A Highlander Marked by Fate
She wanted to escape her past, he wanted to hide from his future...
Kenna Kendrick
Contents
Thank you
Highlanders of Kirklinton
About the book
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
But there’s more…
Afterword
Highlanders of Kirklinton
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Thank you
About the Author
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Highlanders of Kirklinton
Book#1
A Highlander Forged in Fire
Book#2
A Highlander Born from Chaos
Book#3 (this book)
A Highlander Marked by Fate
About the book
A dark prophecy, past enmities, and a secret affair that will mark their future...
Margaret was on the run, ever since one of the most evil families, the Musgraves, threatened to destroy her life. On the brink of disaster, fortune smiled at her: she saved the future Laird of the famed Elliott clan and found a new home amongst his people.
Βut when Margaret’s passion for this handsome Highlander rises, everything she worked for will be on the line. Because not even the debt of life he owes will be enough to save her if he finds out the truth.
Rory Elliott's fate was intertwined with suffering. An heir in the shadow of his father, a man rejected by the only woman he loved.
When he is rescued by an unknown lass, Rory feels like destiny is giving him a second chance at happiness. Unbeknownst to him, his efforts to approach her will bring to light past feuds and a deadly revenge plan against them.
How will Rory find the strength to untangle this web of lies? And what sort of an enigma is Margaret?
She wanted to escape her past, he wanted to hide from his future...
Prologue
The Scottish Borders, 10 Years Previously.
The forest was cool and shady, the sun casting dappled shadows through the trees and a gentle breeze rustling the leaves. It was a hot summers day, and Rory Elliott, along with his brother Owen, and sister Evie had just emerged from the pool, which lay invitingly in the meandering river winding its way towards the village of Lochrutton.
That day, they had come to swim. For their old tutor had dismissed them since it was far too warm for lessons. Eagerly, they had headed off together, taking food and drink with them and assuring their mother and father, Fraser and Isla Elliott, that they would return by dinner time. They had been joined by Evie’s friend Caitlin Macready, a lass for whom Rory held much affection. The affection which went unrequited, much to his sorrow.
“The water was so cold, my whole body is tinglin’ still,” Evie said, wrapping her shawl tightly around her.
“Well, if ye will swim under the waterfall like that, then ye deserve to be cold,” her brother Owen replied.
“Are ye nae cold, Caitlin?” Evie asked, and her friend nodded.
“Aye, but tis’ so refreshin’ to swim in the pool, daenae ye think, Rory?” Caitlin said, turning to look at Rory, who had just finished drying himself off.
He blushed a little under her gaze, his half-naked body still dripping with water, as he hurriedly pulled on his tunic.
“I have known it colder,” he replied, hurrying on after them.
“I love the forest at this time of year. The way the sun shines through the trees. The whole place is so alive,” Evie said, looking up around her.
“Uncle Duncan says tis’ God’s gift to make up for winter,” Owen said.
“So says the little monk,” Evie replied.
Owen had long harbored dreams of joining his uncle in the monastery at Lanercost. He was a pious boy, who showed little interest in the fairer sex, often to be found at his prayers, while the others were off having fun.
“Ye know our uncle is right,” Owen replied, shaking his head.
“Come on, Rory, keep up,” Caitlin called back, and Rory hurried to her side.
“Aye, I am comin’ now, but why the rush?” he asked.
“Because we said we would be back for dinner, and it will take us an hour to walk back,” Evie replied.
“Since when have ye worried about upsettin’ mother and father?” Rory asked, shaking his head.
“Ye know how mother worries about us,” Evie replied.
Rory nodded. It was true, their mother often worried about the three of them and Caitlin, whom she saw as a second daughter. The border country was wild and lonely, with threats on every side. But despite that, the children had enjoyed a happy childhood. Free to roam over the moorlands and into the forests.
“Well, we can take care of ourselves. If a Musgrave soldier appeared before us now, then we’d be a sure match for him,” Rory said, trying to sound brave in front of Caitlin.
His brother laughed.
