Highlander's Golden Jewel (Beasts 0f The Highlands Book 6)

by Alisa Adams

“I will keep ye. Forever,” she whispered, as she realized happily that this beautiful, kind, handsome, strong warrior wanted her.

  Keir leaned down and kissed her sweetly, gently, reverently.

  Kaithria kissed him back, full-heartedly and not too sweetly or gently. She kissed him with everything she was feeling inside.

  Keir groaned and sighed as he rested his forehead against hers. “I have loved ye for so long, me jewel,” he said against her lips.

  “Me mither called me that,” she said and sniffed again as she wiped away more tears. “I remember her calling me her jewel. And now ye do.”

  Keir kissed her again, caressing her cheek with his thumb as he held her face in his hand. He pulled away and stared at her, waiting, a worried look in his eyes.

  “Do ye—” He started to ask her a question.

  “I love ye too, Keir Maxwell Gunn,” she said in her honey-smooth voice.

  Keir stilled. His world felt complete. He had never wanted to hear that before, and now it meant the world to him.

  “I want to hear that every day, for the rest of me life,” Keir whispered against her lips.

  He took Kaithria’s lips in a full, deep kiss while cradling her face in both of his hands. And Kaithria let him. She did not freeze, or pull away, or kick him. He rejoiced at that. When he pulled away he stared down into her eyes.

  “Let’s go home, me jewel. Our home.” Then Keir looked over at Aggie. “I guess I will have to get on that mule,” he growled.

  “I have a better idea,” Kaithria said as she looked at Dummernech.

  Keir was able to get on Dummy easily once the big horse lowered himself to one knee in a bow so that Keir could just throw his leg over to get on.

  Lady Ina watched with great interest. She told Kaithria that she was going to teach her big Clydesdale horse, Myrtle, how to do that as well. She also told her that she thoroughly enjoyed riding him and frightening her brother’s men with the intimidating black horse. She had a new respect for the black warhorses and was determined that she would find one for herself and her husband Bieste. That it was very fitting that a man with his name should have a black horse, to go along with his white horse, Victorious, of course.

  The evening meal was a noisy affair with conversations going on all around the table.

  Keir sat at the head of the table with Kaithria on his right and Aunt Aggie on his left. Caden was next to Kaithria. They were deep in conversation the whole meal as Keir listened intently, asking questions now and then, but mostly watching his soon-to-be wife. She was happy. Sad at reliving the horrible memory of her mother’s death, but so happy to have her brother back.

  Caden swore that he and his three men had not followed Kaithria from Dunnett Head or even from the McKay lands. They had only started watching her once she came onto the Gunn Lands. Caden had been shocked to see his sister.

  Kaithria did not understand who had been following her. She asked Caden if it could have been Ronan Keith, but Caden said that Ronan went to the Lowlands to look for her. Kaithria was left wondering and worrying.

  Caden’s three men were included after their injuries were seen to by Gillis. They had many questions about Kaithria and Caden’s mother, Zahrah. They of course also had many questions about the disease called scrapie that the sheep had.

  Gillis talked to the three men at length about the disease and how to manage it. She told them that they were not the only ones with the problem.

  The three Keith men seemed dazed. One mentioned that he was most surprised that the Gunns were not the monsters he had always been told they were since he was a child.

  Hexy and Aggie were talking about grandbabies. Aggie was very eager for Kaithria and Keir to give her some.

  Kaithria and Keir reassured Aggie that her home would always be with them at Kinbrace. She was very relieved because she fully intended to be there for the grandbabies.

  This led right back to more talk of Kaithria and Caden’s mother Zahrah.

  Keir had heard Kaithria tell Caden that her mother had been kidnapped.

  William Smellie had left Kinbrace, but Keir remembered what William had said about the royal crest on her brooch. He looked at the brother and sister. He could see them both in a land of hot sands and turquoise blue water, of oases filled with orange trees, with blue skies and warm sun, and wearing long, flowing silks.

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  Afterword

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  Beasts of the Highlands

  Book #1

  Highlander’s Lionheart

  Book #2

  Highlander’s Scarred Angel

  Book #3

  Highlander’s Wounded Beast

  Book #4

  Highlander’s Fierce Wolf

  Book #5

  Highlander’s Heart of Steel

  Book #6

  Highlander’s Golden Jewel

  Want more romance?

  Turn the page to read the first chapters of my latest best seller, “Highlander of the Woods.”

  Prologue

  Rory Murdoch was the kind of man that people noticed. Indeed, it was difficult to miss him. At six feet six inches tall in his bare feet and impressively muscled, he attracted attention wherever he went.

  He had gentle brown eyes and a mane of thick shaggy auburn hair that fell to his shoulders and looked red in the sun. He might have been fearsome to look at, but inside, as the Wise Woman Betty McColl said, he had the heart of a childr.

