Saturday, May 23, 2015

**** Review of Kilts & Daggers By Victoria Roberts ***

Ever since Lady Grace Walsingham discovered her uncle 
and sister are spies for the Crown, she has yearned for 
adventure. She's counting the days until she can leave 
barbaric Scotland behind, even if she must endure Highland 
captain Fagan Murray's company for weeks.

Fagan has a simple mission: escort the haughty Lady Grace 
back to England. But nothing is ever easy. The sharp-
tongued woman needles him at every turn. But when a 
menacing threat follows them on their journey, Fagan's 
grudging tolerance for Grace turns to respect...and into a

 perilous attraction that could seal their fate.

 I loved this book!!!! I am drawn to books set in Scotland, 
and even better when set in the past. 
I Love the history aspect 
to the story. It makes it that much better. This story is the 2nd 
book in the series. and I was hooked from the first few pages.
 Grace Hates the Scotts and if not for helping her sister 
would be back in England with her betrothed. But for as 
much as she protests, she keeps being drawn to Fagan. And
 Fagan can not stop himself from Kissing Grace. They have 
this love hate relationship, and it just keeps bringing them 
closer. When grace is kidnapped to get at the spy the hired 
mercenaries want. She assumes it to be her family, But boy
 is she in for a shock of who it is. I will not say to much more 
as to not spoil the book for you. But this is a must read. 
But even though it can be read as a stand alone Get book
 one and read it to as it is just as amazing.
My hop is you enjoy this book as Much as I did.
And if you do like this book, please consider leaving a review.
The Authors really like it when you do, they value your opinions too.

My Highland Spy (Highland Spies, #1)
Kilts and Daggers (Highland Spies, #2)

Chapter One

Sutherland, Scottish Highlands, 1610

“Scotland. The land of barbarian fools, and now my sister is 
among them,” said Grace.

“What is done is done, my dear. There’s nothing you can do 
now except offer your felicitations and place a smile on that 
beautiful face of yours. If you’ll pray excuse me, I’ll take my 
leave to consort with the enemy. May I suggest you do the 
same? We cannot be rude to our gracious hosts.”

If Lord Daniel Casterbrook wasn’t her betrothed, she 
would’ve chided him right where he stood. He pulled her
 close to his side, more than likely to prevent her from fleeing,
 and they walked together into the crowd. Unlike the tall and 
disheveled kilted men, Daniel sported a pair of tan breeches
 and wore a slashed doublet with paned sleeves. His tall 
boots turned over at the top, and his brown hair was pulled
 back into a lovelock that hung over his shoulder. His 
shoulders weren’t nearly as wide as those of the other men in 
attendance, but his features were so perfect that he was 
almost too beautiful for a man. 

As Daniel stopped and huddled with Uncle Walter in deep 
conversation, boisterous sounds of laughter filled the air. But
 Lady Grace Walsingham couldn’t have been more miserable
 as she pulled the laced bodice of her emerald gown away 
from her damp skin. The heat was so unbearable that sweat 
was dripping between her breasts and down her back. She 
gazed around the room filled with men, women, and flow­ing 
ale and wondered if her sister had gone mad. 

Kilts, daggers, and men in the throes of battle—that’s what
 she tried to overlook while standing in the great hall of her
 brother-in-law’s home. Granted, the kilts and daggers 
belonged to the Sutherland clan, but she couldn’t understand 
why her sister hadn’t taken down those dreadful tapestries 
before her wedding day. Why would someone want to depict 
the ghastly scene of warriors on the battlefield, especially on
 such a celebratory occasion? That was not something she 
would permit on the day of her own wedding, but her sister
 was blissfully happy, and Grace supposed that was all that mattered.
When the men paid her no heed, Grace turned and left them.
 She could take a hint that she wasn’t wanted. She stepped 
around the bagpiper, placing her hands briefly over her ears 
to shield them from the dreadful performance. The kilted man 
tapped his foot while he played the ungodly instrument, 
which sounded a great deal like pigs in the midst of being 
slaughtered. If his actions were any indication, he clearly 
thought he was engaged in some kind of lovely Scottish 
melody. She didn’t want to tell him that the music, if she 
could even call it that, had given her a headache as big as London.
God, she felt like she was drowning in a sea of Sutherlands. 
She said a silent prayer of thanks when the bagpiper finally 
ceased his incessant piping. Her head was pounding. She 
 thought perhaps she could make an early escape to her 
chamber, but then a raised voice stopped her in her tracks.
 Although the man was rarely comprehensible, she’d 
recognize his voice anywhere. 

