February 2018
On Sale: February 6, 2018
Featuring: Amber MacPherson; Lachlan MacKay
384 pages ISBN: 1492654531 EAN: 9781492654537 Kindle: B076BW7G2D Mass Market Paperback / e-Book Add to Wish List
MacPherson Castle—Loch Eireachd, Scotland, 1452
Fistfuls of hair fell to the bed like streams of molten iron. The growing pile,
more orange than gold, resembled a dragon's nest, and gleamed seductively in the
firelight. Amber sighed at the sight. If only it were a real dragon's nest and a
beast could rise and smite all her enemies. One very much in particular.
She almost smiled at the fanciful thought as she chopped off her hair. Almost.
In truth, her plan was an act of desperation with little chance of success. By
all that was holy, she'd need a miracle to get away this time.
Grabbing another handful, she raised the knife and sawed off an even bigger
chunk. The remaining strands sprang up to curl around her neck and ears, a
light, airy feeling at odds with the heaviness in her heart.
Laird Machar Murray would come after her, of that she had no doubt. If he found
her, no amount of false hexes or curses or threats from the devil would deter
him from destroying her this time.
Her lost hair would grow back. Her lost spirit and soul could not.
The heavy wooden door rattled as a key entered the lock from the outside. It
pushed open. Amber spun around to face the intruder, her heart in her throat and
the knife pointed outward. Niall, the old steward, shuffled in, his worn plaid
sagging below his belt. She huffed in relief and went back to cutting off her
hair.
"You scared the life out of me, aye?"
"You should be scared, lass. I doona know how you've lasted this long with Laird
Murray breathing down your neck. He'll turn the keep upside down to find you."
"I couldnae leave with Erin so sick, now could I? Her mother and father would
ne'er recover if she died. And Ian needed me to speak for him or he would've
ended up in the dungeon for who knows how long."
"You'll ne'er recover if the laird gets a hold of you—although you wouldnae end
up in the dungeon. Nay, he'd lock you in his bedchamber first. And no doubt
Father Odhran would consider it a just punishment for all the help you've given
the women."
"He's a wee ablach, that one. The devil take him."
"The devil take them both."
Her knife cut through the last chunk of her hair and she held it in her hand,
staring at it. The strands twisted and curled in long, silken waves, a last gift
from her mother. Her father had loved her hair. Her grandmother had brushed it
every night, singing the songs of the Highlands that Amber had so loved. Sorrow
welled within her at the loss, and she squeezed her eyes shut to push it away.
Bah! Her hair had caused her nothing but trouble. How many times had she wished
herself plain when some irritating man came knocking at her door, asking for her
hand? Too many to count.
She tossed the curls down on the linen quilt, glad to be rid of them. She had no
time for self-pity.
"Did you bring the lads' clothes?" she asked. "And the band?"
"Aye." He pulled some material from under his plaid.
Amber reached for the silver brooch that held her arisaid in place over her left
breast, and released it. Niall squawked as her dress fell off, and he quickly
turned around. "Lord have mercy, lass, I'm an old man. My heart willna survive
looking upon the pride of Clan MacPherson in such a way."
"Is that what they call me?" She tucked up her linen shift and shook out the
tautly woven cloth Niall had tossed on the bed. "I thought 'twas ‘witch' and
‘temptress.' Sometimes ‘evildoer,' depending on who did the talking."
"Doona be daft. Only Laird Murray and his plague of rats say such things. The
MacPhersons know the sacrifices you've made, the danger you've courted for us.
We couldnae be more thankful."
Amber didn't speak—couldn't speak—as his words washed over her. Her throat
tightened and she had to blink back tears. Instead, she looked down and secured
the end of the cloth over her breasts, trying to squash down the overripe mounds
that had done naught but get in the way since they'd started jutting out from
her chest when she was fourteen.
"Aye, neither could I," she said finally, her voice sounding thick. "I'll miss
you all." She lifted the end of the band trailing on the floor and held it out
to Niall. "Here, hold this tight now while I wrap it."
Niall grabbed it, eyes lowered, and held the cloth taut with surprising strength
as she turned herself into it and knotted the band in place, flattening enough
of her bust that the rest could still be concealed beneath the loose shirt. Her
breath came short, her ribs compressed, but it was a strain she could bear. The
bulk of the boy's plaid should hide the slight tuck at her waist and roundness
of her bottom. Her legs were long and strong, and if she muddied them they
should pass for a lad's. Her face too—although nothing could disguise the
startling color of her eyes. Those were an inheritance from her beloved
grandmother, and had led to much trouble for her as well as for Amber.
Men envied uncommon things, beautiful things, and would go to great lengths to
acquire them. Luckily, the MacPhersons were good people, and Amber's grandmother
an excellent healer. She'd taught Amber everything she'd known before she died,
and Amber's place with the MacPhersons had been secure. They'd cherished her and
she them.
