Known for his wicked wit, fierce loyalty, and skills
in battle, Robert "Rebbie" MacInnis, the Earl of Rebbinglen, loves
freedom and has no plans of marrying anytime soon. But when his father, a
powerful Scottish marquess, signs a contract betrothing Rebbie to an earl's
young daughter, he is furious. If he has to marry, he's determined to choose
his own bride, though he has no inkling who he would wish to wed until fate
intervenes to remind him of one fair-haired, nameless beauty and the passionate
night they spent together years ago. A night forever etched in his memory.
Lady Calla Ferguson, a penniless widow with a young
son, is forced to seek employment as her cousin's companion in order to pay her
late husband's massive gambling debt. Having been ignored or mistreated most of
her life, Calla has become a resourceful survivor who will stop at nothing to
get what she wants—safety and security for her son and herself. Wealthy
merchant, Claybourne cares little for the money the Earl of Stanbury owed him;
he simply wants the earl's beautiful, voluptuous widow and he'll do whatever it
takes to get his hands on her, even kidnapping and blackmail.
When Rebbie happens upon Claybourne abducting Calla,
he rescues her and hides her in a secluded castle deep in the wild Scottish
Highlands. Calla conceals her passionate spirit beneath reserve and duty, along
with closely-guarded secrets which, if exposed, could ruin both her life and
her son's. Years ago, she lost her heart to a dark-eyed stranger she never
thought to see again, but now he's her protector. Rebbie craves another
pleasurable night like the one they shared in the past, and she cannot resist
the fiery passion that echoes deep in her heart and soul. Soft but strong, Calla
sparks within Rebbie a desperate hunger and a need to protect her. But will her
secrets tear them apart?
Here's an excerpt from the prologue:
Kinross,
Scotland, November 1612
Calla Ferguson, the
Countess of Stanbury, tensed when her husband strode into the bedchamber. She
had just endured another mortifying examination by his physician.
The silver streaks that
ran through the Earl of Stanbury's dark hair glinted in the gray light from the
castle's window. When his spiteful, dark gaze swung to her middle-aged maid,
Betty, she scurried into the nearby dressing room and softly closed the door.
The earl pinned Calla
with a glare. "How long have we been married?" he demanded.
Why would he ask such a
thing? He well knew they'd married when she was but sixteen summers. "More
than two years."
"And yet I still have
no heir. I have little use for a barren wife."
Barren?
A chill shook her as the blood drained from her face. Could it be true?
Stanbury advanced on
her. Fearing he would strike her, she backed up two steps, but a wall blocked
her path. He placed his large hand slackly around her throat. Her heart
stopped. Nay! Panicking, certain he
would strangle her, she grasped both hands onto his forearm, but his brute
strength proved immovable.
"Listen to
me." He gave her a shake, his grip on her throat tightening the slightest
bit, but not enough to cut off her air.
She froze, praying he
wouldn't murder her on the spot.
"Do you see that
window?" He pointed. "You're going to find yourself flying out of it
one day soon."
The sensation of icy
water trickling through her veins stole her breath. Dear God in heaven, he
wanted to murder her.
"I'll give you one
more month, and if you're not breeding…." With a final glower, he released
her and left the room. In the corridor just outside the open door, he stopped
one of the chambermaids, then pointed at Calla. "Watch her. She is in such
despair, I fear she will fling herself from the window."
Saints!
He would murder her and make it look like a suicide. Though her knees
threatened to buckle, she forced herself to stand, tears streaming from her
eyes. She had to do something.
His footsteps receded
down the corridor. Betty hastened out of the dressing room and closed the
bedchamber door. "Oh, m'lady! Did he hurt you?" She took Calla's
hands.
"Nay." Calla
wiped the tears from her eyes, ashamed of her weakness. "Not yet,
anyway."
"You must do
something," Betty whispered.
"You heard?"
"Aye."
"I cannot run
away. I have no money. Where would I go? Where would I live? He would surely
find me. I have no family other than my father's cousin, and we are not close.
