by Mariah Stone
She crossed her arms over her chest. “We can agree on that.”
Her hand went under the cloak and produced a square sheet of paper. On it was some sort of a drawing. Something square with letters and numbers.
“Will you build me a stove?” Kate asked.
Ian took the sheet and studied it. It was a rectangular construction of stone with an opening for a fire like in the bread oven, but flat on top and with two round plates on the surface. There was also a tube, probably for venting out the smoke.
“Whatever it is, I’ll build it for ye. I’ll build ye a castle if ye stay,” Ian said.
“I don’t need a castle. All I need is you. And a better kitchen.”
She stared at him with her bottomless, sparkling eyes, and he couldn’t believe his ears and eyes.
“Lord,” Frangean said, “’tis where ye kiss the lass.”
Kate arched one brow. Ian wrapped his arms around her, so precious and smelling like something sweet and delicious that he wanted to devour in one bite.
“I didna think I’d ever see ye again, lass,” he said.
“I didn’t think I’d see you, either. But here I am. And whatever you think, you can make me happy. You have enough to give. And even if you’re broken, I don’t need you any other way. I love you, Ian Cambel.”
Something warmed and came together in his chest, and wholeness enveloped him like a soft blanket.
“I love you more than life itself, Katie. I’ll spend the rest of my life cherishing you, loving you, worshiping you, and making you the happiest woman alive.”
“There’s one thing you can do towards that right now,” she said.
“What?”
“Kiss me.”
And with the broadest smile his face had ever held, he lowered his head and covered her mouth with his. As his lips brushed against hers, as his tongue met hers, fire seethed through him, melting and dissolving his latest doubts, concerns, and broken parts. Because the love of his life was in his arms, and she wanted him.
And his heart was finally whole.
Epilogue
Dundail, October 1308
Ian tapped his foot against the ground. He stood by the entrance to the small wooden church at Benlochy village, his heart tapping even faster than his foot.
Craig, whom Ian had asked to be his best man, stood by his side, one hand on his sword—although Ian was sure no one would disrupt the ceremony. But tradition dictated that he had a best man, meaning the best swordsman, to protect the bride and the groom.
Ian would rather die than let anything happen to Kate.
He might die soon anyway, his heart on the verge of bursting from anticipation, if she didn’t appear in the next moment.
Their guests, including the whole Cambel clan, waited before the church. His uncles Neil and Dougal, Craig's wife, Amy, with a round belly, Ian's cousin Domhnall and his wife. Marjorie, Ian’s cousin and Craig’s sister, was on her own adventure and unable to make it to the wedding. Owen was in Inverlochy, waiting for someone important to come back, as Craig had told Ian. Owen had said that even an earthquake wouldn’t make him leave the castle. Ian wondered if he’d waited for a time traveler, too. Verra few knew about the time travel. It was like a clan secret, and those who knew guarded it with their lives.
Finally, Kate appeared in a sky-blue gown of delicate wool that flowed over her curves like water. Her hair was braided into a crown around her head, with some locks descending over her shoulders to lie on her chest. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold, or mayhap from the same anticipation that trembled in his own breast. Her blue eyes shone bright as she walked. Their eyes locked, and Ian couldn’t breathe. She was so lovely.
Manning accompanied Kate, his chest puffed up, his chin sticking out proudly.
Then she stood before Ian, and he had to stop himself from reaching out, enveloping her in his arms and kissing her until she softened.
The priest coughed.
“Dearly beloved,” he said. “We’re gathered here to join Ian Cambel and Kate Anderson in holy matrimony. Does anyone know of any reason why these two canna be together?”
Ian and Kate exchanged a glance, and Kate giggled. Ian couldn’t have cared less if anyone minded him marrying Kate, but the questions were the part of the church wedding ceremony that needed to be cleared before they could be marrit.
When no one said anything, the priest continued. “Are those to be wedded of age?”
“Aye,” Ian said.
“Yes,” Kate echoed.
