HIGHLAND
BARBARIAN
by Hannah Howell
Genre: Historical Romance - Scottish Medieval
Format: Mass Market Paperback
ISBN: 0-8217-7998-2
Buy This Book:
Available at:
Kensington Books
FROM THE BACK COVER:
New York Times bestselling author
Hannah Howell returns to the Highlands of Scotland for a sensual
new series about two twin brothers both tempted and tormented by
their passions-and driven by the love that will shape their
destinies...
Sir Artan Murray was right when he decided that the dying old
man who bid him collect his niece didn't know her at all. The
furious woman facing him is neither "sweet" nor "biddable." She
demands the brawny Highlander return her to the wedding party
from which he took her. But Artan has no intention of allowing
so spirited and bewitching a creature to endure a loveless
marriage to a ruthless lord for her clan's sake. He aims to woo
the lass and to show her that true love also yields
unforgettable pleasure...
Cecily Donaldson knows a bond forged by danger and desperation
cannot endure. But Artan's touch leaves her breathless, and she
knows this to be her one chance to experience true passion
before an arranged marriage seals her fate. Yet once begun,
passion cannot be denied...nor can a love with the promise to
change everything...
WHAT OTHERS ARE SAYING:
Romantic Times: TOP PICK! 4 1/2 stars.
- by Jill Brager - "The Murray family rides again in another
wonderful story filled with adventure, emotion, and laughter.
The hero and heroine are hard to resist, and the book's
secondary characters are just as great. Howell's characters say
exactly what they feel, which at times means the men end up in
the doghouse, but it makes for an utterly delightful book."
MEET THE AUTHOR:
Hannah
Howell has lived in New England all her life. The maternal side
of her family has been here since the 1630s. Married for 35
years with 2 sons, 1 daughter-in-law, and 2 grandchildren, she
lives in northern Massachusetts with her husband and five
extremely spoiled cats. After trying hard for five years she
finally hit the jackpot and got published in 1988 - Amber Flame,
Leisure Books and A Taste Of Fire, Zebra Books. Since then she
has had 35 + books published, won 2 Golden Leaf Awards, been a
Rita Finalist, and nudged onto the New York Times, USA Today,
and Waldenbooks bestsellers list. Since 1998 she has been
writing about the Murrays, their in-laws, their cousins, and
their descendents with the occasional foray into the paranormal
in the vampire anthologies put out by Kensington Books. On the
rare occasion she isn't writing she likes to read, garden, and
crochet.
READ AN EXCERPT:
Scotland -
Summer 1480
"Ye dinnae look dead, though I think ye might be trying to smell
like ye are."
Angus MacReith scowled at the young man towering over his bed.
Artan Murray was big, strongly built, and handsome. His cousin
had done well, he thought. Far better than all his nearer kin
who had born no children at all or left him with ones like young
Malcolm. Angus scowled even more fiercely as he thought about
that man. Untrustworthy, greedy, and cowardly, he thought. Artan
had the blood of the MacReiths in him and it showed, just as it
did in his twin Lucas. It was only then that Angus realized
Artan stood there alone.
"Where is the other one?" he asked.
"Lucas had his leg broken." Artan replied.
"Bad?"
"Could be. I was looking for the ones who did it when ye sent
word."
"Ye dinnae ken who did it?"
"I have a good idea who did it. A verra good idea." Artan
shrugged. "I will find them."
Angus nodded. "Aye, ye will, lad. Suspicion they will be hiding
now, eh?"
"Aye. As time passes and I dinnae come to take my reckoning they
will begin to feel themselves safe. T'will be most enjoyable to
show them how mistaken they are."
"Ye have a devious mind, Artan," Angus said in obvious
admiration.
"Thank ye." Artan moved to lean against the bedpost at the head
of the bed. "I dinnae think ye are dying, Angus."
"I am nay weel!"
"Och, nay, ye arenae, but ye arenae dying."
"What do ye ken about it?" grumbled Angus, pushing himself
upright enough to collapse against the pillows Artan quickly set
behind him.
"Dinnae ye recall that I am a Murray? I have spent near all my
life surrounded by healers. Aye, ye are ailing, but I dinnae
think ye will die if ye are careful. Ye dinnae have the odor of
a mon with one foot in the grave. And, for all ye do stink some,
'tisnae really the smell of death."
