by Vonnie Davis
Every morning, instead of joining in the smells and sights of the typical Scottish heavy breakfast, she’d grab a slice of toast and a mug of coffee. Then she’d go for a walk down the road and across the bridge over the moat. The fresh pine air, even on foggy sunrise days, was a joy—one she’d imagined as she’d studied the area. Spring flowers were beginning to break through the ground. Some days, Ronan would walk with her, his arm around her waist tucking her against his side. He’d pull her behind a tree and kiss her, telling her how precious she was to him. After the stress of the previous few weeks, this time was utter joy, even with the morning sickness.
About two nights a week, Magnus would shift from Ronan’s body, while he was sleeping, and lay his furry head on top of the blankets, covering her abdomen. He’d croon in a soft, gentle voice to the baby. She knew how excited he was about this bairn. To reward his gentleness, she’d rub his ears.
Her hair was starting to grow back. Her head was no longer bald; it was covered with short hair that made her look as if she’d styled it in spikes. Ronan’s was growing back, too. They’d have some weird wedding pictures.
Between Fiona and Cook Edweena and Mary Kate, Effie’s cook, the wedding feast was going to be bigger than she’d imagined. She helped when she could, but some of the smells didn’t agree with her stomach and she had to rush off to be sick. The women teased her about having smelling sickness instead of morning sickness, and she was beginning to think they were right.
The wedding day was finally here and her mama wanted her daughter to herself to dress. After all Anisa had been through, the women in Ronan’s family were very understanding, except for Colleen, who knew how to sulk. She brightened up when Anisa asked her to be in charge of delivering flowers to the members of the wedding party.
Anisa had just slipped into her white satin Pradas when her mama zipped up the back of the gown. “The old lady did an excellent job with altering the sleeves, my princess. It was just what the gown needed. Now fix your boobs so Ronan’s eyes pop out a bit when he first sees you.”
As if my boobs aren’t big enough now.
Someone knocked on the door and her mama opened it. Colleen smiled and handed her a box. “These are from Uncle Ronan fer his bride.”
“Merci. You look lovely in your spring green flower girl dress.”
Colleen curtseyed. “Thank ye.”
Anisa removed the lid from the box and found a bouquet of white calla lilies and pale yellow roses. She kept smelling them as her mother attached her pillbox hat and veil. Grandpa came in with his camera and snapped several pictures of her before the ceremony started.
Bagpipes began playing old Scottish tunes and the wedding party assembled. The ceremony was to be held in the main hall. Greenery and heather decorated the railing of the stairway. Creighton and Bryce were standing up for Ronan. Paisley and Kenzie were Anisa’s attendants in spring green satin sheaths with a sash of Matheson tartan running diagonally across their chests. Both mothers were seated and Colleen, the flower girl, sprinkled rose petals.
When she reached the place where the groom and all the attendants stood, she turned toward the wedding guests, who gave a few guffaws and “Oh no”s.
“What could be so comical?” Pierre looked at Anisa, his silver eyebrows furrowed.
“Hello, everyone, and welcome to Matheson Lodge. Me name is Colleen Matheson and I am the cheery greeter here. I welcome all our guests. ’Tis a learning experience fer me, so ’tis. I learn about all different cultures since we have guests from all over the world. Now, take the French, fer instance. They must never give each other anything, fer every time we do, they go, ‘Merci!’ like it never happens in that country. Isna that a sad thing? I’ve been given strict orders not to mention Butler Bean beating his tallywacker, so I willna make that mistake again. But I am glad to see Uncle Ronan get married. I didna ken he could smile so much. Now he’ll have nay excuse for keeping magazines of naked women under his bed.”
Creighton stepped out and clapped his hand over her mouth. “Me thinks yer welcome is over.”
Anisa glared at her red-faced groom, while her grandpa, who was to escort her down the aisle, was having a fit of giggles. The music started for her to go meet Ronan and exchange vows. They were so different, yet so much alike. And she loved him with all her heart, dirty magazines or no. The closer she got, the wider his eyes grew. Something else must have been growing, too, because he kept his hands on his sporran.
“I didna think it was possible ye could look any prettier than ye do every day.” He took her hand, turned her palm over, and kissed it. “I will love and cherish ye forever, me Beauty.”
