The Draig's Wife Read online

  Table of Contents

  THE DRAIG’S WIFE

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Epilogue

  THE DRAIG’S WIFE

  LISA DAWN WADLER

  SOUL MATE PUBLISHING

  New York

  THE DRAIG’S WIFE

  Copyright©2017

  LISA DAWN WADLER

  Cover Design by Melody A. Pond

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

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  Published in the United States of America by

  Soul Mate Publishing

  P.O. Box 24

  Macedon, New York, 14502

  ISBN: 978-1-68291-397-0

  www.SoulMatePublishing.com

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  BY LISA DAWN WADLER

  THE DRAIG SERIES

  Time Of The Draig

  The Draig’s Woman

  The Draig’s Wife

  For Karen and Jeff . . .

  Two wonderful people who have taught me

  that love binds a family

  Prologue

  MacGregor Keep

  April 30, 1420

  Declan wasn’t surprised to see the figure of a man seated before the fire in the guest chamber he had been given. That Cortland was still awake at the late hour was a blessing. There was much they needed to discuss in private.

  “About time you made it back.” Cortland greeted Declan without facing him. Declan savored the momentary reprieve from the condemnation he would see in the man’s eyes. His trusted advisor and friend made no secret of his loathing for the manner in which Declan collected information.

  “What can I say? The Lady MacGregor is a verra demanding woman.” Declan took the seat to Cortland’s left. Because she was also fair to look upon and endowed with the curves he so enjoyed, their ten-year age difference was of no concern to him.

  Even in the dim light of the fire, Declan saw the pale blue eyes fix on him. “Did she give you what you needed?”

  Declan laughed at the loaded comment, even though he knew Cortland spoke only of the perils facing the Draig clan. Regaining his composure, he filled Cortland in on the details gleaned. “The lady said exactly the same as the Lady MacDonald did. My uncle seeks to use the edict against me in an attempt to take control of the clan.”

  The edict in question was a fine tale to add to Draig clan lore. In the time of his great-father, Robert the Bruce had decreed that the laird of the Draig clan must be wed by his twenty-eighth year or forfeit his title and lands. While his family viewed that as a jest and supposedly praise for his great-grandmother, his greedy Uncle Glenn may have found exactly what he needed to oust Declan as laird and claim the clan’s wealth.

  “Then mayhap you should have spent the night discussing a marriage with Laird MacGregor’s daughter and nay sleeping with his wife.” Cortland’s voice hinted at a jest, yet danced too close to what should have been.

  The lighthearted air with which the comment was delivered let Declan know Cortland was not serious about the idea. His clan had never been one to make marriages for alliances or wealth. Their marriages had always been for love. The Draig clan was full of strong warriors and had more wealth at their disposal than the crown. However, seven years earlier, Declan had married to make peace. The centuries-old feud with the Campbell clan needed to end. His marriage was empty and short lived. Morna died soon after giving birth to their daughter, Mary.

  Declan knew that his first marriage would not save him from the edict. The cursed document had been carefully worded: the laird needed to be married at age twenty-eight.

  “I did speak with Laird MacGregor, and his demands are as steep as the other clans.” Declan ran his hand absently over the stubble on his chin. “Only true desperation will make me pay their bride price.”

  “We have almost two moons until the day of your birth is marked. Have faith, Declan.”

  Declan nodded at the man seated by his side. Cortland was almost old enough to be his father; in truth, it was the role he had filled since Declan assumed the mantle of laird eight years before. “Aye, old man. There is still time to find a way out of this mess. Send riders to court. See if we can bribe the right men to turn away from my Uncle Glenn.”

  “I already have men placed within the court. So far none are willing to speak against Glenn. He promises a fair share of your wealth, nay merely a single purse. Still, they are good men who will do what they can.” The lack of conviction in Cortland’s voice made Declan doubt those men would be successful.

  “On the morrow, we shall ride home,” Declan declared. The journey to visit several other clans had accomplished what he had intended. He had all the confirmation he needed to know the plot against him.

  “You and the men journey together. I have heard tales of an Esmeralda in a village a day’s ride from here.”

  Declan sighed at the proclamation. After a decade, Cortland still sought his missing wife and daughter. When Cortland’s wife had stolen away in the night with a traveling merchant, she took their daughter with her. “You ken the odds of this Esmeralda being your child, do you nay?”

