Page 23 of Surrender to the Highlander (The MacLerie Clan #2)

T he weather had turned colder much sooner than he’d planned, so their travel took more time. There was a threat of snow in the air as they rode up through the village to the Broch Dubh castle. Margriet sat on his lap, wrapped in the heavy woolen tartan and warmed by his body. She’d fallen asleep several miles back and he did not wish to wake her yet.

He watched her sleep and thanked God for bringing her to him. He watched her when she walked and talked and ate, and every time she did anything and marveled that she was—after so many trials—his alone. He watched her when she put her hand on the growing bairn and frowned and knew she worried about what was to come. Now he watched her as she came to wakefulness in his arms as they passed through the gate.

“You should have woken me, Rurik. I would not want to greet your laird like a bairn asleep in your arms.”

“I liked you asleep like a bairn in my arms.”

She straightened them and moved the plaid from her face so she could see the castle. He told her of it so much she probably knew each stone and each crevice of it. He’d never realized how much he missed living here until he did not, nor did he realize how much he missed the people of Lairig Dubh until he’d almost given them up. Now, he could see Connor standing high on the walls in his favorite place, with Jocelyn at his side.

He waved to several people as they passed, but did not stop, for he wanted her to meet the laird and his lady before anyone else there. When he reached the steps of the keep, he stopped and handed her down to one of the MacLerie soldiers standing guard. Taking her from him, he helped her to stand, giving her time to adjust after riding for so long.

By the time her legs steadied under her, Connor and Jocelyn came through the doors and walked down to greet them. With his plaid draped around her, it was hard to see more than the top of her head, but he could not wait for their reaction when they discovered the rest.

“Laird, lady,” he said in formal greeting, “may I present you to my wife, Margriet Gunnarsdottir.”

Jocelyn, soft-hearted as she was, burst into tears and pulled both Margriet and him to her in a hug that threatened to stop his breath. Then, when she felt the shape beneath the plaid, she simply screamed. Her embrace then, without Margriet between them, warmed his heart as no other woman could.

“You have been a busy man, Rurik Erengislsson,” Connor teased as he held out his hand in greeting. “I thought you went to take her home, not bring her home.”

They decided not to reveal the babe’s origins to anyone else, so he held his tongue and let them believe what they wanted. He would be father to the child, so it mattered little to him how it all started out. Rurik would be the last one to love and care for Margriet and their child…and any more that God granted them.

Rurik laughed then, realizing that sometimes you had to move away to learn how important people and places were to you. Looking down at Margriet chattering happily now to Jocelyn and watching as Connor looked with love at his wife, he was surprised at how much you could give up to keep the most important thing in life.