He closed his eyes and swallowed the lump jammed in his throat. Even so, when he looked at her again and spoke, his voice was gruff. "Och, Kirsty, if ye keep that up, you’ll soon have me bawling, too."
She gave another choked laugh. "No’ ye, my doughty knight."
"So what do ye think of my plans?"
Transcendent love lit her face as she raised a shaking hand to stroke his jaw. "What else can a lassie say but ‘aye, I’ll go with ye to the ends of the earth,’ my darling Dougal?"
His heart flooded with such happiness that it threatened to burst. "My darling, ye do me too much honor."
He caught her up for a deep kiss that started out in reverent dedication but soon flared into volcanic heat. His hand curved possessively around one luscious breast, and he shifted over her with unconcealed intent.
"Och, Dougal," she gasped, as his naked body settled heavy and ready against hers.
"Och, Dougal, indeed," he said with a laugh.
After that, neither of them said anything sensible for a long while.
Epilogue
Askaval, Christmas Day, 1729
At the end of another riotous reel, Kirsty Drummond collapsed laughing into her husband’s strong arms. Around her, the room broke into animated chatter and more laughter as the fiddlers tuned for the next set.
The hall at Tigh na Mara was heaving with people attending the annual Christmas ceilidh, and the dancers had spilled out into the drawing room and the dining room on either side. Kirsty was so glad she’d supervised the removal of most of the furniture from the house’s ground floor. She’d also commandeered the library as somewhere for people to sit and converse, if they didn’t feel like dancing. Last time she’d checked, it was empty, as even the guests not up to the vigorous measures had come out to join the fun.
The house was bright and cheerful with Christmas greenery and pretty decorations made of ribbons and colored paper and gilt. Kirsty would lay good money that nowhere on earth was more festive than Tigh na Mara tonight.
Dougal smiled down at her from his great height as he took her hand and led her to the sidelines. "The Bruard crowd fit in as though they were born to be here."
For their first Christmas as a married couple, they’d invited Dougal’s family to join them, which partly explained the crush. Four days ago, his parents John and Kate had arrived with his six brothers and sisters and assorted Mackinnon relatives from Achnasheen. There wasn’t a spare bed on the island.
"I think your parents are getting used to the way we do things."
On first visiting Askaval last January for Dougal and Kirsty’s wedding, the older Drummonds had seemed rather taken aback at the easy relations between the crofters and the laird’s family, and even more, the lack of formality at the big house. After Kirsty traveled to Bruard a couple of months later, she understood why.
When she’d married Dougal, she hadn’t realized what a powerful family he belonged to. For a start, he’d grown up in an actual castle, not to mention that the chieftain of the Drummond clan was responsible for hundreds of his kinfolk.
His father had been rather forbidding to a new bride, but she’d come to love him just as he’d come to love her. Dougal’s transparent happiness in his new life had soon helped John accept his son’s young wife. Her mother-in-law, Kate, however, had welcomed Kirsty from the beginning, and the two had quickly become fast friends.
Dougal gave a low laugh. "Aye, we dinnae stand on ceremony here. In case ye hadnae noticed."
She snickered at the sly reference to the day he’d arrived on the island. "That’s the Macbain way, my love."
The fiddlers played the introduction to another reel. Across the room, Kirsty watched Gus bow to a widowed Mackinnon aunt and present his arm. Aha, now that was interesting. Her father was always in his element at the Christmas party, and he looked happy and proud as he led the lady out onto the floor.
He’d been delighted when Dougal married Kirsty, and the comings and goings between the families this last year had provided him with a host of new acquaintances. She knew he’d been lonely since her mother’s death. It was only when she saw how his spirits revived with fresh company that she realized quite how lonely.
Dougal slid his arm around her waist. "Your father seems to like Aunt Rachel."
Kirsty shouldn’t be surprised that he guessed her thoughts. Their swift affinity when they met had grown to an almost uncanny level since they wed. "Aye. That’s the third time he’s danced with her."
