Page 35 of Married to the Ruthless Highlander (Unwanted Highland Wives #2)

Six Months Later

“Welcome home!” Adam shouted as he ran to meet the carriage.

Doughall opened the door, flashing his friend a pointed smile. “It’s nae her home anymore, Adam.”

“Och, I ken that, but—ye ken what I meant.” Adam laughed, waiting impatiently for Freya to emerge.

Doughall stepped down first, and as Freya came to the edge of the step, he took hold of her waist and lifted her down, her hands braced on his broad shoulders. He considered stealing a kiss, feeling her body slide down against his as he set her on the ground, but then he thought better of it. He would save his kisses for later… not that they had gone without on the journey to MacNiall Castle.

“It hasnae changed,” Freya said with a fond smile, slipping her hand into his. “Though ye seem cheerful today, Braither.”

“Why would I nae be?” Adam ushered them toward the entrance. “Me sister is home—sorry, here—and me child is due any day now. Even Maither is in high spirits, so ye’ve come at the best time.”

Freya peered at her brother as if trying to decide whether or not he had lost his mind. “And yer other sister?”

“Aye, well, I’ll tell ye more about that when we’re all sittin’ and ye have somethin’ warm in yer hands. Ye must have forgotten how cold it can be here,” Adam replied, his smile waning briefly.

Freya let out a stiff laugh. “It’s balmy compared to home.”

The sound of the word ‘home’ on her lips never failed to make Doughall’s heart swell. She had taken to MacGordon Castle like a duck to water, becoming the Lady that the clan had long hoped for—someone as well-loved and well-respected, and as dedicated, as Doughall’s mother.

Freya was adored by their people and, as it turned out, had not spent all of her time in libraries reading poetry and fiction. When it came to matters of the clan and business, she was remarkably astute, coming up with solutions to some of the problems that had been niggling at Doughall for years.

She had also taken over the distillery, more or less, with Isla’s help. The two of them had spent hours and hours poring over books in the once-secret library, learning everything there was to know about the distillation of whiskey. And what they did not know, they asked about, writing letters to other distilleries to request assistance and information.

After six months, they were finally producing whiskey as delicious—not to mention potent—as Flynn’s had been.

“We’re just in here,” Adam said, leading his sister and Doughall through very familiar hallways as if they had never been there before.

“Freya, thank goodness!” Emily cried out, rising awkwardly from her chair by the fireplace. “I was worried I might give birth before ye arrived. Ceana already sent a letter sayin’ that she cannae make it, with everything that’s happenin’…”

Freya broke away from Doughall, running to her friend. They embraced warmly while Adam and Doughall stood back, watching them with the same admiring looks on their faces. Neither of them had ever intended to have wives, and neither of them had ever been happier. Although, of course, neither would admit that to each other.

“Has she been well?” Adam asked quietly.

Doughall chuckled. “Ye’d have to ask her.”

“Does she seem happy?”

Doughall caught Freya’s eye, and warmth bloomed in his chest as she beamed at him. “Aye, I’d say so.”

“What are ye gossipin’ about over there?” Emily said with a grin. “Come and join us, so we can hear their news and they can hear ours.”

Freya laughed. “There’s more news other than the fact that ye’re goin’ to be parents soon? I dinnae think I can cope if ye have any news greater than that! And we certainly dinnae have anythin’ more interestin’. We’ve just been… settlin’ into our new life together.”

She caught Doughall’s eye again, a twinkle of mischief in her gaze. In the hours it had taken to journey from MacGordon Castle to MacNiall Castle, they had made love three times. He did not have to try too hard to think of them entangled and glistening with sweat on the cushions, bathing in the haze of their mutual pleasure.

Even six months after their wedding, he doubted he would ever get enough of her. He craved her to the point where they had been forced to make a rule that they could not see one another during the day, or neither would get anything done. And as he had a clan to run and she had a distillery to run, they could not afford to be constantly in their bedchamber.

“Actually, we do have news,” Adam said, sitting down beside his wife. He pulled a letter out of his pocket and opened it.

“Is it from Laura?” Freya perked up.

Adam nodded. “It came this mornin’, strangely enough. She still willnae say where she is, and the messenger never tells us aught, but she did say that she misses us and that she hopes we’re well. Ye too, Freya.”

“I think yer braither was hopin’ that the baby might be enough to convince her to come home,” Emily interjected. “But she didnae mention it much in the letter—just said she cannae wait to hear all about it when the child is born.”

Doughall watched his wife’s face fall as she took the letter from Adam and began to read it. She had often voiced her hope that Laura would start writing letters to her, but, as of yet, none had arrived. Having never had any siblings of his own, Doughall did not always understand the bond, but he did know how sad Laura’s continued absence made Freya.

I have half a mind to hunt her down. I could do it in a matter of weeks.

He had put a lot of consideration into doing so, but the thought of having to leave Freya behind made it impossible. Having her with him would not work either, because they would forget what it was they were supposed to be doing and spend all of that time making love wherever they could.

“She’ll come back when she’s ready,” Freya said, folding the letter. “As long as we keep hearin’ from her, I’m… content. Now, if ye dinnae mind, I would like to bathe and rest awhile. It was a… tirin’ journey.”

Doughall hid a smirk, offering her his hand.

