Captured by Desire

( 10 )

Overview

Young Florie Gilder has always known that her biological father is a noble--her only evidence an heirloom gold belt. Living as a commoner, she earns her keep as apprentice-jewelry-designer in her foster-father's goldsmithing shop. Secretly hoping to find her real father, she offers to sell the goldsmith's wares in the town of her birth--at the Selkirk Fair. With her heirloom gold belt on display, she hopes it will be recognized by her real father.

Leaving her booth at the Fair ...

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Overview

Young Florie Gilder has always known that her biological father is a noble--her only evidence an heirloom gold belt. Living as a commoner, she earns her keep as apprentice-jewelry-designer in her foster-father's goldsmithing shop. Secretly hoping to find her real father, she offers to sell the goldsmith's wares in the town of her birth--at the Selkirk Fair. With her heirloom gold belt on display, she hopes it will be recognized by her real father.

Leaving her booth at the Fair to take a moment's respite, Florie returns to find that a Lady Mavis Fraser of the Scottish court bought the gold belt (Mavis knows that her husband Lord Fraser would instantly recognize the belt as the link to the whereabouts of his illegitimate daughter whom he seeks to be reunited with, but such a reunion would foil Mavis's claim to her husband's estate). Florie, pursuing Lady Mavis, gives her back her money, wrests back the belt, and flees into the forest. Claiming Florie stole it from her, Mavis makes the authorities promise to find and execute Florie. Meanwhile, Rane MacAllister,a local hunter in the forest, mistakes the hiding Florie for a deer, wounding her with an arrow. He carries her to a local church where she will be guaranteed 40 days of sanctuary. When Lady Mavis hears the church has Florie, she commands Rane to guard her, but in the process he falls in love with her. Lady Mavis sets fire to the church, hoping to kill Florie, but Florie escapes. Rane's penalty for letting her escape will be death. At the eleventh hour, Florie returns, and must decide which she wants more--Rane's life, or her noble lineage...

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Editorial Reviews

www.nightowlreviews.com
Raves for Captured by Desire:

"...A seductive blend of romance, excitement, and intrigue with a dose of humor thrown in. With interesting characters that grab the reader's attention and a storyline that demands each page eagerly [be] turned, this is a must read for fans of historical romance. Robin Hood move over, Rane MacAllister is the new archer in town."

Score: 4 out of 5 points!

www.romancereviewsmag.com
"Highly dramatic and very exciting....Loved the story"
yankeeromancereviewers.blogspot.com
"Ever so sensual and emotional....the story is solid and very romantic."
Harriet Klausner
FIVE STARS ! ...An entertaining fast-paced sixteenth century historical romance....Historical readers will enjoy this exciting twisting tale as love arrives when you least expect it.
barnesandnoble.com/Captured-by-Desire/Kira-Morgan
The Reading Reviewer
It takes a good writer to take the reader to a place and time and have them feel as if they are there with the characters, and Ms. Morgan does just that with ease and entertainment.
www.marygramlich.com
www.TheSeasonForRomance.com
Rated "8" -- VERY GOOD!

Heat Level: Rated "4" -- HOT !

Bertrice Small
"A wonderful and rich tapestry of a novel."
Monica McCarty
"A rich, sensual, pull-at-the-heartstrings romance."
The Reading Reviewer - www.marygramlich.com
"It takes a good writer to take the reader to a place and time and have them feel as if they are there with the characters, and Ms. Morgan does just that with ease and entertainment."
Jennifer Ashley
"A finely crafted tale...a satisfying read."
Harriet Klausner - barnesandnoble.com/Captured-by-Desire/Kira-Morgan
FIVE STARS ! "...An entertaining fast-paced sixteenth century historical romance....Historical readers will enjoy this exciting twisting tale as love arrives when you least expect it."
From the Publisher
Starred review from Publishers Weekly for Seduced by Destiny:

"Morgan follows 2010's Captured by Desire with a delightful romance set in 16th-century Scotland....Readers weary of Scottish romance cliches will be thrilled to see these cheeky commoners trading blows and puns far away from drafty castles."
Publishers Weekly

