She supposed Sir Alexander thought she should reprimand her son, but she couldn’t stop giggling.
Their departure from Prestonfield was something of a blur, and everyone in the carriage was laughing heartily as they made their way back to Dean Village. Fraser fell asleep in his father’s arms, oblivious to the uproar he’d caused.
“Feels good to laugh,” Braden said.
“Aye,” Callum and Lexi chimed in together.
Charlotte hiccupped and curled her arm in Braden’s.
John dropped them off, promising to return on the morrow.
Braden carried his son upstairs and lay Fraser in his bed. “He’s a fine lad,” he rasped. “Even if he doesna like rhubarb.”
Another hiccup escaped as she giggled again. “Stop,” she insisted. “I’ll show Callum and Lexi to the spare room.”
When she returned to her chamber, Braden was in her bed, covered only by the linen sheet. “This is a big bed for a single woman,” he quipped. The gleam in his eye and the certainty he was naked filled her with longing, but the hiccups refused to stop. “I never gave up hope,” she retorted.
His eyes burned into her as she quickly undressed and slid in beside him, consumed by the fire of his big body. “I lo…hic…ve…hic,” she tried.
He chuckled. “I love ye too,” he said.
She clenched her fists. “I’ve waited…hic…so long to tell you I…love you.”
He loomed over her. “They say if ye hold yer breath, it helps.” He pressed his mouth to hers, coaxing her lips open with his tongue and began a slow exploration of the inside of her mouth, her tongue.
Just as she thought she was cured, sounds came from the chamber next door that couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than passionate lovemaking.
Laughter exploded.
“It seems Callum and Lexi are as much in love as we are,” she croaked.
Braden laughed too. His deep laughter echoed in her heart. “Aye,” he agreed. “Wait till I tell ye how they met.”
Her ribs ached after he’d told the tale of Callum landing unexpectedly in Lexi’s bed and complained of having to listen through thin walls to the sounds of their lovemaking once they were reconciled to their forced marriage. “I longed for ye then, my lass,” he growled.
When everything next door quieted, she gazed up at the ceiling. “They must wonder what we’re laughing at.”
Braden gathered her into his arms. “I love the sound of yer laughter, Charlotte. I missed it. But there’s something I missed more.”
Without warning he kicked off the sheet, knelt between her legs, lifted her bottom and put his mouth to her most intimate place. She writhed, luxuriating in the warmth of his saliva, the texture of his tongue. “Ye taste as delicious as I remember,” he growled. Then he grinned mischievously. “And much better than rhubarb.”
“Stop, you’ll make me hiccup again,” she said breathlessly, “although it seems to have stopped.”
He lapped her again then became serious. “Consider it. Braden Ogilvie, discoverer of a previously unknown cure for hiccups.”
She swatted him with the pillow.
~~~
Braden loved his wife’s playfulness, but tasting her again drove everything from his mind except one thing. He needed to be inside her, to feel her sheath pulsating on his cock.
If he sucked and played a little while longer, he was confident she’d fly apart in the way he remembered.
After swatting him with the pillow she lay back and he recognised the moment her eyes glazed over.
The hoarsely whispered Braden confirmed she was close.
“Aye, Charlotte,” he whispered in reply. “Come for me.”
Seconds later she was calling his name in the guttural way he loved. It was time. He pulled her on top of him and impaled her. “Ride me, wife,” he growled.
She threw back her head and arched her back. He clamped his hands on her hips and soon she matched his thrusts in the timeless rhythm of a man and woman made for each other. They rode together until she keened out her release and his seed erupted into her womb.
She collapsed on top of him. He sifted his fingers through her damp curls, and kissed her ear, relishing the rise and fall of her breasts on his chest. He put a hand on her bottom and pressed her to him, intent on pumping the last drop of his essence deep inside.
They drifted together in their own world of intimacy.
It might have been his imagination but when he regained his wits he was sure he heard laughter from the guest chamber.
