The Highlander's Woman (The Reckless Rockwoods #3)

by Monica Burns

  The

  Highlander’s

  Woman

  by

  Monica Burns

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.

  This digital book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This digital book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at monicaburns@monicaburns.com.

  Copyright © 2015 by Kathi B. Scearce

  ISBN 978-0-9862431-2-7

  Cover Design: Viviana Izzo, Enchantress Design & Promo

  Kathi B. Scearce DBA Monica Burns - Maroli SP Imprints

  P.O. Box 75072

  Richmond, VA 23236

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Publishing History

  Digital 1.0 edition / September 2015

  Acknowledgements

  * * *

  Thanks and endless gratitude to Viviana Izzo (Enchantress Design & Promo) for her awesome help in making this cover shine and all her marketing savvy, plus reminders for this addled brain of mine, along with the occasional kick in the butt, plus the fun late night conversations and those minion stickers on Facebook. You are truly awesome, Viviana.

  Special shout out to my awesome beta reader Kris Bloom, you are the anchor that keeps my ship from sailing south when I’m supposed to be going north, whether it’s sexual tension or overall plot. Your feedback is so valued. Thank you.

  Words of thanks and deep appreciation go out to Debbie Samson Fitts and Rhonda Kirby for using their eyes to do line edits for me. Ladies, you rock!

  Finally thank you to my RED HOTS for all you do for me. I love you all ladies, thanks so much for your help in spreading the word about my books.

  Author’s Note

  * * *

  The Gaelic terms of affection included in this

  work are derived from different sources, including

  Outlander Wiki and Dwelly's great Scots Gaelic - English dictionary

  mo leannan - Gaelic for sweetheart

  mo ghràdh - Gaelic for “my beloved” or “my love”

  a shùgh mo chridhe - Gaelic for “my dearest” or “my darling heart”

  mo chridhe - Gaelic for “my heart”

  Chapter 1

  * * *

  Late Spring 1897

  Lady Patience allowed her future brother-in-law to escort her onto the dance floor. She smiled as he glanced over his shoulder at her sister, Constance, and his grandmother, the Dowager Countess of Lyndham. With an imperialistic demeanor, the elderly lady had ordered Constance to sit with her while sending her grandson away to dance with Patience.

  “You mustn’t worry,” Patience said quietly. “My sister hasn’t the slightest idea what we’re up to. Your grandmother is playing her part beautifully.”

  “I’m beginning to regret agreeing to this deception,” Lucien Blakemore, Earl of Lyndham said with a growl. “Constance does not like to be manipulated.”

  “Do you love my sister, my lord?”

  “With every fiber of my being.” The intensity of emotion in his voice made Patience’s heart swell with happiness for her sister.

  “Then trust me,” Patience said softly. “Let your grandmother work her magic and all will be well. My sister loves you. She simply needs to know that you love her completely as she is. You do understand what that means.”

  “Yes,” he said with a sharp nod. “Without her gift, she wouldn’t be my Constance. The woman I fell in love with.”

  “I have no doubt that when you tell her that, she’ll believe you love her,” Patience said reassuringly.

  With a nod, the earl pulled her into his arms and twirled her out onto the dance floor with the other dancers. Over his shoulder, Patience saw her sister frown at something the dowager countess said. She laughed softly at her sister’s obstinate frown.

  “I like your grandmother very much, Lucien,” Patience said as she smiled up at her partner. “You don’t mind that I call you Lucien, do you? After all, we’re practically family.”

  “You’re quite confident about all of this,” he said with a small smile.

  “If I weren’t, I would never have approached you with this plan in the first place.” Patience laughed mischievously and over Lucien’s shoulder she saw her sister walking out of the ballroom with Lady Lyndham. She tapped her future brother-in-law on the shoulder.

  “The curtain is about to go up on the final act of our little performance. You’d best follow them now.” Lucien guided her off the dance floor and carried her hand up to his lips.

  “If this works, I’ll be forever in your debt.”

  “Yes, you will, and any Rockwood will assure you I always collect on my debts,” Patience said with another laugh. “Now go make my sister happy.”

  With a look of determination on his face, Lucien nodded then pushed his way through the crowd and out the door Constance and the dowager had passed through. Left behind, Patience stared after him feeling satisfied that she’d played a role in securing her sister’s happiness.

  She closed her eyes for a brief moment as she remembered her vision of Constance’s future happiness. It would be a long and happy one. Of all the Rockwood siblings, Patience was the most forthcoming about her gift. If there was anything people could say about her, it was that she was as eccentric as she was impulsive. Traits that indicated she was a true Rockwood.

  But it was her eccentricity that had put off suitors. The ones who had come calling had left as soon as they learned she had the ability to see things. Whether it was because she was simply different or that they envisioned her gift would allow her to spy on them, she had no idea. Over time she gave up caring and had made herself happy in her role as the spinster in the Rockwood family.

