Highland Weddings
Series
By Gayle Callen
Avon Romance
February 23, 2016
Falling in love means tempting fate in this passionate new novel in USA Today bestselling author Gayle Callen’s Highland Wedding series.
Maggie McCallum’s dreams about her new fiancé aren’t the romantic sort. It’s not just that she was bartered to Owen Duff like a piece of property to end a clan feud. She’s also haunted by premonitions of his death on their upcoming wedding day. Yet the exasperating Highlander won’t let her call it off, even though his life and his clan are both in jeopardy.
Owen has wanted Maggie in his bed since he first glimpsed her years ago. If their union restores peace between their clans, so much the better. But while lusting after another chief’s sister had its risks, growing to trust Maggie is far more dangerous. Owen is falling deeply in love with the one woman he cannot hope to claim…and survive.
Maggie McCallum’s dreams about her new fiancé aren’t the romantic sort. It’s not just that she was bartered to Owen Duff like a piece of property to end a clan feud. She’s also haunted by premonitions of his death on their upcoming wedding day. Yet the exasperating Highlander won’t let her call it off, even though his life and his clan are both in jeopardy.
Owen has wanted Maggie in his bed since he first glimpsed her years ago. If their union restores peace between their clans, so much the better. But while lusting after another chief’s sister had its risks, growing to trust Maggie is far more dangerous. Owen is falling deeply in love with the one woman he cannot hope to claim…and survive.
My Thoughts:
Okay, I liked The Wrong Bride it was a good read, but I feel The Groom Wore Plaid was so much better. At the end of The Wrong Bride Maggie basically offers herself to Owen in order to ensure peace between the two clans. Basically, she's offering herself as the sacrificial lamb, and she's okay with the decision until she has a dream about Owen's death on their wedding day. After the dream she tries to tell Owen they can't get marry, but Owen isn't going to hear a word.
Now Owen and Maggie have a bit of history. They actually hung out together, then one day Maggie has a dream about Owen's fiancée, and he accuses her of being jealous. He mocks her gift, and she holds a little resentment. Owen has a firm belief in logic and science, so he's a bit skeptical about Maggie's gift. Of course this cause a bit of tension between the two.
Anyway, I did enjoy The Groom Wore Plaid. I liked Maggie and her loyalty to whom she cares for. She truly tries to protect Owen for his own good. Stubborn man. Maggie's character broke my heart at times, because she always felt her gift as a curse. It being 1700s, I would feel the same way, being call a witch back then is a scary thing. She never felt like she could belong anywhere or be normal. Then to have your betrothal mocking you, because he doesn't understand. Owen can be stubborn and wants what he wants. Plus, he's a man of science and logic. Maggie and him buttheads quite a bit. Yes, the you are going to marry me, and no I'm not does get a little old at times. As the wedding draws closer things start to happen that makes Maggie worry, and it does make the story move a little faster.
Like I said, I did like The Groom Wore Plaid. I think, because I could empathize with Maggie on being an outsider trying to fit the mold of everyone else. I did like how Gayle manage to make the McCallum-Duff feud pop up. Things happen the Duff look at Maggie like she had something to do with the mishaps. Poor girl, being a scapegoat. Anyway, there is a bit a danger lurking before the wedding. Overall, an enjoyable read.
Copy provided by Avon via Edelweiss
Okay, I liked The Wrong Bride it was a good read, but I feel The Groom Wore Plaid was so much better. At the end of The Wrong Bride Maggie basically offers herself to Owen in order to ensure peace between the two clans. Basically, she's offering herself as the sacrificial lamb, and she's okay with the decision until she has a dream about Owen's death on their wedding day. After the dream she tries to tell Owen they can't get marry, but Owen isn't going to hear a word.
Now Owen and Maggie have a bit of history. They actually hung out together, then one day Maggie has a dream about Owen's fiancée, and he accuses her of being jealous. He mocks her gift, and she holds a little resentment. Owen has a firm belief in logic and science, so he's a bit skeptical about Maggie's gift. Of course this cause a bit of tension between the two.
