King of the Isles
King of the Isles
Book 3
January 2012
Kensington Books

Warrior of the Isle
May 2011
Book 2

Kensington Books

Lord of the Isles
Lord of the Isles
April 2010
Kensington Books




ISBN 13: 978-1-4201-1005-0
ISBN: 1-4201-1005-5

Read Excerpt
Read Reviews

Lord of the Isles--Coming April 2010 to Kensington Books

After travelling to Scotland on business, the bed of a highland laird is the last place Ali Graham expected to wake up. But there's no mistaking the irresistibly masculine Scottish Highlander whose chambers she's accidentally infiltrated—or the severe wound he's suffered in battle. As a doctor, Ali knows how to heal his injury, how to nurse his body back to health. What she doesn't know is how to heal his heart...

A proud warrior and the leader of a powerful clan, Rory MacLeod is ready to fight to the death to protect his homeland. After all, ever since tragedy robbed him of his wife, he has had nothing to lose. Yet the mysterious woman sent to tend his wounds is beginning to reawaken something inside him—something that he'd rather stay buried. But when true passion is mixed with Scottish magic, even the most fearsome warrior could begin to fall...

Barnes&Noble | Amazon | Kensington
Borders | Chapters Indigo | Books-A-Million


Lord of the Isles is the rare story that perfectly meshes modern and historical scenes and personalities. The characters and plot are so well developed that throughout the tale the reader completely understands and empathizes with each individual’s beliefs, goals and desires. With great plot twists and turns and secondary characters, LORD OF THE ISLES is a model of what most romance novels aim to become. Romance Junkies Blue Ribbon Rating: 5

Magical storytelling, clever twists and memorable characters make Lord of The Isles a noteworthy time-travel tale. The cleverly original debut story by Debbie Mazzuca brings the late sixteenth century to life in this creative time-travel novel with a colorful Scottish locale. LORD OF THE ISLES is extraordinarily rewarding with the myriad of realistic characters and an imaginative plot. 5 Stars, Single Title Reviews

If you like strong, sexy highlanders and feisty heroines in a fast-paced medieval adventure that holds your attention from cover to cover, curl up with a copy of Debbie Mazzuca’s delightful debut, Lord of the Isles. The Romance Dish

Reviewer Top Pick
The mixture of adventure, a very hot highlander and a touch of Fairy magic make this a very entertaining story and well worth your time. ...  You will not be disappointed in this book. ... When April gets here run to the nearest bookstore to pick this book up. Night Owl Reviews

Settle in for a few hours of pure reading pleasure. ... As if your list is not long enough, here is one more; Debbie Mazzuca's "Lord of the Isles" is a must read. Coffee Time Romance & More

Mazzuca makes a magical, exciting debut with the first of her Highlander series. It’s a
passionate tale of love, desire, fairy magic and mystery. The narrative is rich, the dialogue authentic and the characters readily come to life. She is definitely a writer to watch! RT Book Reviews


Chapter One


The red hatchback came to a grinding stop at the bottom of a desolate gravel road, and the driver flipped off the meter. Wide-eyed, Ali stared at the back of the bald man’s head. Youre kidding, right?

          The cabbie shrugged, his eyes meeting hers in the rear-view mirror. I canna' make it up the hill, lass, on account of all the rain weve had. My car’s too heavy you ken, but Dunvegans just up the road a bit, he said in his thick brogue.

Ali leaned forward, peering past the rhythmic swipe of the windshield wipers to the mist-shrouded trees and the faint outline of a stone tower just beyond them, and released a resigned sigh. She shouldnt be surprised. Lately, where she was concerned, if something could go wrong, it did.

Okay then, what do I owe you? she asked as she dug her wallet from the bottom of her black leather satchel.

          Two hundred pounds, the older man answered as he opened the door and heaved himself off the front seat.

          Ali let out a soft whistle before she followed after him, her low-heeled shoes sinking in the mud. Can you give me a receipt, please? 

Her agent and best friend, Meg Lawson, had told her the magazine would pay all her expenses and Ali wasnt about to argue. It meant more money to go toward the hefty student loans she’d accumulated while going to medical school. And the sooner they were paid off the better. It was one of the reasons shed agreed to take the modeling job in the first place. The money was great, and shed get a chance to see some of Scotland—at the very least Skye, where the photo shoot was taking place. She just wouldnt think about why she had the time to take the job. If she did, shed cry, and shed done enough of that already.

