Daughters of the Isle, Book 1

Pre-order – Release date 3rd June 2025

She fell for an enigmatic stranger from the sea—and then he broke her heart

Isolde MacDonald knows exactly what she wants, and wedding the arrogant Highlander, William Campbell—who will do anything to claim her land— is most definitely not it. Fiercely proud of her heritage, she’s bound to her beloved isle through an ancient prophecy of her foremothers and is certain no Campbell will understand her bond with her land or her love for her sword.

She doesn’t need a man to make her life complete—until a stranger with no memory of his past washes up on the beach and steals her heart.

He can’t recall his own name—but he’ll do anything to win her heart

When he’s attacked on his own ship and tossed overboard during a storm, he awakens with no recollection of who he is. But of one thing, he is sure. The beautiful Isolde MacDonald, with her independent spirit and skill with her sword, is the only woman he wants.

But when his memory returns, the truth threatens to destroy them both

To win her, he must discover the truth. But there’s more at stake than an ancient prophecy, and if they can’t put the past behind them, they just might lose everything.

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EXCERPT

Isolde entered the solar, where he was lying on the floor before the fire. Several oil lamps lit the chamber, and for the first time she got a good look at her stranger from the sea.

The breath caught in her chest, an inexplicable constriction, as she gazed, entranced, at the vision before her. Even battered and grazed from the savagery of the storm-tossed sea, his starkly chiseled features were utterly compelling.

His torn shirt revealed tantalizing glimpses of his broad shoulders, and the drenched linen molded his impressive biceps like a second skin. Her mouth dried and she took a hasty step back, lest anyone noticed her indefensible reaction to an unconscious man.

Heat blasted through her, burning her cheeks, but thankfully everyone was focused on their unexpected guest. She swung about and threw another slab of peat onto the fire, but the reprieve did little to calm her racing heart.

She took a deep breath. Whatever foolishness was gripping her, she would not allow it to distract her from her duty. She was the eldest daughter of Sgur Castle, and she would never give cause for anyone to question her integrity.

“I’ve never seen this man before,” her grandmother pronounced, and Isolde gave a silent sigh. She could procrastinate no longer.

“Whoever he is, we must tend the wound on his head,” she said, as she returned to her grandmother, who was on her knees beside the man. “And ensure he has no other injuries.”

“No bones appear to be broken.” Her grandmother stood and gave Isolde an inscrutable look. “Have the maids dry him while ye attend to his head.”

One of the maids brought warm water, and Isolde steadfastly kept her eyes on her task of cleaning the gash on his head, and not at his expanse of naked chest as the maids vigorously rubbed life back into his chilled body.

The wound did not look too bad and fortunately was no longer bleeding. Likely they could thank the sea water for that, otherwise the poor man would’ve been at the mercy of her sewing skills as she stitched his head together.

She rolled back on her knees and focused on his face as the maids finished their task and wrapped thick blankets around him. Now he was dry, they could move him into the box bed, but she had to confess she was a little concerned he was still insensible.

“Can ye hear me?” She leaned closer and frowned when her whisper elicited no response. Trepidation licked through her. Certainly, he wasn’t dead, but suppose he never awoke again?

It was foolish to think she could wake him from oblivion when the journey from the beach, and the less than gentle ministrations of the maids, hadn’t evoked even a groan from him. But she had to try.

She grasped his shoulder through the blanket and gave him a good shake. “Wake up. Ye’re safe now, but ye must open yer eyes.”

His impossibly long black lashes flickered, and for a reason she could not fathom, she held her breath, as he slowly did as she had bid him.

His eyes were a captivating swirl of blue and gray. Like a stormy sea.

How apt.

She scarcely had the wits to chide herself for such a fanciful notion.

Instead, she smiled at him. A comforting smile, to assure him all was well.

“Where am I?” His voice was hoarse. There was no reason for the sound of it to send delicious shivers along her arms.

“Sgur Castle. We found ye on the beach. Tis lucky ye’re alive.”

Confusion clouded his eyes. “The beach?” he echoed, as though he had never encountered the word before.

“Aye. We can only guess ye went overboard during the storm. Although we found no shipwreck,” she added hastily, but now the thought had occurred to her, they would need to search at daybreak for any wreckage.

He gazed at her as though he was unaware of anyone else in the chamber. It was a novel sensation and undeniably thrilling. “Who are ye?” he whispered.

“Isolde MacDonald.” She refrained from giving him her full title. Besides, she’d already told him he was at Sgur Castle. “What is yer name?”

His lips parted, and then an expression of disbelief, no, horror rippled over his face, and he struggled to sit up, the blanket falling to his lap, revealing his breathtaking chest. By sheer force of will, she refused to look and instead gave him an encouraging smile.

“I can’t . . . I cannot recall.” The words sounded as though he’d ripped them from the bowels of hell itself.

Her smile slipped. “What?”

He sucked in a jagged breath, his fierce gaze never leaving hers. “I don’t know who I am.”

Meet Christina Phillips

Christina grew up in England and spent her childhood visiting ruined castles and Roman remains and daydreaming about Medieval princesses and gallant knights. When she wasn’t lost in the past, she was searching for magical worlds in the backs of wardrobes and watching old Hammer Horrors from the safety of behind the sofa. She now lives in sunny Western Australia with her high school sweetheart and their two cats who are convinced the universe revolves around their needs. They are not wrong.