Authors: Lecia Cornwall, Anna Harrington, May McGoldrick,
and Sabrina York
E-Original published by Swerve
Publication Date: June 20, 2017
ISBN: 9781250158383
Price: $3.99
You are
formally invited to the Highland wedding event of the year. These four lasses
are about to meet their matches in an original digital anthology featuring
stories from New York
Times and USA Today bestselling author Sabrina York,
Lecia Cornwall, Anna Harrington, and May McGoldrick.
HOW A LASS WED A HIGHLANDER by Lecia Cornwall
In this retelling of The Princess and The Pea,
Laird Alex Munro of Culmore has just five weeks to find a bride and marry
her...or else the clan will be cursed with ill luck. Cait MacLeod finds herself
caught in a clan feud, and when she tries to stop a deadly raid, she ends up as
Alex Munro’s prisoner. With timing running out, is this couple meant to
be?
A MATCH MADE IN HEATHER by Anna Harrington
She was the laird's daughter. He was
nothing more than a penniless, nameless Scot with nothing to offer but his
heart. Fate tore them apart, but now he's back in her life with status, money
and a title. Can they let go of past hurts and find love?
A MIDSUMMER WEDDING by May McGoldrick
Their marriage was two decades in the
making. The young, educated woman and her highland, pirate husband, betrothed
when they were still children. But on the day of their wedding, Elizabeth Hay
and Alexander Macpherson are in for a surprise.
THE SCOT SAYS I DO by Sabrina York
Catherine Ross's world is turned upside down
when her brother gambles away every penny they own. But to make matters worse?
He’s lost everything to none other than Duncan Mackay, the rugged Scot who
Catherine loved for years--but he never noticed her, and now she positively
loathes him. But her brother’s in danger of going to Newgate, and the
despicable Duncan has a plan– she can claim back the money and save her
brother. If she marries him…
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Enjoy these excerpts!
How a Lass Wed a Highlander by Lecia Cornwall
Alex
opened the door of the little storeroom on the third floor of the old tower.
Moonlight
filtered in through the arrow slit and illuminated the pile of mattresses. Alex
stared it. “Ye sleep . . . up there?” he asked.
Cait
nodded.
He
leaned on the doorframe and took note of the stacked crates. “And ye climb up?”
“Yes,”
she said. She shrugged. “I’ve grown quite used to it. I don’t mind. I may have
a similar bed made when I get ho—” she paused. “At Rosecairn.”
He
looked at her. She stood in the center of the floor, her russet hair bright
copper in the moonlight, her eyes luminous. He couldn’t look away. Desire
flared all over again. Hector was one of his own, his clansman. His captain.
But the thought of giving Cait to Baird tore at him.
“I
mind,” he said, his voice thick as he looked at her sky-high bed again. “I find
I mind very much.”
He
looked back at her. She waited silently, her eyes on his.
“Alex? If I must marry Baird,
I would like . . . that is, just once, I want—you.” She held out her hand to
him. It was white in the moonlight, pure and pale, and for a moment he stared
at her long fingers without moving. “I want you as a woman wants a man. I want
to know what it’s like to be loved, because I can’t imagine wanting Baird like
I want you. Will you stay with me tonight, while we are both still free?”
He
wanted it too, wanted her, before he had to marry Fiona, or Nessa, or Coria, or
Sorcha. He stepped into the room and kicked the door shut. He took her hand and
pulled her into his arms. He kissed her once, gently, and stood looking down at
her upturned face. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered. “I wish—” She put her
finger to his lips.
“Just
this, now.”
He
took her hand, kissed her fingers, her knuckles, then claimed her lips. She
pressed herself to him, kissed him back, and he moaned softly and wrapped his
arms around her, claimed her mouth, deepened the kiss.
She
was his. If only for this night.
A Match Made in Heather by Anna Harrington
“We
would have lived in a cottage just like this,” she whispered, barely a sound
passing her lips, “if we’d married.” Her belly tightened at the glimpse of the
life they might have shared, spreading out before her. Once she’d wanted
nothing more than to be his wife, keep his home, have his children . . . “We
would have been happy here.”
“You
would have been miserable,” he corrected gently.
She
whispered, “Not with you.”
“Especially
with me.” He shook his head at the futility of what she was suggesting. “Can
you honestly tell me that you would have been happy living in a place like
this, two rooms so poorly furnished that we would have been lucky to have a
table to eat from, let alone any food on the plates? No pretty dresses or
beeswax candles, no books, certainly no tea or sugar, no velvet or ribbons.” He
reached out and tugged at the shoulder of her riding habit, adding, “No Rowland
tartan for you or our bairn. Your father would have made certain of it.”
“I
would still have been a Rowland by birth.” Resentment began to pulse inside
her. “Entitled to wear the tartan.”
“You
would have become a McGuiness. You would have been nothing.” His jaw tightened.
“Just as I was.”
“Don’t
say that! I loved you, more than—” The words choked in her throat. When they
came, they were little more than a breath. “More than I’ve loved anyone else in
my life.”
