The Munro Clan Highlander Collection (The Munro Clan Highlander Romances)

by Marilyn Stonecross

  Ramsey’s younger brothers rode the rest of the afternoon in silence.

  In fact, it is said the entire way back to the Highlands was a long, quiet road.

  The laird and lady were warmly received by the Munro clan. The Lady Munro made good on her promise and immediately began searching for suitable wives for the bachelor Munro brothers, who were often spotted riding away from the clan’s keep as fast as their horses could take them.

  THE RELUCTANT HIGHLAND GROOM

  “No one said ye had to marry her,” Ramsey said as he approached. “Yet.”

  Alec pretended to be engrossed in the task at hand—brushing down his horse Fingus for a fourth time.

  “The beast willna have any skin left on his hide if ye keep scrubbing at him like that,” Ramsey caught his hand as it rose for another pass. Alec jerked it free and turned his back on his older brother.

  “I know I doona have to marry her,” he said at last. “But Da promised, and it shames me to break his word. I’m not ready to face them yet.”

  “Well, they’re here,” Ramsey said gruffly. “And ye canna hide in the stables for two days.”

  Alec mused that he might give it a hell of a try, but kept his mouth closed. Ramsey had enough to deal with—he didn’t need Alec acting like a petulant child.

  It was a silent standoff for a few more moments before he heard Ramsey let out a long sigh and left.

  Finally.

  Alec patted his horse ruefully on the shoulder. Ramsey had been on pins and needles ever since the McHugh emissary announced they would be paying the Munroes a visit. Ramsey had never presided over things like wedding arrangements or alliance-building, beyond a rather ineffectual friendship with de Montfort in England, and the McHughs’ arrival would be his first big test.

  Damn the McHughs.

  Alec let out a long breath he’d been holding on to and closed his eyes, leaning forward against the rough wood of the stable wall. It wasn’t the McHughs’ fault, really. Alec’s Da and the McHugh laird had been childhood friends and wanted nothing more than for their middle children to wed someday. Alec searched his memory for anything Cara McHugh. What he remembered was the fat little girl with a messy face and a constant frown. Time might have been kind, but he doubted it was a miracle worker.

  Beyond the unfortunate things he remembered of Cara, he wasn’t in any position to be taking on a wife. A family. That was Ramsey’s job, and he and Sabrina were doing a mighty fine job of it. Their boy Jamie had been born last summer, and by the looks of things, another baby would be born next year around harvest time. Ramsey was the family man and always had been. He and Sabrina were meant for each other, and Alec had watched his brother ride all the way to England to claim his beloved.

  Granted, the actions he’d taken to claim the lovely lass had gotten him outlawed—the deceased Lord Archer had important friends—but Ramsey had emerged the victor in the end. None of his English enemies dared cross into Scotland, and so long as Ramsey kept to himself in the Highlands, his would-be foes seemed glad enough to forget he existed.

  It left him conveniently free to raise his family.

  Things were different for Alec. Since their father’s death, he’d felt responsible for their younger brother Logan. Ramsey saw to keeping alive an entire clan, and Alec saw to it that Logan didn’t break his neck or fall into one of the Gunns’ traps.

  The Gunns. Yet another reason he’d never marry, and very nearly the reason Ramsey and Sabrina didn’t marry. His brother had loved the English lass since the Munro boys landed in England on the run, and had never forgotten her in the years since they left the de Montfort lands as men. But the Munroes were a people under siege, and innocent kinfolk died every day in this part of the Highlands. No man in his right mind would bring a bride into this and expect he could protect her and whatever children might come of it.

  But Ramsey had, and so far, he’d kept Sabrina not only alive, but blissfully happy, if the smiles on her face were any indication.

  Perhaps it would not be so terrible. Alec’s better angels whispered that he ought to at least give Cara McHugh a chance, that Ramsey would not force him to marry a rat-faced wench he could never love.

  But then again, Ramsey was not the problem here. Ramsey was rarely the problem at all.

  Curse my infernal sense of duty.

  In some ways, Logan had gotten away easily. No one cared to wed the youngest son; he would inherit no titles and precious little in terms of land and wealth. As a result, Logan had developed a reckless streak as a child that had persisted into adulthood, though at least now he (mostly) looked where he was walking.

  With Logan mostly able to care for himself, Alec was left juggling questions of duty. Perhaps he ought to wed to fulfill his duty to the family—but what about his duty to his wife? If he could not protect her from harm and make her happy, what right did he have to wed her?

  This is Cara McHugh we’re discussing, Alec. One look at her face could drive away even the most steadfast of enemies…

  Laughter from the great hall floated down to the stables, and Alec turned his head toward the gathering. No doubt Logan was charming their guests with tales of the brothers’ recent skirmishes with the Gunns and their allies. Ramsey likely had Sabrina sitting on his knee, rubbing her back as they listened. And Cara, the rat-faced McHugh, was likely seething at Alec’s absence by now.