  All of that had changed when Julian had entered her life less than a year ago. He’d been neither put off by her impulsive mannerisms or her gift. The an dara sealladh, as Julian called it, was viewed as a gift by his countrymen. The thought of her husband, made Patience’s heart ache. He’d been in Scotland helping his father, the Crianlarich, for the past two months with estate business.

  Despite the multiple letters they shared each week, she missed him more with each passing day. Aunt Matilda had urged her to join Julian in Scotland, but Patience knew it would only make things difficult for them both. If she’d gone, her father-in-law would have ensured her stay was as unpleasant as possible. It would have also made things more contentious between Julian and his father.

  The Laird of Crianlarich had taken a dislike to her before she’d ever met him. Instead of taking a Scottish bride as his father had demanded, Julian had chosen her. Patience had been settled firmly on the shelf when Julian had entered her life. He’d p
ursued her relentlessly from the moment they met at a dinner party she’d accompanied Aunt Matilda to during a stay at Callendar Abbey.

  It had taken him only two weeks to propose and convince her to marry him. Just like their whirlwind courtship, their wedding had been accomplished in less than a month. Although Patience was certain Fergus MacTavish loved his son, the Crianlarich was a hard man. She knew that from experience. The man had almost refused to welcome her into the castle shortly after the wedding when Julian had taken her home to meet his father and sister.

  Like his father, Julian was incredibly stubborn. He’d threatened to leave Crianlarich Castle and never return if Fergus MacTavish didn’t welcome her as Julian’s bride. It was the ultimate testimony of her husband’s love for her. He’d chosen Patience over his father’s objections. But something deep inside said the Crianlarich’s vehement reservations had been because he questioned her suitability based on her age and her ability to bear a child.

  A vise wrapped itself around Patience’s heart. In less than a year of marriage she’d not been able to bear a son. Perhaps Fergus MacTavish was right. Marrying her might have been the worst thing Julian could ever have done. Suddenly feeling more alone than ever before, she released a sigh. While she had no desire to go home to a cold, empty bed, she had even less of a desire to remain here.

  Patience glanced around for the shortest, yet least sociable, path through the crowd to the ballroom exit. She’d taken only a few steps when a frisson brushed across the back of her neck and shoulders. It was like a cool summer breeze skimming across her skin. Confused by the sensation, she lightly touched the spot where her neck and shoulder met then turned her head to study the dancers leaving the dance floor.

  In a gentle wave of motion, the dancers parted, and her breath caught in her throat. From across the dance floor Patience met her husband’s dark gaze. Julian was here. But he hadn’t sent any word he was coming back to London today. Had he sensed her loneliness in her letters?

  Dressed in the formal Scottish attire that had been made popular by the Queen’s love of Scotland, her husband looked splendid. His strong, ruggedly beautiful, male features were drawing a great deal of attention, and Patience was warmed by the knowledge that Julian belonged to her and no other woman.

  He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze pinned on her as if he was a bird of prey and she was a small hare. It was a familiar, yet delicious, sensation where Julian was concerned. He was far too sure of himself to show jealousy. But if there was one thing her husband had always done well, it was to make certain other men knew she was his. It made her feel cherished and coveted.

  As they studied each other across the floor, Patience drank in the fine figure he made in his formal attire. She’d always enjoyed seeing her brothers wear the Stewart colors on formal occasions, but Julian had never just worn his kilts, he made the kilt wear him. Silver buttons adorned his dark blue Prince Charlie jacket and matching waistcoat, which were a stark contrast to his crisply starched white shirt and black tie.

  The formal, waist-length jacket lovingly embraced the breadth of him, while an elegant fly plaid was draped over the back of his left shoulder. It was held in place by the large silver brooch his mother had given him when he was a child. He wore the dark-red tartan of the MacTavish clan, and the sporran attached to his kilt hung just below his waist, while the kilt brushed the top of his bare knees.

  Black hose covered strong, muscular calves, and short tails of material known as flashes were tucked under the top of the hose to brush the sides of his legs. Patience’s heart skipped a beat as she remembered how her legs had often tangled with his when they’d made love. Desire spiraled through her as she stared at her husband.

  Dark hair fell carelessly across his brow giving him the appearance of a man who cared little for what others thought. His sharp, angular features were those of a proud, arrogant Highlander, which his stance emphasized. In another era, he could have easily passed for a fierce, warrior Scotsman.

  Excitement fluttered through her as Julian slowly made his way toward her. Mesmerized, Patience stood frozen as his gaze never left hers. Music filled the air as he stopped in front of her and offered his hand to her. He didn’t say a word. Strong and masculine, his hand was fully capable of crushing hers, but it had only ever been used in tenderness with her. Obediently, she placed her hand in his.

