Scottish Relic Trilogy E-Book

May McGoldrick

• Herausgeber: Book Duo Creative
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: Scottish Relic Trilogy
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Seitenzahl: 1185

Beschreibung

 three complete novels: Much ado about highlanders, taming the highlander, and tempest in the highlands   In 1494, a tempest drove a ship aground on Scotland's rocky northern shore. Four sailors survived, each carrying one fragment of a stone tablet. Each piece confers a special gift, passed down through generations.    Now three women are hunted by a rogue English commander who will kill to possess that ancient power...   MUCH ADO ABOUT HIGHLANDERS   TAMING THE HIGHLANDER  (A Rita Award Finalist!)   TEMPEST IN THE HIGHLANDS 

Leseprobe

SCOTTISH RELIC TRILOGY BOX SET: THREE COMPLETE NOVELS

Much Ado About Highlanders, Taming the Highlander & Tempest in the Highlands

MAY MCGOLDRICK

Book Duo Creative

CONTENTS

Much Ado About Highlanders

Taming the Highlander

Tempest in the Highlands

Also by May McGoldrick, Jan Coffey & Nik James

About the Author

Thank you for choosing Scottish Relic Trilogy Box Set. In the event that you enjoy this book, please consider sharing the good word(s) by leaving a review.

Scottish Relic Trilogy Box Set: Much Ado About Highlanders, Taming the Highlander & Tempest in the Highlands

Copyright © 2023 by Nikoo and James McGoldrick

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher: Book Duo Creative.

Cover by Dar Albert, WickedSmartDesigns.com

CONTENTS

Much Ado About Highlanders

Taming the Highlander

Tempest in the Highlands

Also by May McGoldrick, Jan Coffey & Nik James

About the Author

PROLOGUE

The Northern Coast of Scotland, 1494

The ship was nearly gone. All that was left clung to the sharp rocks of the reef. The timbers glistened in the sun like the ribs of a carcass picked clean.

Cairns stared at the low waves breaking on the stony shore. Around him masts, lines, and sails lay tangled up with casks and boxes and cargo.

And bodies. So many bodies.

He focused on the remains of the vessel that had broken apart in an instant. On a clear day in a steady breeze.

Perhaps his friends had not drowned. Perhaps they died when the ship came apart like dry kindling. The vessel had splintered into four segments with a sound so terrible that his ears still roared at the memory.

Wet and cold and exhausted, Cairns pulled out the leather pouch that hung around his neck. From it, he removed the broken piece of tablet. His fingers traced the ancient markings. So small you could hold it in the palm of your hand, but it held a special gift. Together, the four tablets held a terrible power. No one had warned them how terrible. There was no way for them to know.

The stone grew warm in his hand. The power of it raced up his arm like sunlight breaking through a cloud. It drove sharply into his chest, and then came the second sight. His gaze swept across the littered shore. All along the beach, the spirits were rising from the dead. He didn’t want them to tell him how they died. He didn’t want to hear their confessions. He slipped the stone back into the pouch.

Cairns steeled himself for the task ahead. Moving along the inlet, he trudged from one body to the next.

None of them belonged to his three friends. He turned his face to the sea.

Perhaps they were still alive. Or perhaps they were dead at the bottom of the ocean. It didn’t matter. Long ago, they had sworn an oath. If they survived the journey, they would each safeguard one piece of the tablet. If they lived, they would travel to the farthest corners of Scotland.

Cairns knew what he had to do. Turning toward the mountains to the south, he began his journey.

1

“There was a star danced,

and under that was I born.”

Western Coast of Scotland

Fifty Years Later

The old saying danced in Kenna MacKay’s head. When a man comes to a birthing, someone will die.

And yet, Kenna thought, if the man were a physician, right now that was a risk she’d gladly take.

She was in deep waters, and she knew it. Not that any physician would be arriving from the castle any time soon. She was no midwife. Her prayers were frequently ignored by the saints. And she had no interest in witchcraft. Regardless, she had to convince either God or Nature to lend a hand and turn this bairn around.

“Let’s get her to lie down with her feet pointing at the roof and her head down here.”

The young villager looked uneasily from the woman in labor to the contraption of wood and straw Kenna had assembled on the floor, and followed orders.

“M’lady, have you ever done this type of birthing before?”

Kenna looked down into the frightened face of the mother. Three young children were waiting with the husband outside.

“Aye, I’ve helped with birthing.”

A fire pit in the center of the large room spewed too much smoke and heat. Kenna wiped the sweat from her brow and focused on what needed to be done. It was a struggle, but the two managed to move the pregnant woman into position.

“Our bairn wasn’t to arrive till next month. The midwife promised me she’d be back from visiting her sister. I had no trouble with the others.” A contraction cut the words short. The mother’s cries were followed by the wailing of children.

Kenna hoped her cousin Emily would be able to keep the family out of the cottage. Delivering a baby wasn’t part of the plan for their day when the two of them left Craignock Castle early this morning. But arriving here and hearing the laboring woman’s cries, Kenna had vaulted from her horse and come inside the cottage to help. That was hours ago.

“I’ve heard the midwife say women die when the bairn is turned this way.”

Without thinking, Kenna reached up and pressed the pouch hanging under her dress against her chest. Her mother’s lucky healing stone felt warm against her heart.

“The midwife is wrong. She hasn’t had my schooling. I’ve been trained by the nuns of Glosters Priory on Loch Eil.” A bit of exaggeration was excusable considering the pregnant woman’s distress. Setting bones, stitching wounds, and tending to the sick at the priory’s spital house were the extent of Kenna’s training, but many women passed through the priory. They talked. They shared stories. Some had a great deal of experience in birthing, whether it was with their own bairns or with helping others. She recalled one long, involved story a woman told of turning a breech baby by raising the mother’s hips above her head. Kenna prayed that wasn’t a tall tale.

She touched the woman’s stomach, feeling, pressing gently, speaking softly, encouraging mother and child to do right by each other. If she’d only paid closer attention, Kenna thought, to what the woman had said.

