by Fiona Faris
But before she had a moment to collect herself, Aithe picked her up and began carrying her back to the castle, where he would seat her at the center of the table alongside him.
Inside the castle, the great hall was decorated with large bouquets of wildflowers and fresh herbs. Alice felt herself go dizzy with all the scents inside the room. But beyond that, was all the food. The table was lined with every type of meat, vegetable, sauce, and cheese imaginable. The baker had created an array of desserts and sweet goods as well as a variety of savory bread and meat pies. Alice could not wait to enjoy all of it.
They both sat at the center of the table, while all of the guests were seated. Before they could begin their meal, Aithe had to make a small statement. And after that was when Alice planned to tell him her big secret.
She had found out only days ago but wanted to save it as an added gift on their special day. She only hoped Aithe would be as excited as she was.
“Thank ye everyone fer joinin’ us in this celebration of our love. Though Alice and I have been married fer some time now, we wanted tae have a true wedding, in the true Scottish style, with all the people we love and care fer.” Aithe turned towards Alice and looked deep in her eyes.
“Alice, we have been through too much, love. Much more than any couple should bear, but we made it alrigh’ in the end. We survived, and we love each other more because of it.”
Alice felt herself crying yet again. It seemed there was no end in sight for all of the tears she would shed that day.
Aithe sat down next to her and gave her a sweet and gentle kiss. As he was about to raise his glass and announce them to start the meal, Alice stood. Aithe looked confused as he watched her clear her throat.
“As my husband said, we are very grateful for your love. And we hope you will join us again and help celebrate our love one more time in early winter to help greet the arrival of our newborn.”
The people around the table began cheering and clapping as the kitchen staff brought in the wine, just as Alice had asked them to.
Aithe jumped up and looked at Alice. “I’m going tae be a father?” He asked as everyone rushed to him, clapping him on the back.
“Yes, I found out only days ago. I hope you don’t mind me waiting until today to tell you.”
“Mind? Lassie, ye can dae nay a thing wrong in me eyes.” Aithe said, pulling Alice in for a deep and passionate kiss before pulling away to embrace her in a tight hug.
“Oh, Aithe, you are going to make a wonderful father.”
“And ye, lassie, will make a wonderful mother.”
“And now, folks, let us feast!” Aithe raised his glass, and everyone around the table clapped before diving into the delicious feast.
As Alice took in the joyful faces around her at the table, she felt, for the first time in her life, a real sense of family beyond her Christopher. The people around the table barely knew her, and yet, they wanted only joy and love for her and Aithe.
She placed a gentle hand on her womb and let out a deep sigh. She knew in Cadney that she, Aithe, and now their child would live a peaceful and comfortable life, free of any actual dangers. She no longer had to fear who was following her, or who she would be sold to. She was somewhere safe and secure. And now that Aithe was becoming head of the clan, she knew her child would grow up to have all he could ever need.
And the babe would never grow up feeling he was a burden to her and Aithe, not in the way she felt while hearing about the costs from her uncle. She was filled with gratitude for all the child would never have to face. And with Gavin and Amelia close by, they would have all the help they needed. Alice knew she could trust Amelia to help her through the pregnancy and the delivery when it came time for that.
“Are ye alright, lassie?” Aithe interrupted Alice’s thoughts for a moment.
“Yes, I am. Just thinking is all,” she said in response.
“All good thoughts, I hope.” Aithe placed a hand on her thigh.
“Just thinking how grateful I am for all of this, for this new life,” Alice said, looking down at her hands.
“Me as well, Alice, me as well.” Aithe reached over and began loading up Alice’s plate with delicious foods. “Now that I ken ye are with child, I dae want tae make sure ye have everything ye need. So eat up, lassie. The babe deserves all this good food!” He gestured to the platters of food around him, and Alice laughed.
Yes, what a wonderful life this is. And the babe deserves every bit of it. Alice thought to herself before taking a full bite of candied carrots.
Extended Epilogue
Eager to learn what the future holds for Alice and Aithe?
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Afterword
Thank you for reading my novel, Her Highlander’s Promise. I really hope you enjoyed it! If you did, could you please be so kind to write a review HERE?
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Highlanders of Cadney Series
Book#1
Her Highland Secret
* * *
Book#2
Her Highlander’s Heart
* * *
Book#3
Her Broken Highlander
* * *
Book#4 (this book)
Her Highlander’s Promise
Do you want more Romance?
Turn on the next page to read the first chapters of my latest best-selling novel: Highlander’s Sinister Deception
This is the story of a most devious Highlander, who is looking for revenge and the woman who thought he will deceive. Little did he know that he was in for a very big surprise...
