Donna Grant: Dangerous Highlander

For Mom and Dad,

you always told me I could be anything I wanted to be.

Thank you—for everything. I love you!

For my husband whose faith in me has never faltered.

You’re my real–life hero.

I wouldn’t be here without you, sexy .

He cursed himself for ten kinds of fool. He might not be able to die, but she certainly could. He lengthened one of his claws and sliced her gown down the middle. After he pulled it off her, he tossed it aside and hurried to remove her wet stockings.

His hands shook as they came in contact with her skin, just as silky as he had imagined it to be. He left her chemise in place and reached for a blanket. It took every ounce of his control not to rip her thin chemise from her and drink his fill of her luscious curves.

As he began to spread the blanket over her, he spotted her fisted hand and a strip of leather hanging from her grasp. It must have been what she was after on the cliff. He frowned as he felt the pull of something. It took but a moment for him to recognize it as magic.

“Just who are you?” he murmured.

NOTE:If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

This series wouldn’t be here without thanks to many people.

Thank you to my husband for being willing to sit in the restaurant on our date nights (and any other time—especially right when he’s falling asleep at night) and discuss my ideas. Thank you to my wonderful children for understanding when my music is on and I’m typing that I’m in my “zone.” Huge thanks to my parents for picking up the kids from school when I needed to finish a scene.

To my brilliant editor, Monique Patterson. Thank you for all the support, encouragement, and fabulous editorial input and vision. To the best editorial assistant out there—Holly, you’re awesome. Thanks also to everyone at St. Martin’s working behind the scenes to get this book on the shelves.

Thank you to agent Roberta Brown for being the first to see the potential in this series and helping to get it sold.

To my extraordinary agent, Irene Goodman, for having such passion and belief in me.

To the other great Dangerous Authors for being so supportive. I’m lucky to be involved with such a wonderful group of writers.

To Lisa Renee Jones for her invaluable advice. To Georgia Tribell, Mary O’Connor, and Robin T. Popp, just for being there.

There once was a land of legend, of lore. A land filled with magic and hope. Though the Celtic tribes warred with one another, all of that came to an end with the arrival of Rome to their shores.

The mighty kingdom of Rome, intent on ruling the world, slowly worked its way across Britain. Until it reached the highlands and encountered a foe like none other. Despite their victories, nothing the Celts did could make Rome leave their precious land.

With no other recourse, the Celts turned to their trusted advisors and allies, the Druids.

Respected and revered, the Druids were like any society. Their magic came in the purest form from the earth, but there were ones who wanted more—more power, more control . . . more of everything.

Inevitably, the Druids split into two sects. The mie stayed true to their magic and continued to heal the sick and offer their knowledge to clan leaders. The drough , however, chose human sacrifices and black magic to grow their power.

It was the drough who had the answers for the Celts.

The mie cautioned the tribal leaders against using black magic, but the Celts knew their hold against the Romans was waning. So the Celts allowed their greatest warriors to step forward and the drough to cast their spells and call up the gods long buried in Hell—gods that once ruled the earth with brutal tactics and violent ends.

But they were the only ones who could defeat Rome.

The gods, freed at last, eagerly answered the Druids’ call and bound themselves into each clan’s fiercest warrior. Those warriors, with the aid of the gods inside them, attacked every Roman they encountered. Battle after battle ensued, until, finally, Rome abandoned Britain.

Yet the gods were still thirsty for blood, still hungry for battle. With the Romans gone, the warriors turned on one another . . . and anyone who got in their way. The rivers and land ran red with the blood of the Celts as death permeated the air.

The drough , finding their magic useless, joined forces with the mie . Yet nothing the two sects did could put the gods back in their prison in Hell. The gods refused to relinquish their hold on the warriors, growing stronger with each heartbeat, each kill, until the warriors were no longer the men they had once been.

A gathering of Druids was called. It was unlike anything that had occurred since before the split. Magic pulsed over the land as they put aside their differences and struggled to find a way to help the Celts. But no amount of magic the Druids called up freed the warriors.

Unable to send the gods back, the Druids combined magic and black magic to create a spell that bound the gods, in effect freezing them inside their hosts. The warriors returned to the men they once were and resumed their lives having no memory of the atrocities they had committed.

Yet, inside each warrior, the gods waited. With every generation the gods moved from warrior to warrior, passing down and forever a part of the family’s bloodline.

And so the Warriors were born.

The Druids, knowing what they had created, knowing what would happen in the future, stayed near the Warriors. Forever keeping watch. Even when the Druids’ faith, the very thing they were, caused them to hide for fear of being killed, they had no choice but to watch. All of mankind was at risk.

The true story of Rome’s departing from Britain was forgotten. It passed into legend and myth amongst the Celts with each retelling of the story. Only the Druids knew the truth.

Then one drough found hidden scrolls. More power hungry than any drough before her, Deirdre set out to unbind the gods and control them. Thereby giving her the army she needed to rule the world and become a goddess before whom all men would tremble.

The scrolls, however, only listed one tribe—the MacLeods.

Deirdre turned her eye to the MacLeod clan. There she would begin. . . .

West Highlands of Scotland

Spring 1603

“Ye’ve gone daft, ye have.”

Cara adjusted the basket on her arm. The brisk wind from the sea pulled tendrils from her braid to fly haphazardly into her eyes. She tucked them behind her ear and smiled at Angus. He had only one tooth left in his mouth, and what little hair he had stood on end, waving about in the vicious sea wind. “I’ll be fine, Angus. The best mushrooms in all of Scotland are within walking distance.”

“Ye stay away from that castle, lass. ’Tis full of ghosts it be. And monsters.” He shook a gnarled finger at her, his white, fluffy brows furrowed deep in his wrinkled forehead.

He needn’t remind her. Everyone in clan MacClure knew of MacLeod Castle. For centuries the stories of how the entire MacLeod clan had been massacred had been passed down from generation to generation. Tales of ghosts that roamed the land and castle were also told to frighten young children.