  Why am I so averse to her? He examined Fingus for bruises, stones, and other sources of pain, but the horse seemed as hale as ever. Bloody hell, could he think of no other reasons to avoid the McHughs besides a potentially sick horse? Perhaps he could fabricate something.

  His dislike of Cara had to stem from more than just anger at the marriage. What had she done to irk him so?

  His memories of her were few and far between, but he misliked what he did recall.

  The day after their fathers had shaken hands on the agreement, the repulsive young Cara had followed him out to the stables to watch him saddle his horse. “We’re t’be married,” she informed him when he tried to shut the stable door on her face. “Ye’d best get used to seeing me.”

  “I’m not marrying ye,” he’d sneered.

  “Our fathers will make us,” she said. “They want us both married. To each other!”

  “That’s long years away, if at all. It’s a silly drinking bet.”

  She’d stamped her foot. “You’re going to marry me, Alec Munro, my Da says so!”

  “Not if I have anything t’say about it. Now leave me alone!”

  But she hadn’t left, and had gone so far as to try to have a horse of her own saddled so she could follow him into the hills. Fortunately, her brother Connor had arrived at that point to collect her, sparing Alec more of her idiocy.

  Connor probably wouldn’t save him this time. Zeke McHugh would be here, staring at Alec with eyes far too similar to his father’s, and he would express anguish at Alec’s decision.

  That would be the hardest part. Zeke and the old Munro laird had been cut from the same cloth, and had agreed on many things. Turning him down would be like turning down his own father.

  Yes, Alec decided, that is the hardest part.

  He patted Fingus’ neck. “What do you think?”

  Fingus snorted and tossed his head.

  There was no contract ever drawn up. Ramsey himself said I didn’t have to marry her. There’s no shame in this.

  Yet he could not shake the feeling that he was letting someone down—his dead father, perhaps, or just the Munro honor. Munroes were said to be men of their word.

  Sometimes a man’s word must be broken, he told himself. Particularly when times are as cold and hard as they are now.

  With a heavy sigh, Alec stroked Fingus one last time and walked toward the keep with slow, deliberate steps. He’d say it straight—that he had no intention of keeping his father’s promise, painful as that might be. He was not going to take Cara McHugh, or any woman for that matter, as a wife. He’d be ready for her insults a
nd her tears. Alec would do his best to make her understand.

  Alec pushed the heavy oak door and it let out a loud, bellowing creak that echoed through the drafty hall. The room was warm and smoky, with three of the four fires going at full strength. People were everywhere—Munroes and McHughs alike had taken seats at the heavy wooden tables, and a few had sprawled comfortable on the few rugs that had been placed in front of the hearths. Laughter danced on the air, along with the mouthwatering aroma of roasting meats.

  Not the solemn occasion he’d pictured in his head, but Alec was determined to see this through.

  He scanned the room and finally found Ramsey seated, as he’d imagined, with Sabrina right next to him. Ramsey’s fair-haired wife was deep in an animated conversation and didn’t notice Alec approach. Logan did, however.

  “And there he is now,” Logan bellowed, aided by too much ale. He stood from his chair and wobbled a bit before clasping Alec by the back. “Just in time!”

  Ramsey rolled his eyes and stood.

  “Alec,” he said, and Alec did not miss the slight hesitation in his older brother. Hell. Was everyone sotted tonight? Too bad they’d all gotten a head start on him—he was the one that could use a drink of something strong. “This is Connor McHugh, laird of the McHughs to the south.”

  Laird? When had old Zeke McHugh died?

  Hope blossomed in Alec’s chest. If he didn’t need to face Zeke McHugh, this unpleasant task would be far less trying.

  Alec looked to the man Ramsey now pointed toward and recognized him immediately. The oldest of the McHugh children, Connor, was a childhood companion of Ramsey’s. He stood now, and extended his hand to Alec.

  “It is good to see ye again,” he said with what seemed like a paltry attempt at a smile. For a man only two or three years older than Ramsey, time had worn on Connor’s face. Creases from worry and anxiety made him look like a much older man than he was.

  “And ye, Connor,” Alec said. “It has been at least twelve years.” Connor had always seemed a serious sort, but he almost did not look like the same lad who had rescued Alec from his sister’s clutches. Alec would not have recognized him if they had not been introduced.

  A servant handed Alec a mug, and he found a chair next to Logan. To his relief, the conversation did not turn to marriages or betrothal at his arrival. Mostly, the two families now helmed by the eldest sons talked of the growing season, sharing patrols on common borders, and the coming winter.

  It was not a promising discussion.

  “We hav’na had the greatest growing season,” Connor said quietly.

  Ramsey nodded. Alec knew there was a lot of rot coming in as their crops were harvested—and now he knew it had spread to the areas around them.

  “Have ye had any more encounters with the Gunns since the spring?” Alec asked. The Munroes hadn’t seen a Gunn in nearly three months, and their absence left him more worried than when they were spotted nearly daily last summer.

  “Nay,” Connor replied. “And it doesna bode well. We’ve not heard anything from them since my Da died last year.”