In fact, they both were probably the oldest couple the priest would ever wed. Most marriages took place before the bride and groom were nineteen years old.
“As neither of ye have living parents, the parental consent isna necessary,” the priest said. “Are ye nae related?”
“Nae,” Ian said.
“Definitely not,” Kate said.
“Aye, good. Now ye may exchange the vows.”
Ian’s whole body tingled as he took out the silver ring he’d ordered the day after Kate came back. His name and hers were engraved on it. His fingers shook a little as he took Kate’s hand in his, the ring in front of her finger. Her hand was cool and soft, and it shook, too. She smiled at him, and everything else melted away. Just him and her.
Then the words came easily.
“I vow to lay down my life for ye, Kate. I vow to nae let a single day pass when ye dinna have the brightest smile on yer face. I vow to give ye the best kitchen ye’ve dreamed of nae matter how interesting yer cooking creations. Yer name shall be the only one I cry out at night, and yer eyes will be the only ones I see each morning. I vow to be yer shield and yer sword. My heart shall beat for ye until my last breath.”
Her eyes watered and she smiled, and Ian swallowed a knot of emotion himself. Gently, he put the ring on her finger, and her smile bloomed, threatening to cut her face in two.
“Now yer turn, lass,” the priest said.
Kate took out the ring, a simple golden band Ian assumed she had brought with her from the future. As she held it in her hand, he saw the engraving: “My heart, your heart.” The words brought a surge of emotion to his chest. He felt as if physical ties extended to Kate through his hands, their bond even stronger than before.
“I vow to be your wife in every sense of the word. I vow to give you the first bite of my bread and the first sip of my wine. I vow to cherish you and spoil you every day with my cooking. And I vow to love you as long as my heart beats.”
Her vows made a wave of happiness swell in him, like fresh Highlands air after the heat of a desert. Hearing her say those words out loud released the last of his doubts about his worthiness. If God had given him this woman, God must have forgiven him. Abaeze must have forgiven him.
So Ian would forgive himself.
Forgiveness and acceptance flooded his body, warm and soothing, releasing and unfolding the last of his tension and pain.
“Before God, ye are now wedded as husband and wife,” the priest announced. “Ye may now kiss the bride.”
Ian didn’t hesitate. He pulled Kate close and took her into his arms. Then he planted the kiss he’d wanted to give her for a while. She was his, aye, had been ever since he’d first laid eyes on her. But now she was his before God, and no one could dare to say otherwise.
It was their first kiss as husband and wife.
The first kiss of them bound together.
He kissed her gently, but with the power of all the love that he had for her. Her lips opened to him like the petals of a rose in spring—soft, and warm, and tender. His tongue stroked hers, licked it, promising what he’d do to her next, to consummate the marriage. She exhaled a moan, audible only to him, and set his blood on fire with just that.
A cough brought Ian back to reality. He stopped and glanced at the priest who looked at him with reproach.
“Now I invite everyone into the church to bless the union with the sermon and the prayers,” the priest said.
Their crowd of g
uests erupted in a cheer, and they followed the priest inside the church. During the sermon, Ian welcomed it as an opportunity to ask God personally to bless him and Kate.
After the sermon, they all went back to Dundail. The guests went in first, ceremoniously. When everyone was inside, Ian squeezed his wife’s hand and they entered the great hall. Cheers and hoots burst from the small crowd of a hundred or so, and coins were thrown at them as a symbol of wealth and prosperity.
Kate and he stopped before their guests, and Ian’s heart filled with warmth at the sight of his clan. They gave way to Kate and Ian, and he walked with his wife through the crowd to the table of honor.
“I must be the happiest man in the world,” Ian said to Kate.
“Not as happy as I am,” Kate said, leaning her head on his shoulder.
Amy Cambel came up to them, and Kate beamed, and the two women turned around and talked in English. Ian marveled at the two of them, from the future, who had both come to the past to find the happiness of their lifetime.
When Amy returned to her seat, Kate turned to Ian, giddy with excitement. “She’s really from my country, my time. I just found a new friend,” she said joyfully. “Such a wonderful woman.”
