Vintage Romance Publishing
September 2006
On Sale: August 30, 2006
Featuring: Laird Malcolm MacNeill; Lady Anice
328 pages ISBN: 0978536835 EAN: 9780978536831 Paperback Add to Wish List
Anice tugged on the rope and when it held, she climbed onto
the stone sill. Grasping the rope, she swung over the edge
and held on tight. Her arms strained while she wrapped her
legs around the rope and began to shimmy down.
A pounding on her chamber door produced a rash of chill
bumps to trail along her arms.
Across the courtyard a man shouted, โMilady!โ
A streak of panic shot into her bones as she clambered down
the rope.
Couldnโt a lady take a walk in the kitchen gardensโeven if
she got there by extraordinary meansโwithout causing an
uproar in the kingโs staff?
The thud of hooves galloped on the grassy earth in her
direction. She cursed under her breath. She needed no
horsemanโs help to descend a rope. Her hands slipped on
the coarse hemp and her heartbeat quickened. She was a wee
bit out of practice.
โDrop to me! Iโll catch you!โ the manโs deep, sexy voice
shouted with a distinctive Scottish burr, as he guided his
horse beneath her.
She snorted. If she dropped to whoever stood below her, no
doubt her skirts would fly up around her ears. โโTis nay
concern of yours. Move away.โ She meant to speak her
words harshly, commanding the man to do her bidding at
once, but her voice sounded way too soft and overmuch like
pleading to her ears.
She glanced down at him, sitting astride his roan
destrier. Belted at the waist, a pleated saffron wool
tunic rose to mid-thigh, exposing his brawny muscular
legs. The narrow tunic sleeves stretched down his arms,
widening at the wrist, revealing large hands that clutched
his horseโs reins with a fierce grip.
Her gaze drew up his massive chest to his dark brown hair,
highlighted with reddish strands hanging loose about his
broad shoulders, framing and at the same time softening the
harsh angles of his face. He had the kind of manly nose
that befit Scottish royalty, a sturdy square chin that
tilted up toward the heavens, and the kind of lips women
begged to kiss. Not a Norman or a Saxon, but a handsome
devil of a Highlander. โTwas not his broad shoulders and
chest that gave her pause, but his furrowed brow and
darkened brown eyes that compelled a longer look.
Her fingers slid again and her heart leapt into her
throat. To her surprise the man quickly stood in his
stirrups, his hands outstretched ready to catch her.
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