Three Thanks and a Highlander

"A lady may attempt to master the chaos of a Highland gathering, but true wisdom lies in knowing when to surrender to the rogue who commands her heart." The Polite Companion's Guide to Love and Other Havocs.

The dining room brimmed with Highland voices, their brogue as thick as the whiskey circulating the table. The scent of roasted pheasant, warm bread, and something distinctly smoky—a reminder of the Scottish distillers taking over her once-peaceful home, perfumed the air. Beth perched at the head of the table, trying to find her husband’s gaze on the opposite side of the rectangular highway, but his cousins and brother filled every chair and, in some cases, a bit of the floor.

If Dora had not married Reggie and pleaded a suspicious migraine, she would have said be careful what you wish for, Mrs. Sandeman.

For a girl who’d never seen a Highlander a year ago, she now had enough to last a lifetime—and quite an eyeful, at that.

The room was cheerful, as in one of the taverns in Sir Walter Scott’s novels. Plates clattered, glasses clinked, and accents rolled in a thunderous wave. Boyd’s laughter echoed over the din. Beth’s heart swelled. This was why she’d done it—reuniting him with his family, bringing their American kin across the ocean to honor Thanksgiving, even if they wanted to wrestle to discover who brewed the best liquor (never mind Boyd’s argument that port was not brewed like their New World Bourbon, but blended).

“It’s nae grouse, Boyd.” Cousin Fergus MacGregor pointed his fork at the golden pheasant, his blond Viking hair catching the hearth’s glow. “I’ll tell you that, but damn if it isn’t fine.”

Duncan MacGregor leaned forward with his trademark rakish grin, twirling his knife between his fingers. “Aye, Fergus, nae grouse—but if Boyd’s wife cooks like this, maybe I’ll need tae find myself a clever lass who kens her way around a kitchen. What say ye, Beth? Got a sister?”

Fergus’s massive hand came down on his back with a thundering slap that made the plates rattle. Beth wondered how Boyd’s cousin didn’t crumble. No doubt a young oak would have been felled by such a blow. “Leave the lass be, Duncan, afore Boyd feeds ye tae the fowl!”

Alistair Sandeman, with his russet hair catching the firelight, raised his glass in a toast, a warm smile softening the mischievous glint in his eyes. “Whatever this plate is, it’s delicious, and I’m grateful for it.” He glanced at Beth, his smile growing softer. “But most of all, I’m pleased to be here, meeting the lass who’s finally conquered my brother. No small feat, that.”

Beth felt her cheeks warm. Alistair’s tone was playful, but genuine, and the weight of his words struck something deep. A sweet lad would surely make some lucky girl very happy one day.

“It’s not grouse, and it’s no turkey. What is it then?” Fergus asked.

“It’s pheasant, sir,” Reggie called from the doorway, looking both annoyed and slightly alarmed as he carried another tray of food.

The voices lowered as her new kin attacked the plates with gusto. This was her cue. Either she pronounced her lines now, or she would have to wait for Christmas, and even though she thoroughly enjoyed Boyd’s family, she would need a vacation after this holiday with them.

Beth rose gracefully, lifting her glass, and called out with as much poise as she could muster over the Highland ruckus. “Gentlemen! If I may steal your attention—for a toast!”

No one noticed. Not a single head turned.

She blinked, then cleared her throat. “Pardon, I would like…”

A laugh drowned her voice, and someone slapped the table hard enough to rattle the silverware.

Very well. A lady didn’t cower in the face of minor setbacks.

Beth clinked her knife against her glass—three sharp chimes that cut through the noise. The room fell silent, and every Highlander turned to her.

Beth inspected the expanse of her new cousins and brother-in-law, all handsome in their own infuriating and roguish way, to finally land on her husband’s loch of a gaze, all self-satisfaction and impossible charm. A lady should not indulge in petty competitions, for her wisdom is based on choosing battles worthy of her dignity. But…

“Since it seems I cannot hope to rival the brilliance of your conversation, Boyd Sandeman, I propose a challenge.”