“Nae as wonderful as ye are.”
The servants Ian had hired for the feast brought in the dishes. Ian had to hire more cooks, too, to help Kate. But she was still in charge of the kitchen together with Manning. The Crazy Mary was brought in, emitting all kinds of delicious aromas, as well as roasted fish, game, venison, and pork. Bread and cooked vegetables were brought in, as well as more wine, ale, and uisge.
A minstrel started a Gaelic ballad, and the atmosphere grew even more cheerful. Ian had asked Manning to find the Cambel banners, and Cadha had cleaned them with pleasure. Now they hung on the walls of the great hall, just as Ian remembered from his father’s early days.
Ian didn’t think he’d ever been as happy as he was now.
“You’re smiling,” Kate whispered. “You haven’t stopped smiling.”
“Aye, since I saw ye by the church.”
“I love it when you smile.”
“’Tis because ye filled my heart. Ye mended all the cracks and found the broken pieces. Yer love healed me.”
“And your love healed me.”
“Do ye ken what I’d like to do now that my heart is healed?”
“What?”
“Consummate the marriage. And see if that fertility custom of holding a bairn has any powers.”
Kate giggled, her cheeks blushing.
“But we have all these guests.”
Ian stood up and raised his glass. “Good men and women,” he announced. “’Tis customary that the marriage doesna have powers until ’tis consummated. Do ye, good people, mind if my bride and I retreat for that purpose?”
The hall erupted in cheers of approval and wolf howls. Men and women beat against the tables with their fists.
“See,” he said. “The guests dinna mind.”
He offered his hand to Kate and she placed her palm into his.
“Come, Katie” he said. “I canna wait to make ye my wife—as ye said, in all senses of the word.”
She followed him, Ian’s cock hardening in anticipation of giving her the pleasure she deserved.
But as the door of his bedchamber closed and he began undressing, the part of his body that swelled the most was his heart.
THE END
Loved Ian and Kate’s story? Read Owen and Amber’s story in Highlander’s Love.
Find out why Sìneag started matchmaking people through time in a free prequel: https://mariahstone.com/sineag/
Glimpse into Highlander’s Love
She’s on the run. He’s digging in. When their destinies collide in medieval Scotland, will they forge a love for the ages?
Afghanistan, 2020. US Army officer Amber Ryan never imagined her honor would come under fire. Framed for murdering her ex-boyfriend, she flees to Scotland and hides out in the ruins of Inverlochy Castle. But when a Highland faerie transports her back in time, she’s catapulted into a fierce skirmish fighting alongside a handsome warrior.
The Scottish Highlands, 1308. Rebellious rake Owen Cambel refuses to serve the clan on any terms but his own. Shocked when he witnesses a gorgeous dark-skinned woman valiantly battling men in the castle, he risks life and limb to save her, only to lead them both into English captivity. And as they plot their escape, he loses his heart to the exotic beauty.
Though Amber is careful not to give too much away, she can’t help falling for the rugged Scot. But if Owen tries to protect the lovely lass, one misstep could doom the future of his clan and change the course of history.
Can the unlikely couple conquer their foes and secure a happily-ever-after?
Highlander’s Love is the fourth book in the enthralling Called by a Highlander time travel romance series. If you like sweeping historical novels, interracial passion, and courageous heroes, then you’ll adore Mariah Stone’s steamy tale.
Buy Highlander’s Love to return to the arms of desire today!
Prologue
Lands near Loch Awe, 1295
A woman’s scream pierced the air.
“Whoah!” Owen Cambel pulled on the reins of his horse. He’d soon arrive at Innes Chonnel Castle, his clan’s seat. He knew he shouldn’t stop at all, given what he was carrying, but he couldn’t ignore the scream on his clan’s land.
Birds chirped in the woods around him, leaves rustled in the wind, a woodpecker tapped. It smelled like—
“Ahhh! Help!” There it was again. A woman needed aid.
