Read THE GIFT: A Highland Novella Online
Authors: MARGARET MALLORY
Tags: #SCOTTISH HISTORICAL ROMANCE NOVELLA
A short time later, he reached the tavern outside the city walls where his men waited for him. His half-brothers must have been watching the door, for they ran to greet him as soon as he opened it. Will threw his arms around David’s waist, while Robbie, who was four years older, stood by looking embarrassed but relieved. David should admonish Will for his display in front of the men, but he did not have the heart. The lad, who was only ten, had lost his father and missed his mother a great deal.
“I told ye I’d return safe,” David said. “I’ll not let any harm come to ye, and I will bring your mother home.”
Their mother was being held at Dunbar, an impregnable castle protected by a royal garrison. While David did not yet know when or how he would obtain her release, he would do it.
He planned his next moves on the long ride back to Hume territory. In the violent and vola-tile Border region, you were either feared or preyed upon. David intended to make damned sure he was so feared that no one would ever dare harm his family again.
He would take control of the Hume lands and castles, which had been laid waste and forfeited to the Crown. And then he would take his vengeance on the Blackadders, the scheming liars. While pretending to be allies, the Blackadders had secretly assisted in his stepmother’s capture and then urged Albany to execute his father and uncle. It was a damned shame that the Laird of Blackadder Castle was beyond David’s reach in a new grave, but his rich lands and widow were ripe for the taking.
And the widow was a Douglas, sister to the Earl of Angus himself. For a man intent on es-tablishing a fearsome reputation, that made her an even greater prize.
Find CAPTURED BY A LAIRD on amazon USA
Find CAPTURED BY A LAIRD on amazon UK
Excerpt, THE GUARDIAN (THE RETURN OF THE HIGHLANDERS #1) by Margaret Mallory
Scotland
1513
...There was something very familiar about this lovely, green-eyed lass, but Ian could not place her.
“Ian.” Alex jabbed him in the ribs.
Ian knew he should stop staring at her, but he couldn’t help himself. And why should he, when the lass was staring right back at him? He wondered vaguely if the man at her side was her husband—and hoped he wasn’t.
“Hmmph,” Alex grunted as he pushed past Ian. He strode across the room and greeted the young woman with a kiss on her cheek, as if he knew her well.
“Ach, you are a sight to behold,” Alex said, standing back and holding her hands. “If I were your husband, Sìleas, ye can be sure I wouldn’t have kept ye waiting a single day.”
Sìleas? Ian shook his head. Nay, this could not be. The young woman was nothing like the scrawny thirteen-year-old he remembered. Instead of gawky limbs and pointed elbows, she had graceful lines and rounded curves that made his throat go dry.
And yet…that was Sìleas’s up-turned nose. And he supposed that glorious mass of curl-ing red hair could be hers, if it were brushed and combed—a state he’d never seen it in before.
“Welcome home,” the young woman said to Alex in the kind of throaty voice a man wanted to hear in the dark.
Sìleas never had one of those high-pitched little girl voices …but this beauty could not truly be her.
“Ye two must be hungry after your travels. Come, Sìleas, let us get these men fed,” his mother said, taking the lass by the arm. His mother gave him a wide-eyed look over her shoulder, the kind she used to give him when he was a lad and had committed some grievous error in front of company.
When he started to follow the two women to the table, Alex hauled him back. “Are ye an idiot?” Alex hissed in his face. “Ye didn’t even greet Sìleas. What’s the matter with ye?”
“Are ye sure that’s Sìleas?” Ian said, leaning to the side so he could see past Alex to the red-haired lass.
“Of course it is, ye fool,” Alex said. “Did ye no hear your mam just say her name?”
Ian had to tear his gaze away from her when Niall and the other man joined them. Now that he took a good look at the man, he saw it was their neighbor, Gòrdan Graumach MacDonald.
“Ian, Alex,” Gòrdan said, giving them each a curt nod.
Ian met the man’s stubborn hazel eyes. “Gòrdan.”
“You’ve been gone a long time,” Gòrdan said, sounding as though Ian could not be gone long enough to make him happy. “A good deal has changed here in your absence.”
