Joanna's Highlander

by Greyson, Maeve

  Joanna rose from the front seat and sidled into the aisle. Icy fear clutched her heart and squeezed, making it impossible to breathe as she bent and looked out the windshield. She sagged against the steel pole curving around the driver’s seat and didn’t bother fighting the tears any longer.

  Neither Grant nor the horse moved. They remained in the middle of the road. Waiting. Grant stared at the bus with a murderous scowl and lifted his hammer.

  “Open the door!” She pounded on the steel pole. “Open the damn door,” she repeated with a firm shake of the driver’s shoulder to break him free of his stupor.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled, never taking his eyes off the strange sight blocking the road.

  Joanna bounded down the steps and ran to Grant. She came to a halt within a few feet of him, suddenly at a loss for words. What the hell would she do if he didn’t forgive her and take her back? She reached inside her shirt and fished out the MacDara brooch she’d fastened to a ribbon and worn every day since the minute Grant had given it to her. She cupped it in her hand, sent up a silent prayer, then pressed a kiss to the colorful stone before letting it fall back on her shirt in full view.

  “Grant…” What could she say? Better yet—what should she say?

  “Aye?” Grant slowly lowered his hammer and rested it atop one bulging thigh.

  She moved a few steps closer, swiping the tears off her cheeks. She chewed on her bottom lip, wishing like hell she could figure out exactly what Grant was thinking so she’d know what to say. Finally, she gave up. Either he’d forgive her or he wouldn’t. She pressed her hand on top of the engagement pin hanging between her breasts.

  “Grant,” she started again as she walked toward him. “Grant, can I please come home?”

  Grant’s eyes flared wider the barest bit, but just enough for her to notice. The fingers of the hand he had resting on the lip of his saddle flexed open then slowly curled into a fist.

  “Home?” he repeated. “You?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Home.”

  “How long?”

  “Forever.”

  Grant didn’t answer, just stared at her with an unreadable expression for what seemed like an eternity.

  “Please,” she whispered in an even quieter voice that she doubted he could hear.

  In one smooth motion, Grant dismounted and stood in front of her. Hesitantly, he drew her close, slid one finger under her chin, then gently but firmly lifted. “Forever? Ye swear it t’me?”

  Joanna reached up and cupped his face, rubbing her thumb across the overgrown stubble shadowing his cheek. “I swear it. There’s not a thing on earth that will ever make me leave you again. No job. No amount of money. Nothing.” She sniffed, blinking fast as the tears started again. “I’m so sorry that I was such a fool. Please let me come home.”

  Grant answered with a kiss.

  Cheers erupted from every window of the bus. The driver honked the horn and flashed the lights.

  Joanna tucked her head to Grant’s chest, then wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed. “Take me home, Grant.”

  “Gladly,” he said as he swept her up into his arms, placed her at the front of the saddle, then took his place behind her. He wrapped an arm around her waist and snugged her back against him. Leaning forward, he pressed his mouth close to her ear and whispered, “One more thing, lass, t’seal the bargain. No more condoms, aye?”

  “Aye,” she laughed. “No more condoms.”

  Epilogue

  “Unfasten it. I can’t breathe.” Joanna held tight to the bedpost while Lucia unhooked the dress of the lightest ecru lace that had fit quite nicely just four short weeks ago. Apparently, the breast-milk fairy had outdone herself with the magical boob-growing wand and her stomach was already developing a slight baby bump, rendering the lovely fitted dress of lace unwearable. “What am I going to wear—a freaking bedsheet?”

  “You can’t get married in a bedsheet.” Lucia slid the dress down Joanna’s arms, helped her step out of it, then put it back on the hanger. “You want people to think your wedding has a toga party theme?”

  Joanna sagged down to the cushioned bench at the foot of the bed. “At this point, I don’t care what they think. All I know is that I’m miserable and I’m not even out of the first trimester yet. You weren’t this big this early with T. I can’t believe I’m already this huge.”

