Ian’s Bride
A Highland Romp
USA Today Bestselling Author Bennett
Contents
Copyright
Other Works by Hildie McQueen
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Excerpt from Beauty and the Highlander
About the Author
Copyright Hildie McQueen 2019
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without written permission.
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader.
If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it to your retailer and purchase your own copy.
Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author
Created with Vellum
Other Works by Hildie McQueen
Highland Romps
Declan’s Bride
Ian’s Bride
Highland Mists
Moriag Series
Beauty and the Highlander
Lady and the Scot
The Lass and the Laird
The Laird’s Daughter
Clan Ross*
The Heartless Laird
The Hardened Warrior
The Hellish Archer
Other Books
The Duke’s Fiery Bride
The Sea Lyon
The Sea Lord
Highland Archer
*Releasing soon
Chapter 1
Isle of Uist, 1400s
Sorcha did her best to ignore Innis who huffed and tapped her foot impatiently. “Ye realize ‘tis a waste of time to come to these graves?” Her friend peered at the grave. “Some of the poor souls, ye didn’t even know.”
Although it was true, Sorcha couldn’t help but feel pity for the neglected graves of people long dead. Besides, it was more of a habit now to visit the graveyard on occasion.
“I know.” She stood and dusted her skirts.
The beauty of the unseasonably sunny day had caused her to linger. Now, she and Innis would be late to meet their mothers at the market.
Sorcha took her friend’s hand. “Hurry, ye don’t want our mothers to pinch us do ye?”
Laughing at Innis’ huff, Sorcha hurried off in the direction of the center of the village where they would spend the afternoon selling their wares. Once Inns and she arrived, their mothers would be able to go home and prepare for the evening meal.
Thankfully, their mothers were busy with a well-dressed woman who perused through the fabrics and tunics, picking items at will and giving them to her young maid. Thrilled at the large amount being purchased, their mothers were not at all angry with them for being late.
Moments later, the woman left followed by the maid who managed to carry the armful of items. She’d recognized the elegant woman as Bethe Murray, the laird’s brother’s wife. Although not unfriendly, the woman was a bit aloof and rarely made small talk. However, she did come to the village often and purchased from them. From what Sorcha gathered, she not only obtained items for herself and the family, but also for the servants and personal guard.
Sorcha wondered what it would be like to have a life such as hers. There were four wealthy families in the surrounding lands, Laird Murray’s family as well as three others.
“Did ye hear me, Sorcha?” Her mother poked her arm. “Make sure ye cover everything well before bringing the wagon home. We cannot have things falling out.”
The daily routine, although at times tedious, kept them busy. They took turns hawking notions, fabric and clothing, Her life was never boring. Sorcha enjoyed the portion of the day she spent at their small stall. Besides, it was nice to chat and visit with the townspeople.
She’d become well-known for entertaining by singing or dancing. At times, she performed along with Herbert, a fiddle player. The poor man had no trade other than his music. He earned just enough to get by with whatever coin he collected along with occasional summons to play at the laird’s keep.
So on days when he’d not gotten any coin, Sorcha took pity on him and would encourage him to accompany her as she sang.
This day, however, he played gaily and several people dropped coins into his small, wooden box. Sorcha lifted a hand in greeting across the square to Miles, a young man who sold candles and flirted with every lass who went by.
Three horsemen approached, and Innis nudged Sorcha’s arm, her friend’s gaze on the men the entire time. “Here comes The Murray’s son and two guards. Wouldn’t it be interesting if they stopped to purchase something?”
“Aye, I doubt it.” Sorcha could not pull her eyes away from the blond man. He was the laird’s nephew, Ian Murray.
Ian usually did his best to ignore her. They’d had a strong disagreement the year before and, ever since, he’d gone out of his way to avoid Sorcha.
The men dismounted and tethered the horses to a post while speaking amongst themselves. They motioned to a young lad and gave him coin to guard the horses. The boy’s chest puffed out as he stood beside the gigantic war horses, his keen eyes following the men.
The Murray’s son, Gordan, was handsome and exuded the authority of a man who’d one day be laird and become responsible for the entire township.
One day, he’d be laird over the region and as such would bear the yoke well. Sorcha had always wondered what it would be like to marry such a man. Surely, only a woman who’d not mind being on constant display and scrutiny would wish for such a life.
Then again, she had to admit the current laird’s wife, Flora Murray, was a wonderful lady. Gordan’s father would carefully choose the woman he would one day marry. The laird’s son would have little choice in the matter. In that, she pitied him.
The leader of the guard, however, was another story. Ian Murray’s wife would no doubt have to put up with his many absences when he went to battle. Besides the man was arrogant, too handsome for words and well knew it.
She wrinkled her nose and shrugged. “’Tis none of our business. But I gather they will go directly to the pub to drink and wench.”
“Sorcha, how is it that ye continue to brighten even the sunniest of days?” Miles had approached with a wicked smile. “Would ye sing for me today, beautiful lass?”
