Extended Epilogues

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.

Which heroine situation grips you most? *

• She is being forced to marry a cruel man but the MMC saves her
• She is hiding a secret identity inside the MMC’s castle
• She is traded to the MMC as part of a dangerous bargain

Which villain would you hate most? *

• Her cruel fiancé
• His jealous cousin
• Her ambitious father
• A rival laird who wants her as a weapon

Anything else you'd like to share?

Submit

Castle Grant, three months later

Marriage had not altered Castle Grant so much as it had altered Elaina’s place within it. What had once felt vast, unfamiliar, and only conditionally hers had, in the weeks since the wedding, become as natural to her as breath.

There were keys now in her keeping, lists set before her, disputes brought to her for judgment when Duncan was away, and a hundred small duties which, rather than burdening her, seemed only to root her more firmly into the life she had chosen.

She had adapted to being Duncan’s wife with a grace that surprised even herself.

It wasn’t because the role was without demand, for it was not. Nor was it because she had forgotten all fear, for one did not wholly forget such things. It was simply because she had entered into this life by her own consent. That difference altered everything. To walk beside Duncan in the hall, to sit with him at table, to hear herself addressed as lady of the house, all of it carried a private sweetness that had not yet diminished with familiarity.

That morning, however, even these accustomed comforts did little to quiet the strange fluttering within her.

She had risen earlier than usual, though not from restlessness alone. There was a brightness in her which seemed to defy both calm and concealment, a secret warmth that had followed her through the day and made every ordinary task feel charged with meaning.

More than once, she had caught herself smiling for no reason at all. More than once, she had placed an absent hand against herself, then quickly drawn it away, though there was no one there to observe the gesture.

She had to find Duncan.

That necessity, once formed, overtook every other concern. She endured breakfast with imperfect attention, listened to a steward’s report with less patience than it deserved, and only after a determined attempt at normality did she abandon all pretense and set out in search of him.

He was not in his study, nor in the solar, nor upon the training ground, where she had half expected to find him with Iain. A maid told her he had passed through the inner court not long before. A groom thought he might have gone toward the western side of the castle.

Catriona, when encountered in the passage with a basket of dried herbs balanced upon one hip, smiled at her inquiry. “If me braither has any sense, he will be exactly where ye need him tae be.”

Elaina would have questioned her further, but Catriona only laughed and continued on her way.

So, Elaina went on alone, through sunlit corridors and stairways worn smooth by generations of use. Her hand would brush now and then along the stone as if the castle itself might help direct her. At length, with no clear reason beyond instinct, she turned toward the chapel. The moment the thought came to her, she knew the path to be right.

The chapel door stood half open. Elaina slowed as she approached, giving in to that familiar hush which belonged only to this place. She paused at the threshold.

The chapel was quiet, steeped in the mellow gold of afternoon light. It entered through the high narrow windows and lay across the old stone in long soft bars, illuminating the polished wood of the pews and the worn edges of the aisle.

How much of her life had happened within those walls. Here, Duncan had first opened his heart to her without reserve. Here, she had learned the full depth of his grief, his fear, his love. Here, one chapter of her life had ended and another, unlooked-for and undeservedly happy, had begun.

And now, he was there again.

He stood near the front, not kneeling, but with one hand resting lightly upon the back of a pew. His head was bowed in thought. He had not heard her yet.

Elaina remained where she was, watching him. It still astonished her, at times, that this serious, steadfast, deeply feeling man was hers, and that she was his. Marriage had not reduced the force of her love. It had only gentled it into something deeper and more constant. The sharpness of early passion remained, but joined now to trust, to habit, to the quiet intimacy of shared days and nights and duties.

She stepped forward at last. The soft sound of her movement reached him then, and he turned.

“Elaina,” he smiled, and though he spoke her name every day, he had never once spoken it without warmth.

A smile of her own rose to her lips before she could help it. “Am I disturbing ye?”

“Always,” he said, with that quiet dryness which only deepened the affection in his eyes, “and never unwelcome.”

She entered farther into the chapel, and he moved to meet her, reaching for her hands as naturally as if he had been deprived of them for hours rather than moments. His thumbs brushed lightly over her knuckles.

“I have been looking fer ye everywhere,” she told him.

“That sounds ominous.”

“It is nae,” she assured him.

His brows lifted slightly. “Then it is important.”

She looked at him, and whatever he saw in her face made his own expression soften at once into concern.

“Elaina?”

Something prevented her from speaking. It was not fear precisely, though there was trembling, nor was it uncertainty, for she had never been more certain of anything in her life. It was only that the words felt too precious and too life-altering, to be spoken carelessly.

She had carried them alone for only a short while, yet already they seemed to have changed the very air around her, lending every familiar thing a new and secret meaning.

Duncan took a step nearer. “What is it? Ye are pale, me love.”

That made her smile, though faintly.

“I am nae pale,” she said, with an effort at composure that convinced neither of them. Her hand, still resting low against her gown, tightened slightly. “Only… overcome, perhaps.”

At once his brow furrowed more deeply. “Have ye been unwell?”

The tenderness in the question nearly undid her. She lowered her gaze for an instant, because happiness of this kind was almost too bright to meet directly.

“A little,” she admitted. “Lately.”

Duncan’s hand rose to her arm at once, steadying and protective. “Why did ye nae tell me?”

She blushed at his question. “Because I wished tae be sure.”

He searched her face with that earnest, intent look he had whenever her well-being was concerned, and Elaina saw the moment when concern sharpened into dawning confusion. His gaze dropped once more to the hand she had placed against herself. Then it lifted again, slowly, and fixed upon her with a stillness that seemed to suspend even the air between them.

Elaina’s breath trembled. “Duncan…”

He did not move.

“I think…” She laughed then, though tears had already begun to gather in her eyes. “Nay, I ken… I ken.”

His fingers tightened upon her sleeve.

And then, very softly, with all the wonder in the world rising into her voice, she revealed her news. “I am with child.”

The words hung between them like music.

He only stared at her, as though he had heard and yet could not trust himself to believe it. Every feeling in his face seemed to pass over it in the space of a breath, until at last all of it gave way to utter astonishment, and Elaina thought she had never loved him more.

