A Highlander's Temptation

by Sue-Ellen Welfonder

  Arabella shivered. “Perhaps we can decide tonight who loves who the most?”

  He arched a brow. “Are you feeling bold, my lady?”

  “I am.” She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him. “Most bold, indeed.”

  Epilogue

  OLAF BIG NOSE’S ISLE A CELEBRATION IN THE CLEARING SPRING 1351

  I ask you, did you e’er see anything sweeter?”

  Olaf Big Nose waved a parchment scroll in the air, laughing heartily when the dangling wax seals swung on their bright red ribbons.

  “This is my island!” He jumped to his feet, looking down the festively dressed table, and at other tables ranged close by. He didn’t, after all, want anyone to forget the reason for this gathering.

  It was to give thanks for the charter granting him rights to his beloved little isle.

  So he began marching to and fro, proudly thrusting the parchment beneath the nose of anyone he could corner and, hopefully, impress.

  Truth be told, there was much to wonder at this fine spring e’en on Olaf Big Nose’s newly acquired isle.

  Newly—officially—acquired isle.

  No less than six whole bullocks roasted over open fires, the mouth-watering aroma drifting on the air, tempting palates young and old. And every lavishly set table held not only a wealth of savories and jugs of tasty honey mead, but was illuminated by candle braces cast of pure, gleaming silver.

  The guests were no less fine.

  And so numerous that extra trestle tables had to be brought from Castle Bane on nearby MacConacher’s Isle. Equally astounding, the MacConacher’s new lady wife—it was rumored—had spent months stitching additional sailcloth awnings to accommodate the expected crush of well-wishers.

  The most splendid sailcloths gracing the fest were believed to be her work, though the lady herself was too modest to claim the glory.

  So it was only right and good that she and Darroc were seated at one of the best-placed feasting tables lining the clearing. They had a splendid view of the grassy area where musicians would soon be playing and those merrymakers so inclined could whirl and jig to screaming pipes and lively fiddles.

  Bonfires and resin torches waited to be set ablaze at dusk and already a sense of anticipation and excitement filled the air. Everywhere people milled and conversed, many laughing. Some, perhaps, were enjoying a bit too much heather ale. But on such a grand day, no one minded.

  Indulgences were expected and welcome at Norse feastings.

  Even so, Arabella declined the potent brew, a sweet secret making her wary of partaking. But she enjoyed watching the revelries. She especially thrilled to see Olaf Big Nose’s swell-chested joy in his land charter and the great pleasure of Captain Arneborg and his new wife, Arnora Ship-Breast, in the captain’s newly built merchant cog, a gift from her father, in gratitude.

  Arabella’s heart squeezed thinking about her father.

  She missed him so much and wished that he—and all her family—could be here, but Gelis was about to give birth to her first child. A wee laddie, if her mother and Devorgilla had the right of it. So Clan MacKenzie was away in distant Kintail, though Devorgilla and her little helpmate, Somerled, were in happy attendance.

  Holding court at the next table, Devorgilla exchanged herbal remedies and spelling charms with Mad Moraig. The two women seemed to get on well, although Devorgilla clearly took it badly each time Somerled accepted a treat from Moraig.

  She was quite possessive of her little friend’s favor.

  “Do you truly think the wee fox put seaweed in the plaid kist?”

  Arabella started at Darroc’s question. She’d been so lost in watching the clearing fill with late-coming arrivals. But now, she turned to him, pleased when he leaned close to nuzzle her neck.

  “That’s what Devorgilla said.” She glanced at the cailleach, unable to suppress a shiver. “She isn’t one to tell tall tales.”

  Darroc lifted a brow. “And the strange mist?” He nipped his way up her neck to her ear, giving her shivers of an entirely different sort. “I know Geordie Dhu can taste the seas and predict weather, but to summon it?”

  “My sister would say suchlike is possible.” Arabella angled her head, giving him greater access to the sensitive area beneath her chin. “Gelis believes in all magic. She would love your Thunder Rod.” She glanced down the table to where the relic held pride of place near a softly glowing silver candelabrum.

  “The Thunder Rod!” Darroc blanched. “How did that thing get here?”

  “I brought it. I thought you’d be pleased because this feast is also to celebrate us.” She glanced at the rod. “A bit of family tradition.”

  “I’d sooner have none.” Darroc reached for his ale cup and drained it in one gulp.

  Arabella’s face heated. She didn’t understand his displeasure.

