Excerpt
A giant stepped in front of her. Dressed in
black riding boots, black breeches and riding coat, he was so tall and his
shoulders so broad the already dark horizon darkened further.
‘Silence.’
His
voice was deep and calm, the voice of a man used to be obeyed. The crowd hushed
at once.
He
bent down in front of her.
‘Well,
well, who do we have here?’
Even
though she could hardly see his face, she felt his eyes bore into hers, and it
was enough to make her mind go blank.
‘Rose…Rose
Saintclair.’
‘Where
are the others, your servants, your maids?’
‘I… I
don’t have any.’
‘Really?
That’s a surprise. All right then, come up.’ He held both his hands out.
She
hesitated a moment before placing her hands in his. He pulled her up and she
flew straight into his arms, landing with a bump against his broad, hard chest.
He was so tall she had to tilt her face all the way back to look at him. Her
heart skipped a beat, then started bumping fast and loud.
His
eyes were grey and framed by dark eyelashes, his nose straight and strong, his
cheekbones high and sharp. Thick black stubble covered his cheeks and chin, and
his hair flew around his face, the colour of a raven’s wing. There was
something dangerous about him, something reminiscent of a brutal warrior from
days long gone by.
She
wriggled to free herself but he didn't let go and his mouth curved into a
mocking smile.
‘Well,
Fàilte, my sweetheart. ‘I’ll say this for McRae. If there’s one thing
the rascal can do, it’s pick his fancy women.’
His
hand slid from her waist and he patted her bottom.
Her
reaction was instinctive. She swung her arm and lifted her hand to slap him.
She didn’t have the chance. Without batting an eyelid he caught her wrist.
‘Steady
on, sweetheart. You have a nasty little temper.’
‘And
you have no right to insult me in this way, you vile brute,’ she hissed. ‘I am
not Lord McRae’s fancy woman, as you so elegantly put it, I’m his wife!’
She
had expected at least a shocked response or a groveling apology but he merely
smiled.
‘It’s
all right, gràidheag, you don’t have to pretend.’
‘Pretend
what?’
‘Pretend
you’re married to the man. I don’t care if you’re McRae’s mistress or his
laundry maid, if you scrub his back or his dirty shirts.’
‘I
am telling the truth, you stubborn macaque,’ she shouted in frustration. ‘I
married Lord McRae in Algiers
‘Please
don't scream quite so loud. I heard you the first time. I just don’t believe
you.’
‘What?’
‘First
you introduce yourself as Rose Saintclair, now you’re spinning me a tale about
being married McRae. Make up your mind, sweetie.’
He
glanced at her hand. ‘I don’t see any wedding band on your finger.’
‘That’s
because Cameron wanted to keep the wedding a secret. Never mind, I don’t have
to explain anything to you. Now let go of me.’
She
wriggled to break free, but he was still holding her wrist, leaving her no
choice but to kick him hard in the shin with the tip of her boot – the
very pointy tip of the fashionable new boots she had made in Algiers
‘Ouch.
Steady on, sweetheart.’
‘Let
go of me, you deranged baboon! And stop calling me sweetheart.’
She
kicked him again, harder. He muttered something in a strange, guttural language
she didn’t understand and let go of her so suddenly she staggered backward and
fell on her bottom on the hard, wet cobbles.
Her
breath caught in her throat, her heart beat hard, erratic. Tears blurred her
vision as people sneered and clapped around her. She knew McRaes and McGunns
were enemies, but she had nothing to do with their feud, so why did everybody
here seem to hate her so much? And why was the big hairy brute intent on
humiliating her and not believing a word she said?
He
stepped closer and offered his hand.
‘Come
on, now, sweetheart. Let’s start again. I think we got off on the wrong foot.’
He
sounded contrite but she wasn’t ready to forgive to
forgive him. Ignoring his hand, she scrambled to her feet, and straightened her
back. Attack was the best defence, her brother often said, and Lucas knew what
he was talking about. He was the best scout in the whole of the Barbary States – or Algeria
‘Take
me to your master immediately,’ she started in a voice as cold and steady she
could manage, ‘so I can ask him to have you whipped for your insolence.’
There
was a collective gasp from the people around them. Not looking in the least
impressed, the man crossed his arms on his broad chest and arched his eyebrows.
‘Really?’
She
took another deep breath.
‘That’s
what I do to disrespectful servants on my estate, and I can assure you they
stop smirking after five lashes.’ That was an outrageous lie, of course, but no
one here was to know.
'If
what you said earlier is true, then I see McRae chose his bride well.’ The
man’s eyes were now hard as steel. ‘You and he are indeed a match made in
heaven, or in hell. I’m sure you’ll be very happy together.’ He paused. ‘I’m
sorry to disappoint you, sweetheart, but I don’t approve of whipping people, or
beasts, for that matter.’
‘And I
don’t care a fig if you approve or not. It is for your master to decide your
punishment, and from what I’ve heard of Lord McGunn, he is neither a patient
nor compassionate man.’
He
arched his eyebrows. ‘I didn’t know I had such a bad reputation.’
Rose’s
heart stopped. He wasn’t… he couldn’t be…
‘I
realise I failed to introduce myself. I am Bruce McGunn.’ He bowed his head in
a military salute.
‘You
are?’ The words came out as a squeak.
His
lips stretched into a tight smile that didn’t warm his eyes.
‘At
your service, my lady. Now the introductions are over, shall we make our way to
the Lodge?’
Rose's and Bruce's story
continues in BLUE BONNETS, which is now available for pre-order.
