Gavin Mac Brodie fears the thought of becoming the man his father was. Driven into solitude by visions of what he would not be and could not have, he vows never to wed. But Gavin’s is about to encounter a wee bit of Highland magic…
Catrìona is no stranger to solitude. Driven deep into the Highland mountains, her people have become little more than legend. But no one knows better than Catrìona that you cannot hide from fate. Naked and painted in the woad of her ancestors, she appears to Gavin Mac Brodie …
But is she flesh and blood—a chance for a future—or just a faerie creature who will vanish if Gavin dares to open his heart?
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Gavin Mac Brodie was certain there was something amiss with Seana’s whiskie.
Somehow, the woman had managed to snare the very last man in the Highlands Gavin would have thought might ever wed. During his brother’s seven and twenty years, he had bedded more women than the entire Brodie clan had fingers to count on. But even more amazing was the simple fact that Colin was drunk with joy over the end of his promiscuity. His eyes followed his new wife wherever she went, mooning over her in a way that Gavin found quite embarrassing.
Good thing he wasn’t a drinker, because he sure as hell didn’t need a woman to lead him about by his nose. Everywhere he looked there was yet a new bride—the MacKinnon laird with his new English missus, Gavin’s brother Leith and Alison MacLean, his sister Meghan and Piers de Montgomerie. And now Montgomerie’s cousin Elizabet and Broc Ceannfhionn—another fellow Gavin would never have imagined susceptible to the wiles of women.
Having reached his limit over so much mooning, he was compelled to seek solace in the forest where Seana had once made her home with her father. Her potstill was still there, a stone’s throw away, because she had refused to move it, despite his brother’s persistence. Seana claimed the spot held special magik necessary to a good brew. So she came every day to check the whiskie. But that didn’t matter to Gavin; he could handle Seana well enough—even if he thought her bent toward the mystical was a bunch of malarkey.
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German
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Unavailable for translation.
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