Wicked Highland Ways by Mary Wine – Spotlight and Giveaway

Long and Short Reviews welcomes Mary Wine who is celebrating the recent release of Wicked Highland Ways, the 6th book in her Highland Weddings series. Enter the Rafflecopter at the end of the post for a chance to win a copy of Between a Highlander and a Hard Place, the 5th book in the series.

Brenda Grant has no desire to marry. Ever since her first, horrible marriage she’s made herself into a hellion of a woman to keep men from wanting her. But the Campbells, her previous husband’s family, are determined to find her a new husband.

Highland Chief Bothan Gunn is smitten by the woman who won’t be tamed. It takes all Brenda’s willpower to resist the brawny Highlander who takes her to safety. But as they spend time together—and grow ever closer—Brenda finally finds the freedom she’s been longing for all along.

Enjoy an Excerpt

Someone pulled her back, encircling her waist with a hard arm and lifting her right off her feet. It happened in an instant, and Addams was knocked in the jaw with a hard fist as a man grabbed a handful of his doublet front to keep Addams from flying into the wall. His head jerked back and his eyes rolled back in his head before the man who’d laid him flat lowered him to the floor in an unconscious heap.

“He needs a wee nap to think about the tone he was using with ye,” Bothan Gunn informed her firmly.

Brenda didn’t care for the way her heart accelerated. Perhaps if she could have attributed it to fear, it might not have mattered, but she knew that wasn’t the cause. Which only alarmed her more.

She knew the danger of emotions. Aye, she knew it well.

“Chief Bothan Gunn,” she muttered as she caught sight of his captain offering a coin to the cook. The man took it in a blink of an eye before settling down and casting his attention toward the hearth. “Ye should not have followed me.”

Bothan Gunn was a huge man. He’d ducked to make it beneath the roofline and had to stay away from the edges of the kitchen because the roof sloped, preventing him from standing upright. They were still close enough to the border that his kilt did not cause too great a disturbance with the men he’d walked past in the yard. But she knew him for what he was: a Highlander. The English around them might make the mistake of believing all Scots the same, but Brenda knew better, and anyone who took the time to look at Bothan Gunn would see he was far harder than any Lowlander.

Bolder too because he was standing there. Somehow, she wasn’t really surprised. Bothan Gunn had always been a man who wasn’t afraid to reach out and grab what he wanted.

“Did ye think I would no’ come for ye, Brenda?” Bothan asked softly, his lips twitching up into a mocking grin.

She’d hoped…

Brenda stiffened, chastising herself for the stray thought. She couldn’t afford such things as personal ideas.

Especially with regard to Chief Bothan Gunn. It wasn’t his clan the King of Scotland would hold accountable if she didn’t go through with her wedding.

Duty. So very sharp-edged. She felt like the very word left open wounds as it crossed her soul. She drew in a deep breath, looking at Bothan and the freedom he represented and knowing she had to deny herself.

Deny yerself…what?

Brenda had refused his suit and ignored the stirrings inside herself.

And she would not be acknowledging any of them now.

Not now, when she had duty weighing her down like a heavy yoke.

“I didn’t realize ye were one to waste yer time,” she muttered as she reached into the barrel and retrieved the pitcher. Water drained down from her hand as she fought to maintain her composure. Her tone wasn’t as bored as she would have liked. And the way his eyes narrowed suggested he saw through her pose.

Bothan always had affected her oddly. Of course, tonight she was certain her heart was beating faster because she longed to be free of her English escort and her date to be wed. The response was only natural after all.

Yes, that was why she felt so very breathless.

“Keeping ye from being forced to wed a black-hearted bastard is no’ what I’d call a waste of me time,” Bothan informed her.

He eased closer to her. She caught a glimpse of his blue eyes in the dim light and realized she was savoring the moment, putting off answering him because he was correct—she had no liking for her circumstances.

Still, duty was duty. Bothan was not just a man. He was chief of the Gunns. It was somewhat more than laird because he’d been elected by his fellow clansmen. He didn’t just have their loyalty; he’d earned it beside them. She drew in a deep breath and stood firmly in place.

“Me cousin will be branded a traitor if I do not wed Galwell Scrope.” Brenda forced the words past her lips. “I will not shirk from my duty to me family and laird. And ye would not have me if I did. Yer clansmen would vote against ye if ye brought home a woman who turned her back on her kin. Ye should go now, for there is no reason for ye to stay.”

Excerpted from Wicked Highland Ways by Mary Wine. © 2019 by Mary Wine. Used with permission of the publisher, Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc. All rights reserved.

About the Author Mary Wine has written over twenty novels that take her readers from the pages of history to the far reaches of space. Recent winner of a 2008 EPPIE Award for erotic western romance, her book LET ME LOVE YOU was quoted “Not to be missed…” by Lora Leigh, New York Times best-selling author.

When she’s not abusing a laptop, she spends time with her sewing machines…all of them! Making historical garments is her second passion. From corsets and knickers to court dresses of Elizabeth I, the most expensive clothes she owns are hundreds of years out of date. She’s also an active student of martial arts, having earned the rank of second degree black belt.

