Quinn: A Scottish Outlaw (Highland Outlaws Book 2) (20 page)
Read Quinn: A Scottish Outlaw (Highland Outlaws Book 2) Online
Authors: Lily Baldwin
Historical romance author, Lily Baldwin, loves writing, Scotland, her wonderful husband and beautiful young daughter--though not necessarily in that order. She has a BA in anthropology from the University of New Hampshire, and an MA in International Studies from Birmingham University in the UK. She daydreams constantly, and gets her best story ideas while running; she is even training for a half-marathon. She also finds inspiration in Nature, a quality revealed through the powerful description and drama in her books. Currently
To Bewitch A Highlander, Highland Thunder
, and
To Love A Warrior
(Books 1-3 of the Isle of Mull series) are available, and Lily is also the author of
A Jewel In The Vaults
~ one of the seven original novellas included in the
Scrolls of Cridhe
Bundle by the Guardians of the Cridhe, now available as a single novella. She also is the author of Scottish Paranormal Romance ~
Highland Shadows
(Beautiful Darkness Series, Book 1).
Lily lives in New England with her cherished husband and daughter.
To find more books by Lily Baldwin visit her website:
http://www.lilybaldwinromance.com
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If you enjoyed Quinn’s story, you won’t want to miss Jack’s!
Jack: A Scottish Outlaw
(Highland Outlaws, Book 1)
Freedom is not won…it is stolen
Jack MacVie and his brother are thieves, robbing English nobles on the road north into Scotland. They’re about to attack the Redesdale carriage when another band of villains, after more than Lady Redesdale’s coin, sweeps down and steals their prize. Despite his hatred for the English, Jack’s conscience forces him to kidnap the lady to save her life.
In the aftermath of the Berwick massacre, Lady Isabella Redesdale’s world is shattered. Her mother is dead, her father lost to grief, and she’s risking it all, journeying north into war-torn Scotland to be with her sister.
Although they come from different worlds, Jack and Isabella are more alike than they first realize. They both crave freedom from war and despair, but in a world where kings reign and birth dictates one’s station, freedom is not won, it is stolen.
Excerpt:
“All of those men are your brothers?” she asked, her voice sounded small and soft, unrecognizable to her own ear. She was Lady Redesdale. She too was used to obedience. She sat a little straighter, imbuing her posture with strength she hoped would spread to her whole person.
He nodded in answer.
She took another bite of bread. “Why did you save me?”
He shrugged and looked away.
“Have I wronged you somehow? Or are you merely angry because you did not get your chance to rob me?” She felt her ire rising. She was tired of being afraid, and she would be damned if she was going to explain herself to a common highwayman. She jumped to her feet.
“I demand you return me to my father, or if you wish you can take me on to my intended destination, my sister’s home at Ravensworth Castle.”
“Ye can keep yer orders to yerself, Princess. As I’ve said before, ye’re not goin’ anywhere.”
“If it is money you desire, then I assure you, my father will pay handsomely for my return.”
“Ye’ve had my answer,” he said.
She scowled, turning away. Sweat had gathered on her brow. The heat and stress of the day were undeniable. She pulled a handkerchief from beneath the cuff of her sleeve and dabbed at beads cascading down her temples. He grabbed her arm and jerked her back around.
“I’ll never ken a noble woman’s attire. Ye’re suffocatin’ yerself in all that fuss.”
“You speak as if I had some say in what I wear.” She paused and blatantly passed her gaze over his homespun shirt and hose. “Like your own attire, my dress is befitting my station.”
For a moment, a sneer twisted his rugged features. She had pushed too far. He stepped forward, and to her surprise, his face softened. He cupped her cheeks between his rough palms, and leaned close. She trembled beneath the warm currents of his breath.
“Why must convention cover a woman’s hair?” His fingers slid under the sides of her wimple where it met her cheeks. “It is almost always her greatest beauty.” His lips grazed her skin causing her heart to skip. Before she could draw her next breath, he ripped the fabric, exposing her head and neck. Her body betrayed her as a sigh of relief escaped her lips, having been released from her own personal prison.
“What is yer name?” he said, uncoiling her hair.
“Bella,” she breathed. “Is…Isabella.”
