Kilts and Kisses by Victoria Roberts

CHAPTER ONE
    S cottish Highlands, 1607
    “She’s a witch.”
    “Anna, contrary to whatever ye are thinking in that wee brain of yours, our aunt is nay witch. She believes heavily in superstition. There’s a difference.”
    Ceana Gunn stood on the parapet of her home as a cool breeze combed through her loose tendrils. She closed her eyes and prayed for patience. There were days when her fifteen-year-old sister drove her completely mad. And this was one of those times. Ceana gazed out at her father’s lands, deep in thought.
    The mossy fields were a lovely shade of green, and dappled purple heather reached up from the grass as if asking the sun to carry it away in a warm embrace. A hawk glided fluidly through the air and then swooped down to capture its latest prey. In the distance, the forest line encircling the loch was lush with pine trees and foliage.
    How Ceana wished she could escape there now. She missed the much simpler pleasures of her youth and longed for peace and solitude, away from everything and everyone. When her brief moment of solace was interrupted again by her sister’s endless prattle, Ceana mentally suppressed a sigh.
    “But Aunt Marta said birds bring about death. How would she know that if she wasnae a witch?”
    Ceana didn’t want to tell Anna that if she didn’t stop talking, she’d bring about her own demise, but the last thing Ceana wanted was for her sister to be as superstitious as their aunt. “Ye cannae take everything Aunt Marta says as the truth. Besides, she doesnae feel that way about all birds—only crows, ye know.”
    Anna put her hands on the stone wall. Leaning forward over the edge, her long, blond locks caught in the gentle wind. “Do ye think ‘tis safe to go down now?”
    “I think we should wait until we’re certain the company have taken their leave. Mayhap then our dear cousin Sorcha will nae be vying for so much attention and making such a fool of herself. ‘Tis hard to believe she is a Gunn and shares our blood.”
    “Aye, we should wait.” Anna brushed down the blue day dress that complemented her ivory skin. The color of the fabric matched her azure eyes, and the hues of the sky made her look as though she was painted onto an artist’s canvas. She was the picture of their mother.
    “I donna understand why Sorcha acts the way she does.” Anna continued with her commentary to Ceana’s dismay. “I think she forgets that we all used to play together as children. I donna know what has happened to her. She isnae the same person. She’s changed, and nae for the better I tell ye.” Anna took a short breath.
    “Why do ye think Aunt Marta and Uncle John treat her differently than us? They let her have anything she wants. All Sorcha has to do is ask. And ye’ve seen her trunks. How many gowns can one woman have before ‘tis enough? When was the last time Aunt Marta had dresses made for us, eh?”
    Ceana gave her sister a wry grin. “Of course Aunt Marta and Uncle John treat Sorcha differently. She’s their daughter.”
    Anna let out a primal growl. “Mayhap, but times like these make me realize how much I miss our mother and father. What I wouldnae give to have them here with us now.”
    “I know, Sister. I miss them too.”
    Ceana straightened her spine and willed the tears not to fall. Although two years should’ve been ample time to erase memories of the past, the circumstances of her parents’ deaths still haunted her. Most of the time she had a hard time acknowledging that her mother and father were no longer of this world.
    A thoughtful smile curved Ceana’s mouth as she remembered the gleam in her mother’s eyes every time the woman laid eyes on her husband. And how could she forget the loving gesture of her father’s hand placed at her mother’s back every time her parents walked side by side? The two of them had been inseparable, but knowing she’d never be able to see them again was like having her beating heart impaled by a sharp