Spotlight & Giveaway: Highland Wolf by Lynsay Sands

Today it is my pleasure to Welcome romance author Lynsay Sands to HJ!

Hi Lynsay and welcome to HJ! We’re so excited to chat with you about your new release, Highland Wolf!

 
Hello everyone and happy 2022!
 

Please summarize the book a la Twitter style for the readers here:

Lady Claray is a pawn in a plan to get a hold of her family’s land. Her greedy uncle drags her to the altar to marry her off to her awful neighbor when the infamous mercenary, the Wolf, appears in time to snatch her away before the nightmarish nuptials could take place.
 

Please share the opening lines of this book:

Claray was standing at the window, debating the merits of leaping to her death rather than marry Maldouen MacNaughton, when knocking at the door made her stiffen. The loud banging sounded like a death knell. It meant her time was up. They’d come to take her to the chapel.
Claray’s fingers tightened briefly on the stone edging of the window, her body tensing in preparation of climbing up and casting herself out. But she could not do it. Father Cameron said that self-killing was a sin certain to land you in hell, and she was quite sure that ten or twenty years of hell on earth as MacNaughton’s wife were better than an eternity in the true hell as one of Satan’s handmaidens.

Please share a few Fun facts about this book…

• Claray is an animal lover, and much to the chagrin of the men who rescued and are travelling with her, every time she tends to her personal needs, Claray stumbles across another animal that needs her help. Eventually, they fear what she’ll return with each time she disappears from their view.
• Conall and his men step up and start helping Claray care for her “wee beasties” when she couldn’t, even though they think it’s a bit silly.
• Claray has a very large and very intimidating pet gray wolf called “Lovey”.
• Claray has a large black steed that no one but Claray can ride called “Stubborn Bastard”.
• At one point Claray calls Conall a “Stubborn Bastard”… or at least that’s what he’s left to think for a while, because Claray doesn’t correct him.

What first attracts your Hero to the Heroine and vice versa?

The first time the Wolf lays eyes on Claray he thinks her attractive, but not the raving beauty her being kidnapped would imply. However, as he gets to know her he sees her for the beauty she is; her natural charm, her fierce protectiveness for those she loves, her courage, her tenacity, and even her passion for wee beasts. All too quickly, he envisions her as his beautiful wife.

When Claray first sees Conall, a fierce Highlander with jet black hair and muscles to match his mercenary reputation, she thinks him very attractive. But better than that, Claray just likes Conall from the start. And when he takes it upon himself to help care for her furry charges when she can’t, his consideration and tenderness seals the deal for Claray.
 

Using just 5 words, how would you describe Hero and Heroine’s love affair?

Fast, passionate, full of debacles.
 