          Aye."   He lifted her luggage from the trunk and settled the strap of her carry-on over her shoulder. I wish I could help with yer bags, lass, but I have a bum knee and wouldnt be much good to you.

          No problem. Ali managed a tight smile as she dragged the heavy suitcase around the back of the car, its wheels getting stuck in the mud. She thanked the man and shoved the receipt he handed her into her bag before heading out on what she hoped would be a short walk to Dunvegan Castle.

          The trek was slow going, with the wheels of her suitcase getting stuck in every rut on the narrow, unpaved road. Her mud-splattered black shoes were waterlogged from the puddles she couldn’t seem to avoid. In an attempt to save her jeans from ruin, she bent down and rolled them several inches above her ankles. She buttoned the navy blazer she wore over her white blouse—a blouse that had been crisp and clean when she left New York twelve hours earlier, but now was as limp and dirty as she was, or would be, after her little adventure.

          Five minutes later she had to admit it wasnt so bad. The air was fragrant with the heady aroma of flowers, the misty rain warm and gentle on her face, and the scenery amazing. Some of the tension eased from her shoulders, and then she heard an ominous rumble, and a bolt of lightning crackled across the gloomy afternoon sky. Within seconds the clouds opened up and the rain came down in buckets. Ali shook her head and laughed. What else could she do—cry? 

          Rounding a bend in the road, a massive gray stone edifice came into view, and she felt an unexpected spurt of excitement. It looked like something out of a fairy tale with its majestic towers reaching toward the sky. Maybe Meg was right—the change of scenery would do her good.

Gripping the suitcase with two hands, she hauled it onto the pavers of the long driveway. The mud from the wheels on her suitcase splattered her legs, but at least it no longer felt like she was dragging a hundred-pound weight behind her. Hiking up the strap of her carry-on, she dashed toward the massive oak doors.

          When she received no response to her first tentative knock she rapped harder, relieved when the door creaked open. Shed begun to think the place was deserted. A tall, elderly man stood framed in the doorway, staring at her, his bright blue eyes wide in his grizzled face, his mouth hanging open.

          Ali didnt blame him. She could only imagine what she looked like with her long hair plastered to her head, and mascara no doubt running down her cheeks. Hi, Im Ali Graham.  She offered her hand, but he didnt take it. Ali didnt think he even noticed—his gaze was riveted on her face.


She glared up at the offending carved overhang from which the water had cascaded to land on her head then back to the man blocking the entrance. Uhmm, do you mind if I come in?  She didnt want to be rude, but she was drenched.

          With a brief shake of his head the befuddled look left his eyes. Sorry, lass, please . . . please come in.  He ushered her into the warmth of the cavernous entrance.

          Ali set down her bags on the slate floor and swiped her dripping hair from her face. She pulled her wet clothing from where it stuck to her body and shook it out. Its really coming down out there, she said in an attempt to make conversation.

          Aye, he murmured, giving her an odd look before closing the door.

          The intensity of his stare was beginning to give her the creeps. She wondered if shed made a mistake coming inside—she was alone and didn't know this man from Adam. Not one to let things slide, Ali asked, Is something wrong? 

          Sorry, lass, its just that . . . och, youll have to excuse an old man for his rudeness. He gave her an embarrassed smile. Im Duncan Macintosh, Dunvegans caretaker. Who did you say you were?

          Ali . . . Ali Graham. I have a reservation, she said, searching her bag for the elusive piece of paper. Somewhere.  Ali grimaced and pulled the sodden reservation from her jacket pocket. With a wry grin she handed it to him.

          A frown creased his brow, and he looked from her to the paper. Lass, youve come to the wrong place. Its Dunvegan Hotel youd be looking for. You passed it a ways back.

          She looked at the paper he handed back to her, the writing barely legible, but there it was, plain as day, Dunvegan Hotel. I dont know how I could have been so stupid. Sorry for bothering you.  Ali bent down to retrieve her bags from the puddle theyd left on the floor.

          Its no bother, Miss Graham. I was just about to have a spot of tea. Youre welcome to join me if you'd like.

          Pleasecall me Ali, and a cup of tea sounds wonderful. Would you have something I could dry off with?  I dont want to oh, no.  She groaned. Look what Ive done.  The beautiful wool area rug beneath her feet was now marked with her muddy footprints. Im so sorry.

