Happy Saturday! I can't believe it is June 15th already! Where did this year go???
I'm happy to announce that, THE HIGHLANDER'S TRIUMPH, the 5th book in the Stolen Bride series has released today on
Kindle and Nook. Look for it soon in other ebook formats, print and audio!
Here's a peek inside...
He was a warrior fighting for Scottish freedom.
She was his enemy’s mistress.
Laird Brandon Sinclair has given his
life to the Scottish cause. Swearing fealty to Robert the Bruce, he will stop
at nothing to see oppression end.
Lady Mariana wants nothing more than to
break free of the tyrannical hold the English king has on her. When he sends
her to Scotland with a message for the rebels, instead of obeying his orders,
she finds herself submitting to her desires. After one sizzling, life-altering
night, Brandon and Mariana must part ways. But Mariana has no intention of
betraying her heart again.
And Brandon is determined to get her
back. Stealing Longshank’s secrets felt like victory, but taking his woman will
be this Highlander’s ultimate triumph.
Chapter One
Nearing spring, 1298
Highlands, Scotland
Smoke filled Laird Brandon Sinclair’s
lungs as he rode on horseback with his men toward the north of Kinterloch
Village.
High
above the wooden wall, flames burst in hungry orange licks. A vengeful fire
that would turn everything in its path to ash. The late afternoon sky was
already overcast, but the smoke of the blaze made it nearly black.
No
villagers ran from the fire. No animals screamed. The chaos that should be
erupting with the flames was non-existent—as if deserted. But he knew it
couldn’t be. The people, the animals, were either trapped or had managed to get
out from a different gate.
The
Scottish troops’ fearless leader, William Wallace, had already charged through
the front gates into the inferno as if he were a man with a death wish. He’d
ordered Brandon and his men to check the north side for survivors. Brandon’s
cousin, Ronan Sutherland, had taken his warriors to the west side near the
loch.
Far
from his castle and lands in the north of the Highlands, Brandon had traveled
to Eilean Donan the month prior to help his cousins Daniel Murray and Ronan
along with William Wallace and Robert the Bruce in the war against the English.
But it seemed now it wasn’t only the English they were fighting—but traitor
Scots too.
A
loud crash reverberated through the air as another building collapsed behind
the wall. A rush of heat surged his way, and a cloud of dark smoke billowed into
the sky, in stark contrast to the world around them, a peaceful, beautiful
place with lush pine trees and gorse bushes, even in winter. Hell set in the
middle of heaven.
Doubt
darkened his mood. There would be no survivors. Not in a raging inferno like
this—one that rivaled Hades. He shook his head and spurred his horse forward. His
chestnut colored warhorse, Checkmate, pounded the earth with his massive
hooves.
If
only they’d been able to get to the village before Laird Ross—traitor to all
Scots and their ancestors. The damned bastard had defected to the English, and
since doing so, had laid a path of destruction across the Highlands. There
wasn’t a man Brandon knew that hadn’t been affected by Ross’ treachery. Hell,
it seemed like the man was on a mission to make enemies with everyone of true
Scottish heart.
Brandon’s
thoughts were cut midway when they rounded the burning wall on the north side.
“Halt!”
he shouted to his men, reining in Checkmate.
A
woman burst through the wooden gate, exposing the interior angry flaming
village. Hair black as a midnight sky, skin covered in soot. Her dark green
gown was covered by a singed, once high-quality, wool cloak. She tripped,
falling onto her hands and knees, coughing, yet she did not stop. The lass
crawled forward, every move beleaguered in her attempt to escape the flaming
village.
Without
a thought, Brandon jumped from Checkmate, and ran toward her.
“Lass,
are ye all right?”
He
knelt before her and she practically fell into his arms, her breath coming out
in a rush against his face. Her eyes closed, then fluttered open. She grasped
onto him with weak, trembling fingers.
“Oh,
monsieur…”
French.
Brandon quirked a brow, trying not to be completely infatuated with the way her
words rolled seductively off her tongue. What was a woman of French descent
doing in Kinterloch? The lass clutched at the front of his cloak and glanced up,
hair falling onto her soot covered face. He swiped the strands away and was
startled by a pair of lovely, sparkling blue eyes. The color of the sky on a
cloudless summer day. Like blue diamonds. But they were filled with fear, pain.
Brandon’s
hands skimmed over hers—soft and small—then up her arms as he pulled her to
standing. She wavered on her feet, and glanced around as if she expected the
devil to burst from the earth and drag her down into the depths of his hellish
domain.
