"Magically intriguing Scottish romance."
Reviewed by Suan Wilson
Posted October 19, 2005
Romance Historical
Highlander Kate MacCarran, a Jacobite sympathizer, uses her
purported fairy magic against officers of the Crown as she
renders them senseless with her legendary charm while
stealing their government papers. Kate's work grows more
dangerous as her notoriety increases with each successful
job. She ignores her intuition that Capt. Alexander Fraser
is different and could be dangerous, and she takes a risky
chance to relieve him of important documents essential to
the Jacobite cause. Kate's luck runs out as the captain
captures and imprisons her in the dungeon. Alexander Fraser, Highland regimental officer, laird of
Kilburnie and owner of a successful family business, joined
the brigade to police his own people and see to the
cooperation and goodwill between the English and Scots.
Although a betrayal and family tragedy keeps Alec's
emotions locked away, he takes his job seriously in trying
to prevent more needless deaths. Alec's new directive is to
transport the infamous spy, Katie Hell, to Edinburgh for
trial. Any information he gleans on the journey regarding
missing rifles will aid in forestalling another Highland
uprising. Used to men falling under her allure, Kate discovers Alec
is immune to her charm. Intrigued by the man, Kate,
instead, finds herself falling under his spell. Alec
attempts to smother the wildness Kate provokes in him,
while he tries to find a way to protect her from the
English and the Jacobites. With espionage and intrigue, KEEPING KATE (a sequel to
STEALING SOPHIE) features drama and suspense surrounding a
passionate romance. Gabriel also adds a smattering of fairy
lore to this clever tale.
SUMMARY
The brazen beauty is said to possess fairy magic, and has
successfully charmed and seduced English soldiers out of
their most carefully guarded secrets to aid her kinsmen.
But now the infamous Kate MacCarran has met the one man
who
seems immune to her legendary allure ... Captain Alec Fraser of The Black Watch has no doubt that
Katie Hell is trouble. Hadn't she just drugged him, kissed
him, then searched through his belongings? Now the elusive
spy is his captive, and it is Alec's duty to transport her
to Edinburgh. But the Highland hellion challenges him at
every turn, determined to escape with her secrets. Soon
Alec discovers that keeping Kate out of mischief may be an
almost impossible task ... just as Kate realizes that
surrendering to his passionate love may be her most
dangerous mission yet.
ExcerptScotland , the Highlands, 1728 "Miss," Alec Fraser said from his seat by the
campdesk. "Come back here." Kate's heart sank as she faced the tent flaps. Did he
remember her? Was Fraser calling her back to expose her as
the fine lady he had seen in London months ago? Just moments after entering the officer's tent disguised
as a laundry woman, Kate MacCarran had recognized the
captain as the Highland swordsman she had encountered at
St. James’s Palace months ago. He had not seemed to know
her as she had moved around the tent tending to the
laundry, but she had kept her head covered. For weeks she
had moved around the camp on the pretense of doing
laundry, which she delivered to local cousins who did the
actual work for the soldiers. Recognizing Captain Fraser had been a shock. She had hoped
to see him again someday, for she had lost a little of her
heart to him with just a few wistful glances. But she never expected to encounter him as a military
officer. She had never forgotten his athletic grace, his
searing glances, or her own startling response. Even now
her heart thudded inexplicably for a man she did not know--
and could never trust. If he recognized her, he could arrest her and expose her
identity. Had he asked about her that day in London, as
she had found out about him? Did he know her name? She began to tremble where she stood, and did not turn
around. “Oiche mhar,” she said in Gaelic, with a hand on
the tent flap. Good night. “Miss,” Fraser said firmly. “Come here, please.” She had taken a risk to come tonight in search of
documents vital to the work of her kinsmen. She had been
told that this captain had the names of Highland prisoners
recently arrested, and it was that list her kinsmen
needed. One of her cousins waited outside in the darkness
and the rain, ready to spirit her away after she was done. But if this man recognized her, then her life, and the
welfare of her kinsmen and her clan, was in jeopardy. "Ach," she said impatiently. Running away would only raise
his suspicions. She must keep to her ruse. Turning, she
ducked her head under the shadow of her plaid shawl. “Shirt,” Fraser said, plucking at his sleeve. “ Leinen?” “ Leine”, she corrected in surprise. “My Gaelic is not what it was,” he explained. “Well, Miss,
my leine needs laundering, if you will take it.” As he
spoke, he undid the buttons of his waistcoat and pulled
off the shirt. Kate pointed to the garments she had earlier folded on the
bed. “Your clean shirts are there,” she said in Gaelic. He looked blank. “For a Highlander,” she went on in rapid Gaelic, “you do
not know your own language very well...but then, you are
not what I thought you were, beautiful Highland man.” He smiled as if attempting to understand. “Fine Highland
man, thank you,” he said in awkward Gaelic. Suppressing a laugh, Kate held her out hand for the
laundry. Quickly he stripped his shirt off and over his
head and tossed it over to her. Catching the shirt, she stared, stunned. He stood bare to
the waist in lantern light, taut and beautiful as a god.
