New Book Alert: The Highlander’s Norse Bride by Cathy and DD MacRae–Excerpt & Giveaway

The Highlander’s Norse Bride by Cathy and DD MacRae
Book 4 of the Hardy Heroines series
e-Book; 131 pages
Short Dog Press
March 17, 2018
Genre: Historical Romance

Book Blurb:

Caught between two kings vying for sovereignty of the Isles and Western Scotland, Hanna of Hällstein has lost everything—and vows to repay the Scots for the deaths of her husband and children. Fleeing the smoldering ruins of her village, Hanna crosses the Strait of Mull and chooses the Laird of Clan MacLean as the object of her revenge.

Alex MacLean has buried a wife and three children. Ignoring the clamors for him to wed again and produce an heir, he finds himself drawn to a Norse refugee who defies him and tests the limits of his patience—and his power as Laird.

Torn between revenge and honor, Hanna fears setting aside her vow of vengeance means she has lost her reason for living. Alex is determined to save her, even if it means defying the king.

Buy the Book: Amazon

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Check out this EXCERPT from The Highlander’s Norse Bride

Hanna snatched a platter from the table, slamming the trenchers she’d gathered onto the broad surface. Gripping the handles with white knuckles, she braced against the overwhelming waves of grief.

It mattered to no one when my daughter died. Or my son. No one hesitated to destroy my family, my life. Nay, the cursed Scots relished the task.

Tears slipped from burning eyes and she blinked to clear her vision as she bore her burdens to the kitchen.

Something tugged at her skirt.

“Hanna?” a small voice chirped.

Hanna whirled. Her platter slammed against a broad chest mere inches away, and the trenchers crashed to the floor. She released the platter, freeing her hands, the tip of a dagger appearing magically from her sleeve. Her gaze slid from the child to the man immediately in front of her. He grabbed her forearm in a bruising grip, immobilizing her, rendering her threat ineffective. His dark eyes pierced hers, reminding her the man did not succeed as laird by being weak.

The tense line of his jaw echoed the taut muscles of his body, weight poised slightly forward, ready to counter her next move. Forcing back her anger, she relaxed, tearing her gaze away to indicate at least partial surrender. His grip loosened, though she knew she’d bear the marks for a few days, yet he did not completely release her. His touch burned her skin. His half-step closed the remaining distance between them, trapping the threat of the dagger between them.

“Are ye well?” he asked, his voice sliding smooth as aged whisky through her ears.

Hanna eyed him warily. Her heart raced. “I was told ye did not tolerate abuse of women.” With a supreme effort, she kept her tone barely within the range of civil. Something flashed in his eyes, but was quickly gone.

“’Tis understandable ye wish to protect yerself. And fortunate none has seen the glint of steel between us.” A moment of tense silence slid past. “Put away yer dagger,” Laird MacLean growled. “Yer safety is assured. And the mess easily put to right.”

The dagger disappeared into the narrow sheath beneath her sleeve, Hanna’s hesitancy brief and unremarked. She remained of half a mind to plunge the blade into his chest and be finished with her torment. Joining her family in the afterlife held great appeal, and she’d no doubt she’d not last long once her vengeance was sated. But a quick death for the laird weighed against his lifetime of the same sorrow and loss she felt? She needed more time to plan her revenge.

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About the Authors:

Cathy MacRae lives on the sunny side of the Arbuckle Mountains where she and her husband read, write, and tend the garden—with the help of the dogs, of course.

You can visit with her on facebook, or read her blogs and learn about her books at www.cathymacraeauthor.com. Drop her a line—she loves to hear from readers!

* * *

DD MacRae enjoys bringing history to life and considers research one of the best things about writing a story! With more than 35 years of martial arts training, DD also brings breath-taking action to the tales.

You can connect with DD through www.cathymacraeauthor.com. It’s always exciting to hear from readers!

Find the Authors: Website | Facebook | Twitter |

Giveaway!  

As part of the tour, there is a tour-wide giveaway for a $20 Amazon gift card.  Entries can be made via the Rafflecopter app below or on any participating site.  Any questions should be addressed to the tour coordinator, Author’s Pal.  Good Luck!!

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You can follow the tour here!

Copyright © 2018 by The Maiden’s Court

New Book Alert: Earl Interrupted by Amanda Forester–Excerpt & Giveaway

Earl Interrupted by Amanda Forester
Book 2 in the Daring Marriages series
e-Book & Mass Market Paperback; 386 pages
Sourcebooks Casablanca
January 2, 2018
Genre: Historical Romance

Book Blurb:

After restoring his fortune as a notorious privateer, Captain Robert Ashton, Earl of Darington, goes to London in search of a bride. Instead, he finds unexpected dangers and unknown assailants. He is shot and left for dead. Life on the high seas was far calmer.

Enter Miss Emma St. James. She may appear sweet and demure, but she quickly proves herself to be equal to any challenge, including saving Darington’s life. Just when Darington is sure he has found his perfect bride, she reveals she’s betrothed to another.

Now things REALLY start to get complicated…

Buy the Book: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | iBooks | RJ Julia

I have a wonderful “first kiss” excerpt for you today!

“First sailed at twelve, joined right after my father’s death. First tour saw action at the Nile with Nelson,” said Darington in his understated manner.

“You were with Nelson at such a young age? Why, you are quite the hero,” exclaimed Emma.

“I ran powder. Tried not to get shot.”

“An admirable goal. I fully support it!”

Dare turned back to her with warm eyes. “Considering my recent experience, I quite agree.” His dark features gleamed a roguish enchantment in the moonlight.

A shiver ran down her spine.

Dare shrugged out of his greatcoat and, ignoring her murmurs of protest, put it around her shoulders. The heavy wool coat was warm from his own heat and stoked a fire within her. His scent lingered and she breathed deeply, feeling a little giddy at being draped in his coat as if wrapped in his arms.

“You should keep your coat. It is cold and you are still recovering,” Emma protested.

Dare gave her another of his shrugs and stepped close to her, reaching into the pocket of his coat that was wrapped around her. “This is for you.” He held out his hand, revealing a small, white shell.

Surprised, Emma took the small shell from his hand. It had a light gray, curved outside shell and a glossy, smooth, pink surface within. She looked up at him, wondering its significance. He continued to stare at her with an expectant air. She wished she understood the meaning of the gesture.

“Thank you.”

“It is for you,” he explained. “A gift. There are no flowers in January and your guardian is not present so…”

“Oh! A gift for me?” Emma realized this was his attempt at wooing her and her heart cracked open. “But how did you…? Please do not tell me you walked all the way to the beach to find me a shell.” She looked down from the edge of the cliff to the beach below.

“I confess Jonathan assisted me.”

“But you should not attempt such a thing. You are still recovering.”

“You said the purpose of the gift was not the object but the effort involved in the giving.”

“Oh, Dare!”

“Did I do it right?” The earnestness in his eyes made her heart ache.

“Yes, yes, you did it very well. Thank you. I will cherish it always.”

“Good.” Dare opened his mouth to say something but turned away instead, staring out over the ocean. She could not begin to guess his thoughts. Without his greatcoat, he appeared thin and lonely in the pale light, leaning on his walking stick.