  Truth was, she’d hoped to surprise him by sewing a new tartan band for the rod. The old ribbon was in tatters and Jutta Manslayer and Arnora Ship-Breast had promised her several colorful ells of cloth.

  Now it would seem her surprise might ruin their only night of true revelry since their first visit to this isle.

  Hoping it wasn’t so, Arabella flashed another glance at the rod and—suddenly—all the hushed murmurings and whispers she’d ever heard about the relic’s powers came rushing back to her. Every one, including what the supposedly magical relic purportedly did to unsuspecting females.

  How could she have forgotten?

  But she answered her own question when she slipped her hand to her slender waist and her heart flipped on the possibility that there might be a new life quickening beneath her breast.

  She hadn’t thought of anything else in two moon cycles.

  Now horror washed over her.

  “Merciful saints!” She stared at Darroc, comprehension sweeping her.

  He looked even more miserable than she felt.

  Only a man who loved deeply and saw his world shattering could appear so lost.

  So empty and glum.

  Suspicion high, she reached along the table to retrieve the Thunder Rod.

  “Is this why you’re staring at me as if I’ve grown two heads?” She waved the rod at him. “Because I’ve touched the fabled Thunder Rod?”

  His expression said it was.

  “Why did you take it again?” His voice sounded choked, not his at all. “I know you had it once before. I found it in your bed.”

  Arabella stared at him. “Of course it was in my bed. I was working on it.”

  “But why?” He still looked as if he expected the relic to turn into a fire-breathing dragon and gobble them both. “You should never have touched it. It’s—”

  “It’s a piece of wood.” Arabella couldn’t believe he saw it as anything else.

  He clearly did.

  She couldn’t possibly. So she slid her arms around him and leaned close to brush soft kisses across his lips and cheeks and his brow. “There was nothing wrong with me touching it, I swear to you.”

  He pulled back from her, his gaze going to the relic. “When did you touch it the first time?”

  “Ages ago.” She smoothed her hands up his back and over his shoulders, lacing her fingers behind his neck. “I think when I was able to walk after the Merry Dancer wreck. I’d taken it to my room one night and Mungo—”

  “Mungo!” Darroc’s brows shot up. “You spoke with Mungo after holding the Thunder Rod?”

  Arabella nodded. “Of course, but it was Moraig I’d wanted. When I couldn’t find her, I went to Mungo. I needed stitching thread and needles.”

  “I’m no’ following you.” He did sound confused.

  “Have you never noticed how tatty the rod’s ribbon has become?” It made perfect sense to her. “I wanted to surprise you by making a new band for the relic. But I didn’t have the right kind of tartan cloth, so—”

  “But you saw Mungo after you’d touched the rod?” His eyes were still round. “And”—he pulled a hand down over his face—“n
othing happened?”

  “What should have happened?” She pretended innocence.

  She’d been at Castle Bane long enough to have learned its secrets.

  “If you mean the Thunder Rod’s magic, you should know by now that I don’t believe in such nonsense.” She kissed him, breathing the words against his lips.

  “But—”

  “Stop butting and kiss me back.”

  “Och, my sweet bold lassie.” He gathered her close, almost crushing her. “You must know that’s why I sent you away. I’d found the rod in your room and thought its damnable power was the reason you fell in love with me. I wanted you to—”

  “Have a chance to truly fall in love?” She shook her head. “Oh, Darroc, I can’t believe we almost lost each other over such silliness.”

  “Can you forgive me?” He looked stricken.

  “I already have!” She tightened her arms around him. “But you should have known the truth all along.”

  “The truth?” He blinked.

  “That the Thunder Rod”—she kissed him, pressing a new kiss to his lips between each word—“had nothing to do with my falling in love with you. It was you and you alone that won my heart.”

  “Oh, how I love you!” He kissed her hard. And it was the kind of kiss that went straight to her toes.

  And, perhaps, spoke of wickedly delicious things to come later.

  She sighed, melting. “Then don’t ever doubt it again.”

  “Doubt what?”

  She lifted her chin so that she could look into his beloved face. “That there isn’t a greater magic on earth than the power of a heart that loves.”

  With the words spoken, a deep peace settled over them both.

  And had either of them glanced heavenward, they just might have seen a shooting star.

  A wee bit of magic sent from a very happy, bright-shimmering soul in Shetland who wished them well.

  THE DISH

  Where authors give you the inside scoop!

  From the desk of Shannon K. Butcher

  Dear Reader,

  For thirty days, I lurked inside the mind of a deranged serial killer. And let me tell you, it may be an interesting place to visit, but I’m glad I don’t have to live there. Thirty days was long enough, and I spent every one of them looking over my shoulder, in the backseat of my car, and under my bed. Just in case.

