Looking into her eyes, he could see that the last of the shadows that had lurked there for too long were gone. He had known he had made a mistake by not telling her about Mavis, but he now saw he could have saved them all that heartache if he had just said a few loving words, given her something to cling to when trouble came their way. He swore he would not be so cautious again. Unused to revealing all he felt, he knew it would take time to overcome that reluctance, but he swore that he would try. That glow of happiness, of serenity on her face was worth the effort.
“I dinnae ken how ye could have been in doubt of my feelings for ye, lass,” he said. “I thought they were clear for all to see.”
“I dinnae ken why ye should think that. Ye are verra good at hiding what ye are feeling or thinking.”
“Ah, but there was a clue if ye had just kenned what to look for.”
“And what was that clue?”
“Why, the way I kept acting like a complete idiot.” He grinned when she laughed and hugged him again. “’Tis the surest sign there is that a mon has lost his heart to a lass. ’Tis also the reason I was determined to stay out of that trap. I have ne’er liked to be an idiot.”
“I see. Weel, it appears I have developed a great fondness for idiots.”
“A great fondness, is it?”
“A verra great fondness indeed. ’Struth, I am quite madly in love with my idiot.”
“And will love him forever?” he asked softly, his lips against hers.
“And for the day after that as weel.”
Epilogue
Six months later…
Groaning softly, Alana sat down on the stone bench next to Keira. This would be the last visit with her sister for months, she thought as she smoothed her hand over her well-rounded stomach. Since Keira was as round as she was, her ankles as swollen, and her movements as awkward, Alana knew neither of them would be able to travel again for quite a while, especially not with winter on the horizon.
“Ardgleann is looking more prosperous, nearly returned to its former glory,” Alana said, admiring the flowers surrounding them, “and your garden looks verra bright for so late in the season.”
“The weather has been mild for far longer than is customary, which is a blessing. We will actually have a crop to harvest this year, e’en though we were so late in the planting of it. ’Twill be a small one, for there was no time to plant all the fields, but it will serve to keep the wolves from the door. As will all the help of our families. How fares Craigdene?”
“Verra weel, thank ye.” Alana exchanged a broad grin with Keira over the extremely polite tone of her voice, and then softened it. “It isnae such a grand place as this is, but ’tis more than enough to please us. Gregor was certainly pleased that it didnae visibly declare the fact that he had married a rich woman. The size of my dowry can still make him wince. And Craigdene is nicely placed right in the midst of so many we care about, making visits such as these easy enough.”
“I am going to have a son, ye ken,” Keira said abruptly.
“Aye, so am I,” Alana said, laughter tinting her voice. “And a lass. Mab says so.”
“Aye, so am I.”
Alana shared a laugh with Keira and then they waved at their husbands, who looked their way from where they stood talking together at the far end of the garden. “We found ourselves some verra bonnie men, didnae we.”
Keira nodded. “Verra bonnie, indeed, and so verra good to us, although it took a wee bit of work to find the happiness we are now so blessed with. I still feel a wee bit guilty at times for finding mine in the midst of such tragedy.”
“Nay, ye must ne’er feel so.” Alana shrugged. “Sometimes that is just the way ’tis meant to be. Who would e’er have believed that I would find my happiness at the bottom of the Gowans’ oubliette?”
Both of them looked at their husbands and sighed, which made Alana laugh. “I suspicion I shall always do that when I look upon Gregor. He is such a fine-looking mon. I sometimes watch him sleep and wonder why such a mon would choose me, would love me of all women.”
“I do the same. As ye said, sometimes that is just the way ’tis meant to be. We found our mates.”
“That we did. And ’twill be interesting to see just how our big, strong husbands act when we present them with a son and a daughter in a few months. Have ye told Liam?”
“Nay, I thought I would let it be a surprise.”
“As did I.”
“Do ye think that might be just a wee bit cruel?”
“Nay, not at all. Besides, if I tell Gregor about it, he will become even more protective of me than he is now.”
“And that would be unbearable,” Keira agreed. “Liam would be the same.”
“And, of course, it would spoil the surprise.” Alana laughed along with Keira.