At his comment, the fiddler, who’d just stopped playing, waved her over. “Come, lass. Sing for the people.”
Forgetting about the visitors as the fiddler began to play her favorite song, Sorcha dashed to where the slight man stood. Swishing her skirts, she twirled left and right and began to sing. A group soon gathered and clapped as the song picked up tempo. Sorcha was immediately lost in the song. A gay tune of a fisherman and his wife. Laughter erupted at the perfect time when the song spoke of the wife slapping the drunken fisherman with a fish.
She skipped over to grasp an old woman’s hands and bringing her to turn in a circle as she finished the song. The group called out for a second song and Sorcha laughed. “Very well, but just one more.”
The laird’s son
and his companions stood just outside the group. It was a bit discomfiting, but Sorcha decided to ignore them. They’d no doubt seen her sing many a time as she often relented to the other vendors’ requests.
Two claps followed by swaying, she led the group in a happy song of a woman who chased after a man. It was a funny song and, yet, when she sang about a kiss, her gaze happened to meet Ian’s.
He lifted a brow and she quickly turned away. The arrogant man probably thought she sang to him. Which, of course, she most certainly did not.
In the last refrain, when the lad decides to give in and the lass then turns him away, Sorcha ensured to give Ian a pointed look.
It was unfortunate he walked away in that moment so he did not see it.
“Sorcha, will ye marry me one day?” Miles followed her back to her cart. “I will love ye until the end of time.”
“Och, Miles, ye came up with that all on yer own?” Sorcha laughed gaily, knowing that Miles jested.
With her chin resting on both hands, Innis leaned on the surface of their display. “He is the most handsome of men.” Her friend sighed with a soft smile. “I could look at him all day.”
Sorcha turned to Miles and pointed. “Him?”
“Nay!” Innis’ eyes widened. “No offense to ye lad, but ye’re too young for me.”
With a good-natured shake of his head, Miles gave them a silly grin. “None taken.”
“Who do ye mean?” Sorcha hurried to where Innis now stood on her tiptoes. Her gaze was searching across the marketplace. “I don’t see anyone.”
“Are ye blind?” Her friend’s wide gaze met hers. “Did ye not see the men who arrived?”
“Oh, aye.” Sorcha bit her bottom lip. “Which one is the most handsome of men in yer opinion?”
Innis swung around, her eyes bulging and mouth agape. “Sorcha. Sometimes I wonder about ye. Although all three are bonnie, I was, of course, speaking of Ian Murray.”
“Ah.”
“Golden mane, bluest of eyes, wide shoulders and those lips.” Innis closed her eyes and placed both hands over her chest. “He is most tall and braw, don’t ye think?”
Instead of replying, Sorcha frowned and studied her fingernails. “I think him to be most arrogant.”
“Well, of course silly,” Innis laughed.
It was her turn to ponder. Ian Murray was, indeed, bonnie of face and larger than life, especially upon the black beast of a horse he chose to ride. However, he was not a kind man.
She’d happened upon him one day. He was collecting taxes for the laird. When she’d admonished him for doing so from an elderly couple who depended on the kindness of others for a living, he had the audacity to call her ignorant.
It had not ended well. He’d taken her by the arm and practically dragged her from the couple’s door and she’d kicked him. When the man acted as if it had not hurt, she’d then slapped him across the face.
“Get ye away from me before I lose control,” he’d told her through gritted teeth.
Immediately, she was sorry when she saw the reddening of his jaw, for violence of any kind was not in her nature. But too stubborn to apologize, she’d instead laughed at him and then taken coins out of her apron and thrown them on the ground. “Take that to yer laird in payment.”
It had been all her earnings for that day, but she had not cared. The gall of the man.
“Look. Here he comes now.”
Her heart quickened and Sorcha dashed behind the cart. “Maybe if I ignore him, he’ll go past, ignoring me as usual.”
Chapter 2
What the visitor suggested made no sense. That a lass in this village was the descendant of Robert the Bruce was just incredulous. And that she had to be married to someone of stature made even less sense to Ian.
He needed to get his horse to the stables as the beast had stumbled on their way to the village. So he’d excused himself from the bothersome conversation that had absolutely nothing to do with him.
Gordan would handle the situation and, perhaps, marry the lass off to one of their second cousins. As he walked past the wagon where Sorcha Macduff stood, he couldn’t help but steal a glance.
The woman, of course, ignored him. It was either that or a glare. He had to admit he preferred the glare. With eyes the color of the icy bluish-gray waters surrounding the Isle of Lewis, where they lived, her hard looks made him want to smile.
The fiery lass cared not one bit for him, which did not bother him in the least. What did was the misconception of what had occurred one-day day at the elderly couple that’d cared for him since childbirth’s cottage.
