Author: Amanda Forester
Series: Highland Trouble, #2
ISBN: 9781492605461
Pubdate: January 3, 2017
Genre: Historical Romance
A
conquering hero
Cormac
Maclean would rather read than rampage, but his fearsome warlord father demands
that he prove himself in war. Cormac chooses what he thinks is an easy target,
only to encounter a fiery Highland lass leading a doomed rebellion and swearing
revenge on him.
Meets
an unconquerable heroine
Jyne
Cambell is not about to give up her castle without a fight, even though her
forces are far outnumbered. She’s proud, hot-blooded and hot-tempered, and
Cormac falls for her hard.
It’s
going to take all of Cormac’s ingenuity to get Jyne to surrender
gracefully—both to his sword and to his heart…
Excerpt:
Highlands, 1362
She had always wanted to have an
adventure. That was her first mistake. Her second was to set off for a little
privacy in the thick fog of the Highland morning.
Lady Jyne Campbell tramped along
the cold ground of the Highland moor, trying to retrace her steps back to camp.
She could not have gotten far. Could she? She considered calling out to her
brothers for help, but rejected the idea. She wished to show her clan that she
was capable of taking care of herself. Admitting she had gotten lost in the fog
was not going to help her cause.
Being
the youngest daughter, Jyne was accustomed to being bossed about by all of her
fourteen siblings. And not just any siblings—Campbell siblings. Her eldest
brother was David Campbell, laird of the powerful Campbell clan. The Campbell
brothers were tall, broad-shouldered, hardworking, and a formidable foe to
their enemies. The Campbell sisters were statuesque, brave, bold, and ready to
stand shoulder to shoulder with any man to defend the Campbell clan, or against
any clansman who got out of line. Jyne’s mother had borne fifteen children, and
not one of them had the audacity to die in childhood. No, frailty was not
allowed in the Campbell household.
All except Jyne. She had been
born a little too soon and had always been small. In childhood, she was prone
to illness and had a delicate constitution. Being of questionable health during
her formative years, she was never chosen to travel or have any adventures.
Though her dreams were as big as any of her siblings, she had to content
herself with listening to the stories of others and making herself useful about
the castle, while the other siblings returned with wild tales of their
exploits.
Jyne paused a moment, straining
to hear sounds from the camp. She would rather search for hours than admit to
her overprotective brothers she had gotten lost in a bit of mist. She
continued walking in the thick gray fog, which blanketed the rugged landscape. Straining
to see ahead of her in the fog and stepped onto something she thought was firm
ground, but suddenly wasn’t.
“Oh!” She fell forward into a
bog, gasping as the cold, muddy water engulfed her to her thighs. “Oh, no!” She
struggled, trying to find firm ground to drag herself out of the treacherous
moor, but everywhere she touched was made of cold, wet mud. Her efforts were
rewarded only by her sinking into the bog a few inches more.
The
freezing sludge seeped through her clothes and held her fast, like an icy claw.
The smell of rotting swamp gas made her gag. Her heart pounded in her throat,
along with the remnants of her last meal. She had heard stories of people
getting trapped in the bog and never returning.
She clenched her teeth to stop
them from chattering. Should she call for help? The thought of the looks on
her brothers’ faces to find her stuck in the bog shut her mouth. She made
another try for solid ground, straining her reach for a crop of grass.
She could almost make it. Her
fingertips brushed tantalizingly against the stems of the grass, but there was
nothing to grasp. She could not reach solid ground. Her efforts had only caused
her to sink another few inches as fear slithered down her spine. Nothing she
could do was going to get herself out.
“Help! David? Help!” Her pride
was gone. She only hoped her brothers would hear her before she was
gone. “Can anyone hear me?”
She had expected her siblings to
come running as soon as she called. She could not be that far from camp. Could
she? She listened for footsteps, for any hint that help was on the way. She
heard nothing.
Panic surged within her, tinged
with frustration. The one time she actually wanted her brothers to hover over
her, and they were nowhere in sight. She made another lunge for solid ground,
but the more she moved, the farther the bog sucked her down, and soon she was
up to her waist, panting with exertion and sheer terror.
She closed her eyes and screamed
with all her might, “Help! Heeeeeelp!”
“Here,
lassie, take my hand.” A man, a stranger to her, flung himself onto the solid
ground and reached out his hand over the murky bog. She grasped it, and he
began to back up slowly, pulling her from the quagmire. He pulled hard, but the
swamp resisted, as if unwilling to release its prize from its cold clutches.
Finally, he wrenched her from the deadly swamp, and she collapsed beside him on
firm ground.
“Thank ye,” she gasped, not sure
if she was trembling from the fear of coming near death or the frozen chill of
the mire still permeating her bones.
“Are ye hurt?” asked the
stranger. He was a tall man dressed in the plaid kilt of the Highlander, belted
at the waist and thrown over one shoulder. He had a wild mop of unruly brown
hair and glinting dark eyes. He was armed with a bow and quiver of arrows and
had several scrolls stuck into his wide leather belt.
Her teeth chattered. “N-nay, just
relieved to be out o’ the bog.”
The stranger stood up and took
her with him, easily lifting her to her feet. “Ah, lass, ye’re chilled to the
bone.” He pulled her close and wrapped the ends of his plaid around her,
warming her with his own heat. She melted into the comforting warmth and safety
of his arms.
Jyne sighed. She had a vague
feeling she should not be enjoying an embrace with a total stranger. She must
be simply thankful to be out of the bog. At least that is what she told herself
to justify resting her cheek against his chest.
“Thank
ye. I dinna ken what would have happened to me if ye hadna come along,” said
Jyne into the man’s solid chest. “Ye must have been sent by the angels to save
me.”
The man laughed. “Angels? That
would be the first time anyone said that about me.”
Jyne looked up at him. He had a
decided jawline and sharp cheekbones. His face was almost angular, but
attractive. His dark green eyes gleamed in the early morning light. He was a trim,
muscular man who looked to be in his early twenties. Perhaps it was her brush
with danger, but she decided he was the most handsome Highlander she had ever
seen.
“Then I am glad to be the first
to say it to ye. Ye truly are my hero.” Jyne’s voice trembled with sincerity.
“I’m nobody’s hero.” He tilted
his head with a sardonic smile.
“Ye are to me. I am Jyne and much
in yer debt.”
He shook his head. “Ye owe me
naught.”
She touched her hand to his
cheek, and he tilted his head toward her, leaning closer.
“Unhand my sister!”
Jyne jumped away from the
stranger and turned to see her brother, Laird of the Campbells, emerging from
the mist.
About the author:
Amanda Forester holds a PhD in psychology and
worked many years in academia before discovering that writing historical
romance was way more fun. A Publishers
Weekly Top Ten author, her books have been given starred reviews from Booklist, Publishers Weekly, and a Top Pick from RT Book Reviews. 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. She lives with
her family in the Pacific Northwest outside Tacoma, Washington.
Social Networking Links
Twitter:
@Amanda_Forester
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