The Highland Laird's Bride
At the gates of a Scottish keep…Lioslath of Clan Fergusson has defended her clan and her orphaned siblings against countless enemies. So when Laird Colquhoun, the man responsible for the death of her father, arrives at the gates of her crumbling keep, she’ll fight him all the way!It’s soon clear Bram’s famed tactics of seduction and negotiation won’t work on this guarded, beautiful woman. But when the sparks between them turn to passion, and they’re forced to wed, Bram must do whatever it takes to win over his new bride!
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âAye, I was expecting you,â she said, painting the words with as much scorn as she could. âExpecting you as one does a plague or a pestilence. And I welcome you just as much.â
She shifted her stance, getting ready to throw the dagger in her hand.
âYou need to leave. Iâve warned you.â
âWe havenât begun, Lioslath. Why would I leave?â
He was so arrogant. Vibrant. Too full of life. She made another signal and Dog, with a noise deep in his throat, came to her heels.
The sound always raised the hairs on her neck, and she had no doubt it did the same to Bram. But he did not take his eyes from hers, did not see Dog as a threat, and so he forced her hand.
âYou need to leave because I was expecting you, Bram, Laird of Colquhoun.â
Lioslath stepped into the light and lifted the dagger, making sure it glinted so heâd know what she intended.
NICOLE LOCKE discovered her first romance novels in her grandmotherâs closet, where they were secretly hidden. Convinced that books hidden must be better than those that werenât, Nicole greedily read them. It was only natural for her to start writing them (but now not so secretly). She lives in London with her two children and her husbandâher happily-ever-after.
To my friends, for your chiding encouragement and constant bewilderment that Iâve survived this long. Hereâs my secret: I wouldnât have made it without you.
Renee, it is infinitely precious to me that we can still be five years old together.
Anita, I know you thought Iâd never grow up and, as always, you were right.
Corrie, full of grace, love and life. Your vivaciousness and unheard-of-before cocktails are my sunshine.
Sue, Iâd be lost without your meticulous brain and lists, but even more so without your laugh.
Karen, I know you didnât want your name in the acknowledgements but, alas, you canât edit this sentence as you have all the others. I want you to know how much I cherish our friendship.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
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âYou were expecting me.â
Lioslath of Clan Fergusson stopped pacing the darkness of her bedroom and adjusted the knife in her hand. From years of training, she knew simply on the utterance of his four words where Bram, Laird Colquhoun, stood in the room, and the precise location of his beating heart.
She knew it, even though her back was to him and sheâd been caught pacing. Defenceless. Or so he thought.
The laird was right; she had been expecting him. Expecting him as one views a storm on the horizon. Ever since he and his clansmen, like black clouds, crested a nearby hill. Since he alerted her young brothers, who raced to the keep, giving them precious moments to lock the gates. All the while the storm of Laird Colquhoun and his clansmen gathered strength and lined up outside the keep with arrows and swords like lightning about to strike.
But they hadnât struck. And it had been almost a month. Which meant weeks of her climbing the haphazardly rebuilt platform to look over the gates; weeks of hearing the Colquhoun men below her even before she climbed the rickety steps.
It had been almost a month, and still they didnât strike. Although she barred the gates, though the villagers shunned him, Laird Colquhoun hadnât struck like the harshest of Scottish storms. Rather, he and his clansmen enclosed the keep. Surrounded, she felt choked by his stormy presence, suffocated by the battering wait.
But this morning, she knew the wait was over when she spied the carefully placed food at the outside entrance of the secret passage. Her captor had discovered her tunnel. She knew, despite the fact she locked the gates, the storm would get inside.
When he hadnât come during the day, Lioslath expected Bram of Clan Colquhoun this night. She was no fool.
But she hadnât been expecting his voice. Deep, melodious, a tenor that sent an immediate awareness skittering up the backs of her legs and wrapping warmth around her centre.
So she didnât immediately turn to see him, even though a man was in her bedroom. Forbidden and unwanted. She didnât pretend maidenly outrage as she had carefully planned, to provide a necessary distraction and give her an advantage before her attack.
It was his voice. It was...unexpected.
It didnât fit here, in the dark, in the intimacy of her bedroom. It didnât fit with what sheâd seen of him so far.
