Highlander Besieged
Highland Adventure, Volume 10
Vonda Sinclair
Published by Vonda Sinclair, 2019.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
HIGHLANDER BESIEGED
First edition. October 2, 2019.
Copyright © 2019 Vonda Sinclair.
ISBN: 978-1948431019
Written by Vonda Sinclair.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Highlander Besieged (Highland Adventure, #10)
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The Highland Adventure Series
The Scottish Treasure Series
About the Author
Highlander Besieged
By Vonda Sinclair
She's wrong for him in every way, so why can't he stop thinking about her?
Cyrus MacKenzie, a powerful Highland chief and newly titled Earl of Stornmor, is in search of the perfect bride. The young, naïve daughter of a marquess should do nicely, but she's not the one who has captured his attention.
Lady Elspeth Seton, Baroness Grey, is a widow with a secret past. She's also a cunning businesswoman who has fought for everything she has. When a mysterious enemy turns her own guards against her and attempts to steal every piece of property she owns, she's uncertain who to rely on. With his fearsome warlord reputation and battle-hardened scowl, Cyrus is the last man she wishes to seek help from, but he's the only one offering it. She wants no domineering Highland earl taking control of her life, but in order to protect her home and her businesses, she must learn to trust him.
More accustomed to laying siege to castles than charming the ladies, Cyrus has no patience for stubbornly secretive women like Elspeth. He's infamous for deadly glares that terrify lesser men, but he's impressed by Elspeth's strength, fortitude, and canniness, for she not only stands toe-to-toe with him but also stands beside him to confront the enemy.
How can one ginger-haired lady with intoxicating eyes the color of whisky besiege his stone-cold heart? Even though his mind tells him she's the absolute worst woman for him, in his heart, he knows he will risk life and limb to protect her from the brutal Lowland laird bent on destroying her.
Dedication
To my wonderful friends Dana and Vanessa. Thank you for the support, inspiration and laughs.
Chapter One
Port Saoithe, Moray Firth, Scotland, June 1621
Chief Cyrus MacKenzie, the newly titled Earl of Stornmor, had looked forward to this day for years. 'Twas the day he would meet the ideal young lady to become his bride—the daughter of a powerful marquess.
Cyrus's sister, Isobel, and her husband, Dirk MacKay, the Clan MacKay chief, sat across the table from him in the Harbour Inn's public room as they broke their fast.
"Mayhap you will fall in love with Rebbie's sister." Isobel beamed a smile brighter than the morning sun streaming in the window behind her.
At her silly words, Cyrus scowled, but she was too busy feeding a bite of porridge to her fifteen-month-old son to notice.
Cyrus grunted. "'Tis unlikely. But from what I've been told, Lady Lily will be the perfect wife for me. Her father's a marquess and her brother an earl." Cyrus chewed the last bite of bacon, then took a swig of ale. Within the hour, they would head south, toward Castle Rebbinglen for a Midsummer gathering.
Isobel grinned and glanced at Dirk, sitting beside her. "Tell him how wonderful marriage can be when you love your spouse."
"Aye, 'tis true. I'm a lucky man." Dirk gazed with great affection at his wife and their ginger-haired son, Griff, a wee replica of him.
Dirk and Isobel's romance was sickeningly sweet, but Cyrus was glad his sister had finally found a man to her liking who treated her like a queen.
As for Cyrus, he was far more practical. "My sister kens naught about me."
Dirk chuckled. "She is ever the matchmaker."
"You think you are immune to love, dear brother, but you possess a heart just as everyone else does." Isobel's dark eyes, so like his own, gleamed with humor.
'Haps Cyrus did have a heart, but no one would ever find it. He made sure 'twas buried far behind thick stone walls. His ambitions for his clan had naught to do with sentiment or emotion. Before the end of his days, he intended for the MacKenzies to be among the strongest and wealthiest clans in the country. His recent title of earl, bestowed upon him by King James, along with his new holdings in the Outer Hebrides as well as the northeast of Scotland, elevated his clan by several degrees. And his upcoming marriage to the Marquess of Kilverntay's daughter would further increase his clan's wealth and prestige.
Cyrus had always held an ambition to marry an earl's daughter, but to marry a marquess's daughter would be beyond his expectations. Of course, she had to be poised, elegant and beautiful, too.
But what if Rebbie's sister was unattractive?
Cyrus frowned. He would cope with it... in the dark, if necessary. It didn't matter what young Lily looked like. Her status alone made her the best potential bride he'd met so far.
Still... he was curious. He turned to Dirk, one of Rebbie's closest friends. "In the missive Rebbie sent, he wrote that his father was having a difficult time finding a suitable husband for Lady Lily. Do you ken why?" If the lady was a great beauty, surely legions of suitors would have been knocking at the marquess's door, and some highly ranked aristocrat would've already spoken for her.
Dirk shook his head. "He mentioned naught about it in his missives to me. She must be around twenty or twenty-one summers now, and I'm certain her father is chomping at the bit to have her married off."
Cyrus nodded. That could only work in his favor.
