The Virgin's Debt

The Virgin's Debt
Tatiana March

Melisande, Duchess of Gifford, has enjoyed running wild since surviving her unhappy marriage–but she knows it's only a matter of time before her brother forces her to settle down and be respectable.Determined to make herself free, Melisande decides to escape into ruined exile with an absolutely scandalous affair and leave London forever. But her heart may have other plans when she meets intriguing Lord Grayson Sanbourne…

Scotland, 1540

Katrina McLeod fled an arranged marriage, decreed by King James of Scotland, to a man with a fearful reputation, only to find herself on trial for her life! Accused of witchcraft, her salvation lies in the hands of brooding nobleman Duncan Rothmore….

When Duncan saves Katrina from a grisly fate in exchange for warming his bed, he has no idea she is really an untouched, high-born lady. He knows only that she stirs something in his wounded heart and afflicted body that no other woman ever has. But if he wishes to make Katrina his bride, Duncan must betray his king.

The Virgin’s Debt

Tatiana March

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Dear Reader,

The Virgin’s Debt is the first book in my miniseries Hot Scottish Knights, and my first Harlequin title. I’ve been writing a number of years, and it’s a huge honour to become part of the Harlequin team.

I’ve always been a romantic. My tears flow easily, both for sorrow and happiness. My heart aches for people who are denied love, or who struggle to find their place in the world.

All my books start with an idea, a situation. In the opening of this story, the heroine faces a terrible death by fire and the hero steps in to save her—but at a price. The hero, the son of a noble family, was born with a club foot and has spent his life overcoming the disability. The rest of the story flows from their wants and needs.

When I researched women accused of witchcraft and other historical aspects, the timing settled to 1540-1541. The rest of Europe was coming out of the Dark Ages, but Scotland lagged behind. King Henry VIII ruled England, King James V Scotland, and the two countries were either at war or uneasy peace. Religion had a huge influence on the everyday lives of both rich and poor, but reformation was starting to erode the power of the Church.

Middle Ages were a violent and restless period, and the Scottish Highlands are a rugged, majestic place. Duncan Rothmore is a gallant hero, and Katrina, the Countess of Glenstrachan, is a warm, courageous heroine. I hope you’ll love them both as much as I do.

Contents

Chapter One (#u1eb926d3-722f-5b9f-8e3b-ce7a26181332)

Chapter Two (#u8815d66b-94ac-5014-a646-22c7e680b1d9)

Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter One

Scotland, 1540

They were going to kill her anyway, so she let her contempt show.

Katrina McLeod glared at the three men in front of her. Like apostles of a pagan god, they sat behind the table of roughly hewn pine, their faces frozen in pious outrage. Behind her, she could hear the rustle of skirts as the two women ordered to witness her interrogation shifted restlessly on their feet.

‘Can you see the devil?’ asked Jonathan Crawford, the leader of the court.

‘Aye.’ Katrina gave the man a firm nod. ‘I can see the devil clearly.’

‘What does he look like?’

‘He is tall and gaunt, dressed in a grey doublet and a thick black coat with a patch over one elbow.’ She directed an unblinking stare at Crawford as she described his appearance.

The man’s narrow face twisted with fury. He lurched forward, arms outstretched, as though wanting to strangle her with his bare hands. Katrina recoiled. For an instant, the mental wall she had erected around her fear shattered, and images of what awaited her broke through.

They would burn her on the stake. Flames would lick at her feet, and then grow into a roaring inferno that consumed her. How long did it take to die by fire? Did your flesh scorch or melt? Could she tolerate the pain, or would she in her last moments lose her sanity and enter eternity in the grip of madness?

At the rear of the room, the door opened and shut with a slam. Footsteps thudded across the floor in an odd rhythm of clomp and drag. A cold draft swirled around Katrina’s bare feet, fluttering the hem of the long white linen robe she’d been ordered to change into for the trial.

In front of her, Jonathan Crawford surged to his feet. ‘Baron Rothmore.’

‘It’s no longer Baron Rothmore. Just Rothmore.’

The deep voice drew goose bumps on her skin. Katrina whirled. A sound of surprise caught in her throat as she saw the newcomer. Lean, broad shouldered and no more than medium height, he was dressed like a working man, in dark breeches and a plain white shirt under a black coat. But despite the simplicity of his garments, they were made from the finest of fabrics, and on his feet he wore tall boots in gleaming black leather.

Drawn by her startled cry, the stranger gave Katrina a sharp look before abruptly glancing away. The expression on his face hardened. An instant later, his eyes returned to linger on her, although she got the impression that he regarded her with reluctance.

‘What is this all about?’ he asked, his manner gruff. ‘Why has my presence been requested?’

‘It is Baron Rothmore we sent for,’ Crawford informed him.

‘My cousin is the Baron now and he is busy,’ the man said. ‘You’ve got to deal with me or manage without.’

‘We need the Baron’s authority to condemn Katrina MacLelland as a witch.’

Katrina flinched. She’d misled the villagers about her name, and chose not to correct it now. If she suddenly claimed to be of noble birth, no one would believe her. She would be branded a liar, which would only make matters worse.

‘A witch?’ The man turned to Katrina. ‘Is that what they think you are?’

Her gaze collided with his, and the room faded away. His eyes were a clear golden-brown, like those of an eagle, and in them she detected a suffering that made her want to reach out and lay her hand against his stubble-shadowed cheek.

The stranger had the rugged Highland looks, with sharp angles and planes to his features, softened by a sensual wide mouth. Thick locks of brown hair fell to his shoulders, shiny and untangled. Everything about his appearance spoke of an odd mix of a commoner and a nobleman.

‘That is what they say,’ Katrina told him in a low voice. ‘That I’m a witch.’

‘I beg you not to address the prisoner,’ Crawford cried.

The newcomer shifted his attention to the three men behind the pine table. ‘I’ll address whomever I wish,’ he declared bluntly. ‘Why is this woman accused of witchcraft?’