Ian's Bride: A Highland Romp

by Hildie McQueen

  Ian was a good man. She knew it already. But now, after what Magaidh said, Sorcha was ready to try again. The road to fully trusting him began on that day.

  CHAPTER 11

  In front of the hearth in his chamber, Ian scanned the page of the book he held, but the words made no sense.

  He kept considering what had happened back at the cottage and whether or not he should have insisted more that they come to the keep. What would Magaidh do when Seamus died? The old man was so weak, barely able to speak. He’d insisted that Ian not take him from there and made him promise to look after Magaidh. The second request was not as strongly worded as the first, for Seamus knew Ian would never allow for anything to happen to Magaidh.

  According to Magaidh, Rory had already informed her he would come and take her to live with he and his wife. However, it worried him to think of her alone with a dead husband.

  The adjoining door creaked open and his gaze flew to the doorway. Sorcha stood, one hand braced on the handle, the other holding the neck of her robes closed. “Can we talk?”

  He could scarcely believe it. Could it be she was prepared to move forward? “Aye, of course.” Placing the book down, he stood and waited for her to enter. She approached and looked up at him. “I want us to move forward as husband and wife. Although it has taken time, I do understand why ye did what ye did. However, ye should have spoken to me about how ye felt.”

  Taking her hand, he lifted it to his lips. “I have considered it so many times since that day and I...”

  “Don’t.” She covered his lips with two fingers. “Do not explain it to me anymore. I want to talk about us. Some things I have been thinking of.”

  They sat and he wondered what she had to say.

  “Can we move from the keep?”

  The request startled Ian. “Did something happen?”

  “Nay. ‘Tis just that I want a home. I wish for a house of our own for us to live. I want my own kitchen, my own garden.”

  As one of the leaders of the guard, Ian had to be there in case of attack. He was to be first at watch. However, both Atholl and Gordan lived within the walls and both were able to lead the men.

  “I can request it of my uncle. We can build a house.”

  “Would ye really consider it?”

  Ian nodded. “Aye, of course. If it will make ye happy.”

  “Where would we live?” Sorcha’s eyes turned a dark gray when meeting his. And her lips curved. “I would be happy to help.”

  This time, he smiled. “Near where Rory lives. Not too far. The land is both of ours. There is plenty of it.”

  “Oh, thank ye.” She threw herself at him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Thank ye.”

  The action reminded him of the day when she’d found out her heritage and how she’d sought solace in his arms. Ian hugged her close. “Do not thank me. I would like to have a house of our own as well.”

  Ian thought for a moment. “I do have a request of ye,” Ian said, pulling her chin up so she could look at him. “That ye remain here until I return. In two days, I go away to visit the outpost.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes met his and she seemed on the verge of tears. “I did not realize it was so soon.”

  “We haven’t spoken much, lass,” Ian told her, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose. “Ye rush into yer chamber most evenings after last meal.”

  Sorcha nodded. “I do. ‘Tis hard not to follow ye in here most nights.”

  This time, it was his eyes that rounded. “Why didn’t ye? I have been waiting every night for ye to come to me. I vowed not to go to ye without an invite.”

  “I am sorry.” Her gaze lowered to his lips and Ian understood what she wanted. Taking her face in his hands, he looked into the beautiful blue-gray depths. “I want ye so much, wife. Allow me to take ye to my bed tonight.”

  When she nodded, he covered Sorcha’s mouth with his. Both trembled when he stood and pulled her fully against him.

  It felt much like the first time. So much time had passed. Ian tried to keep himself from rushing. This night, with each caress, he would make completely his.

  He pushed the robe from her shoulders to find she was nude underneath. His breath caught at the beauty. Lifting Sorcha into his arms, he walked to the bed. “I vow to ye that from this day, I will never betray yer trust again. I will be true to ye Sorcha, for I find myself utterly lost in love with ye.”

  Sorcha’s laughter made him smile. “Good. I didn’t want to be the only one in love.”

  Ian could only stare at her. “What did ye say.”

  “In yer patience, kindness to others and chivalry, I found the man I have always wanted to marry. Ye are kind, brave and, above all, ye care for those in yer life. I admire ye very much, husband.”

  His chest swelled with pride.

  Ian lowered Sorcha onto the bed then stepped back. He bent and removed his britches and then, not taking his eyes from her, pulled the tunic up over his head.

  For a moment, she did not look down. But then understanding he was revealing all of himself to her, she finally trailed her gaze down from Ian’s chest to between his legs.

  There was a slight frown as she studied the mangled thigh and distorted sex, but then she looked up at him. By the way her lips curved, she still found him appealing. When his member hardened and lengthened, her smile grew wider.