She searched back through her memory. The contraption only helped so much. She had to convince the bairn to turn around. Kenna focused on the stretched skin of the mother’s belly. Her hands warmed. Wherever she touched, she felt the bairn move beneath her fingers. She massaged and coaxed the unborn child, whispering soothing words.

The next contraction left the mother sobbing and clutching for Kenna’s hand. “If I die here, my babies—”

“You will not die,” Kenna told her. “Now help me. Help your bairn. Let’s show this wee one the light of day.”

Kenna prayed that she was doing the right thing. She hoped that her confidence in herself was not misplaced. Many considered her gifted as a healer, as her mother had been. But eight years ago, Sine MacKay died giving birth to Kenna’s twin brothers. Gifts had their limits. Childbirth had the potential of being deadly in the best of circumstances.

Her fingers kneaded the woman’s stretched belly until they ached. Kenna made one last silent plea. Small ripples moved beneath the skin. What looked like a head pushed at her hand, making its position known before shifting in the mother’s womb.

Kenna held her breath as the woman cried out with another contraction.

“By the Virgin, I see the head,” the young villager shouted.

Moments later, the babe was born.

By the time the stiff skin that served as a door lifted and her cousin came in, the mother was back on the straw pallet and Kenna was handing the bairn to her.

The neighbor busily gathered up soiled rags, but she stopped, eager to share the news.

“It was a miracle, m’lady. Lady Kenna showed the bairn which way to go, and the wee thing minded her. Saw it with my own eyes, I did. Turned right around at her ladyship’s bidding and come out the way the Lord intended. A miracle.”

Emily touched her on the arm and crossed the room.

The farmer’s wife kissed Kenna’s hand. “May the Virgin bless and protect you, m’lady. May you see your children’s children.”

Kenna took a coin out of her waistband and tucked it into the mother’s hand. A swell of emotion rose in her like an ocean wave, deep and powerful. Her voice shook as she spoke. “You must stay off your feet, do you hear me? Your labor was hard. You and your bairn both need time to recover.”

At Emily’s dismayed glance, Kenna looked down. Her sleeves were rolled up to the elbows. Her riding dress was soiled with blood and sweat and who knows what else. Locks of hair hung loose, having escaped the once-tight braid. She led her cousin out into the fresh air.

Greeting them, the husband wiped the sweat off his face and moved a toddler from one hip to the other. Two other children, not much older, clutched at the man’s legs and gawked up at Kenna.

“Did she give me a son?” he asked.

Kenna’s hands clenched into fists. “So you heard the bairn’s cry. Do you not care to ask if your wife lives or not?”

“Does she live? Please tell me, m’lady. Does my wife live?”

“Do you want her to live?”

“Aye, of course. Her wee ones need her. I need her.”

“She could have died in there.” Kenna looked at the fields beyond the hut before turning to him. “She lives today, and she lives tomorrow. And she’ll live to see the harvest if you make certain she rests now. Her work must wait, do you understand? You owe her that.”

The man nodded. “Aye, m’lady.”

As the neighbor came out carrying the basins and rags, the farmer and the children pushed past her and went in.

Kenna breathed in deeply. Two lives saved. Relief pushed through her as she gazed up at the bright blue sky for some time before looking back at her cousin. “Not exactly the leisurely ride we intended. Eh, coz?”

“What a blessing we were near!”

“Where are the men your father sent out to escort us?”

“While you were inside, I thought we would be here for a while. So I put them to work. Two are cutting up the fallen tree we saw down at the edge of the orchard. One was sent to the village to fetch the crofter’s sister.”

“What about the one you sent back to the castle?”

“Now I’m thinking he should be back in time for the christening.” Emily smiled. “I’m amazed you were able to manage it.”

“There were moments when I had my doubts.”

“But you’ve done this before?”

“Not alone. Only helped.”

“Is there much call for the midwife’s skill in a community of nuns?”

“With the English raiding to the south, more wounded have been showing up at our gates. Many are crofters. Like this one.” She glanced at the door. “They’ve been fighting to keep their villages from being pillaged and burned, but they can’t battle an entire army. So we see a lot of poor folk coming north. They’ve nowhere else to go. And amongst them, they are a few women heavy with child. And others who are experienced as midwives.”

Emily’s gaze swept over the southern hills. “The English are coming closer all the time.”

Kenna had witnessed too much suffering in recent months. She pushed aside the cloud of gloom.

“I need to wash.” She looked down at her dress. “Ruined, I think.”

“What does it matter? Come with me.”

Beyond the hut and down the hill, a stream weaved through a grove of trees, offering protection from any prying eyes.

“You never told the crofter if he had a son or daughter.”

“He had a son. But that news should be shared by his wife, not me.”

Kenna crouched at the water’s edge, and her cousin perched on a nearby rock.

“Helping with that birth. Watching a new life come into the world. Doesn’t it make you want to hold one of your own someday?”

Kenna stopped rubbing the hem of her skirt under the stream’s clear water. She met Emily’s gaze. The two of them had been more like sisters than cousins growing up. But they lost something when Kenna moved to Glosters Priory six months ago. “I try to not think of it.”

“Doesn’t the thought of having a bairn change your opinion of marriage at all?”

“Nay. Marriage is a sentence. A life sentence.”

“Not all marriages.”

Kenna recalled a time not too long ago when the two of them spoke dreamily of the men who would walk into their lives and steal their hearts.

“You no longer believe in love?” Emily asked.

“Love? Cupid kills some of us with those bloody arrows.”

“You don’t mean it.” Emily shook her head in disbelief. “Every woman dreams of hearing a man profess his love.”

“I’d sooner hear a dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me.”

Emily laughed. “Kenna MacKay, you never used to be so stubborn with your opinions.”

“I’m not stubborn,” Kenna replied. “But it’s a topic I have no taste for.”

“You do recall that I’m getting married in a fortnight.”

“Why do you think I accepted your invitation and left the priory to be here? My plan is to steal you away, far from the clutches of your father and this ridiculous arranged marriage to Sir Quentin Chamberpot.”

