Heart of a Scot Series,
A lively writing style and detailed story lines are the mark of this truly excellent writer.~Kathryn LeVeque-USA Today Bestselling Author
She’s determined to end her betrothal, but he must make her his at all cost.
A Scottish lass determined to end her betrothal.
As an infant, Mayra Findlay’s hand was pledged in marriage. So closely has her virtue been guarded, she’s never been permitted a beau—has never even flirted with a man. However, after a chance encounter with a dashing rogue who sets her pulse and imagination cavorting, Mayra initiates a scheme that’s sure to force her affianced to call off their union.
The laird who must make her his at all cost.
Until Logan Rutherford, Laird of Lockelieth Keep, inherited a near bankrupt estate, he had no intention of wedding the lass he was betrothed to as a wee lad. Now he needs Mayra’s remaining dowry to save his beloved Lockelieth. However, before they exchange vows, he’s determined to know just what type of woman he’s reluctantly taking to wife. So he assumes his cousin’s identity; a decision that soon has him snared in a tangled web of deceit.
Caution: This historical romance contains one rakish fiery-haired Scot accustomed to getting his own way, a lass who’s fed-up with men dictating her life, and stubborn gelding with a superior attitude.
Buy this first installment in the Heart of a Scot series for a Highland adventure you won’t want to put down.
The stranger’s arresting hazel eyes meshed with hers, jarring her to her toes. And then he smiled—a dazzling flash of teeth in his tan face.
In a twinkling, her mind went blank as a sheet of fresh foolscap.
In a completely foreign fashion, Mayra become all gangly limbs, caught her toe on her hem, and with a strangled squawk—somewhere between a crane’s whoop and a sheep’s bleat—toppled right off the cart.
Into his arms.
Oh, curdled custard.
Leaping forward, somehow, he’d managed to close the distance in a blink of an eye.
She found herself clasped to a marvelously, solidly muscled chest, while equally impressive firm arms cradled her shoulders and legs. Gazing at his neck and jaw—mere delicious inches away—the barest hint of mahogany whiskers shadowed the angular breadth, and she forgot to breathe.
What a magnificent specimen of manhood. And he held her in his arms.
Quite the most marvelous accident ever to befall a maiden.
When her faulty lungs decided to function again, the most pleasant masculine scent filled her nostrils. Not a heavy fragrance, but a fresh, crisp, yet slightly musky scent—perhaps a hint of ale and tobacco too.
She inhaled a thorough, prolonged breath. Probably indecorous, that, although neither Mama nor Bettie had ever specifically warned her against sniffing gentleman.
Who was he?
Why hadn’t she seen him in Glenliesh before?