The Lass Defended the Laird (Explosive Highlanders Book 2) Page 18

  Her peal of laughter made him even hotter.

  August 1810

  “I think we should call Mrs Boyd.” Drostan, and Freya lounged by the loch on a blanket after eating the delicious food cook prepared for their picnic. Ewan played at the water’s edge.

  Around them, deep green woods hosted a multitude of birds engaged in a requiem vibrating in the warm air. The placid water reflected an azure sky disturbed only by the occasional fish.

  Drostan lay on the blanket, one arm over his eyes. “Who is Mrs Boyd?” His question came lazy and relaxed.

  Midsummer offered them a welcome break as the fields grew green with the spring sowing, and the livestock already roamed with their young in the pastures. The land nurtured life and prosperity.

  “The midwife from the McDougal.” Her first symptoms that their child was coming had just made themselves noticed. Warm liquid ran down her thighs.

  A broad upper body sprang up. “Bluidy hell!”

  Her hand came to rest on his bunched arm. “No hurry, mo gradh.” She calmed him. “It will take some time.”

  “Alright.” He raked his wavy hair with a tense hand. “Yes...” His eyes surveyed around restless. “Can you walk?”

  “Yes, do not worry. It is only the first signs.” She smiled at his crumpled features.

  Quickly tidying the picnic, he grabbed the wicker basket and reached to help her up. The loch lay about two hundred yards from the manor through a well-kept track.

  “Come, I will carry you.” He gestured to pick her up.

  “No need, Drostan. To tell the truth, walking eases the discomfort. It did wonders to me when I trekked to Mrs Boyd’s almost five years ago.” Ambling towards the manor, she held her advanced bump.

  It had been a three-mile walk on a mild September day before Ewan came to the world. When the contractions popped up, she stopped by the road until they subsided, carrying on afterwards. Five years ago, she learned what to expect for she had heard many women’s stories of their childbirth experiences. Nonetheless, the fear and the strain had accompanied her in her loneliness and her dire situation.

  As soon as they entered the front hall, Drostan began barking orders to whomever was around to hear them. “Lachlan!” He called his brother who had just finished luncheon. “Can you go to the McDougal fetch Mrs Boyd, the midwife?”

  His brother’s eyes bulged on her. “Sure.” And rushed to the stables.

  Drostan left Ewan with the nanny and followed her upstairs.

  “Mrs Boyd was very kind and considerate with me when Ewan was born.” Freya remembered.

  “She deserves high praise for that.” He assured his wife.

  Two hours later, Mrs Boyd arrived and took over. Freya’s condition did not change.

  Drostan refused to leave the room which made her happy. She wished very much for his company.

  When the discomfort arose, she walked around the room or found a relieving position on the bed. Drostan had unbuttoned her dress earlier, and she changed into a loose nightgown. He had unpinned his tartan from his shoulder, clipping it on his waist, and rolled the shirt sleeves up.

  When the contractions became stronger and oftener, Drostan kept by her side doing whatever he could to help.

  “Mommy!” Ewan’s fretful voice came from outside the chamber. “I want to see my mama.” It had been several hours they came from the loch. The boy barged into the room, the nanny at his heels with an apologetic look.

  “It is alright, Bess. He may hear what is going on.” Laboriously crouching to the carpet, she took Ewan’s hand.

  “What happened, mama? Are you ill?” His beautiful eyes almost crying. Those past years must have marked him with the sense of insecurity of not having his mother around.

  “No, my love.” Her calm tone seemed to soothe him. “The babe is coming. I will need you to stay with nanny for a while. Can you do that?” She stroked his chestnut hair.

  He nodded and Freya looked up to her husband who coaxed the boy to go with Bess.

  She did not even finish standing up when a sharp contraction made her double on her waist.

  “Freya!” Drostan rushed to her and held her in his arms.

  See-sawing breath, she managed to utter. “It is getting stronger. Not long now.” After it faded, she straightened, and he hugged her from behind unsure of what to do. Her frame leaned on him, and he instinctively rubbed her bump. “Oh, that is delicious.” She murmured, her head falling on his chest.

  He increased his stroking. “Tell me where it aches. I will massage you.” He said on her ear.

  Mrs Boyd watched the couple very closely with a quizzical expression. Naturally, men kept away from a childbirth tableau deeming it women’s affair.

  “My back is quite painful.” She said, skin swimming in sweat at this point.

  He made her lie on her side on the bed and strong hands kneaded her painful areas.

  A new wave of contraction arose even stronger. She sat on the mattress, leaning on him as his arm circled her.

  “Mrs Boyd, the babe is coming.” The midwife sprang into action.

  With Drostan giving her support, she pushed in earnest. In his free hand, he held a cloth with which he mopped her sweat.

  Sorcha came into the world with enviable lungs and a mop of auburn hair. After Mrs Boyd had cleaned and wrapped her, she placed the tiny bundle on her parents’ besotted arms.

  “Lucky little girl.” The woman spoke cleaning her hands. “With parents who love each other this much, she will want for nothing.”

