Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 33347 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33347 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Her name is Rhona Gowen, the daughter of Robert Gowen, one of the lords of the highlands. She’s betrothed to another. And I did. Not. Care. Because laying eyes on her for the first time shook me. Laying hands on her sent me reeling. Kissing her was my undoing.
Weeks later, I caught wind of her being the guest of Lord McAuley, at his wedding to her friend, Ailith Pembrose. I also caught wind of the man Lord McAuley had stolen his bride from setting out to attack his very wedding. I couldn’t care less about the dramas and infighting of Scottish lords, but this battle involved my obsession and the chance of her getting hurt. And that, I couldn’t abide.
Sailing my entire fleet into the middle of the battle that night wasn’t about being a hero. It wasn’t about picking a side and helping Lord McAuley defeat his adversary.
It was about Rhona. It was that weeks after that first sight of her, and that first taste of her lips, my obsession knew no bounds. It was that I knew she was already mine—mine to have, and mine to protect. So, I did, smashing the fleet attacking Lord McAuley’s castle.
…That and sneaking myself inside through a side door and laying hands on my prize once more.
It was the same as the first time—no time, no words. Just one kiss, and one taste of those whimpered moans teasing through my ears and setting me ablaze. I left her with a necklace—a pretty trinket in her eyes, but a claim in mine. A mark. A reminder to her, so she’d know how mine she was. I’d been tempted to just take her right there, over my shoulder and out the same side door. But it wasn’t the time.
Now it is.
Today, my patience, and my waiting is at its end. Today, she’ll be mine.
“My Jarl.”
I blink, realizing how close we are to the shore as I turn at the sound of Bjorn, one of my captains, voice.
“We’re ready.”
“Aye,” I rumble, turning again to eye the shore as my hand goes to my sword. My muscles tighten, eyes narrow, and my grip tightens on the bow. There’s the familiar jerk and crunching sound as the reinforced hull rakes against the rocky bottom of the shallows—the boat lurching with the impact. And then instinct kicks in. Muscle memory from thousands of battles and conquests snaps into play, and I’m snarling as I lunge over the side of the longboat, landing in the shallow surf and running for the shore, the sound of my men following.
I’ve spent a lifetime making the world fear me and taking from it. Conquering it. Plundering it. Claiming what’s mine to take. But Rhona?
My jaw tightens as my boots hit the rocky shore, the smell of the woods washing over me.
She’ll be my final conquest.
She’ll be the only prize that matters.
She’ll be mine. And if she doesn’t know it yet, she’s damn well about to.
Chapter 2
Rhona
The sulk settles over my face with every bump in the road. Every shudder of the wagon deepens my scowl, and every mile closer we get to a fate I dread has my heart sinking lower and lower.
I’ve been betrothed to Lord Chauntleroy for almost a year now. So, knowing I was going to eventually marry him has been a dread setting over me for quite a while. I’ve had time to try and make peace with it—to convince myself that somewhere in that smug arrogance and overly-primped and coiffed exterior, there’d be a man who could be a true and good husband.
And yet a year later, I’m even less into the idea of Lord Chauntleroy than I was the day I was told I’d be marrying him. And that’s really saying something.
It could be his entitled arrogance. It could be the disdainful way he speaks to those he considers under him, which apparently includes me. It could be the ridiculous fancy clothes he struts around in, or perhaps the disgusting way he’s mentioned every time I’ve seen him in the last year that I’d “better give him a son, and quickly, or he’ll find someone who can.”
Charming, I know.
But it could also be that our wedding date has suddenly been bumped up by a full month. It could be that last night, I was abruptly told that I’d be getting married the very next day, before being hurled into a wagon and hurried on my way to Lord Chauntleroy’s castle—wedding dress and all, to be married this very day, as soon as I arrive. All my plans for having my four good friends Una, Ailith, Catriona, and Iona be there with me when it happens, gone, with no time to even tell them that my dreaded plans have changed for the worse.
But then, there’s something else that could be causing the storm of emotions rolling though my head and my heart. And it’s got nothing to do with Thomas Chauntleroy. It doesn’t even have anything to do with my best friends.