Highlander's Lost Daughter (Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance)

by Alisa Adams

  “You are too kind,” Tavia said, laughing. Just then something occurred to her. “Blair, what about Rob’s mother? She has no one now.”

  Blair sighed and shook his head.

  “I have it!” Tavia said suddenly. “I will deal with it.”

  Tavia could do nothing about Cathy Grant’s heartache, but she could help her in other ways. Since it looked as though Rob would be spending the next twenty years in prison, Tavia helped her to sell her house and she used the money to build a cottage beside her brother’s.

  She never knew what had happened to her husband, but she did not really care. The next time she saw Rob was on her deathbed, but the last years of her life were spent with her own family and she died a happy woman.

  Blair bought the fishing boats, employed a capable manager, and they began to make him a tidy profit, most of which he used to benefit his tenants and the people of the village.

  However, all that was still far in the future. Now, there was a wedding to plan.

  20

  The Wedding

  Bridget had worked on the wedding dress for almost two weeks, and Tavia had to admit it was breathtaking. She had chosen the color herself, a pale grayish violet that was almost the same shade as Blair’s eyes, and the velvet fabric was trimmed with frothy cream lace at the neck and sleeve edges. The neckline was a deep vee, just low enough to hint at the delights underneath, and there were three deep pleats at the back of the dress which opened into a wide circular train. However, Tavia was trembling with nervous tension. She never thought this moment would actually come. She expected Blair’s father to cause a bit more of a ruckus, but learning about her true descent blew his major argument away and he knew he would appear very mean if he still insisted on them not marrying.

  “Why are ye sae feart?” Bridget teased her. “Are ye no gettin merrit tae the handsomest laird in the Highlands an’ the man o’ yer dreams?” She was placing a cream silk flower at the right side of Tavia’s head, pinning it back. It was the only decoration she wanted in her hair, and it looked perfect.

  Bridget stood back to admire her handiwork. Tavia was more beautiful than Bridget had ever seen her friend before. “Oh, Tavvy, ye look like a queen!” she breathed, with tears in her eyes. “Blair is gaunnae be that proud o’ ye!”

  “Thank you for my beautiful dress, Bridget.” Tavia’s smile was radiant. She went to embrace her friend, but Bridget held her hands out to warn her off.

  “Ye will crush yer dress,” she warned. “Hug me efter ye’re merrit.”

  Just then, Maureen came in, carrying the bouquet she had made for her daughter.

  It was made up of bluebells, snowdrops, moss campion, and mountain avens—all wild flowers that Maureen had picked that very morning. They still bore the scent of fresh air and peaty soil, which was the fragrance Tavia loved best.

  Mauren gasped when she saw her daughter, and tears sprang to her eyes. “Oh, Tavvy! Look at ye!” she cried. “Have we no’ got a beautiful wee lassie, Bridget?”

  “Aye, Mistress Donald,” Bridget agreed. “But dinnae gie her a hug or ye will crush her dress.”

  Just then the church bells began to ring. It was time.

  Blair was already there when she came in. He was magnificent in his clan plaid, snow-white linen shirt with the great silver brooch bearing the family crest.

  However, when he looked at her, Tavia saw his eyes widen momentarily, and a look of wonder passed over his face. She went to his side and gazed up into his eyes. They were alight with love.

  “You look wondrous, Tavvy,” he whispered, and she smiled at him. He would remember that sweet, radiant smile for the rest of his life.

  The opening blessing was given, and Father Edward asked them to make the vows that would change their lives forever.

  “Blair, will you begin, please?” he asked in his soft voice. He was an Englishman, but they had forgiven him for that.

  Blair took Tavia’s hands and gazed into her eyes silently for a moment. “I hardly know where to begin telling you how much I love you, my Tavvy.” His voice was gruff, as though he were swallowing tears of joy. “You are the sunlight that wakes me, the clear water that cleanses me, the bread that sustains me, and the music that gives me joy. You are the very air that I breathe. Without you, my life would be nothing. Marry me, Tavvy, for I cannot live without you.”

  Tears were freely running down Tavia’s face as she replied, “Likewise, Blair, you are everything to me. You are the rock that keeps me steady, my shelter from the storm, and the hearth that warms me. You are my safety and protection, and your arms are my home. I will be yours forever. Will you be mine?”

  “I will—forever and always,” he answered. He slipped the gold ring onto her finger and kissed it. Then he planted a gentle kiss on her lips. He could do no more than that, but the look in his eyes promised the best was yet to come.

  After they left the church Laird Colin Patterson came up to them, smiling broadly. “Welcome to the family, Lady Patterson,” he said politely, kissing his new daughter-in-law’s hand.

  “Father, you were the one who ordered Tavvy out of the castle,” Blair reminded him with a dark frown on his face. “Why have you changed your mind now? Is it perhaps because she is the granddaughter of a laird?”

  “Do you not see?” Colin looked puzzled. “She was one of us! I thought she was a worker but she has been nobility all along.”

  “I see,” Tavia was seething but her voice was even. “So if I had only been an apothecary’s daughter I would not have been welcome?”

