“This is Apollo,” he said. “My wedding gift to you.”
Her eyes darted back to the horse. Alex tensed. He couldn’t tell yet if she was surprised in a good way or a bad way.
“Mine?” she said in a small voice. “My own horse?”
“Aye. He’s all yours.”
She approached Apollo cautiously and laid a hand on his neck.
“He’s beautiful.” She turned a brilliant smile his way.
He felt himself breathe again, relieved his gift had pleased her. “I ken you dinnae ride, but I’ll teach you. I’ll enjoy teaching you.”
“But I didn’t get you a wedding present.”
Alex put his arms around her. “Aye. You did. You gave it to me last night. I liked it very much.”
“I love you,” she said.
“And I love you.” He kissed her, a long, thorough kiss. Alex looked up when he heard a groan from Peter. The boy rolled his eyes to heaven and tapped his foot impatiently.
He released Lucy’s lips and said, “Someday, Peter, you will fall in love—”
“Yeck. Never.” Peter thrust a belligerent chin at him.
“And I hope I’m there to remind you of this day.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Alex knew marital bliss couldn’t last forever. Not with such a headstrong wife as Lucy. Nevertheless, he thought it might last longer than the two short weeks during which it seemed he could do no wrong and she was the Goddess of Love made flesh.
Now, knee deep into their first serious disagreement as husband and wife, he was having trouble remembering why he had been so eager to marry. His Goddess of Love had become a difficult and irritating woman.
“I said no.” He continued walking with purpose toward the stable, Lucy hot on his heels.
“Why?”
“Because I said no.” Alex nodded a curt good morning to his Uncle Fergus. He chose to ignore the smirk on the man’s face. Evidently, his uncle found his connubial difficulties amusing.
“That’s not a reason,” she said, tugging at his coat.
He whirled around to face his shadow. “It should be reason enough.” He had spoken too sharply. His wife’s perfect face crumbled. “I’m sorry, love. I didnae mean to speak so harshly.”
Too late. Tears welled in her eyes. Lucy pressed her lips together and tried valiantly to fight them back by looking sideways and breathing through her nose. He never knew what to do when women cried.
“Please dinnae weep. It willnae change my mind. It’ll just make me feel like a jackass.”
She harrumphed and folded her arms. Apparently, she agreed with his self-assessment.
Alex bent his knees and leaned his head sideways to look into her eyes. “Will you forgive me?” Tears having abated, she became petulant. He could handle a petulant Lucy.
“I don’t understand why I can’t come along with you on the hunt,” she said, still refusing to look at him.
“I told you.” He remembered to maintain his patience. “We’ll be gone two, maybe three days. It wouldnae be proper to bring a woman along with a group of men. We’ll be sleeping rough and—”
“I don’t see anything improper if I’m with my husband. Many women accompany their husbands on such excursions. I know I won’t slow you down. You said yourself my riding lessons have been going well. I can manage Apollo fine. And I’d be an asset. I’m handy with a bow. Plus you promised you would take me on a hunt. Don’t you remember?”
“That was different. That was just the two of us. Look…” He searched for a new way to explain things to her. “I will take you hunting, just you and me, but this hunt is men only.” He shifted, not wanting to admit the real reason, yet all the while knowing she wouldn’t relent until he did. He lowered his voice to almost a whisper. “It would be difficult for me, ken? To be the only one who brings his wife. The men would think I couldnae go anywhere without—they’d think you had me by the—they’d say I was hen-pecked.”
To his relief, understanding washed over Lucy’s face. “Ooooooooh.”
He straightened and assumed what he thought was an air of command in an effort to regain his dignity, one fist jammed on his hip, the other resting casually on the hilt of his dirk.
“We can’t have that.” She stepped close and retied his stock.
“No?” he asked, a little unsure.
“No. We can’t have them thinking you’re not a real man. Not after you proved your manhood so ably in our marriage bed.” She batted her eyes at him.
