Scottish Brides
Chapter One
Scotland, 1805
"Andra didn't tell you about the marriage kilt?" Lady Valery sipped the wickedly strong whiskey and relished the warmth it spread through her aged veins. "My heavens, what did you do to offend? The MacNachtans always drag out that marriage kilt to show everyone, whether they wish it or not."
The fire warmed the study, the candles lit the darkened comers, the clock ticked on the mantel, and Hadden sat, long legs stretched out before him, the very portrait of masculine power and grace.
The very image of offended virility.
Lady Valery hid a grin in her goblet. The boy—he was thirtyone, but she considered him a boy—did not take rejection well.
"Andra MacNachtan is unreasonable." He scowled into his goblet. "A black-headed, noodle-brained woman without a care for anyone but herself."
Lady Valery waited, but he said nothing more. He only gulped at his whiskey, his fourth since dinner and three more than the usually temperate drinker ever consumed.
"Yes. Well." She returned to her scheme. "The marriage kilt is exactly your kind of tradition. ... read full excerpt from: Scottish Brides ebook
