Highland Temptations Box Set: Books 1-3

by Aileen Adams

  “What are ye doing to each other?” Owen demanded, a biscuit in one hand and crumbs down the front of his tunic.

  Life would never be dull.

  Anne giggled, hiding her face against his shoulder.

  Drew could only laugh as he ruffled his nephew’s hair. “Ye shall understand someday, lad. If ye are very fortunate.”

  Epilogue

  Never had she imagined waking in this house with a smile on her face. Never had she imagined waking with a song in her heart.

  Never, ever in her wildest dreams, had Anne imagined the great room filled with not drunken, slovenly men but with friends. Loving friends who wished her nothing but the best.

  And her husband. Hers, ever since they’d exchanged vows outside the kirk in Avoch just hours earlier.

  She took her husband’s arm, resting her head on his shoulder. It had been a long day, to be sure, and a joyful one. The feasting and dancing would last until morning, or nearly, before their guests would retire to the bedding which had been set down in the house’s many chambers. It had once held over a dozen men, after all.

  The twins had already fallen asleep, curled up beneath the table. Liam, who had just that day walked his sister through the village in her bridal finery, watched over the pair with the pride and possession of an older brother. They had charmed him instantly, and he felt himself very wise and mature when compared to them.

  Rufus doted upon Davina, who appeared as though her time would come any day. The thought of her growing any larger made Anne’s head spin. But she was happy, truly and deeply, her hand resting on her swollen belly as she laughed at something her husband said.

  Shana brought her a cup of tea, the slight swell of her belly nothing when compared to her friend’s. Her husband, William, a grand and brave soldier, spoke with several of the men from the village who’d had a hand in improving her home. He gazed across the room at his wife, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

  Clyde offered to take the bairns to bed. “I fear they shall be kicked by someone in passing.” Sweet, thoughtful man.

  She hoped he would find happiness someday, for no one deserved it more.

  “Allow me.” She grinned. “’Tis a pleasure. Ye might spend a bit more time among the guests. I’ve taken note of one or two women who seem to have an interest in ye.”

  He scoffed, though there was a touch of color in his cheeks. “Not I.”

  “Aye, yourself.” She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “I find ye quite dashing. Anyone with sense would do the same.”

  She went to the table, hand-in-hand with Drew, and they each took a twin in their arms and carried them to the small, quiet chamber reserved for their use. They were both utterly wrung out after the day’s excitement, with Owen snoring softly as Drew lowered him to the pile of furs on the floor.

  “Ye dinna mind?” Drew whispered in the dark. “Truly?”

  She knew what he meant, for they had discussed it before. Did she not mind having a family to care for so soon after their wedding? Many new husbands and wives had time together for just themselves before the bairns arrived, while their family had already come about. She would have no fewer than three young people to care for while her husband worked their land every day.

  They had decided to remain there, on the land which had once belonged to Malcolm Stuart but now belonged to them.

  Rufus had all but suggested it himself, assuring his cousin that while his presence was valued, “Ye deserve something for yourself, man. Something for ye and your family.”

  They stood, reaching for each other.

  Anne found him in the darkness, standing alongside the sleeping twins. Her arms slid around his shoulders as his found their place about her waist.

  “I have told ye time and again, Drew MacIntosh. This is my family. Here, now. If we should add to it, God be praised, and if not, I will go to my grave a happy woman.”

  He pulled her close, his breath warm as he whispered in her ear. “I do love and adore ye, Anne MacIntosh.”

  She closed her eyes, savoring his words. What a wonderful sound they made.

  Keep reading for an excerpt from the next Highland Temptations story!

  Excerpt

  A Highlander’s Second Chance

  Book Four of the Highland Temptations Series!

  Love comes around a second time…

  Clyde McMannis is not exactly happy. Who would be with his bairns and the love of his life gone? But he manages. He keeps his pain at bay with the ones he’s become close to. All of that changes when a familiar face from his long-forgotten past finds him and makes him an offer.

  Ailsa Dunne lost her true love and husband to war. She feels it fitting to fulfil his purpose and serve Scotland. When called to serve training young women to be assassins and spies, she answers the call. If only she could teach them everything. Alas, she cannot, so she must rely on the giant brute sent to help her. A man whose purposes seem contrary to her own.

  Can Clyde save his niece from danger and at the same time keep the shrewish but beautiful Ailsa from killing him?

  Chapter 1

  The one day Clyde McMannis always looked forward to was the Lord’s day. The day of rest.

  He knew well that he was fortunate, indeed, to make his home and perform his duties on the farm of a fair-minded man such as Rufus MacIntosh. Rufus was not the sort to work his men until they were half dead, never giving them so much as a day to themselves.

  In fact, Rufus insisted that all who worked the land not only had a home of their own on that land, but one day in seven in which to rest and enjoy the fruits of their labor.

  Clyde knew, too, that he could have done much worse considering the way his life had begun. Far too many like himself had either gotten themselves locked away for crimes against the crown or against their fellow man, and far more were long since underground.