Good. He had made her see reason, albeit at the expense of his pride.
“I’ll miss you, you know. The bed will be very cold at night,” she said, pressing the length of her body to his.
“I’ll miss you, too.” His response to her had become automatic. One arm circled her shoulders. The other slid down her back and rested on her right buttocks.
“I won’t have your big warm body to curl up with.” Her clever hands slipped inside his coat. He moaned involuntarily. “Will you think of me when you’re out there sleeping alone in the cold?”
He closed his eyes and smiled. “Mm-hm.”
She whispered in his ear. “Will you remember that lovely thing I did that you liked so much?”
Alex felt his soldier spring to life and opened his eyes to look at his wife. Just moments ago she’d been a burr in his side. Now she was a vixen. “Aye, I’ll think of it, if you like.”
“Will you do that thing and pretend it’s me?”
“What? Are you talking about—” He glanced around in case anyone was listening. “Are you talking about self-abuse?”
“I wouldn’t call it abuse. I thought it was quite nice.”
“I cannae do that with Magnus sleeping not five feet away from me.” He was shocked he was even having this conversation with his wife.
“I’m going to think of you,” she said. “And pretend you’re doing it to me.”
“Touch yourself, you mean?” He spoke too loud and Lucy placed a finger on his lips.
She gave him a wicked smile and nodded.
“You cannae do that. You need me to do that,” he said, feeling a proprietorship over his wife’s sexual pleasure.
“Well, you’ll be gone. What else am I to do?” She sounded quite innocent.
“I forbid you.”
Lucy tilted her head to one side. “Really? How do you plan to enforce that command, master?”
So choked with frustration, his words backed up in his throat, and nothing came out but incoherent sputtering sounds. The back of his neck went up in flames. He released his wife and rubbed his neck while pacing back and forth in front of her. He made several attempts at a response using hand gestures, but still, no words. At last, he took a deep breath and let it out in defeat.
“Christ, woman. Go get your things and meet me at the stable.”
“Peter’s already packed my things and saddled Apollo.” She took his face in her hands, stood on tiptoe, and kissed him. “Thank you, husband. I love you.”
He watched her skip away and called after her, “I love you, too,” then shook his head and mumbled, “Ye wee bizzum.”
Epilogue
Lucy blew her nose and checked her reflection for any telltale traces of tears. The ache in her lower back yesterday signaled the arrival of her monthly. She had hoped she was mistaken, but this morning confirmed she was not pregnant.
It had been seven months since their wedding. Shouldn’t she be with child by now? Was there something terribly wrong with her womb? What if she couldn’t get pregnant and Alex stopped loving her, cast her aside in favor of a fertile bride? Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Lucy?” Alex stood in the doorway of her dressing room. “Is ought amiss?”
She would like to hide her concern from him, but he probably already suspected he had a defective wife. “I’m not pregnant.” She collapsed on the chaise and buried her face in the pillow.
The chaise creaked from Alex’s added weight and his big hand war
med her back. “Wheesht now. I ken you’re eager for bairns, but there’s time.”
She sat up, sniffed, and hiccupped. “I’m afraid you’ll send me away if I can’t give you babies.”
He laughed. She couldn’t believe it. He was laughing at her misery. Temper ignited, she swatted his arm. When that had no effect, she pinched his thigh until he yelped.
“Stop laughing at me, you giant Scottish oaf.”
He captured her wrists to ward off further assaults. “I’m no’ laughing at you. I’m laughing at Declan.”
“What does that beanpole have to do with me? With us? With anything?”
“Tell you in a minute, but first I want you to know something.” He let go her wrists, and put an arm around her. “I would never, ever send you away. Not for any reason. You’re my wife and my life. I can do without a lot of things, but I cannae do without you.”
He kissed her, sweetly at first. Then deeply, passionately. Until all her doubt seemed to float away. She was essential to him. They were essential to each other.
He released her lips on a sigh. “Have I made myself clear?”
