Praise for the Mackenzies series
“Big, arrogant, sexy highlanders—Jennifer Ashley writes the kind of heroes I crave.”
—Elizabeth Hoyt, New York Times bestselling author
“I adore this novel: It’s heartrending, funny, honest, and true. I want to know the hero—no, I want to marry the hero!”
—Eloisa James, New York Times bestselling author
“Skillfully nuanced characterization and an abundance of steamy sensuality give Ashley’s latest impeccably crafted historical its irresistible literary flavor.”
—Chicago Tribune
“A sexy, passion-filled romance that will keep you reading until dawn.”
—Julianne MacLean, USA Today bestselling author
“Ashley creates marvelous, unforgettable, and heart-stopping stories with unique heroes. She touches on a multitude of human emotions while never losing sight of the love story. With lush prose and memorable scenes, readers learn how wounded characters can be healed by the power of love. Memorable, remarkable, tender, and touching, here is a book to cherish, reread, and sigh over time and again.”
—RT Book Reviews (Top Pick)
“RITA Award–winning Ashley excels at creating multilayered, realistically complex characters . . . She also delivers abundant sensual passion.”
—Booklist
“A sensual, gorgeous story.”
—Joyfully Reviewed (Recommended Read)
“Passionate, well-drawn characters, breathless romance, and a memorable love story.”
—Library Journal
“Jennifer Ashley writes very sensual, sexy books . . . If you haven’t tried these, I definitely recommend.”
—Smexy Books
“A heartfelt, emotional historical romance with danger and intrigue around every corner . . . A great read!”
—Fresh Fiction
Titles by Jennifer Ashley
The Mackenzies
THE MADNESS OF LORD IAN MACKENZIE
LADY ISABELLA’S SCANDALOUS MARRIAGE
THE MANY SINS OF LORD CAMERON
THE DUKE’S PERFECT WIFE
A MACKENZIE FAMILY CHRISTMAS
THE SEDUCTION OF ELLIOT MCBRIDE
THE UNTAMED MACKENZIE
(An InterMix eBook)
THE WICKED DEEDS OF DANIEL MACKENZIE
SCANDAL AND THE DUCHESS
(An InterMix eBook)
RULES FOR A PROPER GOVERNESS
THE SCANDALOUS MACKENZIES
(Anthology)
THE STOLEN MACKENZIE BRIDE
Shifters Unbound
PRIDE MATES
PRIMAL BONDS
BODYGUARD
WILD CAT
HARD MATED
MATE CLAIMED
LONE WOLF
(An InterMix eBook)
TIGER MAGIC
FERAL HEAT
(An InterMix eBook)
WILD WOLF
SHIFTER MATES
(Anthology)
MATE BOND
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014
THE STOLEN MACKENZIE BRIDE
A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author
Copyright © 2015 by Jennifer Ashley.
Excerpt from A Mackenzie Clan Gathering by Jennifer Ashley © 2015 by Jennifer Ashley.
Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.
BERKLEY SENSATION® and the “B” design are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
For more information, visit penguin.com.
eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-61497-6
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Berkley Sensation mass-market paperback edition / October 2015
Cover art by Gregg Gulbronson.
Cover design by George Long.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Thanks go to the many readers of the Mackenzies series who love these wild Highland brothers as much as I do. Your comments and ongoing support have been wonderful. Thank you! Thanks also go to my editor and all the people who work behind the scenes to publish a book and get it out into the world, a difficult task at the best of times.
And, of course, to my husband, who is ready to discuss anything from the uniforms of Cumberland’s army to how to clean a black powder pistol. He listens, soothes, and makes sure I always have a good stock of iced tea.
This was a very special book for me, allowing me to delve into the sad events of the Jacobite uprising and put my Mackenzies right in the middle of it. I hope readers enjoy meeting Ian Mackenzie’s ancestor Malcolm and his unruly Highland family.
Contents
Praise for the Mackenzies series
Titles by Jennifer Ashley
Title Page
Copyright
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Epilogue
Letter to the Reader
Special Excerpt from A Mackenzie Clan Gathering
Chapter 1
EDINBURGH, 1745
“Mm, what sweet morsel is that?”
Mal Mackenzie, youngest of five brothers, called at various times in his life Young Malcolm, the Devil Mackenzie, and would ye get out of it, ye pain in my arse—the last mostly by his father and oldest brother—voiced the words as the tedious gathering suddenly grew more interesting.
The morsel was a young woman. What else would it be, with Mal?
“Oh, aye,” his brother Alec muttered as he leaned against the wall, in a foul temper. “Of course ye’d notice the prettiest lass in the room. The most untouchable as well.”
The lady in question glided through the drawing room on the arm of a man who must be her father. She wore a gown of rich material much like those of other young women here, but she stood out among them like a fiery bloom among weeds.