  These were the sorts of things he reflected on during his day of rest, when there was less to do. Less to occupy his mind, to turn his thoughts away from that which he would have rather not dwelled upon. That was perhaps the only reason he did at times dread Sundays. The thinking.

  The remembering.

  No one would look at him and imagine him to be a great thinker, and to a point, they would be correct. He had always gotten further with his fists. Though, in reality, more often than not a fight ended before it began once his opponent caught sight of him.

  He supposed that to an unknowing stranger, he made quite an impression. He had seen that same familiar look come into a man’s eyes on more than one occasion.

  They normally started out bragging and boasting, their chests puffed out, their heads thrown back in a self-assured manner. They might have been great brawlers, truly, perhaps even as fearsome as his mate Drew.

  And then Clyde would rise from whatever chair or bench or stool was strong enough to support his weight, and they would realize their mistake. And all of that boastfulness, all of that bluster would give way to wide-eyed surprise.

  And still, sometimes they would at least pretend to be less surprised than they were. After all, a man’s pride was always at stake in such matters, and they would not wish to make a mockery of themselves by running or apologizing too quickly.

  The fact was, Clyde had not a single enemy except for the English army, who he considered the enemy on the whole. Aside from those beasts, he held nothing against any man who’d not done him wrong.

  It had not always been that way, and there were times in which he recalled his impetuous youth. The days when he’d done nothing to quell his youthful temper and lustful ways.

  That all changed, and quickly, the moment he first set eyes upon his Janet.

  “Uncle Clyde!” A young, cheerful voice outside his cottage stirred him from the reverie into which he’d been moments from sinking. Perhaps that was for the best, for memories of his bonny Janet more often than not left him feeling lower than ever.

  He rose from his chair near the fire and crossed t
he single room in a few long strides. This was all he needed, truly, living alone as he did. A straw tick in the far corner, a fire over which to cook a meager meal during the rare times he did not take dinner with the rest in the main house.

  The day of rest did not mean what it had once meant. Though he did not mind, could not possibly ever bar his door against the invading marauders who insisted upon beating a path to it every chance they got.

  Anne had once confided that the sight of him surrounded by children had at first struck her as odd. “I mean no offense, mind you,” she’d said. “But one would hardly assume at first glance that you would be the sort to attract the attention of children. That is, not favorable attention. I hope this does not offend you, as I said.”

  One thing he had always appreciated about her was her honesty. She tended to voice that which was on her mind and wasted little time working her way around the subject. He was of the same mind. After all, he did not particularly enjoy speaking with people, so the sooner he could get his point made the better, as far as he was concerned.

  And he understood too well the point she’d been trying to make. One would not expect a man of his massive stature, with an unsightly scar running from temple to jaw, to be tenderhearted and patient with bairns.

  He opened the door, favoring young Owen MacKenzie with a smile which he did not quite feel. He’d been expecting the lad. In fact, he’d been expecting both of the MacKenzie twins and young Liam as well, Anne’s brother who was visiting, along with his sister and her husband, Drew.

  They came calling once per week, and these were visits which he normally looked forward to as the days wore on and Sunday drew near. He had not come to realize the depth of his affection for the bairns until Drew and Anne had married and set up housekeeping in the home which had been passed down to her after the death of her uncle.

  He had not understood until then what they had come to mean to him.

  Owen appeared older each time Clyde saw him. Only a week had passed since their last meeting, and yet he seemed taller still. And more freckled, which ought to have been an impossibility considering how many the lad had already borne on his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose.

  He ruffled Owen’s head. “And where is your sister, then? Does she not see fit to pay me a call?”

  Owen shook his head, eyes large and shining. “Uncle Rufus sent me for you. You have a visitor at the main house.”

  This was a rare occurrence. In fact, upon reflection, Clyde realized he’d never entertained a visitor at the farm. Why should anyone pay him a call, outside of friends and family? He had no one else in the world besides the people there, on the land with him at that very moment, besides a few scattered to the four winds. But they were far too great a distance away to ever make the journey.

  That, and he suspected they hadn’t the first idea where he was.

  He frowned to himself as he thought about this, pulling a fur-lined cloak from the hook beside the door and drawing it over his shoulders. Winter had passed, and thank the heavens for it, but there was still a chill in the air in spite of the milder days and melting snows.

  “I suppose we’d do best to see who it is, then. Tell me what ye have done with yourself since last we saw one another,” he suggested as they walked out into the midmorning sunshine.

  He did always enjoy the first breath of spring, when the world began to awaken once again. It always seemed that during winter, it was easy to forget spring and summer even existed. The long nights, spent cold and shivering by the fire, with no one to pass the time with.

  It had not always been this way, and the memory of happier times caused his heart to tighten in its customary manner.

  “We found a bunch of kittens the day before last,” Owen recounted as they walked through the thick black mud left behind by so much snow. It would be days before the ground hardened, Clyde knew, and that would only be the case if there was no rain before then.

  “Ye did, did ye? In the barn?”

