Page 3 of His Forgotten Highland Bride

Ronan felt a strange relief at learning the other woman was already spoken for. Despite her being the more acceptable of the sisters, the eldest—dressed in her fine silks and air of entitlement—put him in mind of his mother. Lady Deirdre MacPherson expected all to fawn over her. She’d undoubtedly found a man to do her bidding. But Ronan didn’t wish to fall victim to a cunning bride.

Still, while he didn’t wish to be manipulated by a woman’s beauty, he didn’t want such a mess for a wife.

“Why can’t Ewan marry the girl? His doing has gotten us into this mess in the first place.”

Ewan, only four years Ronan’s senior, was Uncle Ewan. They’d grown up more like brothers than uncle and nephew because of their ages. Ronan had followed the older lad across every hill on Grant lands as a boy, wanting to be like him.

When Ronan’s father died, and his mother married the MacPherson laird, Ronan begged to stay behind with Ewan and the Grants. For the first week after arriving at Cluny Castle, Ronan had refused to speak to his new stepbrothers and stepsister. Eventually, the walls were broken down, and Shane became the older brother Ronan had once had in Ewan. Now, as adults, Ewan had taken to drinking and carousing, while as heir, Ronan was taught the ways of being the laird in his father’s absence.

“You are the heir, not Ewan. My youngest isn’t even war chief because he refused the honor. No laird is going to marry his daughter to a second son. We need a strong alliance with the Innes clan. If anyone were to discover what Ewan has done, there’d be war between us. A war we’d not win against the Inneses, especially with the MacIntoshes at their back.”

His grandsire rubbed absently at his chest. Ronan wasn’t sure if there was pain or if the gesture was to remind Ronan that his grandsire was not a young man. If the laird were to fall ill and die, it would end Ronan’s plans to go to France, not to mention Ronan cared for the old buzzard.

“Very well, I’ll see it done.”

His grandfather clapped him on the back. “Marry the lass, bed her, get an heir on her, and then ye can take as many lemans as ye wish and forget about her.”

Ronan swallowed at the thought of doing such a thing. He did not pretend to harbor feelings for Brenna Innes, but he’d never treat a wife in such a way. Perhaps his years of seeing how the MacPherson laird doted on Ronan’s mother, Deirdre, had made an impression. He didn’t plan to be as obsessed as his stepfather was with his mother, but he’d not betray his vows. What was a man without his word? His grandsire must have seen the disgust on his face, for he softened and patted Ronan on the shoulder.

“Who can say what might come of it? It could work out quite well.”

Ronan would marry the lass, bed her to consummate the union, and then go to battle as planned. However, recalling her entrance earlier, he doubted the lass would be easy to forget.