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Highland Wishes And Dreams: Scottish Regency Novella Page 5
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Before he could say more, there was a huge flash of light and his head swirled. When the mist cleared, he was lying on the ground with his horse bending down and snorting in his face.
A warmth spread through his limbs and a weight cleared from his heart. Suddenly he knew that everything would work out. Galina would be his if he had a bit of patience.
He remounted and began a slow walk back to Banff Castle. He wanted to find his mother and tell her Andrew would give the ring back. He would put his faith in the siren of the glen and hope his friend saw reason.
* * *
Galina found Andrew in the drawing room talking with Lady Stuart. Little Jake lay in Lady Stuart’s arms sleeping.
“I hate to interrupt, Lady Stuart, but may I borrow my brother for a moment. I have something urgent I wish to discuss with him.” She could not help the sharpness of her tone.
Lady Stuart looked across at Andrew and they smiled at each other as if some great secret had been shared between them.
“We have something to tell you first,” and Lady Stuart lifted her hand and that is when Galina spied the large emerald on her hand. “His Lordship has given me back the ring.”
Galina’s heart fell to her feet. That meant Andrew would expect her to stay as long as he needed him, but Finn needed her too. She stood up straighter. “Then it is even more imperative I talk with you.”
Lady Stuart once again interrupted her. “I have decided to move to Banff Castle. Both His Lordship and I think that would be best for Jake too. Andrew cannot be expected to raise him alone, and you my girl, are way passed the time where you should be married. And so is Finn if I’m being truthful.”
Her mouth fell open. Lady Stuart knew about her and Finn.
Andrew stood and moved to hug her. “I have been an absolute bore. I apologize. I was a coward, and Wen would be ashamed of me. I want you and Finn to be happy. I want Wen to say to me in my dreams, ‘I knew it’.”
Galina hugged her brother back. “She would be so happy for Finn and I. She loves us all from heaven, I feel it.”
“Always,” Andrew whispered in her ear as he hugged her harder.
A few moments later Finn walked in and it was as if he already knew everything was as it should be, because he simply walked to where Galina stood next to her brother. He got down on one knee and said, “Lady Galina MacDonald, I don’t care how long I have to wait for you, will you marry me.” Before she could answer he looked up at Andrew. “And my friend, I will wait patiently for you to decide you can face life without Galina in your house.”
Andrew pulled Finn to his feet and embraced him. “She is free to marry you whenever she decides she wants you. I won’t stand in the way of true love. Wen wanted Galina as her sister-in-law more than anything. She has her wish.”
“Do I get a say in this at all?” Galina asked on a soft chuckle.
The two men turned to look at her. She moved into Finn’s arms and said, “We will marry on Jake’s first birthday.”
Andrew’s eyes filled with tears. “Wen would love that. We can celebrate as a family for years to come.”
Lady Stuart rose to her feet too. She rocked Jake in her arms and said, “To family. To those who have left us, but are still in our hearts, and to those who we still have with us to shower love upon.”
Epilogue
Banff Castle, Scotland – 2 years later
Galina was in the drawing room, up late finishing the christening gowns. She’d brought her new friend from Inverness, Lady Rachel Spencer, and she and Emily were helping Galina with the second christening gown. They had the initials to sew on the gowns so they would remember which was which.
Two months ago Galina had been blessed with twins, a little girl, Wen, and a little boy, Andrew. The delivery was tough, but she’d come through it and recovered well. Finn had hovered over her as if she was an invalid. He’d almost driven her mad but she understood why he’d been so protective. Wen’s death in childbirth was a reminder that sometimes things did not turn out the way you planned.
Twelve months ago on Jake’s first birthday; Finn and Galina had married at Banff Castle so Jake didn’t have to travel. It had been a wonderful occasion, celebrating birth, life, and the cycle of love—their wedding.
Back in Inverness, she had Finn, but she also missed Wen, so she set out to find her own friends too, and it had been wonderful to meet their neighbor, Rachel. She was the same age as Galina but sadly she’d been a widow of five years, with a little boy, Ross, who was four years old. With Lady Stuart living at Banff Castle, Galina had relied on Rachel for lots of advice when it came to her babes.
The two had become firm friends.
But Galina had an alternative motive for bringing Rachel with her to Banff Castle. Finn told her she was mad. He told her that you couldn’t push two people together.
However, Galina hoped having a beautiful woman as a guest, might make Andrew wake up to the idea that it was okay for him to find love again. Wen would not want him to be alone forever. She also hoped that Rachel might like her brother in return. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, is how she saw it.
Dinner had been a delight. Rachel looked so beautiful. She looked nothing like Wen. She had light copper colored hair, was slender whereas Wen was all curves, and she was quite tall for a woman. Galina had been delighted when she caught a spark of interest in Andrew’s eyes. He had certainly monopolized Rachel’s conversation, but then Galina had sat her next to him for that very purpose.
