Highlander Redeemed (Guardians of the Targe Book 3)
Page 26
One year later . . .
DUNCAN STATIONED HIMSELF on the wall walk as he did every morning, keeping watch over the three Guardians as they stood at a small round table near the well in the bailey below—auburn, pale yellow, and his own Scotia’s raven-black heads bent over their work.
It had been a year since Duncan and Scotia had wed, and still he marveled at the woman he had married. She remained an imp at times, teasing him, and stirring up trouble here and there, but she did so with purpose, redirecting the squabbles of weans and the arguments of adults. She did so to bring a smile to the faces of her clan as she had when she was a lassie, and she did so to gain his attention, though that was not necessary. She was the center of his world, as she always had been.
Of course just this morning she had teased him that his love would have to be shared when their bairn was born in the early spring, but he knew in that moment his love would only multiply, if such a thing were possible.
“You are hopeless,” Malcolm said as he joined Duncan, standing next to him, but his attention fixed on the Guardians below.
“Hopeless?”
“Every single morn you stand here gazing down upon your wife like a besotted lad.”
Duncan shrugged. “’Tis true, I am besotted, but you are no better at hiding your feelings for your ‘angel.’”
“And why should I hide them?” Malcolm grinned at Duncan. “Who could have known that being abandoned in battle by my kin and nearly losing the use of my sword hand would turn out to be what brought me to my destiny, to Jeanette?”
Nicholas joined them then, fresh from his morning inspection of the newly completed north section of the curtain wall. Bryn of Beaumaris had stayed with them after the defeat of the English force, preferring to build things for the MacAlpins rather than killing for the English. His skill had created a strong new wall for the clan, and now he was directing the building of a new great hall. This one would be larger than the last, the walls made of stone this time.
Malcolm and Duncan nodded at their chief, the three of them leaning against the wall as they watched in silence, as they did every morn, while the Guardians prepared to strengthen the Highland Targe, as they did every morn.
Rowan took a moment to settle her new bairn—Lilias, after the Guardian’s mum—in the sling of plaid that Scotia had fashioned as a birthing gift for her. Jeanette arched her back and ran a hand over her huge belly. Her bairn, a lassie who would be named Elspet, as was revealed to the pale-haired Guardian in a vision, would be born any time now. ’Twas why they worked at a table instead of on the ground as they used to. Rowan had the table built when she was with child and could no longer sit upon the ground, nor rise from it without help.
Nicholas yawned, wide and not quietly.
Malcolm looked at their chief, his mouth cocked in a half grin as if he tried to suppress it but failed.
“How does the wee Lilias fare this morn?” Duncan asked Nicholas.
“She fares better than her mum and me,” he replied. “She has a strong set of lungs, that one, and she uses them with gusto when she is hungry.” He sighed. “Peigi says it may be a full year before she sleeps through the night.” He shook his head, but the soft smile on his face betrayed the way the tiny girl had already burrowed into the man’s heart.
As the Guardians began what Duncan thought of as the dance-of-hands that was part of the Highland Targe blessing, Malcolm nudged him with his shoulder. “Jeanette says you will have a son.”
“She says what?” Nicholas asked, his attention suddenly on the two Protectors at his side.
“Scotia said she had told no one but me—” And then the rest of Malcolm’s words sank in. “A son? Jeanette had a vision?”
“There are no secrets from my wife, Dunc,” Malcolm said, slapping Duncan hard on the back on one side as Nicholas did on the other. “You should ken that well by now.”
“’Twill be good to have a laddie to keep the lassies in check,” Nicholas said with a grin on his face.
“If the lassies are anything like their parents,” Duncan said, “there is no hope of keeping any of them in check.”
“Especially if the laddie takes after his mum!” Malcolm said with a waggle of his tawny brows. “If he does he’ll be leading our lassies into trouble by the time he can crawl.”
Duncan gave a mock groan, and the three of them laughed, a deep joyful sound that drew eyes from everyone below, including their Guardian wives.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
PAMELA PALMER AND Ann Shaw Moran—as always, your insight, support, and friendship sustain me, inspire me, and keep me open to all possibilities.
Phyllis Hall Haislip and Kathy Huffman—your company each morning keeps me moving forward. I appreciate that more than you know!
The great women and men at Montlake Romance—it is such a pleasure to work with all of you! Thank you for all you do for me and my books!
My family, Dean, Samantha, and Alex—you are my strength, and my joy!
I also want to thank my amazing readers for buying my books, writing reviews, and seeking me out online. It is such a gift to know my stories touch your hearts!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2012 Michael Taylor
LAURIN WITTIG WAS indoctrinated into her Scottish heritage at birth when her parents chose her oddly spelled name from a plethora of Scottish family names. At ten, Laurin attended her first MacGregor clan gathering with her grandparents, and her first ceilidh (kay-lee), a Scottish party, where she danced to the bagpipes with the hereditary chieftain of the clan. At eleven, she visited Scotland for the first time, and it has inhabited her imagination ever since.
Laurin writes bestselling and award-winning Scottish medieval romances and lives in southeastern Virginia. For more information about all of Laurin’s books, please visit her at http://LaurinWittig.com.