The Highlander's Fiery Bride: A Steamy Scottish Historical Romance Novel

by Lydia Kendall

  She wanted to see the light spring into his eyes when he saw her. Dressed with her hair braided over her shoulder, she left the room and dared to venture to the busy great hall by herself.

  She got to the entrance and stepped inside only a foot before she stopped. No one was at the high table and eyes were spinning to her. Her heart began thumping too loudly in her ears and making it to the high table alone, a span of fifty-feet or more, felt like a mile to her and impossible under such deep scrutiny.

  She spun and immediately bumped into Angus’ brother Malcolm. The young Scotsman reached out and steadied her. “Are ye all right there, Miss?”

  “Miss,” Magdalene smiled. “Didn’t I ask you to drop that title?”

  “Aye,” Malcolm said. “Ye did, but ye have to understand, we are taught to use our manners here.”

  “I understand but it would be a kindness to not use it on me. Where is Angus though?”

  Malcolm’s eyebrows lifted and his head tilted to the left, “He dinnae tell ye?”

  “Tell me what?” Magdalene asked. Instantly, her heart plummeted. She felt rather hollow and stung that Angus had gone off without telling her anything, especially after the night they had shared. Had their connection last night meant nothing to him? “Did he go see her?”

  “Her?” Malcolm asked, frowning.

  “The witch he keeps speaking about,” Magdalene asked fearfully. “Did he go and try to get rid of her?”

  “Oh,” Malcolm shook his head, “Nay. He dinnae go to her, well he went to someone like her but more…traditional.”

  “I’m confused,” Magdalene said. “Someone like her? And why is that person more traditional?”

  “Eh, this is nae the place to tell ye this,” Malcolm said. “Come on, let’s go to a sitting room where I can tell ye some of our history. We were nae all Christian, Milady, we had a religion before we became Christlike. But first, let me get someone to carry us some tea and breakfast so we can eat, too.”

  Interested in what Malcolm had to say, Magdalene stood as he hailed a servant girl, requested their meals and told her where to carry them. He then took her to a room where chairs were placed around a small table, “Please sit, and let me tell ye a bit of who we once were.”

  Taking a seat and folding her legs to the side, Magdalene closed her hands over her lap while Malcolm sat across from her.

  Malcolm nodded, “Ye ken before the Romans came trampling through our land, there lived a race before us. They believed in many gods and that everything has a spirit—animals, rivers, even plants. They had mediums between this world and the unseen one and they were called Druids. They were mostly healers, by using the spirits and medicines to treat maladies. But they are known to do other things, too.”

  “Like what?” Magdalene asked.

  “There are said to practice magic, something that Christians abhor as it’s an art from the Devil,” Malcolm added. “Many old Kings were rumored to have Druids beside them to guide them in ways of ruling and used them to curse their enemies. Many of us are Christians and heed to the laws laid down by the priests, but some stick to our roots.”

  Magdalene realized he was leading her to a revelation and after a moment of contemplation, she said, “Angus has gone to a Druid?”

  “Aye,” Malcolm said, as he sat back and a lock of hair flopped over his eyes. “He’s gone to make sure he’s properly armed when he does go and contest the witch.”

  “He…” Magdalene thought back to a moment this witch had been mentioned. “But isn’t she a fire witch? How dangerous is she?”

  “Very,” Malcolm suddenly changed from smug to solemn. “She’s killed a lot of people, in a short span of time. Men who have done nothin’ to her but she still burns them alive.”

  The gruesome image of skin falling off blackened bone, and a body full of blistering scars made Magdalene wince. Ghastly mutilation was not something she had ever seen but it was not hard to imagine. A welcomed intrusion came from a servant woman entering in the room with a loaded tray.

  “Here ye go, Laird Malcolm and Lady Magdalene,” the brown-clad woman said while settling the tray on the table and curtsying out.

  Taking the cup of tea—nettle again, she smiled—and sipping it, she tried to bypass the title. “Why didn’t he tell me before he left?”

  “I have a funny feeling that he left early because he might have nae gone if he did tell ye,” Malcolm said and a warm fluttery sensation began running through her chest. “He cares for ye, more than I have ever seen him care for a woman, well, except the MacTavish lass.”

  That heartless woman again. The warmth in her chest went cold and her hand tightened around the cup so tightly her fingers went bloodless.

  How could anyone betray Angus so terribly?

  She had felt Angus’ sorrow last night when he had confessed to what had nearly shattered his heart.

  “With what she had put him through, she’s a true witch,” Magdalene muttered.

  “Wait... wait, hold on… did he tell ye what happened with him and her?” Malcolm asked, sounding too eager for her comfort. He even leaned in and looked directly at her. “What really happened to her? Nae only what he told Mother?”

  Nodding briefly, Magdalene went back to her tea only to have Malcolm huff indignantly, “I cannae believe he told ye that, something that even our Mother doesnae ken, before any of his own.”

  His words sounded a bit judgmental and Magdalene felt a hidden fear rise up. Had she stepped over a line she shouldn’t have? Had she somehow become more important to Angus than his own family? It did sound like that, what else would have made Angus tell her such a deep secret?