She couldn’t wait to retire and find out from Finn, what Andrew thought of her. Speaking of which… “I’m sorry my brother seemed to hog your attention tonight.” Rachel’s cheeks flushed pink.
“He did seem very taken with you, Rachel. I’ve not seen him smile so much in ages.” Galina saw Emily’s wink. Bless her. It was nice to see that Emily, Wen’s twin, wanted Andrew to find love again too.
“His lordship is a breath of fresh air, I’ll admit that.”
“And handsome to boot,” Emily added.
Rachel chose to ignore her comment. “Unlike most men, he asked about me rather than talked about himself. We actually spent most of the time talking about our sons.”
“Since Wen’s death he has lived for Jake.”
“Our children give us comfort as they are a part of the people we have lost.”
Galina bit the cotton and tied off the last stitch. “But doesn’t there come a time when you need to open up to the possibility of meeting someone who could fill the loneliness?”
Rachel looked up at her with eyes narrowing. “Your brother seems to be a very nice man. But please don’t become a matchmaker. I have enough of that in Inverness. Besides, it might ruin our friendship.”
Galina looked at Emily, who shook her head, and wisely she said no more, but that did not mean she would stop ensuring her brother and Lady Rachel would find themselves alone together, whenever Galina could manage it. She just had a feeling…
* * *
Later that night as she lay very satisfied beside her handsome husband she finally asked. “So, what did Andrew think of Rachel?”
Her husband stilled beside her. “Obviously my skills are slipping if all you can think about so soon after making love to me is another couple.”
She laughed joyously. “Your ego needs no feeding in the love making department, my lord. You know I’m only giving you a respite before ravishing you again.”
He pulled her close, tucking her into his side. “I admit there was a sparkle in Andrew’s eyes while we drank port and he asked a lot of questions about her. But don’t get your hopes up. It could simply be that he has not been around a beautiful woman for a long time, and has an itch to scratch with a willing widow.”
“Even that would be a start wouldn’t it?” she asked hopefully.
“Perhaps you should tell Andrew about the glen and the siren who might grant him a wish.”
She could tell Finn meant it as a joke but her eyes lit up. “I just might do that. I
love both Andrew and Rachel. It would be wonderful if they found true love with each other.”
He rolled her under him and began kissing her neck, trailing down her throat to her breasts. “Did I ever tell you that I visited the glen? I heard the siren and she granted me a wish.”
She looked into his eyes. “What did you wish for?”
“Well, the siren told me that Andrew would find true love again and would live a happy and fulfilled life.”
Galina’s heart filled with love until she thought it might burst. “You wished for Andrew’s happiness. I didn’t think I could love you more than I already do. You are a fine, fine man, Lord Stuart.”
“You make me the best man I can be because your love nourishes me. I know I will always have your love in this life and the next. It makes me feel invincible.” He kissed her long and passionately. “Besides, the siren told me she’d already granted you your wish, and I thank God every day that you wished to be loved by me.” He began to kiss down her body. “It’s funny that just after visiting the glen with you that day, I suddenly knew you were the love of my life. I’m sure I would have eventually worked out what was under my nose, but I’m ever so grateful for the siren’s helping hand.”
She lay back on an eager sigh as his mouth found the very heart of her womanhood. “And they say wishes only come true in fairy tales. We know for a fact they come true when they are made with love.”
Finn was too busy loving her to reply.
And just as the siren predicted, Finn and Galina lived happily ever after.
THE END
Keep reading for an excerpt from A Kiss of Lies…
Thank you for reading Highland Dreams and Wishes.
I hope you enjoyed this novella.
Afterword
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Read on for an excerpt of book #1 in Disgraced Lords series
A KISS OF LIES
Excerpt: A Kiss of Lies
London, England, November 1815
“Get up!”
If not for the fact that the rage-filled voice bellowing in his ear was speaking English, Christian Trent, the Earl of Markham, might have thought he was back in France.
Certainly, the press of cold steel at his throat flooded his brain with memories of the war: nightmarish memories, pain-filled memories. Memories he fervently tried, but hopelessly failed, to forget.
Experience had taught him that when one was in such a precarious position, with a sword at one’s windpipe, with the identity and reasoning of the attacker unknown, one was wise to act cautiously.
Without moving a muscle he pried an eye open and tried to focus on the person who was holding the deadly weapon at his neck. The slight movement of his eyeball sent pain stabbing through his head. His mouth tasted like sawdust. Christ, he must have drunk more than he thought last night.
“I repeat, get up!”
To emphasize his request, the attacker’s sword point pierced Christian’s skin. A small trail of warmth trickled down his neck.
In a ghostlike voice, so as not to disturb the pounding in his head, Christian answered, “How can I get up with that sword at my neck? I might still be half foxed, but I have enough wits about me not to push myself upon your weapon,” and with his hand he batted away the blade.
The sword immediately swung back into place.
As lethal as the sword itself, the voice uttered, “That would save me the bother of killing you.”
