JUDE DEVERAUX HIGHLAND VELVET PDF

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Highland Velvet by Jude Deveraux - Bronwyn MacArran was a proud Scot. Stephen Montgomery was one of the hated English. He came to Scotland as a. Jude Deveraux steps back to a time and place where revenge and rivalry rule men's hearts—and love conquers all—in this wonderful Montgomery novel. Thank you very much for downloading highland velvet jude deveraux. Discrete Mathematics For Computer Scientists Solution Manual Pdf, Financial Reporting.

Their rudeness is based on ignorance. They meant no harm. They meant great harm, or do you consider murdering Scots no sin? You're unfair to me. I have killed few men in my life and no Scots. I am Roger Chatworth. Perhaps the sunshine will take away some of the misery Stephen has foisted upon you. At least he might keep the guards from tossing rude jests at her. Once they were outside, she spoke again.

My father thought enough of me to name me laird of Clan MacArran, but your king thinks I have too little sense to even choose my own husband. No, I have not seen this Stephen Montgomery, nor do I know anything about him. I was told one morning I was to marry him. Since then he has not so much as acknowledged my presence. Her hostility made her eyes sparkle like blue diamonds. He will show us who is master. What is he like? I don't know if he's short or tall, old or young. There's a stream running across Sir Thomas's land, and perhaps we could carry a meal there.

I have not been allowed off these grounds for over a month.

His mind was working quickly. Three hours later Roger returned to his apartments in the east wing of Sir Thomas Crichton's house.

He'd come there two weeks ago to talk to Sir Thomas about recruiting young men from the area. Sir Thomas had been too busy with the problems of the Scots heiress to talk of anything else. Now Roger was beginning to think fate had brought him here. He kicked the stool out from under his sleeping squire's feet. Look for him and bring him to me.

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You'll probably find him wherever the drink is flowing freely. And then bring me half a hogshead of ale. Do you understand me? When Angus appeared in the doorway, he was already half drunk. He worked for Sir Thomas in some sort of capacity, but generally he did little except drink. His hair was dirty and tangled, hanging well past his shoulders in the Scots manner.

He wore a long linen shirt, belted at the waist, his knees and legs bare. Roger glanced at the man and his heathen attire with a brief look of disgust. His eyes followed the small cask of ale that Roger's squire was carrying into the room.

Chatworth dismissed the boy, poured himself an ale, sat down, and motioned Angus to do likewise. When the filthy man was seated, Roger began. We're a poor country, my lord, and -- " "I want none of your sermons! Save your lies for someone else. I want to know what a man who is to marry the chief of a clan should know. Will you answer my questions, or do I kick you down the stairs?

Ye must dress as the Scots or they'll laugh at ye.

Ye must love the land and the Scots. What must I do to own her? She would have killed herself before she married an Englishman, but she knew her death would cause war within her clan.

If ye make the woman know ye mean well for her people, ye'll have her. What is a clan? Why was a woman made chief? Who are the enemies of Clan MacArran? In spite of her good intentions, she'd been so excited about the prospect of a ride in the woods that she'd hardly been able to sleep. Morag had helped her dress in a soft brown velvet gown, all the while issuing dire warnings about Englishmen bearing gifts.

He knows ye're to marry another. Should I sit in my wedding gown for another full day and wait for him? Roger Chatworth is an English earl? Now, as Bronwyn sat atop the horse, Rab running beside her, she felt alive for the first time in many weeks. She smiled in return, and the smile softened her chin and lit her eyes.

She spurred the horse to a faster pace. Rab with his long, loping strides kept pace with the horse. Roger turned for a moment to glance at the men following them. There were three of his personal guards, two squires, and a packhorse loaded with food and plate. He turned and looked ahead at Bronwyn. He frowned when she glanced over her shoulder and spurred her mount even faster.

She was an excellent horsewoman, and no doubt the woods were full of men from her clan, all eager and willing to help her escape. He threw up his hand and motioned his men forward as he set spurs to his own mount. Bronwyn made her horse come close to flying.

The wind in her hair, the sense of freedom, were exhilarating. When she came to the stream, she was going full speed. She had no idea if the horse had ever taken a jump before, but she urged it on regardless of the risk.

It sailed over the water as if it had wings. On the far side she pulled the animal to a halt and turned to look back. Roger and his men were just approaching the stream.

She bent forward and patted the horse's neck. He took the jump well. You could have been injured. Suddenly Rab jumped between them, his lips drawn back showing long, sharp teeth. He growled deeply, menacingly. Roger instinctively retreated. He moved away but his eyes, with a warning gleam, never left Roger. He snapped his fingers, and his squires brought two chairs upholstered in red velvet. She smiled in wonder at the chairs set in the woods.

The grass under their feet was like a velvet carpet. The stream played its music, and even as she thought that, one of Roger's men began to strum a lute. She closed her eyes for a moment. She sighed. No one not of the Highlands could know what it means to a Scot.

What was her name? It was good to even hear the familiar names once again. I spent many evenings listening to stories at my grandmother's knee.