"If she's anything like Rebbie, she's even more particular than you are about a match." Isobel smirked.
"Maybe so, but I have good reason to be selective. I must find the bride who will bring the most benefits to the MacKenzie clan. She must be perfect."
Isobel gasped. "No woman is perfect, and you should not expect her to be." She turned to her husband. "Am I perfect?"
Hesitating, Dirk lifted a brow. "'Tis a trick question, I vow."
"Indeed. Women are ever crafty," Cyrus said.
Isobel eyed him defiantly. "'Tis merely another word for cunning. And are you not cunning, brother?"
"'Tis different for a man."
"Oh, aye," she said doubtfully. "Men are allowed to be cunning but women are not."
"With the enemy, aye. But not with a husband or wife."
Isobel glanced at her husband. "Did I trick you?"
Dirk snickered. "If you did, I was in full agreement with it."
'Twas clear to everyone they had a strong marriage, with a fine son and another bairn on the way. Cyrus envied them this.
He had met several young ladies in the past few years, but none had seemed right for him. But now, 'twas the ideal ti
me for him to marry and sire an heir, just as he had started building a grand new castle on his recently acquired eastern lands. No more delays.
Lady Lily would be perfect—she had to be. He was determined in this, just as he had been determined in bringing the rebels on Isle of Lewis to heel months ago. He accepted naught less than victory and success in everything he did. This included a wife. He would not settle for second best.
He watched his wee nephew grab a bannock off the trencher and try to stuff the entire thing into his mouth. Cyrus grinned, hoping Lady Lily would bear him many strong sons, and the MacKenzie name would live on for centuries.
"Be sweet and romantic or the lass may refuse your suit," Isobel advised, taking the bannock before Griff could choke on it.
Cyrus snorted. "I have no inkling what the words sweet and romantic mean. Either Lady Lily will accept me for who I am or she won't." He shrugged, unwilling to prostrate himself before any young lady, regardless of her status. Besides, she was more than a decade younger than he was. "Rebbie will put in a good word for me." Cyrus had become friends with him through Dirk.
"As will I." Isobel grinned.
"You know her?"
"I've never met her, but she's a woman. I can get to know her quickly. When she sees how friendly I am—and how charming our brothers are—she will hopefully realize you're not just a growly bear who thinks of naught but military campaigns."
Cyrus rolled his eyes. "I ken how to get things done. If she's intelligent, she will see the benefit in that."
He did not expect love to be a part of the marriage deal. As a youth, he had experienced love and knew how destructive and painful it could be. He never wanted to be torn down by it again.
Aside from himself, he'd seen many other men brought to their knees by emotion, smitten with the wrong woman and unable to think straight. Such sentiment was useless to Cyrus's way of thinking. Why would he want a woman distracting him from his ambitions?
"THIS DRESS SHOP IS not for sale at any price, Mr. Thorndyke," Elspeth Seton, Baroness Grey told the pompous, rotund man. "Why are you interested?"
Lifting his bushy brown brows, he glanced around at the many bolts of fabric stacked neatly on the tables. When his gaze landed on her assistant, Audrey, she grimaced and busied herself with straightening patterns and spools of thread.
Turning his attention back to Elspeth, the odious man peered down his bulbous nose at her. "'Tis a valuable piece of property on one of the busiest streets in Aberdeen, but clearly your business is failing."
She bristled. "Nonsense. My dressmaking business is highly profitable." Well, mayhap that was an exaggeration, but she had made a modest profit thus far this year. Thankfully, her millinery, cordwainer shop, and tenements brought in a more respectable income. 'Twas her dressmaking that she enjoyed most, and she wished to make it more lucrative.
Smirking, he held out his hands. "Where are your customers?"
"'Tis early. Gracious! The shop has only been open a quarter-hour this day."
Surely the man was daft. There was no way in hades she would ever sell this shop or any of her other properties. These buildings had belonged to her father, a merchant, and cordwainer.
She was the one who had turned her father's former tailor shop into a dressmaking business just a few years ago. Being a woman, she naturally preferred working with female clientele and creating elegant women's clothing.
Elspeth enjoyed making design enhancements to the dress patterns from the continent. At times, she could become completely obsessed with creating the perfect gown. She preferred hiring skilled local seamstresses, mostly unmarried women or widows, who could earn money and provide for themselves and their family members.
Her late husband, Baron Grey, had almost caused her to lose this property. Never again would she allow a man control of her future.
The buffoon Thorndyke fingered a charcoal wool near him. "This cloth looks more suited to servants' clothing or scullery aprons. You'll not lure in the wealthy ladies with this tripe."
Elspeth wanted to call him a bastard and other vile names but kept her teeth clenched tight. 'Twas none of his business, but she kept her most expensive fabrics in another room. The private salon was reserved for wealthier ladies who could afford silks from around the world. She didn't want her regular customers to feel inferior about not being able to afford the extravagant materials. And she certainly didn't allow men in there.
Thorndyke glanced at the doorway leading to the salon, then headed toward it. "What is in there?"
