The Devil of Jedburgh
The Devil of Jedburgh
By Claire Robyns
Raised on rumours of The Devil of Jedburgh, Breghan McAllen doesn’t want an arranged marriage to the beast. The arrogant border laird is not the romantic, sophisticated husband Breghan dreams of—despite the heat he stirs within her.
In need of an heir, Arran has finally agreed to take a wife, but when he sees Breghan’s fragile beauty, he’s furious. He will not risk the life of another maiden by getting her with child. Lust prompts him to offer a compromise: necessary precautions, and handfasting for a year and a day, after which Breghan will be free. For a chance to control her own future, Breghan makes a deal with the Devil.
Passion quickly turns to love, but Arran still has no intention of keeping the lass, or making her a mother. He loves her too much to lose her. But when a treasonous plot threatens queen and country, Breghan has to prove only she is woman enough to stand by his side.
95,000 words
Dear reader,
It’s not that I love winter, but I love some of the things that come with winter. Here in the States, February brings some of the coldest temperatures of the winter, but it also brings the promise of spring right around the corner. So I don’t mind hunkering down in my living room next to the fire with a blanket, a kid or a dog on my feet, and a mug of hot chocolate or hot tea (or even a hot toddy) beside me. And, of course, my digital reading device of choice in hand.
There’s something permissive about cold weather that makes it easy to laze away hours at a time reading a great book without feeling guilty, which makes February one of my favorite months. I know I can always indulge in plenty of guilt-free reading time!
This month, Carina Press offers a new selection of releases across the genres to aid you in your own reading-time indulgence. Romantic suspense favorite Marie Force is back with a new installment in her Fatal series,
Fatal Flaw.
Newlyweds Sam and Nick discover that they won’t get the normalcy they were looking for post-wedding…because someone has other plans for them. Also look for author Dee J. Adams to follow up her adrenaline-packed romantic suspense debut with her sophomore book,
Danger Zone,
which delivers thrills and action.
Two steampunk titles will get your gears whirling in February. Look for
Prehistoric Clock
by Robert Appleton and
Under Her Brass Corset
by Brenda Williamson to take you back to a time altered by steam and clockwork. Also in the science fiction and fantasy realm, author Nico Rosso offers up
The Last Night,
a post-apocalyptic tale of romance, while Kim Knox takes us into the future with her futuristic science fiction romance,
Synthetic Dreams.
And for those of you with a yen for the paranormal, we have several authors joining us for their Carina Press debuts.
Blood of the Pride
by Sheryl Nantus and
Pack and Coven
by Jody Wallace hit the virtual shelves in mid-February.
Portia Da Costa will heat up your day with
Intimate Exposure,
a sexy and intense look into the world of BDSM.
Rounding out our amazing and genre-packed February lineup are books from Claire Robyns, Charlie Cochrane, Debra Kayn, Shelley Munro, Amie Denman, Crista McHugh and Susan Edwards, with everything from historical and contemporary romance to m/m romance to a fun romantic caper. February offers a little something for everyone’s reading pleasure.
We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to [email protected]. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.
Happy reading!
~Angela James
Executive Editor, Carina Press
www.carinapress.com
www.twitter.com/carinapress
www.facebook.com/carinapress
Dedication
For my fabulous editor, Melissa Johnson.
Contents
Chapter One
There must have been a hundred of them. Black-hearted Kerrs with mud-streaked cheekbones, matted braids falling down naked chests dark from dirt and sun and hair. But the eyes. Black as night, black as their hearts, black as the devil’s soul.
Breghan ran faster, tearing through the summer-thick foliage. She could hear them rapidly closing in. The high-pitched grunts were neither human nor animal.
Branches rustled at her left, then at her right. Stubby fingers reached for her, scratching, clawing, poking, until all that remained of her gown was shredded ruins.
And then they went for her hair and face.
“No,” she screamed, swatting in every direction before she fell to her knees and covered her face with her arms. “Leave me be. Please, please…let me be.”
The cruel fingers fell away.
The grunts stilled.
Breghan swallowed her sobs, slowly lifting one arm, then the other, afraid to look and afraid not to.
The leader of the pack stood right in front of her.
A shudder trembled through her. The stories were all true. He stood at least seven feet tall, blocking out the sun with his width. What she could see of his face was horribly disfigured, the skin puckered and mottled red. This one’s eyes weren’t black. No, the Kerr’s eyes were blood-red and burning bright with the wild rage of a fire-spitting demon. Only one of his names was the Devil of Jedburgh.
