Debut author Juliette Miller introduces CLAN MACKENZIE, a family of fiercely loyal warriors and the women they love, staking their claim on the Scottish Highlands…
Since her adoption by peasants of the Ogilvie Clan, Roses has been marked as an outsider. Her fair hair and golden complexion set her apart, as does a mysterious tattoo she keeps hidden at all costs. So when Laird Ogilvie corners her with an indecent proposal, Roses has no ties to stop her from fleeing. Outcast and alone, her escape across the Highlands is interrupted by Wilkie Mackenzie, the wild and handsome brother of nearby Clan Mackenzie’s leader.
Wilkie is honor bound to marry into the family of a valuable ally. But when Roses sweeps him off his feet—literally—settling for an arranged match is no longer an option. Torn between duty and desire, Wilkie dedicates himself to Roses’s protection, but Laird Ogilvie knows her secret and will stop at nothing to steal Roses back. Now, these star-crossed lovers find themselves in a fight to defend both their hearts…and their lives.
“What do you want, Roses?”
It was an easy question to answer. I wanted Wilkie to come back to me, to lie with me, to kiss me again. To make me cry and fly and burn with his beautiful, insistent, stunning touches. And I wanted to pleasure him, too, as he had done to me. I knew there was much more to these touches than what he had so far given me.
I was curious. And I was willing.
My desires surprised me with their vehemence.
“I want him,” I whispered.
Aye, what I wanted was Wilkie Mackenzie. Something I knew I could never have.
Highlander Claimed
Juliette Miller
For M,
the Highlander I claimed for myself.
Contents
Clan Mackenzie,
Book 1
CHAPTER ONE
THE BRUTE WAS UPON ME.
His clawing hand lashed only inches from the rough fabric of the men’s trews I wore. I skittered out of his reach, thankful that I’d chosen the unfashionable training garb this morning, instead of a servant’s dress, which would have been far easier to grab.
But Laird Ogilvie was quick for a large, slightly overweight, middle-age lout. Blustery determination reddened his face.
“Your mother escaped me only through death,” the laird said callously. “You’ll not be so lucky.”
Lunging again, his fingers caught the back of my shirt and yanked, causing the tunic to choke me around the neck. He took the opportunity to push me facedown into the plush furs of his expansive bed. I turned my head and gasped for breath, struggling against his hold.
“Why do you insist on wearing the clothing of men, lass? ’Tis most unbecoming. I’ll get rid of them for you, shall I?”
I had timed my visit to the laird’s chambers poorly. It was my job to tidy up his rooms each morning and return all the cups and bowls from his evening’s revelries to the kitchens. And I had carried out my duties faithfully for almost five years, always careful to avoid his presence. Yet today, he had waited for me, keeping himself hidden until he was sure we were alone, and the door was closed. Now it was too late to escape him.
“In this keep, my word is law and you’ll not forget it,” he spoke gruffly. His hands continued to push the cloth of my tunic higher up my back as he held my wrists with his other hand. “You forget the change in your status. You are no longer the daughter of a landholder, nor entitled to the privileges that accompany such a position. Your mother was equally forgetful. After your father’s death, she, too, had difficulty coming to terms with her demotion. She could have continued to live in your farmhouse. But she refused me. Stubborn, she was. Desirable, aye, but mightily stubborn.”
I struggled against the pressure of his body, bearing down on mine.
“I stripped her of her land, aye, in the hopes she would submit to me. Still, she fought me.” One of the laird’s hands held my own in his viselike grasp while the other smoothed along the bare skin of my hip, following the curve of my waist, roaming higher. “It was only when I used you as my pawn, not long before her death, that she finally gave up her futile resistance. You should be grateful to her, lass. She would agree to anything to keep me from pursuing you. Anything. But now that she is lost to us, there is nothing to stop me. I have been watching you for some time. But you already know that, do you not, Roses?”
Aye, I knew it. My mother had offered me a sad warning as she lay dying. It was one of the reasons I hid myself under loose, men’s clothing and avoided the laird at all costs.
“You’re a kitchen servant,” the laird continued, “but you could be so much more. ’Tis time for you to make yourself useful. A mistress of the laird is afforded special privileges, you realize. Private chambers, lightened duties, fine dresses, time and protection to stroll the gardens freely.”
Were these the same words of enticement he’d whispered to my mother?
“Nay.”