The First Kiss…

Claray just buried her face in his neck and waited for what he promised to happen. (the frigid water to warm up) She was so distracted with the cold that it took her several minutes to notice that he was running his hands down her back, scraping away the worst of the muck into the water and letting the river carry it away. Unfortunately, while the mud had dried and flaked away from both their faces as they’d traveled here, that was all that had happened. Riding as they had with her muddy back to his muddy chest, it hadn’t dried there on either of them, at least not where their bodies had met, and there was a good deal of it still coating her gown.
His chest too, she realized, glancing down between them. The mud was a good inch thick on his shirt and plaid and Claray grimaced as she realized she was getting it all over the front of her gown, pressing against him as she was.
Leaning back a little, she started to do for him what he was doing for her and began sweeping her hands over his shirt and plaid, scraping away great hunks of the smelly mud. They worked silently for several minutes until Claray became aware that the Wolf had gone still, his hands resting at her waist unmoving.
She glanced up with curiosity, and her eyes widened as she took in his expression. Confused by the heat and intensity in his eyes, Claray lowered her gaze to her hands and realized she had worked her way down his chest to his lower abdomen, shifting back in his lap as she went. Her fingers were now brushing perilously close to parts she had no business brushing.
Claray stilled, but then didn’t know what to do and simply sat there staring at her immobile fingers. She stayed like that until one of his hands left her back and rose to her neck. When his fingers then glided into her hair to cup her head, Claray had the oddest urge to close her eyes and lean into the caress. Instead she met his gaze and watched as his face lowered toward hers.
Despite seeing it coming, the first brush of his lips across hers was startling. Claray closed her eyes as a frisson of awareness ran through her, and instinctively tipped her head up to make it easier for him as his lips moved over hers again. But she gasped with surprise when he nipped at her lower lip and then sucked it into his mouth briefly. It seemed the oddest thing to do, and yet it felt so nice, she thought faintly just before he let it slip from his mouth and ran his tongue along the seam of her lips.
Unsure what he was doing and if that was part of kissing, she started to pull back and opened her mouth to ask if it was, only to gasp as he followed and took advantage of her attempt to speak by slipping his tongue inside. Claray stilled again in shock as his tongue explored her in a way she’d never anticipated, and then a whole host of feelings she’d never before experienced rose up in her and she melted against him.
Heat and excitement were suddenly coursing through her, setting off little explosions everywhere their bodies met. Feeling off-kilter, Claray slid her hands up his chest to wrap them around his neck, needing something to hold on to. She felt the hand at her back urging her forward in his lap, and went willingly until she was plastered against his chest, but that just seemed to increase what she was experiencing. Her breasts suddenly felt heavy and tender where their chests pressed together, and heat was shivering through her body making her arch against him as his hand tilted her head to the angle he wanted and his mouth devoured hers.

Without revealing too much, what is your favorite scene in the book?

I think this scene and why it’s one of my faves speaks for itself. LOL.

“I think she kens the wolf.”
Conall stopped gaping at his wife at that comment from Roderick and cast the other man a disgusted glance. “Ye think?”
Much to his amazement, his sarcasm made the usually solemn man laugh.
Shaking his head, Conall turned back to watch his wife being mauled by a great beast of a wolf—he’d never seen one so big—and her stallion, who both seemed determined to give her a bath with their tongues. He didn’t move or speak for a moment though. He was still trying to regain his composure. The last couple of minutes had been most stressful to him.