  “Would you leave without riding to see with your own eyes?” Cortland’s challenge dared him to disagree. “‘Tis my duty to see if my wife and daughter can be found.”

  Declan understood completely. His wee daughter, Mary, was the reason no marriage seemed possible. “Take two of the men to guard your back. For your sake, I pray she is the one you seek.” Declan meant more than the correct
woman. He too had heard the men speak the name. The lass in question served more than ale at a foul establishment. Cortland was too honorable a man to have to deal with a daughter who led such a life.

  “I leave at first light,” Cortland said. “When I return to the keep, we can discuss options and compare information again. I ken you have your own sources.”

  Declan rose to escort Cortland to the chamber door. He could do with a few hours of sleep. “Cortland, I will do whatever is needed to keep my people safe.”

  “I ken this, Declan. Mayhap if you start flirting with young unmarried women, you could find the right one.”

  Declan was glad Cortland’s humor had resurfaced. Soft laughter left his lips. “Young unmarried women are nay likely to climb into bed with me with so little effort, and they ken few secrets worth sharing.”

  Cortland’s head shook in mild disgust. “If they climbed into your bed, your problem would be solved. There would awaken a wife.”

  Declan couldn’t argue with the sound logic. Still, he wanted more than just a woman to warm his bed; there were plenty of those. He needed a mother for his daughter, a woman wise enough to manage his household, and one who could stand against the constant stream of veiled attacks that most likely came from his uncle. That she would need to have clear vision was an understatement. Declan was a firm laird, as his position necessitated. He was also, at heart, a simple man who craved what all men did: their other half. He lived with a brutal dichotomy.

  To sum up his wandering thoughts, he dared to speak the one that haunted him. “I think I seek what can nay be found.”

  “Have faith,” Cortland answered. “You seek happiness which is what all men should crave. Until we find her, keep your trews tied around your waist in case you have need of another man’s daughter to wed.”

  Slapping the man’s back, Declan laughed at the jest that held more truth than he cared to admit. “Aye, old man. I too leave on the morrow. The lady’s charms no longer entice me, and the daughter is attractive but dull-witted. Heaven help me if I grow so desperate as to need to ally myself with the MacGregor clan.”

  “Sleep, Declan. I have nay stood by your side this long to let your uncle win,” Cortland reassured him and then left.

  Bolting the door in the man’s wake, Declan sighed as he again sat before the fire. His clan was full of tales of happy marriages spanning back generation after generation. The edict that threatened his title had been the result of a marriage valued more than the favor of a king.

  Tales from his youth, told by his grandfather, flitted in his tired thoughts. The stories had captivated him as child, though as a grown man he doubted their truth. Shaking away notions of love-filled marriages, edicts, and women of legend, Declan rose to his feet and strode toward the bed, leaving a trail of clothing on the floor.

  Climbing into the cool sheets, he knew he would find a way to outsmart his uncle, though prayed it wouldn’t involve another empty marriage.

  Chapter 1

  Phoenix, Arizona

  July 23, Present Day

  “I’m sorry to be leaving you, sunshine.” The frail woman reached out her hand toward the young woman at her side. The once-strong grip had been reduced to a shaky hold.

  “Then don’t.” Emma pasted on the bravest smile she could muster as she gently squeezed her grandmother’s hand. “Let’s find a new doctor. I read about one—”

  Soft laughter cut off her sentence. “I’ve never lied to you and am not about to start now. Look at me. It’s time for goodbye.”

  Emma absorbed the vision of the emaciated woman with dark circles underneath eyes that had once held fire and boundless energy. The pit of her stomach clenched with the certainty her grandmother was correct, as usual. “Don’t leave me.” Emma whispered, knowing it was a futile request.

  “We are both ready for this,” her grandmother said, full of confidence. “You have the lawyer’s contact information. The estate, such as it is, is all in your name. ‘Estate’ does sound like a grand word for one ranch home and a modest savings account. Still, it’s enough to give you some security and a place to call home.”

  Home was with her grandmother; the house had little meaning to her. Eleven years earlier, her grandparents had taken her away from her worthless mother and given her a safe place, a loving home and everything she needed. It had been hard enough to recapture the essence of home after her grandfather’s passing two years before. She had no idea how she would manage to rebuild alone.

  “Please wipe that look off your face,” her grandmother said with disapproval in her voice. “You always did wear your emotions out in the open for everyone to see.”

