Terri Brisbin - Taming the Highlander

So, she found herself in a nearly empty keep, with no sign of her brother or her husband, and exhausted from the miles walked this day. The bed, which she’d purposefully ignored, now beckoned to her. It looked so inviting—piled high with pillows and many layers of linen and blankets—Jocelyn soon found herself standing next to it.

“I just put some hot stones under the blankets, lady. Let me help you in.” Ailsa lifted the robe from her shoulders and helped her climb up. Then she adjusted the location of the flannel-wrapped stones until they were close enough to warm Jocelyn’s feet.

Sinking into the comfort and warmth undermined her plans to be awake to speak to the laird on his return. Her body allowed the cushiony softness of the thick mattress to pull it toward sleep.

“Ailsa,” she whispered, struggling to say the words before she drifted into the oblivion of sleep. “Tell the laird I wish to speak to him when he returns—whenever that is.”

“Aye, lady. I will tell the laird.”

She wanted to ask about the tone in the woman’s voice, but her body was settling into sleep. Although she could still hear the woman moving around the room, Jocelyn had not the strength to form and speak more words. And once more, her dreams were filled with images of Ewan.

And sometime in the dark of the night when the fires had burned down, he came to her in her dreams and warmed her body and soul.

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