Page 86 of The Highlander's Temporary Bride
It seemed they had all expected her to wed someone named Lord Darrow—a name that was familiar to both of them yet they could not place.
On the third morning, after Grant had backed Emma up against a wall, hiked up her skirts, and taken her, he knew they had to leave today.
Packing up provisions took no time at all, for if the servants were suspicious and nosy, they were also helpful and solicitous. They had taken good care of Balfire, and if some could be a bit standoffish, they were always polite.
All in all, Grant decided that he wouldn’t mind returning to Cambarelle, the place where they’d confessed and consummated their love. But he longed to return to Scotland.
And so did Emma, it seemed.
When she joined him in the hall, with a packed bag and a letter in hand, she smiled at him. “It’s all arranged. There’s a gentle, strong palfrey that I can take.”
Grant bit back a smile. He had long suspected that if Emma could get over her fear of horses, then she might come to love the gentle, smooth-gaited, palfrey.
Unable to help himself, he feigned worry as he said, “Love, ye can ride with me. I ken how ye dinnae like to ride.”
“No, no,” she said in a serious tone. “I am to be the Lady of Clan Ronson—I must know how to ride. And Rosie is very sweet.” He smiled, and she swatted at him. “You think you are so coy, Grant, but I knew you were teasing me.” She stepped closer and crooked a finger so that he would lean down. Against his cheek, she whispered, “I have you, Grant, so I never worry.”
She kissed his cheek and then spun away.
Grant was about to grab her and kiss her senseless in the front hall, when someone cleared their throat delicately. Her aunt’s steward stood there, glancing between them with amusement written all over his face.
Emma immediately hurried over to him, pulling a letter out from her pocket and rattling off instructions. Grant listened with pride as she explained in perfect detail that they were to send along the rest of her belongings, to give her family the letter, and to post any mail to “Lady Ronson.”
Grant also could not help but beam—rather foolishly, at that. The steward seemed startled by her words, but then he smiled and saw them out.
They stepped into the fresh morning air, and Grant watched the light bathe Emma’s lovely face. Holding out an arm, he winked at her. “Ready?”
“Yes,” Emma said, smiling at him. “Let’s go home.”
“Ye are sure ye dinnae want to wait for yer faither and aunt?” Grant asked, a bit dubious. “Or yer maither?”
“My mother is still in the Highlands with Agnes,” Emma said. “And if they want to visit, they may.”
Grant nodded and said no more as they approached the stables. He thanked the stablehands for their help, then helped Emma onto the horse. She was still a bit clumsy, and he was glad for the Palfrey, who seemed gentle enough to handle a nervous rider and strong enough to plod all the way to the Highlands.
Once they were both on their horses, Grant cast a look at the manor, trying to commit it to memory. He’d always be a bit fondof this bit of England, at least. And very fond of hisSassenach. He glanced back to see her watching him and grinned. She smiled and winked, then urged her horse forward.
This time, he let her lead the way back to Banrose—and their future.
A Few Weeks Later
As the summer drew to an end, the days still long but the nights beginning to stretch, Emma stepped out into a fiery, molten evening, with red roses in her hair and her hands.
She wore a pale gold dress and a sash made of Banrose tartan. Brenda came forward to help her down the stairs, her hair shining like starlight and her eyes filled with love.
Nearly every day since Emma had returned, they had spent time together—walking in the gardens, discussing clan matters that a lady needed to be aware of, working together side-by-side in the gardens, or visiting the hospital. They had both striven to find friendship. And now, something better had blossomed in its place—true love, a sense of family.
Emma had never thought she’d want a second mother, but now she could not imagine life without Brenda. The older woman’s quiet strength and endless compassion resonated with Emma, who aspired to be as strong and kind as her. Indeed, she realizedthat Grant’s fears about his mother, which he’d spoken of on their long ride back, were a thing of the past.
The woman grieved, indeed. But as she told Emma, she grieved for the man Reuben could have been were it not for his father’s cruelty.
And though things were peaceful, Emma sensed that it would take time for those wounds to fully heal—for all of Banrose.
Yet, as she walked the grounds alone as Lady Ronson, she sensed something different in the air. A lightness, despite the heavy stones, and new hope. Laughter and song seemed to come quicker and easier, and folk strove to be kind and decent.
When Emma had spoken to Grant about it, wondering whether the cruel actions of his brother and father had spurred their folks to be better, he had smiled and nodded.
“Aye, in part,” he’d said. “But also…”
