by Jayne Castel
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A woman running from her past. An outlaw determined to triumph over his. The twisted clan-chief who hunts them both. Redemption and healing wounded hearts in Medieval Scotland.
Sister Coira has a secret. She once worked in a brothel and was the favorite plaything of the MacKinnon clan-chief. But since fleeing the hardship of her old life, she has made a new one for herself—as a nun.
Unfortunately, the past has a way of catching up with you.
Coira’s new identity is put in peril the day the leader of an outlaw band turns up badly hurt at the abbey. The clan-chief has put a price on his head, and although she can’t turn an injured man away, Coira knows his presence at Kilbride will put them all in danger.
Craeg MacKinnon has tainted blood. He’s the clan-chief’s bastard brother. Driven by vengeance, Craeg has become a thorn in his half-brother’s side—stealing from him and giving his wealth to the poor.
Despite that she knows she shouldn’t, Coira finds herself irresistibly drawn to the outlaw. Likewise, Craeg can’t keep away from the enigmatic yet alluring healer who has saved his life—a woman who is forbidden to him.
But as the clan-chief closes in, and the Black Death ravages the Isle of Skye, both Coira and Craeg’s lives will be changed forever.
Historical Romances by Jayne Castel
DARK AGES BRITAIN
The Kingdom of the East Angles series
Night Shadows (prequel novella)
Dark Under the Cover of Night (Book One)
Nightfall till Daybreak (Book Two)
The Deepening Night (Book Three)
The Kingdom of the East Angles: The Complete Series
The Kingdom of Mercia series
The Breaking Dawn (Book One)
Darkest before Dawn (Book Two)
Dawn of Wolves (Book Three)
The Kingdom of Mercia: The Complete Series
The Kingdom of Northumbria series
The Whispering Wind (Book One)
Wind Song (Book Two)
Lord of the North Wind (Book Three)
The Kingdom of Northumbria: The Complete Series
DARK AGES SCOTLAND
The Warrior Brothers of Skye series
Blood Feud (Book One)
Barbarian Slave (Book Two)
Battle Eagle (Book Three)
The Warrior Brothers of Skye: The Complete Series
The Pict Wars series
Warrior’s Heart (Book One)
Warrior’s Secret (Book Two)
Warrior’s Wrath (Book Three)
The Pict Wars: The Complete Series
Novellas
Winter’s Promise
MEDIEVAL SCOTLAND
The Brides of Skye series
The Beast’s Bride (Book One)
The Outlaw’s Bride (Book Two)
The Rogue’s Bride (Book Three)
The Brides of Skye: The Complete Series
The Sisters of Kilbride series
Unforgotten (Book One)
Awoken (Book Two)
Fallen (Book Three)
Claimed (Epilogue novella)
Epic Fantasy Romances by Jayne Castel
Light and Darkness series
Ruled by Shadows (Book One)
The Lost Swallow (Book Two)
Path of the Dark (Book Three)
Light and Darkness: The Complete Series
All characters and situations in this publication are fictitious, and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.
Fallen, by Jayne Castel
Copyright © 2020 by Jayne Castel. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the author.
Published by Winter Mist Press
Edited by Tim Burton
Cover photography courtesy of www.shutterstock.com
Map by Jayne Castel
Celtic cross image courtesy of www.pixabay.com
Visit Jayne’s website and blog: www.jaynecastel.com
***
To my wonderful readers—this wouldn’t be possible without you
***
Contents
Map
Prologue
I Will Die First
1
Uncanny
2
Taking Risks
3
Just a Man
4
Thwarted
5
Happy Endings
6
Sickness
7
Unnatural Behavior
8
Until My Last Breath
9
Ships in the Fog
10
Unrepentant
11
A Fiery Dawn
12
Distracting Thoughts
13
The Odds are Against Them
14
Breaking Bread
15
No Way Back
16
Yer Luck Has Run Out
17
I Will Do What I Can
18
Broken
19
Let Me Have Mine
20
No Going Back
21
Remember
22
Face-to-Face
23
The Yoke Breaks
24
Legacy
25
In Yer Debt
26
There Will Be Consequences
27
Undone
28
Tainted Blood
29
Together
30
Ghosts
31
Make Ye Mine
32
Destined
Epilogue
Belonging
More works by Jayne Castel
About the Author
Map
Death leaves a heartache no one can heal,
Love leaves a memory no one can steal.”
—From an Irish headstone
Prologue
I Will Die First
Dunan broch
MacKinnon territory,
Isle of Skye, Scotland
Winter, 1338 AD
COIRA LAY UPON the bed and thought about the best way to kill him.
She could lunge for his dirk.
Or she could reach for the heavy iron poker lying next to the hearth.
This was her chance, and yet she didn’t take it. She’d swing for murdering a clan-chief anyway—so it was just as well that she lacked the courage to act upon her thoughts.