She managed a breathy, “Unh-huh.”
“Good. Now.” He adjusted the front of his trousers. “There’s no need to fash aboot us becoming pregnant because I know with certainty we will have a girl child, at least.”
“And you know that how?”
“Declan dreamed it.”
“What?”
“Declan dreamed we will have a lass of our own.”
“And you believe him?”
He made a solemn nod.
She jumped up and whirled on him. “Your idiot cousin Declan told you that?”
“Dinnae be fooled by his awkward behavior, love. Declan is a canny one. Sleekit and lethal. He has eyes like a hawk. Nothing gets past him. And he’s prescient. His dreams never lie.”
“Alexander Sinclair, that is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard you say. Are we consulting fortune tellers about the honey harvest now? Should we ask a sorcerer to cast a spell on our sheep?”
When he laughed again, Lucy huffed and stormed out of the room.
“Where are you going?”
She called back, “To fetch Dr. Farquhar. You need your head examined.”
Later that morning, she and Apollo took their daily ride. She rode Apollo astride because Alex wouldn’t allow her to ride sidesaddle like a lady. He said it was too dangerous. I cannae afford to lose a wife. I’ll never find another one as good as you.
She was still agitated by him and his nonsensical tale about Declan’s uncanny ability to tell the future through his dreams. Merde. She’d never heard such a pile of rubbish in her life. But Alex had been so adamant, so certain. He had absolute faith in Declan’s vision and, truth be told, she was desperate enough to want him to be right.
She and Apollo arrived in the clearing where Declan had begun construction on a whisky distillery. The tall, lanky, dark-haired Scot was engaged in his hammering and didn’t notice their arrival at first. Declan wasn’t handsome the way Alex was handsome but, seeing him shirtless, she had to admit he did have a certain sinewy appeal, lean and defined. Alex said his cousin was sleekit, meaning cunning or sneaky, but sleekit also meant smooth and shiny, an apt description for his mess of dark curls.
She called to him, and when he looked up, he smiled and dropped his hammer.
“Ho there, Lucy. Are you well this morning?” He struggled into his shirt for her benefit.
“Very well, cousin. And you?”
“My day’s much improved with your arrival.” Declan strode to her side and reached up to help her dismount. “Did you come to see my malting shed?”
Lucy smiled to herself. Scots were forthright about most things. About others, they were very adept at talking around a subject. Declan wanted to know why she was here, alone, in the middle of the day, but was too polite to ask, so named the most innocuous reason.
Her feet touched ground, and she smoothed the folds of her riding skirt into place.
“Actually, Declan, I came to talk to you.”
He looked puzzled and plucked nervously at his shirt where it stuck to his sweaty chest. “Oh, aye?”
They left Apollo to graze and walked toward the malting shed. He indicated an upended crate for her to sit and offered her a dipper of water, which she refused.
“Whisky then?” He reached for his flask.
“No thank you. Please sit with me, and I’ll get right to the point.”
He carefully lowered himself to a tree stump, never breaking eye contact, as if she might spring an attack on him at any moment.
“It’s about your dream.”
“Aye,” he said, and squinted his left eye, still suspicious.
“I would like to hear about your dream.”
“The dream I had about building a distillery?
“No…”
“The one about building a house for my wife?”
“You have a wife?”
“Nae. But I dreamed I would have a wife one day.”
More’s the pity for the woman.
Lucy closed her eyes. Dealing with Declan always required more patience than she possessed. “No, cousin. You told Alex you dreamed we would have a girl child,” she clarified.
Declan leaned back with sudden understanding, “Oh, that dream.”
Lucy waited. Declan smiled back at her stupidly.
Struggling to conceal her temper, she said, “Would you mind telling me about your dream?”
Declan’s eyebrows arched.
Merde. This was like pulling teeth.
