KASSANDRA: A “wild child” raised in a magical forest. This fey dreamer’s nighttime visions see a powerful Scottish laird with whom she is destined to share a passionate bond . . . if she can save him from a hooded murderer. For him, she will travel to the king’s court, risking ridicule and confronting treachery in her quest for the man of her dreams.

CADEDRYN: A battle-hardened, emotionally scarred man driven to regain the title and honor his father threw away in the name of love. No firebrand will stop him from making a political marriage for himself, no matter how persistent her warnings or how irresistible her allure. But when her dire predictions come true and violence threatens on all sides. . . only Kassandra holds the key to both his survival and happiness.

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Excerpt of In A Wild Dream

Loch Nidean Forest, just off the Coast of Scotland… 1076

The deep forest lay silent as its fey mistress lay in uneasy sleep beneath the sheltering arms of an old ash tree. Long strands of grandfather moss dripped from the tree branches and dense undergrowth carpeted the ground, creating a spongy forest floor that absorbed the sounds of evening insects and nocturnal creatures, all sounds, that is, except the moans of the red-haired woman who tossed back and forth in her bed of ferns, caught in the throes of her nighttime world.

A night owl swiveled his head, looking down at the young woman as a young weasel scampered along the limb of a Scots Pine and sniffed her bright tresses.

Kassandra twisted restlessly as sweat rolled down her delicate forehead. She gasped, her eyes closed, and flung her hand outward as if reaching for something.

The weasel chattered and backed away, his intelligent eyes watching her with concern.

“Who are you?” Kassandra moaned aloud while her eyes flickered beneath closed lids. Her breathing quickened and her legs twitched. The light blanket covering her body was tossed aside as her motions grew increasingly agitated. “Where did you go? Take care,” she cried. “Danger stalks close by!”

Within the dream, she raced through the dark woods, tears streaming down her face. A flash of metal in moonlight drew her forward but the ring of steel against steel made her hesitate. “Is that you?” she whispered, unable to see clearly through the dream mist.

She stumbled against a tree and hugged it closely, feeling the scrape of bark against her soft skin. “What is happening? This is not my normal dream… where is the sun? The flowers? My friend laughing in the meadow?”

A man bellowed with pain as another shouted in victory. The sounds reverberated in Kassandra’s dream world, coming from every direction. She peered through the forest, desperate to locate the fighters. “I know you need me,” she whimpered. “I need you, too. We are wed. You are my mate, yet there is something so different about you. Something so…”

Suddenly, the nimble weasel bent down from the dark branches and dangled in front of her, holding onto the branch with his hind feet. His tiny red front paws waved in the air, exposing his white belly as his black eyes glimmered in the darkness.

“I must find him soon,” she told the weasel.

You’ve been dreaming of him for a long time, he answered her silently.

“For the last ten years… Ever since I was six. But I want to see him. I want to feel his hand pressed against my cheek. I feel a longing that I have not felt before, as if I must find him in the flesh, for knowing him only in my dreams is no longer enough.”

Mayhap he does not exist.

“Don’t you hear him? Hear the swords? He is in danger. As much as I want him, he needs me. We are meant to be together. I thought he would come to me, but mayhap I must go find him. He is calling for me.”

The weasel blinked his huge rust-rimmed eyes and cocked his head to listen carefully. I only hear the wind in the trees.

Kassandra flinched as swords clashed and sparks flickered in the shadows, and although the clash was in her dream, her sleeping form twitched in reaction.

Mist swirled within her dream world as she pushed away from the tree and began running once again. After tripping on her night rail, she gathered the front of it in her hands, but it was like smoke and slipped through her fingers. She struggled, her fear escalating as the smoke filled her throat and she began to choke. As she became faint, she fell first to her knees, then toppled forward, striking her head against a rock.

You’re dreaming, the weasel reminded her as it leapt from the branches and scurried close.

Her eyes flickered as the dream mellowed. The smoke was gone and the forest enclosed her with a sense of security. She stared at the weasel across the dream mist.

"I am dreaming," she repeated. "But I know this dream. My mate is in danger and I must find him. I must awaken and search for him."

The weasel tilted his head. You are not married to a real man. He is only in your dreams.

"I will unite with him," she insisted. “We are destined for each other. I know it. I have always known it.” She rose and the folds of her gown swirled around her form, molding to her lush body. The smoke drifted away. Boldly now, with sure and steady steps she strode through the dream forest, nimbly stepping over logs and avoiding stones.

She knew the weasel followed her through the woods- she felt his reassuring presence. He was always with her in these dreams. He understood her like others did not, but even he was beginning to become frustrated with her need to find her spiritual mate.

She knew she was dreaming. She was familiar with the smoke, the changing environments, the strange sounds that only she could hear, yet this particular dream frightened her. It was changing. It was stirring her in new ways and a sense of urgency rippled through her body.

She paused and listened carefully as goose bumps appeared along her bare arms…

The dream used to be so lovely- set in a forest flooded of golden sunrays with leaves fluttering beneath the wind's subtle breath. He had first appeared in her dream on her sixth birthday, and although she never saw his face in her dreams, he became her dearest friend. They had played, dancing through the dream mist and chasing dragonflies together, forever her gentle playmate.

But in recent dreams, he had matured into a man. The difference made her shiver with trepidation, afraid of her own aching need for something she could not define. His young muscles were hard and his hair was almost black. Odd vibrations drew her deeper into her dream as her blood began to pulse with recognition. He was no longer just a friend; he was her mate. She knew him. She wanted to find him.

The clash of swords rang once more, but as she finally spied the combatants, she sensed another presence. Like a malevolent spirit, it swept through the forest and blocked her path.

