The Groom Wore Plaid
Highland Weddings
Series
By
Gayle Callen
Avon Romance
February 23, 2016
Mass-Market ISBN:
9780062268006 * $7.99
E-ISBN
9780062268013 * $5.99
Falling in love means tempting fate in this passionate
new novel in USA Today bestselling author Gayle Callen’s Highland Wedding
series.
Maggie McCallum’s dreams about her new fiancé aren’t
the romantic sort. It’s not just that she was bartered to Owen Duff like a
piece of property to end a clan feud. She’s also haunted by premonitions of his
death on their upcoming wedding day. Yet the exasperating Highlander won’t let
her call it off, even though his life and his clan are both in jeopardy.
Owen has wanted Maggie in his bed since he first
glimpsed her years ago. If their union restores peace between their clans, so
much the better. But while lusting after another chief’s sister had its risks,
growing to trust Maggie is far more dangerous. Owen is falling deeply in love
with the one woman he cannot hope to claim…and survive.
THE
GROOM WORE PLAID –
After a detour through fitness instructing and
computer programming, GAYLE CALLEN found the life she’d always dreamed of as a
romance writer. This USA Today bestselling author has written more than twenty
historical romances for Avon Books, and her novels have won the Holt Medallion,
the Laurel Wreath Award, the Booksellers’ Best Award, and been translated into
eleven different languages. The mother of three grown children, an avid
crafter, singer, and outdoor enthusiast, Gayle lives in Central New York with
her dog Uma and her husband, Jim the Romance Hero. She also writes contemporary
romances as Emma Cane.
Website - www.gaylecallen.com
Scotland, 1717
Maggie McCallum was
only sixteen and Owen Duff eighteen the autumn their families spent in
Edinburgh. Her mother had said she was too young for courtship, but Maggie
secretly scoffed at that. Men looked at her now, and she was finally allowing
herself to give a flirtatious look back.
And then at a
dancing assembly, she saw Owen, Viscount Duncraggan, heir to the earldom of
Aberfoyle. She’d met him only once before, at a dinner with their parents.
She’d been twelve, he fourteen, and he’d ignored her. Now a friend giggled and
pointed him out.
“He’s from the Duff
clan,” the girl said. “Even I ken that the McCallums and the Duffs have always
despised each other.”
Maggie nodded
without really listening. She was staring at Owen with wide, curious eyes. He
did not wear a belted plaid as so many of her family did, but an expensive
tailored coat and waistcoat over knee breeches, and the polished sword at his
hip sparkled in the candlelight when he strode across the dance floor to bow to
a blushing girl. He had a thin face and bony shoulders that hinted at the broad
strength of the man he would become. His sandy hair was gathered in a haphazard
queue on his neck, loose strands brushing his cheeks as if he were too busy to
be bothered fastening it more securely.
“Isn’t your brother
to marry his sister? Ye’ll be practically family.”
Family or not,
Maggie knew better than to be the McCallum who approached a Duff in public,
right in front of her mother. She thought of her brother’s misery at marrying a
woman he didn’t know or love, the way he’d done foolish, reckless things in
anger when he’d first discovered his fate at thirteen. Maggie had pitied him,
and felt guilty that she was secretly glad it wasn’t she forced to marry a
Duff.
Her next meeting
with Owen wasn’t auspicious—she merely passed him on the stairs outside her
flat on High Street, as dusk settled in dark waves on Edinburgh. The tall
building with a dozen floors housed all manner of people, from the chimney
sweep in the cellar to the dancing master in the garret. The best floors were
reserved for noblemen, and though her father didn’t have a title, he was the
chief of the Clan McCallum. Her mother had leased the flat to be near the
earl’s family, since her son was marrying into them, but she did not want her
daughter involved beyond what civility expected.
