Page 1 of In Bed with a Highland Liar

PROLOGUE

Torridon Inn, 1765

It was a habit they couldn’t easily shake, even when there seemed to be no danger. Aaden and Gilchrist sat at the far end of the common area of the inn, their backs against the wall and nothing else between them and the rest of the patrons, like they always did in such establishments. One could never know where an enemy might lurk, though an inn in a small town was hardly the place to attract any serious threats.

The room smelled of ale and wine, the wooden tables sticky with spilled residue that the serving wenches’ tattered rags could never clean entirely. The storm outside, the one which had forced them to pause their trip back home to Castle McDowell, still raged. The sound of the raindrops on the roof of the inn were so thunderous that not even the lively conversation inside was enough to fully drown it out. Although the room didn’t seem so crowded to Aaden at first glance, every table seemed to be occupied, some of them only by lonely travelers and others by groups of people.

“Here’s tae a successful job,” Gilchrist said, raising his cup of wine in a toast. “We willnae want fer naething now that we have reached this agreement.”

“We willnae want fer food, at least,” Aaden pointed out. The Bairds, with their fertile lands, had been perhaps the most important allies for Clan MacDowell to secure and now that Gilchrist had managed to make this deal with them—food in exchange for manpower and security—there would be no concerns about their resources throughout the winter. “Ye did well. The role o’ the laird suits ye.”

Laughing, Gilchrist sipped his wine slowly, savoring it as though it was one of the bottles he imported from France and not what it truly was, which was closer to vinegar.

“I must still adjust,” Gilchrist said. “An’ there is still much tae dae. This may be the most important deal we have made so far, but it willnae be the only one.”

Despite what his friend claimed, Arden couldn’t imagine a better laird for the McDowell Clan. Ever since marrying Kyven McDowell, the daughter of the clan’s previous laird, Gilchrist had spent most of his waking hours working towards the betterment of their lands and their people, putting everyone else before himself.

It showed a little in the weariness in his eyes, the lids weighed down by several sleepless nights. Aaden hoped that now, at least, with the clan’s food for the winter secured, he could rest for a while and focus on his new family.

“Ye must adjust soon,” Aaden said, “‘afore the bairn comes, for there will be less time after.”

“Och aye,” said Gilchrist, and the mere mention of his unborn child brought a new warmth to his face, a brightness that eclipsed his exhaustion. “There are still a few months left, but I wish it were sooner. I wish tae meet me son.”

“Or daughter,” Aaden reminded him.

“Or daughter,” Gilchrist agreed with a smile. “An’ besides, it’s already getting tiring fer Kyven. I’m sure she is impatient tae give birth.”

“She is gettin’ big, isnae she?”

“Dinnae tell her that,” warned Gilchrist, with the kind of serious tone he usually reserved for battle plans. “She is already angry she cannae see her feet an’ she will only continue tae grow. One wrong word an’ she’ll cut off yer head hersel’.”

Aaden laughed at the warning, imagining Kyven, pregnant as she was, trying to chase him around the castle. She could rope someone else into doing it, though; Aaden had no doubts about that.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. “Though I’m sure if yer wife heard ye say that about her, she’d have yer head.”

“She’d be provin’ me point, then,” said Gilchrist. “An’ she wouldnae harm me. She loves me. Ye would understand if ye found a good lass fer yersel tae wed.”

This again, Aaden thought. Though he had always been adamant that he would never marry, it didn’t stop people from trying to change his mind. Gilchrist had been lecturing him on all the joys of marriage ever since he had married Kyven, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer. At most, he stopped bringing it up for a while, only to mention it again when Aaden had been lulled into a false sense of security, thinking he was safe from another such talk.

“Ye ken what I think about that,” Aaden said. “I like me freedom too much.”

That seemed to be the wrong thing to say. Gilchrist’s features arranged themselves in that serious look he got whenever there was something urgent to discuss, brows furrowing together and lips pursing into a thin line.

“Marryin’ Kyven didnae make me a prisoner,” he said. “As marryin’ a lass willnae make ye a prisoner. It gave me the biggest joys o’ me life. What will ye dae, Aaden? Will ye stay alone yer whole life?”

“I’m nae alone,” Aaden pointed out. He had Gilchrist. He had other friends. He could easily manage without a wife.

“Ye ken what I mean,” Gilchrist insisted. “Ye need someone. Ye cannae keep everyone away.”

Aaden’s jaw tightened at Gilchrist’s words. His friend had always known Aaden liked women, but for a while he had thought it was a way for him to find some comfort after his father’s death, a way to drown his sorrows. Now that Aaden hadn’t changed at all, though, Gilchrist had begun to pester him once more.

Aaden didn’t want to talk about his father or the reasons behind his reluctance to marry. He had made peace with both those things. Losing his father in that ambush had been one of the most painful moments of his life, but there was no bringing him back. A wife couldn’t fill the void he had left behind. All Aaden could do was keep his memory alive and move on as best he could.

Still, he could understand why Gilchrist was so insistent. He worried, just as Aaden worried about him, no matter how well he was doing. It was in their nature to worry about each other.

“It’s alright,” he assured him. “I write me maither often, so I still have family. An’ I have ye.”

It was only part of the truth, but it would have to be enough for Gilchrist, as it was all Aaden was willing to share.