Clearly, he had not given up his attempt to convince her to marry him. She would never take advantage of the situation to accept an offer made only out of obligation, but what if his heart had been truly touched? He certainly had gone to great effort. Would he act the same way out of a sense of honor? Given what Emma knew of the enigmatic man before her, he probably would.

Though she was already standing next to him, she stepped closer. “I must insist you take back your coat. I do not wish you to catch cold in your condition. And truly, you should rest.”

“No, no, my condition is very well, thanks to you.”

“But that does not mean you should freeze. Here, take back your coat. I am very warm, I assure you.” She stepped forward and attempted to place the coat back around his shoulders.

“No, I insist you keep it,” he protested, trying to keep the coat around her. Somehow, they ended up with one shoulder of the coat on him and one on her, standing so close their bodies brushed against one another.

Emma froze at the contact, looking up at the dark eyes of the Earl of Darington. His eyes burned with a fierce intensity, his lips parted. His dark look was similar to when he had defended her from the highwaymen. This was the true Darington. He kept a calm, distant facade, but raging beneath the surface was something wild and dangerous. Her heart pounded, but instead of pulling away, she pressed closer.

He slowly wrapped his arms around her, inside of the greatcoat, pulling her closer to him. Her hands flew to his chest, but she did not push him away. Without a word, he slowly lowered his head. He stopped just inches away from her lips. She waited, the air between them crackling with anticipation. Was he going to kiss her? Was he going to come so close and not kiss her? Waiting was agony.

Swiftly, he put an end to the debate and claimed her mouth with his. His lips pressed against hers and he pulled her closer, parting her lips with his tongue and deepening the kiss. Emma reached up and wrapped her hands around his neck, holding on tightly as her heart soared. She had never experienced anything like the sensation of kissing Darington. It was like flying, though her feet never left the ground.

When they finally parted, they both took deep breaths. His great coat slid to the ground, forgotten. She was certainly more than warm now. When his hand slid away from her waist, she noticed that it trembled.

“Forgive me,” he murmured, turning to face the crashing waves once more, holding his hands rigidly behind his back.

Emma took several more breaths before attempting speech. “That was…” She had not the words to describe it.

“An imposition on your person,” finished Dare without turning to her.

“No, no, that was not what I was going to say.”

“It was not?” He turned to her, a note of hope in his voice.

“No,” she replied firmly. “That was…quite remarkable.”

AMANDA FORESTER holds a PhD and worked for many years in academia before discovering that writing novels was decidedly more fun. Whether in the rugged Highlands of medieval Scotland or the decadent ballrooms of Regency England, her novels offer fast-paced adventures filled with wit, intrigue, and romance. Amanda lives near Seattle, WA.

Find Amanda Forester: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads 

 
Tour Wide Giveaway!

As part of this tour, I am happy to be able to present the tour wide giveaway.  This giveaway is for one of FIVE copies of If the Earl Only Knew, book 1 in the Daring Marriages series!  If you have any questions please contact the tour coordinator.  Entries are made via the Rafflecopter below or on any of the participating sites.  Good luck!

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Copyright © 2018 by The Maiden’s Court

New Book Alert: The Lord Meets His Lady by Gina Conkle–Excerpt & Giveaway

The Lord Meets His Lady by Gina Conkle
Book 3 in Midnight Meetings series
e-Book & Mass Market Paperback; 450 pages
Sourcebooks Casablanca
December 5, 2017
Genre: Historical Fiction

Book Blurb:

Lord Marcus Bowles has stained his family’s reputation for the last time. Only after spending a scandal-free year restoring some far-flung property can this second son return in good graces. But Marcus isn’t one to abandon a lone damsel on a dark country lane.

One stolen kiss and Genevieve Turner’s handsome midnight savior disappears. Typical. No matter, Gen is finally on the way to her new post, and hopefully to finding her grandmother as well. Instead she finds her mischievous hero is her new employer. Surely a few more kisses won’t hurt…

Buy the Book: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Indiebound

I have a scintillating excerpt from The Lord Meets His Lady!!

Caught between the wooden beam and determined man, Genevieve didn’t fight back. Lord Bowles went to Learmouth on her behalf, and he returned…to her.

“Ah, now there’s a fine reward. The light in your eyes.” He pushed back her hood. His stare ranged over her face, her hair, dropping to her lips and back to her eyes again. “Something else would make my cold, wet ride worthwhile.”

“Such as?”

“A kiss.”

He smiled at her. For most women this would be oil to a flame. They’d leap at his warm invitation. She would not.

“Do you ever do something for the joy of giving to another, milord? Without asking something in return.”

His smile froze. Time slipped, marking this fragile point. “It’s a late-night kiss in a barn far from witnesses to soil your new, respectable life.”

“This isn’t about respectability, milord. I don’t barter my kisses.” Rain pounded overhead. Her breath quickened and all she could do was stare at his fine mouth.

“Something tells me you want this as much as I do.”

Gone was the loose-limbed, humorous country squire she’d grown accustomed to. The man pressing against her slipped into the practiced, charming wastrel she’d seen in London, and she was no less affected.

Her lips parted, the fight in her weakening by the second. “It is a simple price to pay.”

His breath touched her forehead and being the brazen woman she, she angled her face to meet his.

His lazy smile spread. “That’s better.”

Her heart thudded. Anticipation dampened the right places. What she wanted and what he’d give were at the heart of the matter. There was no such thing as a simple kiss.

Lord Bowles hooked a finger under her chin. Supple leather brushed her skin. Her body rocked forward, yearning for his leather-clad hand to explore other places. He dipped close, his lips grazing her, soft and open.

His mouth pressed at an angle to the right. To the left. All with perfect caresses.

Almost too perfect.

The interlude was all very…nice. But not heart shattering. A let down really despite her racing pulse. Lord Bowles had done this to other women.

Many times. Pleasant and practiced.

One turn of his mouth just so. The side of his nose touched hers, and he pulled away.

His eyes drifted open, the gold and green flecks so beautiful. “Well?”

“That was…” Her lashes veiled her eyes.

“It was what?”

“It was…nice, milord. Quite nice.”

“Nice?” He jerked back. “A cordial thank you note from a relative is nice, not a kiss.”

“I’m not complaining. You kiss well.”

He scowled at her. “That’s not the desired effect.”

She opened her mouth but shut it.

His brows snapped together. “If you’ve more to say on the subject, please enlighten me.”

“The same way you enlightened me about horses and size?”

His scowl deepened.

Shoulders straight, she pushed off the beam. Men lived too much by what hung between their legs. “I know exactly what your kiss was about.”

“Oh, this ought to be good,” he said, folding his arms.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time.” She paused when his eyes rounded. “Yes. It’s true. But you kissed me the way I expect you’ve kissed lots of other women before me.”

Overhead the skies dumped a torrent the same as what she was about to do. He was right. She should never have come to the barn, but she’d already said too much, revealed too much. Nothing was going to hold her back now.