  His wife Elisaid was a small woman who had to tilt her back to look at him, but he would simply lift her up so that he could look into her blue eyes. He did this more often than not because he loved to have his arms around her.

  “I am made for you, my wee angel,” he would say, his deep voice soft and loving.

  “You are indeed,” she would agree, laughing fondly. “And I am made for you, Master!”

  “Master” was a little joke between them, for Elisaid had Rory wrapped around her little finger. Rory would have done anything to make his wife happy; they were completely devoted to each other.

  However, it seemed that this devotion was doomed. A silent killer was stalking the area around Gairloch, passing from one person to another with a touch or a breath. Its name was measles, and it loved to strike the very old and very young.

  It passed many people with no more than a rash and a high fever; indeed, Rory had been sick with it at the age of seven and recovered, but it spread like wildfire and took some unfortunates in the prime of their lives.

  It took Elisaid. Rory watched the bright red rash on her smooth white skin spread onto her chest and the rest of her body with distress but not alarm. Betty McColl had given her a salve for the itch and told her it was not serious.

  “This is a pest o’ a sickness but it willnae kill ye, hen,” she said fondly to Elisaid. “An’ when ye have had it ye can never catch it again.”

  “I am that glad tae hear it, Betty!” Elisaid said irritably as she scratched her arm, which was already bleeding in some places. She was unable to go outside because of the risk of infection to the other villagers, so she was confined to bed—hot, sweaty
, and bored.

  One day about a week after she had become sick, Rory came in proudly bearing a great salmon that one of his fishermen friends had caught. He was horrified to find that Elisaid had slipped out of bed and was lying with her head on the floor and her feet still under the blankets.

  Tenderly, he lifted her back into bed and called one of the local children to fetch Betty. Elisaid was flushed, sweating, and her head was thrashing from side to side on the pillow. She was mumbling, but the words were so incoherent he could not make them out, and when he touched her damp skin it was burning hot.

  Betty rushed in and summed up the situation at once. “We must bring doon this ragin’ fever, Rory,” she said firmly. She began to coax some willow bark tea into Elisaid’s mouth, but it took a long, long time, and Betty could see that she was fading, although she dared not tell Rory in case there was a tiny scrap of hope.

  Rory was frantic. He could not lose her. He could not lose Elisaid, the love of his life; he would rather be dead himself. When Bettie had dripped the last of the tea into his wife’s mouth, she instructed him to begin putting strips of linen soaked in cold water all over her.

  “That should dae it,” Betty whispered. She stood up. “I must go an’ see tae somebody else, Rory. I will be back soon.” She patted his shoulder.

  Rory dutifully did as he was told, applying the cold cloths and replacing them when they were warm, praying all the time.

  His heart leaped when Elisaid opened her eyes. They were bloodshot and red-rimmed, and her fair hair was soaked with sweat, but at that moment she had never looked more beautiful to him.

  She smiled at him wearily.

  “How are you feelin’?” he asked tenderly.

  “Terrible,” she replied. She tried to laugh, but it turned into a hacking cough instead. Rory tipped a little water into her mouth, then she lay back, taking in wheezing, labored breaths, but her eyes never left his, and they were shining with love.

  He was holding her right hand in his, then he brought it to his lips and kissed it softly. “I love ye, my wee angel,” he murmured.

  Elisaid gave him a tiny, tired smile and her eyes drifted closed. “Love you too,” she whispered, so softly that her words were barely audible.

  An awful premonition seized him as her breathing began to become harsh and grating. He shook her in panic, but it achieved nothing. “Wake up! Wake up, angel!” he cried, and just at that moment, the door of the cottage opened to admit Betty and Father McGuire, the local priest. He knew what this meant.

  “Naw!” he screamed. “She is no’ going tae die!” Then he looked down at Elisaid, opening his mouth to speak again, but she was no longer breathing. For a moment he stared at her numbly in disbelief, then he shook her again. “You are no’ leavin’ me, Ellie!” he cried desperately. He was weeping openly now.

  “Rory,” Bettie said gently. “She is dead. Gone tae the Lord. Ye must let her go.”

  While they were talking, Father McGuire had begun to say the Last Rites. Now Rory leaped at him, took the prayer book from his hands, and ripped the thick volume in half. He was about to bring his hands down on the cowering Father McGuire’s shoulders to throw him out of the cottage when sanity returned and brought him to his knees, sobbing.

  It was Bettie who helped him to his feet again. She was immensely relieved that he had allowed her to since it would have taken at least three men to move him otherwise. “Come, Rory. We must let the women lay her oot.”

  He nodded, then went over to Elisaid and kissed her still-warm lips. He wanted to tell her he loved her again, but he could not speak. He turned away and left the cottage followed by Betty, but he had only taken a few steps when he stopped, raised his huge fists, and roared his rage and grief to the sky.