"A wonderful and rich tapestry of a novel."—Bertrice Small, New York Times bestselling-author

"A rich, sensual, pull-at-the-heartstrings romance."—Monica McCarty, New York Times bestselling author

"A finely crafted tale...a satisfying read."—Jennifer Ashley, USA Today bestselling-author

Raves for Captured by Desire:

"...A seductive blend of romance, excitement, and intrigue with a dose of humor thrown in. With interesting characters that grab the reader's attention and a storyline that demands each page eagerly [be] turned, this is a must read for fans of historical romance. Robin Hood move over, Rane MacAllister is the new archer in town."

Score: 4 out of 5 points!—www.nightowlreviews.com

"Highly dramatic and very exciting....Loved the story"—www.romancereviewsmag.com

"Ever so sensual and emotional....the story is solid and very romantic."—yankeeromancereviewers.blogspot.com

FIVE STARS ! "...An entertaining fast-paced sixteenth century historical romance....Historical readers will enjoy this exciting twisting tale as love arrives when you least expect it."—Harriet Klausner, barnesandnoble.com/Captured-by-Desire/Kira-Morgan

"It takes a good writer to take the reader to a place and time and have them feel as if they are there with the characters, and Ms. Morgan does just that with ease and entertainment."—The Reading Reviewer, www.marygramlich.com

Rated "8" -- VERY GOOD!

Heat Level: Rated "4" -- HOT !—www.TheSeasonForRomance.com

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780446548182
  • Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
  • Publication date: 8/1/2010
  • Format: Mass Market Paperback
  • Pages: 384
  • Product dimensions: 4.10 (w) x 6.70 (h) x 1.20 (d)

Meet the Author

Kira Morgan is a third-generation California girl who is an avid traveler, the wife of a rock star, the mother of two fascinating children, and the beloved master of a pug named Worf.
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First Chapter

Captured by Desire


By Morgan, Kira

Forever

Copyright © 2010 Morgan, Kira
All right reserved.

ISBN: 9780446548182

Chapter 1

Spring 1548

Thief! Thief! Stop her!”

Lady Mavis Fraser’s sharp shrieks cut through the noise of the Selkirk Fair like the blade of a claymore.

Luckily for the thief, clutching tightly to her prize as she raced through the crowd—bumping a pie man, dodging a lady with a monkey, and passing perilously close to a fire-eater—most of the afternoon revelers were too drunk on bayberry mead to pay her much mind.

But the shrill screams of outrage jangled Florie’s nerves and doubled her panic, spurring her to run faster. Her heart pounded with fear and amazement and, aye, to her shame, a warped thrill of triumph.

She had what she wanted now. The precious gold pomander rested safely in her palm. But at what price?

Florie Gilder, respected apprentice of the goldsmith to the Princess Mary herself, with one reckless act of passion, had become a common outlaw!

“Catch her!”

Florie knew she should stop running. She should never have bolted in the first place. A wise lass would calm herself, use diplomacy. ’Twas only a simple misunderstanding, after all.

But panic propelled her past stall after stall of tailors, potters, jewelers, glovers, and cobblers, wreaking chaos as she went. She elbowed aside a lad playing an hautboy, making a discord in his music, and earned hisses from a cluster of children as she barged between them and a puppet play. She scattered a flock of tethered hens, then trod upon the hem of a lady’s sassanette train.

Fortunately, Florie’s small size, which made her tiny fingers perfect for crafting the most intricate gold filigree, served her here as well. She was able to slip easily under the noses of the Selkirk guards, now alerted to the presence of a thief in their midst.

She scurried past the vendors of roast capon and oatcakes, gingerbread and umble pies. But then, sparing one quick glance over her shoulder, she spied a pair of determined men-at-arms clearing a path toward her.

Lord Gilbert’s constables!

Her heart jabbed against her ribs.

Lady Mavis must have reported the crime to her husband’s men, who were naturally everywhere, since ’twas Gilbert Fraser, the lord sheriff, whose amber-colored glove was displayed atop the pole at the fair’s entrance, signifying his permission for the event.

