Bearing It All (26 page)

It was a beautiful late May day when everyone assembled at Iverson Loch Manor for the wedding of Effie Iverson Munro and Earnan Matheson. Just friends and family had been invited. The white gazebo next to the small lake had been decorated with ivy and pink and purple tulips. Tiny lights twinkled over the roof and wound in with the ivy lining the edge. White chairs were placed around the gazebo. The walkway was lined with alternating pots of white, pink, and purple tulips.

A classic rock guitarist alternated songs with a man who played the bagpipes.

The bride was a nervous wreck. She'd bought three dresses for the wedding and couldn't make up her mind which one to wear. She'd changed four times. Finally, Anisa couldn't take it anymore. “This pink dress with the U-shaped neckline, gathered skirt, and purple tie-dye sash is it. Wear the pink Prada heels.”

“Sure, easy for you to say,” Effie growled. “You're pregnant and shining with it. You'd look great in anything. Just like you did at your own wedding last month. You were a vision in your satin, off-the-shoulder gown. Ronan couldn't stop smiling.” Effie's hand fluttered to her heart. “It was the most romantic thing.”

Anisa placed her hands on her hips. “Oh, and having your beloved give you a pink diamond from Paris wasn't romantic?”

Effie extended her hand, looked at her ring, and sighed. “He proposed to me in the gazebo where we're getting married. It was a very romantic proposal. I was so shocked when he pulled out a ring box from Cartier.” She sighed. “And, of course, as soon as I saw the deep pink stone, I knew how much thought and love he'd put into his choice.” Her eyes got all misty.

“Come on, you hippie, you've got a wedding to attend. This time it's yours. And it'll be just as romantic as you can imagine. I hear your groom has something especially romantic planned.”

When Effie walked out the front door of her house, to her surprise, her groom, dressed in full Scottish regalia, waited for her on a white steed with wide pink ribbons hanging from its bridle. He reached down and, with Creighton's help, lifted her to sit in front of him. She held her bouquet of pink roses to her heart as he slowly took the white horse two times around the loch while everyone cheered. Effie's eyes twinkled with magic when Earnan helped her off the horse.

“Oh, I do love a man with imagination. Wasn't that the most romantic thing? How sweet of you to take me away, like a hero on a magic steed.”

“Me Angel, this is only the beginning fer us. I love ye to the stars and back.”

“Oh, Earnan, I love you, too.”

This book is dedicated to Pam Bordner, my eldest son's beloved.

And a special, love-filled thank-you to the greatest Street Team in the world—Vonnie's Vixens—who support me in so many, many ways. I'd be lost without you.

A Highlander's Obsession

A Highlander's Passion

Bearing It All

Her Survivor
(coming soon)

PHOTO: MIKE SHUBERT

V
ONNIE
D
AVIS
, who studied English at Penn State, likens herself to a croissant: crusty, wrinkled, flaky—and best served with strong coffee. After a career as a technical writer, she's spending her retirement playing fairy godmother to her characters, giving them their happily-ever-afters. Six fantastic, talented kids call her “Grandma” and brighten her world in so many ways. She lives in southern Virginia with her husband, author Calvin Davis.

vonniedavis.com

Facebook.com/​WritingStoriesOfTheHeart

@VonnieWrites

Another month of new Loveswept romance books is here! I know you'll adore this selection of stories chosen just for you….

USA Today
bestselling author Claire Kent continues her emotionally charged story of longing, betrayal, and insatiable desire with
Darker the Release,
sequel to
Sweet the Sin
. Another Loveswept
USA Today
bestseller, Lauren Layne, introduces her new Oxford series with
Irresistibly Yours
. Wendy Marcus's latest sexy yet sweet military romance,
All I Need is You,
releases this month as well. Then there's another Friends First story from
USA Today
bestseller Laura Drewry,
How Forever Feels
.
USA Today
bestseller Stacey Kennedy finishes up her successful BDSM Club Sin series with
Mine
, simultaneously introducing her next series of erotic play, Dirty Little Secrets, and hot hero Micah.

We're back on the ice with the first in the Aces Hockey series from Kelly Jamieson,
Major Misconduct.
Ladies, hold on to your hearts, the Caldwell Brothers are here—
USA Today
bestselling author MJ Fields and Chelsea Camaron want you to meet
Hendrix,
the first book in a series about three alpha men who live up to their legendary names. Lastly, something a little different—bear-shifter's anyone? An alpha hero to the extreme, hot highlander Ronan is all that you could want in
Bearing It All
by Vonnie Davis, perfect for fans of Jennifer Ashley and Shelly Laurenston.

Fabulous variety with a book for everyone, yes? I hope you've found your book boyfriend in this month's releases. However, if you haven't, fear not, as November's hot lineup is just around the corner. Until then…

Happy Romance!

