A Spinster at the Highland Court: The Highland Ladies Book One

by Barclay, Celeste

  “Are you certain you aren’t wishing for a lass?”

  “What on earth would I know to do with a lass at this point?” Elizabeth laughed.

  “She might turn out to be like Mairghread MacKay.” Edward pointed out.

  “Aye, I would be proud of a lass like her. She is still quicker witted and more cunning than any of her four older brothers, and I would wager my last coin that she is even more deadly than those four Sinclairs.”

  “I would too, but don’t let Callum, Alex, Tavish, or Magnus hear you say that. Or Tristan for that matter. Poor man has his hands full with his wife.”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean? They have as many bairns as we do. I think she’s the one with her hands full.”

  Edward leaned forward and kissed his wife again before nuzzling behind her ear.

  “When the younger lads go down for their nap, I can think of what I want to keep my hands full.”

  Elizabeth giggled, and Edward’s breeks tightened. “And that’s why we’re about to have our fifth bairn.”

  “Perhaps it should be a lass since we’re running out of names for lads.”

  “There’s still the name Edward.” Elizabeth offered.

  They had named each of their sons for one of Edward’s brothers. His brothers Neill, Thomas, and Alexander were slain before Elizabeth met Edward. However, when their youngest son had been born, it was only months after the English killed Edward, the former Earl of Carrick and High King of Ireland. The pain had been too fresh to consider that name, so they chose Robert instead. It seemed fitting that if this fifth child was a son, they would name him Edward.

  “Aye, there is. At least if you bellow that name in the future, at least one person is likely to answer. Better odds than you have now, my love.” Edward danced out of her reach.

  “That’s because they’re all so dazzled by their da they aren’t listening to my voice.”

  Both knew that was untrue. While Elizabeth was a kind and doting mother, she ruled with an iron hand, as it was the only way to maintain control once her children outnumbered her. Edward looked back at his men training and nodded his head to his second. He walked back to the keep with Elizabeth and their brood, helping her steer the children abovestairs. He settled the two older boys in the nursery where they could read or play quietly while Elizabeth put the younger two down for naps.

  “You know Thomas won’t nap for much longer. Then I won’t be able to sneak away with you like this,” Elizabeth laughed as they entered their chamber. “I’ll have to keep him and Niall and Alexander entertained so they’ll be quiet enough for Robert and the bairn to nap.”

  “Eithne will be more than happy to keep the boys entertained, so you might have a rest in the afternoons.” Edward began unlacing Elizabeth’s kirtle.

  “Eithne is more than happy to see me with a bairn in my belly every year. She’s the most disappointed when I’m not expecting! She’ll help you make time to bed me.” Elizabeth finished pushing her gown to the floor and turned to spy Edward removing his leine. He’d taken to wearing a breacan feile, or great plaid, rather than the breeks or leggings he favored at court. Her husband’s body still took her breath away even after more than a decade. He was broader, stronger, and leaner than when they met. His powerful frame made her mouth water.

  “Looking at me like that, little one, is what keeps getting you with child.” Edward flexed his chest, knowing she wouldn’t resist reaching out to touch him. He captured her fingers and drew her closer as he kissed her fingertips. She reached out the other hand and stroked his length.

  “Is that what does it? I could have sworn it was this.” She squeezed.

  Edward and Elizabeth melted into one another’s embrace as they stumbled to their bed. In a tangle of arms and legs, the couple found the rhythm they developed many years ago and still delighted in. Edward watched as pleasure blossomed across his wife’s face, and she caressed the rugged plains of his cheeks and jaw.

  “I love you, mo ghaol,” Edward’s breath wafted across her lips.

  “And I love you, mo chridhe,” Elizabeth answered before they sank into another kiss that bound them, body and soul.

  Thank you for reading A Spinster at the Highland Court

  Celeste Barclay, a nom de plume, lives near the Southern California coast with her husband and sons. Growing up in the Midwest, Celeste enjoyed spending as much time in and on the water as she could. Now she lives near the beach. She's an avid swimmer, a hopeful future surfer, and a former rower. When she's not writing, she's working or being a mom.

  Visit Celeste’s website, www.celestebarclay.com, for regular updates on works in progress, new releases, and her blog where she features posts about her experiences as an author and recommendations of her favorite reads.

  Are you an author who would like to guest blog or be featured in her recommendations? Visit her website for an opportunity to share your insights and experiences.

  Have you read Their Highland Beginning, The Clan Sinclair Prequel? Learn how the saga begins! This FREE novella is available to all new subscribers to Celeste’s monthly newsletter. Subscribe on her website.

  www.celestebarclay.com

  Join the fun and get exclusive insider giveaways, sneak peeks, and new release announcements in

  Celeste Barclay’s Facebook Ladies of Yore Group

  The Highland Ladies

  A Spy at the Highland Court: De Wolfe Pack Connected World SNEAK PEEK

  (This is a companion novel to the series)

  Dedric Hage watched as the English king continued his royal rage as courtiers and advisors eased away from their irate sovereign. His Majesty’s face was mottled with red splotches that only accentuated his fair complexion, and spittle formed at the corners of his mouth as his rant amplified. King Edward stalked about the chamber on the long legs that earned him the moniker “Longshanks.”