“Chamberlain,” Emily corrected, sliding off the rock and joining Kenna at the water’s edge. “And all arranged marriages need not be ghastly. Granted, he’s a Lowlander and a widower, but Sir Quentin Chamberlain is quite distinguished.”

“Distinguished by the possibility that he still has two or three teeth left in his head?” Kenna scooped up water and splashed it on her face.

“Come now, cousin.” Emily smiled. “He’s not that old.”

“You don’t know that. They haven’t even allowed you to meet him, have they?”

Kenna shook out what was left of her braid and ran her fingers through it.

“There was no time for us to meet. The arrangements were made when the Privy Council met at Stirling in the spring. But we have exchanged letters.”

“So he can read, too? What a catch!”

Her cousin laughed. Kenna removed her shoes and socks and put her feet in the water. Large splotches marked her sleeves, as well as the bodice and skirt.

“And I suppose they told you he has the muscles of Hercules and the handsome good looks of Adonis.”

“Let’s see. Sir Quentin is not too tall, not too fat, and altogether not unpleasant in his looks.”

“Please stop. I may swoon with envy.”

“You are the devil, cousin,” Emily said. “He has no heir. He’s a ranking member of the Dunbar clan. He can provide me with a comfortable life. I imagine I’ll have a peaceful life once I’ve given him a son.”

“A peaceful life? You’ll have no peace, living in the Borders. Not as long as the English king keeps insisting that our infant Queen Mary wed his son.” She stood up, lifted her skirts, and took another step into the river.

“Careful. The current is strong. It’ll drag you down the river.”

Kenna’s head came around. “Heed your own words, Emily,” she said gently. “Don’t be caught in this torrent they’re pushing you into. Don’t marry him. Come with me. You don’t need him or this marriage.”

“You know that I cannot. I’ll never be as free as you. You and I are different.”

Emily stood up and shook her skirts. They were as clean and tidy as when they’d left Craignock Castle.

“You have the Highlands bred into your very bones. You have the independence of your MacKay heritage in your blood. My father and his father before him have been politicians, not warriors. And I’m an only child. I need to honor his wishes.”

“And what is it that your father is gaining from this union? Has he traded you away for a caravan of gold and jewels from this buggering Lowlander?”

“I’ve been told that Sir Quentin has agreed to send a company of Dunbar warriors to help protect our lands. Those English troops have been seen not two days’ ride to the south.”

“An even trade to get protection for the clan. That’s nonsense. Your father should still ask for a caravan of gold.”

Emily paused. “He is giving me away with a sizeable dowry.”

Kenna made her way out of the water. “What is he offering?”

“A ship.” Emily nodded slowly. “My dowry includes a ship.”

She looked warily at her cousin. “Where did your father get a ship?”

“I don’t know. But they have it hidden in a firth somewhere along the coast, I’m told.”

As Kenna bent down to retrieve her shoes, a movement by the line of trees drew her attention. But she had no time to shout a warning as a hood dropped over her head and a large hand clamped over her mouth.

* * *

A work table was no protection. A fortress was no protection. A legion of armed warriors could provide no protection.

The abbot cowered in his seat, happy to be forgotten while the two Macpherson brothers argued across the room. But at every lull in the discussion, he was certain that they must be able to hear the fearful pounding in his chest.

If his heart stopped, at least he wouldn’t have to play his part in the Highlanders’ insane plan. Who was to say how the MacDougall laird would react to his involvement in this, forced though he was? He might very well just burn the abbey to the ground.

The abbot looked at the tapestry of St. Andrew on the wall and said a quick prayer for delivery, however it might come.

The elder brother, Alexander, strode to a north-facing window and stared out. The man was tall and broad and powerful. The abbot had once seen the African lion they kept in the menagerie at Stirling Castle, and Alexander Macpherson moved with the same lithe grace as that king of beasts. And he was equally terrifying. As gruffly courteous as he had been so far, he had the steely eyes of a man who would take what he wanted. And God help any man who stood in his way.

“Where is he?”

The younger one, James, was a hand’s breadth taller and nearly as muscular. With his dark red hair and piercing grey eyes, the royal Stewart blood that ran in both brothers’ veins was more pronounced in him. But there was an aura of command in each man that forced lesser mortals to attend them closely.

“They’re coming. Give them time.”

“I should have done this myself.”

“Diarmad lost the bloody ship,” James replied, joining his brother at the window. “It’s only right that he should be the one to snatch the MacDougall chit.”

These sons of the great laird Alec Macpherson clearly feared nothing, but the old priest could not pretend to be cut from the same cloth. His abbey, perched on a rocky cliff, was not half a day’s ride south of the MacDougall’s castle, and the thick curtain walls no longer provided the defense that they once did. In this modern age of cannon and gunpowder, the abbey felt more like a ripe plum on a tree, inviting pillage by any passing marauder.

“You have to admit it’s a good plan,” James pressed. “Diarmad grabs the lass, and we ransom her back for the ship. Easy. Effective. And the good abbot here has graciously consented to act as our intermediary. Is that not so, Abbot?”

Not trusting his voice, the old man nodded. These Highlanders were going to get him killed, pure and simple.

“I still say we should have sailed in with a fleet of our ships, stormed Craignock Castle, and throttled Graeme MacDougall until he told us where he’s hidden our vessel.”

“You just hate to be left out of the action. Don’t you?” James asked.

The abbot looked from one brother to the other.

They’d been waiting here all day, and they were likely to be here all night if the Macpherson captain and his men didn’t get a chance to spirit away the laird’s daughter. The abbot broke into a cold sweat at the very thought of it. Abducting Emily MacDougall from Craignock Castle itself. Saints preserve us!

Alexander glared at his brother. “You’re damn right I don’t like sitting out here on my arse. That tongue-flapping MacDougall took our ship, by ‘sblood! I want it back.”

“And we’re getting it back.”

“That’s not the point. Our ships rule the western seas. When have we ever lost one? Never! That’s when!”

The abbot gazed blindly at the chart of abbey lands on his table. Since the days of the Bruce himself, the Macpherson clan had been the terror of the western seas from the Orkneys to Penzance. There was a wild story that their father, along with his friend Colin Campbell, had in one day raided an English arsenal in Carlisle, sailed into Belfast harbor where they forced the Lord Mayor to feed them dinner, and then made the crossing back to Glasgow in time for supper with the Archbishop.