First Claray had called him a stubborn bastard—something he still didn’t understand since he didn’t think he’d done anything to deserve it. And then her horse had reared, and just as he was about to pull her off the mount to save her from a tumble, the steed was off charging away with her.
Conall was pretty sure his heart had stopped at that point. It had certainly skipped a beat at the very least. He’d known she didn’t have the reins and couldn’t possibly reach them to regain control of her horse, and his mind had filled with all sorts of horrible endings to this escapade as he’d raced after her: Claray tossed from her mount and landing in a broken heap in the grass or, worse yet, tossed off into a tree that broke her back. Or, if she managed to keep her seat, then Claray and her horse both attacked by the wolf they’d heard howling, an animal he’d been sure was suffering the madness since wolves were night hunters by nature and simply did not run around howling first thing in the morning.
With all those possibilities spurring him on, Conall had forced his horse to dangerous speeds to catch up. He’d just passed the men and was closing in on his wife’s mount when he’d seen the wolf appear on the path before her. His heart had stopped again when the stallion reared once more. But rather than being tossed, or tumbling from the saddle, she’d dropped off the beast as if it was her usual method of dismounting. She’d then rushed to embrace the wolf as if he were a long-lost friend. And that’s what the horse and wolf were acting like too. Both were licking at her like they were mother cats cleaning a kitten who’d returned after being missing. Conall had reined in at once, and had heard the other men catch up as he dismounted, but had then simply stood staring at his wife and the beasts until Roderick had joined him and spoke.
“I guess I win the bet,” Roderick commented now, and when the words brought Conall’s blank gaze back to him, he shrugged. “Hamish thought the next animal would be a dormouse or pine marten, Payton thought a wildcat, but I bet on a wolf.” He grinned, something else he rarely did, and pointed out, “It’s a wolf.”
“Aye,” Conall growled, his gaze sliding over the rest of the warriors that had followed Roderick to hunt down the howling wolf. All of them had dismounted and now stood with their swords in hand but hanging at their sides, their wide eyes watching his wife and her beasts with uncertainty. He suspected they thought everything was fine and the wolf must not be suffering the madness, but weren’t one hundred percent certain since they’d never seen a wolf act like this one. Or a horse, for that matter, he supposed, turning back to the trio on the path as Claray released a small giggle, and put a hand back to push her mount’s nose away.
“Give over, Stubborn Bastard,” Claray said on a laugh. “Me husband rushed me off so quick I’ve no’ apples to give ye.”
“Well, at least I’m no’ the only one she calls a stubborn bastard,” Conall growled, irritated all over again. He thought he’d been most kind as a husband and surely didn’t deserve the title.
“It’s his name.”
Conall glanced to the soldier who had spoken and recognized him at once as his uncle’s first, Gilly. The man was as old as his uncle, his hair more grey than anything else, but he was still one of the finest warriors Conall had ever met, which was why he was still his uncle’s first, he supposed.
“’Tis true,” Gilly said, putting his sword away. “Her da was talkin’ about the beast while we waited in the bailey fer the two o’ ye to join us this morn. Yer uncle said as how it looked a fine beast, and MacFarlane said ’twas a stubborn bastard, and in fact its name is Stubborn Bastard because they got so used to calling it that when it would no’ let anyone ride it. Claimed he was thinkin’ the beast a waste o’ horseflesh and was considerin’ killin’ him when his daughter, yer lady wife, took an interest in him. He said she tamed it with a few soft words and an apple or two, and the next thing he knew it was following her around the bailey like a dog and letting her ride on him.”

