Highland Warrior's Bride

Chapter 1

Inverness, Scotland

SWISH!

Ian gazed wide-eyed at the spot where Donell had stood only moments before.

Swallowing hard, he observed his brother’s brooch fall to the stone floor, rolling on its edge until it bumped into his boot, and lay still.

Leaning down, he picked up the brooch. The silver metal was warm against his fingertips.

What in bloody hell had just happened?

One moment, Donell had been telling him he’d fallen in love with a woman from the future, and he would be leaving Clan MacDuff in Ian’s capable hands.

And then poof! He was gone. Ian scratched his head. Had the outrageous story Donell told him been true? There was no other explanation. All that was left of his brother was the brooch.

Ian slipped the warm metal piece into his pouch and collapsed into his high-backed wooden chair.

So Donell had been telling the truth. Ian was now Laird MacDuff.

A wide smile spread over Ian’s face. His brother had been brooding for the better part of three years. The last month when he spoke of the woman, Lainie, he’d smiled, his eyes flashing with emotion.

If only Ian could find a woman who could set his blood ablaze and melt his heart, as Donell had. But he didn’t have time for that now. Now he had a clan to take care of.

The clan! What would he tell them of Donell’s disappearance? The warring lately, especially with Clan MacRae, had been fierce. With Donell gone, they would surely feel more threatened than ever.

A maid skittered into the room and, seeing his dark expression, immediately turned to leave.

“Nay, lass. Fetch me some ale.” He leaned his head back against the chair.

What could he do? Say?

Taking a swig of the cool drink, he ruminated on every possible explanation to tell his people.

Best to speak with Lachlann. He’d been Donell’s right-hand man next to Ian. He may know what to do.

* * *

“I believe ye,” Lachlann said, his face serious.

“Ye do?” Ian was skeptical. The warrior accepted his explanation, plain faced, without a blink.

“Aye. My Da used to tell us great stories of such things. We never believed him when we were young, but hearing the tale from you makes it clear to me now.”

Ian nodded, his fingers rubbing against his temples. His head was pounding, and pain seared across his forehead. “What am I to do?”

“Do? Why, ye’re Laird MacDuff, ye do what ye want.”

Lachlann’s explanation wasn’t as easy as he made it sound. The people would not just accept a new laird’s law because he said it was so. He would need to prove himself first.

“I dinna think the people will accept my story as easily as ye have. What could I tell them? The people were already concerned before Donell left. He hadna taken a wife, there was no heir and there has been so much fighting with the MacRaes. They will surely challenge me.”

Lachlann stood for a moment, started to say something, then stopped and began to pace in front of Ian. The movement of the man increased the pain in Ian’s head. Taking a huge swallow of ale, he hoped it might ease his discomfort.

“Ye are right, so what ye need to do is take a wife. Ease their discomfort. Get her with child so the people have an heir. Donell proved to Clan MacRae he didna have Sera, so there’s not so much fighting going on.

” Lachlann spun around, a light in his eyes, and slammed his fist in his hand. “I’ve got it!”

Ian looked up, startled by Lachlann’s sudden outburst. “What?”

“Ye tell the people that to keep us safe, and stop the warring, Donell has agreed to marry a niece of MacRae’s in the lowlands. No one will look for him there. They will feel safe and secure, and then if ye marry, they will see ye are serious.”

Ian nodded, the pain in his head receding. “Aye, call the people.”

Ian walked up the steep stairs to his chamber and splashed water on his face. Tucking the brooch into the small chest on the mantle over the fireplace where Donell had kept it safe, he prayed his brother had made it to Lainie.

Finished rehearsing in his mind the things he would say to the clan, he prayed they would accept, no questions asked.

* * *

After the evening meal, Ian left most of his clan in the great hall. He chewed on a cinnamon stick to take away the overwhelming flavor of ale, and thought about their reaction to his news. They had readily accepted his story and, in fact had planned an informal celebration.

Having drunk more than his share of ale, Ian stumbled into his bedchamber. He collapsed onto the bed as the room began to spin. His head fell to the side, his gaze coming to rest on the chest over the fire.

The brooch…

Hoisting himself up, he took a deep breath to steady his legs and concentrated on moving one leg at a time.

Right, then left, then right, then right…

no left. Chuckling at his inebriated state, he somehow made it to the fireplace.

He grappled for the chest, dropping it to the floor more than once.

Finally, he clasped the open wooden box in his hand, and the brooch, warm and inviting, slipped into his palm.

Making his way back to bed, he again toppled to its softness. There was something so alluring about the brooch. His thumb rubbed over the intricately designed Celtic knots, twisting and winding together. Who had made it? It had been in the family for centuries…

SWISH!

Oh, no! There was that familiar sound, the one he’d heard when Donell disappeared. Ian blinked rapidly and looked about. He was still in his chamber. Sighing deeply, his hand rested on his erratically beating heart. Perhaps it was just the wind. At least he still had—

The brooch! It was no longer in his hand. He sat up and frantically searched the bed, only to have his hand knock into something soft, velvety smooth, and warm.

The mist thickened along the edge of the room, curling low over the rushes like smoke from a dying fire.

Ian sat up straighter, the hairs on his neck rising.

There was power in the air, not just born of storm or steel, but ancient.

The wind carried the faintest hum through the open window, almost like a woman’s voice, though no one stood on the shore.

Then, without warning, light fractured across the chamber.

Lightning? Nay, something stranger…when it cleared, she was there.

The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen lay sleeping peacefully in his bed. When had she gotten there? He rubbed his eyes and then looked again. Aye, she was still there.

Hell, he would never drink that much ale again. Now he was seeing things. And smelling things, too.

Her scent wafted around him. Lilacs, and the indiscernible aroma of a woman’s satiny flesh. He groaned. Perhaps he had already fallen asleep, and this was a heavenly dream. Flashes of memory assailed him. Donell had believed he was having a dream, too.

His gaze fell on her again. The vixen had the most golden blonde hair.

Cut oddly, her hair was short, like a man’s.

The silky tendrils lay haphazardly over her chin.

Without thinking, Ian brushed a strand away, and the woman sighed and rolled onto her back.

The sheet slid down, allowing him to see she wore nothing.

Desire sparked through him, his pulse quickening as every muscle tightened with want. Since his room had not changed other than the lady lying beside him, was it possible she had come from another time?

Ian leaned down and brushed his lips on her full, rosy mouth. Lust coursed through him, assaulting him in the most pleasurable of ways.

Leaning again, he nibbled on her bottom lip, receiving a moan from his treasure. He grinned and slipped his hands under the blankets to stroke her warm skin.