Page 2 of Highland Heart

“Yes, dearest Dugald.”

With a shaken laugh, he picked her up and swung her around. “You will not regret it,” he declared. “Now ... give me your hand!”

***

ROSINA

Rosina tried not to think at all, only feel. Her head was always so busy, so full of doubts, the voice in it—which sounded very much like her mother’s—constantly reminding her of what she could and could not do. And reproving her for her faults. When she was with Dugald Campbell that voice was drowned out by his confidence and certainty, and the warm wash of emotion he inspired in her. A single brush of his fingertip across her lips, or the featherlike touch of his mouth on her cheek, and she melted into a puddle at his feet. She didn’t have to think at all, and that was such a relief.

She had never felt like this with any man, and she wondered if she ever would again. It was reckless of her, completely out of character, but she found herself unable to say no to him.

The hand fasting only took a moment. The deed was done. They had taken turns speaking their words, both vowing to love each other and be as husband and wife. While Rosina said she would always be honest and true, Dugald declared that he would remain with her until his dying breath. He could at times be quite dramatic.

The evening was mild, late summer, and the heather was blooming. He found a dip in the hill and lay her down, his mouth on hers, his big body heavy as he pressed over her.

“Wife,” he breathed against her hair.

“Husband,” she whispered, cupping his face in her hands and kissing his mouth gently. The spark between them lit up the sky in sunset colours, and next moment he was devouring her with his lips and tongue, his muscular thigh pushing her legs apart. She could feel how aroused he was.

She had never been taken by a man. The wishy washy kisses she’d shared with her betrothed when she was eleven meant nothing, and the boy had died of a fever before they could be married. Afterwards the Laird of Tighe had stolen everything, and any thought her father may have had of finding her another husband was gone, although her mother still dreamed of a grand match.

Now here was Dugald, and he wanted her desperately, and Rosina wanted him. She was a virgin, but he had told her that she wasn’t his first. There had been others. Women saw only his size and his self-confidence and did not ask how old he was when they took him to their beds.

He hauled up her skirts with more enthusiasm than finesse, and the touch of his calloused fingers on her most intimate of places had her arching into him. Somewhere in the background the voice in her head was telling her to stop, that she was making a terrible mistake, but she wasn’t listening.

Rosina was lost in the hot, pleasurable thrall of her newly hand fasted husband. And when he pushed gently inside her she could only revel in this new and wonderful experience.

For ten days they spent every moment they could together, making love, making promises. She experienced joy such as she had never known, and she felt whole for the first time in her life. Dugald seemed to know exactly what she wanted and how to give it to her, and whenever that critical inner voice tried to assert itself, his bossy presence quashed it. And then her mother found out, and Dugald and Rosina were hauled before Tighe to explain themselves.

Instead of standing up to them, standing by Dugald, she renounced him.

And after that more than their vows were broken.

Chapter two

ROSINA

Ten years later, 1708, Castle Tighe

He had changed. His face had taken on the strong jaw and square chin of a mature man, and his shoulders were wider and thicker. He stood behind Ewen with the rest of his brothers, his dark blue eyes fixed on the altar. The wedding service was under way and Elspit was marrying her true love after all this time. It was the sort of happy ending Rosina had never thought possible, and it shook her.

Love and happy-ever-afters were for naïve fools. She’d learned that the hard way and she was unlikely to ever trust her heart to a man again. Unlike Ewen, who had promised to return to Elspit, Dugald had gone without even a goodbye. He could have taken Rosina with him, she would have been willing, but he hadn’t given her that option. After the confrontation with the laird he had walked away without a word.

One moment he was there and the next he was gone, and her mother was quick to tell her that she was a fool to have trusted him.

A man like that! A boy with no thought but his cock. You were easy meat for him. Rumour is your bed was barely cold and he was climbing into another’s.

Rosina realised she was staring at him and quickly looked away. Elspit and Ewen were kissing and a moment later they turned to their family and well-wishers, their faces bright with elation.

Rosina felt as if a stone had lodged in her chest. She wasn’t jealous—she had grown to love Elspit like a sister—so she wasn’t sure what this sensation meant. Tears stung her eyes and she stared hard without blinking until they dried up. A hand slid into hers and she looked down at her daughter’s worried face. Mary had her mother’s dark hair but her eyes were blue, a dark blue. There could be no denying whose daughter she was, but Rosina had no intention of saying anything to Dugald, and so far he had said nothing to her.

She tried to tell herself she was satisfied with that, but the stone in her heart only grew heavier.

“Rosina?” Her mother’s fingers were sharp, nails digging into her wrist, so unlike Mary’s warm, comforting hold. The bitterness and dissatisfaction on Jeanette Gordon’s face was plain to see. “I want you to have supper with me tonight. There is no need for you to attend the celebrations.”

Her mother was making it her business to prevent Rosina from falling under Dugald’s spell again. Not that she would.

“I must attend the celebrations, Mother,” she said evenly. “Elspit is my friend as well as my lady.”