He narrowed his eyes a fraction. “What’s amiss?”
Elena Fraser patted his cheek. “You shall learn soon enough, my dear lad.”
What the devil did that mean?
Rolling his eyes, he pivoted away to search in the opposite direction. Though the past few months together had been naught short of sheer marital bliss, Liam could not help but worry for his lass. Especially since she’d awakened each morn ailing for the past sennight.
He spotted his commander, John, and his wife, Sarah, among the clan gathered around the village stream. When Fraser formally stood aside passing the lairdship over to Liam, he’d wasted no time approaching the warrior with his request, and John had gladly accepted the position as Liam’s commander.
Fastening on a smile he scarcely felt, he nodded at the pair. “John, Sarah. Have either of you seen Nora?”
’Twas in the same instant a finger tapped his shoulder.
Sarah stifled her giggle and pointed behind him.
Without another thought, Liam spun around and immediately wrapped an arm around Nora’s waist. A spike of alarm rose in his chest as he searched her pale features. He frowned at her in concern. “Are you well, Wife?”
Nora beamed a bright smile that reached her beautiful, sparkling eyes. “I could not be better.” She lifted a hand to brush a finger over his furrowed brow. “Stop frowning so, Husband.”
“’Tis just that I worry for you,” he admitted. “I loathe seeing you ill.”
Her grin deepened. She stretched her arms around his neck. “I am—”
A roar of deafening cheers pierced his ears and drowned out the rest of his wife’s words. Liam jerked his head upward in time to catch sight of the large, paddled trundle turn its first rotation, grabbing water from the stream in long, wooden troughs Domnall affixed to the ends. Amazed the blasted thing worked, Liam grinned with the rest of his applauding clan.
Without a word, Nora tugged his face to hers and sealed their lips, thoroughly capturing his undivided attention with the fervor in her kiss. Enfolding her in his arms, he adored the feel of her against his frame. ’Twas a sensation that would never cease to please him.
She released his mouth and trailed kisses along his jaw, pausing just below his ear to whisper. “I am carrying, Liam.”
Her words sent a jolt through him. He pulled back, grasping hold of the sides of her waist. She could not mean…? “A bairn?”
Her fingers twirled the hair at his nape. Beaming a brilliant smile, she nodded her confirmation.
Joy ripped through his surprise, flooding him with excitement. An exulted shout of glee tore from his throat, blending with the clan’s excited chatter. Gripped with happiness and gratitude for his wife, he bent his knees and picked her up in his arms while she clung to his neck.
Heedless of the Frasers’ teasing grins, he carried his wife toward the front gate, eager to get her alone in their bedchamber.
“I thought you wished to see the water wheel in motion,” she said.
He had far more important matters to attend. “I can see it on the morrow.”
Undeterred from his course, he marched through the gate, heading for the keep.
“Where are you taking me?” She glanced around the nearly empty courtyard.
He cast her a quick glance before growling, “To bed.”
“What?” Alarmed, she stiffened in his arms. “I’m well. I do not need rest.”
“I have no intentions of you resting, Wife.” Liam quirked a revealing brow at his lass which easily relayed his lecherous intent.
“Oh.” Understanding dawned in her gaze, and her comely features lit with a wide grin. “Then by all means, pray continue, Husband.”
The End
My Passionate Love
Highland Loves
Book Three
By
Melissa Limoges
Chapter One
Lady Mairi MacGregor stuck out her tongue and crossed her eyes, earning a gurgling giggle from her four-month-old nephew, Cormac William MacGregor. The sturdy, bright-eyed bairn watched her with fascination while a line of drool ran from his parted mouth. His wee, pink face lit with joy, which never ceased to ease her low spirits.
“I suspect you shall have one of your own before too long,” her brother, the little lad’s father, said with a wink.
Seated beside him, Arabella MacGregor pinched her husband’s arm.
“Oww! What the devil was that for?” Calum darted a quick scowl at his wife.
Lips puckered with a frown, Cormac lifted his chubby hands for his mother, and Mairi passed him over into Arabella’s waiting arms.
