Passion and Plunder’s Release Day and Publishing Anniversary!
Passion and Plunder
Highland Heather Romancing a Scot Series, #5
Would you sacrifice everything for the person you love, knowing you can never be together?
A desperate Scottish lady
Lydia Farnsworth—the sole surviving heir to the Laird of Tornbury Fortress—has lost nearly everyone she loves. Now her father lies on his deathbed. And as if this isn’t dire enough, he’s invited men from the surrounding area to a warrior’s contest—the winner to claim Lydia as his bride.
A Scotsman dueling with his past
Alasdair McTavish, son of Craiglocky Keep’s war chief, is a seasoned warrior in his own right. So when he’s sent to Tornbury to train the Farnsworth soldiers, he’s more than equal to the task.
When a dangerous adversary makes a move against Lydia, a dastardly scheme comes to light, and Alasdair realizes only he can protect Lydia.
Don’t miss the 5th installment in this sweeping historical Highland romance series—get your copy of Passion and Plunder for a romantic Scottish adventure you won’t want to put down.
Tornbury Fortress, Scottish Highlands
Life’s never predictable.
Lydia Farnsworth forced her stiff lips into a sunny smile and, smoothing the heavy russet counterpane across her father’s once muscular chest, refused to acknowledge the sorrow clawing at her ribs.
For his sake, and the clan’s too, venting her grief would have to wait until she sought her chamber. Future lairds, especially female chiefs, controlled their weaker emotions.
She inhaled deeply, longing for the crisp outdoor air rather than the stuffy sickroom’s fug.
Wasting disease. Heart failure.
She’d lost Mum scarcely three months ago. Her brothers six months prior to that. And the man she loved too, though he hadn’t died. He might as well have for the grief she’d suffered. And if that wasn’t chaos enough, mere weeks ago, her orphaned, American second cousin had arrived.
And now this awful prognosis?
Wretched, bloody unfair.
Like something from one of Mum’s gothic novels she’d kept stashed behind her half-boots within her wardrobe.
Lydia had devoured several as well, in utmost secrecy, of course. Chiefs didn’t read risqué novels. Rather, they didn’t get caught reading them.
“I’ll see Doctor Wedderburn out, Da.” She brushed a lock of gray-threaded, bright red hair from her father’s pale, slightly damp forehead before kissing him.
Her hair, secured at her nape with a lavender ribbon a shade lighter than her gown, billowed forward.
Da’s lips tipped up at the corners, and love glinted in his still brilliant hazel eyes, so like hers. He playfully tugged a tendril of her almost black hair.
“Nae need to look so solemn, lass.” He winked. “I dinna plan on cockin’ up me toes just yet, ye ken. I still intend to see ye wed and to bounce yer bairns on me knees.”
A coughing fit interrupted his raspy chuckle.
Sorrow squeezing her lungs, Lydia passed him a fresh handkerchief.
Doctor Wedderburn waggled his grizzled eyebrows at his long-time friend. “Aye, Bailoch, yer too stubborn and contrary to point yer knobby toes heavenward without a fight.”
Da grunted and scowled, but his feet wiggling the bedding belied any actual annoyance.
Would he live long enough to play with her children?
Besides, she wasn’t even betrothed. Hadn’t any prospects either.
Dredging up that heartache was pointless and just plain stupid, particularly with Da’s looming health crisis. If she also ruminated on her broken heart, she might splinter—fracture into a thousand jagged, miserable pieces.
Lydia had neither the time nor the strength to lose her composure and indulge the pain she’d resolutely suppressed since last spring. Besides, she quite detested moping females, and sulking about in a fit of the blue devils benefited no one.
If hell had a season, she’d just borne several long, unrelenting months, and her torment didn’t look to be over soon.
How much more could she endure?
Da stirred again and, though he winced, managed a puny smile.
I’ll endure as much as I have to.
She and Da only had each other now, but God help her, at nineteen, though educated right alongside her brothers and often surpassing them in academics, Lydia wasn’t prepared to be the clan’s chieftain yet.
Would she ever be?
Did she want to be?
Not now. Not like this.
Even before Colin’s and Leath’s deaths, Da had trained her, took her into his confidence, asked her opinions, insisted she speak the King’s English with a cultured lady of the realm’s accent.
So why did feelings of inadequacy still plague, sharp and frequent?
The harsh, even scathing, whispers about a female chief, that’s why.
But proving a woman worthy of such a lofty roll as laird?
Well, that intrigued her mightily.
She’d love to prove the naysayers wrong.
Of course, Da had assumed she’d marry a high-ranking Scot to help her lead, not fall in love with a titled Sassenach. Nevertheless, to honor Da, as well as her brothers’ memories, she would accept the role.
If Da did, indeed, name her his successor.
Lydia had made no provision for otherwise, and that included any notion of nuptials.
By God, she’d do well by the position. She would.
She’d have a purpose then, a focus, something to work toward since her dream of marriage—at least a love match—had been ground to dust and the specks blown across the moors by the Highland winter’s wild gales.
May is such a special month for me!
I’m celebrating my 4-year publishing anniversary!!
I’ve published an enhanced second edition of my first book, Highlander’s Hope.
Don’t you love the new cover?
ENTER RAFFLECOPTER GIVEAWAY HERE
Tell, me…. What do you want most from each romance story that you read?