My Highland Lover
Highland Hearts # 1
Highland Hearts # 1
By: Maeve Grayson
Releasing March 24th, 2015
Maeve Greyson unleashes a thrilling tale of magic and desire as a feisty Southern gal falls into the arms of a rough-hewn Highland chieftain.
As the proprietor of a homeopathic store in rural Kentucky, Trulie Sinclair knows that her neighbors think she’s strange—but they have no idea how strange she really is. Trulie was born in Scotland in the thirteenth century to a line of time-traveling Highlanders. When Trulie’s grandmother convinces her to return to their homeland, Trulie jumps back in time, right onto the powerful chest of Gray MacKenna. Just as his steely good looks send ripples through her body, their fierce attraction will send ripples through the ages.
After his parents murdered, Gray is consumed by thoughts of revenge. As the new chieftain of the MacKenna clan, he has reason to believe that there’s a traitor in his midst, and nothing—not even the bonny lass who suddenly drops from the sky—can distract him from his single-minded pursuit of the culprit. But when Gray learns that this sassy beauty possesses gifts beyond the sparkle in her eye, he allows his gaze, and his heart, to linger. While he hunts for the murderer, Gray finds in Trulie a precious companion—and a timeless love.
Granny snuggled closer to the cat and chuckled softly into its shining black fur.
Trulie snorted. That pretty much cinched it. Granny was at it again. Trulie whacked the flashlight against the back of the seat, shook it hard, then shot the revealing beam out the back window.
Of all things to come across in the middle of the night. Trulie knelt in the seat and squinted out the window. “I don’t see him anywhere. Surely I didn’t knock him clear across the road into the other ditch.”
Trulie clicked off the flashlight and sat back on her heels. There was no getting around it. Sword or no sword, she was going to have to go look for him. She couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t find out whether or not the man was okay. Trulie shot a sideways glance at the chuckling woman still muttering to the cat. “And I wasn’t driving that fast and you know it.”
Granny didn’t look up, just snuggled back against her travel pillow and grinned.
“What do you think, Kismet?” Granny wrinkled her nose down at the cat as she rubbed a bent finger under its chin. The purring feline sat with eyes half-closed into golden slits and the tip of her dark tail softly flipping. “Reckon we’d be sittin’ in this ditch with all our inventory busted in the back of the truck if Trulie had been goin’ a bit slower?”
Granny glanced up from the cat’s smug face. Her smile curled to one side as she continued in a more soothing voice directed toward Trulie. “And no. You didn’t hit him. You just got his attention real good.”
Trulie yanked the rusty door handle upward and bounced the door open. Somehow, that backhanded reassurance didn’t make her feel any better. An eerie feeling skittered up her spine. What if the man was one of them? Trulie rolled away the uneasiness with a tensed shrug. Nah. Couldn’t be. Rule number one of the time runner’s rede: time runners were always female. Trulie silently ticked off the other tenets of the ancient folklore inherited by the Sinclairs:
Bloodline holds the gift to dance across the ages.
From mother to daughter the gift shall pass.
The eldest daughter of each generation shall control the most power.
A loyal familiar, a guardian, shall join the eldest daughter at birth and ne’er leave her side.
Males shall only travel the web when chosen or sent forth by a runner.
The last tenet struck a chord. Trulie turned and glared at Granny. What the hell had the conniving old woman done this time?
Granny ignored Trulie, just shook her head in the contented black cat’s face and bent closer to whisper something in its ear. The cat looked over at Trulie, flipped the end of its tail harder, and somehow seemed to snicker.
“Don’t start with me, Kismet.” Trulie hopped out of the truck and landed knee deep in mud and wet leaves. Cold water rushed in over the tops of her rubber boots and soaked down into her socks. Trulie bit the inside of her cheek to keep from cursing. Great. Soaking wet feet. “Granny, would you please stop plotting with your damn cat? I know you know more than you’re telling. You’ve got that look that always means trouble.”
“Why, Trulie. I can’t believe you’d say such a thing.” Granny snorted an insulted huff and straightened in the seat. Her voice echoed with authority as she lowered the much calmer cat onto the seat beside her. “Trust me. You’ve nothing to worry about. I know those colors. He comes from a fine, upstanding clan. You won’t find a force on earth capable of striking fear into a MacKenna.”
That was all the proof Trulie needed. No wonder Granny wasn’t upset. The conniving old woman orchestrated the entire thing. How many times had she begged Granny to stop meddling?
No one has the power to shatter your dreams unless you give it to them. That’s been Maeve Greyson’s mantra since she was a girl. When she’s not at the full time day job at the steel mill, Maeve’s writing romances about sexy Highlanders and the women who tame them. Tucked away in a five acre wood, Maeve listens to the wind singing through the trees and hears her characters telling their stories. Her work is proofed by her sharp-eyed dog, Jasper, and her greatest supporter is her long suffering husband of over thirty-five years who’s learned not to throw away any odd sticky notes filled with strange phrases.