Cuddling her son in her lap, Arabella frowned at Calum. “You should not tease your sister so, Husband.”
Bewildered, he lifted his brows and looked past his wife to Mairi. “I meant no offense.”
Gritting her teeth, she waved away the words with a flick of her hand. She forced a tight smile for her brother’s sake and the rest of their kin and friends gathered around the high table to break their fast that morn. “’Tis not a bother.”
Though his statement did, in fact, vex her. More than she might ever openly admit to anyone.
Across the trestle table, their cousin, Liam, opened his mouth to no doubt spout some ridiculous nonsense. But his wife, Nora, gripped his forearm, sinking her nails into his sleeve—a clear indication for him to shut his gob.
Mairi almost grinned at Arabella and Nora’s careful consideration of her feelings. She was grateful to call the two women her closest friends. Within the last year, the three of them forged a strong kinship, confiding their hopes, secrets and even their worries with one another. ’Twas an unbreakable bond she valued more than a coffer full of gold and jewels combined. In truth, if not for the pair, she might have allowed herself to sink deeper into a mire of melancholy and despair at times. With a sigh, she sank back in her chair and viewed the familiar jovial scene before her.
At the far end of the hall, a roaring fire blazed in the hearth, staving off the frigid chill from the bitter, chilling winter outside the keep. Throughout the large chamber, many of the clan dined in the inviting warmth, filling their bellies with hot fare. To Mairi’s right, Arabella nestled Cormac in her arms while Calum grinned at his son and tapped his wee nose, pulling a peal of laughter from the little lad. The day Cormac entered the world, kicking and screaming loud enough to raise the dead, Calum had never been as proud. Her brother practically melted at the sight of his firstborn.
Seated opposite of Mairi, Liam leaned in close to place a hand over Nora’s distended belly and whisper in his wife’s ear. A brilliant smile blossomed over the heavily-carrying woman’s countenance—an increasingly common occurrence since the pair wed late last spring. A fact Liam would solely acknowledge as his doing. Mayhap, her cousin was right. He’d fallen into the roles of husband and laird with ease, while Nora stood confidently by his side, offering unyielding love and support. Any day now, the mismatched pair would welcome their first child.
Alas, each time Mairi viewed the loving exchanges between her kin, a pang of envy struck a chord deep within her, promptly followed by an unsettling twinge of guilt for her selfishness. Truth be told, she was delighted that Calum and Liam had found devoted wives, whom they adored, and started their own families. The men of her family deserved naught less than sheer happiness.
Even her Aunt Elena and Hamish Fraser had somehow managed to mend the jagged rift which separated the two for almost a score and ten years. Yet, despite how pleased Mairi was for her kin, an unbidden shock of jealousy beleaguered her at times. Unwavering love closed in around her, choking her with an unshakeable need.
She yearned for a family of her own with a man who would love her without condition, but the likelihood seemed impossible, especially as she grew older. The chance of stumbling upon the same manner of happiness as her beloved family slipped further out of grasp with each passing day. Nearing an advanced age of a score and two, her prospects of securing a love
match were lacking to say the least.
Frowning at the earthen bowl in front of her, Mairi plunked her spoon in the uneaten porridge before shoving the fare aside. ’Twas not as if she’d truly had any prospects to begin with. Not with Calum for a brother and Liam as a cousin. She appreciated her kin’s efforts to protect her against unwelcome suitors, but the two had a habit of frightening away the handful of males who’d actually taken a genuine interest in her over the years.
With so few options, she was left with two choices—spend her days surrounded by amorous couples, alone and drowning in self-pity, or she could settle and hope for the best, which was precisely what she’d chosen.
A strong, masculine hand covered her fidgeting fingers, and she darted a glance to her left.
“All is well?” Patrick MacEwan’s sharp, green gaze searched her face as a playful grin lifted his cheeks.
For a long moment, she studied his handsome features. Fair-haired with a straight nose, broad jaw and teasing smile, the MacEwan laird bore a striking countenance that would snare any lass’s attention—any lass but her, it would seem.
