"So Dungald was the true heir?" Kara said in disbelief.
Ian squeezed her hand.
"Nae." Anne gave a laugh. "Were that the truth, do ye think I would be here now, dearie?" She smiled sadly. "Nae, the truth is far more complicated than that. You see, when I gave birth to Harry, that was the second time Richard and I had been married."
Another gasp rose among the clansmen.
Kara could do nothing but stare and hold tightly to Ian's hand.
"Richard and I were married when we were still young. We were in love; we ran away and married secretly and conceived a child. But our parents discovered us, dragged us home and had the marriage annulled. We were each meant for another and quickly married off and sent to the far corners of Scotland so that we might never see each other again."
Kara felt numb, numb to her toes.
Anne continued. "I gave birth to a boy thirty-six years ago this fall."
A strange tickle ran down Kara's spine. Ian's birthday was in the fall; everyone knew that. He would be thirty-six.
"My new husband and I named the boy Ian. No one knew the child was Richard's, not even my dim-witted husband. Richard married his intended and a few years later she gave birth to William." She smiled, her thoughts seeming to grow distant. "Years passed and Richard and I, though married to others, kept our love for each other burning in our hearts." She clasped her hands. "We prayed we would someday be together again."
She took a breath, letting the tale told thus far sink in. "As proof that God is truly good, we were eventually able to wed again after my husband passed away, as well as Richard's wife. Richard, the Earl of Dunnane, was so good to Ian because he knew he was the son he could never claim."
Kara squeezed Ian's hand, but he did not look at her. He was staring at his mother. "Go on," he said softly.
"I was old to bear a child, but when I became pregnant I was so thrilled. Richard was so thrilled! A son we could claim together! But the baby died." A single tear slipped down Anne's smooth cheek, but she let it fall. "I couldn't disappoint him, not after all we'd been through. So Father brought me a crofter's baby under the cover of night and switched my dead child for a healthy boy. We named him Harailt. William, from his first "official" marriage, was still the legitimate heir to Dunnane, but we had our Harry."
Anne paused, taking a deep breath. For the first time Kara saw tears in the older woman's eyes. "Then our love began to drift... die. I don't know why, maybe because we had been through too much. Harry and I went to Edinburgh to live and Richard went about his business. William was his eldest, his true heir anyway."
"So when I was betrothed to the Earl of Dunnane's heir, I should have been—"
"Betrothed to me," Ian said, turning slowly to meet her gaze.
Kara's eyes filled with tears. Tears of joy, tears of sadness.
"What does this mean?" someone dared ask.
"Aye, what does it all mean?" another clansman questioned.
"It means," Mother Anne said quietly, "that I have the documentation, I have a witness, to swear these events to be true. It means that Ian Munroe is actually Ian Gordon, the Earl of Dunnane. It means," she said, turning her gaze to her son, "that Ian Gordon, the Earl of Dunnane, is not a blood relative to the boy we will bury today. It means that if he wishes, he may now legally wed this widow who has captured our hearts."
For a moment Kara was too stunned to breathe.
Ian leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers, his dark eyes locked with hers. "It means ye and I, hinny, shall live happily ever after, forevermore."
Epilogue
Dunnane Castle August
Three years later
"Ian? Ian, are you out here?" Wiping her hands on the apron tied around her waist, Kara entered the walled garden beneath the trellis of green vines and white flowers. She could hear little Harry's trill of laughter and the rumble of Ian's voice. They had to be here somewhere. "Ian?"
"Here. In the back."
Kara heard more childish giggles and shushing. Then the distinct sound of splashing water.
"Ian Munroe Gordon!" Kara said, coming around the turn in the stone path. She halted as she planted her hands on her hips.
Three-year-old, red-haired Harry stood naked, waist-deep in the stone fountain, his father seated beside him, fully dressed. Harry squealed with laughter and covered his face with his chubby hands. "I tol' ye, Papa, she would come and catch us," he bubbled, hiding.
"What do you think you are doing?"
Ian glanced up innocently. "Doing, wife?"
"Aye." She took a step closer in disbelief, fighting the smile that pulled at her lips. "What are ye doing in Grandma Anne's Italian fountain?"
"Nothing," Ian said.
"Nufing," Harry echoed impishly, lowering his hands.
"Ye look like ye must be doing something." Kara gestured.
Ian looked at Harry. Little Harry looked at his father, and both of her men burst into laughter again.
Kara strode toward the fountain, feigning as much anger as she could muster, laughing at the same time. "Get yourself from that fountain, Master Harry, before you catch your death!" She whipped off her apron.
"We was hot," Harry said, not in the least bit afraid of his mother's wrath.
Kara reached out and plucked her naked son from the running fountain and wrapped him in her apron. As she set him on his feet and tightened the cloth around his little shoulders she pressed a kiss to his wet head. "Run inside and have Isla find you some dry clothes," she told him.
The little boy nodded. "Aye, Mama." Then he turned to look over his shoulder at his father.
Ian winked. "Do as she bids afore we're both in trouble, son."
The boy nodded, then turned back to his mother. "Can I play with James when I'm dressed?"
"You may play with the monkey after you are dressed. Now go." Kara pointed.
Harry ran down the stone path toward the yett, leaving his parents alone in the garden.
"So." Kara crossed her arms over her chest, turning her attention back to her husband in the fountain.
Ian had drawn his legs up to rest his arms on his knees. A smile twitched on his broad, handsome face. "So..."
She took a step closer to the fountain, grinning. "You are supposed to be teaching your son proper behavior."