But Alexander had a point. When word had gotten around that their ship had been taken, the Macpherson honor had taken a blow. And clearly, this bruising Highland warrior intended to reclaim both the ship and his clan’s fierce reputation.

James wasn’t giving up. “You know that while the English are hammering away at the Borders, the Regent has forbidden the clans fighting amongst ourselves. We can’t draw blood going after the ship. Isn’t that right, Abbot?”

The abbot cleared his throat. “That’s true, m’lord. But please don’t get me any deeper into this than I am already. If the MacDougall thinks I’m aiding you willingly, my head will be gracing a pike on the wall at Craignock before the tide turns.”

“Well,” Alexander snorted, turning his hard blue eyes on the abbot. “That would be the first time the old bugger has done anything remotely decisive in the past twenty years, a fact that makes the taking of our ship even more bothersome.”

As the older brother turned his back again, the abbot sagged in his chair. His old bones were weary, and the stress of this was not making him any younger. He shouldn’t be doing this. He should be reviewing the reports of the abbey farms, tallying the latest count of sheep and goats, and planning his annual hunting trip to Falkland.

This was not going to turn out well. The MacDougall lass was supposed to be married in less than a fortnight. He himself was to perform the ceremony. The groom was due to arrive any time now. If the plan worked, and clan war was somehow avoided, there would still be hell to pay. And the abbot had a terrifying idea of who would be paying it.

Shouts from the courtyard drew the attention of the three men, and the abbot dragged himself from his chair and followed the others down to the abbey’s Great Hall.

Moments later, the door burst open and the Macpherson captain entered. Draped over his shoulder, a woman in bare feet was squirming and kicking, despite the ropes that bound her. The hood and gag did little to stop the violent sounds streaming from her mouth.

Behind him, another warrior entered, leading a far more docile prisoner.

“Two women?” Alexander asked. “Why are there two?”

Diarmad dumped his writhing burden unceremoniously on the stone floor and looked at the two brothers. “This one is no woman. It’s a she-devil.”

“I can see that.”

“They were together. We didn’t know which one was the MacDougall lass.”

James walked toward the two prizes. “Well, it looks like our bargaining position has improved a wee bit. Let’s just see what we have here.”

When he pulled the hood off the calmer of the two, blonde hair tumbled down onto shapely shoulders and doe-like eyes blinked at him.

“Well,” Alexander grumbled. “At least, you got Emily.”

“Aye,” James said in an odd tone. “And she’s grown into a bonnie lass, I should say.”

“What of this one, m’lord?” Diarmad jerked his head at the other woman, who for the first time ceased to fight.

Alexander crouched beside her and untied the gag. It struck the abbot that the Highlander treated her with more gentleness than he might have expected.

“Careful,” Diarmad warned. “She’ll bite you as soon as look at you. I’ve got claw marks up and down my arms from her.”

Standing up, Alexander pulled off the hood. Long, chestnut-colored hair spilled out in waves.

“Bloody hell,” he murmured.

Violet-blue eyes stared at him with disbelief that quickly gave way to cold fury.

“You puny, white-livered pigeon egg!” she rasped.

Alexander glanced at James and then looked hard at Diarmad. “I’ll tell you what to do with her.”

“Now, Alexander—” his brother began.

“You can carry my wife to the top of this tower and throw her into the sea.”

2

“Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,

Men were deceivers ever—

One foot in sea and one on shore,

To one thing constant never.”

Kenna’s sins obviously outweighed any good deed she’d ever performed in this lifetime. She’d clearly bypassed purgatory and dropped straight into hell.

This was her worst nightmare come to life. She never imagined her path would ever again cross with Alexander Macpherson’s.

At least, not looking like such a mess.

In her dreams, she was clothed in golden armor and holding a fiery sword, and Alexander was the one in tatters, groveling in the dirt.

“Throw me into the sea? I’ll cut off any man’s hand before he lays a finger on me. Especially yours, blackguard.”

Alexander crouched before her. His deep blue eyes were as striking as she remembered. The long lashes and chiseled face served to remind her why women made fools of themselves in his presence. His dark blond hair was longer. Tied in the back, it reached below his shoulders. The square set of his jaw was covered with a scruff of beard.

There was a rakishness, an insolence about him that he’d contained the handful of times they’d met before. He wasn’t even trying now. He gave her a slow, thoroughly insulting inspection, starting with the wild mass of curls falling loose around her face, and ending about an eon later at her bare feet. She could not help but notice that his gaze passed quickly over the state of her dress but lingered far too long on her mouth and her breasts.

Kenna couldn’t control her blush. He made her feel as though she were sitting there without a stitch of clothing on.

“And how are you going to cut anything, wife? With that dagger of a tongue in your head?”

Kenna tried to kick him. With the agility of a cat, he evaded the attack. She had a dirk tucked into her belt, but it was impossible to reach it with the ropes confining her. She scrambled to her feet.

“Free my hands, coward, if you are any kind of man. Which I doubt.”

“What were you thinking, bringing this harridan here?” Alexander barked at his men. “You saw her at my wedding. You knew what she bloody looked like.”

“We grabbed her from behind, m’lord. And we had no idea she’d be there.”

“Now you know. Take her back.”

Kenna turned a fierce glare on the ones who’d kidnapped them. The men were giving them both a wide berth. “You heard him. Take us back.”

“Will you be silent, woman!” Alexander commanded. “No one is talking to you.”

She didn’t miss her aim this time, and her foot made contact with his boot. Excruciating pain streaked upward through her leg. She leaned against a stone pillar, waiting for the agony to abate. He seemed unaffected by the blow. She glanced at her cousin. Emily was still tied. She tried to move to Kenna, but James Macpherson held her back.

“Send her with the abbot,” the older brother continued. “Tell the bloody MacDougall it’s a sign of our good faith in the negotiation.”

“Negotiation?” Kenna asked him. “Still trying to find yourself a husband, Alexander?”

