Bewitching the Highlander

Bewitching the Highlander

by Lois Greiman

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Bewitching the Highlander by Lois Greiman

Keelan has awakened from a deep slumber, in another time, in another place, and still haunted by demons of his past. Determined to recover the Treasure that caused his family's downfall, he arrives at the sweeping Scottish countryside . . . and discovers the magic of a gentle, healing touch from a lass who stokes passion's fire in this Highlander's breast.

The mysterious appearance of the Scottish warrior nearly causes Charity to abandon her plans, but she'd been playing the part of a dutiful maid for too long to let someone else walk away with the prize—even if Keelan is as great a temptation as the Treasure. Yet when they are forced on the run, Charity discovers that the Highlander may be too irresistible, and to deny him would be impossible . . . for love's glorious promise awaits her in his powerful embrace and sensuous kiss.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780061191343
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Publication date: 07/31/2007
Series: An Avon Romantic Treasure Series
Pages: 384
Product dimensions: 4.18(w) x 6.75(h) x 0.96(d)

About the Author

Lois Greiman is the award-winning author of more than twenty novels, including romantic comedy, historical romance, and mystery. She lives in Minnesota with her family and an ever-increasing number of horses.

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Bewitching the Highlander

Chapter One


"Colder than a sea witch's arse," Keelan muttered and stumbled again, nearly falling face first in the sodden bog. A cold northwesterly drove rain, hard and fast, into his face, soaking the tunic beneath the threadbare waistcoat he held bunched tight at his throat. "And I would be knowing," he added, then snorted at his own wit, dubious though it was. But whose humor would not be a bit stale given the circumstances? It had been raining since well before dusk. His last meal was little more than a cherished memory, and he was still mourning the loss of the small fortune he'd left the three gentlemen with whom he'd been gaming some days past. But the term gentlemen was loosely used indeed. Not one of them had cracked a grin the entire evening. On the other hand . . . He tripped again, righted himself, stumbled on. What they lacked in frolicking good natures they more than made up for in coin . . . and size. Arms as big around as Keelan's legs. Necks the size of . . . The toe of his saturated boot caught on something unseen in the darkness. He lurched forward, stopping his fall with his hands and feeling sheep droppings squish between his frigid fingers.

"Ahh," he said, rolling onto his back and laughing into the hard-driving rain. Where there were sheep droppings there were sheep, as ol' Toft was wont to say, Keelan thought, and grinned into the stinging deluge before struggling to his feet. Shuttling up a slippery incline, he gazed into the little dale that fell sharply away. It was as dark as the devil's broom closet below him, but dotted here and there among the sweeping hillocks were clumps of woolly gray. Sheep. Better known to the wayward Scotsman as dinner on the hoof.

Slipping back down the hill a scant few inches, Keelan fumbled with the ancestral sporran that hung from his waist. Opening it was no simple task, for his fingers had gone numb and stupid with the cold. His muscles were cramped and aching, but his night vision did not fail him. Still, dipping a dart into the corked vial was an onerous chore. Neither was it simple to fit the tiny weapon into its wooden tube. Yet he managed.

And voilÃ! Less than an hour later, the world seemed a brighter place. Quite literally in fact, for Keelan of the Forbes was squatting on his haunches before a small but optimistic fire. There was even a roof of sorts above his head. Granted, that roof was supported by slightly less than three walls and might well tumble in on him with any careless move. But 'twas daft luck that had led him to this dubious shelter in the first place, and he would ever greet good fortune with a merry "good day" when he happened upon it.

His ancient kinsmen had been entirely wrong. This was his path, despite their dire warnings. Who were they to warn him anyway? Their own lives had been fraught with dangers. Hiltsglen...the Black Celt. O'Banyon...the Irish Hound. And Toft...the Wanderer. They had tried to pretend they were naught but ordinary Highlanders, but he knew better from the moment he first met them. Saw the eerie strangeness in them just as he saw it in himself. But while their gifts were astounding...Hiltsglen's granite courage, O'Banyon's bestial strength, Toft's inexplicable abilities...Keelan's own talents seemed to be somewhat more humble. Sleeping, for instance. He was first-rate at sleeping. Well, that and chicanery. The Irish Hound had headed north looking for a healer and found naught but Keelan, a scheming Highlander just up from a lengthy nap.

