Sadie's Highlander

by Maeve Greyson

  “How can you possibly forgive me?” Sadie searched Alec’s face. He seemed so sincere, so loving toward her. She saw real pain and sorrow in eyes. Nah. Can’t be. Haven’t you told yourself enough lies? Look where that got you with Delia. She blinked against his caring demeanor. It just couldn’t be real.

  “I destroyed the Heartstone,” she whispered. “I’ve doomed the world to a terrible existence.” She hadn’t quite figured out when humanity’s suffering was going to kick into a higher gear, but it sure had to be soon. Look how crappy she already felt.

  With a sad smile, Alec shook his head. “The stone is safe. The tunnels held true. All that needs restorin’ is the castle. D’ye no’ remember that m’brothers and I held the weapons when we emerged from the mountain?”

  The weapons. The sword, hammer, spear, and shield. Sadie thought back to the four enraged Scots riding down from the mountain brandishing their weapons. So they hadn’t been replicas that were stored somewhere else. They were the weapons she’d seen flanking the stone. What Alec said made sense. If the weapons weren’t damaged, the Heartstone had to be safe too.

  “So all of the artifacts are really okay? Nothing was damaged?” For the first time since the awful incident, Sadie felt as though her soul had suddenly grown exponentially lighter.

  “Aye, love.” Alec rested his hand against her cheek, his fingertips lacing into her hair. “The only thing broken and battered is our hearts. Yours and mine.” He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “ ’Tis long past time t’mend them, Sadie,” he whispered, warm lips brushing against her skin. “End this madness now, love. Come back t’me where ye belong.”

  Need filled Alec’s tone. His rasping whisper broke with his emotions. This wasn’t a trap, a cruel game to hurt her. Alec loved her; he wanted her back. She heard it in his voice and felt it in his touch.

  “I’ve missed you so much,” she said with a soft cry, closing her eyes and diving back into his embrace. She nuzzled her cheek against the hard-muscled chest she’d longed for each night in her dreams.

  Everything was going to be all right. Alec wanted her back—really wanted her, and that’s all she needed. It would’ve been thrilling if all the writing stuff had been real, but look what lengths Alec had gone to just to corner her long enough to make her listen to reason. She heaved out a heavy sigh. Writing stuff could come later. She wanted a life with Alec now.

  Sadie lifted her head and eased a step back. Still keeping her arms intertwined with Alec’s, she leaned around him and looked at the smiling faces watching her with interest. “So, who are you people—really?”

  “Well, I will be damned.” Miss Martha shook her head and threw both hands in the air.

  “We are the Broadway Trifecta.” Antonia motioned to herself and Frederick and Graham. “We find fresh new material and the investors to back our plays on Broadway.”

  Graham stepped forward, holding out a business card. “What’s the term the techies use? Google us? You’ll find we’re known for launching award-winning plays. We’d never risk our good name or reputations on anything other than a sure thing. Broadway can smell fakery in an instant. The critics would crucify us and hang us from the marquee.”

  “And I really am the senior agent here at DBS Agency.” Ophelia tapped her fingers atop a manila folder on her desk. “Mr. MacKay pointed me in your direction and when I read your work, I was hooked. Do say you’ll sign with us, Sadie. I promise you won’t regret it.”

  Sadie blinked. Had she just heard right? All the writing stuff was legit? That never happened. It just didn’t happen. Filled with wonder and afraid if she moved she’d wake up from this perfect dream, Sadie looked up at Alec. “This is for real? All of it?”

  “Aye. ’Tis as real as this.” Alec leaned in and kissed her—but the word kiss didn’t begin to describe it. He laid claim to her—as if he didn’t already own her heart, body, and soul. When he finally lifted his head, she held tight to his arms, dizzied by her whirling emotions.

  Hot tears slipped down her cheeks as she smiled up into Alec’s face. “Thank you for forgiving me. Thank you for all of this.”