“With child?” he repeated, and his voice was scarcely more than a whisper.

Her smile broke fully then, though tears slipped free at the same moment. “Aye.”

For another brief instant he remained still, the truth settling into him. Then all at once, he gathered her into his arms. The force of his embrace was full of relief, of wonder, of a joy so sudden and profound that it seemed to shake him. Elaina let herself be held, pressing close against him. She closed her eyes, while he held her as though she were the dearest thing ever entrusted to him.

He drew back just enough to look at her, both hands rising to cup her face now.

“Can it be true?”

She could only laugh through her tears. “I should hardly come tae the chapel tae invent such a thing.”

A sound left him then, which was both a laugh and a disbelieving breath. He kissed her forehead, then her cheeks, then her mouth. Each kiss felt more reverent than the last, as though he scarcely knew how to contain himself except through tenderness.

“We are tae have a bairn,” he said again, and now there was wonder in every syllable. “Our bairn.”

“Aye.”

He closed his eyes briefly, resting his brow against hers. His smile had not left him. She could feel it there, warm and unguarded, and when he opened his eyes again, they were full of such fierce happiness that her own heart swelled in answer.

“I didnae think,” he said thoughtfully, as though he were speaking half to himself, “that I could be happier than I was the day I married ye.”

Elaina smiled. “And now?”

“Now,” he replied with a laugh that was almost boyish in its astonishment, “I ken I had nay notion of happiness at all.”

She laughed, too, then, unable not to, and he kissed her again. His joy gentled into affection so deep it seemed to envelop them both. When he drew back, his hand moved almost hesitantly to rest over hers where it still lay against her gown. The touch was light, reverent, and so full of awe that Elaina’s throat tightened once more.

There was a serenity in him now she had seen only in the rarest moments. And there, in the chapel where he had once confessed his fear of once again losing those he loved, the circle seemed at last complete. He had come there once burdened by loss, and now, he stood in the same place receiving life.

“I am afraid I shall become intolerably happy,” he said through a smile.

“Ye are already halfway there.”

“Nay,” he replied, looking at her as though she were both miracle and home. “I am entirely there.”

Then he kissed her once more, and in the quiet chapel, with sunlight on the stone and joy between them like a blessing, Elaina felt the future open before them as no longer something to fear, but something to welcome, together.

The End

Readers who enjoyed this book also bought

★★★★★ 266 ratings

This is the story of Gillian, an adventurous English lady who finds herself captured by a mysterious and alluring Highlander. This Highlander will do whatever it takes to save his people from hunger, even abduct the daughter of his enemy. But life seldom goes as planned. What will happen when the Highlander starts falling for Gillian? And will her feelings or her logic prevail in this peculiar turn of events?

Read the book

★★★★★ 208 ratings

This is the story of Julia, an intelligent English lady who runs away to escape her woes and finds herself in the keep of an enticing Highlander. This Highlander, as handsome as he may be, has serious economic troubles, and only a miracle can save him. But perhaps one's answer is closer than he thinks. How will he help her face the past that is haunting her? And how will she save him?

Read the book

★★★★★ 213 ratings

This is the story of Gale, an adventurous English lady who runs away to escape her murderous mother and finds herself in the company of an alluring Highlander. There she is called to change her ways, and he helps her see the world from a different point of view. But her past is catching up with her. How will she elude her mother? And will this be the only obstacle in their relationship?

Read the book

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.

What kind of emotional tension do you want most? *

• Hatred that slowly turns into obsession
• Mutual distrust with forced proximity
• Instant attraction they both try to fight

Which romantic progression do you prefer? *

• Enemies → reluctant allies → lovers
• Strangers → forced marriage → slow emotional bond
• Captor → protector → lovers

Anything else you'd like to share?

Submit

Castle MacLeay, four weeks later…

Maureen stood in the center of the garden path and stretched her arms above her head, tilting her face to the sky.

The sun was warm, not the timid warmth of spring, but the full-bodied promise of summer. It sank into her skin, into her bones, loosening the last of winter’s memory. For a long moment she simply stood there, eyes closed, breathing.

It was the first day of summer.

Everything was in bloom. The pear trees were heavy with tiny green fruit, the cherry branches dappled with the last blush of petals. Bees drifted lazily from blossom to blossom, and birds darted low across the grass, busy and purposeful as they foraged for their nestlings.

She bent and lifted her trug, now filled with freshly cut lavender. She inhaled the sweet scent, letting it steady her.

This was exactly the day she had dreamed of in those darker hours.

A day without watchful tension and whispers of threat. Without the constant readiness for danger.

“Bobby,” she murmured.

Her little rough-coated terrier trotted faithfully at her heels, his tail in constant motion, dark eyes bright with adoration. He followed her everywhere, as if convinced she might vanish if left unaccompanied.

She smiled down at him. “Aye, I see ye.”

He gave a small bark of agreement.

She carried the trug into the kitchen, where the air was thick with the scent of fresh bread and herbs. Setting the lavender upon the long table, she paused only long enough to exchange a few words Cook before turning back toward the yard.

There was someone else she wished to find.

The stables were alive with their usual rhythm: the shuffle of hooves, the rasp of brushes over glossy flanks, the low murmur of grooms discussing tack and iron.

As expected, Samuel was there, sleeves rolled, speaking with two grooms about which horses were due to be shod before the week’s end. He stood relaxed but attentive, one hand resting against a stall door, listening more than commanding.

She watched him a moment before he sensed her presence and looked up.

The smile that broke across his face was immediate and unguarded.

He excused himself with a nod and walked toward her, brushing a stray lock from his brow.

“Ye look as though ye’ve swallowed the sun,” he said lightly.

“I may have done.” She was unable to keep the brightness from her voice. “Today is the day fer the ride I’ve been longing fer.” She looked up at him hopefully. “Can I tear ye away from yer business and indulge me dream fer a day?”

He laughed easily, the sound low and warm.

“How can I resist ye?” he said. “It is a right bonnie day fer riding.”

