#spit an enemy inside the tulip

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Begrudging Allies (Aaron Hotchner x Trans!Male!Reader)

Summary: Aaron and Y/N's marriage is suitable enough, given that Aaron secretly loves men and Y/N secretly is a man. When the one year anniversary of their amicable nuptials brings forth correspondence from their estranged families, Aaron takes the opportunity to potentially make something more out of their arrangement.

AN: This is one of my entries to the "Enemies 2 Lovers" challenge set by @imagining-in-the-margins​ on Tumblr!

Reader is trans male and uses he/him pronouns. 

WC: 2.4k words

Content Warning: References to era appropriate homophobia/transphobia but nothing actually mentioned. Two dumb fucking gay men trying to flirt.

Photo Credit // Masterlist // AO3

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Aaron Hotchner and Y/N L/N were served breakfast together every day they were in the house together. They sat not at opposite ends, but the seat left adjacent to them. That way, they did not have to look at each other whilst they ate. Breakfast was the only meal with which they shared each other’s company. Why make it unbearable first thing in the morning? They read the morning paper - and any post - while eating. Only the scrape of their plates and muted chewing was to be heard before the chairs scraped across the floorboards and both men departed.

Today they both received a note from the L/N household back in their old country.

“I assume your letter reads the same as mine,” Y/N dropped his beside his plate before pushing it further away.

Hotchner raised his eye from the headline that had been mildly entertaining him, “It does.”

In cursive flicks, the usual complaints of their emigration had reached his eyes not moments prior. The closing of his family’s letter however broached a new request: a photograph of the happy couple on their first wedding anniversary, specifically a recreation. The ungrateful bunch, the only remaining wedding photographs of the wedding were in their hands.

“I don’t have the dress,” Y/N scoffed and looked aside. Even from this end of the table, Aaron could see that he was trying to mask his tears from the dawn. The wedding day was the culmination of their greatest shames.

At least Aaron had tried to make the best of it, but there was no relief for Y/N until they were in their separate chambers and free from all betrothment attire.

“Suppose we should arrange for a fitting. Though how we’re going to do that without arousing any suspicion here is beyond me.” “Perhaps we can go north, find a seamstress and a wigmaker there.”

Aaron did not patronise Y/N by pretending he understood his plight. He himself had never pictured himself with a wife; worse was that Y/N had never pictured himself to be a wife.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to remain a woman?” He had said after Y/N had confessed during their third arranged rendezvous.

With venom spitting from each syllable, Y/N’s reply was one that he remembered vividly: “I was never a woman to start with.”

They were not friends, they barely spoke, but the enemy of the enemy is a friend. This sentiment made Y/N a begrudging ally.

However it did not make the occasions they had to pretend to be a happily wedded couple any simpler. Y/N did look most becoming in white, but Aaron knew that there was no worse day for Y/N than that day in the church. Any reminder was like a stake through the heart.

“I’ll arrange for the fitting,” Aaron quietly volunteered.

Y/N was quick with a brusque reply, “I can organise my own affairs.”

“Of course, but perhaps it would lighten your load if I took on those responsibilities.” Aaron paused as Y/N pushed aside his breakfast plate, his eggs now making his stomach turn. He used his newspaper as a shield, “And as your husband, I give you permission to dress how you please.”

Y/N blinked then nodded. He did not ever say thank you. That was his problem, Y/N, too proud. Too nervous to admit that he had been graciously allowed to exist like this because of his marriage to Aaron. As if that was ever any part of their agreement, both of them had blackmail worthy material. Y/N just seemed to forget that, or at least he was not the type of individual to dangle Aaron’s secrets before him like a carrot on a stick. Why Y/N thought that Aaron was that type though, he had some idea.

“A member of the bar?” was the response Aaron got from Y/N, disgust thinly veiled, upon their first chaperoned walk through the L/N estate. It must have seemed contradictory later down the line, to be a protector of the laws that criminalised his very own existence. It was not as uncommon as Y/N believed however, and there were much worse laws to break between trials than being attracted to men.