“Ballocks,” she whispered.

At that moment, one of the constables locked gazes with her. Florie, unable to hide the culpability in her wide eyes, spun and bolted away.

She crashed through a circle of dice-casting peasants who yelled at her in anger, careened past an old beldam selling ribbons, and wriggled through a knot of spectators wagering on a wrestling match.

She really must stop. Running was a sure sign of guilt. Besides, what did she know about the countryside of Selkirk? She’d get lost, and the men-at-arms would catch up with her in no time.

But she could no more fight her instincts for self-preservation than a vixen could keep from fleeing a pack of slavering hounds.

Ahead, the way parted—leather goods down one lane, kitchenware down the other. Deciding in haste, she bolted to the right. The toe of her boot caught on an upright pole hung with iron pots, knocking the lot over with a clamoring like alarm bells.

“Shite!” she hissed, tearing away while the merchant shook his fist at her.

At last she reached the end of the fair, where the crowd began to thin and the trees to thicken.

She didn’t dare look back. She knew the guards pursued her. Her only hope was to head for the forest and pray they’d lose track of her in the afternoon shadows.

Just past the last stall, she darted into a copse of trees overhanging a narrow deer trail. Fortunately, when she’d gone to the privy earlier, she’d doffed her bright blue apprentice’s smock. Now, clad in her kirtle of fawn-colored brocade, Florie practically vanished among the shedding sycamores as she moved swiftly down the path.

The cacophony of the fair gradually receded, yielding to the still of the forest, but Florie’s jagged breathing and the rapid beat of her heart seemed deafening as she scurried through the wood.

The path constricted as it angled through the brush. Branches reached for her like a brazen cutpurse, one of them snagging her black velvet French hood and snatching it from her head. She cursed as her dark waist-length hair tumbled helter-skelter out of its pins, half blinding her. Her heavy skirts seemed to plot against her as well, dragging through the mulch, catching on twigs, slowing her progress.

But she hurtled along as best she could, guided by spots of sun that flashed through gaps in the thicket.

Before long, her mouth grew as dry as chalk, strands of her loose hair clung to her damp face, and a javelin of pain began to stab at her side, making her wince at every limping tread. It seemed to Florie as if she’d run forever, that she’d never stop. And she began genuinely to rue taking that first fateful step.

Then she tripped over an exposed root, dropping the precious pomander and landing hard on her hands and knees.

She knelt there, gasping for breath. Her cheeks were flushed with heat, and runnels of sweat trickled down her neck. Her lungs burned. Her palms stung. She had no idea where she was. For a fleeting moment, the temptation to surrender—to collapse onto the ground and simply wait for destiny to take its course—was great.

Then she remembered the disparaging men of the goldsmith’s guild. They’d belittled Florie when she’d taken over her foster father’s trade, claiming that a lass was too frail and weak-willed for the work. They’d admonished the master goldsmith, saying he should have apprenticed a lad instead.

She wasn’t about to prove them right.

With a determined oath, she scooped up the pomander, secured it quickly to the girdle of gold links about her hips, and forced herself up again, staggering forward.

Anger and despair warred within her as the gorse thickened and the trail narrowed, thwarting her escape. Then, just as she began to fear the path would dwindle to nothing, it blessedly opened up again. She plunged forward down the gradual slope, faster and faster, tripping along moss-covered stones, slipping through the sycamores, and skidding on the leaf-fall.

So quickly did she descend the hill that she almost broke through the trees when the path emerged unexpectedly upon the main thoroughfare. Somehow she managed to slew to a halt soon enough to avoid running into the open road and revealing herself.

Leaning against an oak to rest, she pressed at the sharp stitch in her side. Curse her luck! This close to the road, she was no better off than when she’d set out an hour ago.

Maybe she should just surrender herself to the authorities. Perhaps Lord Gilbert would be more reasonable than his wife. She’d seen him earlier when he’d stopped by her stall, a comely man of forty winters or so, and his face had not seemed unkind. His neatly clipped dark beard revealed a penchant for order, his carefully selected jewels a preference for restraint—things Florie admired.