  “You’re not huge, and I wasn’t that big at this stage because I only had one bun in the oven—not two.”

  The faint strain of bagpipes, fiddles, and drums sounded from down beside the river. Sunset would be in just a little under an hour. It was almost time.

  Joanna glanced toward the window, then down at her rounding stomach. “What the hell am I going to wear to marry your father?”

  “Here. Wear this.” Lucia emerged from the closet with a sleeveless maxi-dress made from a gauzy slinky material, tie-dyed in spiraling shades of aqua to the deepest navy blue.

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “It’s this or the bedsheet. What’s it going to be? We’re out of time.” Lucia pulled the dress off the hanger and gathered it up to pull it over Joanna’s head. “Now, here. Lift up your arms.”

  A loud banging shook the bedroom door. “Mama! Auntie Jo! Uncle Grant said you two need to hurry up. He sent me up here to make sure y’all hadn’t run away.”

  Lucia rolled her eyes, then jerked her chin for Joanna to raise her arms higher.

  “Hello? I know you’re in there. I just heard you talking about Auntie Jo being huge before I knocked.”

  “I’m almost ready, T. Everyone just needs to be patient.” Joanna yanked the much more comfortable maternity sundress down over her head and shook it down her body. This was a lot more comfortable, but she sure didn’t look like the average bride.

  “Tyler, are you still out there?” Lucia turned toward the door.

  “Maybe.” A shuffling just outside the door gave him away. “If I’m ’posed to be I am.”

  “Yes. You’re supposed to be because you have to give Auntie Jo away like we practiced. You wait right there so you don’t get dirty. Okay?” Lucia fastened the brooch necklace around Joanna’s neck and did her best to fluff some life back into Joanna’s limp curls. “Curls are futile. Not with this humidity.”

  “Just pull it back into a bun. I don’t care at this point.” Joanna kicked off the lace pumps she’d donned to match the wedding dress and slid on her leather sandals in their place. “Might as well be comfortable from head to toe.”

  “You look beautiful,” Lucia said as she stepped back and smiled. Her gaze fell to Joanna’s more-ample-than-usual bustline and her smile grew even wider. “Trust me. Grant will love the dress.” She hurried to the bedroom door and pulled it open. “Oh, Tyler!”

  Poor Tyler. Joanna could tell by Lucia’s tone that the boy was in trouble.

  “I told you to stay clean.”

  “You know I can’t wear white, Mama. You said so yourself.” Tyler proudly marched into the room, grass stains on the belly and elbows of his white dress shirt and the knees of his white pants. He held out his hand to Joanna. “You ready, Auntie Jo? You sure look pretty. I don’t think you look huge at all.”

  Joanna’s heart melted. No one with an ounce of feelings could stay angry with the boy and he knew it. She took his hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

  They made their way down to the sandy bend in the river located just below Grant’s home. Guests filled the white chairs lined up along the beach in front of the white arch laced with ribbons of the MacDara colors and vines of ivy. Bagpipers stood on either side of the arch, and drummers and fiddle players stood beside them. The musicians serenaded the crowd with what Joanna could only guess were authentic Scottish ballads.

  Dwyn MacKay stood inside the arch with a length of M
acDara tartan ribbon and a dagger in his hands. Grant had warned her about the ceremony. Told her it was the old way—not so far back as the century from which he came, but it was a part of Scotland’s history. He’d hesitantly asked her if she’d be willing to do it. Whatever made Grant happy was fine with her since they’d already made the marriage legal at the courthouse last week.

  Her heart rate shifted to an excited hammering as she and Tyler stood at the end of the path of white rose petals and waited. Grant was breathtakingly handsome in full Highland dress with his vest and short suitcoat. Broad chest, hair slicked back into a sexy man bun. A sigh escaped her. She could definitely spend the rest of her life with this man. This is the right decision.