“You kissed me like it was the door to sex instead of kissing me.” Her chin tipped higher. “Sex can be so impersonal. Swiving, coupling, bed sport. Look at today. You needed what? A hard, fast ride?”

His mouth flattened. Late day whiskers darkened his jaw, a hideous mess on some men, but on Lord Bowles? Potent. Curiously, he stayed quiet, letting her have her say.

“Men never sought women at The Golden Goose for a kiss. Grope them. Get under their skirts, yes, but nothing else. Do you know why?” She stopped and took a breath, warming to the skirmish. “Because kissing scares them. It’s intimate.”

He bristled. “I kiss women.”

Of course, he did. Lots of them.

“This is me,” she said, softly. “Standing here with you. But, you kissed me just now like you would any other woman. All because you want under my skirts.”

Light flickered in his eyes. Did her message ring true? Never did she believe she’d have this conversation with a man, much less Lord Bowles. Speaking her mind refreshed her, especially since the man in question listened.

“You’re better than most men. You know how to kiss, how to charm. And that gets you what you want, but nothing in your kiss was about me.” She stared past his shoulder. “I don’t want quick tumbles. I want a man to know me.”

She stood taller for saying what she wanted. Running away wasn’t escaping the old life; it was making a new one and bawdy past or not, she’d defend what she wanted.

Thunder cracked outside. Pulsing want thrummed her veins. Shoes damp and hands cold, she surprisingly wasn’t in a hurry to leave. Neither was Lord Bowles.

“And if a man wanted to know a woman?”

He opened a door with his singular question. She swallowed a tickle in her throat and studied his coat’s weave before looking him in the eye.

“He’d pay attention to her. Find a place that needs kissing. One should never assume the mouth is the first place to kiss.”

His eyes darkened like a satyr about to feast. “Go on.”

She flattened a hand on his chest, her fingers spreading wide. Wool scratched her palm, but a profound, mysterious connection grew. “A kiss…a kiss ought to be unique. It ought to say ‘I’ve paid attention to you.’”

“How would you kiss me?”

His ragged voice rippled over her skin. More thunder rattled the heavens. Her heart thudded, renewing deep-seated aches.

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t be a coward, Miss Turner,” he said softly. “You started this.”

His hand covered hers on his chest and gave her fingers a squeeze. Her nipples peaked inside her stays. She had started this, the moment she stepped outside instead of hiding safely to her room. This was not about a quick kiss in the barn. She wanted to rub against Lord Bowles, ease the torment and whisper her thoughts to him.

How dangerous to have a man want to know a woman’s body and her mind.

Gina Conkle writes sensual Georgian romance and lush Viking romance. Her books offer a fresh, addictive spin on the genre, with the witty banter and sexual tension that readers crave. She grew up in southern California and despite all that sunshine, Gina loves books over beaches and stone castles over sand castles. Now she lives in Michigan with her favorite alpha male, Brian, and their two sons where she’s known to occasionally garden and cook.

Find Gina Conkle: Facebook | Website | Twitter | Pinterest

Tour Wide Giveaway!

As part of this tour, I am happy to be able to present the tour wide giveaway.  This giveaway is for 5 copies of The Lord Meets His Lady!  If you have any questions please contact the tour coordinator.  Entries are made via the Rafflecopter below.  Good luck!

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Copyright © 2017 by The Maiden’s Court

New Book Alert: The Duke Knows Best by Jane Ashford & Tour Wide Giveaway

The Duke Knows Best by Jane Ashford
Book 5 in The Duke’s Sons series
e-Book & Mass Market Paperback; 386 pages
Sourcebooks Casablanca
December 5, 2017
Genre: Historical Romance
 

Book Blurb:

They're wrong for each other, for all the right reasons...

Lord Randolph Gresham has come to London for one reason only-to find a suitable wife. Verity Sinclair may be intelligent, beautiful, and full of spirit, but her father knows a secret about Randolph that makes her entirely unsuitable as his bride. Not right for him at all, never, not a chance.

Verity knows that Lord Randolph lives in a country parish, and she wants nothing more than to escape to town. He may be fascinating, attractive, rich, and the son of a duke, but she'll never marry him, nor will she talk to him, flirt with him, walk with him, or dine with him. She'll sing a duet with him, but only this one time, and only because everyone insists.

But one duet invariably leads to another.

Buy the Book: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | iBooks | IndieBound

I have a scrumptious excerpt for you all from The Duke Knows Best!

Looking around the front hall of Langford House, with its soaring stair and rich marble floor, Verity judged it the grandest house she’d ever entered. Light poured down from high windows, glittered in a huge crystal chandelier, and gleamed in the gold stripes of the wallpaper. A hint of potpourri scented the air, along with beeswax and lemon. The clatter of the London streets didn’t penetrate the gracious silence. “Goodness,” murmured her mother. Verity was determined not to be intimidated.

A liveried footman led them through two beautiful reception rooms to the back of the house. He opened a door and stood back. Verity and her mother stepped over the threshold into a perfectly splendid music room. For a moment Verity forgot everything else as she took in the fine instruments waiting to be played, the older ones adorning the walls, and the piles of expensive sheet music. She could spend hours in a place like this and be blissfully happy, she thought.

And then a tall, stately woman came forward to greet them, and Verity was making her curtsy to the duchess, as well as wondering where Lord Randolph could be.

He hurried in on the heels of that thought. “I beg your pardon,” he said. “I was just... Mama, this is Mrs. Sinclair and Miss Verity Sinclair. Ladies, my mother.”

“Your Grace,” they murmured.

The duchess said, “Welcome to Langford House.” And with the warmth in her blue eyes and the ease of her smile, Verity felt the atmosphere in the room change from grandiose to relaxed. Or perhaps it was simply her own mood that had shifted, she thought. As they sat down and exchanged remarks about the weather and the season, she found she could talk to Lord Randolph’s mother with surprising ease.

“I know you have musical matters to discuss,” said the duchess after a while. She rose. “I will leave you to it. But I wanted to make sure you have all you need, Mrs. Sinclair.”

“You’re very kind.”

“I’ve seen to the arrangements, Mama,” said Lord Randolph.

“Sponge cakes and macaroons?” she asked.

“What else?”

The humorous look they exchanged gave Verity a glimpse into the Gresham family, which seemed a pleasant place. The door opened, and a maid came in with several sturdy working candles. “You said you’d bring some embroidery,” said Lord Randolph to Verity’s mother. “I wanted to make certain you had good light.”

The duchess gave him an approving nod and went out. Lord Randolph made a great production of getting Verity’s mother settled with the candles set just so and a cushion for her back and offers of tea or other refreshment. “So kind,” she murmured as she was settled in the front corner of the room.

Verity noticed that it was the corner farthest from the pianoforte. And that the special candles and cushions—which a less observant person might dismiss as finicky items for a man to consider—effectively rooted Mama at a distance. It was unlikely that she would overhear much of what they said, unless they started shouting. Which she might, if Lord Randolph tried to maneuver her in a similar way. And where had he acquired such skill at diverting chaperones?

“I’ve pulled out piles of music,” he said when they were at last free to begin. He led the way over to the table where the sheets were displayed. “I was thinking we should choose popular pieces rather than anything too complicated. Perhaps even repeat the song we did at Lady Tolland’s.”

