The Highlander's Outlaw Bride (29 page)

Conn’s low chuckle partially reassured her. “He is running about with Gillis and that braw dog of yers, driving the lad to distraction with a hundred questions a day. Dinnae worry about him.”

“Rabbie?”

“Bray found him addled from a clout to the head. He needed a few stitches and a bit of rest, but he will be fine.”

“What else?” She felt herself tiring.

“Nothing to
fash
yerself over. Get some rest.”

Her throat went dry. “The bairn?”

Conn shook his head. “I dinnae know, dearling. Ye have been bleeding, but ye havenae lost the bairn—yet.”

Her breath came in hiccups. Conn tightened his arms about her. “Ye will stay in bed until ye and the bairn are healthy again,” he told her. “Ye have no idea what happened to my heart when I found Jamie in the middle of the road, too winded to speak. He gave me a garbled story about Auld Willie, and when I found ye, I felt my life was about to be over.”

He gently stroked her back as her shudders eased. “Ye had lost so much blood, but ye saved yerself. I have never been so helpless in my life.”

“Hold me.”

Conn stretched out beside her on the bed and held her against his heart. “
Coorie doon
, dearling. Snuggle down and rest. Ye are safe with me.”

Epilogue

April 1387, Corfin Castle, Morven

The cry of a newborn echoed loudly in the silence of the great hall. Conn bolted from his chair and took the stairs two at a time, his nerves stretched to the breaking point. Behind him, murmurs sifted from the lips of those who’d shared his long wait. Brianna had been in labor for more than a day, and he grew frantic with worry.

Bursting through the doorway of the laird’s bedchamber, ignoring Una’s glare, he strode to the edge of the bed. His eyes searched Brianna’s face before allowing his gaze to settle on the bundle in her arms.

“’Tis a lad,” she told him drowsily, the weariness in her voice tearing at his heart. “I thought we should name him Ian, after yer da.”

A huge grin split his face as he settled beside her on the bed, peering over the tiny bundle who’d caused such an uproar in their lives. Young Ian was, at this moment, asleep, content in his ma’s arms.

“Ye dinnae want to name him after yer father?” Conn asked, touching the tip of a finger to the babe’s satin cheek.

“He is a MacLaurey. I like Ian.”

He leaned over and kissed her softly. “Thank ye for giving me a chance to know my son.” He lifted the bundle from her arms and cuddled the babe against his shoulder. “
Coorie doon
, my wee lad. Ye are safe with me, my wee laddie.”

Tam entered the room behind him and leapt upon the bed, snuggling close to Brianna, and propped his chin on his paws, a watchful look on his face as the bairn gave a small cry and waved a tiny fist. Jamie hesitated in the doorway, the anxious look on his face breaking into a grin as Conn bid him enter.

“Yer wee cousin bids ye welcome, Jamie, lad. Do ye think ye can give him pointers as he grows up?”

Jamie nodded his head vigorously. “Aye! I will teach him to run and swim and tickle trout in the stream.” He beamed at Conn. “Da showed me how the other day. I havenae caught one, yet, but he did!”

Brianna chuckled tiredly and Conn rose, shooing Jamie and the dog out the door as he placed wee Ian in his cradle. Jamie bounded across the floor, arms windmilling in excitement.

“And I will let him ride my horse when he is bigger. ’Twill be black as night and fire will come from its nose! And ’twill be as tall as the sky—bigger!”

He turned in the doorway, a finger to his lips as he glanced at his sister. “Conn? Dinnae tell Anna, but I am glad wee Ian isnae a girl. Would ye have minded?”

Conn traced the curve of wee Ian’s cheek with his fingertips, a fullness blossoming in his chest he had never felt before. “Nae, Jamie. I wouldnae have minded at all. Ye see, she would have been just like her ma.”

Acknowledgements

During this past year, I am eternally grateful to my critique partners, Dawn Marie Hamilton, Cate Parke, and Derek Dodson, who have endured the changes in my life. I have the utmost respect for your writing, your encouragement and your friendship.

A Note to my Readers

Thank you so much for sharing the journey with me. This is the fourth book in the Highlander’s Bride series. Of all the books, this one connects most with the one before it, though it is not necessary to read them in order—just more fun
 

The Highlander’s Outlaw Bride is actually the first Highlander book I ever wrote. It was written as a challenge by author-friend, Katherine Bone, after I took a year’s sabbatical from writing and wanted to try something fresh. Katherine suggested I write an historical romance, her own genre, then, a mere three months later, recommended I enter it in the Golden Claddagh Contest, hosted by Celtic Hearts Romance Writers. I can remember telling her, “Gee, Katherine, I just started it. I don’t know…” It did not faze her in the least I had only two months to complete the novel.

I did, and it won its category, proving her to be a very astute and helpful friend, and The Highlander’s Outlaw Bride now takes its place in the series. I sincerely hope you enjoyed it.

For those of you who follow my Wonderful Wednesday blog and have met Freki, yes, Tam is modeled on her antics as a puppy. Tam is also a fond compilation of memories growing up amid a pack of Collies. In Medieval Scotland, the colley would have more closely resembled the Border Collie than the modern-day Collie, hence the portrait on the book’s cover.

I love to hear from readers! Look for news and fun on my blogs.

Bits ’n Bobs showcases writings from many authors as well as my own books, and writing related interest features.

Wonderful Wednesdays is a personal blog, typically dedicated to the dogs, gardening, and whatever else takes my fancy.