          He chuckled. Its seen worse. Dont fret. Ill get you some towels and then you can come by the fire and warm up. My wife is off on a wee shop, but when she returns with the car Ill take you over to the hotel. How does that sound?


          With her jacket and mud-caked shoes disposed of, Ali followed Duncan. She gazed appreciatively at the wood-paneled room he led her into, noting its decorative ceilings with interest. The antique furniture was tasteful and inviting; muted greens and golds complemented the heavy crimson draperies and ornate cherrywood bookcases that ran the length of the drawing room.

This place is amazing, Mr. Macintosh. You must love taking care of it.

          “Och, now, Duncan will do just fine. And aye, it’s a wonderful job I have, he said as he dragged a high-back chair closer to the fire and placed a forest green throw over its delicate embroidered fabric. Sit down, lass. Dry off a bit and I'll get us our tea.

          Ali sank gratefully into the chair, then leaned forward to warm her hands in front of the blazing fire. Its woodsy aroma reminded her of a damp day in fall, even though it was only the beginning of August.

          Duncan reentered the room carrying a heavily laden silver tray. Move that wee table over here, lass. 

          Thats quite a spread. I hope you didnt go to any trouble on my account, Duncan, she said as she placed the table between them.

          The older man settled in the chair beside her. No trouble at all.  He smiled. Looking over the rim of the porcelain teacup, he asked,What brings you to Skye, Ali?

          Im doing a photo shoot for Vogue. Its a magazine.

          I know of it. They requested permission a few months back to take photos here. So, youre a model, then?

          Ali laughed. Actually, Im a doctor, fourth-year resident. But my friend is an agent and every once in a while she passes a job my way. Helps pay the bills, she said, biting into a dainty sandwich.

          I thought you residents were a harried lot. Was it not difficult for you to get the time off?

          Ali choked and took a deep swallow of her tea before she answered, Not really. Anxious to change the subject, she pointed to a tattered piece of silk encased in glass above the fireplace. Whats that?

          Ah, that would be the fairy flag, he said, gazing at the box with reverence.

          Intrigued, Ali asked, Fairy flag?

          Would you be wanting to hear the tale?

          Id love to. If youre sure you have the time.

          I always have time for this story, lass.  He made himself comfortable; stretching out his long legs, he crossed them at the ankles.

          A long time ago, according to the legend, the Laird of the MacLeod's fell in love with a fairy princess."

          "Fairy princess? You mean like in storybooks?"

          "Aye. Do you not believe in magic, Ali?"

          She didn't. As far as she was concerned, only children who had been loved and protected had the

luxury to believe in magic and fairy tales. Not someone like her, who had been slapped with the harsh realities of life at an early age. But Duncan didn't need to know that.

          "Of course." She smiled. "Now don't keep me in suspense, what happened next?"

          He studied her with kind eyes, then went on with his story. "The two wished to wed, but the King of the Fairies refused to grant his permission. Noting his daughter's sorrow, he reluctantly relented, but on one condition; after a year and a day she must return to the fairy realm."

"Within that year the happy couple were blessed with a bonny baby boy. Their time together went quickly, and too soon the heartbroken princess had no choice but to keep her promise to her father. As she tearfully left her husband and baby at the fairy bridge, she made the laird promise never to leave their son alone, or to allow him to cry. Even in the fairy realm, the sound of his sorrow would cause her great suffering," Duncan explained.

Flames shot up from the fire with a loud crackle and pop, and Duncan leaned over, taking a poker to the logs before continuing. Their laird was grief stricken, and his clan, wanting to cheer him up, organized a celebration. The maid who had been left to mind the wee one could not resist the music and left the bairn alone while she went to watch the festivities. The baby started to cry, and hearing his cries, the fairy princess came back to comfort him. She wrapped him in her silk and was speaking to him in a soft lyrical voice when the maid returned. The princess kissed her son goodbye, then vanished.

          Years later, the lad came to his father with the story of his mothers visit, and repeated her instructions to him. If ever the clan was in danger, the laird was to wave the silk to call upon the fairies and their help. But the magic could only be summoned three times, and—

          Curiosity getting the better of her, Ali interrupted. Has itdid the MacLeods ever raise the flag?

