A Rake at the Highland Court: The Highland Ladies Book Four

by Barclay, Celeste

  “Where is your da, my wee one?” Cairstine jiggled her son up and down as she kept swallowing. She cast her gaze toward her twin daughters, Aila and Isla, playing with their cousins Torquil and Leith. At just over four years, the twins were a few months younger than Torquil, who would one day be Ewan’s heir. Two-year-old Leith watched as his brother trotted a miniature carved horse in front of him, fascinated with the neighing sound Torquil made. “It is aboot your nap time, wee one. When your Auntie Allyson comes back from putting Teague down for his nap, you shall go for yours.”

  The twins’ delivery put a tremendous strain on Cairstine’s body, scaring Eoin half to death. He swore he would never touch his wife again if she might have to go through the agony of childbirth again. His resolve crumbled the first time Cairstine straddled his lap and slipped her hand beneath his plaid. She’d compromised for two years, and they took care not to conceive. This proved to be a miracle, considering how they still couldn’t keep their hands off one another. Brice was only a month older than Allyson and Ewan’s youngest son Teague.

  “Cairstine?” Eoin’s voice floated to her as he wandered into the nursery. “Were you calling me?”

  “Aye. Can you hold Brice for me? I need a moment of privacy.” As soon as she handed their son to Eoin, she dashed from the chamber. She could hear Eoin’s chuckles, and she knew what he assumed. But when she reached the chamber pot in their room, she heaved over it, casting up the meager breakfast she’d eaten. As astute as her husband was, she was shocked he hadn’t deduced why she wasn’t herself for the last few weeks. She’d seen the midwife that morning, but the woman only confirmed what she already knew. She wiped her mouth after swishing water in it. She found a sprig of mint and chewed it before returning to the nursery.

  Eoin was attempting to disentangle his hair from Brice’s hands and a few razor-sharp teeth. Cairstine extricated the locks from the tiny tyrant before kissing Eoin. Heat crackled between them as their tongues tangled. Eoin wrapped his arm around Cairstine’s back and pulled her closer.

  “I think these weans need to spend more time with their grandda. I think during Brice’s nap would be a wonderful opportunity,” Eoin offered her a devilish smile. Cairstine nodded, having already asked Andrew to mind the children. She had intended to rest, but she figured she could sleep during her old age. She rarely turned down time spent alone with Eoin, especially now that they had children.

  “I’ve already asked, and he should be on his way soon. Allyson will put Brice down. How was your morning?” Cairstine inhaled Eoin’s scent of soap and fresh air. She knew he’d been in the lists, but she also knew Allyson planned to track him down.

  “I suppose you know that Allyson’s asked me to carve them another bed. Teague is getting too big for his crib, and I learned a little secret I’m sure you’ve known for days. They’ll need the crib again in a few months for their next bairn.”

  “I’d heard something aboot that. Eo?”

  “Yes, mo chridhe.”

  “Do you think you’ll have time to carve two beds because I shall need Brice’s crib around the same time Allyson—" Cairstine squeaked as Eoin squeezed her against him. He carefully set Brice on the floor, and the toddler promptly crawled away to the other children.

  “Another bairn, Carrie?” Eoin lifted her off her feet and held her so they were eye-to-eye. “So just now? Is that mint on your breath?”

  “Aye, mo ghaol.” Cairstine grinned as Eoin’s mouth dropped open. She swooped in for a kiss that stoked the endless fire that existed between them. He eased her back onto her feet.

  “You’re as bad as your brother,” Andrew announced as he entered the nursery to cheers of “Grandda.”

  “Aye,” Eoin crowed, as he swept Cairstine into his arms and carried her out of the chamber, not putting her down until they were lying on their bed together. “To think we ever believed we were headed down different paths.”

  “Our lives are but one path,” Cairstine murmured, before husband and wife forgot about the rest of the world.

  If you’re intrigued by the members of The Clan Sinclair…

  Be sure to keep going to check out the sneak peeks before you put this book down.

  Thank you for reading A Rake 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.

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  The Highland Ladies

  A Spinster at the Highland Court BOOK 1 SNEAK PEEK

  Elizabeth Fraser looked around the royal chapel within Stirling Castle. The ornate candlestick holders on the altar glistened and reflected the light from the ones in the wall sconces as the priest intoned the holy prayers of the Advent season. Elizabeth kept her head bowed as though in prayer, but her green eyes swept the congregation. She watched the other ladies-in-waiting, many of whom were doing the same thing. She caught the eye of Allyson Elliott. Elizabeth raised one eyebrow as Allyson’s lips twitched. Both women had been there enough times to accept they’d be kneeling for at least the next hour as the Latin service carried on. Elizabeth understood the Mass thanks to her cousin Deirdre Fraser, or rather now Deirdre Sinclair. Elizabeth’s mind flashed to the recent struggle her cousin faced as she reunited with her husband Magnus after a seven-year separation. Her aunt and uncle’s choice to keep Deirdre hidden from her husband simply because they didn’t think the Sinclairs were an advantageous enough match, and the resulting scandal, still humiliated the other Fraser clan members at court. She admired Deirdre’s husband Magnus’s pledge to remain faithful despite not knowing if he’d ever see Deirdre again.

