Excerpt of Highland Harry by Gail MacMillan

He sat savoring another wee dram. God knew he
needed it. He’d just been proposed to by the stepmother
of seven children with mills, a farm, and an apparently
dangerous enemy threatening her and her family. The
widow of a fellow Highlander, a woman—together with
her children—he was duty bound to help and protect.
In the flickering firelight he walked to the door of
her bedroom and peered in through the space she’d left
open to allow heat from the hearth to enter. In the wide
bed, her shining chestnut hair adorning the pillow,
Maggie slept, long eyelashes spread out over creamy
cheeks. In her arms she cradled the golden-haired
cherub named Eppie. On a rug on the floor beside them,
Pig woke, looked up at him with strangely knowing
eyes, grunted, then lowered her head and went back to
sleep. What was a man to do with such a rare and
unexpected family?

He wandered back to the hearth, put a hand on the
shelf above it, and stood staring down into the flames.
Wind shrieked around the corners and snow buffeted
the windows, but inside the log house, protected from
the storm, he let a warm, secure feeling settle over him,
a warm and secure feeling he hadn’t experienced at
night since he’d been a lad in his father’s croft cottage
during a blizzard much like this one. The ambience was
seductive but perhaps false. After all, the family had a
dangerous enemy.

He banked the fire for the night, then glanced back
toward the bedroom where Maggie slept. Beautiful,
unassuming Maggie. What would the future hold for
her and the children if he decided not to stay?