“Bear?” Laurel walked to the entrance of the Balnagown lists. She shaded her eyes as she watched Brodie approach, his gray hair swept his ever-expansive shoulders. Two steps behind him, fanned out like the five peaks of Ben Lui, their sons followed their father. Brodie wrapped his arm around Laurel’s waist and lifted her off her feet for a passionate kiss that still made her toes curl in her slippers.
“Good morn, thistle.” Brodie nuzzled her ear as he whispered. “I thought you might sleep till midday.”
“I wasn’t the one complaining aboot being too auld to chase me around that bed,” Laurel giggled, her peal of laughter making her sound more like a young girl than a matron in her fifth decade. Brodie claimed that Laurel looked no different at fifty-six than she did at twenty-six. She accepted the compliment graciously, even if she didn’t agree. While Brodie’s hair was now gray, her sixty-eight-year-old husband was more handsome than any man she knew—that is, besides their five sons. He didn’t swing his sword like he once did, but he still went to the lists and trained their men.
“Have you seen Monty and Donnan?”
“Aye,” Brodie nodded before he looked over his shoulder at Montgomery, Donnan, Broderick, Aidan, and Niall.
“Not those two. The auld bodachs who complain aboot their aching bones just so they can have another dram of whisky in the morn.”
“Your brother and Donnan are still in the lists.” Brodie put Laurel back on her feet and pointed past their sons to the far end of the lists.
Laurel shielded her eyes once more and squinted. She made out the figures in the distance, her brother holding up a sword, and Donnan pointing as he explained something to a young warrior. She scowled, knowing the two men weren’t nearly as aged as they claimed; in fact, they were a few years younger than Brodie. Her husband whistled, making Monty and Donnan look in their direction. If the men hadn’t recognized Laurel’s family, they would have recognized her hair. She and Monty’s heads still sported shades of red, even if they both had white hairs interspersed. The men made their way to where Laurel and Brodie stood with their sons.
“Aches and pains, my arse,” Laurel greeted them.
“Good morn to you, sister,” Monty said as he dropped a kiss on Laurel’s cheek.
“Will you be ready for the ceremony at sunset?”
“Laurel, stop fretting. Everything is already in place,” Monty assured her.
“If you say so,” Laurel nodded.
“Mama, you ken it’s because you’ve been buzzing aboot the bailey like a bee bent on finding every bit of honey,” the younger Monty grinned.
Laurel cast her second-oldest son a withering glare only a mother could manage. With a snort, her son wrapped his arms around Laurel and pulled her against his massive chest, nearly suffocating her. Though all her children were adults, it still surprised her when her wee bairns felt as sturdy as Brodie always had.
“The better question is whether you’ll be ready,” Laurel said as she tapped her son’s chest, nearly suffocating.
“Aye, Mama. I’m ready. You and Da, and Uncle Monty have prepared me for this for years. It feels odd that it’s finally time, but I am ready.” Young Monty straightened as he looked at his uncle, Laird Montgomery Ross. He’d admired the older man as both an uncle and a laird since he was big enough to toddle over to him and attach himself to his uncle’s leg, begging him to walk as he clung on. For his part, Monty always had a special bond with his namesake, and that day he would officially bestow the title of laird on the youth.
Laurel glanced at the older Monty and Donnan and smiled. The couple stood shoulder-to-shoulder, appearing as always to be a brotherly pair. The only people on Ross land that day who knew differently were Laurel, Brodie, and the younger Monty. A riding accident five years after Laurel and Brodie married offered her brother the opportunity to alter the course of his life. The former Laird Ross was pressuring Monty to marry, but Laurel’s brother had evaded the matrimonial noose year after year. When he was injured while on patrol, he seized the chance to claim his injuries kept him from siring any children. It freed Monty and Donnan to remain together, neither having to forsake the other or live a lie with a wife.
Laurel and Monty’s two older sisters had only borne daughters. Laurel’s five sons became the closest living males to Montgomery Mòr. Broderick, named for his father, was Brodie’s own heir. As the second oldest, Montgomery Óg, became his uncle’s heir two years after the accident. Neither clan received the initial announcement well, but the alliance between the Campbells and Rosses had only grown stronger when the elder Montgomery assumed the lairdship. More than twenty years after being named the heir apparent to Clan Ross, the day had come where Montgomery Óg would be named Laird Ross. Laurel and Brodie agreed their son needed to know and understand the truth about his uncle and Donnan if he was to lead in Montgomery Mòr’s stead. They’d feared their son’s reaction, but he’d only shrugged and admitted he already knew. History had repeated itself, and at much the same age as Laurel was when she discovered Monty and Donnan in the woods, the younger Monty had found the lovers in an embrace when he burst into the elder Monty’s solar. He’d kept the secret for more than a decade.
