“This is true. But I know in my heart, I’m not yet ready to wed.”
Bella nodded. “It took me awhile, too. Ye’ve only just turned twenty. It’ll be a few more months before they start hounding ye.”
“I suppose I have ye to thank, though,” Greer said with a mischievous look. “With a new grandbairn, they’ll be spending a lot more time here with ye, and less time telling me to come inside and mind my manners.”
Before they could finish their conversation, their little sister Blair’s squeal over Angelina startled them both.
“I’m going to embroider her the most beautiful gown! Mama, please tell Da we must go to Edinburgh for the fabric.”
Bella shook her head and turned away from her youngest sister, only to find herself being pulled into the embrace of her Aunt Aliah.
“I remember the day you were born,” Aliah said, in her English accent, so elegant and so familiar. “The same tuft of golden hair on your head.”
Bella hugged her aunt tight, and glanced around for whoever was holding Angelina. The bairn had been moved from one to the next, and now was being coddled by her Aunt Heather, who everyone said Greer reminded them of.
After an hour of greeting their guests, and smiling as everyone cooed over the wee bairn, she started to make a fuss and Bella took her up to her chamber to feed her and change her swaddling clothes. When they emerged once more, Bella was greeted with a toast.
“Gum bi a’ bheatha a’ frasadh ort, a naoinein bhig; an fhallaineachd, an ionracas is an sonas mar thiodhlacan.”
Tears came to Bella’s eyes as the words touched her heart. May your life be fruitful, wee bairn; health, honesty and happiness be your gifts.
Life was so full of precious gifts. But love was the most precious of them all…
Early February, 1321
MORE THAN SIX weeks had passed since Bella gave birth to Angelina, but in all that time, and while they’d planned a romantic night alone with the bairn off with her nursemaid at the six week mark, the two of them had fallen asleep after breaking their fast before the hearth in their chamber, and by the time morning rolled around, Bella could hear Angelina loudly proclaiming her demands to be returned to her mother.
So after the seventh week passed, Niall was more than ready to see it through, even encouraging his wife to take a long nap mid-afternoon while he walked Angelina throughout the castle regaling her with stories of his childhood, which seem to keep her wrapped up in attention. Else, she just liked the sound of his voice.
Their chamber was filled with candles, and a delectable supper had been placed on the table before the hearth of fresh baked brown bread, butter, and venison stew. For dessert, gingerbread drizzled in honey and crumbled almonds. The nursemaid had Angelina, and in the center of the chamber, Bella lounged in a bath.
Niall crouched behind the tub, picked up a linen, and dipped it into the water. He ran the warmth of it across her shoulders, marveling in the softness of her skin.
“Thank ye,” Bella murmured, leaning her head back and looking up at him.
“It is not purely selfless.”
She laughed, and reached up to grip his face, bringing him down for a kiss. Niall kissed her with all the passion he possessed, moving around to the side of the tub, to kiss her more thoroughly than he could upside down. His wife clung to him, and the idea of jumping into this tub with her seemed very appealing at the moment. Without taking his mouth from hers, he undid the belt of his plaid, thankful he’d thought to take off his boots and hose earlier.
Though they were tired, they’d grown into a steady routine, and exhaustion seemed to have dissipated some. Enough that they had energy to be in this moment and not passed out against the pillows.
Bella tugged at his shirt, understanding without words what his plans were. And then he was managing to climb into the tub, their lips still sealed. They rolled in the water, so that he was beneath her, and their bodies slid together as they always had, as though they’d been made for each other.
Niall loved her body, worshipping her like the goddess she was, and Bella was not shy in returning his touch measure for measure. They stayed in the tub until the water grew too cool, and then they moved to the soft carpeting before the hearth, making love once more with the flames warming their skin.
When they finished, Bella lay sated beside him, her soft thigh thrown over his, and Niall hadn’t the heart to move, not even when his stomach growled.
“Have I told ye how much I love ye?” he said, stroking her cheek and nuzzling her neck. The tender moment was broken once more by a loud rumbling from his midsection.
“Only a thousand times. And I love ye so much, I’ll get up so I can feed ye.” Bella laughed as she climbed to her feet, and Niall leapt up beside her.
“I knew I’d married ye for a reason,” he teased, tickling her ribs.
Bella plucked a dried apricot from the bowl on the table and pressed it to his lips. “Was it for my sweet apricots?”
Niall wiggled his brows. “Och, your sweet apricots are one reason.”
“I’ve a feeling we are nay talking about the same thing.”
Niall laughed hard, tears coming to his eyes. “Och, lass, I never stop laughing with ye.”
The End
If you enjoyed this extended epilogue of The Highlander’s Gift, I encourage you to read the story! And don’t forget, there are more books in the Sutherland Legacy series!
