The Border Lord (Harlequin Historical Series) (Mass Market Paperback)

~ Sophia James (Author)

Editorial Reviews

Product Description

Ordered to marry, Laird Lachlan Kerr thought a betrothal to homely, timid Lady Grace Stanton was hardly worth the trouble of protest. Yet, despite everything, he found there was something about her that was…brave. All his life he had been surrounded by betrayal, and this woman, who believed there was still goodness in him, was special indeed.

Grace knew that the safety of her home depended on her betrothal—signed, sealed and delivered! Lachlan's strength and unexpected care of her were dangerously appealing. She could fall for this man with secrets in his eyes….

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

August 1360—Grantley Manor, Clenmell, Durham, England.

-Lady Grace Stanton watched the man walking towards her. Tall, dark and beautiful.

She had not expected that.

This beauty worried her more than the danger that cloaked him or the distance he wore like a mantle, and when he finally stood before them and the dust of the horses had settled, she schooled her expression and looked up.

He was disappointed. She could see it in his eyes. Pale shadow blue with suspicion simmering just below the surface. Her heart sank and she felt the aching cold of his distrust. With a feigned smile she took his offered fingers into her own, hating her bitten-down nails and the way the red dryness on her skin looked against the brown smoothness of his.

She had been burdened with this complaint for the whole of her twenty-six years. But today at least the skin beneath her eyes was not crusty raw and weeping.

'Lady Grace.' He relinquished contact as soon as he had said her name.

'Kerr.' Her uncle was the Earl of Carrick and his tone was anything but welcoming, his furrowed gaze including the twenty or so clansmen who sat on horses behind Kerr. 'We expected you a week ago.'

'Ye have the priest, then?' Kerr cut in, dispensing completely with any pretence to manners.

'We do. Father O'Brian has come up from—"

'Then bring him here.'

'But my niece is not even dressed.'

'A dress is the least of her worries given the decree of my king.' His words were flat. Insolent, almost. Teetering on the edge of treason. As Grace looked around at her uncle, the harshness of light made him seem old; a man who had outgrown the demands of battle and wanted now to amble towards his dotage with some semblance of peace. When her glance fell on the weaponry that the Kerrs bristled with, she knew more plainly than ever before the true price of politics. One false move and her family would suffer, for innocent pawns were easily expendable against a background of political frustration.

'I th-th-think, U-Uncle, that you should ask F-F-Father O'Brian to c-c-come out to us.' Lord. Her stammer was far worse than it usually was. Grace heard rather than saw the way the men behind Kerr murmured and her pulse quickened so markedly that she wondered if she would fall over from a lack of breath.

No, she would not!

Biting down on her bottom lip, she was very still, centring calm across panic until she felt the alarm recede.

'You would be married here? Outside? But you had hoped…'

'Nay, Uncle. Here will be g-good.'

Hopes! She scanned the face of the warrior opposite, fully expecting mirth or at the very least pity, but saw neither.

Just a duty, she suddenly thought. This marriage was a duty, a way of appeasing his monarch and filling the coffers of his own keep.

'Tainted with a skin condition, but with good child-bearing hips.' The envoy from Edward the Third of England had uttered exactly those words as she had been summoned for the first time before him. She remembered her uncle's momentary fury as the decree was laid in his hands, a piece of paper that would change their lives for ever. If he did not comply, Grantley Manor would be at risk. Grantley! The family seat lost if not for the sacrifice of marrying a plain and ageing niece off to a chosen spouse. Even her uncle had limits as to what he was prepared to lose.

The will of kings. A union forged while all grappled with the concept of the self-determination of Scotland.

She could see the outline of impatience in Lachlan Kerr's eyes, sky blue see-through-you eyes with just a hint of grey. Eyes that said he surely knew the extent of her reputation at court, where the rumours of who she was and wasn't were touted in the songs of unkind jesters; a figure of fun to give the ladies and lords a moment's respite against the harsher realities of intrigue. Stephen had told her last summer, after he had returned from London, her cousin reciting the faults, thinking he did her a favour with the warning.

Perhaps he did, Grace mused. A year ago she might have missed the censure and pity so plainly etched on Kerr's face and imagined it merely as nerves. Today the full shape of an undisguised gall was evident in his frown, in his stance and in the way he stood before them, one hand on his hip and the other on the hilt of a sword.

His brother's seconds!

This was not his choice, not his want. She pulled the sleeves of her dress down lower, glad when the lace covered even the very tips of her fingers.

A movement from the front door drew everyone's attention as Judith, Anne and Ginny bustled down the stairs towards them, their fair hair burnished gold by the sun. Individually her young cousins were pretty; together they were much more than that. She felt the interest of the men behind Kerr as a sharpening of awareness, a distinct and utter masculine appreciation. She refrained from seeing if her husband-to-be was watching them in the same way, reasoning that even a slim shadow of doubt was preferable to the knowing of it.