  When the meal was finally served, the mood returned to lighthearted chatter and Alec was just beginning to relax. In fact, he’d not spotted the rat-faced girl at all. Perhaps she’d not traveled with her brother. Perhaps this visit had nothing to do with matrimony after all.

  Alec let his long legs stretch out in front him and enjoyed another mug of ale, not paying attention to the conversation and letting his shoulders relax for the first time in many hours. It was just then, when he’d finally let down his guard, that Connor struck.

  “I think it’s time we get down to the real reason we are here,” Connor said. He’d taken a chair next to Alec and was now speaking so that only Alec could hear. “It’s time to make good on the betrothal our fathers agreed upon.”

  Alec held his breath, wondering if simply fleeing from the room would be an effective answer. Instead, he sat up straighter in his chair and rested his elbows on his knees, staring into the fire.

  Though Connor had spoken softly, Ramsey and Logan were now tuned into the conversation. Alec ignored them.

  “Connor,” Alec began, “about that…”

  “You promised me, Connor,” a woman’s voice snapped through Alec’s fog. He turned his head over his shoulder, ready to confront the rat-faced girl, and felt his jaw go slack.

  The ugly, pinch-faced creature from twelve years ago was unrecognizable. The woman who stood behind Connor with angry, flashing eyes was a vision. She had shining auburn hair that fell past her shoulders in glossy waves. Her blue eyes seemed on fire as she gave Alec a detached once-over before returning to her obvious anger to her brother. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, the lass was lovely.

  “I’ve told you over and over again, I’m not marrying…him.” She gestured in Alec’s general direction dismissively. Well, perhaps not completely lovely, but fine-looking no less.

  Time does work miracles, he decided. If I’d known she looked like this...

  No, no. He’d not take her to wife—not for anything. She was not intended to be his, nor he to be hers.

  Alec watched Connor’s face redden. The McHugh’s hands gripped the arms of his chair until his knuckles were white. They were all suddenly transported from a genial gathering in the Munro great hall to a tense standoff between two siblings.

  Connor pushed himself from his chair and stood in front of his younger sister, his face inches from hers—growing redder by the second, as it was obvious he was doing his best to rein in his temper.

  “Ye’ve no say in this matter,” he said tightly. “It was agreed upon long ago by both families and all agree ’tis for the best.”

  “Who agrees?” Cara McHugh pointed a finger in her brother’s face. “I certainly didn’t. And from the looks of him, he didn’t agree either. Look at him!”

  She flung a hand in Alec’s direction a second time.

  Should I be offended? Alec glanced around, but most faces seemed to be focused on Cara and her outburst, not him.

  “He looks like he’d rather eat the chair he’s sitting on than marry me,” Cara said. “And I feel the same way. You are doing nobody any favors, Connor.”

  “’Tis out of your hands, little sister.”

  “Is it? Will you drag me screaming like a banshee to the altar? You will not force me to do it, Connor, I know you better than that!”

  Connor, for his part, seemed largely speechless. He sent Ramsey an apologetic look, then stared at his sister, apparently searching for words.

  For the first time since arriving in the men’s conversation, Cara faced Alec and looked him in the eye.

  “Tell him,” she said, pointing to Connor. “Tell my brother that you’ve no wish to marry me.”

  Alec looked from brother to sister. And then from sister to brother, with no idea how to navigate these murky waters. He looked to his own brother, Ramsey, for any clue as to how to proceed, but the eldest Munro merely shrugged. It was obvious Ramsey was perplexed as well. And as for Logan, he had the same mischievous smirk on his face that he always did. Logan was obviously enjoying the evening immensely.

  At least someone was having a good night.

  “Speak, damn you,” Cara stamped her little foot in anger. “Say something, you lackwit!”

  Whatever had held Alec’s tongue released its grip at her insult.

  “Mind yer place, ye little harpy,” he finally said and the color drained from her crimson cheeks. Oh, this was almost fun. “Yer a guest in our home and yer prancing around like the bloody King of England, insulting me and shaming yer family.”

  Cara seemed stunned into brief silence by his demand, gaping at him with round blue eyes.

  Connor nodded his head in assent, and from the corner of his eye, Alec saw that Ramsey had relaxed a bit as well. For a moment, anyway. Neither of their brothers would like what he was about to say.

  “But she’s right,” he said. “I willna marry her.”

>   Any remaining noise in the room faded away. Alec could hear the fires devouring the wood.

  Connor fixed him with a pale blue stare. “I believed the Munroes to be men of honor,” he said. “Our fathers agreed to this years ago.”

  “Our fathers agreed to this when times were better,” Alec said. “I doona think they would force it upon us now, when all our energy is spent fighting our enemies.”

  “Nonetheless, an agreement was made.”

  “A verbal agreement,” Alec said, carefully not looking at Ramsey or Logan. “A verbal agreement, made over drinks. For all we know, the men were drunk. There were no contracts, no further promises. It was a suggestion between friends, not a binding oath.”