Highland Spitfire (Highland Weddings #1)
By Mary Wine
Release Date: February 2, 2016
New from Mary Wine, the queen of sizzling, page-turning
Scottish Historical romance
Passion flares between enemies
Two hotheaded Highlanders, the offspring of feuding lairds,
are tricked by the King’s Regent into a desperate choice: marry or die. Bhaic
MacPherson is more disposed to lead his clan into battle than stay married to
the daughter of his enemy. But perhaps the intensity of his feelings has more
to do with desire than hostility.
And the Highlands ignite
Ailis Robertson wanted a husband, not a savage—but when her
family was faced with a deadly ultimatum, she had no choice. The union of a
MacPherson and a Robertson could end three generations of hostilities between
the two families, but can bitter rivals truly become lovers?
Acclaimed author Mary
Wine has written over 30 works of erotic fantasy, romantic suspense, and
historical romance. An avid history-buff and historical costumer, she and her
family enjoy participating in historical reenactments. Mary lives in California
with her husband and two sons.
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This February marks the release
of Highland
Spitfire, the first in Mary
Wine’s new Highland Weddings series! To celebrate, Mary joins us on the blog to share an excerpt and answer a
quick either/or question.
eReader or Print books?
Print
book. I think that’s due to the fact that I face a computer all day, so when I
go to relax, I want a change of scenery.
“The Crown and the king will no longer tolerate unrest in the
Highlands.” Morton informed them all.
“What are ye planning on doing?” her father demanded. “Killing us
all?” He chuckled ominously. “Ye’ll nae be the first nobleman who fails at that
task.”
The Abbey was full of amusement, the sound bouncing between the
dark stone walls.
“Come here, Mistress,” the earl demanded.
Ailis wanted to refuse, but that felt cowardly. Bhaic was standing
up to the man, so she would as well.
“Stay where ye are, Daughter,” her father ordered.
She stood, earning another round of laughter from the MacPhersons.
“Seems ye are as good at teaching yer children respect as ye are
at fighting, Robertsons!”
Ailis turned around, her skirts flying up to reveal her ankles.
She glared at Bhaic MacPherson.
“I am no more afraid of this lowlander than ye are.” She said in a tone that would have pleased
even her stern tutor. Her voice was even and her chin steady without a hint of
sharpness, just clear determination.
The grin on his face faded and for just a moment, his expression
became one of approval. But she turned and walked toward the earl. She had to
fend off the impulse to perform a reverence because it was such an ingrained
courtesy. But he would not receive such politeness from her—even if he was a
nobleman. There were plenty who would warn her against such prideful ways, but
she had been raised in the highlands. Respect was earned. And the Earl had
abandoned polite behavior, so she would as well.
“I’ll not be lowering meself before a man who ordered a blade put
to me throat.” She spoke evenly once
more.
His lips twitched in response. For a moment, he studied her,
running his gaze up and down her length. When his eyes locked with hers again,
there was a pleased look flickering in them. He was different than the other
noblemen she’d met. There was a rough edge to him that struck a warning bell
inside her. He was ruthless and unashamed of it. This man had not been raised
with servants trailing his heels. He’d dirtied his hands more than once. She
was certain of it.
That made him very dangerous.
“Look through those windows, Mistress, and tell me what you see.”
A knot was tightening in her belly, pulling tighter as she turned
and looked where he pointed. Beyond the sides of the Abbey, there were more of
the earl’s men, set apart by their britches. They held a line of horses steady
beneath thick tree branches; more men stood ready with nooses above the
animals.
She felt like her throat was closing shut.
“Have you lost your courage lady?” the earl inquired.
“I have nae,” she countered, but her voice cracked, betraying her
horror.
“Enough. Let the lass be.” Bhaic stood back up. “If ye want a
fight, man, I’ll be happy to give it to ye, since ye’ve gone to so much trouble
to get us all here.”
“Like hell!” her father argued. “She’s me daughter and I’ll be the
one doing the fighting, since me sons are nae here.”
Ailis gulped down a breath and fought to find her strength before
her father lunged across the pews at Bhaic.
And unleashed a blood bath.
“There are a row of horses with nooses dangling above the empty
saddles,” Ailis forced out. “Every
detail set for an execution.”
The Abbey went silent as her words reached every last man. All
hints of teasing dissipated, and more than one man looked at the gunners and
began to judge his chances. Better to die trying to live than wait for someone
to slap the flank of a horse while you felt the bite of the noose around your
neck.
“This feud ends here,” the earl informed them. “None of ye recall
the reason it began.”
“I do too.” her father insisted. “It was a MacPherson who murdered
me grandfather.”
“Only after he tried to steal the bride of me own grandfather!”
Shamus MacPherson argued, pointing at Liam Robertson. “But it was the money he
was trying to steal the most.”
“Me kin are nae thieves.” her father roared. “She found yer
grandfather’s bed cold and that’s a fact!”
Suddenly the men in the pews didn’t care about the guns trained on
them. They were ready to tear each other limb from limb. Over three hundred
Highlanders began to surge to their feet, but a blast from one of the rifles
sobered them. The scent of the black powder was thick, mixing with the beeswax.
“You will end this feud,” the earl demanded. “Scotland needs
unity. England’s virgin queen is earning the wrath of most of the continent
with her Protestant ways. If we do not want to find ourselves invaded, we will
present a united front to the rest of the world. There will be peace between
the MacPhersons and the Robertsons so that we might all be Scots.”
“I suppose if ye hang us all, there might be.” It was Bhaic who
spoke up, his voice strong and steady.
“I find meself agreeing with a MacPherson,” her father groused.
“May me father forgive me and no rise from his grave to torment me.”
The earl was looking at her. She felt the weight of his gaze, the
knot in her belly becoming unbearable.
“Your father’s fate is in your hands, Mistress. I leave the choice
to you, since they are still intent on fighting even with the odds clearly
against them.”
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