“Keep her tied. And put the gag and the hood back on her. I wouldn’t want to tempt anyone with drowning her before they get to Craignock Castle.”

“I asked a question, you rank, half-witted pignut.”

The blue gaze swung around to her.

“One would think that the disposition and character of someone living with nuns for six months might have improved just a wee bit. That some of their holiness might have rubbed off on you.”

“You dare talk to me about character?”

“That a woman living with all those religious people might have become a better person. But not you. Only Kenna MacKay could end up sounding more ill-mannered than before. And why am I not surprised?”

“Because you’re an idiot,” she retorted, straightening up. “The only thing I needed to improve on was learning how to lower myself to converse with you, a churlish chicken-stealer so conceited that he calls himself my husband.”

“So you acknowledge that you have a husband. That’s new.”

“I did have one for a few short hours.”

“You still have a husband,” he said angrily, towering over her.

She glared up at him. “Nay, our marriage has been annulled.”

“Nay, it has not. We’re waiting for the ecclesiastic tribunal to meet. And since I’m the one who requested the annulment, I should know when the decision will be handed down.”

“That’s just a technicality. I’ve made my home at the priory.”

“You mean you’ve escaped to that bloody priory.”

“It was not an escape.”

“Call it what you will,” he interrupted. “You escaped in the night like a thief. You broke your marriage vow and disappeared, without a care for anyone you left behind.”

The cutting anger in his eyes made Kenna shiver. He was a head taller than her, dangerous. But she’d never feared him. She wasn’t going to start now. She stood her ground, refusing to back off.

“So you wish to speak of marriage vows? You went to a wench’s bed on our wedding night. Break marriage vows? You shattered them.”

“That was a misunderstanding. A prank arranged by my brother Colin.”

“I don’t care to hear this,” she fumed. “I don’t care how you got there or how long before you realized where you were. And don’t say you were drunk. You didn’t give a damn whose bed you crawled into, just as you didn’t care a straw who you were marrying.”

“Contracts were signed.”

“Between you and my father.”

“I don’t recall anyone dragging you in chains to the kirk.”

“That’s enough, you two,” James Macpherson ordered, stepping between them. He glared from one to the other.

Kenna felt scorched by the heat of Alexander’s gaze over his brother’s shoulder, and she did her best to return the look. He opened his mouth to say more and then snapped it shut.

“This is not the time or place for you two to revisit your rosy past,” James said sternly.

Kenna bit back unspoken words of anger, words pent up in her for the past six months. Turning her back on them, she looked past the line of trestle tables at the large carved stone cross set into the wall.

“Unfasten these ropes,” she hissed under her breath.

Footsteps approached. A knife cut the cords. She didn’t know if it was Alexander or James. The ropes dropped to the floor by her bare feet. She rubbed her arms and looked down at the stained dress, ripped in places from the fight she’d put up when they were taken. The Macphersons’ reckless disregard for danger today surpassed even their reputation. They were pirates and privateers, but Kenna knew they would not hurt a woman. Emily would be safe until arrangements were made for her freedom. But she needed to get out of here.

Negotiation. Captives. Extravagant dowries. The conversation she’d had with Emily earlier in the day filled the gaps in what she’d heard moments ago. Kenna realized why they were taken. The MacDougall laird had been dimwitted enough to think he could take a Macpherson ship and make it part of his daughter’s dowry. But there was no logic in that, whatsoever. Kenna wondered if Graeme MacDougall had consulted with her father about this. At least until the annulment was granted, her marriage to Alexander made the MacKay and Macpherson clans allies, and this made the MacDougalls distant kin, too.

Facing the others again, she found James cutting the ropes off of Emily’s arms. Alexander loomed over the abbot, listening to whatever he was whispering, but his gaze remained fixed on her.

“Send me back with the abbot,” she told him. “I’m ready to go.”

Whatever composure Emily had been maintaining disappeared. “Nay! Please. You cannot leave me here.” She rushed to Kenna’s side. "Please, you have to stay with me.”

Kenna hugged her cousin, troubled to find her shaking like a leaf.

“Abbot,” James said. “We need a place to keep the two women until we make a decision.”

Kenna shot a glance at Alexander, who was scowling at his brother. The abbot gestured to a novitiate hovering in the shadows by the door.

“You, lad, show them up to the tower chamber above mine.”

“Diarmad, go with them,” James ordered. “Make certain the two ladies are safely and securely settled while we finalize our arrangements here. And Abbot, can you send a nun up with a cloak and a dress and shoes that might fit Lady Kenna?”

A born politician and peacemaker, James Macpherson had reportedly played an active role in finalizing the arrangements for her marriage to Alexander.

“You will not cause trouble while you’re here,” Alexander warned, his sharp words directed only at her.

A dozen retorts burned on her tongue, but she chose silence and ushered Emily after the young monk. Diarmad followed at a watchful distance.

Kenna was relieved to go. She couldn’t stand Alexander’s scrutiny any longer. He undid her, and not just in firing up her temper. He was her husband. She’d not forgotten that. Not for an instant. When it came to Alexander Macpherson, she always felt like a young lass caught up in her first flush of infatuation.

Prior to their wedding, she had wasted too much time worrying about what kind of wife she’d be. She lacked the skills of the legion of wenches that he’d infamously wooed and bedded. And she had none of the refined ways of the court lasses who’d been chasing him for years. After her mother’s death, she’d been raised by MacKay men. She knew how to hunt and ride a horse and use a lance and dirk and short sword, but she never cared about acquiring the courtly manners of young noblewomen.

She was not a suitable match for Alexander Macpherson. She’d tried to convince her father to break the contract. But his hurtful words, still fresh in her mind, only affirmed what she already knew:

You are so flawed in your manners. So lacking in even the basic knowledge of what you need to be the wife of the next Macpherson laird. And yet fortune has somehow smiled on our clan in him agreeing to overlook your faults and take you as his wife. Now, you will do your duty for a change and cease your complaining.

And as she’d departed his chambers, he’d called out after her:

You muddle this chance, lassie, and you no longer have a home in Castle Varrich. You will no longer be welcome in Clan MacKay.

