“What is…this?” Kenna knotted her fists against her middle, willing her voice to remain steady and strong.
Colum eased toward her, his movements slow and sensual, obviously calculated to increase her pulse rate exponentially. Kenna hitched in a shaking breath and wet her lips. “What is this, Colum?”
The faintest of smiles lifted the corners of his mouth as Colum lowered himself to kneel in front of her. He slid his hands around hers, gently cupping her fingers within his own. “ ‘This’ is what a man does when he’s acted the fool for entirely too long.” Colum paused and pressed a kiss to her trembling fingers, then lifted his gaze to meet hers. “ ‘This’ is what a man does when he finally comes to his senses and seeks to set things right by claimin’ the most precious woman he’s e’er known.”
Tears burned in her eyes, threatening to overflow if she didn’t blink them away. Kenna swallowed hard, her heart so full, speech was not possible.
“Say it, m’love.” Colum pressed another kiss to the tops of her fingers, his lips soft and warm. “Say ye will take me as yer husband even though ye ken I’m a prideful, hardheaded fool.”
“I will,” Kenna whispered as the tears won the battle and spilled down her cheeks.
Colum slowly rose and cupped her upturned face between his hands. With the gentlest of touches, he wiped away the tears and pressed a kiss to each of her eyelids. “Dinna cry, sweet love,” he whispered. “Please dinna cry.”
“Happy tears.” Kenna sniffed and smiled as she covered his hands with her own. “I promise, they’re happy tears.”
Colum nodded, stepped to her side, and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “Come. Let us pledge our joining before the gods, kith, and kin so nothin’ in this world or beyond can ever part us again.”
“Aye,” Kenna replied with a happy sigh as they turned toward the reflecting pool. “So mote it be.”
Epilogue
THIRTEENTH-CENTURY SCOTLAND—A LITTLE OVER TWO YEARS LATER
Kenna shoved another chunk of wood on the fire, then took the iron poker and pushed it deeper into the flames. “We’ll have a good bed of coals in no time. I can’t wait to hear how the girls are adjusting to Edinburgh. It’s been over six months since they left Kentucky.”
“With Eliza at the helm, I’m sure they’ve taken the city by storm. Edinburgh will most likely never be the same.” Granny smiled down at the sleepy-eyed cat curled up beside her on the pillowed bench. She smoothed a hand down Kismet’s rich black coat, ending the affectionate stroke by slipping the cat’s lightly flipping tail through her knobby fingers. “Lilia should do quite well there with the line of natural cosmetics she’s developed. Twenty-first-century Edinburgh should welcome her with open arms.”
“And Mairi has her degree now, so she shouldn’t have any trouble landing a job in medicine.” Kenna added a few smaller sticks to the fire, adjusted their placement with the poker, then joined Granny on the bench. “I hope she’s careful about healing people, though. It won’t take much for folks to catch on to her abilities if she heals someone normal medicine can’t help.”
Granny smiled, staring down into the flickering yellow flames as if watching something a great deal more intriguing than burning wood. “That won’t be an issue. It’s nearly Mairi’s time to join us.” She blinked as though waking from a daze, then turned to Kenna. “Mairi’s meant for Ronan.”
“Ronan?” An uneasy feeling rippled through Kenna, stirring her already nauseous state closer to spewing level. Pregnancy had turned out to be just as adept at making her queasy as jumping through time’s version of motion sickness. A sip of cool spring water laced with crushed peppermint leaves helped ease the nausea. Kenna balanced the tankard atop the small swell of her stomach, cupping it between her hands. “Are you sure she’s meant for Ronan?”
“Quite sure.” Granny nodded. She pulled her gaze away from the crackling fire and faced Kenna. “Speak your mind, child. I know that tone. What’s troubling you about your sister’s match?”
Kenna worried her thumb along the rim of the mug. How could she explain to Granny what she wasn’t really sure of herself? “Ronan’s nice. An honorable man. But he’s…different.”
“Different?”