A man of his word, Aaron prepared for a fitting in the comfort of their own home. A friend of theirs was a tailor; accommodations were no economic issue. Of course, this friend did not know either of their secrets, but other than that, he was a companion who would be greeted warmly into their home.

Y/N watched the tailor from the chaise whilst pretending to be interested in a book. His eye would raise itself to see each adjustment made to Aaron’s wedding suit, which he had surprisingly kept – folded in a box at the farthest corner of the house. Then Y/N would go back to the page and reread the top few lines. Every time, Aaron would pretend not to notice. But the jiggle of Y/N’s knee, the absence of progression through the book’s narrative, taught him that Y/N was anticipating this fitting with something more positive than last time.

“All done, thank you, Aaron!” “Y/N, your turn.”

His book snapped shut and Y/N stepped up to the podium. Aaron swapped places with him without acting out the role of an aloof reader. As expected his expression was well disguised as neutral, but Aaron’s practice in law gifted him with a pair of spectacles into the soul. Y/N’s glee of the tape measure taking in his proportions was masked so that only his eyes smiled. Once or twice, the corner of his mouth ticked up, only to iron its creases out when the tailor moved into his eyeline. When asked what colour he would consider, Y/N mulled deliciously his options before selecting a gentle blue. His fingers were cautious but as soon as they touched the royal fabric offered, they fanned out and welcomed it for his new suit.

From the moment they broke apart, his hands were restless. Ticking against his teacup or tapping against his legs were two of their new favourite hobbies. Even when the suit arrived, Y/N could not keep himself still. His beautiful face was scrunched up in the mirror as he attempted for a third time to make the right knot in his cravat. The photographer was waiting for them downstairs.

Aaron sighed and knocked one knuckle to the door, “Allow me.”

Y/N rolled his eyes, “I can do it myself.”

“I know. But this knot will look better.”

Their eyes locked in the mirror, before Y/N turned around and released his tie. His chin pointed parallel to the carpet. His neck was still so as not to drop the breath he was holding. Aaron flicked with the tip of the cravat as his hands slotted it through, his focus on the column of Y/N’s throat, because meeting his gaze now was an impossible feat. They were too close for that. He bent the stalks of his collar into place then stepped back as if to admire his handiwork. But that was not at all what he really regarded.

He cleared his throat, “There.”

As Aaron removed his hands, Y/N spun to face his reflection head on. “Adequate. You’ll have to teach me that one.”

Finally, they greeted their photographer, who had set up his camera in their garden. It was a lovely day, not to be wasted inside. At least that’s what the photographer said as he unceremoniously ushered them into place and posed them to his liking. There was no instruction for how to position their faces so Aaron kept his the same as their original wedding portrait.

His plan for relaxed facial features hit a bump in the road. As the photographer ducked beneath his sheet, Y/N snorted. His hand was quick to follow and it clapped over his mouth. The photographer emerged with concerned curiosity. A strand of his combover was standing on end.

“My apologies, there was a tickle in my throat.” He pressed his lips together and ducked his head, his feet scuffing one inch’s worth of dirt before he regained composure.

The photographer tried again. Aaron could see, in the corner of his eye, that Y/N’s corners of his mouth weighed down to prevent a break but it was unsuccessful.

“Do forgive me,” He said, his voice quivering, “I remembered a jest from last week. It isn’t even worth the laughter it brings.”

Despite his detractions, Y/N kept guffawing to himself as the photographer kept dodging about his cloth and camera. It spilled from between his pressed lips like an overflowing goblet. Aaron had not heard such delight before. He would describe it as infectious if the joy in Y/N’s notes was comparable to a plague. No, this was intoxicating, a mead he would heartily drink until he too was giddy on the stuff. Y/N, clutching Aaron’s arm to stay standing, almost stumbled as Aaron bent over with equally bashful laughter.

“It would possibly suit you better if you sat,” said the photographer through a faux smile. He then ushered over to one of the benches, the one amidst the tulips, before he wrangled with his camera after them.

Seated on the cool marble, Aaron kept a few inches between himself and Y/N. Their hands took that space but waited to hold hands. Y/N was still shaking but his smile was minute now, replaced by mild embarrassment.

“It wasn’t that funny,” He said. But there was a twitch in his voice, a breath that indicated otherwise.

