The Highland Groom
Page 28
He was trying, Fiona thought; Nick was trying to make amends, though she would never trust him. He was like an untamed raptor, she knew, a powerful hawk or raven that could be cooperative, though its loyalty would never be certain.
Now she looked at the group gathered before her. Dougal glanced away as the woman who stood beside him murmured something. He leaned down to listen. Fiona did not recognize the woman, who was handsome and sturdy, with thick brown hair under the drape of her plaid. When the woman turned to look at Hamish standing beside her, and when Hamish took her hand in both of his, Fiona realized then that Jean MacGregor had come back to her husband.
And suddenly she wanted very much to stay in Glen Kinloch, so that she could come to know Jean, whose warm, laughing glance made her feel welcome—all their smiling faces did. And yet she frowned, nervous, twisting her hands behind her. Her teaching contract was over, but Dougal had not yet told her completely what was in his heart, and though she hoped…she did not know for certain.
“Fiona MacCarran,” Mary said then, addressing her in Gaelic, as was so often the case. “These people would like a word with you.”
She nodded and looked again at Dougal, who now watched her with a calm expression that revealed none of his thoughts. Behind her, the students had left their seats to come to the door, too. “Aye, what is it?” she asked.
“We would like to know if you will teach us,” Mary said.
Fiona blinked. “Teach you?” she repeated in surprise.
“We want to learn to read English,” Mary said. “Some of us should learn to sign our names, and some of us need more words in English. And a couple of these rascals ought to be able to read their own arrest warrants.” A ripple of laughter followed. “And so we want to join your class.”
Stunned, Fiona glanced at Dougal, who nodded slowly, silently.
“I would love to teach you,” she answered, and several of the people nodded. “But the schoolhouse is nearly full now, with twelve scholars. The roof leaks, and the wall is damaged. It needs replacing soon or it may fall upon our heads. And I…my teaching arrangement will end soon. According to that, I need no longer stay in the glen,” she added, glancing again at Dougal.
He tilted his head, watching her, and said nothing. She could not read his expression.
“You could stay,” Mary MacIan said. “Teach here at the school as long as you like.”
Fiona fastened her gaze to Dougal’s own. “I would like that.”
He nodded slowly. “What else would you like, Miss MacCarran?”
“You know very well,” she said then, crisply and quickly, unable to hold back. Mary MacIan laughed, as did Jean and Hamish, and some of the others. Dougal’s lips twitched.
“You could stay,” he said. “And teach us…what we most need to learn.”
“What is it you would like to learn, Dougal MacGregor?” Fiona asked. Her heart bounded.
He smiled then, widely. More people turned to stare at him, then at her. “I think you know, Miss MacCarran.”
“Will you be joining the class, too, Kinloch?” Thomas MacDonald asked.
“I might. I will need to read some of those warrants,” Dougal drawled, amid laughter.
“He can read those well enough, he has done it before,” Thomas said, and turned toward Fiona. “Miss, we can help rebuild the school, if that will convince you.”
“That would be very nice.” Fiona could not speak for the quick tightening in her throat.
Dougal walked forward then through the throng. “You could marry the laird,” he said quietly, “and stay forever.”
She caught her breath, and watched him come closer. Though she heard gasps and saw smiles in the crowd, she held Dougal’s intent gaze. “I could,” she said then. “I could marry the laird, if he will have me.”
“Will he meet the approval of your kin, and your lawyers?” he asked quietly.
“That does not matter,” she murmured, and held out her hands. “I will tell them that I will marry a rogue, regardless of his fortune. Unless it matters to the laird himself—”
“Not at all,” he replied, and laughed, deep and mellow. He was close then, and stepped through the crowd, lifting her off the step and to the ground, taking her into his arms.
When he kissed her, she heard cheers and laughter all around—and then only the strong, steady thump of his heart against hers, and the pulse of her blood, gone to wildness, within her.
“Fiona,” he murmured in her ear, and kissed her again. “Tell those lawyers of yours that we shall marry soon, and invite your brothers and your kinfolk to our glen. We shall have a wedding to rival any your family could give you in the Lowlands.”
She pulled back, looking up at him. “Why so quickly? There is no need for haste. Well,” she said, blushing, “not that I know about, yet.”
He rested his brow against hers. “It is nearly time to go up into the hills,” he murmured, so that only she could hear, “to the place where the bluebells grow. I want to take you there as my wife. I have a story to tell you—the whole of the legend of Glen Kinloch.”
She drew back to look at him. “I thought the tradition was for fathers to tell their sons.”
“I am changing the tradition,” he said. “We will improve upon it, you and I. The Fey will be glad of it. They love you, as I do.”
Fiona slipped closer into his embrace, her lips upon his cheek, her whisper in his ear. “I want to know more about it—and I promise to keep the secret all my life.”
“I will see that you do,” he whispered. “Every day of it.”
Behind her, Fiona felt a pull at her skirts. She turned and saw Lucy, her small face flushed and her smile wide. “You could have bluebells for your wedding bouquet,” she said.
“What a lovely idea,” Fiona said. “I hope you will carry them for me.” Laughing, she gathered the little girl close, and Dougal rested a hand on Lucy’s shoulder. The child wrapped her arms around both of them as best she could—and then Fiona smiled again, for Lucy reached out impulsively to snatch Jamie by the arm and drag him into the shared embrace.
Dougal chuckled in her ear. “She does torment the lad.”
“Someday,” Fiona said, “that will surely change.”
About the Author
SARAH GABRIEL, a former college instructor, has a Master’s degree and most of a Ph.D. in medieval studies. An experienced writer and historian, her fascination for all things Scottish and her love of the romance genre led her to write historical romance. Of Scottish and Irish descent, Sarah has traveled extensively in Scotland and England. She has studied art, healing therapies, music, martial arts, archery, and falconry, and hopes to include all of those interests (and more) in future stories. She lives in Maryland with her husband, three sons, and a Westie.
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Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
THE HIGHLAND GROOM. Copyright © 2009 by Sarah Gabriel. All rights reserved under Inte
rnational and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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