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Author: Roma Cordon
Pub. Date: June 7, 2022
Publisher: CamCat Books
Formats: Hardcover, Paperback, eBook
Pages: 368
Find it: Goodreads, Amazon, Kindle, B&N, iBooks, Kobo, TBD, Bookshop.com
Defying all for the love of a bewitching lass.
Breena MacRae, a healer from Skye with a touch of witchery in her blood, embarks on a dangerous search for her missing father. She arrives on the Isle of Coll, seat of the vile Campbells. There, she encounters the debonair future chief to the Dunbar Clan, Egan, who rescues her from a Campbell sentry.
Egan Dunbar is on Coll to keep the peace between the feuding Campbells and
Dunbars. But when he catches Breena in a lie, he agrees to help her find her
father to pay back an old debt and get to the bottom of the secrets she's
hiding.
As their attraction for each ignites like a firestorm, Breena and Egan realize a future together could trigger deadly consequences—a clan war between the Campbells and the Dunbars. Is Egan willing to betray his clan for love, even though he knows Breena is keeping secrets from him? Can Breena trust him with her family secret and put those she loves at risk?
CHAPTER
1
“You have witchcraft in your lips. .
.”
—William Shakespeare, Henry V.
October 28, 1747—Isle of Coll,
Scotland
Breena MacRae’s heart beat out of tune
from the cacophony of their wagon’s rattling. Sixteen horse hooves trampled the knurled road, pulling
them southwest toward the Campbells’ keep, a clan she blamed for most of
her childhood miseries. Three weeks ago, she’d awoken from nineteen years
of delusions, yet it was no less painful living the truth. Her parents
had neither died in some horrific accident nor left because of her.
Breena was after all the most deplorable witch the MacRaes and Maxwells
ever had the lamentable fortune to beget.
Uncle Craig
leaned over and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. The clumsy yet
affectionate gesture grounded her. It rid her of her punishing
thoughts.
“We aught to
go over the plan again.”
She would
always be obliged to him and Aunt Madeline. They’d been her guardians
since she was six, although many times since then, despite the fact that
she loved them both with all her heart, they’d made her want to either
scream or blaspheme.
Sometimes
both.
His familiar
features reminded her of her mother’s, his little sister. “All right, but
understanding the need to lie doesn’t make it any less difficult,” she
said.
“Difficult
it may be, but it will keep us alive.”
She huffed.
He was too cautious. Or was she not cautious enough? Breena blinked up as the
afternoon sun reconsidered slipping pass horizontal puffs of
clouds.
Mayhap she
herself should reconsider her decision to come here. No. Even if there was a
remote possibility her father was alive, she had to attempt to find him. She
had to free him. Her heart ached for all he must have endured. She’d
believed him dead for the past nineteen years, until three weeks ago,
when lovable yet scatterbrained Aunt Madeline had let slip the truth.
After suffering from dysentery and a bout of guilt, her aunt had blurted
out that Ian might still be alive. Had Aunt Made line known she wasn’t at
death’s door, she might have been more steadfast in her secrecy. Craig and
Madeline had insisted her parents wanted the truth kept from her all this
time. The secrecy and deception might have been the stimulant for her
childhood misery, but it hadn’t been the cause. Nonetheless, it had
resulted in long, wasted years. Her dream from the previous night
replayed in her mind. Beloved Grandmother Sorcha, their majestic
matriarch, had told her Ian had something to reveal. If Breena believed
dreams were a sign of things to come, then it was a sign her father was
indeed alive. But she didn’t know if she believed in dreams. After all, she
lacked the gift of second sight. The revered Sorcha on the other hand
wielded her own gift of sight like a true proficient, when she was
alive.
A chilled
hollowness speared her innards, causing a shiver to run up her spine. It
had been her tormentor since she was six. Often she paused and wondered
what had slipped her mind, what she had forgotten—perhaps she’d missed
something. Then it would hit her. She hadn’t missed anything, hadn’t
forgotten anything, nothing had slipped her mind. It was only that her
parents had vanished, without a word, leaving an acute aching void. She pulled
her woolen arisaid tighter around her shoulders and prayed not only that
their scheme would work on the Campbells but that she could rid herself
of this ache in the pit of her belly, once and for all.
