Highlander's Scarred Angel (Beasts 0f The Highlands Book 2)

by Alisa Adams

  Cenna had no qualms about urging the king to remount and continue on after a short rest. Tristan shook his head with a crooked grin at his new wife and mounted up. The three set off, riding beside each other. The king looked like he was thoroughly enjoying this adventure.

  They pushed on through the evening, but finally stopped for the night. Tristan spread his plaid away from the others and gathered Cenna into his arms. He knew this was not the proper place to make her his but they could not resist coming together in a rush of hunger and passion. Their mouths slammed together as soon as they were under his plaid. His hands were everywhere; the slope of a hip, the fullness of her breasts which fit his hands perfectly, the graceful length of her elegant legs.

  Cenna unabashedly and eagerly explored the width of his muscled chest and back, his steely arms and on down to his thick, strong thighs that had tempted her under his kilt from the moment she had met him. She arched into his hands as he explored her curves, her soft sighs and whimpers urging him on.

  Their tongues played and teased and tangled. Teeth nipped sensitive spots on necks and shoulders. Their lips kissed sweetly and gently and then demanding as their breaths rushed together as if they had been running, hard. Little moans came from Cenna as she chased his mouth with her own, her hips unconsciously bucking against Tristan’s. She wanted more. She wanted all of him.

  Tristan groaned with his desire for her. He was losing control. Cenna was fierce and demanding, in all things it seemed. He gently grabbed her hands and rested his forehead against hers. Their chests heaved against each other as they fought for breath.

  “Mo chridhe, my wife, our first time will be in a proper bed. Not on the hard ground. I love ye more than anything, me Cenna. I want our first to be special, proper,” he said huskily as he nipped her lips. “With no one around,” he whispered.

  Cenna wriggled against him and heard him growl.

  “Tristan,” she gasped as she placed a hungry kiss on his lips, her hips nestled against his. “But—”

  “Not here Cenna. The king is right over there,” he whispered against her lips.

  They stilled, and could hear the quiet sound of the King’s voice as he talked with Friseal.

  Cenna let out a frustrated breath but laid her head on his chest. Within moments she was fast asleep.

  Tristan slept hard with an exhausted Cenna gathered in his arms. Their arms and legs entwined. Her head lay trustingly on his chest, over his heart. His chin rested on the masses of her tawny fragrant hair. He fell asleep with a smile on his face.

  They slept together under his plaid, for the first time, as man and wife.

  He could not wait to reach Fionnaghall and have a proper bed in which to take his new wife and truly make her his. Blissfully, of course.

  * * *

  They reached Fionnaghall the next day. They were met by the Macallan villagers, along with their cows and their chickens and some sheep as well. Little Cait Macallan came running to greet Cenna when she saw that it was she on her huge horse. Her hero, the woman that had saved her and had even burned her hands in the attempt. Cenna leapt down and swept the little girl up into a hug.

  Tristan had a vision of their future together and this very scene playing out with their own child. He watched his wife with a soft smile on his face, thinking of the blissful night they would have. Of someday having their own little girl with tawny hair and bright, crystal green eyes. Of strong sons that were as fierce and brave as their mother. He stared at her until the King nudged him out of his romantic trance.

  “It seems we have arrived before Red Munroe,” the King said to Tristan, for Munroe was nowhere to be seen. “Fionnaghall is white?” the King said with surprise.

  “Aye my King. It caught me by surprise too the first time I saw it. White rock. She gleams prettily in the sun from the sea doesnae she?” Tristan said as he stared at the big, white, pile of stone that was Cenna’s home. It was a castle in much need of repair. It was clear that she was a beautiful place at one time, however.

  “She?” the King asked. “You refer to this castle as she?” He paused. “Yes, I suppose it could only be a female, Fionnaghall meaning white shoulders I am told. She must be female. And overseen by the Ross sisters, warriors all.”

  Cenna joined them with a large smile on her face. She spared a glance to wave at little Cait as she ran off to play with the other children who were surrounding Flori and Ina, and an uncomfortable Loughlin. Cait was insisting he pick her up. He already had three children in his arms. Friseal was showing them all King Georgey the rat. They were enthralled, from the safety of Loughlin’s massive arms.