“He is such an arse. Ye do know when he tells the tale, he 
was naught but a mighty fine warrior. Anyone who knows him
 recognizes the truth. I donna even think he remembered to 
grab his sword before he cowered and ran away like a dog 
with his tail between his legs.” 

The men around him laughed in response, and Grace chided 
herself because she couldn’t resist a peek. When her eyes 
met Fagan Murray, the captain of Laird Sutherland’s guard, 
for some unknown reason, her heart started hammering in 
her chest and she found it difficult to perform the simplest of 
tasks—like breathing. 

The captain’s dark hair hung well below his shoul­ders, and 
he had a smile that grated on her nerves. Although he had 
the craggy look of an unfinished sculpture, he exuded 
masculinity in a way that unsettled her. He wore a kilt of 
green, black, blue, white, and orange, the Sutherland tartan.
 When the man caught her staring, his eyes twinkled, and 
a smile played on his lips.

Grace averted her eyes. The rogue made her feel like he 
always knew her thoughts, and she couldn’t stand that about 
him. She jumped when a familiar female voice spoke beside her.
“My apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m so glad you 
decided to stay with us for a while.” 

Grace waved her sister off. “Ravenna, you have done so 
much for our family. Postponing my wedding was the least 
I could do. Furthermore, this will be a big transition for 
Elizabeth and Kat. Living in the Scottish Highlands will be a 
lot different than what they’re used to, and I cannot lie. I will 
miss you all so terribly. Before I go, I want to see my sisters 
settled into their new home, and I’d really like to spend some
 time with all of you before I become Lady Casterbrook. 
There’s plenty of time for that later.” She bumped her sister in 
the arm with her elbow. “Truth be told, I’m counting on you to 
tell me all the secrets about married life, Lady Sutherland. 
Although I had grown rather fond of Lady Ravenna 
Walsingham—or even ‘Mistress Denny’—I do find your new 
name suits you quite well.” 

Ravenna shook her head. “I’d rather not be reminded about
 ‘Mistress Denny.’ But how could I forget that you were the 
one who traveled from Edinburgh and gave my true identity 
away? Everything turned out for the best, but I certainly hope 
you’ve learned a valuable lesson from your careless actions.”

“Rest assured, Lady Sutherland. Now that I know you’re a 
spy for the Crown, I will never be so foolish again as to place
 you in harm’s way.” 

“Lower your voice. And I told you… I’ve retired from service.” 

Grace rolled her eyes. “So you and Uncle Walter continue to 
say, but how does one simply retire? Are you ever really 
done trying to protect our king and country? Who knows? 
Perhaps Uncle Walter will give me my first assignment when 
I go back to England. With your instruction, I’m more than 
“Grace,” Ravenna said with impatience, “we never agreed 
that you’d take my place.” 

“I think what you mean to say is that you never agreed.” 

Ravenna rubbed her hand over her brow. “It takes far more 
than a handful of my words and guidance to be ready to work
 for the Crown. And you’re getting married in a few months.
 What about Daniel?” 

“What about him? He’ll never find out. I never knew you 
worked for the king either.” 

“Yes, and look what good that did me,” her sister snapped.
 “Do we have to have this discussion right now, especially on 
my wedding day?” 

“You do look beautiful.” 

Ravenna’s smooth ivory skin glowed. Her red hair dangled 
over her shoulders in loose waves that hung down her back. 
She wore a light-blue wedding gown, and her skirts were split 
 and tied back to reveal the gold silk brocade beneath. 