“Has it now?” Ian said, knowing a challenge when he heard one. “Well, ye can expect it all to change again, now that I’m back.”
Gòrdan scowled at him before turning on his heel to join the women, who were busy set-ting food on the table on the other side of the room.
“Thank ye kindly for supper,” Gòrdan said to them.
“Ye are always welcome to join us. ’Tis small thanks for all you’ve done for us,” his mother said, beaming at Gòrdan. “’Twas kind of ye to take Sìleas out for a stroll today.”
What in the name of all the saints was his mother doing, thanking that conniving Gòrdan?
“If ye need me for…for anything at all,” Gòrdan said to Sìleas in a low voice, “ye know where to find me.” Gòrdan touched her arm as he spoke to her, and an unaccountable surge of anger rose in Ian’s chest, choking him.
If Sìleas answered, Ian didn’t hear it over the blood pounding in his ears. Just what was going on between Sìleas and Gòrdan Graumach MacDonald? He was about to help Gòrdan out the door when the man showed the good sense to leave.
“Ye won’t have far to look to find a man to replace ye,” Alex said in Ian’s ear. “That is what ye wanted, no?”
“That doesn’t mean I’ll let Gòrdan make a cuckold of me,” Ian ground out through his teeth.
Ian didn’t know whether to regret drinking so much whiskey—or to wish he had drunk a good deal more. After traveling half the world, he felt disoriented in his own home. Everyone had changed—his brother, his mother. And most of all, Sìleas. He still could not quite believe it was her.
“Come have some supper,” his mother said and disappeared into the kitchen. She re-turned a moment later with a steaming bowl. “I’ve got your favorite fish stew.”
Ian’s stomach rumbled as the savory smell reached him. He was near starved.
From the corner of his eye, he saw the back of Sìleas’s skirt disappearing up the stairs.
He stopped with his spoon halfway to his mouth as it occurred to him he had the right to follow her up and take her to bed. Tonight. Right now. Before supper, if he wanted. And again, after. The part of him between his legs was giving him an emphatic “Aye!”
His reaction startled him. For five long years, he had planned to end the marriage as soon as he returned. He’d harbored not a single doubt. The only question had been how to do it with the least embarrassment to Sìleas—and the least difficulty for him.
But he made that plan before she turned into this enchanting lass with a voice that was like velvet sliding over his skin—and curves that would have him dreaming of her naked as soon as he closed his eyes.
Aye, he most definitely wanted to take Sìleas to bed. Any man would. The question, however, was whether he wanted her to be the last woman he ever took to his bed. He wasn’t prepared to decide that tonight. Hell, he didn’t even know Sìleas anymore. Was the woman any-thing like the wild-haired bairn who used to follow him about and always need rescuing?
Ian knew he should say something to her. But what? He couldn’t tell her he was ready to be her husband and bind his life to hers forever. Though he had no idea what he would say, he got up from his chair, stomach rumbling, to follow her upstairs.
***
Sìleas ran up the stairs. She slammed the bedchamber door, leaned against it, and gulped in deep breaths. Damn him! She had wept for Ian MacDonald too many times over the last five years, and she was not going to do it again.
Her head pounded, her chest hurt, and she could not get enough air. She had lied to her-self. Lied, when she told herself she had put her childish dreams away. Lied, when she said she’d ceased expecting Ian to want to share a life with her when he finally returned.
If she had given up her dreams, her heart would not be breaking from the loss of them now.
When Ian embraced his mother first, she understood. That was only right. And she hardly resented it at all when he greeted Niall next, for Niall had missed Ian almost as much as she had. But then, it was her turn. She fixed her gaze on the floor and held her breath, waiting. He was the one who left; he should come to her. In any case, her feet would not move.
Then the room went silent, and she felt his gaze on her. Slowly, she lifted her head and looked into the bluest eyes in the Highlands. Her fingers were ice, her palms sweaty, and her bodice felt too tight. For five years, she had waited for this moment.
She had imagined it a thousand times. Ian would give her a wide smile that warmed his eyes and pull her into his arms. He would tell her how much he missed her and how glad he was to be home. Then, in front of God and his family, he would call her “wife” and give her a kiss—her first real kiss.