That got the highlanders’ full attention.

Boyd straightened, his eyes glinting with interest. “Oh, do ye now?”

“I do. I challenge you for the privilege of being the most grateful person in this room.”

Beth took a deep breath. A lady should temper her own competitiveness with humility and reflection, striving to excel without diminishing others. But that did not include handling a room full of boisterous highlanders, did it?

Boyd smirked, crossing his arms with that infuriating air of challenge. “Let’s hear it, then.”

Beth straightened her shoulders, her fingers tightening around the stem of her glass.

She forced herself to meet Boyd’s gaze, her voice steady despite the butterflies in her chest. “Very well. I’m grateful for this life we’re building. For the family we’ve brought together tonight.”

“Hear, hear.”

Boyd raised a bottle. “Let’s toast tae my good fortune this evenin’—nae havin’ tae carry my wife out of here like a sack of barley.”

The room erupted into laughter, forks clinking against plates as his cousins and brother joined in, slapping the table and roaring their approval.

“Haul me? Honestly, Mr. Sandeman, a gentleman would simply offer his arm. But I suppose Highlanders have… different customs.” And stronger shoulders. Heat unfurled in her chest as her mind conjured all the times her husband had carried her. She never knew what could prompt his bouts of a sudden wife-carrying spree, but she always knew where they ended—atop the bed, without clothes, and with their limbs more entangled than a vine in a sultry and thoroughly exhausting summer storm.

Boyd’s eyes narrowed playfully. “I’m grateful for a wife who’s brave enough to host a horde of Highlanders and foolish enough to think she can out-toast me.”

Duncan MacGregor, ever the rake, leaned closer to Beth with a grin that could charm the devil himself. “The lasses never complain of our wee horde, cousin. Quite the opposite.”

Fergus MacGregor, his towering frame dominating the chair, feigned mock offense, his deep voice rolling through the room. “Speak for yourself, Sandeman. I’m the civilized one here. How much did you bribe such a fine lass to make her agree to marry you?”

Boyd snorted. “Bribery, Fergus? Ye’ve a strange way of describing the power of my irresistible charm.”

Alistair chuckled. “Careful, brother. She’s the clever one in this marriage. We’ve all seen how the lass handles ye—like a fiddler stringing a bow. I’m grateful for my new sister.”

Boyd leaned back in his chair, his smirk growing wider, a glimmer of mischief sparking in his eyes. “Clever, is she? Aye, clever enough tae wed a man who makes the finest wine in the valley. But let’s see if her cleverness is enough tae keep her composure tonight.” He raised his glass, his gaze locked on hers, daring her to take the bait. “I’m grateful for a wife who matches wits with me—and is brave enough tae lose.”

Beth arched a brow, her gaze glinting with challenge as it met Boyd’s. “Is that so, Mr. Sandeman?” She lifted her glass with an elegant flourish, her lips quirking into a sly smile. “I’m grateful for the wine in the cellar—heaven knows it’s the only thing preserving my sanity in a room full of Highlanders.”

Boyd chuckled, his grin devilish. “I’m grateful for whiskey—because nae wine could handle the likes of Mrs. Sandeman.”

The cousins, clearly enjoying the show, kept shifting their glances from Beth to Boyd like spectators at a Highland caber toss, leaning in as though waiting to see who’d land the next throw—and who’d end up flat on their backside.

“I’m grateful for Reggie, who’s worked tirelessly tonight,” Beth added, toasting the flustered footman.

“I’m grateful Reggie’s not had tae wrestle a Highlander yet,” Boyd countered, raising his glass to the now thoroughly blushing Reggie.

Beth found her husband’s eyes. “For your courage and honor.”

Boyd’s lips quirked into a soft smile, his eyes gleaming. “For the fire in yer hair and the stubbornness in yer heart.”

How could she topple that? Her Highlander had a way with words that—really. Beth looked at her glass, her lips trembling. “For how you look at me, and see who I am.”

“For the way ye look at me like I’m more than I am,” he replied, his voice dipping lower.

