Long and Short Reviews welcomes Eliza Knight who is celebrating the upcoming release of You’ve Got Plaid. Enter for a chance to win a set of the May releases from Sourcebooks Casablanca.

This Highlander is determined to help his enemy’s daughter get safely home, even if it means his own defeat…

Brogan Grant, a Jacobite soldier and bastard son of the Chief, fought savagely on the battlefield and barely escaped capture. On the run for his life, Brogan comes across what he thinks is a spy—a very bonny lass disguised as a lad, who happens to be the daughter of his clan’s enemy. He admires her bravery, but he knows what can happen to a woman alone in a war-ravaged land.

Lady Fiona MacBean is determined to do her part to ensure there is a Scottish king. Disguised as a healer, she delivers coded messages to rebels throughout the Highlands. There’s only one thing impeding her mission—a striking Highlander who’s determined to send her home.

Unfortunately, Fiona will not be deterred, no matter what the sexy Scot says. Left with little choice, Brogan agrees to join her mission if she agrees to return home when it’s over. Now the two must work together and risk everything to save the life of Bonnie Prince Charlie himself. If only their hearts weren’t at risk as well…

Enjoy an Excerpt

MacBean Lands
Highlands, Scotland
Summer 1725

“What are ye doing?”

Fiona MacBean, second of four children born to Chief MacBean and his stronghearted bride, turned around to see her three siblings standing obstinately in a line, hands on hips, feet tapping.
Her elder brother had a knowing smirk on his face, as though he’d caught her red-¬handed. Her younger brother, Ian, was emulating Gus to a T, and sweet Leanna, the youngest of the brood, waggled her brows at Fiona in a way that meant she had a secret and was having a hard time keeping it in.

Fiona pulled her hands away from the gap in the tree and tried to clear her expression of anything other than annoyance.

“I’m just looking for eggs in a quail’s nest.”

“Nay, ye were no’. Just tell us what ye found.” Gus narrowed his eyes, the same way their father often did.

“I told ye, the squirrel ran up the tree. He was running in a circle just here.” Fiona zigzagged in front of the tree, and then hurried behind it before coming around the front and pretending to scurry up the bark.

“We know what ye do when ye come out to the woods,” Ian said, looking up at Gus for approval.

“Aye, we know,” Leanna added, not wanting to be left out.

Fiona crossed her arms and scowled. “The lot of ye are a bunch of storytellers.”

“Och, who’s telling stories now?” Gus said, taking a step forward.

Fiona clenched her hands, forgetting she held the slip of paper that had been folded neatly and shoved into the nook in the tree.

“Who’s it from?” Ian asked.

“Read it to us,” Leanna added.

“Hand it over. If ye dinna, we’ll only be forced to take it from ye.” Gus held out his hand.

At twelve years old herself, Fiona didn’t often take orders from her brother, born just shy of eleven months before her. But if he were threatening to tackle her to the ground, that was something entirely different. Gus was bigger than her, having just shot up another four inches in the past summer. But she was faster…

Fiona took off at a run.

As a little girl, she’d spent a great deal of time running through the forest, her feet slipping on leaves, boots catching on roots. She’d hidden in the hollows of trees, leapt over fallen oaks, slid down embankments. There was no nook or cranny in the forest she’d not claimed as her own. And as much as her siblings tried to find her in every single one, they were not always successful.

Her father didn’t like her traipsing off alone in the forest, especially not with the uprising. The damned loyalists, who she assumed were the English when he said it, had been a nuisance to all their hides for as long as she could remember.

Fiona had been born just a couple of years before the first Jacobite rising in 1715, and in fact, on her second birthday, her da had been away meeting with a war council along with other prominent Scots and titled men from England. Had fought beside old King James, and proudly showed his battle scars whenever he was a bit too deep in his cups. He’d been a sprite man of about twenty-¬five back then. There’d been a few more battles since, but none won, as yet. That didn’t mean they were going to give up.

Every year, Fiona went with her father to a secret meeting of the lairds and earls and other warriors to discuss their latest plans. They thought she was off gallivanting with her friends and siblings, not paying attention. Which she mostly was, but she was also very good at spying, and so the children often had her listen in on the talks, then bring back the news of what she’d learned.

There was one particular lad who seemed keen on her skills. His name was Aeneas but he asked her to call him Aes, and he had a smile that could melt the heart of even a lass who spent more time than not irritated with lads, namely her brothers.

