Highland Hearts of the Clan Kincaid Box Set

by Elise Ramsay

  Gunn could hardly believe what had just happened. Somehow, making love to Isobel had strengthened his resolve. They would live through this. They would wed and be happy and live long, long lives. He staunched his anger for Tormod, his sadness, and frustration at Nairn’s insanity and a myriad of other emotions. Now was the time for calm, just as his father had taught him.

  When the door flew open, Gunn was ready. Tormod, already charging and with his sword held out rigidly in front of him, roared in anger as he realized the man before him was Gunn Kincaid. He had expected some emissary, some other, expendable Clansman. His plan had been to get Gunn there, yes, but he had expected to pluck the man from outside of his castle walls, and somehow, at his own leisure, torture him. The last thing he expected was to find him here, within his own walls, and so soon after the lass had been snatched. He would not know the pleasure of torturing Gunn Kincaid with the degradation of the woman he loved. Tormod’s rage and frustration spiraled out of control. Like an animal he rushed forward and lifted his sword higher still, roaring all the while, and exposing his torso completely.

  Gunn’s breathing had slowed to almost nothing. All sound died away as he calmly took in Tormod’s every action. And there it was, right there on Tormod’s ugly face. The raw emotion that his father had always warned him against in battle. It seemed to Gunn that the world had slowed down. Tormod’s movements were slow and labored, as were his own, but he had seen right away the weakness Tormod had shown. In the moment he made his decision, the world began to move at normal speed once more, and he plunged his sword deep into the chest of the stunned Tormod Sinclair.

  As Sinclair hit the floor, his breathless and pale wife had entered the room. She stopped so suddenly, it seemed as if an invisible force had barred her way. She looked down at the dying body of her husband almost quizzically, before making some decision. She knelt at his side and touched his face. Gunn and Isobel looked on in amazement at the gentleness of her touch. Did such an evil man deserve so kind a parting?

  “My husband,” she began, in the very softest of tones, “for what you have done to me and so many other women, you are going to hell. It is no more than you deserve. May you suffer an eternity of ceaseless agonies! I could not hate you more.”

  In his moment of dying, Tormod Sinclair looked upon his wife as though she had, once more, disappointed him. She returned his look with a sweet smile.

  Gunn was suddenly aware of the clattering of approaching hooves, many, many hooves. By God’s grace, it was the rest of the Kincaid! Shouts abounded throughout the castle. Sinclair’s panicked men had been taken unaware by this daylight approach. Gunn could imagine them trying to rise, rally, and find their weapons.

  Grasping Isobel’s hand, he looked across at Nairn.

  “Go,” she shouted. “I will be fine now.”

  Gunn nodded and dragged Isobel from the room and at speed down the corridor and off towards the door through which he had earlier made his illicit entrance.

  Running as fast as he could, pulling her awkwardly behind him, Gunn knew that he had to get to his father, and the rest of the Clansmen, before the fighting started. Tormod was dead, and Isobel was safe. Gunn wanted to prevent any unnecessary bloodshed of his own men. They had, after all, already achieved what they had set out to do. Risking the lives of their men would be wrong.

  Panicked shouting and banging still rose from inside the castle. Their Chief was slain though they might not yet realize it. Still, there was nobody within to order them. Nobody to hastily draw up a plan.

  As Gunn and Isobel rounded the eastern corner of the castle, they stopped dead in their tracks. Before them lay such a sight as neither of them had seen before. In neat precision, row upon row of Kincaid Clansmen were arranged as if in the shape of an arrow’s head. All were on horseback, and all wore the identical armor to his fellow Clansmen. Each sat poised on their mounts. Their bows loaded and arrows drawn back, ready to fire upon the castle and its occupants the very moment their Chieftain gave the order. At the very foremost tip of this arrowhead of men sat his father, atop one of the largest horses the Kincaid possessed. The Clan sat proud, silent and still. Both Gunn and Isobel stopped, paralyzed and open mouthed at the most amazing and intimidating show of strength they had ever seen.

  Breaking his own mesmerism, Gunn strode forward and held up a hand, immediately catching his father’s attention. Nodding at his father once, with a good deal of reverence, he spoke. The depth and resonance of Gunn’s tone sent ripples of pleasure through Isobel’s body.