          Aye, they did, back in 1570. The MacDonalds, an enemy to the MacLeods, attacked them. Severely outnumbered, the MacLeod unfurled the flag and its fairy magic. To this day no one knows for certain what happened, but the MacDonald's retreated. Some say its because the fairies made the MacLeod’s army swell, but others say something happened to the MacDonalds wife and daughter that day, drawing him from the field, leaving his army in disarray.

          Well, Duncan, that story alone was worth getting soaked for. Thank you.

          My pleasure.  The older man glanced at her and seemed slightly embarrassed. I dont know if you noticed, but I was a wee bit disconcerted when you first arrived.

          Ali grinned. Now that you mention it, I did.

          Color bloomed in the mans heavily lined cheeks. I should have said something. Come, Ill show you the reason.

          Curious, Ali padded barefoot across the thick oriental carpet to the far end of the room where Duncan stood in front of a large gilt-framed portrait. He stepped aside and her jaw dropped. At first glance it was as though Ali stood in front of a mirror. The woman in the painting could have been her.

          That would be Brianna MacLeod, wife to Rory. He was laird in the latter part of the sixteenth century. The resemblance is uncanny, dont you think?

          I do, she murmured, touching her wavy and still wet platinum blond hair. The woman in the portraits long spiral curls were a burnished gold and caressed her delicate heart-shaped face. Her eyes were coffee colored, whereas Alis were blue, but other than that, they could have been twins.

          The man chuckled at her expression before turning back to the portrait. She was a MacDonald. Their marriage brought an end to the families’ long-standing feud, but they didnt have many years together before she died in childbirth.

          How sad, Ali said, drawn to the woman in the portrait. Although Brianna MacLeod radiated happiness in the painting, an almost palpable sense of sadness washed over Ali, and she took an unconscious step backward. She looked at Duncan to see if he felt the same thing, but hed already moved away.

          And this is Rory, her husband.  Duncan pointed proudly to the portrait on the other side of the large picture window.

          For one moment, just as she turned away from Brianna's portrait, Ali sensed the coffee-colored eyes following her. She shook off the feeling. Dismissing the notion out of hand, she joined Duncan in front of the second portrait. Her uneasiness faded the instant she looked at the man in the painting. She sucked in an appreciative breath. Now that was a highland hunk.

Rory MacLeod was breathtaking. Wavy black hair accentuated high, chiseled cheekbones and a firm jaw. The sensual curve of his full mouth hinted at a man who laughed often. His green eyes glittered with a penetrating intelligence as he looked down his straight and aristocratic nose at her. He exuded power and strength. A mans man—no metrosexual there.

A sudden draft swirled around her bare feet and ankles. The cold air enveloped her in its icy embrace, causing goose bumps to form beneath her skin. Ali tried to contain the teeth-chattering shiver by wrapping her arms around herself.

          Och, and look at you, freezing in those wet clothes while I blather on. Come, I'll set you up in one of the rooms where you can change.

          Ali nodded, unable to tear her gaze from Rory MacLeod, mesmerized by the powerful warrior he portrayed. She jumped when Duncan patted her shoulder. Oh . . . sorry. With one last look at her handsome highlander, she followed the caretaker from the room.

          Im going to give you a special treat.  Duncan winked at her as he unhooked the red velvet rope that blocked the polished wooden staircase. But you must promise never to tell.

          I promise.  She smiled.

          As they made their way up the curved staircase, Duncan relayed more of the MacLeod familys history, but Ali barely heard him, her mind filled with images of Rory and Brianna. She thought if she closed her eyes she would see them, young and in love, roaming the halls of Dunvegan Castle. Touching the wood-paneled walls, running her hand along the thick balustrade, Ali felt close to them, a part of their history. Hundreds of years ago they had walked these stairs; laid a hand on the same railing and walls.

Ali snorted, shaking her head at her whimsical musings. Totally out of character for her, she blamed it on jet lag.

          Here you go.  Duncan opened the door with a flourish. The lairds chambers.

          Ali quirked a brow. Are you sure, Duncan?  I dont want to get you in trouble.

          Don’t give it another thought. The present day laird doesn’t sleep here, but Rory MacLeod once did. And after my behavior earlier, I thought it the least I can do.

          Please.  Ali shook her head with a smile. It was no big deal, but Im not going to refuse. This is amazing, she said, stepping into the bedroom.

          Duncan set her suitcase beside the four-poster bed. Its chilly in here,” he said as he crouched beside the stone fireplace across from the bed. “I’ll get a fire going and leave you to freshen up. You can take a wee lie-down if youd like, Ali. Youre probably tired from your long journey. Afterwards you can join my wife and me for supper and then I'll take you over to the hotel, if you’d like.”

