Blurb
How does a woman tell
her betrothed that she murdered her first husband?
Elise Kingston is a
wanted woman. Nothing, not even Highlander Marcus MacGregor, will stop her from
returning home to ensure that the man responsible for her daughter’s death
hangs.
Until she must choose
between his life and her revenge.
I've been asked quite a
few times what my inspiration was for My Highland Love. My first impulse was to
write about a hero who knew what he wanted. The tortured hero has always been
in fashion, but I wanted to see a man openly pursue the woman he wanted. From
there, I had to figure out everything else. I began researching Scottish
history and was shocked to learn of the Scottish Clearances. which took place
in the early nineteenth century. There were a few real life heroes at that
time, and I decided that a romantic hero who was decisive would also be heroic
in nature. So the Highland Clearances became the current political backdrop
that our hero dealt with.
I also learned that the
MacGregor clan was a clan that was singled out for persecution during the
clearances. In fact, the MacGregors really were the rebels of the Scottish
clans, and had been singled out throughout much of Scottish history. So Marcus
MacGregor was born with a tempestuous family history and a troubled modern
history. Here's an early scene that I believe sums up Marcus' past, as well as
his feelings about how he must lead his people.
Excerpt--
Through the
busy courtyard, he answered greetings, but his thoughts remained on the image
of Elise as she vanished from sight. She had a forthright, strong quality.
Yet—he bent his head to breathe her lingering scent from his clothes—the
lavender bouquet in her hair was decidedly feminine. It would be some time
before he forgot the feel of her buttocks across his thighs. But then, perhaps
he wouldn't have to. Marcus entered the great hall to find his father sitting
alone in his chair at the head of the table.
Cameron
brightened. "So, ye decided to come home?"
Relaxing
warmth rippled through Marcus.
"Tired
of wandering the land?" Cameron made a wide sweeping gesture.
"You
knew I was on my way, but, aye." He stopped at the chair to his father's
right and lowered himself onto the seat. "I am pleased to be home."
"How
is my grandson? I see you did not bring him with you."
Marcus
sighed. "Nay, Father. You knew I wouldn't."
Cameron
snorted. "We would not want to offend the mighty Sassenach."
"Father,"
Marcus said in a low tone.
Cameron
shook his head. "The clan never asked you to concede to the English, you
know. I never asked for it. Did you ever wonder if the sacrifice is
worth your son?"
"Aye,"
Marcus murmured. He'd wondered. Politics had ruled the MacGregor clan for
centuries and that wasn't easily changed. He paused. "Have I been gone too
long, or is something different about the great hall?"
"You
have the right of it, lad." Eyes that mirrored his own looked back at him.
"More than you can imagine."
Marcus
looked about the room. "I can't quite place it. What's happened?"
Cameron
took a long, exaggerated draught of ale.
"Cameron."
"Enough
of your looks, lad. They do not work with me." He chuckled. "I taught
them to you. Remember? It is no mystery, really. Look around. When did you last
see the tapestries so bright, the floors so clean?" He motioned toward the
wall that ran the length of the room, framed by stairs on either end.
"When have you seen the weapons so polished?"
Marcus
scanned the nearly two hundred gleaming weapons mounted across the wall. He
rose and walked the wall's length, perusing the weapons. Each one glistened,
some nearly as bright as newly forged steel. He glanced at the floor. The stone
looked as if it had just been laid.
He looked
at his father. "What happened?"
"The
women came one day—or rather, one month—and swept out the cobwebs, cleaned the
floors, the tapestries, weapons."
Marcus rose
and crossed the room to the kitchen door where the women worked. The
housekeeper sat at the kitchen table. Ancient blue eyes, still shining with the
bloom of youth, smiled back at him. Winnie had been present at his birth.
Marcus knew she loved him like the son she'd never had. He, in turn, regarded
her with as much affection as he had his own mother.
She turned
her attention to the raw chicken she carved. "So, you've returned at
last."
"Aye,
milady."
A corner of
her mouth twitched with amusement.
"I am
looking forward to the company of some fine lasses tonight," he said.
"'Tis a long and lonely trip I've had. Perhaps next time I shall take you
with me." He gave her a roguish wink before striding back to his seat in
the hall.
Marcus
lowered himself into the chair he had occupied earlier. "Must have taken
an army just to shine the weapons alone. Not to mention the walls and
floors."