Another sip of water and a deep inhale of the peppermint fumes fortified her resolve. “He…” How the hell could she tell Granny that the man thought his mother was a wolf and that he was capable of growling just like one of the wild woolly beasts? Not to mention what Colum had told her he’d seen on the day he’d challenged Ronan to the duel. Colum swore that not only had the man been carrying on a conversation with a wolf, but that some scaly creature Colum swore looked like a dragon had been in on the visit as well.
“Spit it out, Kenna. I’m too weary to attempt to read your thoughts. Chloe and her owl kept Kismet and me quite busy today.” Granny continued stroking Kismet, the black cat’s contented purring rumbling through the relaxing glow of the room, lit only by the fire in the hearth and a single taper on the table.
“He thinks his mother is a wolf, and apparently the two of them are also quite close to what appears to be a dragon. I saw the wolf while we were bringing Colum back here to be healed, and Colum swears he saw both the wolf and the dragon on the day he challenged Ronan. Even his men mentioned some sort of fierce beast when I planted a vision of a three-headed dragon in their minds.” Kenna waved her mug through the air to emphasize her words. “And Coira even heard talk of a curse. Isn’t there someone more normal we could get for Mairi?”
“A debt must be paid.” Granny stared sadly down at the fire, her hand stilling atop Kismet’s side, her fingers laced in the cat’s plush black fur. “Tia brought shame upon our house.” Granny’s voice fell to a whisper. “Mairi will set things right.”
“Tia?” The room suddenly seemed colder, the cheerful glow less bright. It had been ages since Granny had spoken of wicked Aunt Tia, Granny’s twin sister.
“In a fit of jealousy, Tia worked a spell, a vile curse that included as one of its victims an innocent—an unborn child.” Granny released a heavy sigh. “Ronan was that child.”
Kenna took another sip of water, then slid the mug onto the table beside her. She hated to ask, hated to push Granny, but she had to know. “What was the curse?”
Granny seemed to grow a bit paler as she stared unblinking into the fire. “The Fates gave me but a glimpse into Ronan’s history, into the extent of the curse, after he’d kidnapped you and disappeared into the Highlands. They showed me just enough so I could see and understand why he meant you no harm, and was in fact meant for Mairi.” She shuddered in a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. “Immortality is Ronan’s curse, as well as the ability to assume the form of his birth.” Granny shrugged her wrap closer about her shoulders. Her voice grew softer, almost as if she was talking to herself. “But he only changes when the need arises.”
“By ‘changes,’ you mean he assumes the form of his birth?”
Granny nodded. “Yes. Ronan Sutherland was born a wolf, and when he wishes to once again take on the form of a wolf, he can return.”
Kenna stared at Granny, struggling to make sense of what she’d just shared. “He turns into a wolf?”
Granny nodded.
“And he’s immortal?”
“Yes.”
Kenna frowned at the fire, doing her damnedest to make sense of the whole situation. What an absolute mess. And it was about to be dropped right in poor Mairi’s lap. “So…where does the dragon come in?”
Granny shrugged and resumed the scratching of Kismet’s ears. The cat’s eyes narrowed to golden slits and her whiskers flared forward in a feline expression of ecstasy. “The Fates didn’t see fit to explain Ronan’s dragon. That’s for Mairi to discover.”
“Oh, I’m sure she’ll be thrilled about that.”
Granny chuckled. “I’m sure she will be too.”
To all those who were ever told “you can’t”—yes, YOU CAN!
BY MAEVE GREYSON
Highland Hearts
My Highland Lover
My Highland Bride
My Tempting Highlander (coming soon)
PHOTO: CHRISTA SULLIVAN
No one has the power to shatter your dreams unless you give it to them. That’s MAEVE GREYSON’s mantra. When she’s not working at the steel mill, Greyson is writing romances about sexy Highlanders and the women who tame them. Tucked away in a five-acre wood, Maeve listens to the wind singing through the trees and hears her characters telling their stories. Her work is proofed by her sharp-eyed dog, Jasper, and her greatest supporter is her long-suffering husband of over thirty-five years, who’s learned not to throw away any odd sticky notes filled with strange phrases.
maevegreyson.com
Facebook.com/AuthorMaeveGreyson
@maevegreyson
The Editor’s Corner
It’s time to go back to school and feed your reader with these fabulous Loveswept romances….