“Lass,
ye’re safe now. Tell me, are ye hurt?”
She
shook her head, licked at her cracked, red lips. “No. I’m not hurt, other than
my lungs—they burn with each breath.” Her voice was hoarse, as though just a
tiny hint of air passed through her delicate throat.
“Dinna
speak then, if it pains ye.” Brandon’s hands slipped to her shoulders,
automatically massaging the tense muscles there.
The
woman sagged against him, a few tears spilling from her eyes. “Thank ye.”
Brandon
wiped at her tears with the pads of his thumbs. “Shh… I will ask ye a few
questions, simply nod or shake your head. But first, tell me your name.”
“Lady
Mariana.”
A
name as pretty as a ballad. And she was a lady. He’d known that, and he
suspected, though covered in soot, she was well off. Her cloak spoke of a
high-quality fabric. He expected when she washed the grime from her hair it
would shine, proof that it had been well kept. As it was the silken locks
teased his skin and he longed to entwine his fingers within it. Where that
desire came from, he didn’t bloody well know.
“Lady
Mariana, are ye alone?”
She
nodded, her eyes locking on his with what looked to be a suspicious glance, and
a peek behind him at his men had her paling.
“We’ll
nay harm ye, lass. We’ve come to help.”
She
shuddered in his arms.
“I promise no harm will come to ye.” Brandon
made his assurance loud enough for all his men to hear. “Ye are under my
protection. I’ll see ye to safety.”
Mariana
chewed her lower lip.
Turning
to a few of his men, he ordered, “Check to see if there are others.”
The
men nodded and urged their horses forward, checking the north gate, then moving
beyond it and out of sight.
“Were
ye a guest?”
Her
eyes crinkled up as she studied his face. Having plenty of experience judging
people’s expressions, he guessed she was trying to figure out how to answer.
“I
know ye’ve no cause to trust me, but I assure ye, I’d never see ye harmed. I am
Laird Brandon Sinclair and I am one of Robert the Bruce’s men.”
Her
eyes lit up at that. “I trust ye.”
Brandon
didn’t expect the sudden constriction in his chest upon hearing those words. He
was a little taken aback by it. In fact, he was a little taken aback by this
entire encounter. Lady Mariana was eliciting a reaction that no other woman
ever had. Unable to quite describe it, Brandon could only call it awe. He was
attracted to her; she was beautiful, delicate, exotic. But beyond that, he had
a fierce need to protect her. And he didn’t know why. He’d wanted to protect
his cousins’ wives, women in his village, his mother, but never had he felt the
fierce need to pull a woman close so that no other could get near her.
It
was almost possessive. And he needed to dismiss it with haste. His men made
themselves still as statues behind him. Mayhap he should pass her on to one of
the remaining retainers, just so he could get a breath of air without her
scent—for indeed he could smell the sweet aroma of flowers beneath the smell of
smoke. It was embedded in her hair, on her skin.
He
cleared his throat. “Well, good. I shall take ye to safety.”
Brandon
took a step, intent on leading her toward his horse, however, Lady Mariana’s
legs were so shaky the simple task became labored. He swiftly pulled her into
his arms, his muscles tightening at the feel of her supple curves.
“Will
ye allow me to take ye to Eilean Donan?”
Mariana
lowered her lashes, long black curly lashes that showed off the curve of her
cheekbones. She nodded.
“Verra
well.” Brandon wanted to say something more charming, more comforting to a lass
in such distress, but he could think of neither. Only that he never wanted to
put her down—and how that made him want to toss her and run.
A
woman would only slow him down. He’d seen that very thing happen to his
cousins—Magnus, Blane, Daniel, Ronan—all tied to a woman. Brandon didn’t ever
want to deal with the fears that came with loving someone. He’d seen enough
strife where love was concerned. His mother had not been a happy woman—save for
when his own father passed.
Brandon
grunted, pushing those unhappy thoughts aside. He lifted Mariana onto the horse
and then climbed up behind her, putting his arm around her waist and pulling
her securely against him. Her body melded to his, warm and lithe. Her head fell
back and she breathed out a ragged sigh. Brandon ground his teeth, willing his
body not to react to the soft curves pressed to his—the full derriere that if
he allowed himself, he could fully imagine sliding his hands over as passion
gripped him.
