ARC Review: Enchanted By The Highlander by Lecia Cornwall (A Highand Fairytale)

Title: Enchanted By The Highlander

          (A Highland Fairytale )

Author: Lecia Cornwall

Release Date: November 14, 2017 (ARC)

Publisher: St. Martin’s Press - Swerve

Category: Historical Romance

Type: Digital

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Lecia Cornwall Website

Blurb:

Gillian MacLeod is shy and quiet, the least likely of all her sisters to seek out excitement and adventure. But on a moonlit night at a masquerade ball, Gillian steals a kiss from a mysterious stranger, knowing she’ll never see him again.

John Erly, disowned by his noble English father, started a new life in Scotland. Most people are suspicious of the foreign mercenary and he does everything is his power to avoid romantic entanglements. But he can’t forget the bewitching beauty who kissed him in the dark, and stole his heart, even though he has no idea who she might be.

A year later, John is given the duty of escorting Gillian to her wedding and immediately recognizes her as the temptress he’s dreamed of for months. There’s not much he can do when she's promised to another man, but fate intervenes and this time, passion—and adventure—can’t be denied. Honor demands he stay away from the MacLeod’s enchanting daughter, but love has a very different ending in mind...

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Favorite Line(s):

“One kiss in the moonlight, and I couldn’t forget you. This— This could kill me. I suspect once with you would never be enough.”  ~  John

“Nay. She bewitched me,” he said, his eyes on her. He couldn’t seem to look away. “Never kiss a lass in a mask.”  ~  John

And one by one, his daughters kissed his cheek, and he thought how very much he loved his lasses, even if he didn’t trust any of them as far as he could toss the whole pack.  ~  Donal

Excerpt:

Gillian watched John Erly draw water for her, his muscles working under his linen shirt, his knuckles white on the handle. His eyes never left hers. The summer night was soft and warm, even with the wind coming off the sea. The salt air mixed with the scent of the roses and the damp gravel under her feet, a perfume particular to this place, this night. The half moon cast long shadows, made the dark paint on his face mysterious. His grin was all the whiter for that, and the horns on his forehead were devilish indeed.

Good sense told her to flee before it was too late, to run back inside to the safety of her father’s side, but the stars twinkled, reflected in John’s eyes, and she didn’t want to be sensible.

She wanted a kiss. His kiss. Her mouth watered for it.

This was an adventure . . .

She waited as he brought the bucket up full, lifted it to rest on the lip of the well, dripping. The water glittered, and she stared at it. He filled the dipper and held it for her to drink. She leaned over and sipped. It was cold and sweet. It dripped down her chin, splashed onto her bosom. He drank as well, then put the dipper back into the bucket and stood watching the progress of the droplets as they crept over the slope of her breast, forging tiny, icy paths across her skin. She saw his throat bob, his lips tighten, and felt an answering shiver rush through her that had more to do with him, and heat, than with the cold water.

“I want very much to kiss you. Should I?” he said.

“Do you always ask permission?”

He grinned at that, a quick flash of white teeth in the dark. “Oh, lass—I’ve learned to, just in case. Do you have a husband, or a burly protective brother perhaps?”

“Neither,” she said. She stepped toward him, coming close enough that she could feel the heat of his body, smell the scent of his skin and his soap. “You may kiss me,” she said. It sounded silly, standing inches apart, staring at each other, their hands at their sides, both of them waiting, but she had no idea how it was done, this business of stealing kisses from—or giving them away to—a handsome stranger in the moonlight.

“Take off your mask,” he said. His voice was low and it vibrated over her nerves, creating a soft hum in her veins. Her chest tightened. Would he be disappointed when he saw her, knew her for who she was, the MacLeod’s shy, dull, bookish daughter?

What would Meggie say to such a request, or Fia or Aileen? Now was the time for flirtation . . .

She tilted her head and forced a smile. “Isn’t that against the rules? Aren’t we supposed to wait until midnight?”

He put his hand to her cheek, ran one finger under the edge of her mask. “We can make our own rules.”

He reached for the ribbon ties that held the mask in place, and she felt panic swell.

She stood on her toes and slammed her mouth against his.

He grunted in surprise, but he let go of the ribbons, caught her, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her back. “Slow, sweetheart,” he breathed against her mouth. “We have all night, if we want it. Open for me. I want to make this count if it’s just a kiss . . . Is it?”