His wide shoulders and chest were smoothly muscled above
the wrapped plaid draped around his taut abdomen. He held
out the shirt, and his shining brown-gilt hair slipped
loose from its ribbon to brush his shoulders. He looked
more like a proud Celtic warrior than a loathsome king’s
man. Her heart quickened. Despite shattering her private dream,
he still had a very strange effect on her. She could
barely think. Holding the shirt, she spun away quickly, and her basket
knocked against the table. Papers fluttered to the floor. “Blast,” Fraser muttered, and bent below the level of the
table to fetch the fallen pages. Kate took that moment to quickly scan the papers on his
desk: the dreadful broadsheet depicting the 'Highland
Wench’ as a bawdy fairy or worse--and that sheet referred
to her as Katie Hell, something she would rather not
reveal. Also, she saw Fraser’s notes, including a list
written in a clerk’s hand. Those pages were what she
needed. She reached out, but Fraser stood again. Kate whipped her
hand away so quickly that next she tipped over a china cup
perched at the edge of the table. Liquid--strong hot tea,
by the look of it--spilled over the papers, soaking the
broadsheet. She snatched at the page just as Fraser did,
and it tore. He grabbed at the other pages, and Kate dropped her basket
and took out a linen towel to sop up the spill. The
captain took the cloth from her to swipe at fresh ink
blurring and running on paper. “Damn,” he muttered. “Ruined--damn!” More flustered now, she righted the cup and set it on a
table that held a silver pot and tins. The pot contained
steaming tea, she discovered, so she refilled the cup,
wondering frantically how to get a closer look at the
lists that Fraser was now salvaging from the mishap she
had caused. Katie Hell's charm--would it work with this man, as it had
with the others? With them, all she needed to do was talk
to them, and let her charm work its own magic. The men
often fell into a dreamy daze, particularly if they had
been imbibing, and then she could find a moment to look
through papers, even slip important pages into her pocket. But she could not risk using natural magic on this man--
not only did he already know her from London, but she felt
suddenly sure that her fairy gift would not work on him as
it had on the others. She must get the pages and get away as soon as she could.
Sighing, she put a hand in her skirt pocket to touch the
little glass vial tucked there. She carried an herbal sleeping infusion with her in case
she needed it to protect herself from advances. If Fraser
did not turn away or leave the tent soon, she would have
to use it. She knew now that she had to look at those papers--her
brother and kinsmen needed to save one man before he spoke
of secret plans--finding that prisoner could save the
lives and welfare of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of
Highland Jacobites. Fraser stood then. Kate quickly set the cup down on the
desk, and the man glanced curiously at her, his eyes
narrowing, but he said nothing. She turned away, heart
pounding, afraid to let him see her face clearly. She had missed her chance to slip the herbal potion into
his tea. But another choice remained to her, a method she
had never wanted to try, for the very thought alarmed her. According to MacCarran family lore, whoever inherited the
power of charm from their fairy ancestress also had the
ability to throw a glamourie, a natural spell of
enchantment that could not only bedazzle another, but
suspend awareness and even time itself. She could never try that herself. Not only was she unsure
how to do it, she did not quite believe it was possible.