“Nephew, it isn’t easy to hand over the privilege to lead our clan, but I can no longer ride into battle alongside you. I can no longer make the long journeys to court, nor do I have the patience for negotiations anymore. I know how much it pained your mother to allow you and Aidan to foster here, but I will always be grateful that she did. I retire as laird today, and Donnan retires as my second. You shall rise from tánaiste to laird, and Aidan shall take your place as tánaiste until you have a son. Our clans are one, just as they have been since your parents married. Now it shall be official. The new laird shall be Montgomery Campbell.”
“But for the love of God, find a Ross woman to marry,” Donnan Mòr quipped. “Your aunts will never cease harping at you if you don’t.”
“Who knew ma wee hellion would be the lamb to yer two aulder sisters’ lions,” Brodie chuckled as Laurel pursed her lips. Life with Brodie filled her with more love and happiness than she imagined one person could possess. They still went for rides almost daily, stopping to enjoy the Highland air and the expansive landscape that surrounded them. Laurel rarely looked back at her days at court. Her life among the hills and lochs was too fulfilling to linger over memories of her stifling life as a lady-in-waiting.
Laurel fought against the tears that threatened as she stood beside Brodie in the Balnagown Great Hall. With his arm wrapped around her waist like it so often was, and her head resting against his shoulder, Laurel couldn’t imagine a prouder moment. She watched her son swear his fealty to the clan of her birth. Her brother pinned the Clan Ross brooch onto his nephew’s Ross plaid, naming Montgomery Óg Campbell the new Laird Ross.
She lost the fight to control her tears of happiness when Broderick stepped forward and thrust out his arm for a warrior's handshake with his brother. The gesture signified the renewal of the Campbell-Ross alliance. Their oldest son had assumed Brodie’s duties and position as laird a year earlier. Brodie’s vision wasn’t what it once was, and swollen knuckles made it difficult for him to write and grip his sword. Despite retiring as Brodie’s tánaiste, Dominic remained at Kilchurn while they traveled.
“Wheest, Laurie,” Brodie whispered. “You shall soak my leine.” Brodie kissed the top of Laurel’s head, closing his eyes as he inhaled his wife’s lavender scent. When he opened them and gazed at his two sons—now lairds—and the three who stood behind in support, he couldn’t imagine a life without Laurel beside him. A few carelessly tossed words over too many drams of whisky had brought him immeasurable happiness. Laurel was no tamer than she’d been on the day he met her. She was still as wild as a thistle, with roots that wound deep into the Highland soil. He’d promised her freedom, and she’d trusted him when she’d trusted no other. He never took for granted the faith his wife placed in him. Brodie and Laurel found peace and love together. The b
ear and the thistle. They were as much a part of the Highlands as the Highlands were a part of them.
“Then I shall just have to help you find a new one, Brodie,” Laurel whispered in return, her hand sliding precariously close to his backside before Brodie felt a small pinch. She may have appeared the staid Lady Campbell, wife to the mighty Brodie Campbell—the Lion of Lorne—and mother to five sons, but she still had the heart of a hellion.
“Promise, thistle?”
Laurel’s answer was a grin and a wink. Brodie sighed as he held Laurel tighter. Laurel claimed that he’d taken her from rags to riches by offering her his love. But Brodie was certain there was no richer person in the Highlands than he as his wife beamed up at him, love shining in her hazel eyes.
“I love you, Brodie.”
“I love you, Laurie. Now and forever.”
The couple watched as the next generation of Rosses and Campbells forged their future together.
Thank you for reading A Hellion at the Highland Court
Celeste Barclay, a nom de plume, lives near the Southern California coast with her husband and sons. Growing up in the Midwest, Celeste enjoyed spending as much time in and on the water as she could. Now she lives near the beach. She's an avid swimmer, a hopeful future surfer, and a former rower. When she's not writing, she's being a wife and mom.