* * *
Highlander’s Sinister Deception
Chapter One
Ethan sat with his head down, not paying attention as his fellow crofters filed in to pay their last respects to his mother. His vision was blurry with tears, and he did not want anyone to see them. His hands twisted in his lap as he contemplated the fact that he was completely alone now. His mother had been his only kin.
At least the only kin who acknowledged him.
“Did the laird stop by yet?” Master Iain McNeil leaned in to murmur in his ear. He was the local tacksman under whom Ethan and his mother had farmed the land.
Ethan slowly shook his head. He had no interest in the laird or whether he would attend his mother’s wake or not. As far as he was concerned, the laird could go to hell. He had gone to Barclays Alasdair Buchanan when his mother had been sick and pleaded on his knees for help. They barely had money for food; it had been a long winter. Getting the medicine his mother needed for her illness had been impossible without help. The other crofters did what they could, but everybody was struggling.
His mother had died slowly and painfully, and the laird had turned his back on them. He wondered briefly if Buchanan would throw him out of his cottage too. He was but a fifteen-year-old lad, alone, and incapable of bringing in much grain on his own. Ethan had no doubt that there were other crofters out there looking for a home who could provide better labor than he could.
What did it matter if the laird was also his sire? Unacknowledged by-blows meant less than nothing. Ethan figured that this was the perfect excuse for the laird to get rid of him. Technically, it was up to Master McNeil whether he went or stayed, but Ethan was sure that the laird would not want his lady asking too many awkward questions if Ethan was allowed to stay – to say nothing of his good-for-nothing legitimate son Lachie.
The bile rose in his throat as he contemplated homelessness. Mrs. Campbell got to her knees opposite him, made the sign of the cross, closed her eyes, and bent her head. She had offered him a home, should he need one, and he appreciated it. However, if the laird threw him out, Ethan would
not stay on his land. He had resolved to go down to Edinburgh and catch a ship to the New World. He had no money, but he could sign on as a ship’s mate. He only had his two hands, but he knew how to work and was motivated to move as far away as possible.
Mrs. Campbell finished her prayers and then reached over and patted him on the shoulder. “God bless ye, lad. It’ll be alright. Dinna ye fash.”
Ethan nodded in acknowledgment, swallowing the lump in his throat. It would never be alright again, but he could pretend along with the rest of them. They were just trying to help, after all.
Master McNeill whispered to his lad, and the boy went out and came back with an anker of whiskey. Someone put a glass of the stuff in his hands, and he gulped it down without tasting it. If ever there was a reason to get drunk, this was it.
* * *
“Surely ye’ll throw the lad out now, Faither, will ye no?” Lachie asked, watching his father pace back and forth.
“He hasna anywhere tae gae.” Barclays’ eyes dipped, his hands clasped behind his head as he thought about how to proceed. The boy was his very own flesh and blood, and he was not so heartless that he would throw Ethan out on the street. His presence here, however, was an uncomfortable reminder of past indiscretions. If lady Buchanan ever found out, there would be hell to pay.
Fortunately, she took no notice of the crofters beyond spending the rent money collected from them. He sighed, thinking about his rapidly depleting coffers as she attended the Season in London. There was no reason for her to go, but she said that she was on the lookout for a suitable bride for their son – even though it would be at least another five years before he was ready to get leg-shackled. It was ridiculous, but Barclay did not complain; he had free time with his mistress while his wife was away. If it weren’t for Lady Buchanan’s profligate spending, he’d be happy as a pig in mud.
He sighed. “We mun show our faces at the wake.”
“Naw!” Lachie got to his feet, his face like thunder, “I willna go anywhere near that fiddle! And neither should ye.”
Laird Buchanan sighed. “He’s my son.”
“He’s yer bastart!”
Barclays whipped around, eyes narrowed, glaring at Lachie. His son dropped his eyes, face flushing, but didn’t say anything. Barclays snatched up his cloak and whirled it over his shoulders. “Ah’m leaving. Ye can suit yerself.”
He strode out, as Lachie watched him go.
* * *
Ethan was alerted to the presence of the laird in the room as people called out greetings, got to their feet, and congregated around Laird Buchanan as if he was the second coming. Ethan frowned, his eyes not straying from his mother’s hands, where they had been for most of the evening. They were the only part of her that still looked the same as when she was alive.
He heard a step and did not need to lift his eyes to see his father’s shiny shoes. He frowned, and stiffened, although he still did not look up. A warm hand landed on his shoulder, and it was all he could do not to jerk away from it.