“I will love and rely on ye forever, me Beast.” And she batted her eyes.
The Pink Chapter
Effie’s Wedding
It was a beautiful late May day when everyone assembled at Iverson Loch Manor for the wedding of Effie Iverson Munro and Earnan Matheson. Just friends and family had been invited. The white gazebo next to the small lake had been decorated with ivy and pink and purple tulips. Tiny lights twinkled over the roof and wound in with the ivy lining the edge. White chairs were placed around the gazebo. The walkway was lined with alternating pots of white, pink, and purple tulips.
A classic rock guitarist alternated songs with a man who played the bagpipes.
The bride was a nervous wreck. She’d bought three dresses for the wedding and couldn’t make up her mind which one to wear. She’d changed four times. Finally, Anisa couldn’t take it anymore. “This pink dress with the U-shaped neckline, gathered skirt, and purple tie-dye sash is it. Wear the pink Prada heels.”
“Sure, easy for you to say,” Effie growled. “You’re pregnant and shining with it. You’d look great in anything. Just like you did at your own wedding last month. You were a vision in your satin, off-the-shoulder gown. Ronan couldn’t stop smiling.” Effie’s hand fluttered to her heart. “It was the most romantic thing.”
Anisa placed her hands on her hips. “Oh, and having your beloved give you a pink diamond from Paris wasn’t romantic?”
Effie extended her hand, looked at her ring, and sighed. “He proposed to me in the gazebo where we’re getting married. It was a very romantic proposal. I was so shocked when he pulled out a ring box from Cartier.” She sighed. “And, of course, as soon as I saw the deep pink stone, I knew how much thought and love he’d put into his choice.” Her eyes got all misty.
“Come on, you hippie, you’ve got a wedding to attend. This time it’s yours. And it’ll be just as romantic as you can imagine. I hear your groom has something especially romantic planned.”
When Effie walked out the front door of her house, to her surprise, her groom, dressed in full Scottish regalia, waited for her on a white steed with wide pink ribbons hanging from its bridle. He reached down and, with Creighton’s help, lifted her to sit in front of him. She held her bouquet of pink roses to her heart as he slowly took the white horse two times around the loch while everyone cheered. Effie’s eyes twinkled with magic when Earnan helped her off the horse.
“Oh, I do love a man with imagination. Wasn’t that the most romantic thing? How sweet of you to take me away, like a hero on a magic steed.”
“Me Angel, this is only the beginning fer us. I love ye to the stars and back.”
“Oh, Earnan, I love you, too.”
Acknowledgments
This book is dedicated to Pam Bordner, my eldest son’s beloved.
And a special, love-filled thank-you to the greatest Street Team in the world—Vonnie’s Vixens—who support me in so many, many ways. I’d be lost without you.
BY VONNIE DAVIS
Highlander’s Beloved
A Highlander’s Obsession
A Highlander’s Passion
Bearing It All
Eagle Ridge Ranch
Her Survivor (coming soon)
PHOTO: MIKE SHUBERT
VONNIE DAVIS, who studied English at Penn State, likens herself to a croissant: crusty,
wrinkled, flaky—and best served with strong coffee. After a career as a technical writer, she’s spending her retirement playing fairy godmother to her characters, giving them their happily-ever-afters. Six fantastic, talented kids call her “Grandma” and brighten her world in so many ways. She lives in southern Virginia with her husband, author Calvin Davis.
vonniedavis.com
Facebook.com/WritingStoriesOfTheHeart
@VonnieWrites
The Editor’s Corner
Another month of new Loveswept romance books is here! I know you’ll adore this selection of stories chosen just for you….
USA Today bestselling author Claire Kent continues her emotionally charged story of longing, betrayal, and insatiable desire with Darker the Release, sequel to Sweet the Sin. Another Loveswept USA Today bestseller, Lauren Layne, introduces her new Oxford series with Irresistibly Yours. Wendy Marcus’s latest sexy yet sweet military romance, All I Need is You, releases this month as well. Then there’s another Friends First story from USA Today bestseller Laura Drewry, How Forever Feels. USA Today bestseller Stacey Kennedy finishes up her successful BDSM Club Sin series with Mine, simultaneously introducing her next series of erotic play, Dirty Little Secrets, and hot hero Micah.
