The Summer Star: One Legend, Three Enchanting Novellas (Legends of Scotland Book 2)

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  His words were meant for her, but the twins gasped in surprise.

  “That was the agreement,” she said. “Ye get your coos. I get my freedom.”

  “I won’t take them back,” he insisted.

  She frowned. “Ye have to take them back.”

  “I refuse.”

  “Ye can’t refuse.”

  “I do refuse.”

  The lads suddenly became far more interested in the argument taking place than guiding the cows. They halted, which made the cattle halt.

  Cristy stopped, crossing her arms in challenge. “So ye’d rather keep me hostage than get your coos back?”

  Brochan stopped, crossing his arms in defiance. “That’s right.”

  “Why?”

  He glowered at her.

  “Ye’ve got your coos now and your sons,” she said. “Why will ye not take them and let me go? Ye were happy enough before. Why not put things back the way they were?”

  He averted his eyes and mumbled something under his breath.

  “What?” she asked. “I didn’t quite hear that.”

  His sons were staring at him, awaiting his reply. He scowled, squirming beneath their regard. Then he muttered something again.

  She furrowed her brows. “I still didn’t catch the words. Did ye, lads?”

  The twins shook their heads.

  “Perhaps ye could speak up a bit?” she suggested.

  Her words might sound sincere, but he could hardly miss the mischief sparking in her eyes.

  “Lucifer’s ballocks,” he said under his breath, shaking his head. Then he threw his arms wide and yelled at the top of his lungs. “Because I love ye, Cristy Moffat!”

  She had no time to enjoy his heartfelt declaration. An instant after he shouted, chaos erupted. The cows, startled by the loud noise, scattered. In an effort to protect the lads, she scooped Cambel into her arms while Brochan swept up Colin.

  They managed to keep the twins from harm until the cows had run off and they could put the lads down.

  But in the next moment, she heard faraway cries of alarm. Moffat’s watchmen had been alerted. They knew they were there.

  “Run!” she hissed.

  They wasted no time, bolting toward Macintosh land as fast as they could. They tore across the grasslands, leaped over rocks, and charged through clumps of heather. When the lads began to fall behind on the road that led past the tavern, Brochan picked them up and carried one on each shoulder. By the time they reached the burn, Cristy could make out a half dozen torchlights in the distance, following them.

  They forded the burn and didn’t stop running until they were well across Brochan’s own border, halfway back to the tower.

  At last, too exhausted to continue, Cristy stopped, bending forward at the waist and bracing her hands on her knees. Her lungs burned, and she could hardly catch her breath. Brochan wheezed, his chest heaving as he set the lads back on their feet.

  Suddenly the situation struck her as uproariously funny. She couldn’t believe she’d gone to all the trouble to reive back his cows, only to have Brochan scatter them all with one outburst. She stifled a laugh.

  Brochan must have seen the humor as well, for he looked at her with a sheepish snicker.

  She began to giggle.

  He chuckled in answer.

  One laugh fueled the next. Soon they were overcome with laughter, collapsing onto the ground in uncontrollable hilarity.

  The lads frowned down at them.

  “What are ye laughin’ for?” Colin asked. “We lost the coos again.”

  “Aye, what’s so funny?” Cambel demanded.

  Neither Brochan nor she were in any shape to reply. They were laughing too hard. But apparently their humor was catching, because soon the twins joined in until they were helpless with giggles.

  When everyone finally sobered, breathless and weary, they made their way back to the tower house.

  “Da,” Cambel asked when they were almost to the motte, “did ye mean what ye said? Do ye love m’lady?”

  Cristy’s heart melted when Brochan looked at her and said, “Aye, I do.”

  “More than coos?” he asked.

  He grinned. “Aye, Colin, more than coos.”

  Cambel asked, “Does she love ye back?”

  “Ye’ll have to ask her that.”

  Cambel raised his brows to her. “Well?”

  “I do,” Cristy replied with a smile, adding, “more than coos.”

