Journey to Ireland and England in award-winning author MK McClintock’s Clayton’s Honor, a dazzling story of danger, honor, and undeniable love.
Would you give up duty for the sake of your honor?
On the windswept shorts of Ireland, Anne Doyle lost her father to a foolish war and her mother to madness. Left with debt and an ancient family home, she struggles to keep the rest of her family together even as an enemy attempts to take them away. After witnessing a brutal murder, Anne must enlist aid from the only family she has left if she is to save those she loves.
Devon Clayton had no intentions of leaving behind his life of adventure and danger, but when he is charged with protecting a witness and her family, he must choose between duty to the country he serves and a woman who tests his honor and willingness to change.
Together they will discover that nothing is what it seems and that without honor, love and life are for nothing.
Clayton’s Honor is historical romance at its best—a captivating adventure set in the rolling hills and crumbling castles of Ireland.
"Clayton's Honor by MK McClintock is a clean historical romance that will keep your heart beating and your palms sweating. This is definitely a novel that is going on my 'read again' shelf! A really good and smooth read!" —Readers' Favorite
"A mystery entwined with an ongoing hopeful romance between Devon and Anne, Clayton's Honor is utterly enticing and captivating!" —InD'tale Magazine
"Ms. McClintock is a master of making the written language beautiful. Her descriptions of the Irish and English landscape have a lyrical quality; the words jumped off the page like musical notes."
"Another captivating case for the British Agents! Again, this writer hasn't disappointed me with this beautiful Victorian historical set in England and Ireland." —Nicole Laverdure
“This is a wonderful book with suspense to keep me on the edge of my seat and surprises to keep me guessing . . . a feisty heroine and a strong, gentle hero . . . My poetic soul is fed by the beautiful descriptions of nature.” —Verna Cole Mitchell
Award-winning author MK McClintock writes historical romantic fiction about courageous and honorable men and strong women who appreciate chivalry, like those in her Montana Gallagher, British Agent, and Crooked Creek series. Her stories of adventure, romance, and mystery sweep across the American West to the Victorian British Isles, with places and times between and beyond. With her heart deeply rooted in the past, she enjoys a quiet life in the northern Rocky Mountains.
County Wexford, Ireland—February 4, 1892
COULD THEY HEAR her? If she moved deeper into the shadows, could she sneak away? If she loosened the grip on her lungs and took the deep breath she desperately needed, would they find her? The heady stench of copper filled the air of the great hall, the dank stone walls doing little to block the scent of death. The carpets beneath her slippered feet masked her first step. Back one, and then two. She ducked behind a heavy tapestry, one of the few left in the old castle.
Masked under a cloak of clouds and desperation, she escaped out the servants’ entrance, confident that the cook and single housemaid would not see her. Wet slush and rain combined to make her retreat difficult. She could not risk discovery by hailing someone and beseeching them for a ride. Her own two feet must carry her the miles to Brannon Cottage.
The noise of the carriage wheels competed with that of the storm, but she did not mistake the sound of the small rocks as they ground and rolled over one another. She hurried behind a nearby copse of blackthorn and waited. Lights from the carriage lanterns broke through the darkness as the conveyance approached. The man in the driver’s seat sang “She Is Far from the Land” faintly heard through the wind. After he passed, Anne set one foot in front of the other and paused. Her fear overpowered her desire for warmth. She could do this. It was only four miles.
One worn slipper almost fell from her foot when she stepped in a small slush of wet snow. Colder now, she pressed forward. One mile. Two miles. Three. She must reach him before they realized she was gone. Anne flailed and her body lurched to the ground. Her arm scraped over a sharp stone that sliced through her cloak. The faint clatter of bottles in her satchel managed to reach her ears over the harsh howl of the winds.
Excerpt © MK McClintock
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