For a split-second Christian welcomed the idea of death before he doused it with an exhaled breath.
He ignored the cannonballs rioting in his head as he twisted and turned, desperate to untangle his limbs from the satin sheets wrapped around his naked body. He did his best to ignore the dizzying weakness his movements evoked. The headache had him willing the contents of his stomach to stay down.
Where was he? The brothel? He recalled he’d paid for a woman. He knew she’d shared his bed. He could smell her lingering scent.
He drew a deep breath and calmed his mind. He had always prided himself on his ability to use his brain more effectively than any weapon to get himself out of predicaments.
“You’re a perverted reprobate,” his attacker sneered.
He tried once more to rise. There was no doubt he’d rather collapse back into a drunken slumber, but through the degrading sickness, his body prickled with stark unease. It was like a second sense, and it had saved his life many a time before.
A movement in the shadows alerted him to a second man’s presence. This silent enemy moved across the floor to throw the curtains wide. Sunlight bounced off mirrors positioned strategically around the room, stabbing at Christian’s eyes like a sharp hunting knife. Christian put his hand up to ward off the sun’s blows.
The presence of the men in his room indicated he didn’t have the luxury of being able to lie down and resume his sleep. So much for drink-inspired oblivion. He’d not endured two years on the battlefield of France to die in a brothel in his own country. Clutching the sheet to his body, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and attempted to lever himself up, gritting his teeth against the hammering in his brain.
He clamped down on his rising panic. Panic did not serve anyone. Fear was the enemy. He’d learned that many times on the battlefield.
“You’ll pay for what you have done.” The second man’s voice indicated he liked to smoke—it was thick and gravelly. Like smoke, his anger was barely contained.
Christian’s throat constricted, as if the proverbial noose were tightening around his neck. He didn’t need a sword under his chin to understand that these men were serious.
His mind quickly evaluated the likely avenues of escape. The windows were the closest options. Although the room was on the second story, if he jumped, he could land safely on the hedgerow beneath. Alternatively, the bedchamber door was wide open, so if he could slip past both men, he could make it down the servants’ stairs.
He was still at the brothel. The Honey Pot was high-class, and even though he’d been a frequent customer there since his return from the war, he had never, ever slept here.
He rubbed the back of his neck. What had happened last night?
Anger cleared the fog clinging to his brain, but only for a second. He ruthlessly clamped down on his temper. Anger was a weakness. When consumed by anger, men lost control. As a child he’d watched his father repeatedly lose control. His father’s rages turned him into a man Christian did not recognize, and as a boy he’d suffered from the consequences. Besides, it led men to make impulsive decisions, and he was anything but impulsive. “Other than taking a little pleasure in this miserable world, what exactly do you—” He paused. “—gentlemen think I have done?”
“Pleasure? Pleasure?” The sword finally swung away as the man’s anger overcame him, and he gestured wildly. “Pleasure? You brought a young, innocent girl here—here—and defiled her,” he bellowed.
Christian’s fists clenched the sheets. His voice held steady, his tone even. “I beg your pardon. Brought a girl here…? I did no such thing. I’ll call out any man who utters such scandalous allegations.” But because he was not stupid, Christian felt his world slipping out from underneath him.
He’d changed at Waterloo, and not just physically
. The puckered, reddened flesh of his neck, upper right arm, and torso was a constant reminder to him, and everyone else, that he was no longer the man he once was. The ugly burns on the right side of his face twisted his mouth and eye, making him a monster. But it was his inner soul that had changed the most. He’d grown sick of the pain, the pity, and the nightmares. At first, the laudanum he took was a necessity due to the agony of his burns. Now he used the drug not to only dull the lingering pain of his wounds but also to soothe his inner torment. The memories of the flames peeling his skin haunted him still. . ..
He’d been weaning himself off the opiate gradually—had he overindulged last night? He swore under his breath. Why couldn’t he remember?
He wiped a hand over his eyes, attempting to clear their drunken haze and get a clear view of his accusers. Christian swallowed back more bile. He was in trouble—the man before him was none other than the Duke of Barforte, with sword drawn. Looking past the Duke, Christian noted that the Duke’s eldest son, Simon—an acquaintance more than a friend—was the second man in the room. His sword was also drawn. Simon’s pale blue eyes looked at him with a coldness that made his insides recoil.
Barforte moved back to the bed. “We shall see the proof!” He pulled the sheets away from Christian’s disfigured body. “She’s marked you,” he said, gesturing down at Christian’s naked body, “with the blood of her innocence.”
Christian knew before looking upon his nakedness what he would see. But still he had to look. He glanced down past his horrific scars, and the bile he’d earlier kept down rose again and entered his mouth.
Blood. Dried traces of blood.
Snippets from last night suddenly flooded into his head. Vivid images, erotic images that turned into confusion. He’d paid for a woman to come to his bed—Carla. Had there been more than one?