Upon seeing Maggie,
Owen came to a stop on the stairs and grinned that grin that lived in her
dreams for many years to come. His warm brown eyes made her think of the
chocolate English ladies favored for their morning drink, and as they took her
in, skimming her form, she felt as suitably overheated as that cup she’d only
once clutched in her hands on a cold winter morning in the Highlands.
She wanted to scold
him for his bold gaze but then she saw the round tube he carried.
“Is that a
telescope?” she demanded.
Those eyes now
brightened with more than warmth. “Aye, I’m heading out to gaze upon the stars.
Have ye looked through one before?”
She shook her head.
She’d done nothing more intellectual than read passages from the Bible—she
hadn’t been allowed more, had no access to other books. Knowing there was a
whole world of knowledge out there made her ache with regret and frustration.
He held out a hand.
“I’m Owen. Do ye want to come?”
She hesitated,
realizing he didn’t recognize her. In that long moment she thought of her
grandparents already preparing for bed, the fact that she’d just seen her
mother into a sedan chair to meet with friends, and that her brother lived in
his own flat near the university. She was alone.
Owen stood a couple
stairs below her, and that put them at just about the same height. She stared
into his eyes again, and the admiration and curiosity made her unfurl like a
blossom in springtime.
But she had to be
honest. Taking a deep breath, she said, “I’m Maggie McCallum. ’Tis my brother
who’s to marry your sister.”
He looked at her
for a long moment, and the first feelings of regret and resignation washed
through her.
But Owen didn’t
rush away, only extended his hand closer to her. “Nice to meet ye, Maggie. Do
ye still want to come with a dreaded Duff?”
She bit her lip to
keep from giggling like a foolish girl. She was sixteen, a woman now. He
obviously didn’t remember her from four years before. Maybe that was for the
best. Putting her hand in his, she let him lead her out into the twilight.
During the next few
weeks, Owen was the excitement in days that were once dreary and repetitive.
Sneaking away to ride down to the shore at the Firth of Forth, boating,
exploring the grounds of Edinburgh Castle, or even meandering through shops
seemed like wild adventures when she was at Owen’s side.
Rather than deter
her, the very forbiddance of a friendship between them caused her to be far too
reckless. He was so very different from the men she knew. He discussed physics
and chemistry and astronomy as if she was as smart as he. She saw his wonder in
the world, but when she asked if he would be a scientist, his expression turned
hard as he said his father had forbidden it. He was the heir to an earldom, and
would be educated as such. If he didn’t study the classics, his father would
refuse him attendance at university next year.
Maggie sympathized,
and distracted him from his sad and angry thoughts, but she could not stop
dwelling on her own confusion. Every moment she spent in his company, Owen
seemed more and more familiar to her, as if they’d met much earlier in their
childhood, though he swore they had not. Sometimes it was as if a ghost of a
dream teased her from just beyond the shadows, and she shivered.
Her dreams were
nothing to make light of. More than once, she’d dreamed something that
eventually came true. The family of a little boy in her clan had thought him
drowned and were about to give up the search, when a dream led her to the
bedraggled boy huddled beneath a cliff. Another dream foretold the suicide of a
young woman whom Maggie’s father had abused. Maggie hadn’t understood what she
was seeing until it had actually come true, which was often the case. And then
it had been too late to help the girl. Maggie’s mother had taken her away from
Larig Castle and back to Edinburgh, to keep her safe from her father.
But Owen? Could he
have been part of a dream she couldn’t remember? The puzzle of it flooded her
mind when she was separated from him, but the hours they were together were
full of happy laughter, insightful discussion, and endless moments where she
stared into his face when he wasn’t looking and imagined herself married to
him. Maybe her mind was simply trying to tell her that he was her destiny, that
they were meant to be together. She wanted him to kiss her, but he was ever the
gentleman—or maybe he assumed that the centuries-old feud between their clans
meant they could never share a more intimate relationship. It seemed to be a
forbidden topic between them.
But he touched her,
and each time she could have surely melted with delight. He would take her hand
running across a field, guide her by grasping her elbow, put his hand gently on
her waist when they stood watching the sun set amid beautiful orange and pink
clouds adorning it like trailing scarves.
