Page 1 of In Love With the Wrong Highland Sister
PROLOGUE
“Laria,” the young man croaked, reaching for her hand. When she grasped his, it was hot and damp, and his grip was feeble, so she squeezed it as tightly as she dared, trying to smile through her tears.
“Robbie, how are you feeling?” she asked tenderly. “You look a wee bit better today.” It was a lie. He was flushed, and his skin was burning up, and it was clear that he did not have much longer to live.
Robert gave a half-laugh, then coughed, a horrible hacking sound that Laria could hardly bear to listen to. “I may be sick, but I still have my wits about me, Laria.” His voice was a hoarse, wheezing whisper, and she had to bend down and put her ear to his mouth to hear him properly. “I am not a fool. I am dying, and we both know it.”
“No, you will be better soon!” Laria protested, but Robert put up his hand and shook his head in a gesture of denial.
“No, lovie.” His brown eyes were bloodshot, but they still shone with love for her. “We cannot pretend. I have very little time left, but I want to tell you how proud you have made me. You have survived this sickness and come out stronger than ever. I am so glad to have known you and loved you, so happy to have shared my heart and my home with you. From wherever our souls go when we die, I will be watching you. But promise me one thing.”
“Anything,” she answered, as she brought his hand up to her lips to kiss it tenderly. “You know that I will do anything for you, my love.”
Robert closed his eyes for a moment, summoning all his strength. “Find someone else,” he begged. “A good man who will love you and take care of you. He need not be rich because I have set aside a sum of money for you so that you will never have to worry for the rest of your days.”
“But I do not want anyone else!” she protested. “All I want is you, Robbie. Please hold on. Please do not leave me.” Her voice was desperate, and she was fighting to hold back the tears that were threatening to overwhelm her. “I need you. I cannot live without you.”
“You can, and you will,” he murmured. “You are strong, Laria. Go out and live. Do it for me. Promise me.”
Laria nodded since her throat had closed and she could no longer speak. Robert’s eyes closed again, and Laria sat with him, watching his face. His hand became slack in hers, and his breathing became shallow. She had heard that people took deep, heavy breaths on their deathbed, but Robert did nothing like that. He simply stopped breathing and slipped away.
Laria could not identify the moment of his death, so peaceful was it, but instead of being devastated, at that moment, she was happy that he was no longer suffering.
She dashed a hand across her eyes, then stood up and bent down to kiss Robert’s forehead.
“Is he gone, milady?” the healer asked her gently.
“Yes,” Laria replied. “But I cannot help thinking it is for the best. He was suffering greatly, and now he is at peace. Excuse me. There is much to do now. Please fetch the women to lay him out.”
“Yes, milady.” The healer said. “I am so sorry for your loss. He was a good man.”
“He was,” Laria agreed tearfully. “The best.” She looked back at his peaceful face for a moment, then went back to his bedside, laid her head on his chest, and sat with him until his body was cold.
* * *
One year later…
“It is not fair!” Laria said angrily, as she laid down a bunch of daffodils on the neatly-kept grave. It was one year exactly to the day that Robert had died, and Laria was feeling the familiar rage that always attacked her when she saw the grave. Thirty-one years old. He had had so much life ahead of him. Why had she not died with him?
Here lies Laird Robert William Davison, devoted son, brother and husband. Always in our hearts.
“He was so young, so kind, and he had so much to live for. Why was he taken from us?” Laria demanded tearfully.
She visited her dead husband’s grave at least once a week, even though she had to ride two miles to his estate to do so since she had moved back to her own family after his death. On this special day, she had brought her family with her, and they stood over the small grave in silent prayer. Laria’s mother, Lady Margaret MacLean, her father, Laird Hector MacLean, and her sister, Eloisa, had all come to give her moral support, for they had loved Robert too.
“It was time for him to go,” Laird MacLean said gently. “I know it is hard to accept, my love, but that is the way life is.”
“There could be another husband for you out there somewhere.” Eloisa’s voice was hopeful. She had always looked up to her older sister and longed to see her happy again.
Laria smiled at her sadly and shook her head. “No, Eloisa. I am not going through this grief again if something happens to my next husband too, and anyway, which man in his right mind wants a woman who cannot bear his children? No, there will be no more marriages for me.”
“But the healers might be wrong,” Eloisa went on stubbornly. “The fever may not have left you barren. What proof does any of them have?”
“They have examined me, remember?” Laria pointed out fiercely. “They say my womb is too scarred from the fever pustules to hold a child. It is hopeless, Eloisa. Anyway, now I can breed horses, as I always wanted to do. Husbands and babies are not everything.” She took one more look at the grave, kissed the headstone as she always did, then turned away.
“You are right, Laria,” her mother agreed. “It is time to move on with your life, but who knows what the future may hold? Do not shut the door on the possibility of another marriage. You are a beautiful woman, and I am sure that there are many good men out there who will love you for yourself, even if you cannot give them children.”
Laria looked into her mother’s green eyes, which were full of concern. She and her father had not been in love when they wed at first; theirs had been an arranged marriage, but their love and affection had grown. Laria’s and Robert’s marriage had also been arranged, but as soon as she saw her handsome redheaded fiancé, she had fallen head over heels in love with him, and he with her.
