Awakening His Highland Soul (Steamy Scottish Historical Romance)

by Maddie MacKenna

  I cannae remember ever feelin’ more alive than this.

  “Beatrice,” he said. “Will ye dae me the great honor of bein’ me wife?”

  The English equestrienne’s lips parted in astonishment. Joy suffused her countenance.

  “But, Jeames, you know that we cannot. What of your father?”

  “I told ye, he as good as gave me his blessin’ only a moment ago!”

  Beatrice’s eyes filled with tears, though the radiant smile on her face proclaimed them to be tears of joy.

  “But, Margery…”

  Jeames’s own smile faded just a touch. “There is nay love betwixt Margery and meself, and there never has been. It was only the word of our faither’s, made long ago, that bonds us. I shall talk tae Miss Margery.”

  Beatrice cupped Jeames’s face in her hands and kissed him through her tears. “You’re sure?”

  Jeames took her in his arms. He looked deep into her hazel eyes, the eyes that had ensnared him ever since he’d seen them peeping out at him from behind the trunk of an alder tree.

  “I am more sure of this than anythin’ in me whole life.”

  They kissed under the light of the setting Scottish sun as it filled the garden with its golden light, whilst around them the smell of flowers and herbs filled the air, bees droned and the clean Highland breeze wrapped them in its fresh embrace.

  Epilogue

  The two horses crested the rise and were brought to a halt by their riders. The man and the woman sat atop their mounts, on the top of the hill, and looked down at the valley in which they had been aiming for. Below them a half a dozen horsemen and a carriage were stopped at the side of one of the many picturesque meres that the Highlands had in such plenty.

  “Do you want me to come with you?” Beatrice asked Jeames.

  “Nay, lass,” the Highlander replied, flashing her a quick smile. “Best nae tae rub salt in the wounds.”

  “You told me that she would not care that you wanted to break off the betrothal,” Beatrice said, giving her love a narrowed-eyed look.

  Jeames sighed, as a man might who knows that he has a potentially arduous and unpleasant task ahead of him. “Och, she will nae care, nae about me breakin’ off the betrothal. Tae be honest, I think she’ll be as relieved as I am.”

  “Then why must I wait up here on this lonely hillside, hm?” Beatrice asked, teasingly.

  “She might nae care, but it she might consider it a sore blow tae her pride, if ye understand me meanin’. There are few people who enjoy bein’ handed the mitten after all.”

  Beatrice kissed her hand, reached over and placed it on Jeames’s cheek. “You are chivalrous to the last,” she said. “But hurry back, please. I find I thoroughly enjoy this life of being betrothed to you, but I like it far more when you are around…”

  Jeames laughed and bowed his head, wincing as his bandages pulled taut across his chest. “As ye wish, Me Lady,” he said.

  “Remember, I’m not a lady until you make an honest woman of me first, Master Abernathy,” she replied with a wink.

  Jeames shook his head and marveled at the form of his betrothed as she turned her horse with a word and cantered back over the brow of the hill so that she would not be visible from the little camp below.

  I could watch her ride all day.

  Jeames clicked his tongue and his own horse started to move off downhill.

  But, first, I must tie up this final loose end.

  He trotted his horse carefully down the slope, keeping an eye out for rabbit holes. As he approached, one of the riders detached itself from the camp and cantered towards him. Jeames drew rein and waited.

  “Can I help ye?” the soldier asked.

  Ye could help me by deliverin’ this message whilst I galloped fer the horizon.

  “Aye, ye can. Me name is Jeames Abernathy. I’m here tae see Miss Margery Brùn as arranged.”

  The guardsman nodded.

  “Right ye are, Master Jeames. This way.”

  Jeames followed the soldier to the where the ornate and comfortable-looking carriage was drawn up near the side of the mere. The pool was still and clear as glass, reflecting the clouds in the blue sky above.

  Margery Brùn stood by the side of the mere. She was wrapped in a mantle of deep purple which, Jeames had to admit, complemented her pale skin and dark hair quite wonderfully. At the sound of Jeames’s approach, she turned and regarded him with those cold, calculating eyes of hers. Once again, Jeames was struck by how beautiful she might be, if she were just to open up the gates around her heart.

  “Miss Margery,” he said, with an ingratiating smile. He bowed automatically but grimaced in discomfort as he drew up again.

  “You’re hurt?” Margery asked him, without so much as a smile in answer to his greeting.

  “Aye, a wee injury I sustained whilst blunderin’ about in the dark. Nothin’ tae serious I’m glad tae say.”

  Margery sniffed. “I will nae deny that I was surprised when I received yer message tae meet. I hope ye daenae mind meeting out in the wilds like this, but a woman has her reputation tae consider.”

  Jeames did not really understand this logic. After all, it wasn’t as if he had planned to sneak into her bedroom window one evening. He was also surprised at her calling the country they were now in ‘the wilds.’ This land was only a three-hour ride from MacKenzie Castle and was frequently used as grazing land by local crofters.

