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It’s 29 years after the events that ended One Man’s Love. Alisdair MacRae, eldest son of Ian and Leitis MacRae and a very successful ship captain, is visiting the ancestral MacRae lands that were abandoned when the clan decided to escape to Nova Scotia instead of suffering the full brunt of British rule in the aftermath of the Battle of Culloden. He wants to look at Gilmuir Castle, which he’s heard so much about but never seen in person. But really, the visit is supposed to be a quick detour; he’s on his way south to London to talk to his father’s stepmother. When Ian MacRae (born Alec Landers, heir to the Earl of Sherbourne) decided to commit treason and aid the Scots in defying and eventually escaping the British, his stepmother, Patricia (who aided the escape) had him legally declared dead and her son installed as earl. However, her son is now dead, and Alisdair is presumed to be next in line to inherit. Alisdair has every intention of refusing the earldom. His life, he thinks, is with the sea and with a steady, sturdy woman in Nova Scotia.

Until he rescues a beautiful young woman named Iseabal. Iseabal is the only child of Magnus, laird of the MacRae’s age-old rivals, the Drummonds. The ruins of Gilmuir and the strange, sudden disappearance of the MacRae clan has always stirred her interest, and Iseabal uses every opportunity she has to escape there from the intensely abusive Magnus. Then one day, while exploring the castle, she quite literally falls down a hole. 30-year-old ruins that have been bombed to fuck and back by British cannon are full of holes—who knew? Not Iseabal, apparently. But conveniently enough, Alisdair is right there to yank her out.

Alisdair doesn’t really think too much of the encounter. Gilmuir and the MacRae land are actually foremost in his mind, especially when he sees the land being grazed over by sheep. He finds out that Magnus Drummond has been ceded the ownership and use of the property, and on impulse he heads over to the Drummond stronghold to buy the land back. Magnus is willing to sell it, on one condition: that Alisdair marry his daughter too. It’s not every day a man gets to marry a woman he pulls out of a hole, but fate has selected Alisdair for just such a destiny.

After the wedding, Alisdair and Iseabal and immediately sail for London, where Alisdair plans to annul the marriage and tell his step-grandmother gently but firmly: Thanks, but no thanks. But on the voyage down the two of them discover Things of Great Hotness about each other. For instance, Alisdair discovers that Iseabal is a sculptor, which he finds to be a turn-on. And Iseabal discovers that Alisdair has a genuine core of kindness and gentleness to him, and that’s a turn-on for her too, especially given her experiences with her father.

And Alisdair’s plans all go awry once he sets foot in London, of course. He doesn’t expect to like Patricia quite so much, for one. He also doesn’t expect the Sherbourne estate to be quite so prosperous. He suddenly realizes that if he accepts the earldom, he’ll have enough money to rebuild Gilmuir and start a shipyard there, and since the MacRae land has become a new obsession of his, he makes an old woman very happy and accepts the title. Similarly, his plans to annul his marriage to Iseabal are abandoned when Patricia, playing matchmaker, makes him aware of what exactly he’s giving up.

The happy couple sail back to Scotland to rebuild their future, except Magnus, as befits a romance novel villain (romances are not known for their multi-dimensional, believable bad guys—I know, SHOCK, HORROR, GASP!), has reneged on the deal and has reclaimed the land. And so begins a battle in earnest,and Iseabal feels herself horrified at the depths her father will sink to—so much so that she begins to doubt that Alisdair can truly love the daughter of the man who is able to commit such atrocities.

But they work it out in the end (I know, SHOCK, HORROR, GASP!), and everybody gets their just desserts. No, trust me. They do. There’s even a really sweet secondary love story involving Fergus, Leitis’s older brother and presumed dead at Culloden in the previous book.

Ranney does a good job of creating characters that aren’t quite your usual, run-of-the-mill romance novel archetypes. Alisdair strikes a nice balance between being confident and assertive on one hand, and being a genuinely nice guy on the other. Iseabal is one of the more interesting characters I’ve encountered lately. Her abuse at the hands of her father has led her to exercise extreme restraint over any outward manifestations of emotion, and her struggle with the repression is presented very believably. Alisdair’s desire and corresponding efforts to break through that restraint are similarly well-portrayed.

The writing style in this book is quite beautiful; it’s lyrical without being overwhelming. Ranney has a very distinct voice, and although I’ll read just about anything she releases, a few of her books have collapsed under the weight of her prose style (My Wicked Fantasy is one book that comes to mind, and Above All Others is actually almost completely unreadable because of it). Thankfully, she manages to avoid that particular pitfall in this book.

When the Laird Returns is a pretty entertaining book. It’s well-written, and it doesn’t insult your intelligence, though it comes close to calling it mean names a couple of times. Check it out. If you’ve read and enjoyed other Karen Ranney novels, look this up. If you’ve never read any Ranney, I suggest trying Upon a Wicked Time or My Beloved to get you hooked, those two books kick ass.

