Kiss of a Traitor
Available Now
Medallion Press

South Carolina, 1780

Captain Brendan Ford, a spy with Marion’s patriots, stumbles across the perfect way to infiltrate the Loyalist high command when his half brother is killed shortly after arriving in Carolina. Ford assumes his brother’s identity as Lord Montford and fiancé to Wilhelmina Bellingham. But his masquerade requires he actually court her, and the untidy little wren of a girl is not a female to inspire courtship. Soon Ford begins to have the strangest feeling Wilhelmina is trying to kill him. But he perseveres, knowing his ruse will end as soon as the patriots drive the British from Carolina.

Kiss of a Traitor follows Willa and Ford across the sweeping landscape of the South Carolina Low Country during the Southern Campaign of the American Revolutionary War. Through military battles, deception, betrayal, and an undeniable attraction to one another, a Tory and a Patriot must discover what matters most to them--political loyalty or love.

[Read below for an excerpt from Kiss of a Traitor]

"A wonderful book which left me spellbound. I highly recommend it to anyone." 
---5 hearts, The Romance Studio

"This is a terrific Revolutionary War romance. The divisiveness of the war serves as a wonderful backdrop to a fully developed lead couple who bring real meaning to the phrase 'beloved enemy.' "--5 stars, Barnes & Noble and Amazon.com advance reviews

"War is hell!" --9/10 Historical Romance Writers

"A fabulous look at the American Revolution through the loving eyes of two adversaries"--5 stars, Midwest Book Review

"Kiss of a Traitor is a rollicking good adventure set in the uncertain times of the Revolutionary War. Filled with plenty of laugh-out loud scenes, some times when it's difficult to understand man's inhumanity to man, and quite a few steamy encounters, Kiss of a Traitor is a fast-paced, well written story. If readers want to settle down with a big, fat, entertaining novel, Kiss of a Traitor shouldn't be missed."--Romance Reviews Today

"If you loved THE PATRIOT, you'll enjoy this debut"--Fresh Fiction Pick of the Day, January 31st

"Weaving in just the right amount of historical truth, Cat Lindler stayed true to the story and made me forget I once disliked history. Her characters are skillfully honed and filled with life-sized personality. Kiss of a Traitor is definitely worth ordering and Lindler is surely an author to watch."--Amazon.com

"Lindler's Kiss of a Traitor has intelligent characters who keep the story rolling along. A great read."  --Night Owl Romance

"This well-research novel exhibits such descriptive language that one feels in the center of the action. Readers will adore the heroine, who develops into a strong, capable person." --Romantic Times BOOKreviews

Reviewer's Pick! "The author set up the story perfectly; witty banter and a skillful pen that forced the reader into feeling the emotions of her characters, as well as an understanding of the historical time."--Affaire de Coeur

"Kiss of a Traitor is an unusual historic romance. Willa is such an amazing heroine, attacking each challenge or pitfall with grace, strength, and ability. Brendan is her equal in every way and allows her to be who she is without holding back. Ms. Lindler is an excellent author with a wonderful book you've gotta read. I look forward to more of her work."—You Gotta Read Reviews

"Cat Lindler gifts the reader with a delightful and captivating tale, Kiss of a Traitor, set during the Revolutionary War. Cat Lindler and Kiss of a Traitor is destined to provide you with hours of entertainment and leave you with a hero and heroine that will stay with you long after you have turned the last page."—Single Titles, 4.5 stars

Awards: Winner, Romance Through the Ages; Finalist: Golden Palm; The Beacon; Launching a Star; Marlene; Merritt; Heart of the Rockies; Heart of the West

 Excerpt

The rain softened into mist, which dispersed as gloaming crept over the land. A brisk northwestern wind kicked up in its place, turning grassy fields into undulating seas, lifting and swirling dead leaves like tidal eddies. Ford was cold and wet and expected Willa was no better off. He turned up his collar and pulled the butternut jacket closer. When he gazed over his left shoulder, he spied dark clouds billowing on the western horizon. They predicted a storm promising a more bone-chilling wet.

He veered off the track to head toward an abandoned cabin located in several acres of pines, which lay slightly beyond the next rise. General Marion had twice retreated to North Carolina along this same path. The last time, Ford had accompanied him. The cabin was small and lacked luxuries, but from what he recalled, it would provide
sturdy shelter with an intact roof, a fireplace, and a lean-to for the horses. When the clouds scudded closer and the wind whipped up into a gale, he shouted to Willa to hang on and kicked the horses into a gallop.

The wind blew them into the pines, branches moaning and snapping over their heads as they plunged beneath the trees. Ford glanced back to assure himself that a strong gust of wind had not blown Willa off her horse’s back. In the stormy twilight’s dim illumination, he spied her white grin. She had brought up her tethered hands and pulled down the blindfold. It draped around her throat like a necklace. Her hat slapped against her back, held captive only by its rawhide chinstrap. She looked pleased with herself and appealing in a disturbing way with her wild dark hair thrashing about her face and the fury of the elements reflected in her eyes.

Ford slowed Dancer and allowed the paint to come up beside him. He tossed Willa’s reins to her. “Here,” he said,returning her grin. “You might as well take custody of these now. I have grown exceedingly weary of towing you behind me like a pack horse.”