“Should we show ye to yer chambers?” Adam asked, getting up.

Freya shot him a pointed look. “Braither, I ken where me chambers are. We’ll find our way on our own. I think I can just about remember where to go.”

“Och, sorry, I keep forgettin’,” Adam said, slapping his forehead.

Freya took Doughall’s hand, and together they left the small, warm room. Beyond the windows, it was a beautiful spring day, barely a cloud in the sky, the gardens in full bloom. The sort of day that demanded to be spent at one’s leisure.

“I think I need to take a walk first,” Freya said, halting abruptly in the middle of the hallway.

Doughall glanced down at her, worried. “With me or without me?”

“With ye, of course.”

She offered him a smile and promptly tugged him toward a nearby doorway, letting them both out into the blustery afternoon. Then again, if memory served him right, it was always blustery at MacNiall Castle—it was one of the drawbacks of living so close to the sea.

The pristine gardens were even more beautiful than they appeared from the windows, the scent of violets and honeysuckle filling the air as Doughall and Freya wandered along the crushed-shell paths. Butterflies fought against the gusts, and bees flew diligently from flower to flower, while birds swooped down to peck their luncheon out of the neatly trimmed grass.

“Are ye thinkin’ about yer sister?” Doughall asked.

Freya leaned into him, resting her head on his arm. “Aye, in some ways. Nay, in others.” She sighed. “If she doesnae want to be found, it’s nae as if it’s me place to force her to return. I didnae understand that before. I just… miss her, that’s all. I wish she could be here to see her niece or nephew when they arrive, but… it’s nae up to me.”

Doughall slipped his arm around her waist, pressing a kiss to her soft, copper hair. “I can find her if ye want me to,” he said. “All ye have to do is ask.”

“I ken ye can,” she replied, meaning it. “But ye’d find her and then what? Ye throw her over yer shoulder and bring her back like a thief?”

He smiled against her hair. “Och, nay. I only throw me wife over me shoulder these days, and only when she needs immediate punishment. I’d… talk to her, I suppose, let her ken how much she’s missed. Mind ye, if that failed, I probably would have to tie her up and bring her back.”

“Ye dinnae just tie yer wife up these days?” Freya said coyly, raising her gaze to his.

“Only when I cannae get anythin’ done because she’s temptin’ me into her bed,” he replied, his ardor already stirring.

Freya smacked him lightly on the chest. “Oi, it’s ye who is always temptin’ me into bed, nae the other way around. I do me temptin’ at a reasonable hour when all me work is done.”

“We both ken that isnae true.”

She stopped him, smoothing her hands over his chest and his shoulders, looping her arms around his neck. “The thing is, seein’ Emily ready to embrace maitherhood has me thinkin’ about us. I wouldnae want Laura to miss out on seein’ her niece or nephew if ye and I were to have bairns, but… I also dinnae think there’s any use in waitin’ for her to return to begin our family.”

“I cannae wait that long for ye to carry our child either,” Doughall said softly, running his fingertips up and down her arms.

She seemed surprised, her eyebrows rising. “Do ye mean that?”

“Love, I want nothin’ more than to have a family with ye. I want nothin’ more than to watch ye create life and to see ye become the maither that I ken ye’ll be. I dinnae ken if I’ll be much good as a faither, but ye’d better believe that I’ll do everythin’ within me power to be a good faither.”

Her eyes twinkled with happiness, her fingertips toying with the back of his hair. “Then we should get started right away.”

“Is that nae what we’ve been doin’ for the last six months?” he replied with a laugh, pulling her closer.

“Nae exactly,” Freya confessed, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Sorcha has been giving me a tonic, but I forgot to drink it before we left, and I dinnae plan on drinkin’ it again.”

Doughall bent his head, tracing his lips along the curve of her neck. “Then aye, we should begin without delay. Right here.”

“I ken where we can go,” she whispered, a soft moan escaping her throat as his teeth grazed her earlobe. “But hurry—I dinnae ken how long I can keep me hands off ye.”

“Lead the way,” he purred.

She took his hand and pulled him toward a small door at the end of the gardens. The sea wind whipped up around them as they passed through, closing the door behind them. A stretch of land and the sheer drop of the cliffs, down to the thrashing water, greeted them… and they wasted no time.

Doughall grabbed his wife and pulled her close, kissing her in a ravenous crush as she kissed him back in kind, yanking at his shirt and fumbling for his belt. He tugged her dress up and over her head, having enough sense to pin the garments down with a rock as he scooped her up in his arms and lowered her onto the grassy bed.

He kissed her fiercely to the music of the waves beating against the cliff face, the call of distant gulls, and the salt wind rushing around them. The perfect place to begin the next chapter of their lives, for this was the castle where he had first seen her, before he knew that she was the woman—the only woman—he was supposed to love.

“I love ye,” he said breathlessly, gazing into her eyes, grateful beyond belief that she had foolishly left this castle over six months ago.

“I love ye too,” she panted, reaching up to stroke his cheek.

Because of her, he had everything he had never dared to hope for. He had put the ghosts of his mother and father to rest, delivering justice at long last. And where there had once been burning revenge, there was now nothing but the promise of a happy future, filled with children and his beloved wife.

No longer a devil, just a man who had everything to live for.

The End.