They were paraded, these ladies, laced into bodices and tight stomachers that showed a soft enticement of bosom, skirts swaying as they moved. They walked with eyes downcast to indicate what demure creatures they were—suitable wives for the bachelors, young and old, who’d come to view them.
Malcolm’s lady, in contrast, had her head up, s
miling at all, though the smile was somewhat strained. Her thoughts were elsewhere.
She had red-gold hair that caught the candlelight as she passed beneath the chandeliers. Mal couldn’t see the color of her eyes from where he stood, but he was certain they’d be clearest blue. Or green. Or gray.
She noted Malcolm staring at her and paused for the briefest moment, the smile fading. Mal, who’d been leaning next to Alec, pushed from the cold stone wall to stand up straight, fires weaving through his nerves.
The young woman took him in—a tall, rawboned Scotsman in a fine coat, dressed like an Englishman except for the plaid that covered his legs to his knees. Malcolm prided himself in not looking entirely like these English whelps—he’d pulled his thick brown-red hair into a queue instead of stuffing it under a powdered cocoon-like wig, and had tied his neckcloth in a loose knot.
The young woman’s gaze met his, and the answering sparkle in her eyes woke every sense in Mal’s body.
Then she turned her head, looking past him as she scanned the crowd for someone else.
The moment, as fleeting as it had been, reached out and wrapped itself around him. The tendrils of something inevitable entangled the being that was Malcolm Mackenzie, changing everything.
Malcolm all but shoved an elbow into Alec, who was pretending to be interested in the interaction of the English and Scottish elite. “Who is she?” Mal demanded.
Alec moodily studied the crowd. “The blond lass, you mean?”
“Her hair’s not blond.” Mal tilted his head as though that could help him look under her modest lace cap. “’Tis the color of sunshine, tinged with the fire of sunset.”
“If you say so.” Alec, two years older and one of a pair of twins, gave Mal a warning look. “She’s not for you, runt.”
Runt was another name for Malcolm, who’d begun life very small, but now topped most of his brothers and his father by at least an inch.
The words not for you never deterred Mal. “Why shouldn’t she be?”
“Shall I run a list for ye?” Alec asked in irritation. “She is Lady Mary Lennox, daughter of the Earl of Wilfort. Wilfort has an estate as big as this city, more money than God, and power and influence in the cabinet. The family is one of the oldest in England—I think his ancestor fought alongside Henry the Fifth, or some such. All of which makes his daughter out of reach of the youngest son of a Scotsman with what the English claim is a trumped-up title. Not only that, she’s engaged to another English lordship, so keep your large paws to yourself.”
“Huh,” Malcolm said, not worried in the least. “Poor little morsel.”
Mal followed Lady Mary’s progress through the room, noting the polite way she greeted her father’s friends and the mothers of the other daughters. Correct, well trained—like a pedigreed horse brought in to demonstrate what a sweet-tempered creature it could be.
Malcolm saw more than that—the restless twitch of her eyes as she searched the room while pretending not to, the trembling of a ribbon on the red-gold curls at the back of her neck.
She was vibrancy contained, a creature of light and vigor straining at the tethers that held her. At any moment, the shell of her respectability would crack, and her incandescence would spill out.
Did no one but Mal see? Those around her smiled and spoke comfortably to her, as though they liked her, but their reactions were subdued, as were hers to them.
This was not her stage, not where she would shine. She needed to be free of this place, these enclosing walls. Out on the open heather maybe, in the Highlands of Mal’s home, Kilmorgan, in the north. Her vibrancy wouldn’t be swallowed there, but allowed to glow.
And she’d be with him, the layers of her clothing coming off in his hands, the warmth of her body rising to him. This woman belonged in Mal Mackenzie’s bed, and he intended to take her there.
It would be a grand challenge. Lady Mary was surrounded, protected. Her father and the matrons circled her like guard dogs, to keep wolves like Mal at bay.
Mal made a noise in his throat like a growl. If they considered him a wolf, so be it.
“What are you grumbling over?” Alec answered, not happy. He did not want to be here; he hated Englishmen, and only duty to their father kept him calm in the corner instead of racing around picking fights.
“At last, something interesting in this place, and you have no use for it,” Malcolm said. Alec was his favorite brother—well, the one who drove him the least mad—but Alec had his own tribulations.
“Let her be, Malcolm,” Alec said sternly. “I’m supposed to be watching after you. You go near her, and you’ll stir up a world of trouble. I’ll not be facing Da’s fists because I could nae keep you out of it.”
“I could put you in the way of Da’s fists, and maybe have your neck broken, with a few words, and you know it,” Malcolm reminded him. “But I don’t, do I? Why? Because you’re me best mate, and I don’t want you dead. The least ye could do is help me meet yon beautiful lass.”