He’d caught her one of the days listening in on an important conversation.

She didn’t see him in the hall with any of the other children, nor did she see him accompany any of the lairds. Aes was just as much a mystery to her as anyone else.

When she talked with her friends Jenny and Annie about him, they couldn’t figure out who Aes was, either, so they spent their days and evenings searching out the boy with the soot–colored hair and a mischievous grin. But he only seemed to show up when Fiona least expected it, and when her friends weren’t around, to prove he wasn’t a ghost.

Every year she saw Aes, and their fondness for each other grew. Just this past spring, he’d told her he didn’t want to wait until next year to see her again. Fiona suggested he write to her instead, to which he wrinkled his nose. If he was writing her letters, her father would want to know who he was, and he’d want to read them.

Fiona had asked what was wrong with her da knowing who Aes was, but he said it was best no one knew, so they’d sketched a map of the wood surrounding her family’s small lands, and she’d drawn an X on the spot where there was a tree with a secret nook that she often hid pretty rocks in. If Aes could find it and leave her letters there, their friendship was meant to be.

She’d been checking that tree for months, and today was the first time she’d found anything—¬a piece of folded paper, and she’d be damned if she was going to let one of her sticky-¬fingered siblings get their hands on it.

***

Excerpted from You’ve Got Plaid by Eliza Knight. © 2021 by Eliza Knight. Used with permission of the publisher, Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc. All rights reserved.

About the Author: ELIZA KNIGHT is an award-winning and USA Today bestselling author of over fifty sizzling historical romances. While not reading, writing, or researching for her latest book, she chases after her three children. In her spare time (if there is such a thing…) she likes daydreaming, wine-tasting, traveling, hiking, staring at the stars, watching movies, shopping, and visiting with family and friends.

Buy the book at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, iBooks, Kobo, Bookshop, BAM, or Books2Read.

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Long and Short Reviews welcomes Eliza Knight who is celebrating the recent release of Truly Madly Plaid, the second book in her Prince Charlie’s Angels series. Enter the Rafflecopter at the end of the post for a chance to win a copy of The Rebel Wears Plaid to celebrate the Truly Madly Plaid release.

USA Today bestselling author Eliza Knight takes you into the heart of the Highlands, where these warriors are prepared to give up everything in the fight for their country.

Annie MacPherson’s world was torn apart when her family’s castle was ravaged during the war. Determined to aid her countrymen, she braves the battlefield and finds gravely wounded Lieutenant Craig MacLean. Soon her heart belongs to the fierce warrior.

As the English dragoons draw closer to Annie’s makeshift hospital, Craig knows they have to escape together if they’ll have any chance to survive. But when they come face-to-face with the enemy and Craig is imprisoned, Annie will have to risk everything she has to save the man she can’t live without.

History and adventure come to life in Eliza Knight’s thrilling Scottish Highland romance. Annie is based loosely on Anne MacKay, Anne Leith, and Lady Maxwell, who risked their lives to protect Jacobite soldiers by hiding them, healing their wounds, and helping them escape from enemy forces.

Enjoy an Excerpt

April 5, 1746

This was a mistake.

Every hair on the back of Lieutenant Craig MacLean’s neck stood on end, as though each one wielded its own sword against the enemy.

Without the protection of the fortress walls, they were sitting ducks tromping through the forest. An army with most of its men on foot would not be able to escape should a legion of redcoats cut off their path.

Winter had not stopped the sieges. Winter had not stopped death.

A vulture flew overhead, accompanied by two cronies as they cut a wide circular path in the graying sky. Were he and the men the dead meat they sought?

“We should go back,” he said to Graham MacPherson. “Your invitation was appreciated, but I’ve no’ got a good feeling about this.”

There was no telling when Cumberland’s men would make their move, and if the men were inebriated from drink and tired from too much celebrating, they’d not be ready for an attack.

Graham chuckled and tossed the end of a stick he’d been chewing at Craig. “Ye’re afraid of a few birds, are ye?”

“I’m no’ afraid of anything.”

“Let loose, MacLean. The men need to have some fun, and so do ye.”

The very last place that Craig wanted to be was riding toward Cullidunloch Castle. It wasn’t that he didn’t like castles or his host or the warm feast that Graham had promised or the ale that was certain to be flowing.