There was something wonderfully ordinary in the exchange. No shadow lingered behind his eyes now. No guard stood within arm’s reach. No messenger hovered with news of threat.

Unspoken between them was the knowledge that no longer was the menace of Matheson and his men hanging over their days. Laird Joseph had brought Clan Matheson to order with firm diplomacy and an even firmer hand. They were now counted among allies rather than enemies.

Samuel glanced back toward the grooms, then returned his attention to her.

“Go and change intae yer riding clothes and join me here,” he said. “I’ll have the groom saddle yer wee mare. And in the meantime, I’ll see the kitchen tae provide us with some nourishment tae take with us.”

His eyes shifted, brightening suddenly with mischief.

“I ken a special place I’d like tae show ye.”

Her heart gave a small leap.

“Dae ye now?”

“Aye.” He leaned slightly closer. “But ye’ll have tae trust me.”

She lifted her chin with mock gravity.

“I have trusted ye through worse than a summer ride.”

His smile softened at that, not fading, but deepening with shared memory.

“Aye,” he agreed quietly. “That ye have.”

She turned toward the keep, the sunlight warm at her back and the promise of open hills ahead. After she’d changed into her riding habit she went in search of Iseabail, and found her in the garden.

“We are riding today.”

Iseabail smiled. “Och, lass, the ride ye’ve been wishing tae take fer so long.”

Maureen returned the smile. “But I cannae take wee Bobby. Will ye keep watch over him fer me while we are gone?

Bobby wagged his tail and ran to Iseabail’s side.

“He loves ye too.” Maureen laughed, bending to pat the wee dog. “Be good fer Auntie Iseabail,” she said lightly before she hurried away. She would miss her little companion, yet she was almost bursting with the thought of what the day might bring

For the first time in many months, the day stretched before her without fear.

Her saddled mare was waiting in the courtyard, Samuel’s stallion beside her. Both horses seemed as impatient to ride as Maureen did herself.

They mounted quickly and, with the portcullis already raised, were swiftly on their way.

But instead of turning toward the broad, familiar path that wound gently through the lower glen, Samuel guided them toward a narrower track that climbed steadily into the hills. It was little more than a ribbon of earth between bracken and stone, half hidden by early summer growth.

Maureen followed, curiosity quickening her pulse.

The higher they rode, the more the air seemed to change. She breathed it thinner, fresher air, tinged with the scent of pine and wild thyme crushed beneath the horses’ hooves. Early-blooming heather brushed violet across the slopes, not yet at its fullest blaze, but promising it soon would be. Bees drifted lazily from bloom to bloom, their hum threading through the stillness.

Above them, a golden eagle circled high, its vast wings held steady as it rode invisible currents. Maureen tipped her head back to watch it.

“Look,” she called softly.

Samuel glanced upward and smiled. “The True Bird. A good omen.”

The track curved nearer to the river, though here it was scarcely the calm ribbon that passed the castle. It tumbled white and wild over stone, rushing between moss-dark boulders, the sound of water gushing over rock, spray filled the air.

Pine trees rose in tall, resin-scented ranks along the steeper incline. Between them, wildflowers burst in scatterings of color–– butter-yellow tormentil, blue harebells trembling in the light breeze, tiny white star-flowers tucked close to the earth.

The mountains beyond lifted in layered blue distance, their peaks softened by the summer haze.

Maureen breathed it in, the warmth of sun on her shoulders, the steady rhythm of her mare beneath her, the sense of climbing toward something hidden.

“Ye are taking me far from the usual haunts,” she called.

“That is the idea,” Samuel replied over his shoulder.

At last, the path narrowed further, and he dismounted, tying his horse loosely to a pine. He reached up to steady her as she slid from her saddle.

“Trust me,” he said again, quieter now.

They walked the final stretch on foot, Samuel carrying the basket that contained their food and drink.

The sound of water deepened, not the rush of a river now, but something heavier. A constant falling roar.

Finally, the trees parted and before them, rising high from a cleft in the rock, a waterfall plunged in silver sheets into a rocky pool below. It was not vast, but it was secluded, held close by stone and moss and fern, hidden from all but those who knew the way.

Spray caught the sunlight in drifting prisms of rainbow colors. The pool at its base lay clear and green, its surface broken by the steady cascade.

Maureen stopped outright.

“Oh,” she breathed.

Samuel eyes were on her face.

“I found this place years ago,” he said. “I came here a lot as a lad, when I wished tae be alone.”

She turned to him slowly. “And now ye bring me.”

“Aye.”

They settled near the water’s edge, spreading a blanket upon a flat stretch of rock warmed by sun. Samuel uncorked the claret and offered a cup. The bread was broken, the delicate soft cheese and cold chicken shared between them.

They ate simply, talking little.

The sound of the waterfall filled the spaces between words. The warmth of the sun sank deep into Maureen’s limbs.

“Thank ye fer sharing yer beautiful sanctuary with me,” she said, taking Samuel’s warm hand in hers.

Without speaking, he took her hand and pressed it to his lips and she met his tender gaze. His eyes told her everything she needed to know, they shone bright with love.

After a while, she lay back, head resting against his shoulder, and closed her eyes.

For the first time in so long, there was no watchfulness in her rest. No ear straining for alarm.

Only the steady roar of falling water and the solid warmth of him beside her.

They dozed a little in the sun, wrapped in one another’s presence, the air rich with summer.

When she woke, the pool shimmered invitingly. She pushed herself upright.

“I shall paddle me toes,” she announced.

Samuel opened one eye. “The water will be cold.”

“I am braver than ye suppose.”

She stepped carefully across the rocks, lifting her skirts just above her ankles. The first touch of water made her gasp, sharp and deliciously cool.

“It is indeed bracing,” she declared.

“Bracing is often a polite word for foolish,” he replied lazily.

She turned to retort and her foot slipped.

A slimy rock shifted beneath her weight. She pitched forward with a startled cry and vanished into the pool.

There was a splash and a moment of silence.

Samuel was on his feet at once, concern flashing across his features.

Then she surfaced, sputtering, hair plastered to her face. And laughing.

“Are ye hurt?”