Gina Wachtel

Associate Publisher

Deep in the Hill Country of Texas, a small town has developed around an old Apache legend. Myth or truth—the magic of Wounded Warrior Falls was handed down, generation to generation, that the rocks in Warrior Falls carried magical healing properties. Wounded Apaches would stand or be carried beneath the waterfall for the healing-infused water to flow over them.

The small town, Warrior Falls, has a population nearing six thousand. Its few streets boast shops, restaurants, and supply stores kept afloat by the townsfolk and nearby ranchers. Many of these businesses are owned and operated by quirky characters. There are a few lovely “Texan roses” working in the town, too.

Not far from Warrior Falls is a ranch owned by ex-SEAL Warrant Officer Zane Quinlan, known to his crew and Texan neighbors as ZQ. Eagle Ridge Ranch has been in his family for generations, and he's returned here to find some solace and healing of his own. Before long, an injured member of his old team hunts him down for a place of quiet to acclimate to living in the world again.

Seeing the need for a healing ranch for his old SEAL team and others, he and his hired hands convert part of the ranch to accommodate wounded warriors for short-term or longer stays to heal both physical and emotional wounds. This 22,000-acre ranch becomes a hub of healing for wounded warriors, rough and tough ex-SEALs.

The first book in the series,
Her Survivor,
will be on sale soon.

by Maeve Greyson

Available from Loveswept

S
COTLAND—
T
HE
H
IGHLANDS—
T
HIRTEENTH
C
ENTURY

“Have ye e'er seen such a lovely set o' bosoms?”

Colum Garrison lowered his cup enough to peer past the metal rim.
Aye.
Diarmuid had the right of it there. The man had a keen eye when it came to the lasses. The newest serving girl was indeed a comely maid blessed with a bounty of curves.

Colum drained the tankard, licking the last of the tangy ale from his lips as he slid the empty mug to the table. “An untapped MacKenna keg against that fine ale ye bring all the way from Ireland. What say ye? I gi' ye fair odds. Whoe'er leaves the hall with her on his arm claims the spoils.”

Diarmuid squinted one eye shut while scrubbing his fingers through the short black beard curling along his jaw. “Fair odds, me arse. If I win the gift of the lass's charms, ye'll gi' me yer best bow along wi' that keg of fine MacKenna whisky.”

Colum tapped a thumb against the handle of his empty tankard. Yon sweetling would easily choose him o'er Diarmuid, but wager his best bow? O'er something as flighty as a woman's druthers? Instinct and past experience with Diarmuid's less-than-scrupulous wagers gave him pause. The man's terms reeked with the stench of a carefully laid trap. Colum drummed his fingers atop the rough table. “That bow was a gift from the chieftain. There's none like it in all the Highlands.”

Diarmuid grinned, held up his index finger, then slowly allowed it to droop at the knuckle. He gave a sly wink as he flipped the sagging appendage, making it appear boneless. “What ails ye, m'friend? Are ye no' feelin'
up
for the wee challenge?”

Colum banged his empty mug atop the long trestle table and waved the girl toward them. “I'll show ye ‘
up.'
After the lass has been with me, she'll no' have a hunger for yer wee sausage.”

Diarmuid rubbed his hands together, his impish grin widening into a devilish smile. “We shall see, man-at-arms. We shall see.”

The teasing look in the young woman's eyes, paired with the coy tilting of her head, settled the matter nicely.
Aye.
The lass is as good as mine, and so is another keg of Diarmuid's fine ale.
Colum slowly traced a fingertip around the curve of his mug. Soon his fingers would trace along much finer curves.

The girl tucked her broad wooden platter under one arm and sashayed toward them. When she reached the men, the red-haired vixen leaned across the bench and propped a hand atop the table. Her smile widened as she not so subtly arched her back, providing an even better view of the creamy cleavage about to spill free of her tightly laced kirtle. “Aye, master. Can I be a fetchin' anythin' for ye?”

Colum released his most beguiling smile, leaned forward, and ever so gently slid a finger beneath the young maid's silky chin. Diarmuid ne'er stood a chance. This wee filly was already his. The truth of it shone in her clear blue eyes and her barely parted lips, already beggin' for his kisses.

A deep voice boomed across the crowded hall. “Colum! Here. Now. The MacKenna bids ye see him in his solar at once. Best be about it, man.”

Colum let his hand drop to the table, clenching his teeth to keep from cursing aloud. Damn Galen and his ill-timed interruptions. What the hell was wrong wi' the man? Could he no' see there was serious business at hand?

