Free The Laird's Right by Mageela Troche

lashes rested against his creamy skin, the kind of perfect skin only babies possess. His cheeks were full and his body husky. His plump hands were large like his feet. He wasn’t a small child and no doubt would be a giant of a man like his father. A miniature, blunt sword rested alongside him.
    “To hearty him up.”
    “Hearty him up for what?” She gawked at Ailsa.
    “Connor is heir to the Clan MacLean. He must be strong.” She blinked.
    Ailsa believed it and saw nothing wrong with that. Probably have him training once he could walk.
    “My husband slept in his bed every night.”
    “English, correct?” At Portia’s nod, she said, “It takes twenty Englishmen to match a MacLean.”
    Hearing his mother’s voice, Connor opened his eyes. He rolled over to his back and stared up at Portia. He had his mother’s eyes, Alec’s eyes.
    Ailsa scooped up her son with a grunt. The boy filled her arms and hung on her hip.
    Connor stared at Portia. Most children hid in the crook of their parents’ neck when strangers were about, but this boy was bold. Portia wiggled a finger at him. He reached out to grab her finger. Portia came closer. Connor gripped her hand and put her finger in his mouth. Baby drool dripped down her to her knuckles. Connor, bored by that, let her finger go with a popping sound.
    “Someone is hungry.” Ailsa rubbed her nose in his hair. “Milk doesn’t come from her finger,” she said in a baby voice. She settled on a stool and put her babe to her breast. “Tell me of your husband.”
    The greedy sounds of suckling rang out during the short instant before Portia said, “He died.”
    “How?” Ailsa’s tone softened, either for her son or for Portia’s loss. Portia decided it had to be for Connor. She couldn’t have concern for her.
    “Treachery and deceit.”
    Ailsa stared at her for too long a time. Portia avoided her regard and soon began to squirm under the unrelenting regard. Just as she was ready to jump to her feet to flee her inspection, Ailsa spoke. “You loved him.”
    “Aye, I did…I do.” The words had always come easy for her to profess as they did this day.
    “Can you find some tenderness for Alec? It will make your marriage easier.”
    “Marriage?” Portia was sure she squeaked.
    “He plans to wed you. It’s the only way.” Ailsa must have seen the surprise on her face because she chuckled.
    Portia hooked her thumb, motioning to the great hall. “The talk about killing me…”
    “He had to accept the only option available to him. Tis marriage or death.”
    “I cannot wed Alec.” She shook her head so forcefully she became a little dizzy.
    “You shall. Be joyful about the occasion. He is a good man. Perhaps you can help him see that.”
     
    * * * *
     
    Alec couldn’t stop turning his thoughts back to Portia. Had she realized what was about to happen? Hell, Alec knew he was pledging his troth to her when he vowed to never claim a bride. A vow his father’s death freed him from but there were dangers to be faced from both outside and inside forces. Love was the one emotion he was incapable of giving a woman. And Portia loved her husband and would expect to have a marriage with the same.
    The hollow thud of the castle doors and the dogs barks announced Hurley and Ronan’s arrival.
    “What have you learned from Auld Andrew?”
    “One thing, a messenger rode out two days ago,” Ronan answered.
    “To where?” Alec braced his hands on the table.
    “No one knows, just south.”
    “Send riders out to find him,” Alec ordered in a firm voice while a chill frosted the center of his chest.
    “I’ll ride back now and send them on their way.” Hurley left to see about the order.
    “What’s your next move?”
    Alec ran his hand through his hair. “MacKintosh wants Portia dead. He never planned to marry her to Uilleam,” he said, referring to the Chattan’s chieftain. “He used me and I fell into his trap.”
    “A marriage won’t broker peace,” Duncan