Judith leaned over to her and whispered exactly what it was Grace was thinking. 'He is far bigger than we had thought.' Her husky lisp contained both tremor and question.

Nerves, Grace decided and squeezed the hand that threaded through her own, trying to give some sort of reassurance. Anne and Ginny crowded in behind. Waiting. She felt their collected fear like an ache and gestured them back, behind her, where she could stand between any threat of violence, should it come from the Scots.

'These are m-my cousins.' She felt she had to say something as an awkward silence hung across the group and was pleased when her uncle tried to ease the tension.

'The envoy led us to believe that you would be at Grantley before the last Sabbath, Laird Kerr.'

'I was…detained.'

Detained. The word held an edge of dark despair.

By what? By whom?

A woman, perhaps? The thought slipped into Grace's mind as she observed him, for he had been married before. She knew, because Judith had overheard the king's man saying so to his travelling companion, just before he had spoken of the lack of coinage the Kerrs were cursed with, and the desperate need of the Laird to find a woman of means.

Means. Indeed she had that.

With a substantial inheritance and a bloodline that was the very zenith of pure, her dowry would go far to help the ailing finances of any family down on its luck.

Marriage! Would this stranger demand his conjugal rights this very evening in front of his band of men? Lord, even the idea of removing her clothes had the blood rushing to her cheeks.

He would see.

He would know.

He would understand the truth of what before had only been whispered at and if he thought her ugly now… She shook her head. Hard. And feeling the sharp ends of Anne's nails digging into the flesh of her inner arm, she tried to take charge.

'W-Would you c-come inside and have a meal?'

Better, she thought. Much better. At least every word was not cursed with a stammer. Raising her glance, she looked straight at the man who would be her husband. In the direct sunlight he had squinted his eyes and the gathering lines to each side of his face were…attractive. No other way to describe them. Much more attractive than his brother had been, and he was deemed a handsome man! Angry at her wayward musings, she spoke again.

'Father O'B-Brian is still at prayer and could be so for a while. If you could p-p-poss-poss…'

He stopped her simply by laying his hand across her own and she had the distinct impression of help.

Help?

Confused, she looked around. Judith's eyes were filled with tears and weepy, and Anne and Ginny's faces were pale. Lord, she prayed her cousins would not burst forth into noisy wailing. Not in front of these men. Not when the safety of Grantley depended on a marriage, signed, sealed and delivered.

Sacrifice. Expediency. Words that had shaped her life for all her years and would now continue doing so. It was written in the blood of men and in the ink of kings.

Irrevocable. Unalterable. Settled.

There could be no going back or refusal. Her life for her family's lands.

She imagined herself with a sword in hand, beating back any enemy, protecting them with her finesse, winning a battle that no other ever could have…

The thought was so ridiculous she began to smile, but caught back the humour as flinted steeled eyes met her own. And swallowed. Now was not the time for foolish flights of fancy.

'My uncle has some f-fine Rhenish wine.'

When Kerr inclined his head and gestured to his men, she felt a sigh of relief. Not quite time to leave, then. Still an hour or so before she would be wrenched from here and transplanted to Belridden, his keep a good forty miles to the north.

With a heavy heart she led the men in and, conscious of the fact that the Laird of Kerr walked directly behind her, tried her hardest to minimise her limp.

***

Following Lady Grace, Lachlan decided that her hair beneath the ugly skullcap was long and red. Not the quiet red of auburn or the burnished red of copper, her hair was a bright gilt shade that showed up in her brows and on the freckles that her cheeks were blemished with. And the skin on both her arms was strangely marred by dryness.

She was not at all the girl he had expected. Nay, woman, he corrected himself, for he knew her to be twenty-six. Long past the more usual time of marriage, long past the silly vacuous age of rising hope. For that at least he was glad. He frowned as he remembered back to the things that were said of Lady Grace Stanton.

Frightened. Temperate. Plain. A dreamer. Aye, and for these things she would do. And do well.

No temptress to dole out her favours to other men when he was away from the Kerr land. No competition to Rebecca, either; with the quick tongue of his mistress silenced, he knew that life at Belridden would be much easier than if he had brought home a beauty.

Lady Grace would suit him admirably. A homely and well-dowered wife. A woman who would not complain. A lady who would have the means to run his castle and the hips to bear his chi...