He would turn me over to Stanbury again. What if he's right? What if I am
barren? The only reason he married me was to provide him an heir, and if I'm unable
to do that…"
Betty shook her head,
glanced back at the door, then whispered, "The earl was married twice
before, you ken?"
Calla nodded. A harrowing
thought chilled her blood. "Did he kill his first two wives?"
"One died of a
fever. The other… 'tis a mystery. Even the physician had nay inkling what was
wrong with her when she passed. Anyway, I think the problem lies with him… that
he cannot get a woman with child."
"Oh." At
eighteen summers, Calla realized she was still naïve when it came to certain things.
And a man being unable to sire a child was not something people discussed.
"He will never admit to that."
"Of course not.
'Tis always the woman's fault," Betty said in a caustic tone, then glared
at the door.
Calla clenched her
hands together. She couldn't feel more trapped if she were in Stanbury's
dungeon. How could her father have given her to this brute just before he'd
died? He'd promised that Stanbury would protect her and care for her.
"What am I to do?"
she whispered.
"Do you truly want
me to tell you?" Betty asked, giving her a look that said she might not
like the answer. But as a woman in her fifties with two grown children, Betty
would surely ken what to do.
Calla nodded.
Betty drew her to the
padded settle by the fireplace, sat very close to her and whispered, "Find
a man… a stranger you will never see again, a young virile man, and… couple
with him."
"What? Are you
mad?" Calla covered her burning face with her hands. How on earth could
her maid suggest such a shocking and sinful thing? She could never be unfaithful
to her husband. Of course, she had never loved him and almost grew nauseous
every time he did his husbandly duty. And he was certainly not faithful to her.
Still… 'twas not something a virtuous wife should do. And if she was found out…
"You're advising
me to commit adultery?" Calla asked. "'Tis one of the worst
sins."
"Do you have a
better idea? The man wants you to bear him a child, a son. Otherwise, he has
threatened to kill you. 'Tis your decision. I'm not saying 'tis right or moral.
But you're a kind young lady, much like a daughter to me, and I don't wish to
see you dead." Betty blinked back tears that suddenly glinted in her eyes.
Nor did Calla want to
die, but to do what Betty suggested… she could not even imagine it. "Where
on earth would I even find a man that I would never see again? Certainly no one
in Kinross or the surrounding area. If he were to learn who I am, 'twould be a
disaster."
"Aye. He must be a
complete stranger. Someone you will never see again. Someone with the earl's
coloring, dark hair and dark eyes."
It might be possible.
Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. "Oh, Betty, I can't believe I'm even
considering doing this."
"You and the earl
are going to Stirling next week, are you not?"
"Aye."
"Well, then, mayhap
you could find a man there. Someone at an inn. If he's staying at an inn, he
likely doesn't live in Stirling."
"'Tis true."
Calla paced before the fireplace, unable to imagine herself seducing some
stranger. Nay, she couldn't do it. She hated Stanbury's touch. Surely, all
other men would be just as revolting.
At the same time, the
thought of her own husband shoving her out a third floor window chilled her
bones. He was so much larger and stronger, she couldn't fight him. And she did
want a child, not just to appease Stanbury. She needed a bright spot in her
life, someone to love.
"Do you truly
think I can accomplish this?" Calla whispered. "What if Stanbury
finds out? He'll kill me for a certainty then."
"You must be very
careful, m'lady," Betty whispered urgently.
For the rest of the
week, the servants eyed Calla curiously. Did they expect her to leap from the
tower at any time? He must have told them all she was likely to kill herself. He'd
said she had only one more month. She had no choice but to do what Betty
suggested. Either that or kill him, but she could never get away with that,
even if she could accomplish it. She was not the murdering kind, anyway.
As for notifying the
authorities of his threats, he was a powerful earl, for heaven's sake. No one
would believe her.
