I fully intended to love this book. I had been wanting to read a "Highland hero" book, but without magic or vampires or time-travel, and the ultra-high ratings at GR and elsewhere convinced me to give this author a try.
I didn't hate the book; I hated the heroine. And I didn't much like the hero either. Both are stubborn, overly proud, and uncommunicative. I found myself skimming pages and pages of introspection, where each of them admits to themselves that they've done the wrong thing, but they take a damn long time to admit it to one another.
The plot was rather good, but the book could have been about 100 pages shorter with less of this interior monologue. Even the (very hot!) sex scenes were too long. (I can't believe I just said that.)
I think, however, that the problem is really my own: I prefer my historicals to be in the 18th or 19th centuries rather than in more primitive times. Scotland in 1608 is just too rough, violent, and riddled with hatred for me to enjoy. Regency London and the ton
seems to be just my cup of tea.