Diarmuid chuckled and scooted Colum farther down the bench, bumping his way in front of the still smiling maid. “Dinna worry, friend. I'll make sure this fine young lass doesna feel neglected by yer absence.” Diarmuid tickled a finger up and down the maid's lightly freckled forearm as a beguiling smile lit up his face. “Do ye happen to fancy sausages, m'dear one?”

A low-throated growl escaped him as Colum swung out from the bench and stood. He searched the far wall of stone archways for Galen. 'Twas a sorry day when he'd been fool enough to make that clot-head his second-in-command. Aye, Galen was a fine warrior, but the stubborn bastard had a talent for bein' a verra large pain in the arse.

Barrel-chested Galen grinned and waved from the widest of the arches leading up to the private rooms of the keep. He nodded and winked, rolling up on his toes to bounce a bit higher than his stumpy height, which barely brought him to Colum's shoulder. His smirking grin widened to a toothy smile as Colum closed in on him. “Now, lad, dinna fret. I'm sure ye can win the lass back from Diarmuid as soon the chief is done wi' ye.”

“Ye just cost me m'best bow and a keg of whisky.” Colum shoved Galen aside as he shouldered through the doorway.

Galen lowered his broad shoulder and effectively bounced Colum a few steps sideways into the opposing wall. The man might be short of stature but he was nearly as wide as he was tall and stood as solid as
Beinn Nibheis.
He jabbed a short stubby finger toward the center of Colum's chest. “I saved ye from yer chieftain's wrath, ye ungrateful bastard. Were ye no' just tellin' me how the MacKenna warned ye to leave the maids alone for a bit? Did he no' tell ye he grows weary of gettin' his arse chewed by both his wife and her grandmother for how ye run through the women in the keep? Good Lord, man. Ye should be a thankin' me. I saw Mother Sinclair herself headin' toward ye from the kitchens.”

Damn the squat bastard.
Colum rolled his shoulder, still stinging from scraping the rough stone of the wall, and glanced back behind them. Sure enough, Granny Sinclair was currently blessing out Diarmuid. She had one bony hand clamped around the serving girl's elbow while she shook a bent finger just inches from the tip of Diarmuid's nose. The old woman didna even pause for breath as she whipped around and shook the same scolding finger in the face of the wide-eyed maid.

It appeared a debt of gratitude was owed rather than a swift kick in the arse. Colum clapped a hand to Galen's meaty shoulder and hurried them both farther down the hall. “I owe ye greatly, m'fine friend. I swear t'ye, I'll do the sword dance at yer next weddin'.”

Galen shook his head and held up a hand. “I've seen yer great gawkin' form hoppin' about to the pipes. Spare me the favor, ye oversized son of a
Lochlannach.
”

Colum gave Galen a friendly shove and widened his stride. Galen wasna the first man to accuse him of Viking ancestry. And what of it? Colum found no fault in bein' compared to some o' the most fearless warriors on land or sea. “So tell me, friend. Does our chief truly wish to see me or were ye merely savin' me hide?”

Galen's bushy brows arched higher on his balding head, greatly resembling a pair of oversized wooly worms. “Oh no, lad. The MacKenna did summon yer arse.”

“For?”

“I dinna ken.” Galen shook his head and scratched a hairy shoulder before yanking the neck of his tunic back in place. “But I did hear him say 'twas really for Mother Sinclair—her and the Lady Trulie. What the hell have ye done now, and do ye even remember her name?”

Colum stopped dead in his tracks. An uncomfortable sense of foreboding settled in his gut, then took to churning like a great serpent stirring the bowels of the sea. “Mother Sinclair, ye say?”

“Aye.” Galen solemnly nodded.

“
And
the Lady Trulie?”

“Aye.” Galen pulled up short, easing back a step as they reached the arch leading to the stairwell up to the chieftain's private rooms. The man eyed the narrow doorway as though it were the gateway to hell.

“And ye're certain ye've no idea of what it might be?” Colum glanced toward the winding stone steps leading up to the MacKenna's solar and swallowed hard. With the Sinclair women plotting against him, he'd feel more at ease going to the gallows.

Galen gripped Colum's upper arm, then hurriedly motioned the sign of the cross over his chest. “I dinna ken. But I will say a prayer for ye and I'll also make a sacrifice to the old gods as well. Here's to the hopes that all the entities watch over ye. I feel ye'll be a needin' the lot o' them.” Galen jerked his chin toward his chest, squeezed Colum's arm one last time, then turned and barreled back down the hallway.

Colum watched Galen disappear through the arch. A deep-seated sense of survival strongly advised him to follow the man.
Nay.
Colum shook free of the urge. He'd saved the MacKenna's life several times; surely his chief would protect him from whate'er the women plotted.

