Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Acknowledgments
Playlist
About the Author
Prude
This Love
FU Cancer
Not About Love
A Scottish Wedding
Hilaria Alexander
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Acknowledgments
Playlist
About the Author
Prude
This Love
FU Cancer
Not About Love
A Scottish Wedding
Copyright © 2017 Hilaria Alexander
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
Published: Hilaria Alexander 2017 [email protected]
Editing: Editing by C. Marie
Proofreading: Proofing Style
Cover Design: Samantha Leigh Design
Photo: Adobe Stock
Formatting: AB Formatting
SAM
When I was a little girl, I didn’t much care for fairy tales.
Don’t get me wrong, I loved movies, but more than being concerned with romance and falling for Prince Charming, I was interested in the setting.
Where did these people live? How could I go there?
I didn’t understand that the actors were people who acted in a studio.
I didn’t understand that when my father said, “I worked on that movie,” it meant he was on set with the actors. I thought they’d given him a special pass to reach a faraway land where he filmed the lives of the characters.
I thought the stories and the places in the movies were real, and what I wanted the most was to be in a fantasy land like the one in Labyrinth, or even the scarier dark kingdom of Return to Oz. I thought the kids of The Goonies lived in an alternate reality similar to my own, and I wanted to be able to go on a treasure hunt alongside them.
Bananas, I know.
It was only later, when I reached puberty, that I fell for the unlikely fairy tales romantic comedies tried to sell.
It wasn’t about the movie anymore; it was all about the swoon and the romance.
It was all about the bad boy with a heart of gold and the easygoing smile.
When I became a teen, I started getting hungry for that kind of love you only see in movies. Even though I now understood it was all pretend, I still wanted to trade places with Julia Stiles and be the subject of Heath Ledger’s affection in 10 Things I Hate About You. I wanted to be Drew Barrymore, getting kissed for the first time by Michael Vartan in the middle of a baseball field in Never Been Kissed.
A few years later, I came to the conclusion that as much as I loved romantic comedies, they were the sum of all the lies women tell themselves.
First, my parents decided to split, which severely tarnished my belief in “happily ever after.” Then, I realized that guys are a galaxy far, far away from how they are portrayed in movies and books—well, at least most of them.
Even when I thought I’d finally found the one, I was faced with a harsh reality.
Loving, handsome, faithful boyfriends were the stuff of dreams.
At least that’s what I thought, until him.
Before Hugh MacLeod came into my life, I’d been ready to throw in the towel.
I was done giving my heart to lying, cheating sons of a bitch.
Hugh restored my faith in love, and had just asked me to share the adventure of a lifetime with him.
God, I love this man.
He kissed me on the lips, softly, and my head started spinning.
Is this really happening?
“We’re getting married?” It came out as a question, although I knew I wasn’t dreaming. I was awake, the ring on my finger was real, and the man in front of me was even better. He had already given me his heart, and now he wanted to live the rest of our lives together.
He nodded, a tight-lipped smile stretching on his face.
My eyes danced between him and the ring, my chest crushed by a juggernaut of emotions, my head swimming in a sea of serotonin.
The cottage, the proposal, the emotion in his eyes—it was all too much. I felt like I needed a minute. I needed to sit down, but there wasn’t any furniture in the house, and I needed him for a minute, too—a minute, an hour, an entire night. Oh, how I’d missed him.
I raised myself up on my tiptoes and kissed him, running my fingers through his curls. He smelled divine, a mix of mint and musk. His jaw, freshly shaved, was just so delectable. I had to cover it with kisses; it just had to be done.
He was mine, and I was going to show him for the rest of my days how much I loved him. Suddenly, my mind went to a few months back, when I thought I’d lost him forever.
My chest tightened, and an uncomfortable knot grew in my throat.
Ah, dammit. That did it.
The tears I had managed to tuck away just a few minutes ago spilled onto my cheeks, and a few seconds later, they transformed into full-on crying. Through blurry eyes, I could see my fiancé looking at me with the utmost confusion.
“Sam, what’s wrong?”
“Y-You . . . I-I . . .” I babbled, unable to form any comprehensible words between sobs. He frowned, narrowing his eyes at my ridiculous reaction. I was gripping his sweater, as if he was about to slip out of my hold. He held me tighter to him, and my palms pressed on his chest. I could hear his heart beating as fast as mine and I breathed in, trying to calm my stupid, stupid self. Hopefully in a minute I’d be able to explain, and maybe he wouldn’t want to reconsider and take back his marriage proposal.
“Mo chridhe,” he said softly, using the Scottish words that meant my heart. “What is it? You were smiling just a moment ago.” A low chuckle escaped his lips and he kissed the top of my head. I inhaled deeply and then let out a breath, trying to calm myself down, telling mys
elf everything was okay.