  Elizabeth suddenly snapped her attention; while everyone else intoned the twelfth—or was it thirteenth—amen of the Mass, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She had the strongest feeling that someone was watching her. Her eyes scanned to her right, where her parents sat further down the pew. Her mother and father had their heads bowed and eyes closed. While she was convinced her mother was in devout prayer, she wondered if her father had fallen asleep during the Mass. Again. With nothing seeming out of the ordinary and no one visibly paying attention to her, her eyes swung to the left. She took in the king and queen as they kneeled together at their prie-dieu. The queen’s lips moved as she recited the liturgy in silence. The king was as still as a statue. Years of leading warriors showed, both in his stature and his ability to control his body into absolute stillness. Elizabeth peered past the royal couple and found herself looking into the astute hazel eyes of Edward Bruce, Lord of Badenoch and Lochaber. His gaze gave her the sense that he peered into her thoughts, as though he were assessing her. She tried to keep her face neutral as heat surged up her neck. She prayed her face didn’t redden as much as her neck must have, but at a twenty-one, she still hadn’t mastered how to control her blushing. Her nape burned like it was on fire. She canted her head slightly before looking up at the crucifix hanging over the altar. She closed her eyes and tried to invoke the image of the Lord that usually centered her when her mind wand
ered during Mass.

  A Spy at the Highland Court BOOK 1.5 SNEAK PEEK

  A Companion 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 every 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 rich, who wished he could melt into the curtains and watch the people in the gardens below.

  “Sir Dedric, approach.”

  A Wallflower at the Highland Court BOOK 2 SNEAK PEEK

  The din of music and loud conversation–along with the pervasive odor of too many unwashed or over-perfumed bodies crowded into Stirling Castle’s Great Hall–gave Maude Sutherland a pounding headache. As she observed the dancers from her position at the side of the chamber, part of her envied the other ladies-in-waiting who twirled with ease and confidence, but mostly she wished for nothing more than the blessed silence of her chamber. While Maude propped up the wall, she spied her younger sister, Blair, who moved through the country reel with what must have been her seventh partner that evening. Though she was only an observer, sweat trickled down Maude’s back and between her breasts. A warm snap—unseasonable for spring in the Highlands— had the doors to the terraces wide open. This should have been enough to ease Maude’s discomfort, but the breeze did little to offset how her thick brown hair trapped the heat on her head and neck. Unlike most maidens, Maude wore her hair up almost every waking moment. She possessed a massive amount of thick, coarse, mousey brown hair that was unruly even on the best of days. By evening the weight of the hair, regardless of whether it was up or down, pulled on her neck and contributed to her headache. She would have loved nothing more than to cut it all off and wear it short like her father, Laird Hamish Sutherland, or her brother, Lachlan. She envied them the freedom to wear their hair however they wanted.

  A crimson gown floated in Maude’s periphery, so she turned to watch her closest friend, Arabella Johnstone. She and Arabella were as different as chalk and cheese but had somehow struck up a close friendship. Where Arabella’s hair glowed in the candlelight, Maude accepted her hair was dull. Where Arabella’s face looked like an artist’s masterpiece, Maude was aware she was plain. Where Arabella was petite and lean through her hips and legs, Maude considered herself far too broad across the beam. As she grew into womanhood, her frame filled out, and while she had a bust most women would envy, her hips and legs were proportionate. Whenever Arabella or Blair glided across the dance floor, she recalled the many adjectives her brother and his friends had come up with for her when they were younger. “Sodgy,” “bamsey,” “bowzy,” “jostly,” “podg,” and “flobbed up” were the ones that always came to mind. Her brother had since repented for the unkind and merciless teasing. Lachlan noticed that the more he and his friends teased Maude, the less she ate. On the day she collapsed and nearly fell down the stairs leading to the family chambers, he was the one to catch her and carry her to her chamber. In her hazy state, she confessed to have only eaten dried fruit and bannocks the previous three days in hopes of slimming. Lachlan never said an unkind word to his sister again and thereafter became fiercely protective of her, fighting more than one friend when they failed to cease teasing her.

  A Rogue at the Highland Court BOOK 3 SNEAK PEEK

  The crunch of frost echoed in Stirling Castle’s royal gardens as Allyson Elliot trudged along with the other ladies-in-waiting, enduring another one of the queen’s morning strolls through the struggling blossoms. It was mid-March, and spring had arrived for their neighbors to the south, but Mother Nature seemed to have forgotten that Stirling wasn’t truly in the Highlands. Sitting on the border between the Highlands and Lowlands, the weather in Stirling was fickle, playing both sides of the fence. Allyson puffed out a cloud of condensation as the ice crackled beneath her booted feet. She didn’t mind the distance of the morning constitutional, but having been raised in the Lowlands, Allyson was still unaccustomed to the frigid temperatures of the north.

  “I still can’t believe he married her.” Allyson caught the waspish voice of Cairstine Grant as her attention returned to the young women around her. Allyson realized Cairstine spoke of Maude Sutherland without hearing the former lady-in-waiting’s name. Maude had been a shy lass from the northern Highlands, and several of the other ladies-in-waiting–Cairstine Grant included–had teased her without mercy. It had come as a shock when Kieran MacLeod arrived at court and immediately took an interest in Maude, who the other ladies considered overweight and plain. He’d been one of the most eligible lairds, and more than one nose was out of joint when he chose a woman so many believed was beneath him.

  Allyson struggled to smother her giggle as she considered just how Maude was beneath Kieran these days. Allyson arrived at court four years ago as an impressionable girl overwhelmed by the attention her fair hair and robin-egg blue eyes garnered. She soon realized she enjoyed the attention after being the youngest of her parents’ six children. A few batted eyelashes and a coy smile earned her the appreciation of the young courtiers who flocked to court hoping to gain attention and favor from King Robert the Bruce. While Allyson wasn’t as daring as some of her peers, she had stolen a few kisses from these men, hoping to find one who would make her his wife and take her away from both the royal court and her family. Her attempts hadn’t garnered a husband, but it had resulted in a reputation as a flirt.

  “Allyson. Allyson, are you listening to me?”

  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 Sinclai
r 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.