Awards:

The Lories 2002 Best New Author - Historical
Nominated for the Dorothy Parker Award of Excellence for Debut Novel
Nominated for the Francis Award for Best Author

Reviews:

"An engaging storyline and feisty heroine." - Sheri Melnick, RT Magazine

"The Marshal’s Destiny has a bit of legend, lots of exciting action, and an endearing cast of characters, particularly two lovers who are very special. The writing is fine and fast paced and a delightful fast read." - Suzanne Coleburn, Reader to Reader

"I found The Marshal’s Destiny to be a very fast and enjoyable read. Ms. Admirand did a remarkable job pulling the reader into the story and having them believe in destiny, and love-at-first-sight." - Jane Koss, The Romance Readers Connection

"Ms. Admirand has created characters that are fun and full of life. If you like historical westerns, this book will give your heart a warm feeling during the cold winter nights." - Debbie Gilbert, Romance Reviews Today

Excerpt:

The door to the coach burst open, and a dark form filled the opening, blocking out most the mid-afternoon sunlight. She tried to focus on the figure, though the loss of blood made her head swim.

"I'm not ashamed to admit it."

"Ashamed of what?" the deep voice asked, as the man grabbed the door frame and pulled himself into the confines of the coach. His considerable weight rocked the coach, causing the team of horses to pull against the traces.

Tiny dots danced behind her closed eyelids, and a lowpitched buzzing sounded in her head.

"Hold the team!"

The snorting and stamping miraculously stopped. Maggie swallowed against the lump in her throat, nearly releasing the tears she held back.

"Easy, miss."

The stranger's voice called to her on an elemental level, forcing her to ignore everything but the sound of his voice. It pulled her back from the comforting darkness to the chaos and pain.

"I may have made a wee bit o' noise when the arrow--"

The words dried up on her tongue when she looked up and locked gazes with the stranger sitting across from her. Had she died already then? Was this her guardian angel come to take her to Heaven? He smiled, and her head instantly cleared. Her pain momentarily forgotten, she looked up into one of the most beautiful faces she had ever seen. The sunlight pouring in through the open door framed his head, gilding the edges of his tawny-blond hair, setting off his gorgeous eyes'.his brilliant deep green eyes. She watched them harden slightly, as his gaze dipped down to the arrow and back up again. The lack of softness didn't bother her, she was counting on the man's strength, not his ability to charm. Though truthfully, what held her enthralled was their intense color, so like the rolling hills around her family's small plot of land back home.

He used his thumb to push the hat further back on his head, the movement releasing a lock of wavy sun-kissed hair. It fell into his eyes, and he brushed it aside with a hand that was every inch as big as her brother Seamus's. And maybe then some, she thought, as he inched closer and placed his hands on his knees.

Before he could speak, Annie blurted out, "She's pinned to the seat."

He looked away from her for the first time since entering the coach. Maggie could swear she felt her control waiver, watching him nod to indicate he understood the situation. The moment he looked back, his confidence washed over her. 'Twould be all right then, she told herself.

Watching his face for a clue as to how bad her injury really was, she saw his jaw clench and a muscle under his left eye leap twice before he ground his teeth together. The sound grated across her already frayed control. Not good, she decided, not good at all.

"I'm wonderin' if it would be easier to remove the seat--"

"Hold still," he commanded, moving so close she felt waves of heat pouring off his body.

She breathed deeply, trying to calm her racing heart, and his masculine scent enveloped her. Her head reeled as the potent combination of body-warmed leather, soap and a hint of horse washed over her.

Her gaze swept over the breadth of his broad chest, taking in his massive shoulders. He definitely looked strong enough to pull the arrow free. She only hoped he would be gentle enough removing it from her swollen flesh.

She looked back up at his face, and his grass-green eyes immediately locked on hers.

"I have to get an idea how deeply the arrow imbedded itself in the cushion." He paused, and seemed to be waiting for her to say something.

"Should I try to lean forward?" she asked, truly hoping he would not ask her to. "Can you do that?"

Maggie silently cursed her tongue for moving before her brain could think things through. Heaven help her, she must be daft. If it hurt not to move, it was certain to be worse if she did.

"She's lost a lot of blood," Annie began, "I don't think--"

She watched his gaze swing over to Annie's. The look that passed between the two did not bode well at all, she thought. She shivered involuntarily, then stiffened her resolve and screwed up her courage.

She could handle anything'.she was a Flaherty!

"What do ye want me to do?"

"If you can try to lean forward, just an inch would help," he said quietly. The low rumble of his voice soothed her, like a healing balm spread across aching muscles.

"I'll give it me best," she answered honestly, "but I won't be promising I can."

The grim visage before her softened, and the man's face relaxed into a lopsided grin. A dimple formed along one side of his mouth, drawing her eyes to that point. She couldn't help but notice his strong whiskered jaw, or the dark blond mustache framing his beautifully sculpted lips. The sudden urge to trace them with her fingertips jarred her.

She hadn't been tempted to look at another man, much less touch one, since she'd held her darlin' Rory close and he breathed his last.

"She's got a bucket of grit to spare."

"Ye say that like it's a bad thing, Annie."

As the words were leaving her lips, another wave of pain came out of nowhere, hitting her right between the eyes. She couldn't hold back a low moan of agony. He clenched his jaw again. All traces of his grin disappeared, making her wonder if they were linked somehow allowing him to feel her pain. "Ready?"

She nodded and slowly eased her body toward him. Her arm felt as if it were being ripped apart and set on fire. She began to doubt her body's ability to absorb anymore of the pain. Fresh blood spilled from the wound, adding a bright crimson to the already bloody bandage.

Joshua deftly reached around behind her, slipping his fingertips beneath her.

"Trust me," he said locking gazes with her.