He
froze, stunned at her unexpected confession.
“Not
going with you that night was the most difficult choice I’ve ever had to make.”
Her voice shook from the emotion of her admission. “I loved you, Garrick, but I
loved my family, too. They needed me to be here with them, to face together all
the terrible things that were about to happen to us.”
“A
gambling debt?” he bit out. He shook his head, disdain darkening his features.
“Terrible for Samuel, surely, but nothing you had to take on yourself.”
She
hesitated, wanting nothing more than to tell him everything, to spill her heart
and all the dreadful events of that summer—
But
she couldn’t. Even now, the pain was still raw, still too difficult to share.
“I
wanted to go with you that night,” she answered instead. “I wanted to be your
wife and share a home with you, just like this one.” She glanced around her,
unprepared for the rush of sadness that swept over her when her eyes landed on
the empty cradle in the corner. “And fill it with our own children. There would
have been love and happiness . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she drew in a
deep breath, pressing her hand against her chest to fight back the memories of
the past. The ghosts of a life that would never be. “I had to choose, and I
chose my family. But not one day went by that I didn’t regret having to make
that decision, not one night when I didn’t wonder what our life would have been
like.”
Her
gaze met his, and as she stared into his eyes, the rest of the world fell away
around them. Just as it did ten years ago whenever his attention was on her,
when it seemed only the two of them existed.
“I
made the right decision, Garrick, I know I did,” she breathed out in a
trembling whisper. “If I had to relive that night, even knowing now what would
happen—” Her eyes began to sting as tears blurred his handsome face. She
whispered softly, “I would make the same choice.”
He
shook his head. “Arabel—”
“But
that doesn’t mean I didn’t love you. That I didn’t want a life with you.” All
the emotions roiled inside her so fiercely that she had to press a fist against
her chest to keep breathing. The pain was unbearable, but the only way to end
her misery was to sear the wound completely, to stir up the desolation and
grief until no more pain was left. To answer the question that had been
haunting her for ten years . . . “Why did you leave, Garrick? You left
Kincardine when I . . .” When I needed you most.
“I
didn’t have a choice,” he finished with a cutting iciness.
She
flinched at the accusation, and old wounds bled anew. “Neither did I,” she
admitted. “I’d thought . . .”
“You
thought what?” he pressed.
Somehow
she found the resolve inside her to not look away. “That you loved me enough to
understand,” she whispered as the memories of that night spiraled through her,
all the pain and panic, the desperation . . . “That you loved me enough to
wait.”
A Midsummer Wedding by May McGoldrick
Elizabeth suddenly felt the need to talk. If she was
going to make good use of this time together, she needed to correct any
misunderstandings now.
“I
want to explain why I came to you at the tavern,” she began. “Why I pretended
to be Clare Seton.”
His
gaze was fixed on the fire.
“It
was a foolish plan, I know that now. But . . . but the idea was to make you see
Clare and her intended and think she was me and . . . and to make you believe
that my heart belonged to someone else.”
He
looked up at her. “Why? What did you hope to accomplish?” His tone was civil,
but his expression was indecipherable.
“I
wanted you to walk away from our marriage bargain.”
“What
was wrong with meeting me in person? Why couldn’t you simply tell me?”
Reason.
Of course, that would have been the logical thing to do. But how could she
explain to him that such a thing took courage and at the time she didn’t trust
him to initiate the break? That the stakes were so high and she wasn’t thinking
straight?
“I
should have,” she said finally. “That would have been the wiser course of
action. I don’t want to marry you.”
There.
It was out. She’d told him the truth. At least, part of it. She didn’t tell him
about not wanting to defy her father, about the future she imagined for herself.
He was staring again at the fire. She studied his face. There was no change in
the relaxed way that he sat against the wall.
He
glanced up at her, and something in his expression told Elizabeth that the man
was relieved.
“Then
. . . you’re fine with this?”
His
eyes sparkled in the dark. “Aye,” he said, lifting a knee and resting an arm on
it. “Why do you think I was so impatient to see you these past two days? I even
sent a letter to you with my squire this afternoon. He passed you with it when
you came into the tavern.”
“What
did the letter say?” she asked, wanting him to say it. She didn’t want to
assume anything.
“I
feel no sense of duty toward the agreement binding us together. That deal was
made decades ago, and both families have already profited by it. And in return
for my freedom, I’ll provide a sizable sum of gold for you to do with as you
please.”
“You
don’t want to marry me?”
“Blast
me if I do. You don’t want to marry me, and I don’t want to marry you either,”
he responded, looking like he’d just won the prize pig at the fair. “You can
choose anyone you please, so long as it’s not Alexander Macpherson.”
The Scot Says I Do by Sabrina York
“Why do you want to marry me?”
“Oh!
That!” He huffed a laugh and then sobered. His lips closed as he pondered the
question.
And,
really? Did he need to ponder the question?
“Don’t
you know?” she snapped.
“Of
course. Of course I do. I . . . need a wife.”
He
nodded and stepped back, looking rather pleased with himself.
