The Taming of a Highlander

by Elisa Braden

Broderick held her tighter. Prayed harder. And waited for her return.

  The dark place shifted around Kate. She’d been warm. Then cold. Then shivering. Then still.

  Now, her body shied away from the pain, but something wanted her to stay. It bound her with knotted ropes. It wouldn’t let her go.

  After a time, it started singing. Or, rather, he did. A wondrous male voice, deep and rich and faintly rough. Gravel and caverns.

  He sang words she didn’t understand. The song was a lovely air. She wanted to sing it with him, for it was both joyful and mournful at once. Like a plea made out of love.

  Aching pain moved closer. Other sensations returned—a warm, strong hand holding hers, the weight of blankets, the brush of fingers at her temple.

  “Le cùmhnanta teann ’s le banntaibh daingeann. ’S le snaidhm a dh’fhanas ’s nach trèig.”

  She didn’t understand the words, but the tune was lovely. Who was singing? He had the voice of an angel.

  Gentle lips caressed hers. “Ye must awaken, mo chridhe. I’ll nae stay here without ye.”

  Her eyes wanted to open. She wanted to kiss the man who sang so sweetly. The one who called her his heart. She tried to wake.

  The singing resumed.

  Her eyes fluttered. Light shone through her lashes, white and gray.

  “Lass?”

  Eyelids should not be this heavy. She pushed them open with a grunt. The world looked like a mirror spread with grease. She blinked again. Focused on the man who, evidently, had been bold enough to take up half her bed. He lay stretched along her side, one hand holding hers and the other tickling her cheek.

  “Aye, there ye are.”

  Everything hurt now that she was awake. But something in this man’s face made her glad. Pain was small. Inconsequential. What mattered was that she stayed. For, he needed her. She saw it in his eye.

  “I kenned ye’d come back to me. How do ye feel?”

  She drew a breath and sighed. Drew another and tried to remember. “Thirsty,” she rasped.

  He gestured to someone else. Gentle, reddened hands came to help her drink. First water. Then tea.

  But Kate could not take her eyes from the man. He was badly scarred. Yet, she’d never seen anyone handsomer. She wanted his arms. She wanted his mouth. She wanted him to sing again.

  Love shone from him like a lighthouse in a storm. She reached for him. Her hands were bandaged, but it didn’t matter. He folded her close, aligning their bodies perfectly.

  Suddenly, her chest ached with the need to weep. Relief and tenderness overwhelmed her senses. She buried her face against his throat and released a small cry.

  “Shh, mo chridhe. Ye’re safe. Ye’re home.” He stroked her, offering comfort with his hands. But the greatest comfort was his scent. Cooling. Wondrous.

  “B-Broderick?”

  “Aye.”

  “You found me?”

  “Aye, lass. I’ll always find ye, no matter how dark it seems.”

  For a long while, she simply absorbed the blissful safety of his arms, the warm strength of his body. “Did you see the corkscrew?”

  He chuckled, the sound deep and reassuring. “Aye. Rannoch brought it with us. He was very impressed.”

  She snuggled closer, wanting his skin and her skin to be touching. “Well, it was impressive. We must thank Mrs. MacBean when next we see her.”

  He hummed his agreement.

  She stroked his cheek with her bandaged hand, wishing she could feel him. Perhaps after she’d healed. “You sing beautifully,” she whispered, kissing his throat and the underside of his jaw. “What did the words mean?”

  “’Tis a love song. A man’s praise for his bride. The first verse speaks of a knot that remains unfailing. Their marriage, ye ken?”

  “Hmm. Why have you never sung to me before?”

  For a moment, she wasn’t certain he would answer. And then, he did.

  “The music left me. But for ye, I’ll sing.” He held her tighter and warmed her through. “For ye, mo chridhe, I’d sing forever.”

  “Mmm. Forever is a very long time.”

  A kiss. A smile. A man who loved her well. “Not long enough.”

  EPILOGUE

  Kate squealed as Clarissa Meadows stepped down from her grandmother’s coach. She ran to the curvaceous blonde and threw her arms around her. “Oh, how I have missed you! Happy Christmas, dearest.”