“No, not at all,” whispered Aaron, his head tilted against the invisible line between them.

Y/N turned, his nose pushing their boundary and almost brushing against Aaron’s cheek when he too turned to face him.

“At long last, we agree.”

Y/N’s lips betrayed him again. A bubble of laughter popped between them, letting out the smallest of smiles. Yet it shone through with such luminosity that it almost outdid the flash of the bulb as their photograph was taken. There was delight at the absence of the melancholy pose that a long exposure wedding portrait promised. Oh, the wonders of new technology.

As was with his new suit, Y/N practically waited by the door for the photographs. His hands were beyond ravenous for them by the time they arrived. They snatched at the envelope and tore with as much care as he could muster, his voice catching in the roof of his mouth as he called for Aaron.

On the chaise together, their knees were brought in close to rest the papers upon. Their faces looked as though they were carved into the paper with charcoal, smudged by an artist’s thumb. That radiant smile among it all was the centre of the photograph. Aaron noted the distance between them was mirrored in their past selves as they sifted through their options.

Then Y/N held aloft the ones for their respective families, “Sit with me while I pen the reply.”

Aaron was not usually welcome in Y/N’s study. Yet, as he pulled up a walnut wood chair with red velvet seat beside the bureau, behind Y/N’s matching one, he felt like he was in place. With anticipation, he watched the most passive aggressive comments that had ever been put to paper. All bar one was spun from Y/N’s inspiration. Aaron had but one to add and it took some convincing for Y/N to put it in his family’s correspondence – he was writing since his writing was far neater. Even so, there were a few loops of the ‘l’s that slanted when Y/N was particularly amused by something that Aaron had commented on.

“There,” Y/N said as he closed the second of two envelopes with crimson wax. As he lifted the seal, he spoke quieter, “Just a thought, nothing more, but I almost wish I could see their faces. Only the first second though.” The seal was placed in his drawer and the letters were left in the centre of the desk while one remaining photograph was selected by Y/N, “I want to keep this. In the drawing room.”

Aaron’s eyebrows jumped up his forehead, “You do?”

Y/N nodded once with finality, his broad smile returning, “It’s the first time I was myself in a long time, the best I’ve ever looked! Besides, I am your husband and I say it will stand above the fireplace by the end of the week – once I find a suitable frame.”

He held it up, squinting to imagine what frame might work best with the décor. His chair itching to be closer, Hotch leant over and cupped his hand over Y/N’s so that he could see the photograph too. It stayed there, and perhaps it was his imagination, but Hotchner could have sworn that Y/N’s back slacked and swayed to the right an inch, almost resting against his shoulder beside Aaron’s.

Y/N’s quiet voice was back, “Thank you, Aaron.”

“You do not have to say thank you.”

“When are you going to stop telling me what to do?”

There was no accusation in it; it was asked as simply as one would ask for another napkin. But Aaron did not quite know how to answer.

“I don’t mean to come across as a drill sergeant,” He said softly.

“Aaron,” Y/N lowered their hands but kept them together beside his lap, “You don’t have to worry about me and what I’m going to do, just like I don’t have to worry about you.”

And what Aaron thought about being ignorant of an answer before, that became a lie. Aaron wanted to worry about Y/N, and he did worry. Not for himself or his identity being exposed, but because he did care for his husband. He didn’t want to worry or have Y/N be worried about control in their home. They should exist as equals, not in blackmail but in respect. Maybe one day, in love.

Aaron settled instead for: “My apologies. And I thank you too. It was the first time I was myself as well.”

Y/N blinked, then avoided his stare. It was a revelation therefore when he laced his fingers with Aaron’s for the briefest of squeeze and replied, “No thanks necessary. It was my pleasure.”

Then the bell tinkled for breakfast and the two men were up on their feet. Y/N was in the dining room first. He sat two away from the head of the table this time. With enough care to drag his chair loudly across the floor, Aaron mirrored that seating, dragging his cutlery and crockery into place. As they were served, Y/N swiped the newspaper before his husband could with a smirk hidden behind the pages. Hotchner poured his coffee and smiled into the brew. He was, for once, thoroughly glad that they had breakfast together.

