Free Taming a Highland Devil by Kimberly Killion

sobs.
    He embraced her and stroked her hair, wanting to tell her he loved her, but knew such a profession could do naught but hurt her more. His face burned with pent-up emotions, fearing this would be the last time he would ever hold her. She was right. It didn’t matter what he wanted. It didn’t matter that he loved her. He was honor-bound to marry her sister.
    A thick knot formed in his throat as he realized his presence here caused her more misery than comfort. He set her back and lifted her chin. “I hope someday ye will forgive me for hurting ye.”
    His heart wept as he pressed his lips to hers a final time. He memorized the silky tenderness of her kiss, the desperate grasp of her fingers in his plaide , but it was the salt of her tears that would forever haunt him.
    Cursing himself, he pivoted on his heel and left.
    Her cries echoed out the top of the doocot and filled him with self-destructive afflictions.
    Mam would have her heir.
    Ian Mackay would have his alliance.
    And Magnus prepared to face the next chapter of his life—war.

Chapter Seven

    Effie was no stranger to grief, but losing Magnus to Vanna combined the suffering of death with the jagged edges of envy. ’Twas as if she’d swallowed a dozen thistles. Everything stung—her eyes, her throat, her heart.
    “Think ye can wait another day to travel, m’lady?” Sylvie stuffed an undertunic into Effie’s satchel and awaited her answer with hope-filled eyes.
    Effie shook her head and wrapped her arisaid around her shoulders. She couldn’t stay another night at Dunrobin. ’Twas enough she was leaving her heart behind. “My brother has already sent his seneschal to ready the horses.”
    “Then at least promise me ye will visit.”
    “Ye know I cannot make such a promise.” Keeping her eyes downcast, Effie gathered the last of her belongings then embraced Sylvie in a long hug. “Thank ye for being my friend.”
    Sylvie’s frail body convulsed with upset, causing a fresh rush of tears to roll over Effie’s cheeks. She hated that she’d befriended this woman. She hated that she’d allowed herself to think she could have called Dunrobin home. But mostly, she hated that she’d been naïve enough to believe she could have been Magnus’ wife.
    Sylvie released her, sniffled and wiped her nose on her sleeve. “Mayhap I’ll come visit ye then. After the first thaw.”
    “I would like that verra much.” Effie drew a jagged breath, hooked arms with Sylvie and stepped into the darkened corridor. A pitch-pine torch glowing in the stairwell cast a shadow over a figure looming outside Vanna’s door.
    Magnus.
    For the briefest of moments Effie’s muscles locked, then the figure stood upright and rushed toward them.
    Lady Jocelyn’s face came into view—pale, wide-eyed, frantic. “Lady Reay, I must speak to ye at once.”
    Uncertain if her nerves could survive another upset, Effie clung to Sylvie for support. “What is it?”
    “’Tis something I’ve suspected since shortly after your arrival, but I was hesitant to say anything,” the woman replied in hushed tones then paused to glance over her shoulder. “Because I care for Laird Sutherland’s well-being, I had the maids report to me the comings and goings of both ye and your sister.”
    This didn’t surprise Effie. S’truth, she would have done the same. “Go on.”
    “Your sister has been ill every morn since your arrival.”
    “She is with child,” Effie responded through clenched teeth.
    Jocelyn gave Effie a patronizing look. “Lady Reay, we both know the illness that burdens a woman in the early months of childbearing does not come so quickly.”
    “What are ye insinuating?”
    “I’m suggesting that your sister was with child before she came to Dunrobin. I suspect your brother knew, which is why he risked life and limb to travel two months sooner than planned.”
    Effie focused on the sliver of yellow light lining the bottom of Vanna’s door. Jocelyn was speculating. Vanna