  With a radiant smile, Clarissa immediately launched into breathless chatter. “Scotland is everything you said, Kate. The mountains. The water. And the haggis! Simply dreadful. Grandmama still hasn’t recovered.”

  Lady Darnham descended from the coach with the aid of Stuart MacDonnell, who had recently transferred his position from Glendasheen Castle to Kate and Broderick’s household, which Kate had decided would now be called Rowan House. Broderick objected to the name on the grounds that “all those bluidy nuisance trees will have to be cut down sooner or later,” but Kate believed she could convince him. She was very persuasive where her husband was concerned.

  Emerging from inside the house, Mama and Papa—who had surprised Kate by being at the castle when they’d arrived home from Edinburgh several days earlier—crowed greetings to Clarissa and Lady Darnham. Soon, Francis and George came outside, as well. The conversation continued in lively fashion until Broderick stalked outside.

  He made straight for Kate and, without a word, scooped her into his arms.

  She yelped. “Broderick!”

  “I willnae have ye standin’ about havin’ a blether when it’s this cold, lass.” He carried her inside, refusing to set her down until they’d entered the drawing room. He lowered her to a spot near the fireplace.

  “Our guests are going to think me terribly rude.”

  “Nah. Me, mayhap. You? They’ll just think ye’re married to a great beast with nae manners.”

  She laughed and cupped his face to draw him down for a kiss. “They wouldn’t be far wrong. But oh, how I adore my beast.”

  Surprisingly, Broderick’s scars, size, and manners hadn’t put off Mama and Papa, who had already invited him to call them either Meredith and Stanton or Mama and Papa. “Mama and Papa are preferable,” Mama had advised only yesterday. “It saves on confusion, dearest boy.”

  Kate thought Broderick might already be growing accustomed to Mama’s long hugs and Papa’s questions about the whisky business, though he had assigned Rannoch to take Papa for his third tour of the distillery.

  Alexander had survived his wound and continued his recovery at Rowan House, thanks to Magdalene’s surprising capabilities. The young woman had bashfully confessed her interest in medicine. She’d spent much of her time after leaving the Bridewell acquiring books on the subject from the orphan hospital’s surgeon. She’d brought a trunkful of the tomes with her when she’d returned with them to the glen.

  Unfortunately, they hadn’t been able to persuade Sabella to return with them. She’d been determined to stay in Edinburgh and clean up after her brother. Munro had volunteered to stay and help her; he’d promised to write if they required MacPherson assistance.

  Cecilia had disappeared the day after Kate’s rescue. They all speculated that she’d kept her passage on the ship to Amsterdam, but none of them wished to pursue the matter, least of all Broderick.

  “’Tis time to write the end of this bluidy chapter,” he’d said. “We’ve much happier endings to look forward to.”

  Today was Christmas, so Annie, John, Mrs. MacBean, and the MacPhersons all arrived within an hour of Clarissa, making for a lovely sort of chaos. As scents of Mr. McInnes’s planned feast wafted through the house, Kate, Broderick, and their guests gathered in the drawing room to exchange small gifts and tell amusing stories. Papa had just finished an anecdote about Kate’s first attempt at ice skating when Janet entered carrying Kate’s gift for Broderick.

  She thanked her maid and cleared her throat to draw everyone’s attention. “I h
ave one last gift to offer.” She stroked the tartan fabric covering the package then caught her husband’s eye. “This one is conditional.”

  He raised a brow. “Aye?”

  “You must promise to sing for me at least once per day. And when my new pianoforte is delivered, you must agree to a duet.”

  A frown tugged. He glanced at the package she held out to him. Then, he took it carefully in hand, unwrapped it, and sat still, staring down at the case. “When did ye …?”

  “On our shopping excursion.” She swallowed, waiting for him to open the case. Would he be pleased?

  It took far too long for him to reveal what lay inside, but Kate was rewarded for her patience when he lifted out the gleaming violin.

  In the room, gasps and ah’s of delighted approval sounded from Huxleys and MacPhersons alike. Francis exclaimed, “By Jove, man, that is a fine instrument. I didn’t realize you played.”