----> ----> ----> ----> ---->

Tagging

Aaron Hotchner fics: @averyhotchner​

[sulfurwrites74]

In the Hands of the Enemy - Whumptboer 2020 (Day 2)

CONTENT WARNING: Homophobia 

The hospital smelt of chemicals and used bedsheets. Cecil had already asked three different nurses and two separate front desks where his brother was being cared for, but he hasn’t gotten clear instructions yet. He walked down the white halls clutching a bouquet of yellow tulips close to his chest.

His brother, Miles, was “in room 4H, dear, fourth floor and down the first hall to the right, but make sure you go through the blue hall not the yellow one they are a bit close, it’s right across from the gray vending machine you really can’t miss it.” He was dragged into an ambulance late last night after experiencing major pains in his abdomen. Cecil got the call about his failed kidneys just a few hours later. It went to voicemail and he had woken up to quite an alarming message.

Still, Cecil couldn’t seem to find it in himself to worry too much about his brother. They had a nice relationship. Or a decent one, at the very least. As decent as two identical twins with an overbearing mother and an impossible-to-please father could be anyway. The brothers got along fine, but there was always this sense of competition between them. A feeling as if there could only be one. They were nice to each other, they didn’t even fight much, but inside they both knew the other was a threat.

Their father didn’t help smother the growing flames of resentment between them either. He only ever gave one of the boys' attention at a time. He only ever praised one of them per month, only acknowledge the existence of one of them per week.

When Miles got into business school, he won their father’s attention for an entire year. It was as if Cecil didn’t even exist. He told himself he didn’t care. That he didn’t need his father’s approval, didn’t need his love. He hadn’t known how wrong he was until he came out.

Their father was never violent. He was never abusive. He never hit them, never raised his voice at them, never insulted them directly. But when Cecil had sat him down, along with Miles and their mother, and told them he was gay, their father reacted in a way no one would have ever guessed.

He stood up, walked up to his son, slapped him once across the face, and told him to get out.

Cecil’s mother was kinder. She fought with her husband for the first time that night. She demanded that Cecil was allowed to stay. Her other half raised his hand against her too, but it didn’t fly. She didn’t step down, either. She was six months pregnant at the time.

It was always like this. There was an inner turmoil between the brothers that never seemed to climax. The two had to share everything. A room, toys, friends, love, even basic human respect. Looking exactly alike was hard enough, sharing everything else as well made it even more irritating.

They had the same warm skin, the same dark brown eyes, the same thick hair, even the same skinny build. The idea that Miles now wanted to share a kidney was simply ridiculous.

Miles always got the upper hand when it came to their parents. They were probably looking down at Cecil (up at him, Cecil would insist) having second thoughts about coming here to help his brother and scoff at his indecisiveness. His father would be thinking it should have been you. His mother would be thinking you have to do this.

Cecil knew it wasn’t exactly his choice. He was the only person who could save his brother at this point. His wife would have done it without a second thought. She asked the doctors multiple times if she could, as she had explained over the phone last night.

“I’m so sorry,” she had said, “I asked if I could- if there was anyone. You need to help him. Please! I know it’s last minute, and it’s a crazy thing to ask, but you’re the only one who can help him.”

Cecil had never had surgery before. He’d never even gotten sick any worse than the common cold, so he’d never been in a hospital for himself. He had gone with Miles and their father when his mother was giving birth to her third child, but even then he spent all his time in the waiting room.

When their father came out without their mother and told the boys what had happened, he vowed to never step foot in another hospital again. Only bad things could happen in a place like this, he thought.

Their father died of a heart attack exactly one month after their mother and little sister passed. Miles prepared the funeral. Cecil attended, and spit on the grave when everyone went home.

Cecil stood in the elevator for the fourth time that day. There was no front desk on the fourth floor, so when he got lost he had to either go down to the first or up to the fifth. The slow rides did nothing to help with his nerves. The music they played on the ride up only worked to anger him more.

As he stepped out of the elevator, he left a rain of tulips behind him. He was holding the stems too tightly. He couldn’t find it in himself to care.