“And I’m calling to mind the last time I did ye such a favor. I remember pulling your naked self out of a burning house, and taking shot in my upper arm, which still hurts of a rainy morning. All because ye had to go after what wasn’t yours.”
Malcolm flushed at the memory. “Aye, any husband should be angry to find a strapping lad like me in his place next to his bonny wife, but he had no cause to set the bed on fire. Nearly killed the poor woman. Not surprised she left him behind and went to the colonies with her mum.”
“He’s still looking for ye, Mal, so stay clear of him.”
“Nah, Da put the fear of God in him, and it was three years ago. And that lass isn’t married.” He waved a hand in the direction of the delectable Lady Mary.
“No,” Alec said. “It’ll be her father’s pistol ye’ll have to dodge instead.”
“So, you’ll not help me?”
“Not a bit of it.”
Malcolm fell silent. He would never betray Alec’s secret to their father—to anyone in the family—and Alec knew it. No leverage there.
“Ah, well.” Malcolm’s slow smile spread across his face. “I’ll have to solve this conundrum on me own.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Alec said darkly.
The innocence of it, Mary was to reflect later, should be astonishing. That moment in time—she at Lady Bancroft’s soiree in Edinburgh, her only worry her role of go-between in the forbidden liaison of her sister.
The simplicity of it; the nothingness . . . If Mary had left that night for home, if they’d reached Lincolnshire without her ever having seen the broad-shouldered Scotsman who gazed at her with such intensity, Mary would have lived the rest of her life in peace, moved out of the way like a chess piece, sheltered from the rest of the board.
That night, she stepped into the wrong square at the wrong time. A storm had kept them in Edinburgh, and her father and aunt had decided they might as well accept the invitation to Lady Bancroft’s fashionable gathering.
Malcolm would not have been there either, if his father hadn’t sent his brother Alec to spy for him. Alec had brought Malcolm along for camouflage, and also because Alec didn’t trust Mal alone on the streets of Edinburgh—for very good reason.
Mary’s life would have been so very different . . .
For the moment, Lady Mary Lennox existed in a bubble of safety, sure in her betrothal to Lord Halsey, and more worried about her shy little sister than herself.
Tonight’s gathering was a decidedly political one. Lady Bancroft had invited prominent Scotsmen to her soiree to reassure those in Edinburgh that rumblings of the Jacobite rising were just that—rumblings. Never mind that Charles Stuart had landed somewhere in the west, never mind he was trying to raise an army. He’d never succeed, and they all knew it.
Highlanders were harmless, Lady Bancroft was implying, thoroughly adapted to civilized living—enlightened men of science. They blended effortlessly with the English aristocracy, did they not?
In that c
ase, Lady Bancroft ought not to have invited the two young Scotsmen warming themselves near the great fireplace at the end of the hall. Mary saw them as she scanned the room for the Honorable Jeremy Drake, the note from Audrey to him burning inside her stomacher.
The Scotsmen looked much alike, brothers obviously. But civilized, they were not.
They’d dressed in waist-length frock coats with many buttons, linen shirts, neat stockings, and leather shoes. Instead of breeches, they wore kilts, loose plaid garments wrapped about their waists.
Other Scotsmen here, in knee breeches and wigs, were indistinguishable from their English counterparts, and moved quietly among the company. These two, on the other hand, looked as though they’d risen from the heather, rubbed the blue paint from their faces, put on coats, and stormed down to Edinburgh.
They wore their dark red hair pulled back into loose queues—no wigs—and lounged with a restlessness that spoke of hunting in long, cold winters, bonfires on the hills, and the wild ruthlessness of their Pictish and Norse ancestors.
Though the two stood calmly, their stances relaxed, they watched. Eyes that missed nothing picked out every person in the room. Wolves, invited to stand among the sheep.
When Mary’s scanning gaze passed that of the younger one, his eyes sparked, and she paused.
In that moment, Mary smelled the sweetness of heather under sharp wind, felt the heat of sun in a broad sky. She’d been to the northern Highlands once, and she’d never forgotten the raw beauty of it, the terrifying emptiness and incredible wonder.
This Scotsman embodied all of that, sweeping her to the place and time, under the never-setting sun, when she’d felt afraid and free in the same breath.
The moment passed, and Mary turned away . . .
To find her life completely changed. One tick of the clock ago, she’d been serene about the path she’d agreed to, ready to fulfill her duty to her father and her betrothed. At the next tick, she felt herself plunging into a long, dark pit, and she’d consented to step off the edge.
Mary shook off the sensation with effort. She had a mission to fulfill, no time for idle thoughts.
She drew a deep breath and said vehemently, “Frogs and toadstools!”
The Stolen Mackenzie Bride Page 1