  “Chieftain,” he began, “I have secured Isobel Gillies. Here she stands, well, and largely untouched. Tormod Sinclair has just died at my hand, on account of his crime of kidnap.” Finishing his speech, he nodded once again at his father.

  Lachlan Kincaid paused, seeming to thoughtfully digest his son’s report. Several terrified faces had appeared at the windows of Sinclair Castle, and an eerie hush fell over the entire proceedings, both inside and out.

  With incredible dignity and poise, Lachlan Kincaid jumped down from his horse and strode, alone and confident, towards the front of the castle. His men had not moved a muscle. Their bows were still at the ready.

  In a calm and resonant voice, so similar to his own son’s, he commanded attention from within the castle.

  “I would speak, in peace, with a representative of the Sinclair Clan.”

  Excited mutterings from within the castle broke the eerie hush. Some moments later, a small wooden door, barely large enough to fit a man through, creaked open on the western side of the front elevation. A young man, perhaps twenty-three years, looking pale and shocked, came through the door and walked, somewhat uncertainly, towards the Chieftain of the Kincaid Clan.

  Lachlan nodded at the young man, almost in encouragement.

  “I am Kyle Sinclair, eldest son of Tormod Sinclair, and I am to be his successor.”

  Looking at him, Isobel could see such a likeness to his father; the fat, moist lips and eyes which tended towards cruelty. Like father, like son.

  “Chieftain Sinclair,” Lachlan began, still poised and dignified. “A young Clans-woman of the Kincaid was kidnapped and imprisoned at the word of Tormod Sinclair. We have re-taken her, as is our right. We shall leave now, without further bloodshed, unless you and your men choose to object, in which case, we shall engage you, and we shall win. I give you this one opportunity. Do you accept my terms?”

  “Yes,” replied Kyle Sinclair, for he knew they were not prepared for battle. Lachlan Kincaid nodded at him in agreement.

  “Then, I shall say this to you. The women of the Clan of Kincaid are, and always will be, defended. These circumstances will not occur again.” Nodding, he turned and walked slowly back to his horse.

  Riding back together on Gunn’s horse, the two young lovers had become somewhat detached from the main party. Isobel was silently reflecting upon her adventures of the last hours. She had been kidnapped, and somewhat brutalized, but it could have been much worse. She had survived in the knowledge that she was sure to be raped. She had been more terrified than she had ever known it was possible to be. Then, she had been rescued by the only man she would ever love, and he had made love to her. Isobel could not, for the life of her, decide if her life would have contrived such a happy ending for her had she not been so cruelly snatched from her loved ones.

  “What are you thinking of, my love?” Gunn broke her daydream.

  “I am thinking of how much I love you. What are you thinking?”

  “I am thinking that I should make you my wife at the earliest opportunity.” He squeezed her middle playfully as they rode along.

  “Well, Gunn Kincaid, I am thinking that I shall accept.”

  Epilogue

  So it was the very next day that Gunn Kincaid and Isobel said their vows in the doorway of the small Kirk. The whole clan came out to celebrate and soon the wedding was done. They were bound together before their clan and before God. Isobel had never been so happy. To be welcomed b
ack to the Clan and to become one of the clan elite did not bother her. What made her heart flutter was this big, braw man before her and the love she saw in his eyes. Aye, it had been worth the heartache to be here and she knew that from this day onwards her life would be different.

  Duncan her brother stood beside her and she knew he had grown. As had Gunn. It was as if the adventure had taken boys playing at being men and turned them into warriors. Into men, their clans could be proud of.

  As the festivities went on well into the night Gunn smiled at her. It was a cheeky grin, a secret grin and she returned it with one of her. It was time to leave the hall and to be away to their bed.

  Gunn took her hand and led her from the table. There were a number of catcalls and raucous comments that followed her. They made her blush and even Gunn’s cheeks were as rosy as a summer bloom. Gunn squeezed her hand and headed over to the priest who had wed them. Duns Blackhall was a strange looking man. Big, broad and with a scar down his face. When she had first seen him, as a child, she had been afraid but Duns had a good heart.

  “Will ye do me one more thing,” Gunn asked the priest.

  “Aye lad, lead the way,” Duns replied.