  “Join with me, Ian. I am anxious for ye.”

  And so he did.

  Two seasons came and went. Once again, he’d gone to the outpost and Sorcha was anxious to return to her and Ian’s house and work in her garden. However, as promised, she currently lived at the keep in their old chambers.

  Although he’d only been gone for a fortnight, Sorcha grew restless for him to return. Each night, she could barely sleep worrying about his wellbeing and whether or not he suffered discomfort.

  Once their house was built, they’d enjoyed the intimacy of everyday life together. Not too far from Ian’s cousin, Rory, Sorcha and his wife had become close friends. Innis came to visit often as did Sorcha’s parents. A life just as she’d dreamed had come to be.

  Ian had even allowed her to sell some shawls she made on occasion. The outings to the town square were a rare treat she cherished. The more she got to know her husband, the deeper her love grew for him.

  A very pregnant Cairstine struggled to sit next to her. “‘Tis growing quite cold. I hope the bairn comes soon. I want to help with preparations for winter.”

  “Aye, yer bairn is soon to come.” Sorcha smiled at her friend and a part of her was thankful not to have to go through the visible discomfort or the pain of birthing. Although she loved wee ones, that part did not seem enjoyable in the least.

  Horns sounded and, immediately, guards rushed to them. “Ye must go inside.” The young guard seemed at a loss when watching Cairstine attempt to stand.

  Sorcha helped her to her feet and they went to the doorway. Unfortunately, with the wall being so high, she could not see what happened. “Is someone coming?”

  “Aye, milady,” the guard responded. “Looks to be our own, but we have to take precautions. Too many have used clan colors to gain access and attack.”

  Cairstine gave the guard an annoyed look. “I don’t remember hearing of any attacks.”

  The guard didn’t respond. Instead, once they got to the doorway, he sprinted away toward the gates.

  Moments later, several guards entered the great room. One looked to her. “‘Tis Ian and the others. They have returned.”

  Not waiting to help poor Cairstine up, Sorcha raced to the courtyard just as the horsemen rode through the gates.

  Indeed, her husband led the men forward and on toward the stables. They dismounted and, immediately, young men took the horses and led the animals away to be fed and brushed.

  Ian carried a bundle in his arms. He peered down to whatever he carried and searched until finding her. The heavy beard did not distract from his handsome face and bright blue gaze as his eyes met her
s.

  His long strides were confident and his shoulders were held straight. He brought to mind how often she’d considered him arrogant. It was not arrogance, but the self-assurance of an honorable man.

  “A foundling,” he said, looking between her and the bundle he carried. “We brought home a foundling,” he repeated.

  Sorcha wasn’t sure what he meant. Several of the other guardsmen looked on with interest. A soft cry sounded and Sorcha’s eyes widened. “A bairn?”

  “Aye,” Ian said. “He was left to die. Probably fathered by a Norseman.”

  “What will ye do with him?” Sorcha dared not ask to hold the wee babe. Instead, she looked into the folds of the blanket. Bright blue eyes met hers and then the bairn scrunched its face and began to wail.

  Atholl neared, shaking his head. “He’s quite loud. We gave him goat’s milk several times a day. The only way to calm him.” The guard held out his hands. “I’ll take him to the kitchens. Perhaps one of the women can find a place for the foundling.”

  “No.” Sorcha turned and stood in front of Ian. “I need a moment.” She took a deep breath and faced Ian who looked to Atholl in question.

  “Can we take him?”

  Ian frowned and peered down at the crying child. “Will it please ye to raise this lad?”

  Her lips curved and something inside softened as she reached for the child. As soon as she held it against her chest, she knew. This was much like Magaidh had described.

  Destiny had brought her a child to raise as her own.

  “Aye, it pleases me, husband.” She motioned for him to follow. “At the moment, we will give the bairn over to a servant to feed and bathe. I will do the same for ye. I am sure yer bath has been ordered. I will ensure a good hot meal is prepared immediately...”

  Ian took her arm and whirled her to face him. “I missed ye, lass.”

  Warmth filled her as she met his gaze. “As I have ye, husband.”

  “Ye will have to show me how much at once.” Her cheeks reddened when he lifted a brow and his eyes darkened.

  Once again, the babe wailed loudly and Sorcha peered down at it. “Let us hurry, then. I have much to do.”

  “Aye, ye do,” Ian said at her ear, his hand cupping her backside.

  Sorcha laughed. “And to think I felt bad for Cairstine earlier. Unlike her, I had no time to prepare to care for my two very hungry men at once.”

