by Fiona Faris
Highlander's Dark Seduction
She was a force to be reckoned with, and he always liked riding the storm...
Fiona Faris
Contents
Thank you
About the book
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Extended Epilogue
Afterword
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Highlander's Dark Pride
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Thank you
About the Author
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About the book
She was a force to be reckoned with, and he always liked riding the storm...
Christopher Ellis has only known one home ever since his parents were killed and he was abducted and recruited by brigands. Now, that home is threatened by the arrival of someone named MacTavish. Christopher will go to whatever lengths necessary to keep all that is his. Even if it means kidnapping a certain dark-haired lass.
Rebecca MacTavish is the feisty sister of Alexander. All he wants for her is to find a good man who will cherish and protect her as he has done so far. Rebecca feels that her brother is delusional.
What man would want a woman like her? She had grown up following the drum behind her brother, had no refinements and could fight as well as a man. She had resigned herself to forever being a spinster.
That was until a hot-headed English brigand kidnapped her and forced her to elope.
He must lie to have her, she will do anything to refuse his claim on her...
Chapter One
Rebecca MacTavish stiffened her spine, staring at her kidnapper, all sorts of images running through her head. He stood tall, almost as tall her brother - but he was stocky where Alexander was athletic. His long auburn locks twinkling with red highlights flowed down his shoulders, and his hazel eyes were bright with mirth as he mocked her. His leathery skin spoke of hours spent in the sun. He looked strong, capable and ready to carry out his threats.
What had he meant by saying, ‘Fancy a shotgun wedding?’
Surely, this brigand, who had taken her and her men hostage as they rode home, absolutely could not think that she, an independent Scotswoman, would want to marry an English brigand like himself? It was patently ridiculous and she was inclined to spit in his face.
On further contemplation, watching him stand over her, a smirk on his face, she decided it couldn’t hurt to bring him down a peg or two. She leaned back and aimed a glob of spit at his knee. It hit with the force of a stone flung from a slingshot and his face quickly lost its smugness.
Rebecca knew that she would pay for her temerity but considering all this man had done to her and her family, she was also sure it was worth it. He was a cruel, evil man and when her brother found out what he had done, he was as good as dead.
She and her brother had grown up together on the streets of Edinburgh, often sick and hungry with no one to defend them but each other. When Alexander grew tall enough to join the guard, their situation had improved slightly – at least they always had something to eat, and Alexander had found her a place to stay. Her sojourn as the companion to the commander’s mother was one she cherished as the safest time of her life. Once Alexander went to war for the crown though, Rebecca had opted to follow the drum rather than be left behind. Alexander was her only family after all, and she wanted to be as close as possible should something happen to him.
Something did happen, but it was not a bad thing. Alexander saved a lord, and was rewarded with the hand of one of his daughters in marriage. Holy matrimony for them started off very rocky. All it took was a villainous interloper, several brawls, a kidnapping and rescue but Rebecca was convinced - when she had left Emily and Alexander at Eddingfield Hall to journey back home to Dun Alba - that they were on the right track now.
With the death of Emily’s father, Alexander was needed to sort out his affairs, as the nearest male relative. It made sense that Rebecca should return to Dun Alba, their matrimonial home as his representative, so to finish renovations and guard against re-encroachment from brigands.
These brigands to be exact.
Rebecca was spitting mad to be caught so unprepared. She had underestimated them; she could admit that. Surrounded by men from Alexander’s former regiment, Connell, Alistair, Monroe, Lachlan, and Boyd, she had dropped her guard and as a result, they were ambushed as they slept in an abandoned hut, three days from their own doorstep.
Rebecca was worried for her men. She had not seen them since she woke up alone and locked in a room that looked rather familiar. She suspected that she was a prisoner in her own home. She flicked her brunette hair over her shoulder. It had come down from the thick bun she usually held it in. During the last few months as they had renovated the manor house, she had neglected to cut it and now it hung low, brushing against her ample hips. The brigand followed the flow of it, his eyes bright and interested. She shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting hither and thither, looking for escape.