  “Is…” she considered her words carefully, “…that wrong?”

  “Nay,” Malcolm shook his head with a lenient smile. “But it is only that much more evident that ye are very important to me brother.”

  She sat the cup down and sighed. “I feel… like I am—” How could she tell the man that she felt as if she was stealing Angus from his family? “—being a bit of a distraction to him.”

  “About time!” another voice, Ailsa’s, said as she came closer. Her breeches-clad legs crossed at the knees as she sat. She then reached over and pilfered a bun from Malcolm’s plate. “Angus has been too serious for the last couple o’ years. He acts too old for his age. Bluntly, Magdalene, he needs a distraction.”

  “You think so, too?” she asked Malcolm.

  “Aye,” the young soldier said, with an amused twist of his lips. “And by how I see Angus lookin’ at ye, I’ll beg ye to keep distracting him for as long as ye can. Possibly run a couple of his nights into days—ouch!”

  A piece of Ailsa’s bun hit him Malcolm square in the eye. “What did ye dae that for, ye little runt?”

  “Shut yer uncouth mouth,” Ailsa hissed. “Ye cannae be talkin’ to a lady with words ye’d use to a tavern-maid.”

  Magdalene had her head down and her eyes stuck on the dregs of her tea. She might be innocent in the way of actually being with a man but she knew exactly what Malcolm had been hinting at. She had felt it last night all too well.

  Angus’ touch on her body had brought a sharp ache, powerful and acute, to settle in the pit of her belly. Her mind flickered back to the night when her father’s soldiers had celebrated a victory and had coupled with the women. How would that feel with Angus?

  “Magdalene?”

  She snapped out of her musing and looked up, trying to stop the stain of blood from reddening her cheeks further. “Yes?”

  Ailsa’s eyes scanned over her face but she did not say anything about it. “Mother told me that Angus told her that ye’d like to learn how to defend yerself. I can teach ye some little practices if ye want.”

  Blinking a little at the sudden change of topic, she nodded. “I’d love that, thank you.”

  “Good,” Ailsa hopped up and grabbed her hand. “Come on, I have a pair of breeches ye can wear.”

  “Oh,” she said taking to her feet. “Where
are we going to practice?”

  “Ah, a place in the courtyard,” Ailsa said tugging her new student out of the room. “Dinnae worry, the squires will stare for a little while but the knights will round them up soon enough.”

  The mention of being in open where squires could see them made anxiety curdle her stomach, but she decided on doing it anyway. Ailsa looked over her shoulder with a grin, “At least after this, ye can show Angus some tricks when he comes back, eh?”

  “Would he like that?” Magdalene asked.

  “Ask himself when he comes back,” Ailsa grinned as she led Magdalene up the stairs. “But I’m betting on ye getting a whooping aye.”

  Seven days in, Magdalene could feel a dull ache in muscles she didn’t even know she had. At first, almost everything seemed to hurt but the baths Lady Isobel drew for her every night were calming the aggravated limbs. The exercises were invigorating as she learned something every day but they were tiring. From the beginning, Ailsa had roped a squire into teaching her how to disarm a man who was coming against her with fists and then with a weapon.

  She knew how to deflect the weapon away from her, twist the man’s arm around, and kick him to disable him from running after her. She knew how to aim for soft spots like eyes, the throat, and the man’s groin.

  Sadly, she knew that after a mis-kick into Malcolm’s, who had howled like a beaten dog. Ailsa had even begun teaching her how to throw knives. The young girl was scarily proficient with weapons of all sizes.

  I don’t want to be in the position of any man who thinks he can harm her. Magdalene admired Ailsa as she watched her fling a knife to a target almost fifty feet away. She’s formidable.

  Her mind drifted off to Angus. Was he well and he did get what he’s seeking from the Druid? Grimly, her mind went to her Mother. Surely, she would have known by now that she was not at her Aunt’s home and she would be mired in worry. Magdalene hated knowing that she was indirectly worrying her mother, but that couldn’t be helped.

  “Magdalene,” Ailsa snapped her fingers in front of her face and she jumped slightly. The youngest held out a dagger, “It’s yer turn, remember what I said, put yer feet a couple of feet apart and hold the handle securely but nae too tight.”

  “Um,” she hesitated. “Just a moment.”

  “Ye’ll do well, I ken,” Ailsa said while standing back. “Ye’ve gotten better every day.”

  Following her instructions, Magdalene did as she was told. The knife’s handle was heavier than the blade, a key point Ailsa had told her to look for when thinking of throwing any blade.

  If the blade was heavier, throw it by the blade, but if the handle was heavier, throw it that way. Grasping the handle and looking at the padded target, she bit her lip, reared her hand back and flung. This was her umpteenth try in the last three days. The spinning arc had the point landing squarely somewhere in the middle of the dummy.

  Ailsa shouted in victory. The call, however, drew unwanted eyes to Magdalene and she wanted to shirk back from the attention she now had. She didn’t have much time to feel self-conscious as Malcolm came into the courtyard with good news.

