New Release! Hot Highlanders and Wild Warriors

Hot Highlanders and Wild Warriors cover

After a massive lead up of posts at the anthology’s website, Hot Highlanders and Wild Warriors is here! This collection features 14 erotic romance stories all around the theme of knights and warriors. But don’t be deceived by the highland warrior on the front cover though – while there are highlanders to be found in its covers, there are also vikings, medieval knights, mongols in Armenia… and mine, about samurai.

My story is set in the warring states era in Japan, and is called The Bodyguard. I talked about how I picked that particular era on this post here. The character names that I used might cause some anime fans’ eyebrows to raise – but I promise I haven’t written an AU fanfic about Misato from Evangelion and Saitou Hajime as seen in Rurouni Kenshin (that would be a… interesting piece of writing should it exist). Granted, I did borrow their names (Saitou is not an uncommon name either), and I have always found Saitou Hajime as character fascinating, and the real Saitou was a samurai, but the Saitou that appears in this story is not based on any depictions of him thus far.

Maybe one day I’ll write one about him. One day…


Men devoting themselves to their true love through the art of courtly love is the ultimate in romance. Hot Highlanders and Wild Warriors is filled with wild knights and Scottish warriors whose courage on the battlefield is outmatched only by their ardor for their ladyloves! Readers will unleash their fantasies of olden days where men wearing heavy armor or thick tartans sent a spirited young maiden’s (or lonely widow’s) heart fluttering. These bravehearts were prized for their physical strength and men were judged for their fierce loyalty and unshakeable honor. Crusaders, highlanders, Normans and Saxons, tournament fighters, vikings, and hunky Mongols astride stallions in search of adventure and love all populate the pages of this steamy read.

Story Blurb

As a ninja stalks through the palace corridors, the daughter of a samurai lord is drawn to her wounded, pensive bodyguard.


Night, and Misato still could not sleep.

Sen of course slept soundly. Misato sighed. She eased herself out from under the light blankets, raised herself from the tatami floor, and slipped on her yukata. It was summer and the night was pleasantly warm. She lifted her naginata from the wall, pushed aside the paper screen that lead to the balcony, closed it softly behind her, and went on her now nightly walk.

It was perhaps a foolish way to try and help her sleep, but it gave Misato a some sense of control that had been robbed from here when she first heard the ninja outside her door five weeks ago.

Misato kept alert, her eyes scanning the corridors of the palace, the pathways of the grounds. She made her foot step light as she could. She avoided the guards who would have scolded her if they found her and escorted her back to her room.

She finished her usual route, and returned towards her room along the balcony. Just before the entrance screen to hers, where Sen slept, was Saitou’s room. Misato’s body ran warm at the thought of him. If she were honest with herself, her nightly walks now held another purpose.

One the first night, Misato had stopped, only glancing at the door, trying not to think of him in there, sleeping, his kimono undone, his hair in that natural disarray acquired from a night’s rest.

She had been about to move on when she heard a soft moan from inside.

It was the sounds she’d heard the soldiers making when they thought they were alone and no women were around to hear. The sound she sometimes made when she was alone, and Sen was fast asleep.

Saitou was pleasuring himself. His breathing was steady at first. But it became increasingly haggard, and she could even hear the rustle of material as his hand must have moved along the length of his shaft.

Misato had put her hand over her mouth, trying to contain the thought of what his shaft must have been like. She had caught some views of the woodblock prints that Father thought she did not know about. She had been taught how babies were made, and been informed it could be pleasurable for both parties, but it did not prepare her for the expressions of passion she had seen on those prints.

The tension of being caught and the delicate sensations coursing through her had paralysed her on the first night. She wanted to run, but he soon reached his climax. It was only after, as he panted, that she stepped as quietly as she could away and into her room.

At first, she had only stood, and listen with such attentiveness she could hear when he altered his technique, when his strokes became slower or faster. Now she knelt. Still gripping her naginata, she dove between the folds of her material and with her finger sought out the tiny bud above her sex.

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