An Enemy at the Highland Court: An Enemies to Lovers Highlander Romance (The Highland Ladies Book 5)

by Celeste Barclay

  “Allyson. Allyson, are you listening to me?”

  A Rake at the Highland Court BOOK 4 SNEAK PEEK

  Eoin Gordon raised his chalice once more to toast his twin brother, Ewan, and his new sister-by-marriage, Allyson. As he did, he had a sense that someone was watching him. As the hairs on the back of his neck rose, Eoin passed a quick glance over the diners seated below the dais, but no one seemed to be paying attention to him. He raised his chalice again but didn’t take a sip; instead, he continued to scan the crowd. He looked for anyone doing the same: studying him while attempting to ensure no one else noticed.

  “What’s amiss?” Ewan, the elder twin by five minutes and the heir to Clan Gordon, leaned toward him. The brothers had been inseparable since the day of their birth. They possessed an uncanny intuition for one another and seemed to share the same thoughts more often than not. Until Ewan fell in love with Allyson, neither trusted anyone more than they did each other. As he heard Allyson laugh, Eoin’s memory flashed to her courtship with Ewan. Their relationship started poorly when Allyson ran away rather than consider a marriage to Ewan. More than once during that time, Eoin had wanted to shake Ewan, whose views on marriage and fidelity had changed all too slowly. Eoin was grateful for Allyson’s influence; he was certain his brother was a better man for it.

  “Naught. I just have a sense that someone is watching me,” Eoin explained. “It’s making me want to squirm.”

  “I haven’t a clue why women find you so attractive, but it’s probably some bored wife or lonely widow,” Ewan grinned. His reputation as a rogue was entrenched in many women’s minds, but his obvious devotion to Allyson no longer caused Eoin concern that his brother intended to stray from his marriage vows. “You do have a reputation as a rake. One of them is hoping they’ll warm your bed tonight.”

  “Only one?” Eoin cocked an eyebrow and grinned. “My charm must be slipping.”

  “You assume you had any to begin with. Perhaps it was my charm that lured the women, and they figured two is better than one,” Ewan teased. The twins were mirror images in every way except for their battle scars. Ewan had a scar that split the left corner of his lip, and Eoin had a less noticeable scar above his left eyebrow. While their scares weren’t in the same place, they were still on the same side. There was little to distinguish them apart, and they’d relied upon that throughout their lives, often trading places.

  “That very charm had me running for the hills,” Allyson elbowed her husband as she leaned around Ewan to speak to her brother-by-marriage. “It’s Cairstine Grant. I don’t have a clue why she keeps looking at you, but she can’t seem to distract herself.”

  “Cairstine? Why would she be staring?” Eoin wondered aloud.

  Pirates of the Isles

  The Blond Devil of the Sea BOOK 1 SNEAK PEEK

  Caragh lifted her torch into the air as she made her way down the precarious Cornish cliffside. She made out the hulking shape of a ship, but the dead of night made it impossible to see who was there. She and the fishermen of Bedruthan Steps weren’t expecting any shipments that night. But her younger brother Eddie, who stood watch at the entrance to their hiding place, had spotted the ship and signaled up to the village watchman, who alerted Caragh.

  As her boot slid along the dirt and sand, she cursed having to carry the torch and wished she could have sunlight to guide her. She knew these cliffs well, and it was for that reason it was better that she moved slowly than stop moving once and for all. Caragh feared the light from her torch would carry out to the boat. Despite her efforts to keep the flame small, the solitary light would be a beacon.

  When Caragh came to the final twist in the path before the sand, she snuffed out her torch and started to run to the cave where the main source of the village’s income lay in hiding. She heard movement along the trail above her head and knew the local fishermen would soon join her on the beach. These men, both young and old, were strong from days spent pulling in the full trawling nets and hoisting the larger catches onto their boats. However, these men weren’t well-trained swordsmen, and the fear of pirate raids was ever-present. Caragh feared that was who the villagers would face that night.

  The Dark Heart of the Sea BOOK 2 SNEAK PEEK

  Ruairí MacNeil opened the door to the Three Merry Lads and tried not to curl his nose in disgust. The overpowering odor of too many bodies, stale beers, and burned food created a cloud of stench inside the tavern. Ruairí scanned the crowd as he stepped inside and immediately noticed that many members of his crew were already settled, a pint in one hand and a woman in the other. His ship, the Lady Charity, had docked an hour earlier. With their most recent bounty already stored in the nearby cave, Ruairí had granted them shore leave. He nodded his head once to his first mate, Kyle, who was the only sober one in the lot. Ruairí made another visual sweep of the room, checking whether there were any other sailors who might be less enthused to see him come ashore. When he was satisfied none of his rivals were waiting to stab him, he attempted to make his way to the bar. As he pushed through the standing-room-only main room, he noticed a tavern wench attempting to carry a tray of empty mugs to the bar. She was a sturdy sort, but short when compared to the mountainous Highlanders and Hebrideans who made up the patrons of the Lads. Ruairí couldn’t help but smile as she tried to twist and shoulder her way past men who blocked her on purpose to give themselves more time to ogle her body.