"It
did. You will see the same throughout the castle. Not a room went
untouched."
"Whatever
possessed them to do it?"
"It was
the hand of a sweet lass," Cameron replied.
"Which
one? Not Winnie—"
"Nay.
The lass Shannon and Josh found washed ashore on the coast. They brought her
when they returned from the south."
"Washed
ashore?"
"An
American woman. Her ship perished in a fire."
"American?"
Cameron
scowled. "Are you deaf? Shannon is the
one who discovered her at Solway Firth."
"What
in God's name was she doing there?"
Cameron
gave his chin a speculative scratch. "Damned if I know. They were headed
for London."
"London? Sailing through Solway Firth requires sailing around the north of Ireland. That
would add a week or more to the journey."
His
father's mouth twisted into a wry grin. "You know the English, probably
got lost."
"I thought
you said she was American."
"English,
American, 'tis all the same." Cameron's expression sobered. "But
dinna' mistake me, she is a fine lass. She came to us just after you left for
Ashlund four months ago. You should have seen her when they brought her here.
Proud little thing."
"Proud,
indeed," Marcus repeated.
"'Tis
what I said." Cameron eyed him. "Are you sure something isn't ailing
you?"
Marcus
shook his head.
"At
first, she didn't say much," Cameron went on. "But I could see a
storm brewed in her head. Then one day, she informed me Brahan Seer was in dire
need of something." He sighed deeply. "She was more right than she
knew."
Marcus
understood his father's meaning. His mother's death five years ago had affected
Cameron dramatically. Only last year had his father finally sought female
comfort. The gaping hole created by her absence left them both thirsting for a
firm, feminine hand.
"It's
a miracle she survived the fire," Cameron said. "'Course, if you knew
her, you would not be surprised."
"I believe
I do," Marcus remarked.
"What?
You only just arrived."
"I
picked up passengers on the way home—Tavis, little Bonnie, and an American
woman." Marcus related the tale. "I recognized her accent," he
ended. "Got accustomed to it while on campaign in America."
Cameron
smiled. "Elise is forever chasing after those children."
"Why?"
His
father's expression darkened. "Shamus was murdered."
Marcus
straightened. "Murdered?"
"Aye."
"By
God, how—Lauren, what of her?"
Sadness
softened the hard lines around his father's mouth. "She is fine, in body,
but… her mind has no' been the same since Shamus died. We tried consoling her,
but she will have none of it."
A tingling
sensation crept up Marcus's back. "What happened?"
"We
found him just over the border in Montal Cove with his skull bashed in."
"Any
idea who did it?"
"Aye,"
Cameron said. "Campbells."
Marcus
surged to his feet. He strode to the wall, where hung the claymore belonging to
his ancestor Ryan MacGregor, the man who saved their clan from annihilation.
Marcus ran a finger along the blade, the cold, hard steel heating his blood as
nothing else could. Except… Campbells.
Had two
centuries of bloodshed not been enough?
Fifty years
ago, King George finally proclaimed the MacGregors no longer outlaws and
restored their Highland name. General John
Murray, Marcus's great uncle, was named clan chief. Only recently, the
MacGregors were given a place of honor in the escort, which carried the
"Honors of Scotland" before the sovereign. Marcus had been there,
marching alongside his clansmen.
Too many
dark years had passed under this cloud. Would the hunted feeling Ryan MacGregor
experienced ever fade from the clan? Perhaps it would have been better if Helena hadn't saved Ryan
that fateful day so long ago. But Ryan had lived, and his clan thrived, not by
the sword, but by the timeless power of gold. Aye, the Ashlund name Helena gave Ryan saved
them. Yet, Ryan MacGregor's soul demanded recompense.
How could
Ryan rest while his people still perished?
Marcus
removed his hand from the sword and faced his father. "It's time the
MacGregors brought down the Campbell
dogs."
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Bio
Award winning published
author Tarah Scott cut her teeth on authors such as, Georgette Heyer, Zane
Grey, and Amanda Quick. She writes classical romance, suspense, horror and
mainstream. She is assistant director of the advanced writer's group Paper,
Candlelight and Quill, and leads Word Zone, a weekly advanced critique group,
as well as participates in, Creative Heights, an intense critique group.
Tarah grew up in Texas, and
currently resides in Westchester County, New York with her daughter. Her
favorite book is a Tale of Two Cities, with Gone With the Wind as a close
second.