She gazed
out the wagon as the panoply that was the Isle of Coll rolled by. The
crisp October breeze swept her cheeks as she eyed the chestnut-feathered
corncrakes scavenging the beachgrass-infested sand dunes. Nature’s
russets, umbers, and olives, always vibrant at home on the Isle of Skye,
were starved for luster here on Coll.
A lone
angler in the distance slumped his shoulders in a small skiff, then gazed
up at the sky as if beseeching heavenly bodies for a boon be fore casting a net
onto the surface of the ocean. The earthiness of the damp ground below
mingling with the briny sea air and the pungency of kelps filled her
nostrils as she inhaled a cleansing breath. She was well acquainted with
the pain of unanswered pleas. Well, mayhap the tide was changing for them
both.
When she
caught the incessant tapping of her fingers on the side of the wagon, she
pulled her hand back into her lap.
“I’ll wager
they don’t even remember the name Beth MacRae after nineteen years.” Breena fought
against the agonizing emotions that flooded her every time she said her
mother’s name.
Craig’s
brown eyes looked back at her from beneath shaggy brows, the slight
impatience that twitched his cheek muscles highlighting his wrinkles.
“That’s a wager I’ll not be taking, for the price of losing is finding our
necks at the wrong end of a noose.”
George, her
uncle’s worker, flipped the reins up ahead with a sharp, practiced snap.
A throaty intake of breath escaped his mouth. “Holy Saints. It looks haunted.”
Breena’s
head snapped up to follow his gaze. The back of her neck prickled. Castle
Carragh loomed grim on the horizon. George was as strong as a feral goat
but simpleminded.
“There are
no such things as ghosts, she said.” But from her sudden inability to
swallow, she wasn’t sure she believed her own attempt to as suage his
fears.
If the
builders of this castle had meant to strike terror into its visitors, they’d
carried out their goal to perfection. The shadows cast by Carragh against the
backdrop of the setting sun stretched out toward them like crooked
talons, warning them to keep away.
She ignored
the warning and said a silent plea that they were not too late, that her
father was still alive.
As they
approached the castle’s outer gates, Breena made out two menacing
sentries dressed in threadbare tartan trews of blue and green, the colors
of the Campbell clan. They were each outfitted with a sword, mace, and a
flintlock rifle; were they preparing for war? George pulled their wagon
up closer to the gate, reined in the horses, and lowered his head,
awaiting instructions. It always caused Breena such disquiet to see such
a large man lower his head like that. She had known George for close to a
decade, since he’d come to work for Craig, and despite his broad, hulking
body he was the gentlest person Breena had ever met.
When one of
the sentries at the gate brandished his sword, Breena’s dry gulp refused to be
suppressed. His flared nostrils and squinting eyes made his pugnacious
expression more acute. Did he wish to intimidate them? If so, he’d gotten his
wish. The other sentry snarled, exposing crooked incisors, as he scratched
his crotch. Breena eased the tension in her face into what she hoped was
a pleasant smile, even as her fingers curled against her damp palms. The
squinty-eyed sentry scowled. “What’s your business here?”
“I’m Craig
Maxwell. I’m a healer and spice merchant. May we be of service to your
clan?”
Neither
Squinty Eyes nor Crooked Incisors was impressed by her uncle’s request.
Squinty Eyes spat on the ground, his scowl deepening. He sauntered to the
back of their wagon and started sifting through their
supplies.
All of a
sudden he lifted his sword high in the air and brought it down in an echoing
crash on the lock of a trunk. Breena gasped out loud in
surprise.
Craig jumped
down from the wagon and stumbled toward Squinty Eyes. “I’ll show you
whatever you wish, but there’s no cause to break our trunks.”
Squinty Eyes
raised his hand, still gripping the sword and slammed the hilt down, with
a dull thud, into Craig’s jaw. Breena’s body froze with horror. Her uncle
teetered backward and fell to the ground, landing on his
rump.
“Unc—Father!”
Dread rose
up her gullet as she jumped down from the wagon, almost buckling at the knees,
landing with more force than anticipated. She ignored the approaching
thunder of hooves and rushed toward Craig. She couldn’t lose him too. She
just couldn’t. She took hold of Craig’s arms and helped him from the
ground.