  Drostan and Freya exchanged an even more besotted look. “Thank you, Mrs Boyd.” Freya expressed for both.

  “Please, Mrs Boyd, wait outside.” Drostan addressed her. “I will be with you shortly.”

  His long fingers caressed the babe’s hair enchanted. “I have no words to say how grateful I am to you.” He said, still sitting behind her and holding her.

  With a radiant if a somewhat tired smile, she turned to him. “As far as I remember, we made her together.” She jested.

  “That was the fun part.” He smiled back. “But you did all the hard work.”

  “I am thankful, too. You were there every step of the way.”

  “I love you, mo morair chat!”

  “And I you, mo gardh.”

  September 1810

  The McKendricks, Taran and a heavily pregnant Aileen sat at the top terrace of the McKendrick manor sharing a whisky after dinner. The women chose tea instead. They gathered to celebrate Ewan’s fifth birthday and the birth of Sorcha. They all spent the day together as nature turned to shades of red and brown around them.

  Ewan sat between his mother and father. He had been taken with Sorcha from the first day and considered himself responsible for her. Right now, Drostan was teaching him how to hold her safely.

  “The gathering in spring for you to apologise for punching Alistair went not so bad.” Fingal needled Taran.

  In a fit of jealousy, Taran had punched the McKendrick kin in the middle of Samhain in front of countless witnesses. To smooth things out, The McDougal had promised to gather both clans and offer a formal apology so as not to perpetuate the rift between them. The McKendricks had not met the McDougals since as the land demanded much work at that time of year.

  “You mean it went vastly well.” Countered Taran.

  The clans had gathered at Beltane festival where the mood had been hopeful. After Taran’s short speech, people ate and drank merrily.

  “Almost.” Came Lachlan. “If it was not for Aileen fulminating us with her glare.” Their sister made it clear to be against said speech for she deemed it unnecessary given the circumstances.

  “Oh, you know your sister.” Taran and Aileen exchanged a loving glance. “She has got the McKendrick’s hard-head.”

  “I can attest to that.” Wallace contributed.

  “It is not hard-head.” Aileen defended herself. “You men are always so bellicose.”

  “I cannot disagree with it.” Freya s
upported her sister-in-law.

  “Yes. She spent years avoiding clan dissention after all.” Drostan added with admiration for his wife in his eyes.

  “We have a lot to look forward to now.” Wallace said hopeful with Ewan’s future.

  “Yes. And we are all going to work towards a peaceful future.” Freya reassured.

  The men mumbled agreement.

  The nanny came to take the children to bed.

  “She is such a lovely little thing.” Aileen commented before the nanny left.

  “You should hear her wailing.” Lachlan jested. “The little lass could be a chieftain!”

  Everybody laughed at that. “She just might.” Her father answered proud.

  When everybody retired, Drostan and Freya stayed in the terrace watching the moon tinge the landscape in a mystic light.

  “Come give us a kiss.” Drostan laced her by her waist.

  “Only one?” Freya asked with a mocking pout.

  “As many as you want.” He conceded with a smile.

  “A million then.” She negotiated just before he started the first.

  His thumbs adored her satiny skin. “I love you, wife.”

  She smiled up at him. “I love you, husband.”

  The End

  Continue reading on a sneak peek of The Lass Beguiled the Laird, in Explosive Highland Series book 3.

  Coming soon!

  PREVIEW OF THE LASS BEGUILED THE LAIRD

  Summer 1811

  Fiandhaich, Furious in Scottish Gaelic, the new stallion, stood in the centre of the stockyard, magnificent black fur gleaming in the sun. Fingal’s stable master held him by a rope, trying to get him used to being reined and saddled. So far, the stallion had refused to comply. For months now. No amount of apples or oats had produced any effect towards such goal.

  Fingal had acquired him in an auction in Aberdeen and the animal came with all the paperwork in order. At a distance, he watched his stablemaster’s efforts; and wondered if he had struck a good bargain. His horseflesh made him proud as much as famous in all the Highlands for his expertise and love for his equestrian friends.

  He should have asked the reason for the stallion’s name.

  The unusually hot summer gifted them with a glaring sun which made him take off his sweated shirt and stand there in barely his tartan draped over his shoulder. His six feet four inches frame composed of pure steel became tanned with the exposure. Impossibly bright cinnamon eyes fringed with sooty long lashes stared at the stallion at a loss what to think, or what to do next.

  What to do next had been taken care of as he had put an advertisement in The Times requiring horse experts to come have a look at Fiandhaich. Only a certain E. Paddington seemed willing to travel all the way from England to see the disobedient beast. McKendrick had chosen The Times for it had a broad circulation and would attract more specialised people.

  Craig—an experienced horse trainer—attempted to pull the stallion into a trot around the fenced space. An idea the equestrian prince did not appreciate. Fiandhaich started digging his front hooves, neighing loud. Craig neared him and extended his arm to touch his fur in a soothing way. The horse burst in a fury launching his hooves in the air and pounding them on the dust uncontrollably. The stable master lost the rope as it whipped on the ground with the horse’s rebellion.

