Heartbreak and Honor
Highland Heather Romancing A Scot Series, #3
Would you risk your life to rescue a woman you don’t know?
Abducted by a band of renegade Scots, Highland gypsy Tasara Faas blackens her rescuer’s eye when the charming duke attempts to steal a kiss. Afterward, Tasara learns she’s the long-lost heiress Alexandra Atterberry and is expected to take her place among the elite society she’s always disdained.
Lucan, the Duke of Harcourt, promised his gravely ill mother he’d procure a wife by Christmastide, but intrigued by the feisty lass he saved in Scotland, he finds the haut ton ladies lacking. Spying Alexa at a London ball, he impulsively decides to make the knife-wielding gypsy his bride despite her aversion to him and her determination to return to the Highlands.
The adversary responsible for Alexa’s disappearance as a toddler still covets her fortune and joins forces with Harcourt’s arch nemesis. Amidst a series of suspicious misfortunes, Lucan endeavors to win Alexa’s love and expose the conspirators but only succeeds in reaffirming Alexa’s belief that she is inadequate to become his duchess.
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Here’s what readers are saying!
Once again Cameron has created a wildly romantic tale with a twist. ~Pure Jonel Reviews
Simply fantastic!! Another awesome read by Ms. Cameron. A must read. Highly recommended ~My Book Addiction and More
Every time I’ve picked up a romance by Collette Cameron, she keeps me reading, an unable to put the book down. ~Greek Gal
I could not put this book down once I started reading. I read from beginning to the end in under 5 hours. I cannot wait until her next book comes out! ~Melissa Thurston
A rollicking tale indeed, full of humor and wit and daring do…and, of course, love. ~Janice Hougland
Collette Cameron writes a delicious, humor filled tale of intrigue & danger… it’s a definite 5 star book you won’t want to miss! ~Dee Foster
Well-written, well-researched,mighty entertaining. Kudos for this third installment in the series. ~Liette Bougie
A click announced the lock giving way.
Creaking on unoiled hinges, the door edged open, inch-by-cautious-inch, and as it did, the brutal sounds from below filtered into the chamber. Light from the corridor’s brackets illumined a sinister, black-clad form.
A disheveled man paused at the threshold, his coat unbuttoned and a pistol protruding from his waistband. In one hand, he held a sword at the ready, and in the other, he brandished a dirk. Legs braced, he stood at the entrance like a buccaneer balancing atop a ship’s deck.
A pirate in the Scottish Highlands?
She blinked, slapping aside the ridiculous notion. Lack of food and sleep made her imagination run amuck.
For a tormenting instant, Tasara feared the ethereal body Satan himself, except she doubted the devil possessed pale blond hair and required blades to inflict mortal damage.
Fallen angel seemed more apt for the apparition illumined within the doorway.
She strained to see the man’s face. The dim interior hid his features except for a well-defined profile and a strong jawline. Evil men weren’t supposed to be attractive.
Stance wide, and her hand lifted to bury her knife, she waited for the intruder to move away from the door’s protection.
She must defend the children, no matter the cost.
“Tathara?” Lala’s plaintive cry filled the chamber. “Piuthar, where be ye?”
The man’s head whipped toward the bed.
The bedding rustled, and a tear-logged voice whimpered, “Me be ascared. I hearded screaming.”
Advancing farther into the room, the intruder looked this way and that. Light from the passageway spilled across the threshold but failed to reach the bed or the room’s outer edges.
“A child? Might have told me,” he muttered in a clipped British accent while sheathing his weapons. “No matter, I suppose. A female’s a female.”
My God, what did the debauched knave intend?
The same loathsome things the Scots threatened?
Not as long as Tasara’s heart pumped, he wouldn’t. She shifted, ready to spring. A wee bit farther and she’d have a clear target. He would taste her blade before he laid one finger upon Lala.
The man faced the bed and extended his arms. “Come, sweeting, let’s be about it then. I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
How dare he, the loathsome degenerate? Tasara made an inarticulate noise.
He whirled, his body tense and alert.
“Tathara!” Terror resonated in Lala’s high-pitched cry.
Tasara lunged, swinging the blade in an arc intended for his neck. “Depraved sot.”
Ducking, he leaped away, her dagger slicing air instead of flesh. Half-crouched and keenly alert, he regarded her.
“Ah, the gypsy wench I expected.” Straightening, and apparently unperturbed at practically being skewered, he pointed at her dagger. “I do believe you tried to impale me. Most ungrateful of you, I must say.”