by Ruth Langan
“What do you mean?”
“As if you don’t know. Do you deny you wrote this?” In the boy’s hand was a crumpled parchment.
Morgan smoothed the parchment, then held it up to the glow of the candle. As he read, he felt his heart contract painfully.
“This is not the message I wrote.” He looked at the lad. “The words are indeed mine. But most of it has been burned away, changing the meaning entirely. If this is what Lindsay read, she must surely hate me. As must you, as well.”
Brock shook his head. “I don’t hate you, Morgan, though I should. Nor does Lindsay. But because of this note, she has agreed to wed Heywood Drummond.”
“Nay.” Morgan stepped back as though burned.
When he heard the sound of approaching hoofbeats he strode quickly from the hut, with the lad racing after him.
“Was your lady pleased with her gifts, my laird?” one of his men called.
Morgan MacLaren seemed not to hear as, with a hiss of disgust, he pulled himself into the saddle, then bent and lifted Brock in his arms. He shouted a terse command to his men to follow.
Sweet heaven. If what the lad told him was true, Lindsay was already at the kirk, sealing both their fates for all time. If she wed another, he would never again know happiness in this world.
He spurred his mount into a gallop, and prayed he’d be in time to stop her from making the mistake of a lifetime.
Before Lindsay could open the door, it was thrust inward and Heywood Drummond stepped inside, closing it behind him. He was wearing a fine black tunic and breeches. The glow of candles winked in the jeweled hilt of the sword strapped to his waist. The sword she had once bartered away for a pittance.
“You shouldn’t be here, Heywood. It’s considered unlucky to see your bride before the ceremony.”
He gave her a chilling smile. “I have always believed in making my own luck, woman.” He reached out a hand to the bodice of her gown, and she instinctively stepped back.
At that he fisted a hand in her gown and dragged her close. “Once we’re wed, you’ll not refuse me, or you’ll regret it.”
“I…won’t refuse you. Once we’re wed.”
“That’s better.” He released her, but continued leaning against the door, blocking her exit. “See that your father and the lass return to their hut after the mass.”
“I thought they’d go with me to your home. You promised that my family would be taken care of.”
“Aye. And they will be. But I’ve been a long time without a wife. I want my privacy. When I’ve had my fill of you, the old man can come to live with us, as long as he stays out of the way. As for your brother’s brats, I’ve arranged for them to live with a crofter in a neighboring village.”
She absorbed another blow to her already shattered heart. “You gave your word that they could remain with us.”
“I said they’d be taken care of. And they will be.”
“Is he a…cruel master?”
“What does that matter to me? He’s a rich man. If they do as they’re told, they’ll have food and a pallet.” He fingered the gold he’d been given by the crofter in exchange for them. “That’s more than some in this poor land can claim.”
“But they’re so young, Heywood.”
“I was even younger when I was on my own. And look at me now.”
Lindsay shivered.
He mistook her silence for approval. With a slight bow of his head he turned. Over his shoulder he said, “Let’s give the villagers their spectacle. I grow impatient for my bride.”
When the door closed behind him, Lindsay sank to her knees and prayed for the strength to endure the task set before her. It seemed to her that at any moment her heart might simply stop beating.
What frightened her was the fact that she would welcome it as the lesser of evils she would have to face this night.
As Morgan and his men approached the village, the huts appeared to be slumbering. Like Lindsay’s hut, no candles glowed in windows. No fires blazed on hearths.
He leaned close to Brock. “Where are the people?”
“At the kirk, to witness the wedding.”
The lad’s words cut like a knife and Morgan spurred his horse faster.
At the door to the kirk he leapt from the saddle and, with Brock beside him, was striding through the doorway before his men had even reined in their mounts.
Inside Morgan saw only crowds of people, sitting, standing, watching as a woman made her way to the altar, where a man stood waiting. So, it was as the lad had said. He felt a wild rush of relief, knowing he’d been in time to stop this farce of a wedding.