So Kenna made her decision before she took the marriage vow.

She would run since she no longer had a father. She would run since she no longer had a clan. She refused to be a pawn in Magnus MacKay’s game. So she ran.

Emily clung to her arm and continued to cry softly all the way up the tower stairs.

The chamber was small. The sparse furnishings included a small cot and some blankets, a three-legged stool, and a table. Kenna waited until she heard the latch drop into position on the other side of the door before checking the two windows. Three flights up, one overlooked the courtyard. The other faced the sea.

“I cannot stay here. I have to get away from him.”

“Please, you cannot leave me here alone with them,” Emily pleaded. “We cannot let them separate us.”

“But I can go back with the abbot and arrange for your freedom by tomorrow.”

“That’s unthinkable, Kenna. My reputation will be destroyed if I’m left alone in their clutches.”

“Listen, I would never admit this to that knave in the Great Hall, but the Macphersons are not villainous ruffians. They’re as respectable a clan as you’ll find in the Highlands, and they’re doing this only to reclaim what was taken from them.”

“Are you defending them? They kidnapped us!”

“I am not. But I cannot be blind to the fact that their ship was stolen, either. Did you know a Macpherson ship was part of your dowry?”

“How could I? I wasn’t included in the marriage discussions. No one told me where the ship came from, exactly. Everything I know has come to me as rumor.”

“So typical of our fathers!”

“But we must stay together. You certainly see that,” Emily urged. “James and Alexander may not be villains, but they’re no saints, either. We both know it. Everyone else knows it, too. When the whispering begins, my reputation will be destroyed.”

Kenna looked about the room. She didn’t want to think that it was her husband that Emily was talking about, but she knew it was the truth.

“Sir Quentin would turn his back on me without a second thought if he were to find out I was left alone with these Highlanders. My family needs this marriage to come about, Kenna. You must wait with me.”

Kenna took the dirk from her belt and walked to the window.

“What are you doing?”

“I have a different plan.”

* * *

His brother was talking, but Alexander wasn’t listening.

He still wanted her.

Since the debacle of a wedding last winter, every time he thought about Kenna, his insides got so riled up that he didn’t know what to do. Seeing her today didn’t help at all.

The union had seemed perfect. The match extended the influence of the powerful Macpherson clan, adding control of the shipping lanes of the North Minch, and the MacKays gained protection from attacks by neighboring clans while the twin sons of Magnus MacKay grew up and came of age.

So what if it was an arranged marriage? he thought. He was doing his duty as the eldest son and the next Macpherson laird, and she had a responsibility to her clan. And there had been sparks between them from the very first meeting. He’d felt it, and he was certain she did, too.

And it wasn’t only her striking eyes and sensual mouth and flawless skin that had captured his attention. Alexander had known many beauties in his twenty-seven years. But she had an intensity that was impossible to hide. Passion that showed through, regardless of the formality of those meetings. There were rumors of her fearlessness and her temper. Each time they met, she had been escorted by MacKay women, guided as to what to say, where to go, and how to behave. But it was impossible to hide the untamed spirit that shone in those magical violet-blue eyes.

Only once had he kissed her, on the kirk steps after their wedding. But the surge of awareness that rushed through him, sending his heartbeat skittering, had told him everything he needed to know. Or so he thought.

And then came the bloody prank. Thanks to his youngest brother Colin, he’d ended up in bed with the mistress of a French ambassador. To this day he was certain that nothing had happened between them. Fairly certain.

He was sprawled half-naked next to the woman, sound asleep when the MacKay servants barged in. The news quickly spread. Alexander was embarrassed. Colin had confessed. Apologies followed. The MacKays knew it was a prank. Everyone knew it was a prank. Everyone except Kenna.

That was because she was already gone.

A thousand conflicting thoughts still burned in Alexander’s brain. He had been ready to go after her, find her, and bring her back. But then he’d pieced together the truth about her departure. Kenna had run off before the embarrassing prank. He learned that she had planned her escape even before their wedding.

“Have you heard one word I’ve said?”

Alexander turned around sharply. Everyone else had left the Great Hall. “The abbot and Diarmad will take Kenna and our terms to Craignock Castle. We get our ship back at Oban tomorrow.”

“I knew you weren’t listening. Kenna stays here.”

“She goes.”

“This is no time to be pigheaded. Even though the MacDougall started this, we should be sensitive to Emily’s position.”

“We’ll bring along a couple of nuns with us to attest that her virtue is intact.”

“We don’t need any nuns. Kenna is blood kin to the MacDougalls. Her word that Emily was kept safe will outweigh a convent full of nuns.”

For months, Alexander struggled with the insanity of being married to a runaway bride. At first, he’d hoped he could forget about her, but he’d been wrong. When he found out where she was, he was driven nearly mad over what he should do. Part of him wanted to ride to Glosters Priory and drag her back to Benmore Castle, and part of him wanted to burn the priory down with her in it.

“She goes. The plan was always to kidnap the MacDougall chit. That’s all.”

“Her name is Emily,” James retorted. “And plans change. Now that we have Kenna, we need to keep them together.”

Kenna. Alexander couldn’t rub out the image of her standing here barefoot, her hair wild and her clothes in disarray. She inflamed him in every conceivable way. But in those moments, the idea of her long, creamy limbs tangled with his in a bed set his heart hammering, sending fiery desire to parts of him that should remain neutral. It was no use. He wanted her, and she was his wife.

His wife. All he could think of now was that she was his. That she should be his. Frustration welled up inside of him. He wouldn't take her against her will. He would not crush the spirit in her, but allowing her to stay in the abbey—stay in the abbey with him—was not an option. She was like a falcon, untamable. She would have to come to him of her own accord. That was the only way, even if it killed him. But she hated him. The contradictions tore at him.

“This is a mistake, brother,” he growled. “You know better than anyone where things stand between us.”

“That was six months ago. This is now.”

“Nothing has changed. She doesn’t want to be near me. Near any of us,” Alexander fumed. “You know what happened when I sent her that bloody letter explaining things. I laid it all out for her. Told her my feelings for her, by ‘sblood! And what was her response?”

