Hot highlanders and wild.., p.1
Hot Highlanders and Wild Warriors, page 1
Copyright © 2014 by Delilah Devlin.
All rights reserved. Except for brief passages quoted in newspaper, magazine, radio, television, or online reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, or by information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published in the United States by Tempted Romance, an imprint of Cleis Press, Inc., 2246 Sixth Street, Berkeley, California 94710.
Cover design: Scott Idleman/Blink
Cover photograph: Hot Damn Stock
Text design: Frank Wiedemann
First Edition.
10987654321
E-book ISBN: 978-1-940550-07-7
Contents
FOREWORD
Terry Spear
INTRODUCTION
PLEASURE IN SURRENDER
Delilah Devlin
WICKED
Susannah Chapin
THE KEEPER OF THE KEYS
Axa Lee
THE MAIDEN’S KISS
Layla Chase
MY LOVELIEST VISION
Renee Luke
THE INVASION OF NEFYN
Lizzie Ashworth
THE PROMISE OF MEMORY
Regina Kammer
ON MY HONOR
Beatrix Ellroy
A FALCON IN FLIGHT
Connie Wilkins
TO LOVE A KING’S MAN
Emma Jay
THE BODYGUARD
Jacqueline Brocker
BROKEN VOWS
Anya Richards
POETRY AND AMBER
Axa Lee
THE SQUIRE
Cela Winter
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
ABOUT THE EDITOR
FOREWORD
Terry Spear
My ancestors were Highlanders of old, and so I love to envision those hot hunks—and they were tall even way back then—in their kilts and tunics, wielding claymore swords, wearing sgian dubhs in their boots, managing a hard life and surviving. Their women were just as adventurous, just as hardy, and would fight alongside their men, bear their children, love them, and who wouldn’t? One of my ancestors was the Duke of Argyll’s daughter and she ran off with a commoner because she loved the Highlander so and he loved the Highland lady just as much in return. When a woman gives up everything to be with the Highlander she loves, that is the most endearing and romantic sacrifice anyone can make.
I’ve been to Scotland, visited seven castles, and felt at home in the ruins of one sitting high above the North Sea. I’ve been shielded from the cold wind by the castle walls, knelt beside the well in the center of the grassy bailey, explored the rooms where the laird and lady once slept and imagined being there with my own Highland laird, kilted and rugged, sexy smile and all.
But it’s not only the Highlanders who deserve praise as men of an ancient period who were worth doting on. Though they often have a bad rap, the Vikings—or men of the North as they themselves were really known—were family oriented, wonderful explorers, traders, settlers, farmers, mighty warriors and loyal to kin like the Highlanders were. What could be hotter than curling up with a Viking, wrapped in furs, ready for him to start your own fire burning? And the best? Women were treated as equals in the Viking household. A wife held the keys, and in their marriage, if a husband didn’t live up to her expectations or insulted her family or her, he was out of there. Just a declaration of divorce in front of witnesses at their front door and bed, and the deed was done. Bathing was important to them as well, and they had heated bathhouses; in the summer, they swam in the lakes and the rivers. Washing their faces and hands, and washing and combing out their hair were normal everyday activities. When a woman washed her man’s hair, it was intimate indeed. It was said that the men were so clean, they stole ladies away from the English, who didn’t bathe nearly as often!
Or what about the chain mail-clad knight, his tunic covered in the family emblem, fighting to protect hearth and home? And now he’s returned to you, and what’s a good lady to do? Help him out of all that mail, then bathe him in a wooden tub, the fire burning at the hearth, the curtained bed ready for the two of you? It’s reported that one of my ancestors was Lady Godiva, and so I am just as enamored with the ways of the ladies and knights of the English courts, of the courtly gestures and fascinating goings-on of the period. At one point, men’s fashion changed so that the tunic became shorter and shorter and shorter. But they didn’t have pants like we do today. So they had to cover up their endowments. That meant wearing a codpiece.
Isn’t history and the ancient man fascinating? It was said that one royal personage wore such a large codpiece, the ladies and gentlemen could see it before he entered the room. But before this, the men’s armored shoes were designed with pointier and pointier toes and about that time, they would wiggle them suggestively at the women, whereupon they would giggle in delight, until the church condemned such behavior. Knights will be knights, you know. So truly, what’s not to love in those fighting, protective, loyal and sexy men of old?
Terry Spear
Author of The Highlanders series
INTRODUCTION
I’m a romance writer, but before that, I was a reader of romance novels and my favorites were historical stories set in medieval times. Genres rise and fall in popularity, but medieval romances, whether about knights in shining armor or Highlanders in their tartans, are always there. So I was thrilled to have the chance to put together a collection of stories set in long-ago times in faraway places.
I asked authors to let their fantasies run wild to an era where men wearing heavy armor or thick tartans sent a spirited young maiden’s (or salty widow’s) heart fluttering. What I received were stories set in Scotland and England, as well as Iceland, Japan, Rome, France and Armenia, with knights, Highlanders, Vikings, Mongols and even a Samurai. There’s certainly a warrior among these tales to suit every taste, and sexy battles of dominance and submission hot enough to make even the most modern women yearn to be taken by one of these rough, fierce men.