“I have to ask you this again. Are you sure you want to stay
 at the manor house and remain in England? I know Uncle 
Walter will watch over you, but—” 

“Oh, I’m quite certain. I’ll only live there until Daniel and I 
wed.” Grace didn’t miss how her sister had quickly changed 
the direction of the conversa­tion. Looking around the great 
hall at Ravenna’s new family only further confirmed that 
Grace’s decision was the right one. “I know your husband’s 
family… er, clan suits you, but this life is not for me. My home 
is in England, and frankly, I want to be around people I can 
clearly understand.” 

A deep voice interrupted the conversation. 

“Are ye keeping my wife all to yourself? ’Tis time to give her up for a wee bit, lass.” 

“Pardon?” asked Grace. 

Laird Ruairi Sutherland was definitely not a man Grace would 
like to encounter in a dark alley in London in the middle of the 
night. Her sister’s head only reached the middle of the 
massive man’s chest. His brown hair had traces of red and 
was fairly straight. He had a powerful set of shoulders and
 looked like a bloody mercenary, as though he could kill
 someone with only a stare. In Grace’s humble opinion,
 Ravenna was more elegant and graceful when she was with
 the brawny Highland laird. Grace had a difficult time 
understanding why her sister couldn’t have found a more 
suitable mate in England, but she had to admit that Ravenna 
looked quite content. 

When her brother-in-law lowered his head and devoured her
 sister’s mouth, Grace didn’t mind taking her leave to find a 
solitary wall on the other side of the great hall. That was until 
someone found her and she realized she should’ve sought 
her cham­ber after all. 

“’Twas a bonny day for a wedding, but ye donna look as 
though ye’re enjoying yourself. Why is that?” 

She lifted her eyes to find the captain of Laird Sutherland’s 
guard and couldn’t stay the sigh that escaped her. Fagan
Murray, kilted barbarian and Scottish miscreant, stood before 
her with a gaze that was sharp and assessing. The man was 
just as big and imposing as Laird Sutherland. The way he 
stood there and continued to gape at her, Grace supposed 
he was waiting for a response. She held her head high 
because she didn’t feel like giving the brute the time of day. 

“What is amiss, bhana-phrionnsa?” He spoke slowly, and she 
knew he mocked her. “Do ye nae understand my words?” 

“Oh, I heard you. I want to know what you called me.” 

“The name suits ye. I called ye ‘princess.’” 

“Don’t call me that.” She looked around nervously in the hope 
that someone would rescue her from this man, and that was
 a term she used very loosely because he was certainly no gentleman. 

His smile broadened when he realized he’d unnerved her, 
which irked her even more. If she was going to stay in 
Scotland for the next few weeks, she couldn’t let this 
Highlander get the best of her. Grace carefully masked her 
expression because most of the time the rogue saw right 
through her nervousness and used her weakness to his advantage. 

She spoke lightly and cast him a tight smile. “You know, 
Mister Murray, I seem to remember my fist fitting perfectly 
into your eye. If you don’t want me to blacken your other one, 
I suggest you leave off. Please let me know if you need me to 
speak more slowly because I want to make sure my words 
are understood perfectly.”

~*~*~ Victoria Roberts ~*~*~

Award-winning author Victoria Roberts writes Scottish 
historical romances about kilted heroes and warriors from the 
past. RT Book Reviews named her “one of the most 
promising debut authors across the genres,” and she was 
also a 2013 RT Reviewers’ Choice award winner for X Marks the Scot.
Represented by Jill Marsal of the Marsal Lyon Literary 
Agency, Victoria is a member of Romance Writers of 
America® and several local chapters, as well as a 
contributing author to the online magazine Celtic Guide

Victoria lives in western Pennsylvania with her husband of 
twenty one years and their two beautiful children—not to 
mention one spoiled dog. When she is not plotting her next 
Scottish adventure, she’s dragging her clan to every Scottish
 festival under the sun.


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