"I think she likes him, too." Kirsty looked up at her handsome husband, elegant in his formal Drummond green and yellow kilt and his black velvet jacket with silver buttons. His rich red hair was tied back in a queue. A year of marriage had added maturity to his features, but his male beauty was still powerful enough to make her weak at the knees.
"Can I tempt my bonny wife to another measure?" That brilliant smile could still make her feel giddy, too.
Although perhaps tonight the giddiness wasn’t entirely because she was mad for the man she’d married.
"Later." It was nearly midnight, but the Christmas ceilidh always continued past dawn. "Come outside. I have a fancy to kiss my lord and master under the stars."
An inquiring auburn brow tilted in her direction. "Lord and master, is it?"
She batted her eyelashes at him. "Of course."
His sardonic laugh warmed her blood. Because their year together hadn’t entirely been smooth sailing. With two such stubborn people joined in wedlock, there had been a few contests of will, as they worked out how they meant to go on. So far, honors were about even, and by heaven, Kirsty did love it when they came together to reconcile after an argument. That was always breathtakingly exciting.
"I cannae take the prettiest lass at the party away from her admirers."
"Och, Dougal, go on with ye."
"It’s true. Have I told ye how well that gown becomes you?"
"You have, but ye may tell me again."
The purple silk with Brussels lace trimming was one of the extravagant dresses she’d bought in Paris on their wedding trip. Gus wasn’t the only one whose horizons had expanded this last year. When Kirsty met Dougal, she hadn’t been further afield than Edinburgh. Now she’d visited London and France, both of which she’d loved, but privately thought were nothing to compare to her lovely island.
"But then ye look marvelous in everything you wear. Even breeches."
"I’ll get back into those, after your parents leave for Bruard. They think ye married a civilized lady and not a shocking hoyden."
He pressed a kiss to her ruffled black hair, caught up in a mass of curls on her crown. At the start of the night, the style had been the height of sophistication, but the energetic dancing had dislodged a few of the pins holding it secure.
"I love my shocking hoyden."
"And I love my gallant knight," she said softly, staring up into his gleaming blue eyes.
The dancing started again. "Are ye sure you dinnae want to join in?"
"Next one. Let’s sneak away now while nobody is paying attention."
"Very well." His smile turned roguish. "I never say no to a kiss in the dark."
She gave a splutter of amusement. "Ye never say no to a kiss anywhere. No’ to mention the rest."
To her delight, he blushed. His fair skin still betrayed him. "Ye ken I have an awfu’ powerful hunger for the headstrong lass I married."
"I ken ye do, my fine Highland laddie. And the headstrong lass wouldnae have it any other way."
"There’s too many people in here."
That low growl always made her bones vibrate with excitement. "Which is why I want to go outside."
"Why didnae ye say so earlier, you daft lassie?"
She sent him a sideways look that told him his teasing didn’t charm her, although it did. "Shall we go?"
She’d been wrong about nobody noticing them. It took much longer than she’d intended to leave the room. So many people wanted to talk to them and wish them
the compliments of the season and say what a lovely party it was. As Kirsty whisked Dougal out the front door and into the cold, clear night, the clocks were chiming the hour.
"Oh, blast," she muttered, taking his hand and drawing him down the steps to the gravel drive.
She clutched the shawl she’d snatched from the hall closer around her shoulders. Behind them she heard laughter and conversation and music. Above her sparkled the glorious stars.
"What’s wrong?" he asked, leading her toward the bare elm trees that edged the drive and which would hide them from observing eyes.
"I had a fancy to kiss ye on the stroke of midnight."
His soft chuckle melted her brief annoyance. "Och, who cares what time it is, mo chridhe? Come and kiss me anyway."
She leaned against him as he took her into his arms and kissed her with a tender care that made her feel like the most beloved woman in Scotland. With a sigh of pleasure, she responded with all the adoration and gratitude brimming in her heart.