“Only me pride,” she called, pushing wet curls from her eyes.

Her gown clung hopelessly to her form.

He stepped carefully to the edge and offered his hand, but instead of pulling her out at once, he paused.

“Ye are soaked through,” he observed.

“So it would seem.”

His expression shifted, amusement warming into something more intent. Admiration?

“Then we must remedy that.”

He helped her from the water and, with gentle efficiency, began to untie the sodden laces of her gown. She did not protest. The sun was warm, the air kind.

He peeled the heavy fabric away and laid it across a sunlit rock.

“I think ye’ve nae need fer this wet chemise,” he said peeling the garment away leaving her naked in the sunlight. “Ye’ll catch a chill.”

“Then perhaps ye should join me and ensure I dinnae.”

She met his gaze directly.

He gave a low laugh. “Hmm.” He muttered. “Ye’re like a beautiful siren, bold and tempting tae a poor soul.”

She lifted her chin. “Well. Have I tempted ye enough?”

He did not hesitate.

Boots, shirt, kilt––discarded piece by piece in short order––until he stepped into the pool beside her.

The cold stole his breath at once.

She laughed outright.

They moved beneath the waterfall, letting the torrent strike their shoulders, the spray cooling their heated skin. They splashed, teased, stole kisses between bursts of laughter.

But playfulness softened gradually into something deeper.

The world beyond the rocks seemed impossibly distant.

He drew her close beneath the fall of water, his hands warm despite the chill. She traced droplets from his jaw, kissed the hollow at his throat, slipped her wet body next to his.

Their laughter faded into slower breaths.

He kissed her then, under the tumbling water, holding her tight so that she felt all of him and his fast-beating heart as the kiss deepened. His hands splayed across her pulling her against his hardening shaft. The sun playing on the spray of water around them.

It was other-worldly, outside of anything Maureen had known and she was lost in it, was lost in the touch of him, the flow of water between them, the feel of the sun on her bare skin

They left the pool and lay upon the sun-warmed stone beside it, the waterfall’s constant song rising above them. The warmth returning quickly to chilled skin.

What passed between them was unhurried, tender yet fierce, born not of fear or urgency, but of freedom.

They had become part of the wildness of the flowing water, as Samuel lay back, lifting her so that she straddled him, his shaft as hard as the rock they lay on.

Rivulets of water ran from her long hair across his chest and she gazed into his eyes, dark now with desire. Heat rushed through her as she pressed herself against him, kneeling on all fours to take him as she pleased, at her leisure.

He growled. “D’ye ken what ye’re daeing tae me lass, with those beautiful breasts above me and yer tasty quim so close tae me shaft.”

She laughed softly, wriggling a little so that her breasts swayed close to his lips and her entrance slipped near to his tip.

With a groan he reached up and pulled her down to him so he could take the puckered nub of her breast in his hungry mouth. She moaned as he worked his teeth and tongue, the delicious sensation fanning out and finding its mark between her thighs, heating her desire, lifting the passion already rushing like the torrent between them.

Shifting her hips she lowered herself onto his shaft feeling his hardness sliding, stretching her, filling her, as he thrust up to dive deep inside her.

They were part of the wild torrent. As free as the eagle soaring in the blue sky above. Their pleasure in each other as they joined, creating a rhythm to match the tumbling water. She cried his name as she crested the waves of delight, but it was lost in the rushing river, while Samuel’s roar of ecstasy joined the roar of the waterfall and the moaning of the wind in the pines.

Afterward, they lay entwined beneath his cloak in the sun, drowsy and content, the rhythm of water steady as a heartbeat.

They drifted into sleep.

The End

Readers who enjoyed this book also bought

★★★★★ 266 ratings

This is the story of Gillian, an adventurous English lady who finds herself captured by a mysterious and alluring Highlander. This Highlander will do whatever it takes to save his people from hunger, even abduct the daughter of his enemy. But life seldom goes as planned. What will happen when the Highlander starts falling for Gillian? And will her feelings or her logic prevail in this peculiar turn of events?

Read the book

★★★★★ 208 ratings

This is the story of Julia, an intelligent English lady who runs away to escape her woes and finds herself in the keep of an enticing Highlander. This Highlander, as handsome as he may be, has serious economic troubles, and only a miracle can save him. But perhaps one's answer is closer than he thinks. How will he help her face the past that is haunting her? And how will she save him?

Read the book

★★★★★ 213 ratings

This is the story of Gale, an adventurous English lady who runs away to escape her murderous mother and finds herself in the company of an alluring Highlander. There she is called to change her ways, and he helps her see the world from a different point of view. But her past is catching up with her. How will she elude her mother? And will this be the only obstacle in their relationship?

Read the book

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?

Submit

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

Readers who enjoyed this book also bought

★★★★★ 266 ratings

This is the story of Gillian, an adventurous English lady who finds herself captured by a mysterious and alluring Highlander. This Highlander will do whatever it takes to save his people from hunger, even abduct the daughter of his enemy. But life seldom goes as planned. What will happen when the Highlander starts falling for Gillian? And will her feelings or her logic prevail in this peculiar turn of events?

Read the book

★★★★★ 208 ratings

This is the story of Julia, an intelligent English lady who runs away to escape her woes and finds herself in the keep of an enticing Highlander. This Highlander, as handsome as he may be, has serious economic troubles, and only a miracle can save him. But perhaps one's answer is closer than he thinks. How will he help her face the past that is haunting her? And how will she save him?

Read the book

★★★★★ 213 ratings

This is the story of Gale, an adventurous English lady who runs away to escape her murderous mother and finds herself in the company of an alluring Highlander. There she is called to change her ways, and he helps her see the world from a different point of view. But her past is catching up with her. How will she elude her mother? And will this be the only obstacle in their relationship?

Read the book

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.

Which “forced together” scenario hooks you most? *

• Trapped by a storm in an isolated Highland keep
• Bound by a political marriage neither wants
• On the run together with enemies closing in

How do you feel about books that open with a future scene, then rewind and build toward it? *

• I love it—it hooks me instantly and keeps me reading
• It’s not my favorite—I sometimes find it confusing

(Prologue → “One month earlier” → story catches up)

Anything else you'd like to share?

