His Highland Rose

by Willa Blair

  His Highland Rose

  His Highland Heart Series Prequel

  Willa Blair

  Contents

  Excerpt

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Epilogue

  Coming Soon!

  His Highland Heart

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Afterword

  “Do ye no’ enjoy my touch?”

  “Does it matter?” She didn’t want him to know how he affected her. If he did, he’d never give up his pursuit.

  “Of course. A wife should welcome her husband’s touch.”

  Did he truly believe that? It made him sound like a man who would care for a wife, not treat her like one of the servants—or a brood mare. Not that it mattered. She didn’t want to marry him. And Mary, as eldest, should be the one to claim Iain and become lady of his clan. “Ye will make someone a good husband.”

  “But no’ ye?”

  “I am needed at Rose, and I’m happy as I am.”

  “Ye might be happier as my wife.”

  “Or I might not. By the time I found out, it would be too late.”

  * * *

  IAIN & ANNIE IN HIS HIGHLAND ROSE

  Copyright © 2016 by Linda Williams

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ISBN-13: 9781946153012

  Cover Art by: Tamra Westberry

  * * *

  Other Titles Available at www.willablair.com

  Heart of Stone (Highland Talents Prequel)

  Highland Healer (Highland Talents Book 1)

  Highland Seer (Highland Talents Book 2)

  Highland Troth (Highland Talents Book 3)

  The Healer’s Gift (A Highland Talents Novella)

  When Highland Lightning Strikes (A Highland Talents Novella)

  Sweetie Pie (A Candy Hearts Novella)

  Waiting for the Laird

  His Highland Heart (His Highland Heart Book 1 - Coming Soon!)

  Created with Vellum

  Dedication

  To Laird Peter, my loving husband, without whom I would never have learned enough about love to write these stories.

  Chapter 1

  For all the years Iain Brodie had trained to succeed his father as the Brodie chief, he’d known this day would come—and dreaded it. The neighboring Rose keep loomed ahead, a fortress built of stone and timbers overlooking the Moray Firth. Just as it marked the northwest side of Brodie, the firth marked the northerly limits of Rose territory. Iain couldn’t see the water but the breeze carried its salty scent.

  “Do ye think ye will find what ye need there?” his cousin Kenneth asked. Kenneth gazed at the keep ahead, his brow drawn down as he studied their destination.

  Iain pulled his mount to a halt. It surprised him by backing up a few paces, as if it sensed his disquiet and was ready to carry him away. He urged it forward, even with Kenneth, who’d stopped to wait for him. “Even if I do, ’tis something I would rather leave for another day…or year.” He clenched his jaw. Soon he would lose his freedom, and the shackles awaited him in that keep.

  “Ye’re a fine one with the lasses, aye. ’Twill be hard to give them all up,” Kenneth said and shrugged, “but ye are nearly out of time to prove yerself ready to lead the clan.”

  “I dinna need a reminder,” Iain growled, the weight of responsibility settling solidly on his shoulders. He shifted in the saddle, tempted despite the cost to turn his mount aside, away from what lay ahead. He could not. He’d only delay the inevitable, longer, perhaps, than the time he had left. He’d lose everything. “Da is getting worse. He may not last another year.”

  Kenneth gave him an understanding nod. “And so ye must convince him and the clan elders ye are fit to lead.”

  Iain’s lips compressed into a thin line. “Damn it, did he send ye to blather on about the years I’ve wasted since my beard first grew? I’ve heard it from him—too many times.”

  “I came with ye because I’ve been guarding yer back since we were weans and fought our battles with wooden swords,” Kenneth replied tightly.

  Iain had to acknowledge that. He nodded. Early in his training, the younger Kenneth had mistimed swinging his wee wooden sword and hit an older and much bigger lad in the face. The lad had knocked him to the ground and started beating him. Iain, more the size of Kenneth’s attacker, had pulled the lad off, flattened him, and ended the unfair fight. Kenneth had been at his side ever since.

