Posts Tagged ‘Highlander’

Guest Post

My Top 5 Highlanders by Michelle McLean

Being immersed in all things Scottish while writing How to Lose a Highlander was definitely one of the perks of my job. I’ve always been a fan, of course, but it was certainly no hardship to check out a few more while researching this book! Here are my top 5:

1. Jamie Fraser – both the book version and the incredibly well-casted real life version, Sam Heughan. Loyal, strong, passionate, and heartbreakingly handsome. He’s just got it all!
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Exclusive Excerpt

EXCLUSIVE EXCERPT: The Rogue of Islay Isle by Heather McCollum

Thank you so much for having me here on EverAfter Romance to celebrate the release of my new Scottish historical romance, THE ROGUE OF ISLAY ISLE! This is the second book in the Highland Isles series, set in the 16th century (Tudor time period) on the islands off the western coast of Scotland. If you like Highland warriors in kilts and feisty heroines, this series is for you!

~Heather


THE ROGUE OF ISLAY ISLE

Cullen Duffie, a Highland warrior and charming rogue, is the new chief of Clan MacDonald. Determined to prove he’s not his father, Cullen works to secure his clan against the English. When a woman washes onto Islay’s shores, Cullen protects her from his uncles’ schemes.

Waking up not knowing who she is or where she comes from, Rose is at the mercy of the man who found her. Unable to speak from the swelling around her throat from a rope tether, she learns as much as she can about the new world around her and the powerful, sword-wielding Highlander who has sworn to protect her.

Through dreams and flashes of her past, Rose begins to rebuild her memories. But the more she recalls about the horror she escaped, the more she realizes the jeopardy she is bringing to Islay, Clan MacDonald and the Highlander who has captured her heart.

Check out our exclusive excerpt below!


Captain Taylor held out his hand to Rose, and she touched her fingertips to his palm. “Have we met, Mistress Maclean? Perhaps on Mull?”

Rose shook her head.

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Exclusive Excerpt: ROGUE OF THE MOORS by Cynthia Breeding

Rogues of the Moors Cynthia Breeding

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.

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Exclusive Excerpt: EVERY TIME WITH A HIGHLANDER by Gwyn Cready

Every Time With a Highlander Gwyn Cready

Never before have we seen a title that was as delightful to read in different voices and intonations as it was to read an excerpt of! Check out this fantastic sneak peek of Every Time With a Highlander by Gwyn Cready, out now!


Peering from the shade of the massive copper beech on the banks of the sparkling Tweed, Lord Bridgewater’s feast set out on long, low tables under the shade of the nearby elms, Undine looked from guest to guest and lover to lover. She was, they said, a fortune-teller, and it was little challenge to read the thoughts on the faces of those she called her friends at the party—Abby Kerr, chieftess of Clan Kerr, and Abby’s steward, Duncan MacHarg, standing at opposite ends of the makeshift quoits court, hiding their infatuation about as well as a peacock hides its plumage, and soon-to-be shipowner Serafina Innes and her new husband, Gerard, innocently playing whist, though any careful observer could tell by the gleam in their eyes the prize at stake was far from innocent.

Hidden truths and visible lies. The world would be a very dangerous place if one believed in appearance.

“Sherry, ma’am?” the servant asked.

“Thank you. I believe I’ll stay with my ginger water.”

A sleek, tortoiseshell cat stole her way back into the party after being shooed away not once but twice by one of the estate’s fastidious servants. The cat added to her list of crimes by neatly snagging a half-eaten quail from the plate of Bishop Rothwell, the archbishop’s chief catch fart, who was speaking animatedly—and at yawn-inducing length—to those seated on the lawn near him of the plans to replace the draperies at his estate.

The brazen thief made her way, quail in mouth, under several tables to the copper beech, where she gave Undine an impatient look.

“I’m not moving,” Undine said firmly.

The cat stared, undeterred.

“Is there no other place to feast upon that?”

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Autumn Thorns Yasmine Galenorn