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.
Title: Highland Spitfire
Author: Mary Wine
Series: Highland Weddings, #1
Pubdate: February 2, 2016
ISBN: 9781492602569
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?
“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.”
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.
East
Coast or West Coast?
I’m a West Coast girl and
would likely freeze during winter on the East coast, I mean, it gets below
fifty degrees.
I have this one scheduled to read this week. It looks really good!
ReplyDeleteLooks great, so I intend to read it very soon. Thanks.
ReplyDeleteLooks like a great read.
ReplyDeleteThey are all my favorites.
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