When the kiss showed signs of heating up, she reluctantly drew away. "Wait, Dougal."
"Dinnae tease me, Kirsty," he groaned. "It’s as cold as a witch’s tit out here, and the only thing keeping me warm is holding ye close."
It was cold. Too cold to linger, but she’d been desperate for a moment’s privacy that the house wouldn’t provide. "I willnae make ye wait too long, my love, but I have something important to tell you."
In the light flooding from the house, she caught the flash of his straight, white teeth as he smiled. His hands settled in a loose hold at her waist. "This year ye want to go to Vienna and Rome?"
"No."
"Back to Paris?"
She shook her head, enjoying herself, but aware that the weather wasn’t conducive to alfresco discussions. "No, this year, we’ll be staying close to home."
He looked puzzled. "Aye, and why is that, love of my life? Have ye already tired of seeing the world?"
"No’ a bit of it." She stared up into his remarkable face. "But we have good reason no’ to go too far. At least until June or July."
"June or July," he echoed, and she noted the precise moment he understood just what she was telling him. Even in the uncertain light, she saw delight transform his expression. "A bairn? You’re going to have a bairn, my darling?"
She placed one hand on her still-flat stomach. "Aye, in the summer."
The hand Dougal rested over hers was shaking. She had a notion that her baby could already feel the power of its parents’ love. "A son or a daughter."
She gave a choked laugh. "That’s how it usually works."
His hand flexed over hers. "Och, Kirsty, I’m so happy."
"Me, too," she said as he tugged her against him for more kisses. When eventually he lifted his head, a husky laugh escaped him. "Is that no’ the best news that a man can hear?"
"Happy Christmas, Dougal," she whispered.
He sighed. "You’re crying, aren’t ye?"
Kirsty raised her hands to dash the silly, sentimental tears from her eyes. "Ye know I always cry when I’m happy."
"Och, I do," he said. She knew he tried to give the impression of long-suffering tolerance, but the weight of love in his voice just made him sound like a man contented with where life had led him. "If I have any say in it, your next fifty years are going to be very watery indeed."
She roused a cracked giggle. "I hope so, my wonderful husband. I do hope so."
As exuberant music rang out from Tigh na Mara behind them and the stars shone high over Askaval, Dougal took Kirsty into his arms once more. His passionate kiss was a wordless promise of joy and love to brighten all their days together.
***
I hope you’ve enjoyed visiting the world of The Lairds Most Likely. If you’ve missed out on them, the first four books in the series are The Laird’s Willful Lass, The Laird’s Christmas Kiss, The Highlander’s Lost Lady, and The Highlander’s Defiant Captive. Continue reading for an introduction to all four stories, and a short excerpt from The Highlander’s Defiant Captive.
The Laird's Willful Lass: The Lairds Most Likely Book One
An untamed man as immovable as a Highland mountain…
Fergus Mackinnon, autocratic Laird of Achnasheen, likes to be in charge. When he was little more than a lad, he became master of his Scottish estate, and he’s learned to rely on his unfailing judgment. So has everyone else in his corner of the world. He sees no reason for his bride—when he finds her—to be any different.
A headstrong woman from the warm and passionate south…
Marina Lucchetti knows all about fighting her way through a wall of masculine arrogance. In her native Florence, she’s become a successful artist, no easy feat for a woman. Now a commission to paint a series of Highland scenes promises to spread her fame far and wide. When a carriage accident strands her at Achnasheen for a few weeks, it’s a mixed blessing. The magnificent landscape offers everything her artistic soul could desire. If only she can resist the impulse to smash her easel across the laird’s obstinate head.
When two fiery souls come together, a conflagration flares.
Marina is Fergus’s worst nightmare—a woman who defies a man’s guidance. Fergus challenges everything Marina believes about a woman’s right to choose her path. No two people could be less suited. But when irresistible passion enters the equation, good sense soon jumps into the loch.