Perhaps he’d grant her mercy. After all, she was a respected merchant. And she hadn’t precisely stolen the pomander. She’d only reclaimed it.

But she doubted that even the guild would concur with her reckoning of the incident. As her foster father oft complained, Florie’s uncompromising nature might serve her well when it came to crafting exquisite jewelry, but ’twas a curse when it came to marketing what she made.

This incident was certainly proof of that.

Yet what else could she have done? The pomander was too important to let it fall into the hands of a spoiled noblewoman. Within the precious piece dwelled the secret of Florie’s past and the key to her future.

From the very first, when she’d decided she could no longer live in the shadow of her dead mother, her foster father had warned her against going to Selkirk, against opening old wounds.

But she hadn’t listened to him. He wasn’t her real father, after all, and she had to find the one who was.

It didn’t matter that ’twas the first fair she’d been to on her own, did it?

Or that her bargaining skills weren’t quite polished yet?

Or that her uncompromising nature would drive her to commit a seemingly criminal act where a noblewoman screamed at her and lawmen chased her through the woods?

She blew out a breath of dismay, shaking her head.

’Twas hard to believe that only a fortnight ago, Florie had been welcomed into the queen’s private solar at Dumbarton Castle. There, surrounded by the ladies of the court, she’d had the honor of presenting a gold pendant to young Princess Mary.

As always, Florie hadn’t been allowed to take credit for the work, even though she’d designed and crafted every part of it, from the brightly jeweled bouquet of flowers to the filigree butterfly that perched upon them. She was, after all, only a lowly apprentice. ’Twas her foster father who claimed the title of master goldsmith to the princess.

But Mary’s delighted cooing and the gleeful squeals of her companions, the Four Maries, had been reward enough. The queen had expressed her appreciation with a nod and an approving smile that promised future commissions.

Now the memory made Florie wince. She wondered what future a known felon could possibly have in the royal household. And as far as finding her real father now…

How could things have gone so wrong so quickly?

Stupid Wat! This was his fault. She wouldn’t have brought the servant along at all if her foster father hadn’t insisted on his coming for her protection. Protection, faugh! He might be as brawny as an ox, but what Wat possessed in the way of intimidating bulk he more than made up for by a dearth of wits.

Only moments ago, Florie had left the booth to answer the call of nature at the public jakes. Yet in her brief absence, Wat had managed to wreak havoc. She should never have trusted the hulking half-wit to watch over her goods. Somehow the dolt had sold her mother’s pomander, the one piece she’d handed to him for safekeeping.

As for Florie, she’d simply attempted to secure the pomander’s return. Which was only reasonable.

She’d been more than fair in her dealings with Lady Mavis. She’d civilly explained how the sale of that particular piece had been an error. She’d managed to conceal her impatience, offering to substitute a beautiful girdle—one with a lovely little jeweled looking glass attached—in an equal exchange, even though the girdle was worth much more than the pomander.

But the nasty termagant rejected her generous offer. Which naturally left Florie no choice but to take the pomander back by force. To her credit, as she snatched it and turned to flee, she even tossed back to Lady Mavis the coins she’d laid out for the piece.

But now Florie was branded a thief and a fugitive. And contrary to her foster father’s belief in him, she knew the coward Wat was unlikely to rush to her defense. Considering the tongue-lashing she’d given him for selling the pomander in the first place, he’d probably retreated somewhere to lick his wounds.

While Florie stood there, catching her breath and wondering how she’d ever restore her reputation in the guild, a soft rumbling sounded in the distance.

Horses. At a gallop. Coming nearer.

As the thrumming grew louder, she peered cautiously down the road from behind the oak. And gulped.

Lord Gilbert Fraser himself charged down the lane with a half-dozen men, the amber-colored crest of his snapping pennant unmistakable. She whipped back behind the oak trunk, frozen in breathless waiting while they passed in a flurry of flapping tabards and horseflesh, close enough to choke her on the rising silt.

Only when they were well past the bend in the lane did she dare peek again through the branches to the road beyond. That road was the same western passage she’d come in on three days past. She tried to remember what shelter lay along the route—an inn, a tavern, a crofter’s cottage, anyplace she might hide until tempers cooled and the incident faded in memory. Faith, where could she go?

