Status Updates From My Lord Monleigh

Exceptional dialogue and tension between the main characters. Can’t put it down!

Only available from Internet Archive for 30 minutes at a time.

And need you ask, now that the tale is done, what became of them, the two who loved so unwisely and so well? Need you wonder, How did it go with them, how was it in the end?

I want to throttle Monleigh right now. I've never been more in love & more frustrated with a character in my life.

There was nothing left to say. He did not, I realized numbly, mean to touch me again; but even as I longed desperately for one last kiss, I knew as well as he that it would be past enduring.

“I must go,” I said at last.

“Aye,” he said

I'm at the point where I'm thinking: Is there going to be a hea?? If so, I have no idea how it's going to happen. I love it when a book brings me to that point of uncertainty.

I was under his spell, as I had come to be under the spell of this west coast of Scotland. There was a dark heritage in his blood, that heritage of violence and disquiet which had seethed through Highland history since the beginning of time; and I would imagine that this unrest, this dark vein of passion, must be guarded with a constant vigilance lest it stealthily conquer a man’s soul and abandon him to the darkness

He was no god, in truth, or even godly. He was only a man, a mere mortal, who went in leather breeks and a dark cloak lined with scarlet, wearing a long sword at his side and a wicked blue dirk in his belt—who felt anger, boredom, indifference, who loved and hated as other men; who stood taller than most and held his dark head with a greater pride.

He had enthralled me, bewitched and enraptured me; and I knew I played a dangerous and deadly game by so giving myself into his keeping.

“I had a purpose, but it was no’ so gallant as you imagine.”
“You wanted me to trust you,” I said softly. “I have for some time past.”
He put his wineglass on the table behind him, moving with easy deliberation, and came toward me.
“Trusting me,” he said, “is far more dangerous than walking the edge of a cliff.”
“I know, but you once said it would make matters easier for me.”
“So it has,” he said coolly, “until now.”

“Would you like to see the captain’s cabin?”

Oh.My.Goodness. There's about to be boat sex.

I was worried because of the publication date (1956), the author profile pic (Jan Cox Speas seems like a 'respectable' woman) this book might be preachy, or the type of romance my grandmother would have enjoyed. But no, this is exceeding all of my expectations spectacularly.

I ran through the woods and across the whispering burn, and Monleigh waited just beyond the woods. He put his hands to my waist without a word and lifted me to the saddle. Then he sprang up behind me and touched spurs to his horse; and we were away, riding like the wind across the hills, while the stars rode their white stallions in furious pursuit across the wide arc of the sky.

I think I did not know him at all in that moment. The man who smiled with so devastating a warmth and teased me into laughter was only an unreal figment of my imagination, and this stranger of the cruel quiet face and hooded eyes was the true Monleigh, the black earl who held so much of Scotland in dread fear of him.

This, then, is when he is most deadly, I bethought myself, for he controls his strength, as a fighter will, and fashions it into a weapon which is ever at his command. No violent, hot-headed rage is his, after all, that would render his judgment foolhardy and rash, but rather a cold and dangerous force tempered as finely as the edge of his sword.

“Why do you concern yourself with me?”

“That is a question no well-bred woman should ask a man,” he said, “but since your curiosity is continually greater than your propriety, I’ll be honest with you. I like the way you laugh, Anne Lindsay, and I’ve always been fond of green eyes. And if you’re a good lass on the morrow, I may be persuaded to tell you more about your charms.

He pushed back a wayward lock of hair on my forehead. I did not move, for all will to move had left me at his touch, and he held my chin and and lifted my face to his.

“Don’t be frightened,” he said quietly.

“If I am afraid,” I answered, low, “I have reason enough.”

“Are you sure?”

No, I was sure of nothing, except that for the space of a single afternoon I had been happier than I had ever been before.

I could not answer. We stood looking at each other, and suddenly the world seemed to recede like the slow wash of the outgoing tide, leaving behind a vast and breathless silence. The rushing sough of water faded away, there was no bird call, no faint rustle of wind in the trees; and I remembered the strange moment I first saw him on the moor above the sea, when I had known that same rapt silence and quietude.

He stood up, moving with such careless grace that I was reminded of the lithe resilience of a cat. A very large and dangerous cat, I warned myself, perchance a tiger; and like the tiger, his charm was doubtless calculated to a fine degree, a cunning snare to dupe the unwary who did not perceive, until too late, the deadly menace of his true nature.

I turned my back on him and sat on the boulder beside the pool, holding out my feet to dry in the sun. The silence lengthened, and then I heard his fingers touch the lute strings, so softly that at first the sound was no louder than the song of a linnet off somewhere in the trees. Then a melody emerged, slow and sweet as the drowsy afternoon, and I sat in the sun and closed my eyes, and was filled with a fine content

“When we come to know each other better,” he said, “perhaps you can persuade yourself to address me as Simon. Or in the Gaelic, Sim, which is even easier to say.” The grin widened as his eyes met mine, and not once did I remember that I was stockingless and barefoot, and that he had promised not to look.

“’Tis high time you acknowledged my consequence,” he said, “but it spoils the effect. You should fix me with a haughty stare, leaving no doubt of your loathing for me, and allow your nose to quiver daintily with fury. Have you never been in a hot rage, Anne Lindsay?”

“You are an odious man,” I said, “and insufferably rude as well. I can’t imagine why I came, or why I don’t turn back at once.”

“Better, but not good enough. Try again.”

“You are also ill-mannered, disobliging, and offensive.” Aghast at my own ill manners, even in jest, I added, “M’lord.”

“’Tis high time you acknowledged my consequence,” he said, “but it spoils the effect."

“Why did you bring me?” I asked slowly. “To see if I could make you angry, for one thing,” he said. “I had begun to think you only partly alive.”

I knew I must learn to look to myself if I would match wits with this man. “You are an odious man,” I said, “and insufferably rude as well. I can’t imagine why I came, or why I don’t turn back at once.”

oh my goodness the dialogue in this book is the best. I haven't read banter this good since reading Jane Eyre

“Why don’t you defend yourself?” he asked suddenly. “Have they left you no self-esteem? Ask me why the devil I brought you along if I’ve nothing to do but insult you. Give me a few sharp words for being so uncivil as to compare you to Margaret Clennon.” He added casually, “You did better by yourself when I took you to Torra. Must I resort to violence before you’ll stand up to me?”