Gregor smiled faintly as he watched Alana and Keira laughing together. “I am nay sure I want to ken what they find so verra funny.”
Liam chuckled. “’Twould be best for the sake of our wee monly pride if we dinnae ask any questions, I think.”
“Having a wife and learning that I will be a father soon is taking a wee bit of time to get used to. I ken I have two children already, but I wasnae about as they were carried and born by their mothers. They just appeared at the gates. This, weel, this is both wonderful and terrifying.”
“Exactly so. I could say the same about being married to a twin, one who is so verra closely tied to her sister.”
“That is indeed hard to understand at times. I suspicion I will ken exactly when your wife takes to her childbed.”
“And I yours. Och, weel, there are worse things. I nearly became a monk.”
“And I nearly married the wrong woman.”
“I think ye would have paid far more dearly for your choice than I would have with mine.”
“Without question. There is one thing about all of this that does truly gall me, however.”
Liam looked at Gregor a little warily. “And what would that be?”
“The realization that Sigimor was right all along.”
“That certainly is galling, but exactly what was he right about?”
“About how we would ken the woman we were meant to marry because she felt right.”
“And she fits,” added Liam and laughed with Gregor. “I now recall thinking the same thing. So, ye love the lass, do ye?”
“Aye, although it took watching her fall off a cliff for me to admit it.” Gregor shook his head. “I didnae want it, ye ken. I thought love made a mon act like an idiot. Instead, I denied it and acted like an idiot anyway.”
“But now ye are a verra happy idiot, arenae ye.”
“I am. A verra happy idiot indeed.”
Liam looked at Keira and started to walk toward her. “Ah, weel, there are some verra fine rewards for being an idiot.”
Quickly falling into step, his gaze fixed upon his smiling wife, Gregor had to agree.
Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of
Hannah Howell’s
HIGHLAND BARBARIAN
coming in December 2006!
Scotland, Summer 1480
“Ye dinnae look dead, though I think ye might be trying to smell like ye are.”
Angus MacReith scowled at the young man towering over his bed. Artan Murray was big, strongly built, and handsome. His cousin had done well, he thought. Far better than all his nearer kin who had born no children at all or left him with ones like young Malcolm. Angus scowled even more fiercely as he thought about that man. Untrustworthy, greedy, and cowardly, he thought. Artan had the blood of the MacReiths in him and it showed, just as it did in his twin Lucas. it was only then that Angus realized Artan stood there alone.
“Where is the other one?” he asked.
“Lucas had his leg broken,” Artan replied.
“Bad?”
“Could be. I was looking for the ones who did it when ye sent word.”
“Ye dinnae ken who did it?”
&nbs
p; “I have a good idea who did it. A verra good idea.” Artan shrugged. “I will find them.”
Angus nodded. “Aye, ye will, lad. Suspicion they will be hiding now, eh?”
“Aye. As time passes and I dinnae come to take my reckoning they will begin to feel themselves safe. ’Twill be most enjoyable to show them how mistaken they are.”
“Ye have a devious mind, Artan,” Angus said in obvious admiration.
“Thank ye.” Artan moved to lean against the bedpost at the head of the bed. “I dinnae think ye are dying, Angus.”
“I am nay weel!”
“Och, nay, ye arenae, but ye arenae dying.”
“What do ye ken about it?” grumbled Angus, pushing himself upright enough to collapse against the pillows Artan quickly set behind him.
“Dinnae ye recall that I am a Murray? I have spent near all my life surrounded by healers. Aye, ye are ailing, but I dinnae think ye will die if ye are careful. Ye dinnae have the odor of a mon with one foot in the grave. And, for all ye do stink some, ’tisnae really the smell of death.”
“Death has a smell ere it e’en takes hold of a mon’s soul?”
“Aye, I think it does. And since ye are nay dying, I will return to hunting the men who hurt Lucas.”
Angus grabbed Artan by the arm, halting the younger man as he started to move away. “Nay! I could die and ye ken it weel. I hold three score years. E’en the smallest chill could set me firm in the grave.”
