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Rhythm of the Moon
Strange things are happening in King's Harbour. Midwife Maggie Wilson vows to find the person who almost murdered her sister. When her sister’s behavior ignites old superstitions, the townspeople threaten to send her to an asylum. Maggie turns to handsome Ian for help in a town where everybody is against her.
Apothecary Ian Pierce wants nothing more than to feel whole, as he does when he is near the beautiful midwife, singing to her soul with his music. Only then can he forget the horrors from his past when false accusations sent him to Bedlam.
When they unearth the deeds of a sinister killer, Ian’s most daunting battle will be to safeguard his sanity . . . and win Maggie’s heart.
Page Count: 284
Word Count: 70900
The door swung open, and Mr. Pierce, the singer from the kirkyard, thrust himself into the room. He carried a body in his arms, covered in a cloak. Blue-tinged, slender feet dangled from the tattered, mud-soaked hem.
Samuel stared in slack-jawed shock and backed away. “Why have you brought this body here?”
To Maggie’s astonishment, the body began convulsing in great spasms, and the singer struggled to hold it. The cloak fell off, revealing a shroud-wrapped body, only the face exposed. The eyes, ice blue, stared wide and unblinking and blank with terror.
Sarah’s eyes. Her lips blue, dirt-encrusted eyelashes, cleft chin. “It cannot be,” Maggie whispered, and shrank back. Coldness enveloped her, as if she had slipped into a frozen lake, cold water surrounding her, and could hear only muffled voices, echoing urgent and sharp. She saw only shapes above the icy water.
A voice, masculine and hoarse, broke through the ice, and she stared into the singer’s eyes. They steadied and warmed, pulled her out of her daze.
“We must move her by the fire and rid her of this shroud,” Ian urged.
She took a deep, shaky breath. Yes. It was Sarah, yet the eyes stared unseeing in a blue-mottled face covered in dirt.
Samuel’s voice escalated in panic. “She was buried, she was dead. I saw her. How can this be?” He turned his head away.
Maggie grabbed him by the shoulders. “Samuel, you must look at her. Somehow it is our Sarah.”
He stared. “Sweet Jesus.” He reached a trembling hand out to touch her face. “Sarah?”
Eyes flat, no recognition.
“She does not know me.” He thrust his arms out. “Give her to me.”
Ian Pierce handed the writhing body over to Samuel and hurried to stoke the fire; Maggie made a pallet in front of the hearth. Jonas cowered at the door.
“Go away, Jonas. And tell no one,” Maggie cautioned. “Samuel,” she ordered. “Put Sarah on the pallet and fetch the scissors. We must rid her of the shroud—quickly. Good, now hold her steady.”
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