Margaret Moore - Highland Heiress

It felt wonderful, as if somehow this woman was meant to be in his arms.

Which had to be the greatest flight of fancy his logical, lawyerly mind had ever taken.

‘There you are, safe as houses,’ he said with a smile, trying to sound as if he did this sort of thing every day.

‘Thank you for rescuing me. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t, Mr …?’

‘McHeath. Gordon McHeath. Of Edinburgh.’

‘I am in your debt, Mr Gordon McHeath of Edinburgh.’

Never had he been happier to hear the word debt.

Then, without a word, without a hint of warning, before he could even realise what she was doing, this woman whose name he didn’t even know raised herself on her toes and kissed him.

Praise for USA TODAY bestselling author Margaret Moore:

‘The talented Moore has penned another exciting Regency.’

—RT Book Reviews on HIGHLAND ROGUE, LONDON MISS

‘The story is fresh, fun, fast-paced, engaging and passionate, with an added touch of adventure.’

—The Romance Readers Connection on THE NOTORIOUS KNIGHT

‘Readers continue to ask for “Moore”. Her latest book is a sparkling, dynamic tale of two lonely hearts who find each other despite their pasts and the evil forces surrounding them.’

— RT Book Reviews on HERS TO DESIRE

‘Colourful and compelling details of life in the Middle Ages abound.’

—Publishers Weekly on HERS TO COMMAND

‘A lively adventure with enough tension and romance to keep me turning pages.’

—International bestselling author Roberta Gellis on HERS TO COMMAND

‘This captivating adventure of thirteenth-century Scotland kept me enthralled from beginning to end. It’s a keeper!’

—Romance Junkies on BRIDE OF LOCHBARR

‘Margaret Moore is a master storyteller who has the uncanny ability to develop new twists on old themes.’

—Affaire de Coeur

‘When it comes to excellence in historical romance books, no one provides the audience with more than the award-winning Ms Moore.’

—Under the Covers

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

USA TODAY bestselling author MARGARET MOOREhas written over forty historical romance novels and novellas. She graduated with distinction from the University of Toronto, has served in the Royal Canadian Naval Reserve, and is a past president of the Toronto chapter of Romance Writers of America. For more information about Margaret, including a complete list of all her books, please visit her website at www.margaretmoore.com

Previous novels by the same author:

THE OVERLORD’S BRIDE

COMFORT AND JOY (in The Christmas Visit ) BRIDE OF LOCHBARR LORD OF DUNKEATHE THE VAGABOND KNIGHT (in Yuletide Weddings ) THE UNWILLING BRIDE THE DUKE’S DESIRE HERS TO COMMAND HERS TO DESIRE THE DUKE’S DILEMMA MY LORD’S DESIRE THE NOTORIOUS KNIGHT HIGHLAND ROGUE, LONDON MISS KNAVE’S HONOUR A LOVER’S KISS THE VISCOUNT’S KISS

And as a Mills & Boon ®Historical Undone! eBook:

THE WELSH LORD’S MISTRESS

Did you know that some of the novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

With many thanks to my parents, my husband

and my children for all the support, wisdom

and laughs along the way.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Scottish Highlands, 1817

He had been too long in the city, Gordon McHeath thought as he rode along the crest of a hill toward the village of Dunbrachie. He drew in a great, deep breath of the fresh air. After so many years in Edinburgh, he’d forgotten how clean and bracing the air of the Highlands could be. He’d become too used to the smoke and the smells, the noise and the crowds, of a bustling city. Here the silence was broken only by birdsong and the occasional bleating of sheep or lowing of cattle.

The north-facing slope on his left was covered with gorse and bracken, the one on his right with a wood of birch, alders and pine. The needles of the pine were deep green and their scent came to him on the breeze, making him think of Christmas and dark winter nights, although it was only September. The leaves of the other trees were already turning brown and gold, and he guessed the ground beneath would be muddy and damp and thick with mulch. Through the trees he spotted a fast-moving river rushing between rocky banks that probably teemed with salmon in the spring.

Unfortunately, he’d also forgotten how cold a Highland breeze could be, and those heavy, gray clouds in the distance were definitely moving closer. Unless he wanted to be caught in a downpour, he had to get his hired light brown nag moving faster than a walk.

As he went to nudge his horse into a trot, a dog’s furious barking broke the country quiet. It wasn’t the baying of a hunting hound—more like a watchdog sounding an alarm. A shepherd’s dog, perhaps, or a farm dog guarding a crofter’s hut.

Gordon rose in his stirrups and looked around. He could see no herd of sheep, no crofter’s hut or anything that might require a watchdog.

“Help! Help me!”

The woman’s plaintive cry from somewhere in the wood was barely audible over the barking and rushing water, yet there was no mistaking the words, or the desperation.

Punching his heels into the horse’s side, Gordon tried to make it leave the road and head toward the sound of the woman and the dog, to no avail, for the beast had the toughest mouth of any horse he’d ever ridden and refused to obey, as if it were more mule than horse.

With a muttered curse, Gordon dismounted, threw the reins over the branch of a nearby bush and began to make his way down the rocky, slippery slope between the trees as quickly as he could.

He tore the sleeve of his three-caped greatcoat on a holly bush. His riding boots were soon covered with mud that dirtied the hem of his coat. His hat got knocked off by a dangling branch he didn’t see until it was too late. Reaching down to pick up his hat, he slipped and landed hard and started to slide, until he managed to grab a tree limb.

The dog kept barking, and the woman called out for help again, closer this time, thank God, although he still couldn’t see her.

He scrambled to his feet and as he did, he caught sight of the largest, most vicious-looking black dog he’d ever seen at the base of a tall, slender, golden-leafed birch not far from the bank of the river. The dog of no breed Gordon could name was one of the ugliest he’d ever seen, with a huge head and jaw, wide-set eyes and small ears. It stood with legs planted aggressively, growling, a dribble of saliva dripping from its mouth.