The Highlander's Dark Seduction. Joanne Rock
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Scotland, 1890
Doomed to eternal wandering for over a century, Highlander Magnus Darroch has never encountered any creature—mortal or fae—like American heiress Elizabeth Harrison. She may be considered too tall and ungainly for polite society, yet the moment she dares to kiss him, Magnus knows he must possess her.
Magnus has vowed to protect Elizabeth from his family’s curse even if it means they must part. But in his embrace, Elizabeth feels desirable for the first time. And she soon finds that no force is greater than this highland warrior’s passion….
Secrets of the Darroch Clan
The Highlander’s Dark Seduction
Joanne Rock
Author Note
I’m excited to return to the world of the Darroch clan this month and I am so grateful to you for joining me! Ever since I opened a copy of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight as a high schooler, I have loved a little bit of the paranormal mixed with my historical tales!
If you remember Magnus Darroch from the first story, The Highlander’s Haunted Kiss, you’ll know he’s the roughest around the edges of the Darroch men. I wanted to be sure to give him a heroine who could handle his fierce side, so I searched far and wide for a worthy heroine. Elizabeth Harrison tested her mettle in drawing rooms rather than on the sidhe battlefield, but I think she holds her own.
Please do let me know what you think! I love to hear from readers at
www.facebook.com/joannerockauthor or @JoanneRock6 on Twitter!
Happy Reading.
Table of Contents
The Legend
In the most remote hills of Am Monadh, Scotland’s ancient Grampian Mountains, the forests keep secrets from bygone days. Shifting mists hide murky lochs while winding rivers can lead hapless travelers in circles. Here, a legend lingers from the earliest of times, a tale passed down among the hardy souls who carve out a living in this unforgiving land.
It is whispered that the veil between worlds grows thin in those lush glens and dense forests where progress does not tread. And on a quiet day, if one wanders onto the wrong path, the mountain mists can lure a person into the land of the sidhe, the magical fey folk who exist in a time outside our own.
Untouched by the passing years, the sidhe live alongside us, usually perceived out of the corner of an eye—a movement in the trees, a flash of color in the bushes. Occasionally, one of these lovely immortals is glimpsed as if in a dream, so impossibly compelling that most men won’t believe the vision could be real. Very rarely, a mortal can be lured into the timeless lands for the entertainment of the mystical beings that live there, only to be cast back into the real world years later, where their old existence never feels as magical as it did in those enchanted green hills.
Every now and then, a determined mortal tries to cling to that fey world by refusing to leave. One stubborn Highlander named Fergus Darroch even went so far as to kidnap a particular sidhe female who captured his heart. But down that path lay madness. Or in the case of the Darroch descendants, the curse of eternal wandering.
This is the story of one such time-walker cursed by the sidhe.
Chapter One
Scotland 1890
Most young ladies of Elizabeth Harrison’s acquaintance would have traded anything for the invitation to a summer party at Balmoral while Queen Victoria was in residence.
American heiress Elizabeth Harrison, however, would have given anything to leave Balmoral without the fanfare her great-aunt insisted on making as they stood near the horses. Elizabeth had been ready to part since dawn, desperate to escape the week of mockery she’d endured after a spurned suitor had spread rumors about her inability to wed due to her plainness. But Aunt Sophia had made their leave-taking a long and drawn-out affair.
“Aunt Sophia, I will be fine.” Elizabeth leaned closer to her maiden aunt who acted as her chaperone at Balmoral since Elizabeth had no luck convincing anyone else to accompany her to the Highlands. “I fear I should have been underway half an hour ago, so truly, I must beg your leave—”
“I only hoped that handsome Italian count would come down to see you off, my dear. What was his name?” Sophia patted her niece’s hand absently as she peered over the pristine lawns in the early morning haze.
“He’s a fortune hunter, Auntie,” Elizabeth insisted, more determined than ever to make her departure from the cruelty of a society where she’d never quite fit in. “He is a deposed count with no more holdings and his dwindling resources are the only reason he ever seeks my company.” She’d had enough awkward conversations with men who only saw her father’s bank accounts when they looked upon her. Or, more often, “up” to her. At almost six feet tall, Elizabeth often felt like a lurching beast among parties full of delicate girls. “Which is all the more reason I should depart since I have no wish to field indelicate questions about the extent of Father’s possessions. I will write you when I arrive.”
“You’re sure Lily is expecting you?” her aunt fretted. “I expect I should chaperone this journey, if not the visit.”
Elizabeth had argued to make the trip into the mountains alone, a point that she’d only won because her aunt detested country living and all the lack of luxury it implied. Elizabeth’s mother had died when she was barely out of the nursery, and it had forced her to be more independent. Her father had been too deep in grief to pay much attention to raising her so she’d raised herself and took care of him, too. Even now, she felt like more of the caretaker for her aunt than vice versa.
“Lily is a widow and a perfect chaperone. She can’t wait for my arrival,” Elizabeth lied, anxious to be free of society for a fortnight or however long she could stretch the visit. She would need a chaperone far less in the Highland wilds than she did in the corners of crowded ballrooms where men and women mocked the height they likened to a giraffe’s. “I will return before you know it!”
Calling to the driver through the carriage’s open window, Elizabeth waved to her aunt and began her journey at last. Away from the prospect of marriage. Away from self-important suitors who thought she should weep with gratitude when they asked her to dance because they were nobility while she was not only plain, but even worse… an American.
The word meant something entirely different for her than it did for them. Her friend Lillian Desalles, who’d very briefly been Viscountess Broadville, understood this. And if Elizabeth was truly going to see her old friend Lily from New York at the end of this journey, Elizabeth would be delighted.
Except she did not know what she’d find at the other end of her trip. Because the truth was that Elizabeth hadn’t heard from her best friend in weeks. She knew Lily had taken shelter at a nearby Highland castle after being unexpectedly widowed following a brief marriage.