  “Nay, that’s fine, I quite understand,” Jeames said.

  The two of them stood there in silence for a moment or two.

  “Well?” Margery said, rather snappishly. “What is it that ye want tae talk tae me about, Master Jeames?”

  Jeames gathered his thoughts and pondered the best way tae phrase what he had to say.

  “Well, Margery–”

  “Miss Margery,” Margery corrected him in an austere voice.

  “Right,” Jeames said, coloring a little. “Miss Margery, we’ve been, ah, betrothed tae each other fer quite some time now, ever since our faithers made the pact betwixt them and–”

  “Are ye askin’ me whether we should get married now?” Margery asked.

  “Um, nay,” Jeames said. “Nay, I am nae sayin’ that at all. In fact, I am sayin’ the opposite.”

  Lady Margery cocked a shapely eyebrow at him. “What? Speak on, man, speak on!”

  “What I’m sayin,” Jeames said, his words tumbling over themselves to get out of his mouth and get the worst over with. “Is that I am breakin’ off our engagement.”

  Margery stood frozen for a minute, regarding Jeames with the sort of wonder that she might have reserved had he been one of the Blue Men of the Minch popping up out of the heather.

  “Ye’re breakin’ off the engagement?” she repeated.

  “Aye,” Jeames said, unable to tell if Margery was about to explode with anger or else dissolve into tears.

  To his astonishment, she laughed suddenly. Jeames realized that this was the first time that he had seen her do this.

  “Well, I was nae expectin’ that,” Margery managed after her laughter had died away. “What news. What news!”

  “Ye–ye aren’t upset or angry?” Jeames aksed.

  To his further consternation, Margery reached out and patted him on the cheek with a gloved hand. “Oh, Jeames, o’ course nae. I’ve been dreadin’ the day that we would eventually have tae fasten each other within the shackles of matrimony since I was a wee girl. I’m relieved!”

  Jeames, completely flabbergasted and more relieved than he cared to admit, snorted. “Right, well then, that’s fine.”

  Margery looked out over the mere, a faint smile giving her features a new and not unlovely cast.

  “Yes, it is fine,” she said.

  “Are ye nae afraid o’ what yer faither might think or say when ye tell him?” Jeames asked, making sure to broach the subject that his father was most eager to have addressed.

  Margery waved a dismissive hand at him. “Och, daenae worry
about me faither, Jeames. He might be in a bit of a grump at what he perceives tae be a slight on his family name, but I shall set him straight. Ye daenae have tae worry about him.”

  I bet I daenae.

  Jeames bowed. “Margery, I must say that I am delighted that we’re able tae part like this.”

  Margery gave him another little smile. “As am I Jeames,” she said. “I appreciate ye fer comin’ tae tell me tae me face. Ye are a good man.” She pushed a strand of her out her face and tucked it behind her ear. “Just nae me sort o’ good man.”

  Jeames grinned, gave a short bow and walked back to his horse. He had mounted, and was just about to ride away, when Margery called his name.

  “Jeames?”

  “Aye, Miss Margery?”

  “The woman who ye rode here with, who I saw on top of the hill there, I hope ye are very happy taegether!”

  Jeames nodded, turned his horse and rode away.

  * * *

  “Ah, you’ve returned! And with all your bones and teeth intact no less!”

  Beatrice watched as Jeames trotted over to where she was taking her ease in a comfortable nest she had made amidst the heather. Her horse grazed nearby. She had been watching the skylarks as they darted about the moors, plucking insects from the air and gathering up moss and other detritus for their nests.

  Jeames got slowly and stiffly down from his horse and came and sat beside her with a deep groan.

  “Aye,” he said, “I survived! Who would have thought it?”

  “Not I. From your descriptions, you made Margery Brùn out to be little short of a dragon in human shape.”

  Jeames grinned. “I wasnae that honest about her, was I?” He snorted. “Nay, she was nae so bad. In fact, I think I saw a whole new side tae her today. Though, I am nae sure that I shouldnae have been a little more offended at just how happy the prospect of nae marryin’ me made her!”

  Beatrice laughed and kissed her betrothed on the cheek. “So, that is that?” she asked.

  “Aye, so it would seem,” Jeames said. “Are ye ready fer the rest of our lives?”

  Beatrice lay back in the heather and looked up at the Highlander leaning over here from under her long eyelashes. She reached up and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him down to her. Jeames groaned like an old man and Beatrice giggled as she kissed him on the lips.

  She smiled, as she felt him kiss up the side of her neck and nuzzle her ear, whilst his strong hand moved from her waist down to her thigh. Her own hand reached up and her fingers twined through his thick black hair, pulling him closer still.

  “Now, now, if we have learned one thing from all this,” she said, her voice husky with desire and happiness. “It’s that we should take one day at a time.”

