Was there a part that bored or that you didn't really like in the book?

Even a character, a scene, or anything. You could say no if nothing bothered you.

Which was the part you liked most in the book?

Even a character, a scene, or anything that you enjoyed.

Best kind of villain? *

• A cruel father or guardian
• A rival laird obsessed with power
• A rival laird who wants to avenge the MMC for an old heartbreak (e.g. the MMC married the villain's wife and she passed away. Now the villain wants to kill his new bride, aka the FMC).

Which exact opening scene would hook you harder? *

• Chapter 1 opens with her already riding north as his captive
• Chapter 1 opens at a public humiliation (auction / forced betrothal / clan council)
• Chapter 1 opens with her escaping—and running straight into him

Anything else you'd like to share?

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Five months later, April 1314

By April, the island no longer felt like a fortress held in winter’s grip.

Isla noticed it in the small things first: doors left ajar to welcome the sun, laughter echoing more freely through the corridors, children racing across the lower bailey where once only soldiers drilled. Even the wind seemed gentler, carrying the scent of salt and new grass instead of just sea.

She was aware that she had changed, too.

At first she told herself it was only the effects of the approaching season and all the possibilities for happiness it seemed to offer. Spring had always brought a restlessness to her, a strange lightness in the blood that made her feel eager to be up and doing, turning out cupboards and chasing dust from beneath beds, sending winter’s fustiness packing.

There was that urge bubbling up inside her for sure. But there was also something else, something so momentous that every time she thought of it, she felt like dancing.

Twice now she had missed her courses. At first, she had said nothing to anyone, not wishing to tempt fate. She had not breathed a word of her burgeoning suspicions, not to Erin, not to Eleanor, not to Wilamena, or her other friends. How could she when she could hardly even believe it could be true herself?

Until the morning she had risen too quickly from the bed and the world had suddenly tilted. Luckily, Eleanor had caught her before she fell.

“Me lady, whatever’s the matter?” she had asked with concern.

“I’m nae sure, I just felt very lightheaded all of a sudden and then… oh!” Isla had run to the washstand and heaved over the bowl. Eleanor went after her, holding her shoulders and handing her a cloth to wipe her lips when she had finished being sick.

“Ugh,” Isla had moaned, trembling, the nausea threatening to overtake her again. “Mayhap I ate somethin’ that disagreed with me at supper last night.”

“Aye, mayhap,” Eleanor had agreed. “Whatever it is, ye’re a white as a sheet and ye’ve thrown up yer breakfast. Get back in that bed. I’m goin’ fer the healer.”

“Ach, dinnae make a fuss, Eleanor, I’m all right,” Isla had tried to insist. But that was before another bout of heaving over the bowl, bringing nothing up.

“All right, go fetch Erin,” she had said, relenting, putting her attack of nausea down to a stomach upset. “I’ll get back in bed, but ye’d best bring me another bowl. I dinnae feel too good.”

A concerned Eleanor had settled her as comfortably as she could against the pillows then hurried off to fetch Erin.

Eleanor had waited outside while Isla laid quietly as Erin examined her, though she hated being ill and would much rather have brushed it off. She had been as patient as she could when Erin had pressed her fingers to her wrist and counted under her breath, peered into her eyes, listened to her chest, then palpitated her belly.

“’Tis just a stomach upset, somethin’ I ate I expect. I’ll be right as rain after a rest,” she had insisted.

Erin had straightened up and looked at her. “Aye, me lady, that’s what every woman says before she’s proven wrong.”

Isla had frowned. “What daes that mean? D’ye think ’tis something more serious?”

“Ye could say that,” Erin had replied, her mouth curving into a slow, knowing smile.

Isla had felt anxiety beginning to stir, along with the urge to vomit again. “Erin, fer goodness’ sake, will ye tell me what it is before I go mad?!” she had urged, grabbing the bowl.

“Well,” the healer had said. “It seems like the gods are smilin’ on ye and the laird.”

“The gods? Smilin’? What are ye talkin’ about?” Isla had asked querulously, fighting down the impulse to retch, but it had been too strong to resist.

“That’s another sign,” Erin had told her, gently rubbing her back in confronting circles. “Mornin’ sickness. Ye ken what that is, eh, me lady?”