  Alec shook his head as he reached around her and shoved her bag off her chair. He eased her down into it, then knelt before her. Reaching inside his jacket, he held her gaze in his as he pulled out the fully restored brooch, the fiery colors of the agate sparkling in the light. “There is nothin’ to forgive, and I intend t’spend the rest of m’life showin’ ye how much ye mean t’me.” He took her hand and laid the brooch in it. “I believe this is yers, m’lady. If ye’ll still have me.”

  “I’ve died and gone to heaven,” Sadie whispered. With a slow, reverent touch, she picked up the brooch and clasped it to her heart. Giddy with happiness, she struggled to speak as she threw both arms around Alec’s neck. “Name a date. The sooner the better,” she whispered against his throat.

  Alec picked her up and spun her in a circle. His deep laugh rumbled against her, then vibrated into the throaty MacDara battle cry, “Force éternelle!”

  Ophelia triumphantly snapped her fingers, then reached for the phone. Punching the intercom button, she laughed into the mouthpiece. “Champagne, Rebecca, and bring a glass for yourself, as well.”

  “Felicitazioni!” Antonia clapped her hands, hopping in place as much as her spike heels would allow. “Such wonderful news!” She turned to Frederick and Graham. “And this will make our news so much easier for them to bear.”

  Alec lowered Sadie’s feet to the floor, his body tensing beneath her hands. “I’ll no’ have ye bringin’ any ill tidings upon this day.”

  “Nein, nein.” Frederick hurried forward, shaking his head. “No bad news for Miss Williams. Bad news for you.”

  “Oh good heavens,” Graham huffed as he stepped in front of both Antonia and Frederick. “It’s not bad for anyone since they’re about to be married.”

  Sadie could tell by the rhythm of Alec’s pulse throbbing under her fingertips that he was quickly reaching critical mass. These people had no idea what they were about to unleash. “Could somebody please get to the point?” she asked, squeezing Alec’s arm to calm him.

  “Investors, mia cara.” Antonia’s eyes flashed with excitement. “Your delightful story triggered a tremendous bidding war and we’ve settled on a pair of investors who are more than willing to back the play for three times the amount that Mr. MacDara offered.” She winked at Alec. “You may have won the lovely girl, but I’m afraid you’ve lost the rights to back your lovely lady’s play.”

  Alec’s arm tightened around Sadie’s waist and he jerked her up snug against him. “D’ye see now? Yer a talented woman with no need of trickery or schemes from anyone except when it comes to realizin’ yer own worth.”

  “Thank you, Alec,” Sadie whispered, turning in his arms and pressing close. “Thank you for loving me.”

  Alec hugged her tighter, nuzzling his face against her hair. “And if ye dinna quit thankin’ me for lovin’ ye, I’ll be turnin’ ye over m’knee and spankin’ yer arse for ye.”

  “Promise?” Sadie asked in a wicked whisper.

  “Oh aye, love,” Alec said. “I swear it.”

  Dedicated to those with the ability to see true beauty: the beauty within.

  And to those without that ability, may you open your eyes before it’s too late.

  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 (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 st
eel mill is now a thing of the past, so Maeve spends her time matching the sexy Highlanders in her head with women who 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

  @maevegreyson

  Google+

  Read on for an excerpt from

  Joanna’s Highlander

  A Highland Protector Novel

  by Maeve Greyson

  Available from Loveswept

  Prologue

  “Father said that when he and The MacDara proffered our troth to the sacred Heartstone—” The trembling girl, Leannan, Grant MacDara’s chosen love, flinched as though what she had to say was too terrible to speak aloud. “He said…it didna warm. Not even when they laid their hands upon it and chanted our pledge a second and third time.”

  Leannan clutched at Grant’s hands, staring up at him with such anguish, he ached to draw his sword and slay the source of her pain. Her pale hands felt cold as icy water pulled from the loch in the dead of winter. Her face was stained with tears and her slight shoulders sagged with the weight of her news.