One day soon, he would have a talk with her and return her coins. He’d hoped that it would have happened,, however, it seemed she could hold a grudge for a long time. He did not feel like explaining to an angry woman.
“Do ye need a new tunic, milord?” Sorcha’s companion, a pretty brunette held up a well-made item. “’Tis made by the best seamstress in the village,” she called out with a flirty smile.
He nodded at her. “Aye, I promise to stop by and purchase it before I leave. I must see about my horse just now.”
Pointedly ignoring him, Sorcha turned away, pretending interest in rearranging the display. He stopped.
“Perhaps ‘tis best I do so now.” With purposeful steps, Ian neared the wagon, much to the delight of one of the lasses anyway. “The tunic please.”
Ian looked at Sorcha. “Sorcha. How fare ye?” he asked as her eyes grew round. “’Twas an interesting song about the woman chasing after a man.”
He had to press his lips together to keep from smiling when she huffed and crossed her arms. “I like the part where she rebukes him at the end for being an arrogant oaf.”
The other lass’ mouth fell open. “I apologize, milord. Sorcha is overly tired. She has not eaten all day.”
“I doubt eating would help her temperament,” he quipped, enjoying the moment. “Perhaps a dip in the frigid water.”
At his words, the brunette gasped and Sorcha huffed. He looked to the other lass. “What is yer name?”
“Innis, milord.”
“Call me Ian, Innis.” He paid for the tunic and Innis, seeming to have recovered from his last statement, smiled widely at him. “I do hope ye like it. If ye wish for more...”
“I will come directly to ye.” He smiled at the blushing lass. When he looked to Sorcha, her flat gaze met his. “Be with care, Sorcha. One day, we shall talk and ye may not like what I have to say.”
Her brows gathered in question, but she did not reply.
* * *
When he returned to the pub, the men present at his table were quiet. Something about the way Gordan looked at him made the hair on the back of his neck stand on edge. Whatever had been discussed in his absence was definitely not good news.
Considering the reason for Sir Merritt Avery’s visit, it could not be anything that affected him directly.
“Has the matter been resolved?” Ian asked, settling down and signaling for the serving wench to bring him ale.
“I believe so, once my father makes a decision as to who will marry the lass. And then there’s the matter of said lass being informed.”
Ian shook his head. “So the woman doesn’t know yet?”
Sir Merritt took a drink from his cup. “It will be a day to be marked. Either the lass will be delighted or utterly disappointed.”
“Who is this lass whose life is about to be changed?” Curiosity made him wait for Sir Merritt, who studied him for a long moment.
They’d met years earlier in Inverness. Ian and Gordan had spent several nights in the Melrose, a pub Sir Merritt was a regular at. Over drinks, they became acquainted. Over the years, they had become friends.
The Englishman stroked his chin. “Ian, ye are not married. However, I find that everything about ye points to a man settled and at ease with his life.”
“I am. I have no need of a wife. I prefer my life as it is. I’ve come to accept it.”
; A pang accompanied his words. The true reason he never wished to marry was not something he’d reveal. Other than his cousin and uncle, few knew the true reason Ian would remain single. Whatever happened in his life, it was best for him not to marry and deny a woman the opportunity to bear children.
The Englishman leaned forward. “I can understand how ye can make yerself believe that. However, I am a man of keen insight and do believe ye to be a good candidate to marry the descendant of The Bruce.”
“I am not,” Ian said matter-of-factly. He did not like that Gordan didn’t come to his rescue. Instead, his cousin seemed to be pondering what Sir Merritt said.
Sir Merritt shrugged. “It matters naught. It will be up to yer uncle as to who will marry the lass. However, I have a feeling about ye and my instincts are rarely wrong. It may be ye that wishes to marry Sorcha Macduff.”
His lips parted and his eyes rounded. Ian hated the sharp intake of breath as the name sunk in. The ale went down wrong and he coughed, barely able to catch his breath.
“Sorcha is the one?”
Gordan nodded. “Aye, can ye believe it? She is a bonnie lass.”
Sir Merritt looked to Ian, his eyes narrowing as if noting something else about him.
Unable to keep from it, Ian remained frozen. Could it be possible that his uncle would decree he marry the willful lass?
He thought back to Sorcha, who just moments ago, to the delight of the crowd, had entranced everyone with her melodic voice and wide smile as she danced with wild abandon. Her face had been alight with happiness. Sorcha’s performance brought smiles as people clapped in encouragement.
It was not just her beauty that had stood out, but her obvious joy for life. He’d been transfixed watching her entertain the crowd, not for coin, but for the pleasure of it.
How could a woman like that be confined to a life in a keep, where she’d lose freedom and never be allowed to act as she’d done earlier? Most would consider becoming a member of the laird’s family a grand turn of luck. However, he doubted Sorcha would see it that way. The woman would not accept her destiny easily and it saddened him to know that she’d be forced to live away from the people and the life she obviously adored.
Ian’s Bride: A Highland Romp Page 1
