I've been asked what my
inspiration was for My Highland Love.
My first impulse was to write about a hero who knew what he wanted. The
tortured hero has always been in fashion, but I wanted to see a man openly
pursue the woman he wanted. From there, I had to figure out everything else. I
began researching Scottish history and was shocked to learn of the Scottish
Clearances, which took place in the early nineteenth century. There were a few
real life heroes at that time, and I decided that a romantic hero who was
decisive would also be heroic by nature. So the Highland Clearances became the
current political backdrop that our hero dealt with.
I also learned that the
MacGregor clan was a clan that was singled out for persecution during the
clearances. In fact, the MacGregors really were the rebels of the Scottish
clans, and had been singled out throughout much of Scottish history. So Marcus
MacGregor was born with a tempestuous family history and a troubled modern
history. Here's an early scene that I believe sums up Marcus' past, as well as
his feelings about how he must lead his people.
Until she must choose between his life and her revenge.
Through
the busy courtyard, he answered greetings, but his thoughts remained on the
image of Elise as she vanished from sight. She had a forthright, strong
quality. Yet—he bent his head to breathe her lingering scent from his
clothes—the lavender bouquet in her hair was decidedly feminine. It would be
some time before he forgot the feel of her buttocks across his thighs. But
then, perhaps he wouldn't have to. Marcus entered the great hall to find his
father sitting alone in his chair at the head of the table.
Cameron
brightened. "So, ye decided to come home?"
Relaxing
warmth rippled through Marcus.
"Tired
of wandering the land?" Cameron made a wide sweeping gesture.
"You
knew I was on my way, but, aye." He stopped at the chair to his father's
right and lowered himself onto the seat. "I am pleased to be home."
"How
is my grandson? I see you did not bring him with you."
Marcus
sighed. "Nay, Father. You knew I wouldn't."
Cameron
snorted. "We would not want to offend the mighty Sassenach."
"Father,"
Marcus said in a low tone.
Cameron
shook his head. "The clan never asked you to concede to the English, you
know. I never asked for it. Did you ever wonder if the sacrifice is
worth your son?"
"Aye,"
Marcus murmured. He'd wondered. Politics had ruled the MacGregor clan for
centuries and that wasn't easily changed. He paused. "Have I been gone too
long, or is something different about the great hall?"
"You
have the right of it, lad." Eyes that mirrored his own looked back at him.
"More than you can imagine."
Marcus
looked about the room. "I can't quite place it. What's happened?"
Cameron
took a long, exaggerated draught of ale.
"Cameron."
"Enough
of your looks, lad. They do not work with me." He chuckled. "I taught
them to you. Remember? It is no mystery, really. Look around. When did you last
see the tapestries so bright, the floors so clean?" He motioned toward the
wall that ran the length of the room, framed by stairs on either end.
"When have you seen the weapons so polished?"
Marcus
scanned the nearly two hundred gleaming weapons mounted across the wall. He
rose and walked the wall's length, perusing the weapons. Each one glistened,
some nearly as bright as newly forged steel. He glanced at the floor. The stone
looked as if it had just been laid.
He looked
at his father. "What happened?"
"The
women came one day—or rather, one month—and swept out the cobwebs, cleaned the
floors, the tapestries, weapons."
Marcus
rose and crossed the room to the kitchen door where the women worked. The
housekeeper sat at the kitchen table. Ancient blue eyes, still shining with the
bloom of youth, smiled back at him. Winnie had been present at his birth.
Marcus knew she loved him like the son she'd never had. He, in turn, regarded
her with as much affection as he had his own mother.
She turned
her attention to the raw chicken she carved. "So, you've returned at
last."
"Aye,
milady."
A corner
of her mouth twitched with amusement.
"I am
looking forward to the company of some fine lasses tonight," he said.
"'Tis a long and lonely trip I've had. Perhaps next time I shall take you
with me." He gave her a roguish wink before striding back to his seat in
the hall.
Marcus
lowered himself into the chair he had occupied earlier. "Must have taken
an army just to shine the weapons alone. Not to mention the walls and
floors."