  “Aye,” Tristan said, agreeing with the King. He let out a laugh when he saw Loughlin’s expression. The huge man seemed covered in small children. He turned back to the King. “Let’s make sure we give Red Munroe a proper welcome, shall we?” Tristan said with a wink as he gathered Cenna against his side. “Happy to be home me wife?” he murmured into her hair.

  “Oh aye, and happy we beat the Munroe to Fionnaghall, and happy the Macallan’s are here!” She sighed as she watched Cait and the other children with Loughlin, Friseal, and her sisters. “Tis good to see life here once again. It seems almost back to normal.”

  The King looked away from Cenna. “Not for long I fear,” he said with his eyes following an entourage approaching the entrance to the castle.

  “Tis Red Munroe,” Cenna said quietly. “I recognize the greased back hair…” she added under her breath. “I wish we had better weapons.”

  The King turned to her. “What do you mean Lady Cenna?”

  “The Disarming Act,” Cenna said with a frown. “All weapons were taken from the Highlanders, save for our hunting weapons, and auld almost archaic weapons.”

  The King studied her and then looked at the oncoming group of soldiers. “It was not meant to let this happen.” He looked at Tristan. “The MacDonell clan was not disarmed. Your chieftain, Laird Gordon, has long been loyal and an important part of our military.”

  “Aye,” Tristan said. “We train the Black Watch Army. But Munroe took my men’s weapons when he threw them in the prison wagons,” he ground out in a stern voice.

  “You have nothing but your knives, swords, bows, and arrows?” the King asked in surprise.

  “She has her lochaber ax,” Tristan said. “She is deadly with it.”

  “You will need more than that against these men,” the King said with a serious tone, as his eyes continued to follow the progress of Red Munroe and his men. “They will have muskets.” He paused. “I fear that very act has allowed Red Munroe to do exactly what he is doing with ease. No one can defend themselves against his tyranny. The Munroes have long been loyal and good. He is an abomination, like his uncle,” he said with a disappointed, angry frown. “Do you not have any weapons? Anything hidden away?”

  “Now that would be illegal, my King,” Cenna said with a small grin. “Well, there is one thing. Me sisters and I purchased it when Mungan was a problem. We never used it as we couldnae get it into position and we were afraid Mungan would report us. To use it to be rid of us by throwing us in jail for illegally purchasing a weapon.”

  Tristan’s head reeled around to her. “What do ye have? Anything at all could sway the odds in our favor!”

  “It is a cannonade. But we couldnae get it to the top of the walls. Mungan had chased off or killed our men. Tis a heavy thing, as are the cannonade balls.”

  The King wasted no time but sent his men to set up the cannonade to aim out over the fields in front of the gate. He was familiar with this new invention. It had only been developed a year ago by an iron works established at Carron near Falkirk. He had several cannonades himself and his men were very familiar with it. “One is not much, but it will help,” he said excitedly as he was directing his men here and there into position.

  Tristan quickly did the same. Calling to Loughlin, Friseal, and his men. He put his best archers atop the walls. He, Loughlin, Friseal, and the three s
isters mounted their horses and waited at the gates. The King was tucked well behind them.

  The rest of Tristan’s men, as well as the King’s men, and even the Macallan villagers that could fight, were tucked to the sides of the gates. The villagers that were left—the old men and women and children and their animals—were instructed to move around within the courtyard as normal until the signal was given to take cover within the castle itself.

  The group sat atop their horses, staying tightly together shielding the King; waiting, watching, as Munroe and his men came up to the gates.

  Red Munroe stopped in front of the open gate. He did not see King George behind them. He had eyes only for Cenna and Tristan. His eyes went behind them to the bustling courtyard full of animals and children. They registered shock.

  “Ye told us twas empty and easy picking!” one of his men called out rudely.

  Cenna noted it was the man who she thought she had pushed down the mountainside and who had later come into camp accusing her.

  “Shut up you fool!” Red shouted back at him.

  Tristan did not move, nor did the others next to him. Their horses swished their tails and stomped their feet now and then but they just stared down at Red Munroe and the men with him. Their superior height on the Clydesdales gave them an advantage that they knew was intimidating.