  “Craig, get out of there!” Fingal shouted before the man got hurt.

  But the furious animal jumped and back kicked between the man and the gate, the other sides of the stockyard too high fenced to climb quickly.

  Fingal moved to run to the gate when a woman approached it. Delicate hands opened the it and small booted feet got inside, closing it.

  “What the—” Fingal cursed unable to take his eyes from the lean figure.

  Strait spine, she stood barely inches from where the front hooves pounded the ground, staring up at the blue-blood beast as if in fascination.

  In a melodious voice, she talked to the horse as if they were old friends. He could not hear the words merely the musical rhythm of it. He did not know if it was her figure or her voice that froze him on the spot, causing him to be too speechless to call the nincompoop out of the stockyard.

  The horse continued jumping up and hammering his hooves menacingly on the dust, but the lass did not back down or stop talking in that hypnotic tone.

  A rush of wind ripped her hat down to reveal a mane of the blackest hair he had ever seen in his life. Made even blacker in contrast with her perfect alabaster skin, coiled up in a crown of glossy braids. He could see just her profile of small nose, rosy lips and a long elegant neck.

  The lass extended her arms up as if to reach the stallion, her figure stretched leaner under the simple walking dress. But the sheer fabric moulded to her feminine attributes tantalizing his cinnamon attention.

  Fingal lost his ability of taking his stare off her. She looked like a nymph, a woods’ creature, a Diana in her element.

  The horse hammered his hooves on the floor again and she took the opportunity to rest her hand on his strong neck come to her level. Fingal was about to find his disappeared voice to shout her off the animal when the beast went still.

  The crazy lass never stopped looking at the stallion or talking to him in that nymph’s voice of hers. She neared the stallion and touched the other long elegant fingers to him, caressing him fondly.

  It felt as if her palms were on Fingal. Not just on any part of him. On his neck and chest. The sensation so real, he swore her fingertips traced his hair-peppered skin from his collar bone down to his— Heat and arousal slammed him as his eyes continued glued on the scene.

  The lass smiled up to the beast. Even as he could see barely half of it, two blazing suns shone in the day. Her smile brighter than the incandescent star above their heads. It blinded Fingal to everything else. She made matters worse, this insane Diana. Closing the distance between her and the beast, she hugged him and rested her head on his thick neck, her spine arching into the shiny black fur, accentuating the feminine lines. The horse became as docile as a kitten.

  Who would not?

  It was as if she had fastened her irresistible shapely frame to Fingal and merged her fingers in his dark-brown luxuriant hair. His temper flared with his reaction though he thought he might go as docile had she done this to him.

  This realisation sprung him into action. He stalked to the gate with an angry scowl. “What the hell do you think you are doing, you brainless lass?” His hoarse flinty tone helped very little.

  The nymph gave her back to the horse without a second thought to her safety. “Oh, I am sorry, sir.” The cut-glass top-rank English accent unmistakable. It cut through his guts with none of its sharpness and all of its melting, seducing quality, aided by her musical voice. “I could not resist such a darling.” She completed to his unfortunate ears. Which Fiandhaich must have gotten addicted to for he never moved.

  A darling? His hazy brain countered.

  “A Sassenach?” Was the only thing his throat found itself capable of producing. Because now he saw her enormous eyes as dark as her glorious hair and became even more mesmerised. And her lips were not only pink which would have been easier to tackle. They were full in a damned suggestive way. In that suggestive way.

  A polite smile stretched those appetising lips while she curtsied with graceful elegance. “Emily Paddington, the horse-whisperer, at your service, sir.”

  Fingal displayed an ugly frown. What the—

  A horse-whisperer?

  And a woman?

  Bluidy hell!

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Lisa Torquaycomes from a multi-cultural family. She graduated in History and got a Master degree in British Empire. She has worked as an English and History teacher at high schools. She got married to a Norwegian and moved to Norway, where she has lived for three years. Writing has been her passion since she was thirteen.

  Dear reader,

  I really hope you have enjoyed this book. If you did, would you
please post a review on Amazon and/or Goodreads, or on your bookseller of choice? Your opinion will help other readers who like this genre of romance spot it. A couple of lines, no more, stating what you enjoyed about it.

  It will be an honour to hear from you.

  Cheers,

  Lisa.

  Connect with Lisa Torquay

  www.lisatorquay.webs.com

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  Other Books by Lisa Torquay

  Build It Higher (Contemporary Romance)

  Her Irresistible Guardian (Contemporary Romance)

  For the Earl’s Taking

  The Lady and the Desert Scoundrel

  The Forbidden Duchess (Rogues from War 1)

  Claiming His Estranged Viscountess (Rogues from War 2)

  Igniting the Countess

  Duke of Treason (Rogues from War 3)

  The Lass Defied the Laird (Explosive Highlanders 1)

  Coming soon!

  The Lass Beguiled the Laird (Explosive Highlanders 3)