Their eyes met, mirroring memories of that astonishing experience. Verity’s cheeks grew hot. A self-conscious silence stretched out. She could actually hear her mother’s needle prick the embroidery canvas.

Lord Randolph cleared his throat. “Ah, our audience at Carleton House will be varied,” he went on. “Not all will be particularly musical. But I’m eager to hear your opinion about the program, of course.”

He stopped and waited for her to speak. He gazed at her as if he actually wanted to know her views, and wasn’t just pausing to give the appearance of listening before telling her what to do. It was a point in his favor. “What about some Italian songs, varied with Scots or Irish ballads?” she suggested. “How long need we sing, do you think?”

“Long enough to satisfy the prince’s wounded vanity,” he responded wryly.

Verity looked down to hide a smile. “That sounds rather difficult to measure. An hour?”

“No more, certainly. We are doing a favor, not putting on a full concert. Shall we say six pieces? With one in reserve in case they insist on more?”

Verity agreed, and they looked through Mozart’s and Haydn’s arrangements of popular tunes and sheets of songs by Robert Burns and Thomas Moore. Langford House appeared to possess any piece one could desire, and Verity envied the bounty. She had to ration her purchases of sheet music on her allowance. The money her grandfather had left her was in trust until she married. And why was she thinking of that now? “‘Robin Adair’ would make a lovely base for a set of variations,” she said.

They bent over the music together. “It would indeed,” said Lord Randolph. He sat at the pianoforte and began to play the simple melody, and then to embellish it. Verity hummed along, following his elaborations. “Just here,” he said, playing intricate series of notes. She caught the idea at once. Spontaneously they sang a verse with the new adornments, their voices blending in a twining harmony. By the end they were staring at each other, mutually astonished.

“Very pretty,” said Verity’s mother from the corner.

It was as if he could predict exactly what she meant to sing, Verity thought. Or, perhaps, his musical impulses ran in precisely the same direction. The phrase in tune took on a whole new meaning as they ran through the entire song, consulted briefly, and then tried it again. The result was equally lovely and interesting, but different with the varying choices of the moment. This must be what it was like to be intoxicated, she thought, as she fell into the music and a give and take with this man she barely knew— somehow they vibrated to the same pitch.

Jane Ashford discovered Georgette Heyer in junior high school and was captivated by the glittering world and witty language of Regency England. That delight was part of what led her to study English literature and travel widely in Britain and Europe. She has written historical and contemporary romances, and her books have been published in Sweden, Italy, England, Denmark, France, Russia, Latvia, the Czech Republic, Slovakia, and Spain, as well as the United States. Jane has been nominated for a Career Achievement Award by RT Book Reviews. She lives in Beverly Hills, CA.

Find Jane Ashford: Website | Facebook

Tour Wide Giveaway!

As part of this tour, I am happy to be able to present the tour wide giveaway.  This giveaway is for 5 copies of Nothing Like a Duke, book 4 of The Duke’s Sons.  If you have any questions please contact the tour coordinator.  Entries are made via the Rafflecopter below.  Good luck!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Copyright © 2017 by The Maiden’s Court

New Book Alert: Third Son’s a Charm by Shana Galen–Excerpt & Tour-Wide Giveaway

Third Son’s a Charm by Shana Galen
Book 1 in The Survivor’s series
e-Book & Mass Market Paperback; 416 pages
Sourcebooks Casablanca
November 7, 2017
Genre: Historical Romance

Book Blurb:

Ewan Mostyn thinks a job as a duke's daughter's bodyguard will be easy―but Lady Lorraine has a few tricks up her sleeve that spark an undeniable passion...

Fiercely loyal to his friends and comrades, Ewan Mostyn is the toughest in a group of younger sons of nobility who met as soldiers and are now trying desperately to settle back into peaceful Society. Ewan trusts his brawn more than his brains, but when he's offered a job watching the Duke of Ridlington's stubbornly independent daughter, he finds both are challenged.

Lady Lorraine wants none of her father's high-handed ways, and she'll do everything in her power to avoid her distressingly attractive bodyguard―until she lands herself in real trouble. Lorraine begins to see Ewan's protectiveness in a new light, and she can only hope that her stoic guardian will do for her what he's always done―fight for what he wants.

Buy the Book: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | RJ Julia

Check out this fun EXCERPT from Third Son’s a Charm!

In this scene, Lady Lorraine is trying to escape her bodyguard, Ewan Mostyn, to rendezvous with his cousin and her would-be lover.

---

Little by little, she climbed down the tree until she had gone far enough that she felt safe in glancing down.

Immediately, she wished she hadn’t.

Standing below the tree, arms crossed and brows creased into a V, was the Viking. With a little squeal, Lorrie began climbing back up the tree, but the dratted giant reached up and grasped her about the waist, hauling her down into the garden beside him.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, his voice so low it was more of a growl.

She pushed against him until he set her on her feet, but he didn’t release her arm.

“You really shouldn’t use such language in the presence of a lady.”

“Ladies do not climb trees.”

“Quite right,” she said. “I will just return to bed then—” She tried to walk away, but he yanked her back. None too gently either.

He’d lit a lamp in the house, and the light spilled from the French doors of the parlor on the first floor and into the garden. She wished she didn’t have such a clear view of his expression. The throbbing vein in his neck seemed to indicate he was furious.

“You want an explanation,” she said with a sigh.

He nodded.

“Would you believe I was sleepwalking?”

“No.”

“How about midnight gardening?”

He didn’t even bother to respond.

“You won’t mention this to my father, will you?”

“Yes.”

“Traitor,” she muttered, knowing he’d heard. “How did you know?” she asked. “Welly’s barking?”

His careful expression revealed nothing. He would have made a good spy. If captured, he would have revealed none of his secrets.

“It’s all your fault, you know,” she said, finally.

His brow arched upward.

“If you would have allowed me to speak to Francis at the garden party—”

“Out of the question,” he interrupted.

“You see!” She pointed a finger at him. “You left me no other choice. I had to see him.”

“Not on my watch.”

Lorrie could have argued further. It was in her nature to argue, but she could not see the point of it. “Fine. If you would release me, I will go to bed.”

“Not yet,” he said.

Lorrie’s heart jumped with anticipation. Perhaps he would want to kiss her first.

But, no! She could not allow that. Even though she really, really wanted to kiss him again. Strange that she could hate him so and still want him to press his lips to hers.

“I want your assurance this will not happen again.”

“I’m sorry. I cannot give it. I will marry Francis, and I will find a way to see him again. You will have to find another way to torture him.”

The look that crossed the Viking’s face actually made Lorrie cringe. His light eyes darkened with anger, and his cheeks reddened. The grip on her arm did not tighten, though, and she could only imagine the amount of control it took to leash that sort of fury.

“That is what you believe of me?” he asked. “That I tortured Francis when we were children.”

Lorrie didn’t particularly want to answer the question—not with him glaring at her so. “What else am I to believe? Francis told me all about it,” she whispered.

“I see.”