The priest glanced at the couple, then looked up at the commotion as Morgan’s men filed into the kirk and took up their places behind him.
“You men have no right to intrude upon this most holy service,” the priest called.
“I have every right.”
At Morgan’s voice, every head in the kirk turned toward him. He took no notice. All he could see was the small, slender woman who stood at the altar, staring at him as if seeing a ghost.
While the crowd murmured, Morgan strode up the aisle until he was standing before Lindsay.
She was struck speechless by the sight of him in the fine clothes, with the MacLaren plaid tossed over his shoulder.
He held out the crumpled parchment. “Brock told me this is how you found my missive.”
She nodded, unable to speak over the lump in her throat.
“These are not the words I wrote you. At least not all of them. The fire must have destroyed the rest.”
“It…” She swallowed, then tried again. “It matters not. You aren’t bound to me, Morgan MacLaren. Nor I to you.”
His eyes narrowed with sudden fury. “We are bound, you and I. By more than mere words. We are bound by what is here, in our hearts.”
At that Heywood Drummond stepped forward. “You have no right to speak so to the woman who is about to become my bride.”
Morgan’s men stepped closer, awaiting the word from their laird. Instead he fixed Drummond with a look of pure hatred. “The sword you wear is mine. It was a gift from my father. You will remove it at once.”
Heywood’s hand went to his waist, his fingers curling around the jeweled hilt. “I paid precious gold for it.”
“Aye. I know what you paid. Three gold coins, though it is worth far more.” Morgan removed from his pocket a pouch bulging with gold. “I give you a choice. You may face my sword, and the winner will end up with both weapons. Or you can accept this gold. I assure you, the gold will be the wiser choice.” He was itching for a fight. It would cleanse the anger that blurred his vision and heated his blood.
Drummond’s greedy gaze was fixed on the gold. And, though he longed to display his skill before the villagers, he secretly feared the bloodlust he could see in this stranger’s eyes.
He unstrapped the sword and handed it over, then held out his hand for the gold.
“A wise choice, Drummond.” Morgan accepted the sword and strapped it on, then signaled for one of his men to come forward and take the sword he’d been wearing. “Give this to Gordon Douglas, with my compliments.”
The warrior bowed and murmured, “Aye, my laird.”
“Laird?” All the color drained from Heywood’s face as he took a step back.
Lindsay’s eyes went wide. She looked from Morgan to the line of warriors who stood at attention. “Is this true? Are you the laird?”
He smiled. “Aye, my lady. That’s why I had to leave you without warning. When I heard that my father lay dying, I had no choice but to go to him at once.”
“Your father?” She ran a tongue over lips suddenly dry. “The horse? The bow and arrows?”
“They were in service to the laird. But now I’ve returned them. And I’ve come to claim the woman who owns my heart.”
He caught her hands in his and stared into her eyes. “My lady, will you declare your love for me before this congregation, and make my
life complete?”
“Oh, Morgan. I had thought…I had feared…” Lindsay’s eyes were brimming as she pulled away. “But now you are laird. How could I have possibly thought…?” She started to curtsy but he caught her hands, forcing her to remain still.
He turned until he saw Gordon Douglas and his granddaughter seated in the front pew. “My friends, will you come forward and help me persuade this obstinate female that I have truly come to wed her?”
With shouts of delight Gwen caught her grandfather’s hand and led him to the altar, where they joined Brock and gathered around Lindsay, who seemed unable to form a single thought.
“Are you really laird?” Gwen asked.
Morgan knelt down, so that his eyes were level with hers. “Aye. I am. And you and your brother and your grandfather are going to come home with me and live in my fortress in the Highlands.”
“We’ll live like lairds?” Brock asked in awe.
“You’ll live like Highlanders, lad. You’ll learn to be a noble warrior like your grandfather.”
The old man beamed with pride.
“And Gwen will learn to be a fine lady like her aunt.”
Lindsay stood watching, shaking her head in wonder, while the rest of the people in the kirk murmured among themselves and strained for a glimpse of the handsome new laird.