Two weeks into
their friendship, they were carrying a luncheon basket along the river, Water
of Leith, on a particularly sunny autumn day, when Owen suggested they look for
mussels and Scottish pearls. This was no mere meandering in ankle-deep water,
and soon they were both dripping wet, pearl-less, shivering as they crawled
back up the grassy bank, laughing.
Owen lay down in
the sun, and feeling reckless, she did the same, eyeing him boldly since his
own eyes were closed. His queue had come undone, and long strands of his hair,
dark brown with water, covered his cheeks. Without thinking, she came up on her
elbow and used a trembling finger to move the locks away from his face.
His eyes snapped
open, and she expected him to laugh up at her, but he seemed to concentrate
intently on her face just above his. Everything external seemed to go silent as
they shared a hot, meaningful gaze. She was focused on the rough sound of her
breathing, the moisture beaded on his skin, the way she could feel his heart
pounding in his chest when she rested her trembling hand there.
And then he cupped
her head and brought her down for a kiss. His lips were cool from the water,
yet softer than she imagined a man’s would be. Such boldness made her dizzy—or
was it simply nearness to Owen? Her hand still on his chest, she lifted her
head and stared down at him uncertainly, but he only brought their mouths
together again. He parted his lips, and the shock of his tongue sliding between
hers made her start with surprise and wonder. Her cool, wet skin seemed to
heat, the warmth spreading out from her mouth and down her chest. Her trembling
was no longer from the cold, but she didn’t know why her limbs seemed so
restless. She wanted to be touched—needed it with a desperation new to her. But
she was afraid to do more than brace herself against his chest as he explored
her mouth and taught her to explore his.
The world shifted
as he rolled her onto her back. It was his turn to rise above her, his intense
face framed by blue sky and towering autumn-hued trees. She had no time to
think as he kissed her again and began to touch her. His hand on her body was a
hot, welcome presence, and with each touch she felt more and more as if she
couldn’t lie still. His caresses journeyed across her wet clothes from her hip
and upward. And when at last he touched her breast, pushed upward by her stays,
she moaned against his lips and shuddered with each delicate strum across her
nipple, as if he made her an instrument of desire.
Their shared world
of passion was suddenly overwhelming, and she pushed against him before it was
too late to stop. Owen lifted his head and stared down at her, his breathing as
erratic as hers.
“We cannot do
this,” she said with a trembling voice. Not that she regretted any of it, she
realized, staring at his mouth and wishing to feel again the pleasure he’d
given her.
Owen was looking at
her mouth, too, and he practically growled, “I knew ye’d find out. Forgive me.
I didn’t ken how to tell ye.”
“Find out what?”
she demanded.
He grimaced.
“Owen Duff, ye have
to tell me now.”
“My father
betrothed me some years ago to the daughter of a Lowland clan. Even now, they
journey here for us to meet.”
The last warmth
from their kiss deserted Maggie. Shivering, she sat up and scooted away from him,
covering her chest as if it was bared to him.
“Why did ye never
tell me this?” she demanded. She’d let herself get lost in the fairy tale of
their friendship, and the romance she’d thought had been blossoming. Now she
knew she was simply a fool.
Owen tucked his
hair back into the queue, as if he needed something to do with his hands. He
didn’t look at her, and his face was as red as hers felt, but she didn’t feel
any sympathy for him.
His words came out
slowly at first, before tumbling over each other as fast as the rippling water
behind him. “At first, I thought we were simply friends, and to know ye were a
McCallum made it daring. But the need to kiss ye has been dominating my
thoughts more and more.”
He met her gaze at
last, and she felt like she’d never forget the heat she saw there, the passion
he was showing just for her. But he was betrothed, and a lump rose high up into
her throat, shutting off any words. She scrambled to her feet and backed away
from him before she would embarrass herself more by crying. “I—I have to go.”
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