  Gunn scooped her off her feet and carried her down the hallways. His grin was flirtatious and she could not help but laugh. They were married and she was safe. Maybe one day soon she would bear his child. My how her world had changed.

  When they got to his chambers Duns entered first and blessed the marital bed. Then he turned and smiled and blessed both of them before quietly closing the door. There was noise in the corridor. It looked like the wedding party had spotted their escape and now intended to wait outside the door to see that the marriage was consummated.

  Voices, loud, and raucous floated down the corridor.

  “I’m sorry Lass,” Gunn said. “It will only be for tonight.”

  Isobel nodded and then a voice boomed from outside the door.

  “Leave them be, it is already done,” Duns called and then they could hear him moving the crowd away.

  “So my wee, sweet, lassie,” Gunn said and then she was in his arms.

  His lips found hers and she melted against him and soon she had forgotten the crowd for soon she was in heaven.

  Cullen

  Highlanders Heart

  & the

  Deadly Arrow

  Highland Hearts of the Clan Kincaid Book 2

  by

  ©Copyright 2016 Elise Ramsay

  All Rights Reserved

  Chapter One

  “All I’m saying is let’s talk to him. Where’s the harm?” Logan Munro’s voice was firm and insistent.

  “Listen. Maybe it will commit us, you know? I don’t want to get into aught I can’t get out of. My Da’s the Chief, Logan.”

  Annis MacIver pressed her ear as close to the oak door as she could get it without risking being discovered. Brodie, her eldest brother, was up to something. Whilst he wasn’t the brightest of lads, Logan Munro was, and that worried her. Logan and Brodie had been the closest of friends from the time they were wee laddies. It would be easy for him to lead her brother astray. Annis shuddered, although she’d known him all her life, could never quite bring herself to trust Logan Munro. There was something about him. Maybe it was the ambitions he did little to conceal or the way his eyes burned when he was given a job to do. Whatever it was, it made her stomach tighten and the thought of him persuading her brother to… to do what? It didn’t sit well with her.

  “Ach, come on, Brodie. Would I do aught to lead you wrong?”

  There was something of a pause before Brodie responded. “Nay, I wasn’t thinking that way. But you’re talking about Kyle Sinclair here. As allies go, I don’t think he’s a verra good one.”

  “There’s naught wrong with the lad. Aye, his Da’s just been murdered, but he’s a Chieftain now. And he’s a Chief of our own age, Brodie, not some auld man.”

  Annis squinted with concentration, as is if it would somehow improve her hearing. Her ear was getting sore as she forced it into the rough wood but she could not move. This was bad. Logan Munro was certainly up to something if he was talking of some wee meet up with Kyle Sinclair. The Sinclair’s had been powerful enough, she knew and there was talk of awful things. Things to make her young heart beat and to set her skin to shudder. Still, they had been all but defeated by the Kincaid’s last summer. What could Logan want with Kyle Sinclair? Annis tried to stay as still as possible. Much focus was needed to strain to hear and she would have to react to any movement from the two men she was eavesdropping on. If they did move, Annis would need to bolt from the corridor, as fast as a horse but as quiet as a wee mouse.

  “Murdered? Aye, tis true that Gunn Kincaid killed auld Sinclair, but murder? Nay, I cannot see it was murder, Logan!”

  “Aye, it was murder alright. What if it’d been your Da with a sword in his chest? Would you be so quick to defend the big, braw man who killed him?”

  “Ach, away Logan! We’re no talking of my Da. My Da didn’t kidnap someone’s lassie, did he? Who’d want to kill my Da?”

  Annis winced at the mental image of her beloved father murdered. How easily Logan could work on Brodie. Yet how he could be comparing their father to auld Tormod Sinclair was beyond reason. Two more different men could not have been found in all of Scotland.

  “All I’m saying, Brodie, is that Kyle Sinclair may not seem such a braw man to you right now but let me tell you, they’ve been one of the most powerful Clans in the Western Highlands for years.”

  “Aye, I know this!” Brodie was beginning to sound annoyed.

  Finally, thought Annis, use your wee brain, brother.

  “What I cannot see is why we should be making approaches to the man? What is he to us?”