If your book was optioned for a movie, what scene would be absolutely crucial to include?

This scene is crucial because it’s both funny, and gives us a glimpse into the personalities of both Claray and Conall, as well as his men, Hamish and Payton.

Hamish and Payton’s musings as they try to guess what might be taking Claray so long, Claray’s determination to help the baby stoat she happens upon, and Conall’s obvious displeasure at her rescuing what he considers to be vermin, yet still never outright refusing to allow her to rescue it.
Conall was distracted from his thoughts by Claray fidgeting before him on the saddle. The lass was wriggling about like she had a squirrel up her skirts. She was also sighing over and over again; he noted.
“Lass,” he began with concern.
“I got distracted by little Brodie and forgot to . . . er . . . tend to the business we stopped for,” she blurted, interrupting him before he could ask what was wrong.
For some reason Conall’s lips were sent twitching at the babbled confession. He had no idea why. He should be bloody annoyed. Instead, he was amused. But he flattened his lips out to hide his laughter when she glanced back anxiously.
“I realize ye must be angry, but—”
“I’m no’ angry,” he assured her solemnly, ending whatever else she would have said, and then he urged his horse quickly forward around the next bend and another to leave the men back a ways, before steering his mount to the edge of the trees. Conall had barely brought the animal to a halt before dismounting. He then lifted Claray to the ground and stepped back.
She turned and had hurried several steps away before suddenly stopping. Whirling, she rushed back to shove the rabbit at him. “Could you—? I can no’ hold him and—”
Claray didn’t finish. Conall had automatically taken the rabbit when she shoved it at him. The moment his hands closed around it, she broke off her explanation and hurried off into the woods.
Sighing, Conall stared down at the furry creature and then turned toward Roderick, Payton and Hamish as they caught up to him, the other men close behind.
“She got distracted with the rabbit at our last stop and did no’ take care o’ business,” he growled when they raised their eyebrows in question.
The three men exchanged glances, and then Payton commented, “Well, let us hope she’s no’ distracted by another rabbit this time, then.”
“Aye,” Hamish agreed, looking sorely put upon at the thought.
Alarmed at the suggestion, Conall turned to glance to where Claray had disappeared into the woods.
“Have ye told her that her father sent us to fetch her?” Payton asked after several minutes had passed.
“Nay,” Conall snapped, his gaze sliding from the woods to the bunny he held. He felt foolish and awkward standing there holding the damned thing. It wasn’t full grown, too small to make a meal of, really, but it was soft and warm and trembling something fierce. Rabbits were not known to take stress well, and this one was obviously distressed. It would probably drop dead ere they reached MacFarlane, he thought, and hoped she didn’t blame him for it.
“Ye do no’ think she might be fleeing, then?” Payton asked after several more minutes had passed. When Conall glared at him for the suggestion, the younger man shrugged and pointed out, “She seems to be taking an inordinate amount o’ time.”
“Mayhap she’s got herself lost,” Hamish suggested.
“Here, take this and I’ll go find her,” Conall said with exasperation, crossing to Hamish to pass him the rabbit when the man reluctantly held out his hands. Turning on his heel then, he strode into the woods in search of his errant betrothed. It took him several minutes to find her. Or at least her blue-covered bottom sticking up into the air. The lass was on her knees in the grass, her head down near the ground as she poked a hand into the hollow of a tree, feeling about.
Conall halted abruptly at the sight and then gave his head a shake and strode forward. “What the devil are ye doing, lass? Ye’ll ruin yer gown like that. Get up.”
Claray’s behind dropped at once to rest on her feet as her upper body rose and she glanced over her shoulder. She then turned to scoop up something and twisted to hold out her cupped hands and show him what she held. “Look what I found, Laird Wolf. Is he no’ the sweetest thing?”
Conall paused next to her and peered down at the small ball of fine pale silver down in her hands. Recognizing what she was holding, he immediately closed his eyes and prayed for patience.
“He’s so small I near to stepped on him ere I spotted him,” Claray said now. “There was some red brown fur and a patch of blood near him. His poor mother must have been moving him to a new nest when she was attacked and carried off. I was just trying to find her nest to see if he had any little brothers and sisters left behind too. There appears to be a nest of grass and leaves in this hollow, but ’tis empty. It must be the old nest. I considered looking for the new one, but fear ’twould be impossible to find. It could be anywhere and we really do no’ have the time to search properly, so I suppose we’ll ha’e to leave them,” she said sadly.
“And that one too,” Conall growled.
“What?” she asked with surprise, raising a frown his way.
“’Tis vermin, lass,” Conall said shortly. “Just drop it there and let us go.”
“’Tis a stoat kit,” Claray said, scowling right back.
“Aye. Vermin,” he repeated with irritation.
“But ’tis just a babe, m’laird. It’s only got one eye open yet, so ’tis no more than five weeks old. ’Twill die if left on its own,” she protested.
“’Tis vermin,” Conall said for the third time with exasperation. “Besides, stoats as young as that one can no’ stay warm on their own. ’Twill probably die anyway.”
“Oh, aye,” she murmured, peering down at it with concern, and then much to his amazement, she tugged the top of her gown away from her chest and eased the small creature inside to nestle between her breasts. “That should help to keep him warm.”
Conall gaped at her, so stunned he didn’t even think to help her to rise when she then struggled back to her feet.
“We should probably go, m’laird. The MacNaughton’s men could be on our trail,” she reminded him as she headed away.
Conall stared after her briefly, and then gave his head a shake and hurried to follow.
“Wait. Lass, ye can no’ . . .” His words died out when she paused and turned to smile at him, her head tilted in question. He had been going to insist she leave the stoat behind, but she looked so damned sweet . . . Giving in with a resigned sigh, he asked instead, “Did ye tend yer business ere ye found the wee beast, or do ye need another minute?”
“Oh.” She flushed, but shook her head. “Nay. I’m fine, m’laird. I found the stoat after . . .” Rather than finish the statement, she waved vaguely back the way they’d come, but it was enough.

Readers should read this book …

Highland Wolf is a fun mystery-filled romantic romp across the Highlands. If you want to lose yourself in a story that will have you laughing from the start, then you should read Highland Wolf.

What are you currently working on? What other releases do you have planned?

