The Mammoth Book of Scottish Romance

by Trisha Telep

  “Planted him a facer,” Edward confirmed, looking inordinately pleased with himself.

  “Bloody well hurt,” Ian said, from across the room, rubbing his jaw.

  “But according to Lord Marlington I could have done better. He’s promised to give me some pugilistic pointers.”

  Sophia’s gaze bounced between her son and Ian. “I’m afraid I’m confused. You two have—”

  “Spent the day together,” Edward broke in. “After I planted him the facer, we talked. He told me everything.”

  Sophia’s gaze flew to Ian. “Everything?”

  “Edward demanded to know why I’d dishonoured his mother,” Ian said. “I explained that was never my intention. That I love you and want to marry you. And that you said you love me as well.”

  Edward touched her arm, recalling her attention. “If you love him, why don’t you want to marry him, Mum?” he asked softly so only she could hear.

  “I … it’s complicated, Edward.”

  “Is it because of me? Because if so, I must tell you, I like him. And I can tell he really loves you.”

  “Adores you, actually,” Ian called from across the room. “Sorry – I’m not deaf. And just so you know, I like you as well, Edward – even though you trounced me at backgammon.”

  Edward grinned at Ian over his shoulder then turned back to Sophia. “Father always said you can tell a great deal about a man by the way he handles himself playing backgammon. Everything I learned about Lord Marlington today showed me he’s a fine man.” Edward squeezed her hand, then leaned forwards to whisper, “I want you happy, mother. And if Lord Marlington makes you happy … you have my blessing.” He gently kissed her cheek then said in his normal voice, “If you’ll both excuse me …” After offering Ian a formal bow, Edward quit the room, closing the door behind him.

  In an effort to align her careening thoughts, Sophia closed her eyes, pressed her palms to her trembling mid section and drew several deep breaths.

  “He’s an exceptional young man, Sophia.”

  She opened her eyes and found Ian standing before her. The profound love, raw desire and deep admiration glowing in his eyes stole her breath. “Th … thank you. You two clearly shared quite a day together.”

  “Aye. It didn’t begin particularly well—” he touched the faint bruise marring his jaw, “but after we talked, things rapidly improved. Just before you arrived he told me I have his blessing to marry you. In the hopes that that will change your mind …” He reached into his waistcoat pocket and withdrew the magnificent pearl ring he’d presented to her last night. Then, as he had the previous evening, he lowered himself to one knee before her. “Sophia … I’ve loved you since the first moment I saw you, and I promise I’ll love you until the day I die. Will you do me the honour of marrying me?”

  Sophia looked into his beautiful eyes and her throat swelled shut at the wave of love swamping her. She’d refused him to avoid scandal, yet the scandal had happened anyway. She’d tried to protect her son, but Edward was clearly capable of taking matters into his own hands. And he’d given her his blessing.

  Ian cleared his throat. “In case you need a bit more convincing, I’ll point out that a wedding would put a stop to all the gossip. And should anyone be foolish enough to say a word against you or cast aspersions on my unfortunate lack of age, I assure you your son is well prepared to take them to task. Boy packs quite a wallop.”

  With hot moisture pushing behind her eyes, Sophia took Ian’s hands and urged him to his feet. When he stood before her, she said, “I can’t marry you to stop gossiping tongues, Ian.”

  He clearly meant to argue and she pressed her fingers to his lips. “But I can marry you because you’re wonderful. Because you make me happy. Make me laugh. Because I know you’ll be good to my son. And because I love you so much I can barely breathe.”

  “Is that a ‘yes?’”

  A half laugh, half sob escaped her. “Yes!”

  In the space of single heartbeat he slipped the pearl ring on her finger and yanked her into his arms and kissed her breathless. “I hope you don’t want a bloody long engagement,” he murmured against her lips.

  “I don’t,” she assured him. “Although I’ll have your promise that you’ll not mention our age difference.”

  “What age difference?”

  She framed his face between her hands and laughed. “God, I love you.”

  He held her tighter and whispered something in Gaelic in her ear. “What does that mean?” she asked.

  “At last, my love. It means at last.”