  “And to remind ye what ye must accomplish while ye are here,” Kenneth added. His mouth twitched, whether in resignation or mirth, Iain couldn’t tell.

  Kenneth knew better than anyone how stubborn Iain could be—especially about something he did not want to do. And how single-minded about something he wanted, once he had a goal in mind. For the life of him, Iain couldn’t figure a way out of this. His stubbornness had delayed this decision, but it wouldn’t save him.

  “Aye.” Iain raised his voice to the wobbly pitch of an ill old man’s—his father’s to be precise. “’Tis best to have an heir of yer own on the way before I go, so ye must be wedded and bedded and settled in yer new role as husband and father.” He dropped his voice to its normal timbre. “Not that I object to the bedded part of the bargain.”

  Kenneth chuckled. “I’m told the Rose lasses have grown into beauties. So ye may as well show a little enthusiasm.”

  “I pray ’tis so. Any wife who warms my bed had best be pleasing of face and figure.”

  “And demeanor?”

  “Aye, well, I dinna ken whether ’tis possible.” Iain gestured at the keep. “The last time we were here, they were three hellions, running through the bailey, shrieking.” He shuddered. “My ears are still ringing from the din.”

  “Ten years have gone since then. Ye are no longer the stripling lad they ran from. I’ll wager my best horse ye willna have to chase them this time. Ye’ll have yer pick o’ the lot.”

  “I’ll take that bet.” Iain flicked the reins and urged his mount into motion. “Let’s get this over with, aye?”

  Kenneth didn’t bother responding, but followed Iain until the path widened out and they could ride abreast into the keep.

  They passed under the portcullis without challenge. A man approached as they dismounted inside the walls. “What is yer business here?”

  Iain introduced himself and Kenneth. “I’m here for the Brodie, to speak to the Rose,” he told him.

  The man waved at two lads loitering by the stable. They ran up and took charge of the horses.

  “Follow me.”

  Iain trailed after as the man led them toward the keep’s tower. People milled about them, some carrying large sacks of grain toward the stables, others on less obvious errands.

  In the middle of the bailey, one lass caught Iain’s eye. Honey blonde hair framed a winsome face that stopped his heart. Curls cascaded to the waist of a shapely body that got his heart beating again…fast, and made his fingers itch to draw her just as she looked in this moment. She stood toe-to-toe with a stocky lad half a head taller than she, and protected a puppy in her arms.

  “If ye touch this pup again, ye’ll face my father’s wrath instead of mine,” she warned the lad. “Do ye hear me?”

  “But it…”

  “Ye kicked it! This wee thing, a tiny portion of yer size and weight. If ye ever do something so cruel again
, I’ll teach ye what it feels like. Then I’ll have my da do the same.”

  “Do ye think we should intervene?” Kenneth asked.

  Iain glanced aside. Kenneth studied the bigger lad. “No one else is. I think the lass has made her point. Aye, there he goes, suitably chastened. But never fear,” Iain added and slapped Kenneth on the back, “ye could have taken him.”

  As the lad stalked off, head down, and despite Kenneth’s growl at his comment, Iain couldn’t stop staring at the lass.

  Even in anger, her voice had pleased him. Now that the confrontation was over, she bent her head and murmured sweetly to the puppy in her arms. Her beauty stunned him. Iain wondered how she’d sound murmuring his name. In his bed. He wanted to approach and discover who she was, but once her gaze swept over him and Kenneth, she turned away and ducked into the stable.

  Their guide had marched on and Iain dared not be left behind. He saw the sow at his feet just in time to avoid falling over it. He’d come here to make a good impression and bring home a bridal contract, not to toss up the skirts of the first lovely lass he encountered—or wind up sprawled in the mud because he couldn’t take his gaze from her. But seeing her improved his mood. If she was any example of the lasses this clan could produce—beautiful and kind—his future suddenly looked better than he’d hoped.

