The Red Drifter of the Sea (Pirates of the Isles #3) - Celeste Barclay Page 0,129

head once to his first mate, Kyle, who was the only sober one in the lot. Ruairí made another visual sweep of the room, checking whether there were any other sailors who might be less enthused to see him come ashore. When he was satisfied none of his rivals were waiting to stab him, he attempted to make his way to the bar. As he pushed through the standing-room-only main room, he noticed a tavern wench attempting to carry a tray of empty mugs to the bar. She was a sturdy sort, but short when compared to the mountainous Highlanders and Hebrideans who made up the patrons of the Lads. Ruairí couldn’t help but smile as she tried to twist and shoulder her way past men who blocked her on purpose to give themselves more time to ogle her body.

It was rare that Ruairí felt mercy, sympathy, or compassion for anyone, let alone a woman, but there was an odd twinge in his heart as he watched her try to maintain her smile as she became more frustrated. The woman swatted away a hand that dared come too close to her modest neckline. That observation caused Ruairí to quirk a brow and inspect the woman. She had on a clean white blouse–a rarity in this tavern–and it fit loosely over her entire bust. It left much to the imagination, and Ruairí found his was alive and well. Her skirts reached her ankles instead of hiked up on either side like the other women who worked in the tavern. From what Ruairí could tell, she looked more like a farmer’s wife than a tavern wench. She didn’t fit in.

Ruairí’s sense of compassion grew alongside his annoyance at not being able to make his way to the bar. He began to elbow men around him, and the crowd parted. Between his size and reputation, Ruairí MacNeil was a hard man to ignore. He grasped the top of the woman’s hips and propelled her forward. She attempted to look over her shoulder, but she couldn’t make out the man who was either her captor or her protector. When they made it to the bar, the woman set her tray down and spun around.

The Highland Ladies

Have you been reading The Highland Ladies series? Be sure to preorder the newest installment, A Hellion at the Highland Court, coming December 26, 2020!

Always a bridesmaid, never a bride…

For more than a decade, Laurel Ross has been a lady-in-waiting at Robert the Bruce’s royal court, a place where money is power. Laurel is the fourth out of five daughters, and the only one unwed. While Laurel isn’t exactly a pauper, her father, the Earl of Ross, has already paid four large dowries. Sent to court to find a husband, Laurel’s once youthful hope has turned to bitterness as one friend after another marries. Her viperous tongue has earned her the title of “hellion”. Will any man accept a bride who comes with such a small dowry?

Every man is guilty of all the good he didn’t do…

Guilt is slowly eating away at Brodie Campbell. When Brodie’s betrothed unexpectedly falls ill and dies after he refuses to escort her home in the rain, Brodie’s guilt doesn’t come from the woman’s untimely death. It comes from the relief he feels that he’s no longer bound to her. Brodie isn’t interested in a biddable and mild bride. Intrigued by the fiery Laurel Ross, Brodie wonders if this shrew can ever be tamed. Armed with wealth and charm, Brodie welcomes the challenge. Will this spitfire relent long enough to find love with a man who tests her patience?

When a wager puts their lives in peril, Brodie and Laurel discover trust is earned, not given.

If you love a steamy rags-to-riches romance, then you’re sure to enjoy my sizzling new Highlander romance, A Hellion at the Highland Court.

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A Spinster at the Highland Court BOOK 1 SNEAK PEEK

Elizabeth Fraser looked around the royal chapel within Stirling Castle. The ornate candlestick holders on the altar glistened and reflected the light from the ones in the wall sconces as the priest intoned the holy prayers of the Advent season. Elizabeth kept her head bowed as though in prayer, but her green eyes swept the congregation. She watched the other ladies-in-waiting, many of whom were doing the same thing. She caught the eye of Allyson Elliott. Elizabeth raised one eyebrow as Allyson’s lips twitched. Both women had been there enough times to accept they’d be kneeling for at