Product Details

• Mass Market Paperback: 288 pages
• Publisher: Harlequin (May 1, 2009)
• Language: English
• ISBN-10: 0373295464
• ISBN-13: 978-0373295463
• Product Dimensions: 6.6 x 4.1 x 1 inches
• Shipping Weight: 2.4 ounces (View shipping rates and policies)
• Average Customer Review: 2.7 out of 5 stars  See all reviews (3 customer reviews)
• Amazon.com Sales Rank: #880,295 in Books (See Bestsellers in Books)

Customer Reviews

Most Helpful Customer Reviews

1 of 1 people found the following review helpful:

3.0 out of 5 stars The Border Lord by Sophia James, July 7, 2009

By	The Ol' Girl "She Loves Reading" (Alabama) - See all my reviews

I found this story a more than pleasant surprise. I commend the authoress for breaking the usual romance mold. She has developed a heroine who is flawed physically and emotionally. Her hero has the physical scars of battle, the emoional scars therof as well as deep familial ones. Those flaws and scars are redeemed through the relationaship that develops between them. These two have depth rather than the usual cardboard cast of beauty perfected/Adonis personified oozing lust from beginning to end. Each makes the other a better person much to their mutual surprise.
To the one star reviewer who became so hung up with the inaccuracies:
If you want accuracy, read historical biographies in the non-fiction section or, at the very least, mainstream lit rather than Harlequin.
Fiction by its definition requires a suspension of belief. In most circles, Harlequin is synonomous with an inexpensive, light, easy read aimed at a pleasing and/or pleasurable experience. The average reader, both by age and historical background, will neither care nor know about the proper wearing of the kilt, the heraldry of the nobility, or the appropriate forms of address. The average reader will care about the story, the action, and the sex scenes rather than the surrounding details. The autoress handled those well enough.
Covers very rarely depict the characrers in the story. The Publishing House control the covers. The artists don't read the book. At best, they get to see an abridged synopsis. A person could write a book about THOSE inaccuracies without effort. Covers are marketing tools. Having a TV star on the cover is a selling point. The gorgeous hunk on this one made me pick the book up out the stand even though I thought he was a model rather than an actor. Besides, when the story is read, the reader still has the cover upon which to gaze and sigh.

1 of 2 people found the following review helpful:

4.0 out of 5 stars Great little story, June 7, 2009

By	Gardening in Upstate NY (New York State) - See all my reviews

I was amazed to see a review of this book that had one star and a lot of criticism directed at what the reviewer felt were "historical inaccuracies". I thought it was a great story. The heroine is not knock-dead beautiful, in fact, has a tendency to skin rashes and has a limp and scars from being burned in a fire. Her parents have been murdered for political reasons and she witnessed it. She stutters as a result. So what does this gal have going for her, she's honest, optimistic, responsible and brave. Her inner qualities show through. The story has quite a few twists and turns and surprises, like a mystery. It is well-written and the author shows a sense of humor. Historical characters are introduced and I feel appropriately. I would have liked it to be a bit longer. Perhaps the other reviewer was having a cranky day.

0 of 4 people found the following review helpful:

1.0 out of 5 stars Step away from this disaster..., May 1, 2009

By	Jody Allen (US) - See all my reviews (REAL NAME)

When I pick up a Harlequin Historical I don't expect an in-depth historical story but this current offering is so off the mark for a Scottish historical it should be avoided. It starts off sounding like a poor imitation of an early Julie Garwood romance, the usual "lets solves the Anglo/Scottish conflict with a forced marriage". Thankfully she didn't fall into the over used and historically trite "handfast" but that is the best one can say about this book. By page 50 I found so many historical inaccuracies I wasn't sure I could finish it. Examples: though she has no control over the cover art, a Border Lord especially one of the "riding"families of the borders (of which the Kerrs were but they were not a Clan- that is a modern term used now for all Scottish surnames) wouldn't wear a kilt nor a plaide, doing basic research she would have discovered that. As Scottish Borders historian author, Alistair Moffat says in his bookThe Reivers: The Story of the Border Reivers, a borderer wouldn't be caught dead in a kilt. She also makes faux pas in her address of the heroine. She calls her Lady of Kerr, but Kerr is a surname derived from Caer (fort in old Welsh/Cumbric language). Using the "of" denotes a place name and we know the hero's keep has a different name, so she would be Lady Kerr or Lady Kerr of (place). She creates an Earl of Carrick ( a Scottish title) when the title was held by King David II, but she makes him an Englishman, ouch! This is pretty basic stuff for one writing historical romance if they do basic research. There were other examples but they all could have been over looked if the plot had any strength to it, which it didn't.

The heroine has all sorts of problems, which effect her self esteem, making her a weak heroine from the get go, which is odd as the hero keeps having these internal dialogues of how brave she is. We know there is some sort of secret surrounding her being his bride instead of who should be... ( sound like a Garwood?) and something his brother has done or did he? She introduces way too many characters in so short a time period. that one gets the feeling that this might be a second book in a trilogy but her backlist doesn't reflect that. One has to struggle through the first 100 pages before the story actually picks up but that doesn't leave enough pages for the story to unfold in a satisfying way. I have been enjoying Scottish romances for over 40 years and though i don't expect a book the quality of Monica McCarty or Amanda Scott in a Harlequin Historical, I do expect the author to have done some basic research or at the very least provide a story with likable characters and a compelling plot to negate the historical mistakes. THE BORDER LORD by Sophia James is just not that book. And for those who enjoy an escape to Scotland through historical romance, this one is not worth the trip.