She stepped in front of him, blocking his path.
Thorndyke stopped just short of barreling over her.
"If you're in need of shoes, my cordwainer shop is next door, sir!"
He sneered. "Are you running a brothel back there?"
"Of course not! You've overstayed your welcome. Please see yourself out." She pointed toward the door.
He gave a nasty laugh. "I know about you and the Earl of Dalacroy."
"That is none of your business." Ignoring the searing mortification washing over her, Elspeth wanted to punch the asinine man in his smug mouth.
She'd had little choice in the matter of becoming Dalacroy's mistress after her husband had died, leaving her in debt without even two pence to buy bread. Thanks to Dalacroy, she now had her independence. 'Twas either that or live destitute on the streets with her young son and siblings. Now, as then, she would do anything for her family.
"Everyone kens he was dimwitted, chasing after every skirt in the kingdom, then getting himself killed in a sword duel."
Regardless of Dalacroy's intelligence, or lack thereof, she would have nothing without the deal they'd struck years ago. "As I said, the building is not for sale. You're wasting your time here." Gritting her teeth, Elspeth glared at Thorndyke, eye to eye, willing him to leave.
The shop door opened with a squeak. Elspeth was relieved to find her friend Rose Forbes, the Countess of Kerrimuir, entering. A deep blue traveling cloak covered most of the elegant gold gown Elspeth had designed for Rose, and her dark curls were upswept.
Turning to see who had arrived, Thorndyke gasped, then bowed deeply. "My lady."
To Elspeth's surprise and profound relief, he hastened out the door. "Do you know Thorndyke?"
Rose grimaced as she might when noticing sewage in the gutter. "He's a solicitor for some of the lairds. My late husband used his services on occasion. What did he want?"
"He was trying to buy my building and being very insulting about it." Annoyance again prickled at her nerve endings.
"For himself or one of his clients?"
"I have no inkling. Why would an aristocrat be interested in owning a business?"
"Maybe he's short on money." Rose shrugged. "I wouldn't concern myself. Are you ready to leave? I want to arrive at Castle Rebbinglen by tomorrow evening. I've arranged for us to spend tonight at an inn."
I've changed my mind about going, Elspeth almost said, her chest tightening. She was hesitant about rubbing elbows with the loftier aristocrats, in truth, for they intimidated her. Even though she was the widow of a baron, they would look down on her as a merchant's daughter... and current merchant. If they ever learned she was the former mistress of an earl, she would no doubt be tossed out on her ear. But she needed to meet some of the ladies, and hopefully gain them as customers, if she wanted her clothing business revenue to increase. They might also have need of new slippers and boots.
"I suppose I'm ready," Elspeth forced herself to say. "But I'm only staying four days. I must return here by Monday morning."
Rose blew out a breath. "You like naught better than work, do you? I'm certain Audrey can handle your customers for a few days. 'Tis time for relaxation. We'll travel together in my coach and our maids will ride in yours. That way, we will have the privacy to talk. Where are your trunks? My manservants will load them."
"They're already on my coach. Vance and Jenkins loaded them. They're waiting outside in the close, along with Bernice."
The night before, Elspeth had packed the two trunks with beautiful gowns she would wear to the festivities. She had recently designed them and her best seamstresses had sewn them. Surely the Countess of Rebbinglen would be intrigued by her creations and wish some for herself.
After Elspeth gave Audrey a few final instructions, she and Rose exited.
Clothing design was her greatest passion, for 'twas in her blood. And now she must do something very difficult if she wished her beloved business to survive—mingle with countesses, earls, and 'haps even a marquess. What if she slipped up and bungled the whole thing?
THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON, Elspeth's stomach knotted all the more as she stared out the coach window, stunned at the magnificence of Castle Rebbinglen in the distance, the Cairngorm mountains standing tall behind it. The elegant rounded towers were capped by turrets with sharp, conical roofs. The MacInnis standard flew from the highest spire. 'Twas the grandest castle she had ever seen.
"I shouldn't have come." Elspeth clasped her gloved, sweating hands together.
"Why ever not?" Sitting on the brown leather seat opposite her, Rose frowned.
"The Earl and Countess of Rebbinglen didn't invite me. I feel like an interloper."
"Nonsense." Rose waved a hand. "Rebbie said it would be wonderful if I brought my good friend to their Midsummer celebration."
Elspeth could not imagine calling the Earl of Rebbinglen by his nickname. "Do you truly call the earl Rebbie?"
"Of course." Rose chuckled. "He insists upon it. Even though he is not my cousin by blood, because he and Lily have different mothers, he still considers me a cousin. Have no worries. He will ask you to call him Rebbie as well."
Elspeth doubted that.
"You need to venture out into society more. I ken how lonely and isolated you've been since Adam went to boarding school."
"I do miss him." Her son was ten summers but exceptionally mature for his age. The last time she'd visited with him, he was a couple of inches taller and behaved like a confident young man. She had not wanted to send him off to school, but he was already a baron. Before she knew it, he would be old enough to run his own estate.
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