Kassandra gasped. “What do you want?” she cried. “Are you the one who seeks to harm him?”

Cold winds swirled around her feet and the weasel clambered upon her shoulders as the wind howled.

Kassandra narrowed her eyes in anger. “Cease this!” she shouted. “You are not welcome here! Nothing shall rip us asunder!”

The spirit shrank back and shadows folded around it like the fabric of a dark velvet gown. Other faces flashed before her, some friend, some foe, but Kassandra strode boldly forward- ignoring them until the darkness gave way to a verdant, moonlit meadow.

In the center knelt her dream man.

Just beyond him lay another man who was unfamiliar to her. The fallen one’s blood soaked the ground and death hung over him in a dark, seething cloud.

Her man rose and turned his back on both her and the dead man, seemingly unaware of their presence. He spread his arms wide “God of all gods, father of mine,” he called out. “You gave me battle skills! I have become your warrior!”

Kassandra approached slowly. “Dagda,” she said softly. “My Celtic battle-king. See me. Hear me. ‘Tis your Danu, mother of the gods. I know you even though you have changed. I sense your spirit.”

Her man closed his eyes and turned in a full circle, his arms spread wide to the stars. Blood dripped down his left arm, which held up a small, intricately engraved dirk. “My family gave you its blood and I will have my victory! My father lays buried in a unsanctified grave,” he shouted. “Killed with this blade!” A jagged wound ran from his wrist to his shoulder, then swept across his chest, appearing like a streak of lightning followed by his roar of thunder. “I will avenge him!”

Kassandra covered her mouth to stifle her cry of distress. “What happened to you? You are bleeding so much! Your wounds are so deep!” She looked at the fallen man, seeing his lifeless yet compassionate eyes. His soul was reaching for a sweet spirit, but an ugly cloud oozed between them, thick and impenetrable.

Her Dagda stumbled as blood loss made him weak, but he stubbornly remained standing. He shook his right fist at the moon. “Why did you take my father? They say he thrust this blade deep within his own heart. Did I send him to the underworld? Did I cause his death?”

Kassandra reached for him, but her hands swept through empty air. “Dagda,” she whispered. “Let me help you.”

He is in another dream-world, the weasel cautioned her, finally seeing the man she had insisted existed. He scampered closer, his beady eyes flickering with concern. Those who do not accept the dream world cannot hear you. He is no longer your playmate. He is a man, and men outside Loch Nidean do not follow their hearts. Let go of this dream. You have lost him.

“You must hear me!” she cried to Dagda, ignoring the weasel. “We are meant to be together! We need each other. I yearn for you so much, I tremble inside.”

Dagda fell to his knees. “Mother goddess,” he murmured. “Bless me. Give me victory against my enemies. I am ready to come home.”

Kassandra knelt beside him, her white nightdress fluttering around them both. “I am here,” she said quietly.

He lifted his blade. “My sword… It sings a sorrowful song. The beauty is gone. I will never be whole again.”

Kassandra swept the air above his hand, comforting and healing him. “I will take care of you,” she promised. “I will make you whole.”

His eyes snapped open and he gazed directly at her. “Who are you?” he demanded. His face wavered in the mist, incomplete and partially obscured. He appeared confused and dazed.

Her heart raced. “I am Danu, your dream-friend. We have known each other for many years. We are life-mates.”

The forest melted, leaving them on the still surface of an endless blue lake. No land existed beneath their knees, yet they did not sink. Hazy mist drifted around them and faint moonlight illuminated the water as if from below.

“Do I know you?” he asked. His gaze flickered over her visage and he cautiously touched her face. “Warm. Everything else is so cold but you are warm.” He cupped her cheek and drew her forward.

“I can feel you,” she murmured. “You can feel me.”

He pulled her close. “Your eyes are like the ocean.” With his right hand, he touched the lake and wet his finger, then stroked the corner of her eyebrow. “Dark blue. Tumultuous. Passionate.” He dug his fingers into her hair and tilted her head back.

She arched her neck and his rough lips brushed against the hollow of her throat. His hand wrapped around her back and held her as his other palm caressed her breast. “Not warm,” he corrected huskily. “Hot. Like fire. A fire-faery.”

She quivered beneath his caress.

Suddenly, a wind vortex erupted between them, flinging them backward, and a hooded figure rose between them.

“No!” Kassandra screamed. “I can’t lose you!” She pushed forward and gripped Dagda’s belt, but the power driving them apart was too great and her hands slipped. She stretched, trying to catch him, but her hands raked through the shadowed figure standing amid the wind tunnel and she was flung backward. Her hair whipped across her face, blinding her, but she flailed, trying to find him, to hold him, when her hands snagged on something sharp. A dirk. A beautiful, hand engraved knife.

As she fell backward with only the dirk in her hand, her man crashed through the water and immediately began sinking. “Danu!” he shouted at her.

“Dagda! Reach for me! Take my hand!” She reached for him but the distance between them grew too quickly.

“I can’t hear you,” he shouted. “Where did you go? I want to feel your heat! My heart is cold but you ignite me!”

The wind tunnel broadened, its tentacles spreading through the mist, destroying the fragile water droplets and splintering the peace. Kassandra struggled against the forces. “I will not lose you again!”

The man stared at her as the lake water enfolded him in its embrace. “Find me,” he commanded from a great distance. “Find me in my world. You have part of me. Use it to find me.” Then the water swept over his head and he disappeared.

The wind died as suddenly as it had risen and Kassandra was left standing alone in the vast, watery expanse of her lonely dream world, holding only the glowing dirk in her hand.