EPILOGUE
The travellers had been at Dean Village for a month. Charlotte was happy Braden and his brother had been reunited, but sensed her husband’s growing impatience with too many people sharing the small house.
Lexi was as much of a screamer as Charlotte when in passion’s thrall, and Fraser had wakened more than once alarmed by the noise.
Work on her latest novel had been impossible, and a deadline loomed.
While Braden was proud of her success, he was a man. He’d said nothing, but she sensed he was uncomfortable having her provide for them.
On the brighter side, her uncle, the Duke of Argyll had sent good news from Fort William concerning the land in Oban on which the ruin of Ogilvie House sat. He seemed confident Braden might be able to claim ownership since the land had never been sold out of the Ogilvie family. Research had uncovered the last occupant as one David Ogilvie, brother of the owner, Braden’s father. The Duke promised to pull strings to get Braden declared the rightful owner.
After spending hours pouring over documents pertaining to the Hepburn family, John Reade was fairly certain he could establish Lexi’s right to the abandoned Halis Castle on the banks of the Scottish Tyne. She recalled wistfully that her uncle James had once entertained Queen Mary there.
Charlotte decided there wasn’t much point worrying about the future. The here and now was important, and she intended to do everything in her power to make Braden's life in her present perfect.
She was jotting down the observation in her journal one morning when Braden entered the parlor holding a letter.
“A messenger,” he said. “John sent him. He’s at the University Library. Wants us there forthwith.”
“Now?”
“Aye. Sounds urgent. Wants Callum too.”
She smiled. “Your brother and his wife aren’t up yet.”
He turned and bounded up the stairs. She chuckled at the sounds of protest from within the guest chamber when he rapped on the door, insisting they come down.
After a brisk half hour walk they located John pouring over old documents. Memory washed over Charlotte. “This is where he unearthed the guest list with your names on it,” she said.
John greeted them, his face redder than she’d ever seen it. “Wait until you see what I’ve found,” he chortled.
He gathered them around a large table on which sat a very old scrolled document, faded with age, watched over by a library docent.
“This,” John announced, gesturing to the parchment and making no effort to whisper, “is a copy of The Treaty of York.”
They gaped at him as he basked in the whispered words of awe relayed around the library by other neck-craning patrons.
He faltered slightly when none of the Ogilvies reacted.
“Finalized in 1465 at Newcastle-upon-Tyne,” he explained.
“Then why is it called the Treaty of York?” Callum asked.
John took a deep breath. “The negotiations began in York the previous year.”
“Negotiations to end what?” Braden asked. “A war? This is only thirty years after—” He glanced around cautiously, lowering his voice to a hoarse whisper. “—After we drowned.”
“Exactly,” John beamed. “I got to thinking maybe I was looking in the wrong places. I went back to the start of my line, or as far back as I was able. To Rheade Robertson. In his lifetime, and certainly during the youth of his sons, there was a conflict going on in England called
the Wars of the Roses.”
“Roses?” Lexi squeaked.
John carried on as if she hadn’t spoken. “There were two powerful Houses in England, the Lancastrians and the Yorkists. The Lancastrians had a red rose as their symbol, the Yorkists a white rose.”
Braden scratched his chin. “And both wanted the throne of England.”
“Did this treaty end the war?” Callum asked.
“No,” John explained. “Scotland had supported the Lancastrians, even sheltering the exiled Lancastrian king after a disastrous defeat at the Battle of Towton.”
Some of this sounded familiar to Charlotte. “Henry the Sixth,” she said.
“And his wife, Margaret of Anjou, who was the real strength in that marriage,” John added. “She recruited many of the young Scots who died fighting for the Lancastrian cause. Anyway, I digress. This treaty ended Scotland’s part in the war. Scotland and England under Edward the Fourth agreed to a forty year truce.”
“Why is this important?” Braden asked.
John gestured to the bottom of the document. The docent winced. “Don’t worry,” John assured him with a hint of irritation in his voice. “I don’t intend to touch it.”