Beth’s throat tightened. “For the delicious wine you make.”

Boyd’s smile was for her alone. “For the taste of wine on yer lips. It’s much sweeter than in the glass.”

Her cheeks flushed. The words she had planned to say? Where were they? “For our mornings… and all our nights.”

His grin turned tender as he leaned toward her. “For yer blasted challenges—every one of them.”

Beth opened her mouth to retort, but Boyd raised a hand to silence her.

“For giving me sound…” He smiled that soft smile he reserved for their evenings by the fire. “Sometimes more than I bargained for. For a lady, ye are awfully loud.”

Laughter rippled through the table.

Boyd waited for the amusement to dim, now serious.

He lifted his glass higher. “And for teaching me what it means tae love.”

Beth’s chest swelled, and as he gazed at her, she feared she would burst, her feelings impossible to be contained under the soft layer of a health corset. A lady should cherish a deep affection for her husband, tempered by reason. How glad she was that she was not a proper lady, for she loved her Highlander to distraction, and there was no demureness to what she felt for her rogue.

Her smile softened, and she glanced away from his naked blue eyes. Sighing, she placed a hand over her stomach. “Most of all, I’m grateful for you because you gave me a child.”

The boisterous Highlanders and their loud cheer suddenly hushed.

Boyd’s jaw slackened, his glass lowering. His gaze locked on hers, eyes brimming with the tears he would forever deny having shed.

Slowly, he set the glass on the table, and his chair scraped back loudly as he stood. The flickering light of the dining room danced across his impossibly rugged and handsome face, now softened with a raw emotion that made Beth’s heart stutter.

With purposeful strides, Boyd closed the space between them.

He cradled her cheeks and kissed her thoroughly and unrepentantly as if they were the only two people in the world. Beth flushed as the room erupted into cheers and whistles.

But Boyd paid them no mind. His attention was wholly on her.

His lips brushed against her temple. When he pulled back, his voice was hoarse but filled with warmth.

“Is this true?”

“A lady never lies.”

“Then Ye win, lass. Ye always win.”

And as the room exploded with applause and laughter, Boyd leaned in to whisper, “But just ye wait till next year.”

Jaw clamped tight, he swept her into his arms, not like a sack of barley, but as though she were something fragile, precious, and wholly his.

As he turned and began carrying her toward the door, Beth tilted her head, a teasing glint returning to her eyes despite the lump in her throat. “You said you were grateful you didn’t have to carry me like a barley sack this fine eve.”

“Aye. but this isn’t carrying. This is honorin’ ye properly, Mrs. Sandeman.”

“We are hosts to your family. We can’t simply abandon our guests.”

Boyd paused mid-stride, glancing back over his shoulder. “Eat and drink tae yer heart’s content, lads. I’m takin’ my wife tae bed—she’s carryin’ my bairn!”

The room erupted into cheers and wolf whistles, tankards banging against the wooden table. Fergus raised his glass high, shouting, “A toast tae the bairn!”

Duncan smirked. “Beth, ye’ve conquered the fiercest Highlander among us. A fine achievement, lass!”

Amid the uproar, Alistair raised his voice, his tone warm and teasing. “And here’s tae the wee one, who’ll be as clever as their mother and as stubborn as their father.”

Beth buried her face against Boyd’s chest, her cheeks blazing, as he carried her toward the staircase.

She looped her arms around his neck, her fingers toying with the ends of his hair. “You’re impossible.”

“Aye. But I’m yer impossible. And you vowed to endure me. Now hush, or I’ll scandalize ye even more.”

Beth’s lips twitched with amusement as they reached the landing. She leaned in, brushing her lips against his cheek. “I love you, Boyd.”

His stride faltered for a split second, his hold on her tightening. “And I love ye, lass. To distraction from all else.”

They reached their bedchamber door, and Boyd paused, looking down at her as if she were the most precious thing in the world. “Now,” he kicked the door open. “Let’s see if we can make ye as loud as a room full of Highlanders.”