Heart of a Highlander
A law-abiding divorcee discovers there’s a price to pay when she steals a portrait of a 17th century Scottish highlander and inadvertently calls forth the warrior himself.
Recently divorced Jessica Knightly fears she’s about to lose her sanity and any chance at a real happily-ever-after if she doesn’t find a way to exorcise one super sexy but unwanted phantom man from haunting her dreams. So when she comes across a portrait of a 17th century Scottish warrior who is the mirror image of her phantom man, Jessica — calm, practical, and law-abiding — steals the painting in hopes that it will reveal something about her recurring dreams, and accidentally calls forth the man trapped in the painting.
Sir Hugh MacIain has waited three hundred and eighty-three years for the person who will champion his cause and help reverse the curse cast upon him by a scorned sorceress. With only thirty days before he turns to dust, he is determined to use any means necessary to make her agree to his cause. Even seduction. Easier said than done when — as a stipulation of the curse — he is forbidden to touch Jessica unless he wants to be fried to a crisp.
Jessica tells herself the quicker she prevents the curse, the sooner he’ll be out of her hair and hopefully, it will lead to the end of her dreams and she can resume with life. But behind the sexy, in-your-face exterior is a brooding man, haunted by a troubled past, a man who touches a chord deep inside her. And as she struggles to separate phantom man from the real man, Jessica’s about to discover happily-ever-afters may come at a cost — that of the Heart of a Highlander.
Read below for an excerpt from Heart of a Highlander.
“There are things you need to know before we continue,” he said, resignation in his voice. “There is much I am forbidden to tell you but what I can, I will. I want you to be fully aware of what awaits when we enter Duunileap.”
Not liking the graveness of his voice, Jessica searched for a place to sit while she gathered her emotions and prepared herself for what he was about to disclose. Not that she was certain she’d ever be prepared for anything that involved him. Pulling up an old, straight-backed chair, she sat and neatly folded her hands in her lap.
Braveheart had made himself at home on the rubble of stones, his expression blank. “Most castles are designed to keep intruders out,” he began. “Duunileap was built to keep them in.”
A chill skipped down her spine. No, she was definitely not prepared for this.
“Duunileap is a castle of pitfalls and hidden traps. Once a person manages to sneak within the walls, there is no guarantee that person will ever see the light of day again. I was one of those people.” His hand crept up to scratch the top of his right arm, right above the makeshift bandage. Perhaps the wound bothered him? “I was determined to steal the Sorceress of Glyndwr’s secrets and foolish enough to believe that I’d be the one person able to walk free from Duunileap. Sorcha could have killed me. She’d looked into my soul and seen the darkness there. She knew I was there only for her magic. Yet, she made me a bargain I couldna refuse.”
Jessica could imagine. No doubt the witch was beautiful. And Braveheart, like every other man, never hesitated at a beguiling face and the offer of unlimited power. She pictured him in bed with the sorceress and a stab that felt ridiculously like jealousy shot through her.
“I’ve since come to know the layout of the castle like the back of my hand. You are to keep to my side the minute we enter the castle. One misstep could mean your death.”
Swallowing the sudden tightness in her throat, she nodded.
“Before this journey is over, you are going to see some things that you’ve always thought impossible, but once you commit to this path, there is no turning back. The only way to end it is to see it through.”
She reared. “Wait a sec. That was a mouthful. What exactly would I be committing to?”
He released his arm and stood, pacing in front of her, a gesture she’d come to know he did when forced to reveal facts he wasn’t comfortable with. “The key to the curse is to speak my name. I canna give you that answer, but I can tell you that Sorcha keeps a journal by her bedside. In that journal, you will find the answer to my name.”
“And what exactly will happen once I utter this top secret name of yours?”
He spared her a glance and scowled. “There isna a way to end the curse. The only way is to prevent it.”
“You keep saying prevent. What do you mean—”
Suddenly, he was kneeling before her. She gasped and leaned back into the chair. Dark, troubled eyes captured hers and she found herself falling, imagining mist rising to surround them.
“You go back to the beginning and ensure I never make that attempt to sneak into Duunileap.”
The mist evaporated and she released her hands from her lap to brace herself on the seat of the chair. It took all her willpower to tear her gaze from drowning in his eyes, eyes that were too familiar to the ones she’d been chasing for three years. “When you say go back to the beginning . . .”
He leaned back on his haunches. “You ken what I speak of.” The answer was written in the grim set of his lips.
Jessica gasped and shot from the chair, desperate to get away. “No way. That’s not possible.”
“Jess.” He got to his feet and took a step forward.
She stopped him with a look that said if he took another step, he was dead meat. “You’re asking me to go back in time. Are you aware of how crazy and farfetched that sounds?”
“I am a mon born the year of our Lord, 1591 and was cursed to a painting for three hundred and eighty-three years. If you believe that, why is it difficult to believe you can travel time?”
“Because I happen to like this century I’m from, thank you very much. Lord only knows what you guys did for indoor plumbing back then.”
He turned quiet, his expression thoughtful.
“And who’s to say I won’t wind up somewhere else? God, I can’t believe I’m even talking about this like it’s a possibility.”
“Why did you take my painting?”
“W-What?” Something about the way he regarded her reminded her of a predator on the prowl and she took a hesitant step back.
He advanced. “Who are you, Jessica Knightly? I’ve been honest with you but I’m beginning to think you have secrets I should know about. We ken the reason I’m here, but why are you here? Why did you take my painting?”
The air in the room thickened with each question. It suddenly dawned on her that she was alone with a very dangerous man. Not that he’d hurt her, but the heat in his eyes had her trembling in anticipation for something she didn’t think she was ready for. And the knowledge that she wanted whatever he’d dish out despite the warning bells in her head scared the living daylights out of her. She searched for an escape but found her back pressed against the wall, his body a hair’s breadth away. If she sucked in a breath her chest would touch his. Dare she breathe?