Anyway, I did enjoy The Groom Wore Plaid. I liked Maggie and her loyalty to whom she cares for. She truly tries to protect Owen for his own good. Stubborn man. Maggie's character broke my heart at times, because she always felt her gift as a curse. It being 1700s, I would feel the same way, being call a witch back then is a scary thing. She never felt like she could belong anywhere or be normal. Then to have your betrothal mocking you, because he doesn't understand. Owen can be stubborn and wants what he wants. Plus, he's a man of science and logic. Maggie and him buttheads quite a bit. Yes, the you are going to marry me, and no I'm not does get a little old at times. As the wedding draws closer things start to happen that makes Maggie worry, and it does make the story move a little faster.
Like I said, I did like The Groom Wore Plaid. I think, because I could empathize with Maggie on being an outsider trying to fit the mold of everyone else. I did like how Gayle manage to make the McCallum-Duff feud pop up. Things happen the Duff look at Maggie like she had something to do with the mishaps. Poor girl, being a scapegoat. Anyway, there is a bit a danger lurking before the wedding. Overall, an enjoyable read.
Copy provided by Avon via Edelweiss
Excerpt:
Scotland, 1717
Maggie
McCallum was only sixteen and Owen Duff eighteen the autumn their families
spent in Edinburgh. Her mother had said she was too young for courtship, but
Maggie secretly scoffed at that. Men looked at her now, and she was finally
allowing herself to give a flirtatious look back.
And
then at a dancing assembly, she saw Owen, Viscount Duncraggan, heir to the
earldom of Aberfoyle. She’d met him only once before, at a dinner with their parents.
She’d been twelve, he fourteen, and he’d ignored her. Now a friend giggled and
pointed him out.
“He’s
from the Duff clan,” the girl said. “Even I ken that the McCallums and the
Duffs have always despised each other.”
Maggie
nodded without really listening. She was staring at Owen with wide, curious
eyes. He did not wear a belted plaid as so many of her family did, but an
expensive tailored coat and waistcoat over knee breeches, and the polished
sword at his hip sparkled in the candlelight when he strode across the dance
floor to bow to a blushing girl. He had a thin face and bony shoulders that
hinted at the broad strength of the man he would become. His sandy hair was
gathered in a haphazard queue on his neck, loose strands brushing his cheeks as
if he were too busy to be bothered fastening it more securely.
“Isn’t your brother to marry
his sister? Ye’ll be practically family.”
Family
or not, Maggie knew better than to be the McCallum who approached a Duff in
public, right in front of her mother. She thought of her brother’s misery at
marrying a woman he didn’t know or love, the way he’d done foolish, reckless
things in anger when he’d first discovered his fate at thirteen. Maggie had
pitied him, and felt guilty that she was secretly glad it wasn’t she forced to
marry a Duff.
Her
next meeting with Owen wasn’t auspicious—she merely passed him on the stairs
outside her flat on High Street, as dusk settled in dark waves on Edinburgh.
The tall building with a dozen floors housed all manner of people, from the
chimney sweep in the cellar to the dancing master in the garret. The best
floors were reserved for noblemen, and though her father didn’t have a title,
he was the chief of the Clan McCallum. Her mother had leased the flat to be
near the earl’s family, since her son was marrying into them, but she did not
want her daughter involved beyond what civility expected.
Upon
seeing Maggie, Owen came to a stop on the stairs and grinned that grin that
lived in her dreams for many years to come. His warm brown eyes made her think
of the chocolate English ladies favored for their morning drink, and as they
took her in, skimming her form, she felt as suitably overheated as that cup
she’d only once clutched in her hands on a cold winter morning in the Highlands.
She
wanted to scold him for his bold gaze but then she saw the round tube he
carried.
“Is
that a telescope?” she demanded.
Those
eyes now brightened with more than warmth. “Aye, I’m heading out to gaze upon
the stars. Have ye looked through one before?”
She
shook her head. She’d done nothing more intellectual than read passages from
the Bible—she hadn’t been allowed more, had no access to other books. Knowing
there was a whole world of knowledge out there made her ache with regret and
frustration.
He
held out a hand. “I’m Owen. Do ye want to come?”
She
hesitated, realizing he didn’t recognize her. In that long moment she thought
of her grandparents already preparing for bed, the fact that she’d just seen
her mother into a sedan chair to meet with friends, and that her brother lived
in his own flat near the university. She was alone.
