The Taming of a Highlander by Elisa Braden

Author:Elisa Braden [Braden, Elisa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Scottish Historical Romance
Publisher: Verity Jane Publishing, LLC
Published: 2020-12-08T08:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

Four days after Kate came to see him at the distillery, Broderick’s urgency overcame his better judgment.

This could not go on. He could not leave for Edinburgh while his wife hated him.

He sucked in frost and breathed out clouds as he pulled his horse to a halt in front of his father’s house. The old stone farmhouse had been his home, but right now, it harbored the woman who had defied his express orders to visit Angus for “tea.”

She’d barely spoken to him—barely looked at him—since he’d lifted her out of the wagon. She’d taken supper that night in her bedchamber. He’d listened to her pacing until well past midnight. When he’d returned from the distillery the following day, Mrs. Grant had informed him Kate had spent the day writing. He’d assumed she’d been inspired and wanted solitude. But the following morning, she hadn’t appeared at breakfast.

Then, she’d avoided him, her eyes skating away when he found her reading in the library. He’d asked if she wanted to visit the castle or ride into the village. With a faint crinkle of her nose, she’d glanced out the window. “Not today, I think,” she’d murmured, gathering her shawl tighter. “Too much rain.”

This morning, she’d ridden to MacPherson House without telling him; instead, he’d had to hear from Mrs. Grant that Kate had wanted to take tea with his da.

That was why he’d come. Because her withdrawal could not be borne. Yes, he’d behaved like a woman-starved, half-sotted brute. Yes, she’d claimed she wasn’t vexed with him—obviously a lie. Nothing else explained her behavior.

Perhaps it would be better for her if she hated him before he left. If he never returned, she wouldn’t mourn. She’d be free.

But the howling ache in his chest wouldn’t go away. He couldn’t stand her silence, her distance, the shadowy smudges beneath her velvety eyes. So, she must forgive him for handling her roughly. She must return to being the sweet, glowing Kate she’d been before.

It would hurt to leave her. More than he’d anticipated. More than it should. But he couldn’t leave without seeing her smile one more time.

He handed his horse to one of the stable lads and entered his father’s house. Warmth and the scents of wool, bread, and wood surrounded him. The smell was his childhood. He breathed deep, remembering.

“Well, now, isnae this a grand surprise.” Annie emerged from the shadows beyond the staircase—the direction of the kitchen. She was grinning and wiping her hands on her apron. “Angus said ye’d come. I wasnae so certain.”

Broderick frowned, shrugging out of his coat and placing his hat on the hook by the door. “Why would he say that?”

“’Tis Sunday.”

He blinked. It was?

Annie arched a brow and planted her hands on her hips. “Venison and gravy? All the MacPhersons come round to eat my food and drink yer whisky?”

“Aye. Sunday. Truthfully, that wasnae why I came, though it does smell delicious, sister.”

“Come. Dinnae stand there puddlin’ Mrs. Urquhart’s clean floors. The woman is a saint to put up with the auld man’s crabbit ways, but even saints have their limits.

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