Submit

One month later

Spring was at last creeping its way toward Duntulm.

Beyond the castle walls, the countryside was greening slowly, the mantle of snow that had cloaked the land for months was finally retreating. Patches of new grass broke through the thawed earth and the bare branches of the trees showed the first promise of returning leaves. Yet for all the signs of renewal, unease sat heavy in Kenneth MacDonald’s chest.

He stood in his study, bent over the wide oak desk, working through the many petitions and judgments that demanded his attention. Villagers had come and gone throughout the morning – men worried over broken fences trampled during the winter storms, others seeking clarification on fishing rights now that the seas had calmed. The matter of Laird Halvard’s fishermen had arisen more than once, and Kenneth had given the same answer each time.

That question, at least, had been settled when Halvard had been at Duntulm.

Now, with the roads clearing and the sea growing gentler by the day, a far greater reckoning loomed.

The long-awaited response to his letter and to Lady Selene’s could not be long delayed.

Kenneth straightened, rolling his shoulders as if to shake off the weight pressing down on him. He told himself he must keep his mind on the matters at hand, but his thoughts returned again and again to London, to royal judgment.

A sharp knock sounded at the door.

“Come,” he called.

A young squire entered, his hands clasped tight around a folded letter. Kenneth’s heart sank. Even before the boy spoke, he saw the king’s seal – it was unmistakable, stark against the parchment.

The squire swallowed. “A message, me laird.”

Kenneth nodded, taking the letter, dismissing the lad with a quiet word of thanks. When the door closed behind him, Kenneth stood motionless for a long moment, staring at the seal.

It had come at last.

The truth of their situation could no longer be hidden. The battle. If King George had considered Aidan’s death to be rebellion, his wrath would be merciless. Forfeiture of MacDonald lands was no idle threat. It was a blade that had fallen before, and it could fall again. Execution he refused to contemplate

Kenneth set the letter upon his desk. He would not open it alone.

He had spoken with Selene of this moment too many times to count as they lay wakeful in the dark, wondering what judgment might come. Each of them had laid out the truth in their letters, begging the king to see reason, to understand that there had been no aggression on the part of Clan MacDonald. They had taken up arms only when Selene’s life had been threatened.

Whether that would be enough, only the Good Lord knew.

He reached for his cloak. Though the sun shone pale through the narrow window, a chill still lingered in the air seeming to strike at his very bones.

With the letter firmly in his hand he left the study and set out to find Selene.

He knocked on the solar door and entered, greeted by the familiar sight of his sister. Maureen looked up from her sewing, then froze, her gaze fixed on the parchment in his hand, the large red seal impossible to miss. Her face paled.

“It’s come?” She dropped her embroidery hoop, one hand rising to her mouth.

“Aye,” Kenneth replied. “At last.”

He exhaled slowly. “I’ve nae opened it. I need tae find Selene. Whatever it says, we’ll face it taegether.”

Maureen nodded, though worry shadowed her eyes. “And then… ye’ll tell me of the king’s decision?”

He forced a smile, reaching for her hand. “Of course. Once we have read it, I’ll tell ye exactly what the king has decided is tae be our fate.”

She squeezed his fingers. “I pray he sees reason. That this was nae our doing and that our lands remain safe.”

Kenneth gave a short, humorless snort. “That’s our best hope.” His gaze drifted briefly toward the window, toward the distant sea. “Ye ken as well as I dae, King George has many nobles who would dearly love to call Scottish land their own.”

Maureen shook her head and picked up her embroidery once more, though her fingers moved absently now.

“I can only pray,” she said quietly. “There’s naught else we can do now.”

Kenneth left the solar and took the stairs into the courtyard, dread curling painfully in his belly. He wished, just this once, that he might delay whatever was coming.

But there was no avoiding it.

He found Selene in the walled garden.

She knelt on a padded cloth among the beds, her skirts gathered as she worked the soil with bare hands, tugging weeds free from the dark earth. Tiny green shoots were already pushing upward and along the stone path grew clusters of snowdrops – dozens of them – their pale heads nodding in the breeze.

The sight eased something tight in Kenneth’s chest.

Spring. Renewal. New life pressing upward after the long, cruel winter.

It had always been a good omen. God willing, it would be so again.

Selene rose as he approached, brushing earth from her hands. His heart turned over painfully at the sight of her. Sunlight caught in the loose curls escaping her braid, framing her face and her bright eyes, clear and searching, lifted to his with quiet expectation.

“My husband,” She smiled softly. “It is a pleasure to see you here.”

She exhaled a small, rueful laugh. “I’ve been keeping myself busy. If I don’t, I begin to think – and once my thoughts start wandering, they roam across all manner of possibilities.”

“Aye.” His voice was gruff. “I’m afraid the day has come when those possibilities will be laid tae rest.”

He held up the folded parchment.

“A messenger arrived a short time ago. A letter from the king.”

Selene’s breath caught in a quiet gasp.

“Oh.” She swallowed, then nodded once. “I understand. The time has come.”

She slipped her arm through his as if seeking his strength as well as giving hers to him. He bent and pressed a kiss into her hair, then another to her brow.

“Come,” he murmured. “Let us return tae the study. We’ll have some nourishment brought and read this missive together – before the fire. Whatever comes, we’ll decide our course taegether.”

Side by side, they returned to the keep.

Once seated before the warmth of the roaring peat fire, Kenneth sent for refreshments. They waited in silence, keenly aware that their future lay folded within the parchment resting on the desk between them. There was nothing left to say. They had long spoken of every outcome, weighed every consequence. Once the king’s judgment was known, there could be no altering it.

Kenneth poured them each a dram of whisky, the amber liquid catching the firelight.

“I dinnae think we should face this without some fortification.” He managed a grim smile.

Selene lifted her glass and took a sip. A maid soon arrived bearing a small tray with cheese and bannocks but Selene shook her head.

“I don’t think I could eat a crumb. My stomach’s turning somersaults. I only want to hear what’s in that letter.”

