Maybe just maybe love will find you along the way and take you into a journey of romance with a smuggler and helping a cause bring freedom to your new home.
Highland Arms, a Highland Chronicles Tale, is set five years after the ill-fated 1715 Scottish rebellion. A time when rumours abounded of new attempts, of shipments of arms and men from abroad, of hope and fear…
Betrayed by her brother’s lies, Catriona MacKenzie is banished from her home to her godmother’s manor in the remote Scottish Highlands. While her family ponders her fate, Catriona’s insatiable curiosity leads her straight into trouble–and into the arms of a notorious Highlander.
Five years after an ill-fated Jacobite rebellion, Rory Cameron works as a smuggler to raise money for the cause–until Catriona uncovers a plot against him and exposes his activities. Now, Rory is faced with a decision that could either save their lives or destroy both of them.
But he’s running out of time…
Readers of the Outlander series might enjoy Highland Arms!
“Sizzles with tension, lust and adventure”
~ 5* review, Lizzie Koch, author
“A vivid and suspenseful romance”
~ 5* reader review
“Full of intrigue and adventure”
~ 5* reader review
“…a very enjoyable book from start to finish”
~ 5* review, Nancy Jardine, author
The house was still, and the first light filtered through the gaps in the shutters when Catriona woke the next morning. Her mind returned to the previous night. It had been a quiet affair. Despite all her attempts at cheering Auntie Meg up, Angus’ callous remarks left her godmother in shock, her bubbly nature subdued. Neither was Rory Cameron in a mood for chat. Several times that evening she felt his gaze linger on her, any thoughts of his safely locked away behind those impenetrable eyes. Did he regret having her in the house? He might even convince Auntie Meg to send her back.
She could not allow that to happen. Not yet. One day, she had to return home—just not yet. Her father planned to find her a new suitor, someone willing to overlook her indiscretion. Pah!
Once he found such a paragon of society, he’d send for her. Most likely, the chosen suitor would be a rich man, but what else? Old, grizzled, and frail? Or young and arrogant, cast in the same mould as her brother? She liked neither option but then, it was not her decision to make. One thing was certain—love did not feature in her marriage contract.
What if her father let Angus have a say in it?
The notion froze her to the core, and she sat up. Despite her fondness of Edinburgh, and its array of entertainments, the longer she remained here in the Highlands the safer she was from such a fate. Perhaps she’d even be allowed to stay on as her godmother’s companion? Growing old without having to wed anyone. Remain a spinster for the rest of her days. It was not the most appealing option, but preferable to whomever Father or Angus might choose. Yes, she’d just have to convince Auntie Meg—and Rory Cameron—that she simply had to stay.
Her mind made up, she rose and wrapped a thick blanket around her shoulders. As her bare feet touched the wooden floor, she hissed at the chill. With no maid to call upon, she left her room and went downstairs in search of the kitchen. The thought of a warming cup of tea raised her spirits. Then she’d continue to set her plan into motion.
She pushed the kitchen door open and stopped short. Standing by the mullioned window, in front of a large bowl overflowing with water, was Rory Cameron. He turned as he heard the door. Catriona caught her breath and grabbed the handle, letting go of the blanket.
Water dripped over his head and down his torso, trickling in small rivulets over his kilt held by a broad belt with a round silver buckle in a Pagan design of interlacing swirls. The light curls of hair on his tanned chest glistened with moisture. His shoulder-length hair was unbound, falling softly over taut muscle. A dry smile told her she was staring at him. Again.
She swallowed hard. “I…” She stuttered. “I’m so sorry, Mr Cameron.” She averted her gaze to her feet. “I was just going to heat up water for my tea. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
The insufferable man laughed as he grabbed a piece of cloth and began to pat himself dry. “I don’t think you did.” He shook his head, sending strands flying before rubbing it vigorously. “And it’s Rory, remember?” He grinned. Catriona stood rooted to the spot. Words failed her. Her mouth went dry.
“But tell me,” he went on, “do you always venture into the kitchen so early? If so, you’d better get dressed next time.”
Transfixed by his mocking gaze, her cheeks heated as she became aware of her own state of undress. What an impression was she giving him, with her hair falling loosely over her shoulders, and the blanket only barely covering her modesty?
Oh, dear God, the blanket!
(c) Cathie Dunn 2012. All rights reserved.