My Highland Lover

Book 1: Highland Hearts

by Maeve Greyson

Genres: Contemporary Romance; Scottish & Highlander; Time Travel Romance

Synopsis

She jumps back through time to prove a point—not to lose her heart.

As the proprietor of a homeopathic store in rural Kentucky, modern day Trulie Sinclair knows her neighbors think she is strange—but they have no idea how different she really is. Trulie was born in thirteenth-century Scotland to a gifted bloodline of time travelers. When she finally relents to her grandmother’s nagging and returns to the past, Trulie literally lands on Gray MacKenna’s broad chest. And just as his alpha male looks send ripples through her body, a fierce attraction tempts their hearts.

After his parents' murder, Gray is consumed with thoughts of revenge. As the new chieftain of the MacKenna clan, he has reason to believe there’s a traitor in his midst, and nothing—not even the bonny lass who suddenly drops from the sky—can distract him from his single-minded pursuit of the culprit. But when Gray learns that this sassy beauty possesses gifts beyond the sparkle in her eyes, he allows his gaze, and his heart, to linger. While he hunts for the murderer, Gray finds in Trulie a precious partner—and a timeless love.

If you love steamy, can't put the book down romances about ancient Highland warriors and the modern day women who tame them, then this is the story for you! Meet the time-traveling Sinclair sisters and their stubborn matchmaking granny as they take thirteenth century Scotland by storm!

Previously published in 2015, this revised edition with its fresh new cover and updated content is now available in paperback for the first time!

Highland Hearts Series
My Highland Lover
My Highland Bride
My Tempting Highlander
My Seductive Highlander

Praise for My Highland Lover

“Maeve Greyson surprises and enchants. The imaginative storytelling is hard to resist in this time-traveling tale of love, betrayal, and sacrifice.”—Victoria Roberts, bestselling author of My Highland Spy  

“Allow Maeve Grayson to take you on a magic carpet ride from present-day Kentucky to the Highlands of the thirteenth century. My Highland Lover is a sensual story of desire, danger, and devilment woven with the strongest thread of all: love.”—Vonnie Davis, author of the Highlander's Beloved series

“From the wow opening to the ahh ending, My Highland Lover is a winner, a brilliant blend of historical and contemporary romance. Maeve Greyson writes with humor, heart and heat. She's an author to keep an eye out for!”—Kelly Moran, award-winning author of Return to Me

“This was a fun, emotional and intriguing story that held my rapt attention. Can't go wrong with this book!”—Kilts and Words

Release date: January 13, 2023

Publisher: Author Maeve Greyson LLC

Print pages: 338

Content advisory: Some violence, strong language, adult content

Sample

Chapter 1
Kentucky—Twenty-first Century

And there he was–so heart-stoppingly close her headlights lit up his face. The bare-chested man raised a tensed arm against the glare. In one fluid motion, he crouched low and unsheathed the biggest sword Trulie Sinclair had ever seen.

“Holy crap!” Trulie jerked the steering wheel hard to the left.

His teeth bared in a defensive snarl, the man sprang sideways. With predatory grace, he swung the massive broadsword in a lethal arc through his wake.

Trulie braced for impact. Instinct and adrenaline locked both knees as she stomped the brake pedal to the floor. She sawed the steering wheel back and forth, slinging mud and gravel through the night. The old truck fishtailed, bounced through twin ruts in the narrow road, then sloshed to a stop in a shallow, water-filled ditch.

Trulie clutched the steering wheel in a stranglehold until her knuckles ached. Where in blue blazes had that guy come from? And that sword? The high-pitched yowl of an irritated cat paired with a hissed “Dammit” drowned out the jackhammer thump of blood pounding in Trulie’s ears.

Granny and Kismet.

“Are you all right?” Trulie flipped on the interior light, clawed the seatbelt out of the way, and scooted toward the tiny, gray-haired woman clutching the spitting black cat against her chest.

“You know . . .” Granny blinked a few times, then peeped over the rims of her cockeyed spectacles. One sparse silver brow ratcheted a notch higher as she resettled in the dip of the worn seat and straightened her glasses on her nose. “You know, Trulie,” she repeated, pausing again to smooth a blue-veined hand down the insulted feline’s puffed-up hackles. “If ye wouldna drive like a bat out of hell, ye might dodge things a lot easier.”

Trulie deflated with a relieved breath. Thank goodness. If Granny could still deliver a smart-ass remark, then Granny was okay. Of course, slipping into her seldom-heard Scottish brogue was a telltale sign that the wild ride hadn’t been enjoyed. Granny only reverted to the lilting roll of her r’s under duress.

Trulie squirmed around in the confines of the truck and peered out the back window. Her frazzled reflection stared back at her from the dark glass. Dammit. She twisted back around and flipped off the interior light then turned back to the window.

Nothing moved but the silhouettes of treetops swaying against a star-spattered sky. The sparsely graveled road reflected silvery gray as it snaked beneath the moonlight. No sword-brandishing human mountain was anywhere to be seen. “That guy came out of nowhere. Did you see that freaking sword?” And the package of testosterone swinging it?

Trulie decided not to voice that last question as she yanked the sleeve of her denim jacket down over one hand and mopped away the moisture fogging up the window. Damn. It. All. She couldn’t see a thing from inside the truck. “Could you tell if I hit him? The truck bounced so hard through the mud holes, I don’t know if I managed to miss him or not.”

Granny didn’t say a word, just tucked her head closer to the now purring cat and murmured something unintelligible, as though the two sat back home in front of the fire instead of in a ditch out in the middle of the Kentucky woods.

Trulie ground her teeth to keep from snapping at Granny as she fumbled around the floorboard for the flashlight shoved under the edge of the seat. She was in no mood for this crap, and now was not the time for Granny to go silent. Trulie would bet her best batch of homemade soaps that Granny knew more about that half-naked, walking wall of muscle than she was letting on.

Granny snuggled closer to the cat and chuckled softly into its shining black fur.

Trulie snorted. That pretty much cinched it. Granny was at it again. Trulie whacked the flashlight against the back of the seat, shook it hard, then shot the revealing beam out the back window.

Of all things to come across in the middle of the night. Trulie knelt in the seat and squinted out the window. “I don’t see him anywhere. Surely I didn’t knock him clear across the road into the other ditch.”

Trulie clicked off the flashlight and sat back on her heels. There was no getting around it. Sword or no sword, she was going to have to go look for him. She couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t find out whether or not the man was okay. Trulie shot a sideways glance at the chuckling woman still muttering to the cat. “And I wasn’t driving that fast and you know it.”

Granny didn’t look up, just snuggled back against her travel pillow and grinned.

“What do you think, Kismet?” Granny wrinkled her nose down at the cat as she rubbed a bent finger under its chin. The purring feline sat with eyes half-closed into golden slits and the tip of her dark tail softly flipping.

“Reckon we’d be sittin’ in this ditch with all our inventory busted in the back of the truck if Trulie had been goin’ a bit slower?”

Granny glanced up from the cat’s smug face. Her smile curled to one side as she continued in a more soothing voice directed toward Trulie. “And no. You didn’t hit him. You just got his attention real good.”

Trulie yanked the rusty door handle upward and bounced the door open. Somehow, that backhanded reassurance didn’t make her feel any better. An eerie feeling skittered up her spine. What if the man was one of them? Trulie rolled away the uneasiness with a tensed shrug. Nah. Couldn’t be. Rule number one of the time runner’s rede: time runners were always female.