by Alisa Adams
“Away—” Tristan said and was cut off. Again.
“Tis true, tis true, so hurt, so angry,” Aunt Hexy said sadly.
“Twill be all up to me, the last of the sisters,” Ina said as she looked up to the sky, her hands clasped at her breasts. “The only one who’s heart is her own. For no man has declared he is keeping me. All me sisters are drookit with love. Not me, not me.”
“There’s Flori yet Ina,” Aunt Hexy reminded her.
“Och but she has wandered off with Loughlin,” Ina declared. “Sure to be blissfully making babies as we speak…”
“Ina!” Aunt Hexy cried.
“Ina!” Tristan growled.
“Only making one baby at a time,” Aunt Burnie mumbled. “Perhaps two if there be twins, or God bless her, triplets...but usually tis just the one baby at a time, I think.”
“Aunt Burnie!” Tristan moaned.
“She is right,” Friseal’s deep voice rumbled. “Tis usually just one baby at a time. I hope me wife only has one. Maybe two. Three may be too much for we arenae used to being parents,” he finished matter of factly.
“Friseal, where is—” Tristan started to say.
“Friseal? Where are your baby birds?” Ina asked him wide-eyed.
“Och, the wee ones were ready to fly so I let them. Tis just me and King Georgy now, til I get home, then twill be me, King Georgey, and me wife. And then when the baby is born it twill be me, King Georgey, me—”
“Friseal!” Tristan said loudly. “Where did Cenna go?”
Friseal looked up then. “I dinna know, but I havnae seen her since the King threatened the Munroe. Bad things are gaunnae happen to that mon.”
Ina and the aunts started to say more but Tristan put both hands up to stop them.
“Unless ye can tell me where me wife is dinnae say another word!” Tristan said firmly to them.
Friseal started to say something then stopped.
Tristan stared at Friseal a moment and then turned and whistled to Bluebell, who came trotting over from where he had been nobbling on some grass along the castle’s walls. Tristan reached up, grabbed a hunk of the horse’s mane, and jumped up on the huge horse’s back. He kicked him into a gallop as they went out through the gates of Fionnaghall.
“Bi crivvens!” Tristan said to himself as he galloped across the fields. “I will wager she has taken off after the King to help him escort Red Munroe. Probably wants to personally put him in prison herself! Sards! That woman! But they said she was hurt? Angry? Her heart broken!”
Cenna came riding up from the beach on Whins just as Tristan came flying out the gates of Fionnaghall. She was just cresting the top of the sea cliff trail when she saw him.
“That man!” she thought to herself. “He knows that I now know he married me for Fionnaghall. And he is getting away by going after the King to help escort Red Munroe. Probably wants to slam the prison door on the vile scunner himself!”
She put her heels into Whin’s sides and took off after Tristan at a full gallop. She frowned as she leaned over her mare’s neck, asking for her all. She knew her mare could not out-race her sister’s stallion, Bluebell, that Tristan was riding. Cenna put her lips together and let out a shrill whistle. The signal was the same that her sister Godet used to call the big stallion to her. She watched with satisfaction as Bluebell skidded to a stop and wheeled around. Tristan was wrestling the horse to keep going but then he saw her and sat stunned, staring at her. Cenna rode up to him and stopped as well. She frowned at him.
Tristan jumped off of Bluebell and stalked up to her.
Cenna slid off of Whins’ back and walked up to him, glaring up into his face.
Cenna wasted no time. “Where do ye think ye are going? Running away because I heard ye say in front of everyone that ye married me to get Fionnaghall?” she said angrily at him. She whipped a dirk out and stuck it up under his chin. “Because I’ll not let ye have it! Marrying me doesnae mean you get me home!”
“What?” Tristan shouted at her.
“Ye heard what I said!” she railed at him with hurt in her voice.
“How can ye think sich a thing womon!” Tristan shouted again. “I was mad for ye before I knew anythin aboot Fionnaghall! I love ye Cenna!”
Cenna sniffed and looked away from him.
“Cenna,” Tristan said, lowering his voice, “marrying ye doesnae make Fionnaghall mine.”
Cenna turned to him. Her cheeks were bright with her anger. Her hair furled out behind her in the wind and Tristan thought she was the most beautiful, the most magnificent and fierce woman he had ever met.
“It does,” Cenna said firmly.
“Nay my love; mo graidh, it does not. If anything Fionnaghall will belong to Flori now that Godet is married to my brother and they have Castle Conall. Flori is next in line so it is hers, and, it would seem Loughlin’s, who is determined to keep her. Just as I am determined to keep you,” he said softly. “I dinnae care if we live in yon crofters’ hut,” he said as he motioned his head towards the little cottages that sat along the lane drifting away from the white castle.
Cenna sniffed again. “Flori doesnae want it. Our da and mither knew this. She was granted an estate from me mither’s family the year before me parents passed away.” Cenna paused and looked sharply at him. “Fionaghall is mine, Tristan,” she said proudly.