  Luckily, I had some professional help with the profile for the killer in LOVE YOU TO DEATH, but little did I know how much more it would creep me out when I realized I was creating this character from bits and pieces of real people and real crimes. In fact, it creeped me out so much that the security system and our dog were no longer enough. I went out, bought a gun, and learned how to use it, just in case someone like Gary decided to come calling.

  Ridiculous? Probably. But my Sig Sauer, its magazines holding eighty bullets, and I all feel much better.

  This book opened my eyes to a world that I’d never really thought about before. Sure, we see reports on the news about murder and abduction, but there’s always a kind of distance to those stories. This project forced me to put myself inside the heads of both the victims and the killer, and after doing so, every story I’ve seen on the news has suddenly become real—a waking-up-with-nightmares, buying-a-gun kind of real.

  Being able to write about two people who fall in love during such a difficult time was something I wasn’t sure I could do, but I hope I pulled it off. Elise and Trent and their love for each other brighten up the darker parts of this book, and their relationship highlights just how important it is to have someone to lean on when things become impossible.

  I won’t spoil the end of LOVE YOU TO DEATH, but I can confidently say that I’ve never felt more satisfied with the justice I’ve inflicted on my deserving characters than I did with Gary. I hope you agree. And if you do decide to crawl inside the mind of a serial killer by reading this book, I recommend doing so with the lights on and the doors locked.

  Enjoy!

  http://www.shannonkbutcher.com/

  From the desk of Kate Perry

  Dear Readers,

  Hot naked men!

  An unorthodox beginning, I know, but you have to admit it caught your attention. Also, it’s vastly more interesting to talk about hot naked men than it is to discuss, say, tutus. Not to mention that hot naked men and my Guardians of Destiny series go hand in hand. Tutus? Not so much.

  For instance, in the first book, MARKED BY PASSION, we have Rhys, the British bad boy who’s got it all—except the woman who sets him on fire. Rhys is hot on so many levels, and when he strips down… I’d suggest keeping an extinguisher on hand.

  And then there’s Max, the hero of CHOSEN BY DESIRE, the second Guardians of Destiny novel. A past betrayal has Max closed off—until he meets the right woman, who makes him want to bare it all. Naked, he’s a sight to behold. Plus, he’s got a big sword, and he knows how to use it.

  Unclothed, finely chiseled men. Sassy heroines who tame them. Kick-ass kung fu scenes. Much more exciting than tutus, don’t you think?

  Happy Reading!

  www.kateperry.com

  From the desk of Sue-Ellen Welfonder

  Dear Reader,

  Sometimes people ask me why I set my books in Scotland. My reaction is always bafflement. I’m amazed that anyone would wonder. Aside from my own ancestral ties—I was born loving Scotland—I can’t imagine a place better suited to inspire romance.

  Rich in legend and lore, steeped in history, and blessed with incredible natural beauty, Scotland offers everything a romantic heart could desire. Mist-hung hills, castle ruins, and dark glens abound, recalling the great days of the clans and a time when heroism, loyalty, and honor meant everything. In A HIGHLANDER’S TEMPTATION, Darroc MacConacher and Arabella MacKenzie live by these values—until they are swept into a tempestuous passion that is not only irresistible but forbidden, and acknowledging their love could destroy everything they hold dear.

  In writing their tale, I knew I needed something very special—and powerful—to help them push past the long-simmering feud that could so easily rip them apart. With such fierce clan history between them, I wanted something imbued with Highland magic that would lend a dash of Celtic whimsy and lightness to the story.

  Fortunately, I didn’t have to look far.

  One of my favorite haunts in Scotland had just the special something I needed.

  It was the Thunder Stone, an innocuous-looking stone displayed on the soot-stained wall of a very atmospheric drovers’ inn on the northwestern shore of Loch Lomond. Said to possess magical powers I won’t describe, the stone is often borrowed by local clansmen. I’ve eyed the stone each time I’ve stopped at the inn and always thought to someday include it in a book. A HIGHLANDER’S TEMPTATION gave me that opportunity.

  Changed into a prized clan heirloom and called the Thunder Rod in A HIGHLANDER’S TEMPTATION, the relic provided just the bit of intrigue and lore I love weaving into my stories. I hope you’ll enjoy discovering whether its magic worked. Hint: Darroc and Arabella do have a happy ending!

  With all good wishes,

  www.welfonder.com