“What do you see?” she asked.

He shook his head as though he would not waste the effort it took to answer.

“Are you saying—or rather not saying—that you did not bully and torment Francis when you were children?”

“I did not.” The simple way he said it, the ring of truth in his voice confused her. He gave her no particulars, offered no protests. He humbly denied the charge. He made it hard to argue and, she had to admit, difficult not to believe him.

“Then why did he say you did?”

“Ask him.”

Lorrie saw her chance and jumped. “Very well, I will. Release me, and I will go and ask him at once.”

The Viking shook his head and pulled her back toward him. Lorrie was growing colder by the moment, and she rather wished she might step a tiny bit closer to the Viking to share his warmth. She still remembered how warm he’d been in the prince’s garden. Tonight he wore only breeches and shirtsleeves, but he did not appear cold in the least.

She supposed she could demand to return inside now, and he would probably allow it, but she wasn’t quite ready to part from him. “Putting aside the matter of whether or not you bullied Francis, why do you hate him? And do not say you don’t. I can tell that you do. Anyone who saw the way you looked at him would know you want to kill him.”

“Why do you love him?” the Viking asked.

Lorrie wasn’t prepared for the question. “I…” But why did she love Francis? He was handsome and charming, but were those reasons to love him? “You cannot do that,” she said, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “You cannot answer a question with a question.”

“Apparently, you cannot answer the question at all.”

Lorrie had the urge to stomp her foot. Instead, she glared at the Viking. “I do love him. He is kind and considerate and respectful. He has never tried to take advantage of me. He loves me.”

And how pathetic did that sound? She loved him because he loved her? Was she so starved for love and affection?

The answer echoed in her mind—yes!

All her life her mother had practically ignored her while her father had lectured her. Her brothers had been away at school or consumed with their own affairs. Welly was the only creature who ever appeared genuinely pleased to see her, who wanted to cuddle and snuggle with her.

“Is it so wrong to want affection?” she asked no one in particular, freeing herself from the Viking’s grip and pacing about a square of the garden. “Is it so wrong to want to be loved and held and kissed and—and ravished?”

“Ravished?” The word came out so low it was barely audible.

Lorrie ceased pacing and glanced at the Viking. She’d forgotten he was there for a moment. But then what did it matter. It was not as though he were a gentleman who would be shocked at her admission. “Just because I am a woman does not mean I don’t have desires. I want to be kissed and touched, like you touched me at the prince’s ball.”

The Viking shook his head as though he would rather she hadn’t mentioned the incident. Well, she had to mention it. She couldn’t seem to forget it. “I know it is sinful to want such things when I’m a maiden, but if you would only allow me to leave the garden, I will go to Francis and persuade him to elope. Then even the church will sanction all my wicked feelings.”

“No.”

Lorrie did stomp her foot then, and she wished she could lift the rock under her foot and hurl it at his head. “You kiss me then.”

Shana Galen is the bestselling author of fast-paced adventurous Regency historicals, including the RT Reviewers' Choice The Making of a Gentleman. Booklist says, "Galen expertly entwines espionage-flavored intrigue with sizzling passion," and RT Bookreviewscalls her "a grand mistress of the action/adventure subgenre." She taught English at the middle and high school level off and on for eleven years. Most of those years were spent working in Houston's inner city. Now she writes full time. She's happily married and has a daughter who is most definitely a romance heroine in the making.

Find Shana Galen: Website | Facebook | Twitter

Tour Wide Giveaway!

Thanks to the publisher we are able to take part in hosting the tour-wide giveaway for a Shana Galen prize pack which includes books and a wine charm!  You can enter the giveaway through the Rafflecopter below or on any of the host blogs in this tour.  If you have any questions please contact the publisher who is hosting this giveaway.  Good luck!

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Copyright © 2017 by The Maiden’s Court

New Book Alert: Highland Promise by Alyson McLayne - Excerpt & Giveaway

Highland Promise by Alyson McLayne
Book 1 in The Son of Gregor MacLeod series
e-Book & Mass Market Paperback; 385 pages
Sourcebooks Casablanca
October 3, 2017
Genre: Historical Romance

Book Blurb:

Five boys destined to become Highland lairds are fostered together as brothers. Darach, Lachlan, Callum, Gavin and Kerr fight for their clans, for each other, and for their own true loves.

When forced to choose between duty and honor…

Darach MacKenzie vowed never again to let a woman near his heart after his betrothed betrayed him. It sparked an intense feud between his clan and the Frasers. With all-out war on the wind, Darach can’t be distracted—not even by a sweet and charming lass who desperately needs his help.

This Highland Laird will find a way to have both

When Darach rescued Caitlin MacInnes from the clutches of vile Laird Fraser, she vowed to never let men or misery rule her life again. With Darach and the MacKenzie clan, Caitlin finally feels safe. But when Laird Fraser shows up to claim what’s rightfully his, or go to war, Darach will have to use all his brawn and brains to protect Caitlin—even if it means losing his heart.

Buy the Book: Amazon | Books-A-Million | Barnes & Noble | iBooks

I have a wonderful excerpt to share with you today from Highland Promise!  Enjoy!

“I’ll not be marrying the lass, Oslow, but if I did, she’d more than likely give me daughters. All of them looking like her, causing trouble. I’d be an old man in my grave before I was forty.”

“Nay. She’d give you sons. Braw lads as strong-minded and fearless as her. But if you’re not interested in the lass, I’ll introduce her to my Angus. He needs a wife, and I’m sure he’d be as smitten with her as Gare and Brodie.”

The blood heated in Darach’s veins, flushing his face. He looked toward the field, trying to make out what Caitlin and the two younger men were doing. Naught of consequence. Just playing with the kittens.

Playing with the kittens—like hell. Brodie was a right rogue with the lasses, and Gare was such a pitiful lad, caught betwixt man and boy, she’d want to save him just like she’d saved the baby bird. Most likely he’d try to make himself look as pathetic as possible with the hopes of ensnaring her, the devil.

Darach stood abruptly and made his way across the rocky shore to the field. Lachlan’s snort followed him. Sure enough, Gare and Brodie sat beside her, hanging on to every word. Scoundrels, both of them. He frowned, and they jumped to their feet. Let Caitlin see who was master and laird here—the most dominant MacKenzie male.

After sending them to Oslow, he sat on the grass beside her. She looked pleased to see him. Maybe now would be the time to tell her the kittens were going to the miller’s. He willed himself to begin, but one of the cats tumbled into his lap and mewed up at him. Bloody fiend.

“Och, would you look at that. He loves you, Darach. Maybe he will be called Justice, for he is drawn to you and you are the most just man I know.”

He puffed up and deflated at the same time. ’Twas a good decision to send the cats to the miller. Not only did it show Justice, but also Prudence, Fortitude, and Temperance. Surely she would see the right of it.

The kit ran up his body and batted his hair. Darach started in surprise. Grabbing it, he held the wee thing in front of him. The cat reached out and swatted his chin.

Caitlin fell sideways onto the grass, laughing. “You’ve ne’er had a cat before, have you?”