  “I don’t give a bloody damn who oversaw the attack. It failed!” He railed against the last advisor who tried to reassure him that the recent loss was not the end of his campaign against the Scots. “Failure is failure. That usurper believes he’s gotten the upper hand, and he will continue worming his way further into England now that he thinks he has outsmarted me. I should have killed him when I had the chance.”

  King Edward muttered his final comments as he sank back into the engraved and carved chair that sat on a dais. His bile spewed, the king retreated into his own thoughts as the rest of the chamber was left wondering what to do next.

  Dedric had seen this pattern countless times over the course of his life. He was all too familiar with the king’s mercurial temper and unpredictable outbursts, but he also knew Edward was one of the best strategists and logisticians to have ever lived. While he might not like the man, he respected him. At times. Ric watched as the king scanned the crowd, assessing each knight present until his eyes settled on Ric, who wished he could melt into the curtains and watch the people in the gardens below.

  “Sir Dedric, approach.”

  Ric stifled his groan, knowing from experience that the king would construe even the slightest hesitation as a personal, punishable offense. Ric approached the dais and bent into a low bow, awaiting the slight flick of Edward’s fingers that would indicate he could rise. He knew it was the king’s intention to make him wait.

  When the signal finally came, Ric stood to his full height with his shoulders back and spine straight, just as had been hammered into him since the days when he was a page in the royal household.

  “You were there.” It was more an accusation than an observation. “What the hell went wrong?”

  Dedric did not shift or squirm like he wanted, and he did not avert his gaze. Instead he weighed his words and chose them judiciously.

  “There were simply more of them than us.”

  Ric did not miss the collective gasp that his curt answer elicited. He waited for the king to explode again, but this time Edward laughed. It was a hearty laugh, but Ric did not miss the lack o
f mirth in the king’s eyes. “So, it was as simple as that? How did I not realize?” Edward stood once more and left the dais, this time placing himself directly in front of Ric.

  “Sir Dedric, since I’d already deduced the insufficient numbers on our side, I had hoped you might have more insight than to state the obvious!” What started as a reasonable tone ended in a bellow.

  “Your Majesty, the clans put aside their enmity toward one another, not just neighbors but Highlanders and Lowlanders, and showed up in great force. There was a great conviction to defeat us and not just for their land.”

  “Ah, yes. The great Scottish pride. The same pride I have spent a lifetime hammering out of them.” Edward sized up Ric, and Ric knew whatever came next would be something he would dread. “You’re a Scot.”

  The king paused, purposely though silently encouraging the whispers that spread through the chamber, grimacing when Ric did not blink. Edward had hoped to garner some reaction from the knight standing before him, but he had underestimated what Dedric Hage had learned over a lifetime of serving the English king.

  “Half, Your Majesty. I’m a Hage.” The name of the well-respected English family made many in the chamber take notice, but the king’s mention of his Scottish heritage was a stigma Ric could never get past.

  “Yes, and like your father Christian, you are one of my best knights. You have been part of my household since I took you in as a page. I just hope you don’t make the same mistake as your father and go falling in love with a Scot, then getting yourself killed. I’m not raising any more half-Hages.”

  The Clan Sinclair

  His Highland Lass BOOK 1 SNEAK PEEK

  She entered the great hall like a strong spring storm in the northern most Highlands. Tristan Mackay felt like he had been blown hither and yon. As the storm settled, she left him with the sweet scents of heather and lavender wafting towards him as she approached. She was not a classic beauty, tall and willowy like the women at court. Her face and form were not what legends were made of. But she held a unique appeal unlike any he had seen before. He could not take his eyes off of her long chestnut hair that had strands of fire and burnt copper running through them. Unlike the waves or curls he was used to, her hair was unusually straight and fine. It looked like a waterfall cascading down her back. While she was not tall, neither was she short. She had a figure that was meant for a man to grasp and hold onto, whether from the front or from behind. She had an aura of confidence and charm, but not arrogance or conceit like many good looking women he had met. She did not seem to know her own appeal. He could tell that she was many things, but one thing she was not was his.

  His Bonnie Highland Temptation BOOK 2 SNEAK PEEK

  The pounding in Callum’s head as he awoke made him wonder if he had been mistaken for the blacksmith’s anvil. Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked over at the curvaceous blonde sleeping next to him. The previous night began to drift through his memory. His father, Liam Sinclair the chief of Clan Sinclair, had announced less than a sennight night ago that not only had he arranged a betrothal for Callum, his heir and tánaiste, but that the woman would be arriving before the sennight was over. She was expected some time late this day, so last night he had celebrated his upcoming nuptials by drowning his sorrows in more drams of whisky than he could remember and taking his current lover to bed for a night of entertainment and pleasure. He had been very sure to tell Elizabeth that this was his last night of freedom and that their short, albeit passionate, liaison was coming to an end. While Callum Sinclair may have enjoyed more than a few women’s attention and considered himself a well experienced lover, he was also a man committed to fidelity to his wife. Whomever she might be.