  Magick in the Mist

  Debbie Mazzuca

  Craigievar Castle, November 1598

  One

  Isobel Forbes waited patiently by the hearth in the sun-filled parlour of her family’s tower house in the Grampian Hills. Patience was not a virtue anyone of Isobel’s acquaintance would ascribe to her, but it was one she’d had no choice but to develop when it came to Ewan Mackenzie, the man her nana had predicted was Isobel’s true love. As she’d been waiting for this day for nine years, Isobel felt she’d developed more patience than was good for a body. It seemed unfair to her that her sisters – all five of them, who were much more suited to the virtue – had within a matter of months married the men their nana had predicted to be their true loves.

  Her amused gaze followed her seven exuberant nieces who chased one another through the cluttered room while their harried mothers and handsome fathers tried to rescue the pitchers of flowers and side tables they knocked over in their enthusiasm, and a smile curved her lips. Her time had come. On this day, Isobel would wed Ewan Mackenzie, the man who’d rode through the mist on a moonlit night just as her nana had foreseen. Not once, but twice.

  The corners of her mouth turned down ever so slightly as her mind returned to the day she’d learned that the handsome highlander, who set the hearts of women – both young and old – afluttering, was to be hers. Isobel, at fifteen, had barely been able to contain her excitement the night her nana sent her to their neighbours’ lands with the Forbes heart stone in hand – a heart-shaped piece of red sandstone that had come from the magickal Stone of Destiny – and a promise that the first man to ride through the mist on that moonlit night was destined to be Isobel’s true love.

  Nothing could have prepared Isobel for the sight of Ewan Mackenzie that night. She’d been rendered speechless, a rare occurrence for her. The only thing she’d managed to mumble in response to his question – asked in a deep voice that had sent heated shivers through her body – was that she’d been waiting for him. But when the second anniversary of that day had passed without Ewan coming to claim her, Isobel complained to her sister Edeen about the long delay. It was then she’d learned what her sisters had been trying to keep from her. Ewan Mackenzie had been betrothed to another.

  Certain her nana must have misinterpreted her vision, and Ewan was not her true love after all, Isobel had returned that very night to the Burnetts’ moors in hopes of finding the man who was. Her body had trembled with anticipation as the horses had thundered through the fog. Her jaw dropped as, once again, Ewan Mackenzie rode masterfully through the mist on his great black steed. His damp honey-gold hair was slicked back from a face she hadn’t thought could become more beautiful, but it had, breath-stealingly so. Her heart had fluttered in her chest when she’d lifted her gaze to his. Eyes reputed to be the colour of sapphires locked with hers and the night went silent. In that moment, there had been nothing but the two of them. A heated awareness had sizzled from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. As though he’d felt the same, he’d jerked back. And then she’d remembered, he was promised to another.

  Her dreams of a happily-ever-after destroyed with that one thought, she’d turned her mount and fled from the Burnett lands. Her father had come upon her crying in the stables and had berated her nana for filling Isobel’s head with fanciful nonsense. Nana had swiftly disabused him of the notion and Isobel of hers. Ewan’s betrothed – Jenny McRae
– had married his cousin.

  Determined to seek Ewan out at first light and introduce herself, Isobel went to the Burnett’s where the annual gathering was being held, only to be told Ewan was participating in the hunt. Undeterred, she’d dressed with care for the festivities planned that eve. While she wove her way through the heated crush in search of him, the guests raised their glasses to toast the announcement of Ewan Mackenzie’s betrothal to Lorna Sinclair. Isobel forced the memory from her head and a smile to her lips.

  Three weeks ago a missive had arrived from Castle Leod with the offer for her hand. Her father, William, furious at the manner in which the offer had been made, had all but denied the match until her sisters and nana intervened. Privately, Isobel thought he’d conceded because he’d begun to despair she’d ever wed. Of late the offers for her hand had slowed to a trickle. Over the years there had been several she’d given serious consideration to, but all she had to do was look to her sisters’ happy marriages and think on what had become of her father and Anna when they’d not heeded her nana’s visions. It had become easier to refuse when last year she’d learned Ewan was a widower.