  Grant’s gaze caressed her from the top of her head to the tips of her freshly pedicured toes. He smiled proudly and nodded his approval. The warm glow of being totally and unconditionally loved rushed through Joanna. Grant didn’t care what she wore. All he cared about was that they were together.

  Tyler led her to the arch and handed her to Grant. “I know I didn’t say nothing when we ’hearsed but I need to say something now. You better be good to my Auntie Jo or you’ll have me to deal with.”

  Joanna flinched at the quiet tittering that rippled through the crowd. Tyler meant every word he’d said and she wouldn’t have his feelings hurt for anything in the world.

  Grant stepped forward and went down on one knee in front of the child. He removed his dagger from its sheath and held it up in the old way that Scots pledged their fealty to their chieftain. “I swear to treat yer Auntie Jo with love and respect in this life and the next. She is my heart and soul. I’ll protect her ’til I draw m’last breath.” Then he kissed the haft of the dagger and bowed his head.

  “You’re a good man, Uncle Grant. You have my blessing.” Tyler patted the top of Grant’s bowed head, then turned and marched to his seat in the front row between his mother and Taggart MacClendon.

  Joanna turned and smiled at Lucia, who was beaming with pride.

  “Let us begin,” Dwyn announced in a strong, deep voice that in no way sounded as though it could’ve come from his short, slight body. “Your hands, please.”

  Both Joanna and Grant held out their right hands, palms up. Joanna pulled in a deep breath, praying she wouldn’t pass out during the next part.

  Dwyn held the dagger up to the sky, closed his eyes, and mouthed a silent prayer. Then he steadied both their hands as he made a quick cut in each of their palms.

  “Well done, lass,” Grant whispered as they clasped their hands together.

  Joanna drew in a shaking breath and wet her lips. That wasn’t so bad.

  Dwyn wrapped the plaid cloth around their hands and pressed the blade of the dagger atop it. He nodded first at Grant, then Joanna. “I bind thee upon this day, but know this—the connection will nay be complete until ye’ve said yer vows to one another, aye?”

  “Aye,” they responded in unison.

  Grant eased a step closer. He lifted their bound hands and gave her a gentle squeeze. “By the stars above and the earth below, I pledge my life to thee. Ye are m’heart. Ye are m’soul for all eternity.”

  Joanna swallowed hard and smiled up into Grant’s trusting eyes. How could she ever have thought to leave this man for something as meaningless as money? She squeezed his hand and did her best to speak louder than the sound of her pounding heart. “By the stars above and the earth below, I pledge my life to thee. You are my heart. You are my soul for all eternity.” She pressed a kiss to his broad knuckles, glanced out at the smiling guests, then turned back and locked her gaze with Grant’s. “For the good of all, with harm to none, so mote it be.”

  Grant leaned in closer, bringing his mouth so close his lips brushed across hers in the gentlest of kisses. “Aye, m’love. So mote it be.”

  Heart failure. Rheumatoid arthritis flares. Lots of obstacles popped up while I was writing this book. It’s only by God’s infinite grace, love, and patience that I plowed through them and kept writing—keep writing, in fact.

  “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” —Philippians 4:13

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to my infinitely patient editor for always reeling my stories back in when they wander off and get lost.

  BY MAEVE GREYSON

  Highland Hearts

  My Highland Lover

  My Highland Bride

  My Tempting Highlander

  My Seductive Highlander

  Highland Protectors

  Sadie’s Highlander

  Joanna’s Highlander

  Katie’s Highlander (coming soon)

  Photo: Crista Sullivan

  MAEVE GREYSON and her hubby of over thirty-eight years traveled around the world while in the U.S. Air Force before returning to their five-acre wood in rural Kentucky, where she writes about her beloved Highlanders and the sassy women who tame them.