  It was rare that Ruairí felt mercy, sympathy, or compassion for anyone, let alone a woman, but there was an odd twinge in his heart as he watched her try to maintain her smile as she became more frustrated. The woman swatted away a hand that dared come too close to her modest neckline. That observation caused Ruairí to quirk a brow and inspect the woman. She had on a clean white blouse–a rarity in this tavern–and it fit loosely over her entire bust. It left much to the imagination, and Ruairí found his was alive and well. Her skirts reached her ankles instead of hiked up on either side like the other women who worked in the tavern. From what Ruairí could tell, she looked more like a farmer’s wife than a tavern wench. She didn’t fit in.

  Ruairí’s sense of compassion grew alongside his annoyance at not being able to make his way to the bar. He began to elbow men around him, and the crowd parted. Between his size and reputation, Ruairí MacNeil was a hard man to ignore. He grasped the top of the woman’s hips and propelled her forward. She attempted to look over her shoulder, but she couldn’t make out the man who was either her captor or her protector. When they made it to the bar, the woman set her tray down and spun around.

  The Clan Sinclair

  His Highland Lass BOOK 1 SNEAK PEEK

  She entered the great hall like a strong spring storm in the northern most Highlands. Tristan Mackay felt like he had been blown hither and yon. As the storm settled, she left him with the sweet scents of heather and lavender wafting towards him as she approached. She was not a classic beauty, tall and willowy like the women at court. Her face and form were not what legends were made of. But she held a unique appeal unlike any he had seen before. He could not take his eyes off of her long chestnut hair that had strands of fire and burnt copper running through them. Unlike the waves or curls he was used to, her hair was unusually straight and fine. It looked like a waterfall cascading down her back. While she was not tall, neither was she short. She had a figure that was meant for a man to grasp and hold onto, whether from the front or from behind. She had an aura of confidence and charm, but not arrogance or conceit like many good looking women he had met. She did not seem to know her own appeal. He could tell that she was many things, but one thing she was not was his.

  His Bonnie Highland Temptation BOOK 2 SNEAK PEEK

  The pounding in Callum’s head as he awoke made him wonder if he had been mistaken for the blacksmith’s anvil. Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked over at the curvaceous blonde sleeping next to him. The previous night began to drift through his memory. His father, Liam Sinclair the chief of Clan Sinclair, had announced less than
a sennight night ago that not only had he arranged a betrothal for Callum, his heir and tánaiste, but that the woman would be arriving before the sennight was over. She was expected some time late this day, so last night he had celebrated his upcoming nuptials by drowning his sorrows in more drams of whisky than he could remember and taking his current lover to bed for a night of entertainment and pleasure. He had been very sure to tell Elizabeth that this was his last night of freedom and that their short, albeit passionate, liaison was coming to an end. While Callum Sinclair may have enjoyed more than a few women’s attention and considered himself a well experienced lover, he was also a man committed to fidelity to his wife. Whomever she might be.

  His Highland Prize BOOK 3 SNEAK PEEK

  I just need to make it to the light. Heavenly Father, please let there be a light over this hill. I canna go much farther. I must go farther. Will there never be a village or a keep nearby? I dinna think I will last much longer. Please, in the name of the Father and all the heavenly saints, just let me find someone who can help me.

  Brighde Kerr pushed her sopping wet hair from her eyes as she stumbled onward. She had lost her shoes days ago after they had fallen apart while on the run from her pursuers. Her kirtle, which had once been a daffodil yellow was now a murky shade of beige with a ripped sleeve, frayed hem, and at least two holes that she had noticed in the skirts. Brighde ached all over. Her feet were raw from walking and running for nearly two weeks. Her legs protested taking even one more step, and her chest burned from trying to breathe through her efforts and the torrential downpour in which she once again found herself.

  Light! I’m sure of it. I can finally see it coming from a keep. Dear God above, please allow me in. I just need---

  His Highland Pledge BOOK 4 SNEAK PEEK

  Magnus Sinclair detested being at the royal court. There was nothing redeemable in his eyes, and his face ensured everyone knew the Highland giant was not there to exchange pleasantries. Standing at six and a half feet tall, he towered over almost every man in the king’s household and all the men who sought the monarch’s attention. Only a few visiting Highlanders mirrored him in height and physique. As though sticking out like a sore thumb from his height and his insistence upon wearing his plaid was not enough, he felt naked without his claymore. Locked away in his chamber, his two-handed broadsword was as much a part of him as either hand. For the safety of the king and his family, they allowed no one to wear or carry a sword into the main gathering hall. Magnus’s sword forged to accommodate his size, and even though custom designed, the enormous sword looked like little more than a young lad’s wooden practice sword when Magnus held it. Needless to say, it was not a welcome sight strapped to his back. When he arrived the day before, he resigned himself to just carrying his dirks, of which he had at least eight on various parts of his body.

  Arriving early the previous morning, Magnus spent all of the day and much of the evening in a passageway, standing, awaiting an audience with the king. This day came and went, just as the previous one had, with no indicator of when the king would meet with him. This only aggravated Magnus more as a representative from the Sinclair clan summoned rather than volunteered to attend court.