As for what I’m working on…

I’m currently working on the next Argeneau which should come out in the fall. This story is about golf course owner Natalie, her daughter Mia and Valerian. After a tragic accident took her entire family, Natalie was left to raise her unborn baby on her own. To add to her misery, circumstances forced her to give up her successful career in the city and move to a broken down golf course she inherited from her parents. Living on a shoestring budget, Natalie struggled to raise her daughter and keep up with the work the course and the outdated clubhouse required, so the last thing on her mind was dating.
Valerian bought a farm in the county where Stephanie and Thorne live. During the whole Dressler mess he was commenting on what a nice area it was, and Stephanie encouraged him to buy there, even pointing out a farm for sale that’s down the street a ways from a golf course as she knows he loves to golf. When Valerian finally meets the owner three months later, he’s shocked to realize (and a little annoyed at Stephanie for not telling him) that she’s his potential life mate. Problem is, Natalie’s not going to be an easy sell. Not only is she a single parent with a business and no time for men, but there’s something in her past that is going to make her a challenge.
To top it off, a threat to Natalie’s life appears, and the danger escalates the longer it takes Valerian and the enforcers to stop it.

And I’m waiting for the edits for the last Highland Brides story I handed in. It’s about Laird Calan Campbell and Allissaid MacFarlane, a cousin to the Buchanans through her mother, and the second MacFarlane daughter to get a story.
The MacFarlanes, still under threat from their neighbor Maldouen MacNaughton, are told to stay within the keep’s walls for protection. But when her young brother slips out to go to the river, Allissaid rushes out after him to bring him back to safety. Instead, she’s captured by MacNaughton men. While still unconscious, Maldouen has a priest marry them, fortunately Allissaid escapes before the marriage can be consummated…
The Campbells have had nothing but grief from the MacNaughtons. They’ve been raiding Campbell land for years, and only a lack of proof has prevented Calan, the Campbell laird, from calling for an all-out war against the neighboring clan. Instead, he finally decreed MacNaughtons unwelcome on Campbell land. Trespassing would mean instant death, and so far that seemed to work. So, he was more than a little amazed when one not only crossed onto his land, but stooped so low as to steal the clothes off his back. Calan actually saw the naked lad who ran up and made off with his kilt… Only the lad turns out to be a naked lass, Allissaid MacFarlane or possibly Allissaid MacNaughton. Whether or not she’s married is questionable. What’s not questionable is that Calan wants the lass for his own. He just has to deal with MacNaughton and this possible marriage to have her.

As for upcoming releases…

The next Argeneau, called Immortal Rising, is about Stephanie McGill. This is a story that many readers have been asking for, so I’m happy to say it’s coming out on April 26th.
Turned as a teenager, Stephanie has had more than her fair share of hardship in her young life. She lost her entire family except for Dani and even Dani disappeared with life mate Decker for quite some time. She is highly gifted as an immortal in being able to read and even match life mates, but the gift comes with a curse, as she can’t turn it off. And she’s dealt with all these trials with a grace and strength like no other, but she’s lonely.
Who could be unique enough to be her match?

On July 26th, the reissue of The Chase will come out. This is one of my original hysterical historicals and it has common secondary characters to The Deed and The Key.
It wasn’t her first choice, for Seonaid Dunbar had, like her brother, been trained as a Scottish warrior at her father’s knee; but fleeing to an abbey was clearly preferable to whacking on Blake Sherwell with her sword — which she’d happily do before wedding the man. No, she’d not walk weakly to the slaughter, dutifully pledging her troth to anyone the English court called “Angel.” Fair hair and eyes as blue as the heavens hardly proved a man’s worth. There was no such thing as an English angel; only English devils. And there were many ways to elude a devilish suitor, even one that King Henry ordered her to wed.
No, the next Countess of Sherwell was not sitting at home in her castle as Blake thought: embroidering, peacefully waiting for him to arrive. She was fleeing to a new stronghold and readying her defenses. Swords and sleeping drafts, Claymores and kisses. This battle would require all weapons–if he ever caught her. And the Chase was about to begin.