“Are you
hurt?”
Her uncle’s
mouth was open, his gaze flat. She took some of his weight as he leaned
against her. He was in shock. There was blood at the side of his mouth,
at the end of an ugly cut, where he’d been struck. A sharp pang of fear
speared her midriff as she reached into her pocket for a clean square of
linen and, with a gentle touch, dabbed the blood away. Her uncle’s worker
approached them with hesitant steps. Breena sent him a cursory glance,
noting the fear in his bulging eyes when he saw Squinty Eyes.
“George, why
don’t you remain with the horses?” Breena said. His head bobbed. “Yes,
mistress.”
George
understood horses, but he had difficulty with people. She returned her
attention to Craig. She took hold of her uncle’s chin, avoiding the
darkening bruise that was now a stark contrast to his pale skin. She
inspected the wound as she gently followed his jaw line with her fingers
all the way to his neck. Nothing broken. She closed her eyes and exhaled
a breath of relief.
Craig was a
graying man of eight and fifty with a slim build, whereas Squinty Eyes
was younger and more than twice the size of her uncle. Breena ground her
teeth when another drop of blood fell from Craig’s mouth. Her pulse raced
with heated indignation. How dare this barbaric bully strike Craig? How
dare he block them from entering this atrocious castle? It’s not as if
there were endless visitors clamoring for entrance. Losing her parents
and years of this aching void pushed her to retaliate. But she couldn’t.
They were at the utter mercy of this insolent sentry to gain entrance to
the Campbells’ keep. He held their fate and her father’s life in his
hands, a fact he was utterly unaware of.
As she
tended to Craig, a loud snigger pierced the air. She swung around to see
Squinty Eyes dangling a gossamer shift off the tip of his sword, right
above the now-broken trunk. He jutted his flaccid chin in Breena’s
direction as he addressed Craig.
“You let me
have a roll in the hay with the lass and I’ll let you in.” Breena’s eyes
narrowed at the crude proposition. The insult dug in. Her heart rate
quickened as self-preservation and a survival instinct unfurled inside
her. The heat of it spread throughout her entire body like a wave of
sickness, making her shake. “You bastard.”
Rationality
went out the window as she took two steps forward and dealt a resounding
slap across the sniggering face of Squinty Eyes. He was caught off guard,
judging by the way his mouth fell open and his head jerked back. His
odious stench made Breena want to pinch the tip of her nose shut and
breathe through her mouth.
But then,
coldness sank into her stomach. Oh no. No. What had she done? She
blinked, trying to swallow against the rising bile, and stepped back.
She would
never forgive herself if they were barred entrance because of her
foolhardy actions. She’d never done anything like that before. What was
the matter with her? The earlier mention of a noose burned her
ears.
Squinty Eyes
recovered. He grunted and swore as he grabbed her. His grip, like cold
steel, dug into her soft flesh. He wrenched her right arm forward. Her
mouth tightened with defiance as she glared at him. Even as her right
shoulder was at risk of dislocating under his granite hold, she held her
chin high. She would not give this bully the satisfaction of seeing her
cower.
“You brazen
wench, how dare you strike me?”
His eyes
bulged, and spittle escaped from his mouth. She tugged and pulled to no
avail as the pounding of horses’ hooves reverberated in the air around
them. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a towering, broad-shouldered
Highland warrior dismounting from the blackest stallion she’d ever
seen.
He stormed
Squinty Eyes from behind.
CHAPTER
2
Egan Dunbar,
future chief of the Dunbar clan, had always prided himself on his
restraint of temper. This was crucial when commanding the most lethal
retainers in the Highlands, men he trusted with his life and who now
dismounted behind him in a sea of swirling tartan kilts and glinting
weapons. It was a shock to Egan, however, that he now experienced difficulty
with said vaunted control. Abhorrent behavior by the ornery Campbells
shouldn’t come as a surprise to him, but somehow it did.
His lips
curled, and heat surged through his veins as he grabbed the wrist of the
Campbell guard. With deft skill, cultivated while fostering under the warlord
Angus MacDonell, he twisted it back toward the man’s shoulders. He
utilized the guard’s natural mobility as leverage.