His brother said nothing.

“She burned it in front of the messenger and sent back the ashes, saying she never wanted to hear the Macpherson name again.”

“Perhaps her feelings have changed.”

“Did it look like that to you today?”

“Well, I accept the possibility that you and Kenna might kill each other over the next day or two. But that is a chance I’m willing to take. I don’t care to start a clan war because we damaged the reputation of a virtuous woman.”

“They took our bloody ship.”

“True enough,” James replied. “And we’re getting it back, using negotiation.”

“By the devil, James, why do you always have to be such a politician?”

“Because we need to use our brains in this business as much as brawn. Reason is what’s called for here.”

Alexander’s attention was drawn to the base of the stairs, where a nun was moving into the shadows and hurrying to the door of the Great Hall.

“Then you’d best direct your reason that way, little brother, for there goes Emily.” He pointed. “And while you do that, I’ll just take my brawn up to the tower room and make sure that my troublemaking wife hasn’t murdered an old nun.”

* * *

Roxburghshire, Scotland

The twilight air hung heavy with the scent of battle and blood. Corpses dotted the greying landscape. In the center of it all, the castle rose up beside the river like a brooding beast. The high gate yawned wide at the horrors around it. And in the stronghold’s belly, the rank, dark dungeons bulged with dozens of the ill-fated.

Sir Ralph Evers moved across the bloody ground. Wounded Scots cried out for mercy, praying for a quick death, a sword thrust to the heart.

Before fighting his way into these Scottish Borders he had been Governor of Berwick-upon-Tweed, Commander in the North, Warden of the East March, High Sheriff of Durham. But none of these titles held a straw against what lay ahead.

In the name of King Henry, he was the Scourge of the Borders from sea to sea. Every town and farm was his to take. Every tower house and manor was his to destroy. Every Scot he came across was his to bleed. And bleed they did, for he had no time for prisoners. Unless they had a king’s ransom to pay.

More than wealth, more than titles, more than the gratitude of his king, he believed in power...and fear. They were the only ‘real’ things in the world. In his world.

And he saw it in the eyes of every groveling peasant and laird that knelt begging before him.

Horsemen appeared by the river. Donald Maxwell, with his sharp hawk’s eyes, spotted him and led his band of renegade Lowland cutthroats up the hill to where Evers waited. An old man, his white hair matted and bloody, stumbled along behind them at the end of a long tether.

“Sir Ralph,” he said, dismounting and reeling in the old man like a stray dog. “I’ve got a prize for you.”

Evers nodded but said nothing.

“This one is called Cairns, and they say in the village that the old bastard possesses great knowledge of the dark arts. He even knows the secrets of the dead.”

Evers stared at the man with little interest. These ignorant Scots. Every village they plundered had a witch or wizard. Fools. Frightened villagers spewing nonsense to preserve their lives for an hour longer. Even the entertainment of it was growing stale.

“Well, old man,” he demanded. “Is there any truth in what they say?”

Cairns said nothing, but his restless eyes scanned the field of dead bodies around him.

Maxwell struck him across the face, driving him to the ground. “You will speak when his lordship addresses you.”

The old man, on his knees, stared at the blood running from his mouth to the black earth. He glanced up only once at Evers but said nothing. Still, his wizened face, closed and guarded, bespoke secrets.

Sir Ralph’s eyes narrowed. He knew nothing of sorcery or magic. But he knew about strength and control and power. These things Cairns had…for the moment.

“Take him to Redcap Sly,” he told Maxwell. His master of torture. An artist of the first order.

Whatever Cairns had or knew, it would all be Evers’s before the dismal Scottish sun rose again.

3

“If I had my mouth, I would bite;

if I had my liberty, I would do my liking:

in the meantime, let me be what I am,

and seek not to alter me.” 

“Forgive me, Sister. Normally, I would never raise a hand against any member of the church, but the desperate nature of our situation here demands drastic action.”

The grey-haired woman, stripped of her habit, veil, and wimple, sat bound and gagged and entirely unhappy in a corner. Her furious glare told Kenna that there was no forgiveness in that old heart at the moment, no matter what the reason.

“Where are you, cousin?” Kenna peered down at the courtyard. She’d given her word that she would not climb down the tower wall until she saw Emily clear of the building and running for the gates.

Every blanket and rag in the chamber had been cut into strips and tied into one length of rope. They had even broken up the cot and used the woven pieces of cord that supported the straw tick. The clothing the nun brought up for her had been cut and added to the lengths she’d be using to escape the tower.

Ignoring the woman’s fierce looks, Kenna tested the strength of the knots.

“Finally.” She smiled, seeing her cousin in the courtyard, Emily paused for a moment to look up at the tower before hurrying toward the gates.

“I’m eternally grateful for the clothes and the shoes, Sister. I’ll make arrangements to have them replaced.”

The nun shook her head vehemently. Kenna moved to the window facing the sea and opened the shutter. The sun was dropping quickly toward the horizon, and the cool breeze whistled through.

“Don’t worry about me. Even as a young lass, I was climbing greater heights than this.” Usually using good rope, she added silently, but that wasn’t going to stop her now.

Always given free rein as a child, Kenna had enjoyed every rugged adventure she could find. After her mother’s death, she had been essentially cut loose to run wild. Her father had his boys by then and clan affairs to oversee. Only twelve years old, Kenna found plenty to occupy her time. All of it dangerous.

She looked down at the wide ledge at the base of the tower wall. Beyond it, a high cliff dropped to a grey-blue sea.

“This will hold my weight. Don’t give it another thought.” The assurance was more for herself than for the nun.

One end of the line was tied to the frame of the bed that she’d slid to the window.

Her captive’s muffled complaints grew more alarmed when Kenna dropped the coiled line out the window. It didn’t quite reach the ledge, but the distance remaining looked to be a manageable drop. She cast one final look back at the nun.

“Wish me well.”

Kenna climbed out and the bed shifted. On the outside, she almost lost her grip as she dropped a foot and jerked to stop, banging hard against the side of the stone tower.

