Awaken the Highland Warrior (34 page)

“You’re not a warrior anymore?”

“We’re always warriors, but my duty is finished. I’m free to take my mate.” He leaned closer. “I think you owe me something,” he said, pressing his lips to hers.

“Birthday cake?” she asked, breathless.

“A wedding.” And if he needed any help reining in her reckless streak, he had a family of warriors to back him up.

“Is that a proposal?”

“Aye, it is.
Tha gaol agam ort
,” he whispered against her lips.

“Are you insulting me again?”

“No, lass, I’m saying I love you.”

She leaned back a bit. “Enough to let me take one teensy picture of the inside of the time vault—”

“Damnation,” he uttered, stopping her words with his mouth. It would take the whole clan to keep her out of harm’s way. “You need something to take your mind off time vaults.” He pulled off his socks and boots and stepped into the tub, kilt and all. He stood over her, water lapping at his knees.

“You’re going to get wet.” She lifted the edge of his kilt, holding it above the water, and peeked underneath. “Oh, my.”

“Take my hand.”

Bree dropped his kilt and took his outstretched hand.

He looked into deep green eyes that he needed more than he needed air to breathe. “I, Faelan Connor, born of the Connor Clan, offer you, Bree Kirkland, my hand in marriage, my heart in love, my sword in protection, and my soul forever. Will you have me as your mate?”

She blinked, eyes sparkling like emeralds, then she smiled, and he knew he’d found his way home. “Yes. I’ll have you.”

“This is the vow a warrior makes when he takes his mate. It’s a separate ceremony, kind of like a handfasting. So consider yourself married… wife, with God as our witness until we can get to a church. Then I’ll say the vow before a priest and the whole bloody world.”

He grinned, stripped off his sporran and kilt, and sat facing her in the huge tub. Some things about this century were damned fine. She squeaked as he gently shifted her, pulling her onto his lap. “This is what I wanted to do the first time,” he said, lowering his head. “Forget cake. I’ll have you.”

***

“You’re sure about this, lass?” Sean’s eyes crinkled as the bagpipes played in the background. “We’re a strange lot.”

“I’ve been accused of being strange a time or two, myself, but I can’t think of anyplace I’d rather be,” Bree said, gazing at the lovely old chapel on the grounds of Connor Castle in Scotland. The place was filled with warriors, many who’d helped battle Jared—Druan—and many who just wanted a glimpse of the Mighty Faelan in the flesh. How the clan had put a wedding together so quickly was a miracle. They could become wedding planners if they got tired of being warriors.

“Hold still,” Anna said, tucking another strand of Bree’s hair inside the wispy veil. “Isn’t she the most beautiful bride, Sorcha?”

Sorcha tilted her fiery head and studied Bree’s flowing, white gown with the small square of Connor clan tartan pinned at her shoulder and her dark hair knotted high. An impish grin lit Sorcha’s face. “Ronan says she is.”

“Ronan’s going to get himself killed,” Anna said, rolling her eyes.

Bree was enjoying her friendship with the female warriors, even Sorcha, who’d turned out to be not so bad. With so much of her time spent chasing dreams, Bree hadn’t had many girlfriends.

“Wait. Your father’s necklace.” Orla fastened the repaired necklace around Bree’s neck as Ronan walked through the door.

“If you don’t get this show on the road, that soon-to-be husband of yours is likely to come back here and carry you to the altar. He’s making the guests nervous with his pacing.”

“He’s waited more than a hundred and fifty years,” Sean muttered under his breath, adjusting his kilt. “He can wait a minute more.”

Ronan eyed Bree head to toe and lifted a dark, sexy eyebrow. “You could elope with me. I’m a lot younger—ouch,” he said, as Anna swatted him with her bouquet. He stole a kiss from Bree and grinned. “Come on, Orla, I’ll escort you to your seat.”

“Wait. You need something from your mother, too,” Orla said, her voice choked. She slid a tiny pearl bracelet onto Bree’s wrist, clasping her hand for several seconds.

“It’s beautiful, Mom. I don’t remember seeing it before.”

Orla looked away. “Hurry now, it’s time,” she said, taking Ronan’s arm.

The bagpiper started a different tune, and Sorcha took a deep breath. “Ready, everyone? Here we go,” she said, stepping inside. Anna followed, and when “Highland Wedding” began to play, Sean and Bree stepped up to the door. Sean had offered to give her away, since Peter was tied up with a rash of strange murders.

Bree stepped inside, blind to the smiling faces turned toward her, as she searched for
him
. Her breath caught. His hair was pulled back, highlighting his stunning face. He wore a white shirt, a kilt, waistcoat, and jacket, as did his groomsmen, Ronan, who stood next to him grinning like a wolf, and Duncan, his gaze only for Bree’s red-haired bridesmaid. Bree moved down the aisle and took Faelan’s outstretched hand, feeling his fingers clasp hers. “I love you,” he whispered, dark eyes brimming with passion, as the minister began to speak.

After the vows had been spoken and Faelan had slipped a ring on Bree’s finger, the ring his father had given his mother more than a century and a half before, the minister turned to Faelan. “And now, young man, you may kiss your bride.”

Young,
Bree thought. If only he knew. Faelan smiled, and her knees went weak. His head lowered, and her stomach rolled. An odd time for morning sickness to start. Faelan didn’t even know. The feeling came again, stronger this time, and her vision began to blur. Faelan’s grip tightened on her arm and his smile faltered. Behind him, Ronan and Duncan frowned. The floor wavered, and the faces disappeared.

A man appeared before her, his auburn hair streaked with silver. He ran one long claw over the yellowed pages of an open book. She could feel his longing for it, his lust. Bree shook her head, and the vision receded. She saw Faelan looking down at her, worry marring his handsome face.

“Are you all right?” he whispered.

Bree pushed the vision aside, refusing to let anything ruin this day. She touched her stomach and gave him a secret smile. Slipping the hand holding her bouquet around his neck, she pulled his lips to hers. “As long as I’m with you.”

Her warrior. Her Romeo. Her mate.

There are several people I want to thank for helping me as I wrote this book. Austin, my real hero, who supported and encouraged me, running along beside me as I chased my dream. My wonderful children, who understood that Mommy had to spend a lot of time in front of the computer and sometimes forgot that real people need to eat. My parents, brother, sister-in-heart, and nephew, as well as my husband’s family, who are a constant source of strength in my life. My incomparable agent, Christine Witthohn of Book Cents Literary Agency, who not only believed I had talent, but also helped me shape it. All the Book Cents babes and dudes, for their humor and support. My first instructor, Leigh Michaels, who opened the doorway to a dream. Margie Lawson, who helped me hone my writing skills. All the hard-working staff at Sourcebooks, and last but not least, my fabulous editor, Deb Werksman, for taking a chance on me.

Anita Clenney
writes paranormal romance and romantic suspense. Before giving herself over to the writing bug, she worked in a pickle factory and a preschool, booked shows for Aztec Fire Dancers, and was a secretary, an executive assistant, and a Realtor. She lives with her husband and two children in suburban Virginia not far from Washington, DC.