Tristan watched her face. So many emotions flitting across. Pride, worry, love. But for Fionaghall, or hopefully himself?
“Aye, she is yours Cenna. Always. Ye are her mistress, her chieftain. Her laird. I would never take her from ye. Just know that ye are mine,” he whispered huskily. “But I must ask ye. Where were ye Cenna? I thought ye had left me. Ina said ye ran away,” he said quietly.
“Och Ina,” Cenna said with a shake of her head.
“Yes Ina, that girl knows far more than a young girl should, at her age. She says that Flori and Loughlin are off at this vera moment blissfully making babies. Babies. Not a baby, babies,” he said to Cenna’s wide-eyed face as she tried to stifle a laugh. “But we can discuss her later,” Tristan said with a slight grin. “Where did ye go? I thought ye ran from me,” he said, his voice turning soft and deep and low.
“I can say the same of ye,” she said haltingly. Had he really said she would be the laird? Not he? “Where were ye going if not to leave me? After the King?” Cenna demanded. He looked so strong, so powerful with his hands on his hips and his broad shoulders towering over her. His face, which was so beautiful, almost too beautiful to be real, now had a tiny scar over one eyebrow from the Munroe. She would never forgive that man for marring her Tristan’s face.
“I was looking for you. I had thought ye were going after the King. To make sure Red Munroe was locked up right and tight.” Tristan paused, watching her beautiful crystal green eyes, lit up by the sun coming off the sea.
Cenna scoffed. “I think the King can make sure he is thrown in jail. He doesnae need me to help him with that!”
“So then why would ye think I would be going anywhere but after ye? I certainly was not running away from ye, womon,” Tristan said with a crooked grin.
“Aye, ye better not have been running away. I went for a ride on the beach, to clear me head is all, me love,” she said with a shrug. “I told ye I was keeping ye and I meant it. Best get used to it Tristan!” Cenna said with the start of a smile.
“Can ye take the dirk out from under me chin now mo graidh?” he said and gently pushed the dirk away, which she had obviously forgotten was pricking into his neck. “I am vera glad ye are keeping me because I am keeping ye, wife. Forever. Now,” he said as he started to pull her close. “We have a wedding night to celebrate,” he said as his voice dropped deep and velvety. “No dirks allowed in the bedroom.” He kissed her as he gathered her into his arms.
Cenna let out a sigh as she willingly matched her body to his. Her arms went around his neck as he pulled her even closer, so tight that each could feel every bit of the other’s body against the
ir own.
Tristan kissed her hard, demanding, deep. His mouth moving hungrily and greedily over her lips. His tongue thrust into her mouth with a promise that left no chance for her to retreat or to argue, only that she was his. Forever.
Cenna kissed him with all she had, and met his tongue thrust for thrust, letting him know that he was hers. Forever. For she was keeping him.
“Come me wife,” he said as he took a deep breath and pulled away. “Show me your castle. Particularly our bedroom. Where we can blissfully make babies.”
Cenna nudged him hard in the ribs with her elbow and laughed.
His kissed her lightly. “Will the aunts be living with us? Och, and Ina, we must find her a husband, I am thinking.”
Cenna paused, about to say something, but then stopped and smiled.
“Show me your Fionaghall mo graidh,” Tristan continued. “Tha gaol acham ort; I love you. You are mo leannan; me sweetheart, me love. M’eudall; me darling,” he said in his deep velvet voice as the Scottish endearing words rolled over his tongue. He looked down into her eyes that he loved so very much.
Cenna looked at him, staring back, deep into his eyes. “Our Fionnaghall, mo graidh. And I love you too. Always. Forever,” Cenna said.
She grasped his hand as they led their horses back to their white castle, sitting there shining in the sun on the cliffs overlooking the beautiful blue sea.
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Beasts of the Highlands
Book #1
Highlander’s Lionheart
Book #2 (This Book)
Highlander’s Scarred Angel
Book #3
Highlander’s Wounded Beast
Book #4
Highlander’s Fierce Wolf
Book #5
Highlander’s Heart of Steel
Book #6
Highlander’s Golden Jewel
Want more romance?
Turn the page to read the first chapters of the next installment of the story, “Highlander’s Wounded Beast.”
Prologue
It was nearing twilight. The woods were falling into deep shadows as he rode his big stallion through the forest. He could faintly see the turrets of the castle far above the treetops where it sat on the cliffs.
He had been out hunting too long, but had enjoyed his solace, his time away from all his duties.
Suddenly he heard the sharp cracking of a falling branch. Just as he started to turn in the saddle to look in that direction he felt a hard strike to his head.
It sent him reeling off of his horse and to the ground. He struggled to stand, his head spinning violently. His vision was blurry, and worsened by the darkness in the forest.
Another hit to his head and then his chest.
He drew his sword, pointing it at the dark cloaked shape that was a blur in front of him.
The figure rushed at him.
He swung, missing as his feet swayed with the spinning of his head and his dizzying vision.