She
shook her head and his smug smile deflated like a soufflé. “Any woman will do
if you simply need a wife.”
“I
need heirs. I have an estate now”—she assumed he meant Peter’s—“and I need
heirs.”
“Again.
Any brood mare will suffice.”
His
brow furrowed. “You are hardly a brood mare.”
“Well,
thank you very much for that. But you still have to answer the question. Why do
you want to marry me?”
His
throat worked again. “Isn’t it obvious?”
She crossed her arms. “Apparently not.”
Another
thing it was not, was even remotely romantic, but she supposed a woman in her
position knew better than to expect such fribbles.
“Well,
you are . . .” He waved at her person. Up and down in an illustrative manner
that was not illustrative in the slightest.
“I
believe we have established the fact that I am a female of child bearing
years.” A brood mare, if you will.
“You
are more than that, Catherine.” Ah. Now we were getting somewhere.
“Such
as?”
“You
are elegant. Genteel. Trained in the art of social niceties. You would make a
proper wife.”
She
sniffed. She was hardly proper. And she certainly did not care to be proper. “There are a thousand
debutantes in London who fit that bill.”
He
made such a face that she was tempted to laugh. Had she not been so adamant
about discovering his true motives, she might have. “Debutantes? London
debutantes? What a revolting thought.”
“I,
sir, am one such creature.”
“You
are nothing like them, my wee Cat.” His adamant tone stirred her, as did his
intent stare. She insisted those feelings recede. “You have a highland heart.
You love heather. You ride bareback. You run barefoot in the grass at dawn—”
“Good
Lord, Duncan. None of those things are proper. And I did those things when I
was a child.” She hadn’t known such joy since her father locked her up in Miss
Welles’ Finishing School for Girls in Kent. Despite Elizabeth’s friendship, the
school had done much to squeeze the wild child from her soul—a loss she felt
deeply, even now. But, apparently, she was a proper English lady doomed to
marry a proper English lord, and—
But
no. She wasn’t. Not anymore, was she?
How
strange that this thought filled her with unaccountable joy.
“You
are no’ like them,” Duncan, oblivious to her epiphany, continued on. “You are
clever and funny and interesting. Those girls have nothing of interest to say.”
“Most
likely because I was ruined early,” she “said, tongue in cheek. “I did spend my
formative years with savages, I’m told.”
It
took a moment for him to realize she was jesting, and then his glower turned to
a smile. “Aye.”
“So
you want to marry me because I am better disposed to tolerate your unrefined
manners?” She was teasing him now, but frankly, he deserved it.
His
face went ruddy and he began to sputter.
“Or
because I can converse with you on lower subjects, such as offal and breeding?”
“Catherine!”
“Or
is it—”
“Stop.”
“I
would stop if you would tell me why you want to marry me—so much that you would
blackmail me into saying my vows.”
“It
was never my intention to blackmail you.” He seemed offended at the suggestion.
“Really?
What were those threats about Newgate for then?”
His
brow lowered. “Those were a statement of fact. And to be sure, I doona want a
wife who felt compelled to wed me,
one who felt trapped with a lesser soul as a husband. In fact, if that is the
case, I firmly rescind my offer.” He stared at her for a moment, his eyes
red-rimmed, then whirled around to leave the room.
Oh
dear. Perhaps she had gone too far. She had not intended to insult or wound
him, or disparage his person.
“Duncan.”
Her voice was small, but he heard her. He stopped stock still, but did not look
at her. “I do not feel that you are a lesser soul. You have to know better than
that. You are and always have been one of the finest men I’ve met.” It cost her
to admit that because of the bitter waters between them, but it was true.
About the authors:
Lecia
Cornwall is the author of steamy Regency
romances set in England and Scotland including the Highland Fairytale series
for SMP Swerve, starting with Beauty and the Highland Beast. Her books are known for their layered plots and
intriguing characters. Lecia lives in Calgary, Canada with four cats, two
teenagers, a crazy chocolate lab and one very patient husband.
Anna Harrington is the
author of The Secret Life of Scandals series with Forever romance. When she isn’t writing,
she spends her time trying not to kill the innocent rose bushes in her garden.
She is the author of The Secret Life of Scoundrels series, including Along
Came a Rogue.
USA Today bestselling authors Nikoo and Jim McGoldrick (writing
as May McGoldrick) weave
emotionally satisfying tales of love and danger. Publishing under the names of
May McGoldrick and Jan Coffey, these authors have written more than thirty
novels and works of nonfiction. Nikoo, an engineer, also conducts frequent
workshops on writing. Jim holds a Ph.D. in Medieval and Renaissance literature
and teaches English in northwestern Connecticut. They are the authors of Much
Ado About Highlanders, Taming
the Highlander, and Tempest
in the Highlands in the Scottish Relic
Trilogy with SMP Swerve.
Sabrina York is
the New York Times and USA
Today Bestselling author of more than
twenty hot, humorous written works. Her stories range from sweet and sexy to
scorching romance. She's the author of Hannah and the
Highlander with St. Martin's Press.
