This one goes out to anyone who’s having a Tuesday that feels like a Thursday! I dare you to get through this excerpt of Cynthia Breeding‘s Rogue of the Moors without smiling. (I absolutely could not.) Love the excerpt? You’re in luck, because Rogue of Moors is out today!

---

Bridget noticed that all four of the MacDonald men were seated at the table for supper. None of them appeared bruised or battered, so they must have taken their mother’s warning not to exchange blows seriously. Bridget knew men thought fighting was the solution to most arguments, but she had never understood why they would enjoy brawling simply for the sake of it. Looking at the granite set to Alasdair’s jaw made her wonder if a skirmish might not still take place.

“We serve ourselves here,” Joanna said as she brought in a dish of vegetables and smiled at Bridget as she sat down. “Doona skimp on your servings.” She glanced at her sons. “I am used to big appetites, so there is always plenty of food.”

“Thank ye,” Bridget said. “The boar smells delicious.”

“Allow me to carve ye some,” Niall said, flourishing a knife with enough skill that Bridget had no doubt he’d be deadly with a dagger.

Alasdair gave him a sharp look but said nothing.

Oddly enough, the other brothers were quiet and subdued this evening. Even though she’d only met them briefly when they’d come to Glenfinnan, she didn’t think the reserved behavior fit any of them. Rowdy, boisterous, rambunctious, yes. Quiet, no. Had the retelling this afternoon of the fate of that poor girl affected them so much?

Bridget glanced at Alasdair. He hadn’t been in the room, but the memories were probably crystal clear. She wished she could say something to him, but she caught the glimpse he gave her. His eyes were like emerald shards. She’d seen that look on her brothers’ faces, warning anyone with any sense not to broach them. Now was not the time to comment.

A clamoring near the back of the house broke the silence. Bridget heard shouting and several heavy thuds. It sounded like an altercation taking place, although none of the men seated seemed to be overly concerned.

The kitchen door banged, followed by the trampling of boots coming down the hall. The yelling hadn’t stopped either. Three lads in shirts, breeches, and tartan caps burst into the room, one of them dripping wet.

“’Tis nae my fault ye fell into the burn,” one said.

“Ye pushed me, ye fool,” the wet one answered.

“To get ye out of the way. I had to save Margaret.”

“I dinnae need saving,” the third one shouted. “Ye are both oafs.”

Bridget blinked. The last voice was definitely feminine and angry. She studied the three. The boys were tall and gangly, indicating they hadn’t quite reached manhood. The girl was merely slender, but they all had fierce scowls on their faces.

“Ye slipped on a rock running away from your beau,” the dry one said.

The girl pummeled his shoulders with her fists. “That eejitis nae my beau!”

The lad fended off the blows easily. “Tell him that then.”

“I will the—”

“Caps off in the house,” Alasdair said.

All three swept off their caps while the wet one smacked the dry one. “Why did ye nae protect our sister and chase after the mon?”

Margaret pushed the wet one back. “I doona need ye to protect me!”

Bridget bit back a smile. Obviously, she had been wrong about the sister being coddled. The girl sounded every bit as annoyed as Bridget had felt earlier. She looked at Margaret again. Despite her brows being drawn together in a thunderous frown, the girl was attractive. Long auburn hair, several shades darker than Bridget’s but still very reddish, tumbled down her back now that her cap was off. She had high cheekbones and a straight, pert nose. Her chin might have jutted a bit too much, perhaps because her mouth was set in a tight line. Blue flames sparked from her eyes.

She definitely didn’t look like someone who wanted to be coddled.

---

An avid reader of anything medieval, Cynthia Breeding has taught the traditional Arthurian legends to high school sophomores for fifteen years. She owns more than three hundred books, fictional and non-fictional, on the subject. In addition, she has won numerous awards including the Holt Medallion, Beacon Contest, Barclay Gold, More Than Magic and Ancient City Romance Authors. Cynthia lives on the bay with her Bichon Frise and enjoys sailing and riding on the beach. Readers can reach her snail-mail at:

3636 S. Alameda, B-116
Corpus Christi, Texas 78411

or visit via her website.