It Began With A Kiss: The MacLarens (Book Four)
In the gripping historical romance, It Began with a Kiss, author Sherry Ewing weaves a tale of passion, duty, and trust in a world torn apart by clashing loyalties.
Sometimes you need to listen when your heart begins to sing…
Aiden of Clan MacLaren, a warrior seeking purpose, finds himself in the service of King Henry II. Tasked with a mission that will shape his destiny, he never expects to cross paths with Lady Iona Ferguson, a woman burdened by her duties as the wife of a powerful clan chieftain. A chieftain who died when Aiden takes over her husband’s castle.
When tragedy strikes and Iona’s castle falls into enemy hands, she must flee to the village with her young son. However, in the chaos of the turmoil, something unexpected stirs within her—a forbidden attraction to Aiden, a man torn between his loyalty to his English and Scottish heritage and his growing affection for Iona.
As Aiden takes charge of Iona’s home and seeks justice for her late husband, their lives become intertwined in ways neither could have predicted. Battling their inner demons and the opposing forces that threaten to tear them apart, they embark on a treacherous journey that forces them to question their loyalties and the true nature of their feelings.
Will their love conquer the boundaries of clan, country, and duty? Or will their differences tear them apart forever? Find out in this spellbinding tale of two souls colliding against the backdrop of war and romance. It Began with a Kiss is a mesmerizing enemies-to-lovers story that will leave readers breathless and yearning for more.
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Excerpt:
Iona’s chest heaved in outrage that she was being held thusly. How dare this beast of a man handle her in such a way? Just wait until her husband learned of this! She still held the knife in her hand but that did not last for long, for her assailant grabbed her wrist and squeezed. Her fingers instantly became numb, the blade falling uselessly to the floor. At least she had made her one opportunity count. She could only pray the cut she had inflicted caused enough damage, wherever the blade had managed to reach.
Worried for her wellbeing, she began to struggle. The only outcome was to be pulled firmly across a firm chest that surely must be carved from solid granite. The more she attempted to wiggle herself free, the tighter he held her. Who was this man and how had he managed to escape the guard’s notice?
“Unhand me, ye fiend,” she hissed angrily. Was that a muffled laugh she heard behind her?
“I highly doubt you can be trusted with your freedom, lassie,” the man answered, and Iona detected a hint of humor in his voice. But there could also be no mistaking the slight Scottish brogue in the tone of his voice. A Scotsman attacking Dunborough? That did not make any sense whatsoever.
“Ye have my word,” Iona answered. Already she was thinking of the many ways she could escape his presence to go and find her husband. Surely there was no sin in lying when you were protecting yourself from possible physical harm.
“You must think I am a fool if you believe I would take you at your word that you would not attempt to escape me,” her captor said with a snide laugh.
She shrugged, although confused for now the man sounded more English than Scot. “Who am I tae call ye a fool? Mayhap ye are, if ye are attempting tae seize something that does not belong tae ye.” She was spun around so quickly, her breath rushed from her lungs. If she thought having her back to this man was troubling, ’twas nothing compared to having her heaving breasts within close proximity of his muscled torso. She watched in morbid curiosity as his head inched downward as if to place a kiss upon her startled lips. “Nay,” she mumbled attempting to bring her hands up to push him away.
He halted his movement as if he realized his intent. “Perchance another time, fair maiden,” he declared with a chuckle.
Before she knew what was happening, she was shoved, none too gently, into a chair. Faster than she thought possible, he pulled at her bed coverings. Taking a dirk from his belt, he tore the linen into strips and tied her to the chair.
“How dare ye! Release me at once,” Iona demanded, whilst continuing to struggle to loosen the bindings at her wrists and ankles.
“I think not. No sense alerting all and sundry as to what is going on here.”
“Just who do ye think ye are?” Was it just her imagination or did the remainder of the glowing embers in the hearth cause her captor’s eyes to eerily glow as if he was possessed by the devil himself?
He smiled, causing Iona to swallow hard. “Why, I am your new master, of course.”