The young man in question—Duncan MacKinnon—was getting dressed a few feet away, whistling a smug tune as he laced his braies and reached for his léine. Now that his lust had been slaked, he had no use for her.
Coira watched him go through his usual routine, hate cramping her belly.
Every part of her body hurt.
She lay naked on her side, resisting the urge to curl up into a tight ball—resisting the urge to whimper. Instead, she breathed shallowly. Her gaze never left the tall, broad shouldered figure who pulled on his léine—a loose shirt laced at the throat—before buckling on his belt.
He was handsome, yet she’d soon learned that the clan-chief’s good looks hid much
that was rotten beneath.
Running a hand through his short brown hair, MacKinnon then fixed her with his storm-grey gaze, and an arrogant smile quirked his mouth.
“That was a delight,” he drawled. He then circuited the big bed, to where he’d heeled off his boots earlier in a hurry to disrobe so that he could plow his favorite whore. As he passed her, MacKinnon slapped Coira’s naked bottom. “Ye always give a man good sport, don’t ye?”
Drawing in a slow, measured breath, Coira squeezed her eyes shut. Rage, hot and prickly, rose up within her. Hate thundered in her breast; her heart pounded painfully against her ribs. She took one deep breath, and then another. Her fingers clutched at the tangled sheets upon which she lay.
She didn’t answer him. And she knew he wouldn’t care.
MacKinnon didn’t visit her for conversation.
She listened to the scuffing sounds while he pulled on his boots and then his heavy tread as he left the chamber, the door thudding shut behind him.
After that she heard the creak of the floorboards while the clan-chief walked across the landing and descended the stairs to the lower levels of The Goat and Goose, Dunan’s most popular brothel.
Still lying upon the bed, Coira squeezed her eyes shut even tighter. A tear managed to escape nonetheless, trickling down her temple and onto the sheet beneath. However, it wasn’t a tear of despair, but of fury.
Today, on this bleak winter’s morning, she’d had enough.
I will never suffer that man’s touch again, she vowed. I will die first.
Slowly, she opened her eyes and pushed herself up into a sitting position. Glancing down at herself, Coira tensed when she saw the raised red welts on her breasts, belly, and thighs. As usual, he’d been rough—pummeling, squeezing, and pinching her body as he rutted her.
Coira rose to her feet, swaying slightly as her head spun from the pain that knifed between her thighs. Out of all the men who visited this brothel, MacKinnon was the one she dreaded the most. Few of the customers were gentle, but the clan-chief delighted in hurting her, in humiliating her. Trembling, Coira wrapped her arms around her torso. This time had been one of the worst.
Her gaze dropped then to where a rumpled, dark robe lay pooled at the foot of the bed.
A nun’s habit. It was one of MacKinnon’s peculiarities. Part of what got him really excited was for her to dress up as a nun. He went into a frenzy at the sight of it, his gaze gleaming with lust when he ripped the habit off her.
Coira had no idea why such a guise excited him. But she preferred not to delve into Duncan MacKinnon’s motivations. She didn’t want to think about the man at all.
Bile rose in her throat, and she swallowed hard.
It’s time. I’ll not suffer this life any longer.
Moving stiffly, for each step pained her, she walked to a corner of the chamber and pushed back the heavy curtain, to reveal a wash bowl and a collection of kirtles hanging against the stone wall. The gowns mocked her, like brightly colored butterflies.
She got to keep little of the coin she earned at The Goat and Goose, but Maude, the woman who ran this place, liked her lasses to be dressed well. The brothel had a reputation, and the old woman wanted her whores to do her proud.
Coira flushed hot then, and she thought of how she would have liked to take an iron poker to Maude as well as MacKinnon. The woman knew what a beast he was, but she didn’t care. In the three years Coira had worked in this place, Maude had never shown her the slightest softness, sympathy, or consideration. She was merely a body, to be sold for silver.
Her feelings didn’t matter.
The desire to reach out, tear those kirtles down, and rip them to shreds with her bare hands flooded through Coira. However, she fought the urge.
Now wasn’t the time for revenge. She had to get out of here.
She hobbled over to the wash basin and cleaned herself as quickly as she could manage. All the while, her teeth ground with pain. The water came away bloodied, but she preferred not to examine what MacKinnon had done. There would be time for that later. Once she had washed, Coira reached for a dun-brown léine and the plainest of all the kirtles—a gown of jade green. She donned the léine first, an ankle length tunic that fell softly over her bruised body. The kirtle went on next, lacing up over her aching breasts. It hurt to pull on her leather ankle boots, but she would need them for what lay ahead.
Finally dressed, Coira then sank to her knees in the corner of the alcove. Using the handle of her hairbrush, she pried up a loose floorboard. Underneath was all the wealth she possessed. Three years of awful work, and only four silver pennies shone dully up at her.