“Ah’m sorry for yer loss, young sir. Yer mither was a guid woman.”
Ethan clenched his jaw, turning his head away from the laird. His ginger hair, too long in the front, fell across his jade-colored eyes, disguising the anger that had set in.
He heard the laird take a deep breath. “I want ye to ken that ye’ve a hame here. Ye’re welcome to stay as long as ye like.”
As long as I like?
Ethan’s brow furrowed at his father’s words. For him to sound as if he was doing Ethan a considerable favor was maddening. He swallowed, hearing the tick in his throat as he opened his mouth, trying to speak.
“T-Thank ye,” he said quietly, amazed at the amount of self-control that stopped him from strangling his father.
The laird patted his shoulder again before moving away. Ethan swallowed and got to his feet, almost tripping on the chair he’d been sitting on. He was tall for his age and gangly with it, and hadn’t yet learned to control his limbs or any part of his body. He shuffled over to the window, keeping his eyes away from his father and tried to steady his breathing.
One day old man, one day, I’ll get you back for everything.
* * *
Five Years Later
Ethan was coming from the graveyard on the anniversary of his mother’s death - having gone to bring her flowers – when he heard shouting from the big house. He hesitated, torn between apathy and curiosity.
It might be something I need to ken, he told himself before changing direction and making his way quietly towards the bay windows that lined the back of the house. The voices got louder, the closer he got, and he went on his tiptoes, crouching low down in the flower bed, as he inched along the side of the house.
“It could have happened to anybody Da. I dinna mean for this, ye ken that, no?”
“Intentions dinna mean a thing when ye’ve lost a whole year’s profit on the gaming tables son! What were ye thinking?”
“I wasna…I…I dinna,” Lachie’s voice was higher than usual, seemingly breathless. Ethan couldn’t help smirking.
There was the distinct sound of flesh hitting flesh, and then Lachie whimpered in pain.
“Ye have no idea what ye’ve done,” the laird hissed.
“I’m sorry da-” Lachie’s voice was pleading.
“Ye dinna get tae say ye’re sorry!” Ethan flinched at the sound of more beating, even though he did not feel the slightest bit sorry for his half-brother. The man had made it his mission to make Ethan’s life as difficult as possible. There had been a girl Ethan liked when he was sixteen and just getting over his mother’s death. She lived in the village, and every day, she would come around with baskets of flowers to sell. Ethan would watch for her, his heart pounding with anticipation. She would go around to his house, and even though he could not afford the bawbee for her flowers, he still lay in wait for her, a cup of milk in hand.
“Ye’re voice must be tired from all the shoutin’,” he’d say as he handed it over. She would drink, thanking him with a smile and a single bud, and then she would be gone, and he would wait for her again the next day. The girl had been the one light in his bleak life. He kept all the flowers she gave him in a small jar and watered it religiously.
One day, she hadn’t come around as usual, and that worried Ethan enough to get his threadbare coat and walk to the village square to seek her out. He only knew her first name, Abby, and the fact that she sold flowers. He cursed himself for a fool, having been too tongue-tied when she was near to ask about her life.
He went to the market and began to walk, keeping an eye out for a willowy lass with long wispy auburn hair and the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. He reached the end of the market without seeing her and then turned back and tried again. When he came to a stall that sold flowers, he stopped, examining the old lady hunched over on a stool, half asleep.
“Pardon me, ma’am, may I ask ye, d’ye ken a lassie named Abby what sells flowers to Daltern?”
The woman looked up, blinking at him for a long moment. “Aye.”
Ethan stiffened with excitement, “Ye do? Where is she the noo?”
The woman glanced away and scoffed. Ethan stared intently at her as if he might make her tell him. “She dinna come back yesterday. I sent word tae the housekeeper at the big house. She said she saw Abby there with the laird’s boy.” She swallowed, blinking tears from her eyes. “He took her to his quarters.” Her eyes moved slowly, coming to rest on him in accusation, “Like faither, like son, I suppose.”
If heartbreak had a sound, Ethan would describe it as the impact of a flower shattering on the stony ground like glass as its petals scattered everywhere.
He nodded, feeling helpless, and turned away, walking blindly back to his cottage. Opening his door, he sat on the only bit of furniture in the room – his bed. His fists clenched and unclenched as he tried to muster the urge to charge into the big house and squeeze Lachie Buchanan’s neck until he died.
On top of that, he
was worried about Abby. He did not know if she was with his half-brother willingly, or he had coerced her in some way. What he did know for sure was that Lachie had done this out of spite. Somehow, he had divined that Ethan had a soft heart for Abby, and once again, Lachie had taken something from him.