In Laura Marie Altom’s scorching new novel, The Escort, a broken heart pushes a rugged loner to the breaking point—until a not-so-innocent affair changes everything. New York Times bestselling author Kathy Clark keeps the heat on with Deep Night, as two adrenaline junkies find themselves fighting unexpected passion—and unspeakable terror. New York Times bestselling author Missy Johnson’s Code of Honor asks a burning question: What happens when love is undeniable—and taboo? And USA Today bestselling author Lauren Layne’s Blurred Lines delivers a sexy take on the timeless question: Can a guy and a girl really be “just friends”?
Sidney Halston’s scorching new MMA romance Laid Out, proves there are no holds barred when it comes to seduction. In A Fashionable Indulgence, the first novel of an explosive new series from K. J. Charles, a young gentleman and his elegant mentor fight for love in a world of wealth, power, and manipulation. Then meet Megan Crane’s Deacons of Bourbon Street, bad-boy bikers who are hell on wheels—and heaven between the sheets in Make You Burn. New York Times bestselling author Jacquelyn Frank returns with Nightwalker, a pulse-pounding installment in the Nightwalker series. And perfect for Highlander fans, My Highland Bride is where Southern sass meets Highland heat in Maeve Greyson’s scintillating new Highland Hearts romance.
New in Flirt is Just a Little Kiss, the next novel of Renita Pizzitola’s Crush series. Felicity knows that “Summer Boys” are only good for one thing. But what if hooking up with the right guy could lead to a fresh start?
There you have it—until next month, when September is the month to fall in love all over again, with Loveswept.
Happy Romance!
Gina Wachtel
Associate Publisher
Read on for an excerpt from
My Tempting Highlander
by Maeve Greyson
Available from Loveswept
Chapter 1
“Leave off, Graham. I didna ask yer opinion. The last time ye nettled me into seekin’ a wife from among the Sinclair women…” Ronan Sutherland shook his head and didna bother finishing that sentence. Instead, he ground his teeth at the unpleasant memory. What an ill-fated venture that had been, and Graham damn well knew the truth of it.
“That wasna m’fault.” Twin curlicues of faint white smoke spiraled up from each of Graham’s glistening nostrils. “Ye ken verra well the severity of the head cold I suffered that season. ’Tis damn nigh impossible to achieve true clarity within a dragon mist vision when one’s head is befuddled by snot while trapped in that accursed form.”
A dragon with a head cold. Ronan snorted at the memory, his huffing breath misting in the cold morning air. Dragon by day. Man by night. Aye and for certain, Graham the man had been uncharacteristically ill that spring. Therefore, Graham the dragon hadna faired so well either. His fiery sneezes had nearly decimated the southern tower and half the skirting wall surrounding Draegonmare fortress.
They’d finally been forced to relocate the ailing dragon. They’d moved him to the stretch of caves running the length of the western shoreline of the loch. The loch that formed the center of this mist-shrouded land that had been hidden from prying eyes for centuries by a witch’s curse. Raw stone and the deep trench of icy loch water were among the few elements able to survive Graham’s uncontrolled blasts.
“And ye fail to remember,” Graham continued in a wounded tone. “I ne’er told ye to choose the one ye called Mistress Kenna. Ye can thank the fickleness of yer own second sight for that wee mess ye got yerself into. Ye wouldna listen. Ye were stubborn as a lad, and ye’ve no’ changed a whit o’er the past three centuries. But now we both ken the correct path. ’Tis been confirmed by the old Sinclair woman herself. Hell’s fire, man. Her invitation was more a summons than a request. I dinna ken why yer no’ willin’ t’take it so we can both be rid of this wretched existence.”
Ronan palmed the partially carved knot of pine in one hand until it rolled to the perfect angle. Steadying his blade with the ball of his thumb, he peeled away another thin sliver of the pale fragrant wood. He was in no mood to revisit the subject of choosing another wife for what seemed like the hundredth time. Graham had worn that discussion ragged.