He traced his fingertips along the cold rough stones of the tower wall as he slowly climbed the winding stairs.
Aye. The MacKenna will protect me.
A delayed flash of pride surged through him.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Afraid of two women?
Colum sucked in a deep breath and took the remaining steps two at a time.
Nay. I'm no' a coward.
As soon as the words crossed his mind, he felt a bit sheepish. He sounded as though he was trying to convince himself of his own courage.

Colum sensed the tension in the room as soon as he walked through the door of the chieftain's private solar. He paused a moment, wiping his damp palms against the coarse wool of his plaid. Well, mayhap not tension—'twas more like the gut-tightening feel a man got the night before battle. There was damn sure somethin' ill a stirrin', and he didna care for the feel of it at all.

Gray MacKenna, chieftain of Clan MacKenna and Colum's best friend since they were both snot-nosed lads, lounged comfortably on one end of a pillowed bench with an unreadable look on his face that could only mean trouble. His wife, Lady Trulie, sat at his side, one hand slowly stroking her great rounded belly as though comforting the child within.

“M'chieftain,” Colum greeted him, nodding as he studied Gray's expression closer. He couldna pinpoint exactly what it was. What the hell was the man thinking?
Verra strange.
More oft than not he knew Gray's thoughts before the man e'er spoke them; they'd fought side by side that long. But he had no idea what the man was thinking this time. Sucking in a deep breath, Colum turned and politely bowed to Lady Trulie. “M'lady.”

Lady Trulie didn't say a word, just lowered her chin in a polite nod and continued rubbing the wool-covered mound of her belly.

Colum got the uncomfortable feeling he was being sized up for prey. He widened his stance, sent up a prayer for divine protection, and hoped like hell Galen was in fact making that promised sacrifice to the old gods.

Gray blew air out noisily and shifted among the pillows. He still didna speak, just appeared to be struggling against some inner turmoil. Whate'er it was had to be serious. The man looked as though he was about to explode. What the devil had come o'er the chief? Had the clan been attacked? Was the king on the rampage again? If that was the case, why would the Sinclair women intervene? Had the Fates sent them one of their visions?

Colum caught a subtle movement out of the corner of his eye. Senses on edge, he jerked and faced it. Nothing moved but the slight shifting of the MacKenna colors hanging beside the great stone fireplace. Lady Trulie's huge beast of a dog, Karma, rolled to his side on the hide stretched before the hearth and groaned in his sleep. Colum swallowed hard. Damn them all. What the hell was afoot? He turned back and faced his chieftain.

Lady Trulie resettled herself in the corner of the settee. The devilry flashing in her smile worried Colum more than anything else. Her thoughtful expression sent a chill through his bones. Lady Trulie was a great deal like her grandmother. She demanded a heavy dose of respect, and any who underestimated the woman quickly rued their stupidity. Her mischievous smile shifted to a look of intense concentration as she wriggled uncomfortably in the seat. Leaning forward as far as her rounded belly would allow, Lady Trulie shoved another colorful tapestry pillow down behind her lower back. “Lordy, I wish this baby would come soon. I feel like a bloated cow.”

Colum bit the inside of his cheek. Lady Trulie had ne'er behaved like any other woman he had ever known. But he supposed that stood to reason, since she came from some strange place called Kentucky in the even stranger-sounding future.

“Are ye no' well, then, m'lady?” Colum ignored Gray's barking laugh. And damned if his chieftain didna sit there and shake his head as if he couldna believe Colum had asked that question. What the hell was he supposed t'say to the woman? 'Twas obvious she was miserable. He was merely attempting to show proper respect to his chief's wife.
Damn ye to hell and back, Gray.

“Yes.” Lady Trulie smiled as she swatted Gray's arm with a disapproving smack. “I'm quite well, thank you.” She motioned toward a cushioned chair beside a low table containing a metal pitcher and several cups. “Please—pour yourself a drink and have a seat while we wait for Granny.”

“While we wait for Mother Sinclair?” Every muscle tensed several notches tighter as though someone had just doused him with a bucket of water from the coldest part of the loch. Why the hell were they waiting for Mother Sinclair? Damn Galen and his faulty eavesdropping. When he'd heard Gray mention Mother Sinclair, why had the man no' found out what in blue blazes was about to befall him?

“Aye.” Gray grinned and slid out of swatting reach of his wife. “Mother Sinclair wishes to have a word with ye.”

“I see.” Colum settled his stance and clasped his hands to the small of his back.

Gray's grin widened into a knowing smile and a wicked chuckle escaped him. “D'ye no' wish to sit, man?”

“Nay.” Colum rolled his shoulders. “I prefer to meet Mother Sinclair standin'.”

Gray laughed out loud and rose from his seat. “I know ye need a drink before she arrives.”

Colum verra much doubted there was enough whisky in all of Scotland to prepare a man to face Mother Sinclair. “Will the two of ye give no hint at all about what the woman wants with me?”