She said the Scots were more hospitable, that the men didn't shove the women into a room and pretend they had no sense as the English do. She said the Scots treated women as equals. He valued her all his life. There was never a decision made that was not made by both of them.

My parents died when I was very young. Surely, now that you are older, you've learned that women are only of use in the bed, in creating and delivering children. No," he said more seriously, "she meant for me to marry the daughter of a cousin of hers, but the child died before our marriage.

I grew up calling myself MacAlpin. Roger looked surprised. I mentioned to Sir Thomas that my husband must become a MacArran, but he said that was impossible, that no Englishman would give up his fine old name for a heathen Scots name.

Damn the English! They think only their ways are right. Why, even the French -- " "The French are our friends," Bronwyn interrupted.

They don't destroy our crops or steal our cattle as the English do. Tell me, do the MacGregors still raise such fat beasts?

The MacGregors had been the enemies of the MacArrans for centuries. Sir Thomas has a French chef, and he has prepared us a feast. Tell me, have you ever eaten a pomegranate? For the first time in her life she had the thought that an Englishman could be human, that he could learn, and desired to learn, the Scots' ways. The events of the day were a revelation to her. He was well prepared for all her questions. Bronwyn stood in the room where she'd spent too much time in the last month.

Her cheeks were still flushed and her eyes still bright from the morning's fast ride. He even knows some Gaelic words. Even some of the Lowlanders, know Gaelic. To her the Lowlanders were traitorous Scots, more English than Scot. His grandmother was a Scot. You should have heard his ideas! He said he'd petition King Henry to stop the English from raiding us, that that would bring more peace than this practice of capturing Scotswomen and forcing them to marry against their will.

All ye've heard from him are words. Ye've seen no action. What has the man done to make ye trust him? I am forced to marry an Englishman, so why not one who is part Scot, in mind as well as in blood? Young men will say anything to get under a pretty woman's skirts. And if those skirts are covered with pearls, they'll kill themselves to have them.

I've only just seen the man. But I have not seen Stephen Montgomery. For all ye know, his mother could have been a Scot. Perhaps he'll appear with a tartan across his shoulder and a dirk in his belt.

V 03 Highland Velvet

I will be patient. She bad preferred Highland clothes, but Morag persuaded her to wear English garb, telling her to give the enemy no reason to laugh at her in what they referred to as "barbaric dress.

Has the red of my father's blood faded before your eyes? Bronwyn sat down heavily on the window seat, the satin of the dress flowing about her. She ran her finger along the heavy embroidery. The dress had cost her a great deal, money that could have been spent on her clan. But she knew they would not have wanted to be shamed before the Englishmen, so she bought dresses that would have been the pride of any queen.

Only this gown was to have been her wedding dress. She plucked violently at a piece of gold thread. Perhaps the man had a reason to be late and miss his own weddin'. I hope he had his throat cut and lies rotting in some ditch. The sooner ye have yer English husband, the sooner we can go back to the Highlands. Is that what's worryin' ye? I'd gladly trade with ye if I could. Think this Stephen Montgomery would notice 'twere I to slip into his bed?

You say the men laugh at me. The man who is to be my husband holds me up for their ridicule. Jamie MacArran would have been proud of his daughter. Even when she was still held prisoner she kept her pride and her spirit.

Now she held her chin high, her eyes flashing with daggers of crystal-blue ice. Bronwyn was startlingly beautiful. Her hair was as black as a moonless midnight in the Scots mountains, her eyes as deep blue as the water of a sunlit loch. The contrast was arresting. It wasn't unusual for people, especially men, to be struck speechless the first time they saw her.

Her lashes were thick and dark, her skin fine and creamy. Her lips of dark red were set above her father's chin, strong, square on the tip, and slightly cleft.

What Scot is afraid of the smirks of an Englishman? When she'd dressed that morning, she thought to be wed in the dress.

Now it was hours past time for the marriage ceremony, and her bridegroom had not shown himself, nor had he sent any message of excuse or apology. The gown would have to be kept fresh until she did marry. If not today, then at another time. And perhaps to another man. The thought made her smile. Fetch me that green brocade gown. The Englishmen may think I'm a bride in tears at being snubbed, but they'll soon find the Scots are made of sterner stuff.

She could walk about the house and, with an escort, on the grounds. The estate was heavily guarded, watched constantly. King Henry had told Bronwyn's clan that if a rescue attempt were made, she would be executed. No harm would come to her, but he meant to put an Englishman in the chiefship. The clan had recently seen the death of Jamie MacArran as well as of his three chieftains. The Scots retreated to watch their new laird held captive and planned what they'd do when the king's men dared to try to command them.

Bronwyn slowly descended the stairs to the hall below. She knew her clansmen waited patiently just outside the grounds, hiding in the forest on the constantly turbulent border between England and Scotland.

For herself she did not care if she died rather than accept the English dog she was to marry, but her death would cause strife within the clan. Jamie MacArran had designated his daughter as his successor, and she was to have married one of the chieftains who had died with her father.