Even the old priest seemed caught up in the excitement. Holding the precious Bible in his hand he turned to Lindsay. “Is this marriage what you desire, lass?”
She swallowed the tears that threatened and nodded. “Aye. It is. It has always been my desire.”
Minutes later, as the bells ushered in the holy feast of Christmas, the villagers of Braemer were privileged to witness the marriage of Morgan MacLaren, the great laird of the Highlands, to their own lass, Lindsay Douglas.
As the villagers cheered, Morgan placed his mother’s ring on Lindsay’s finger. Afterward Lindsay rested her hand on Morgan’s arm and walked beside him from the kirk. Outside, his warriors lifted their swords in a salute as the happy couple filed past. Then, after accepting the congratulations of the entire village, Morgan and Lindsay gathered her family close and watched while a fine white carriage drawn by a team of white horses rolled to a stop before them.
The driver stepped down and offered the children gifts of sweet scones and brandied cakes. Brock and Gwen could hardly contain their excitement as they bit into the sweet confections.
Lindsay arched a brow. “It seems you’ve thought of everything, my laird.”
“I hope so, my lady. For I do so want to please you.”
She sighed. “Oh, you do please me, my laird. Are we to ride to your home in this splendid carriage?”
He smiled and shook his head. “My men will wrap your father and the children in furs, and see them safely to my Highland fortress.” He waited while she kissed her father goodbye, and hugged the children.
She turned to him. “What about us, Morgan?”
“You’ll see.” Scooping her into his arms, he pulled himself into the saddle and turned his mount in the opposite direction.
“Where are we going?” she demanded.
He pressed his mouth against her temple and felt the quick flash of heat. It had been so long. So long since he’d known this warmth. “I know of a tiny hut set in the forest. It is where I first lost my heart to a proud Highland lass.”
“It will be cold, Morgan. And far too humble for the laird of the land.”
“With you, my love, it will feel like a palace. I’ve waited so long to love you. Besides, as long as we’re together, it will never be cold. In fact, as long as you’re in my arms, I’ll never be cold again, Lindsay.”
She pressed her lips to his throat and closed her eyes, trying to absorb all that had happened. It still seemed like a dream. “I’ve heard about miracles that are said to be brought by Father Christmas on the eve of this holy feast. Do you suppose this has been one of them, my love?”
“Aye, Lindsay.” He lowered his head and covered her mouth with his, feeling the warmth spread and grow and envelope them like a warm cocoon. “Love like ours is always a miracle. And this night has been, by far, the greatest miracle of all.”
ISBN: 978-1-55254-713-7
RUTH LANGAN HIGHLANDERS BUNDLE
Copyright © 2006 by Ruth Ryan Langan
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
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About the Author
A high school honours student who wrote for the school paper and was editor of the yearbook, Ruth was awarded a full scholarship to college, where she hoped to pursue an English degree.
Her plans were changed, however, because of financial conditions, and she joined the workforce, becoming a secretary to the vice president of a large corporation.
Ruth Ryan Langan married her childhood sweetheart, Tom, and together they have raised five children. Avid travellers and sports enthusiasts, Ruth and her family enjoy bowling, golfing, skiing, and swimming. Along with her husband, Ruth jogs several miles each day (to get away from the word processor).
Ruth’s writing career began when she gave a very special birthday present to herself. Her gift was an hour a day to pursue her writing. Soon she was a published novelist.
She says of her career, “The greatest reward for a writer is having someone say “I loved your book.” These simple words make all the hours of writing worthwhile.”
Ruth is co-founder and past treasurer of the Greater Detroit Chapter of Romance Writers of America, as well as a charter member of the national organization of Romance Writers of America, the Detroit Women Writers, Novelists, Inc., and Sisters in Crime.
In addition, Ruth has coscripted with Marianne Willman and Jan Greenberg, four original screenplays, one of which, Pendulum, is contemporary, and three of which are historical in nature. Ruth has also completed a children’s book, which features illustrations by her daughter-in-law Patty Langan.
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