  Their guide left them in the keep’s great hall and stepped through a doorway into what must be the laird’s solar. In moments, he returned.

  “The Rose is occupied with important clan matters at the moment, but he offers ye his hospitality. He’ll greet ye this evening. In the meantime, I’m to see ye settled.”

  * * *

  Mary Anne Rose's needle missed the spot she aimed for and she dropped her embroidery in her lap with a sigh. Worrying about her and her sisters’ imminent fate made her fingers tremble. Even after a few deep breaths to calm her nerves, she could not form the tiny perfect stitches she’d intended to decorate the neckline of this dress. She glanced around the ladies’ solar. Her youngest sister, Mary Catherine, and five other lasses sat with her near the sunny window, heads bent, eyes focused on their needlework as they gossiped. They had no idea how her stomach roiled.

  “They’re both so tall and handsome,” one lass exclaimed, then giggled. “I hope they’re not already wedded.”

  The strangers who had arrived that morning had been the subject of unceasing speculation since Annie joined Cat and the other ladies at their needlework. But she was certain she knew the men’s purpose. Three days ago, her father had received a missive proposing the marriage of the Brodie heir to a Rose daughter. He’d told Annie and Cat about it only an hour ago, forced into it, she assumed, by the strangers’ arrival. If one of these strangers was the Brodie heir, the negotiations could be underway right now.

  “Ye’d best mind yerself,” another lass admonished the first. “They’re here to see the laird, no’ to tickle ye.”

  “The laird can do with them what he will during the day,” the first replied, never lifting her gaze from her stitching. “I’ll keep the bigger one to myself at night. Ye can have his friend, if ye like,” she added with a grin.

  Tittered laughter followed that comment, Cat’s high-pitched giggle included.

  Annie exchanged a warning glance with her sister, and tried to ignore their chatter. Their father didn’t want the news of the Brodie’s proposal to spread until he had a chance to tell their oldest sister, Mary Elizabeth, known simply as Mary, when she returned from Inverness in a few days.

  Da hadn’t said which of his three daughters he planned to offer, only that he expected one of them would be betrothed—and soon. But who? And how would Mary feel when she returned home to this news? Though it was customary, Annie doubted Da would betroth his eldest, even if it ruined her chances ever to wed. Mary had served as his chatelaine since their mother died of a fever five years before, and he had made no offers for a new wife who could take over those duties. As next eldest, Annie expected he would have his eye on her to make this match with the Brodie heir. Father was eager to strengthen the clan’s alliances. And once he established this alliance, he’d be just as eager to secure others.

  She had no illusions. Now or later, she’d be bartered away for the sake of Clan Rose. But she wasn’t ready. Rose was her home. Who would help Mary? And who would keep Cat out of trouble? Yet what choice did she have? If she fought her father too hard this time, he’d use Cat to make the alliance. The thought of her fifteen-year-old, younger sister forced to wed a much older warrior set her stomach to turning over even faster.

  She could sit still no longer. Between her disquiet and the ache in her leg, she needed to move, and she needed some air. She dropped her needlework in a basket and stood. “I’m going for a walk,” she announced, heedless of whether any tongues stopped wagging or any gazes lifted from their work to watch her leave.

  She intended to get out of the keep, perhaps to visit the puppies in the stable, but unfamiliar male voices echoed up the stairs from the great hall. The two strangers, no doubt. She crept down the circular stone steps until she could see them. Dread made her belly clench. Brodies. Who else would visit Rose now?

  They stood near the hearth, away from the servants preparing the hall for the evening meal, speaking in low tones, and occasionally laughing. Both were well dressed, tall, muscular, and heartbreakingly handsome. Was the older one the Brodie heir? The touch of russet in his dark hair had caught her eye in the bailey when they arrived. She’d been too preoccupied berating the blacksmith’s apprentice, then comforting the crying pup, to give him her full attention. But the glimpse she’d gotten had made her breath catch. He looked to be a few years older than she, the other nearer her age. As he listened to his companion, the grin flitting across his face revealed laugh-lines, telling her he was probably good-natured. The relaxed set of his shoulders and the loose-jointed gestures punctuating his conversation added to his amiable appeal. But she expected the two young men were friends as well as emissaries for their laird. How he behaved in familiar company did not necessarily mean he’d treat anyone else the same.