"Death has a smell ere it e'en takes hold of a mon's soul?"
"Aye, I think it does. And, since ye are nay dying, I will
return to hunting the men who hurt Lucas."
Angus grabbed Artan by the arm, halting the younger man as he
started to move away. "Nay! I could die and ye ken it weel. I
hold three score years. E'en the smallest chill could set me
firm in the grave."
That was true enough, Artan thought as he studied the man who
had fostered him and Lucas for nearly ten years. Angus was still
a big strong man, but age sometimes weakened a body in ways one
could not see. The fact that Angus was in bed in the middle of
the day was proof enough that whatever ailed him was serious.
Artan wondered if he was just refusing to accept the fact that
Angus was old and would die soon.
"So, ye have brought me here to stand watch o'er your deathbed?"
he asked, frowning for he doubted Angus would ask such a thing
of him.
"Nay, I need ye to do something for me. This ague, or whate'er
it is that ails me, has made me face the hard fact that, e'en if
I recover from this, I dinnae have many years left to me. Tis
past time I start thinking on what must be done to ensure the
well-being of Glascreag and the clan when I am nay longer here."
"Then ye should be speaking with Malcolm."
"Bah, that craven whelp is naught but a stain upon the name
MacReith. Sly, whining little wretch. I wouldnae trust him to
care for my dogs let alone these lands and the people living
here. He couldnae hold fast to this place for a fortnight. Nay,
I willnae have him as my heir."
"Ye dinnae have another one that I ken of."
"Aye, I do, although I have kept it quiet. Glad of that now. My
youngest sister bore a child two and twenty years ago. Poor
Moira died a few years later bearing another child," he
murmured, the shadow of old memories briefly darkening his eyes.
"Then where is he? Why wasnae he sent here to train to be the
laird? Why isnae he kicking that wee timid mousie named Malcolm
out of Glascreag?"
"Tis a lass."
Artan opened his mouth to loudly decry naming a lass the heir to
Glascreag and then quickly shut it. He resisted the temptation
to look behind him to see if his kinswomen were bearing down on
him, well armed and ready to beat some sense into him. They
would all be sorely aggrieved if they knew what thoughts were
whirling about in his head. Words like too weak, too
sentimental, too trusting, and made to have bairns not lead
armies were the sort of thoughts that would have his kinswomen
grinding their teeth in fury.
But, Glascreag was no Donncoill, he thought. Deep in the
Highlands, it was surrounded by rough lands and even rougher
men. In the years he and Lucas had trained with Angus they had
fought reivers, other clans, and some who wanted Angus's lands.
Glascreag required constant vigilance and a strong sword arm.
Murray women were strong and clever, but they were healers not
warriors, not deep in their hearts. Artan also considered his
kinswomen unique and doubted Angus's niece was of their ilk.
"If ye name a lass as your heir, Angus, every mon who has e'er
coveted your lands will come kicking down your gates." Artan
crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at the man. "Malcolm
is a spineless weasel, but a mon, more or less. Naming him your
heir would at least make men pause as they girded themselves for
battle. Aye, and your men would heed his orders far more quickly
than they would those of a lass and ye ken it weel."
Angus nodded and ran one scarred hand through his black hair,
which was still thick and long but was now well threaded with
white. "I ken it, but I have a plan."
A tickle of unease passed through Artan. Angus's plans could
often mean trouble. At the very least, they meant hard work for
him. The way the man eyes, a silvery blue like his own, were
shielded by his half-lowered lids warned Artan that even Angus
knew he was not going to like this particular plan.
"I want ye to go and fetch my niece for me and bring her here to
Glascreag where she belongs. I wish to see her once more before
I die." Angus sighed, slumped heavily against the pillows, and
closed his eyes.
Artan grunted, making his disgust with such a pitiful play for
sympathy very clear. "Then send word and have her people bring
her here."
Sitting up straight, Angus glared at him. "I did. I have been
writing to the lass for years, e'en sent for her when her father
and brother died ten, nay, twelve years ago. Her father's
kinsmen refused to give her into my care e'en though nary a one
of them is as close in blood to her as I am."