“Ye would run as fast as the rest of us. Dae ye want to spend yer life as a servant in the Musgrave castle-like our poor grandmother did?” he asked, and Rory scowled at him.
“I am nay coward like ye, little monk,” he said, causing his brother to blush.
“Who said I was a coward? But tis’ better to turn the other cheek than risk yer life. Sometimes runnin’ away is the better part of valor,” Owen replied.
“Oh, stop arguin’ ye two, honestly,” Evie said, grinning at Rory, who rolled his eyes.
“Can we nae talk about somethin’ else?” Caitlin said, and Rory nodded.
They talked of Owen’s entry into the monastery, of the harvest ahead and life at Kirklinton. But Rory was only half-listening, and eventually, he had heard enough of their talk. He was a solitary sort, prone to deep thinking, and liked to be alone. Often, he would walk out into the woods and walk for hours with only his thoughts for company. In that respect, he was like his brother Owen, but without the piety that he so often displayed. Rory was a thinker, and right now, he wanted to be alone.
“I daenae want ye to wait for me. Get yerselves back home. I shall be all right by myself,” he called back.
“Mother will be anxious,” Evie replied, but Rory just shook his head.
>
“I am old enough to take care of myself. I am to be Laird one day. Besides, tis’ only mushrooms I am pickin’, and I will be in the forest. Tis’ safe here. There are nay Musgraves for miles around,” Rory replied.
Evie nodded, and Caitlin gave him a final glance, smiling, as the other three disappeared off through the trees.
She will never see ye as anything else but a brother, ye know that he said to himself, kicking at a branch on the ground and shaking his head.
The sun was sinking low, though the evening would linger on, for it was high summer, and the days seemed endless and long. Rory loved this time of year when the forest seemed so alive. He paused, watching a stag grazing in a mossy glade, its great antlers reminding him of the trophies which decorated his grandfather’s great hall at the castle at Kirklinton.
And one day ye shall be Laird there, he said to himself.
Rory imagined himself as a powerful and noble man, just like his father and grandfather. He was eager for duty, eager for the responsibility he knew would one day be his. But why could he not have the one thing he truly desired?
Perhaps I am destined to be forever her friend and never her lover, he said to himself, thoughts of Caitlin still foremost in his mind.
The trees of the forest were growing thick as he walked through a part of the woodlands he had never traversed before. Rory began looking for mushrooms, taking off his cloak, and folding it at the corners to make a basket. The rain of the night had brought them out in abundance, and he soon had a good haul to take home to his mother.
There now, tis’ enough for today, he said to himself, plucking the last mushroom from the base of a gnarly old oak.
He was about to turn and make his way back through the trees when the sound of a breaking branch caused him to startle. He spun around, almost dropping the bundle of mushrooms in his haste, but laughed at himself, as he saw a rabbit hopping across his path.
“Scared of a rabbit,” he said, shaking his head, “ye will never be a warrior if one of those can make ye jump.”
But, as he made his way through the trees, he felt himself being watched. A shiver ran through him, and, as he turned, he realized he was not alone. The sun had grown low in the sky, and the shadows were lengthening. The forest was becoming gloomy, but still, amidst the trees, he could make out a figure, some distance away.
“Who goes there?” he called out, “Come now, show yerself. I am nae afraid of ye.”
“Afraid?” she said, stepping out into the clearing, “and what would a noble young lad like ye have to be afraid of from an old lass like I?”
Rory blushed. The woman appeared ancient and was walking with a stick, her torn and ragged clothes suggesting she had lived her whole life amongst the peasants of the forest. She posed him no danger, and he smiled at her, stepping forward and offering her his arm.
“Forgive me, but one cannae be too careful in the forest,” he said, and the old woman nodded.
“Aye, but ye are to be Laird of this forest one day, and we are to be under yer care. If the Laird himself fears the shadows of the trees, then what hope is there for the rest of us?” she said, smiling at him.
Rory looked down at her in amazement. How did she know he was the son of the man who would be Laird? He had never seen her before in his life.
“How … how dae ye know who I am?” he asked, but the old woman smiled.