  His Highland Surprise BOOK 5 SNEAK PEEK

  Tavish Sinclair stood frozen in the Great Hall of his clan's keep as he listened to his father.

  "Ye canna be serious!" He realized his voice was quiet as he spoke to Laird Liam Sinclair, but in his head, it was a roar. "I dinna need a wife. I dinna want a wife."

  Tavish's body was so still he looked like a statue carved from marble, his expression like a death mask.

  He canna mean it. I simply flirted one too many times with the elder man's daughter, Isabella. I will stay away and then this nonsense will pass.

  "It isnae aboot Isabella or any of the local lasses ye ken so well. The king has decreed that I must make a match between our clans. Ye are the older of ma two unmarried sons. The duty falls to ye."

  "But Magnus is already at court."

  He recognized he sounded petulant, but Tavish Sinclair was a confirmed bachelor. He never intended to settle down with one woman. The Sinclair men, once their oath made, never were unfaithful to their wives. He refused to make that traditional vow, so instead he avoided marriage like it were a fire sweeping through hay.

  "Aye, Magnus is at court. And taking far longer than expected. I worry something befell him. The king's message was rather cryptic on that front. I would have ye go to court and see that yer brother fares well, and while there, ye can meet the lass. Ye ken I will force none of ye into an unhappy marriage. I ask only that ye meet her. See if ye suit."

  Viking Glory

  Leif BOOK 1 SNEAK PEEK

  Leif looked around his chambers within his father’s longhouse and breathed a sigh of relief. He noticed the large fur rugs spread throughout the chamber. His two favorites placed strategically before the fire and the bedside he preferred. He looked at his shield that hung on the wall near the door in a symbolic position but waiting at the ready. The chests that held his clothes and some of his finer acquisitions from voyages near and far sat beside his bed and along the far wall. And in the center was his most favorite possession. His oversized bed was one of the few that could accommodate his long and broad frame. He shook his head at his longing to climb under the pile of furs and on the stuffed mattress that beckoned him. He took in the chair placed before the fire where he longed to sit now with a cup of warm mead. It had been two months since he slept in his own bed, and he looked forward to nothing more than pulling the furs over his head and sleeping until he could no longer ignore his hunger. Alas, he would not be crawling into his bed again for several more hours. A feast awaited him to celebrate his and his crew’s return from their latest expedition to explore the isle of Britannia. He bathed and wore fresh clothes, so he had no excuse for lingering other than a bone weariness that set in during the last storm at sea. He was eager to spend time at home no matter how much he loved sailing. Their last expedition had been profitable with several raids of monasteries that yielded jewels and both silver and gold, but he was ready for respite.

  Leif left his chambers and knocked on the door next to his. He heard movement on the other side, but it was only moments before his sister, Freya, opened her door. She, too, looked tired but clean. A few pieces of jewelry she confiscated from the holy houses that allegedly swore to a life of poverty and deprivation adorned her trim frame.

  “That armband suits you well. It compliments your muscles,” Leif smirked and dodged a strike from one of those muscular arms.

  Only a year younger than he, his sister was a well-known and feared shield maiden. Her lithe form was strong and agile making her a ferocious and competent opponent to any man. Freya’s beauty was stunning, but Leif had taken every opportunity since they were children to tease her about her unusual strength even among the female warriors.

  “At least one of us inherited our father’s prowess. Such a shame it wasn’t you.”

  Freya BOOK 2 SNEAK PEEK

  “Does he have nothing better to do than stare?” Freya huffed as she and Tyra left the training field.

  Freya Ivarsdóttir was a renowned and much feared shieldmaiden and the daughter of a jarl. At twenty-four years old, she had already spent half of her life training and raiding with her Norse tribe.

  Tyra looked back over her shoulder and scanned the field of battling Norsemen as they trained. As Freya’s best friend, Tyra was used to Freya’s sometimes brittle disposition, and she knew when her friend was hiding something. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The ongoing skirmishes against their neighbors and the general way of life in the northern Trondelag meant the men and women tasked with defending their tribes trained daily. Tyra watched as they swung axes, swords thrust, and spears hurled. She looked around at the many longhouses that created the perimeter of the homestead. Women stood outside doing laundry, one woman swept dust out her front door, and several people stood around engaged in easy c
onversation.

  “I don’t see anyone. Well, maybe a ghost from your past, but he’s watched you for years.”

  “What? No. Wait, what do you mean he’s watched me for years?”

  “Ever since the two of you a few summers ago--- Well, you know. Skellig’s had his eye on you, and I think you broke his heart. I believe he’s hoping for more than just a reunion under the furs.”

  “Never.”

  “Then who could you have meant?” Tyra smirked before adding in a sing-song voice, “Erik?”

  Tyra & Bjorn BOOK 3 SNEAK PEEK

  10 years ago

  Tyra extended her arm to Bjorn and jerked him from the ground where she had just knocked him onto his backside. She slid her foot under the hilt of his sword and kicked it until her hand wrapped around the handle. She handed it back to Bjorn with a smirk.