He gazed virtuously at his surroundings. The fountain bubbled and water swirled around him. Water poured from the cherub statue's pail in the center of the fountain, into the main reservoir, making a pleasant splashing sound. The sun shone on his back and the air smelled richly of late summer flowers.
He lifted an eyebrow. "This is not proper behavior?"
"Not for the next Earl of Dunnane, nae!" She reached into the fountain and splashed water at him.
His gaze met hers, his smile warm now, rather than playful. "I like the sound of that. Harailt Ian Gordon, the next Earl of Dunnane."
"I like it, too." She hugged herself, unable to tear her gaze from her husband's.
After Harry and Dungald had died, after Mother Anne had told the truth of the whole blessed mess, Kara had still feared Ian would not be able to claim their son. But between the annulment of her marriage to Harry and the power of the Dunnane earldom, all had been legally settled. Ian had been installed as the rightful earl and little Harry was declared Ian's legitimate son, and the next Earl of Dunnane.
For a moment they were both silent, appreciating all they had. Acknowledging what they had lost. Even after more than three years they both still missed Harry so much.
Then Ian flipped his hand, splashing Kara with water, breaking the spell.
She laughed and splashed him, trying to step away from the fountain before he splashed her again. But he was too quick for her. One moment she was standing in the grass before the impressive fountain; the next moment he was pulling her over the side into the cold water.
"Ian!" Kara shrieked. "It's cold! Let me go!"
He sat down in the water, pulling her onto his lap, t
rapping her. "Kiss me," he said. "Kiss me or I'll push you under." He leaned her back until her hair dipped into the water.
She laughed, looping her arms around his neck, so happy that she thought she might burst. "I'm cold."
"Kiss me and I will warm ye."
She looked up into his dark brown eyes, remembering the first time she had really noticed them, her first wedding night, in Harry's bedchamber, when he had come to her rescue. She still saw the same compassion, but now she saw love. Love for her, for their son, for the life they had fought for within the walls of Dunnane.
"Kiss you?" she whispered saucily. "I believe I can do even better than that, my lord."
He pressed his mouth to hers. "I love ye, Kara," he whispered against her lips. "Forever and always."
Ever and always.
The End
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Missed the first book in this series?
Here's an excerpt from
HIGHLAND LADY
The Scottish Fire Series
Book One
~
Highlands of Scotland, 1314
Munro raised sword to meet the nearest surging opponent. To his shock, he met not the eyes of a fierce Scot warrior, but ones of glimmering green and entirely female.
Munro was uncertain as to what happened next. Did he hesitate a split hair of a second? Did someone strike from behind?
Their swords clashed as the female Valkyrie bore down on him, demanding surrender. Munro lost his balance upon the impact of steel and horseflesh and tumbled from his mount.
Next thing he knew, he was on his back, gazing upward from the tall grass into the angry green eyes of the heir to Dunblane.
"M'lady." Munro flashed his most charming smile. He had heard tales of Dunblane's heir. Nae, not heard tales, but rather been warned. They said she thought herself manly and carried herself so. They said she rode and lifted a broadsword as fiercely as anyone wearing a codpiece. They said that with one bellowing order she could reduce a grown man to a quivering mass of jelly.
They had not told Munro that she was beautiful.
It was difficult to tell by the drape of Elen of Dunblane's boy's tunic and skinned bare knees just what body form lay beneath the dusty wool, but her face... her face was that of an angel. Fiery red-blond strands of hair escaped from a man's wool bonnet upon her head. She had high cheekbones that had pinkened with the flush of fighting. Her eyes were a deep green with flecks of brown, just now nearly flaming with her anger. And her lips... her lips were as rosy as any he had kissed in any dream.
The lady of Dunblane did not bat an eye. "My lord..." She drew out the last syllable with thick sarcasm.
"Fair Elen, daughter of Sir Burnard, I take it?" he asked, still grinning, though his back was throbbing from the fall he had taken from his pony.
"Aye, and ye must be Lord Rancoff."
"Please, my Christian name. I am called Munro to those who love me." He grinned devilishly as he eyed the tip of the sword she pressed to his breast. "And to those who would see me on a pike."
The corner of her mouth nearly turned up with amusement. Nearly. "Give my sister back."
He lifted a brow. "If only ye would allow me to roll on my side, I could pull her from the pocket that swings at my waist."
She was not amused.
"She's been kidnapped and brought here. Giver her back." She gave a push with her sword for emphasis.
Munro flinched. The damned tip of her steel had cut his new shirt.
"I know naught of your sister. Now let me up, ere I embarrass ye in front of your men by wrestling ye to the ground."
She laughed and stepped back. "Truss him and throw him o'er Finley's mount," she ordered. "We'll take the stags, too, and sup well tonight. We will talk further at Dunblane, where it will be more commodious." She gazed down at him as her men fell upon him. "We'll talk again, Munro of Rancoff. Once you're settled in my oubliette."
~
To purchase
Highland Lady
from your favorite eBook Retailer,
visit Colleen French's eBook Discovery Author Page
www.ebookdiscovery.com/ColleenFrench
~
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Colleen French has been selling and publishing books under various pseudonyms for more than twenty-five years, and sold her first novel at the age of 23. With over 130 titles and 5 million books in print, she's written mysteries, suspense, historical romances and contemporary romances worldwide, and has been published in French, German, Bulgarian, Dutch and Chinese. While she's written in many genres, her roots and her first love will always be in romance.
Writing seems to be in her genes. She's the daughter of best-selling author Judith E. French and grew up listening to the sound of her mother's typewriter late at night. When not writing, Colleen likes to read a good book on the beach. She can be reached at [email protected] or on Facebook.
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