This is ridiculous. I had some explaining to do.
I wiped the runny makeup from under my eyes and sniffled. I straightened myself up, pressed my hands on his chest once more, and looked up into his wary eyes.
“I’m sorry. I don’t want you to worry. It’s stupid.” I pursed my lips together, taking in one more deep breath. “I am happy—so happy.” I smiled at him and he seemed to believe it, but I knew I wasn’t making much sense. “I just . . . I suddenly thought of when I had to leave at the beginning of this year . . .” I lowered my eyes and frowned, remembering how hard it’d been to leave him.
His chest rose under my hands as he inhaled deeply. I knew it was something he didn’t like to talk about. He wasn’t happy with me when I was let go and decided to leave, but I had seen no other choice at the time. I had to do what was best for him, even if it broke my heart. I looked up to him and noticed his eyes were the color of the Scotland sky on one of those rare, good sunny days—the same type that had welcomed me back today—but they were heavy with worry.
I cleared my throat. “When I left Scotland at the beginning of this year, I thought I might have lost you forever. The way we said goodbye . . . I didn’t know if you’d ever want to talk to me again. I didn’t know if you could ever forgive me.”
“You have nothing to apologize for. I shouldn’t have left things like that.” The tone of his voice was firm but reassuring. I knew he didn’t need any explanation, but we’d never talked about it, and I needed him to know. I had to tell him how elated I felt.
“Until that night at the Oscars, I often thought there was a possibility you hated me. I didn’t know if you really understood why I had to leave after I got fired. I couldn’t stop thinking about the look in your eyes when you left.”
He tipped my chin up with a finger and covered my lips with his. He gave me a peck, and then another one. “What are you trying to say, Sam? Are you wondering if I really understood that you left to protect my career? That you decided to leave so I wouldn’t have more problems with the network? No, at first I didn’t understand it. I was . . . blinded by rage, and I couldn’t bear the thought of losing ye.” He pressed his lips in a hard line, his jaw taut, eyes clouded by the bitter memories of our goodbye, one of the roadblocks that had been in our way since we’d started falling for each other. “I admit, I was mad at you, Sam—really mad. I thought you were giving up on us.”
I closed my eyes and shook my head. A lonely tear escaped my eye and I sniffled again.
“I wasn’t. God, of course I wasn’t.”
“I know that . . . now.” His lips curved to the side into that honest, charming smile that made my heart flutter. “It took a whole day of drinking and feeling miserable. I woke up wasted on the floor of my trailer and I was there for hours, immersed in your scent. I don’t know how long I stared at the ceiling before I finally figured out you left . . . for me.”
“I couldn’t bear the thought of you thinking I didn’t love you enough to fight for you. The way we left things . . . it broke my heart. I was just trying to make the best of it, I suppose.”
“You were trying to do what was best for me. I ken that now, Sam.”
“Your dreams are important to me. I thought I was doing the right thing.” He nodded and smiled silently, his eyes alive with a kindling spark. “I will always try to do what’s best for you, and from now on, I will always try to do what’s best for us.” My eyes fell on my beautiful ring, part of me still incredulous that the man in front of me wanted to share his world with me for the rest of our lives. He kissed me, circling his tongue with mine, deep and maddeningly slow, awakening other parts of me that had been missing him for too long. Desire made romance scoot to the passenger seat and took the lead. I needed him.
“I need to have you, right now. It’s been too long,” I mumbled, my mind rendered incapacitated by his kisses. It was amazing the way his lips and his tongue could make me completely incoherent and crazed for more. “Take off your clothes, MacLeod,” I told him, my voice low and raspy.
His eyes twinkled as his lips curved into a playful grin.
“But there’s no furniture in this house,” he teased.
“Like I care. Take off your clothes—now,” I commanded, tugging at his blue sweater. The look on his face was equal parts cocky and amused, but it just left me frustrated and wondering why the hell wasn’t he naked already.
“Come with me,” he said, and his eyes brimmed with excitement and mischief.
He led me to a closet in the corner of the master bedroom. We’d gotten sidetracked, and I hadn’t even seen what he’d done with the rest of the upstairs level—not that there was that much left to see. It was a small cottage, after all. He led me inside and turned on the light. I peeked in and noticed a few things wrapped in heavy-duty plastic. He pulled a large rolled-up mattress out of the closet.
“Help me out, Sam.”
I took the opposite end of the bundle and lifted it up as best I could. The damn thing was heavy.
“Where do you want this?” I asked
“By the windows, where we were standing.”
We dropped it down to the floor.
