Tall, Dark and Kilted
Read Tall, Dark and Kilted Online
Authors: Allie MacKay
Tall Dark and Kilted
Allie Mackay
Table of Contents
Praise for
Highlander in Her Dreams
“Scottish charm, humor, and . . . hot romance.”
—Night Owl Romance
“Sexy . . . imaginative . . . a fascinating mix of exciting action and passionate romance.”
—Romance Readers at Heart
“Cleverly plotted and well written . . . a fun, sexy story.”—
Romantic Times
“[A] pleasing blend of wit, passion, and the paranormal . . . a steamy romance that packs emotional punch.”
—Romance Reviews Today
“A fabulous mixture of magic and romance. Allie Mackay has penned an enchanting romance of lovers from different times. . . . A captivating paranormal romance and a wonderful addition to a book lover’s library.”—Fresh Fiction
Praise for
Highlander in Her Bed
“[A] randy paranormal romance . . . The premise is charming and innovative . . . This novel definitely delivers a blast of Scottish steam.”—
Publishers Weekly
“A yummy paranormal romp.”
—
USA Today
bestselling author Angela Knight
“A delightful paranormal romance. The writing is poetic, compelling, and fun, and the story features an imaginative premise, crisp dialogue, and sexy characters whose narrative voices are both believable and memorable. HOT.”—
Romantic Times
“A superb paranormal romance.”
—
Midwest Book Review
“A sexy, humor-filled romance with delightfully amusing characters. Artfully blending past and present,
Highlander in Her Bed
is an entertaining read. Well written. Readers will enjoy this one!”—Fresh Fiction
“Appealing and amusing. Sizzles with passion.”
—Romance Reviews Today
“A whimsical read that will have you panting from start to finish! Mackay knows what a Scottish romance novel needs and socks it to you! Red-hot sizzling chemistry ignites from the moment Sir Alex materializes in front of feisty Mara.... A sure-bet bestseller.”
—A Romance Review
This one is for Mary Hanson.
A very special friend and lady,
she shares my great love of dogs,
does the most beautiful Christmas decorating
of anyone I know,
and has been a favorite reader
since the days of
Devil in a Kilt
.
She’s also the loving mommy of sweet little Leo,
the role model of Leo the dachshund in this book.
You’re the best, Mary!
I’m so glad we’re friends.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Scotland always inspires my books, and one of my greatest joys in writing is the magic of returning in my mind to the special places in Scotland that I love so much. This book is set in my own absolute favorite corner of Scotland, the wild and remote far north. Although Dunroamin is fictitious, a compilation of several privately owned Scottish castles and manor homes I’ve visited, its role models exist and are every bit as delightfully atmospheric. They are places where the sense of the past is vivid and much appreciated by those who dwell there.
The location I chose for Dunroamin is quite real and probably the most magical corner of Scotland that I know. Tongue in Sutherland and the tiny crofting village of Melness are places I enjoy returning to again and again, each visit enchanting me more than the last. The Kyle of Tongue is every bit as beautiful as described, and the ruins of Castle Varrich stand exactly as depicted.
Like Cilla, I’ve made the trek up to Castle Varrich and also scrambled into the ruin’s crumbling window alcove, often spending hours perched there, watching the world go by and trying to tune in to the little shimmers of the past that I am convinced exist in such places.
Hardwick’s Seagrave is also real, although I did change the name. Readers familiar with Scotland’s northeast coast south of Aberdeen may recognize Seagrave as Slains Castle, an incredibly atmospheric ruin that is indeed quite spooky and forbidding. Isolated and left alone for centuries, home to only seabirds, wind, and ghosts, I’m sure, a visit there takes you into Scotland’s past in ways that a touristy cultivated historic site just can’t do. Word is that Slains is to be developed into holiday flats, a fate that makes me feel blessed to have been able to see and enjoy the ruin in its original state.
Shetland is another place I love visiting, and I try to get there each time I am in Scotland. Gregor was inspired by my own experiences with great skuas in Shetland, in particular on the bird sanctuary isle of Noss. Also known as bonxies, these ferocious birds do indeed dive-bomb anything that moves across the moorland they view as their own. I’ve had some frightening encounters with these pterodactyl-like creatures, and despite the frights, I absolutely adore them.