He laced his fingers through her freed hair. Did he think the color beautiful? Her sable brown locks had always seemed plain to her at court—oh for pity’ sake, what did it matter? She should have been fighting his presumptuous attention. He was a thief and her abductor. She met his gaze with the intention of telling him exactly what he could do with his wandering hands, but the moment their eyes met, she was struck by his intensity. God’s blood, if he had wished to unnerve her, he had succeeded; she felt vulnerable and exposed. His hands dropped to his sides, and he turned his back to her. Her courage returned.
“If you were a gentleman, you would take me home.”
He whirled around and crushed her against him. “Never mistake me for a gentleman, Princess.” He pressed a kiss hard to her lips. She pushed against his chest and struggled in protest, but he held her fast. Then his lips softened. His hold softened. She softened, lulled by his whispered caress. He tore his lips away. He was as unpredictable as a summer storm. Without thinking, she drew her hand back and slapped him hard across the face. His head snapped to the side. She held her breath, thinking the end was nigh.
He rubbed his cheek. His lip tugged into a lazy sideways grin. “Ye’ve gumption, my lady,” he said before turning to leave. Then over his shoulder he said, “I like that in a woman.”
The Isle of Mull Series
To Bewitch a Highlander (Book 1)
Isle of Mull, Scotland 1263
She will protect her identity with her very life if necessary. Who will protect her from herself?
Shoney's lightning speed with a bow captures Ronan by surprise, and their chance meeting ends with him lying unconscious at the bottom of a ravine.
When he awakens, he cannot rid his mind of her startling beauty, her valor, or the secret fear he glimpsed in her steel eyes. He vows to find her, but as the mysteries of her identity unfold, his courage and heart are tested as never before.
Excerpt:
Shoney gripped a large rock with one hand to keep from rising to the surface and was hurriedly scooping handfuls of Dulse with the other, putting the slimy clusters into the sack hanging about her neck. Dulse was her favorite seaweed. Its translucent pink color was hard to spot, but it grew in bushels at the bottom of her pool. If infused in a bath, it soothed sore limbs, and its oil cleansed the skin, clearing away unsightly dry patches. Satisfied she had gathered enough, she released the stone and swooshed her arms, swirling in a circle. Her hair fanned out, covering her face and wrapping around her waist.
The sting from the icy water subsided so that she could truly enjoy the feel of being submersed. The bottom of the deep pool gleamed with smooth white rocks, which seemed to light the murky water. She was enclosed inside rocks directly below her home where she knew none of the clansfolk would ever dare to venture, allowing her to leave behind the Witch’s cloak and every other stitch of clothing for that matter. Nothing delighted her more than to feel the rush of cold water over her bare limbs. Nothing made her feel more alive, but she was running out of breath and knew she had to surface.
Her feet touched down on the bottom, and she bent her knees, pushing against the white stones to hasten her swim to the surface, but she did not surge through the water as expected. Large hands grabbed her from above, blocking her momentum. She seized with panic as she flailed against her captor’s grip. The water churned, bubbling from her efforts, but she was powerless against the strong arms that wrapped around her from behind and pulled her against the unyielding hardness of a man’s chest. Every corded ridge of muscle pressing against her naked back shifted as he pushed off the bottom, propelling them both toward the surface.
They emerged from the depths, and he pulled them to the edge of the pool. Shoney sucked air into her lungs. Too long had she been submersed and now felt dizzy. Despite her reeling head, she lunged to escape the hands still grasping her shoulders, but his hold only tightened. Then, for the first time, she tilted her head back to look upon her captor.
“You,” she exclaimed. “What are
you
doing here?”
“What am
I
doing here?” he said. “This is my
island. What are
you
doing here?”
“Taking a bath,” she gritted.
She could not believe the giant, the one called Ronan, was in
her
pool. How dare he invade her rightful territory? Fury consumed her but also terror. Not only was she unarmed, but he was even larger than she first realized.
“I am finished now,” she said. “So release your grip, and I will be on my way.”
“A bath she says.”
He turned her around in his arms so she faced him. Then he wrenched the sack from around her neck and threw it into the water. Shoney watched as it sunk beneath the surface. “I have been searching the whole island for you for a fortnight only to find you nigh drowning, leaving me no choice but to dive in to save you.”
“Save me? Is that what you thought? That I was drowning.” She could not help laughing, but stopped when his hand slid down the curve of back.