  The instant she did so, the wave of heat rolling over her made her draw in a sharp breath. His gaze immediately narrowed, and a small smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. God, how she’d missed him. In silence, he pulled her into his arms and swung her out onto the dance floor.

  Mere inches separated them, and Patience breathed in his crisp pine scent. It reminded her of the woods at her aunt’s estate in Scotland. It was the smell of the outdoors, and it was a heady aroma. Strength radiated off of him, and she stumbled slightly. He immediately pulled her close, his arm hard and solid around her waist.

  “Are you the same Lady Patience that is married to that scoundrel Julian MacTavish?” The softly spoken question reverberated with humor, and Patience arched her eyebrows at him.

  “I am indeed, sir,” she said. “And what of it, might I ask?”

  “I’ve heard he has been neglecting his wife.”

  “I had heard that rumor as well, sir.” Patience schooled her features into a serious expression and nodded. “Do you suppose he intends to remedy that woeful situation?”

  “Aye, that he does.” A wicked gleam in his eye, Julian smiled. “How can he no’, when he’s married to the most beautiful woman in the room.”

  “With words like that, I think MacTavish will find his wife eager for him to correct such a deplorable state of marital bliss.” She laughed as she met his mischievous gaze, and his mouth curved into a sinful smile.

  “And what types of pleasure do you think MacTavish’s wife would enjoy the most?” Julian’s brogue whispered against her skin like a wisp of heather from the highlands.

  “As I recall, there is one particular pleasure she likes very much. Of course, it does require one to remove their clothes.” Patience looked up at him innocently then smiled as his eyes darkened with desire.

  “You are a sassy wench, Lady Patience. I will remember that when we get home.”

  Julian swung her around the dance floor, and she basked in the heat of his passionate gaze. A bolt of desire sliced through her as she imagined herself entwined in his arms once they were home. Patience’s body grew warm at the delightful images flowing through her mind, but in the next instant, her happiness was overwhelmed by fear and confusion.

  Wheels from an overturned carriage spun wildly in the air before fire and smoke surrounded her. No matter what direction she moved, the smoke made it difficult to breathe while flames painfully seared her skin. As the fire raged around her, she tried to find a way out, but she couldn’t move.

  Suddenly the flames were gone, and in their place was the image of her arm and face covered with horrific scars and mottled flesh. Frightened by the terrible image, Patience gasped as a chill wrapped itself around her and the images receded into the background.

  “Patience. What is it a shùgh mo chridhe?” Julian’s voice was rough with concern as he stared down at her. “Tell me what you see.”

  “What?” she whispered in a state of bewilderment.

  Someplace deep inside she noted that even with a frown of worry on his face, her husband was still devastating to the senses. As her bemusement slowly faded, she regained her focus on her surroundings. Suddenly, she realized Julian was literally carrying most of her weight as he continued to twirl her around the dance floor.

  “You must put me down, Julian. Someone will think something is amiss.”

  “That is stating the obvious, my bonnie lass,” he said in a grim voice. “But I think it better we leave the floor rather than me setting you on your feet and you tumbling to the floor.”

  “Yes,” she said hoarsely. “I think you’re
right.”

  With two more graceful turns, Julian maneuvered them close to one of the open doors leading out onto the terrace. As they reached the edge of the dance floor, Julian set Patience on the floor in a fluid movement that disguised the fact that he’d been carrying her throughout the dance. His arm still wrapped around her waist, he held her close so she could lean against his side. The moment they merged into the throng congregating around the dance floor, several people expressed concern for her. With a polite, yet firm manner, Julian brushed their fears aside as he guided Patience toward the door leading into the dark.

  Even the cool air on her face did little to make her feel better. It was far too reminiscent of the icy cold that had engulfed her as her vision had faded. With a small sound of dismay, she glanced down at her arm as she remembered the mottled skin she’d seen on her arm and face. She was no more vain than the next person when it came to being badly scarred. But it was the pain one would have to suffer for such horrible scars she had no desire to endure.

  “It will soon pass, mo leannan,” he whispered against her brow as he guided her toward the outer edges of the walled terrace that overlooked the gardens.

  Patience loved hearing him call her sweetheart in Gaelic. It was a soothing sound that warmed and reassured her that she was safe with Julian at her side. With a nod, she breathed the cool air into her lungs as the weakness and disorientation that always accompanied her visions began to ebb away.

  When they reached the waist-high wall that bordered the terrace, Julian slowly withdrew his support while ensuring she wouldn’t collapse at his feet. Without thinking, Patience stared down at her arm once more, fully expecting to see scarred tissue. The untouched skin made her drag in a breath of relief.

  “Tell me what the an dara sealladh, showed you, mo leannan.” His brogue gained strength as the Gaelic rolled off his tongue. From the moment they’d met, Julian had only to speak and she was putty in his hands. She shook her head.