"Why didnae ye just go and get her? Ye are a laird. Ye could
have claimed her as your legal heir and taken her. Tis easy to
refuse letters and emissaries, but nay so easy to refuse a mon
to his face. Ye could have saved yourself the misery of dealing
with Malcolm."
"I wanted the lass to want to come to Glascreag, didnae I."
"Tis past time ye ceased trying to coax her or her father's
kinsmen."
"Exactly! That is why I want ye to go and fetch her here. Ach,
laddie, I am sure ye can do it. Ye can charm and threaten with
equal skill. Aye, and ye can do it without making them all hot
for your blood. I would surely start a feud I dinnae need. Ye
have a way with folk that I dinnae, that ye do."
Artan listened to Angus's flattery and grew even more uneasy.
Angus was not only a little desperate to have his niece brought
home to Glascreag, but also he knew Artan would probably refuse
to do him this favor. The question was why would Angus think
Artan would refuse to go and get the woman. It could not be
because it was dangerous for the man knew well that only
something foolishly suicidal would cause Artan to, perhaps,
hesitate. Although his mind was quickly crowded with
possibilities ranging from illegal to just plain disgusting,
Artan decided he had played this game long enough.
"Shut it, Angus," he said, standing up straighter and putting
his hands on his hips. "Why havenae ye gone after the woman
yourself and why do ye think I will reuse to go?"
"Ye would refuse to help a mon on his deathbed?"
"Just spit it out, Angus, or I will leave right now and ye will
ne'er ken which I might have said - aye or nay."
"Och, ye will say nay," Angus mumbled. "Cecily lives near
Kirkfalls."
"In Kirkfalls? Kirkfalls?" Artan muttered and then he swore.
"That is in the Lowlands." Artan's voice was soft yet sharp with
loathing.
"Weel, just a few miles into the Lowlands."
"Now I ken why ye ne'er went after the lass yourself. Ye
couldnae stomach the thought of going there. Yet ye would send
me into that hellhole?"
"Tisnae as bad as all that."
"Tis as bad as if ye wanted me to ride to London. I willnae do
it," Artan said and started to leave.
"I need an heir of my own blood!"
"Then ye should ne'er have let your sister marry a Lowlander.
Tis near as bad as if ye had let her run off with a Sassanach.
Best ye leave the lass where she is. She is weel ruined by now."
"Wait! Ye havenae heard the whole of my plan!"
Artan opened the door and stared at Malcolm who was crouched on
the floor, obviously having had his large ear pressed against
the door. The thin, pale young man grew even paler and stood up.
He staggered back a few steps and then bolted down the hall.
Artan sighed. He did not need such a stark reminder of the
pathetic choice Angus had for an heir now.
Curiosity also halted him at the door. Every instinct he had
told him to keep on moving, that he would be a fool to listen to
anything else Angus had to say. A voice in his head whispered
that his next step could change his life forever. Artan wished
that voice would tell him if that change would be for the
better. Praying he was not about to make a very bad choice, he
slowly turned to look at Angus, but he did not move away from
the door.
Angus looked a little smug and Artan inwardly cursed. The old
man had judged his victim well. Curiosity had always been
Artan's weakness. It had caused him trouble and several injuries
more times than he cared to recall. He wished Lucas were with
him for his brother was the cautious one. Then Artan quickly
shook that thought aside. He was a grown man now, not a reckless
child, and he had wit enough to make his own decisions with care
and wisdom.
"What is the rest of your plan?" he asked Angus.
"Weel,
'tis verra simple. I need a strong mon to take my place as laird
once I die or decide 'tis time I rested. Malcolm isnae it and
neither is Cecily. Howbeit, there has to be someone of MacReith
blood to step into my place, the closer to me the better."
"Aye, 'tis the way it should be."
"So, e'en thought ye have MacReith blood, 'tis but from a
distant cousin. Howbeit, if ye marry Cecily - "
"Marry!?"
"Wheesht, what are ye looking so horrified about, eh? Ye arenae
getting any younger, laddie. Past time ye were wed."
"I have naught against marriage. I fully intend to choose a
bride some day."
Angus grunted. "SOME DAY can sneak up on a body, laddie. I ken
it weel. Now, cease your fretting for a moment and let me
finish. If ye were to marry my niece, ye could be laird here. I
would name ye my heir and nary a one of my men would protest it.