Shoney was suddenly very aware of her state of undress. Her curves were concealed from his eyes by the water, but what he could not see surely he could feel as his arms pressed her close. She gasped as she felt the contours of his muscles shift against her skin. The heat of his body provided warmth against the frigid water, and his arms seemed to touch more than just her waist. They reached beyond her physical form, satisfying a craving for contact, which solitude had entrenched deep within her heart. He was powerful and intoxicating, and her response to him was shocking. She never imagined a man would feel so good, so strong, but she knew it had to be wrong. Shouldn’t she be outraged? She had to escape his hold. Her hands pressed against his wide chest as she thrust away from him, but he wouldn’t budge.
“Let me go, this is indecent,” she snapped.
“No more indecent than leaving me to die, lass. I was only trying to save you.”
“The only saving I need is from you,” she hissed through gritted teeth. “Release me. You have no claim over me or my body as I am neither your wife nor your whore.” She renewed her struggles and shrieked, “Let go of me.”
His grip loosened slightly, and she felt the warmth of his breath as his head dipped close to hers. His hand swept the length of her torso and then gently caressed her cheek.
“I know I need to let go of you,” he whispered. “I know that I am disgracing you as well as myself, but I cannot bring myself to do so.”
She met his smoldering gaze. His lips were but a whisper away from hers. Try as she might, she could not take a deep breath. Her quick, shallow breathing was unnerving. And then as he pressed her body into his, her breathing was forgotten completely as was the cold water that encircled them, the crash of the waves, and the call of the birds. All she was aware of was his eyes, the closeness of his mouth, and the racing of her heart. He slowly lowered his lips, taking possession of the soft skin just below her ear. She closed her eyes, feeling a strange heat at the place where his lips had been. His hot kisses trailed down the length of her neck. The heat spread like languid fire throughout her body.
She had never felt the strength of a man’s hands on her skin. Nor had she ever known the tenderness of a kiss. Her breathing quickened. Her body felt like it was swelling, preparing to burst, and she liked it. She pressed herself closer and felt the crushing strength of his muscles as her fingers explored his form. Her hands swept down his powerful arms, sliding over muscled ridges. And then they traveled down past his lean waist to stroke the length of his hard thigh, but instead of smooth, wet skin, her fingers touched something cold and sharp.
Her eyes snapped open, and her senses returned with a strength that would have knocked her over had it not been for the water and the support of his caressing hands.
Mother of all, what spell was this?
He was even more dangerous than she first imagined, for he could control her thoughts and her body. She had to break away from his embrace. Her hand returned to his thigh, only this time she had no intention of stroking his skin. She seized his dirk from its sheath and with a practiced hand she thrust the pointed end of the blade beneath his chin. She smiled ruefully at the small droplet of blood that appeared beneath the dagger’s point.
“You keep your blade sharp. I thank you for this kindness.”
Isle of Mull, Scotland 1296
A STORM IS COMING...
Although she faces tragic loss, Brenna will never succumb to grief or fear, nor will she surrender to the one man she despises--the very man who now has the power to control her destiny. Like the storms that rage unchecked over the moors, her fury is about to be unleashed.
A HIDDEN LOVE...
He does not look at her or speak to her, and most importantly, he does not touch her. These are the rules Duncan set for himself long ago to ensure his affection for his best friend's wife remained undetected. But under the weight of a land besieged by war, the walls he erected to shield his heart crumble.
If he can earn her trust, the one woman he has always loved may at last be his. But first he must save what he cherishes most from a nightmare of dark secrets.
Destinies unfold. Secrets are revealed. The Isle of Mull will be forever changed.
Half Highlander, half Viking, Garik MacKinnon was not born on the Scottish Isle of Mull, but fostered there in his youth. Now, he leaves behind his home, once more bound for Mull, to join the MacKinnon warriors as they answer Robert the Bruce’s call to arms. He is ready for battle, eager to fight for Scotland’s freedom. What he is not prepared for is his encounter with Nellore, a shield maiden from Mull, whose allure defies all reason.
Nellore has the strength and skill of a warrior but the heart of a woman. When the men are called away to war Nellore must aid those left behind to safeguard their village against attacks from the MacLeans—a feuding clan to the south. She understands her duty to her clan. She is ready to take up arms against the enemy if need be. What she is not ready for is the ache that fills her heart when war pulls Garik from her side.