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The Highland Ladies
A Spinster at the Highland Court BOOK 1
A Spy at the Highland Court BOOK 1.5
A Companion to the Series
A Wallflower at the Highland Court BOOK 2
A Rogue at the Highland Court BOOK 3
A Rake at the Highland Court BOOK 4
An Enemy at the Highland Court BOOK 5
A Saint at the Highland Court BOOK 6
A Beauty at the Highland Court BOOK 7
A Sinner at the Highland Court BOOK 8
A Hellion at the Highland Court BOOK 9
An Angel at the Highland Court BOOK 10
(Coming February 2021)
The Clan Sinclair
His Highland Lass BOOK 1 SNEAK PEEK
She entered the great hall like a strong spring storm in the northern most Highlands. Tristan Mackay felt like he had been blown hither and yon. As the storm settled, she left him with the sweet scents of heather and lavender wafting towards him as she approached. She was not a classic beauty, tall and willowy like the women at court. Her face and form were not what legends were made of. But she held a unique appeal unlike any he had seen before. He could not take his eyes off of her long chestnut hair that had strands of fire and burnt copper running through them. Unlike the waves or curls he was used to, her hair was unusually straight and fine. It looked like a waterfall cascading down her back. While she was not tall, neither was she short. She had a figure that was meant for a man to grasp and hold onto, whether from the front or from behind. She had an aura of confidence and charm, but not arrogance or conceit like many good looking women he had met. She did not seem to know her own appeal. He could tell that she was many things, but one thing she was not was his.
His Bonnie Highland Temptation BOOK 2
His Highland Prize BOOK 3
His Highland Pledge BOOK 4
His Highland Surprise BOOK 5
Their Highland Beginning BOOK 6
Pirates of the Isles
The Blond Devil of the Sea BOOK 1 SNEAK PEEK
Caragh lifted her torch into the air as she made her way down the precarious Cornish cliffside. She made out the hulking shape of a ship, but the dead of night made it impossible to see who was there. She and the fishermen of Bedruthan Steps weren’t expecting any shipments that night. But her younger brother Eddie, who stood watch at the entrance to their hiding place, had spotted the ship and signaled up to the village watchman, who alerted Caragh.
As her boot slid along the dirt and sand, she cursed having to carry the torch and wished she could have sunlight to guide her. She knew these cliffs well, and it was for that reason it was better that she moved slowly than stop moving once and for all. Caragh feared the light from her torch would carry out to the boat. Despite her efforts to keep the flame small, the solitary light would be a beacon.
When Caragh came to the final twist in the path before the sand, she snuffed out her torch and started to run to the cave where the main source of the village’s income lay in hiding. She heard movement along the trail above her head and knew the local fishermen would soon join her on the beach. These men, both young and old, were strong from days spent pulling in the full trawling nets and hoisting the larger catches onto their boats. However, these men weren’t well-trained swordsmen, and the fear of pirate raids was ever-present. Caragh feared that was who the villagers would face that night.
The Dark Heart of the Sea BOOK 2
The Red Drifter of the Sea BOOK3
The Scarlet Blade of the Sea BOOK 4 Coming March 2021
Viking Glory
Leif BOOK 1 SNEAK PEEK
Leif looked around his chambers within his father’s longhouse and breathed a sigh of relief. He noticed the large fur rugs spread throughout the chamber. His two favorites placed strategically before the fire and the bedside he preferred. He looked at his shield that hung on the wall near the door in a symbolic position but waiting at the ready. The chests that held his clothes and some of his finer acquisitions from voyages near and far sat beside his bed and along the far wall. And in the center was his most favorite possession. His oversized bed was one of the few that could accommodate his long and broad frame. He shook his head at his longing to climb under the pile of furs and on the stuffed mattress that beckoned him. He took in the chair placed before the fire where he longed to sit now with a cup of warm mead. It had been two months since he slept in his own bed, and he looked forward to nothing more than pulling the furs over his head and sleeping until he could no longer ignore his hunger. Alas, he would not be crawling into his bed again for several more hours. A feast awaited him to celebrate his and his crew’s return from their latest expedition to explore the isle of Britannia. He bathed and wore fresh clothes, so he had no excuse for lingering other than a bone weariness that set in during the last storm at sea. He was eager to spend time at home no matter how much he loved sailing. Their last expedition had been profitable with several raids of monasteries that yielded jewels and both silver and gold, but he was ready for respite.
Leif left his chambers and knocked on the door next to his. He heard movement on the other side, but it was only moments before his sister, Freya, opened her door.
“That armband suits you well. It compliments your muscles,” Leif smirked and dodged a strike from one of those muscular arms.
“At least one of us inherited our father’s prowess. Such a shame it wasn’t you.”
Freya BOOK 2
Tyra & Bjorn BOOK 3
Strian VIKING GLORY BOOK 4
Lena & Ivar VIKING GLORY BOOK 5
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A Hellion at the Highland Court: A Rags to Riches Highlander Romance (The Highland Ladies Book 9) Page 36