Highlander's Dark Seduction

by Fiona Faris

  “Yes, he did not. I suppose his wife could not have known that at the time, assuming that what Freya said is true.”

  “So, you’re saying I’m the son of a lord?”

  The friar stopped walking. “I’m afraid so.”

  “And…he knows who I am?”

  The friar nodded. Chris stared at him for a long moment. “Is that why you’re here?”

  “Lord Branson did send me to investigate. And that is what I did.”

  Chris stood, lost in thought, simply absorbing this new information. “I…see,” he said at last and glanced at the friar, “And that is why you helped me.”

  The friar regarded him solemnly, his grey eyes wide and guileless. “I helped you because it was past time that somebody did. I did not want to fail you again.”

  Chris frowned. “When did you fail me?”

  “I failed you because I failed to ask questions when Freya appeared with an infant when I did not recall seeing her pregnant. I failed to ask questions when you disappeared until you were too deep in Killian’s clutches for me to help you.”

  “But you did help him,” Onesmus’ voice had Chris turning in surprise. He found his deputy standing behind them, in a wide-legged stance, arms crossed.

  “Onesmus? You knew?”

  His second in command shook his head. “I did not know who you were, but the good friar here made it very clear to me that I was to help you in any way that I could. You see before I joined the Averys, I grew up in an orphanage.”

  “Run by the friars no doubt,” Chris said ruefully.

  “No doubt,” Onesmus agreed with a wry smile, “When you started looking for somebody to help you get rid of Killian, friar Sam contacted me and had me make myself available to you. I did so, but then, you proved a capable leader and so I decided to follow you.”

  It was all a bit much for Chris to take. He turned to the friar with narrowed eyes. “What do you want from me?”

  The friar’s grey eyes grew misty and he blinked a few times. “I want you to be happy my son.”

  “Why?”

  The friar shrugged, turning away, “Perhaps so that I can obtain absolution from my failures.”

  Chris watched him with a frown, unable to understand the friar’s emotion.

  “You see before I became a friar, I was a younger son of a nobleman. When our father died, the title passed to our brother. He married a woman, a beautiful woman named Rosaline. I admit that I fell in love with that woman, head over heels. Knowing how I felt, I thought it prudent to remove myself from the household and joined a local monastery.” He turned to face Chris, a sad smile on his face. “It was the saddest day of my life when I discovered she – and her child too – were dead.”

  Chris’ heart pounded in his chest. “You’re my uncle.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Are you here to claim me?”

  The friar shook his head. “I am here, to ask for forgiveness.”

  “That is quite a tale,” Rebecca settled firmly against him as they lay naked and gleaming with sweat, the fire burning merrily in the grate.

  “Is it not? The brigand turns out to be a lord,” Chris’ tone was slightly bitter.

  Rebecca sat up. “What d’ye mean tae do aboot it?”

  He turned to look her in the eye. “I will do whatever you want.”

  Rebecca frowned at him. “Tis not my place to say.”

  Chris smiled. “If not yours then whose?”

  She reached for him, pulling him close. “Do ye want to claim yer birthright, love?”

  He wrapped his arms around her, his head on her bosom. Closing his eyes, he listened to her heartbeat. “I don’t want anything more than this.”

  The end?

  Extended Epilogue

  Eager to learn what the future holds for Rebecca and Chris?

  Then you may enjoy this extended epilogue.

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  Afterword

  Thank you for reading my novel, Highlander's Dark Seduction. I really hope you enjoyed it! If you did, could you please be so kind to write a review HERE?

  It is very important for me to read your thoughts about my book, in order to get better at writing.

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  Do you want more Romance?

  Turn on the next page to read the first chapters of the prequel to this story, which was my first best-selling novel: Highlander's Dark Pride

  It’s a story about a lass that dreamt to marry the perfect English gentleman, but instead she was forced to wed this Highlander brute…

  Highlander's Dark Pride

  Chapter One

  Emily Caldwell was alighting from the coach, having called on her dear friends, the Carrington’s. She was trying to keep her skirts out of the mud, when Edward Cooke, her father’s steward, rode into the yard of Eddingfield Hall, wet to the bone and shivering.

  “Edward, what brings you?” she asked, shaking the blonde curls out of her face.

  “News,” he replied in a grim voice, sliding off the saddle and squelching over to her. They were of a similar height, as she was tall for a woman, and they looked each other in the eye.

  “Bad news, I’m afraid, Miss Caldwell.”

  Immediately, she turned, her hands twisting nervously as she looked towards the house. Her eight sisters and mother were in there. As was her father, Lord Pritchard Caldwell.

