Lachlan's Bride by Kathleen Harrington
Lachlan’s
Bride
By:
Kathleen Harrington
Blurb
He
is Lachlan MacRath, laird and pirate. And he intends to be her
lover…
Lady Francine Walsingham could not believe this fierce Highland warrior is to be her escort into Scotland. It is whispered that Lachlan MacRath has magical powers…how else do you explain why her countrymen call him the Sorcerer of the Seas? But trust him she must, for a treacherous plot is about to reveal all her secrets…and Francine has no choice but to act as his lover to keep her enemies at bay.
When Lachlan first sees Francine, the English beauty stirs his blood like no woman has ever before. As luck would have it, they must now play the besotted couple so he can protect her ….and Lachlan is determined to use all his seductive prowess to properly woo her into his bed.
Lady Francine Walsingham could not believe this fierce Highland warrior is to be her escort into Scotland. It is whispered that Lachlan MacRath has magical powers…how else do you explain why her countrymen call him the Sorcerer of the Seas? But trust him she must, for a treacherous plot is about to reveal all her secrets…and Francine has no choice but to act as his lover to keep her enemies at bay.
When Lachlan first sees Francine, the English beauty stirs his blood like no woman has ever before. As luck would have it, they must now play the besotted couple so he can protect her ….and Lachlan is determined to use all his seductive prowess to properly woo her into his bed.
Excerpt
PROLOGUE
May
1496
The
Cheviot Hills
The
Border between England and Scotland
Stretched
flat on the blood-soaked ground, Lachlan MacRath gazed up at the
cloudless morning sky and listened to the exhausted moans of the
wounded.
The
dead and the dying lay scattered across the lush spring grass.
Overhead the faint rays of dawn broke above the hilltops, as the
buttercups and bluebells dipped and swayed in the soft breeze. The
gruesome corpses were sprawled amidst the wildflowers, their vacant
eyes staring upward to the heavens, the stumps of their severed arms
and legs still oozing blood and gore. Dented helmets, broken swords,
axes, and pikes gave mute testimony to the ferocity of the
combatants. Here and there, a loyal destrier, trained to war, grazed
calmly alongside its fallen master.
Following
close upon daylight, the scavengers would come creeping, ready to
strip the bodies of anything worth a shilling: armor, dirks, boots,
belts. If they were Scotsmen, he'd be in luck. If not, he'd soon be
dead. There wasn't a blessed thing he could do but wait. He was
pinned beneath his dead horse, and all efforts to free himself during
the night had proven fruitless.
In
the fierce, running battle of the evening before, the warriors on
horseback had left behind all who'd fallen. Galloping across the
open, rolling countryside, Scots and English had fought savagely,
till it was too dark to tell friend from foe. There was no way of
knowing the outcome of the battle, for victory had been determined
miles away.
Hell,
it was Lachlan's own damn fault. He'd come on the foray into England
with King James for a lark. After delivering four new canons to the
castle at Roxburgh, along with the Flemish master gunners to fire
them, he'd decided not to return to his ship immediately as planned.
The uneventful crossing on the Sea
Hawk
from the Low Countries to Edinburgh, followed by the tedious journey
to the fortress, with the big guns pulled by teams of oxen, had left
him eager for a bit of adventure.
When
he'd learned that the king was leading a small force into
Northumberland to retrieve cattle raided by Sassenach outlaws, the
temptation to join them had been too great to resist. There was
nothing like a hand-to-hand skirmish with his ancient foe to get a
man's blood pumping through his veins.
But
Lord Dacre, Warden of the Marches, had surprised the Scots with a
much larger, well-armed force of his own, and what should have been a
carefree rout turned into deadly combat.
A
plea for help interrupted Lachlan's brooding thoughts. Not far away,
a wounded English soldier, who'd cried out in pain during the night,
raised himself up on one elbow.
"Lychester!
Over here, sir! It's Will Jeffries!"
Lachlan
watched from beneath slit lids as another Sassenach came into view.
Attired in the splendid armor of the nobility, the newcomer rode a
large, caparisoned black horse. He'd clearly come looking for
someone, for he held the reins of a smaller chestnut, its saddle
empty and waiting.
"Here
I am, Marquess," the young man named Jeffries called weakly. He
lifted one hand in a trembling wave as the marquess of Lychester drew
near to his countryman. Dismounting, he approached the wounded
soldier.
"Thank
God," Jeffries said with a hoarse groan. "I've taken a
sword blade in my thigh. The cut's been oozing steadily. I was afraid
I wouldn't make it through the night."
Lychester
didn't say a word. He came to stand behind the injured man, knelt
down on one knee, and raised his fallen comrade to a seated position.
Grabbing a hank of his yellow hair, the marquess jerked the fair head
back and deftly slashed the exposed throat from ear to ear. Then he
calmly wiped his blade on the youth's doublet, lifted him up in his
arms, and threw the body face down over the chestnut's back.
The
English nobleman glanced around, checking, no doubt, to see if
there'd been a witness to the cold-blooded execution. Lachlan held
his breath and remained motionless, his lids lowered over his eyes.
Apparently satisfied, the marquess mounted, grabbed the reins of the
second horse and rode away.
Lachlan
slowly exhaled.
Sonofabitch.
He
knew the English were a bloodthirsty race. But he hadn't thought that
included the murder of a helpless patriot on a deserted battlefield.
What
kind of bastard did such a traitorous thing?
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Author
Info
KATHLEEN
HARRINGTON, winner of the Colorado Romance Writers’ Award of
Excellence, has touched the hearts of readers across the country with
her sparkling tales of high adventure and unending love. Her
historical romances have been finalists for the Romance Writers of
America’s RITA, The Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice Awards, the
Virginia Romance Writers’ HOLT Medallion, and the Phoenix Desert
Rose Golden Quill. Her fabulous heroes have garnered the KISS (Knight
in Shining Silver) Award. She lives in Southern California.
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Review
I very much enjoyed Lachlan's Bride. I no longer read very many historical's so I'm picky when I do. Harrington did a wonderful job of pulling you into the story and giving you great characters to keep you there. You might find that the beginning of the book drags a little but, if you keep going you will soon become engrossed. It's a must read for historical fans. Happy reading!
Great Review Ann! Thank you for hosting today!
ReplyDeleteThanks Lisa. And you're welcome.
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