  Red sat on his horse looking back and forth between Cenna and Tristan. They stared silently down at him.

  “I have come to take Fionnaghall,” Red Munroe said rather brashly.

  Tristan stared at him. Cenna gave him a tight grin. She looked at Tristan briefly and mouthed, “Och please let me crush him.”

  Tristan gave her a subtle shake of his head to which her shoulders slightly deflated. But at Red’s next words she sat up straight again.

  “I will also be taking Lady Cenna. She is to be my wife, and thus this land will be mine.”

  Cenna gripped her reins so tightly that Whins stood straight up, her front hooves pawing at the air in nervousness at her mistress’s distress.

  Red backed his horse away quickly as he stared fearfully up at the giant of a horse rearing over him.

  Friseal rumbled something angrily to Red Munroe, causing his horse, Frightful, to start gnashing his teeth with pinned ears at Red and his horse. Friseal let him.

  “Your horses are insane!” Red shouted angrily, with fear evident in his voice.

  “Are they?” Cenna finally spoke. “Or are they vera well trained?” She looked over and smiled at Friseal, who gave her a proud smile back. She looked back at Red Munroe. “Ye cannae marry me as I am married to Tristan MacDonell.”

  Red studied her, then looked at Tristan. “When?” he said in a curt, clipped voice.

  Tristan started to say something but Cenna spoke up first. “Yesterday,” she said triumphantly.

  Tristan growled under his breath.

  Red sneered. He spoke in a clipped rush. “I daresay it has not been consummated, nor witnessed, or been given permission by the King. Therefore it is not a legitimate marriage and I am free to take you. The MacDonell here only married you to get Fionnaghall himself!”

  Tristan growled louder in his throat and moved Bluebell forward. “Why you vile, mauchit, tolla-thon. You mhac na galla! Ye blaigeard! Ye pios de cac!”

  “Have I made you angry MacDonell?” laughed Red. “Oh yes, his brother has all the power. This one married you for power of his own, Lady Cenna. Were you so foolish to think he…what? Loved you?” He laughed loudly. “Men do not marry for love,” he said with disdain, “they marry for power, only for power!” he finished with a sneer.

  “Ye dinnae know what ye are talking aboot,” snarled Tristan. “If I married Cenna to gain Fionnaghall as was your own intent,” he raged as Cenna’s head whipped toward him, “why did you attack the Macallan village, and the other villages you have been rampaging through?” Tristan demanded in a furious voice.

  “For power! I want all the land I can get. What do I care if those villagers go off to the colonies or who knows where. I am the sheriff!” he screamed. “It is my right to move them off the lands!”

  “It is not your right to kill people, nor steal their lands! None of those people were part of the Clearance Act and well you know it!” Tristan bellowed at him. His voice was mighty and commanding, full of authority and disdain.

  “What do I care?” Red shouted arrogantly at him. “The King is too lazy to ride among his people and see what is going on. He would not care, nor will he ever know!”

  A man on a large, white horse pushed his way through Tristan and Cenna and the others. Red Munroe watched in shock as men—many men—came out and flanked this man. Red looked upwards as a motion caught the corner of his eye. A single cannonade was leveled at him and his men. He looked back at the man on the horse in front of him. Red frowned angrily at him.

  “Who are you?” Red demanded with his voice full of arrogance.

  The man laughed softly, and when he stopped, he looked at Red with a serious face. “I am the end of you,” he spoke quietly.

  “What?” Red demanded again with a curt laugh as he looked back at his soldiers. Some of his men laughed nervously or shifted uncomfortably where they stood.

  ”I said, I am the end of you. You will die this day. Your time has come to an end,” he said very, very softly, and with total surety in his voice.

  Red gave a nervous laugh. “Just who are you?” he demanded again.

  “I am your King. Your King who is not too lazy to ride among his people, nor am I uncaring of what happens to them,” he said simply. “Also, I gave my permission to the marriage between these two people and witnessed the marriage. Their family is one I call friend. You, on the other hand, I do not. I call you traitor. I call you dead. Drop your weapons. All of you.” The King’s voice was still soft and quiet, but it seethed with anger and power.