“Because, you see, Alex believes in your dreams. He says they always come true exactly the way you dream them, and I would just like to know…” The quaver in her voice alarmed her. Lord, would she start to blubber in front of blasted Declan? “I would like to know what you dreamed, exactly what you dreamed because…” She was going to lose control if she didn’t stop soon. She blurted, “Because I want to believe your dreams, too.”
Declan nodded, made himself more comfortable on the stump, and leaned forward, elbows on his thighs, hands clasped, settling in to tell a long story. He glanced up at the clouds as if remembering. “I had the dream the night before we rescued you from Dunrobin. Seems I always have these kinds of dreams before something big like a battle.”
She nodded, encouraging him to continue.
“I dreamed me and Gullfaxi—that’s my horse, ye ken—I dreamed we were waiting in front of Balforss House early one morning. I was there to collect Alex. We were going hunting for grouse. And I called out, ‘Alex! Are ye coming, man?’ And he came out of the house, smiling like I never saw him smile before.” He looked up, his gleaming black eyebrows pinched together. “Which was odd because he’s normally that crabbit in the morning, ye ken.”
Lucy chuckled. “Yes, I ken. Go on.”
“And he said to me, ‘Morning, cousin. It’s a grand day, is it not?’ And I agreed because it was indeed a fine day. And then you stepped out of the house, looking your usual bonnie self,” he smiled at his sly compliment. “And I was that pleased to see you because you were standing there in a yellow gown holding a bairnie on your hip.”
Lucy gasped and covered her mouth.
“A wee lassie no more than two years. She was still half asleep, sucking on her finger, her head on your shoulder. And you said, ‘Wave good-bye to Papa, sweetheart.’ And the peedie girl lifted her head and waved to her da.”
There was no way to hold the tears back. She let them roll down unchecked because Declan wasn’t looking at her anymore. He had his eyes closed, reliving the dream.
“And her hair, Jeeeesus, that head of blazing red hair glowed like a torch in the morning sun.”
Lucy bent over and sobbed with joy, relief, gratitude. The feelings melded into one and threatened to overwhelm her.
From behind her, Alex’s voice boomed. “Declan! What the bloody hell did you say to my wife?”
Declan snapp
ed to attention and held his hands up in a gesture of innocence. “She wanted me to tell her the dream, so I told her the dream.”
Lucy gathered herself and embraced her big Scottish husband. “I’m all right, Alex. Everything is all right now. We’re going to have a daughter.”
He held her close and patted her back. “I know, lass. I know. And she’ll be a bonnie wee thing.”
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Author’s Note
There was a woman named Margaret Mackay who lived in Strathnaver and died when her cot was fired. All other details about her death herein were invented to suit the story. Patrick Sellar, one of the most notorious historical figures related to the Highland Clearances, was arrested and tried for Margaret Mackay’s death, but later acquitted. My description of Dunrobin Castle is loosely based on drawings of the keep before Lady Sutherland made her improvements. Today, one can visit the beautiful Dunrobin Castle in Sutherland or hike to Badbea, the Clearance Village on the rocky hillside overlooking Helmsdale.
Acknowledgments
My sincere thanks to the following for their help and support: Kim Suhr, Robert Vaughan, and the members of Red Oak Writing Studio, the members of Wisconsin Romance Writers, Dave Rank, Lisa Lickel, Phil Martin, S.J. Rosen, Margie Lawson, publicist Krista Soukup at Blue Cottage Agency, web designer Corey Kretsinger at MidState Design, editor Erin Molta at Entangled Publishing, and my agent Cassie Hanjian at Waxman Leavell Literary Agency. And to my husband Richard (my Beta reader), and my son Nick (my best creation) my unending love.
About the Author
Jennifer Trethewey is an actor-turned-writer who has moved her performances from the stage to the page. In 2013, she traveled to Scotland for the first time, where she instantly fell in love with the language, humor, intense sense of pride, and breathtaking landscape. Her love for Scotland has been translated into her first series of historical romance novels, the Highlanders of Balforss.
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