The Highlander's Lost Lady (The Lairds Most Likely 3)
“I’ll no’ be leaving a lady out in the rain.”
Her lips tightened. In the circumstances, it was perverse to notice that they were the color of crushed cherries and just as luscious. “I’m not made of icing sugar. A little water won’t kill me.”
Fergus had already decided she was more spice than sugar. “Very well, then, if you insist.”
“Thank you.”
Fergus turned to the coachman. “Take the horses along this road to the gatehouse. I’ll be ahead of you, and I’ll give them instructions about what to do when you arrive.”
“Aye, my lord,” the man mumbled.
Fergus waited for the woman to complain about him appropriating her authority again, but she was busy wrapping her father more securely in her cape and helping him to sit up. The man gave a groggy moan, and his eyes no longer seemed to be focusing as his head lolled against her shoulder.
“I’ll be as quick as I can,” Fergus said. “Dinna be frightened.”
The minute he spoke, he wanted to wince. Frightened? This lassie didn’t look like she’d tremble at the crack of doom.
“I willnae be long.” He caught Banshee’s bridle. The mare whinnied and sidled away, but settled at a quiet word. Further along the road, the coachman led the horses toward Achnasheen.
“That’s good,” the woman said. “Here, Papa. You’ll need this before I’m done.”
The injured man curled his shaking hand around hers as she held the flask to his lips. He jerked away. “Basta! This is vile stuff.”
Despite their plight, Fergus hid a smile. “It’s Bruce Mackenzie’s finest.”
“Not brandy?”
“No. Uisge-beatha. We call it the water of life.” Not quite legal in the eyes of a Sassenach exciseman, but the best drop of whisky produced across ten glens.
“Dio, I’d rather be dead.”
The man had more courage than Fergus had credited. Perhaps he and his daughter were more alike than he’d thought. “Aye, you’ll do,” he murmured.
Fergus whistled up his dogs and mounted Banshee. He wheeled the mare in the direction of the castle and set off through the rain at a gallop.
Read the rest of the story here!
Excerpt from The Laird's Christmas Kiss
Down with love!
Ever since she was fifteen, shy wallflower Elspeth Douglas has pined in vain for the attentions of dashing Brody Girvan, Laird of Invermackie. But the rakish Highlander doesn’t even know she’s alive. Now she’s twenty, she realizes that she’ll never be happy until she stops loving her brother’s handsome friend. When family and friends gather at Achnasheen Castle for Christmas, she intends to show the world that’s she’s all grown up, and grown out of silly crushes on gorgeous Scotsmen. So take that, my gallant laddie!
Girls just want to have fun…
Except it turns out that Brody isn’t singing from the same Christmas carol sheet. Elspeth decides she’s not interested in him anymore, just as he decides he’s very interested indeed. In fact, now he looks more closely, his friend Hamish’s sister is pretty and funny and forthright – and just the lassie to share his Highland estate. Convincing his little wren of his romantic intentions is difficult enough, even before she undergoes a makeover and becomes the belle of Achnasheen. For once in his life, dissolute Brody is burdened with honorable intentions, while the lady he pursues is set on flirtation with no strings attached.
Deck the halls with mistletoe!
With interfering friends and a crate of imported mistletoe thrown into the mix, the stage is set for a house party rife with secrets, clandestine kisses, misunderstandings, heartache, scandal, and love triumphant.
Chapter One
Achnasheen Castle, Western Highlands of Scotland, December 1818
Elspeth Douglas loved many things. Her family; her horse Chester; her home in beautiful Glen Lyon; daffodils; shortbread; the novels of Walter Scott; days curled up on the sofa in front of the fire.
And Brody Girvan, Laird of Invermackie.