“Oh, don’t look so scared. I do not force women,” he growled, face scrunched with annoyance. Rebecca looked away from him, face coloring with embarrassment. She had not meant to show fear. She knew that if a man knew that a woman feared him, he was even more likely to take advantage...whatever his mouth said.
“If ye dinna force women,” she pushed the words out of her trembling mouth, “Then what did ye mean aboot a shotgun wedding?”
The man – Rebecca remembered that his men had called him Chris – shrugged.
“It’s a solution to a problem. Doesn’t mean I plan to force myself on you.”
Rebecca’s eyes narrowed. “Solution to what, exactly?”
The brigand stepped closer, veritably looming over her. “Your brother has caused me enough problems. This is my town; he took it away from me. So, I’m taking something he loves.”
“Ah’m nae a wee bawbee to be tossed aboot between ye,” Rebecca spat.
“Of course, you’re no plaything. You’re something your brother loves. He took one of mine, I will take one of his.”
“This is no bairn’s playground ye fool!” Rebecca was almost foaming at the mouth; she was so upset.
Chris scoffed. “Clearly you’ve never been to a playground. Now,” he bent down to look her in the eyes, “if I let you out of this room, will you be a good lassie for me and do as you’re
told?”
She let her eyes speak for her as they shone diamond bright with fury, her teeth and fists clenched. Chris straightened to his feet with a sigh. “I take it that as a no.” He slapped his thigh. “Well, you asked for it. The hard way it is.”
He turned, leaving the room and locking the door behind him. Rebecca sat, her eyes on the locked door, her heart twisting with trepidation.
What have I gotten myself into now?
Her shoulders sagged with despair as she let herself cry for the first time since she woke up in this nightmare.
Christopher was seething with confusion and anger, wondering how a small matronly firebrand could have him twisted in so many knots. He had intended to go into that room and intimidate the girl into doing whatever he wanted but she had shown no fear.
She had spat on him!
What kind of girl is she? He wondered as he tried to figure out what to do next. Whatever it was, he needed to act fast before her brother found out she was in trouble. If Alexander MacTavish came back now, it would mean war. If he married the man’s sister though, Alexander would be forced to negotiate with him and he could recover something of what he had lost. Now that the man had the power of the Caldwell barony behind him, it might not be so easy to rout him out.
But if Chris had leverage, it changed the story completely.
He took a deep breath, straightening his spine resolutely. He would convince Rebecca MacTavish to marry him by fair means or foul and then he would confront Alexander about handing over his district. Chris nodded, feeling firm in his plans.
One of his men came up to him, hand on his weapon.
“What is it, Toby?” he asked as his shoulders dropped with weariness at the prospect of yet more problems.
“It’s the Scotsmen sir. One of ‘em bit Onesmus in the hand. ‘e’s bleedin.”
Chris bit back a curse. “How did he get-” he stopped shaking his head, not really wanting to know, “Never mind. Where’s Onesmus now?”
“‘e’s gittin’ seen to by Jerry. What’re we going to do with ‘em? Shall we kill ‘em?”
“Who? The Scotsmen? Have you taken leave of your senses? Of course, we’re not going to kill them. We’re not trying to start a war with MacTavish!”
“B-but he bit Onesmus!” Toby cried with indignation.
Chris snorted with disgust. “Well then let Onesmus bite him back!” he snapped walking away. He needed away from everybody so he could think. Snatching up the reins for his horse, Pegasus, he took off at a fast trot. He could feel Toby’s puzzled eyes on him. He rarely snapped at his men.
He didn’t need to.
They were a fairly obedient lot for a bunch of brigands. That might have had something to do with how they all came together. When Chris was eight, his father lost his livelihood when the local lord decided to fence the land he used to graze his sheep. No amount of protests would budge the lord and eventually his father was forced to sell his sheep and go to work at the quarry in spite of his weak chest. In two years, he was dead of consumption and his mother was remarried to the site overseer.
Chris was left on his own to fend for himself.