  He was still abed, recovering from injuries he had sustained in the recently concluded war. She looked back at Edward. “It’s Uncle Lawrence, isn’t it? In God’s name, what has happened now?”

  Edward looked away, unable to bear her look. “He has been found guilty of treason. The title of Baron of Eddingfield is officially your father’s.”

  Emily gasped, stumbling in the mud as Edward’s hand shot out to steady her.

  “G-guilty?” she whispered in horror. “What will happen to him?”

  Edward kept his hand on her arm to steady her. “I have said too much – such news might be too much for your delicate ears. I must speak to your father right away. I rode as fast I could to bring the news. There is much that must be resolved.”

  Taking an unsteady step back, she forced him to let go as she wrung her hands. “Papa is still poorly. It has barely been three days since they brought him home. Will he have to leave again, so soon?”

  “Likely. Your father will decide. I must see him at once.” Edward watched her carefully. She was swaying slightly where she stood, fingers white and shaking.

  As the daughter of a cavalier, she was used to the uncertainty that came with war, but knowing that her uncle was guilty of treason unsettled her.

  Trying to still her fingers from their trembling, she was glad that the cold gave an excuse for it, although her father’s steward would not look askance, even if she should faint dead away.

  When they had carried her father from the battlefield, hobbling and with wounds upon his leg, she thought she could not feel more horrified than at the sight of his face, twisted in pain.

  She had been wrong.

  Taking a deep breath, she roused herself to lead Edward into the house.

  “Of course, it was unforgivable of me to keep you standing out here in the wet.”

  “Mr. Cooke!”

  Lady Caldwell’s surprised exclamation interrupted Emily, who stepped aside as her mother came forward, surprised to find her daughter talking to the steward.

  “Lady Caldwell, I hope I find you well?”

  They spoke softly to each other before Lady Caldwell turned to Emily, her face pale. “Go and tell the kitchens to prepare a hot drink and supper for Mr. Cooke. He has news to bring to your father and cannot be delayed any further.”

  Emily hurried off obediently, glad of something to do while Edward mounted the stairs to Lord Caldwell’s room. Lady Caldwell remained in the hallway, the f
ull import of events slowly sinking in.

  Their situation was extremely precarious if something should happen to the new Baron. With nine daughters and no sons to take over the title, the security of her daughters was in peril.

  Lady Caldwell’s feet moved of their own accord, down the hallway, taking her to the parlor. She was driven by the need to shake off the cold that beset her spirit and to get warm by the fire.

  Her mind remained with her nine vulnerable daughters. Every day they blossomed, learning to be proper young ladies in the hope that a dashing young gentleman would sweep them off their feet and into a happy ever after.

  She wanted their dreams to come true, understanding the grim reality of not having a home to call their own in the event of the Baron’s death.

  The wars had largely passed them by in their rural safety, but they read the dispatches as well as anyone. They were well aware that the Cavaliers were losing, but they did not yet understand how this might affect their own lives.

  She knew just how brutal the war had been.

  Lord Caldwell had spoken of it all to her; the rise of the Roundheads, the intolerance and factions that had sullied their so-called Cause, culminating in the battle of Philiphaugh, where a Scottish Guardsman had thrown himself between Pritchard and a dirk to his heart.

  Lady Caldwell shivered to think how close they had all come to ruination. They needed to marry one of their daughters to an honorable man, and soon.

  She had gone to London before the last skirmish, to stock up on essential supplies. The papers had been filled with reports of the horrors at Philiphaugh. The town’s inhabitants, many of them Parliamentarians, were starving alongside the Royalists.

  She had heard reports that small boys had been sent - being the only ones who could slip passed the barricades set up by the Roundheads - with messages pleading for help. Some of them, caught doing so, had their fingernails ripped out by Covenanter command.

  After the surrender, many Royalist commoners were sent off in chains to the colonies, while the commanders were executed by firing squad. Baron Eddingfield, Pritchard’s brother, had been arrested, held for trial, and now found guilty of treason.

  No doubt, Pritchard would be forced to demonstrate his loyalty soon. Once his wound was healed, he would be called to stand before Charles the First. They had need to prepare for that day.

  She stood, going upstairs to see her husband. Edward should have delivered the news already. It was time to make plans for the future.

  Three months had passed since the war of three kingdoms had ended. Cromwell and the Republicans had triumphed, but that was neither here nor there for Alexander MacTavish; he had other concerns.

  As part of the Scots Guard, he was sworn to fight for the crown. While he was a papist by birth, religion did not hold much sway over him. He was in this war for a chance to gain land and a title— to make a better life for his remaining family.

  Despite Montrose’s defeat at Philiphaugh in September, the prospects of making good on his aspirations were enhanced by an incident that occurred on the battlefield.