  Angus replied, “My son plays like a bluidy angel. Inherited his mam’s talent for music.”

  Rannoch added wryly, “Aye, and his da’s temper. He smashed his last fiddle into kindling. Best nae do likewise with this one, brother.”

  Broderick stroked the gleaming wood with reverent fingers. He looked at Kate, and her heart squeezed hard enough to stop her breath. “For ye, I’ll sing, mo chridhe.”

  Tears filled her eyes until the light through the windows wavered and his beautiful face swirled. “And for you, my darling, you must play.”

  He plucked out the bow, tucked the violin beneath his chin, and began to play. The tune was the same one he’d sung to her before. A love song that spoke of knots never to be undone.

  Later, as everyone sat around the dining table—rough Highlanders and elegant Englishmen, bold charmers and brash lasses, wild-haired old crones, soft-spoken laundresses, and fascinated ladies—Kate marveled at the family she’d managed to create.

  “Dinnae fash, laddie,” Mrs. MacBean said from Broderick’s opposite side. “I’ll make ye a fertility charm. I gave one to yer wee sister, and now look at her. Carryin’ twins!”

  Down the table, Annie gasped and John choked. Annie was the first to reply. “Ye told me yesterday ’twill be a son, auld woman.”

  Mrs. MacBean frowned, her good eye wandering away from her blind one. “I did?” She shook her head. “Must have been the mushrooms.”

  Annie snorted. “Twins. Pure rubbish.”

  “Mayhap I was thinkin’ of somebody else.” The old woman’s milky eye wandered toward Kate. Soon, her good eye joined in, and she stared pointedly at Kate’s middle. “Aye.”

  Alarmed, Kate placed a hand upon her belly. Mrs. MacBean might be half-mad, but Kate had learned well not to underestimate her. “Are you—are you certain?”

  The old woman shook her head as though awakening from a sleep. For a moment, confusion entered her eyes. “Certain of what, lass?”

  “That I shall have twins.”

  “Who said that?”

  “You did.”

  “I did?”

  Kate blew out an exasperated breath and looked to Broderick, who was fighting amusement. “Dinnae bother,” he advised. “Ye’ll drive yerself as mad as she is tryin’ to make sense of it.”

  “Must have been the mushrooms,” Mrs. MacBean repeated. “Take my advice, lass. Never eat the orange ones.”

  “I suppose we must simply wait to discover what lies in our future, hmm?” Kate gave the old woman a gentle smile.

  “Och, aye. Still, I’ll plant another two rowans outside, shall I?”

  “No, really, that’s not necessary,” she answered in vain.

  Mrs. MacBean had already turned toward Rannoch to explain why dallying with French women brought nothing but disease and misery.

  Kate turned a grin toward her husband and found him staring at her. Blushing, she reached for his hand. “Do you suppose we shall have more than one or two, my darling?”

  “Aye, lass.”

  “How many, do you think?”

  “How many do Sir Wallace and his fair Fiona have, now? Ten, by my last count.”

  She grinned. “There’s always room for one or two more. And we Huxleys are prolific, after all.”

  “Ah, but ye’re a MacPherson now. And we MacPhersons tend to go bigger rather than smaller.”

  “Hmm. Yes. I find I do prefer bigger. And being a MacPherson.”

  He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers tenderly. His thumb brushed over her ring. “How ye dazzle me, Mrs. MacPherson. I’m fair blinded every time I look at ye.”

  She swallowed, her heart aching with love for her forever man. “How perfectly ironic, my love.” She kissed the hand that held hers and smiled. “Every time you look at me, I feel found.”

  Ready for more?

  Watch for the next book in the

  Midnight in Scotland series

  COMING SOON!

  Midnight in Scotland: Book Three

  The Temptation of a Highlander

  by

  Elisa Braden

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  Midnight in Scotland Series

  In the enchanting new Midnight in Scotland series, the unlikeliest matches generate the greatest heat. All it takes is a spark of Highland magic.

