The Devil Take You – by H K Carlton – Historical Romance
Blurb:
Braelynn Galbraith wants peace for her beloved Scotland, marriage to her childhood sweetheart, and a house full of children. In that order. But evil incarnate, in the form of Gard Marschand, turns her life inside out and destroys all hope of a decent marriage.
Known in the Highlands as the legendary devil, Gard Marschand raids his way across Scotland and England amassing power and property in his malevolent wake. He will stop at nothing in his pursuit to regain what is lost— even conceal his true identity and associate with his enemies. His determination is all-consuming until he and his men lay siege to Ross-shire holding and one feisty Scottish lass obliterates his single-minded purpose.
Can Gard abandon his deep-seated need for revenge for a love that just might save his rotten soul? Or will he succumb to the demons that hound him and surrender to the devil within?
I believe your stay in purgatory has only just begun…
This story has been previously published
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Excerpt:
A plume of black smoke rose over the burm, swirling into the sky.
“Dear God, not again.” Brae dropped the bouquet she had been fashioning and ran, perhaps stupidly, toward the village. Even with the wind whistling through her ears, the commotion and terror-filled shrieks of the town folk still reached her.
With her attention focused on locating her family, Brae didn’t hear the horses behind her until the last second.
All of a sudden, her feet lost contact with the damp earth. She choked on a scream as some unknown assailant grabbed her by the hair and plucked her from the ground. The destrier never slowed its pace as she dangled precariously in midair.
In agony, Brae clamped her hands on either side of her head—her scalp threatened to peel away from her skull.
The kidnapper hauled her up in front of him and body slammed her stomach-first onto the horse’s back. Brae’s breath rushed from her lungs at the force. She bunched her hand into the rider’s enormous black cloak and hung on for dear life.
While she struggled to breathe, the brigand wrapped his rather large leather-clad hand around her backside.
“This one be mine!” The sound of his deep voice chilled her. By his accent, he was English! Braelynn closed her eyes and recalled the warnings from Callum and her da. Had her own father’s words cursed her? Was she to learn the lesson the hard way?
She was afraid to open her eyes, but she knew by the smell stinging her nose that they were close to the source of the acrid smoke.
The horses came to an abrupt halt. Brae barely had time to register the fact when someone from behind grabbed her by the ankles and attempted to rip her from her captor’s lap.
“She be mine,” her captor growled.
To her horror her skirt rode high.
“I want her!” the second brigand responded while caressing her bare leg. Brae’s skin crawled.
In terror, she stared up at the raider holding her while the other slid his rough hands ever higher up her plaid.
Leather creaked when her captor leaned in the saddle. He placed one large booted foot in the center of his rival’s chest and shoved. At once, Brae’s lower body dropped as he fell backward from the blow. Her arms pulled taut, stretching painfully, supporting her weight.
Without warning, the man holding her suddenly released his grip. Brae slid down the horse’s side and fell to the ground with a thud in a tangle of voluminous skirts. She did not wait to disentangle herself but seized the opportunity to flee. She leapt to her feet intending to run, but her captor was faster. He grabbed her by the hair yet again. Circling it around his hand, he reeled her in.
“Not so fast, Caileag.” He sneered the last as if it were a nasty word. “You and I have some business to attend.”
Brae fought him, kicking, punching, and scratching, but to no avail. With his enormous reach, he held her at bay until another one of the black-garbed knights gathered her from behind and pushed her into the lean-to attached to the smithy. She landed heavily on one hip on the sub-floor, with the stranger’s hand still wrapped around her hair. He let it uncoil. Long strands hung from his gloves. Her scalp ached.
Petrified, she stared up at the small crowd now gathered. There were four of them, but more outside.
“Come, Marschand. You never take the women. Ya are just tryin’ to prove yourself to Cowan. Give her to me. She’s too bonnie fer the likes a you,” one man jeered.
All the men were dressed the same, entirely in black. But her original captor, the one they referred to as Marschand, was truly pitch-dark from head to toe, including his hair and beard. Even his eyes were two bottomless orbs of bleakness.
Brae gasped. ’Tis him! The devil himself! Absolute terror tried to climb its way up her throat.
Copyright © 2019 H.K. Carlton
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Author Bio:
H K Carlton is a multi-genre Canadian author of romance, with over thirty titles in publication. From naughty to nice, historical to contemporary, time travel to space travel, and everything in between.
Variety is creativity’s playground—It’s where you’ll find me
Author Links
Blogs:
Outrageous Girls (contributor)
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