The only way he’d briefly silenced the nattering bastard was when he’d threatened Graham with a century of solitude by telling the dragon he was going to travel to Ireland to escape his incessant caterwauling. Ronan knew this was the only effective threat for Graham. After all, the curse also bound Graham to the sea. The only way the dragon could venture farther than the mists surrounding the lands of Draegonmare was to access the sea through the ancient tunnels hidden in the depths of Loch Ness.
Once past the protective barrier of the mists, Graham had to remain in the briny water—whether in human shape or dragon form. ’Twas nay a problem during the daylight whilst he was the beast, but ’twas damned uncomfortable in the chill of the night as the man.
The great sulking beast had promptly clamped his scaly jaws shut and submerged into the darkest depths of the waters. He’d risen only when the setting of the sun returned him to human form. Then Graham the man, horse trainer to Ronan’s father and lifelong mentor to Ronan, had stomped up and down the rocky strand beside the lapping water, silent as a church mouse and sullen as a jilted maid.
The curse bound Graham to Ronan, but an even stronger connection joined the two. The men had formed a precious brotherhood after surviving so many centuries together. By the witch’s words, Graham was the only human privy to Ronan’s beginnings, allowed to witness the birth of the cursed child—the child born as a wolf cub to the king’s leman after she had been cursed into the form of a wolf. The dragon Graham guarded the wolf and her pup by day, as did the man Graham watch over them at night. When the stirrings of manhood and the need to mate forced Ronan into human form, it was Graham who taught him the ways of man.
Ronan had enjoyed that rare bit of peace from Graham’s insistent nagging. But then the summons from MacKenna keep had stirred Graham’s kettle of chaos back to bubbling. The MacKenna emblem, alongside another sigil Ronan didna recognize, sealed the yellowed parchment square with two blood red circles of wax. As soon as he’d opened the message and read the single line, Ronan knew the owner of the second mark: Mother Sinclair—matriarch and unrelenting force of the time-traveling women who’d united with Clan MacKenna. Her words still sent an ominous shiver up his spine and stood his hackles on end.
“It is time.”
Three simple words, but Ronan had known their meaning immediately: If he wished to finally break the curse, ’twas time to return to MacKenna keep.
Ronan rolled the tension from his shoulders and turned his attention back to his carving. He wasna ready to battle the ancient witch’s damning powers again. Thrice, he’d attempted to break the curse. Three times, he’d lost. He needed distance from it. He needed peace. After all, since the curse rendered him immortal, ’twas nay as though he risked running out of time.
Perhaps if the quest were ignored for a bit, Graham’s attention might be swayed from th
e matter entirely. Winter would be full upon them soon; ’twas no time to consider travel. Ronan affectionately clapped a hand on Graham’s cold scaly side. “Mayhap when spring warms the land, I’ll consider a visit to MacKenna keep.” Ronan meandered closer to the mouth of the cave, lightly running his hand along the rough ridges of Graham’s back. “And I ken yer no’ to blame for m’poor choices of the past. But I weary of the hunt for a proper lady to free us from this fate.”
Ronan propped against a stone ledge and smiled down at the carved dragon in his hands. “Perhaps yer breath is the only element capable of adding a bit of warmth to this hidden part of the Highlands. Perhaps ’tis better for us to move forward and embrace this existence we already have and know.”
“I would be finished with this damnedable curse. I would be finished with this existence.” Graham grunted and grumbled through a jaw-cracking yawn as he resettled his wings, then flopped his scaled length along the edge of the stone ledge. His massive girth squirmed down into the debris littering the wide limestone shelf jutting out from the cave. Twin clouds of smoke huffed from each nostril as he propped his multihorned muzzle atop his claws. “Thanks to yer father’s witch of a wife, yer cursed to spend eternity seeking a healer for yer sorrows and I’m cursed to walk along beside ye like some scaly, oversized pet during the day and yer damned footman by night.” Graham licked out his forked tongue, snapping at a cloud of buzzing midges circling too close to his snout. “I hope that woman’s roasting in the hottest corner of hell for coming up with this ridiculous form of a winged lizard that most dinna believe exists.”
My Highland Bride (Highland Hearts #2) Page 27