  “The goddesses willna bless our union, Grant. We…” Leannan bowed her head, the flowers woven through the fair silk of her fiery bronze braids hanging limp and wilted as though even they had given up on the lovers’ potential union. “We canna marry, m’dearest one.” Her voice broke as her sorrow overcame her. “Our babe will surely be stricken from my womb.” She barely rocked back and forth, a sob escaping, the piercing keen echoing off the stone walls of the empty room.

  “I canna bear it, Grant,” she whispered between soft hiccupping cries. “I canna bear the thought of such a life, but I feel with all m’heart that I must let ye go. Yer destiny doesna include me.”

  The sacred Heartstone and the goddesses can just be damned. Grant Danann MacDara, second son of the goddesses’ druid clan, eased a hand free of Leannan’s desperate grasp and slid a finger beneath her chin. Gently, he lifted and brushed the whisper of a kiss across the trembling seam of her lips. “I dinna give a whit about the stone or the goddesses,” he said. “All I care about is a life with ye.”

  He slid a thumb across her cheek, wiping away the wetness of her tears. He’d make this right. They didna need anyone’s useless blessing. “We will marry, dear one. I swear it.” He drew her closer and cradled her to his chest. “And our child will be born braw and strong.”

  He’d take Leannan away. She’d already agreed to leave her family and her father had grudgingly accepted his daughter’s choice—but that was before the stone’s denial of the blessing. Now Grant would more than likely have t’fight her clan t’keep her.

  And then there was the task of separating from his own clan. The MacDaras. The goddess-ordained leaders of the seven druid families sworn to guard the sacred Heartstone and trained t’carry the four weapons of Danu.

  He tightened his arms around Leannan’s softly shaking body and pressed a cheek to the top of her head. Athair would be furious and Máthair would be ashamed, but it couldna be helped. He was meant t’be with Leannan. Mayhap in time, his parents would understand.

  Hell’s bollocks, she already carries my child. What else would they have me do? He’d have to rescind his vows. No longer be protector or kin to the MacDara clan. He’d take another name, and he and Leannan would travel deeper inland and settle in the craggy hills of the Highlands.

  There had t’be amiable outsiders somewhere, those who wouldna ken nor believe in the legends and tales of the druids chosen by the goddesses to ensure that the world ne’er lost the precious gifts that ensured humanity thrived. Leannan would need the company of other women. Good clan women. Especially when it came time for the child t’come. They were both already eighteen summers old. ’Twas time to start their own home. This match was meant t’be.

  “We will build our lives elsewhere. I willna let ye go.”

  “We cannot,” Leannan whispered. “We must not go against the will of the goddesses.” She slowly pulled herself out of his arms and lifted her head. “We canna challenge the wisdom of the stone.” With a sniff, she swiped at her tears with the back of one hand. She attempted a quivering smile and tried to straighten her narrow shoulders, standing as tall as her slight frame allowed. “MacDara blood flows in yer veins, dearest one. We must heed the outcome of the rite or be cursed. Ye ken that well enough—or ye should.”

  Muffled shouts and the warning echo of guard wall horns and clashing metal broke through the heavy shroud of doom filling the small torchlit room. Grant stiffened at the all-too-familiar signal that the men of the North had returned once again to attempt to take MacDara Keep. Fiery adrenaline pumped through his veins and stoked his rage. He grabbed Leannan by the shoulders and brought his face close to hers. “Bar the door behind me and keep hidden, ye ken? I’ll fetch ye once we’ve rousted the filthy bastards once and for all.”

  Leannan framed his face between her small hands and ever so tenderly kissed him, then drew back and gave him such a sad, knowing smile that it nearly tore his heart from his chest. “Yer m’dearest love, Grant Danann MacDara. M’love for ye is deep as the sea and true as the stars—for now and evermore, ye ken?”