Thunder rolled overhead. A lightning spear hit a pine only yards away. Sparks exploded outward. Both horses jumped when the splintered treetop tumbled, falling and crashing into its neighbors and creating a chain reaction as boles snapped and toppled.

“Follow me,” Ford yelled above the boom of falling timber. He whipped Dancer with the reins into a sprint through the trees. Willa rode directly on his heels. They dodged around the pines at breakneck speed, clipping off low-hanging branches and trampling bushes underfoot. The crushed pine needles’ tarry smell blended with the scent of lightning and the sharp tang of pending rain carried on the wind. An isolated oak’s bare limbs clattered overhead with a sound like angels rapping on a celestial door.

Then the clouds opened up—rain gushed in torrents, painting the pine trunks black and limiting visibility to no more than a few yards. Sodden to the skin, his teeth chattering, Ford glimpsed the cabin ahead. It squatted in a small, cleared area ringed by towering pine trees. Dancer slid to a stop in front of the sagging porch, and Ford leaped off his back. He grabbed the reins and led the horse into the small lean-to clinging against the cabin’s wall. Willa, her shoulders hunched under the weight of her saturated clothing, followed him into the shelter.

Ford ducked beneath Dancer’s neck. Willa had tied off her horse and was fumbling with the saddle cinch. The ropes binding her hands made her movements clumsy. “Go inside,” he said after wiping the rain from his face and releasing her wrists. "Start a fire and remove those wet clothes. I shall care for the horses.”

She hesitated for a moment. Then she nodded and slipped back out into the rain.

He unsaddled the horses and rubbed them down with straw he found in the back of the lean-to. A hay pile sat off to one side. He plucked a handful and inhaled. The fodder was old but clean of mold. After dropping an armful in front of each horse, he hefted the saddlebags and other possessions and darted across the short space to the cabin door. Wood smoke mingled with the clean odor of rain filled his nostrils. Fierce wind tugged at his coat and sought to snatch his hat from his head. Rain pelted the pinewood-shingle roof and streamed from the eaves. Ford flung open the door, burst inside on a blast of wind, and dumped the saddles at his feet. As he slammed the door shut, he paused to catch his breath.

The cabin was a one-room affair with a hard-packed dirt floor, field-stone hearth, and two tiny windows covered with hide that snapped back and forth as the wind tore at them. A wood-and-rope frame bedstead stood against the wall opposite the hearth. In the center of the floor were a crudely-hewn wooden table and two three-legged stools. A rude bench ran along one log wall. An ancient wooden loom, listing to one side on a broken leg, sat in front of the fireplace. Beside the hearth lay a stack of seasoned oak and pine firewood. Pegs on the wall by the door held his rain-soaked greatcoat, which Willa had shed, and her floppy-brimmed, felt hat. He stripped off his drenched jacket and hat and hung them beside hers.

Willa was bending over and using a long stick to stoke the fire into a blazing inferno. The rain had slicked down her hair, molding it to her skull and neck and turning it to sleek, shiny black. The deluge had soaked through the greatcoat to her shirt and trousers and transformed them into sheer cloth that clung to her curves. When she leaned over and straightened back up, the muscles in her buttocks and thighs flexed and beckoned to him like the siren song of Circe.

Ford stood mesmerized. His rampant erection pulsed at the erotic images forming in his mind. When Willa pivoted around, alerted by his sudden silence, she must have identified the heat in his rapt gaze. Her eyes widened, and her expression turned wary. She took a hesitant step away from him.

“Why are you looking at me in that manner?” Her voice trembled. Raising her arms, she crossed them over her chest, covering the pointed nipples standing out against the wet fabric.

His heart beat in his throat, but he settled his features into an expression of passive disinterest. “In what manner?”

“As if you were a hungry dog who has stumbled across a juicy bone.”

Ford blinked and swallowed his reply.

“What are you thinking?”

He turned his eyes from her tempting body, bent and scooped up a bedroll. “Simply that you must be cold and hungry as well as wet.”  He tossed the bedroll to her. “Lay this over that loom to dry.”  To his ears, his voice sounded tight with wanting. Ford reflected on their situation as lust screamed through him. Alone. Alone in a cabin in the woods. Stuck in the wilderness with a storm raging outside. No chance for visitors to drop by. Nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. Alone. Alone with Willa. He had only to bide his time. His plan to bind Willa to him would begin tonight. He could have planned the situation no better. He merely had to sneak in past her picket lines and take her by surprise. Thunder rattled the roof shingles. It seemed the gods were in accord.

He moved away, picked up the other bedroll, and flipped it to land beside her where she stood by the loom. Then he hefted the saddles onto the shaky table. The saddle blankets he spread over the stools. Striding to the fire with the saddlebags, he let them fall beside the hearth. On the pretext of warming himself at the flames, he slowly came about to face Willa again. As she unrolled and hung up the bedrolls, a frown creased her face. Tension radiated from her shoulders and back. She lowered her eyes, and long, silky lashes swept her cold-reddened cheeks.

Willa knew. He could see that she did. It showed in her face and body, every movement slow and careful, as though she were sharing the cabin with a bear. A bear with a sore paw. And she was making an effort to remain invisible, non-threatening, fearing that any sudden move would goad him into attack.