The MacLellan Sisters Trilogy by @LucindaRace is a Love and Romance Festival pick #romance #giveaway
Title: The MacLellan Sisters Trilogy
Author: Lucinda Race
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Three sisters and one enchanted wedding dress…
When three single sisters inherit their Scottish great-grandmother’s wedding dress, they also inherit the legend that comes with it: put on the dress, look in a mirror, and reveal their future. The dress is more than just silk and lace, for magic has been stitched into the seams of the heirloom. For the MacLellan sisters and the men who love them the enchanted wedding dress promises a legacy of everlasting love if they’re willing to take a chance and follow their hearts.
Thud. Jamie slammed the door behind her, shutting out the biting cold. The silence embraced her as she entered the quaint cottage. A familiar ache wrapped around her heart, this was home but she was alone. Kicking off black high-heeled boots she walked in stocking feet to the mantle, flipping a switch the gas fireplace whooshed to life. She held her hands out towards the fire and rubbed them together absorbing the warmth. Welcome home, Jamie.
She wandered into her bedroom and changed into yoga pants, a well-worn fisherman-knit sweater and plush heavy socks, perfect for hanging out in the house. The back door chimed. Must be the girls.
“Come in,” she called down the hallway.
“Jamie, where are you hiding?” Kenzie shouted.
“In the bedroom. Be right out. Is Grace with you?”
“She’s right behind me.”
Jamie walked into the hallway, her smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
“What’s going on?” Grace came bopping through the door, clear blue eyes dancing.
Jamie tugged at a curl that had escaped from Grace’s bun. “I’m happy to see my sisters.”
The sisters were exactly eleven months apart, Scottish triplets. Each sister was born on the eleventh of the month, Jamie in May, Kenzie in April and Grace in March. They had the same crystal-blue eyes and chestnut hair, but that was where the similarity ended. Jamie was tall and willowy, and her long hair fell in thick waves around her shoulders. Kenzie was vertically challenged and athletic, her short, spiky hair suiting an active life. Grace, the baby, was average height and her figure was curvy like her bouncy curls.
“It’s about time you got here, Grace, I’m starving.” Kenzie grabbed two paper bags out of Grace’s arms and hurried into the kitchen. Over her shoulder, she said, “Hey, I thought Jamie was buying tonight.”
Grace shrugged off her long tailored black coat and tucked the butter-soft pink leather gloves and pink beret into a side pocket, and hung it next to Kenzie’s deep blue pea coat. She tugged on the bobby pins holding her hair secured in a bun, letting her curls bounce free. Closing her eyes, she sighed, “Oh that feels so good.” She tousled the curls into place. “I volunteered to pick it up.” Glancing at the counter, and then at Jamie she smirked, “Is there wine?”
Jamie’s eyebrow arched. She smiled in response—“But of course”—and pointed to the kitchen. “Help yourself, there’s white in the fridge.”
Kenzie rummaged through the wine rack. Victoriously, she thrust the bottle in the air. “I’m opening the merlot.”
“Pour me a glass too?” Jamie asked, and Grace echoed the request.
Jamie sniffed appreciatively. “My gosh, the lo mein’s making my mouth water.” She rummaged in the second bag. “I hope you got extra dumplings.”
The sisters quickly filled their plates and the wineglasses. Settling into the deep cushions in front of the crackling fire, plates resting on the square wooden coffee table, the girls held up their glasses—cheers!
Kenzie twirled noodles around her fork and shifted her gaze to Jamie. “Your text said a box from Scotland arrived?”
Jamie’s shoulders slumped and she munched on a slice of bread. “I got an email from Mom. She and Dad are cleaning out some of Gran’s things and found it. I guess it was addressed to us. I thought it would be better to open it together.”
Kenzie looked between her sisters, her smile pained. “It’s hard to believe she’s gone.”
Jamie wiped away a lone tear. “I keep expecting the phone to ring and hear Gran asking when we’re hopping on the next plane.”
“Guys”—fighting back tears, Grace’s face sagged—“can we concentrate on what’s in the box? It hurts too much to talk about Gran’s death.”
Kenzie wiped away the tears that had slipped down her cheeks. “Grace is right. Let’s open the box and see what’s inside, after we finish this amazing lo mein.”
The girls bounced ideas around over what might be in the box until dinner was finished. Grace stood up and whisked away the empty plates. She called over her shoulder, “I’ll grab the wine if someone can get the box. You know how much I hate waiting to open any kind of box.”
Jamie went in search of scissors and pointed to the closet. “Kenz, the box is in there.” Kenzie opened the door and carefully carried the box to the coffee table, as if it contained something irreplaceable.
Jamie returned, and said, her hand hovering over the tape, “Here goes nothing.”
Grace came in holding a bottle of wine. “Be careful, Sissy,” she whispered reverently. “It was Gran’s, so it’s really old.”
Jamie held her breath as she cautiously sliced through the layers of packing tape and eased back the cardboard flaps.
Standing on tiptoes, Kenzie peered over her shoulder. “What is it?”
Jamie withdrew a cream-colored envelope. “It’s a letter.” Grace reached out to pull back the bubble wrap when Jamie touched her hand. “Wait. We should read it first and then we’ll see what’s inside.”