  “Are ye goin’ to stay with us then?” Cambel asked.

  “Are ye goin’ to be our Ma?” Colin added.

  From the corner of her eye, Cristy saw Brochan tense. And she realized why he’d had such a difficult time confessing his love. He may have lost his wife five years ago. But he was a man of loyalty and chivalry. No doubt it was difficult to let go of his vows, even those that no longer had meaning.

  So Cristy crouched down to answer Colin. “No one will e’er be able to replace your Ma, lads. But if your Da will have me, I’ll do my best to love ye like a mother.”

  When she glanced up at Brochan, she could tell by his grateful gaze that her answer pleased him. And when the lads began to cheer and dance about, she knew she’d said the right thing.

  Brochan was silent as they climbed the motte and entered the keep. But after handing the twins off to Mabel and hanging up his sword, he took Cristy by the hand.

  “Will ye tuck the lads into bed?” he murmured to Mabel. “Miss Moffat and I would like to watch the comet alone tonight.”

  Cristy couldn’t help but shiver with anticipation at his suggestion.

  Mabel, who was hardly naïve, took the twins in hand and gave Cristy a wink. “Come along, lads,” she said, “and I’ll tell ye the story o’ The Ant and the Grasshopper.”

  As Brochan spread his gray woolen brat for Cristy on the crest of the motte, he felt like a changed man. Propped on his elbow beside her, gazing out at his woods, his fields, his slumbering herd of cattle, he no longer saw an overwhelming responsibility, but a shared vision. Now that he’d let Cristy into his heart, it seemed a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He was no longer alone.

  He threaded his fingers through hers as they looked up at the shimmering comet.

  “Do ye think ‘tis true?” she murmured.

  “What?”

  “That ye can change your stars?”

  “I know ‘tis true,” he said.

  She smiled. “’Twas the comet that brought us together, ye know.”

  “I know.”

  She leaned her head against his as she gazed up at the comet. “I think the star is starin’ down on us now and smilin’.”

  He turned to kiss her brow. “Do ye think it might be willin’ to close its eyes for a wee bit?”

  Cristy grinned. “I think it would be more than willin’.”

  Brochan had never made love under the stars. But he was feeling transformed, and somehow it seemed the right thing to do.

  He lifted Cristy’s hand and kissed her knuckles. Her lips parted, and he leaned forward to capture them between his own.

  His blood went from warm to fiery in an instant. A roaring rush of desire flowed through his ears. He felt the tug of need in his trews before the kiss ended.

  But he didn’t want to hurry. Their first tryst had been impulsive and frantic. He’d given little thought to anything but slaking his thirst.

  He wanted this joining to be special. This time, he’d give her the patience and care she deserved.

  Brushing the hair back from her face, he pressed a soft kiss to each eyelid.

  She sighed in pleasure and placed a hand on his chest.

  He kissed her sweet mouth again, letting his fingers drift along her temples, across her cheeks, and along her neck, leaving a trail of feather-light touches that made her quiver.

  Slipping his fingers beneath the neck edge of her kirtle, he gently nudged it from her shoulder. Then, tipping her head aside, he placed a row of slow and deliberate kisses f
rom the point of her shoulder up to her ear.

  By the time he reached her ear, she was squirming in lusty torment. When he caught the delicate lobe between his teeth, she gasped. And when he let his tongue slip around the rim, she moaned with need.

  He let out a worldly chuckle. She might grow impatient, but he still had a long way to go. They had all night, after all, and he intended to show the inexperienced lass every delicious enticement he knew.

  Cristy didn’t want to wait. She’d waited her whole life to belong. And now that she’d found the man with whom she could share her laughter, her tears, her fears and hopes, she didn’t wish to waste another moment. She wanted to share her body with him. Now.

  With desperate haste, before he could stop her, she unlaced her kirtle. She dragged it, along with her linen leine, down over her shoulders and past her hips, kicking the garments off her legs. While his jaw was still gaping, she lunged forward into his arms, rocking him onto his back.