  What indeed? Annis, intent on listening, had nudged the door a little with her inclined head. No sound was made, but she held her breath a moment, wondering if either man had caught the movement.

  “Look, Brodie. Maybe tis time we had a wee bit of power for ourselves. Not just you and me, I mean the whole of the MacIver Clan! Do you not see how long we’ve been in the shadows with naught to be proud of?”

  “Aye, I know, Logan. But that’s the type of man my Da is. He’s not one of the big Chiefs, and we’re not one of the big Clans. I don’t see him wanting some alliance with Sinclair.”

  “Ach, Brodie!” Logan sounded frustrated in the extreme. “We don’t tell him, for God’s sake!”

  Annis could feel her face flush with the heat of anger. That Logan Munro! Annis knew what he wanted for himself. Dragging the MacIver Clan into some sneaky alliance her father hadn’t approved of. Most likely he was hoping to boost the power and prosperity of the Clan on the quiet, then claim credit and be elevated into the Clan elite. What Clan elite? With a Clan so small, it was hard to tell the blood kin from the rest of the Clan.

  “Ach, trust me, Logan, if my Da finds out aught of this plan, we’re both done for. He’s auld, aye, but he’s hale enough and there’s still a temper in there if we cross him.”

  “Brodie, tis not crossing him if we make things better for him. Think about it.”

  For a moment, Annis had an almost overwhelming urge to kick the door open and tell Logan Munro just what she thought of him. The best plan might have been to take the matter straight to her father, but Brodie hadn’t quite done anything wrong... yet. Annis tensed suddenly, hearing the men start to move about. Whether it was just fidgeting, or them planning to come out into the corridor, she had to flee. Annis tip toed at speed, stopping only when she rounded the curve of the corridor. From her vantage point she was hidden, but no longer close enough to hear them. Although it seemed they had remained in the room, Annis dared not risk a return. Instead, she would need to come up with a wee plan of her own.

  Chapter Two

  Cullen Kincaid was growing tired of being in the Castle. Flexing his muscular shoulders, he took in a deep breath. It seemed to be of dry air and didn’t fulfil him. It was d
ifficult for a younger son. There was no real discipline in his life. For Lachlan, his older brother, his future was mapped out and one day he would be chieftain. Cullen resembled his mother in looks, and sometimes that made him feel apart from his brothers. They were all dark skinned with brown hair and blue eyes. Cullen had the fair skin and red hair of his ma and deep green eyes. Cullen was just a member of the clan elite but would likely never be chieftain. Some days it left him restless and not knowing where his life lay. On those, the walls of the castle seemed to close in on him and restrict his breathing. It was time to head out for a while, maybe find some lassies to have a wee bit of fun with. Then another idea came to him. Grant, his younger brother, had been talking about going hunting. Perhaps he would join him in that? Cullen set off to look for him. In truth, he was growing bored of the lassies around and about the Castle. They all seemed to him to be looking for a husband and were all a bit too keen to please him. Cullen wished for a lass who would drop the mask and be free. Certainly someone who cared naught for their marriage prospects would be a welcome shift from the normal. Some lassies could only think of finding a man to marry so they could produce a never ending stream of bairns. Cullen couldn’t understand that, particularly for lassies. Watching their mothers working their fingers to the bone didn’t seem to deter them any. Perhaps they thought that somehow their own matrimony would be different.

  Cullen knew they all needed the security, but what about a bit of life first? Ach, it’s different for lassies.

  Hearing whistling, Cullen smirked, knowing his wee brother was approaching. Grant was a braw lad and very much Cullen’s favourite sibling. Hoping that Grant was heading straight for him, Cullen slid behind one of the stone columns at the edge of the large hall. Trying hard not to give himself away with an uncontrolled laugh, Cullen wondered why he never tired of jumping out and startling Grant. Why was it so funny? Maybe it was Grant’s reaction, or maybe he was just as childish as his older brother, Gunn, always claimed. Either way, he couldnae care less. Just as the younger man entered the hall, Cullen leapt out at him with a shout, his arms spread wide. Grant didn’t leap into the air, as Cullen had hoped. His reaction was somewhat more primal. Instead, Grant bent low, almost crouching, and released a deep, guttural noise. He sounded more like a wounded animal than a scared beastie.