Some Like it Plaid by Angela Quarles

Author:Angela Quarles
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romantic Heroes Highlanders; Women's Action & Adventure Fiction; Romantic Comedy; Women's Humorous Fiction; Scottish Historical Romance; Time Travel Romance; Historical Fantasy Fiction; Ancient World Historical Romance; Alpha Hero; Scotland; Time Travel; Humorous Romance; Women’s Fiction; Ancient Scotland; Scottish Hero; Brawny Hero; Strong Hero; Steamy Romance; Sexy; Accidental Marriage; Adventure Romance; Light hearted Romance; Winter; Angela Quarles; Entangled Romance; Single title romance; Full length romance; Amara; Hero in a Kilt; Hispanic Heroine; Warrior; Loyal; Celtic Hero; Scottish Countryside; Funny; Witty; Druids; Mystical; Historical;
Publisher: Entangled Publishing, LLC (Amara)
Published: 2019-10-23T16:00:00+00:00

It was late afternoon by the time Ashley trudged back up the incline to the first terrace and her hut. It had taken her longer than she’d thought to deliver the herbs to Eithne and help the women get through the chores left for the day. They’d been grateful for her return.

She stuck her hands under her armpits. Despite the exercise, her fingers had turned to blocks of ice.

Her muscles no longer strained as she made her way up the incline, and her breaths weren’t puffing out like some asthmatic steam engine.

Satisfaction surged through her, followed by a splash of cold—that meant time had passed. And she was getting closer to the deadline.

Thirty-three days before she could leave. She tightened her arms around her chest and bent into the wind as she trudged up. God, that still seemed like a long way away.

Thirty-three days? Here?

In order to stomach it, she needed to have some measure of control over her life. And first on her agenda? Fixing the gender inequality. Listening to Eithne and Affraic complain today, overworked and underappreciated, she discovered that part of the problem lay in the fact that they had no voice on their council. It was all run by men.

She pushed inside the hut, shaking out her arms now that the wind had been cut off. A little thrill kicked up in her heart—Connall was already inside, his large frame bent over the hearth. He poked a fire into a welcome blaze of heat, the pop and sizzle of the peat the only sound.

Already she was associating the smoky, pungent, smell with home. It didn’t help that when she’d taken a bite of her first baked bread since she’d returned, and her mouth filled and prickled with its yeasty flavor, the memory that had always hovered out of reach snapped into focus—Grammy P’s bread. Those summer visits to her great-grandmother’s old house in Wisconsin had been the only times growing up that she’d felt cared for, cherished, special. Already into her nineties then, she’d died when Ashley was only eleven.

“How did it go with your father?” she asked, desperate to fill the silence.

He glanced up, one of his braids falling forward to swing by his chin. “We accomplished what we’d set out to do—procure an alliance with the Romans.” He pushed away from the hearth and faced her fully.

Her heart fluttering, she settled on the bench near the fire. Near him. He stilled as if on alert, like a predator amazed that his prey had come within range. Then the moment popped, and he shifted forward, turned, and folded his large body onto the bench beside her, adding to the heat warming her up. She stuck her hands out to the blazing fire. Here’s me, totally ignoring his closeness.

Prickles of warmth shot down her frozen fingers, and she gasped at the sharp pain.

He angled closer, and his large hands enveloped hers. Man, his hands had that rough-but-gentle thing down to a science. And warm, too. He was always so warm…

“Let me see them.

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