My Highland Bride
Highland Hearts # 2
Highland Hearts # 2
By: Maeve Greyson
Releasing August 25th, 2015
Perfect for fans of the Highlander novels of Karen Marie Moning and Janet Chapman, Southern sass meets Highland heat in Maeve Greyson’s scintillating new Highland Hearts romance.
With bedroom eyes and racetrack curves, Kenna Sinclair seems like just another pretty Kentucky girl. But she can also read minds, erase memories, and jump through time—a skill set that comes in handy when her matchmaking granny sends her back to thirteenth-century Scotland on the pretext of visiting her older sister. When she encounters the clan’s womanizing man-at-arms, Kenna instantly knows the gorgeous Highlander has only one thing on his mind. She vows to steer clear of him, but after a single electrifying touch, she finds that playing hard to get won’t be quite so easy. . . .
Bewitched by the first lass who could ever resist him, Colum Garrison will do anything to prove his devotion, even ask for Kenna’s hand in marriage—and swear off his chosen form of recreation until their wedding night. It’s a burden for a man of his thunderous appetite, but the sinful temptation is not his alone: Colum’s fetching bride-to-be is practically trembling with anticipation for a moment that can’t come soon enough. When she’s willing, Colum will be ready and waiting—with a love that lasts a lifetime.
Link to Follow Tour: http://www.tastybooktours.com/2015/05/my-highland-bride-highland-hearts-2-by.htmlGoodreads Link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23636546-my-highland-bride?from_search=true&search_version=service
Goodreads Series Link: https://www.goodreads.com/series/137240-highland-hearts
Colum stopped dead in his tracks. An uncomfortable sense of foreboding settled in his gut, then took to churning like a great serpent stirring the bowels of the sea. “Mother Sinclair, ye say?”
“Aye.” Galen solemnly nodded.
“the Lady Trulie?”
“Aye.” Galen pulled up short, easing back a step as they reached the arch leading to the stairwell up to the chieftain’s private rooms. The man eyed the narrow doorway as though it were the gateway to hell.
“And yer certain ye’ve no idea of what it might be?” Colum glanced toward the winding stone steps leading up to the MacKenna’s solar and swallowed hard. With the Sinclair women plotting against him, he’d feel more at ease going to the gallows.
Galen gripped Colum’s upper arm, then hurriedly motioned the sign of the cross over his chest. “I dinna ken. But I will say a prayer for ye and I’ll also make a sacrifice to the old gods as well. Here’s to the hopes that all the entities watch over ye. I feel ye’ll be a needin’ the lot o’ them.” Galen jerked his chin toward his chest, squeezed Colum’s arm one last time, then turned and barreled back down the hallway.
Colum watched Galen disappear through the arch. A deep-seated sense of survival strongly advised him to follow the man. Colum shook free of the urge. He’d saved the MacKenna’s life several times; surely his chief would protect him from whate’er the women plotted.
He traced his fingertips along the cold rough stones of the tower wall as he slowly climbed the winding stairs. A delayed flash of pride surged through him. Colum sucked in a deep breath and took the remaining steps two at a time. As soon as the words crossed his mind, he felt a bit sheepish. He sounded as though he was trying to convince himself of his own courage.
Colum sensed the tension in the room as soon as he walked through the door of the chieftain’s private solar. He paused a moment, wiping his damp palms against the coarse wool of his plaid. Well, mayhap not tension—’twas more like the gut-tightening feel a man got the night before battle. There was damn sure somethin’ ill a stirrin’, and he didna care for the feel of it at all.
Gray MacKenna, chieftain of Clan MacKenna and Colum’s best friend since they were both snot-nosed lads, lounged comfortably on one end of a pillowed bench with an unreadable look on his face that could only mean trouble. His wife, Lady Trulie, sat at his side, one hand slowly stroking her great rounded belly as though comforting the child within.
“M’chieftain,” Colum greeted him, nodding as he studied Gray’s expression closer. He couldna pinpoint exactly what it was. What the hell was the man thinking? More oft than not he knew Gray’s thoughts before the man e’er spoke them; they’d fought side by side that long. But he had no idea what the man was thinking this time. Sucking in a deep breath, Colum turned and politely bowed to Lady Trulie. “M’lady.”
Lady Trulie didn’t say a word, just lowered her chin in a polite nod and continued rubbing the wool-covered mound of her belly.
Colum got the uncomfortable feeling he was being sized up for prey. He widened his stance, sent up a prayer for divine protection, and hoped like hell Galen was in fact making that promised sacrifice to the old gods.
Gray blew out a noisy exhale and shifted among the pillows. He still didna speak, just appeared to be struggling against some inner turmoil. Whate’er it was had to be serious. The man looked as though he was about to explode. What the devil had come o’er the chief? Had the clan been attacked? Was the king on the rampage again? If that was the case, why would the Sinclair women intervene? Had the Fates sent them one of their visions?
Colum caught a subtle movement out of the corner of his eye. Senses on edge, he jerked and faced it. Nothing moved but the slight shifting of the MacKenna colors hanging beside the great stone fireplace. Lady Trulie’s huge beast of a dog, Karma, rolled to his side on the hide stretched before the hearth and groaned in his sleep. Colum swallowed hard. Damn them all. What the hell was afoot? He turned back and faced his chieftain.
No one has the power to shatter your dreams unless you give it to them. That’s been Maeve Greyson’s mantra since she was a girl. When she’s not at the full time day job at the steel mill, Maeve’s writing romances about sexy Highlanders and the women who tame them. Tucked away in a five acre wood, Maeve listens to the wind singing through the trees and hears her characters telling their stories. Her work is proofed by her sharp-eyed dog, Jasper, and her greatest supporter is her long suffering husband of over thirty-five years who’s learned not to throw away any odd sticky notes filled with strange phrases.
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