A stream ran along the south side of the road for several miles, she recalled. At one point it deserted that course to pass through a sunken lea, opened up into a large round pond, then narrowed again at the far bank to wind its way through the wood. Up the rise from that pond, near the crossroads, stood an old wayside church.

Sanctuary.

She could claim sanctuary. By law, churches were obliged to protect outlaws for forty days. She wouldn’t stay that long, of course. She’d just take shelter until tensions settled and reason prevailed.

Bolstered by hope, she pushed off the tree and hastened forward, skirting the edge of the main road. How far was it? A quarter of a mile? Half?

Lord Gilbert would pass this way again, realizing his prey couldn’t go far on foot. How long would he ride before he wheeled about?

She didn’t dare wait to find out. Dismissing the painful throbbing in her chest, she sprang forward like the quarry in a foxhunt, racing her pursuers and the setting sun.

Rane MacAllister stood motionless behind the cluster of elms. His bow lay at rest across his thigh, but an arrow was nocked at the ready. ’Twas almost sunset. Soon they’d arrive.

Invisible flies nipped at the quiet water of the deep pond, making tiny ripples across its surface. A squirrel had come to drink its fill, and a fox, fooled by Rane’s masking scent of rosemary, had fearlessly approached the water, unaware that a hunter lurked not ten yards away.

Rane wasn’t interested in the fox. He saved his talents for provender, chiefly deer.

The lowering sun winked through the elm branches, and Rane shifted the slightest bit to the left to keep his eyes in shadow, imperceptible. Garbed in the muted greens and browns of the forest, his fair hair blending with the pale bark of the elms, he was nearly invisible. Now he had only to watch and wait.

And brood.

’Twas a dangerous game he played, poaching in Ettrick Forest, the royal wood guarded by Lord Gilbert Fraser, sheriff of Selkirk.

After all, Rane was Gilbert’s own huntsman, well-respected in the nobleman’s household. Chosen for his keen eye and steady hand, Rane had put food on the Fraser table for nigh seven seasons.

’Twas a point of pride with Rane that, unlike other archers, who crippled prey with wounds that were grievous but not mortal, he almost always felled game instantly with a single arrow through the heart.

Still, only years of practice steadied his arm now, for the peril of committing such a crime would have set most men’s limbs to trembling.

He scanned the trees on the far side of the pond, at the narrow break that marked the end of the deer trail. No creature stirred the brush yet. But he knew they’d come. They always came to the water at twilight.

The shadows grew long. Soon the Selkirk Fair would close. He swallowed down the acrid taste of apprehension, a taste to which he was unfortunately becoming accustomed. By God’s grace and his own fleet hand, he’d have a stag slain and dressed and be gone by the time the first burghers passed by on the main road.

For if he didn’t, if anyone caught him with his prize…

He frowned. ’Twas too late to think about the penalty for poaching. He’d already weighed the consequences when he’d decided he had to do something to feed the starving crofters.

Between the English king Henry VIII’s years of relentless razing of the Borders and the massacre done by his men at the River Esk last fall, Scotland had suffered wounds from which it might never recover, wounds that were felt most deeply by the helpless poor. Yet the nobles had done little to relieve the suffering of their subjects. Even now, Lady Mavis was likely ambling through the Selkirk Fair, wasting her husband’s coin on some frippery or other.

As for Rane, he refused to let perfectly good game roam the forest, awaiting the pleasure of plump-bellied royals while Scots children starved to death.

But anger ruined a man’s aim as readily as fear. So he banished everything from his mind but the task at hand. His gaze flitted over every leaf twisting in the receding sunlight. His ear remarked upon every sparrow and mouse that stirred the brush. All the while, he stood as still as the elm trunk beside him. But no deer approached the pool, and as the forest darkened, growing more and more inhospitable to his sharp eye, he began to believe he might fail the good peasants depending upon him.