He nodded and rose, taking up position by the mantel, the parchment in his hand. For a moment, he simply stood there, his thumb resting against the red wax seal. Whatever the message, his life and Selene’s would be forever altered.

He cracked the seal and unfolded the letter carefully, smoothing the creases, before lifting his gaze to her. “Shall I read it aloud?”

“Yes.” She did not hesitate. “Let us be done with it now. I want to hear it from your lips, my dear one.”

He drew a steadying breath and began.

“To my loyal and honorable Laird Kenneth MacDonald…”

Selene’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Well,” she murmured, a hint of relief in her voice. “That sounds promising. At least he’s not condemning you outright.”

Kenneth allowed himself the faintest smile and continued, reading through the formal pleasantries – the king wishing him good health, the same to his dear wife, and prosperity for the crofters under his protection. His heart beat hard against his ribs, waiting for what would come next.

Yet this was all good news.

Surely, if the king meant to confiscate MacDonald lands, he would not be wishing Kenneth and his crofters prosperity in the year to come.

Kenneth read on, his grip on the pages easing slightly as the familiar cadence of royal correspondence continued – the usual remarks regarding the burdens of the Crown, and the vexations he faced with every quarrel and skirmish between the Highland clans.

Then came the heart of it.

The King spoke of his grave concern regarding the long-standing hostilities between Clan MacLeay and Clan MacDonald. He expressed deep distress at learning of the final struggle that had resulted in the death of Laird Aidan MacLeay.

Kenneth’s jaw tightened.

Yet – the letter continued – His Majesty acknowledges the account provided by Lady Selene MacDonald, corroborated by Laird Kenneth’s own report, and further supported by inquiries the king had personally ordered among members of Clan MacLeay.

From these, he had satisfied himself that the truth of the matter had been faithfully told in their correspondence.

Kenneth sucked in a deep, relieved breath and blew it out slowly.

However.

The word struck like a hammer blow.

Despite your avowed protestations and the unavoidable nature of the confrontation, it remains a fact that Laird MacLeay has lost his life at your hands, my Laird Kenneth. This is no small matter, and one I am compelled to address.

Kenneth lowered the letter to his lap, folding it face-down for a moment as he drew another deep, steadying breath and gulped the whisky.

Selene had lost all color in her cheeks. Her eyes widened, darkening with fear, fixed upon his face as though she might read the verdict there before he spoke it aloud.

“My lord,” she said softly. “I fear what may yet come. In the king’s eyes, the death at your hand of another laird is a grave matter. I cannot imagine it will go unpunished.”

Nor could he.

Kenneth lifted the pages once more and continued reading.

The king wrote of his fear that with the killing of Laird MacLeay, the feud would not die with him.

On the contrary, it is my expectation, born of understanding the ancient ways of the clans, that vengeance will be sought. That blood will call for blood.

If that should come to come to pass – and His Majesty made plain that he believed it would – then decisive action must be taken to prevent the conflict from escalating further.

Selene drew in a sharp breath.

“Oh my dear God,” she whispered. “What comes next?”

Her hand reached for Kenneth’s shoulder, fingers gripping hard, as though to anchor herself. “Please,” she said, voice trembling. “Go on. Even if I can scarcely bear to hear it.”

Kenneth read on.

What I now command, the king wrote, is that the two clans be bound as allies. And there is but one means by which this may be achieved.

Kenneth’s pulse thudded heavily in his ears.

The new laird of Clan MacLeay – the Late Aidan’s younger brother, Samuel – is to wed your sister, Lady Maureen MacDonald.

His sister.

The words swam before his eyes for a moment.

Selene let out a small, broken cry. “Oh God,” she breathed. “That is… dire news.”

Horror etched her features. “Maureen is to be married into Clan MacLeay? To become lady of the very clan that hates us?” Her voice faltered. “That is terrifying. What might be done to her? I have heard tales – dreadful tales – of what is inflicted upon women when clans are enemies. There is no mercy.” She shook her head. “None at all.”

Kenneth’s hand clenched the letter, creasing the parchment.

The fire’s warmth seemed to vanish, leaving only the cold certainty of what such a command might cost.

Kenneth groaned and pressed the heel of his hand to his brow, his eyes closing as though he might shut out what was written.

“Oh, this is terrible news.” He spoke hoarsely as if it was difficult to frame words. “What can I dae?” His voice broke despite himself. “I cannae bear the thought of me wee sister in the clutches of Aidan’s braither. This is a monstrosity the king is wishing upon us.”

Across from him, Selene wept openly, tears streaming unchecked down her cheeks.

Kenneth forced himself to read on, although every word felt heavier than the last. “The king is very clear. We have thirty days. If the marriage is refused, our lands will be forfeited. And if Samuel MacLeay refuses… then his clan will lose theirs.”

Selene stiffened. “Then there is no escape,” she said. “Whichever path we take, the cost is unbearable. On one hand, the sacrifice of your sister to atone for Aidan’s death. On the other, the loss of everything the clan has held for generations.”

Kenneth shook his head slowly. “I cannae help but feel the weight of guilt,” he said. “It was me hand that struck Aidan down. This burden rests on me shoulders. It shouldnae be Maureen who pays the price.”

Selene turned to him sharply. “You saved my life,” she said fiercely. “It would have been my blood spilled had you not acted.”

“I ken,” Kenneth replied, his voice low. “There was nay choice. I would never have stood aside and allowed him tae take ye as he intended. Never.” His shoulders sagged. “But kenning that daes naught tae ease this.”

A heavy, suffocating silence drew around them.

“If I refuse,” he said at last, “the king will view it as rebellion.”

“Yes,” Selene nodded. “And in these times, men are executed for less. Since The Rising, King George has no patience for what he deems defiance.”

Kenneth poured them each another dram of whisky, swallowing his in one burning mouthful. The fire cracked and hissed echoing the turmoil in his heart.

“We have nay choice,” he said. “But we must speak with Maureen before any reply is sent to the king.”

Selene’s hand tightened on the edge of the chair. “It will break her heart.”