          If youre sure its no trouble I'd love to.  Her gaze was drawn to the window and the breathtaking view. Dunvegan sat on top of a rocky hill with a rain-swept lake at its feet and cloud-draped hills beyond.

          There, youre all set, lass, Duncan pronounced, rubbing the soot from his palms onto the sides of his brown corduroy pants before heading for the door.

          As soon as the door closed behind him, Ali stripped off her wet clothing. She laid them over the chintz-covered chair, but not before retrieving a white towel from the foot of the bed to protect the obviously expensive piece of furniture. Everything in the castle looked as though it belonged in a museum. Ali gave a rueful grin. It was a museum, and if she planned on using her paycheck to pay off her loan, shed better not damage anything.

Settling her suitcase on the big bed with its opulent, scarlet coverings and mounds of pillows, Ali flipped it open. She pulled out a long black T-shirt—her nightwear of choice—and slipped it over her still-damp head. Anxious to warm her chilled bones, Ali walked to the fireplace and sat on a small area rug in front of the roaring blaze. Tugging a brush through her hair, she studied the tapestry that took up most of the white plastered wall on the opposite side of the room. It depicted a battle in all its gruesome glory, and Ali was thankful she hadnt been born back then—an era when bloodshed was an everyday occurrence, and life, at least in her opinion, held little value.

The shiver that ran through her had nothing to do with the cold. Ali couldnt abide violence of any kind. She turned away from the tapestry, afraid she'd have nightmares if she didn't. Running her fingers through her hair and finding it dry, Ali walked to the bed and crawled beneath the crisp, cool sheets.

She sighed—heavenly.

Ali snuggled into the warmth that enveloped her and drifted off to sleep.

Uhmm, she murmured when a heavy hand caressed her thigh. Sliding the stretchy fabric over her hips, the man kneaded her bottom, pressing her to his long, powerful body. Ali groaned. This was one dream she didnt want to wake up from. All she wanted to do was get rid of the material that bunched between her and the man in her dreams, Rory MacLeod. It seemed he had the same idea. He tugged the T-shirt over her head, and she lifted her arms to help him. Free from the confines of her nightshirt, she wrapped a leg over his, stroking the taut muscles beneath her hand.

          A deep, husky voice whispered in her ear, words she didnt understand, but she didnt care, not with his big hand cupping her breast. Ali arched her back, her body begging for more. She heard a low chuckle, and gasped when he squeezed her breast, tweaking the puckered nipple between strong, calloused fingers. She nuzzled his chest, inhaling his heady, masculine scent before she lifted her face for a kiss. His mouth closed over hers—hot, so very hot—and he swallowed her moan of pleasure. His tongue dueled with hers, exploring with a tenacity that left her weak with desire. She quivered with anticipation when he trailed his fingers over the heated flesh between her thighs, inching his way to her moist core. Ali shuddered. She'd never had an erotic dream before and was afraid to open her eyes, not wanting him or his fingers to disappear. She didnt want to wake up, not when it felt so good. Shed rather sleep forever.

          He raised his mouth from hers. Ah, Bree, my love, Ive missed you.

          Ali stiffened. What the hell did he just say? 

It was bad enough the men in her life wanted someone else—what was wrong with her that she couldnt even satisfy them in her dreams?  Before she had a chance to mull over her ineptitude with men, he took her nipple deep into the heat of his mouth and suckled. Ali shifted, pressing her breast to his lips, rocking her hips against the hard, banded muscles of his thigh. She was close, so close. Rubbing harder, faster, she anchored herself with a hand to his side.

          Her dream lover cursed, loudly, and shoved her aside.

          Ali blinked, and slowly turned her head. In the dim light of the flickering candle

she saw him: big, powerful, and grimacing in pain. She scrunched her eyes shut and took a steadying breath.

He wasnt real.

He couldnt be.

Its just a dream, Ali. You were thinking about the man before you went to sleep, thats all it is—an illusion.

          Ali opened her eyes one at a time. Biting the inside of her lower lip, she pinched the big arm that lay on top of the covers, jumping when a guttural curse exploded from his lips. He was real, and he was in her bed.

          Ali screamed and tried to scramble from the bed, tugging her entangled foot from the sheets. 


She fell onto the cold, hard floor.