If Bronwyn were to die without issue, there would no doubt be a bloody battle over who would be the next laird. A thick tapestry hid her from his view. He'd hardly got out of his marriage bed when her father was killed and he inherited the earldom.

Not only is this Bronwyn beautiful, but she owns hundreds of acres of land. His sleeve was empty, his left arm missing. The woman is magnificent, but how long will he be able to enjoy her? I lost this fighting those devils in Scotland. They're only half human, I tell you. They grow up learning nothing but plunder and robbery. And they fight more like animals than men.

They're a crude, savage lot.

When a hand caught her arm, she looked up into a young man's face. He was handsome, with dark eyes, a firm mouth. Her eyes were on a level with his. He stepped forward to the group of men. His strong legs were encased in tight hose, his velvet jacket emphasizing the width of his shoulders.

You talk of things you know nothing about. The three men looked startled. Come, the outside is cooler. The passions have more room to expand in the out-of-doors. Their rudeness is based on ignorance.

They meant no harm. They meant great harm, or do you consider murdering Scots no sin? You're unfair to me. I have killed few men in my life and no Scots. I am Roger Chatworth. Perhaps the sunshine will take away some of the misery Stephen has foisted upon you.

At least he might keep the guards from tossing rude jests at her.

Once they were outside, she spoke again. My father thought enough of me to name me laird of Clan MacArran, but your king thinks I have too little sense to even choose my own husband. No, I have not seen this Stephen Montgomery, nor do I know anything about him.

I was told one morning I was to marry him. Since then he has not so much as acknowledged my presence. Her hostility made her eyes sparkle like blue diamonds.

He will show us who is master.

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What is he like? I don't know if he's short or tall, old or young.

There's a stream running across Sir Thomas's land, and perhaps we could carry a meal there. I have not been allowed off these grounds for over a month. His mind was working quickly. Three hours later Roger returned to his apartments in the east wing of Sir Thomas Crichton's house. He'd come there two weeks ago to talk to Sir Thomas about recruiting young men from the area. Sir Thomas had been too busy with the problems of the Scots heiress to talk of anything else.

Now Roger was beginning to think fate had brought him here. He kicked the stool out from under his sleeping squire's feet. Look for him and bring him to me. You'll probably find him wherever the drink is flowing freely.

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And then bring me half a hogshead of ale. Do you understand me? When Angus appeared in the doorway, he was already half drunk.

He worked for Sir Thomas in some sort of capacity, but generally he did little except drink. His hair was dirty and tangled, hanging well past his shoulders in the Scots manner. He wore a long linen shirt, belted at the waist, his knees and legs bare.

Roger glanced at the man and his heathen attire with a brief look of disgust. His eyes followed the small cask of ale that Roger's squire was carrying into the room. Chatworth dismissed the boy, poured himself an ale, sat down, and motioned Angus to do likewise.

When the filthy man was seated, Roger began. We're a poor country, my lord, and -- " "I want none of your sermons! Save your lies for someone else. I want to know what a man who is to marry the chief of a clan should know. Will you answer my questions, or do I kick you down the stairs? Ye must dress as the Scots or they'll laugh at ye.

Ye must love the land and the Scots. What must I do to own her? She would have killed herself before she married an Englishman, but she knew her death would cause war within her clan. If ye make the woman know ye mean well for her people, ye'll have her. What is a clan? Why was a woman made chief? Who are the enemies of Clan MacArran? In spite of her good intentions, she'd been so excited about the prospect of a ride in the woods that she'd hardly been able to sleep.

Morag had helped her dress in a soft brown velvet gown, all the while issuing dire warnings about Englishmen bearing gifts.

Highland Velvet

He knows ye're to marry another. Should I sit in my wedding gown for another full day and wait for him? Roger Chatworth is an English earl?

Now, as Bronwyn sat atop the horse, Rab running beside her, she felt alive for the first time in many weeks.

She smiled in return, and the smile softened her chin and lit her eyes. She spurred the horse to a faster pace. Rab with his long, loping strides kept pace with the horse. Roger turned for a moment to glance at the men following them. There were three of his personal guards, two squires, and a packhorse loaded with food and plate. He turned and looked ahead at Bronwyn. He frowned when she glanced over her shoulder and spurred her mount even faster. She was an excellent horsewoman, and no doubt the woods were full of men from her clan, all eager and willing to help her escape.

He threw up his hand and motioned his men forward as he set spurs to his own mount.She looked up expectantly. Books by Jude Deveraux. When Angus appeared in the doorway, he was already half drunk. But while clan fought clan, while brother took up sword against brother, and the highlands ran with blood -- their destiny was made Roger glanced at the man and his heathen attire with a brief look of disgust.

She walked to a small table in the center of the oak-paneled room. Showing Must redeem within 90 days. The bloody English have caused pain and heartache for her people She's a cranky little thing It wasn't unusual for people, especially men, to be struck speechless the first time they saw her.

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