MacLean's Passion: A Highland Pride Novel (26 page)

“Good,” she said, staring at the body. “I’m glad he’s dead.” She looked up at Colin and smiled. “Welcome home.”

She appeared so happy, so proud, her eyes shining in victory, that Colin pushed his fears to the side, trusting his friends that all would come out right.

“Welcome to yer new home, Maggie MacLean.” Later he would tell her. Now he would hold her and enjoy his home for a small moment.

She looked around with a crease between her brows. “I like it,” she said. “But I think it needs some work. There is some rubbish lying about in the great hall.”

Colin smiled. “Rubbish, indeed,” he said. “We’ll get that taken care of.”

Arm in arm, they headed back to the bailey to meet up with Sutherland, Alan, and Duff. Colin directed the newly appointed guards to put the English soldiers in the dungeon. He would treat them far better than they had treated his own people, but they were still his prisoners until he could figure out what to do with them or the English came for them. And him.

Adair Campbell had been correct. Colin never knew what Iain Campbell said to Cumberland, but whatever it was, Abbott’s murder was never mentioned and the English never came for Colin.

The soldiers Colin had captured were eventually returned to Cumberland, who, Colin was told, dealt with them harshly but fairly.

Colin would have thought that was the end of it, but of course it wasn’t. A few weeks after Colin had taken back his home, Adair Campbell arrived with a letter from Iain. It wished him well and told him to accept Campbell’s gift of wagons full of stores of food. Enough to get them through the winter if they were careful.

It was the end of the note that gave Colin pause. Campbell informed him that due to his own diligence in convincing the English army that Colin had nothing to do with Abbott’s death, Colin now owed Campbell a favor that would be determined at a later date.

Colin stood in his new solar, overlooking the ocean beyond, and contemplated the letter. He was glad that he was no longer a wanted man among the English. He was glad that he had food to feed his people, something that had weighed heavily on his mind.

He was not glad to owe Campbell a favor.

But in the end, what was he to do? Campbell had saved his life twice and Maggie’s once. Colin owed him.

Maggie walked in and he dropped the letter, refusing to worry about it now. What was to come was to come. He would pay back the favor when called upon to do so because he had no choice and because, thanks to Campbell, Colin had his home back, his people back, and Maggie at his side.

He couldn’t ask for anything more.

She walked into his embrace, wrapped her slim arms around him, and laid her head against his chest.

He kissed the top of her head and held her tightly, closing his eyes and reveling in the freedom he felt.

No longer did his father’s and brothers’ voices taunt him. No longer did he feel like a failure, and no longer did he feel like he’d let his new wife down.

They’d worked together to clean the castle up and make it theirs. It was a slow process, and Colin was amused to find his wife, who could fight as well as any man and hold her liquor better than most, picking out new curtains from the stores of illegally imported fabrics. What was equally amusing was watching Duff help her. Unbeknownst to Colin, Duff apparently had an eye for decorating, and it wasn’t unusual to see the two of them, heads bowed over bolts and bolts of fabric, discussing the merits of red velvet or blue silk for Colin’s solar.

But that didn’t mean that Maggie had given up all of her ways. Colin knew that Duff had taken Maggie on a few night runs, and Colin had turned his head, appearing deaf and dumb, because she enjoyed it and she was in good hands with Duff. Duff wouldn’t allow Maggie to get hurt, and neither would he allow her to do anything dangerous. Most likely, Maggie was nothing more than a lookout.

“So will it be the blue or the red?” Colin asked.

“Neither. A beautiful bolt of yellow damask has come in on the last shipment.”

“So yellow it is,” he said, hiding his smile.

“Maybe. I still can no’ decide.” She looked up at him and frowned. “Ye’re laughing at me.”

“Never.”

She playfully slapped him on the arm and stepped from his embrace, her expression serious. “Do no’ go thinking that I’m a changed woman just because I like to look at fabric.”

“Never,” he said. She blinked, and Colin couldn’t hold back his smile. “Ah, Maggie. Donno’ ye know, I’ll love ye whether ye’re coming at me with a bolt of fabric or a raised sword.”

“Truly?”

He pulled her back to him because he hated not holding her when they were this close. “Truly.”

“What did I do to deserve ye?” she asked.

“Ye acted like a lad, ran away from prison with me, and nursed me back to health. Ye forged a river and nearly drowned, and ye fought by my side to take back our home.”

She chuckled. “We’ve lived an exciting life in our short time together.”

“We certainly have, and I’m going to be sure the rest of our lives are as calm as we can make them.”

She looked up at him, resting her chin on his chest. “No’ too calm, I hope.”

He threw back his head and laughed. He should have realized she wouldn’t be satisfied with a life devoid of action and risk. “Maybe I’ll throw in an adventure now and again.”

“I’ll hold ye to that.”

“Who would have thought that the impish lad who was really a lass would be happy in a rundown seaside castle picking out smuggled fabric?”

“I know.” She sounded surprised herself. “But I canno’ think of anywhere I’d rather be.”

“Ah, Maggie mine. Me, either.”

To my husband, John, who scours the bookstores for historical research books for me—You can’t ask for a better partner than one who supports your passion one hundred percent.

Before I got into this writing gig I thought a book came out of an author’s head and was put directly on the page, fully formed and perfectly written. That is the farthest thing from the truth. It’s true that the actual act of writing is a lonely one, but the creation of a book is not.

Authors Christine Warner and Kristina Knight are always there to bounce ideas off of or to talk me off the ledge when I write myself into a corner. My agent, Jessica Alvarez, is always ready to answer crazy emails from me and never gets frustrated when I ask the same questions over and over. Sarah Murphy, my editor, is my greatest cheerleader and comes up with the most awesome ideas to take my stories to the next level. She has the big picture in mind and her ideas always make the book better. And then there is the nitty-gritty, the fine line editor who takes it down to the level of individual words. When she recommends a word that might be better than one I use I always listen to her.

And then there are the cover artists and all of the people behind the scenes who schedule the book releases and the sales and all parts of the marketing. Every one of them have my book in their best interest, making this a group effort.

To all of you, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

The Notorious Lady Anne

Loving the Earl

Pleasing the Pirate

Sebastian’s Lady Spy

Sutherland’s Secret

MacLean’s Passion

Campbell’s Redemption

His Saving Grace

The Reluctant Duchess

PHOTO: PAM JONES PHOTOGRAPHY

MacLean’s Passion
is
S
HARON
C
ULLEN
’s eighth historical romance with Loveswept. Her other novels include
Sutherland’s Secret,
The Reluctant Duchess, Sebastian’s Lady Spy, His Saving Grace, The Notorious Lady Anne, The Infamous Lord Blythe,
and
Pleasing the Pirate.
Sharon is also the author of romantic suspense, paranormal romance, and contemporary romance.

If you’d like to find out more about Sharon and her books, you can visit her at her blog or her website. She’s addicted to social networking, so you can find her on Facebook and Twitter.
Friend her! Like her! Follow her!
She’d love to hang out with you and talk about her passion—
books.

sharoncullen.net

Facebook.com/SharonCullenAuthor

@SharonCullen

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Until next month ~Happy Romance!

Gina Wachtel

Associate Publisher