  “I did not say that!” He sighed. “Forgive me, Tavia. I was wrong.”

  She looked up at Blair, who was still wearing a thunderous expression. “I am not warring on my wedding day,” she said. “Thank you, M’Laird. I accept your apology.” She nudged Blair, who grunted something and gave his father a half smile. They left to mingle among their guests.

  Archie and Maureen watched them as they moved around the room, smiling and kissing everyone. They were both happy for their daughter, but knew that her departure would leave a huge hole in their lives.

  “Look at her, pet,” Maureen said, smiling proudly. “Is she no’ the most gorgeous lass ye have ever seen?”

  “Indeed,” Archie replied. “But oh, we are going to miss her.” He put his arm around his wife. “And we are very unlikely to ever get a gift from the sea again.”

  Maureen looked thoughtful. “Maybe no’ fae the sea,” she mused. “But there are mony wee bairns at St Agnes in Inverness a’ wantin’ mammies an’ pappies!” St Agnes was a convent which took in unwed mothers and cared for their babies.

  Archie laughed. “Are we not too old?” he asked, smiling at her fondly.

  Maureen looked up at him and smiled wickedly. “Ye werenae sayin’that last night!” she reminded him.

  They had finally managed to get away by waiting until the dancing was in full swing and creeping away upstairs.

  “I have had a special room made up for us,” Blair told her, smiling. He swept her up in his arms and walked along the corridor where his bedroom was. However, they passed it, and he stopped in front of another door. “Close your eyes,” he whispered. She could hear a laugh in his voice. She obeyed, and heard him kicking open the door. He put her down gently. “Open your eyes,” he whispered again, kissing the side of her neck.

  She gasped in amazement. The room was covered in flowers—wild ones like bluebells, bog myrtle, mountain avens, and even the odd thistle; and hothouse flowers from the castle greenhouses, like roses, carnations, and daffodils. Their fragrance was almost overpowering, but she loved it. They were in sparkling crystal bowls, earthenware jugs, and silver vases. It was an exquisite room, with cream brocade curtains at the deep windows, mahogany-paneled walls, and silk Turkish rugs woven in jeweled colors on the floor. The four-poster bed’s canopy was a bright rust red, as was its comforters and pillows, all made of the finest quality watered silk.

  “What do you think, Milady Patterson
?” he murmured. “Is it to your taste?”

  She turned around to look into his eyes. “Indeed it is,” she replied, smiling at him lovingly. “And so are you.”

  He took a deep breath in and let it out in a long sigh, then gathered her into his arms. “At last,” he breathed, “I could not wait for that confounded wedding to be finished. Now you are all mine, Milady.”

  “Not yet,” she said, before she pulled his head down to hers. She heard him moan involuntarily then they fell on the bed, limbs tangling as they fought to get closer and closer to one another. It was a frenzy of kissing, licking, nibbling, touching, and tickling, and it was glorious. Tavia felt her dress rip, but she did not care. She pulled Blair’s belt off and tossed it on the floor. His plaid slid off and then he was naked from the waist down. She was dizzy with desire, and as she felt his arousal pressing against her it inflamed her even more. She could hardly believe it; finally she was going to learn the mystery of love, and it would be unveiled to her by the most precious person in her whole world—Blair Patterson, the man she loved with her body, heart, and soul.

  Blair kissed her hungrily, igniting her senses. “Stop me if you need more time. I am helpless against you, Tavvy.”

  She looked into his eyes and saw that it was true. This big strong man was, at this moment, hers to command. She could feel his body rubbing sensuously against hers, and the delightful sensation of his fingers on her slick wetness, and suddenly she could wait no longer.

  “No,” she said, lifting her hips and offering herself to him. “Now.”

  He looked down at her raised body and then up at her face. He eased himself into her little by little to lessen the discomfort of her first experience. Her face screwed up in pain for a moment, then the expression was gone, and she was looking into his eyes with incredulous wonder.

  Instinctively, they began to move in rhythm with each other, and a feeling that started as a tiny tickle deep inside her began to spread outwards. It was a strange, tingling sensation that came and went, came and went, becoming stronger and stronger every time. She felt that she was striving for something she would never reach, till finally she reached it, and it burst over her, an odd sensation that spread out from her core to reach every nerve in her body.

  She lay back on the bed, her body trembling and occasionally bucking as another tremor hit her. He had pleasured her with his fingers before, but not like this, flesh to flesh, bodies twined together.

  “Now may I call you ‘Milady?’” he asked, tenderly drawing a blanket over her.

  “You can call me anything you like as long as you do not leave me,” she replied.

  “I will never leave you as long as there is breath in my body, sweetheart,” he declared.

  “And I will never leave you as long as you love me every night.” She smiled.

  “I promise,” he replied, crossing his heart.

  “And every morning,” she went on.

  “I swear,” he answered.

  “And three times on Sunday!” She laughed as she watched his face become panic-stricken.

  “But that will kill me!” he protested.

  “It might,” she conceded, giggling, “but what a wonderful way to die!”