Where was she? A breeze shuddered through the branches of tall trees. Butterflies fluttered by the daisies. He put his hand on his claymore and clicked with his tongue to get the horse to carry on slowly down the path.
“Get off me!” a woman screamed from somewhere ahead.
All ye’re good at is finding distractions and chasing skirts instead of taking responsibility and being a leader like yer brothers. His father’s harsh words echoed in his head.
But the woman was clearly in danger. Owen couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t help someone when they needed it. His heart beat hard as he spurred the horse on and rode faster, his fist clenching the handle of his sword. Between the trees to his left, movement caught his eye. A man crushed a young lass against a tree, moving his hands up and down her body. She tried to push him away and writhed to free herself.
Owen pulled his horse to a stop. “Let her go!”
The man turned, his face dark and threatening. He walked towards Owen and took out a dagger, his biceps bulging under his sleeves, his chest as broad as a barrel. How could Owen defeat a man like this alone? He wasn’t a small lad at sixteen, but the man clearly superseded him in size and strength. Pulse beating in his ears, he jumped off the horse and unsheathed his claymore.
“Are ye going to fight me with a dagger?” Owen said.
“Shut up, pup,” the man grunted.
He launched at Owen and thrust the dagger, but Owen hadn’t trained with swords since the age of eight for nothing. He ducked and deflected the weapon. It fell into the grass, leaving the man empty-handed.
His face reddened, and instead of looking for his weapon, he threw himself at Owen like a furious bull. Owen stepped out of the way, not willing to harm an unarmed man, and his attacker fell forward onto the grass. He put his sword at the man’s throat and stilled, panting.
“I dinna wish to kill ye,” Owen said. “Who is he to ye, lass?”
“I dinna ken him,” she said. “He took my silver and wanted…more.”
“Give her the silver back,” Owen spat.
“I will give ye nothin’,” the man growled through his teeth.
Owen pressed the edge of the claymore closer to the man’s neck. “Ye will, or ye’ll die.”
The man reached into the purse that hung on his belt. He removed a leather pouch and tossed it on the ground.
“Good,” Owen said.
“Now leave.”
The man threw a malicious glance at Owen, turned around, and walked into the woods without looking back. When Owen couldn’t see him anymore, he put his claymore into its sheath. The lass sat by the tree, shaking. He picked up her purse and the man’s dagger and brought them to her.
“Take yer silver and this for protection.”
Owen’s chest puffed. Not only did he carry a very important gift for King John Balliol from the MacDougalls, but he’d also met and saved a beautiful lass. With trembling hands, she took the purse and the dagger. Her blond hair was in disarray, her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were wide and wet. She didn’t look any older than him and was so pretty, so vulnerable, so defenseless.
“Thank ye,” she said.
He sank down to squat before her. “What is yer name?”
“Aileene.”
Her torn dress and undertunic showed more skin on her chest than a modest woman would show.
“Do ye live nearby?” Owen said.
“The village is a fair walk away.”
“Someone waits for ye? A husband, mayhap? I can take ye home.”
He needed to be careful riding alone with enough gold to buy an estate, but who would presume a youth like him was carrying a sack of gold? And the lass clearly needed help…
“I’m nae marrit yet.” She rubbed her ankle under the dress. “I dinna think I can move yet.”
“Aye. I’ll make fire to warm ye, and ye can have my bread and cheese for the road.”
But what about the gold? Shouldn’t he take it to Innes Chonnel first? A pretty smile bloomed on her face.
No, the best way to hide something was to put it in plain sight, right? And he felt needed, appreciated, important.
“When ye feel better, I take ye wherever ye want,” he added.
“Ye have a heart of gold, lord,” she said.
She called him lord… Warmth spread in Owen’s chest. At his age, he hadn’t done anything yet to deserve the name. Aye, his uncle was the chief of his clan and a close ally of King Robert the Bruce, and his father was a great warrior, and so were his brothers. Clan Cambel were proud descendants of Diarmid the Boar, a great hero from legends. And yet it was the first time in Owen’s life that he’d felt important.