Fellow Etopia Press author, Shehanne Moore is with me today. I think you’ll enjoy her educational piece on Scottish weddings and Moore… I mean more.
How can you go wrong with a sexy Scottish Highlander?
Without further delay…
Lucia de Lammermoor….. Renea has this fabulous book called Symphony of Light and Winter, so of course coming here today I am going to be ‘musical’ par excelllence. Walter Scott–I am going to be Scottish too—wrote the book Lucia based on, The Bride of Lammermoor. Aka the Bride of Baldoon. No matter the version you accept of the story, the facts leading to the wedding day and its aftermath are always the same. She was a nobleman’s daughter in love with someone else, after the wedding feast Mr was found with a dagger in his heart.
Okay, so you don’t like her? How’s about the Cumming bride, whose father agreed to her marrying into the Mackintoshes so his clan could enjoy a little banquet carve up over the hors d’oevres. When it came to exchanging rings this was somewhat difficult, since the bride’s hands had been hacked off as she clung to the castle battlements. The hand-fasting ribbons would have made wonderful bandages as you can see… had she not fallen to her death.
Moving swiftly on as she did, how about the bride story that rocked Cromarty concerning a woman who appeared from nowhere, married the laird and disappeared…well she didn’t just quite disappear, she went off with a man in black. Not Johnny Cash ok? Or the proverbial said to be lucky chimney sweep. Man as in the devil after he turned up at the feast looking for her. Neither were ever seen again.
When it came to looking for inspiration for my latest release you can see I didn’t have to look too far. I really liked the idea of warring clans and the notion that there wasn’t going to be a wedding since after the wedding feast there wasn’t going to be a groom.
Of course since there’s a hot Highlander in there, a man as legendary as his nickname, The Black Wolf of Lochalpin—is he man, is he devil?– that’s not quite how it all turns out.
And just as well too, or no-one would ever marry us Scottish galz.
To love, honor, and betray…
To get back her son, she will stop at nothing…
For five years Kara McGurkie has preferred to forget she’s a woman. So it’s no problem for her to swear to love and honor, to help destroy a clan, when it means getting back the son she lost. But when dire circumstances force her to seduce her fiancé’s brother on the eve of the wedding, will the dark secrets she holds and her greatest desire be enough to save her from his powerful allure?
To save his people, neither will he…
Callm McDunnagh, the Black Wolf of Lochalpin, ruthlessly guards heart and glen from dangerous intruders. But from the moment he first sees Kara he knows he must possess her, even though surrendering to his passion may prove the most dangerous risk of all.
She has nothing left to fear except love itself…
Now only Kara can decide what passion can save or destroy, and who will finally learn the truth of the words… Till death do us part.
“Now,” Lord Ewen canted his jaw, “how about you put your hand where everyone here can see it?”
Before she could open her mouth to protest, he leaned closer. Her throat dried. His thigh was a very handy option, wasn’t it? Though she strove to stop them, she widened her eyes. Drunk or not, debaucher or not, Lord Ewen reeked sexuality like a dangerous perfume.
Some people did. They just did. That was bad enough.
This sexual charge, this current, was worse. Because it demanded a response in kind. Under normal circumstances that would be the worst of it, not just worse.
But the worst, worst, was the honed, hardened edge and the sweet, sinful breath that said he knew her type. Perfectly. And said he knew why she was here, trying to get into Lochalpin. Said he wanted to tell her she was good. To tie her hands, but couldn’t because he was having to hold off. Really, really hold off.
And she still, still couldn’t quite take her eyes off his thigh. How could she? When Arland was at stake and the man was a dangerous snake. Even down to Arland appearing on his shoulder. What was Arland even doing there?
“Sir, I must pro—”
“Which part of ‘Put your hand where I can see it now’ are you unfamiliar with?”
Hell-cat was another word like slut. Expressing her fury was the last thing she should do here, but he had her so she could not think for the rage that swamped. And not just rage. For five years she had been dead inside. Her soul a calcified shell, it had taken her less than five seconds to sell ten short hours ago. Her body colder than the icy blanket of snow obscuring the trees and bushes around her. And what had it taken for her breath to rush through her nostrils like this? Her heart to hammer?
She snatched her hand from inside her cloak. “Satisfied?” Well, it wouldn’t rush. She would be nice.
He edged so his breath brushed her cheek. “Is this how you think you can waltz in here, Princess? Hmm? By bedazzling us with your”—he lowered his gaze—“breathtaking smile?”
“Oh, not at all, my lord.” Being nice was an exercise in restraint such as she had seldom experienced. Calm too when his gaze and voice washed over her with such deliberate sexual intent, she began to wish she’d kept the cloak shut. But if she did not speak, did not stand her ground here, that would be worse. “Actually, I thought my credentials would be sufficient.”
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