  The two figures melded together, became one in the waving sea of Scottish heather, whilst, overhead the skylarks danced and sang.

  The End?

  Extended Epilogue

  Would you like to learn how Beatrice and Jeames’s relationship evolved? Then enjoy this complimentary short story featuring our favorite couple!

  Simply TAP HERE to read it now for FREE! or use this link: https://maddiemackenna.com/bw0d directly in your browser.

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  More steamy historical romance

  Turn on to the next page to read the first chapters of Consumed by the Lost Highlander, one of my best stories so far!

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  Prologue

  Lochenbrew, Scotland, 1695

  Andrew raised the metal hammer high above his head and it rang down on the heated metal below. Sparks of bright orange danced in the dim light of the small blacksmith shop.

  Those who saw Andrew on the streets knew that he was a boy, his young face not yet hardened by time, but when he was working around funaces and bellows, he was often mistaken for a man.

  He was fifteen years old, yet his forearms were already thick and strong, wielding a hammer with the same skill as he wielded swords. He was already tall, standing over six feet, and wore a constant serious expression on his face.

  The bellows were pumped one more time, and the devilish flames raged inside the stone furnace. The sword was plunged into the scalding flame and brought out to be hammered once more. When he was happy with it, Andrew dipped the sword into hissing water, and turned the blade this way and that, admiring the faint sheen on the cooling metal.

  “Aye, another fine blade.” Adair came close and studied the metal.

  Adair was the only family that Andrew had. His mother had passed away in childbirth, and he was the first and only child of the McLochl’s. His father was an only child too, and contact had been lost many moons ago with his mother’s family. All he had was his father.

  Not that it bothered Andrew. Not much in life annoyed the boy. He had grown up under the guidance of his father to be the boy he was today, and, soon, he would be a man. He had learned politeness, courtesy, stubbornness, and patience from his father, but, most importantly, he had learned how to wield the tools of the blacksmith.

  If there was one thing that Andrew was born to do, it was to shape metal. Adair was the best blacksmith in the clan, and Andrew would take over that mantle soon enough. They were in such high demand that the Castle often came to them with special work, forgoing the Castle blacksmith for the Adairs. It was the Laird’s sword that Andrew held in his hand.

  “It’s not good enough,” complained Andrew.

  “Och, ye worry too much about the quality when no one else knows the difference.”

  “I know the difference.” It was true that he would be able to tell the difference, but he also knew that his father was right, no one else would know.

  “Aye, ye do that,” said Adair. “Well, ye have an hour until Laird Lochenbrew gets here. He’ll like it just the same now as he’ll like it after ye’ve worked on it some more.”

  “Just a few more hits.” Andrew liked the way that the metal danced in his hands.

  “Aye, aye,” said Adair. “Dae what ye need tae.”

  “The Laird is a stern man,” warned Andrew. “Stern but fair. I only want tae give him the best.”

  “Aye, he is that. The sword will make a fine weapon for him, ye can be sure of that.”

  “I need tae go check the balance.” He knew that he was overcomplicating the process, but he did not want to disappoint the Laird.

  “Aye, ye dae that, and I’ll have a wee lie down.” Adair looked tired and a little pale. Andrew worried for the man, but knew the rest would do him good.

  “Ye feelin’ all right, Father?” asked Andrew.

  “Just a wee bit tired,” Adair replied. “Nothin’ that a wee nap won’t fix.”

  “Are ye sure that ye are well, Father? Ye’ve not been well for almost a month.”

  “Just the changin’ seasons,” said Adair. “I’ll be back workin’ in no time. Ye just worry about that sword.”

  “All right, I’ll wake ye before the Laird arrives,” said Andrew.

  Adair retreated to the back room, a small room with two beds and a small fireplace. It was all that Andrew knew as home. He thought about the Laird coming from the Castle. He had been in the Castle twice in his life and marveled at how big and grand it was. He had delivered weapons to the armory, and loved seeing the soldiers training within the Castle walls.

  “Someday, I will be a soldier too,” Andrew whispered to himself. He had spent far too long making swords and not enough time wielding them.

  The furnace raged once more, and the sword was heated before being beaten again. The orange metallic glows flew through the air and disappeared as if they were fireflies. When Andrew was happy with the blade, he let it sit in the cool water for a few minutes before taking it outside to practice.

  Lochenbrew Castle stood tall in the distance, a beacon of hope to those who lived around it. The sto
ne was pale and bright in the midday sun, and a circle of birds swarmed above the towers, before being lost in the clouds. Andrew looked at the small wooden blacksmith shop in comparison.

  It was home, but was it much more than that? He dreamed of something different in life, but knew that he had to settle for what he had. It was not that bad of a life, after all. He had not yet told his father, but he was seriously considering finding work in the Castle. He knew what his father would say. The blacksmith in the Castle did nothing more than make the same swords over and over, and life would be tedious, but at least he would get to live within the walls.