Then, from far off in the wood, he heard a noise. ’Twas more lurching than the usual timid footfall of a stag coming to drink, but the turmoil of the fair had likely left the woodland animals skittish. Wary deer were more challenging to hunt. But not impossible. Never impossible.

His fingers circled with practiced ease around the leather grip of the longbow, and he slowly raised it to eye level, hooking in and drawing back on the sinew until the bow arced and his thumb rested against his cheek.

The thrashing grew louder. He narrowed his eyes against the fast-fading light, straining to see into the deep shadows of the wood.

’Twas reckless to hunt this way, he thought, cursing the desperation that drove him to do so. Not only did he risk his life by poaching on royal lands, but ’twas also foolhardy to use a bow when he could barely discern his prey, much less get off a clean shot.

Still, the animal was almost out in the open now. He heard the snap of twigs as it slowed, cautiously approaching the widening of the trail. Through the drooping branches, by the failing light, he at last caught a glimpse of what he thought was the broad side of a deer.

The instant before he released the arrow, the creature moved forward out of the shadows, and he saw ’twas not a deer at all.

But ’twas too late to prevent his shot, and only his lightning-quick reflexes prevented the bolt from landing with deadly accuracy.

Still it sank with a sickening thud into flesh, and the piercing cry that followed staggered him as if he’d taken the arrow himself.



Continues...

Excerpted from Captured by Desire by Morgan, Kira Copyright © 2010 by Morgan, Kira. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4
( 10 )
Rating Distribution

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(6)

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Sort by: Showing all of 10 Customer Reviews
  • Posted July 13, 2010

    more from this reviewer

    an entertaining fast-paced sixteenth century historical romance

    In 1548 Master Goldsmith Miss Florie Gilder understands society dictates for women; as she is the talent who makes the beautiful pieces people buy, but her foster father gets the credit as the artisan because women are not allowed to create or sell these masterpieces. She becomes upset when the only item she owns that is not for sale, a piece her late mother gave her that her biological father created, is mistakenly sold to Lady Mavis Gilbert, wife of the Selkirk sheriff Gilbert.

    Florie steals her family heirloom, but Lady Mavis shouts thief and if apprehended she will be charged with theft. As she flees from the sheriff's men, Rane MacAllister, who hunts deer to feed the sheriff and the poor, shoots an arrow at her mistaken her gallop for that of an animal. He realizes his error when he gets closer. He takes the injured woman to a rundown church to heal while concealing her from the sheriff. As they fall in love, he knows his mission to the impoverished needs to come first, but he endangers it by hiding a "criminal" as he could lose his position as the sheriff's hunter or even be hung.

    From the opening line of "Thief", Captured By desire is an entertaining fast-paced sixteenth century historical romance. The lead couple seems star-crossed as he is the sheriff's hunter while she is the thief the sheriff chases. Historical readers will enjoy this exciting twisting tale as love arrives when you least expect it.

    Harriet Klausner

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted July 27, 2013

    Snowclaw

    Do you think i should make this an evil clan where we steal kits and battle

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted January 17, 2011

    Great Title as you are Captured as soon as you start the read

    Raw emotion. You feel as though you are right in the middle of the entire story. Kudos and this is a great nook book. I could not put it down last night!

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  • Posted August 18, 2010

    more from this reviewer

    Good historical fiction

    This was a decent book. I liked the story, Florie trying to find out who she is, while falling in love with Rane who has some "finding" of his own to do.

    I liked Florie, she was determined, if nothing else. Then there was Rane, I liked him a lot. He was so strong, and yet so sensitive. They made for a great couple, lots of sparks flying there.

    The writing was pretty good. The story had a good pace, the characters were well developed. There was just something that I didn't fully connect with in this one. It's not that I didn't like it, I just didn't love it. But it kept me reading till the end.

    I think my issue is that I'm getting burnt out on historical romance. I need to get myself into a few books from different genres. Variety is the spice of life, right?

    I did like the story, and it did hold my interest. So I'd have to say it was worth the read.

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  • Posted August 12, 2010

    AN AMAZING HISTORICAL ROMANCE WITH A DRAMATIC CONCLUSION!!