Oh aye, Keelan had descended from these men of the mist, but he had somehow failed to inherit their talents. Thus, in the two years since his awakening, he had learned to make his own luck, to do without the creature comforts he had known in his former life. And now, after months of laborious scheming, circumstances were fast improving.

Eyeing the lamb that lay motionless at his feet, he grinned. Unless he was dreadfully mistaken, naught but good would come of this night's...

"Hello," said a towering shadow, and stepped inside the shelter. Firelight flickered on the bare arms that stuck like bulging sausages from holes in a sleeveless tunic.

Keelan scrambled madly to his feet. "Mary and Joseph!" he rasped, scurrying backward and crashing into the crumbling wall behind him.

"Actually . . ." said another, and stepped from the darkness, "my name is Roland." He was as slim as the other was stout, as small as the giant was huge. His round face looked angelic in the flickering glow of the firelight, and his golden hair gleamed like a polished halo. "And yonder gentleman is called Frankie."

Keelan shifted his gaze. Frankie was the approximate size of a draft horse and fisted his plowshare hands with impatient slowness.

"I dunna mind telling ye lads, ye scared the living blazes outta me," Keelan breathed. Always good to tell the truth if it suited his needs.

Roland smiled, but despite his angelic good looks, the expression did nothing to warm one's cockles even if one happened to know what the hell cockles were. "And who might you be, friend?"

Keelan skipped his gaze to the lamb near Frankie's mammoth feet and lied for all he was worth. "Me name be Bruce." His mind was racing like a cheating Englishman, skittering over well-laid schemes. Perhaps, after all, this was not his wisest plan to date. "Of the Highland MacLeods." Stepping forward, he reached for Roland's hand. They shook. "'Tis glad I am to meet ye." He shook Frankie's hand next, relieved when his own average-sized mitt emerged unscathed.

"I be Lord Seafirth's lad."


"Aye. Sure ye know him," Keelan said. "Deaf ol' bugger he be, but with a good heart. He lives over yonder." He gave his head a tilt in no particular direction. "Past Learloch Hills."

Bewitching the Highlander
. Copyright © by Lois Greiman. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.

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Bewitching the Highlander 2.5 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 4 reviews.
Guest More than 1 year ago
If you enjoy beatings, blood and torture you are sure to enjoy this book and that was only the first 44 pages! I for one, am also gettng weary of time travel in the majority of the romance books for the last few years. Pity since the author normally writes well.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I am an avid reader and I am struggling to finish this book. I am at page 327 and still trying to find a plot and a reason for this story. If you want to read page after page of one incident of torture; page after page of one bath; page after page of trying to figure out where this story is supposed to go- then this is the book for you. There is no thought to building character structure and no plot as to what the story is supposed to be saying. It meanders on and on and on and on and on........I am still hoping that I will run into the purpose of this story in the last few chapters. Extremely disappointing.
Guest More than 1 year ago
Sharp edges of reality mix with the undefined shadows of the mystical to create an engaging world of hidden secrets and enduring love in Bewitching the Highlander by Lois Greiman. Things are not always as they seem as time stretches across boundaries and dreams foretell of journeys to the future. It is a story of possibility, choice, and predictions come true. Severely wounded, and carrying secrets from his past, Keelan finds himself in the care of Charity, a bewitching woman with secrets of her own. Each on their own separate journey they must join forces against a dark and ancient power determined to keep what they both desire. When powers collide, the story explodes into a myriad of activity. Riveting action scenes combine with wonderfully seductive moments of passion to produce a compelling, and often surprising, story. Ms. Greiman provides an insightful peek into the give and take of human desire letting go of separate dreams to join together in a single journey. She sets a mood that is both believable and transcendent of an earth-bound world, keeping the reader entranced in the ethereal. The dialogue is intelligent, pithy and a joy to read. Delightful sparring and well-placed wagers erupt into an intense romance that sizzles with lust and enduring love.