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Buy the book at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, iBooks, Indiebound, or BAM.

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Between a Highlander and a Hard Place – Spotlight and Giveaway

Long and Short Reviews welcomes Mary Wine who is celebrating tomorrow’s release of Between the Highlander and a Hard Place, the fifth book of the Highland Weddings series. Enter the Rafflecopter at the end of the post for a chance to win a copy of the fourth book in the series, Highland Flame.

A fierce Englishwoman on the run.
A Highland Laird who needs a proper wife.
And a desire neither can resist.

Athena Trappes thinks she’s in love…until she discovers the scoundrel only wanted her as his bit on the side. Enraged, she does what any spirited Englishwoman would do: set fire to his belongings, incur his dangerous wrath, and flee—immediately. With nowhere else to turn, she seeks freedom in the wilds of Scotland.

Highland Laird Symon Grant lost his wife years ago, and it’s his duty to find another. Athena is not exactly what the clan has in mind for him, but Symon’s heart burns with unexpected passion for the woman who would risk everything to be free.

Enjoy an Excerpt

Grant Tower, 1579

“Hiding in me chambers again?” Brenda Grant was a beauty and had a lyrical voice to match. Symon didn’t take any pleasure in it, ripping his bonnet off and throwing it onto a table before he landed in one of the huge chairs she had placed in her receiving chamber just for his visits.

The man had cracked two chairs before she’d ordered new ones made.

“How fortunate that we are first cousins,” Brenda continued as she poured some whisky into a glass and offered it to him. “Other-wise, the gossips would say we are lovers.” Her lips twitched as she tilted her head to the side. “No’ that I am saying no one says such a thing, mind ye.”

Symon glared at her and then at the delicate glass in his hand before tossing the whisky into his mouth and setting the glass on the table.

“I take the look on yer face to mean the bride hunting is not going well?”

Symon drummed his fingers on the table. “I’ve a fine, sharp memory, Brenda. The day is going to come when ye are the one being—-”

Brenda humphed at him. In private, she didn’t much care for how inappropriate interrupting the laird might be. He’d come to her chambers, after all. “I have been wed. Done my duty, and now I will have no more of it.”

“I wed as well.” Symon reached over and refilled his glass. But his taste for the liquor was gone, and he left it sitting on the table as he started to brood, the specter of his wife dragging him down.

More than one member of the clan had claimed they’d seen her ghost in the passageways.

“Do not.” Brenda moved closer to Symon, reaching out to grasp his hand. “Ye must begin living again.”

Symon tilted his head and eyed her. “I am no’ the only one who needs to listen to that advice.”

Brenda didn’t care for the reprimand; however, she acknowledged it as her due. “There is a difference between us. Yer wife was taken by cruel fate.”

“And yer husband was just cruel,” Symon finished for her.

“Ye do nae become the property of yer spouse when ye take marriage vows,” Brenda answered bitterly.

“This castle will always have open doors for you. If the man ye wed is in fact a bastard once he’s won yer hand, there will be sanctuary for ye here.” Symon spoke clear and firmly, a promise in his tone.

A promise she held dearer than all the gold in the world.

Silence hung between them for a long moment. Time enough for them both to feel the chill in the air. They were the last of their line, and the clan looked to them to maintain order by leaving a clear heir. No one wanted fighting over who would be Symon’s successor.

It was more than just securing the blood-line. The castle needed life breathed back in-to it. Hope needed to be kindled before there was nothing left but crumbling stone. Their line was dying; both of them had wed and had no children. And now both of them were widowed as well. Perhaps if Symon’s wife had not died in childbirth, Brenda might allow herself to be free of the burden of making sure their blood continued.

“I will join ye below,” she said softly.

Symon slowly nodded. “So now ye will shame me if I do nae go as well.”

“It is no’ a matter of shame, for we have both faced our duty in the past.” Brenda took a moment to check her appearance in a mirror. Behind her, Symon stood, the pleats of his kilt falling down to just above his knees. “Now ’tis more an act of desperation, for the truth is we are both entombed alive in this chamber. For all that I have no desire to wed again, sitting here is no’ much better.”

Symon grunted as he pulled his cap on. “Wait until you get a look at the men sitting at our high table, sweet cousin. Ye will understand true desperation once ye sit and listen to them trying to auction their kin to one of us.”

“I have no doubt.” Brenda took a deep breath and went through the door Symon held open. “Just as I do nae doubt ye came up here because ye have it in the back of yer head to see me wed first and save yerself from the same fate.”

He made a low noise in the back of his throat.

Brenda shrugged.

They were a fine pair and the only kin either had left, so better to be united.

About the Author: Acclaimed author Mary Wine has written over 30 works of Scottish Highland romance, romantic suspense and erotic romance. An avid history-buff and historical costumer, she and her family enjoy participating in historical reenactments. Mary lives in Yorba Linda, California with her husband and two sons.

