’d taken part in the games.

Her father’s men were typically respectful of her, the chieftain’s daughter, but she suspected that only her family’s presence kept the comments from becoming bawdier. She knew that wagging tongues quietly suggested there must be something wrong with her to be unmarried at the ripe old age of one and twenty. Her younger sisters, twins, Nola and Mara, had both wed in early spring and were with child now, due around Yuletide. Eilis was afforded some grace for, like a nun, dedicated to serving the lord, a life of healing was considered a selfless fate. Yet lately she’d begun to yearn for what Momma had achieved—being a renowned healer, but also a loving wife and mother.

Raff would be uneasy if he knew.

“You’d best ask Lady Eilis if she’d even care to kiss our champion,” Roland, another of her father’s guards, said with a glint in his eye.

He was Raff’s best friend and other than Ian, the only person who knew their secret.

Eilis began placing supplies in a basket, feigning disinterest in the conversation till she looked up and saw all eyes upon her.

“I’m not opposed to kissin’ the victor,” she said, finally.

While most chieftains saw their daughters as pawns in gaining political strongholds or securing clan alliances, her father hadn’t pushed her into marriage. He had been approached by several men requesting her hand, but she’d always declined, making excuses of being too young or not fancying those who’d asked to wed her. In truth, after Raff arrived when she was five and ten and he four years older, she could think of no man, bar him.

To kiss him now, in public, was a dream come true, even if having her brother advocate for them seemed a trifle desperate.

How would Raff feel?

In the beginning, he’d barely look at her. It was a full year before he’d meet her eyes. His rough upbringing made him deem the noble born so different from his kind, he could only bow on bended knee. However, going by the snippets she’d learned of his history, the nobles he’d known hadn’t earned any such respect.

He’d confided scarcely anything regarding those tribulations save warning that she should keep her distance because he’d once been imprisoned. Blessed—or possibly cursed—by seeing echoes of the past, Eilis’s heart ached at the hardships he’d endured. He remained strong and silent, and even in wholly comfortable company, Raff was a man of few words. She, however, had poured her heart out to him. Told him her aspirations and secrets. Confided in him about her magic. Yet, she never feared him. On the contrary, she felt protected when he was near.

Occasionally, he’d reveal the briefest recollection of his past. She was grateful but hoped one day he’d speak of all he’d been through. He sometimes joked that she did enough talking for them both.

She hazarded a glance at her beloved. Raff’s tight jaw belied his discomfort, but he couldn’t get out of this now without insulting her. He worried incessantly about them being found out.

“If you aren’t keen, Raff, sure you must be blind,” Will Gallagher, another tournament participant, jested. “You can kiss me anytime, Lady Eilis. I placed third.”

“And me,” a villager shouted. “I wasn’t at the games, but I’d be honored to receive a smooch from the golden-haired beauty.”

Others shouted similar eagerness.

“Ballocks to a mere kiss, I’d wed and bed you,” a drunkard said with a guffaw. “Not necessarily in that order.”

“I’d see you wedded, bedded, and a bun in the oven straightaway,” another sot slurred. “I’m not afeared the wain would have the devil in them.”

A collective gasp rose at that statement.

Although she seldom employed magic where anyone would see, there were rumors of her and her mother being witches, perhaps because of their extraordinary successful healing methods. And once, a young couple on a late-night walk had seen them dancing under the full moon, providing a feast for gossipmongers. After that, Eilis and her mother celebrated in the fairy glade.

Her father threw the drunkards a stern look. “Mind your tongues, lest you find them sliced off.”

Killian O’Brien was distinguished as a fair chieftain, but his word was seldom questioned. When he touched his broadsword’s hilt the two men staggered back toward the Bottomless Cask tavern.

Raff stared darkly at the retreating men. She knew he’d gladly give them a thrashing in her defense. She’d rarely witnessed his temper, but like her father, he didn’t abide disrespect toward women.

“If you’d like to offer Raff a congratulatory kiss, Eilis, so be it,” her da said. “The rest of you … mind you keep your distance from our daughter.”

Her mother smiled and Eilis wondered if her magical perception had uncovered their secret romance. If so, Momma hadn’t mentioned it. Eilis yearned to share this with her, but she knew better. Her parents kept no secrets from each other, and Eilis shouldn’t like her da to find out lest he react as unfavorably as Raff expected.

She took a breath, straightened her apron, then brushed wisps of hair behind her ear, surely unattractive after working loose from her plait. She crossed the cobblestone street to where her parents stood with the others.

Her father hugged her. “Good to see you, leanbh inine.”

She kissed his cheek and leaned into his embrace, trying to ignore Raff, standing only an arm’s length away. Her father was one of her favorite people, and Eilis knew she was lucky to have an enviable relationship with both parents.

“And you, Da,” she replied. “We’ve all missed you much. I hope you were pleased of your time away.”

“It was enjoyable. The tournament went well for our men, and it was good to visit with family. Though glad I am to be home.” He smiled at her mother again.

Eilis embraced Ian next. “Well done, brother.”

He tugged her braid—his mischievous way of offering her affection—and gave her a gentle shove. “If you’re kissin’ our victor, don’t keep him waitin’ all day. Everyone will want to share a drink with the tournament champion. The casks better be truly bottomless.”