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  Prologue

  Bryan Pressley glanced around anxiously. His heart beat rapidly in his chest and the hand holding his sword trembled, although that was more from fatigue than anything else. His eyes darted about furtively, and behind him, squeezing his hand, was Catherine.

  Whenever he looked at her he was filled with love, but unfortunately that wasn’t the only thing residing in his heart at the moment. It was also filled with fear. If anything should happen to her he didn’t know what he would do. All he wanted was to protect her, and he would give anything he had, even his life, to keep her safe.

  Perhaps that was what it would take.

  “Where are we going next?” she asked, her words breathless and trembling. Bryan wracked his brains. He was tired of depending on the kindness of strangers, and he knew that such kindness had its limits.

  “We could go north, to the mountains. They might not follow us there. We could lose them,” he said, although Catherine didn’t much like that plan. She was a hardy girl, but she wasn’t made for such an extended stay away from the comfort she had known from home. Bryan’s mind worked a hundred miles an hour, trying to think of a way to escape the soldiers chasing them, but the chase was wearying and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could endure this terrible lifestyle. It wasn’t what he had wanted for either of them, moving from village to village, town to town, begging for the hospitality of strangers, constantly moving so that the hunters wouldn’t catch up to them, but it was only a matter of time. It had always been a matter of time.

  Seeing his picture hanging on the walls of taverns made him burn with anger. He had been branded a criminal…and perhaps that was truly all he was in the end, and the love he had for Catherine was just something that cursed them…

  Chapter 1

  Many moons ago…

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  Bryan Pressley sat by the stream. He dipped his hands in the water and brought them up to his face, splashing it over himself. He shook his face and the water dripped down. It was cold and fresh, and made him feel like a new man. He looked down at his belongings, which were all contained in one small sack, aside from his sword, which was the only link he had to his past. The rest of the sack contained some bread and cheese, a small knife, and a smooth, round stone he had found on his travels. He hadn’t been sure exactly why he had picked up the stone, but it had seemed to him one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. It was perfectly smooth unlike so many other stones he had come across, which were all jagged and harsh. It seemed remarkable to him that something so pure and smooth could have come from nature, so he had carried it with him everywhere he went.

  His possessions were few and there wasn’t much to his name. Bryan was a wanderer. He was in his mid-twenties and he had never known a home. For a number of those years he had known only loneliness. Of course, when he stayed in taverns he could be the life of the party and enjoy the vigorous charm of the locals, but he always moved on, never setting down roots, for he was a man without a home.

  It had been the same ever since he had been born.

  Sometimes it felt as though he didn’t need a home, and he tried to convince himself that while he was here the entire world was his home. He could go anywhere and do anything he wanted. He had complete freedom—the freedom that a lot of people would have longed for, but without a central place to return, without something calling him back, he felt as though he was drifting through the world without purpose and without meaning. Yes, he could go anywhere, but to what end? All his life he would be wandering, never settling anywhere, when all he wanted was everything that had ever been denied to him.

  Of course the girls in the taverns liked the fact that he was a stranger and they often saw him as exotic and brooding, but flings like that never lasted. He wanted something more substantial. He wanted a lady, someone he could look to and love with pride, but he knew he could never get anyone like that. He was just a Highland brute with no home, no land, and no hope. The best he could hope for was to find some farmer’s daughter somewhere who could take him in, but he wasn’t sure the farming life was for him. He knew nothing about how to tame the land, only how to survive in it, and he had no idea how to go about courting a lass either. There
were many things his father hadn’t taught him, many things his father hadn’t even been able to teach him.

  In a way, Bryan hated thinking about his father because it only ever brought back painful memories, but whenever he thought like this he immediately felt guilty. His father was the greatest man he had ever known, and it was a tragedy that he had died without ever having land or redeeming the family name. The only thing he had to pass down to Bryan was his sword. It was a great sword, and the blade and hilt were intricately carved with depictions of mythical monsters like dragons and griffins and great beasts that rose from the sea. His father had always told him that this sword had slain them all, had been used by mighty warriors of the Pressley clan to ward off evil and defend the land from all manner of enemies. The hilt was gold, and at one point there had been jewels embedded into the hilt, but a long time ago they had been pried away by some inscrutable people who hadn’t had the same respect for the past as Bryan and his father shared.

  The Pressley name had once managed to strike fear into the hearts of evil-doers, but now it had faded into the mists of time. Some people could once recall tales of a mighty warrior for the clan, but to most people the name was as meaningless as most others. Bryan knew it was unfair. His family had never deserved this, they had just suffered from the bad decisions of a few misguided members of his ancestry, and because of them his family had lost their land, their titles, and all the respect of the Highlands.

  It had been some generations since the Pressleys had been a force among the Highland tribes, but stories had been passed down from father to son, and Bryan knew that one day it would be his duty to pass on the same stories that had been told to him. The family name and the memories of what had been were the only legacy that existed for the Pressley descendents, but Bryan wanted more. It wasn’t enough for him to just pass on stories of the glory of the clan, which was getting farther and farther away as time marched inexorably forward.