The Highlander’s Stolen Bride
The Highlander’s Hellion
The Highlander’s Quest – A Sutherland Novella
About the Author
Eliza Knight is an award-winning and USA Today bestselling author of over fifty sizzling historical romance and erotic romance. Under the name E. Knight, she pens rip-your-heart-out historical fiction. While not reading, writing or researching for her latest book, she chases after her three children. In her spare time (if there is such a thing…) she likes daydreaming, wine-tasting, traveling, hiking, staring at the stars, watching movies, shopping and visiting with family and friends. She lives atop a small mountain with her own knight in shining armor, three princesses and two very naughty puppies. Visit Eliza at www.elizaknight.com or her historical blog History Undressed: www.historyundressed.com. Sign up for her newsletter to get news about books, events, contests and sneak peaks! http://eepurl.com/CSFFD.
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Mariote’s Christmas Wish
Suzan Tisdale
Chapter One
MARIOTE MCCULLUM WAS very much in love, or so she fervently believed.
Why else would her heart skip a beat or two whenever she saw him? What other reason could there be for the way her stomach tingled with excitement at the mere thought of him?
Of course, the object of her devotion – and betimes torment – hadn’t a clue how she felt. Still, she loved the warrior with all her heart. Most women did, for he was so utterly handsome and charming. But Mariote loved him for more than his exceedingly good looks and the devilish smile he sometimes flashed the lasses. Nay, she loved him because he was good and kind and decent. Never had she chased after him like the other young women ’round her age did. Neither did she giggle at every little thing he might have to say.
That had to stand for something, didn’t it?
Nay, she was not infatuated with him as the others were. She was deeply in love with him.
But he never flashed his brilliant smile her way. Nor did he pick her up and twirl her around or wrap an arm around her shoulder as she’d seen him do so many times, openly flirting with any woman, no matter her age or marital status.
Any, save for Mariote.
Nay, he kept a wide birth when it came to Alysander McCullum’s eldest daughter.
’Twas Yuletide Eve and most of the clan were gathered in the grand gathering room. There was much music, dancing, and merry-making. And right in the thick of it all was Willem McCullum. Dancing with
one lass or woman after another, and completely ignoring her. Her heart would thrum happily whenever he approached the table where she sat with her sisters. Only to want to break again when he walked right by her without so much as a glance in her direction.
And not once this night did he ask her. What she would not give for his acknowledgement of her existence.
Earlier, he had given her a devilish wink, but ’twas only as he bent low at the waist and asked her youngest sister, ten-year-old Orabilis, to dance. Orabilis, of course, refused, for she was still of an age where she believed all men, no matter their age, were naught more than a daft, insane group as a whole.
’Twas all too much to bear.
Quietly, Mariote slipped out of the gathering room – only faintly aware of her father’s gaze following her as she left—grabbed her cloak, and stepped out doors. The sky was indigo, dotted with twinkling stars. Flames from the torches fought a hard battle against the bracing wind, dimming and brightening, refusing, it seemed, to be tamped out.
The lass made her way up the stairs and onto the parapet. Snow twirled around her ankles as the wind stung her tear-streaked cheeks. Though chilled to the bone, it felt good to be outside, to be alone to think.
On the morrow, she would turn eight and ten. She thought she was far too young to feel as old as she did, but she could not help it. Most of the friends she had made since arriving here four years ago were all married. Two already had children of their own now, and three were with child.
And where be ye? She asked herself. Standin’ atop the parapet feelin’ sorry for yourself.
Known amongst her family—and everyone she’d ever met—for being a most practical and logical-thinking young woman, Mariote understood ’twas ridiculous to be feeling this way. Especially about a man who barely acknowledged her existence. But ’twas next to impossible to push all those feelings aside.
While her heart might be breaking, there was so much for her to be to be thankful for.
She’d been four and ten when Alysander McCullum married her mother. A few short months later, he adopted Mariote and her three younger sisters and, together, they moved back to his ancestral home. Since then, their little family had expanded. Three years ago, her mother had given birth to twin boys, and now was once again with child. Come spring, there would be yet another McCullum brought into this world.
Alysander openly prayed for this child to be another boy, because, according to him, having four beautiful daughters already was enough to turn a man’s hair white or put him in an early grave. We need to even the sides, he had often remarked playfully to his young sons, for we are seriously out-numbered. But Mariote knew it mattered not a whit to him what Moirra might have, as long as the child was healthy and naught happened to her mother.
Mariote’s life had changed dramatically since Alysander came into it. So much so that ’twas no longer recognizable. He had given her and her sisters a formal education, fine gowns, and a beautiful home. But he had given her much more than that; he’d given her the ability to trust again. Considering what had happened with her mother’s previous husband, that was no small feat.
Delmar—her mother’s third husband—had tried to rape Mariote on a cold winter’s night. Had her sister Muriale not been there, he would have succeeded. Delmar hadn’t known the lengths to which one sister would go to protect another. That ignorance had cost him his life, and very nearly Moirra’s, when she’d been falsely accused of his murder.
’Twas a good long while before Mariote could trust any man again.
But with time and Alysander’s unfailing devotion to her mother and family, Mariote was able to put that horrid night in the past. With steely-eyed determination, Mariote chose to make the best of her life. It helped, of course, knowing she was safe and protected. No one would dare try to attack her as long as her stepfather was around.