We’re back on the ice with the first in the Aces Hockey series from Kelly Jamieson, Major Misconduct. Ladies, hold on to your hearts, the Caldwell Brothers are here—USA Today bestselling author MJ Fields and Chelsea Camaron want you to meet Hendrix, the first book in a series about three alpha men who live up to their legendary names. Lastly, something a little different—bear-shifter’s anyone? An alpha hero to the extreme, hot highlander Ronan is all that you could want in Bearing It All by Vonnie Davis, perfect for fans of Jennifer Ashley and Shelly Laurenston.
Fabulous variety with a book for everyone, yes? I hope you’ve found your book boyfriend in this month’s releases. However, if you haven’t, fear not, as November’s hot lineup is just around the corner. Until then…
Happy Romance!
Gina Wachtel
Associate Publisher
Look for Vonnie Davis’s next series, Eagle Ridge Ranch….Here’s a sneak peek:
Deep in the Hill Country of Texas, a small town has developed around an old Apache legend. Myth or truth—the magic of Wounded Warrior Falls was handed down, generation to generation, that the rocks in Warrior Falls carried magical healing properties. Wounded Apaches would stand or be carried beneath the waterfall for the healing-infused water to flow over them.
The small town, Warrior Falls, has a population nearing six thousand. Its few streets boast shops, restaurants, and supply stores kept afloat by the townsfolk and nearby ranchers. Many of these businesses are owned and operated by quirky characters. There are a few lovely “Texan roses” working in the town, too.
Not far from Warrior Falls is a ranch owned by ex-SEAL Warrant Officer Zane Quinlan, known to his crew and Texan neighbors as ZQ. Eagle Ridge Ranch has been in his family for generations, and he’s returned here to find some solace and healing of his own. Before long, an injured member of his old team hunts him down for a place of quiet to acclimate to living in the world again.
Seeing the need for a healing ranch for his old SEAL team and others, he and his hired hands convert part of the ranch to accommodate wounded warriors for short-term or longer stays to heal both physical and emotional wounds. This 22,000-acre ranch becomes a hub of healing for wounded warriors, rough and tough ex-SEALs.
The first book in the series, Her Survivor, will be on sale soon.
Read on for an excerpt from
My Highland Bride
by Maeve Greyson
Available from Loveswept
Chapter 1
SCOTLAND—THE HIGHLANDS—THIRTEENTH CENTURY
“Have ye e’er seen such a lovely set o’ bosoms?”
Colum Garrison lowered his cup enough to peer past the metal rim. Aye. Diarmuid had the right of it there. The man had a keen eye when it came to the lasses. The newest serving girl was indeed a comely maid blessed with a bounty of curves.
Colum drained the tankard, licking the last of the tangy ale from his lips as he slid the empty mug to the table. “An untapped MacKenna keg against that fine ale ye bring all the way from Ireland. What say ye? I gi’ ye fair odds. Whoe’er leaves the hall with her on his arm claims the spoils.”
Diarmuid squinted one eye shut while scrubbing his fingers through the short black beard curling along his jaw. “Fair odds, me arse. If I win the gift of the lass’s charms, ye’ll gi’ me yer best bow along wi’ that keg of fine MacKenna whisky.”
Colum tapped a thumb against the handle of his empty tankard. Yon sweetling would easily choose him o’er Diarmuid, but wager his best bow? O’er something as flighty as a woman’s druthers? Instinct and past experience with Diarmuid’s less-than-scrupulous wagers gave him pause. The man’s terms reeked with the stench of a carefully laid trap. Colum drummed his fingers atop the rough table. “That bow was a gift from the chieftain. There’s none like it in all the Highlands.”
Diarmuid grinned, held up his index finger, then slowly allowed it to droop at the knuckle. He gave a sly wink as he flipped the sagging appendage, making it appear boneless. “What ails ye, m’friend? Are ye no’ feelin’ up for the wee challenge?”
Colum banged his empty mug atop the long trestle table and waved the girl toward them. “I’ll show ye ‘up.’ After the lass has been with me, she’ll no’ have a hunger for yer wee sausage.”
