I knew I was in trouble when, after having read a third of this book, my husband asked me about it and I instinctively answered: “Well, it is rather blah.” When finished with Damask Rose, I realized it was still a blah read, and I’m not quite sure why. The setting could have contributed – the only thing that I find outstanding about Scotland is the whiskey, and even then, I prefer bourbon. The hero and heroine remained lifeless puppets as they spun out their story before my eyes and I couldn’t bring myself to care what happened to them.

Tynan McDougald is the sole survivor of his sept, but will reclaim his birthright if he restores Laird Cullum’s granddaughter, Nara, to him. Tynan plans to use this opportunity for revenge, for it was Laird Cullum who slaughtered his entire family and made his upbringing a lonely misery. Having tracked Nara to an island convent, he tries to make off with her, but the nuns will not release her unless he marries her. Together they pass through dangers untold, discover the remnants of Tynan’s people, engage in battle and confront all the deceptions and pain of the past at the Council of Lairds.

Tynan is deeply scarred by his experiences and finds trusting difficult. Living for vengeance to the exclusion of all else, he is a grouchy warrior. But over time, Nara’s artless love and faith thaw his soul, haunting him with the conflict between his sworn oath and his newfound love.

Nara is the embodiment of innocence, having been raised by her monastic relatives and in close connection with the local wildlife. She does not understand the brutality of the outside world, and wilts under the, to her, inexplicable harshness of her husband. Her innocence stretches to adopting an adult with the mind of a 3-year-old, and walking straight into a battlefield looking for Tynan after having been ordered to stay in safety.

The introduction of the half-wit, Timothy, troubled me. It was difficult to see the point for his presence as a catalyst to Tynan and Nara’s developing relationship. I really would have liked for them to grow closer on their own, without having continuous outside intervention. Timothy’s role, as well as that of the wolf, was left as a dangling thread at the end. The effect was a stress on external interaction instead of internal development.

In the afterword, we’re told that I knew I was in trouble when, after having read a third of this book, my husband asked me about it and I instinctively answered: “Well, it is rather blah.” When finished with Damask Rose, I realized it was still a blah read, and I’m not quite sure why. The setting could have contributed – the only thing that I find outstanding about Scotland is the whiskey, and even then, I prefer bourbon. The hero and heroine remained lifeless puppets as they spun out their story before my eyes and I couldn’t bring myself to care what happened to them.

Tynan McDougald is the sole survivor of his sept, but will reclaim his birthright if he restores Laird Cullum’s granddaughter, Nara, to him. Tynan plans to use this opportunity for revenge, for it was Laird Cullum who slaughtered his entire family and made his upbringing a lonely misery. Having tracked Nara to an island convent, he tries to make off with her, but the nuns will not release her unless he marries her. Together they pass through dangers untold, discover the remnants of Tynan’s people, engage in battle and confront all the deceptions and pain of the past at the Council of Lairds.

Tynan is deeply scarred by his experiences and finds trusting difficult. Living for vengeance to the exclusion of all else, he is a grouchy warrior. But over time, Nara’s artless love and faith thaw his soul, haunting him with the conflict between his sworn oath and his newfound love.

Nara is the embodiment of innocence, having been raised by her monastic relatives and in close connection with the local wildlife. She does not understand the brutality of the outside world, and wilts under the, to her, inexplicable harshness of her husband. Her innocence stretches to adopting an adult with the mind of a 3-year-old, and walking straight into a battlefield looking for Tynan after having been ordered to stay in safety.

The introduction of the half-wit, Timothy, troubled me. It was difficult to see the point for his presence as a catalyst to Tynan and Nara’s developing relationship. I really would have liked for them to grow closer on their own, without having continuous outside intervention. Timothy’s role, as well as that of the wolf, was left as a dangling thread at the end. The effect was a stress on external interaction instead of internal development.

In the afterword, we’re told that Damask Rose was inspired by the Greek myth of Hades and Persephone. There are references about the dark deliverer strewn throughout the text, but this premise is not carried through, and leaves us with another unsolved thread. Given that Tynan is the tormented hero, but with all the goodness necessary for a hero under his surly surface, I had problems deciding just whom the rapist-death-god-Hades was supposed to be in this book.

Damask Rose might be more thrilling to readers who already love Scottish medievals. If you also like a dopey heroine with saint-like innocence, a haunted hero and paranormal traits, you will probably like this book far more than I did. I found it acceptable, but I’m not coming back for a second helping.