She put her hands against his chest, felt the hard muscles under the plain linen shirt, the heat of his body, the throb of his heartbeat under her palms. How did one answer that? She had never been asked, never been given more than a furtive peck on the cheek, or a sloppy, glancing kiss on the lips. He was waiting for a reply, staring at her. “I-I don’t know,” she said honestly. “But I want to . . . make this count as well.”

So she kissed him again, softly this time, slower, thrilled by her own boldness, and by the sweetness of his mouth against hers. His lips were soft but firm, and they moved over her mouth with a skill far beyond her own, creating the most incredible sensations. She shivered and burned and pressed closer, wanting more. When he licked the seam of her lips, she opened her mouth, trusting him to know why it was important. He groaned and slid his tongue inside, past her teeth, to touch her own tongue.

Oh my . . . He tasted of sweet water and whisky. She sighed and tilted her head to a better angle, wanting more.

His hands slid over her back, drawing her closer, and she felt the heat of his touch through the silk gown. She felt his arousal against her hip, knew that for what it was, and felt a thrill of power. He wanted her. He spanned her waist with his big hands, slid them upwards, and cupped her breasts. Her body tingled, burned. She sighed, wrapped her hands around his neck, tangled them in his hair, pressed her tongue into his mouth, and heard him groan again.

He broke the kiss, nipped the lobe of her ear. “I have a cott of my own, sweeting. It isn’t far,” he murmured, his voice husky. “Come with me, stay . . .”

Dialogue Highlight:

John gave up trying to sleep and went out to the yard. The moon had risen, and the stars were coming out, one by one. The air was soft and cool, and he crossed to the well and filled the bucket. He stared at the moon’s reflection in the water and remembered—

“May I have some?”

John spun and found Gillian standing behind him, wrapped in her plaid against the chill.

“Are you real, or am I dreaming?”

“I’m real.”

“Are you going hunting?”

“Not tonight,” she said. “I’m just . . . restless.”

He understood what she meant, felt it, too. Her braid hung over her shoulder, and the copper strands glowed in the moonlight. Escaped tendrils fell over her brow, and he longed to brush them back, to banish the shadows they cast over her eyes so he could read what she was thinking in the green depths. Instead, he filled the dipper and held it out to her, the way he had at the masquerade. Her fingers brushed his as she took it, sending shivers through him.

“Do you wish to walk?” he asked her. Perhaps there was a pool made of starlight or a bed of heather . . .

“I’d best not. If Ewan wakes and I’m not there, he’ll shout the whole house awake. Won’t the lads in the barn wonder where you’ve gone?”

“They snore. They’ll probably assume I went to find some peace and quiet.”

She looked around the quiet farmyard. “’Tis quiet here, and a beautiful night.”

He couldn’t resist. “The kind where a shepherd might find a fairy lass?”

She smiled. “And a soft bed of heather.”

A hard jolt of desire crashed through him. What was it about Gillian MacLeod and moonlight? She was silent for a moment, watching him, clutching her plaid at her throat with long white fingers. She crossed the space that separated them, came close enough that he could smell her skin and the soft scent of the fresh hay and sweet herbs that stuffed the mattress she’d lain upon in the loft of the house.

“Will you . . . will you kiss me again?” she asked.

He groaned. It was the worst idea he’d ever heard, but he looked down at her face, upturned and silver in the moonlight, her lips slightly parted, soft and lush, her eyes pools of starlight. His mouth watered.

“It’s not a masquerade this time.”

“No masks,” she agreed.

“What about your betrothed?” he asked. “What’s his name? He’s the one you should be ki—”

She stood on her toes and put her lips against his, stopping his words. Surprise rocked him, but he didn’t push her away. She put her hands up to cup his jaw, ran her thumbs over the stubble on his cheek as she laid butterfly kisses on his mouth until he tilted his head and kissed her back. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. She tasted like honey, as sweet as he remembered.

He broke the kiss while he could still think. She made a soft sound of objection that nearly undid him. “Gillian,” he murmured.

“Don’t stop.”

“We must. This is wrong, unfair . . .”

“Why? If we want this, can we not have it? I want—just once—what my sisters have, what other women whisper about.”

He stepped away, gritted his teeth, and willed his arousal to subside, for the almost unstoppable desire to reach for her to disappear. But she was standing before him bathed in moonlight, the woman he’d dreamed of for months. Nay, longer than that. Forever.

He could have her, claim her here and now, if he gave up the last shreds of his honor. But honor was all he had left of who he once was, who he’d been born to be. And if he gave that up, he’d be nothing at all.