Darach grunted and brought the kitten closer. He had to admit it was sweet—big eyes and downy, soft fur. It suckled the stubble of his beard, and his heart turned over.

“They’re starved, poor babies,” she said. “He’s trying to nurse. All we had was water. It helped, but their bellies are empty.”

There would be lots of milk at the miller’s.

“Caitlin, I doona think…”

She gazed at him, her eyes wide, trusting. A happy glow surrounded her, and the words stuck in his throat. Maybe she could keep the kits ’til they were old enough to be on their own. House them in the kitchens and out of his sight and the sight of his dogs for a week or two. Then they could go to the miller.

“Aye, Darach?”

“’Tis naught, lass. We’ll be home soon and they can have their meal.”

Picking up a kitten, she held it close. “I think this little lass will be Temperance, for she’s the only female and needs to have much restraint to live with three brothers. It must be a trial, doona you think?”

“I lived with four brothers, and aye, ’twas a trial.”

A wistful look crossed her face. “I did so wish for a brother. Or a sister. But my parents were not blessed with bairns after me. Instead, I had lots of pets—cats, dogs, horses, and pigs.”

“Pigs?”

“Aye, pigs are wonderful pets. Although I caused such a fankle when my father wanted to butcher the dear thing, I was ne’er allowed to bond with a pig again.”

“And what happened to it?”

“I doona know. I lost more than just my parents the night of the fire. Verily, ’twas a torment. I longed for pets after that, but I feared to show favor to any creature, lest my uncle hurt the animal. I was verra careful when I fed Cloud apples. The guards who followed me knew, I’m sure, but one older guard in particular didn’t mind.” She turned to smile at the stallion tethered with the other horses. “I’m thankful you saved him too.”

His stomach soured at the insight into her life after her parents’ death, at how afraid, alone and sad she must have been. Yet she’d shown none of that to him or his men. And he knew she must have felt it—her heart was as big as the loch.

“I want you to have, Cloud,” he said suddenly. It was the least he could do.

Her eyes grew round. “Truly?”

“Aye. But wait to ride him until we return to the keep. I doona want him to spook and throw you out here. Let him get used to you in the stables first, aye?” Where he could have a healer on hand and spread out some hay to soften her fall.

With an excited holler, she threw her arms around his neck and almost knocked him backward. One arm settled around her waist, the other hovered just above her hair. The devil take him, he wanted to touch her, to hold her still for his kiss.

A stay-at-home mom of twins and award-winning writer, Alyson McLayne is a dog lover and cat servant with a serious stash of dark chocolate. After getting her degree in theater at the University of Alberta, she promptly moved to the west coast where she worked in film for several years and met her Prop Master husband.

Find Alyson McLayne: Website | Twitter | Facebook

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Now for something fun and different!  Alyson McLayne has a short letter for all her readers!

Hello Lovely Readers!!

My name is Alyson McLayne, and I can’t tell you how excited I am to introduce you to my book, HIGHLAND PROMISE, a Scottish Highlander Romantic Adventure!

It’s the first book in my historical romance series, THE SONS OF GREGOR MACLEOD, starring five Highland Lairds, who were fostered together as lads to become brothers. Darach, Lachlan, Callum, Gavin, and Kerr fight for their clans, for each other, and for their own true love.

These Highland Lairds are a band of brothers, who will defend each other to the death—if they don’t kill each other first with their sharp wit and hilarious banter. They take their oaths seriously, whether it’s to bring peace to the Highlands and defend one another as friends and allies, or to razz each other so hard, only one brother is left standing—and then they’ll take him down too.

And the women they love? They have spirit, and tenacity, and they take care of others before they take care of themselves. They’re all different—their backgrounds, their struggles, their interests and talents—but at the core of each woman is a strength, compassion, and a capacity to love that brings their man to his knees.

Totally. Slayed.

Before I tell you about HIGHLAND PROMISE, here’s a little about me. J I live on the west coast of Canada with my adorable (aka annoying) 5 year old boy/girl twins; my sweet yet sarcastic husband (who just said he’s not sarcastic at all, he’s ironic!); my counter-surfing puppy, Jasper, who turns one year old the same day HIGHLAND PROMISE debuts (Happy Birthday, baby!!); and my 86 year old dad who gets a look on his face every time it’s mentioned there are—gasp—sex scenes in my books…but then goes on to tell me young people (meaning me) did not invent sex.

Ears…burning…must pour…hot oil…inside…

Speaking of ears, as I’m writing this, I have ear plugs in because my son is beside me in my office (aka my bedroom) building a fort under the covers on the bed, while my Slytherin-declaring daughter waits to knock it down, which results in WW3; Jasper hovers at the edge, barking, until he can’t stand it anymore and jumps onto the bed with the monsters, er, I mean children; my husband comes in and says something “ironic” about the chaos; and I stare fiercely at my computer screen determined to ignore it ALL—and thanking God my dad can turn his hearing aids OFF.

Just grist for the mill…grist for the mill…said all writer-moms everywhere.

Okay. Onto the important part: HIGHLAND PROMISE! I started writing HIGHLAND PROMISE almost 10 years ago after reading ALL of Julie Garwood’s medieval-set historicals, most of which were set in the Highlands. I LOVED them. I don’t read a lot of books over and over, but I did hers. I found them completely captivating.

I think HIGHLAND PROMISE captures that same tone and spirit: Caitlin MacInnes is the archetypal Waif/Free Spirit who turns the archetypal Chieftain, Laird Darach MacKenzie’s life upside down—and then spins it around and dribbles with it for a while. As Lachlan MacKay, Darach’s foster-brother, says of Darach’s and Caitlin’s courtship:

“I doona know when I’ve laughed so much as watching Darach trying to control [Caitlin] over the past few weeks. Her intentions are good, but she’s trouble. It follows her around like a faithful hound.”

Darach is undone by her. His heart, which he swore he’d NEVER give to another woman, is torn from his body and becomes putty in her hands. Of course, he doesn’t know that at first, and even when he finally figures it out, he doesn’t tell her—he’s a warrior, a leader of his people, not a poet. And Caitlin, who is determined to make Darach happy whether he wants her to or not, doesn’t believe there’s any possible way she can stay with him. She needs to leave the Highlands immediately and find her mother’s family in France.

’Cause there’s a whole lotta trouble on her tail (some might call it a shite storm—haha!) heading straight for Darach. But what Caitlin fails to realize is that Darach, along with his brothers and their clans, is strong enough to handle it.

War is coming. Caitlin didn’t start the blood feud between the Frasers and the MacKenzies, nay, Laird Fraser and his sister, Darach’s former betrothed, did that, but she will be the catalyst that ends it—pinning the good men of the Highlands against a monster.

And hopefully winning.

(Well of course they win, and of course Darach and Caitlin live happily ever after—it’s a romance, after all!!)

Now go—before I start rambling and give too much away. Read the words and feel the feels. Fall in love with both Darach and Caitlin…and prepare yourself for Lachlan’s story next.