  EXCERPT FROM BEAUTY AND THE HIGHLANDER

  Looking up at her intended's clan's home, Analise McGregor shook so hard her teeth chattered. She pulled her horse to a stop and took in the unfamiliar surroundings. The Gordon Keep was immense, the austere, gray walls of the building blending with the eerie mist of the Highland mountains that surrounded it.

  The imposing structure loomed over them as they neared and she closed her eyes and prayed. Please let my intended be a kind man. And if there is some way to not have to go through with the marriage at all, let it happen.

  The sense of dread refused to leave no matter how much she recited prayers over and over in her head.

  God help her, if only there were a way to escape, to live out her life as a common villager. All she desired was a cottage of her own where she'd make a living as a seamstress. Anything was better than losing her freedom. How had it come to this? The unraveling of her life to end in marriage to a stranger far from everything and everyone she'd ever known?

  A tear slipped down her cheek, which she wiped away with the back of her hand. She looked to her uncle to ensure he did not notice her weeping. The last thing she wanted was to worry the kind, elderly man.

  As if on cue, a heavy drizzle began to fall as they rode up to the thick, daunting gates and Analise pulled her heavy cape tighter around her shoulders.

  "Lift that chin child, all will be well." Although intended to be comforting, her uncle's words fell hollow by the drawn brows over his warm eyes. "Once yer married and with a wee one hanging on yer skirts, this day will seem more like dream."

  A nightmare would be a more apt description. Not wanting to worry him more, Analise nodded and gave him what she hoped was a brave smile. "Aye, Uncle, may your words come to pass."

  His lips curved. "Ye want wee ones do ye not?"

  In spite of the dread, she couldn't help but relax just a bit. "True, I do, Uncle. Bairns are God's gifts and bring joy."

  The heavy gates groaned open and the small party was allowed into a sizable, well-kept courtyard.

  Analise kept her attention on her horse, clutching the reins until they were taken from her hands. Too soon, she was assisted down from her mount and young lads went off with their horses. Analise couldn't help but look after her mild-mannered mare, wishing she'd dashed for freedom when she'd had a chance.

  The laird neared and greeted them. Tall and barrel-chested, the male's eyes raked over her, hesitating at her breasts. Analise made sure to keep her chin lifted, her eyes straight ahead. In spite of the shiver of repulsion that crept up her spine, she did not stir. Was his son to be as lecherous?

  Whatever the men spoke of did not reach her ears. She was far too busy searching for any possible escape.

  "I welcome you both. I am Angus Gordon." Once again, the laird studied her, a cruel twist to his lips as if he found her distasteful.

  "My thanks," she replied, only meeting the man's gaze for a second.

  If the son was anything like the father, she'd run away. There had to be other exits besides the large gates. She'd take flight before marrying anyone that would mistreat her.

  The thumps of her heart echoed with each place her eyes landed. The walls were dense, the guardsman who stood atop the towers huge, and the logs set to secure the gates once closed, immense. The Gordon Keep seemed virtually impenetrable. Not an easy target for enemies to invade or for someone to steal away from.

  There was movement past where the laird and her uncle stood talking. A lone man descended the steps. The tartan colors he wore identified him as a Gordon. Long, dark brown, burnished hair fell forward concealing his features, yet his presence had an immediate effect on her. Analise followed the man’s progress as he neared.

  Broad shouldered with an expansive well-formed chest that tapered to a trimmer waist and hips, he commanded attention. He moved closer, his gait sure and fluid. At her study of him, breathing came easier and she was able to control her troubling heart rate only to lose it again when the amber eyes lifted and locked to hers. Dark slashes for eyebrows, his mouth tight, the exquisite man studied her. He exuded raw power. With chiseled cheekbones and an aristocratic nose, he seemed more masterpiece than human. If not for the jagged scar that distorted his right cheek and full upper lip, she'd think a more flawless creature did not exist.

  "Miss McGregor." His deep voice resonated through her and he lowered his head, barely a bow. "I am Carrick Gordon. Your betrothed."

  Read it today: My Book

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Writing Highlanders who will battle for your heart...

  USA Today Bestselling author Hildie McQueen loves unusual situations and getting into interesting adventures, which is what her characters do as well. She writes romance because she is in love with love! Author of Romance in Highland historical, Western Historical and contemporary, she writes something every reader can enjoy.

  Hildie's favorite past-times are romance conventions, traveling, shopping and reading.

  She resides in beautiful small town Georgia with her super-hero husband Kurt and three doggies.

  AuthorHildieMcQueen

  www.HildieMcQueen.com

  Hildie@HildieMcQueen.com

  Table of 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