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Excerpt from Highland Wolf:

“Oh, dear.” Claray lifted her skirts a bit to get a look at her feet. She’d woken up a few moments ago to a beautiful sunny morning, a bunch of grumpy men and a terrible need to relieve herself. The Wolf had not been pleased at the need to stop. He’d not said so, but his grim expression as she’d passed him the fox pup and bunny sling before slipping from his mount, along with the sharp order he’d given her to “make it quick” as she’d rushed off into the woods, had made that clear.
Claray had been so overset by his abrupt attitude she’d been in something of a state and hadn’t really paid attention to her surroundings. She’d simply rushed deep enough into the woods that she was sure she couldn’t be seen by the men, taken care of business and then hurried back the way she’d come.
Unfortunately, she appeared to have got herself turned around somehow and had gone in the wrong direction. Claray had only realized that when she’d found herself trekking through a patch of boggy ground she was quite sure she hadn’t passed through on the way out. However, she’d rushed quite a distance into the waterlogged area before the liquid had soaked through her shoes to tell her that she’d taken a wrong turn somewhere.
Claray had paused to actually take a good look at her surroundings. It was only then she’d realized that it must have rained at some point during the night, and quite heavily too from the looks of things. She was several feet distance into a large puddle that could have passed for a small shallow lake or pond if it weren’t for the trees everywhere.
Not wanting to traipse any further into the puddle and find out how deep it might be, she’d started to turn, intending to head back the way she’d come, only to find that she appeared to be stuck. Now she peered down at where her feet had sunk into the mud to her ankles and wondered how it had happened so quickly.
Holding her skirts up to keep them safe from the mud, Claray put all her weight on her left foot and tried to pull her right foot out of the sucking muck. It was ridiculously hard to do, however. Her foot didn’t seem to move at all, so she was grateful when she heard what she was quite sure was the Wolf calling her name.
“Here!” Claray shouted, so relieved that help was coming that she didn’t even care if that help came in the form of a cranky man.
“Where?” he called, but his voice sounded closer.
Since she had no idea where she was, all Claray could respond with was another, “Here!”
“Aye, but where the hell is—? Oh.”
Claray peered over her shoulder to see the Wolf staring at her from some ten feet away. His gaze was fixed on her lower legs with a sort of heated interest that made her look down. It was only then that she realized that she was holding her skirts rather high. They were actually halfway between her knees and her nether region, leaving an indecent amount of leg on view. Groaning, Claray quickly let them drop until they were just an inch above the mud and tried not to blush as she turned back to see him finally drag his gaze up to her face.
“I’d be guessing ye’re stuck in the mire,” he said after a moment, and started forward again.
“Aye,” she murmured, glancing down at her feet to see that they, thankfully, had only sunk a little further into the mud since she’d realized she was stuck. “It appears to have rained while I was sleeping.”
“Oh, aye, it rained,” he assured her dryly. “Verra hard and for a verra long time. Our plaids kept the worse o’ it off o’ us, but the horses were no’ as lucky. Aside from getting soaked, the storm made some o’ them anxious. Unfortunately, there was no cover nearby or I would ha’e brought a halt to our journey until the storm ended.”
He stopped next to her, grasped her by the waist and lifted upward, his eyes widening with surprise when nothing happening.
“Aye, ye really are stuck,” he muttered, releasing her. The Wolf bent to grasp one ankle in both of his hands and instructed, “Try to lift yer leg as I pull. Hopefully between the two o’ us, we can—” His words ended on a grunt of pain as her knee suddenly slammed up into his face. It wasn’t deliberate. Claray had felt him start to pull as he spoke, and had followed his instructions by trying to yank her foot upward out of the muck. She’d put all of her effort into the pulling, and this time it had worked. Too well. While her shoe stayed, her foot was yanked out of it so abruptly that her knee slammed up into his nose.
The Wolf immediately jerked upright and a step back, leaving Claray swinging her arms wildly as she tried to balance unexpectedly on one foot.
Hearing her cry out as she lost the battle and started to tumble backward, he made a grab for her, stumbled over the foot that was still stuck in the mud and they both went crashing down into the puddle.