“I ken it,” Kenneth said. “But I ken me sister. She will sacrifice herself fer the good of the clan. She will marry a man who may well be a monster if it means preserving our land – our clan.”

Selene nodded slowly. “She is part of this place, she loves it as you do. I fear she will see this as her duty.”

“Let us go tae the solar,” Kenneth said at last. “I spoke with Maureen there earlier. She will be waiting.”

Selene rose and slipped her arm through his. “I dread bringing such news to her,” she said. “The future of the clan now rests upon her gentle shoulders – and there is nothing any of us can do but place it there.”

Together they trudged in silence along the passageways. Nothing could be decided until the Lady Maureen understood what lay before her. Not one of them had ever imagined matters would come to that. Yet Kenneth had no doubt what his sister’s response would be.

She would sacrifice herself to a hateful marriage before she would risk Clan MacDonald and her brother incurring the wrath of their English king.

As they reached the door of the solar, Maureen’s sweet voice rose from inside, singing softly to herself – a quiet, lilting, tune of lost love and sorrow.

Kenneth lifted his hand and rapped upon the door.

“Come,” Maureen called.

He pushed the door open and they stepped inside.

The End

Readers who enjoyed this book also bought

★★★★★ 266 ratings

This is the story of Gillian, an adventurous English lady who finds herself captured by a mysterious and alluring Highlander. This Highlander will do whatever it takes to save his people from hunger, even abduct the daughter of his enemy. But life seldom goes as planned. What will happen when the Highlander starts falling for Gillian? And will her feelings or her logic prevail in this peculiar turn of events?

Read the book

★★★★★ 208 ratings

This is the story of Julia, an intelligent English lady who runs away to escape her woes and finds herself in the keep of an enticing Highlander. This Highlander, as handsome as he may be, has serious economic troubles, and only a miracle can save him. But perhaps one's answer is closer than he thinks. How will he help her face the past that is haunting her? And how will she save him?

Read the book

★★★★★ 213 ratings

This is the story of Gale, an adventurous English lady who runs away to escape her murderous mother and finds herself in the company of an alluring Highlander. There she is called to change her ways, and he helps her see the world from a different point of view. But her past is catching up with her. How will she elude her mother? And will this be the only obstacle in their relationship?

Read the book

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.

When I start a new series, I usually… *

• Read all available books in that series before starting another series by the same author
• Don't mind exploring other series by the same author while waiting for the next installment

My ideal Scottish romance is… *

• Romantic with an element of humour
• Romantic with an element of mystery

Anything else you'd like to share?

Submit

One month later

The carriage wheels slowed over familiar gravel, the sound echoing too loudly in Elsie’s ears.

England looked the same—soft, orderly, almost painfully gentle after the wild edges of the Highlands. The air smelled of damp earth and spring blossoms, not salt and iron. The estate rose ahead through a veil of budding trees, its pale stone warmed by the afternoon sun. Smoke curled lazily from the chimneys, domestic and comforting.

Elsie’s breath caught at the sight. It hadn’t been so long since she had been taken from there. And yet now, everything had changed; she had changed. She was not the same girl who had left.

She was glad to be back, of course, especially with Halvard by her side. For a long time, all she had wanted was to go back to England to see her sister, and now she was here. And yet, it seemed that she was too used to the Highlands now, to the life there, to the people. Nothing in her home seemed as familiar as the cliffs by Castle Brochel, as the winds that whipped the castle, as the people who greeted her every single day as if she was one of their own.

I suppose I belong in Brochel as much as I belong here, if not more.

Elsie pressed her gloved hands together in her lap, trying to still the trembling that had begun the moment she had recognized the curve of the drive. All her surroundings were familiar and foreign to her at once, like a dream she used to have every night but had not visited again in years.

“That’s it,” she whispered, leaning forward.

Halvard followed her gaze in silence. He looked out of place there, she thought with a pang—too large, too carved by wind and war for those manicured grounds. And yet, the steadiness of his presence beside her was the only reason she was breathing at all.

Sten craned his neck toward the window. “Seems quiet. Are we certain they expect visitors?”

Elsie laughed weakly. “Selene must be somewhere.”

When their carriage came to a stop, Halvard was the first to step out, followed by Sten. Then he offered his hand to Elsie and she took it, letting him help her down.

The familiar scent of roses drifted up to her and she inhaled deeply, taking in the crisp air. It was warmer there, much more so. The breeze stirred her cloak and her hair, but there was no wind to whip her cheeks red. Though it was a cloudy day, the sky had a brighter quality to it, something Elsie couldn’t quite name, even if she felt it in her bones.

And just as Elsie took the first step towards the estate, the front doors of the house flew open.

A woman burst out onto the steps, her skirts hitched up without a care, her hair half-pinned and wholly forgotten. She stared toward the carriage as though afraid it might vanish.

“Elsie?” she called, her voice trembling between hope and disbelief.

Elsie broke into a sprint immediately, her heart leaping to her throat.

“Selene!”

They collided halfway down the path. Selene’s arms wrapped around her so tightly Elsie’s feet left the ground. A sob wrenched itself from Elsie’s throat even as she laughed in delight—a sob that was echoed by Selene, the two of them clinging onto each other as if they could hardly believe the other was real.

“You’re here,” Selene said. “God, Elsie… I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again. For the longest time I thought… I thought…”

Selene couldn’t even finish her sentence, but she didn’t need to. Elsie knew precisely what it was that her sister had feared. For a long time, she had thought her dead.

“I know,” Elsie whispered into her sister’s hair. “I know. I’m here now. I’m safe.”

Selene pulled back just far enough to cup Elsie’s face, her hands trembling.

A sigh of relief escaped Selene. For a long time, she simply stared at Elsie, but then footsteps echoed behind them as Halvard and Sten approached.

Selene froze.

Naturally, Elsie had written to her sister at the first chance she had gotten, and she had told her everything about Halvard and their wedding. Now Selene was looking at both him and Sten with suspicion, as if she didn’t quite trust either of them with her.

“My husband is the one on the right,” said Elsie. “The blond one with the blue eyes.”

Selene’s eyes narrowed as if in disapproval, and Elsie immediately knew it was not going to be easy for Halvard to gain her trust.

