Finlay Cameron, the bastard son of an English earl and a Scottish mother, weds stunning, outgoing Blair Macnab to ensure her clan’s loyalty to King Charles. She’s everything he’s ever wanted in a wife, but he suspects she may be plotting his murder.

Always considered to be nothing more than a pretty face, Blair Macnab yearns to prove her worth. She refuses to be used as a pawn for political gain, but when confronted by a blackmailer, her only option is to marry the brawny Finlay Cameron.

In Finlay’s arms, she feels safe for the first time ever. Until she learns that her blackmailer is hot on her trail and her secrets could soon be exposed…

Excerpt

A short time later, Finlay found himself outside the chamber he was sharing with Blair. Anticipation coursed through his veins. Inserting the key into the lock, he turned the handle and pushed open the door to see her sitting at the dressing table wearing only her shift and brushing her long golden hair.

Was she humming? He couldn’t place the tune, but it was pleasant. Quietly pulling the door closed behind him, he locked it and moved toward her. Reaching out, he touched her shoulder. She flinched then turned, but when she saw it was him, she smiled.

“Ye smell nice.”

“Lemons.”

“Hmm,” he said as he lifted a strand of her wet hair and brought it up to his nose.

“They have molded soap. It smelled of lemons.” Her eyes lit with a childlike amusement.

“Do ye like it?”

“Aye. I didnae ken that it could be put in such an easy form.”

“I’ll keep ye supplied in it, if it pleases ye.”

“I’ll bathe before they bring the meal.” Before he could push her too fast, he hurried over to the tub, where he undressed and climbed in.

Blair called over her shoulder, “I hope ’tis no’ too cold for ye.”

“Nae, ’tis fine.” Truly, it had chilled, but he welcomed the cool, because it gave a slight relief to the part of him that had sprung to life upon being near his wife.

She rose and meandered toward the bed, her hips swaying through a material he noticed was quite thin. The cold water’s effects dulled as he again started to yearn for the lass as she sat lazily on the bed. “Do ye always stay at this inn as well?”

“Nae. I think ’twill have to reevaluate our route for future trips. I feel like a negligent husband making ye sleep in some of the places we have.”

“The bed does feel soft.” She fell back on it and spread her arms out, sliding her fingertips over the bedding.

Upon climbing out of the tub, he started for his wife, who had tempted him by laying out like an offering on a tray at English teatime. Hell, he’d lost his mind. She had her eyes closed, peace and contentment on her face.

He was stopped by a knock on the door.

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About the Author

Winner of the National Readers' Choice Award and Holt Medallion for Best First Book and Best Historical, Lori Ann Bailey writes hunky highland heroes and strong-willed independent lasses finding their perfect matches in the Highlands of 17th century Scotland. Writing about the people and places playing in her head helps her live out her dreams and delve into her love of history and romance. When not writing, Lori enjoys time with her real-life hero and four kids or spending time walking or drinking wine with her friends.

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