Darius MacDuff was at his zenith in the midst of a raging battle. He never expected his home would one day become his most treacherous battlefield...nor would his most lethal opponent come in the form of a shapely siren. Delicious deception, her weapon of choice.

Rival Scottish Clans. An ancient relic. One has possession. The other will stop at nothing to obtain it...
The honorable Clan MacDuff has protected the coveted relic for centuries. When rival Clan MacAlpin discovers the eldest brother of the MacDuff is to take a wife, their scheming materializes in the form of deceit as they kidnap Alick MacDuff's betrothed and send their sister in her place.
Tegan MacAlpin has no choice but to pretend to want to be bride to her blood enemy. But once inside Castle MacDuff she fears her ability to procure the relic before Darius, Alick's dangerously handsome and highly suspicious younger brother, discovers her treachery. When all is said and done, will she remain loyal to her clan in hopes of claiming her long-sought freedom, or bend to the bidding of a forbidden nemesis? In the end, it all comes down to a question of honor...

Excerpt #1:  Something unmistakably lethal shadowed his eyes. Something only a fool would ignore. His austere gaze could turn rock to ash. What the hell was he about?
     Alick's laugh lacked any signs of humor. His eyes never left Darius as he addressed her, "Forgive my brother, m'lady. Dari has been far too long painting the bonny moors of Scotland with enemy blood and forgets his manners in the presence of a lady."
     There was no dismissing the subtle warning underlying his tone, though the smirk that flashed across Darius' face told her he planned to do just that.
     Tegan dare not look directly at Alick for fear he'd read the horrid fascination in her eyes. Surely he couldn't detest it any more than she. As if she could stop gaping starry-eyed at his wayward brother. If such extraordinary power were within her grasp, it lay dormant beneath a heavy cloak of fear-laced awe.
     She did, however, make the mistake of looking at the human magnet and flinched at the violent collision. The knowing leer on his face spoke enough volume to stuff a library from floor to rafters with cynical tomes. He'd seen the lust in her eyes as surely as she'd felt the seed take root and fester in her treacherous bosom.
     He was T-R-O-U-B-L-E.

Excerpt #2:
    Robert closed his eyes. Tegan thought he'd fallen asleep when they popped open again. He could die any second and she'd be no closer to finding the relic than when she'd first crossed the enemy threshold. She couldn't waste another minute. "My uncle tells me the MacDuff possess an exceptional heirloom." It was out before she could sugarcoat it, but she didn't care.
     "Aye, the Cross of St. Luke. I shall bless the union with it. No doubt it shall be my last." Something flashed behind dull eyes and he looked as though he might say something, but fell asleep. Or died.
     "Holy stars," Tegan breathed. "M'laird?" No response. "Laird MacDuff?" Still, he didn't answer. She shot from the chair and leaned over him, checking for signs of life. Under such unfavorable lighting, she simply couldn't be sure.
     Should she summons aide, or let him pass peacefully into the devil's lair? It would be the humane thing to do. "M'laird?" She placed a hand on his cheek. Surprisingly warm for someone with such little flesh to pad rickety bones. Her hand moved to his throat. There, a trivial heartbeat; alive for the moment.
     As Tegan pulled her hand away, the candlelight caught hold of something flickering like a courtly bauble beneath blinding sunlight. She peeled back his shirt, and gasped. A small key hung from a thin black cord tied about his neck.
     It couldn't be a coincidence. If it weren't protecting something valuable, the old man wouldn't keep it so near to his heart. This had to be the coveted key.
     Tegan ever so carefully slipped the leather strap from his neck. The key hadn't quite reached her pocket before the door flew open. It was all she could do to stifle a scream when in whisked a turbulent gust in the form of one enraged Darius MacDuff.
     The scowl marring his face looked as deadly as his rumored skill on the battlefield. The thick tassel of raven hair was tied back, the broad chest heaved with each exasperated breath and giving him a dangerously savage appeal. He looked riled enough to challenge a herd of wild bulls and come out the victor. "What the hell are you doing in my father's chambers?"