“I know many things, Rory Elliott and I know yer father, who has always been kind to us forest folks,” she replied.
“Ye are right, I am Rory Elliott, but who are ye? Ye dwell here in the forest?” he asked, and the old woman nodded.
“Aye, for many a year. The forest is my home, tis’ a safe place when so much of the world around us in danger,” she replied.
Rory nodded. Danger lurked on every side, and even here in the forest, the menace of unseen enemies was never far away.
“Can I escort ye home? I have some mushrooms here, and perhaps ye would like some?” Rory asked.
The old woman smiled, placing her arm through his as they walked together through the forest glades.
“We manage well enough out here in the forest. Tis’ a hard life, nothin’ like yer own, I am sure,” she replied.
Rory’s own life had been one of privilege. He had grown up in the Armstrong castle, with servants and everything he desired. He had never known an empty table or a day without food. Life had not been a struggle as it had for this poor woman and her family, and, as they came in sight of the woman’s croft, a hovel built into the rocks of an ancient cave, he handed over the mushrooms, insisting that she took them.
“They are yers,” he said, as she began to protest, “I shall tell the others that there were nay mushrooms to be had amongst the trees. We have plenty of food, without takin’ that which is yers and the good folks who dwell here amongst the trees.”
“Ye will make a good Laird one day, my son,” the old woman said, sitting down heavily outside her croft.
In the light of the clearing, Rory could see how ancient she was. Her gnarled hands and face having seen many a long winter on the borders. But her eyes were keen, and her mind seemed as sharp as any other he knew. She smiled at him, taking the mushrooms from his makeshift basket, and shaking off his cloak before returning it.
“But come now, there is kindness in yer deed, and kindness deserves to be returned,” she said, motioning him to come and sit beside her.
“But what can ye possibly give me?” he asked, amazed by her words.
The croft was dilapidated, her clothes torn and ragged, and only a faint plume of smoke came from the fire. The woman had nothing, what could she possibly give to him?
“I will read yer palm, lad, and tell ye of yer future,” she replied, holding out her hand.
Rory shook his head. He could imagine what his brother and his uncle Duncan would say about such things. Owen was very much against the pagan practices of the peasants, often speaking out against them and encouraging their father to stamp them out. But their father had always tolerated such things and often dabbled in them. His healing hands were a legend among the peasants.
“Nay, there is nay need for ye to repay me. I am glad to have helped ye,” Rory said, but the old woman reached out and gently took his hand in hers.
Rory watched as she examined his palm with her keen eyes. It was as though she saw things that no one else could see. Nodding occasionally, she traced her finger across the lines, which crossed his hand, the ancient art of the reader a mystery known only to her.
“Ah, well now, Rory Elliott. There is much that I see here,” she said, looking up at him and smiling.
“Ye … ye dae?” he said, a puzzled look upon his face.
What possible things could she tell merely from looking at his palm? What secrets did those lines hold, and what future lay in store for him?
“Aye, but tis’ nae all a happy tale I have to tell ye,” she said, “are ye sure ye wish to hear it?”
Rory’s curiosity was aroused. He could hardly dismiss the woman, not after his kindness towards her.
“Aye, I wish to hear it, but only about myself. Nae the others,” he said.
“The palm is yers. It tells me nothin’ of others. But yer destiny is bound up with those ye love,” she said.
“Then tell me what that destiny is,” he said.
The old woman traced her finger across his palm one final time, before closing his fist and sitting back. She thought for a moment, before sighing and nodding.
“Aye … there is … greatness here. Ye shall be a great man, Rory Elliott, that much is certain. But greatness goes hand in hand with death.”
“But of course,” he replied, “I cannae be Laird until the unhappy fate of death befalls those I love, my father and my grandfather,” he said, thinking that perhaps the woman’s prophecy was obvious enough.
“Ah … but there is more to hear,” she said, holding up a finger, “there is love too, a love which shall deceive ye.”
/> “Deceive me? What dae ye mean?” he asked.
A Highlander Marked by Fate: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance (Highlanders of Kirklinton Book 3) Page 1