God’s
teeth, it was going to be a long ride back to the castle. Even still, he pulled
her closer, feeling the brush of her breasts on his arm. Blood rushed through
his veins, ignoring his warnings, and centered in his groin. A long ride
indeed.
The
heat of the flames washed over them in blistering waves. Sweat beaded on his
brow and trickled down the sides of his face. How on earth was Wallace faring
inside the blaze? Brandon blew out a breath and scanned the surrounding area. Beside
the firs and pines, the trees were still winter bare, moss covering some of
their trunks. He didn’t see a glint of metal or out of place movement. Part of
him suspected that Ross sat in the shadows watching, waiting, probably even
stroking himself with glee at the destruction he’d caused, but Brandon knew
better. The bastard wouldn’t stick around. He’d hightail it to the next place
he could barrel into and force a bed from.
But
beyond Ross and his minions having disappeared, the lack of villagers was
beyond disturbing. He hoped that did not mean they’d all perished, yet another
crime against his own countrymen Ross could add to his long offensive list.
Brandon wasn’t the first in line to land a blow if the man were ever to be
captured, but damn if he didn’t want to be.
Despite
the heat, Lady Mariana shivered. Brandon tightened his hold, wishing he could
take away the fear that filled her. What a horror it must have been for her to be
surrounded by fire within the village, to see one’s life threatened. A near
daily occurrence for him, but he was a warrior, trained for such, she was a
lady, used to soft, fine, nice things.
Brandon
tugged an extra plaid rolled behind his saddle and wrapped it around her
shoulders, making sure to cover her legs.
“I
thank you, my laird.” Her voice was shaky, and he suspected she was on the
verge of hysterics.
“Who
were ye staying with? Have they…” He trailed off not wanting to ask if they’d
indeed succumbed to the flames.
“I
was staying with Sir Teirnan Barclay.”
“Ross’
cousin,” Brandon growled. What the devil was she doing with him? Suspicion grew
ripe in his mind.
Mariana
nodded, her head bumping his chin. She turned up to him, her eyes red-rimmed,
but fierce. “Is he your enemy?”
“Aye,
Ross is my enemy.” A sudden thought occurred to him—was Mariana going to pull a
hidden dagger from beneath her skirts and attempt to strike him? “I’ve no
quarrel with Barclay, yet.”
After
having witnessed Lady Julianna’s fighting skills, he wouldn’t put it past a
woman again to be fully equipped with a blade. Julianna was the Bruce’s half-sister
and guardian—and his cousin Ronan’s love.
Mariana
nodded. “Ross is a bad man.”
He
didn’t know whether or not to be surprised by her words. “Why do ye say that,
lass?”
She
gestured toward the fire. “All this.”
“And
Barclay?”
She
shook her head, folded her hands in her lap. Long slim fingers, pale skin. She
wore a beautiful ruby and gold ring on her right finger, but none on the left.
Brandon hoped that meant she didn’t have a husband waiting for her back in
France—and he wasn’t sure what difference it would make. He had no intentions
of…
Of
what?
Dammit,
he was supposed to be worried over the blaze, over the safety of the
townspeople, the Scots. Not whether the woman in his arms was spoken for.
“Tell
me, lass. Does Barclay still live? I’ve need to hear who we’re fighting.”
“Barclay
is alive. He’s not a bad man in his own way. He’s a follower. Caved when Ross
first raised his fist.”
Just
as the Bruce suspected. Barclay was afraid of Ross. Not many weren’t. Brandon
and his cousins weren’t. The Bruce wasn’t. But that was because they’d already
seen through the man. Knew they could beat him. Had been fighting against him
for months. Others weren’t as willing to put their necks out when a man,
half-crazed, showed up on their doorsteps and demanded cooperation or death.
Brandon was fairly certain that was the stipulation. While Ross was gaining
much from his alliance with Longshanks, the English king, he wasn’t one to pass
it on to anyone else. Nay, Ross would hand out punishments if his wishes
weren’t followed.
“How
long were ye here?”
Mariana
shook her head. “Not long.” Her voice was soft, but scratchy, a reminder of
what she’d been through and Brandon’s previous promise that she didn’t have to
talk.
His
own throat was starting to feel scratchy from the smoke blowing on the wind.
The fire had already conquered at least half the village, and the spots where
it still blazed showed no sign of relenting.
Mariana
coughed delicately, her shoulders quivering against Brandon’s chest. He
resisted the urge to stroke his hands over the gentle curve of her shoulders.