Now she was a woman full grown, even if her father still insisted otherwise. Under the tutelage of the clan’s healer, Eric McCullum, Mariote was learning to become a fine healer in her own right. Over the years, she’d lost count of the number of people she had helped nurse back to health, the number of hard McCullum heads she’d stitched up, and the number of broken bones she had helped to set.
Aye, she had a life many would be envious of.
Still, she longed for a husband and bairns of her own.
She longed, deep in her heart, for Willem McCullum.
The wind increased, howling like a macabre spirit from the netherworld, bringing with it bits of snow and ice. Drawing her cloak about her a bit tighter, she stared at the night sky. ’Twould probably be best to get back into the keep before she either froze to death or her father discovered her missing. Knowing Alysander as she did, he’d probably send out a search party.
Just as she was about to go back in, she saw a bright light flash across the sky. ’Twas a falling star! She laughed, thinking of how her mother believed that if you made a wish upon a falling star, ’twould come true within a fortnight.
Deciding a wish could not hurt, she made hers. “I wish…” she searched for just the right words. “I wish to be married before I turn nine and ten.”
’Twas a simple, heartfelt wish. ’Twas all she wanted in life.
What she could not know at that moment, was that someone else was out on the parapet, at the opposite end. Standing in the shadows, the young man made a wish of his own.
Chapter Two
One year later
THE YULETIDE WISH she had made more than a year ago had not come true. Having just turned nine and ten, Mariote nevertheless believed there was still hope.
She read the letter from Conner MacGavin once again, smoothing the parchment with a fond smile.
My Dearest Mariote,
My heart beats with love and adoration for you and only you. You have made me the happiest of men by accepting my hand in marriage. I feel as though I will not draw breath nor sleep again until I have you in my arms and as my wife.
I shall meet ye in the glen near the stream at dawn in exactly six days, just as we have planned. Until then, I am and always will be,
Your humble servant and future husband,
Conner.
With care, she folded the parchment and slipped it into her satchel. Her heart skipped a beat or two—more out of fear than any other emotion. If she were caught, her father would certainly lock her in the south tower until she turned forty. Oh, she knew he would not really lock her away, but one could not be entirely certain what one’s father might good and truly do were he pushed to the ends of his patience. And she had pushed him thusly on more than one occasion over the past few years.
Quietly, so as not to wake her sisters, she tucked one last item into her bag. ’Twas a sprig of heather, twined with a bit of string. Old and dried, it had been a gift from a young man who had quickly become her friend within days of her arrival. Lachlan MacCaully. His mum was a MacCallum, his father a MacCaully. Lachlan was three years her senior, a kind and giving young man with a tender heart. He was like an older brother to her, and their friendship was one she would always cherish. Though in truth, she had at one time harbored a secret crush on the lad. But when he had remarked how glad he was for their friendship, she soon realized they would never be anything more than friends.
Mariote sent a furtive glance about the dark bedchamber. Thankfully, her sisters were still fast asleep. ’Twould be hours before any of them rose and discovered her missing. ’Twould be hours more before any alarms would be sounded. When they woke to find Mariote’s spot empty, they would not consider it odd or strange, for she was always up long before any of them.
They would think she had left to help Maryd McCullum birth her third child. Mariote had carefully planted that seed last eve as she and her sisters readied for bed. “Maryd is due any moment now,” she had told them. “I do hope she waits until daylight this time, for I be awfully tired.” To which her sisters had no reply, for they were too busy discussing the upcoming Yule Tide an
d lads and romance. All save for Orabilis, her youngest sister, who had no interest in romance or lads, for she was still of a mind that lads were naught but nuisances.
“I shall miss ye,” Mariote whispered. Taking one last glance at each of her sleeping sisters, she quietly slipped out into the hallway.
At this late hour, everyone within the keep was abed. Even the torches that lined the walls flickered low, as if they too were exhausted.
Blood began to rush in her ears with the excitement of stealing away in the middle of the night. Mariote did not consider herself to be running away, but rather running to something. ’Twas the only way she could deal with the deep seated guilt of having made the decision to become Conner MacGavin’s wife. He loves me, she reminded her rapidly beating and guilt-ridden heart, and he has made me love him with his beautiful letters. Who would not fall in love with such a man? I will be his wife and the mother of his children. I will finally have all that I ever wanted.
As she tip-toed down the dark corridor, she paused just outside her parent’s bedchamber. Her mother, she was convinced, would understand her reasons for doing what she was doing. Her father, however, was an altogether different story. ’Twould undoubtedly break his heart when he discovered she’d run off to marry. Do no’ cry, she cursed her heart. Conner has promised ye can visit as often as ye wish. ’Tis no’ like ye’ll never see them again. Gently, she touched the door with her fingertips and bid her mother and father a silent farewell.
Effortlessly, she made her way down the hall to a narrow set of stairs often used by the servants. At this hour, the gathering room would be filled with at least a dozen sleeping men. The risk of waking any of them was far too great. Even if she lied and told them she was leaving to tend to a sick patient, they would undoubtedly offer to escort her. With a pounding heart and shaky hands, she took careful, measured steps downward.
All Things Merry and Bright: A Very Special Christmas Tale Collection Page 13