  Elisaid had no family, and neither did he. He was utterly alone. He stumbled into the woods, threw himself on the ground, and cried until he had no tears left.

  Chapter 1

  Laird John Weir was smiling with self-satisfied glee as he dangled four rabbits from his hands and held them up for his daughter’s inspection. Vanora put her hand over her mouth and turned away, disgusted.

  “Father,” she said in a strangled voice, “must you do that? You know how the sight of blood upsets me!”

  “So you won’t eat them then?” he asked hopefully. “Oh, good. All the more for me!” He gave her an evil smile and hooked the little carcasses onto his saddle, and then he grinned at Vanora, who was shaking her head and sighing.

  “I will eat them of course!” she replied, laughing. “I do not like eating them if I can see their eyes, that is all. I have no problem if they look like meat and not rabbits.”

  “Women!” John cast his eyes heavenward and sighed. “If we did not have rabbits, fish, deer, sheep, pigs, and cattle, what would we eat?”

  “Each other, probably,” she replied dryly, making him laugh and give her a playful punch.

  These sorts of exchanges were common between Vanora and her father since they had the same sense of humor and the same likes and dislikes. Vanora loved coming rabbit hunting with him, even though she did feel heartbroken for the poor little creatures. She loved these expeditions especially because she could leave behind her irritating little sisters for a while!

  Vanora’s eyes were an extraordinary shade of light gray ringed with a darker gray around the edge. They were mesmerizing, and her waist-length golden-brown hair gave her an almost angelic appearance, but that illusion was dispelled by her generous bosom, tiny waist, and curving hips. At just seventeen years of age, Vanora was very much a woman and standing at five feet eight inches, she was a very tall woman. Her sisters resembled their mother and were short and fair.

  John Weir resembled his daughter in height and coloring, although his hair was showing streaks of gray now that he was approaching middle age. His beloved wife Davidina had died five years before, so his whole life revolved around his daughters.

  They were riding on a well-worn path that would shortly enter a thick pine forest, leaving behind the grassy hillsides. These were grazed by rabbits and the black-faced Scottish sheep that looked as if they had dipped their feet and faces in soot. Vanora, Marion, and Ella had always found them quite comical to look at.

  “I think it is time to go—” John never finished what he was going to say. His face twisted into a grimace of pain and he made a long, groaning gasp as he fell forward in the saddle, an arrow protruding from his back.

  Vanora watched, horrified, as he tumbled from his horse. As he hit the ground the arrow, having passed through his body, pierced his chest, and in an instant, a bright bloom of red appeared around it. John’s eyes were still open and fixed on Vanora, who was in the grip of a shock so profound that she could not move.

  “Go!” John’s voice was no more than a choking gasp. “Get away!” His eyes were wide and terrified, but as she watched, helpless, she saw the life go out of them.

  Four horsemen were galloping towards Vanora, all of them wearing masks, and she could hear their gleeful, mocking laughter above the noise of their horses’ hooves.

  The bandits were heading straight for her.

  Suddenly, even though the shock of her father’s death was still with her, her mind shook free of it as her will to live became paramount.

  The bandits were riding line abreast, but not too close together. Clearly, they were going to split up and then surround her. They expected her to either freeze or stay where she was, turn right or left into the forest, or turn around and go back the way she had come.

  She did none of those things. Her gray stallion, Bokkie, was not a huge horse but he was muscular, fast, and very fit, and now Vanora took advantage of all those qualities. Without even thinking about it, she aimed him at the gap between the two middle riders and urged him into his swiftest gallop.

  The two men cried out in panic as Bokkie charged towards them, and when they swerved to avoid him they nudged the other two outlaws sideways as well so that the neat line of four became
a tangled mêlée.

  Vanora turned sharply right into the forest, knowing that it was only a matter of seconds before the bandits regrouped and rode after her again. She could hear angry, indignant shouts from behind her, but she dared not risk a glance over her shoulder.

  She could hear the hoofbeats coming closer, and the hoarse, furious voices of the bandits becoming louder and louder. Their cries were full of obscenities and threats, and Vanora knew exactly what would happen to her if they caught up with her. Very likely they would kill her, but not before each one had his fun with her first.

  Then, just as she was about to give up hope, she heard the sound of an ax echoing through the wood, and she felt a surge of hope. Perhaps there was someone there who could help her; after all, an ax made a fine weapon. She looked back, saw that the bandits were gaining on her, and her heart gave a lurch of fear. She had to get away!

  She headed towards the sound, and as she rounded the thick trunk of a pine tree she saw the biggest man she had ever seen. He was naked from the waist up, showing a mighty set of chest and arm muscles. A massive ax, with which he was felling a small spruce tree, was gripped in his enormous hands.

  He looked up and his brows lowered in a fierce glare.

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