Descended of the powerful sons of MacAlpin, Iain MacKinnon refuses to bow to the English. But when his young son is captured, the fierce Scottish chieftain vows to stop at nothing to secure the lad's return. Retaliating in kind, he captures the daughter of his enemy, planning to bargain with the devil.
FitzSimon's daughter has lived her entire life in the shadows of the man she called father--yet never would she have imagined he would deny his only daughter. Even as Page blames her captor for welching on a contract with her father, she suspects the truth... the shadows hold secrets. Now only the love of her reluctant champion can save the MacKinnon's Bride.
This book begins the Highland Brides series.
This is by far my most popular book. With more than 400 5-Star reviews, it continues to bring me new fans.
Chreagach Mhor, Scotland 1118
I
ain, laird of the MacKinnons, descendant of the powerful sons of MacAlpin, paced the confines of the hall below his chamber like an overeager youth.
So much hope was affixed upon this birth.
Now, at last, thirty years of feuding with the MacLeans would come to an end. Aye, for how could auld man MacLean look upon his grandbairn and not want peace? After a year full of enmity from his bonny MacLean wife—a year of trying to please her only to meet with stony disapproval and wordless accusations—even Iain felt burgeoning hope for how could she look upon their babe, the life they’d created together, and not feel some measure—some small measure, of affection?
Despite the past hostilities between their clans, his own resentment dissipated in the face of this momentous occasion, and though he couldn’t say he’d loved her before this moment, he thought he might now, for she lay abovestairs, struggling—and a heinous struggle it was—to gift their babe with its first wondrous breath of life.
She was havin’ his bairn.
Och, but he was proud of her.
As difficult as the birth was proceeding, she’d borne her pain with nary a scream, nary a curse, though he’d never have begrudged her either. In truth, her shrieks might have been far easier to bear. Her silence was tormenting him. He couldn’t help but be nerve-racked by the thought of his young wife in the throes of her labor, for his own mother had died just so, giving him life. Guilt over it plagued him still.
Iain lengthened his stride.
What if the birth killed her?
What if he killed her?
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Turkish
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