Ian's Rose: Book One of The Mackintoshes and McLarens Read Free Page B

do nothing but stare at one another.
    He looked older than she had anticipated. Hair that had once been as black as kohl, according to her mother’s journal, was now a soft shade of silver. Although he was a few inches shorter than her husband, he still seemed a formidable man. Aggie took note of the surprised expression in his gold and brown eyes. Was he happy to see her? Disappointed in the offspring he’d fathered?
    The longer he stared, the more uncomfortable she became.
    “God’s bones,” he finally spoke, his voice sounded scratchy, almost raw. The color was beginning to drain from his face. “Ye are every bit as beautiful as yer mum.”
    She hadn’t been prepared for such a compliment, for any compliment for that matter. One of her biggest worries — that he’d take one look at her and be so appalled, he would turn around and leave — was immediately laid to rest when he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her.
    “I’ve waited fer this day fer more than twenty years,” he whispered softly against the top of her head. “’Tis both a prayer and dream come true.”
    For days she had planned out every word she would say to him, thought through every question carefully. But now, with his massive arms wrapped around her as if she were the most precious treasure he’d ever held, she could not think of a single thing to say. He held on tightly, as if he were afraid to let go.
    A large knot formed in her throat. Words she wanted to say, tears she wanted desperately to shed, all bound together into a lump the size of a walnut. How many times had she wished for such affection from Mermadak, the man she had always thought her true father? She took in a deep, fortifying breath, her heart awash in a combination of regret and what she could only describe as relief.
    He does no’ hate me, nor is he ashamed.

    * * *
    M uch time passed before Douglas Carruthers let go of his firstborn child. A child he’d dreamed of seeing from the moment her mother, Lila, had told him she was carrying. With his heart heavy with guilt and regret, he held her away so he could study every inch of her face: a face that reminded him of the woman he had loved but could never marry.
    Aggie had his coloring — hair as black as pitch with gold-brown eyes, but that was where the resemblance ended. Everything else about her was Lila McLaren through and through. He did not know if he should laugh with joyful glee or cry and beg for his daughter’s forgiveness. For the life of him, he could not take his eyes away from her.
    Soon he felt her grow uncomfortable under his close scrutinization. “Fergive me lass,” he whispered. “I fear the moment I laid eyes on ye all me good manners and sense left me.”
    Aggie returned his smile, her heart awash in relief.
    “I be makin’ a fool of meself, aye?”
    Aggie shook her head. “N-nay,” she murmured.
    But he didn’t believe her. Looking about the room, he realized all eyes were upon them. “Would ye like to sit, lass?” he asked with a wave of his hand toward the two chairs in front of the hearth.
    Aggie nodded in affirmation and gracefully took one of the chairs in front of the fire. Once he saw she was settled, he took the seat opposite her. Resting his palms on his knees, he continued to stare.
    “There were many things I wanted to say to ye, lass, and now I cannot find a word to utter other than to declare once again how beautiful ye are. Yer resemblance to yer mum is remarkable.”
    “I fear I suffer from the same affliction,” she told him. In truth, she’d been fully prepared for a less than warm response.
    He took in a deep breath. “I worried, lass, that ye would hate me and want nothin’ at all to do with me. ‘Tis grateful I am that ye be no’ stickin’ a dirk into me heart.”
    Aye, that thought had entered her mind on more than one occasion. ‘Twas true that she felt a great deal of anger toward this man, but she wanted to hear from his own lips why he had never