Two nights later, Calla
paced in their room at the Silver Bell Coaching Inn in Stirling, her stomach
aching with anxiety. Stanbury had left to spend the night gambling with his
friends. 'Twas his favorite pastime and naught would drag him away from it.
Tomorrow, they would leave for home. Tonight was her only chance. She must take
control of her future, if she wanted to have one at all. She'd never been
allowed to make any choices of her own. When she was a child, up to age
sixteen, her father had made all the important decisions for her. And now, her
husband decided everything. No longer.
Betty watched her
silently from across the room.
"I will do it
tonight," Calla whispered. "I'll go to the inn down the street."
Betty nodded.
"Daniel will walk behind you and guard you. And he'll wait outside the inn
until you come out again. I explained the situation. He will tell no one."
Daniel Kerns was
Betty's husband, a large burly man. Not a guard, but a strong manservant.
Swallowing hard, Calla
nodded. "How do I look?"
"Beautiful. You
always look beautiful, m'lady."
Calla put on her black
woolen cloak and drew the cowl over her head, hiding her flaxen hair and most
of her face.
Downstairs, Daniel
waited near the inn's exit door. They remained silent as they emerged onto the wet,
cobblestone street. A misty rain hissed through the darkness of the chill night.
She glanced back to see that he walked a few paces behind.
Her hand trembled as
she pushed open the door and entered the Red Lion Inn's common room. The scent
of ale and beer permeated the air. Men sat at tables, drinking, playing cards,
eating and talking. She lurked in a dark corner, eyeing them. Which men were
cruel beasts and which were decent citizens? Who was married and who was
single? She didn't wish to get involved with a swine like her husband, nor did
she want to cause a man to be unfaithful to his wife.
At one of the tables, a
man with black, shoulder-length hair caught her attention. He sat across from a
taller, ginger-haired man with his back to her. Even at this distance, she
could see that the dark-haired man also had dark brown eyes. But it wasn't his
coloring that captured her interest. He was breathtakingly handsome. And young,
'haps in his early twenties. Half Stanbury's age. There was no way to tell if
the man in question was virile, but he certainly looked healthy with his broad
shoulders, thick arms, and trim waist. His fine quality clothing said he might
be a laird, or at least wealthy.
He laughed at something
the other man said, and—saints—his
smile was the most appealing sight she'd ever seen. He looked friendly and
approachable. Not frightening like her husband. Stanbury rarely smiled, but
when he did, 'twas smug or calculating.
Clenching her hands so
tightly she feared her fingers would fall off, she moved to the alcove by the
stairs, and continued to watch the gorgeous stranger. He and his friend downed
whisky and played another hand of cards.
She scanned the common
room, hoping to see no one she recognized, wondering if another man might
better suit. But, nay, her gaze always returned to the attractive dark-haired
man. When he won a hand, that captivating grin lit up his face again. She could
not tear her gaze away. A painful yearning germinated within her, a need to
have him smile at her. What would that feel like?
Heavenly?
Shoving her daft and
dreamy imaginings aside, she focused on what was important—her instincts told
her sharing a bed with him wouldn't be as dreadful a task as sharing one with
Stanbury. Guilt sliced through her at the thought of breaking her sacred
marriage vows, but Stanbury had broken them numerous times, she was certain. He
made it no secret that he had a mistress. As far as she was concerned, his
threat on her life destroyed any vows between them.
After she'd waited an immeasurable
time, her palms growing sweatier and her stomach more pained with each moment
that passed, the man stood, slapped his friend on the shoulder and meandered
toward the stairs… and her. Was he drunk? If so, that might work perfectly.
'Haps he wouldn't even remember her in the morn.
When his compelling,
midnight gaze landed on her, she froze and her mouth went dry. What should she
say to him?
He gave a slight bow.
"Good evening, fair and bonny lass," his deep voice purred. He
flashed her a roguish grin, then faced the stairs again.
Say
something, Calla!
When he clasped his
hand onto the newel post, she placed her hand upon his.
My Rebel Highlander copyright 2014 Vonda Sinclair
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