“Mornin’ sickness? That’s what lassies get when…” Isla had begun, then stopped as the truth suddenly hit her and the breath whooshed from her lungs. “Erin, are ye certain?” she had asked hesitantly, wanting to believe it was true.

Erin had squeezed her hand. “As certain as I can be without waitin’ the weeks. Ye’re with child, me lady.”

Joy had exploded like a bubble in Isla’s chest, so fiercely it nearly hurt.

A bairn. Darragh’s bairn. Our bairn!

She had laughed despite the nausea, then clapped a hand over her mouth, tears springing up unbidden in her eyes. “Omigod, Erin, a bairn! Can ye imagine what Darragh’s gonna say? He’s gonna be insufferable.”

Erin snorted. “He already is.”

Isla had spent the rest of that morning in a daze, moving through her duties with a smile she could not quite suppress. The castle felt different now—not merely hers by marriage, but bound to her by blood yet to come.

By afternoon, mischief took hold.

I’ll nae tell him outright, but tease him a wee bit first.

Darragh MacLeod had faced battle, his Council, and the Crown without blinking. Bit this news deserved something memorable.

That evening after supper, feeling she might burst with the secret she held inside her, she took his arm and said, “Will ye take a wee walk with me, Darragh, along the cliffs?” It was a familiar path now, one they had taken often since the thaw, and she had come to love its wild beauty, for it reminded her of her husband. It was, she decided, the ideal spot to tell him the momentous news.

“Aye, of course, me love,” he agreed instantly. They wrapped up warmly and set off, arm in arm along the path. The sea stretched wide and steel-blue beneath the sinking sun in a vast, glittering panorama, and the wind that blew in from it tugged at her cloak as they walked.

“Ye’re quiet,” Darragh had observed after she had not said anything for several minutes.

“Am I?” she asked lightly, mischief welling up inside her. “I was thinkin’.”

“Ach, that usually means trouble,” he joked.

She smiled and stopped near the cliff edge, where the land fell away to roaring water. “D’ye remember,” she said, “when we first spoke of bairns?”

He stiffened almost imperceptibly. “Aye.”

“Ye told me yoe once feared lovin’ somethin’ because it could be taken from ye, as yer faither lost yer maither.”

His gaze sharpened. “Isla—”

She turned to face him fully then, taking his hands and placing them, deliberately, against her abdomen.

“I dinnae intend fer ye tae lose this one,” she said softly. “In fact, ye’ll have years tae practice being insufferably overprotective.”

For a heartbeat, she saw incomprehension in his face and smiled at the way his handsome brow creased with consternation.

Then his breath left him in a rush. “Isla,” he whispered. “Are ye sayin’—?”

She nodded. “Aye, that’s exactly what I’m sayin’.”

The Laird of MacLeod went utterly still. And then he laughed—a sound so joyous and raw and full it startled the gulls nesting in the rocks below them, sending them squawking and flapping their protests into the sky. Isla joined in his laughter as he pulled her into his arms, holding her as though the wind might try to steal her away.

“I’ll have guards posted at every stair,” he declared, lifting her off her feet, peppering her face with kisses. “Ye willnae lift so much as a teacup or climb a step, and ye certainly willnae be ridin’ a horse.”

She laughed amid the kisses. “Darragh.”

He pulled back just enough to look at her, gray eyes; stormy, fierce, and unmistakably full of love. “I nearly lost ye once, Isla. I’ll nae take any chances with ye now… nae now ye’re carryin’ me bairn.”

“Ye cannae guard me from everythin’, me love,” she said gently.

“Nay,” he agreed. “But I can bloody well try.”

They stood there wrapped in each other’s arms until the sun dipped low, the future stretching vast before them.

That night, as they lay together beneath the covers after making love, he rested his hand protectively over her belly, his touch reverent.

“I once thought love was a weakness,” he said quietly. “Something that hollowed men out and destroyed them.”

She stroked the hair back from his face. “And now?”

“Now I think ’tis what fills the hollow places,” he replied. “What makes the risk worthwhile.”

She turned to kiss him then—slow, certain, full of promise.

Outside, the island slept, unaware that its future was even then quickening beneath her heart.

The shadow had gone, the future beckoned, a happy future, filled with love and children. She could hardly wait!

The End

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