The man was
gutless; why else would he manhandle a lass? And not just any lass, but
the MacIntyres’ bonny healer. Egan had met her several months ago on the
Isle of Skye. The meeting was brief but had ignited an esteem within
Egan. If it hadn’t been for the battle and his subsequent trip to
negotiate prisoner releases from the Tow er of London, he might have pursued
her. But it was just as well he’d been needed elsewhere, for his father
would have forbidden him from consorting with a lowborn healer. Although Egan
himself never quite understood the need for such division among the
classes. Egan fortified his grip on the guard as his seconds-in-command
Dougray and Keith advanced. He gestured with his free hand. “Stand down.”
He wanted to enjoy a bit of practice after straddling his stallion
Heimdall all day. The guard bellowed as Egan raised the pressure. The man
lowered his head and whimpered, still maintaining a grip on the lass’s
arm with his other hand. But he discovered if he moved even an iota, the grip
Egan held him under hurt like the devil. Egan himself had made such a
discovery years ago. His foster brothers, Daegan MacDonell in particular,
had taken great pleasure in restraining him in similar grapples during
endless training sessions.
Was it just
a few days ago he’d been surrounded by the Highlands, with their
abundance of light, fresh, clean air and snow-peaked bens that towered
against the backdrop of bluish white skies? Truth be told, squelching
through a smelly peat bog would be preferable to this ma cabre isle. The stench
was unbearable, the scenery dull, and the people less trustworthy than
masked highwaymen. But he had orders to follow, despite his
reservations.
The Campbell
guard ceased his squirms and bellowed, “Let go! Who are you? What the
hell do you want from me?”
“I don’t
want anything from you. But I do wish to greet the lass you are in the
process of mauling.”
The guard
shoved Breena away. She stumbled forward, then righted her step.
“Good man.
How thoughtful of you to allow me to have a word with the
lass.”
Egan eased
his grip on the guard then released. He eyed the man, who grunted and
cradled his wrist. The guard’s contorted expression eased. The pulsating
rush of blood through Egan’s own veins slowed. But he maintained sharp
eye contact with the guard. From his peripheral vi sion he noted the second
guard holding position at the gate. Excellent. He was more intelligent
than his appearance suggested.
A crooked
scowl stretched across on the spineless guard’s face, which somehow
managed to make his bulbous nose even rounder. “What’s your business with
the Campbells?”
The guard
had relented, but he didn’t like it.
Egan drew
back his lips in a smirk. He ignored the guard’s question, and he swung
around to face the fair Breena. While she’d faced down the guard in
spectacular fashion, like a Valkyrie, she could have been injured. She didn’t
appear asinine or reckless. Several months ago, she’d facilitated their
taking on the redcoats at Duntulm. She had also nursed Daegan’s then
betrothed, now wife, Eva Drummond, back to health. Had it not been for
Breena’s potent sleeping concoction, administered to the redcoats’ food,
they would never have had the advantage that garnered their victory. He
owed her.
He let his
features ease into a smile as the memory of their first meeting sauntered
into his head. He’d seen her flouncing in the woods, outside Castle
Duntulm, at point-blank range of a rifle-wielding redcoat. Chivalry had
been called for: he’d rescued her from the blackguard by knocking the man
out with a cudgel-sized branch.
Now, what in
Hades was a skillful healer like Breena doing on Coll?
CHAPTER
3
The pinch in
her lungs prompted Breena to breathe. She’d been rendered utterly
speechless by the Highlander’s skilled offensive move. He’d stopped
Squinty Eyes’s brutish body with quick precision. Then when she’d been
shocked by recognition and the fact that she was gaping at the striking
Egan Dunbar, it had slipped her mind to breathe. No, not gaping.
Admiring. Admiring? Squinty Eyes must have shaken her with such vigor,
she’d become disoriented.
Several
months ago, Egan and three armies had showed up at the MacIntyres’ castle
to negotiate their release from the redcoats’ siege. The redcoats had
trailed Charles Edward Stuart, leader of the Jacobite Rebellion, to the
MacIntyres’ castle. Even though the Jacobite uprisings had been curtailed
by British forces in the year since Culloden, there were still isolated
attacks in the Highlands. Heat flooded Breena’s countenance at the memory of
their first meeting.