Eilis turned around and there he was. Her knees went weak, and her chest felt tight and hot. She looked up into Raff’s whiskey-colored eyes and lifted her chin, hoping to appear somewhat standoffish. She couldn’t react to his nearness in the presence of all these people.

Was he fighting the same emotions? He smiled and though it wasn’t the sensual grin reserved for her when they were alone, her heart swelled. He took a step toward her.

Her breath caught. Her skin tingled. Her heart pitter-pattered. She fought the urge to fling herself into his arms, to touch his stubbled jaw and run her fingers through his hair. To feel his lips on hers and share a lingering kiss. She nearly emitted a desirous sigh.

She reminded herself to hide her feelings. How often had she steeled herself in his company? How long could she continue to do so? She inhaled softly, but today his delicious familiar musk contained an unusual, disquieting sweetness.

“Lady Eilis.” He bowed, respectful … even cool.

He wouldn’t take her in his arms knowing she’d melt against his body. Instead, he placed his large, calloused hands on her shoulders, lowered his delectable broad lips and gave her the briefest, surely least passionate kiss ever.

“Boo,” the men jeered. “Our paramour champion can do better than that.”

Again, Raff’s cheeks turned ruddy.

Even her father seemed surprised at the tepid brush of lips.

Ian snorted. “Jesus, Mary, Joseph and their wee donkey. You kissed her like she was your sister.”

Or his grandmother, Eilis thought. Not bad enough to be thought a witch; now the villagers would fear she had the plague as well.

“Sure, he received ample kisses from the besotted Munster maidens after the tournament.” Roland laughed. He loved stirring the shite.

Eilis bristled, suddenly recognizing the cloying fragrance as that used by harlots.

“The brothel strumpets rewarded the medalists with considerably more,” another participant said, but Raff’s scowl stopped the man from elaborating.

“Enough.” Her father’s raised hand prevented further discussion.

Raff turned away, but it was too late. Eilis had seen the guilt in his eyes, read the shame on his cheeks.

“Sure, you’d better rest then, Sir Rafferty,” she managed briskly, “after your eventful night and long journey.”

“Or continue celebratin’ your win.” Roland gestured toward the tavern.

Raff nodded. “Aye. Soon enough.”

Her mother briefly assessed the men’s faces. “Did our cousin’s healer deal with injuries our men incurred durin’ the games?” she asked.

Most bore facial bruises or abrasions, and black and blue knuckles. There were likely altercations aside from the formal bouts. That often happened during tournaments. Male competitiveness along with overdrinking bred rivalry resulting in brawls.

Her father nodded. “He’s not as learned as you or our daughter, but the man knows his way around wounds.”

Eilis stepped closer to her parents. “I’ll wait here should anyone need a healer, Momma. You go home with Da. I’ll see you there in time to sup.”

She wasn’t only being considerate; she hoped to speak with Raff alone.

“Thank you, leanbh inine.” Her mother nodded. “We’ll be eatin’ later this evenin’. Cookson will want to prepare a feast to welcome your da and brother home.”

Her father looked proudly from Raff to Ian, then all the men.

“At month’s end, we’ll host our annual Samhain banquet in honor of Lady Alainn’s birthday,” he announced. “We’ll pay further tribute to our champions then. Everyone will be invited.”

Her parents were generous in their hospitality often welcoming chiefdom residents and villagers to celebrations.

Her father lifted her mother onto his horse before climbing on behind.

“Will you manage carryin’ our supplies, Eilis?” Momma asked.

“I could send one of the castle guards to assist,” her father offered.

“No need, Da,” Eilis replied. “There are fewer bottles than when we arrived.”

Her mother touched his hand. “Oh, wait, Killian … I’ve just remembered. I was to visit Nola and Mara for their monthly assessment after the market ends.”

Eilis shrugged. “I’d be happy to drop by to see my little sisters so you can go straight home.”

“Thank you, Eilis,” her father said. “Your unfailin’ dedication to family is appreciated.”

“Sure, I inherited that trait from you both.” She waved at her parents as her father flicked his horse’s reins, and they rode off.

Forcing a smile, Eilis started back to their market location, wondering what Raff had gotten up to last night. Wondering if she really wanted to know. Wondering why she couldn’t have fallen in love with an easier man and wishing she had someone to confide in.

Excerpt. ©Leigh Ann Edwards. Posted by arrangement with the publisher. All rights reserved.

Giveaway: An ebook copy of THE WITCH AND THE GATEKEEPER + one additional Tule ebook of the winner’s choice

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Meet the Author:

Leigh Ann Edwards writes smoking hot romantic fantasy with badass heroines, alpha heroes, history, castles, and magic. She believes love is love, that villains should get their comeuppance (sometimes with a stake through the heart), that pleasure is NOT a four-letter word, and that “dog” is another word for “joy.”

Don’t let her gentle appearance fool you; this grandmother of four ditched a sad story and is now enjoying her happily-ever-after with the love of her life in north central Alberta, Canada. Her heroines don’t need to be rescued but they’ll gladly work with a competent partner to right the wrongs of whatever world they inhabit.

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