A disgruntled heiress and a sexy Scottish laird are drawn together by a determined ghost whose love—and magic—reach beyond the grave.
Siobhan Macquire looked for the right man all her life—someone who’d love her, not her money. Heiress to a whiskey fortune, she attracted a string of men out to drain her for everything they could get. Her last boyfriend was no exception. Despondent about being used—again—she goes for a walk in the Highlands to think things through, determined to alter her pick-a-loser pattern.
She wanders alone for hours with the weather steadily growing worse—except there don’t seem to be any nearby villages anymore. Soaking wet and scared, she’s relieved when someone calls out to her, and a stunning man emerges from the mist. Except when she looks closer, there’s a whole lot wrong. His kilt is way too long, and he talks with an archaic accent.
Is it possible she’s not only lost in the countryside, but also in time?
I'm basically a mountaineer at heart. I remember many hours at my desk where my body may have been stuck inside four walls, but my soul was planning yet one more trip to the backcountry. There's a timeless element to the mountains. They feel like old friends as I visit them, and visit them again. There's nothing like standing on a remote pass where I've been before and seeing that the vista is unchanged. Or on an equally remote peak. Mountains are the bones of the world. They'll prevail long after all of us are dust. It feels honest and humbling to share space with them. I hope I'm blessed with many more years to wander the local landscape. The memories are incomparable. They warm me and help me believe there will be something left for our children and their children after them.