Tiger shifter, Fergus Macleod, had found his one true love – only to have her snatched away by a powerful laird. Nothing was more important to him than finding his mate, but wouldn't disclosing his secret be too much for any woman to accept?
Sold off in a desperate attempt to pay a debt, Robina Bruce thought her fate was sealed until she was rescued by a knight clad in an appealing kilt and bearing the name Macleod. She would do anything to repay Fergus - even if it meant revealing her own carefully-guarded secret.
When Fergus and Robina confess their deepest secrets, will a divine union form between them or will the revelations drive them apart?
This is a re-release of a 2014 novella. Only the cover has changed.
Rising unsteadily to his feet, Fergus gave the bartender a salute and weaved through the crowd. He stepped outside and breathed in the fresh air, letting the scent of the nearby meadow wash over him and clear away the fog of too much drink. With an easy gait, he ambled down the sidewalk, pausing between the pub and the law office next door. Fergus gazed up at the stars overhead and wondered if it would be too childish to wish upon one. He’d done it often enough as a child, but he had believed little in wishing stars for a long while now. Maybe it was time to try again.
Fergus squeezed his eyes shut and mumbled to himself. “Star bright, star light, first star I see tonight. Wish I may, wish I might have this wish I wish tonight. Please bring me a bonnie lass to call my own, someone to grow old with, someone who will accept me as I am.”
Opening his eyes, he blew out a breath and continued down the walkway. His keen shifter hearing picked up the sounds of the nearby alley and his tiger gave a rumble of discontent. It was no business of his if someone wanted to bloody their knuckles in the dark, he’d just mind his business and keep moving. At least, that’s what he told himself, until the very feminine sound of pain echoed from the alley.
Fergus picked up his pace and was about to start down the darkened corridor when a soft body plowed into him. His arms went around the small lass automatically, wanting to shield her from the danger lurking in the night. An older man stumbled out of the alley, fumes of alcohol billowing out of his mouth and off his skin. His complexion was ruddy, his eyes glazed. The belt in his hand raised Fergus hackles, and he held back a hiss of displeasure.
“Give her here,” the drunk demanded.
“I’ll no’ hand her over to the likes of you,” Fergus said, pushing the lass behind him.
The drunkard straightened his kilt, slapped the belt against his palm, and puffed up. “She’s mine and I’ll see her returned. Paid for her fair and square.”
“Paid for her?” Fergus bared his teeth. “You cannae buy a lass. No’ in this town.”
“Says who?”
“Fergus Macleod. Brother to the clan chief, Alasdair Macleod.”
The man paled a little, but he didn’t back down. “The lass is mine. She’ll learn her place.”
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