  Her full-time day job at the steel mill is now a thing of the past, so Maeve spends her time matching the sexy Highlanders in her head with women that are certain to drive them crazy. When she’s not plotting the perfect snare, she tinkers with new technology and computer programs where she knows just enough to be dangerous and never learns to stop saying, “I can do this without reading the directions.”

  maevegreyson.com

  Facebook.com/​AuthorMaeveGreyson

  Twitter: @maevegreyson

  Google+

  Read on for an excerpt from

  Katie’s Highlander

  A Highland Protector Novel

  by Maeve Greyson

  Available from Loveswept

  Chapter 1

  BRADY, NORTH CAROLINA

  SOMEWHERE IN THE WOODS, MODERN DAY

  “Come here, you stubborn bastard!” Hanging upside down through the moon roof of her car, Katie roared out her frustration, then continued her frenzied digging to reach her backpack with the crooked stick she’d found in the woods.

  I knew I should’ve seat-belted that thing in. Then it wouldn’t have ended up in the floorboard when she’d overcorrected, hit her brakes, and shot into the ditch. If she’d had any sense, she would’ve grabbed it before she climbed out of the car the first time. But she hadn’t. Story of her life. At least she’d scattered enough emergency glow sticks both in and around the car that satellites could probably find her. Seeing the bag wasn’t a problem. Snagging the bag was. No way was she about to climb all the way back in and swim around in all that nasty powder from the air bags again. But she couldn’t just leave it. Her laptop and journal were like her best friends.

  “Oy, there! Are ye hurt then?”

  She froze in place, then cocked her head and listened harder. “Hello?”

  It was hard to shout with a moon roof shoved up against her gut and gravity sending everything else up against her lungs. No response. Well, crap. Had she really heard somebody or was it just wishful thinking? After all, she had been hanging upside down for quite a while trying to snag that damn bag. The way the blood was pounding in her ears, she felt like her head was about to explode.

  She sucked in a deep breath, turned her face toward the roof of the car, and yelled louder. “Hello? Is somebody out there?” Please be a person. Please be real. She wiggled around, trying to turn herself by scissoring both legs that were currently sprouting out of the roof of the car.

  Struggling against the headrest, Katie walked her hands across the narrow back of the driver’s seat. If she could worm her way back out of the car, she could make them hear her. She accidently bumped the moon-roof button with her right elbow and the panel made a high-pitched humming sound as it snugged up tighter against her waist. Panic mounting, she banged both elbows against the headliner of the car, managed to hit the button again, and stopped it before it got even more uncomfortable. She sagged fo
rward and rested her hands on the high headrest of the compact car’s sporty little driver’s seat.

  “Oh, God. I think I’m stuck.” A grunt escaped her as she tried to bump the button again to reopen the panel, but the mechanism shot her hope of freeing herself when it let out a wheezing grind that gradually wound down to silence. Great. It’s dead for sure. “Hello? Is somebody out there? Please really be somebody out there.” From now on, only SUVs. Or Jeeps. No more little clown cars that look cute until they try to eat you.

  “I’m comin’, lass. Hold tight.”

  Hold tight? Really? If she hadn’t been so frustrated with the situation, she would’ve laughed out loud. “At least it’s a person.” She blew out a relieved breath, sneezed from the air-bag dust, then wiped the back of her hand across her nose. “It’s gonna be okay.”

  Solid thuds hit the ground, sounding as though they came from somewhere near the back of the car. Leaves crunched. Sticks snapped. Something sounded like it was either sliding through the leaf mold covering the woodland floor or being dragged into the ditch. She could’ve sworn she’d heard a horse snort, or whatever it was that horses did to make that weird snot-blowing sound. She twisted and tried looking out the side windows, but all she could see in the light of the full moon and the greenish-yellow glow sticks was a hellaciously large downed tree trunk on one side of the car and the dirt embankment on the other. “Hello? You didn’t leave me hanging here, did you?”

  “Close yer eyes.”

  “Wait—what? Why?” Katie strained to look out the back hatch window of her car, but all she could make out was the movement of a dark form.

  A hard thud and shattering glass answered her question and convinced her to close her eyes tight against flying debris. The sound of more breaking glass and metal grating against metal filled the air as the vehicle rocked back and forth.