The Exile of the Glen by Michelle Deerwester-Dalrymple

Author:Michelle Deerwester-Dalrymple
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical romance novels, highland historical romance, romance novels, romance books, scottish romance, sexy romance, sexy historical romance books, romance and sex, romance historical, romance ebooks, historical romance ebooks, steamy romance novels, Steamy historical romance, best historical romance novels, popular historical romance, sexy historical romance, medieval romance novels, medieval romance books, Medieval historical romance books, highland romance books, historical highland romance, scotland historical romance, scottish medieval romance, Scottish historical romance
Publisher: M.D. Dalrymple
Published: 2019-08-02T00:00:00+00:00

MUIRA AND ALISA’S DETERMINATION to create a love match would not be deterred. While they brought wee Rowan home, they returned two days later to retrieve her again. Their intention to have Alistair and Lioslaith spend time alone was embarrassingly obvious. Alisa was quick with suggestive winks and comments, laughing wildly every time she made color rise in Alistair’s cheeks.

Rowan held no hesitations with the green-eyed Highlander who lived in her home. She took to Alistair as a selkie to water, with ease and grace and childish curiosity. She followed him around the snowy land, wanting to help as he collected eggs or repaired the lean-to door. Rowan was his fair shadow, light instead of dark, and she never questioned his sudden presence in her life.

Alistair also held no hesitation, but it was difficult to not find the wee Rowan winsome. Her ready, impish smile and excitement won him over. And he pondered who he had become when she curled up on his lap to listen to Lioslaith’s fascinating stories of fairies and Blue men. He didn’t consider himself a likable fellow, particularly after his exile, but both Rowan and her mother found him likable enough.

Lioslaith was convinced of the moment she fell in love with the humbled stranger who stumbled into her life. After Alistair and Rowan collected the morning eggs, Lioslaith noted several hen feathers clinging to both their plaids, but the thought quickly passed. Later, when Lioslaith blew back into the house on the back of a snowy gust of wind, she saw Rowan and Alistair squatting by the fire. Their backs were to her, one small, shockingly blonde head tipping to a larger darker blond one, a pile of feathers between the two of them. Their silhouetted outline was a perfect tapestry of tranquility.

Rather than interrupting the tender scene, Lioslaith remained by the door, watching. Alistair lifted a larger, black and white Scottish-hen feather, wrapped a thin twine of fabric around the quill, then assisted Rowan to do the same. Lioslaith noted a small pile of twine-tied feathers between them, and she wondered what they were about.

“Now,” Alistair explained to Rowan’s enraptured, upturned face, “we need to tie all the twine to a stick. Like this.”

He held up a slender stick and nodded his head for Rowan to do the same. She clasped a stick in her tiny fingers, mimicking Alistair as best she could. With nimble fingers, he tied each twined feather to the stick. When Rowan could not tie the knot, he reached out and tied it for her. Rowan leaned in closer, resting against his lap, and Lioslaith had to bite back a smile.

In her mind, she sent up a silent prayer that Alisa and her sister were ardent in their matchmaking. Even if Lioslaith was guarding her heart and slow to let herself love the man, fair little Rowan had no such compunctions. The lassie loved this exile; her adoration for Alistair shone from her face brighter than the summer sun.

Alistair must have seen Lioslaith out of the corner of his eye, and he twisted his head toward her.

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