  He had gotten between Lord Pritchard Caldwell, down on his knees as a result of a musket ball to the ankle, and the decisive swing of a roundhead dirk.

  The Lord had insisted that he owed MacTavish a life debt, proposing to pay it by offering to join their two families in matrimony. This was in addition to offering Alexander a parcel of land, as he had no male heirs.

  Alexander glanced back at his sister, Rebecca, astride a donkey, her face serene as she took in the passing scenery. She merited anything and everything he could give her after all she had endured by his side.

  Their parents had died when she was but a bairn. Not much older himself, Alexander had tried his best with the girl, but he was the first to admit that he let her run wild.

  Rebecca was in need of a good man to rein her in, but the only chance of attracting the man she deserved was if he was a landed gentleman. No price was too high to pay to make sure that Rebecca was taken care of.

  However, the prospect of an English bride curdled his belly.

  He had always been tall for his age, which made his acceptance into the guard easier than it would have been. Alexander had no illusions about himself. He had joined the Scots Guard at twelve years of age, had killed his first man at fourteen. His heart had been hardened to the softer emotions long ago. Only his sister was exempt.

  “We will stop here for the night,” Lord Caldwell announced, immediately alighting from his horse.

  They were in a shaded glen, surrounded by tall poplar trees on a flat piece of land. It was an excellent spot to be ambushed and Alexander could not see any good lookout points. The shrubbery would provide adequate cover for anyone trying to creep up on them.

  He opened his mouth to protest, wanting to keep riding but then caught sight of Rebecca stumbling slightly as she alighted her donkey. She sighed with exhaustion and Alexander quickly hurried to her side.

  Picking up the roll of blankets folded on the donkey, he sought a place to spread it out so that she could rest.

  “Alex! I can do that mysel’. Ye dinna need to watch after me.”

  Alexander shrugged, “Its nae trouble,” after spreading out her blankets, he went to find his own roll and some bread to give her. He had saved it from their meal at the inn, knowing how hungry riding made her. His own stomach grumbled, their last meal had been hours ago, but he ignored it and dropped the bread onto her blanket.

  “I'm off to find some feòil coinneach for dinner.” Taking up his slingshot, he collected the string and wood to make a trap.

  Rebecca immediately sprang to her feet

  “I shall come with ye!”

  Alexander was already shaking his head and pushed her back down onto the blanket.

  “Stay here. Watch our things.”

  He could see that she wanted to pout and protest, but thankfully, held her peace as Alexander walked off. He hoped these English woods were as full of game as he had heard. He would rather not rely upon the Baron to feed them if there was any other way.

  He had barely taken two steps into the wood when he almost stepped onto a rabbit. Putting his foot down quickly he trapped it under his heel before killing it with one shot from his sling.

  Examining it critically, he wondered if it would be enough to feed them both until they arrived at Eddingfield Hall. Shaking his head, he picked it up, breaking its neck before putting it into his pouch and taking a few more steps into the woods, alert grey eyes narrowed in concentration.

  Alexander stepped as lightly as a man of his size could manage; becoming one with the wood as he pricked his ears for any sound that would indicate the presence of whereabouts of their next meal.

  He spotted a few mushrooms and bent down to examine them ensuring that they were good to eat before picking and placing them in his satchel. They were indeed fortunate that winter was mild in the south this year, for this journey would have been much harder had they stayed up north.

  He sighed, standing up and searching the ground for the tracks of small animals. One more rabbit and he would be satisfied. Turning towards a rustling sound, his nose lifted like a wolf scenting its prey.

  A burrow had been made inside a hollow log, and inside, was a family of squirrels.

  Alexander hesitated for a moment; he was bound to find other prey. There was no need to take away parents from their young.

  A few yards on, he knelt down to set his trap. His hands were calloused and scarred from musket fire, used to hardship and hard work. He stood, examining his handiwork with satisfaction, before making his way back to camp. He would check his trap in the morning and see if he had caught anything.

  Rebecca looked relieved he stepped back into the glen, and he lifted his eyebrow in query. She shook her head slightly, which was not at all reassuring to Alexander.

  Something had happened and he looked around suspiciously at the Baron's men, wondering if one of them had tried to interfere with he
r. Despite her rotund, soft-looking figure, Rebecca was quite capable of taking care of herself.

  That did not mean that he would stand for any disrespect to his sister. He dropped the rabbit and mushrooms at her side.

  “I found us dinner.”

  Rebecca nodded, not saying anything about the cauldron of soup that someone was stirring in the middle of the camp. She had started a small fire of her own and proceeded to skin the rabbit, while Alexander unpacked the little iron skillet and went in search of water.