Seemingly chastened, the docent stepped back.
John continued. “At the end is a list of the commissioners from each side. The script is medieval. I’ll read them out.”
“What does this medi evil mean?” Braden whispered in Charlotte’s ear as John intoned the first name.
She chuckled inwardly. “I’ll explain later.”
“Andrew, Bishop of Glasgow," was the first of several names John read quickly then he paused and said, “And lastly….Bishop Donal Ogilvie.”
“What?” Callum exclaimed, peering at the document.
“It canna be the same man,” Braden said.
John sat on one of the hard wooden chairs. “For this Donal Ogilvie to be a bishop in 1465, he’d have to have been born around 1410.”
“Our brother was born in 1415,” Callum said.
“A bit young, then, but around the right age,” John observed. “Consider another possibility. What if your brother didn’t drown? What if he was rescued?”
“But Margaret would have known,” Braden said.
“If he washed up somewhere far from Oban, she might not have known. Look how far you men travelled from where you drowned.”
The docent furrowed his brow, eyeing them as if they were lunatics.
John pointed to the document. “We’re done. Thank you. It can be returned now.”
The man hurried away with the historic document in his gloved hands.
Braden sat, drumming his fingers on the table, drawing glares from other patrons. “We always suspected Donal might turn to the priesthood. If your theory is correct, it’s possible he might have met Rheade, or Margaret or at least their sons.”
“Aye,” John replied. “Many young Scots went to fight in England. But many died too. However, as I recollect neither Blair nor Craig Robertson died in the Towton bloodbath. They married and sired children. I’ll have to dig deeper into what happened to them. If I recall correctly, they both married English women.”
“Nay,” the four Ogilvies exclaimed.
ABOUT ANNA
Thank you for reading Highland Tides. If you’d like to leave a review where you purchased the book, and/or on Goodreads, I would appreciate it. Reviews contribute greatly to an author’s success.
I’d love you to visit my website and my Facebook page, Anna Markland Novels.
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I was born in England, but I’ve lived most of my life in Canada. I was an elementary school teacher for 25 years, a job I loved.
After that I worked with my husband in the management of his businesses. He’s a born entrepreneur who likes to boast he’s never had a job!
My final “career” was as Director of Administration of a global disaster relief organization.
I then embarked on writing a romance, something I’d always wanted to do. I chose the medieval period because it’s my favorite to read.
I have a keen interest in genealogy. This hobby has had a tremendous influence on my stories. My medieval romances are tales of family honor, ancestry, and roots. As an amateur genealogist, I cherished a dream of tracing my own English roots back to the Norman Conquest—most likely impossible since I am not descended from nobility! So I made up a family and many of my stories follow its members through successive generations.
I want readers to feel happy that the heroes and heroines have found their soul mates and that the power of love has overcome every obstacle. For me, novels are an experience of another world or time. I lose myself in the characters’ lives, always knowing they will triumph in the end and find love. One of the things I enjoy most about writing historical romance is the in-depth research necessary to provide readers with an authentic medieval experience. I love ferreting out bits of historical trivia I never knew! I based the plot of my first novel, Conquering Passion, on a bizarre incident that actually happened to a Norman noblewoman.
I hope you come to know and love my cast of characters as much as I do.
MORE ANNA MARKLAND
COMING SOON. Roses Among the Heather. Book 3 of The Caledonia Chronicles.
If you’d like to read the saga of the Montbryce family in chronological order, here’s a handy list.
