Too Scot to Hold (The Hots for Scots #8) - Caroline Lee Page 0,2

see Kat again! She’d be there for the birth of Kat’s child, and she’d get to hold her niece or nephew in her arms! She’d learn the future of the MacKinnon clan, and this cursed limbo would finally be over.

And mayhap she’d learn what had befallen Graham, why he hadn’t contacted her despite his vow to always love her, and why he’d seemingly forgotten her.

Davina told herself Katlyn was more important; Kat was the reason she was so excited to visit Oliphant Castle again. Hugging Kat and seeing Kat’s family again and meeting Kat’s baby…that’s what mattered most.

And she almost believed the lie.

Chapter 1

Graham MacVanish Oliphant stood between the crenelations of the outer wall of Oliphant Castle, his arms folded across his chest as he stared at the westward road, wondering if he was about to make the biggest mistake of his life.

Seven months since he’d last seen Davina, last held her. Seven months without one word from her.

And here he was, waiting for her to arrive like a little lapdog, desperate to find out if his mistress was going to accept him back.

Wait, would that no’ make ye the bitch in this scenario?

He shifted his weight, peering toward the distant pass made muddy by the spring rains, wondering how she’d react when she saw him.

Had her grandfather’s objections finally gotten to her? Had the old man married her off to someone?

Surely Graham would’ve heard through the elaborate Highland gossip system if she’d married.

And why should she nae? She’s the granddaughter of a laird, and her husband is destined to become the next Laird MacKinnon. And what are ye? Naught more than a bastard.

His lips twitched.

Albeit a laird’s bastard.

Last summer, he’d snuck here to meet her, little realizing what he would come to learn. Little realizing, after a lifetime of shame thanks to his mother’s indiscretion, he’d find his father. And not just a father…but brothers too.

“So this is where ye’ve been hiding.”

Graham tilted his head just enough to watch Kiergan climb the last few steps from the bailey below. The man wore his usual easy-going grin, and although Graham didn’t respond in kind, he hoped his brother knew how much his easy acceptance meant to him.

Waiting until his brother stood beside him, Graham nodded. “She’s—they’re—coming today.”

“Aye, Katlyn has sent me up here twice already to look for them. If she weren’t so large, I suspect she’d be making the climb herself.”

The underlay of worry in his brother’s voice grabbed Graham’s attention. “She is well? Nae pains or blood?” Although most medical men in his acquaintance refused to learn about the female reproductive system, Graham knew enough to be dangerous, as his sister-in-law Merewyn—the midwife—would say. “She’s sleeping fine?”

Kiergan’s normally cheerful face screwed up in a wince before he blew out a breath and relaxed. “She’s…pregnant. Hugely pregnant, although thank St. Columba no’ as outrageously pregnant as Fiona. Merewyn says ‘tis normal that she no’ be sleeping well, and nay, there’s been nae pains.” He shuddered. “Nor blood. This breeding nonsense is messy, is it no’?”

Graham’s lips tugged up as he turned back to his vigil of the horizon. “Aye, messy is one word for it.”

“And miraculous,” Kiergan whispered. “But thank fook ye’ve come back home, Graham, to help.”

Home.

Is that what Oliphant Castle was?

He’d been born on MacVanish land—the grandson of the old laird and the nephew of the current one, who had five sons of his own. His mother had died birthing him, and his grandfather and uncle had spent his childhood reminding him he had no place there and no real claim to the MacVanish name.

A few fortnights at Oliphant Castle, and the place had felt more like home than anywhere else. So why had he spent so long away?

Because the place reminds ye of Davina now, damnation.

Kiergan was waiting for a response, so Graham dragged his attention back to his brother. “Ye think I can help Merewyn birth yer bairn?”

“Nay, I think ye can help me get through this stress.” Kiergan slapped him on the back, his tone jovial once more. “Of the seven Oliphant bastards, ‘tis only ye and Duncan who doesnae have a wife breeding. I fully expect ye to hold my hand and wipe my brow and whisper ‘there, there’ and supply me with more ale when Katlyn finally does get around to birthing my bairn.”

Only a lifetime of reining in his emotions—necessarily when drawing attention to himself could have terrible consequences—kept him from chuckling at the image his brother painted. “Ye think I’ll