  Emma laughed despite the pain gnawing at her belly. After a deep breath, she managed a small smile. “I have never told you how grateful I am for everything you have done for me.”

  “You told me every day when you enjoyed life,” her grandmother reassured her. “We loved having you with us. I’m just so sorry your mother was such a shit.” They both laughed at the comment that wasn’t new or unique. “We gave your mother too much freedom when she grew up and too few rules. Such things happen when you miraculously have a child in your forties, long after we had given up all hopes.”

  Her grandmother’s gaze narrowed on her. “I wonder if we didn’t overcompensate with you. Were we too strict with you?”

  Emma thought about the question and shook her head. “I needed the structure and have no regrets about my life or how you raised me.”

  “Well, I do. We raised you in a retirement community, for goodness sake. You should have been running around with other kids after school and not playing Mahjongg with Mrs. Rosenblat and myself.” A frail hand gripped hers with surprising strength. “Promise me you will go back to college. Maybe get into a little bit of trouble now and then? You are too well behaved.”

  Emma snorted at the strange request. “You raised me to stay out of trouble, remember?”

  “Well, rebel a bit for me. Let go and live. Meet people your own age, laugh freely, love with a reckless passion, and have a wonderful life.”

  “I work with people my own age,” Emma reminded her, avoiding the rest of the request.

  “Ah, yes, your career at the dojo. We enrolled you in martial arts classes for some needed structure. Neither of us expected you to make it a career choice.”

  Emma gently rubbed the hand holding hers. “I love my job and teaching the kids, even the adult classes are fun. But if it makes you feel better, I promise to go back to school.” Emma would promise the moon if it reassured her grandmother.

  “Good,” her grandmother replied with a satisfied gleam in her gaze. Her eyes drifted to the bowl on the nightstand. “I’ll have a bit of your delicious soup, and then we can talk some more.”

  “My soup will never be a good as yours,” Emma said as she took the bowl in her hands and fed her grandmother.

  She had listened to every word her grandmother had said that night. Even ten days later, she knew that nothing had been left unspoken. They had shared and talked long into the night. When sleep had descended on her grandmother, after her pain medication, the end had been kind and gentle. Her passing was quiet and broke Emma’s heart into tiny pieces.

  Standing in the kitchen, eating seemed like a herculean task. The freezer remained loaded with small containers of soup and casseroles from well-meaning friends. Dinner was supposed to be a time to share the events of the day, not eaten alone. Emma turned away from the food and eyed her duffle bag on the kitchen floor.

  No one was there to tell her to put her gear away or to listen to how horrible her day had been. Day ten alone in the world had been as miserable as day nine. This particular day, however, she had finally attempted to go back to work, which was a monumental mistake.

  For the first time she could remember, she had dropped her w
eapons during class, not just once, but repeatedly. The kids laughed, and she lost control of the class, another first. To make matters worse, she had been sent home early by her well-meaning boss. The woman had no idea how much Emma loathed the idea of being alone in the empty house.

  Digging into the bag, she pushed the sparring gear aside and picked up the Escrima sticks. The twenty-eight-inch-long and three-inch-wide wooden sticks were solid in her hands. She needed something solid in the moment. Her arms moved in tight circular motions, and the sticks sliced the air with figure eights. The repetitive movement continued as her phone beeped with an incoming text.

  Glancing at the device on the counter, it was a text she expected after having seen Mrs. Rosenblat at the window when she arrived home. It read: Hope you are okay, doll. Mahjongg at seven.

  For the first time, the invitation made her sad. While kind, she wished she had better offers on a Friday night. Maybe Grandma was right and I do need friends my own age. I’m twenty-one. I should be planning a night out that would last past nine-thirty. Still, the company suited her, and the ladies would understand her grief.

  Her gaze fell on the stack of unread mail on the counter. Even in death, her grandmother spoke. Several college catalogs were buried in the pile, catalogs Emma hadn’t requested. She knew that her one semester of community college wasn’t going to get her through life successfully, and she had promised to go back. Promises were always kept in their home.

  Breathing in deeply, Emma knew she needed to focus on the future and not dwell in pain and grief. Her limbs loosened as her arms continued to turn in tight circles to move the wooden weapons. The motion cleared her head as it always did. That night, she would play Mahjongg and reassure the older women she was fine. In the morning, she would open a college catalog with the intent of enrolling in classes for the new year.