Special thanks to three incredible women for their help with this book. My agent, Roberta Brown, best friend, trusted confidante, and so much more, I couldn’t get by without her. She’s also the only person who knows why Gudrid is so very special. Mega thanks to my amazing editor, Anne Bohner. She’s supertalented and I so appreciate her help in making my stories as strong as possible. A grateful nod, as well, to Liza Schwartz. She knows why. Thank you, ladies. I couldn’t do this without you.
As always, much appreciation to my handsome husband, Manfred, for his unflagging support and enthusiasm. They mean so much. Last but not least, my beloved little Jack Russell, Em. Owner of my heart and ruler of my world, he’s the only soul allowed to disturb me on deadline.
“There are men and there are Highlanders. Woe be to anyone fool enough not to know the difference.”
—Bran of Barra, Hebridean chieftain, appreciator of women, and Highland to the bone
Prologue
In the Twilight World of the Great Beyond
“So, you are tired of women?”
The disembodied voice boomed like a thousand angry thunderclouds. Loud and crackling, each word sent bolts of lightning sizzling through the shifting mist. Gray, swirling drifts, the fog shielded the Dark One’s inner sanctum from the rest of this curious and mysterious place.
“I am weary of having to pleasure them.” Sir Hardwin de Studley of Seagrave, more commonly known as Hardwick, put back his shoulders against the Dark One’s wrath. “Enough is enough. Seven hundred years of nightly
bliss
would dampen any man’s appetite.”
Another earsplitting clap of thunder shook the cushiony mist beneath Hardwick’s feet and a scorching bolt of lightning whizzed past his ear, its otherworldly heat almost singeing his hair.
“There are some who would call your curse a blessing.” The Dark One’s deep voice rumbled with displeasure. “Souls who would burn an eternity for a single eye blink of the revels you enjoy each night.”
“Bah!” Hardwick tightened his grip on the round, studded shield he always clutched before his groin. “I would roast for two eternities for the peace of one night’s unbroken sleep.” Keeping his stare on the immense stone temple he could just make out through the thick, swirling fog, he willed the Dark One to show himself.
Willed, as well, his
problem
to stop twitching in heated anticipation of the coming night’s tumble with some as-yet-undetermined bit of eager female fluff.
He would easily stride past an endless line of naked, writhing beauties if only doing so would grant him eternal rest and peace.
“You have only yourself to blame, Seagrave.” Puffs of sulfurous smoke drifted out from behind the ancient, sentrylike trees guarding the Dark One’s temple. “Had you not turned the wandering bard from your door, he would not have cast his wizard spell on you.”
Hardwick bit back a snort. “There were highborn guests at my table that night. It was known that an assassin guising himself as a traveling lute player had been trailing them. I did what any self-respecting lord of the Scottish realm would have done. I turned away a stranger in an attempt to safeguard those within my walls.”
A gust of icy wind revealed the Dark One’s opinion of his choice.
Hardwick stood tall, refusing to acknowledge the frigid blast. “Would
you
have handled it otherwise?”
“What I would have done scarce matters. I am not the one who was damned to spend eternity pleasing women without ever again enjoying my own release.” A sound almost like derisive laughter came from within the mist-shrouded temple. “ ’Tis you who were doomed to roam the earth, satisfying a different woman every night.”
“You needn’t remind me.” Hardwick glared into the mist. “I am well aware of the peculiarities of my circumstance.”
If he weren’t, the permanent
annoyance
at his groin was more than telling. Glancing down at the rigid protuberance, his mood worsened.
The Dark One gave a superior sigh. “Perhaps if you hadn’t been one of Scotland’s most notorious wenchers, the bard would have visited you with a less strenuous curse.”
Hardwick considered throwing down his infernal shield and whipping out his sword. “Be that as it may, I would hear if you are willing to help me? I already know you have the power to do so.”
“I have the means to undo the mortal magic of any medieval bard, including the wizardry of the one who cursed you. The power as to whether the counterspell works, lies with you.”
