About Paula Quinn
New York Times bestselling author Paula Quinn lives in New York with her three beautiful children, three over-protective chihuahuas, and a loud umbrella cockatoo. She loves to read romance and science fiction and has been writing since she was eleven. She loves all things medieval, but it is her love for Scotland that pulls at her heartstrings.
Edmund MacGregor will do anything to save Scotland from English rule-even kidnap Lady Amelia Bell for ransom. As the daughter of a duke and the chancellor's betrothed, she's the perfect pawn in this game. But from the moment he first lays eyes on his spirited captive, he can't resist stealing a kiss.
Lady Amelia's duty is to marry well, but that hasn't stopped her from fantasizing about true love. So when a sexy Scot appears in her home, she's beguiled. When he kidnaps her, she's furious. Yet as Edmund introduces her to a world of passion beyond her wildest dreams, can she leave her family behind for this handsome Highlander? And will Edmund risk the only true home he's ever known to capture the heart of this lovely lass?
She did not scream as his eyes fell upon her again. She remained motionless, save for her bosom rising and falling hard beneath his hovering shadow. Her eyes were deep, rich mahogany—the color of warmth and gloriously huge and sparked with terror.
He brought his finger to his lips, begging her for silence before he moved away and disappeared into the castle.
Amelia bolted to her feet. Her heart beat a riotous litany in her breast. Clutching her chest, she counted out nine breaths in an effort to get a hold of herself. On the tenth, her eyes darted to David.
“I was dreaming,” she said, more to herself than to it. She had to have been, for no mortal man could scorch a soul with the heat of his gaze alone. Like sapphires caught between light and shadow, his eyes had glittered as they moved over her, scalding her nerve endings, robbing her senses. A dream.
But his scent still lingered all about her. She inhaled, filling her senses with the fragrance of dew and leather. She pulled in a deeper breath, closing her eyes this time. Who was he? A guest who had arrived early, mayhap? A very bold guest, carved from the gold God used to pave heaven’s streets.
About Sue-Ellen Welfonder
Sue-Ellen Welfonder is a Scotophile whose burning wish to make frequent trips to the land of her dreams led her to a twenty-year career with the airlines.
Now a full-time writer, she's quick to admit that she much prefers wielding a pen to pushing tea and coffee. She makes annual visits to Scotland, insisting they are a necessity, as each trip gives her inspiration for new books.
Proud of her own Hebridean ancestry, she belongs to two clan societies: the MacFie Clan Society and the Clan MacAlpine Society. In addition to Scotland, her greatest passions are medieval history, the paranormal, and dogs. She never watches television, loves haggis, and writes at a 450-year-old desk that once stood in a Bavarian castle.
Sue-Ellen is married and currently resides with her husband and Jack Russell terrier in Florida.
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As one of the bastards born to the Stirling court, Sorley the Hawk has never known his mother or father. It's a burning quest he has devoted himself to uncovering at any cost. But as a roguish warrior who serves at the pleasure of the King, his prowess-both on the battlefield and in his bedchamber-is legendary. So when a flame-haired Highland lass sneaks into his quarters with a tantalizing proposition, he can't resist taking her up on her offer .
Lady Mirabelle MacLaren will do anything to keep from marrying her odious suitor, even sully her own good name. And who better to despoil her than his sworn enemy, the one they call "Hawk?" As they set about the enjoyable task of ruining her reputation, Hawk and Mirabelle soon learn that rebellion never tasted so sweet.
Sorley the Hawk slept naked.
His bare-bottomed state was glaringly apparent, even to Lady Mirabelle MacLaren’s innocent eyes. She should have known that a man with such an inordinate fondness for pleasures of the flesh would take to his bed unclothed. Still, it was a possibility she should’ve considered before sneaking into his privy quarters. She hadn’t expected him to be in his room so early of an e’en. She’d hoped to catch him unawares, surprising him when he strode inside.
Now she was trapped.
She stood frozen, her heart racing as she glanced around his bedchamber. Even in the dimness, she could tell his quarters were boldly masculine and entirely too sumptuous for an ordinary court bastard. Exquisitely embroidered and richly-colored tapestries hung from the walls and the floor was immaculate, the rushes fresh and scented with aromatic herbs. A heavily-carved and polished trestle table held the remains of what had surely been a superb repast. Several iron-banded coffers drew her curiosity, making her wonder what treasures they contained. Above all, her eye was drawn to the large curtained bed at the far end of the room.
There, atop the massive four-poster, Sorley was stretched out on his back, one arm folded behind his head.
That he was nude stood without question.