Smooches,

Alyson McLayne

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Tour Wide Giveaway

Thanks to the publisher, as part of this tour, I have the opportunity to participate in a tour-wide giveaway!  There are 5 copies of Highland Promise up for grabs.  You can enter the giveaway through the Rafflecopter below or on any of the host blogs in this tour.  If you have any questions please contact the publisher who is hosting this giveaway.  Good luck!

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Copyright © 2017 by The Maiden’s Court

New Book Alert: Last Gentleman Standing by Jane Ashford

Last Gentleman Standing by Jane Ashford
e-Book & Mass Market Paperback; 354 pages
Sourcebooks Casablanca
September 5, 2017
Genre: Historical Fiction

Book Blurb:

A fortune hunter's dream...

Miss Elisabeth Elham is an unlikely heiress. She never knew the curmudgeonly uncle who died suddenly and left her a fortune. She's proud, outspoken and independent―a definite challenge for London's fortune hunting suitors.

As various determined gentlemen vie for her attention at balls, routs, picnics and parties, Elisabeth finds herself embroiled with a charming rake, a mysterious nabob, and an elegant neighbor. This would all be great fun, if only she wasn't so fascinated by the one man in London who's not trying to woo her...

Originally titled Bluestocking, this story has been unavailable for over 25 years.

Buy the Book: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | iBooks | Kobo | IndieBound

I have an awesome excerpt of Last Gentleman Standing for you today!

Elisabeth had recrossed a stile and was traversing an open field when she heard hoofbeats behind her. Turning, she was just in time to see the rider urge his magnificent chestnut up and over the fence she had just climbed. The form of both was flawless, and she forgot herself in her admiration of the jump, watching unself-consciously, as the horseman approached her.

The chestnut had white feet and was one of the most beautiful and spirited animals she’d ever seen. He moved with the ease and power of a true thoroughbred and might have made almost any rider appear insignificant, but the man on his back matched his quality. He looked to be tall, and his figure was well-molded and athletic. His buckskin breeches fitted him to perfection, and his coat fairly cried out its fashionable origin in the workrooms of a Weston or a Stultz. Elisabeth had seen a few gentlemen of the haut ton in Bath, and she knew enough to recognize that the deceptive simplicity of the folds of his cravat and the carefully casual arrangement of his hair were the signs of a veritable tulip, a top-of-the-trees corinthian. At that moment, she met his slightly mocking gaze and looked down in confusion, recalling herself with annoyance. She had been gaping like a schoolgirl, she thought.

The rider pulled up before her. “I almost feel I’ve been in a competition,” he said. His voice was deep and resonant. “I hope you gave me full points for that jump.”

Elisabeth looked up. His eyes were pale blue, she noted, in spite of his black hair and rather dark complexion. “I was staring quite rudely, I know,” she replied. “I beg your pardon. But I was transfixed by the way your horse took that fence.”

The man patted the chestnut’s neck, “He’s wonderful, is Tristram.”

“Tristram?” repeated Elisabeth, smiling. “That’s an uncommon name for a horse. Do you take it from Tristram Shandy?”

The rider looked at her with much more interest than he’d first shown. “Yes, I’m fond of Sterne.”

“Oh, it is my favorite of all books. I thought hardly anyone read it now.”

He smiled back at her somewhat quizzically. “And I should hardly have thought it fit reading for young ladies.” He surveyed her. He was the despair of his mother and several aunts, who had all at one time or another introduced to him dazzling debutantes calculated to urge him into marriage. But though he’d treated them politely, he’d been extremely bored in their company and really had very little notion of what to say to conventional young women. Seeing that Elisabeth was a bit uncomfortable under his gaze, he continued, “But then I rarely find young ladies wandering about my land unattended. So I can’t quite make you out. Are you someone’s governess, perhaps? Do you teach your pupils from Sterne?” His amused smile faded as he went on before she could answer. “No, that doesn’t seem right.”

Looking down at her drab garments, Elisabeth laughed. “I’m sure I don’t know why you say so. I do look very like a governess. In fact, until a few weeks ago, I was a teacher at a seminary for young ladies. Now that my uncle has obligingly left me his fortune, I shall have to change my style of dress.”

“Uncle?” he asked. His eyes narrowed. “You can’t mean old Anthony Elham? I heard of his death.”

“Yes. I am Elisabeth Elham. Though it is not at all the thing to go about introducing oneself to strange men,” she told herself reflectively.

The rider laughed. “I hope I’m not strange. But I beg pardon. I should have made myself known to you immediately. I am your neighbor, Derek Wincannon. Do you mean to say that old Elham has left you Willowmere?”

Elisabeth shrugged. “It is part of the estate. And a very ramshackle part, I must say. I have never seen so neglected a house.”

“It’s the scandal of the neighborhood,” said Mr. Wincannon. “Your uncle was a shocking landlord and a worse neighbor.”

“From what I heard of him,” answered Elisabeth, “he was uniformly shocking. I’m rather sorry I never met him.” The man laughed again. “But in any case, you may inform the neighborhood that I shall be putting the place to rights as soon as I may.”

“That’s good news. Will you be settling there?”

“No. At least, not immediately. I shall live in London for a time, at Elham House.”

“For the season, I assume.”

“Yes, I’ll be bringing out my cousin.”

“You are bringing out someone? I’d have thought it would be the other way about.”

“Oh, no,” Elisabeth smiled. “I’m beyond that sort of thing. Quite on the shelf, in fact,” she added lightly.

“I see it now,” he responded dryly, “a veritable antique. How can I have mistaken you for girl in her twenties?”

She laughed. “Well, I daresay I shall attend a few parties also, if I’m asked.”

He smiled. “There can be little doubt of that, I should think. You’ll wish to sample the gaities of the season and attend the assemblies at Almack’s.”

“Almack’s? Oh, no, I shouldn’t think so.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“My father used to tell me stories about London, and he was most severe on Almack’s. He called it the Marriage Mart and painted such a vivid picture of the trials young girls undergo as they are catalogued and labeled according to their faces and fortunes that he gave me quite a horror of the place. I don’t at all wish to go there now.”

Mr. Wincannon’s interest was definitely caught. “Now?”

“Well, of course I might have done so some years ago had I been offered the opportunity,” Elisabeth explained obligingly. “When one is thrown penniless upon the world at the age of nineteen, one is willing to try any shift to come about again. I was very willing then to marry to make my fortune. But I wasn’t given the chance, and how fortunate that was, really. For now, you see, there is no need.”

Derek Wincannon laughed. “You are a most unusual girl,” he said.

“Because I prefer to order my own life now that I have the means to do so?” asked Elisabeth. “I’m persuaded you can’t really think so. Would you give up your independence without need? No indeed. When I was desperate and might have married, no one dared offer for me. I certainly won’t encourage anyone to do so now that I have an income.”

“Much good that will do you, I should say.”

Jane Ashford discovered Georgette Heyer in junior high school and was captivated by the glittering world and witty language of Regency England. That delight led her to study English literature and travel widely in Britain and Europe. Her historical and contemporary romances have been published in Sweden, Italy, England, Denmark, France, Russia, Latvia, Slovenia, and Spain, as well as the US. Jane has been nominated for a Career Achievement Award by RT Book Reviews. She lives in Beverly Hills, CA.