Desire ignites and battles are waged as both Nellore and Garik learn what it means to love a warrior.
Audio Books:
To Bewitch a Highlander (Isle of Mull Series, Book 1)
Highland Thunder (Isle of Mull Series, Book 2)
To Love a Warrior (Isle of Mull Series, Book 3)
Flights of Love Series
A Jewel in the Vaults (Flights of Love Series, Book 1)
She has never met a man like him before. Then again, he has never met a lad like her.
In 1802, Edinburgh’s poverty-ridden Old Town is rife with danger, but it is the only home Robbie MacKenzie has ever known. To safeguard herself against the worst villains of the street, Robbie conceals her femininity behind her shorn hair, dirt-smeared face, and tattered breeches. To all the world she is a lad, but beneath the ruse is a woman aching to break free.
Leaving his beloved Highlands behind in pursuit of his prodigal brother, Conall MacKay journeys to Edinburgh. There, he solicits the aid of a young street lad named Robbie. But Conall soon realizes that there is more to both Robbie and Edinburgh’s Old Town than meets the eye.
In a world where wickedness governs and darkness reigns, a savage struggle for dignity, survival, and love begins.
Excerpt:
“Hell is empty and all the devils are here.” ~
William Shakespeare
, The Tempest
Prologue
Paris, France
June 1782
“
Au revoir, salut
,” Claudine Doucet said to her fellow actors as she exited the stage and made her way to the back entrance of the Théâtre du Marcais. Her farewell was met with disapproval as the revelers on stage pleaded with her to stay.
“
Ma chérie
, tonight was your night. All of Paris drinks to you. Why must you leave? It is not yet morning,” Luc said, peering around the curtain. She hated to disappoint everyone, especially Luc who was the first friend she had made upon her arrival alone in Paris three years before.
“I am tired, Luc. I wish to stay, but I must rest,” Claudine said as she pressed a kiss to his cheek and bid him goodnight once more.
She flung open the door and felt the rush of night air on her neck as she stepped onto the Rue de Tourigny. An irrepressible noise akin to a squeal escaped her lips as she flung her neck back and stretched her arms toward the diamond-studded sky. Decorum and the bone stays compressing her torso restricted her display of excitement, but despite outer appearances, waves of exhilaration coursed through her, chasing away her fatigue.
She had been born the daughter of a clerk in a small provincial town. Three years ago, on the eve of her fifteenth birthday, her father had knelt on the ground near her mattress and brushed a wayward lock of golden hair from her face. He had said God did not make such a beauty as she to remain cloistered among the trees and fields.
“
Mon enfant
,” he had said, his eyes wet with tears. “You must go and make your way in this world, for there is nothing here for you. Let Paris witness your beauty. Fall in love. You are fated for happiness—this I do not doubt,
mon bijou
.”
My jewel
.
How she wished her papa could have been in the audience that night. She closed her eyes against the ache which pushed to the fore of her emotions. She had been in Paris not even a month when she received word of his death.
“
Merci
, Papa,” she whispered as silent tears coursed down her cheeks. The glory of the evening returned to her, and she relived her debut performance in her mind. When the curtain fell after the final call, she had sunk to her knees and sobbed while applause still thundered from the audience. She had swum in a sea of flowers cast by admirers upon the stage. The dreams of youth had become her reality, and this realization made her heart quake.
She scanned the narrow cobbled streets rife with pedestrians and carriages. It was the strange hour where night and morning collide. Some of the passersby were dragging their tired bodies home after a long night of work. Others, more fortunate souls, were clad as she in fine silks, and were returning home after an evening spent enjoying the pleasures and excesses permitted their station in life. For many, their day had just begun as they tarried with wagons and baskets of goods or were rushing to take up their places in one of the factories. She glimpsed some rag pickers going through the streets looking for scraps of metal, glass, fabric—anything that might fetch a price. Greasy bags hung from their shoulders. They were frail, and hunger flooded their eyes with desperate yearning. She grimaced as she turned away, muttering a prayer of gratitude for her blessings. Her hands smoothed her sapphire blue silk gown over her ruffled petticoat before she stepped toward the coach that waited to bring her to her apartment.