Delilah Devlin
PLEASURE IN SURRENDER
Delilah Devlin
Kent, England, 1067 AD
The first missive arrived without fanfare, passed through the iron bars of the barbican by a lone messenger dressed entirely in black.
Sir Geade read the note, lifted a graying brow and then passed the small scroll to Lady Edwina, who held it beneath the oak table to read it. Not that everyone wasn’t aware of the queer fact that she could read.
Prepare for a wedding or a siege.
With all gazes resting on her, Edwina schooled her expression into a neutral mask. “Should I thank him for the warning, Geade?”
Sir Geade snorted. “He gives us time to retreat to the keep, stock the larders and call our neighbors for assistance. Perhaps we should.”
“What sort of warrior would give away his plan?” she murmured, not the least bit alarmed. Not yet.
“Either a fool or one who’s supremely confident.”
She traced the bold scrawl scratched across the parchment with her fingertip, knowing instinctively the bold knight had written the message himself. No proud scribe would pen a note so spare.
Grimvarr had been written across the bottom—as if she should already know his name and the two syllables should strike fear. “An odd name for a Norman knight.” As she swept from the hall, she would never have admitted that the word wedding had caused her more alarm than siege.
In response to the warning, Edwina ordered the stores replenished and the flocks of sheep brought closer to the keep, but otherwise went about her business without worry.
Who was this baseborn knight with designs on her demesne? Her overlord had assured her the choice of a husband from among the eligible men in the region—once her grief was passed. That Edwina had every intention of nursing her grief for as many years as she could was a secret she kept to herself.
But by the time the second missive arrived, she’d learned a thing or two about the mysterious Grimvarr. Lord Alred’s steward had been a font of gossip concerning the knight who’d earned the Duke of Normandy’s trust by barreling into the royal pretender to save him from an assassin’s arrow. That act had earned him the gift of her demesne. A fact she found humiliating to learn in such a manner, but since her overlord had yet to apprise her directly of the news, she preferred to assume it was only rumor. How could the pretender give a gently bred woman to a barbarian?
Grimvarr was a Viking—or at least half the demon race, his father having abducted a Norman maiden and returned her promptly to her father when she’d spoiled his enjoyment by getting with child. And although he’d been raised by a Norman peer, Grimvarr chose to dress in the fur and skins of his barbarian father.
No doubt Alred’s man had embellished the tale to cause Edwina worry. His master would love to see her squirm after she’d refused his latest suggested mate, claiming she’d marry the pig keeper before she’d wed a man who’d already sent two wives to the grave in childbirth.
While she kept her chin high and her comments derisive of her new “suitor” whenever he was mentioned in company, she’d suffered nightmares during the nights before the second note arrived.
This message was longer.
I bring twenty-five knights, a hundred bowmen, swords and shields to arm every man, and one siege machine. Yield to me or face consequences.
Geade grunted, but worry creased his rugged brow.
“’Tis a love letter,” she muttered, determined to keep the bastard knight’s looming menace from raising alarm among her people. “He intends to impress me. No different than any of the other preening knights who’ve tried to woo me.”
“Perhaps he simply gives you fair warning, milady.” At her reproving glance, Sir Geade shrugged. “Our requests for reinforcements from Alred and Rathburn have gone unanswered.”
“They simply need time—”
“They know he approaches. Perhaps they fear him.”
“He bluffs!” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “What landless bastard commands such a force?”
He sighed. “Perhaps you are right. However, I would sleep easier if you remained inside the walls—at least for the coming weeks,” he amended when she gave him a scowl.
It rankled that her freedoms were curtailed by an upstart. Still, it was worrisome no one had answered her calls for assistance. Was he truly so imposing?
Her answer came one morning when the mists melted away to reveal glints of the armor and weapons of the force that spread across the meadow below the castle’s dirt moat. Guards had alerted Sir Geade, who’d awoken her before dawn to tell her they had visitors.
As she strode the length of the curtain wall peering down at the small army, she felt her first real frisson of unease. It seemed the knight hadn’t been bluffing after all.
Another note was passed. She held out her hand for the message, broke the seal, and unrolled the parchment. After a quick glance, she ripped the message to bits, tossing it over the castle walls. She hoped Lord Grim’s eyesight was good, because she didn’t want her response to his demand that she open the gates missed.
Indeed, a horse burst from the line of mounted knights and rushed forward to a spot well beyond her archers’ aim. There, the warrior reined in his horse and stared up at the curtain wall. The man astride the huge black warhorse fixed her with a glare she couldn’t miss despite the distance, and she shivered. Was it him? Good Lord, he was large, freakishly so, with shoulders made to appear even more broad by the black bear sash he wore over his armor. His arms were bare except for a wide golden band surrounding one thick bicep. His thighs were like tree trunks as he straddled his great warhorse. There was little she could see about his face other than the strong jut of his chin and sinfully dark gaze hidden behind the nose-piece of his conical Viking helm. Long dark hair waved from beneath his helmet.