Find Jane Ashford: Website | Facebook | Goodreads

Tour-Wide Giveaway

After enjoying this classic romance, dive into Jane Ashford’s current series, The Dukes Sons! Enter to win a copy of Heir to the Duke by Jane Ashford.  You can enter the giveaway through the Rafflecopter below or on any of the host blogs in this tour.  If you have any questions please contact the publisher who is hosting this review.

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Copyright © 2017 by The Maiden’s Court

New Book Alert: Highland Flame by Mary Wine-Excerpt & Giveaway

Highland Flame by Mary Wine
Book 4 of Highland Weddings series
e-Book & Paperback; 322 pages
Sourcebooks Casablanca
ISBN: 1492602531
September 5, 2017
Genre: Historical Romance

Book Blurb:

NEWLY MINTED LAIRD SEEKS WIFE, PREFERABLY RICH

Laird Diocail Gordon has just inherited his uncle’s run down castle and rag-tag clan. He knows the sorry sight of the castle would send any woman running, but is determined to find a wife to help return his home to its former glory.

Widowed lady Jane Stanley is determined to return to England, even if she has to tromp through the Scottish Highlands on foot to get there. Her travels lead her straight into the midst of a troop of dangerous Highland warriors. The mysterious, brawny laird forbids his men to harm her, and the spark between them is immediate. The only way Diocail can keep her safe is to take her home with him, but will the miserable state of his clan douse her newly ignited Highland flame?

Buy the Book: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | RJ Julia

Check out this awesome excerpt from Highland Flame!

EXCERPT

Jane’s belly rumbled.

She’d ignored it for a day, but by the next morning, she simply could not any longer.

Not that it changed her mind. She wasn’t returning to Gillanders and his offer to be his harlot in exchange for her keep.

Curse Henry for his gambling.

Jane regretted the thought. She knew it was unkind to think ill of the dead. Her body might ache, but she wasn’t yet ready to regret the fact that she was still drawing breath. Life might be difficult, but it was still to be treasured. She stepped on a rock and winced as she moved toward the sound of water. It was only a temporary solution, but she cupped her hand and drank until she felt some measure of relief.

She straightened, looking at the water and seeking any sign of fish. Desperation was beginning to claw at her. The chill from the night lingered in her joints, and the water wasn’t very satisfying.

No, I am not going back to the boardinghouse…

However, that meant she very well might die in the wilds of Scotland.

At least her situation made for a good tale. A hint of adventure—wasn’t that what her stepmother had gleefully informed her would be her lot when she’d decreed that Jane would wed Henry with his determination to travel into Scotland when it was so very risky?

Oh yes. How grand Jane’s life had been with Alicia. Her stepmother had taken her husband’s house in hand and made it plain that Jane and her sisters would obey her. Not that such an attitude was uncommon. Still, the happy home she’d enjoyed with her mother had vanished within months of her father taking a second wife. Of course, her father had never noticed because Alicia made certain her husband was very comfortable indeed. Complaints to her father had met with his confidence in his new wife’s ability to raise his daughters into women who could run their own households.

Jane was bitter and not one bit interested in being repentant about it. What had all of her obedience to Christian values and duties gotten her? A husband who raised his hand to her, gambling away every coin and then going so far as to promise her favors to settle his unpaid debts.

Turned out in her shift.

Indeed I was.

And still, she preferred it.

Her belly rumbled again. It hurt now, the hunger.

Well, life had not been comfortable for her for many years, so there was no reason to think today would be different. There was, however, a very real satisfaction in rising to meet the challenges as they came her way. If that was pride, so be it.

She looked back at the water and moved a bit farther upstream as she watched for signs of life. The water was tumbling out of a pool, and a fish slithered down the fall.

She blinked, thinking she’d imagined it. No, there was a plop as another fish swam too close to where the rocks gave way, and she realized someone had piled up rocks to make a dam of sorts.

Of course!

It made sense. She looked around, making sure no one was about before she pulled her smock over her head. Without a net or basket at hand, the cloth was all she had. Once wet, it would bring her even more suffering, but if sacrificing her comfort helped her fill her belly, she would take the shivers. She moved into the stream and held the ends of her garment under the water. Her belly twisted with hunger, her mouth beginning to water while she waited. Time seemed to slow down, tormenting her as she tried to maintain her confidence while ignoring how cold the water was around her bare feet.

At last there was another plop, and suddenly there was a fish flopping on the surface of her wet smock. She jumped with surprise, and the fish went sailing right out of her grasp. She whirled around, desperate to catch it. The sun shone off its body as it flailed and fought to buck itself back into the deeper part of the stream. Jane fought just as hard to reach the fish, skinning her knee as she landed next to it and clamped her hands around it.

Victory surged through her when she held it high. She carried it up farther onto the bank and then struggled back into her wet smock. The fabric stuck to her body, but she smiled as she retreated into the forest in search of a way to cook her catch.

“Ye do nae have a knife.”

Jane froze, looking up from her fish to see who her company was. She let out a sigh of relief when she realized it was a boy, a rather small one who looked up at her from where he was crouched next to a rabbit snare. His face reflected his disappointment over finding the snare empty. He looked at her fish, longing in his young eyes.

“The fish are too big for me to catch,” he muttered. “Give me that one, and I’ll let ye use me knife when ye get another for yerself.”

He couldn’t have been more than six or seven winters, but it was clear his life was as challenging as hers. He was thin, his face drawn with hunger. He held out his hands for the fish, aiming a smile at her as he tried to bargain.

“I know how to gut it and put it over a fire,” he tempted her.

Fire…

“Can you start a fire?” she asked.

He was wearing only a shirt and a belt that held his knife. His feet were blackened from

having no shoes.

“I can get a coal from the house,” he assured her quickly. “But I can nae go home to me ma without something to eat. I am the man of the house now.”

His eyes returned to the fish in her hands. “That’s a fine, big fish, and there are plenty more.”

Trusting him was a risk, but one she had to take unless she planned to eat her fish raw with her teeth. And a fire would warm her and help dry her shift. She hated that she was desperate enough to resort to such behavior. At least Fate was offering her another solution. Yet it would not come without a price. Handing over the fish took a great deal of effort. She watched the way his face lit up.

“I’ll be back,” he promised. “I’m going to give this to me mother and bring back a coal from the hearth like I promised.”

God, she hoped so.

He ran away from her, the fish in his hands, as she fought off tears to see it leaving.

Nonsense, she chided herself.

It will be a good bargain.

 About Mary Wine

Acclaimed author Mary Wine has written over 30 works of Scottish Highland romance, romantic suspense and erotic romance. An avid history-buff and historical costumer, she and her family enjoy participating in historical reenactments. Mary lives in Yorba Linda, California with her husband and two sons.

Find Mary Wine: Website | Goodreads | Facebook

Tour Wide Giveaway!

There is a tour wide giveaway for 2 bundles of Mary Wine’s Highland Weddings series.  Entries can be made through the Rafflecopter widget below or on any participating blog page.  Please note that this tour is being coordinated by the publisher and any questions should be directed to them.  Good luck!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

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