Kiss of the Highlander

“I take it these lovely ones are yours?” Gwen said, offering her friendliest smile.

“Aye, my youngest are Cory and Cara,” she said, gesturing toward them. Cara said hello again, and Cory smiled shyly. “And these”—she waved a hand at the dark-haired teenage twins—“are Christian and Colleen.” They chimed hello together.

“Plus I’ve two on the way in a few months,” Maggie added. “As if it weren’t obvious,” she said dryly.

“I’m pregnant with twins myself,” Gwen confided.

Maggie’s eyes flickered strangely. “ ‘Tis easier that way,” she said. “You get them over with two at a time, and I always wanted a dozen or so. I’m Maggie MacKeltar and my husband should be out in a moment.” She turned to the steps and shouted, “Christopher, do hurry, she’s here!”

“Coming, love,” a deep baritone voice replied.

Gwen frowned, puzzled, wondering what Maggie had meant by “she’s here.” Had they mistaken her for someone else? Perhaps they were expecting someone, she decided, maybe they were hiring a nanny or a maid and thought Gwen was that person.

Cara tugged impatiently at Maggie’s arm. “Mama, when are we going to show her—” Cara began.

“Hush,” Maggie said swiftly. “Run along with you and Cory. We’ll be in shortly. Christian, you and Colleen go help Mrs. Melbourne lay the tea in the solar.”

“But, Mom—”

“Do I have to repeat myself?”

I’m going to have to clear up this case of mistaken identity, Gwen thought, watching the children go in. She didn’t care for the thought of misleading Maggie MacKeltar. Then all thought fled her mind as Maggie’s husband, Christopher, stepped out of the castle. Gwen sucked in a breath, feeling suddenly faint.

“Aye, the resemblance is strong, isn’t it now?” Maggie said softly, watching her.

A dark lock of hair fell over Christopher’s forehead, and he had the same extraordinary height and muscled body. His eyes were not silver, but a deep, peaceful gray. He looked so much like Drustan that it hurt to look at him.

“Wh-what do you mean?” Gwen stammered, trying to compose herself.

“I mean he looks like Drustan,” Maggie replied.

Gwen opened her mouth but nothing came out. Like Drustan? What did they know about her and Drustan?

“Och, Gwen Cassidy,” Christopher said with a thick Scots burr, “we’ve been waiting for you for some time now.” Smiling, he slid his arm around Maggie’s waist. They both stood there, beaming at her.

Gwen blinked. “How do you know my name?” she asked weakly. “What do you know about Drustan? What’s going on here?” she asked, her voice rising.

Maggie kissed her husband’s cheek, slipped from his embrace, and tucked her arm through Gwen’s. “Come in, Gwen. We have much to tell you, but I think you might be needing to sit while you’re hearing it.”

“Sit,” Gwen repeated dumbly, her knees feeling weak. “Good. Sitting would be good.”

But sitting didn’t happen, because the moment Gwen entered the Greathall, she froze, gaping at the portrait that hung above the double staircase facing the entrance.

It was her.

Six feet of Gwen Cassidy, clad in a pale lavender gown, blond hair tumbling about her face, graced the wall at the landing between the two staircases. “Me,” she managed to say, pointing. “That’s me.”

Maggie laughed. “Aye. It was painted in the sixteenth century—”

But Gwen didn’t hear the rest. Her attention was caught and held by the family portraits covering nearly every inch of the walls in the Greathall. From ancient times to modern day, they stretched from chair rail to ceiling.

Eager to see who Dageus had married, and what kind of children he’d fathered, she hurried past the modern paintings. Dimly, her mind registered that Maggie and Christopher were trailing behind her, now watching in silence.

At the section displaying the sixteenth century, Gwen drew to a stunned halt. She stared for a moment, unable to believe what she saw, then smiled as tears misted her eyes. She fancied she could hear faint strains of Silvan’s laughter in the air. And Nell, making some saucy response. The patter of children’s feet on stone.

The painting that held her captivated was eight feet tall. A full-length portrait, Nell was seated on the terrace, Silvan was standing behind her, his hands on her shoulders. Nell held twins in her arms. “Nell?” she finally said, turning to look at Maggie.