A Highlander's Woman

by Aileen Adams

  “I did not know you were to leave bed today,” she beamed, relieved to see him up and about.

  “Sorcha determined I was well enough to venture out,” he informed them in a dry tone, rolling his eyes as he did.

  “I suppose this means you’re up for further training,” Rodric grinned.

  “Ye might want to bring it up with her first. I’m not overeager to hear her shrieking her way across the courtyard.”

  “Never mind.” Margaret waved a finger in his face. “Have you forgotten me? I am the one to bring it up with, and the answer is no. Not just yet, at any rate.”

  “Ye see what I have to live with,” Padraig shrugged.

  Rodric could only shake his head, laughing to himself as he headed into the keep.

  “Now that you are out of bed and looking so healthy, perhaps you would not mind walking a bit with me,” Margaret suggested. “You need to move your legs, get the strength back into them.”

  “Ye sound more like Sorcha all the time,” he grumbled good-naturedly, but he wrapped his arm around her, and they walked side-by-side.

  It was so good. So right. No longer was there a wall between them. No secrets. She could enjoy his company with no regrets.

  Autumn was her favorite time of year, by far. The crispness of the air, so pure and clean, carrying the scent of pine and spruce to her as she walked with the man she loved. The sky was the special color blue it only was at that time of year, and the golden sunshine brought out bits of red in Padraig’s hair and beard when he turned to her and smiled.

  “I spoke to Rodric,” she whispered once she was certain they were alone. “About his moving back to the keep for the winter.”

  He groaned. “Ye did not.”

  “Why not? We had a moment together with no one else nearby. It seemed an ideal time.”

  He sighed. “I supposed I ought to accustom myself to such things. A lass, speaking for me.”

  She shrugged. “I will not do it again, if you prefer.”

  “I know how unlikely that is,” he snorted. “Now that ye already have, ye might as well tell me what he said.”

  “No. You do not approve of my speaking to him…”

  “Och, woman! I’ve been out of bed for less than twenty minutes, and you’ve already made me regret having done so.”

  One of the many things she loved about him was how easily she could stir him to righteous anger. He did not mean it, not truly, just as she did not mean to upset him. “Very well. I shall tell you, but just this once. He seemed agreeable.”

  Padraig’s mouth fell open. “What did ye say? Ye know how he’s railed against the idea ever since I first suggested it.”

  Suggested it? She bit back a smile. Padraig had all but ordered his brother to bring his family to the keep before the first snowfall. Little wonder Rodric had reacted in a rather angry manner.

  “I certainly did not shout at him as you did,” she murmured, patting his arm. “I reminded him that he is not the only person to consider. The children are who he ought to be concerned with. Not his pride.”

  Especially with Caitlin expecting again, which was something she would leave to Caitlin to reveal. Padraig loved the children so. He would be overjoyed for them.

  “Ye did not use those words.”

  “No, I did not—am I still alive and breathing?”

  He snorted. “We both know that means nothing. He would think twice before drawing ye into a fight.”

  “Perhaps,” she shrugged. “I would wait a few days before asking him again, if he does not bring it up with you first. He might know we have spoken of it otherwise.”

  “Are ye certain you’ve never been wed? Or raised bairns?”

  “I’m certain. Why do you ask?”

  “It simply seems to me that ye know how to manage a man’s life. Has Sorcha been telling ye how to behave?”

  This made her laugh. “Not as of late.”

  He sighed, staring off into the distance. “Ye shall make a good wife.”

  Her breath caught. Had she heard him correctly?

  He turned to her. “Is it a task ye feel ye may wish to take onto yourself? It will not be a simple thing. I know well that I am not easy to live with. I work well into the night and early in the morning. Ye might feel as though ye do not have enough of my time or attention.”

  She did not know what to say to this. He told the truth, she was certain, as she had seen enough of the way he lived to know.

  And yet she loved him.

  “Your life is not unknown to me,” she reminded him in a whisper. It seemed she could hardly breathe, as though a hand was clenching her throat. Yet there was no pain, no discomfort. Only a breathless joy.

  “And?”

  “And I still love you, Padraig Anderson.” She smiled through the tears which had begun to flow. “I love you very much. And I still wish to marry you.”

  “Do ye?” He sounded as though he could not believe it.

  Rather than speaking, she took his face in her hands and kissed him. Words simply would not do. She kissed him with all the love in her heart, all the gratitude she felt toward him for having changed her life.