Owen
stood a couple stairs below her, and that put them at just about the same
height. She stared into his eyes again, and the admiration and curiosity made
her unfurl like a blossom in springtime.
But
she had to be honest. Taking a deep breath, she said, “I’m Maggie McCallum.
’Tis my brother who’s to marry your sister.”
He
looked at her for a long moment, and the first feelings of regret and
resignation washed through her.
But
Owen didn’t rush away, only extended his hand closer to her. “Nice to meet ye,
Maggie. Do ye still want to come with a dreaded Duff?”
She
bit her lip to keep from giggling like a foolish girl. She was sixteen, a woman
now. He obviously didn’t remember her from four years before. Maybe that was
for the best. Putting her hand in his, she let him lead her out into the
twilight.
During
the next few weeks, Owen was the excitement in days that were once dreary and
repetitive. Sneaking away to ride down to the shore at the Firth of Forth,
boating, exploring the grounds of Edinburgh Castle, or even meandering through
shops seemed like wild adventures when she was at Owen’s side.
Rather
than deter her, the very forbiddance of a friendship between them caused her to
be far too reckless. He was so very different from the men she knew. He
discussed physics and chemistry and astronomy as if she was as smart as he. She
saw his wonder in the world, but when she asked if he would be a scientist, his
expression turned hard as he said his father had forbidden it. He was the heir
to an earldom, and would be educated as such. If he didn’t study the classics,
his father would refuse him attendance at university next year.
Maggie
sympathized, and distracted him from his sad and angry thoughts, but she could
not stop dwelling on her own confusion. Every moment she spent in his company,
Owen seemed more and more familiar to her, as if they’d met much earlier in
their childhood, though he swore they had not. Sometimes it was as if a ghost
of a dream teased her from just beyond the shadows, and she shivered.
Her
dreams were nothing to make light of. More than once, she’d dreamed something
that eventually came true. The family of a little boy in her clan had thought
him drowned and were about to give up the search, when a dream led her to the
bedraggled boy huddled beneath a cliff. Another dream foretold the suicide of a
young woman whom Maggie’s father had abused. Maggie hadn’t understood what she
was seeing until it had actually come true, which was often the case. And then
it had been too late to help the girl. Maggie’s mother had taken her away from
Larig Castle and back to Edinburgh, to keep her safe from her father.
But
Owen? Could he have been part of a dream she couldn’t remember? The puzzle of
it flooded her mind when she was separated from him, but the hours they were
together were full of happy laughter, insightful discussion, and endless
moments where she stared into his face when he wasn’t looking and imagined
herself married to him. Maybe her mind was simply trying to tell her that he
was her destiny, that they were meant to be together. She wanted him to kiss
her, but he was ever the gentleman—or maybe he assumed that the centuries-old
feud between their clans meant they could never share a more intimate
relationship. It seemed to be a forbidden topic between them.
But
he touched her, and each time she could have surely melted with delight. He
would take her hand running across a field, guide her by grasping her elbow,
put his hand gently on her waist when they stood watching the sun set amid
beautiful orange and pink clouds adorning it like trailing scarves.
Two
weeks into their friendship, they were carrying a luncheon basket along the
river, Water of Leith, on a particularly sunny autumn day, when Owen suggested
they look for mussels and Scottish pearls. This was no mere meandering in
ankle-deep water, and soon they were both dripping wet, pearl-less, shivering
as they crawled back up the grassy bank, laughing.
Owen
lay down in the sun, and feeling reckless, she did the same, eyeing him boldly
since his own eyes were closed. His queue had come undone, and long strands of
his hair, dark brown with water, covered his cheeks. Without thinking, she came
up on her elbow and used a trembling finger to move the locks away from his
face.
His
eyes snapped open, and she expected him to laugh up at her, but he seemed to
concentrate intently on her face just above his. Everything external seemed to
go silent as they shared a hot, meaningful gaze. She was focused on the rough
sound of her breathing, the moisture beaded on his skin, the way she could feel
his heart pounding in his chest when she rested her trembling hand there.
