When Elspeth Murray was nine, she discovered a bleeding teenager hiding on her family’s Scottish holdings, fleeing from a crime he didn’t commit. Elspeth has never forgotten handsome young Cormac Armstrong, the young man her family nursed back to health. Ten years later, Cormac returns the favor by saving Elspeth, now a stunning young healer, from rape and kidnapping at the hands of a rejected suitor.

Elspeth and Cormac journey to court with the would-be kidnappers hot on their trail. Elspeth has wanted Cormac since she was nine years old, and she decides to snare him any way she can. But Cormac has promised himself to Isabel Douglas (this is the “vow” to which the title refers). Cormac’s determination to stand by Isabel has made him the laughingstock of Scotland, since in the ten years they have been together, Isabel has married four other men, all of whom died mysteriously. Elspeth decides to fight fire with fire and sets about seducing Cormac. Cormac can’t offer marriage to Elspeth because of his determination to keep his vow. He wants her badly, but feels that bedding her after her family did so much for him would be a severe breach of honor. He valiantly tries to avoid her by picking up prostitutes, but they all disappear once a determined Elspeth threatens them. So Cormac finally stops resisting, and he and Elspeth fall into bed, again and again and again.

Elspeth and Cormac are a problematic pair. I doubt well-born Elspeth’s plan to seduce Cormac into loving her is realistic for the times, but more importantly, it annoyed me. Elspeth is determined to break up Cormac’s relationship. We would jeer this behavior from the other woman, so why is it suddenly okay coming from the heroine? As for Cormac – well, frankly, Cormac is the dumbest romance hero I’ve ever read. He has practically everyone in Scotland trying to explain to him the truth about his beloved, who’s constantly marrying other men, yet he refuses to believe the evidence. And last time I checked, cheating’s still cheating, whether you do it with a prostitute or a “nice” girl, even though medieval men were not expected to remain “true” to their betrothed or wives.

When I read a Scottish romance, I expect it to evoke the mysterious, magical spirit of Scotland. Except for the excessive Generic Scots dialect, which was applied with a trowel, this story could be anywhere in the medieval world. It takes more than “I didnae ken ye, lassie” to set a scene, and I was very disappointed here.

Ironically, in the final chapters, when Cormac and Elspeth actually start talking, the story became readable and even interesting, but it was too little, too late. There’s some good stuff hiding in Highland Vow, but I doubt many readers will feel like expending all the effort it takes to get there.