Instead, he managed to do the gentlemanly thing and pulled his waterskin from
its place attached to his saddle.
“Take
a sip, lass.”
Mariana
turned her glorious blue eyes up to him, and gave a grateful smile. “My thanks,
my laird.”
Brandon
gave a stiff nod. Wanted to tell her to call him by his name, but knew that
would only seem odd to a lady he’d just met. She took hold of the waterskin,
her cold fingers brushing his.
“Ye’re
cold,” he muttered.
Mariana
shook her head. “Just thirsty.” She drew the waterskin to her lips, wrapping
their pink, plushness around the rim and taking a deep pull.
Brandon’s
mouth fell open and his eyes were riveted to the sight—a number of sinful
thoughts running wickedly through his mind.
“Thank
you.” She handed him back the skin, her eyes starting to droop.
“Are
ye tired?” he asked, feeling as though he stated the obvious. Her lids were
heavy, her face pale. The lass was completely worn out.
Mariana
nodded. “I feel so weak.”
“’Tis
from the smoke. Rest, lass. I will wake ye when we make camp.”
Mariana
wiggled in his lap—driving him crazy with the way her bottom hit his thighs and
groin—until she found a comfortable position. She laid her head against his
chest and closed her eyes. How easily she found her ease in his arms. Brandon
was stunned.
Before
he could think more on it, his men returned from their search, no villagers
with them. Brandon frowned, his anger growing.
“We
saw no survivors, my laird.”
Brandon
gave a jerky nod, then turned his horse back in the direction they’d come. “Let
us find the others.” If Wallace wasn’t back with Ronan and Julianna, then they
might very well need to ride through the blazing village.
Ronan
and Julianna met them halfway. No signs of their enemy and no signs of
survivors either.
“Who
is this?” Julianna asked Brandon.
Brandon
opened his mouth to speak, but Mariana roused and lifted her head. She stiffened,
her back becoming straighter.
“I
am Lady Mariana,” she said with her silky accent.
Odd
how the sound of her tongue made Brandon want to pull her closer, touch her
sensitive spots and hear her speak his name.
Julianna
frowned. “What are ye doing here?”
“I
was sent by His Majesty, King Edward.”
Fire
flashed in his cousins’ woman’s eyes, just as shock at her statement made his
blood run cold. Longshanks had sent her? What in blazing ballocks was she
talking about?
“Put
her down. ’Tis a trick! We just left several others. The fire was a trap to
lure us in. There are archers and warriors hidden in the woods to the west—most
likely all around us.” Julianna pulled her sword from her saddle.
Brandon
pressed his lips firmly down in a frown and glanced at Ronan with question. Julianna
acted as though Mariana might attack them. The lass stiffened further in his
lap and again he wondered if she had a hidden dagger. Despite her omission, his
gut told him she was not his enemy and he tended to trust his instincts. They
weren’t going to leave her out in the cold, or lynch her.
If
Ronan didn’t rein Julianna in, Brandon wasn’t sure he’d be able to hold his
tongue. Normally, Julianna was more cautious, gave no signs of her true
feelings, but now she was acting completely different.
“Laird Sinclair, on behalf of my brother, your
leader and future King of Scotland, I order ye to put the woman down. She is
our enemy.”
Mariana
clutched her hands to Brandon’s chest, her cupid lips forming a bow full of
fear. “My laird, please dinna let her hurt me,” she whispered.
Ronan
reached out a hand and laid it lightly on Julianna’s arm. The man certainly had
patience when it came to his woman—and some sort of magical power. Julianna
seemed to stand down.
“What
is your purpose, Lady Mariana?” Ronan asked, the voice of calm and reason.
Brandon
couldn’t help feeling like they were interrogating the poor lass. Couldn’t they
see that she was struggling to breathe, to stay awake? Whatever her purpose,
she wasn’t a danger to them now.
Mariana
shuddered. “I…I…” And the woman lost consciousness. Anger surged within
Brandon. They’d scared her half to death.
Julianna
bristled.
“We’ll
take her with us. She can give us the information we seek,” Ronan said sternly.
“Any sign of Wallace?”
Brandon
shook his head, his grip tight on Mariana. He’d vowed to keep her safe, and
damn if he wasn’t going to see that vow through—even if he had to fight every
man or woman to see it done.
A
swift jolt awakened Mariana. A muffled cry escaped her and she flailed, eyes
popping open. Her vision blurred, she made out the white of the sky and a bunch
of blobs of black and brown.