“I can do this,” she whispered, holding on tight. The shoes were too big and one slid off. She kicked off the other one, too, and started down. Her descent was slow. The wind buffeted her against the rough stone. Her hands were burning from the knotted rags and rope. As she descended, the ledge between the tower and the cliff seemed to shrink by half. Her legs wrapped around the makeshift line. Kenna snaked her way down, focusing on her next handhold and forcing back any hint of fear.

Her plan had been made hastily. She would meet Emily outside of the walls and once they were clear of abbey land, they’d find shelter for the night and get word to the castle tomorrow. This was all MacDougall territory. Any of the crofters would surely help them. And away from Alexander, Kenna would be able to think straight.

The thought of her husband finding them gone was a satisfying one.

The Macphersons would not rest until they had their ship back, but they would need to find another way of going about it. Kenna would speak to her father when he arrived at Craignock Castle. That would be their first communication since the wedding—with the exception of exchanging two letters: him ordering her to return to her husband, and her refusing his directive. She did it politely, but it was still a refusal. Even so, he’d want to get involved in this. She was certain he’d known nothing of Emily’s dowry, but perhaps the MacKays could do something to renegotiate the marriage terms with the Lowlander.

Almost at the bottom, Kenna gasped as the rope suddenly lifted and she slammed hard against the building. Cursing, she looked up and found Alexander leaning out of the window above her.

“Are you mad, woman?” he called down.

Kenna had heard no shouting, no call to his men for help. Perhaps his pride wouldn’t allow it.

Then he began to pull her up, and panic seized her.

She loosened her grip and slid down, quickly reaching the last knot. She had to jump, but the drop to the ledge seemed so far now. And with every second, the distance was increasing. But she wouldn’t be hauled in like some salmon on a line.

Below her, the narrow ledge waited. She could do this. Once down, she was fast enough to get away before he came down the abbey steps and out through the courtyard. So long as Emily was already clear of the gates, their plan would work.

The rope shifted, and she hit the building again, jarring her shoulder.

“By the Virgin,” she prayed. “Don’t let me break a leg.”

Her landing was far from graceful. She landed on a rock, rolling her ankle and sending her sprawling.

“Shite, shite, shite,” she cursed, feeling pain shoot right to her hip.

Breathless from the impact of the fall, she tried to gather her strength. A dark image appeared above her.

She blinked. “Oh, Satan’s hairy arse.”

Using her makeshift rope, the beast was speeding down the side of the building. He appeared to have wings, and she guessed he’d be on top of her in seconds.

Kenna scrambled to her feet, but the pain in her ankle told her she wouldn’t be outrunning him. Her second choice was the cliff. She peered past the edge at a small opening of water among the rocks. She could certainly break her neck going that way.

He landed beside her with the ease of a cat.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Her heart pounded violently in her chest, but she refused to look at him. Stretching a hand instead toward the colorful western sky, she replied casually, “This is far too beautiful an evening to stay locked up in a tower room. I decided to come out for some air.”

“Air? Is that what you are after? Well, I’ll give you air then.”

He grabbed her hand. She spun around, shoving at his chest. There was no escape. Instead, he snaked his arm around her and pulled her hard against him.

Suddenly, the ledge was behind her, and they were flying. Alexander never let her go.

No experience in her past could match the feeling in Kenna’s stomach. A scream that she later realized belonged to her echoed off the craggy bluffs speeding by, but there was no crunching of bones at the bottom. No spattering of brains on the rocks. Just a quick cut downward through the surface of the pool, the shock of cold water, the sharp taste of brine in her mouth, and then the rapid ascent to sunlight.

Clutching at him, Kenna gasped for air, coughing up seawater. She couldn’t catch her breath. Her heart was still lodged in her throat. The water was cold, but the air was colder on her face.

He pushed the hair out of her eyes and pulled her to him.

Her coughing subsided and Kenna’s gaze fell on the muscles of his neck. She glanced up past the droplets of water clinging to his lips and then to his eyes. Their gazes locked, and his arms tightened around her as his kicking legs kept them afloat.

Alexander Macpherson had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen in her entire life, and they were staring intently at her now.

Kenna felt a jolt deep in her belly; she read hunger in that face. Flustered by the way her treacherous body responded to him, she still could not bring herself to push him away.

“Was that air enough for you?” His voice was low and washed over her like silk.

Her gaze flitted upward toward the top of the cliff.

“And you say I’m crazy? You’re absolutely out of your mind.” Her hands encircled his thick neck. She wanted to strangle him. “Your life might not have any value, but mine does, and I have no death wish. But more importantly, know this. I successfully escaped from you in this world; I have no desire to have you follow me into the—”

He crushed her lips beneath his, silencing her. Kenna’s hands fisted and wedged between them. But her cheating body wouldn’t muster the strength to push him away. It had been so long since she felt that delicious spark she'd only ever felt with him. Shockwaves shuddered through her. His strong body pressed against her own. She wanted to be even closer. With an inaudible sigh, Kenna gave in, leaning into him, into the kiss. Her hands clenched his shirt as she welcomed the feel of those hard lips.

She knew the moment a sense of urgency seized him. His hands wrapped tighter around her, one clutching at her back, the other cupping her bottom. The pressure of his lips increased and Kenna melted deeper into the kiss. His tongue was soft and hard and she instinctively opened to him when he started sampling, tasting, learning the texture of her mouth. And her tongue responded to his, tentatively at first, but becoming bolder by the moment as his taste, his scent, the pressure of his body, dazed her mind. She had never experienced this kind of heat, the raw desire growing within her.

His breath was ragged when he abruptly ended the kiss. He stared into her eyes, and she burned with embarrassment for she couldn’t hide how much she’d enjoyed what had just happened.

Taking her hand, he swam to the edge of the rocky pool.

Nothing more was said. So what was she feeling? Disappointment that he’d ended it too soon? Confusion over her body’s reaction? Embarrassment because of her response? Her anger was gone. Kenna’s mind churned to make sense of what just happened, to get a grip on her whirling emotions. He didn’t like her. She hated him. Why would he kiss her? Why did she respond that way?