That was true enough, Artan thought as he studied the man who had fostered him and Lucas for nearly ten years. Angus was still a big strong man, but age sometimes weakened a body in ways one could not see. The fact that Angus was in bed in the middle of the day was proof enough that whatever ailed him was serious. Artan wondered if he was just refusing to accept the fact that Angus was old and would die soon.
“So ye have brought me here to stand watch o’er your deathbed?” he asked, frowning for he doubted Angus would ask such a thing of him.
“Nay, I need ye to do something for me. This ague, or whate’er it is that ails me, has made me face the hard fact that, e’en if I recover from this, I dinnae have many years left to me. ’Tis past time I start thinking on what must be done to ensure the well-being of Glascreag and the clan when I am nay longer here.”
“Then ye should be speaking with Malcolm.”
“Bah, that craven whelp is naught but a stain upon the name MacReith. Sly, whining little wretch. I wouldnae trust him to care for my dogs let alone these lands and the people living here. He couldnae hold fast to this place for a fortnight. Nay, I willnae have him as my heir.”
“Ye dinnae have another one that I ken of.”
“Aye, I do, although I have kept it quiet. Glad of that now. My youngest sister bore a child two and twenty years ago. Poor Moira died a few years later bearing another child,” he murmured, the shadow of old memories briefly darkening his eyes.
“Then where is he? Why wasnae he sent here to train to be the laird? Why isnae he kicking that wee timid mousie named Malcolm out of Glascreag?”
“’Tis a lass.”
Artan opened his mouth to loudly decry naming a lass the heir to Glascreag and then quickly shut it. He resisted the temptation to look behind him to see if his kinswomen were bearing down on him, well armed and ready to beat some sense into him. They would all be sorely aggrieved if they knew what thoughts were whirling about in his head. Words like too weak, too sentimental, too trusting, and made to have bairns not lead armies were the sort of thoughts that would have his kinswomen grinding their teeth in fury.
But Glascreag was no Donncoill, he thought. Deep in the Highlands, it was surrounded by rough lands and even rougher men. In the years he and Lucas had trained with Angus they had fought reivers, other clans, and some who wanted Angus’s lands. Glascreag required constant vigilance and a strong sword arm. Murray women were strong and clever, but they were healers, not warriors, not deep in their hearts. Artan also considered his kinswomen unique and doubted Angus’s niece was of their ilk.
“If ye name a lass as your heir, Angus, every mon who has e’er coveted your lands will come kicking down yer gates.” Artan crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at the man. “Malcolm is a spineless weasel, but a mon, more or less. Naming him yer heir would at least make men pause as they girded themselves for battle. Aye, and yer men would heed his orders far more quickly than they would those of a lass and ye ken it weel.”
Angus nodded and ran one scarred hand through his black hair, which was still thick and long but was now well threaded with white. “I ken it, but I have a plan.”
A tickle of unease passed through Artan. Angus’s plans could often mean trouble. At the very least, they meant hard work for him. The way the man’s eyes, a silvery blue like his own, were shielded by his half-lowered lids warned Artan that even Angus knew he was not going to like this particular plan.
“I want ye to go and fetch my niece for me and bring her here to Glascreag where she belongs. I wish to see her once more before I die.” Angus sighed, slumped heavily against the pillows, and closed his eyes.
Artan grunted, making his disgust with such a pitiful play for sympathy very clear. “Then send word and have her people bring her here.”
Sitting up straight, Angus glared at him. “I did. I have been writing to the lass for years, e’en sent for her when her father and brother died ten, nay, twelve years ago. Her father’s kinsmen refused to give her into my care e’en though nary a one of them is as close in blood to her as I am.”
“Why didnae ye just go and get her? Ye are a laird. Ye could have claimed her as yer legal heir and taken her. ’Tis easy to refuse letters and emissaries, but nay so easy to refuse a mon to his face. Ye could have saved yerself the misery of dealing with Malcolm.”
“I wanted the lass to want to come to Glascreag, didnae I.”
“’Tis past time ye ceased trying to coax her or her father’s kinsmen.”
