in this book come from a missal used during the reign of Richard II in England (1377–99). The Scottish and English churches at the time both derived their rites from the Roman ones, so the ceremonies would have been the same.
After serving as Captain of Clan Chattan for nearly forty years, Lachlan mac William Mackintosh died at a ripe old age in 1407, leaving, by his wife Agnes, daughter of Hugh Fraser of Lovat, one son, Ferquhard, who succeeded him, and a daughter, whose name probably was not Ealga and who married Chisholm of Strathglass, not Shaw Mackintosh. He married “a daughter of Robert mac Alasdair vic Aona,” and therefore his daughter here, Catriona, is entirely fictional, as is Fin.
My sources for Highland Master include The Confederation of Clan Chattan, Its Kith and Kin by Charles Fraser-Mackintosh of Drummond, Glasgow, 1898; The House and Clan of Mackintosh and of the Clan Chattan by Alexander Mackintosh Shaw, Moy Hall, n.d., and, of course, the always impressive Donald MacRae.
I must also thank my webmaster, David Durein, for sharing his expert knowledge and personal experience in both creating and removing a similarly placed but well intended dam, and the always efficient Julie Ruhle, who keeps me sane by dealing with the trivia whenever she can.
As always, I thank my wonderful agents, Lucy Childs and Aaron Priest, my terrific editor, Frances Jalet-Miller, Senior Editor Selina McLemore, Production Manager Anna Maria Piluso, copyeditor extraordinaire Sean Devlin, Art Director Diane Luger, Cover Artist Claire Brown, Editorial Director Amy Pierpont, Vice President and Editor in Chief Beth de Guzman, and everyone else at Hachette Book Group’s Grand Central Publishing/Forever who contributed to this book.
If you enjoyed Highland Master, please look for Highland Hero, the story of Sir Ivor Mackintosh, an impertinent lass who ignores Sir Ivor’s infamous temper (and happens to be the King’s ward), and a seven-year-old prince with a habit of commanding all in his orbit. It should be at your favorite bookstore in October 2011.
Don’t miss the second book in Amanda Scott’s tantalizing Scottish Knights Series!
Please turn this page for a preview of
Highland Hero
Available in mass market
in October 2011.
Chapter 1
Scotland, Turnberry Castle, February 1402
Her bare skin was as smooth as the silky gown she had worn before he’d helped her take it off. His fingertips glided over her, stroking a bare arm, a bare shoulder, its soft hollow, and then the softer rise of a full breast heaving with desire for him.
Cupping its softness, he brushed a thumb across its tip, enjoying her passionate moans and arcing body as he did and feeling the nipple harden.
Part of him had hardened, too. His whole body urged him to conquer the lush beauty in his bed, but although he was an impatient man, he was also one who liked to take his time with women. Experience—rather a good deal of it—had taught him that coupling was better for both when he took things slowly.
Neither of them spoke, because he rarely enjoyed conversation at such times. Preferring to relish the sensations, he favored partners who did not chatter at him.
Stimulating them both with his kisses, he shifted an arm across her to position himself for taking her. As she spread her legs to accommodate him, she caressed his body with her hands, fingers, and tongue, sparking responses from every nerve.
Her motions and moans fed his urges, making it harder for him to resist simply taking her, dominating her, teaching her who was the master in that bed.
The bed shifted slightly on the thought, and he had a fleeting semiawareness that he was dreaming—fleeting because he ruthlessly shoved the half-formed thought away lest, if true, he might awaken too soon.
Somehow in that moment, in the odd way that dreams have of changing things about, the beauty had got to one side of him and he could no longer see her in the darkness. Ever willing, he shifted to accommodate the new arrangement.
Finding the warm, softly silken skin of her shoulder, he reached for her breasts again, rising onto his elbow and leaning over her as he did. He felt her body stiffen, and when his seeking hand found one soft breast, it seemed smaller than before, albeit just as well formed and just as soft. Sakes, but the woman herself seemed smaller. Most oddly, though, he touched real silk there instead of bare skin.
Undaunted, he ignored her increasing rigidity and slid his hand down to move the annoying silk out of his way and