    CAPTURED BY DESIRE by Kira Morgan is an amazing historical romance set in 1548 Scotland. It is well written with depth and details. The characters and plot are well developed, easy to follow, and will definitely fall in love with. It has betrayal, romance, sensuality, wit, danger, spies,trust, acceptance, finding your heritage, and following your heart.It is fast paced, a page turner, set on the edge of your seat, with twists and turns. It will capture your heart from page one to the end. The hero, Rane, is handsome, sexy, a huntsman for the sheriff,Lord Gilbert, loved by all the women of his village, tender hearted, and keeps his promises.He is also part Scottish and part Viking, which is supposed to make him irresistible to all woman. Legend is their is a curse which makes women love him. The heroine, Florie, is tall, strong willed, a goldsmith, determined to not fall in love or lose her heart to anyone. She is determined to find her biological father from an treasured heirloom giving to her by her mother on her deathbed. This heirloom causes her trouble from the wife of the Lord Gilbert(Lady Mavis), she recognizes the heirloom and is determined to destroy it and its owner. What follows is a dramatic conclusion with adventure, love, hate, betrayal, and what could have been a disaster for both Florie and Rane and their love. I would highly recommend this book especially if you enjoy all the romance and splender of a wonderful amazing historical romance. This book was received for review and details can be found at Forever an imprint of Hachette Book Group and My Addiction and More.

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  • Posted August 11, 2010

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    Bridget's Review

    This historical romance is a sure-fire winner for every romance fanatic. The title says it all! I couldn't help but picture myself as Florie and I drooled over Rane throughout the whole book.

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  • Posted June 15, 2010

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    Great story with interesting characters

    When you are a talented but uncomplicated woman living in a difficult and tragic time how do you cope? For Miss Florie Gilder it is a matter of accepting the tradition of the time and let the males run the show plus take the credit while you do all the work. She is a master goldsmith who creates works of art with her delicate hands and sells the wares she creates under the guise of letting everyone think her foster father is the genius yes in reality it is Florie that has the gift and always did.

    It was during one of the fares where Florie was selling her work when everything turned quickly into a horrific twist of fate she could never have predicted. There is one piece Florie could never sell and it is a pomander that her mother left her before she died. Her mother explained that it was a gift from Florie's biological father and with that piece she could find him which meant it held the key to her future. A misunderstanding has the piece being purchased by the Lady Mavis Fraser, wife to Lord Gilbert Fraser the Sherriff of Silkirk who also understands the significance of the piece of gold and wants it to destroy. But Florie grabs it back from Mavis and runs creating a situation where Florie is accused of stealing from the lady and branded a thief even though she returned the money.

    While on the run and near to escaping Florie is struck by a hunter's arrow and begs him to take her to the nearest church where she will receive 40 days of sanctuary from the charges and gain the needed time to prove her innocence. Rane McAlister consumed with guilt over injuring this wee slip of a lass does just that and cares for her himself knowing that the pain and agony she is suffering is from his arrow even though he meant his target to be a deer not the stunning female in his arms. But the irony in all of this lies with the fact the Rane is the huntsman to the Sheriff who seeks to have Florie tried for thievery against his own wife, Mavis.

    As the day's move forward each one brings Rane and Florie closer to realizing the truth of the story behind the accusations against her, the depth of their past lives and misdeeds along with the undeniable fact that they are falling slowly but surely in love with one another. This is so wrong and could never work but the warmth they find in one another's arms in unmistakable and the strength they had apart is nothing compared to the power they have together. Rane is quite the ladies man and Florie an unsophisticated woman but neither of these facts seem to dampen the draw each has for the other even though they are both strong willed and very uneven tempered.

    The times were hard and the life difficult in the 1500's but this story shows that not everything had to be harsh. These were terrible times yes but there was also love and tenderness with kind men who could love a strong willed woman. It takes a good writer to take the reader to a place and time and have them feel as if they are there with the characters and Ms. Morgan does just that with ease and entertainment.

    Mary Gramlich is The Reading Reviewer located at www.marygramlich.com

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  • Anonymous

    Posted March 31, 2013

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 15, 2010

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 10, 2010

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