When a Laird
Takes a Lady
by Rowan Keats
Genre: Historical, Scottish Romance
Elements/Tags: medieval, 13th Century
Publisher: Signet Eclipse
Publishing Date: May 6, 2014
Series: Claimed by the Highlander, #2
Format: Print and Ebook
Words: 368 Pages
Back Cover:
In the Highlands of
Scotland, honor and loyalty are worth more than life itself. But when a haunted
woman meets a wronged warrior, love will prove more powerful than anything they
have ever known.
Isabail Grant has had to be strong all her life. Over the
years, she has lost everyone close to her, and now she’s seeking justice for
her brother’s murder. But en route to Edinburgh to petition the king, she is
kidnapped by a fierce warrior—and is shocked to find herself irresistibly drawn
to her captor.
Aiden MacCurran is an outlaw. The laird of a
small clan, he’s been falsely accused of killing the king’s courier and
stealing the Crown’s property—and the key to clearing his name and redeeming
his clan lies in Isabail’s memories. But Aiden and Isabail must first weather
deceit and treachery before they can find the truth and claim the love that’s
growing between them....
Buy Links:
Meet Author Rowan
Keats:
Rowan Keats pens historical
adventures involving hot Highland heroes and the women they claim. Both TAMING
A WILD SCOT and WHEN A LAIRD TAKES A LADY have earned 4 1/2 star reviews from
RT Book Reviews, which labelled her "a rising star of medieval
romance."
When not writing, Rowan can
frequently be found in a dark movie theater indulging in a large bag of
popcorn, or watching the sunrise with a mug of steaming coffee wrapped in her
hands. She lives in Central Canada with a goofy black lab, a very talkative
cat, and a daughter whose own creative talents awe and inspire her every day.
I
love Scottish heroes. They maybe a little rough around the edges, but they
fight for what they believe in...and that usually involves the heroine. Any
Scottish warrior is worthy of a sigh, but a Scottish laird—especially a
medieval one—can truly make your heart pound. What makes a Scottish laird so
interesting?
He
looks good, even when he also looks frightening...
Excerpt
When Isabail woke, the bothy was still dark. The
howl of the winter storm had quieted but she had no sense how long she had been
unconscious. Her last memory—the fierce face of the MacCurran swooping down
upon her—was still vivid enough to make her heart pound, and she wondered if
she'd taken a beating. Biting her lip in anticipation of pain, she shifted in
her pallet. To her relief, there was almost none. Her hip was sore from lying
in the dirt floor—the blankets beneath her couldn’t compare to the feather
stuffed mattress she was accustomed to—but save for that, she felt perfectly
fine.
Isabail looked around.
The fire was merrily blazing, having recently
received a fresh log, and she lifted her head to find the person who had fed
it. Her heart stumbled. Aiden MacCurran sat on the other side of the flames,
sleeves rolled up, carefully tending to his sword. He seemed unaware of her, so
she watched him for a moment.
Unlike his two henchman, the MacCurran chief’s chin
was clean-shaven, and his hair appeared to have been recently washed. Not a
typical Highlander, then, despite the warring nature of his clan. His forearms
rippled with sinews as he worked, the hairs on his arms golden in the
firelight. Isabail was woman enough to admit she found him attractive—from a
distance. Broad shoulders and tapered hips were attractive in a man, no matter
who that man might be. But it was also strangely comforting to watch him hone
his sword—his hands were strong and sure as they worked, displaying a level of
care and control over his weapon that belied the bestiality of his large fists.
“There’s more beef, if you’ve a hunger,” he said
quietly.
Isabel swallowed dryly and sat up. “I’ve more a need
for something to wet my mouth.”
He pointed to the door of the hut. “Fetch some
snow.”
Isabail flushed. Why hadn’t she thought of that? Of
course she could eat some snow. She scrambled to her feet and headed for the door.
“I’ve beat a good path to the woodpile,” he added.
“If you must see to your needs, it’ll provide a measure of privacy.”
Her flush deepened, though she couldn't quite
pinpoint why. A visit to the privy was a common enough event, and he was hardly
giving the delicate topic excessive attention. But just the knowledge that he'd
thought about her needs made her cheeks hot. Isabail escaped quickly.
Outside the bothy, the snowfall had ceased, but the
sky was still sullen with cloud. The sun was little more than a smudge of
brightness above the trees, but a pair of crossbills flitting through the
branches thought it was well worth chirping about. For the briefest of moments,
the notion of fleeing took hold, but she couldn’t leave without Muirne.
Besides, where would she go?
Nay, as much as he frightened her, the MacCurran was
her best hope of survival.
She ate her fill of cold wet snow, completed her
ablutions, and returned to the cozy warmth of the hut. MacCurran had not
moved—he was still polishing the fine steel of his blade with a purposeful
attention to detail. For some reason, that eased Isabail’s tremulous thoughts.
Surely a man capable of such focus could keep his temper under tight rein?
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