What happens when you take a kidnapping plot, a feverish bride, and a stubborn Highlander and throw them into ten hours of Scottish chaos? You get something that's either going to charm you or drive you up the wall — and honestly, Sweet Revenge did both to me in equal measure.
I started this one on a Sunday morning while redesigning a logo for a local mezcalería, Frida curled up on my keyboard like she does when she senses I need emotional support. And look, I came in wanting that cozy, swoon-worthy historical romance energy. Lynsay Sands has been writing these since before I could hold a pencil, so there's a certain comfort-food quality I was banking on.
Galen MacDonald and the Art of Terrible Decision-Making
So here's the setup: Galen kidnaps Kyla to get revenge on his enemy, discovers she's burning up with fever, and marries her while she's basically delirious. And I just — okay, I KNOW historical romances play by different rules. I grew up watching telenovelas where men did far worse and my abuela still rooted for them. But the way Sweet Revenge handles the consent question is very "don't think too hard about it, just enjoy the banter," and your mileage will vary wildly depending on how much you're willing to suspend modern sensibilities.
What actually works is the dynamic once Kyla comes to her senses. She's furious. She's wielding blades. She's not some wilting damsel grateful to be "rescued" into marriage — she's pissed, and rightfully so. The push-pull between her and Galen has genuine spark. There's a scene where she basically tells him off while still weak from fever, and I was like, yes, girl, READ HIM. That fire is what kept me listening through the slower stretches.
But here's where things get repetitive: the capture-escape-rescue cycle. Kyla gets into danger. Galen saves her. Kyla gets into danger again. Galen saves her again. By the third or fourth time, I was less "oh no!" and more "oh, again?" It starts feeling like the plot is running on a loop rather than building toward something. The tension should escalate, but instead it just... recycles.
Elle Newland's Voice in the Highlands
Elle Newland does solid work here. Her Scottish accent for Galen is warm without being cartoonish, and she gives Kyla enough bite in her delivery that you believe this woman would actually fight back. The narration is steady and clear — no weird audio drops, no jarring character voice switches. She's reliable.
But — and this is where I wish I had more to give you — I didn't get that gut-punch narrator magic I live for. You know what I mean? Julia Whelan makes you forget someone is reading to you. Newland is good, competent, keeps you in the story, but I never had a moment where her voice cracked something open in my chest. For a book that hinges on the emotional transition from forced marriage to real love, I wanted more vulnerability in the quieter moments. The angry scenes land well. The tender ones feel a little surface-level.
At 1.0x speed (because I'm savoring, always), the ten-hour runtime felt about right for the story being told, though I'll admit my attention wandered during some of the middle chapters where the repetitive rescue structure dragged.
Who This Is Actually For
If you love classic 90s-style historical romance — the kind where the hero is possessive but ultimately devoted, the heroine is feisty, and the Scottish Highlands are basically a character — this will scratch that itch. It's comfort reading. It's not trying to reinvent anything.
But if you need tight plotting, if repetitive kidnapping subplots make you want to throw your phone, or if you can't get past the "married her while she was feverish" premise without bristling — skip it. No shame either way. Paranoid gave me that same "do I love this or am I just frustrated" feeling, though it at least kept me on my toes in a way the recycled rescue loop here never quite managed.
I didn't cry. Not once. (That's basically a failing grade in my world.) I smiled a few times. I rolled my eyes a few times. Diego knocked my headphones off the nightstand at one point and I took it as his literary criticism.
Abuela would've eaten this up, though. She loved a possessive Highlander type. She would've been fanning herself and saying "Ay, qué hombre" while simultaneously telling me the heroine should've hit him harder. God, I miss her.
A Warm Blanket with a Few Holes in It
Sweet Revenge is the audiobook equivalent of comfort food that's slightly undercooked in the middle. The ingredients are there — enemies-to-lovers tension, a strong heroine, Scottish Highland atmosphere — but the execution keeps circling back on itself instead of deepening. Newland's narration carries it competently without ever setting it on fire. It's fine. It's pleasant. But "fine" and "pleasant" aren't why I keep that crying spreadsheet.