  Isobel smiled at her sister Edeen, who’d come to stand beside her. Edeen gave a comforting squeeze to Isobel’s shoulder. “You had a pensive look aboot you, Izzie. You’re no havin’ second thoughts, are you?”

  “The time for second thoughts is long past. Although da appears to be havin’ a few of his own,” she said wryly, watching her father pace from one end of the room to the other, a sure sign of his growing temper. William’s temper was as fiery as the curly red hair atop his head.

  “Och, Willie, would ye sit doon. Ye’re makin’ me dizzy.” Their nana, with her pretty lightly-lined face and silver hair pulled back neatly at the nape of her neck, called from where she sat on the blue settee surrounded by her great granddaughters. She gave Isobel a reassuring wink.

  Edeen smiled. “Well, the groom is a touch late.”

  “Since you ken how long I’ve been waitin’, you’ll understand an hour doesna concern me overmuch.”

  Her sister wrapped her arm around Isobel’s shoulder. “Aye, you have, but then you ken what happens when a Forbes doesna wed the one nana has foreseen.”

  “Aye,” Isobel said quietly, thinking of their eldest sister Anna, who’d done just that and paid for it with her life.

  “Sorry, love, ’tis no’ the time for sad thoughts, no’ with you lookin’ so bonny on your weddin’ day.”

  Isobel fingered the low-cut décolletage of the yellow gown her sisters had insisted she wear. They said it showed off her long chestnut curls and hazel eyes to best advantage. She’d heeded their advice. She wanted to look her best for Ewan. Although Isobel had been told often enough that she was pretty, Lorna Mackenzie had been stunning, as breathtakingly beautiful as her husband.

  A commotion in the entry hall drew her attention from her shortcomings when compared to Ewan’s first wife.

  “Aboot bloody time,” her father muttered.

  “Willie,” her nana admonished. Setting the bairns aside, Olivia Forbes came to stand by Isobel. “Yer mon has come, my bonny, just as I promised ye he would.”

  “Be happy, love. We’ll miss you.” Edeen kissed her cheek then went to stand with their sisters who blew Isobel kisses. Mimicking their mothers, her nieces did the same. Isobel blinked back tears. Overjoyed her wedding day had finally come, she hadn’t thought of all she stood to lose. She adored her family and would miss them something fierce. Leod was several days ride from Craigievar and visits would be few and far between. She held on to the thought that one day soon she’d have bairns of her own to spoil as she did her nieces.

  An elderly man entered the hall.

  “Laird Roderick Mackenzie,” the manservant announced.

  “Sweet Mother of God, ’tis the wrong one,” Isobel gasped.

  Beneath a shock of white hair, the man’s bright blue eyes twinkled. “Nay, lass, I’m here on my grandson Ewan’s behest. I’m to wed ye to him by proxy.”

  Astride his black steed, Ewan Mackenzie bid farewell to the men who’d fought under his command in France. Their purses now heavy with coin, they were anxious to return to their families – as anxious as Ewan was to return to his own. It had been a year since he’d seen his young sons. Too long for bairns to be without their da, but it couldn’t be helped. The Mackenzies were in dire need of coin, and a sword for hire had been the only way for Ewan to raise the much needed funds. He scowled, thinking of his grandda and the missive that had made its way to Ewan across the channel.

  “He’s scowlin’ again, Randall. ’Tis certain he’s thinkin’ on grandda.” His dark-haired cousin Callum observed with a laugh. Both Callum and his twin brother Randall had fought alongside Ewan in France and now accompanied him to Leod.

  “Aye, I’m thinkin’ if he wishes to see another day he’d best no’ have contacted the Forbes,” Ewan said irritably.

  “Mayhap ’tis no’ a bad idea, Ewan. You said yourself you were tired of the fightin’ and missin’ your wee lads. William Forbes is reputed to be the richest man in Scotland. I’m sure the lass’s tocher would allow you to give up the sword,” Randall said.

  Ewan’s fingers tightened on the leather reins. “Aye, I am, but I’ll no’ be tied to another wench of his choosing so I can do so. The old man canna see past the coin to the viper he saddles me with.”

  Randall bristled. “Jenny is no’ a viper.”