  The Making of a Highlander (Book One)

  Handsome adventurer John Huxley is locked in a land dispute in the Scottish Highlands with one way out: Win the Highland Games. When the local hoyden Mad Annie Tulloch offers to train him in exchange for “Lady Lessons,” he agrees. But teaching the fiery, foul-mouthed, breeches-wearing lass how to land a lord seems impossible—especially when he starts dreaming of winning her for himself.

  The Taming of a Highlander (Book Two)

  Wrongfully imprisoned and tortured, Broderick MacPherson lives for one purpose—punishing the man responsible. When a wayward lass witnesses his revenge, he risks returning to the prison that nearly killed him. Kate Huxley has no wish to testify against a man who’s already suffered too much. But the only remedy is to become his wife. And she can’t possibly marry such a surly, damaged man…can she?

  Rescued from Ruin Series

  Discover the scandalous predicaments, emotional redemptions, and gripping love stories (with a dash of Lady Wallingham) in the scorching series that started it all!

  Ever Yours, Annabelle (Prequel)

  As a girl, Annabelle Huxley chased Robert Conrad with reckless abandon, and he always rescued her when she pushed too far—until the accident that cost him everything. Seven years later, Robert discovers the girl with the habit of chasing trouble is now a siren he can’t resist. But when a scandalous secret threatens her life, how far will he go to rescue her one last time?

  The Madness of Viscount Atherbourne (Book One)

  Victoria Lacey’s life is perfect—perfectly boring. Agree to marry a lord who has yet to inspire a single, solitary tingle? It’s all in a day’s work for the oh-so-proper sister of the Duke of Blackmore. Surely no one suspects her secret longing for head-spinning passion. Except a dark stranger, on a terrace, at a ball where she should not be kissing a man she has just met. Especially one bent on revenge.

  The Truth About Cads and Dukes (Book Two)

  Painfully shy Jane Huxley is in a most precarious position, thanks to dissolute charmer Colin Lacey’s deceitful wager. Now, his brother, the icy Duke of Blackmore, must make it right, even if it means marrying her himself. Will their union end in frostbite? Perhaps. But after lingering glances and devastating kisses, Jane begins to suspect the truth: Her duke may not be as cold as he appears.

  Desperately Seeking a Scoundrel (Book Three)

  Where Lord Colin Lacey goes, trouble follows. Tortured and hunted by a brutal criminal, h
e is rescued from death’s door by the stubborn, fetching Sarah Battersby. In return, she asks one small favor: Pretend to be her fiancé. Temporarily, of course. With danger nipping his heels, he knows it is wrong to want her, wrong to agree to her terms. But when has Colin Lacey ever done the sensible thing?

  The Devil Is a Marquess (Book Four)

  A walking scandal surviving on wits, whisky, and wicked skills in the bedchamber, Benedict Chatham must marry a fortune or risk ruin. Tall, redheaded disaster Charlotte Lancaster possesses such a fortune. The price? One year of fidelity and sobriety. Forced to end his libertine ways, Chatham proves he is more than the scandalous charmer she married, but will it be enough to keep his unwanted wife?

  When a Girl Loves an Earl (Book Five)

  Miss Viola Darling always gets what she wants, and what she wants most is to marry Lord Tannenbrook. James knows how determined the tiny beauty can be—she mangled his cravat at a perfectly respectable dinner before he escaped. But he has no desire to marry, less desire to be pursued, and will certainly not kiss her kissable lips until they are both breathless, no matter how tempted he may be.

  Twelve Nights as His Mistress (Novella – Book Six)

  Charles Bainbridge, Lord Wallingham, spent two years wooing Julia Willoughby, yet she insists they are a dreadful match destined for misery. Now, rather than lose her, he makes a final offer: Spend twelve nights in his bed, and if she can deny they are perfect for each other, he will let her go. But not before tempting tidy, sensible Julia to trade predictability for the sweet chaos of true love.

  Confessions of a Dangerous Lord (Book Seven)

  Known for flashy waistcoats and rapier wit, Henry Thorpe, the Earl of Dunston, is deadlier than he appears. For years, his sole focus has been hunting a ruthless killer through London’s dark underworld. Then Maureen Huxley came along. To keep her safe, he must keep her at arm’s length. But as she contemplates marrying another man, Henry’s caught in the crossfire between his mission and his heart.