A Yuletide Bride for the Highlander

Coming Soon! October 29, 2026

Book Two In The Munro Brothers Series

She betrayed his clan. Now she’ll serve in his hall.

A year ago, Sorcha Sutherland was the sheltered sister of a Highland laird—until her brother’s ruthless treachery cast a shadow over the Munro clan’s honor…and left her with nothing. Cast out, robbed, and desperate, Sorcha has only one place left to turn.

The last man who should offer her mercy.

Gavan Munro hasn’t forgotten what her family did to him. Now the newly appointed Provost of Dingwall, he’s rebuilding his estate—and when Sorcha appears at his gates on the eve of Yuletide, he offers her a brutal bargain: Work as his servant… and repay the debt her family owes.

But as winter deepens and Yule draws near, the halls she helps restore begin to feel dangerously like home. And the man who should despise her becomes the one she cannot escape.

Because beneath his hard judgment burns something far more dangerous than anger. Desire.

And before the longest night of the year has passed, he must decide— Will he cast her out with the old year… Or claim her as his Yuletide bride?

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Gavan watched Sorcha kneeling on the stone floor and felt something dark and jagged twist through him. The sight should have satisfied him. After everything her brother had done—after forged letters bearing Munro names had nearly dragged innocent men into chains, after suspicion had spread through the Highlands like rot through grain, after Gavan himself had bled from a pistol shot fired by her hand—he should have felt vindicated seeing a Sutherland brought low. Instead, he felt only exhaustion and a dangerous, unwelcome awareness of how thin and fragile she looked beneath the remnants of her pride.

Her hands were clenched tightly over her chest as though she could hold herself together through sheer force. Mud stained the hem of her skirts. One side of her face was bruised, her cloak torn at the shoulder, and though she fought to hide it, he could see the faint tremor running through her body. She had come to Foulis alone through winter woods.

That realization troubled him more than it should have.

The chamber remained silent except for the crackle of the hearth behind him. Destiny stood rigid near the doorway, pale with distress, while Cameron leaned against the table with the stillness of a man carefully withholding judgment. Gavan was acutely aware of both of them watching him, measuring what sort of man he would choose to be in this moment.

Sorcha lifted her gaze to his at last. Fear lived there, aye, but something else remained too. Determination perhaps. Or desperation sharpened into courage.

“You are begging for a fair trial,” he said quietly.

She nodded once.

Gavan studied her for a long moment, remembering another night entirely—the flash of pistol fire, the violent burst of pain tearing through his shoulder. And another as he listened to Cameron explaining the chaos surrounding the forged correspondence and the growing suspicion aimed at Clan Munro. William Sutherland had not merely lied. He had endangered every man bearing the Munro name.

And Sorcha had stood beside him through it all. Or so Gavan had believed.

“And you think I will grant mercy,” he said at last, “because of your friendship with Destiny?”

“Nay,” she whispered. Her voice shook, though she did not lower her eyes. “I think you will do what is right even when you have reason not to.”

Something tightened painfully beneath his ribs. God help him, she still believed well of him. Even now. Even kneeling before a man she had every reason to fear.

Anger rose swiftly to smother the thought. “Your brother forged letters in our name,” Gavan said, the control in his voice costing him more than she knew. “He would have seen tenants questioned, loyal men imprisoned, and my clan branded traitors to the Crown.” He took a slow breath, but it did nothing to cool the bitterness inside him. “What he did cannot simply be forgiven.”

Colour drained from her face. For a moment she looked as though she might break beneath the weight of it, yet still she remained upright on her knees.

“I did not know,” she said softly. “Not until it was already done.”

Destiny moved then, stepping closer. “Gavan, Sorcha is not William.”

His gaze snapped toward his sister-in-law. “Nay,” he said coldly. “She is only his twin.”

The words landed harder than he intended. He saw it immediately in the way Sorcha flinched, though she fought to hide it.

“That is cruel,” Destiny said sharply.