“What now?”
“Now we try to open this,” Hugh said as he tried to tear the thick plastic, but he couldn’t get through it with his fingers. I looked at him in horror as he grabbed a corner of the material and tried to break it with his teeth.
“Stop! Are you insane? What if you break your teeth? You think Abarath could charm all those chicks with a crooked smile?” I said, hiding my teeth behind my lips, making a face.
He responded with an eye roll and a shrug, and I laughed. “You’re ridiculous. Move,” I said as I pulled a pocketknife out of my jacket.
“A pocketknife? Where did you get that?”
“My dad gave it to me. He said an adventurous woman like myself shouldn’t go anywhere without one,” I said, straightening up.
A small laugh escaped his lips and he shook his head.
“And why did you think you needed that today?”
I shrugged. “I decided to bring it along in case I was wrong about your whereabouts and got lost in the middle of the glen.”
I tore through the plastic with the small, pointy knife, and Hugh broke through the rest of it. The foam mattress slowly unrolled and opened up on the floor. We took the plastic off and threw it in a corner of the room then tried to smooth the corners of the mattress. I was reading the instructions when I was unceremoniously thrown down on it.
“Hey! It says here you’re supposed to ‘let the mattress breathe’ and ‘take shape’ for two or three days . . . I’m not sure this is a good idea.”
“Two or three days?” he asked with a scoff. “I can’t wait that long,” he added with a smirk. He took off his sweater, revealing his broad, strong chest in all its glory. I didn’t know which was hotter: him or the look of determination he got in his eyes right before we made love. It was the sexiest thing ever. I kicked off my shoes and took off my socks as he knelt on the mattress next to me.
He unbuckled his belt and pulled down his jeans as I semi-frantically removed my clothing. We kept stealing glances, as if it was the first time we’d seen each other naked. Like I said, it had been a while.
“Bollocks! I forgot something,” he muttered as he walked to another corner of the room where a door hid what looked like a linen closet. He grabbed a blanket, one with colors I had seen before. It was the MacLeods of Harris tartan.
I smiled.
Once upon a time, two MacLeod clans existed, or so I had been told: the MacLeods of Lewis and the MacLeods of Harris. The MacLeods of Lewis’ tartan was the one with the yellow and black colors, and their motto was “Shine, not burn.” History said the MacLeods of Lewis clan was wiped out by the Mackenzies—I’d learned that from Hugh’s father and his brother Tamhas a few months back. Hugh’s father was a Celtic languages professor at Oxford, and Tamhas was a teacher who had majored in histo
ry while attending the University of Edinburgh.
While the tartan of the MacLeods of Lewis was yellow and black, the one of the MacLeods of Harris was blue and green, with thin yellow and red stripes. I wondered how tartan patterns had been picked once upon a time, who decided what colors they would be. That was a question for Hugh’s father, no doubt. Although a professor of Celtic languages, my future father-in-law was also an expert in all things Scottish.
Hugh knelt back on the bare mattress, opened the blanket with his family’s colors, and covered my semi-naked body with it. His eyes didn’t leave mine as he took off the rest of his clothes. I skimmed out of my jeans under the plaid and lifted it for him to lie next to me.
We were finally naked, skin to skin, after being apart for weeks. Forget about “Shine, not burn”—I was burning with anticipation. I needed him to take me, right that minute, but I didn’t want to fast-forward through a single moment. It was too beautiful to miss. He embraced me and held me tight to him as his mouth placed small, chaste kisses along my forehead.
“Do you remember what my clan motto says?” he asked with a grin.
“Hold fast,” I replied with a delighted smile. I remembered it well, because Hugh’s father had told me the story behind it when I stayed with them at Christmas.
Supposedly, the motto was born when the chief of the clan wrestled a bull to the ground and the crowd cheered for him to “hold fast.”
In a way, as soon as I’d heard it, I thought it fit Hugh MacLeod perfectly.
Only, in my head, I thought of him as the bull that had crashed into my life and turned it upside down—for the better, obviously. I laughed softly as Hugh’s piercing blue eyes skimmed over my body.
He was the bull, all right, and I was his target.
“That’s right, Sam. Hold fast,” he said with a grin. “We’re in it for the long run.”
SAM
I was never too fond of the feeling of wool on my skin. Most times, it made my skin feel prickly, and living in Los Angeles, I wasn’t used to heavy fabrics.
However, there was nothing like being wrapped in the tartan that belonged to the man you loved. The wool had a certain softness to it, and it felt warm and . . . durable. It reminded me of older times, when things were passed down from family member to family member, just like the ring on my finger.
A Scottish Wedding (Lost in Scotland Book 2) Page 1