Notes:
The Highland Lords novels, in the order in which they were published:

One Man’s Love
When the Laird Returns
The Irresistible MacRae
To Love a Highland Lord
So In Love

Ever since he was a child, Alec John Landers, Earl of Sherbourne, has made annual visits with his mother to Gilmuir in Scotland to spend time with his grandfather, who is laird to the MacRae clan. When in Scotland, they don’t acknowledge his English side; instead, he’s known as Ian MacRae and allowed to run wild with all the other MacRae children. Along the way, he develops a boyish tendre for the beautiful and feisty Leitis MacRae. Then on his eleventh birthday, his mom pulls classic Too Stupid To Live shit: she goes off riding alone, despite warnings of recent raids by the rivaling Drummond clan. Of course, beautiful Moira Landers nee MacRae is found dead that same day, presumably killed by the Drummonds. In a fit of pre-pubescent angst, Alec disowns the Scottish side of family and declares hatred of all things Scottish forever.

Fast forward to July of 1746. It’s only three months after the extremely bloody Battle of Culloden. Alec is now a highly regarded colonel in the British army, decorated by none other than the Duke of Cumberland himself. And just as Cumberland was known as “Butcher Cumberland” (and not for his love of a good cut of steak, if you know what I mean), Alec has earned the sobriquet Butcher of Inverness. The Disarming Act is being reinforced with great zeal in Scotland (although I think Ranney might’ve meant the Act of Proscription, which wasn’t enacted until August 1746) and Scots can be jailed for playing the bagpipes, wearing a kilt or a tartan, speaking Gaelic, or expressing any other features unique to Gaelic culture. And oh wondrous fate, Alec finds himself assigned to head the brand-spankin’ new fort that’s been built right next to Gilmuir Castle.

Things are a mess on MacRae land. The clan, which used to number hundreds of people, is now down to a few dozen starving members. Alec’s childhood sweetheart, Leitis, is alone in the world except for her cranky uncle Hamish. And Hamish isn’t much help or comfort: he stubbornly insists on doing assheaded things like play the bagpipes, which inevitably sends a swarm of English soldiers down from the nearby Fort William to punish the whole village for harboring a criminal. Alec arrives at the village just as the English soldiers, headed by the suitably villainous and ugly Major Sedgewick (they’re always ugly, if they’re not they end up reforming and getting their own sequel), are burning the houses down in an attempt to get the people to reveal where Hamish is hiding.

Alec is sickened by the destruction and orders the fire put out, then has Leitis put under his protection under the guise of using her as a hostage to guarantee Hamish’s future good behavior. He doesn’t dare reveal that he’s really Ian MacRae and no longer quite as fervent in his hatred of the Scots. As for Leitis, she thinks he’s OMG hot and vaguely familiar-looking, but also an Evil Swinish English Oppressor. But dammit, he keeps doing nice things like saving the village and treating her well while she’s under captivity. What’s a poor romance novel heroine to think?

And here’s where the plot gets a little bit silly: Alec decides he needs to do more to help the MacRaes, so he dons a nifty little half-mask, wears all-black clothing, calls himself the Raven and with Leitis’s help starts stealing army supplies from under the soldiers’ very noses and distributing them (the supplies, not the soldiers’ noses) to the village. Besides the rather mind-boggling risks they take and the incredible incompetence the English army shows, one can’t help but wonder why romance heroines (and superhero girlfriends) are so susceptible to being hoodwinked by the flimsiest disguises. But to Ranney’s credit, she quite convincingly portrays how Leitis is fooled. Leitis also can’t quite shake the feeling that the Raven is somebody familiar to her, so she’s not completely brain-dead.

Of course, all hell breaks loose when Leitis finds out who the Raven really is. But the resolution to all the troubles and dilemmas they face (both as a couple, and as a clan) are worked out satisfyingly by the end, and I was very pleasantly surprised by the solution that Alec came up with.

Ranney pulls no punches in describing the privations the MacRaes suffer, and this is probably one of the best features of the book. You get a pretty good sense of how horribly the Highlanders suffered under the British regime after their defeat at Culloden. Some reviewers on Amazon.com complained about how this aspect interfered with their happy fantasyland, but those people are pussies, don’t listen to them. Oh, and nobody in the book speaks in an idiotic brogue. Big, big props to Ranney for avoiding that particular pitfall.

The two main characters are quite well-rendered, Alec more so than Leitis in my opinion. We see how his feelings about the Scots evolve from his impulsive, childish hatred to something a lot more compassionate and complex. Leitis is a pretty standard Feisty Romance Heroine, ready to defy death for the sake of her pride and sassing the hero every chance she gets, but hey, she didn’t annoy me too much, which is a lot more than I can say about most Feisty Romance Heroines.

So anyway, if you like Ranney’s books but you were feeling nervous about the whole Scottish aspect, don’t be—she doesn’t disappoint. I, for one, really enjoyed reading this book. Even the sillier aspects of the plot are treated with some depth and respect. On the other hand, if you like romances that are all love and bunnies and roses or Scottish protagonists who say shit like “ye ken, wee lassie?” all the time, this might not be your cuppa.

Notes:
The Highland Lords novels, in the order in which they were published:

One Man’s Love
When the Laird Returns
The Irresistible MacRae
To Love a Highland Lord
So In Love

Why do romance novel titles suck so hard?