Egan Dunbar
had slipped out from behind the trees and disarmed her captor with a
single blow. As rationality is always the first to go in a panic, she’d
bolted. Egan had given chase, no doubt worried she would inadvertently
alert the redcoats. He’d smoothly slid his arm around her waist to
restrain her escape. His body had been hard, and his grip felt like she
was being held against a warm monolith. Daegan had stepped out from the
stealth of the woods in time to reassure her that Egan was a friend. He’d
returned to his army, and soon after the battle, he’d disappeared. She’d
speculated more than once if she would ever lay eyes on him
again.
Now as she
gazed at him, rays of the evening sun gilded him in a surreal light as he
released Squinty Eyes and swiveled around to face her. From the quality
of his ebony coat with its silver buttons and embroidered cuffs, the Dunbars
were prospering. The visible frilled neck and cuffs of his white léine
were of the finest linen. Instead of breeches as she might have expected
because of the recent Act of Proscription, which proclaimed kilts illegal,
Egan Dunbar wore a kilt of emerald green and cherry red, the colors of
the Dunbars. The pristine garment ended at his knees, where his riding
boots took over. No flimsy ghillie brogues for this imposing
Highlander.
“Are you
hurt?” His eyebrows were drawn together with concern. There was something
about him that not only stunted her breath but jumbled her wits.
“Just my
pride, sir. Other than that, I am unharmed.” She offered deference to
Egan, surprised and pleased at the relative calm of her voice. His thick
rufous hair had golden hues as if sun-bleached, it had been pulled back
in a queue. His bladelike nose, linear forehead, and sculpted cheekbones
had been darkened by prolonged exposure to the sun. He no doubt had an
affinity for the outdoors. A whitish scar ran from his right earlobe down
to his Adam’s apple. She recalled that from before and had pondered on
its origin.
Eva had
commented that the Dunbar had Norse ancestors, and she decided Egan
looked like a Viking warrior of old. Just the Viking helmet, a fighting
polearm, and a wolf ’s-pelt cape were missing. Goodness, she was
disoriented.
“Then I’m
relieved you are unharmed.”
Something
coiled in Breena’s stomach. What if Egan picked up on their scheme? It
would be only a matter of time before the MacIntyres found out. Would
they still place their trust in her as their healer?
Two weeks
ago she’d given in to her curiosity and had performed a sideromancy
divination spell. She’d first practiced this spell a few years ago in
lieu of reading tea leaves, which she’d never been good at. The movement
of the flame, smoke, and the pattern of yarrow stalks pressed against the
searing iron frying-pan had hinted at danger in connection with Coll.
Breena hadn’t told Craig, of course. She hadn’t wanted to dissuade him
from making this journey. But in addition to the obvious danger posed by
the Campbells, could that danger refer to possible discovery by Egan
Dunbar?
“We are much
obliged to you, Master Dunbar. We meet again just as we’re in need of
assistance.”
He threw her
an affable grin. “Delighted to be of service.” Breena went to her uncle’s
side and schooled her features for the lie. “Master Dunbar, I’d like to
introduce my father, Craig Maxwell. He is a healer from the village of
Kilmuir.”
Egan
considered her for a split second more than was necessary before amiably
reaching out to shake hands with Craig. “Let’s not stand on ceremony.
Please, call me Egan. It’s a privilege to make your acquaintance.”
She shook
her head. He couldn’t possibly have remembered. Egan eyed both Craig and
Breena. “Whatever brought you to this wretched isle?”
Squinty
Eyes’s loud affronted snort behind Egan was ignored. “We have herbs and
spices for sale. And we also came to visit an old friend,” Breena said.
She let the second half of her answer fall in pitch to avoid Squinty
Eyes’s overhearing.
“How do you
know my daughter?” Craig directed the question to Egan, even as his eyes
widened with interest at Breena. “Your intrepid daughter aided us in bringing
the redcoats to the negotiation table several months ago at Castle Duntulm. As
a result, we were able to get the MacIntyre prisoners
released.”
“Ah yes, I
remember Breena telling me of the battle. She also promised me not to be that
reckless ever again. Those merciless redcoats kept her under guard the
whole time, despite the fact that she was only there to help the
wounded.”