And
then he cupped her head and brought her down for a kiss. His lips were cool
from the water, yet softer than she imagined a man’s would be. Such boldness
made her dizzy—or was it simply nearness to Owen? Her hand still on his chest,
she lifted her head and stared down at him uncertainly, but he only brought
their mouths together again. He parted his lips, and the shock of his tongue
sliding between hers made her start with surprise and wonder. Her cool, wet
skin seemed to heat, the warmth spreading out from her mouth and down her
chest. Her trembling was no longer from the cold, but she didn’t know why her
limbs seemed so restless. She wanted to be touched—needed it with a desperation
new to her. But she was afraid to do more than brace herself against his chest
as he explored her mouth and taught her to explore his.
The
world shifted as he rolled her onto her back. It was his turn to rise above
her, his intense face framed by blue sky and towering autumn-hued trees. She
had no time to think as he kissed her again and began to touch her. His hand on
her body was a hot, welcome presence, and with each touch she felt more and
more as if she couldn’t lie still. His caresses journeyed across her wet
clothes from her hip and upward. And when at last he touched her breast, pushed
upward by her stays, she moaned against his lips and shuddered with each
delicate strum across her nipple, as if he made her an instrument of desire.
Their
shared world of passion was suddenly overwhelming, and she pushed against him
before it was too late to stop. Owen lifted his head and stared down at her,
his breathing as erratic as hers.
“We
cannot do this,” she said with a trembling voice. Not that she regretted any of
it, she realized, staring at his mouth and wishing to feel again the pleasure
he’d given her.
Owen
was looking at her mouth, too, and he practically growled, “I knew ye’d find
out. Forgive me. I didn’t ken how to tell ye.”
“Find
out what?” she demanded.
He
grimaced.
“Owen
Duff, ye have to tell me now.”
“My
father betrothed me some years ago to the daughter of a Lowland clan. Even now,
they journey here for us to meet.”
The
last warmth from their kiss deserted Maggie. Shivering, she sat up and scooted
away from him, covering her chest as if it was bared to him.
“Why
did ye never tell me this?” she demanded. She’d let herself get lost in the
fairy tale of their friendship, and the romance she’d thought had been
blossoming. Now she knew she was simply a fool.
Owen
tucked his hair back into the queue, as if he needed something to do with his
hands. He didn’t look at her, and his face was as red as hers felt, but she
didn’t feel any sympathy for him.
His
words came out slowly at first, before tumbling over each other as fast as the
rippling water behind him. “At first, I thought we were simply friends, and to
know ye were a McCallum made it daring. But the need to kiss ye has been
dominating my thoughts more and more.”
He
met her gaze at last, and she felt like she’d never forget the heat she saw
there, the passion he was showing just for her. But he was betrothed, and a
lump rose high up into her throat, shutting off any words. She scrambled to her
feet and backed away from him before she would embarrass herself more by
crying. “I—I have to go.”
Purchase Here:
THE GROOM WORE PLAID –
THE GROOM WORE PLAID on Goodreads
HIGHLAND WEDDINGS series on Goodreads
About the Author
After a detour through fitness instructing and computer programming, GAYLE CALLEN found the life she’d always dreamed of as a romance writer. This USA Today bestselling author has written more than twenty historical romances for Avon Books, and her novels have won the Holt Medallion, the Laurel Wreath Award, the Booksellers’ Best Award, and been translated into eleven different languages. The mother of three grown children, an avid crafter, singer, and outdoor enthusiast, Gayle lives in Central New York with her dog Uma and her husband, Jim the Romance Hero. She also writes contemporary romances as Emma Cane.
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After a detour through fitness instructing and computer programming, GAYLE CALLEN found the life she’d always dreamed of as a romance writer. This USA Today bestselling author has written more than twenty historical romances for Avon Books, and her novels have won the Holt Medallion, the Laurel Wreath Award, the Booksellers’ Best Award, and been translated into eleven different languages. The mother of three grown children, an avid crafter, singer, and outdoor enthusiast, Gayle lives in Central New York with her dog Uma and her husband, Jim the Romance Hero. She also writes contemporary romances as Emma Cane.
Visit her website at www.gaylecallen.com.
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