Not so Laird Machar Murray. Nay, the conniving laird would as soon burn or drown
her for a witch—as their good-for-naught priest wanted. After Murray tired of
raping her.
Amber pulled the lad's shirt over her head and tried to belt the plaid in place
by herself. In the end, Niall had to show her how it should be done—a
complicated ritual of pleating and tucking and twisting the material.
When she had finally mastered it on her own, Niall moved to a chest against the
wall in the corner, and on his signal, Amber shoved the heavy piece of furniture
to the side so he could crouch down and count the stones.
"This is it," he said, pushing against the block while Amber waited impatiently
beside him. Finally, a space appeared that was barely big enough for her to
squeeze through. She grabbed a candle from the table and lit it in the fire
before passing it through the dark hole in the wall. A dank passageway appeared
ahead of her, just big enough for her to stand, and a narrow stairwell descended
at the end.
"Are you sure it goes all the way down?" she asked. "When was it last used? Is
it safe?"
"I doona know, lass, but anywhere is safer than here with Machar Murray."
She nodded reluctantly, laid down the candle beside her, and pulled Niall into a
tight hug. "I'll miss you, you old badger. You've been a staunch friend to me,
and to my grandmother before that. Our family wouldnae have survived this long
without you."
Niall squeezed her even tighter before pushing her away. "Go on with you, then.
And doona even think of coming back. Go find a life for yourself away from the
hell of this one. Marry a good man and have plenty of fine children." He let go
and lifted a bag from his shoulder. "Some food and coin until you find your new
home."
After she took it, he picked up the candle and handed it to her. "When you get
to the end, the bottom stone should push out. I've already loosened it from the
other side. The ground is muddy. Use some dirt to darken your bare skin,
especially your face. There's no hiding you're a woman without that, even with
your hair shorn."
Amber nodded as he talked, trying to quell the panic that had tied her stomach
into knots.
"Once you're out of the keep, go to the east wall by the tanning hut. Look for a
cart missing a wheel, with a rope attached. Throw the rope over the wall, then
climb up the hay bales to the top. I've tethered a horse on the other side."
Amber squeezed his arm, afraid to speak lest she start crying again, afraid to
even look at him. He moved over, and she wedged herself through the hole. Once
on the other side, she couldn't resist and glanced back over her shoulder to see
Niall's face, wet with tears, one last time.
"Be safe," he said, shoving the stone back in place and leaving her with only
her candle for company.
Laird Lachlan MacKay never planned on leading his clan, but when his older
brother was murdered, he was left with no choice. His vow to avenge his brother
has led him to the MacPherson clan—and their bewitching healer, Amber.
Amber MacPherson is desperate. Dressed as a boy to escape her clan's treacherous
leader, she runs right into Lachlan—who orders her detained. At first she causes
him nothing but frustration, especially when she blackmails him into helping her
clan. But when she's threatened by the same man who murdered his brother,
Lachlan will do whatever it takes to keep her safe—and by his side.
Romance Historical
[Sourcebooks Casablanca, On Sale: February 6, 2018,
Mass Market Paperback / e-Book, ISBN: 9781492654537 / eISBN:
9781492654544]
Alyson McLayne is a mom of twins and an award-winning writer
of contemporary, historical and paranormal romance. She's also a dog lover and
cat servant with a serious stash of dark chocolate. After getting her degree in
theater at the University of Alberta, she promptly moved to the west coast where
she worked in film for several years and met her prop master husband.
Love that cover... for me I would just enjoy that Scottish accent... (Colleen Conklin 8:11pm February 16, 2018)
having high tea with a highlander and a lengthy discussion about life and love. (Sharon Berger 5:46pm February 17, 2018)
If you mean book, Outlander. If not, it would involve whiskey sipped by a warm fire and a good hearted man in a kilt. (G. Bisbjerg 10:56am February 18, 2018)
I love the accent & the swish of a man's kilt (Diane Sallans 7:16pm February 18, 2018)
Love a Scottish accent...and the scenery. (Jamie Snyder 12:04pm February 19, 2018)
Just being there - in the Highlands - to soak in it's beauty. (Nancy Reynolds 9:46am February 19, 2018)
Sexy man in a kilt, warm fire and some damn good tea :) (Jeannie Platt 3:54pm February 20, 2018)
I would like to explore a castle. (Melanie Rosen 4:10am February 21, 2018)
I'd love to travel the beautiful countryside of Scotland with a man with a Scottish burr. It would be even better if he is wearing kilts. (Anna Speed 12:52pm February 21, 2018)
Love your books about a sexy Scot (Jean Benedict 4:08pm February 21, 2018)
I'd love to travel to Scotland and spend several months there roaming the country. Being surrounded by people speaking in that wonderful accent is a bonus! (Glenda Martillotti 10:03pm February 21, 2018)