In her more realistic moments, she thought it might be awkward between them at first, but that Ian would attempt to make it right and seek her forgiveness. Never did she imagine he would not speak to her.
Not a single word.
With her heart in her throat, she implored him with her eyes to do as he ought. Instead, he stared at her as if she had grown a tail and fins. If he didn’t want to claim her, he could have had the courtesy to greet her as the old friend she was, then told her in private he did not wish to be her husband. His public dismissal was both insulting and heartless.
Sìleas paced up and down her bedchamber, clenching her hands until her nails pierced the skin. The boy she had known would never have been so unkind. The angry young man who had called her repulsive, however, was capable of such cruelty. All this time, she had made excuses for him. Even now, she was tempted—but failing to acknowledge her in some small way was simply unforgiveable.
Ian’s words from their wedding day rang in her ears. Have ye taken a good look at her? Ach! She tilted her head back. “Dear God, did ye have to make him more handsome than ever? Was that truly necessary?”
Ian had been a lovely boy, with kind, sky-blue eyes framed by thick, dark lashes—the sort all the mothers cooed over. But there was nothing left of the sweet lad in the man who strode into the house tonight. True enough, his eyes were as blue as ever and his hair the same shiny black of a selkie. But the man had a rough, dangerous air about him.
It was possible he’d been like this when he returned from fighting on the borders, and she had been too young to recognize it. But the moment he burst into the room tonight, she felt it, recognized it, knew it for the danger it was. And instead of making her wary, a ripple of excite-ment shivered through her, right down to the tips of her toes. She wanted to be next to him, to feel the power of his presence, to touch the vibrating energy that coursed through him.
She felt it, wanted it…and Ian ignored her.
She needed to be gone from this house. Nay, she would not be married to a man who did not want her. She jerked the cloth sack off the hook on the back of her door, threw it on the bed, and started tossing things into it.
Not all men found her disgusting. She knew several clansmen who would be pleased to have her for a wife—and not just for her lands.
As she looked around the room, deciding what to take with her, her gaze lingered on the quilt his mother had made her…the colored stones Niall had collected with her…the wooden box Ian’s father had carved for her.
She’d lived here for five years, but she’d been wrong to think of this as her home. No matter how much she loved Ian’s family, they were his blood, his family. Not hers.
Sìleas looked down at the gown in her hand and remembered how she and Ian’s mother had talked by the fire as they worked on it together. All her life, she had longed for a family, for a home where people laughed at the table and cared for each other. She had been happy here, despite the waiting.
Ian’s family had welcomed her from the start, and eventually accepted and loved her. His father had taken the longest to win over—but she had. Losing the family she had come to think of her own would be hard. Very hard, indeed. But she was here as Ian’s wife. If she wasn’t that, she could not stay.
But where could she go?
Find THE GUARDIAN on amazon USA
Find THE GUARDIAN on amazon UK
BOOKLIST
THE DOUGLAS LEGACY
CLAIMED BY A HIGHLANDER (2015)
THE RETURN OF THE HIGHLANDERS
ALL THE KING’S MEN
NOVELLAS
THE GIFT: a Highland novella
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Margaret Mallory is the award-winning author of the two Scottish historical series, THE DOUGLAS LEGACY and THE RETURN OF THE HIGHLANDERS, and the medieval trilogy, ALL THE KING'S MEN. Her historical romances have won numerous honors, including a RITA© nomination, RT Book Reviews' Best Scotland-Set Historical Romance Award, the National Readers' Choice Award, and two Maggies.
Margaret abandoned her career as a lawyer to become a romance novelist after she realized she'd rather have thrilling adventures with handsome Highland warriors than write briefs and memos. Margaret lives with her husband in the beautiful Pacific Northwest, which looks a lot like parts of the Scottish Highlands. Now that her children are off on their own adventures, she spends most of her time writing, but she also loves to read, watch movies, hike, and travel. Readers can find information on all of Margaret’s books, photos of Scotland, historical tidbits, and links to Margaret on Facebook and Twitter on her website,
www.MargaretMallory.com
.