“Exactly! That is why I want ye to go and fetch her here. Ach, laddie, I am sure ye can do it. Ye can charm and threaten with equal skill. Aye, and ye can do it without making them all hot for yer blood. I would surely start a feud I dinnae need. Ye have a way with folk that I dinnae, that ye do.”
Artan listened to Angus’s flattery and grew even more uneasy. Angus was not only a little desperate to have his niece brought home to Glascreag, but he also knew Artan would probably refuse to do him this favor. The question was why would Angus think Artan would refuse to go and get the woman. It could not be because it was dangerous, for the man knew well that only something foolishly suicidal would cause Artan to, perhaps, hesitate. Although his mind was quickly crowded with possibilities ranging from illegal to just plain disgusting, Artan decided he had played this game long enough.
“Shut it, Angus,” he said, standing up straighter and putting his hands on his hips. “Why havenae ye gone after the woman yourself and why do ye think I will refuse to go?”
“Ye would refuse to help a mon on his deathbed?”
“Just spit it out, Angus, or I will leave right now and ye will ne’er ken which I might have said, aye or nay.”
“Och, ye will say nay,” Angus mumbled. “Cecily lives near Kirkfalls.”
“In Kirkfalls? Kirkfalls?” Artan muttered and then he swore. “That is in the Lowlands.” Artan’s voice was soft yet sharp with loathing.
“Weel, just a few miles into the Lowlands.”
“Now I ken why ye ne’er went after the lass yerself. Ye couldnae stomach the thought of going there. Yet ye would send me into that hellhole?”
“’Tisnae as bad as all that.”
“’Tis as bad as if ye wanted me to ride to London. I willnae do it,” Artan said and started to leave.
“I need an heir of my own blood!”
“Then ye should ne’er have let your sister marry a Lowlander. ’Tis near as bad as if ye had let her run off with a Sassanach. Best ye leave the lass where she is. She is weel ruined by now.”
“Wait! Ye havenae heard the whole of my plan!”
Artan opened the door and stared at Malcolm who was crouched on the floor, obviously having had his large ear pressed against the door. The thin, pale young man grew even paler and stood up. He staggered back a few steps and then bolted down the hall. Artan sighed. He did not need such a stark reminder of the pathetic choice Angus had for an heir now.
Curiosity also halted him at the door. Every instinct he had told him to keep on moving, that he would be a fool to listen to anything else Angus had to say. A voice in his head whispered that his next step could change his life forever. Artan wished that voice would tell him if that change would be for the better. Praying he was not about to make a very bad choice, he slowly turned to look at Angus, but he did not move away from the door.
Angus looked a little smug and Artan inwardly cursed. The old man had judged his victim well. Curiosity had always been Artan’s weakness. It had caused him trouble and several injuries more times than he cared to recall. He wished Lucas were with him for his brother was the cautious one. Then Artan quickly shook that thought aside. He was a grown man now, not a reckless child, and he had wit enough to make his own decisions with care and wisdom.
“What is the rest of your plan?” he asked Angus.
“Weel, ’tis verra simple. I need a strong mon to take my place as laird once I die or decide ’tis time I rested. Malcolm isnae it and neither is Cecily. Howbeit, there has to be someone of MacReith blood to step into my place, the closer to me the better.”
“Aye, ’tis the way it should be.”
“So e’en though ye have MacReith blood, ’tis but from a distant cousin. Howbeit, if ye marry Cecily—”
“Marry!”
“Wheesht, what are ye looking so horrified about, eh? Ye arenae getting any younger, laddie. Past time ye were wed.”
“I have naught against marriage. I fully intend to choose a bride some day.”
Angus grunted. “Some day can sneak up on a body, laddie. I ken it weel. Now, cease your fretting for a moment and let me finish. If ye were to marry my niece, ye could be laird here. I would name ye my heir and nary a one of my men would protest it. E’en better, Malcolm couldnae get anyone to heed him if he cried foul. Cecily is my closest blood kin and ye are nearly as close to me as Malcolm is. So, ye marry the lass and, one day, Glascreag is yers.”
Highland Lover Page 28