Highlander The Cursed Lord (Highland Intrigue Trilogy 3)

Having Bliss in his life had turned death from friend to foe. He had never had the burning urge to live as he now did since Bliss entered his life. Never had he wanted to share his life with someone as he did now with Bliss. Never had he thought he could love with such an intensity as he loved Bliss.

She may have been a fool for marrying him, but he was probably the bigger fool for not only falling in love with her but hoping for the impossible—that she would love him in return.

It was not a long way to the keep when on horses and though warriors rode along with them, Rannick still kept a keen eye on his surroundings.

“You favor this wife,” his father said, after bringing his horse alongside Rannick’s horse.

Rannick had no trouble admitting it. “I do favor her. She is a good woman with a kind heart.”

“She is also courageous for marrying you and for standing up to me when I questioned her ability to bear a child.”

Rannick turned ready to defend his wife.

His father held up his hand as if in surrender. “Save your reprimand, she was more than capable of correcting me. She told me large, small, thin, plump, it did not matter when it came to delivering a bairn. It is good she has delivered many bairns. Her knowledge will help her when her time comes.”

“I will not let what happened to Cecilia happen to Bliss,” Rannick said.

His father took on an angry tone. “It infuriates me to think we had or could still have a traitor among us.”

“Not for long,” Rannick said, his anger far outweighing his father’s.

“I have news for your wife that I am sure will please her to hear,” his father said.

“Good news would be more than welcomed for a change,” Rannick said.

“Share it with her when she wakes. Her sister Elysia has wed a farmer, though remind her that her sister Annis could still be forced to wed if Bliss fails to keep her end of the bargain.” His father grinned. “Though, somehow I do not think that will be a problem and that pleases me.”

“Unless, of course, Annis finds her own husband as Elysia has, then the bargain no longer holds any worth,” Rannick said, deflating his father’s grin, though laughter replaced it.

“From what I hear about Annis and her stubborn nature, I doubt that is even a possibility.”

Rannick ignored his father’s smug laugh. “How do things go with Clan MacBridan?”

His father’s grin vanished. “I am afraid things worsen with Clan MacBridan and battle is on the horizon for your friend Odran, though I do not know how any sane person would go against his infamous warrior skills.”

“I do believe there are more insane people in the world than sane people, Da,” Rannick said. “Odran will reach out to me if necessary.”

“And you will go?”

Rannick thought of his conversation with Bliss and his answer came easily. “My wife would be disappointed in me if I did not help my friend.”

His father turned his head, looking off in the distance. “Sometimes we have no choice.”

Rannick seized on the moment. “Did you kill the MacWilliam bairn?” He caught the surprised look on his father’s face and thought he might not answer the question. Rannick was pleased to learn otherwise.

“Wagging tongues spread that news and I saw no reason to stop it since the King would be pleased to hear it. However, the bairn was already dead, an illness having taken her, when we finally found out her whereabouts.”

“How could you be sure it was the MacWilliam bairn?” Rannick asked.

“We discovered where Gunna had gone and that led us to the bairn.”

Bliss did not stir, feigning sleep when she had woken and heard her husband ask his father about the MacWilliam bairn. She had wanted to hear what he had to say and being she had, she began to shift gently in her husband’s arms.

“We will talk more at home,” his father said when he saw Bliss waking, and rode off.

“How much did you hear?” Rannick asked, having felt the change in his wife’s body before she visibly stirred.

Bliss wasn’t surprised her husband was aware that she had woken. After all, he was accustomed to her slightest movements from the time she spent in his arms each night.

“From when you asked him about the MacWilliam bairn,” she said, sitting up straighter so she could look upon his face. Most would think a person’s eyes would be drawn to his scar, but hers were always drawn to his eyes. They were expressive eyes, letting her see bits of him now and again that he thought he hid, other times they warned to keep a distance, and yet other times one shivered from the empty coldness that nestled in them. At the moment, his eyes were warm and attentive, drawing her in like a comforting embrace.