The Highlander's Last-Minute Bride: Brides of the Highlands, #1

By Fiona Grant

Jane MacKay has little choice: if she does not agree to wed lecherous old Laird Sutherland, her terrified younger sister Heather will be handed over to him in her stead.

Jane cannot allow that to happen. With a heavy heart, she leaves behind her home (and her dreams) and journeys to the Sutherland Keep to marry a man whose infamy has spread far and wide—a man who has already buried two wives.

At the pre-wedding dinner, she realizes that things are even worse than she fears. Her detestable husband-to-be clearly cannot wait to bend his young bride to his will—and his two sons appear to be cut from the same cloth.

But fate takes a hand, and while Jane rejoices, her father is aghast when he learns that the new alliance seems doomed. He is not one to give up easily, however, and Jane's relief turns to grim resignation when she discovers the plan the two families have hatched.

It appears she will not so easily escape the Sutherland Keep… and the Sutherland men.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blue Gem Publishing
• Release date: Mar 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9781922772114

Book preview

Chapter 1

Abandoned Dreams

"J ane! Are you almost ready? We must leave soon if we are to be at the Sutherland Keep before dark!" 

Jane MacKay sighed and blew a strand of auburn hair off her forehead. Truth be told, she had been ready for some time. Her trunks were packed and loaded onto a cart. She was washed and dressed. There was no need for her to be standing here in her now empty bed-chamber, staring at herself in the dull mirror glass. But, for some reason, she couldn’t convince herself to move. 

Something brushed against her ankles, and she looked down to see the family cat winding about her legs. 

Archibald! You lovely mouser! Jane leaned down to pick the cat up, clutching him to her chest and kissing the top of his ginger head. I shall miss you more than anyone else, I think. In response, the cat began to purr and ran his cheek up against Jane’s own. 

Jane! The voice from below yelled again, and before long, Jane heard heavy steps in the hall, heading towards her room. A moment later, the door swished open, and Jane turned to see her mother standing there, red-faced and nervous, wringing her hands. 

You naughty lass! How long have you been standing here, coddling the cat! We must go. She threw up her hands and then motioned for Jane to follow her out the door. Put that dirty creature down! And come! We dinna want to be late! It would not do to make a bad first impression on your betrothed.

Seeing that she could delay her departure no longer, Jane gave the cat one more good squeeze and then, holding back tears, stooped to let him leap out of her arms to the cold stone floor below. God be with you, my favourite friend, she whispered before standing up again. Squaring her shoulders and swallowing down the tears that burned in her eyes, she walked out of the room and down to the courtyard—and her fate. 

Jane had first heard about Laird Sutherland a month prior. Word had swept through the hills and valleys of the upper highlands that the lecherous old Laird desired a bride for his sunset years. His first two wives had both passed, one in childbed and the second from disease. Tales had since been told of his loose lifestyle. Jane had even heard that twas not uncommon for servants to see a new woman brought to his rooms each night for a week. 

But to continue with such a lifestyle was not fitting for a powerful Laird. He had been forced to listen to allies who told him bluntly if he wished to keep the respect of the neighbouring clans, he would need to take a bride and act as an elder was expected to. For the sake of his sons, who would take over his command of the northern peninsula and would not want to have to wrest it back from disgruntled families, it was necessary that he settle down. 

Jane’s father, Laird Baldwin MacKay, had leapt upon the chance as soon as the news reached him. He was as ambitious a social climber as Jane had ever known in her life. As the father of two daughters and no surviving sons (a misfortune he liked to blame on his wife), he knew he must find them advantageous matches if he wished to keep the fortunes of the clan in good health. 

And so, when Jane had heard that her father’s suggestion of his daughter’s hand in marriage had been accepted, she knew she had no choice but to abandon her dreams, grit her teeth and agree to the terms. If she refused, her father would simply offer her younger sister, Heather, in her place. 

The thought made her feel ill. Heather, not yet in her fourteenth summer, was too young and innocent to be sold off to satisfy the whims of such a man. Jane would die rather than see that happen. 

Feeling something akin to grief, she had let go of her hopes for the future. As her body had ripened, Jane had dreamed of a strong highland warrior who would storm her family keep and sweep her off her feet. He would be tall and well-muscled, dark of hair and light of eye, with just the barest smattering of freckles across his aquiline nose. And, most important, he would be kind and smart and would treat her as a friend. 

That would never happen. She bit hard on her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. On the morrow, she was to be married to a dissolute old man. 

As she said farewell to the halls of her old keep, she also said her silent goodbyes to the man of her dreams. 

Laird Roy Sutherland rolled over on his pallet to look at the woman who lay sleeping at his side. Stick-straight, straw-coloured hair was splayed in a tangled mess about her face. A line of spittle ran from the corner of her mouth down her chin. She slept like the dead, as any lass would, he imagined, after a night like the one they had shared. 

His gaze travelled the length of her body: small, pale, covered in freckles. She had kicked off the thick furs that covered his pallet and was lying exposed in the light of the nearby fireplace, with shadows cast by the flames flickering across her flesh. Sutherland gave a self-satisfied grunt and ran a hand down to his own paunch of a stomach, giving it a pat. The wench was always a fair choice for some fun. 

There was a soft knock at the door before it creaked open, and a shy head peeped around the corner of the frame. 

M’Laird… The young serving lass stared wide-eyed at Laird Sutherland before her cheeks flushed bright red, and she turned her brown eyes towards the floor. 

Unashamed of his nakedness, Laird Sutherland rolled over to face her. His hand slipped from his paunch to his groin. Bess had grown into a bonnie lass. He liked to look at her. 

Come closer, lass. I canna hear you if you hide in the doorway. He smiled at her. 

Without looking up at him, Bess shuffled into the room. His eyes swept over her small body. She had grown into a woman overnight, it seemed. What had been a skinny bairn’s body was now beginning to curve. Her hair, once left wild about her shoulders, had been tucked up into a serving lass’s cap. 

He had an urge to reach up under that cap and yank her locks free. 

She stood next to his bed now, her arms wrapped close about her body, her gaze still on the floor. Laird Sutherland reached out with his free hand, running rough fingers about her waist and down the back of her legs, giving her small bottom a firm squeeze on the way. He heard her gasp in shock at his touch. 

He laughed. You are a true woman now, Bess. A bonnie one.

Thank you, M’Laird, she whispered. Her gaze still stayed firmly on the ground, but he saw that her cheeks had flushed pink at his touch. 

He turned to look at the sleeping woman next to him. Then, quick as a cat, he delivered one good, sharp smack to her behind. She bolted upright with a cry of pain and anger and then, remembering where she was, schooled her face into a playful expression. M’Laird! I hope I have not been sleeping long.

You have, Donella. So long that I have found another lass. Laird Sutherland watched with glee as Donella’s eyes shot towards Bess, who stood at the side of the bed, trembling, with her arms locked tight around her budding breasts. 

"What can she possibly do for you that I canna? She’s nae more than a little mite! Donella arched her soft body across Laird Sutherland’s chest. Stay here with me, M’Laird. No one can please you as well as I."

He shoved her away impatiently. Donella, I have grown bored with you and your mouth. Leave before I have you thrown out. This lass pleases me more already. She is quiet!

Insulted, the blond lass flung herself from the bed, but not before Laird Sutherland