“Yes, I can
think of a few choice descriptions besides merciless. It appears you are
trying to gain entrance here. Would you fancy an escort into Castle
Carragh? You can properly attend to that cut inside.” Egan gestured to
Craig’s bruised mouth.
“We’d be
much obliged. Please, lead the way.” Craig reached up to touch his
bruised lip and winced. The color of his mouth was darkening to a most
disagreeable shade of purple.
Egan gave a
curt nod, then swiveled around to address Squinty Eyes. “Inform your
laird that Egan Dunbar, son of the Dunbar chief of Kintail, and his
guests are here. We seek an audience.”
A flash of
unease crossed Squinty Eyes’s face. But, despite the way his Adam’s apple
bobbed, as he seemed to be having difficulty swallowing, he offered no
apologies.
He swung
around and headed into the keep.
Breena’s
gaze strayed toward Egan as he swaggered over to his men to exchange a
few words. She recognized his squire Alban, whom she’d met previously at
the MacIntyres’ Duntulm.
Her eyes
took in Egan’s easygoing manner and his strong and confident posture. It was
clear from their attentive nods that his retainers respected his
authority.
Breena
jerked her head away to consider the gates as her uncle’s qui et voice snapped
her out of her thoughts. The warmth of embarrassment settled on her
cheeks. Had she been staring at the man? “Do you trust this Egan Dunbar?” he
asked.
She
considered for a moment. “From my first encounter with him, I gather he’s
loyal to his friends. Let’s not put him in a position to have to reveal
to Laird MacIntyre that his healer has infamous parents.”
The
MacIntyres relied on her; they needed her healing abilities. And somehow
that bond of trust had become sacred to her. She fully intended to do whatever
it took to keep that bond intact. She’d moved to Castle Duntulm seven
years ago and now counted many of them as her closest friends, despite
keeping a large part of herself from them.
“With Egan
or his men escorting us amongst the Campbells, it’ll hinder our search of
the dungeon,” Craig whispered.
“We can keep
up the pretense of looking for an old friend.” “In the Campbells’ dungeon? Egan
Dunbar will certainly question that.”
“We won’t require their escort at all times. Mayhap it’s best to look for my father in the dark of night, when both the Dunbars and the Camp bells are asleep.”
About Roma Cordon:
Roma Cordon was introduced to
romance novels in her teenage years and instantly became a voracious reader of
the genre. In the 1990s, she came to live in New York where she earned her
undergraduate and graduate degrees. After taking a writing course at New York
University with Anne Rice, she dived into the world of writing while testing
the waters at public speaking at her local Toastmasters club. By day, Roma
works in the finance industry; in the evenings and weekends, she is a
passionate romance writer. She also writes on her blog romacordon.com.
Inspiration for Roma’s debut novel, Bewitching a Highlander came from trips to Scotland with her husband. Roma is an active member of the RWA-NYC Chapter and lives in New York with her husband where they care for two adorable furry friends adopted from local shelters.
Sign up for Roma’s mailing list for exclusive
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Giveaway Details:
2 winners will win an ARC of BEWITCHING A HIGHLANDER, US Only.
a Rafflecopter giveawayTour Schedule:
Week One:
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5/23/2022 |
Guest Post |
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5/24/2022 |
Guest Post |
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5/25/2022 |
Guest Post/IG Post |
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5/26/2022 |
Excerpt/IG Post |
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5/27/2022 |
Excerpt/IG Post |
Week Two:
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5/30/2022 |
Review/IG Post |
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5/31/2022 |
IG Review |
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6/1/2022 |
Review/IG Post |
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6/2/2022 |
Review/IG Post |
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6/3/2022 |
Guest Post/IG Post |
Week Three:
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6/6/2022 |
Excerpt |
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6/7/2022 |
IG Post |
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6/8/2022 |
Review/IG Post |
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6/9/2022 |
Review/IG Post |
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6/10/2022 |
Review |
Week Four:
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6/13/2022 |
Review/IG Post |
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6/14/2022 |
Review |
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6/15/2022 |
Excerpt/IG Post |
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6/16/2022 |
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6/17/2022 |
Review/IG Post |
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6/18/2022 |
Review |
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