Proffering a false grin, she extricated her hand from beneath his. “Aye, naught to worry over.”
’Twas difficult to remember her manners at times where Patrick was concerned. To imagine she’d agreed to wed the man.
In late autumn, he’d approached her with the subject of marriage. In a rather forthright manner, he explained that the elders of his clan urged him to wed for the sake of heirs, but he’d yet to find a suitable match. As a longtime ally of the MacGregors and close friend of her brother’s, Patrick reasoned his and her mutual respect of each other would strengthen their clans’ ties and lead to a successful union between the two of them. One that would remedy both of their troubles—his lack of heirs and the burden her unwedded state placed on her brother.
As sharp as an axe, his ingenuous words cleaved her pride in two. No matter that she’d never in her life harbored a tender sentiment toward the man, his offer of convenience stung just the same. Months later, Mairi still could not fathom why she’d agreed to the halfhearted match. Mayhap, ’twas a bit of desperation on her part to not remain in the very circumstance Patrick had spoken of—a burden to her family.
Irritated with her absence of a backbone, she rose from her seat, scraping the chair legs over the stone floor. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe I shall take in a bit of fresh air.”
“In this weather?” her brother exclaimed as he sprang forward in his seat. “There’s a storm brewing. ’Tis not wise to be out of doors. I do not think—”
“I shall not be long, Calum. No need to fret. I shall not travel far.” A long walk was just what Mairi needed to clear her mind from wandering to a dark, bleak corner she’d rather not visit.
“I shall accompany you, if you wish.” Patrick pushed his chair back to rise, but she placed a firm hand on the breadth of his shoulder.
“Nay,” she blurted in a near shout, regretting the telling action at once. Affixing a smile, she squeezed his thick arm and lowered her voice. “I merely wish a bit of solitude, but thank you for the offer, my lord.”
Calum opened his mouth to no doubt launch into a new argument, but Arabella leaned into his side and whispered in his ear, silencing his complaint.
With a grudging scowl, he grunted his displeasure. “Fine, but you’d better bundle up. ’Tis damned cold out. And if you’re not back soon, I’m sending someone after you. You do not wish to be caught out of doors in this mess.”
Exasperated by her brother’s ceaseless, overprotective nature, she rolled her eyes, though a genuine grin tugged at her lips. Bending closer to Arabella, she winked at her friend and placed a kiss on Cormac’s plump cheek while she ran her fingers over his bright red tufts of hair.
Eager to make her escape, Mairi ignored the inquisitive eyes around the high table and fled the great hall as fast as her legs would carry her. She snatched her fur-lined winter cloak from the alcove in the passageway near the stairs. Thankfully, she’d had the foresight to don her thick, padded boots and warm clothing that morn. Slipping her hands into the gloves Liam had given her, she wrapped a length of tartan wool around the lower half of her face and head before raising her hood. Once bundled against the biting winter wind, she slipped outside the keep’s front doors, nodding at the two guards posted inside as she passed.
Pausing along the top of the stone steps, she sucked in a deep pull of frosty air. Despite the fabric shielding her face, the chill burned inside her nostrils straight down to her lungs. While others balked at the blustery, frigid conditions, Mairi welcomed the last icy grip of winter. Too soon, the arrival of spring would take hold, drawing her closer to the date of her upcoming nuptials.
A desolate blanket of frost stretched over the land as far as the eye could see. Snowfall coated the earth and dwellings throughout the village, adding a silvery luster to the otherwise obscure day. From the look of the low-lying billows of gray growing on the horizon, Calum was right. A storm was brewing. One that would bring heavy flurries and leave her stranded inside within close proximity of her intended groom for days. She cringed at the thought.
Careful not to slip on the ice-covered steps, she took her time descending the stairs and crossed the courtyard. Snow crunched beneath her booted feet as she made her way toward the village outside the bailey’s walls. Streams of smoke rose from the small chimneys constructed alongside each of the thatch-roofed cottages in the village, while every window opening had been packed with furs and the shutters closed to stave off the brunt of the cold weather. Many of the clan had sagely chosen to remain indoors, warm and sheltered from the coming storm, as Mairi ambled through the vacant village. Every few steps through the snow, white clouds puffed out of her with each breath.