“Did he kidnap you?” Selene asked flatly.

“What?” Elsie laughed outright now. “No!”

“Because if he did, I will kill him,” Selene continued calmly.

A shadow fell across them.

“Understandable,” Sten said, appearing beside them. “I had the same thought when I met him.”

Halvard stepped forward then, removing his gloves with deliberate care, as though unsure where to put his hands. He inclined his head, clearly bracing himself.

“Lady Selene Montgomery,” he said, his accent thick and unmistakable. “I am Halvard MacLeod. Yer sister’s husband.”

Selene turned to him slowly.

She took him in from head to toe—his height, his breadth, the scars he did not bother hiding, the quiet watchfulness of a man who expected trouble even here.

Her brows rose.

“Oh,” she said. “You’re that kind of Scot.”

Halvard blinked. “I suppose so. Whatever that means.”

“You look like you wrestle storms,” Selene continued. “And occasionally win.”

Sten snorted, glancing at Halvard from the corner of his eye. “Aye, he’s the kind o’ man who would fight a storm. Stubborn as a mule, this one.”

“And you are?” Selene asked Sten, her eyebrows shooting even farther up, all the way to her hairline.

“Sten MacInroy,” said Sten, offering Selene a bow. “Laird MacLeod’s right-hand man an’ second-in-command.”

“Right,” said Selene, clearly unimpressed. “Another warmonger.”

“Only a hired hand, I assure ye,” said Sten, in his usual charm, with a smile that was almost enough to blind everyone in the gardens. “An’ in the past, too. Now I occupy meself with nobler things.”

“Such as?” Selene asked.

“Embroidery.”

Next to her, Halvard had to suppress a laugh, and Elsie found herself groaning as Selene glared at Sten. But knowing her sister, Elsie was certain she would come around soon enough. It was all for show—just so that neither man would underestimate her, as they often did. Once she was certain neither of them meant harm, there was no doubt in Elsie’s mind she would soften right up to them.

But until then, her gaze returned to Halvard.

“So, what makes you the right husband for my sister?”

Elsie groaned. “Selene, please.”

Selene crossed her arms over her chest, showing no signs of backing down. “I’m assessing him.”

Halvard nodded gravely. “As ye should.”

That earned him a sharp look—and then, to Elsie’s surprise, a small smile.

“He’s polite,” Selene conceded. “That’s a point in his favor.”

They moved inside together, conversation overlapping, their footsteps echoing through halls that suddenly felt full of life once ore. It was strange for Elsie to have Halvard there.

Selene sat beside Elsie, their knees touching, as though unwilling to let go even now. A servant brought out tea and snacks for them, quietly laying everything out on the small table of the drawing room. From her seat on the plush velvet couch, Elsie could feel the warmth of the sun, scant as it was, through the large windows.

Her sister seemed agitated, shifting in her seat and huffing as if she could hardly contain herself. Then, she finally spoke the words that seemed to cause her such strife.

“You’re really going to live in the Highlands,” Selene said, wonder and worry threaded through her voice. “On an island. With…” she gestured vaguely at Halvard, “this man?”

Across from her, Halvard raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t say anything. It was smart on his part to remain quiet; Elsie, at least, was glad for it, as the last thing she wanted was for him and her sister to clash, especially during their first meeting.

“Yes,” Elsie said. “We are wedded now and I have a duty to him and the clan. And besides, it feels like home now.”

Selene pursed her lips into a thin line. “I see,” she said quietly. “More than here?”

“Oh, Selene, you know I can’t answer that,” said Elsie as she reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together. “This place will always be my home. You will always be my home. And I want you to come back to Raasay with us, at least for a while. I want to show you my new home, too. I want you to meet the people, to spend some time with us all.”

Selene froze, as if she had not expected the request. Then, tears glinted in her eyes, but she was quick to clear her throat and wipe them away with the back of her hand.

“So?” Elsie asked when her sister didn’t respond. “What do you say?”

For a few moments, Selene said nothing. Then, she looked up at Sten, her expression turning flat. She did not seem convinced about him.

Elsie couldn’t help but laugh, and so did Halvard. And though Sten didn’t, Elsie could have sworn a small smile appeared and disappeared within the span of a heartbeat—brief but no less real for it.

Selene leaned closer to Elsie. She said, “Are you happy?”

Her own question was quiet, serious. Silence fell over them, filling the entire room, but there was no question in Elsie’s mind. She looked at Halvard—at the way he watched her without seeming to, at how his hand was outstretched near hers as though ready to catch her if she fell.

“Yes,” she said. “I am.”

Selene studied her for a long moment. Then she reached across the table and squeezed Halvard’s wrist, hard.

“I shall come. But if you hurt her,” she said pleasantly, “I will poison your food.”

Halvard didn’t even flinch at the threat. “That is fair. Though I must warn ye, I will never hurt her.”

Laughter filled the room, warm and unguarded, and Elsie felt something knit itself whole inside her. And when she looked at Halvard, he knew his promise to be true.

The End

Readers who enjoyed this book also bought

★★★★★ 266 ratings

This is the story of Gillian, an adventurous English lady who finds herself captured by a mysterious and alluring Highlander. This Highlander will do whatever it takes to save his people from hunger, even abduct the daughter of his enemy. But life seldom goes as planned. What will happen when the Highlander starts falling for Gillian? And will her feelings or her logic prevail in this peculiar turn of events?

Read the book

★★★★★ 208 ratings

This is the story of Julia, an intelligent English lady who runs away to escape her woes and finds herself in the keep of an enticing Highlander. This Highlander, as handsome as he may be, has serious economic troubles, and only a miracle can save him. But perhaps one's answer is closer than he thinks. How will he help her face the past that is haunting her? And how will she save him?

Read the book

★★★★★ 213 ratings

This is the story of Gale, an adventurous English lady who runs away to escape her murderous mother and finds herself in the company of an alluring Highlander. There she is called to change her ways, and he helps her see the world from a different point of view. But her past is catching up with her. How will she elude her mother? And will this be the only obstacle in their relationship?

Read the book