Breghan’s eyes shot open to sunlight streaming through the densely covered branches. Her chest was so tight, she had to fight for every breath as she sat up straight, her gaze darting about in a wild frenzy. A late-afternoon breeze rustled the leaves above and skittered shadows across the tangled yellow gorse and long grass. Her snowy mare, Angel, grazed contentedly at the base of the tree she was tethered to. It was a perfectly normal summer afternoon.
But there was nothing normal about this day.
Breghan slumped back against the tree trunk.
How long had she been asleep?
The long shadows indicated a couple of hours at least. She had to get home, before she was missed. Little chance, she remembered with a groan. Her mother demanded her almost constant attendance of late, plucking at sleeves and pinning up hems, embroidering necklines and sewing fresh ribbons onto old slippers. An entire wedding wardrobe was to be fashioned in under a week.
A week that ends today.
By this time tomorrow, she’d be married to the Black-Hearted Kerr of Ferniehirst.
She couldn’t make this sacrifice.
Her father demanded too much.
I could run away.
That desperate thought was followed by a revelation.
I already have.
She hadn’t meant to. She’d simply done what she always did when it felt as if the walls of Castle Donague were closing in on her. She’d mounted Angel and the two of them had raced the morning breeze across McAllen fields. Neither the stable master nor the gate guard had blinked an eye. They knew she never went further than the river.
This morning, however, she couldn’t stop herself. She’d veered west with the River Tiviot, onto the main road, and then she’d just kept on going and going.
Now Breghan contemplated truly doing it. She only had to stay away until the Kerr arrived to find his bride gone. His pride and her father’s shame should do the rest. The Kerr would never tolerate such an outrage and her father would never insist the jilted laird honour their brief betrothal.
Running reeked of a cowardice that was abhorrent to her nature. Then again, opposing her father might be construed as a show of astounding courage. ’Twas more than her brothers had ever dared. Her father would be furious, but anything was preferable than marriage to the Beast of Roxburgh.
The rhythmic thud of pounding hooves interrupted her thoughts. Breghan held completely still, grateful for the overgrown shrubbery protecting her position from the road. She peeked over her shoulder, reassuring herself that Angel was deep enough in the woods to not be seen either.
“Halt,” called one of the men in a heavy burr.
Eyes squeezed shut, breath held fast, Breghan waited and listened.
“What is it, Arran?”
“Movement in the bushes.”
“Ah, a wee beastie for our sup.”
“Do you no think of naught but your stomach?”
“’Twas nothing,” decided that first voice. “We ride on.”
Relief weakened Breghan’s limbs. In a clumsy moment, she put a hand down to steady herself. The rustle of leaves crunching beneath her palm was barely audible. Breghan froze again.
Apparently the men and their horses were doing the same.
She heard only the soft gurgle of the Tiviot water rushing around a nearby shallow bend.
Into that intense silence, Angel blew her nostrils at the scent of stallion. Moments later, the brambles shook. Breghan didn’t even have time to jump to her feet. Half the bush flattened and she found herself staring at a pair of fawn leather boots.
Her mouth opened in a silent scream and her gaze travelled up slowly, afraid to look, afraid not to. Dark blond hair covered the muscled leg between boot and plaid. She didn’t recognize the green thread running through the woven red.
Her gaze shot straight up, past the thick waist and white linen shirt. The fierce warrior stood so tall and broad, he blocked the sunlight. Her heart slammed against her chest bone and Breghan wondered crazily if she’d fallen back into her nightmare.
The last thing she saw was an arc of sunlight coming at her.
The devil’s shooting fire from his eyes.
The burning hole exploded just above her breast, sucking her into blackness.
“You killed her.”
“God’s truth, all I saw was that cloud of black hair. I swear I thought it a wild boar.”
“Quit your squabbling,” Arran barked as he dropped beside the lass.
A dark stain spread around the dagger piercing her breast. Arran made a quick judgement of the length of blade showing and the thickness of her velvet gown, and estimated the blade hadn’t gone deep. His fingers folded over the hilt of Broderick’s dagger and pulled in one swift movement. There was no sudden gush of blood. He prayed the wound was superficial, that the dark velvet wasn’t absorbing the blood, disguising a serious wound.
He leaned over the slumped form and lifted her beneath the arms. Her head lolled to one side, hair as fine as a length of black silk sliding over her cheek to reach the ground.