Taken by the Border Rebel. Blythe Gifford

       ‘Why don’t you marry a husband who’ll keep you from roaming the Borders alone?’

      Flour still clung to her apron, and he couldn’t help but think she looked ridiculous instead of haughty.

      ‘I will,’ she said finally. ‘Soon. Someone worthy. Special.’

      Special. She said the word as if to insult him. ‘Who is special enough for you?’ The words curdled on his tongue. Why even ask? He didn’t care. Not really.

      ‘No one you would know. No one the least bit like you.’ She turned away, as if she could choose to end the conversation.

      Suddenly he wanted to know who would possess this infuriating woman. ‘He interests me if he will ride to rescue you.’

      She looked back at him, eyes wide. He was not skilled with women, but this one was hiding something.

      ‘Then you will have to wonder at it, won’t you?’

      And he did wonder. She was more than of an age to marry, and more than passable to look on. Why was she not yet wed?

      And as he looked at her he was also wondering why he had ever thought taking Stella Storwick was a good idea.

      About the Author

      After many years in public relations, advertising and marketing, BLYTHE GIFFORD started writing seriously after a corporate layoff. Ten years and one layoff later, she became an overnight success when she sold her Romance Writers of America Golden Heart finalist manuscript to Harlequin Mills & Boon. She has since written medieval romances featuring characters born on the wrong side of the royal blanket. Now she’s exploring the turbulent Scottish Borders. The Chicago Tribune has called her work ‘the perfect balance between history and romance’. She lives and works along Chicago’s lakefront, and juggles writing with a consulting career.

      She loves to have visitors at www.blythegifford.com and www.pinterest.com/BlytheGifford, ‘thumbs-up’ at www.facebook.com/BlytheGifford, and ‘tweets’ at www.twitter.com/BlytheGifford

       Previous novels by the same author:

      THE KNAVE AND THE MAIDEN

      THE HARLOT’S DAUGHTER

      INNOCENCE UNVEILED

      IN THE MASTER’S BED

      HIS BORDER BRIDE

RETURN OF THE BORDER WARRIOR*

      CAPTIVE OF THE BORDER LORD*

*The Brunson Clan

       Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

       AUTHOR NOTE

      Black Rob Brunson, oldest son and head of the family, brooded silently at me as I wrote the first two books about The Brunson Clan. I began his story with trepidation, not sure I knew what was behind his scowl.

      At least I had spent two books with him. Of Stella, I knew no more than Rob did. She was an enemy. And a temptation.

      But, ah, the joy of discovery! Is that not the best part of falling in love?

      Taken by the Border Rebel

      Blythe Gifford

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      To all those who face the tyranny of expectations.

      Robin, in thanks for many kindnesses

      and the occasional kick in the pants.

      And in memory of Marley,

      a bloodhound much loved by his family,

      who helped me understand the character of sleuth-dog Belde.

       Left on the field by the rest of his clan

       Abandoned for dead was the first Brunson man

       Left for dead and found alive

       A brown-eyed Viking from the sea

      He lived to found a dynasty.

      Silent as moonrise, sure as the stars,

       Strong as the wind that sweeps Carter’s Bar

       Sure-footed and stubborn, ne’re danton nor dun’

       That’s what they say of the band Brunson

      Every Brunson leader since the first knew his beginnings.

      Knew that the blood that coursed through his veins was shared with the First Brunson, a man so strong he refused to die.

      That was the strength this clan demanded.

      Each head man has to find his own within.

       Sometimes it was not what he expected …

       Chapter One

       The Middle March—April 1529

      When Black Rob Brunson took his first waking breath that morning, he inhaled air free of the stink of cinders for the first time since the Storwicks had torched the tower’s buildings scarce two months before.

      Yet his waking thought was the same that morning as it had been the one before and the one before and the one before that. They would pay. Every last one of them.

      Oh, he had taken retribution quickly. Their roofs had felt flame. Their head man now languished under the eyes of a Scottish guard.

      But it wasn’t enough. Not for all they had done.

      The ashes had faded with the snow. The kitchen roof had new thatch, but with his second breath, he knew the truth. His nose would never be free of the stench.

      Nor would theirs. He’d make sure of that.

      He swung his feet over the side of the bed and glanced over his shoulder, still half-expecting his dead father’s ghost to lurk behind him.

      Nothing there.

      Rob was alone in the head man’s chamber. He was the head man now, as he’d been raised to be for twenty-six summers.

      He stretched, scratched an itch on his back and reached for his boots.

      Snow and frost had lingered, but this morning, he felt a softness in the air. Spring. Lambing time. Time for him to be a shepherd as well as a warrior, riding the valley to be sure the flock was well tended.

      Last year, he had ridden beside his father.

      Up and dressed, he foraged the kitchen, searching for a leftover bannock to stuff in his bag. His sister used to do that for him, for all of them. Cooked the food, washed and cleaned, kept everything in order until a few months ago, when she deserted them for that untrustworthy husband of hers.

      Soon, they’d be harrying him to find a wife. Some woman who would fuss at him for riding out alone. Danger was not gone with the snow, but he would be back before dark and no one would dare