Will the desire between Fergus and Marina blaze hot, then fade to ashes? Or will the imperious laird and his willful lass discover that their differences aren’t insurmountable after all, but the spice that will flavor a lifetime of happiness?
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The Laird's Christmas Kiss: The Lairds Most Likely Book Two
Down with love!
Ever since she was fifteen, shy wallflower Elspeth Douglas has pined in vain for the attentions of dashing Brody Girvan, Laird of Invermackie. But the rakish Highlander doesn’t even know she’s alive. Now she’s twenty, she realizes that she’ll never be happy until she stops loving her brother’s handsome friend. When family and friends gather at Achnasheen Castle for Christmas, she intends to show the world that’s she’s all grown up, and grown out of silly crushes on gorgeous Scotsmen. So take that, my gallant laddie!
Girls just want to have fun…
Except it turns out that Brody isn’t singing from the same Christmas carol sheet. Elspeth decides she’s not interested in him anymore, just as he decides he’s very interested indeed. In fact, now he looks more closely, his friend Hamish’s sister is pretty and funny and forthright – and just the lassie to share his Highland estate. Convincing his little wren of his romantic intentions is difficult enough, even before she undergoes a makeover and becomes the belle of Achnasheen. For once in his life, dissolute Brody is burdened with honorable intentions, while the lady he pursues is set on flirtation with no strings attached.
Deck the halls with mistletoe!
With interfering friends and a crate of imported mistletoe thrown into the mix, the stage is set for a house party rife with secrets, clandestine kisses, misunderstandings, heartache, scandal, and love triumphant.
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The Highlander's Lost Lady: The Lairds Most Likely Book Three
A Highlander as brave and strong as a knight of old…
When Diarmid Mactavish, Laird of Invertavey, discovers a mysterious woman washed up on his land after a wild storm, he takes her in and tries to find her family. But even as forbidden dreams of sensual fulfillment torment him, he’s convinced that this beautiful lassie isn’t what she seems. And if there’s one thing Diarmid despises, it’s a liar.
A mother willing to do anything to save her daughter…
Widow Fiona Grant has risked everything to break free of her clan and rescue her adolescent daughter from a forced marriage. But before her quest has barely begun, disaster strikes. She escapes her brutish kinsmen, only to be shipwrecked on Mactavish territory where she falls into her enemies’ hand
s. For centuries, a murderous feud has raged between the Mactavishes and the Grants, so how can she trust her darkly handsome host?
Now a twisted Highland road leads to danger and passion…and irresistible love. But is love strong enough to banish the past’s long shadows and offer these wary allies all that their hearts desire?
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The Highlander's Defiant Captive: The Lairds Most Likely Book Four
Peace in the glens means war in the bedchamber!
Scotland. 1699. In a time of heroes, the greatest hero of all is Callum Mackinnon, Laird of Achnasheen. Brave, reckless, canny, and handsome enough to turn any lassie weak at the knees, Callum is a legend in the wild corner of the Highlands where he rules. Now the young laird is determined to choose a new path for his clan and end the violent feud with the Drummonds, a conflict that has painted the glens red with blood for centuries. This means taking Bonny Mhairi Drummond, the Rose of Bruard, as his wife. When negotiations with her pig-headed father break down, Callum seizes matters into his own hands and kidnaps the fairest maiden in Scotland, swearing to make her his own.
Bonny Mhairi is the adored only child of Clan Drummond’s doughty chieftain and she’s inherited all her father’s courage and stubbornness. Not to mention his undying hatred for anyone called Mackinnon. When the Mackinnon chieftain steals her away from her home and vows to woo her into accepting him as her husband, she swears that she’ll never consent to be his bride. But trapped inside her foe’s castle, Mhairi finds it hard to cling to old certainties. She detests her arrogant jailer, even as he sparks a fierce, forbidden hunger in her soul.
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