  “Getting good there,” Malcolm grinned at them, “I might have to teach ye me secret in getting a hit every time ye throw. Oh, and Angus is back.”

  Chapter 18

  Angus faintly felt something cold and smelled pungent herbs being applied to his throbbing left temple. His body ached and his head was a continuous drum of pain. His mouth was forced open and a concoction, thick and bitter, was poured down his throat as his Adam's apple was being massaged to help him swallow.

  “Aye,” he heard his mother’s exasperated voice tut over him. “Cannae avoid trouble when ye go out, can ye?”

  His voice was scratchy and his mind in pain but just before he succumbed to a tonic-induced sleep, he managed to say, “Get Magdalene for me… I want her here.”

  Seven Days Ago

  Spotting the mountains of Càrn Eige made Angus a happy man. Three and half days of hard riding, hampered by the sporadic downpour, had finally gotten him to where he needed to be. Those three nights were some of the hardest, longest, and loneliest nights of his past four years, ever since Ithel. He had ached for Magdalene.

  Titan took the incline, maneuvering around the jutting rocks and the protruding slabs of stone with delicacy. The track began to narrow the further they climbed, until trees were hemming in on him and twigs were pulling at his clothes.

  His training kicked in and Angus could see why this was truly the path less traveled. No one had come this far in probably years. Perhaps they had no need to, as Druids were in less demand these days. His jaw squared as he guided Titan up the trail.

  Finally, the ground began to even out and the winding trail took him through a wooden gate with pagan symbols carved into the woods. He automatically crossed himself while passing through and heading towards a squat wooden hut that had fresh wreaths twisted over the doorway.

  Reining Titan in a few feet away, he swung his leg over and jumped off the saddle. He looked up at the hut, eyes tracing over the doorway. There was not only the wreath there, but animals and human faces were carved into it, as well.

  Am I right in doing this? Looking at Titan, he rubbed the horses’ ears. Could I have found any other way?

  “Laird of Ratagan,” a female voice said from behind him and shocked, Angus, spun in place. No one had warned him that the Druid was a woman. Standing there in a cool blue robe was an old lady, with silver hair but piercing blue eyes. In her hand was a carved rod with a shepherd crook at the top. “Me name is Rhona, welcome. What can I dae for ye?”

  Angus had a creeping feeling that she already knew why he was there and was only asking as a formality. He bowed. “Me apologies for the intrusion, Druid.”

  She stepped back, “I can see yer shocked to see that I am a woman, Laird, but never fear, I am just like the men of me kind. Ye can tie up yer horse at the post there. Please enter. I’ll help ye.”

  Not wanting to refuse such a humble request, Angus tethered Titan to the post and mounted the stairs. Inside the hut, he smelled thick but not cloying incense. Rhona gestured for him to take a chair, then walked off and rested the cane on a wall. It was then Angus noticed she had a soft limp as she puttered around a firepit. The lady filled a cup with amber tea and came back to give it to him.

  “Please, drink,” she said, while settling herself across from him with a knowing smile. “It is nae a potion, Me Laird, just ginger-root tea. Some of people have such suspicions about what we are.”

  Sipping the tea, Angus felt relieved at the warmth it gave him and cupped his fingers around the warm container.

  “So, what trouble would have a Laird come all this way to speak with me?” the Druid said, her piercing gaze, however, was not making Angus any less anxious.

  He settled the cup on the table. “I need to ask ye a question. Dae the black arts give anyone, a woman perchance, the power to throw fire and kill with it?”

  “There are incantations that are said to give a person, aye. There have been stories of fire-breathers and fire-throwers for centuries, back when men were more connected to the spirit world, but they, all men, mind ye, died out,” the Druid said. “I am surprised to hear that a woman has resurrected the art. Do ye ken who she is and where she might have learned it? It takes a lot of sacrifice to dae so.”

  “Sacrifice?” Angus asked, frowning. “As in?”

  “Ye are a Christian aye?” Angus nodded. “In yer terms, she might have already sold her soul to the Devil. Who is she?”

  Trying to hold back the frustration in his voice, Angus spoke. “All I ken is that she’s a Scot and a widow named Perse. I dinnae ken where she could have learned these dark arts or when, but I do ken that she has killed over five-and-thirty people.”

  “Any survivors?”

  “Few,” Angus grimaced. “And they are so disfigured that—” he stopped and swallowed, “—they could barely get out the words about their attacker.
When they said she shoots fire from her hands I dinnae believe them.”

  “Her hands, eh,” Rhona said, as she took up a pair of smooth stones from the table. She began to rub them and Angus wondered why.

  “That is why ye cannae approach her directly,” Rhona said sagely. “Ye will need to use trickery, Me Laird, and make her believe what she ken’s ye are doing but are nae.”

  “So, using deception is the key,” Angus said, trying to not run his hand over his face. “The problem is, if I send someone to distract her, that person might up dead. I have too many dead already on me conscience.”