E'en better, Malcolm couldnae get anyone to heed him if he cried
foul. Cecily is my closest blood kin and ye are nearly as close
to me as Malcolm is. So, ye marry the lass and, one day,
Glascreag is yours."
Artan stepped back into the room and slowly closed the door.
Angus was offering him something he had never thought to have -
the chance to be a laird, to hold lands of his own. As the
second born of the twins, his future had always been as Lucas's
second, or as the next in line to be the laird of Donncoill if
anything happened to Lucas, something he never cared to think
about. There had always been only one possibility of changing
that future - marriage to a woman with lands as part of her
dowry.
Which was exactly what Angus was offering him, he mused, and
felt temptation tease at his mind and heart. Marry Cecily and
become heir to Glascreag, a place he truly loved as much as he
did his own homelands. Any man with wit enough to recall his own
name would grab at this chance with both hands, yet, despite the
strong temptation of it all, he hesitated. Since Artan
considered his wits sound and sharp, he had to wonder why.
Because he wanted a marriage like his parents had, like his
grandparents had, and like so many of his clan had, he realized.
He wanted a marriage of choice, of passion, of a bonding that
held firm for life. When it was land, coin, or alliances that
tied a couple together the chances of such a good marriage were
sadly dimmed. He had been offered the favors of too many unhappy
wives to doubt that conclusion. If the thought of taking part in
committing adultery did not trouble him so much, he would now be
a very experienced lover, he mused and hastily shook aside a
pinch of regret. He certainly did not want his wife to become
one of those women and he did not want to be one of those men
who felt so little bond with his wife that he repeatedly broke
his vows. Or, worse, find himself trapped in a cold marriage
and, bound tightly by his own beliefs, unable to find passion
elsewhere.
He looked at Angus who was waiting for an answer with an
ill-concealed impatience. Although he could not agree to marry a
woman he had never met, no matter how tempting her dowry, there
was no harm in agreeing to consider it. He could go and get the
woman and decide on marrying her once he saw her. As they
traveled back to Glascreag together he would have ample time to
decide if she was a woman he could share the rest of his life
with.
Then he recalled where she lived and how long she had lived
there. "She is a Lowlander."
"She is a MacReith," Angus snapped.
Angus was looking smug again. Artan ignored it for the man was
right in thinking he might get what he wanted. In many ways, it
was what Artan wanted as well. It all depended upon what this
woman Cecily was like.
"Cecily," he murmured. "Sounds like a Sassanach name." He almost
smiled when Angus glared at him, the old man's pale cheeks now
flushed with anger.
"Tis no an English name! Tis the name of a martyr, ye great
heathen, and weel ye ken it. My sister was a pious lass. She
didnae change the child's christening name as some folk do. Kept
the saint's name. I call the lass Sile. Use the Gaelic, ye ken."
"Because ye think Cecily sounds English." Artan ignored Angus's
stuttering denial. "When did ye last see this lass?"
"Her father brought her and her wee brother here just before he
and the lad died."
"How did they die?"
"Killed whilst traveling back home from visiting me. Thieves.
Poor wee lass saw it all. Old Meg, her maid, got her to safety,
though. Some of their escort survived, chased away the thieves,
and then got Cecily, Old Meg, and the dead back to their home.
The moment I heard I sent for the lass, but the cousins had
already taken hold of her and wouldnae let go."
"Was her father a mon of wealth or property?"
"Aye, he was. He had both and the cousins now control it all.
For the lass's sake they say. And, aye, I wonder on the killing.
His kinsmen could have had a hand in it."
"Yet they havenae rid themselves of the lass."
"She mad it home and has ne'er left there again. They also have
control of all that she has since she is a woman, aye?"
"Aye, and it probably helps muzzle any suspicions about the
other deaths."
Angus nodded. "Tis what I think. So, will ye go to Kirkfalls and
fetch my niece?"
"Aye, I will fetch her, but I make no promises about marrying
her."
"Not e'en to become my heir?"
"Nay, not e'en for that, tempting as it is. I willnae tie myself
to a woman for that alone. There has to be more."
"She is a bonnie wee lass with dark red hair and big green
eyes."