Diarmuid rubbed his hands together, his impish grin widening into a devilish smile. “We shall see, man-at-arms. We shall see.”
The teasing look in the young woman’s eyes, paired with the coy tilting of her head, settled the matter nicely. Aye. The lass is as good as mine, and so is another keg of Diarmuid’s fine ale. Colum slowly traced a fingertip around the curve of his mug. Soon his fingers would trace along much finer curves.
The girl tucked her broad wooden platter under one arm and sashayed toward them. When she reached the men, the red-haired vixen leaned across the bench and propped a hand atop the table. Her smile widened as she not so subtly arched her back, providing an even better view of the creamy cleavage about to spill free of her tightly laced kirtle. “Aye, master. Can I be a fetchin’ anythin’ for ye?”
Colum released his most beguiling smile, leaned forward, and ever so gently slid a finger beneath the young maid’s silky chin. Diarmuid ne’er stood a chance. This wee filly was already his. The truth of it shone in her clear blue eyes and her barely parted lips, already beggin’ for his kisses.
A deep voice boomed across the crowded hall. “Colum! Here. Now. The MacKenna bids ye see him in his solar at once. Best be about it, man.”
Colum let his hand drop to the table, clenching his teeth to keep from cursing aloud. Damn Galen and his ill-timed interruptions. What the hell was wrong wi’ the man? Could he no’ see there was serious business at hand?
Diarmuid chuckled and scooted Colum farther down the bench, bumping his way in front of the still smiling maid. “Dinna worry, friend. I’ll make sure this fine young lass doesna feel neglected by yer absence.” Diarmuid tickled a finger up and down the maid’s lightly freckled forearm as a beguiling smile lit up his face. “Do ye happen to fancy sausages, m’dear one?”
A low-throated growl escaped him as Colum swung out from the bench and stood. He searched the far wall of stone archways for Galen. ’Twas a sorry day when he’d been fool enough to make that clot-head his second-in-command. Aye, Galen was a fine warrior, but the stubborn bastard had a talent for bein’ a verra large pain in the arse.
Barrel-chested Galen grinned and waved from the widest of the arches leading up to the private rooms of the keep. He nodded and winked, rolling up on his toes to bounce a bit higher than his stumpy height, which barely brought him to Colum’s shoulder. His smirking grin widened to a toothy smile as Colum closed in on him. “Now, lad, dinna fret. I’m sure ye can win the lass back from Diarmuid as soon the ch
ief is done wi’ ye.”
“Ye just cost me m’best bow and a keg of whisky.” Colum shoved Galen aside as he shouldered through the doorway.
Galen lowered his broad shoulder and effectively bounced Colum a few steps sideways into the opposing wall. The man might be short of stature but he was nearly as wide as he was tall and stood as solid as Beinn Nibheis. He jabbed a short stubby finger toward the center of Colum’s chest. “I saved ye from yer chieftain’s wrath, ye ungrateful bastard. Were ye no’ just tellin’ me how the MacKenna warned ye to leave the maids alone for a bit? Did he no’ tell ye he grows weary of gettin’ his arse chewed by both his wife and her grandmother for how ye run through the women in the keep? Good Lord, man. Ye should be a thankin’ me. I saw Mother Sinclair herself headin’ toward ye from the kitchens.”
Damn the squat bastard. Colum rolled his shoulder, still stinging from scraping the rough stone of the wall, and glanced back behind them. Sure enough, Granny Sinclair was currently blessing out Diarmuid. She had one bony hand clamped around the serving girl’s elbow while she shook a bent finger just inches from the tip of Diarmuid’s nose. The old woman didna even pause for breath as she whipped around and shook the same scolding finger in the face of the wide-eyed maid.
It appeared a debt of gratitude was owed rather than a swift kick in the arse. Colum clapped a hand to Galen’s meaty shoulder and hurried them both farther down the hall. “I owe ye greatly, m’fine friend. I swear t’ye, I’ll do the sword dance at yer next weddin’.”
Galen shook his head and held up a hand. “I’ve seen yer great gawkin’ form hoppin’ about to the pipes. Spare me the favor, ye oversized son of a Lochlannach.”