  King George’s soldiers, Tristan’s Black Watch Army soldiers, the other men from the prison wagons, and the Macallan village came farther forward, and out of the gate of Fionnaghall to surround Red Munroe and his men, who quickly dropped any weapons they carried.

  Loughlin and Friseal moved to join the ring of men around Munroe. Friseal’s horse Frightful thought this was a much better position to snap and bite at Red Munroe. Friseal let him.

  19

  King George and his soldiers escorted Red Munroe and his men to the Edinburgh prison.

  Tristan offered some of his Black Watch soldiers to go with the King but explained to the King that he would not be accompanying them as he had a wedding night to look forward to. The King nodded his head sagely and set off.

  Tristan asked Loughlin if he would have liked to go, but he shook his head no, saying he had to eat some sea birds because he had to prove himself to Flori.

  “Just tell her, man,” Tristan said with a grin.

  “Tell her what?” Loughlin said with utter confusion.

  “Tell her ye love her,” Tristan said simply.

  Loughlin stared long and hard at Tristan, deep in thought, then he looked around for Flori and finding her with the children, he strode off with a purpose in his long strides. Tristan watched as Loughlin did not break stride but grabbed Flori up into his arms and carried her off.

  Tristan could hear Flori admonishing him from where he stood.

  “Loughlin!” Flori screeched in alarm as Loughlin scooped her up and began carrying her away from the children. “I told ye! Ye must ask first. Ye cannae just take me!”

  “I am keeping ye Flori. I told ye this,” Loughlin said as he walked.

  Flori said stubbornly, “Ye cannae just keep someone!”

  “Cenna said she was keeping the Macallan villagers. All of them,” Loughlin answered her. “Then she said she was keeping Tristan. And he said he was keeping her long before she knew she wanted to keep him. She just had to get used to it. Like you,” he said as he stopped and looked at her. “So decide. Di ye want to keep me as I want to keep ye? Because I love ye and I am ke
eping ye. Forever.”

  Flori said something soft, but Tristan could not hear it. He watched as she cupped Loughlin’s face and looked up into his eyes.

  Tristan heard a rumble from Loughlin’s deep voice. Whatever he said seemed to make Flori even happier, for she put her arms around Loughlin’s neck. They disappeared around the outside corner of the castle’s walls.

  Tristan sighed with a deep sense of satisfaction. Now he just had to find Cenna. Where had she gone off to?

  Friseal came up to Tristan as he was standing in the middle of the courtyard, looking around with his hands on his hips.

  “Have ye lost something?” Friseal asked. He held King Georgey the rat and was stroking his tiny head with one giant finger.

  “Where has Cenna gone off to?” Tristan asked, alarm starting to rise in his chest.

  “I believe she is angry…” Friseal said without looking at Tristan, as he continued petting his rat.

  “Angry?” Tristan said with surprise as he stopped looking around for Cenna and focused on Friseal.

  Ina and Aunt Hexy and Aunt Burnie joined them.

  “Oh aye, I think angry,” Ina said as she nodded her head and reached out to touch King Georgey’s little nose.

  “Or vera sad. Mayhap insulted, I dinna know fer sure…” Friseal said calmly as he continued to slowly stroke the rat’s tiny head. “She is a vera fierce woman, in all her emotions dinnae ye know? I think she feels things stronger than most,” he murmured to the rat, who was slowly closing his eyes under the petting.

  Tristan started to ask them something but Aunt Hexy butted in with a loud, dramatic breath.

  “Nay, she is angry not sad! Not me Cenna!” Aunt Hexy exclaimed as she prodded Aunt Burnie.

  Aunt Burnie shook her head in agreement. The few white hairs that stuck up from her balding head wiggled about in the sea breezes coming up and over the cliffs.

  “But—” Tristan tried to speak.

  “She has a right,” Ina said dramatically in her lilting voice, “aye, running away… away. I dare say her heart is fare to be broken into tiny pieces. Like shards of the thinnest glass, so delicate, so precious and fragile. Broken and now blown about in the ocean breeze. Forever lost and forgotten so shattered and scattered are they. Oh, bi crivvens,” she moaned. “Bi crivvens!”