The idea that he would have to go through this sort of pain to make up for a problem he had nothing to do with made his ears turn red with furry.

He turned right when he saw the blue sign (the halls weren’t really blue or yellow, as the nurse had made it sound, but had little signs next to them with a circle drawn with a specific color) and walked down another hall, avoiding rushing nurses and hysterical family members as he went.

He shouldn’t have to make this kind of decision. He could die in there. If something were to go wrong, if the anesthesia didn’t work or kept him under too long, he could lose his life because of this situation his own brother was asking to put himself in. The way Cecil saw it, if he did agree to go under, there still wasn’t any guarantee it would work. Miles’ body might reject the organ, or slip away while in surgery, and there was really no reason to put his own life in danger along with his brother’s for something that wasn’t certain to work.

Cecil passed the gray vending machine and turned down into another hall.

He had people he cared about too. Miles had a wife and some kids and company to run, but Cecil had people too. He had a boyfriend and a dog. Not to mention all the houseplants that would certainly die if he didn’t return. He cared about Marcus a lot and trusted him enough to be intimate with him, but he had absolutely no faith in the man’s botany abilities.

Why should he put all that at risk for someone who never risked anything for him?

The doors finally began to guide him without too much confusion. He passed room 4B, and 4D, and 4F…

When he saw it, he slowed his gait. He crept close to the window but made sure that the people in the room wouldn’t be able to see him.

Inside, he saw Jennifer, Miles’ wife, and Rebekah, his oldest daughter, sitting around Miles’ unconscious body. They were talking through tears.

Cecil stood and watched them silently.

He could die if he agreed, but that wasn’t the only possible outcome. The worst that could happen was he died. The best is that he survived and lived the rest of his life with one kidney. He only needed one anyway. It wasn’t that bad. Surely it couldn’t be that bad.

If he didn’t agree, he would be fine. Nothing would change. But Miles would certainly be dead within days. Hours, maybe. Cecil would lose his brother and it would be all his fault.

Cecil’s hand around the flowers tightened and he clenched his jaw as he stared at the back of Jennifer’s head.

He was choosing one life over another. He was choosing between sons, between brothers. He knew who his father would have chosen. He knew who the favorite twin was. He knew who would have been left in the hospital when they were born. It was the one with a family. With a wife. With kids and money to his name. It was the one who was the owner of his own successful computer programming company. It was the one who wasn’t a disgrace, a moron, an abomination damned to Hell for things he couldn’t control.

Cecil’s hand on the flowers loosened and he turned away from the window.

He knew what the right thing to do was. He knew what the right thing was.

But he was never good, never smart, never righteous enough to do the right thing.

It’s like his father always said.

“Sometimes, you have to step over people to get ahead in life. Only the weak worry about who’s left behind."

Cecil turned on his heel and walked back towards the elevators. He dropped the tulips in a waste disposal bin on his way out.

Jabbing his thumb into the first button in the elevator, Cecil felt something. He had expected guilt, or sadness, mourning perhaps. What he felt instead was freedom. He felt a weight lift off his shoulders. He didn’t just feel free from a hard decision. He felt free from being tied to a double, to a reminder of his own shortcomings in life. He felt rejuvenated. He felt strong.

Cecil got into his car and drove back towards his apartment leisurely. He wasn’t in any kind of rush. Why would he be? He had his whole life ahead of him.

[patapatapata1]

at the zoo

where did all of the tulips go?  I think a neighbor spit ice all over the petals, because they’re all gone. last night we snuck into the abandoned Detroit zoo through a hole in the gate. shirtless, we scaled through the tallest grasses and overgrowth, got eaten up by the bugs that circle around the still waters in there. those waters that haven’t been touched in years, collecting bugs and pennies that people throw.

I didn’t take the time to think about the fact that not only were we in a place where we shouldn't have been, but that we were walking through literal ruins of history, but it felt very absolute. it felt like we were doing something important, seeing important things. also the element of danger was there, and danger makes everything more enticing. 

its not that I think I should put myself in danger more, but I do think that having the thought that anything could happen to me at any moment is an important feeling to have, because it takes you out of your head. the head that you live inside of every single day, the same thought processes that you’ve been groomed to become accustomed to, well they can get really dangerous in their own right. I have a jaded mind, because I have convinced myself that I have seen it all, heard it all, met every kind of person. because I believe this, it makes it difficult for me to go outside of my own comfort zone and have real experiences.