  The kiss she stole was full of passion and promise, fire and heart. It was the kiss she’d been saving all her life.

  After his initial shock, Brochan answered her caresses, licking tenderly at her lips and weaving his fingers through the curtain of her hair.

  The ache between her thighs was powerful and compelling. And now that she knew the joy to come, she couldn’t help but wish to hurry.

  She fumbled at his trews, eager to free that amazing part of him that would grant her relief.

  He caught her fingers and unlaced his trews himself. Then, taking control again, he clasped the back of her head. Wrapping his arm around her bare waist, he rolled with her until she lay on her back at the edge of the woolen brat.

  From here, she could see the stars sparkling overhead like raindrops against the peat-dark sky. But when she shifted her gaze, she saw something even more beautiful. Brochan’s eyes were glistening with love and desire.

  Slowly, he removed his own garments, and she felt the twinge of yearning with every inch of skin he exposed. He belonged to her now—this magnificent man with the broad shoulders and wide chest, breathtaking arms and towering legs, a chivalrous spirit and a loving heart.

  When he came to her, their joining was tender. This time there was no pain, only fulfillment. And when they rode together on passion’s heavenly comet, a pure white light seemed to bless their union. Faster and faster they shot across the sky until the brilliant light shattered and scattered into a thousand bright stars.

  Afterward, they lay together, side-by-side and hand-in-hand, gazing up at the night sky. They spoke of dreams and plans and wishes for the future. They mused over the gardens they would plant, the animals they would keep for the twins, and the Macintosh bairns they would make. And they marveled over the strange woman it seemed they’d both met at the tavern by chance, wondering whether it had been by chance at all.

  As Cristy stared at the curious comet that had crossed her path and changed her fortune, she couldn’t help but believe in the magic of the summer star.

  More Medieval Outlaws

  Series Bibliography

  Danger's Kiss

  Passion's Exile

  Coming soon: DESIRE'S RANSOM (Book 3)

  About Glynnis

  I’m a USA Today bestselling author of swashbuckling action-adventure historical romances, mostly set in Scotland, with over a dozen award-winning books published in six languages.

  But before my role as a medieval matchmaker, I sang in The Pinups, an all-girl band on CBS Records, and provided voices for the MTV animated series The Maxx, Blizzard’s Diablo and Starcraft video games, and various audiobooks.

  I’m the wife of a rock star (if you want to know which one, contact me) and the mother of two young adults. I do my best writing on cruise ships, in Scottish castles, on my husband’s tour bus, and at home in my sunny southern California garden.

  I love transporting readers to a place where the bold heroes have endearing flaws, the women are stronger than they look, the land is lush and untamed, and chivalry is alive and well!

  I’m always delighted to hear from my readers, so please feel free to email me at glynnis@glynnis.net. And if you’re a super-fan who would like to join my inner circle, sign up to be part of Glynnis Campbell’s Readers Clan on Facebook, where you’ll get glimpses behind the scenes, sneak peeks of works-in-progress, and extra special surprises!

  For more information:

  www.glynnis.net

  MacAlpin’s Heart

  By Laurin Wittig

  The Guardians of the Targe

  Deep in the Scottish Highlands, in a well-hidden glen, resides a small band of the ancient Clan MacAlpin. Each generation a daughter of one unbroken line of this clan becomes the Guardian of a mystical relic so old no one remembers from whence it came, the Highland Targe. This woman is granted special knowledge and a magical gift to assist in her duty:

  Protection of clan and country.

  This is a story of the Guardians of the Targe.

  Chapter 1

  Scottish Highlands, 1286

  Slanting sunshine didn’t quite reach the back wall of the shallow cave, leaving twenty-four year old Elspet MacAlpin standing in her mother’s shadow.