  The lad nodded. “Moira insists on keeping all of them, and so does Liam. I do not like kittens much.”

  Clyde chuckled at the seriousness of the lad’s tone. He sounded, for all of the world, like a troubled old man, though he was only past his fifth winter. “And why not?”

  “They are not fun to play with. Not like wee pups. I like them far better.”

  “That does make a great deal of sense.” At times, it was difficult not to laugh at the charming things which came out of the lad’s mouth. It had been many years since Clyde had been so young, but he remembered all too well how important it was to be taken seriously at a young age. Too often, grown people laughed or scoffed. Even with the best of intentions.

  But that could sometimes be enough to silence a child, leaving him afraid to speak his mind again.

  Yes, that he knew all too well.

  “What does your uncle Drew and aunt Anne think about that? Keeping the kittens, I mean?”

  Owen shrugged. “Uncle Drew says it would be a fine thing, so long as they stay in the barn or sometimes come into the house to catch mice. He says he does not want them walking all over the house all the long day, stepping into the flour sack and leaving paw marks all over the floor.”

  “Your uncle Drew is quite wise.”

  “I cannot wait for it to be summer,” the lad confided. “I do long to go to the stream and catch toads and snakes. Liam does not like to join me, but Moira does at times.”

  Such simple concerns. Would that he might return to those days, when the most pressing concern on his mind was if it had rained of late and drawn great numbers of frogs to the riverbank. How delightful that time had been.

  And how fleeting. He reminded himself of this, his mood darkening for a moment. It was so easy to look back upon simpler days and smile in fond recollection, when remembrance only touched upon the times that were good.

  There had not been so many of those times.

  They passed the stables, where Drew was still tending to the team which had drawn the wagon from his home to the farm. He lifted his hand in a salute upon taking notice of Clyde through the open door, and Clyde did the same in return.

  A fine man, Drew MacIntosh. And perhaps one of the only men who’d ever beaten him in a fight. Despite his smaller stature, the man was indeed formidable, having climbed onto Clyde’s back and choked him with one arm.

  Davina was at the kitchen door when Owen and Clyde stopped to scrape the mud from their boots before entering the house. The deep line between her brows told him she was feeling anxious, and for a moment he feared it had to do with the babe she’d borne only a month earlier.

  “I have never set eyes on the man before,” she whispered, and he understood it was his visitor who caused this distress. A good thing, too, for wee Fiona had already captured the hearts of all who set eyes upon her.

  “That is not so surprising, is it?” he asked. “I am certain he means no harm.”

  The worry line smoothed, and she smiled. “Ye did not need to tell me that. Who could ever wish you harm?”

  He thought it best not to destroy her illusions, choosing instead to smile and wiggle his fingers toward the bright-eyed bairn before stepping through the kitchen and into the main room just beyond.

  Five years. That was how long it had been since he last laid eyes upon the stranger who was not a stranger currently warming his hands over the fire. Time had not been kind to him, but it was rarely kind to men who lived such a rugged and dangerous life as he.

  Clyde assumed without asking that his old friend, Douglas McTavish, was still a captain in the Highland Guard.

  Some men served their time out of a sense of duty, or love of country. For others, it was life itself. Men such as Douglas were simply born that way, and would more than likely die that way after falling before the enemy.

  Douglas glanced up, the lines around his eyes deepening when he broke out into a huge smile. “I always forget just how large ye are.” He laughed before clasping Clyde
’s arms in a gesture of friendship and respect.

  “And I had forgotten how thin your hair was getting at the temples. Do I see a bit of gray?” Clyde studied him, barely hiding a grin. “Time has not been a friend to ye, Douglas McTavish.”

  “That is Captain to ye, or have ye forgotten how to address yer superiors?” Always good-natured, Douglas knew there was no true rancor behind Clyde’s jesting. When men devoted their lives not only to the people they defended but to each other—for an army or guard was only as strong as the bond between its members—there simply had to be methods of easing tensions.

  Normally, this meant coming up with new and clever ways to laugh at each other’s flaws and shortcomings.

  “Ye ceased being my superior when I left the guard, and ye well know it.” They were alone in the great room, the other men and women clearly seeing fit to leave them a bit of privacy. Clyde invited Douglas to sit with a wave of his hand, before settling his formidable frame into the largest chair in the place. One built just for himself.

  That was the way of life for a man of his size. He needed a bit of special consideration.

  Douglas sat with a sigh which spoke of years spent in the saddle, rubbing aching knees as he did. “Och, I will be delighted once the snow dries and the ground hardens,” he confided. “The wetness in the air does me no great favors. There are times I feel the devil himself is swinging a hammer against my knees.”

  “Perhaps it is time ye considered settling into life as I have,” Clyde suggested gently. “A man has only so many years in the saddle before it is necessary to find another way of living.”

  It was not meant in any way as a slight or a suggestion of unfitness, but his old friend took it as such. This did not come as a surprise. While Clyde knew how his suggestion would be received, he felt it necessary to offer as a concerned friend.