  She would have liked to study the men at greater length. Especially the one she suspected was the heir. But she dared not—the last turn of the stairway left her too exposed. If they chanced to look her way, they would see her. She could not get past them, and she did not want them to notice her. The Brodies’ arrival might presage disaster for her. Resigned to retreating the way she had come, she straightened just as the one with the russet in his hair turned his head toward her. When his gaze met hers, the same arc of awareness that had stolen her breath in the bailey made her gasp. Too late to escape his notice, she pivoted and ran up the stairs, ignoring his call for her to stop, to come back.

  She wouldn’t be able to hide for long. When her father called, and she knew he would, she would have to face him—and those men. But for now, she just couldn’t cope with what their presence meant for her, for her sisters, and for the life she’d always known.

  * * *

  Iain paused at the entry to the great hall, surprised there were no women seated at the high table, and annoyed he couldn’t find the enticing lass he’d seen in the bailey and again on the stairs anywhere in the hall. “Do they fear we’ll steal a lass right out of the great hall?” he whispered to Kenneth as they awaited the laird’s arrival. Where were the Rose daughters?

  Kenneth’s forehead creased as he looked from one side of the room to the other. “’Tis odd,” he muttered. Then he fell silent.

  The Rose laird entered the hall. “Well met,” he called out when he noticed them. He welcomed them to his home as he escorted them to the high table.

  A man just past his prime, James Rose had the build of a seasoned warrior and the carriage of a man accustomed to having his orders followed. The Rose's sandy hair was cropped close to his head, silver glinting at his temples. Silver in his close-trimmed beard also framed his mouth. Iain judged him to be within a handful of years of his father’s age
, but in much better health.

  As they took seats, in a lower tone, the Rose added, “We’ll no’ discuss the purpose of yer visit in front of the clan. No’ until we’ve had a chance to speak in private,” and grinned as if he’d just made a jest.

  Bemused, Iain could only acquiesce. He’d reserve judgement until after speaking with the Rose laird. “As ye wish.” He returned the Rose’s smile and Kenneth nodded in solidarity with Iain.

  During dinner, more women joined the men at the lower tables. But James Rose’s daughters remained absent—as did the lass Iain most wanted to see. He began to believe that she was certainly one of them.

  The Rose boasted about his clan’s resources and complained about the feud between the Duke of Albany and the Lord of the Isles. “No telling when they will go from bandying words to fighting,” he opined.

  When he finally paused for breath, Iain managed to say, “My father sends his regards and regrets he is too unwell to travel, even for this important venture.”

  The Rose’s gaze dropped, and he rolled his cup between two gnarled hands. “I’m sorry to hear that. When I received the Brodie’s missive, I looked forward to sharing a dram with him by the fire.

  Iain nodded, surprised at the regret he heard in the man’s voice. Had James Rose and his father been friends long ago? “Thank ye. I’ll convey your regard when I return. He’ll be glad to hear of it.”

  “Perhaps there will be an occasion that will bring me to Brodie,” Rose offered with a glance at Iain. “Now, tell me about yer plans for Brodie once ye become laird.”

  To business, then. Iain had expected this question, just not right away. “As ye might imagine, ’tis something I’ve been reluctant to spend much time considering,” he replied, but when he saw a crease start to form between the Rose’s brows, he hurried to explain, “but given my father’s illness, I’ve had little choice. He and I have spoken at length about his wishes for the clan, going forward.” Iain lowered his voice and added, “We both believe alliances such as the one we hope to make with Clan Rose are an important part of Clan Brodie’s future.”