  “Nay, I was referring to Lorna. But if ye hadna kidnapped Jenny, I’d be wed to her and the three of us would be miserable.”

  “I wouldna had to kidnap her if you’d stood up to grandda,” Randall grumbled.

  “Aye, well, I was but a lad of twenty and wanted nothin’ more than to please the old man.” His grandda had taken the place of Ewan’s parents when they’d died of fever, and Ewan would’ve done anything for Roderick and the clan. It had been the same when he’d wed Lorna Sinclair. Although, he admitted, he’d been as enamoured with her beauty as all the men had been, it hadn’t taken long for him to discover she was a cold-hearted, treacherous bitch beneath her angelic facade. If she hadn’t died fleeing Scotland with one of her many lovers, Ewan would have found some way to divorce her, no matter the shame it brought his family.

  Mayhap if she’d been any kind of mother to his sons, he would have been satisfied to lead separate lives, but she’d spared the bairns not a moment of her time or affection. He shoved aside the thought the lads may not be his. It didn’t matter. If they were not sons of his loins, they were sons of his heart.

  “I understand how you feel after what you suffered at Lorna’s hands, but for all you ken Isobel Forbes is a grand lass and would make you a fine wife. Your lads need a mother, Ewan.”

  “Callum’s right. I’ve never heard ’aught said against the Forbes lassies. They were always aboot when we attended the gatherin’s at the Burnetts’. Are you sure you doona ken them, Ewan?”

  “Nay,” Ewan grunted. His cousins were wasting their breath. Ewan would not marry again, especially a woman of his grandda’s choosing. He’d done his duty – he’d provided heirs. But they were right about one thing – he was determined to remain at Leod with his sons. He just had to find a way to provide for the clan so he could.

  “Ewan, you canna tell me you doona recall the gatherin’s at the Burnetts’. Doona you remember the lass you went chasin’ through the woods after, only to end up knockin’ yourself out instead?”

  How could he forget? There’d been something about the lass that had called to him. A charged jolt of awareness when his eyes met hers, a feeling he’d never experienced before or since. It was as though his body recognized her and urged him to claim her, make her his own. Unbeknownst to his cousin, Ewan hadn’t taken part in the hunt that day. He’d scoured the countryside for her, only to return in time for the festivities to hear his grandda announce his betrothal to Lorna Sinclair.

  Randall chuckled. “Must be somethin’ aboot the moonlight and the
Burnetts’ moors that calls the lassies to our cousin here. Do you recall the lass we met up with the summer before grandda announced your betrothal to Jenny?”

  He hadn’t, not until his cousin mentioned it. They’d come through the mist to find a bonny wee lass astride her horse. Ewan had asked what she was doing on her own. His lips twitched as he recalled her sweet, innocent smile and her answer. “I’m waitin’ for you.” He’d laughed and promised to come back for her. He started at the thought; the two lassies were one and the same. He shook off his bemusement. He had no time for whimsical fancy of bonny lassies waiting for him in the moonlight.

  In the valley far below from where they sat astride their horses, Castle Leod shimmered in the midday sun. The sweet scent of heather filled the warm summer air and Ewan’s chest tightened. Aye, ’twas good to be home.

  “Is that grandda?” Callum asked. Shielding his eyes with one hand while he waved the other, he called out to the old man who appeared to be chasing a woman through the heather.

  “If ’tis, lets hope the woman has coin and grandda can wed her because he’ll no be gettin’ me to the altar again.”

  Two

  Isobel blew her flour-dusted hair from her eyes. The kitchens were sweltering. Her body was slick with sweat beneath the old gown she’d chosen for the task the bairns had set out for her. Robbie and Connor watched her closely, their eyes wide as she turned out the honey cakes they’d asked her to bake in honour of their father’s return. She tried to ignore the nervous flutter in her belly at the knowledge that the man who was now her husband would arrive on the morrow.

  “Nay, Robbie.” Connor shook his head of auburn curls and grabbed his brother’s hand before he could stick his finger in the cake.

  “Can we have a wee taste, mam? Please,” Robbie begged, lifting his startling blue eyes to hers.