The old legends were thrilling, and she accepted that she
possessed a little natural charm and beauty, which she put
to good use helping her Jacobite kinsmen. But she was not sure she could cast a glamourie, if such
even existed. Besides, Fraser would probably be immune to
it. He did not seem the least bit bedazzled by her charm.
In fact, he seemed slightly annoyed. When he turned away, Kate quickly emptied the vial into
the hot tea. Otherwise harmless, the herbs could produce a
sound sleep, but the taste was bitter. Finding a bowl of
fine sugar, she spooned a healthy serving into the cup. As she handed Fraser the cup, she felt uncomfortably like
a spider spinning out its web to catch its unsuspecting
prey. He accepted it. “Thank you... tapadh leat,” he translated. His attempt at Gaelic gave her a sudden sense of guilt.
Most officers she had met were puppets in red coats and
breeches, Whigs all, and she had reason to dislike them.
So far, each one she had encountered had become infatuated
with her to some degree, and many had been cloying or
lusty fools, easy to dislike and dismiss. But Captain Fraser was none of that, and even in the coat
of a red soldier, he still made her heart beat too fast. Oh please drink it, she thought, fighting the urge to
snatch it away from him. Just drink, and forgive me. He raised the cup in salute. “You’re a clumsy wee thing,
Miss Washerwoman, but a bonny lass for all that, and I
hope you’re better at the laundry than the housekeeping.”
He drank. The sense of guilt increased sharply. Kate bent to fuss
with the laundry in the basket. Let the potion act
quickly. His discarded shirt was still warm and smelled of
him, a trace of comfort, of strength and manliness. She
picked up the basket and moved toward the tent entrance,
then glanced back. He sat in the chair, sipping as he sifted through the
papers. Lifting a hand to his head, he shoved his fingers
through thick, wavy hair, gold threading through darker
strands. He rested his head on his hand, perusing the page
as if he felt fatigued. Setting the basket by the door, she approached cautiously.
Captain Fraser rested his head on his arms, eyes closed,
and seemed asleep. The infusion had taken hold. Coming
closer, Kate looked at him curiously. He was tall and large-boned, with an almost a leonine
elegance in face and form. His profile was classically
handsome, partly obscured by a sweep of thick hair, deep
brown and sun-streaked. She noted taut skin and good
bones, straight dark brows over closed eyes fringed with
dark lashes, an aristocratic nose that sloped toward the
tender curve of his mouth. His eyes opened, and she saw a flash of dark blue. “Ugh,”
he muttered, and raised his head, groggy as a drunkard. Regret rushed through her. After all, he had not attacked
her, yet had been dealt a repercussion nonetheless. He sat
up, batting an arm out, clumsily sweeping papers, inkpot,
and the china cup off the table. As he stood, stumbling,
the chair tipped back and fell over. Kate bent to fetch the broken cup, setting the pieces
aside. The potion she had given Fraser was strong, yet
even the full vial had not taken him down completely. He
was tall and powerful, and his size probably prevented him
from succumbing entirely. As she straightened, he grabbed her by the upper arms and
pulled her toward him. Alarmed, Kate tried to push away,
and her arisaid slipped down from her head, pulling with
it the little white cap pinned over her hair, exposing her
face and bright golden hair to full view. Fraser frowned down at her. “Good God...I’ve seen you
before. I know you.” His words were low, slurred. “No,” she whispered. “Let me go, please.” She wriggled in
his hold, speaking English without even thinking about it. “Blast it, I feel dizzy...what have you done? What the
devil did you put in that tea?” With an iron grip, he held
her so closely that she craned her head to look up at
him. “Too sweet, it was...with a hint of bitter. What did
you do?” “It will not harm you, though you may sleep some,” she
answered. “Lie down, sir--over there.” She pushed him
toward the cot, for he was unstable on his feet and was
large enough to hurt both of them if he took her down with
him. “You spoke only Gaelic before...damn, I am befuddled.” He
shook his head. A moment later he teetered, and his knees
began to buckle. ”Let me help you.” Kate fitted her shoulder under his arm
to support him. He leaned his weight on her, his hand capping her
shoulder, and he looked down at her. “I could swear I’ve
seen you before.“ With an arm around his waist, she led him toward the
cot. “You’re only dreaming. Sit here.” He collapsed rather than sat, falling to the mattress,
