Laird of her Heart: Book One in the Dundragon Trilogy by Sabrina York
When Maggie Spencer is mysteriously transported to the
Scotland of her ancestors, she is stunned to come face to face with him. Dominic Dundragon, the man she’s
been half in love with her whole life. A man who’s been dead for 700 years.
They both have enemies aplenty. Will she have a chance to
win his love, or will this adventure end in disaster?
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Read an excerpt
Maggie yelped as, without warning, the burly warrior named
Declan whipped her up into his arms and tossed her over his shoulder. To her
horror, she lost the hold on her locket.
“Wait,” she cried. She wriggled to get free, but his grip
was too hard. When she pummeled his back with her fists as he strode from the
circle of stones, he chuckled. The beast. But to be fair, he was so large, it
would have felt like a kitten batting him. “Put me down.”
“I willna,” he said. “The Mackintosh will decide how you
die.”
All right. That shut her up. For a minute. “Die? Why do I
need to die?” What the hell had she done to him?
The man following, an enormous blond with a scar tracking
his cheek bent down to peer at her. “The Mackintosh’s doona tolerate spies.”
“I’m not a spy.” Seriously. She wriggled more and Declan
smacked her ass.
Smacked her ass.
She’d kill him when she got free. Just kill him.
“Yer wearing the Cameron colors,” the blond said. “And the
Mackintosh’s doona—”
“Right. I know. The Mackintosh’s doona tolerate spies.” Her head was starting to spin from being
upside down and jounced around with each step. Her temper was on a short leash.
“But honestly, if I were a spy, would I wear the Cameron colors? It seems a
little counterproductive in my opinion. I mean, if I’m spying and all. I might as wear a sign that says, oh, I dunno, honk if you love spies.”
His brow rumpled but he didn’t respond. At least, not to
her. “She speaks strangely,” he complained to Declan.
Her captor snorted a laugh. “She dresses strangely too.”
“Aye. She does at that. I’ve heard the Cameron lasses are a
wild lot, but I had no idea—”
“I’m. Not. A. Cameron.” She reached out and smacked the
blond, but only because he came close enough. He reared back and gaped at
her—as though he’d never been smacked before—and then he quickly moved out of
range.
It hardly mattered, because, apparently, they had reached
their destination, a camp on the edge of the woods. The sounds of nickering
horses and clanks of pots gave her her first clue—she was facing the other way,
after all.
Her second clue was that Declan dropped her on the ground.
She landed with an oof. She glared at
him. He didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. “Go get my brother, Ewan,” he
barked, and the blond trotted off to one of the larger tents.
When she stood and brushed off her jeans, Declan bristled
and she shot him a sardonic glare. Did he think she was stupid enough to run
away? For one thing, these enormous men had her surrounded. For another, she
never ran. Not if she could help it.
Instead, she made a quick survey of her surroundings. The
camp was little more than a huddle of tents with the forest on one side and a
sweeping plain on the other. A small herd of horses were hobbled to one side
and a deer roasted over a pit fire. An entire deer. Before she could silence
the thought—she often had that problem—she said, “You killed Bambi.”
Declan’s brow rumpled. “I dinna kill anyone.” And then he
asked, “Who is Bambi?”
“Never mind.” She crossed her arms and turned away
pretending to ignore them. But she wasn’t. She was aware they were all staring
at her like she was a curiosity in a zoo, but she was taking in tiny details as
well. Like the fact that their clothes were all handmade and simple. Their hair
appeared to have been cut with a chainsaw and their beards were scraggly and
long. Their weapons were what made her mind really start to spin though.
One held a crossbow that dated from the thirteenth century.
Another had a Mackintosh dirk that resembled one she’d seen in a museum once.
Declan had a simple calfskin sporran tied to his belt.
Odd. Could she have wandered into some renaissance faire?
But no. It had been evening when she stepped into the woods and now it was
daytime. Early afternoon. And the acres of woods around the house belonged to
the family. It couldn’t be—
“So.” She flinched as a deep, melodious voice wafted to her
on a hint of humor. Shivers danced through her, along with a prickling sense of
premonition. “You’ve captured a Cameron spy?”
She turned slowly and froze as her gaze landed on him. On that so-familiar face. Broad,
handsome, savage. Much more captivating than the sketch had been. Much more
captivating by far.
She must be hallucinating. She had to be.
He was the hero of her dreams come to life.
Dominic Dundragon, Laird of the Mackintosh clan.
Large, looming and in the flesh.
Her head went woozy. Her vision blurred. And then, for the
first time in her life, she fainted.
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ABOUT SABRINA YORK
Her Royal Hotness, Sabrina York, is the New York Times
and USA Today Bestselling author of hot, humorous stories for smart and sexy
readers. Her titles range from sweet & sexy to scorching romance. Visit her
webpage at www.sabrinayork.com to check out her books, excerpts and contests.
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