Cruel.

The word scraped against old fury. Gavan’s jaw tightened as memory surged hot and immediate through him: blood soaking his sleeve, fever burning through long nights, the humiliation of weakness, the knowledge that one frightened young woman had nearly killed him because she had chosen fear over thought.

“Cruel,” he repeated. “Cruel is firing a pistol into a man you do not know and leaving him bleeding on the ground.”

Sorcha’s eyes filled despite her effort to master herself. “I was afraid.”

“Aye,” Gavan said quietly. “And fear makes beasts of people.”

The chamber fell silent again. For a heartbeat he wished she would rage at him. Deny everything. Defend her brother blindly. It would have made this easier. But she did none of those things. She merely looked exhausted. Stripped raw by grief and disgrace.

“I am not asking forgiveness,” she said after a long moment. “Only time. Let William speak before men decide his fate in anger.”

Gavan stared at her. The law mattered. That was the heart of it. However much he despised William Sutherland, however much he resented the danger forced upon Clan Munro, he could not allow a man to be hurried to the gallows without proper counsel and lawful examination. If vengeance replaced justice, then none of them were safe from it.

Yet that was not the only reason he hesitated. He could see the bruises at Sorcha’s throat. The damage to her cloak. The careful way she held herself, as though one more humiliation might finally shatter whatever strength remained. Someone had already recognized her vulnerability. Someone had already tried to take advantage of it. And if she walked back into the world now, alone and clanless, others would follow.

The realization settled heavily inside him.

She was dangerous to keep close. A complication he neither wanted nor trusted. But sending her away might be worse. For her. For the fragile scandal surrounding William. Even for himself, though he refused to examine that thought too carefully.

“Stand,” he said abruptly.

She blinked in surprise before pushing herself unsteadily to her feet. Destiny instinctively moved as though to help her, but Sorcha caught herself before the assistance reached her. Pride again. Even now.

Gavan watched her sway slightly before forcing herself still. Mud-stained. Exhausted. Trembling with cold and fear, yet still trying to face him with dignity.

Something inside him hardened in self-defense.

“I will prevent your brother from being dragged to the gallows without lawful review,” he said.

Relief broke across her face so suddenly it nearly undid him. However, he would not allow her to mistake justice for softness.

“This is not charity,” he continued. “Nor mercy.”

Her expression faltered.

“You want my influence. My authority in Dingwall. My insistence that procedure be followed.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Then you will repay the debt.”

Wariness flickered through her eyes. “How?”

Gavan glanced briefly toward Cameron, seeing the question already forming in his brother’s expression. He ignored it. The decision had already settled itself inside him with grim inevitability.

“You will come to Lemlair House.”

Confusion crossed her face.

“My residence in Dingwall,” he said. “It has stood neglected for years. Repairs have begun, but much remains undone.” His gaze held hers. “You will serve there until I consider the debt repaid.”

Shock rippled visibly through the room. Destiny inhaled sharply while Cameron straightened away from the table.

Sorcha stared at him as though she could not decide whether he had offered protection or punishment.

The truth was, it was both.

Part of him wanted her to understand precisely what William’s actions had cost others. Let her see soot and labour instead of silk and privilege. Let her spend her days restoring what neglect and carelessness had ruined. Yet beneath that anger lay another truth Gavan could not entirely deny. Under his roof, she would be safe. Watched. Untouchable to the men already circling this scandal like wolves scenting blood.

“Your clan has abandoned you,” he said quietly. “And there are men who would gladly use you against your brother if given the opportunity.” His gaze dropped briefly to the bruises darkening her throat. “Others already have.”

Sorcha went pale.

“Under my protection,” he said, forcing the words out evenly, “they will not touch you again.”

For the first time since entering the chamber, genuine uncertainty crossed her face. As though she did not know whether to fear him or trust him.

God knew he scarcely understood it himself.

BOOK 3: The Highlander’s Warrior Bride –  Coming April 8, 2027