feet on the floor. He still had hold of her, so Kate went
down with him in a fast tumble. His arms felt so good--but
she wiggled away and stood. She struggled to lift his legs
onto the bed, though he was tall and muscular, and
outweighed her by nearly twice. He lay sprawled on the narrow cot, one knee raised, his
plaid revealing the knotted muscles of his thighs. His
broad chest was bare, the red coat falling back, the brass
buttons on his lapels gleaming. She pulled the folded
blanket over him and stepped back, but he took her forearm
and tugged her toward him until she fell again into his
embrace. “Oof,” she said softly, pushing. “Stay,” he murmured. With one hand, he swept his fingers
over her hair, loose of its pins, so that the blond
strands spilled free in the lantern light. “Fairy gold.” “No--I must--“ she pushed away. He wrapped her hair like a skein around his hand and
pulled her closer. “You--you’re the one,” he said in a
husky voice. “The fairy queen.” She caught her breath. Had he learned about her gift, and
her family, from someone in London? She had taken great
care to protect her identity there, and only Highlanders
and Jacobites would have known any details at all. She
told herself that the herbs had addled his brain, and he
spoke coincidental nonsense. “I saw you in London,” he whispered, his face so near her
own, his breath soft upon her lips. “We called you the
fairy queen.” “Ah,” she said softly, relieved. “My ancestress was a
fairy, so they say. But I am not, and besides, you will
not remember this in the morning.” “A fairy, and I’ve caught you.” He drew her close by the
winding of her hair. With his other hand he cupped her
face, and then he kissed her. His mouth was warm and tender, and Kate began to dissolve
under that kiss, luscious, unexpected, dreamed of for so
long. She should push away and flee. He had recognized her–she
could not risk staying here. But his thumb slid along her
jaw to tilt her head back, and his mouth claimed hers
again, deep and stirring. Heart pounding, she surrendered. Never had she been kissed like this--never. The power of
it swept through her, took her breath away. Sinking in his
arms, she savored the kiss, brought her hand up to cup his
cheek; the whisker growth of a day or two was like dark
sand under her fingertips. She moved her hand, found his
hair to be thick and soft. His lips felt divinely warm and
vital over hers. She did not want this to stop, and opened her lips to his,
pleading silently for more. But he sighed and his head
sank to the mattress, and he closed his eyes, drawing her
with him. She waited a moment, and then drew back
reluctantly. Leave, she told herself, let him dream, and wake wondering
who she was. But she leaned toward him again, feeling as if she were
the one bespelled. He stirred again and pulled her fully into his embrace,
then touched his mouth to hers again. She had tasted a variety of kisses--dry, forceful, timid,
mushy as pudding, and many that were nice enough. And all
of them she had dismissed afterward. No man’s kiss had
ever touched off a needfire within her like this. But his—oh, his were kisses to remember, to dream about.
His lips caressed hers, kneaded, sending shivers of
pleasure through her. His breath warmed her, his hands
upon her excited her so that she wanted to melt in his
arms and do all his will. When his mouth took hers again
like a storm, she gave into the building passion and met
his kiss with maddening hunger. His hands traced along her
shoulders, her arms, grazing the side of her breast. All
that he did felt perfect, beautiful, tender, something to
welcome and savor. Had she gone mad? Cool logic reminded her that she must
go, must break away. Her cousin waited for her. She must
find those papers and flee. But she had never felt this divine before, overwhelmed by
the beautiful strength of passion and the fragile will of
the body, all at once. Suddenly she knew that a kiss could be food for an inner
hunger, and a caress could be warmth for a chilled and
lonely soul. Discovering that she had craved this for
years and had not known it until now, she only wanted
more. She felt the wild pulse all through him, felt its echo in
her, and it made her tremble, moan. His mouth found hers
again, this time in a kiss so deep and rich that joy
poured through her-–she could not think of it in any other
way but that. Resting in the solid circle of his arms, anticipation
beating in her like a drum, she felt his hands splay
strong upon her back, her waist, and move upward,
downward. And as she kissed him in fervent response, she forgot
where she was, who she was, or who
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