  His Highland Prize BOOK 3 SNEAK PEEK

  I just need to make it to the light. Heavenly Father, please let there be a light over this hill. I canna go much farther. I must go farther. Will there never be a village or a keep nearby? I dinna think I will last much longer. Please, in the name of the Father and all the heavenly saints, just let me find someone who can help me.

  Brighde Kerr pushed her sopping wet hair from her eyes as she stumbled onward. She had lost her shoes days ago after they had fallen apart while on the run from her pursuers. Her kirtle, which had once been a daffodil yellow was now a murky shade of beige with a ripped sleeve, frayed hem, and at least two holes that she had noticed in the skirts. Brighde ached all over. Her feet were raw from walking and running for nearly two weeks. Her legs protested taking even one more step, and her chest burned from trying to breathe through her efforts and the torrential downpour in which she once again found herself.

  Light! I’m sure of it. I can finally see it coming from a keep. Dear God above, please allow me in. I just need---

  His Highland Pledge BOOK 4 SNEAK PEEK

  Magnus Sinclair detested being at the royal court. There was nothing redeemable in his eyes, and his face ensured everyone knew the Highland giant was not there to exchange pleasantries. Standing at six and a half feet tall, he towered over almost every man in the king’s household and all the men who sought the monarch’s attention. Only a few visiting Highlanders mirrored him in height and physique. As though sticking out like a sore thumb from his height and his insistence upon wearing his plaid was not enough, he felt naked without his claymore. Locked away in his chamber, his two-handed broadsword was as much a part of him as either hand. For the safety of the king and his family, they allowed no one to wear or carry a sword into the main gathering hall. Magnus’s sword forged to accommodate his size, and even though custom designed, the enormous sword looked like little more than a young lad’s wooden practice sword when Magnus held it. Needless to say, it was not a welcome sight strapped to his back. When he arrived the day before, he resigned himself to just carrying his dirks, of which he had at least eight on various parts of his body.

  Arriving early the previous morning, Magnus spent all of the day and much of the evening in a passageway, standing, awaiting an audience with the king. This day came and went, just as the previous one had, with no indicator of when the king would meet with him. This only aggravated Magnus more as a representative from the Sinclair clan summoned rather than volunteered to attend court.

  His Highland Surprise BOOK 5 SNEAK PEEK

  Tavish Sinclair stood frozen in the Great Hall of his clan's keep as he listened to his father.

  "Ye canna be serious!" He realized his voice was quiet as he spoke to Laird Liam Sinclair, but in his head, it was a roar. "I dinna need a wife. I dinna want a wife."

  Tavish's body was so still he looked like a statue carved from marble, his expression like a death mask.

  He canna mean it. I simply flirted one too many times with the elder man's daughter, Isabella. I will stay away and then this nonsense will pass.

  "It isnae aboot Isabella or any of the local lasses ye ken so well. The king has decreed that I must make a match between our clans. Ye are the older of ma two unmarried sons. The duty falls to ye."

  "But Magnus is already at court."

  He recognized he sounded petulant, but Tavish Sinclair was a confirmed bachelor. He never intended to settle down with one woman. The Sinclair men, once their oath made, never were unfaithful to their wives. He refused to make that traditional vow, so instead he avoided marriage like it were a fire sweeping through hay.

  "Aye, Magnus is at court. And taking far longer than expected. I worry something befell him. The king's message was rather cryptic on that front. I would have ye go to court and see that yer brother fares well, and while there, ye can meet the lass. Ye ken I will force none of ye into an unhappy marriage. I ask only that ye meet her. See if ye suit."

  Viking Glory

  Leif BOOK 1 SNEAK PEEK

  Leif looked around his chambers within his father’s longhouse and breathed a sigh of relief. He noticed the large fur rugs spread throughout the chamber. His two favorites placed strategically before the fire and the bedside he preferred. He looked at his shield that hung on the wall
near the door in a symbolic position but waiting at the ready. The chests that held his clothes and some of his finer acquisitions from voyages near and far sat beside his bed and along the far wall. And in the center was his most favorite possession. His oversized bed was one of the few that could accommodate his long and broad frame. He shook his head at his longing to climb under the pile of furs and on the stuffed mattress that beckoned him. He took in the chair placed before the fire where he longed to sit now with a cup of warm mead. It had been two months since he slept in his own bed, and he looked forward to nothing more than pulling the furs over his head and sleeping until he could no longer ignore his hunger. Alas, he would not be crawling into his bed again for several more hours. A feast awaited him to celebrate his and his crew’s return from their latest expedition to explore the isle of Britannia. He bathed and wore fresh clothes, so he had no excuse for lingering other than a bone weariness that set in during the last storm at sea. He was eager to spend time at home no matter how much he loved sailing. Their last expedition had been profitable with several raids of monasteries that yielded jewels and both silver and gold, but he was ready for respite.