  They had climbed the steep path from their home at the foot of the ben to this place where the Guardians of the Targe had made their blessings to protect this land and those who lived on it, for generations. Elspet had been making this specific blessing since she was ten, perfecting it easily by twelve, but today it seemed impossible to manage.

  Her hands moved with jerks through the air, and the words that should have resonated in the small cave, sweet and harmonic, fell from her lips like stones.

  “Saints and angels, what is wrong with you this day?” The right corner of her mother’s mouth was pulled back, and she stood with her hands clenched together in front of her. Elspet remembered the combination well from her early days of training, when her memory was not strong and this simplest of blessings was difficult. It had taken all the strength her mum had then to keep from stepping in and performing the ritual herself. Apparently, she felt the same this day.

  “I am sorry, Mum.” Frustration squeezed hard, preventing Elspet’s breath from moving deeply. After so many she should be able to do this perfectly. She rubbed her forehead with two fingers, right in the middle where a headache threatened, then reached again for the breath that would help her find her way to that place deep inside where all was calm and peaceful.

  “I will do it again.”

  “Nay, I will do it today.” Her mother reached over and put a gentle hand on Elspet’s shoulder, as if to soften her words. “And then you will tell me what is fretting you so much that you cannot set it aside long enough to attend properly to your duty.”

  Elspet took a half step back from the edge of the small spring-fed pool of water that covered half the floor of the cave, before it spilled out and over the side of the ben. She clasped her own hands, just as her mother had, and watched.

  Her mother’s light voice filled the small space quickly as the peaceful blessing unfolded in her care. It never failed to move Elspet when her mother, Mariota, became one with the melodic chanting of the strange words that made no sense but held great power, and the symbols formed in the air by her dancing hands.

  Halfway through the lengthy ritual, Elspet finally felt serenity begin to fill her, like water rising from the ground beneath her feet, warm and nurturing. She allowed her hands to drift up and the words to spill from her mouth, joining her mother’s until they came to the end.

  When the last echoes of the blessing faded away, Mariota nodded, as if finally satisfied.

  “Better,” she said. “You should not allow yourself to be draw away from your duty, my love.”

  “I did not mean for that to happen, Mum.”

  Mariota gathered the white ermine bag that had been spread upon the ground between them, securing the fist-sized stone that had been resting upon it, within.

  “I ken that. Now tel
l me why you are so unfocused this day?”

  Elspet tapped three fingers against her lips. She did not wish to burden her mother with her troubles, but she had no one else to share them with.

  “Rab,” advisor and champion to her father, the chief, “stopped me as I was leaving the great hall this morning, again.”

  “Ah,” Mariota said as she led the way out of the cave. She waited to continue until they reached the end of the narrow path where it joined the wider one that led down the mountain to their home. “He still wishes for you to choose Uilliam?”

  “Aye, and he made it clear that he is prepared to go to Da and demand a choice be made soon if I do not make it myself.”

  “I do not agree with his tactics, but we have waited a long time for you to choose a husband. The clan needs to know the future is secured and that the line of Guardians will continue.”

  This was not news to Elspet, but she still believed that enough of her life was circumscribed by her duty as the next Guardian that in this one thing, her husband, she would be allowed to marry as she saw best.

  “I ken Uilliam would be a good MacAlpin, Mum. But I cannot see him as my husband.” She realized her head was shaking quickly so she forced herself to make it still. “Could you have married someone who feels like a brother to you?”

  “I dinna ken. I only ever loved your father.”

  “Well I did not have the good sense to fall in love with Uilliam when I was six, as you did with Da, and there is no one else I feel…” She stopped as a thought that often slithered into her mind as she fell asleep, chilled her. She did not want to give it form by speaking it, but she needed to know the answer. “Is it possible that I am not meant to be Guardian? That you are the last?”

  Mariota laughed, a lovely, husky sound that filled the air around them. “Do not give up yet, my sweet. Sometimes love grows from friendship. Uilliam makes you laugh and that is a good foundation for a marriage.”