I also believe that obsessively scrolling through Instagram, Tumblr, Facebook, all of those applications, can make a person feel very jaded, because you take in so much imagery and small bits of information (mostly useless depending on the context) and that takes up the space inside your head. there is no vacancy. there is no space for what is right in front of you anymore. 

abusing this technology is the real danger and we are all walking through the ruins of some finely curated mediascape. we are becoming our own enemies, we are fighting wars against ourselves and we don’t even know it. we have weaponry but we neglect it, we don't train it, we don’t utilize it. our weaponry is our minds but we are using our minds for small pleasures, immediate joy, sparks of satisfaction that burn out quicker than a hot bulb on an old camera. it burns so brightly and then it dies so easily, right before our eyes, so we go searching for the next light, quietly wishing that it will burn just a little brighter this time around. but baby, it never does. the light lives outside of you and out side of your own perception, you just have to accept that idea and let it guide your way. 

and I know my neighbors would never poison our garden, but for some reason that was the first thought that popped into my head when I saw that all of our tulips were dead. I've been thinking the worst before I think the best these days, and I notice it head on. I've got to start changing my thought processes. unless they did poison them, because then that is shady as fuck and I wanna fight. 

<3  lou 

[celticbarb]

Book: The Highlander’s English Bride

By Vanessa Kelly

Series: Clan Kendrick, Book #3

Release Day: May 26, 2020

Reviewed by: Barb Massabrook ofi

1. Tartan Book Reviews

2. Purple Tulip Book Reviews

3. Celtic World of Historical Book Reviews

4.Celtic Barb’s Tartan Book Review Blog

Heat Rating: 🔥

Overall Rating: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

London, England

Edinburgh, Scotland

1822

Lady Sabrina Bell feels ashamed and stupid when her admirer does not show for a tryst at Hyde Park as planned. Then she is horrified when she is robbed and thrown into the Serpentine! Yet she is especially mortified when she is rescued by a gorgeous strapping Scot, Graeme Kendrick. Could her day get any worse? Graeme who has been trying to find this gang of thieves who pray on the wealthy and royal Sassenachs of the ton. He is a government agent or as some would call a spy. His employers aren’t too thrilled with him as he seems to be losing his touch lately. Now he was tracking down one of the notorious thieves of the gang and is about to apprehend him. Then he sees the bloody black guard is charging for this wealthy dressed woman! Graeme sure wasn’t expecting this beauty in this horrible weather and member of the possible gentry or ton so early in the morning! Unfortunately she seems to be the thief’s next target! He is filled with fear when he sees she was pushed into the Serpentine he could not let this beauty drown! Once again he lost his prey but sparks fly for him immediately seeing this beautiful woman who he knows is Lady Sabrina Bell, though they had never officially met before. Yet attraction sparkles on both sides for this new acquaintance for both of them.

Later Graeme finds out the man she was to meet is a big enemy of his family. He had been exiled into the continent but now the villain was back and Graeme was furious and ready to break furniture! Anyone who read the previous books in this series will know what crimes this horrible vile, exiled Marquess of Cringlewood did! Unfortunately with nobility now he has the King’s mistress and other members of nobility backing him up.

Lady Sabrina was a wealthy heiress a daughter of a wealthy English Earl who hated everything Scottish since his Scottish wife died of illness there! Sabrina is also the Kings’s Goddaughter! Finally when others made Sabrina aware this Marquess was a cruel penniless fortune hunter but very bad cruel person as well. When Lady Sabrina questioned Graeme about the type of person the Marquess really is, he allowed her to know he is untrustworthy, abusive to women, besides being in financial debt. He warns her never to be alone with him. She just now remembered the scandal involving Graeme’s sister-in-law and his brother Royal, Sabrina had been out of town when this occurred. She was not shocked of he being a fortune hunter, as most men pursuing her were. Now Sabrina was no shrinking violet and planned to interrogate him and have him admit his crimes putting herself in danger again! She didn’t want him to hurt other young wealthy women. As the Marquess shows his true colors and the ugliness inside him. So she puts herself in another situation where Graeme saves her again!