Claray breathed out slowly and stared up at the trees overhead, mentally checking for pain or injury from her fall, but there didn’t appear to be any. The landing hadn’t exactly been soft, but it hadn’t been as bad as she’d anticipated when she’d realized there was no saving herself either. She hadn’t had the wind knocked out of her, or hit her head on a stone or log hidden in the mud and knocked herself out. All in all, her fall hadn’t been too bad . . . except for the mud squishing up around her back and sides, cold and wet and incredibly foul smelling.
She was grimacing over that when an irate squeaking caught her ear. Lifting her head out of the muck to look at her chest, Claray found herself nose to nose with Squeak. She’d forgotten that the baby stoat was sleeping, cuddled between her breasts. Apparently, the fall had woken the wee creature, and while he didn’t appear to be hurt, he was definitely irate at being disturbed. At least that was what Claray was guessing from the way the little kit was squeaking away and trying to climb her face. On the other hand, she didn’t speak stoat, so he could just as easily be exclaiming over her fall and checking to be sure she was all right.
Spitting sounds distracted her from the stoat, and Claray turned her head to look at the Wolf. The warrior had landed next to her, face-first in the mud. Now he’d pushed himself onto his elbows to get his face out of the muck. Claray bit her lip as she took in his mud-covered face and the way he was trying to purge more mud that had apparently gotten into his mouth.
Giving up the effort after a moment, he sighed unhappily and turned to look at her. His gaze traveled over her lying in the mud next to him, and then he said, “Well, that did no’ go at all to plan.”
When a startled laugh slipped from her lips at his words, Claray instinctively covered her mouth with her hand to silence it for fear of upsetting him. Unfortunately, her hand had landed in the mud and her action had slapped mud across her face and inside her own mouth. It tasted as disgusting as it smelled and Claray stared over her hand, wide-eyed with horror.
“Spit,” he said at once, pulling her hand away from her mouth, and tugging on it as he added, “Come, roll on yer side and spit it out, lass. It’s fair foul.”
Desperate to remove the godawful taste, Claray did as he said and rolled toward him to spit as much of the muck out of her mouth as she could into the small open patch of mud between them. Very aware that ladies did not spit, she blushed as she did it, and ignored the angry tirade of chirps coming from Squeak as he scrambled up onto her side to avoid being dumped in the mud.
Much to her embarrassment, Claray was still spitting when Roderick, Payton and Hamish found them. Groaning at the humiliation of it all, she gave up her spitting and simply waited to see what new embarrassment would be visited on her.
As several more men poured out of the woods around them, Roderick announced, “We heard yer shout and Lady Claray’s scream, and came to investigate.”
“Aye.” Payton’s lips twitched, but he managed to keep a mostly solemn expression as he asked mildly, “Is there a reason the two o’ ye are rolling about in the muck?”
“Shut it, MacKay, and give me a hand,” the Wolf growled. “I swear I do no’ ken why I’ve suffered yer presence fer so many years.”
“Because I’m yer cousin and me da makes ye,” Payton said with a laugh as he stepped to the edge of the lake of mud and extended his hand out to the Wolf.

Excerpts. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
 
 

Book Info:

New York Times Bestselling Author Lynsay Sands delivers another sexy historical romance set in the wilds of the Highlands

In all her daydreams about her wedding day, Lady Claray MacFarlane never once imagined being dragged to the altar by her greedy uncle and forced to marry a man she didn’t know. But that’s what happened, or would have, had a Highland warrior not snatched her up at the last minute and ridden off with her in his arms. . .

They call him the Wolf. The mercenary’s courage and prowess in battle are known throughout the Highlands, and with his handsome face and black-as-sin hair, he was as intelligent and deadly as the wolf he was named for…

But the Wolf is also Claray’s betrothed. Thought to have been killed as a child, he’d been in hiding all these years. Now he’s determined to earn enough coin to rebuild his home, reclaim his birthright, and honor his marriage contract to Claray. For he’s fallen for the tender-hearted lass…and he will do anything to protect her and their future together.
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Meet the Author:

My name is Lynsay Sands and I’m the author of the Argeneau series and many hysterical historicals (as my readers tend to call them). I have written over sixty-five books and twelve anthologies, which probably tells you I really enjoy writing. I consider myself very lucky to have been able to make a career out of it.
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