These events made him understand two things; poverty and love did not go together, and the royals would always find a way to screw you. He had taken these lessons to heart and vowed never to be caught napping ever again. He set out on foot, with the vague idea of going to London to earn his living. He knew that a street rat like him had no chance of advancement or even employment anywhere without references. Still, it was not as if he had a choice. There was nothing left for him in the Forest of Dean.
He traveled for two days straight, feeling hungry and cold before he collapsed in a heap at the side of the road, panting. He coughed, feeling a pain in his chest every time he tried to take a deep breath.
I’m dying. He thought, with something like relief.
Just when he thought himself resigned, a strong callused hand grabbed his arm and pulled him up into the air. He made an aborted sound of protest as his body flew into the air and then landed squarely on a warm, hairy piece of flesh. The wind whipped chillingly through his too long hair, making him shiver. There was a warm hard length at his back but in front of him was only a vast expanse of nothing.
His soul froze with terror as the enormous piece of horseflesh beneath him moving sedately forward even as the steel bands belonging to the man behind him held him firmly in place. Chris opened his mouth to scream but was caught up in a coughing fit. By the time he stopped, the sedate trot had graduated into a canter, and the horse was eating up ground at a dizzying rate.
“W-w-where are y-y-you tak-taking me?”
The man behind him patted his chest reassuringly. “Don’t you worry, young lad. You’re safe now.”
Chris was not inclined to believe him, but there was very little he could do from the position he was in. All he could do was wait, observe and be ready to escape at a moment’s notice.
His captors rode for the rest of the day, only stopping for a short break as the sun was sinking over the horizon. The man he was riding with picked him up as if he weighed nothing and put him on the ground. It was the first time Chris had seen his face. It was weathered, almost leathery, his bright cerulean eyes nowhere near as aged-looking as his skin.
He bent down so he was the same height as Chris. “Now lad, you hungry?”
Chris just stared at him. He was old enough to know that there was no such thing as a free lunch. The man laughed, got to his feet and turned his back on Chris. “Name’s Killian. I’m your new master. You do as I say and we’ll get along just fine.”
Chris contemplated running but the man, Killian, was not alone. There were three other men with him, and they all looked quite fast and well fed. In addition, they all had horses and he was on foot. He sighed, sinking to his knees, head bowed in despair. A pair of boots appeared in his line of sight and a soft loaf thrust at him. He reached out slowly and took it. He bit into it, tentatively and the man patted his head.
“Good lad.”
He moved away, chewing on his own loaf as his men fed and watered the horses. Chris swallowed his dry loaf, wishing for something to wash it down with. As if the thought had made it so, one of the men thrust a bowl of soup at him. He took it quickly, almost spilling it in his clumsiness. He drank it down as fast as possible, before they could take it away.
He almost vomited from eating too fast but determinedly resisted. He knew there would be a price to pay for being fed so he was damned well going to keep the food down.
Rebecca paced.
Her mind whirled like a dervish, unable to settle on any one thing.
Where are my men?
Does Alexander know I am missing yet?
What shall I do about this proposal?
How can I escape from this place?
Her eyes went to the window and again she walked toward it; she was in a circular stone tower, the one that had housed the old keep, and the room she was in was one that they had as yet not explored. She suspected that it was some kind of storage room or attic. There were still pieces of hay on the stony floor and the window was nothing but a square hole in the stone wall. There was no glass or wood covering, and she could easily climb out. It was the twenty-foot fall between the window and the ground that was the problem.
Even so, she might have attempted to jump if the ground below were not stony and inhospitable. There was no way she would not break apart upon landing, there was no hope of anything soft to break her fall. Dying would not solve any of her problems.
She gave a sigh, mind turning to her men. The brigand had better be treating them well or there would be hell to pay. She ground her teeth in frustration and then dropped down onto the cold stone floor, sitting cross legged as she tried to breath in and out, in long calming exhales and inhales. If she was going to get out of this in one piece, she needed to be clever and resourceful; she needed to think ahead. She could not do that if she was in a constant temper.