Now Graeme had a new assignment to go back to Scotland which is something he hadn’t done in two years. As Graeme had many self esteem issues, plus he must get away for Sabrina Bell. He knew he was not good enough to even lick her boots. Graeme had many skeletons he needed to get rid of in his closet, but his father had been mentally abusive to him as a young boy. He turned to the spirits after his wife died blaming his children for her death, this filled Graeme with so much guilt and hatred for himself. Luckily the grandfather took care of them once he saw the cruelty.

Now Lady Sabrina’s father hated everything Scottish so he ignored everything Scottish even his own properties and estates which he let others run. Graeme was also a younger son and her father would never allow something to develop between this Sassenach angel and himself. His new assignment was to guard the King but he was surprised when he see’s that Lady Sabrina came with the King to celebrate in Scotland’s capitol! The feeling between these two just get stronger and love is in the Scotland air. Plus now his crazy family was doing everything to make a match between them with their crazy antics, as they wanted Graeme and Sabrina to be happy. This is also is an adventure, filled with danger and heroism!

Soon they trade places and Sabrina saves Graeme in some very dangerous situations. Though he is furiously spitting bullets, due to the fact that she is putting herself in danger for him. He sees Sabrina as this perfect woman who wants to make the world a better place and safer place for women and children or any person who suffers. She had always been hidden from the realities of the world, however when she befriends some young pick-pockets and tries to save them she sees the cruelties of the world. She also wants to save everyone, as it nearly breaks Graeme’s 7heart and during this scuffle he finds out the person with a target on their back is the women he loves for her fathers mistakes.

Will Graeme ever feel he is good enough for Sabrina? Will Sabrina ever be able to catch the one man who owns her heart? The one man who doesn’t care about her wealth. Will she be able to prove he is good enough for her, a true hero, the bravest, kindest, and most stubborn man she has ever met! Will they ever be able to get her Scottish hating father to accept their love? What will the King do? Will the Kendrick family be overjoyed? Will this couple ever come together and find a happily ever after? A book readers definitely don’t want to miss! Read and find out.

This book made me laugh and made me cry. The matchmaking Grandfather and all the Kendricks is absolutely hilarious! Even the flirtation of Royal and Ainsley, and other married characters are hilarious. The children in this novel have it so much character no matter if it was hilarity or orphans pulling your heart strings. I found this book a wonderful escape that I did not want to end besides it is absolutely brilliant! This is my favorite of the series as Ms. Kelly write another winner. This is my favorite Vanessa Kelly novel though I love them all.

“The Highlander’s English Bride” is a book you can read as a stand-alone. I personally think you will get more out of the background if you read all three books. As you will understand more about the family, brothers and the matchmaking grandfather Angus too. Kind of like connecting the dots. It’s the readers decision, this is just my humble opinion.

The Highlander’s English Bride was pure joy I can’t recommend it enough!

Clan Kendrick Series

1)The Highlander Who Protected Me

2)The Highlander’s Christmas Bride

3)The Highlander’s English Bride

Disclaimer: I received a complimentary copy and an advance reader copy from the publisher. I voluntarily agreed to do a fair review and blog through netgalley. All thoughts, ideas and words are my own.

Buy Links:

https://www.amazon.com/Highlanders-English-Bride-Clan-Kendrick-ebook/dp/B07W8YZSBY/ref=sr_1_3

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-highlanders-english-bride-vanessa-kelly/1132868180?ean=9781420147056

https://www.kobo.com/us/en/search?query=The+Highlander%E2%80%99s+English+Bride+by+Vanessa+Kelly+

https://www.kensingtonbooks.com/book.aspx/39425

https://books.google.com/books/about/The_Highlander_s_English_Bride.html?id=htKnDwAAQBAJ

https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Vanessa_Kelly_The_Highlander_s_English_Bride?PAffiliateID=1l3vnbh&PCamRefID=bookbubblogd&_bbid=12780430&_bbreg=us&_bbtype=blog&id=h