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      Cover Copy

      Risking it all for love and valor . . .

      When Corporal Sean MacBranian awakens after being injured in battle, he is sure the luck o’ the Irish has run out on him. Or that he’s died and gone to Heaven. There can be no other explanation for the blond-haired, blue-eyed angel standing before him. But his “angel” is a truehearted lass named Ashlinn, and she wears a nurse’s uniform. Her tender ministrations have brought him back from the brink of death—and have given him a new reason for living.

      Ashlinn knows their parting is inevitable; her handsome hero must return to the 69th infantry of the Union army, and there are no guarantees of his safe return. With most of her family already destroyed by the war ravaging America, she is sure she cannot survive another loss. Yet she feels powerless against the draw of Sean’s strong and steady heart. Neither time nor distance nor the danger of battle seems to lessen their bond. But when their secret letters are intercepted, the devoted nurse’s love will face the ultimate test . . .

      Visit us at www.kensingtonbooks.com

      Books by Heather McCorkle

      Emerald Belles

      Honor Before Heart

      Courting the Corporal

      Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

      Honor Before Heart

      Emerald Belles

      Heather McCorkle

      LYRICAL PRESS

      Kensington Publishing Corp.

      www.kensingtonbooks.com

      Copyright

      Lyrical Press books are published by

      Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018

      Copyright © 2016 by Heather McCorkle

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      Kensington Publishing Corp.

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      Lyrical Press and the L logo are trademarks of Kensington Publishing Corp.

      First Electronic Edition: March 2017

      eISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0286-0

      eISBN-10: 1-5161-0286-X

      First Print Edition: March 2017

      ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0289-1

      ISBN-10: 1-5161-0289-4

      Printed in the United States of America

      Dedication

      For my heart, Edd McCorkle

      Acknowledgements

      There are so many people that helped get me here that I don’t know where to start, so I suppose the beginning it is. I must thank the Dropkick Murphys, an American Irish punk band whose music has been paramount to my inspiration for this novel. It was their song The Fighting 69th that first made me want to know more about the 69th brigade, and thus, sparked the inspiration for this entire novel. Thank you to my husband, Edd, who put up with all the hours of writing, questions, and brainstorming sessions. Thank you to my mentors, William Bernhardt and Eldon Thompson. I would not be the author I am today without you two. Thank you to my writer tribe on Twitter and Facebook, my Seymour Family, my fans, family, and my good friend and fabulous author Scott Wilbanks. You all give me strength and inspiration. Last, but certainly not least—not ever least—I want to thank the good people of the 69th brigade, both those who serve it today and those Irish American’s who originally served it so long ago.

      Chapter 1

      Not even the threat of rain heavy upon the Virginia air could banish the sickly sweet stench of death. The boom of cannons and rifle fire slowly trickled to a stop. That, or Sean’s hearing was going. A quick glance around revealed bodies of the dead and dying strewn across Malvern Hill, turning its green grass a brilliant red. Relief churned with the ever-present guilt of all he had done in the name of country and freedom this day. Turning his head up to the cloud-choked evening sky, he said a silent prayer for the fallen on both sides of the conflict.

      Only soldiers in blue coats were left standing and not many of them down near the river where Sean was. It made him wonder how many of the 69th regiment had perished this day. So many Irish brothers lost…no, American brothers, he had to remind himself. They were more than just Irish now. They were Americans, and had died as such.

      The muzzle of his rifle drooped until the bayonet fixed upon the end of it touched the muddy bank of the James River. With General Lee’s soldiers on the retreat, it seemed they had won the day. But at such a horrible cost.

      A rustling in the brush along the river pulled Sean from his dark musings. In the fading light, he couldn’t quite make out what moved within the tall brush. Whatever it was, it was close, no more than ten feet away. Though his heart hammered like a galloping horse, his hands were steady as he tossed his empty rifle aside and drew his saber.

      “Damn beast!” a man cursed with a thick Southern drawl.

      The voice came from much farther down the bank than the rustling brush. Sliding into a fighting stance, Sean split his attention between the direction of the voice and that of the rustling. From the brush emerged a furry shape that at first glance seemed the size of a bear. Wouldn’t that just be his luck? To survive such a battle only to be mauled by a bear. Huge brown eyes gazed out of a gray face that was decidedly canine. While the creature was over three feet at the shoulder, it was most certainly a dog. And it was a breed Sean knew well: an Irish wolfhound. He began to wonder if perhaps he had been struck on the head. Such a dog didn’t exist in America. He hadn’t seen one since he’d left Ireland over three years ago. Mesmerized by the creature’s curious eyes, he took a step toward it. Pink tongue lolling from the side of its grinning mouth, it moved toward him as well.

      The click of a rifle hammer locking back froze Sean in mid-stride. From out of the brush, not five feet away stepped a soldier in a filthy gray uniform. Blood stained his left arm. His gap-toothed sneer inspired more contempt in Sean than it did fear. The end of the rifle barrel pointed at him was another matter altogether.

      “Two fer one, must be my lucky day,” the man said.

      A low rumble like a distant train, only far more menacing, sounded from the dog beside Sean. Canine eyes filled with deadly intent fixed upon the Confederate soldier as her lips curled back from long, pointed teeth. The barrel of the gun swung from Sean to the dog.

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