  For he’d not needed to accept her into his house. Into his family. He’d not needed to keep her there once he began questioning her honesty. Somehow, he’d known she needed him.

  She kissed him for this and for everything else he’d given her.

  A chance at having a life.

  One question occurred to her, however, and she broke their kiss short. “What of the scroll you sent to the other lairds? Will they not be angry when they find that you intend to wed someone else entirely?”

  He frowned, his brow creasing. “The scroll?” Then, he laughed.

  “What is funny?”

  “I never sent it out, lass.” He linked his arms around her waist, drawing her close. “How could I when ye were in the world? How could I marry another woman, loving ye as I do? It would be unfair to her, to me. To you.”

  She blinked back fresh tears. “What of uniting your clan with another?”

  “Lass, I dinna need any such thing. I’m certain of it. I only need your love. With you beside me, I need nothing more.”

  He embraced her, drawing her close until her head rested against his chest.

  She decided it made the perfect pillow.

  Epilogue

  Margaret sat at the head of the long table, her husband beside her.

  Her husband.

  And those seated on either side, all the way down the length of the great hall, were her family. Her kin. Her clan.

  The wedding feast was the likes of which she’d never seen, not even when she had moved about in London society. It was a wonder the table did not break under the weight of the platters, bowls, candles, flowers.

  And it was for her and Padraig. All this grand food and drink and flowers so sweet they left her dizzy. For them.

  What a strange, wondrous thing.

  Moira and Caitlin spoke quietly, heads close, likely comparing how they were faring as both were with child. Caitlin, of course, was well acquainted with the process, while Moira had for once come up against a challenge she did not know how to manage.

  There was no fighting her way through this. But she glowed with happiness and pride, no less than her husband did.

  Ysmaine, too, had only just announced that she was with child. It would be a long winter there in the keep, with so much life growing all around them and so many proud husbands strutting about with their chests puffed out.

  She glanced at the man who’d been her husband for less than an hour and hoped she could do the same for him, and soon. He was in need of an heir, after all, but there was more than that. It would bring him happiness.

  He’d shown her she was capable of wanting to bring happiness to another.

  He’d shown her she was capable of bringing that happiness, as well.

  Just as Moira had shown her there was no shame in strength—fierceness, as Padraig liked
to call it. Caitlin and the others had shown her friendship for the first time in her life.

  Fiona, sitting halfway down the length of the table, had trusted her enough to fall asleep in her arms. She’d shown Margaret she was capable of tenderness, gentleness.

  Fergus proved it was possible for a husband to be proud of his wife’s strength and skill.

  Rodric, that it was possible to forgive past hurts and grow closer as a result.

  Sorcha, that she was worthy of concern and care.

  On and on, each of them. She owed all of them her life in some way.

  Not to mention Gabriella, who was beginning to come around, as Margaret had. It was easier for her, as she had someone to depend upon, someone to whom she might confess her misgivings. She was not alone.

  Now, she sat between Quinn and Moira’s brothers. The three of them kept her laughing merrily, until tears leaked from her eyes. Margaret could have kissed all three of the men for it.

  Padraig touched Margaret’s hand, beneath the table, and shared a secret smile while their guests talked and ate and drank. “Are ye happy?” he whispered.

  “I’ve never been so happy,” she confessed, meaning it with all her heart. “And you?”

  He looked down the length of the table, his eyes traveling over each person there to celebrate their marriage. She saw pride in his face, satisfaction. The knowledge that he’d built something worthwhile over the years after his brother’s passing—not only in the clan, but by accepting Rodric, Brice and the rest into his home. He had built a family which strengthened him, and this strengthened the clan.

  “Aye, lass,” he decided, squeezing her hand. “Aye, I am. Terribly so.”

  She leaned in, kissing his cheek before whispering in his ear. “It will only get better after today. I promise.”

  He smiled, turning his head to meet her gaze. The love she saw there took her breath away. “I intend to hold ye to it, lass.”

  Rodric raised his cup, and the rest of the table followed suit. “To the bride and groom. May ye be blessed with happiness, prosperity and many children.”

  “I believe I shall drink to that,” Padraig announced. “To that, and to Clan Anderson!”

  The room echoed with the reply from everyone at the table—Margaret included.

  “To Clan Anderson!”

  I hope you enjoyed A Highlander’s Woman!

  Aileen Adams has two more series! Be sure to check them out!

  Highlands Ever After and Highland Temptations

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  Copyright © 2018 by Aileen Adams

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