By popular demand, Sarah Granger – the heroine of A Warrior’s Taking (June 26th!) – is going to give you her side of things. She does not know that Brogan MacLochlainn has taken a pseudonym for his foray into 19th Century England, and knows him as Brendan Locke, a Scotsman …

If you missed the hero’s narrative, look to the left at “Recent Posts” and click on “From Brogan MacLochlainn.”

I despise having to go into Craggleton to sell my pies, but with my employer dead, there is no money coming in to support us at Ravenfield. Poor Captain Barstow died in battle against Napoleon last year – in 1812 – and left his two little daughters in my care. I intend to see that Margaret and Jane do not suffer a childhood as bleak and vile as mine was.

I, too, was orphaned young, but I had none of the resources of the Barstow girls. Until just recently, we thought Margaret and Jane would have Ravenfield, downtrodden as it was. But no. The estate – the house and the castle ruins – are entailed. A distant cousin has inherited everything and is now guardian to the girls. He is Mr. Ridley, an old bachelor with no interest in the children. When he arrives at Ravenfield, he will either turn us out of the house, or send the girls away to a nasty, old school where the rooms are drafty, the discipline harsh, and the food unhealthy. If only I had a home where I could take them, I would get them away from Ravenfield and Mr. Ridley straight away.

But alas, no man in Craggleton would take me – the daughter of the town drunkard – to wife. Not that I’d want any of the good-for-nothings who tormented me during my early years. And my chances of attracting Squire John Crowell are next to nothing. I’d admired him from afar for years … at least, until Brendan Locke came into our lives.

Sometimes, Mr. Locke seems like a stranger in a strange land, a barbarian warrior dressed in conventional clothes. His thick, Scottish brogue is intriguing, as are his brawny shoulders and deep blue eyes. I don’t believe I’ve ever met such an extraordinary man – except for Squire Crowell, of course. I am fairly certain our handsome stranger did not just wash up on our beach after a sailing accident (as he told us) … not a man as competent, as agile, and as … well, as virile as Brendan Locke. But he gives no good explanation for his arrival on our shore, nor does he explain how the well-tailored clothes in his satchel managed to escape damage from the seawater. There is something very different … and quite attractive … about the rugged Scot.

Once he recovered from his near-drowning, Mr. Locke became fascinated with our castle ruins, and was determined to explore every stone and crevice. He was also quite enamored of my baking. If I didn’t know better, I would say Mr. Locke had never before tasted a fruit pie, or ever had strawberry jam on bread. In fact, he often acts as though his own name is unfamiliar to him, too.

He told us outright that he plans to return home soon, to his estate far away, and with every day that passes, I find myself anticipating the day of his departure with dread. No man – not even Squire Crowell – has ever affected me as he does. The girls begged him to escort us to Mrs. Pruitt’s soiree at week’s end, but he made no promises. It seemed quite clear that he would leave us within a day or two, but when he kissed me, nothing was clear. His touch made my knees go weak and softened my brain to mush. I hardly knew how to react, and I feared I was falling in love with him, with a man who had responsibilities in Scotland … a man who could not stay.

Nor could I leave the girls. I was their only family now, even though I was merely their nurse and governess. I could not abandon them if Mr. Ridley evicted them from the house, or sent them away to school.

I knew I could not rely upon Brendan to help us. His kisses and the attraction that raged between us changed nothing. I needed to see to the girls, and he still had to leave Ravenfield. But before his departure, he had the gall to say that he intended to see me paired with a man who would make me a suitable husband …

To read an excerpt from this book, go to MargoMaguire.com and click on the “coming soon” link.