Copyright © 2004 by Sue-Ellen Welfonder
Excerpt from Only for a Knight copyright © 2004 by Sue-Ellen Welfonder. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
Warner Books
Hachette Book Group, USA
237 Park Avenue
New York, NY 10017
Visit our Web site at HachetteBookGroupUSA.com
First eBook Edition: August 2008
ISBN: 978-0-446-54728-4
Contents
Rave Reviews for Sue-Ellen Welfonder
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
About the Author
A Preview of Only for a Knight
A Preview of Sins of a Highland Devil by Sue-Ellen Welfonder
The Editor’s Diary
RAVE REVIEWS FOR SUE-ELLEN WELFONDER
MASTER OF THE HIGHLANDS
“A vastly entertaining and deeply sensual medieval romance . . . For those of us who like our heroes moody, ultra HOT, and SEXY . . . this is the one for you!”
—Historical Romance Writers
“Yet another bonny Scottish romance to snuggle up with and inspire pleasantly sinful dreams . . . a sweetly compelling love story . . . [with a] super abundance of sexual tension.”
—Heartstrings
“Welfonder brings the Highlands to life, conveying the atmosphere of the medieval era and the actions and beliefs of its people. Romance, mystery, action, and passion, combined with historical details, make Master of the Highlands a joy to read.”
—Bookloons.com
“Another masterpiece. . . . This is just the kind of story that gets the juices flowing. . . . The characters are unforgettable, highly emotional, and fully three-dimensional. . . . I can hardly wait to read Ms. Welfonder’s next book. . . . She never lets her readers down.”
—ReaderToReader.com
BRIDE OF THE BEAST
“Larger-than-life characters and a scenic setting. . . . Welfonder pens some steamy scenes.”
—Publishers Weekly
“A wonderful story . . . well told . . . a delightful mix of characters.”
—Romanticreviews.com
“Bride of the Beast is a thrilling story. . . . It is so sen-sual at times it gives you goose bumps. . . . Ms. Welfonder spins pure magic with her vibrant characters.”
—Reader to Reader Reviews
“Four and a half stars! . . . A top pick. . . . Powerful emotions, strong and believable characters, snappy dialogue, and some humorous moments add depth to the plotline and make this a nonstop read. Ms. Welfonder is on her way to stardom.”
—Romantic Times
KNIGHT IN MY BED
“Exciting, action-packed . . . a strong tale that thoroughly entertains.”
—Midwest Book Review
“Knight in My Bed was the perfect blend of intrigue, forbidden love, and danger . . . a story you will want to devour.”
—TheRomanticReadersConnection.com
“Ripe with sexual tension. . . . The fast pace, flawless narration, vivid and suspense-filled plot all make this book a must-read. Breathtaking!”
—RoadtoRomance.dhs.org
“Steamy . . . sensual. . . . Readers will enjoy this book.”
—Booklist
“Electrifying . . . provocative . . . lushly descriptive . . . a ripe and willing offering for romance readers who thrill over anything Scottish.”
—www.RomanticFiction.com
DEVIL IN A KILT
“A lovely gem of a book. Wonderful characters and a true sense of place make this a keeper. If you love Scottish tales, you’ll treasure this one.”
—Patricia Potter, bestselling author of The Heart Queen
“As captivating as a spider’s web, and the reader can’t get free until the last word. It is easy to get involved in this tense, fast-moving adventure.”
—Rendezvous
“Four and a half stars! This dynamic debut has plenty of steaming sensuality . . . a dusting of mystery. You’ll be glued to the pages by the fresh, vibrant voice, and strong emotional intensity. . . . Will catapult Welfonder onto ‘must-read’ lists.”
—Romantic Times
“An engaging mystery . . . very fast paced with fascinating characters and several interesting plot twists . . . Devil in a Kilt is a keeper.”
—Writers Club Romance Group on AOL
ALSO BY SUE-ELLEN WELFONDER
Devil in A Kilt
Knight in My Bed
Bride of the Beast
Master of the Highlands
In loving memory of my father,
Earl MacDuffie, my first and forever hero.
Tall, red-haired, and dashingly handsome,
his life-long good looks reflected his Scottish ancestry,
but it was his big heart and generous spirit that set him apart and made him so beloved by all who knew him.
Soft-spoken, unassuming and dear, his friends called him a gentle giant, praising him as a man who had a good word and a smile for everyone, including God’s littlest creatures.
Yes, he loved dogs. And if I should live a thousand lifetimes, I will never stop missing him.
Acknowledgments
Scotland is the wellspring of my inspiration and I write Scottish-set books because Scotland takes my breath away. The land, the people, and the history make my heart pound, fuel my imagination, and are the substance of my every dream. The wild beauty of Strathnaver in Scotland’s far north is legend. A vast expanse of moorland, lochs, and mountains, to walk there is to lose your heart. To feel at one with the past and appreciate how such a magical place can influence those who live there.