"It
did. You will see the same throughout the castle. Not a room went untouched."
"Whatever
possessed them to do it?"
"It
was the hand of a sweet lass," Cameron replied.
"Which
one? Not Winnie—"
"Nay.
The lass Shannon and Josh found washed ashore on the coast. They brought her
when they returned from the south."
"Washed
ashore?"
"An American
woman. Her ship perished in a fire."
"American?"
Cameron
scowled. "Are you deaf? Shannon is the one who discovered her at Solway
Firth."
"What
in God's name was she doing there?"
Cameron
gave his chin a speculative scratch. "Damned if I know. They were headed
for London."
"London?
Sailing through Solway Firth requires sailing around the north of Ireland. That
would add a week or more to the journey."
His
father's mouth twisted into a wry grin. "You know the English, probably
got lost."
"I
thought you said she was American."
"English,
American, 'tis all the same." Cameron's expression sobered. "But
dinna' mistake me, she is a fine lass. She came to us just after you left for
Ashlund four months ago. You should have seen her when they brought her here.
Proud little thing."
"Proud,
indeed," Marcus repeated.
"'Tis
what I said." Cameron eyed him. "Are you sure something isn't ailing
you?"
Marcus
shook his head.
"At
first, she didn't say much," Cameron went on. "But I could see a
storm brewed in her head. Then one day, she informed me Brahan Seer was in dire
need of something." He sighed deeply. "She was more right than she
knew."
Marcus
understood his father's meaning. His mother's death five years ago had affected
Cameron dramatically. Only last year had his father finally sought female
comfort. The gaping hole created by her absence left them both thirsting for a
firm, feminine hand.
"It's
a miracle she survived the fire," Cameron said. "'Course, if you knew
her, you would not be surprised."
"I
believe I do," Marcus remarked.
"What?
You only just arrived."
"I
picked up passengers on the way home—Tavis, little Bonnie, and an American
woman." Marcus related the tale. "I recognized her accent," he
ended. "Got accustomed to it while on campaign in America."
Cameron
smiled. "Elise is forever chasing after those children."
"Why?"
His
father's expression darkened. "Shamus was murdered."
Marcus
straightened. "Murdered?"
"Aye."
"By
God, how—Lauren, what of her?"
Sadness
softened the hard lines around his father's mouth. "She is fine, in body,
but… her mind has no' been the same since Shamus died. We tried consoling her,
but she will have none of it."
A tingling
sensation crept up Marcus's back. "What happened?"
"We
found him just over the border in Montal Cove with his skull bashed in."
"Any
idea who did it?"
"Aye,"
Cameron said. "Campbells."
Marcus
surged to his feet. He strode to the wall, where hung the claymore belonging to
his ancestor Ryan MacGregor, the man who saved their clan from annihilation.
Marcus ran a finger along the blade, the cold, hard steel heating his blood as
nothing else could. Except… Campbells.
Had two
centuries of bloodshed not been enough?
Fifty
years ago, King George finally proclaimed the MacGregors no longer outlaws and
restored their Highland name. General John Murray, Marcus's great uncle, was
named clan chief. Only recently, the MacGregors were given a place of honor in
the escort, which carried the "Honors of Scotland" before the
sovereign. Marcus had been there, marching alongside his clansmen.
Too many
dark years had passed under this cloud. Would the hunted feeling Ryan MacGregor
experienced ever fade from the clan? Perhaps it would have been better if
Helena hadn't saved Ryan that fateful day so long ago. But Ryan had lived, and
his clan thrived, not by the sword, but by the timeless power of gold. Aye, the
Ashlund name Helena gave Ryan saved them. Yet, Ryan MacGregor's soul demanded
recompense.
How could
Ryan rest while his people still perished?
Marcus
removed his hand from the sword and faced his father. "It's time the
MacGregors brought down the Campbell dogs."
My
Highland Love is the first book in the Highland Lords series and is now available at http://www.spsilverpublishing.com/ and your
favorite distributors.
If you would like to learn more about me and my books, stop by
my website or visit me at Facebook.
Tarah
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