Kenzie stretched out her hand. “I’ll read it.” She slit open the wax seal and pulled out several pieces of stationery. Glancing down, she said, “I don’t remember Gran’s handwriting so spider web like, so it might take a while.”
Grace leaned in and studied the page. “I don’t think its Gran’s. What if it’s Great-gran’s? You know Dad’s grandmother.”
Jamie admonished, “If we stop talking and let Kenz read, I’ll bet we find out.” She picked up her wineglass and settled back on the sofa cushions.
My dearest granddaughters,
This is your father’s grandmother writing to you long before you were even a gleam in his eye or even before he had any interest in lassies. If you have received this box, it means that I’ve had the joy of seeing my beloved daughter, your grandmother, again. I’m sorry for your loss and hope your memories of her will sustain you through the years to come and her wisdom will guide you. I will assume you have a box from your Gran. Have you looked inside? If not, carefully unwrap the contents and lay the three items I chose for you on a table.
Jamie’s eyes grew wide as she looked at her sisters. “What the hell, is she psychic or something?”
Grace clapped a hand over her mouth. “Remember, Gran said the women in our family were special. Maybe that’s what she was talking about.”
Kenzie’s eyebrow shot up. “That would explain a few things about Gran. She always seemed to have eyes on us all the time.”
Absentmindedly Jamie tapped her glass with her finger. “Do you remember the time…I must have been around ten. We decided to get up early and go fishing, and when we got to the bottom of the stairs Gran was dressed and waiting for us? I know we never talked about sneaking off while we were in the house where she could hear us.”
“You’re right.” Grace let out a rush of breath. “Our sneaky plans were always hatched underneath that old willow tree near the creek.”
Kenzie gasped. “Oh, wow. That does make me wonder about all kinds of things.”
Jamie waved her hands toward the box. “Enough speculating about Gran being able to read our minds—let’s see what’s inside.”
Taking care not to rush, Grace took a small package wrapped in plain brown paper. She pulled back the paper and cut the bubble wrap inside, to discover a carved wooden box. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Should I open it?”
“Hold on, let’s see what Kenzie has.”
Kenzie withdrew a large floppy package wrapped in white tissue paper tied with the deep green satin ribbon. She pulled back the paper, revealing a large piece of wool, a Scottish tartan. “Isn’t this the MacLellan plaid?” She carefully placed it on the back of the sofa.
Jamie and Grace nodded, eager to see the third item.
“One item left, Jamie, your turn.” Kenzie slid the box in front of her older sister.
Jamie pulled out an identical-looking package tied with the same ribbon. “Do you think it’s another plaid, maybe a cape?” She tugged the bow and eased back the tissue paper.
“Oh my gosh! It’s a wedding dress.” Awestruck, Grace reached out and fingered the silky fabric. “Do you think it was Great-gran’s?”
Jamie’s voice softened. “It must have been—look at the style. The simplicity of the cut is definitely vintage. The fabric feels like silk,” she turned the dress over, “and look at the laces on the back, that must have been how it was secured.” Jamie held it up to look closer. “This eyelet looks to be hand-sewn. It must have taken hours and the needle work is exquisite.”
Kenzie picked up the letter. “Let’s see what Great-gran has to say about it.”
“Wait! What’s in the little box?” Grace pried off the top and unfolded a square of the same silky fabric as the dress. Nestled inside was a large brooch. She held it up in the firelight. “Look, it’s a thistle, and I wonder if the stone is an amethyst.” Grace turned it over in her hand. “It’s stunning,” she said breathlessly.
Kenzie’s eyes were drawn back to the letter. She began to read.
Now that you have the plaid, the dress and the brooch unpacked, it’s time for you to know what this means.
When I was a young woman I was convinced I would never marry. I was rapidly approaching spinsterhood. I was fine with not having a husband or a family, for a while. But there did come a day when I longed to have a man to share my life with and raise a family.
One day while I was preparing a meal for my parents I had a vision of three lovely young women—Jamie, Kenzie and Grace. I didn’t tell anyone, but I knew deep in my heart that you were my legacy.
Grace hit her hand on the table with a thud. “I knew it, Gran was a psychic.”
Jamie felt goose bumps crawl over her arms.
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Award-winning and best-selling author Lucinda Race is a lifelong fan of romantic fiction. As a young girl, she spent hours reading romance novels and getting lost in the hope they represent. While her friends dreamed of becoming doctors and engineers, her dreams were to become a writer—a romance novelist.
As life twisted and turned, she found herself writing nonfiction but longed to turn to her true passion. After developing the storyline for The Loudon Series, it was time to start living her dream. Her fingers practically fly over computer keys she weaves stories about strong women and the men who love them. Lucinda lives with her husband and their two little dogs, a miniature long hair dachshund and a shitzu mix rescue, in the rolling hills of western Massachusetts. When she's not at her day job, she’s immersed in her fictional worlds. And if she’s not writing romance novels, she’s reading everything she can get her hands on. It’s too bad her husband doesn’t cook, but a very good thing he loves takeout.
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