But it was better than nothing.
Amongst the pennies, something else gleamed: a small silver ring, tarnished with age. Coira’s throat thickened at the sight of the item of jewelry; it was the only link she now had with her parents. The ring had belonged to her mother, and Coira would have worn it if she wasn’t afraid of Maude. The woman was worse than a magpie.
Coira reached down and picked up the ring, her vision blurring as memories of her mother surfaced. She’d been so wise and strong—and taken too young. Coira slid the ring upon her right hand, her fingers curling into a fist.
Today, she’d remember her mother as she took back her freedom.
Retrieving the pennies, Coira replaced the floorboard and rose to her feet. She then took a heavy woolen cloak from its peg behind the door and left the bed-chamber.
It was a loathsome place, for although it was her home, and where she slept each night, the room had never been Coira’s sanctuary. It was the place where men used her—day in, day out. Sometimes it felt as if the walls were closing in.
Out on the landing, Coira paused a moment. Three other closed doors surrounded her, and behind the nearest one, she could hear a man’s groans as he took his pleasure, followed by a woman’s giggle.
Coira’s throat closed. She never wanted to hear those sounds again.
On trembling limbs, she descended the rickety wooden staircase. Her bed-chamber lay upon the top floor of the brothel, and she passed two other levels on the way down to the common room. On the way there, she heard further sounds of coupling—cries, grunts, and groans. The noises, which had been commonplace for so long now, made her pulse race once more. The Goat and Goose would forever haunt her nightmares.
Maude was downstairs, presiding over the busy common room. A few men reclined in chairs around the fire, tankards in hand. A girl, not yet old enough to service customers, circled the room with a jug of ale, while an older lass perched on one of the men’s knees.
Hot male gazes raked over Coira as she stepped onto the sawdust strewn floor.
“Where do ye think ye are going, lassie?” Maude barked. A portly woman with a florid face, Maude’s low-cut kirtle showed off a fleshy cleavage. She’d once worked as a whore in her younger years, but these days the woman ran this brothel. Maude had a mane of thick blonde hair, now laced with silver, and small, sharp green eyes that missed nothing. That jade gaze narrowed now as it swept over Coira’s cloaked form. “I have another customer for ye.”
Maude motioned toward a hulking man in the corner who was watching Coira with a hungry stare. A chill slithered down Coira’s spine, and suddenly it was difficult to breathe, difficult to swallow.
I have to get out of here.
Meeting Maude’s gaze, she forced herself to speak calmly. “I’ve just seen MacKinnon.” Coira paused there, her gaze holding the older woman’s. Maude knew that she was in no fit state to see other customers directly after the clan-chief had visited her. She hoped she wouldn’t need to spell it out, especially in front of the common room full of men. A squeal intruded then, as the whore wriggled on a customer’s lap. Her name was Greer, a foolish goose of a girl who had only recently joined the brothel. The man had a hand down the front of her kirtle and was groping roughly.
Coira’s legs started to tremble then, and she was glad that the long skirts and cloak hid her fear.<
br />
“I’m off to see the herb-wife,” she continued, “for a poultice.”
Maude’s mouth thinned, her eyes narrowing further. Coira thought that she might refuse her, that her lust for silver would be too great. But then she gave Coira a brisk nod. “Hurry up then. As ye can see, we’re run off our feet this morning.”
Coira nodded back, relief crashing over her. All she cared about was getting out.
A biting wind gusted down the fetid alley outside the brothel. It bit into the exposed skin of Coira’s face and dug through the layers of clothing she wore. Glancing up at the sky, she noted that that it was grey and stormy. Bad weather was on its way. It wasn’t a good day to travel, but she would do so nonetheless.
It hurt her to hurry her stride, to make her way hastily out of ‘The Warren’—the tightly packed network of alleyways of Dunan. Above it all rose the grey bulk of the broch, threatening against the stormy sky. MacKinnon’s lair.
Reaching the busy market square before the North Gate, Coira worked quickly. She bought herself some oatcakes and cheese for the journey, and then made her way toward the gate itself, where she joined the trickle of travelers out onto the road beyond.
The wind was harsh beyond the fortress, battering the high stone walls that surrounded Dunan and tugging viciously at Coira’s cloak. Despite the chill morning and the dank smell of an approaching storm in the air, cottars still worked the fields around the MacKinnon stronghold. This time of the year, many of the fields lay fallow, but it was a time to enrich the soil, to dig in compost, and there were plenty of hardy greens, such as kale and cabbages, which grew all year round.
Coira hesitated only a moment in front of the gate, before she turned left and took the road that circuited Dunan. She’d already made her decision about which direction she was headed in: west. North would take her into MacLeod lands and to the port village of Kiltaraglen. But there was nothing there for her but a life just like the one she was fleeing—and she had no intention of ever working in a brothel again.