He took another step back. “Not with me,” he said gruffly. “I’m the wrong man. I’m not for you. I hate virgins.” He threw the last in to embarrass her, shock her, but she held her ground, looking uncharacteristically fierce for such a shy lass.

“All my life people have told me how to choose, what to do, and I have allowed it. But now—”

He held up his hand. “Don’t say it, Gillian. You’ll regret it. Don’t even think it. What would your father say? Or your husband?”

She lifted her chin and folded her arms over her chest. “They aren’t here.”

“Oh yes, they are. They’re standing between us. If any man in that barn woke now and caught me with you, he’d kill me, and no one would say he did wrong. In fact, I think I’ll take myself off now, so I don’t risk it. No woman is worth dying for.” It hurt to lie to her. But she was young and innocent, and even if she didn’t know it, she was going to something, not running away. He’d done nothing but run. He was getting good at it. His life was a secret shame, a past that prevented any kind of future.

He scowled at her, waited for her to flee in tears, insulted and hurt, but she stayed where she was and watched him silently.

She didn’t believe him.

He wanted to take her hand, drag her across the yard and into the meadow, find a patch of heather in the moonlight and lay her down. He damned her father, her husband, and the whole world. And honor, too. Especially honor.

But he couldn’t do it. It would ruin them both.

He damned himself most of all. He muttered a filthy curse as he turned on his heel and walked away, left her standing there.

There were eight days left in their journey—seven, perhaps, if they rode hard and fast, if he pushed the men and the garrons and Gillian.

And then he’d have to give her away to the lucky man who’d call her wife, and lover, and companion.

He stopped and leaned on the wall of the barn, invisible in the dark shadows. He should not have kissed her. Not now, and not at the masquerade ball. He was a fool. If kissing her was heaven, then giving her away would be akin to the torments of hell.

With another curse, he turned and drove his fist into the stone wall.

Review:

Gillian MacLeod is known as the meek, timid daughter. The youngest of a whole pack of daughters to a fierce Highland warrior, Gillian always does as told and never speaks her mind. Decisions are always made for her and finally she begins to become restless; wishing for an adventure of her own. When her sister plans a masquerade ball, Gillian rebels and takes her chance, heading straight for John. But their interlude is interrupted, and Gillian doesn’t get another chance until much later and this time she’s going for what she wants, even though she’s betrothed to another. When her life is endangered – on a couple of occasions – she knows the only one who will be able to find her. Despite John’s proclamations that they are ill-suited and should stay away from one another, Gillian knows he felt the same spark she did.

John Erly is from England, but has been in the Highlands for years and is not the Captain of a guard for Gillian’s brother-in-law. He is immediately entranced by her even though he doesn’t know her identity, and is in disbelief when he discovers who she is. But the heart doesn’t lie and eventually he can no longer deny her anything. John knows he has nothing to offer Gillian, but he is willing to prove his worth and fight for her and that is in addition to saving her life multiple times. But does an Englishman with nothing really even have a chance of winning Gillian … or her English-hating father’s approval?

I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed this book! I’m finding that I enjoy Scottish-themed historical romances more as I continue to read them. It was a pleasure watching both Gillian and John grow beyond their potential – or what they believed their potential was. Gillian in breaking free of everyone ordering her about and making her mind up for her constantly. John in getting beyond the restrictions he places on himself – in turn denying everything he thinks far outside of his reach. They both have to work hard and break through several barriers in order to be together, by no means an easy road. They also have a fabulous, well-developed cast of secondary characters that enhance this story beautifully. Initially, you want to suffocate her sisters as they are smothering Gillian, but then you see that they all mean well and that the family is loving and supporting. They just get stuck with their idea of who Gillian is. I came to enjoy each sister we meet and especially adored Gillian’s father, Donal. Each person has a purpose and background that lends strength to the telling of this tale. I shouldn’t be surprised as this book is part of a series, but even so, I had zero issue in jumping in and understanding everything.

I haven’t read a book by Ms. Cornwall before and now I’d like to know where she’s been all my life. I will definitely be reading the rest of this series and I can’t wait to find out if she has other romance novels whether set in Scotland or not. Cornwall crafts a brilliantly enchanting world packed full of unlikely heroes and equally unlikely loves, enduring family bonds, unstoppable romantic sizzle, and the perfect amount of suspense. Lovers of historical romance that enjoy a Scottish twist – full of brooding warriors and the beautifully courageous women who melt their reluctant hearts – are sure to enjoy Ms. Cornwall and the MacLeod clan.

Kindle version provided by St. Martin’s Press ~ Swerve/Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.