  The finality and despair in Leannan’s voice terrified Grant more than any murderous intruders. He resettled his grip on her shoulders and gently shook her. “Stay hidden. I’ll fetch ye soon. I swear it, aye?”

  “Aye, love,” Leannan answered with a soft touch of his cheek. “Go to yer kin. Go now and protect the blessed stone.”

  Grant yanked open the door, then paused in the hallway and looked back into the room. Leannan smiled and nodded, her face aglow with such love and adoration it outshone the one blazing torch ensconced upon the wall.

  I’ll ne’er see her again. The doom-filled premonition nearly choked him. “Bar the door and wait for me, aye?” Leannan’s slight nod didn’t ease Grant’s feeling that his life was about to change for the worse. He closed the door and waited. The sound of the heavy oak beam falling in place across the threshold made him feel a bit better, but the gnawing fear that Leannan was about to be lost to him forever refused to leave.

  Shouldering aside a stone at the end of the hall, Grant ducked into one of the many secret passages leading out of the secluded maze of hidden rooms that existed under the keep. He made his way to the center of the stronghold and hurried up the circular stairway to the sacred room. The room where only he and his immediate family were permitted entry. No one else, no matter their clan. The tower room housed the blessed Heartstone and the four weapons of the goddesses.

  The stone walls shuddered and dust fell from the rafters just as Grant reached the final door to the interior chamber. The faint din of shouts and steel clashing against steel several levels below hastened his steps. “They’ve breached the wall. I hear them below,” he warned as he pushed into the room.

  His mother, her middle round and heavy with her unborn child, turned from the narrow window and nocked an arrow into her bow. “Aye, son. ’Tis true.” She turned back to the window, took aim, and shot. “And yer father told Alec the other clans will ne’er make it here in time to join their steel with ours,” she added while still watching the melee below.

  Grant’s younger brother, Ramsay, pulled their mother away from the window just in time for his youngest brother, Ross, to slam a great bronze shield over the opening. Arrow pings and clangs of blades crashed against the metal as both young men leaned into the shield and held it fast over the window. “They’re upon us!” Ramsay shouted, baring his teeth in a determined grimace as he bore down and shoved a broad shoulder against the back of the shield.

  “Grant—yer hammer!” Alec, the oldest of the four brothers, heaved a massive weapon of wood and stone to Grant. The goddess hammer. Grant wielded the lethal gi
ft from the goddesses as though it were an extension of his arm.

  Grant easily caught the weapon and rushed to guard the window beside the altar where his father stood. The white-haired patriarch of the MacDara clan seemed oblivious to the invaders, wafting his gnarled and bent hands through the gray tendrils of smoke rising from a soot-covered dish nestled atop a heaping circle of glowing red coals.

  “Where are yer damn goddesses now?” Grant asked with a snarl as he landed the broad head of the hammer square in the face of the Northman about to dive into the room through the window closest to the altar.

  His father didn’t answer, just kept mumbling with his eyes closed and his face lifted to the three dripping candles hanging above the bronze brazier of smoking herbs.

  Black acrid smoke seeped in from under the door. Arrow hits and the thud of sword blades rattled against the wood.

  Alec lifted his sword and backed toward the weakening barrier of thick oak. Grant knew immediately what his brother was about to do. Sometimes, ill-fated bravery and doomed courage were the best weapons against an enemy.

  “Keep the Heartstone!” Grant shouted to Alec, then turned back to the window to kill a few more foes with some doomed courage of his own. He climbed out onto the wide stone sill, sweeping his hammer up and down the walls of the tower to dislodge the enemy’s shoddy scaling poles lashed together with ropes.

  Below, in the enclosed grounds surrounding three sides of the tower, a flutter of bright yellow and regal blue amongst the dark, filthy throng of furs, helmets, shields, and swords caught Grant’s attention. His heart stopped and he held tight to the stones of the window to keep from losing his footing. “It canna be,” he whispered. “Nay, Leannan. Nay!”