On the edge of the settlement near the surrounding forest, she paused on the bank of the loch that had frozen over a fortnight ago. With the sun hidden behind storm clouds, the dense wood beyond radiated such a gloomy, ominous darkness—much akin to her mood as of late.
As often as she could manage to slip away, Mairi retreated to the solitude of the ice-covered pool. ’Twas odd, but the smooth, reflective surface soothed something inside her—a wee, ridiculous part that continued to pine for him.
Aaron MacRae.
’Twas a name she could not dislodge from her mind. For more than a year, she’d tried in vain to forget Aaron, but the unforgettable image of him standing stoically alongside his brother on the shore with the raging sea was seared in her head. Mayhap, the vision would always remain with her, at least until she passed on from this life. She snorted to herself. With her accursed luck, the haunting image would most likely follow her into the next life.
There was simply something about the man. Something she could not quite explain. Mayhap ’twas because, unlike others in her acquaintance, he’d chosen to peer beneath the surface and discovered another side of her other men had failed to notice. Cursed with a bold nature, she spoke her mind more than most women. Unsure which was worse, men either mistook her for a wanton, or an untamable shrew, due to her sharp tongue. Though Aaron had no doubt taken notice of the faults of her character, he’d treated her with respect. At least, until fate threw them together in circumstances out of their control.
Snow drifted from the gray clouds and fluttered across the frozen loch to gather on the bank with such little effort. Why, in God’s name, could she not shake the memory of Aaron MacRae from her mind as easily?
He consumed far too many waking moments of her life. Not even her dreams spared her. Somehow, he’d found his way into them, too. She silently cursed her foolishness, just as she did each time thoughts of the blasted man arose in her mind.
Saints, what was the matter with her?
Mairi huffed a long, deflated sigh and a white cloud lingered in front of her face before dissipating. Would it please her kin to see her married off? Was she such a burden on her family? Mayhap, they might enjoy a moment’s peace without
her interfering mischief. Poor Calum. He truly had the patience of a saint with her. Well, most of the time, when his big head did not get in the way.
Since the day she’d struck an agreement with Patrick, naught but doubt inhabited her mind. She glanced down at the lump of snow she toed with her boot. What would her brother say if she confided she had no desire to marry his friend? ’Twas truth the notion of wedding Patrick MacEwan filled her with overwhelming dread.
How could she bring herself to wed one man when she’d more than likely spend the rest of her days wishing she’d married another?
A twig snapped deep in the darkness of the forest, followed by the heavy crunch of snow, which yanked her from the morose thoughts. For a stuttered moment, shards of panic prickled the length of her spine and her pulse leaped in her throat. More than a year had passed since Aaron had stolen her and Arabella away at the behest of the English cur, Geoffrey Longford. Though the threat of Longford no longer remained, Mairi could not help but recall the genuine fear that had consumed her that unfortunate day.
Rooted to the frozen earth, she searched the surrounding trees. Wind howled through the pine boughs. Aside from swaying, snow-covered tree limbs, naught stirred in the wood beyond the loch. Gripped with unease, she pivoted to head back toward the village and make her way toward the safety of the keep’s walls.
Another distinct crack of splintering wood sent her heart stuttering over several beats, and she slammed to a halt, her body freezing in place. Apprehensive, she peered over her shoulder and scanned the tree line, wishing her gaze could penetrate the shaded forest. She’d almost convinced herself the sound was merely an animal or the wind, until a lone rider bundled in furs and muted tartan from head to boots on a massive, thick-boned mount burst from the shadowed wood.
Startled, Mairi stood in stunned silence before she managed to force her legs into motion. Not again pounded through her rampant mind. Scrambling to run, she tripped over her boots and tumbled to her knees, the snow crunching beneath her.
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