by Laurin Wittig - Guardians Of The Targe 02 - Highlander Avenged
Scotia settled a wreath of flowers and greenery on Jeanette’s head, weaving thin braids of her hair about it like ribbons.
“Have you heard aught of whether Da was able to convince any of the other clans to send help?” Scotia asked.
“Nicholas said there were a few chiefs who pledged men,” Rowan said, “but most were unwilling to leave themselves vulnerable in case the English turned their attention upon their clans.”
“And they call us their allies?” Scotia’s voice was a low growl. “Let us see what happens when they need our help.”
“Wheesht, sister,” Jeanette said. “Today is a day of happiness and celebration. Tomorrow will be soon enough to consider our options.”
“I think it is time,” Rowan said.
Scotia tucked one last braid around the wreath, then motioned for Jeanette to stand.
“You make a beautiful bride, Cousin,” Rowan said quietly, and Scotia nodded.
It seemed only moments later that she stood outside the main cave, Malcolm by her side, with her clan and his kinsmen gathered about them as they made their vows, just as they had done the day in the grotto, only this time it was witnessed and they were declared married by her own father.
Somehow, Peigi and her sisters had organized a feast, complete with delicious venison stew and honey cakes.
Rowan came to sit next to Jeanette and leaned close enough to whisper to her. “I have prepared a small cave not too far away for you and Malcolm,” she said, smiling at her cousin. “I wish I had a feather bed for you on your wedding night.”
Jeanette laughed and hugged Rowan. “I have Malcolm now. I do not need a feather bed.”
Malcolm saw them laughing and came over to them. “Are you ready, angel?” he asked, holding a hand out to help her up.
“Aye, my golden warrior.” She could not keep from smiling at this man, her husband, the keeper of her heart.
“Where are you going?” Rowan asked, drawing the attention of everyone nearby.
Jeanette looked down, suddenly sure that everyone could see the anticipation that coursed through her, even though she knew that what they were about was expected on a wedding night.
“We are going someplace special—” Malcolm laughed when Duncan, Jock, Nicholas, and Kenneth all started to complain. “It is not far away, and it is within this glen. I can guarantee that should it come to anything, Jeanette can keep me very safe.” Everyone laughed, though his kinsmen looked at each other as if they didn’t entirely understand why that was funny. Malcolm thought it best they keep the real strength of the two Guardians secret for a while longer and Nicholas had agreed.
Jeanette leaned close to Rowan and kissed her on the cheek. “We are going to the grotto,” she said for Rowan’s ears alone. “Tomorrow we will take advantage of the cave you have prepared.”
Rowan grinned. “I imagine you will.”
Peigi arrived with a basket full of food and a wineskin Malcolm had brought back with him for just this occasion.
“How did you ken we would need that?” Jeanette asked.
Peigi gave a loud cackle. “A golden birdie told me.” She patted Malcolm on the cheek, then Jeanette. “Do not hurry back!”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
MANY THANKS, AS always, to my dear friends and sisters-of-my-heart Pamela Palmer and Anne Shaw Moran. I don’t know what I would do without you two to keep me steady, grounded, and focused. Your friendship makes me a better person. Your critiques make me a better writer. I’m so glad we are journeying through this life together!
An equal number of thanks go to my daily writing friends Phyllis Hall Haislip and Kathy Huffman. Thanks to you two, I have gotten really good at writing every single day. I hope I have had the same effect on you!
And a big thanks and hug for my nephew, Dr. Wesley Watkins, for helping me understand Malcolm’s injury. All errors are my own.
And last, but definitely not least, the team at Montlake Romance has my great thanks for being so terrific to work with!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Michael Taylor, 2012
LAURIN WITTIG WAS indoctrinated into her Scottish heritage at birth when her parents chose her oddly spelled name from a plethora of Scottish family names. At ten, Laurin attended her first MacGregor clan gathering with her grandparents, and her first ceilidh (“kay-lee”), a Scottish party, where she danced to the bagpipes with the hereditary chieftain of the clan. At eleven, she visited Scotland for the first time and it has inhabited her imagination ever since.
Laurin writes bestselling and award-winning Scottish medieval romances and lives in southeastern Virginia. For more information about all of Laurin’s books, please visit her at LaurinWittig.com.