Conquering Passion—Ram and Mabelle, Rhodri and Rhonwen
If Love Dares Enough—Hugh and Devona, Antoine and Sybilla
Defiant Passion-Rhodri and Rhonwen
A Man of Value—Caedmon and Agneta
Dark Irish Knight—Ronan and Rhoni
Haunted Knights—Adam and Rosamunda, Denis and Paulina
Passion in the Blood—Robert and Dorianne, Baudoin and Carys
Dark and Bright—Rhys and Annalise
The Winds of the Heavens—Rhun and Glain, Rhydderch and Isolda
Dance of Love—Izzy and Farah
Carried Away—Blythe and Dieter
Sweet Taste of Love—Aidan and Nolana
Wild Viking Princess—Ragna and Reider
Hearts and Crowns—Gallien and Peridotte
Fatal Truths—Alex and Elayne
Sinful Passions—Bronson and Grace; Rodrick and Swan
New series featuring the stories of the Viking ancestors of my Norman families
The Rover Bold—Bryk and Cathryn
The Rover Defiant—Torstein and Sonja
The Rover Betrayed—Magnus and Judith
If you like stories with medieval breeds of dogs, you’ll enjoy If Love Dares Enough, Carried Away, Fatal Truths, and Wild Viking Princess. If you have a soft spot for cats, read Passion in the Blood and Haunted Knights.
Caledonia Chronicles
Book I Pride of the Clan—Rheade and Margaret
Book II Highland Tides—Braden and Charlotte
Novellas (Just for fun)
Maknab’s Revenge—Ingram and Ruby
Forged in the Fire—Matthieu and Brigandine (2016)
Looking for historical fiction centered on a certain region?
English History—all books
Norman French History—all books
Crusades—A Man of Value
Welsh History—Conquering Passion, Defiant Passion, Dark and Bright, The Winds of the Heavens
Scottish History—Conquering Passion, A Man of Value, Sweet Taste of Love, Caledonia Chronicles Series
European History (Holy Roman Empire)—Carried Away
Danish History—Wild Viking Princess
Spanish History—Dance of Love
Ireland—Dark Irish Knight
If you like to read about historical characters:
William the Conqueror—Conquering Passion, If Love Dares Enough, Defiant Passion
William Rufus—A Man of Value
Robert Curthose, Duke of Normandy—Passion in the Blood
Henry I of England—P
assion in the Blood, Sweet Taste of Love, Haunted Knights, Hearts and Crowns
Heinrich V, Holy Roman Emperor—Carried Away
Vikings—Wild Viking Princess, The Rover Bold, The Rover Defiant
Kings of Aragon (Spain)—Dance of Love
The Anarchy (England) (Stephen vs. Maud)—Hearts and Crowns, Fatal Truths, Sinful Passions
James I of Scotland—Pride of the Clan
Jacobites—Highland Tides
FACT OR FICTION?
CORRYVRECKAN
The third largest maelstrom in the world is located in the narrow Strait of Corryvreckan. Extreme tidal currents surge into whirlpools swirling round and round due in part to its location between two islands off the west coast of Scotland and the pyramidal rock on the sea floor. 30 foot waves swell from a depth of 100 fathoms and nature’s fury is heard from as far as ten miles away. Legends were told by Celtic people about the ominous vortex of churning water.
Scottish filmmakers tossed a mannequin with a life jacket into the Corryvreckan or “Brecan’s Cauldron” during a documentary called “Lethal Seas.” The life-size dummy disappeared into the dangerous vortex. When the mannequin was later found far away, there was evidence of it being scraped along the bottom and 262 feet showed on the depth meter. The Discovery Channel picked up the film and aired it as “Sea Twister.”
I stumbled across information about this tidal bore while researching whirlpools for The Rover Betrayed.
TRANSPORTATION
Most of the transported Jacobites were shipped off to government plantations in Maryland or Virginia, where they worked as slave labor.
GEORGE ROBERTSON
There exists a list of the 303 prisoners who were held in the powder magazines at Tilbury Fort in Essex between 1746 and 1750 after being taken prisoner following the uprising in ’45. The prisoners were held at Inverness prior to being taken, by seven ships, to London and then onwards to Tilbury. There is one Robertson among them, “number 2855 George Robertson, transported 31st 3rd 1747”, but there is no indication where he was sent.
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