One such soul was Rob Donn, a great Gaelic bard of the 1700s whose golden voice (and love of dogs) is well-remembered to this day in his beloved Strathnaver and elsewhere in the Highlands. It was while exploring places he held dear that I met the dog who became ‘Boiny’ in this book. My four-legged companion for an afternoon reminded me of a dog named Boiny in one of Rob Donn’s verses—a lovely passage about an endearing old mongrel who attaches himself to the bard and won’t leave his side. Both the bard and Boiny have a special place in my affections and I will never visit Strathnaver without feeling them beside me.
A wink and a nod, too, to the German translator of my books, Ulrike Moreno, friend and fellow animal lover, and her own ‘Boiny,’ her beloved rescue dog, Mustafa, who lives on in her heart and memory.
Special appreciation, too, to my editor, Karen Kosztolnyik, for her sensitivity, insight, and guidance, and because she understands not only my passion for Scotland and my great love of dogs but also my absolute belief in soul mates.
And as ever, deepest thanks to my handsome husband, Manfred, my real-life knight, for continuing to keep my dragons at bay and all would-be besiegers far from my garret door. And, of course, the whole of my heart to wee Em, my own four-legged champion whose furry-warm snuggles have the power to make all my cares fade away.
Prologue
DUPPLIN MOOR AUGUST 1332
AT SUNRISE ON A HOT SUMMER’S DAY, on the banks of the River Earn near Perth, Scotland’s new Guardian, Donald, Earl of Mar, and a large army of the realm’s finest men engaged in a fierce and bloody battle that would last but a few short hours.
By noon, the whistling cloth-yards of the English enemy had decimated the proud Scottish schiltrons. . . . the bristling spear rings proving no match for the expert aim of English archers and their constant rain of deadly arrows.
The Guardian, two Scottish earls, a handful of nobles, sixty knights, and several thousand brave spearmen lay dead upon the field. The English aggressors and the Scottish turn-coats fighting with them, and known as the Disinheriteds, lost but thirty men.
Those few Scots who were wounded, or simply pinned beneath the towering pile of their fallen countrymen, wished they, too, had died.
Of a certainty, they did not consider themselves fortunate.
And along with the endless rivers of blood soaking the ground that ill-fated day, each and every Scotsman to walk away from Dupplin Moor left his heart behind as well.
Magnus MacKinnon was amongst the survivors.
But he left more behind than most.
For along with his heart, he lost the fortune he’d worked three long years to amass. Monies he’d won in tourneys and hoped to use to restore his clan’s destroyed fleet of galleys.
And mayhap a bit of his family’s pride.
But even losing such riches wasn’t the worst to befall him.
Nay, the most bitter blow of all was the crushing of his soul.
Chapter One
BALDOON CASTLE THE ISLE OF DOON, ONE MONTH LATER
“A PROXY WEDDING?”
Amicia MacLean shot from her seat at the dais table, her fine good humor of moments before, forgotten. The pleasure she’d taken at having both her brothers beneath the same roof again for the first time in well over a year, soundly replaced by wave after wave of stunned disbelief.
“To Magnus MacKinnon?” Her heart so firmly lodged in her throat she could scarce push words past it, she stared at her brother, Donall the Bold, proud laird of Clan MacLean and bearer of the most startling news she’d heard in longer than she could remember.
Wondrous news.
And joyous beyond belief . . . not that she was about to voice any such admission.
Too great were the disappointments of past assurances of a suitable match, too numerous the empty promises and hopes of e’er having a family—a home—of her own.
A husband to love her.
“You needn’t speak his name as if he’s unworthy, lass.” Clearly mistaking the reason for her wide-eyed astonishment, Donall MacLean raised his hand for quiet when others in the smoke-hazed great hall sought to voice their opinions. “The MacKinnons may be in sore need of your dowry, but Magnus is a valiant and influential knight. You could do worse.”
She could do no better, Amicia’s heart sang, long-cherished images of the bonny Magnus racing past her mind’s eye, each fleeting memory dazzling her with its sweetness.
Just recalling his dimpled smile and twinkling eyes weakened her knees.
And he’d been but a strapping young lad when she’d last seen him, years before at a game of champions held on the neighboring Isle of Islay. He’d won every archery competition, each trial of strength, and turned the heads of all the lasses with his easy charm and fine, quick wit.
Magnus the man would no doubt steal her breath.
Of that, she was certain.
“’Tis said he is of arresting looks, ardent, and a warrior of great renown,” Donall’s wife, the lady Isolde, chimed in from the head of the high table, her words only confirming what Amicia already suspected.
Her pulse thundering ever louder in her ears, Amicia scanned the faces of her kinfolk, stood silent for a few agonizingly long moments, using each precious one to steel her backbone and make certain naught but cool aloofness touched her brow.
Could it be true?
Dear saints, dared she hope?
If this offer, too, proved fruitless, she would die. Wither away inside and plead the saints to have done with her and make her demise swift and painless.
She narrowed her eyes at Donall, moistened annoyingly dry lips. “Be this a true offer?” she asked, hugging herself against an answer she’d rather not hear. “Has Magnus MacKinnon declared himself, or is this another of your well-meant but doomed-to-failure attempts to see me wed?”