You can find both at
http://www.cathymacraeauthor.com

Other Books by Cathy MacRae

The Highlander’s Bride series
:

The Highlander’s Accidental Bride
(book 1)

http://www.amzn.com/B00BMFPT12

The Highlander’s Reluctant Bride
(book 2)

http://www.amzn.com/B00J1PNPPC

The Highlander’s Tempestuous Bride
(book 3)

http://www.amzn.com/ B00P89UHME

The Highlander’s Outlaw Bride
(book 4)

Kinnons’s Story (working title) (book 5) Available in 2015

…a sneek peek…

Kinnon’s Story

(working title)

by Cathy MacRae

1380, Châteauneuf-de-Randon, France

Kinnon Macrory stared into the face of death.

’Tis nae fair. After all the battles I have survived, to arrive at this.
He would have sighed at the injustice of it, but he was, quite frankly, afraid to make an unnecessary move.

The black mask surrounded dark topaz eyes, burnished fur, and a fine set of strong, white teeth revealed from beneath snarling black jowls. The Alaunt’s ears pressed flat against his skull in warning, and his hair stood up along his neck and shoulders. As did Kinnon’s.

Shite.

He lifted his gaze carefully from the reddened hand laid across the dog’s neck. The slender fingers could have belonged to a nobleman’s daughter, but the nails were short and the skin rough. Amazing what the mind registers when death is imminent. The owner of the hand wore a serviceable gown, patched areas meticulously sewn, sleeve cuff turned back on itself, almost hiding the raveled edges. A smudged apron covered the gown, the bucket of milk at her feet attesting her job before he walked up. And came face-to-face with death.

“Do ye mind calling off yer beast?” He offered a winsome smile, splaying his hands at his side, a small bag of coins in his left palm. The young woman stared at him, hardly giving the bag a look.

He tried again. “
Chien
?”

The young woman’s gaze did not waver—clear, cold blue eyes bore into his. Wisps of black hair curled damply against her temple, attesting to her work ethic. Her thin nose sat atop full, red lips that neither smiled nor frowned at him.

The dog growled, a deep menacing sound originating from his enormous chest that warned Kinnon from making a further move—if he wanted to keep his throat intact.

Kinnon did.

His heartbeat kicked up. The impressive muscles in the dog’s forelegs rippled, his claws gripped the ground, his hindquarters bunched. Endless moments passed as Kinnon roundly cursed the man who sent him to this farm on an errand better suited to one of the camp lackeys.

“
Se calmer
, Jean-Baptiste,” she murmured as the dog leaned forward.

“Jean-Baptiste?” Kinnon couldn’t help himself. “Ye call this beast John the Baptizer?”

The woman gave him in inscrutable look, but the edge of her lips quivered, threatened to smile. “He has changed the religion of more than one man,
monsieur
.”

Kinnon’s eyebrows shot upward. “Aye. I can see that happening.” He eyed the enormous beast, his shoulder almost even with the woman’s waist, his possessiveness clear. With his mistress’s soft command, the dog settled, but his eyes did not waver, his threat remained unmistakable.

“I was sent here to ask ye for what supplies I could buy.” Kinnon gently flipped the small bag in his hand. The movement and clink of coin drew the woman’s attention.

“You brought coin?” She snorted and hefted the milk bucket in one slender hand. Kinnon moved instinctively to take the burden from her but froze at the snarling response from Jean-Baptiste. Cool blue eyes met his, and this time, the young woman smiled.

“
Merci,
but I can manage. If you would like to keep yourself intact, please take a step back. Jean-Baptiste and I do not like to be crowded.”

Kinnon let out his breath and took the required step backward. “Aye. And I thank ye.”

She raised her eyebrows. “For what?”

“For not letting yon beast change my religion.”

The young woman jerked her chin, indicating him to follow. Keeping a respectful distance, Kinnon trailed her.

“What is it you wish to purchase?” Her voice hitched as she swung the bucket onto the back of the small cart against the edge of the stone stable. Moss grew over the crumbling edges, softening the once-pristine façade. Hay spilled out into the yard, fresh and clean, its odor mingling with the sharp tang of manure.

“My commander sent me for chickens, eggs, beef—whatever ye can spare.” He gave her a sideways glance. “The coin would purchase material for a pretty gown for ye, or mayhap a bit of ribbon.”

The woman gave him a stern look. “I have no use for such fripperies. The soldiers usually simply take what they want, and our cupboards bear the brunt of their greed.”

“Bertran wouldnae condone such behavior.”

“His isnae the only army in these parts,
monsieur
. The English have garrisoned here many years.”

“That would explain ye speaking English, though yer accent is quite lovely.” Kinnon gifted her a winsome grin.

“Your
accentuer
is strange. Neither
Anglais
nor
Français
. It is not one I recognize.”

“Nae English. Scots.”

She lifted fine eyebrows. “You are Scottish? Fighting here, on French soil?”

Kinnon’s grin broadened.

“Och, aye. As part of the Auld Alliance, we Scots are grateful for any chance to fight the bluidy English.”

Wiping her hands in her apron, the young woman nodded. “Do you have a wagon?”

“Aye. ’Tis in that copse of trees. Bluidy rocks around here make driving it a bit of a nuisance.”

“We will pick out what you need and load the cart. Jean-Baptiste can pull it to your wagon.” She led him into the stable.

Kinnon eyed the beast’s beefy shoulders. “A good use for his muscles.”

“He can take down an angry bull with a mere tug of his head. His ancestors were bred in the mountains and came with the Romans as fighting dogs. He fears nothing, yet cares for us with gentleness.”

“Us?”

She nodded. “My sister lives here as well. She is gathering eggs.”

Kinnon paused. “Mademoiselle, I have been too long at war, but even so, my ma would say my manners need polish. If we are to do business, I should introduce myself. My name is Kinnon Macrory.” He held out his hand.

“My name is Melisende. Let me see the color of your coin.”

* * *

The Highlander’s Outlaw Bride

Copyright © 2014 Short Dog Press

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be copied, reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or shared in any form (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission from the author except for brief quotations for printed reviews.