Sexy Scots & Lusty Lasses

Sexy Scots & Lusty Lasses A Highlanders Boxed Set Jillian Eaton, Hildie McQueen, Mary Wine, Sky Purington, Paula Quinn, Maeve Greyson, Violetta Rand © Copyright 2017, 2019, 2020, 2021, 2022, 2023 by Jillian Eaton, Hildie McQueen, Mary Wine, Sky Purington, Paula Quinn, Maeve Greyson, Violetta Rand Text by Jillian Eaton, Hildie McQueen, Mary Wine, Sky Purington, Paula Quinn, Maeve Greyson, Violetta Rand Cover by Dar Albert Dragonblade Publishing, Inc. is an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc. P.O. Box 23 Moreno Valley, CA 92556 [email protected] Produced in the United States of America First Edition February 2023 Kindle Edition Reproduction of any kind except where it pertains to short quotes in relation to advertising or promotion is strictly prohibited. All Rights Reserved. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author. 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CEO, Dragonblade Publishing Boxed Set Contents Title Page Copyright Page Publisher’s Note Seduced by the Scot by Jillian Eaton A Heartless Laird by Hildie McQueen The Highlander’s Demand by Mary Wine Scoundrel’s Vengeance by Sky Purington Heart of Ashes by Paula Quinn A Scot of Her Own by Maeve Greyson Unbreakable by Violetta Rand Seduced by the Scot Perks of Being an Heiress, Book 3 Jillian Eaton You are the star of each night You are the brightness of every morning You are the story of each guest You are the report of every land No evil shall befall you on hill nor bank In field or valley On mountain or in a glen. ~ Gaelic Blessing Chapter One Lachlan smelled her perfume before he saw her. It was a delicate, intimate scent. Difficult, if not impossible, to discern from the wild pink roses that surrounded the gazebo in a tangled sprawl of pale pink and deep green. Had he not held her in his arms, or pressed his mouth to the sensitive stem of her neck, or slept beside her when the only two things she wore were moonlight and that intoxicating perfume, he might have missed it. But Lachlan had done all those things. And more. Which was why his nostrils flared and his eyes darkened with recognition the instant before he stepped around the side of Hawkridge Manor and saw her sitting in the gazebo, looking as pretty as a picture with her paintbrush in hand and her golden hair swept back from her countenance in an elegant coiffure. She was the epitome of an English lady. Fair coloring, high cheekbones, a long, willowy frame. A top lip that was ever-so-slightly heavier than the bottom and curved in the shape of a cupid’s bow. Hazel eyes, flecked with green, which could go as sharp as a scalpel or as soft as lamb’s wool, depending on her mood. A faint dusting of freckles, so slight as to nearly be invisible, across the bridge of her nose. In his humble opinion, Lady Brynne Weston was the most beautiful creature that God had ever seen fit to create. Was it any wonder he had fallen in love with her when he was a lad of sixteen? And had remained in love with her these eleven years past as he’d grown from a bairn into a man. He’d loved her every month, every day, every second. For Lachlan, it was always Brynne. Which was why he had finally returned to claim her. To apologize for his wrongs, and to make her remember–she had to remember–how good they’d been together before he allowed secrets to tear them apart. His boots sank silently into the grass as he approached the gazebo. Growing up in a rambling castle with a father whose hand had been heavy and vicious, particularly after a night of drinking, Lachlan had learned at a young age to walk without making a sound. He stopped at the bottom of the steps and, for a moment, he simply allowed himself to drink in the sight of her. This was the closest they’d been in a year. And it had been eighteen months of torment. Eighteen months without hearing her laugh, or seeing the shape of her smile, or tasting the sweet nectar of her lips. Surely there was no greater torture contrived by man than being kept from the woman he loved. Give him the rack, or the wheel, or that horrific metal box with the spikes in it. He’d take them all, gladly, if it meant never having to go another day without seeing his Brynne. Her face was obscured by the large easel, but she’d stretched her