Her other brother, Iain, set down his ale cup and swiped the back of his hand over his mouth. “Sakes, lass, think you Donall or I can do aught about the troubles plaguing our land in recent years? You ken why it’s been difficult to court viable suitors for you.”
Amicia squared her shoulders. “I am well aware of the myriad reasons we’ve been given for each broken offer,” she said, her gaze fixed on the inky shadows of a deep window embrasure across the hall. “What I wish to hear is whether Magnus MacKinnon himself seeks this union?”
The words proxy wedding and sore need of her dowry jellied her knees.
The glaring silence spreading across the dais end of the cavernous great hall answered her question. Her belly clenching, she glanced up at the high, vaulted ceiling, blew out a nervous breath.
Faith, the quiet loomed so deafening she could hear every hiss and crackle of the pitch-pine torches lighting the hall, the low-rumbling snores of Donall’s hounds sleeping near the hearth fire, and even the wash of the night sea against the rocks far below Baldoon’s massive curtain walls.
Almost imperceptibly, she shook her head and looked back at her brothers, not surprised to detect faint flickers of guilt flitting across both their handsome faces.
“I mislike being cozened,” she said with all the serene dignity she could muster. Taking her seat, she helped herself to a blessedly welcome sip of finest Gascon wine. “Nor will I allow it. Not so long as I have a single breath in my body.”
“God’s mercy, lass, it ill becomes you to play so stubborn.” Donall eyed her from his laird’s chair, a great oaken monstrosity, its back and arms carved with mythical sea beasts. He raked a hand through his raven hair, the same blue-black shade as Amicia’s own.
“Nay, Magnus knows naught of the union,” he admitted, holding her gaze. “But he will hear of it upon his arrival on MacKinnons’ Isle. He’s been gone some years, competing in tourneys, as you likely ken, but he is expected home within a fortnight and his father is certain he will welcome the match.”
Amicia stifled a most unladylike snort.
She did rake her brothers and everyone else at the table with a challenging stare. “Old Laird MacKinnon will be desirous of the filled coffers you’ll send along as my dowry. All ken he burns to rebuild the galley fleet they lost to a storm a year or so ago.”
“That is as may be, but he also loves his son and would see him well-matched and at peace,” Donall countered. “And I would be glad of the marriage, too. Our late father and old MacKinnon were once good friends. Wedding you to Magnus would seal our truce with the MacKinnons once and for all time.”
Amicia’s heart skipped a beat, and a tiny spark of excitement ignited within her breast. She glanced aside, half-afraid all the desperate hope in her entire world must be standing in her eyes. None of the previous betrothal offers had sounded near as solid, as well deliberated, as this one.
None save the relentless endeavors of a chinless apparition of a lordling whose name she’d long forgotten.
Ne’er would she forget Magnus MacKinnon’s name.
Truth to tell, it’d been engraved on her heart since girlhood, and sailed through the cold and empty dark of countless lonely nights now that she was a woman.
Pushing aside every warning bit of her good sense, she scrounged deep for the courage she needed to believe. To trust that, like her brothers, she, too, could find happiness.
A purpose in life beyond slinking about her childhood home, useless and pitied.
/> Welcome, aye, but not truly belonging.
A wildly exhilarating giddiness began spinning inside her, a dangerously seductive sense of rightness. Lifting her chin before she lost her nerve, she sought Donall’s eye. “The old laird believes Magnus will want me?”
She had to know.
“On that I give you my oath,” Donall said without a moment’s hesitation.
Amicia’s heart caught upon the words, her suspicions and wariness falling away as if banished by a gust of the sweetest summer wind.
“Old MacKinnon even sent you his own late wife’s sapphire ring to seal the pact,” Iain spoke up. He dug in the leather purse hanging from his waist belt, then plunked a heavy gold ring on the table. “Sore-battered by ill fortune as the MacKinnons have been in recent times, you’ll ken he wouldn’t have parted with such a fine bauble unless he truly wished to see you wed his son.”
“’Tis been long in coming, but you needn’t suffer doubts this time.” Iain’s wife, Madeline, gave her a warm smile.
Amicia nodded her thanks, her throat suddenly uncommonly thick. Hot, too. As were her eyes. Blinking furiously, for she loathed tears and e’er sought to avoid shedding them, she snatched the ring off the table and curled her fingers around its comforting solidness.
Wee and cold against her palm, it meant the whole of the world to her.
“So-o-o, what say you now?” Donall leaned back in his chair, folded his arms.
Tightening her hold on the little piece of shining hope already warming in her hand, Amicia gave voice to the last of her doubt. “Tell me first why there must be a proxy wedding if Magnus is expected to arrive on MacKinnons’ Isle within the next fourteen days?”
“Only because he is returning from Dupplin Moor,” Iain answered for his brother. “’Tis the old laird’s hope that having a bonnie new bride to greet him will sweeten his homecoming.”
“Come you, Amicia,” Donall urged, leaning forward to replenish her wine cup. “I swear to you for here and hereafter, I would not give you to MacKinnon did I not believe he will be good to you.”
Amicia drew a deep breath, straightened her back. She didn’t doubt Magnus MacKinnon would treat her well.
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