#SundaySnippet: Highland Arms by Cathie Dunn

As it's Sunday and sunny, I'm in a good mood. So I thought I'd share a fresh excerpt with you from Highland Arms. 

Go back in time to the Scottish Highlands. Five years after the 1715 Jacobite rebellion. A Highland rogue preparing for the next uprising. A Lowland lady raining on his parade. Explore the beauty of the Scottish Highlands, and the dangers lurking in dark Edinburgh lanes (now underground, but that's for another post!). 

Secrecy. Passion. Rebellion. Intrigued?


Betrayed by her brother’s lies, Catriona MacKenzie is banished from her home to her godmother’s manor in the remote Scottish Highlands. While her family ponders her fate, Catriona’s insatiable curiosity leads her straight into trouble–and into the arms of a notorious Highlander. 

Five years after an ill-fated Jacobite rebellion, Rory Cameron works as a smuggler to raise money for the cause–until Catriona uncovers a plot against him and exposes his activities. Now, Rory is faced with a decision that could either save their lives or destroy both of them. 

But he’s running out of time… 


She made her way to the dining parlor where the table was set, and a fire roared in a large stone fireplace built deep into the wall. Crossing the room, she went to the tall, narrow window and pulled the thick brocade curtains aside. With dusk settling, the view across the loch took her breath away. Low light shimmered on the water’s surface, reflecting the last glimmer of the evening sky. Across the water, she watched the shadows sink deeper down the hills.

When the door behind her creaked, she jumped. Hastily, she dropped the curtains back into place and turned, expecting her brother. But it was not Angus who closed the door and faced her. Her pulse began to drum in her ears, and her hands shook from the unexpected surprise. She grabbed the curtains behind her for reassurance.

He leaned against the door, his dark blond hair washed and tied again at his neck. This time, his muscular frame was clad in worn trews and a fresh linen shirt, loosely fastened. A trace of mud clung to his black boots. She looked at his face and held her breath, caught as she was by a now familiar set of piercing green eyes. Her throat went dry. The last time she saw those eyes, at the Drovers Inn, they’d been friendly, even flirtatious. Now they were cold, dark, and as forbidding as a loch in winter, bereft of the warmth of the sun.

Rory Cameron. 

Discover Rory's shenanigans on Amazon com, Amazon UK
Kobo (climbing the Historical Romance charts!) or B&N!


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