As she gazed down, an unexpected thrill pulsed through her. Completely unwanted. Irresistibly mystifying. Why, after all the suitors she’d ousted from her keep, did this one make her breath hitch? Edwina drew a deep breath and slowly shook her head. It was only the thrill of the challenge he presented. She lifted her chin and turned her back.
Geade groaned beside her. “You’d add insult to your refusal?”
“He bluffs,” she said with a wave of her hand even though she felt the giant’s wicked gaze burning on her back. “We have the advantage. My mother withstood my father for months. The walls are strong, our stores of foodstuffs and weapons replete—thanks to his warnings. We have only to outwait him.”
Geade’s gaze went to the meadow; his gray brows furrowed with doubt. “I don’t think this knight will wage a gentleman’s campaign to win your heart, milady.”
Edwina rolled her eyes. Her mother’s siege had been a woman’s ploy to force a husband she wanted to accede to her demands. And she’d won. She didn’t need the old grizzled knight who’d witnessed her mother’s strategy to remind her this time was far different.
Still, a siege was a siege regardless of the motives of either side. “We will not open the gates to this barbarian. Our neighbors will learn of this outrage, and they will come to our rescue. That or Lord Alred will put a stop to the Viking’s campaign. I have his promise of protection.”
Geade’s breath whistled between his pursed lips. “I think not, milady.”
At the jerk of his chin, she turned to gaze beyond the line of the Viking’s contingent. Alred’s banners waved behind them.
“He supports his suit?” she said, feeling faint.
Geade snorted. “He’s likely come to enjoy the battle. The tale of your lady mother’s victory provided entertainment for years.”
Edwina pressed her lips together, not liking the hint of humor dancing in Geade’s eyes. “I’m not my mother, and I’m not withholding my hand to ensure that I keep my wealth separate from my husband’s. I’ll not take a husband I don’t want.”
“Are you sure this is the battle you wish to fight, milady?”
Geade was her best friend, but she’d ignored his imploring that she find a husband to rule with her. She’d been blessed the first time with Malcolm. A man who’d left the running of the castle, the overseeing of the harvests, the tallying of the tithes to her while he’d drunk himself to death.
His excesses had nearly beggared them, and yet she’d managed to hide the extent of their wealth, and had hidden away enough to see them through hard times after his untimely death. Enough to allow her to pay a widow’s pension to Lord Alred to ensure her period of mourning was respected. The fact she’d just made her annual payment galled, seeing his forces aligned behind the Viking’s.
Edwina didn’t flinch from the sight. Men betrayed women all the time. With a final internal reminder that she was indeed her mother’s daughter, she shook back her hair. “Send the bastard our response.”
Geade’s lips firmed. She knew he wanted to say more, but he also knew when to keep silent. His cheeks billowed around an exasperated breath, but he nodded, raised an arm and dropped it. The arm of the catapult parked in the middle of the bailey snapped upward, and the contents held in the scooped arm sailed high over the walls.
Her own men ducked, faces screwing into ferocious grimaces, but once the contents cleared the wall, they all turned toward the army at the bottom of the hill.
Shouts rang up and down the line, and arms rose to shield eyes as they stared upward. Edwina smirked as the foul contents of the castle’s jakes rained down on the Viking’s men. “Let the game begin.”
After a nerve-wracking day that she’d spent supervising meals and finding places inside the bailey and keep for everyone to sleep, she was exhausted. But the moment she’d doused her candle and lain down on her bed, her doubts crowded in.
She would never allow her people to suffer through a long siege. It being May, they were needed in their fields. No, she had perhaps a week before she’d have to concede. She eased open her fists and drew long breaths. Sleep was what she needed. Perhaps in the morning she would hit upon a scheme to delay the inevitable or plead her case to Alred. She rolled onto her side, tucked her hands beneath her face and stared into the dark corners of her room.
Geade wondered about her objection. So did she. Was it only willful pride, tweaked by the fact she had no choice in the matter? It wasn’t as though she didn’t want a man, someday, to share her burdens and her bed. Then she remembered the sight of Grimvarr, so large and fiercely masculine.
Alone, she admitted a moment’s wild excitement. Malcolm had never made her yearn for his embrace. And yet this Viking had somehow crept into her bed. What would it be like to submit to a man like him? One strong enough to subdue her, one who caused more than a flutter of heat to curl inside her womb?
A draft brushed her face. She’d closed the door and latched the pigskin curtain over her narrow window. A scuff of a foot had her stiffening, but she heard no more above the pounding of her heart. She wasn’t alone. “Who’s there?” she whispered.
“I think you know,” came a deep, rumbling drawl.
She drew a deep breath and came up slowly, scooting to the far side of her bed. Her knife was on her chatelaine’s belt hanging from a peg beside the door. She was weaponless. “My people?”
“Your man Geade surrendered as soon as he realized the keep was overrun. No one was harmed.”
“How?”
“Does it matter? I’ve taken this castle. The only question now is one I want answered: Why did you bar the gates?”
