Forgetting the Scot is the third book in my Highlanders of Balforss Series due for release October 21st. I’m very excited about this one. Its Magnus and Virginia’s story. Entangled Publishing won’t be finished with the cover until September, but I used the image in this post for inspiration as I do for most of the characters in my books. The guy in the photo is really a Turkish oil wrestler. Yes. Oil wrestling is really a thing. It’s the national sport of Turkey. Anyway, I have a brief span of downtime before the next round of edits, so I thought I’d share an excerpt from Forgetting the Scot.

This section falls in the middle of the novel. The Sinclairs have traveled to England with two purposes: Alex, Lucy and their toddler Jemma to visit Lucy’s family; and Magnus to deliver Virginia Whitebridge safely to her home in London. Lucy’s brother George, whom her two-year-old daughter has dubbed Uncle Goo, meets them at the dock. Magnus takes an immediate dislike to Lucy’s fopdoodle brother and resents the attention he bestows on Virginia. In fact, Magnus hates England and every Englishmen in it.


     They reached the tavern somewhat winded from the climb. The air was so humid he needed gills, and his shirt clung to his back with sweat. He wanted to remove his coat, but that would no doubt violate some code of ethics. Did the English hang men for removing their coats in mixed company or just flog them?

     Uncle Goo had chosen a posh looking place called The Country Squire for their meal. He ushered the ladies in and followed. One by one the Scots stooped to enter and cautiously straightened once inside. The ceiling was high enough to walk upright, but he kept a sharp eye out. Stray cross beams had a habit of jumping out and clubbing him on the head.

     They took a table for six. Lucy, Virginia, and Goo sat on one side while Ian, Alex, and he on the other. England versus Scotland. As it should be. Always and forever.

     Magnus cast a dubious look at the insubstantial chair before he lowered himself. It creaked under his weight. Alex and Ian had similar misgivings and sat gingerly. The table, with its frilly white table cloth, wasn’t wide enough for the three of them and it was too low to fit his legs comfortably underneath. They’d probably serve him tea and tiny biscuits and call it dinner. He hated tea.

     Jemma clamored out of Alex’s lap and crossed enemy lines. Traitor. She had developed a fascination for Uncle Goo’s shiny brass buttons—the front of his waistcoat was lousy with them—and insisted on sitting in his lap for the duration. To Goo’s credit, he welcomed her close company and remained unperturbed when she tried to bite the buttons off his coat.

     “Champagne, everyone?” Goo pronounced the word like a Frenchman. Posturing prig.

     “Oh, yes, please. I haven’t had champagne in years.” Lucy swooned and fanned herself. What the hell had gotten into the wee bizzum? It’s sparkling wine not bloody holy water.

     Alex cast Uncle Goo a deadpan look. Magnus recognized it as the same look his cousin often gave men right before he beat them to death. The blasted Englishman had no idea his life was in peril.

Are You Scot Curious?


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