That sounded promising, but Artan fixed a stern gaze upon the
old man. "Ye havenae set eyes on her since she was a child and
ye dinnae ken what sort of woman she has become. A lass can be
so bonnie on the outside she makes a mon's innards clench. But,
then the blind lust clears away, and he finds himself with a
bonnie lass who is as cold as ice, or mean of spirit, or any of
a dozen things that would make living with her a pure misery.
Nay, I willnae promise to wed your niece now. I will only
promise to consider it. There will be time to come to know the
lass as we travel here from Kirkfalls."
"Fair enough, but, ye will see. Ye will be wanting to marry her.
She is a sweet, gentle, biddable lass. A true lady raised to be
a mon's comfort."
Artan wondered just how much of that effusive praise was true,
then shrugged and began to plan his journey.
ROMANCE READERS CHATS WITH THE
AUTHOR:
After so many books what keeps you inspired?
The check. That's a half-serious answer. On bad days when I
don't want to work, would rather garden or crochet or go
shopping, or there just isn't a single idea of what to put
on paper in my head, recalling the fact that I'm contracted
to do this and someone is going to pay me is about the only
inspiration available. On most days - I just have way too
many ideas and characters stomping around in my brain NOT to
write something, even if it isn't for the story I'm
currently working on.
How many more books do you have planned for the Murray
family?
That's almost impossible to answer as it's all controlled by
what ideas I might have and what my editor is willing to
buy. There's no point in continuing if I can't come up with
a good plot and no one will buy the book. When the Murray
saga ends I want it to go out on a high note and not just
sputter into obscurity.
When you wrote your first Murray book did you ever think
it would take off the way it has?
Never. I had planned on a simple trilogy concerning three
brothers. It proved to be a very
Good thing that I have a tendency to give my characters
large families.
What do you have coming next?
Artan's twin brother Lucas is being slapped into shape in
Highland Savage coming out in
May 2007. I mention him having suffered a beating in
Highland Barbarian and in Highland
Savage he seeks his revenge. Of course, just like a man, he
goes charging in without having all the facts and the
heroine has to set him right.
Of all your books do you have a favorite one? If so,
which one?
I don't precisely have a favorite, but some I recall long
after they've been finished such as Highland Bride, Beauty
And The Beast, and Highland Warrior. The ones that stick in
my
mind for a long time are the ones that were the most fun to
write, the ones where idea after idea just came flowing
forth.
What do you believe is a perfect hero or heroine trait>
I actually have a list of what I consider the best traits
and try to imbue all my characters with some of them.
There's honesty, kindness, the ability to love completely
and faithfully, a sense of humor, honor, courage(even if it
has to be dragged up from some very deep place in the
character), a strong sense of family, and so forth.
In all your books your heroines tend to be short. Is
there a reason for that?
Quite simply, they're short because I'm short. Since the
heroine is the one I tend to deal
with most having her body shape and size similar to mine
makes it a lot easier to know
exactly how she will move and what her capabilities are. Of
course they are usually a bit
more athletic than I am (or ever was) and more daring. Since
I'm not a six foot tall male, I make use of my son, who's
almost 6 feet, if I hit a glitch as to how or even if a guy
can do what I'm trying to make him do. But since I see the
world from a grand height of 5 feet 2 1/2 inches - my
heroines will undoubtedly continue to be cursed to do the
same, gaining and losing a few inches here and there now and
then.
What would you suggest to someone who has been trying to
sell a book for a few years and is quickly losing faith in
getting it published?
Keep trying. It took me five years to get someone to buy the
first book I wrote. I wrote
others even as I kept sending that first one out. Sometimes
it's simply a matter of hitting
the right editor at the exact moment the market is ready for
your book. Also, keep studying the market and the art of
writing. I really believe one can never stop learning in
this business, never cease trying to tweak the story or your
skill to make it better.
Have you ever thought of writing a contemporary romance?
Yes. I actually started out trying to write those and got
some encouraging rejections.
But then I started in writing historicals and knew I'd found
my niche. I have so many stories I want to write in so many
time periods I can't see where I'll have the time to do
anything else. On the other hand, if the market for
historicals ever completely vanishes you can be sure I'll be
struggling to write a contemporary or anything as I do feel
compelled to write.