Website | Facebook | Goodreads

Buy the book at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, iBooks, Kobo, or IndieBound.

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Historical Facts You Should Know by Mary Wine – Guest Blog and Giveaway

Long and Short Reviews welcomes Mary Wine as she celebrates the recent release of Highland Flame. Enter the Rafflecopter at the end of the post for a chance to win one of two bundles of Mary Wine’s Highland Weddings series.

Historical facts you should know
1. A reverence was the proper greeting for this era, sometimes called courtesy. You stepped back with one foot, bent at the knee, keeping your back straight and ‘lowered’. If you were the higher ranking person, you would do the same and it was called ‘offering courtesy’, meaning it was a polite way of greeting one another. Even Queen Elizabeth Tudor lowered herself before the archbishop of Canterbury.

2. Every house had a buttery….it was where the butts of ale were stored.

3. A butler was the man who kept the keys to the buttery. In this period, he was huge and someone who could defend those keys with his brawn because ale was essential to survival in winter.


Laird Diocail Gordon has just inherited his uncle’s run down castle and rag-tag clan. He knows the sorry sight of the castle would send any woman running, but is determined to find a wife to help return his home to its former glory.

Widowed lady Jane Stanley is determined to return to England, even if she has to tromp through the Scottish Highlands on foot to get there. Her travels lead her straight into the midst of a troop of dangerous Highland warriors. The mysterious, brawny laird forbids his men to harm her, and the spark between them is immediate. The only way Diocail can keep her safe is to take her home with him, but will the miserable state of his clan douse her newly ignited Highland flame?

Enjoy an Excerpt

They both fell silent again as they consumed more of the food and faced a topic neither of them had any experience with. Not many a man did. It was why men wed, and women too, because together a man and woman might combine their knowledge to make a successful home. He’d been taught the logistics of defense and negotiation needed to foster relationships with other lairds.

But how much fare to put on the tables?

He had no idea or even how to go about making sure there were ample hands to prepare the food. Diocail felt his brain throbbing as he contemplated all the things needed to run a kitchen, and those were only what he knew about. What truly nauseated him was that he knew damned well how lacking his knowledge was. He knew how many men to ride out with, how many horses, and his education continued on to include how many blacksmiths it took to make sure those horses were shoed, how many stable lads it took to make certain those animals were fit to ride, how much feed and what sort was needed to maintain a horse’s strength.

A hundred details, and a kitchen was no different. No wise man made the mistake of thinking it an easy thing to keep running smoothly. Their current circumstances were proof of that surely enough.

“Ye need a wife, one raised with the education to see this place set right. No’ that any decent girl would have this house as it is,” Muir added. “Try to contract one, and she’ll run home to her father the moment she sees the condition this castle is in. But ye need one. A wife, that is.”

“I hoped to have a bit of time before getting down to that part of being laird,” Diocail groused.

“Best set yer secretary to sorting through the offers in Colum’s study.” Muir didn’t offer him any respite.

“Do nae hold out any hope,” Diocail replied. “There is a decade of letters sitting there. Any offers are long past their time of opportunity.”

His new lairdship was proving to be far more challenging than he’d ever thought it might be. Somehow, in all the times his mother had spoken to him of the day he’d take over the Gordon clan as laird, she had never mentioned just how complicated the duty was. There was building to consider, horses, men, training—and the list went on. All things he’d been taught as a man.
Now there was the kitchen, and God only knew what else went along with running one smoothly.

Well, not God.

He let out a grunt. Here was something he knew less about than the Lord above.


And, more precisely, a lady and the duties she would have been trained to do.

There were reasons a laird wed a woman from a highborn family, and one was that she would come with an education as diverse as any given to a laird’s son. Running a kitchen was more than turning bread; it was knowing how much bread to set out to rise in the morning so that the supper table was full and how much grain was needed to make it through the winter and how many hands were needed to produce it all. His head began to ache. He didn’t know what went into bread, much less how much was needed to see an entire castle through a day, but as laird, his duty was to make certain the tables were laid with fare.

Nor did he know anything at all about helping a lady settle into the place he hoped she’d make into a home.

Muir was correct; she would run back to her father before sunup.

Diocail took another swig of the whisky, wishing it would dull his senses.

But all it did was warm him enough to make him conscious of the draft coming through the holes in the roof. He tipped his head back and discovered stars peeking at him where tiles were missing, likely from the winter storms. Colum was a bastard for leaving his people to such circumstances.

Laird of the Gordons. Diocail’s mother’s dream.

And his nightmare, it would seem.

About the Author: Acclaimed author Mary Wine has written over 30 works of Scottish Highland romance, romantic suspense and erotic romance. An avid history-buff and historical costumer, she and her family enjoy participating in historical reenactments. Mary lives in Yorba Linda, California with her husband and two sons.

Website | Facebook | Goodreads
Buy the book at Amazon , Books-A-Million, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Chapters, iBooks, or Indiebound.


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