He heard the hissing of a blade being drawn.
He moved, swiping his arm across his eyes, willing his vision to clear and the dizziness in his head to recede. He managed to parry a few swipes from the cloaked figure’s blade, as whoever it was swung wildly and poorly.
He pushed his stallion away from the swinging of the figure’s wild sword. He tried to move and lurched sideways, falling into the figure’s horse. He heard the horse scream and knew the horse had taken a hit meant for him, as he felt the blood on the horse’s hide.
He jabbed his sword towards the blurry cloaked figure to no avail as he shook his head again to clear it, stumbling on his feet as he moved.
The figure swung again and again. He managed to move out of the way, but only partly. He felt the sting as it slashed across his chest and then heard the horse scream again.
The fool was hitting his own horse! As he turned to push the horse away he felt another sharp, painful blow to his head.
He fell to the ground. More blows came to his ribs and chest, and he groaned in pain.
His world went dark.
Chapter 1
Scottish Highlands
Late 1700s
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Ina Ross spun Myrtle, her giant Clydesdale mare, around and halted, catching her breath as she stared at the target out in the practice field in front of the castle. She waited impatiently for the other warriors to catch up with her. A few had to get off their mounts to retrieve their dirks that had landed on the ground, totally missing their targets. They seemed intent on showing a bit of thigh under their kilts as they did so, glancing at Ina to see if they had caught her attention.
Ina laughed briefly as she watched them. She was breathing heavily from her exertion on the warm, sunny day. The sea breeze felt good on her heated skin as she closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sky. When she opened her eyes, she glanced back at Fionnaghal, where she lived with her sister Ceena and her sister’s husband.
The grand old castle’s white stones seemed to be glistening under the blue skies. She smiled with pride as she shoved the sleeves of her white blouse up above her elbows and used a bit of tartan fabric to retie her long blonde hair back in a knot atop her head once again. Her hair was so long it fell to her hips in tight, curling spirals, but right now it kept falling down from the knot on her head and getting in her way. Ina huffed out a breath and pursed her full lips in frustration as she fixed her hair once again. Her light, cornflower-blue eyes turned to study the target as she rammed her hair back into place for what seemed like the hundredth time. “I’d cut it all off,” she muttered to herself, “but me sisters would have a fit since they are all here to find me a husband of me own!”
Ina gathered her horse’s reins back up into her hands and took a calming breath.
“Shall we go again then Myrtle?” Ina spoke softly in a lilting voice to her mare as she patted the horse’s golden neck. Myrtle pawed the ground with one massive hoof in response. Ina grinned as she leaned down and whispered to her mare, “We’re certainly showing them that you are a battle-worthy mount and good for more than pulling a cart, arnae we my sweetling? Now, we have a few dirks left. Let’s see if we can hit that target with the rest like we did the others and show those boys how it’s done!” She flicked her tartan skirts to fall neatly back over her legs once again. She fixed her eyes on the warriors hovering about the top of the practice field with her, ready to go again. Her eyes traveled to their targets and a small smile grew on her face. Not a one of their dirks had hit the center of their targets. Each of her knives had hit dead center of her own target. The men’s knives were all over the place.
“Dinnae ye have a place to be?” she called out sweetly to the men. “Something else to do perhaps? That you are actually good at?” Ina said in her melodic voice. “Like learning to ride yer horse first, before ye go galloping and throwing knives from atop its back?”
The warriors moved restlessly on their horses as they just stared at her.
They always stared.
And blushed.
And stuttered.
Even
the warrior who was supposedly training them.
Tongue-tied, every one of them.
Ina sighed in frustration. “If we were gaunnie be attacked right now it would be up to me to defend all of ye. Me; a wee, small, sprite of a weak female on me giant of a horse. To defend all ye big, mighty men on yer wee, poor horses!” She looked at them. The men just stared, wide-eyed at her. So she continued, “I’d be a flinging me knives all around while they rushed us here in this field and ye all would be dropping right and left. Aye, falling off yer horses.” Again, they just stared. Most had big, silly grins on their faces, thinking perhaps she was teasing them.
“Then ye would be left to die a horrible, painful death being trampled by your own men’s horses while ye lay in the dirt and watched, helpless, while yer fellow men fall around ye.” Ina paused, waiting, but no one said a thing. They still grinned at her, not taking her seriously. She added in a louder voice, “Because none of ye can ride or steer yer horses much less throw a knife and hit the targets!”
There came a low grumbling and some slight chuckling from the men. All were used to Ina’s dramatic, embellished ramblings and stories but they were too entranced by the petite, beautiful, angelic-looking girl who rode the massive horse to be able to say anything to her. All four of the Ross sisters were exceptional warriors and could stand with the best of the best. They had all proven themselves in battles. The accounts of their heroics were becoming popular all over the Highlands. Even the King knew them! All four of the Ross sisters were beautiful and not afraid of anyone or anything it seemed. Including this one, the youngest and most petite of them all.