So anyway, on to the review. Here’s some good news: If you really liked Archangel but thought Rachel should’ve dropped the rather stiff-rumped Gabriel for the gorgeous, golden, sweet-natured Obadiah, you’ll be ecstatic because Obadiah finally gets his own story, and it was worth the wait. Shinn weaves together two most excellent stories of two different sets of people falling in love.

The book starts a year and six months after the cataclysmic events that ended Archangel. First, we meet Elizabeth, a wealthy man’s daughter who has fallen on hard times after being orphaned. She currently lives with a cousin on his farm, essentially working as an unpaid servant. When presented with an opportunity to run off to Cedar Hills, a new angel stronghold, she decides to try her luck being an angel-seeker in the hopes she can regain her life of luxury.

Angel-seekers are essentially groupies. These women do their best to establish sexual relationships with angels, not just because angels are powerful, gorgeous and exotic in their own right, but in the hopes of becoming pregnant. If the pregnancy results in an angelic child, their future and status are assured because angel babies are so rare.

Soon after moving to Cedar Hills, Elizabeth strikes up a relationship with the handsome but rather feckless angel David. She also meets an Edori man named Rufus who works as a construction worker. Rufus was a slave until the archangel Gabriel outlawed the practice. He seems to love her, but he can’t give her an angel baby and the cushy life she’s looking for. Quite the dilemma, eh? (If you can’t guess what the outcome is to this love triangle, you gotta be brain-dead.)

The second love story is a lot more compelling. The angel Obadiah is assigned a new job by the archangel Gabriel: to pacify and negotiate with the Jansai. The Jansai are a people whose primary commerce used to be capturing and selling Edori slaves, and they are not happy with Gabriel’s new interdiction. But Obadiah is happy to accept this thorny commission because he’s more than half in love with Gabriel’s wife, and the assignment allows him distraction and distance from temptation. However, one of his wings is seriously injured on his way back from his first talk with the Jansai leader and he crash-lands in the middle of the desert. Luckily for him, a young Jansai girl, Rebekah, finds him on her way to get water for her family’s caravan.

Rebekah, like all other Jansai females, lives a life so sheltered it’s oppressive. It’s obvious that Shinn modeled the Jansai very closely to wacky fundamentalist Islamic regimes like the Taliban. Jansai women are required to keep all of themselves (including their faces) completely covered when not in the presence of immediate family, and are not allowed to go out in public unaccompanied by male relatives. Women found guilty of being “impure” are put to death. So Obadiah is completely out of Rebekah’s realm of experience, but she has a strong streak of independence to go with her compassion, and so their love story begins: she secretly helps nurse Obadiah back to health in defiance of everything she’s ever been taught, and they eventually become lovers when she returns home—quite the dangerous enterprise for both of them, especially Rebekah. How the two of them achieve their happily-ever-after is quite the suspenseful ride, but the resolution is very, very satisfying, if occasionally heart-stopping.

I really enjoyed this book. It is mostly character-driven, and Shinn does a good job with the people who populate the novel. I loved Obadiah when I first encountered him in Archangel, and I loved the opportunity to finally get into his head and see things from his point view. On the other hand, I found Rebekah and her wishy-washiness regarding Obadiah a little annoying at times, but then I realized that growing up as she did, her feelings about what she was doing and who she was doing it with could hardly be unequivocal. Elizabeth, however, was the character who grew and changed the most, and the transformation was very satisfying to see. She starts out as an unhappy, rather petulant woman who longs most of all for a life of luxurious idleness, and by the end of the book she has matured tremendously and manages to build true happiness from her circumstances.

Shinn also manages to present the angel-seekers with a lot of depth and sympathy. The seekers are generally treated with contempt by both people and angels, but Shinn convincingly shows us why many of these women are driven to do what they do, especially Elizabeth and her circle of friends.

I only have one small beef with the book, and it’s in the way Shinn writes about the Jansai. I know there are cultures that are based on oppression of the weak, and I can buy that these types of cultures don’t always produce the nicest people. I didn’t really have a problem with seeing many of the Jansai men being presented as greedy, brutish and selfish. But not only are they evil oppressors, they’re also FAT. And DIRTY. What the fuck? I think the dirty bit was what bothered me the most, because I grew up in a Muslim country (though I was raised Buddhist and am now officially agnostic), and I’ll tell you what: ritual purity and cleanliness are very important to most Muslim cultures. I would’ve appreciated a little bit more depth and balance to the portrayal of the Jansai; throwing in “fat and dirty” to add to their general villainy essentially pushed the race from being credible to being caricatures.

Anyway, if you enjoyed the previous Samaria novels, what are you waiting for? Go get it; this is one of the best so far. (But just to give you an idea of my tastes: Unlike most other readers, I found Archangel a bit underwhelming and really, really liked Jovah’s Angel.) If you’ve never tried Sharon Shinn and you like love stories set in other worlds, then check her out, she’s one of the best.

Notes:
The Samaria novels, in the order in which they were published:

Archangel
Jovah’s Angel
The Alleluia Files
Angelica
Angel-Seeker