Craig liked all of those things quite a lot. More than a lot, if he were being honest. Toss in a bonnie wench or two to flirt with, and he’d be in his own version of heaven. But Cullidunloch Castle wasn’t only home to his best mate. It also happened to house a woman he’d been working hard to avoid for months. Graham’s sister Annie was very beautiful and very irksome. She was as brilliant as she was irritating, and despite that brilliance, the lass had conveniently forgotten the single encounter the two of them had shared.

He hadn’t forgotten. How could he? And now he was descending upon her home—her and Graham’s home—to partake of their hospitality. Her hospitality. If she was willing to give it.

Hospitality he would really like to have, considering he hadn’t had a warm bath in weeks. He’d only managed to keep himself from smelling like a chamber pot by swimming—when the lochs weren’t covered in a sheet of ice. His clothes were getting stiff from use, and he was fairly certain that his last good pair of hose now had a hole where his big toe was greedily trying to squeeze through.

At least right now they weren’t dealing with snow, though it was only early spring and another storm was inevitable in the Highlands. The temperatures had been rising steadily, enough so that the men in his regiment weren’t so fearful of freezing to death anymore. Unless of course it snowed tonight and Annie MacPherson tossed him out with the last of the evening’s rubbish. He wouldn’t put it past her.

Craig would have to make nice with her, though he found the very idea absurd. Graham didn’t need to know what a termagant his sister truly was. He’d never told his friend what had happened when he’d found Annie retching after battle.

To everyone else she encountered, Annie was sweet as sunshine. Even the men she had to stitch up while they writhed in pain called her their angel—men in his own regiment, men he’d trained and led into battle. She was lauded for her nursing skills and her bedside manner, which stung even more. Of course he sent his men to her to be mended; she was the best damn healer he’d ever seen.

And that was about all the amount of niceties he’d extend. Why had he been the only unlucky fellow to have encountered her waspish side?

He would never be caught openly acknowledging the bonniness of her face. The way her chin curved into a petite point or the way her eyebrows arched delicately over her mesmerizing eyes. Eyes that were the most incredible amber color.

Bloody hell.

Every time he looked at Annie, every time she smiled, he saw that derisive sneer she’d flashed at him the night he’d tried to help her. He’d seen a side of her he was certain no one else had, and he’d run as far as he bloody could—after making sure she was safely taken care of, that was.

He wasn’t a complete monster.

But he was quite all right with her believing he was, if that meant she’d stay the hell away from him.

“Is the pottage breakfast no’ agreeing with ye?” Graham’s teasing voice cut through Craig’s thoughts.

He snorted. “I’ve an iron stomach, lad.”

“Lad? I think I’ve got a year or two on ye. And ye forget we’ve been living together on campaign for months. Bean pottage is no’ your friend, mate.”

Craig snickered. “Are ye saying that ye’re in need of a latrine?”

“Debatable.”

Craig was glad for his friend’s distraction. Though he didn’t want to talk about beans or what happened after he ate them.

“Annie’s sure to have a hearty meal for the lot of us this evening.” Graham sounded so wistful, as though he were talking about something more fantastical than food. Like the war ending with Prince Charles Stuart sitting on the throne. Now that was something to long for.

Craig’s smile faded, and he nodded, having hoped to avoid any further conversation about Graham’s chit of a sister.

“I’m honored to be your guest.” This much was true.

“Honored?” Graham let out a guffaw. “Ye’re my brother in arms, mate.”

While they’d known each other for years, they’d become closer friends after having saved each other’s arses at the battle at Falkirk the January past.

“I’m certain Logan will want to spar with ye,” Graham was saying of his younger brother, who’d been sent home from the front with a grave injury. “And Annie, she’ll be there to sew ye up.”

Craig laughed, but only half-heartedly. If he had his way, he’d keep Annie the length of a jousting stick away from him—preferably farther—at all times.

***

Excerpted from Truly Madly Plaid by Eliza Knight. © 2020 by Eliza Knight. Used with permission of the publisher, Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc. All rights reserved.

About the Author: ELIZA KNIGHT is an award-winning and USA Today bestselling author of over fifty sizzling historical romances. When not reading, writing, or researching, she chases after her three children. In her spare time she likes daydreaming, wine-tasting, traveling, hiking, and visiting with family and friends. She lives in Maryland.

Buy the book at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, iBooks, Kobo, Bookshop, BAM, or Books2Read.

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