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

by Lydia Kendall

  Her words were quick jabs to his gut. He actively recoiled from the ferocity of what she said but knew she was right. Squaring his jaw, he looked out the window to the midday sun, dimmed behind a thick cloud. His stomach churned with repulsion at himself. He had slept way too late and now this was his result—Magdalene was gone.

  “Yer right Mother,” he acquiesced. “I dae need their expertise. Will ye dae me a favor and summon them to me meeting room. I…I’ll be there in a moment.”

  With a searching look and a final nod, Lady Isobel turned and walked off, the tails of her gown whispering against the rush-mats. Angus clenched his eyes tightly and pinched his nose. He felt hurt and deeply betrayed. How could she do this? Walk right into danger when she kens where it rests?

  He breathed out but his fist crashed into the wall. This was not how it was supposed to go. The plan was to kill the witch, find Magdalene’s mother, ask her to entrust her daughter into his hands, live a lovely life and give his mother some grandbairns to spoil.

  Having no more time to berate himself, he eyed the chip on the wall and ignoring the pain in his hand, went directly to the meeting room. When he entered the conversation stopped. Four pairs of eyes were latched onto his with grim expressions. Montgomery and Douglas were standing while Maxwell and Stewart were seated, all however, shifted to face him with uncanny coordination. Angus didn’t even look at his seat and began pacing.

  “It’s crucial, friends,” he said. “I’m sure ye’ve all heard by now that Magdalene’s aunt is the witch, Perse Fenton, and she’s gone to her. I need a plan to get her back and—”

  “Send the witch off to hell where she belongs,” Douglas said, his usual cheery demeanor replaced with gravity. “Ye are armed, Ratagan, we gave ye all the arms ye will need.”

  “Aye, I ken,” Angus said. “But I’d be walking into a place where I have the disadvantage. Back in the day me Grandfaither would send spies to map out the terrain he’d need to control before putting up a siege. I and anyone I might send, cannae get near this woman’s house without coming back charred to the bone.”

  “Dinnae ye say the lass ran off to her?” Maxwell chimed in. “I’d imagine the woman is going to be occupied for a while. Ken of it, a niece she has nae seen in so many years would be her focus of attention now.”

  “And I told ye, Ratagan,” Douglas added. “I have some daring bucks who dinnae give a damn about their lives. They are ready whenever ye want them to be.”

  “Me counsel, Ratagan, is going to be not what ye want to hear,” Iain Montgomery said sagely. “Wait for this lass. If she doesnae come back home in a few days then ye can go barging in with all the hounds of hell with ye.”

  “Wait?” Angus’ eyes narrowed with a steely glare that did not faze the older Laird a bit. “Wait for what? Me love’s body to drop on me doorstep?”

  A look was shared between the four, which Angus ignored. “Nae, Ratagan,” Iain said calmly. “This woman has no cause to harm yer lady, she is her blood, for Christ’s sake. Wait and use that time when the witch is distracted to scope out the place.”

  “I understand ye, Montgomery, but blood is nae assurance for fidelity,” Maxwell said quietly. “A few of me men almost made a coup against me, men who were me cousins.”

  Maxwell’s word had Angus feeling no contentment with Iain’s suggestion but knew it was tactically sound. He found his seat and sagged into it. His words were bitter and scorched his throat as he said them, “Yer right, it will pay me to wait. I dinnae like it but…” his sigh was ragged. “Douglas, if yer men are here, summon them.”

  “Righto,” the Laird said as he stood. “Be back in a moment. They’ll stay here when we’re gone.”

  Seabhag Crag Mountains.

  My aunt is not a witch.

  Magdalene kept that mantra in her mind as she came to the spot where the local in Seabhag Crag village had pointed her to. The villager’s flabbergasted stares at her question were heavily unnerving, some even crossed themselves while staring. By their reactions, it was clear that it was not only Angus that thought her aunt was a witch, but she was decided on proving them all wrong.

  The wooden trails came to an incline and towering ahead of her was a house, scarily looking like the Williamson citadel with a high tower and thick walls. The house, made of grey brick and slate roofing was fitting for a home a rich husband could give. She spotted a shadowed figure moving away from the thin horn-covered shutter windows, halfway up the tower.

  As she got closer to the gate, she eyed the red-brown ground for any hint of scorch marks and found none, more proof that her aunt was not any demented fire thrower.

  Smiling in satisfaction, Magdalene deliberated on the best way to ask her Aunt Perse to come back with her and clear her name. She had to explain her attachment to the Williamsons first, though, and that was not something she was looking forward to.

  Well, Aunt Perse did marry a Scottish laird, I think she would understand.

  Cresting the incline, she came to a level courtyard and reined Glynn in. She had to crane her head back to look at the enormity of the house. There was absolutely nothing strange about this place, it just looked like a home. Probably too big for one person but that was what wealth did, it overcompensated.

  She slid off the horse and soft anxiety settled in her stomach. This was not the situation in which she had wanted to meet her aunt—knowing she was thought to be a witch. A rustle of bushes had her spinning around. A woman was there, holding a basket with what looked like dirty carrots. Her head was covered with a floppy hat but her face was so similar to her mother Larie that Magdalene didn’t have to ask if it was her aunt.

  “Aunt Perse,” she smiled.

  The lady dropped her basket and ripped her hat off to stare, with unbelief, at her. “M-Magdalene?”

  “Yes, Aunt,” she went forward to hug the older woman and kiss her cheek. “It’s me, I’m finally here.”

  “Oh, thank God,” Aunt Perse said, as she embraced her tightly. “I’ve been praying so hard for your arrival. You don’t know how much seeing you here, safe and sound, means to me.”

  There it was, more proof that my Aunt is a Christian, not a witch.

  Pulling back, Magdalene schooled her face to not react to her aunt’s appearance. The woman’s skin was powdery white and taut over her cheekbones in a gaunt way. Her watery blue eyes had bags under them and they looked filled with sadness and tiredness.

  She’s here all alone. No husband and no children. Of course she’s unhappy.

  “Let me show you where to put your horse and then we can go inside,” Aunt Perse smiled while running her hands over Magdalene’s arms. “Such a wonderful and beautiful young woman. My sister must be proud of you.”

  “Mother is,” Magdalene replied, as she gathered the horse’s reins and followed her aunt through a hedge at the side she had not noticed. She did notice, however, that her Aunt moved with a slight limp. They entered a hedge tunnel and emerged in a predominantly flat backyard. The grounds were curious with one side of the lawn reaching up to an outcropping of black rock.

  Around the backyard was a thick brick wall, looking very much like the Williamson’s, with walkways and two towers. The familiar security measures made her think this was probably the home of a Scottish laird, however domesticized. There was an herb and fruit garden, a well, and a wooden coop where chickens were clucking away. A thick oak tree was nestled in a back corner and Aunt Perse helped her unsaddle Glynn and used a rein to tether her to a limb. “I am so happy to see you, Aunt.”

  “Not as much as I am to see you,” Aunt Perse added, while taking the saddle to a back porch with a strength that impressed Magdalene. She was not as frail as she seemed then. “Come sit with me.”

  As Aunt Perse sat on the step Magdalene joined her. The older woman rested her hand on her nieces’ knee as they looked out on the mountainous vista. The highest peaks of the hills were shrouded in mist and the sunlight made the mist sparkle.

  “Where ha
ve you been, niece?” Aunt Perse asked as she fiddled with her old floppy hat. “I’ve been on the lookout for you for many days now.”

  “Mother sent me off in the middle of the night because Uncle John was about to marry me off to one of his men,” Magdalene explained. “I came to Edinburgh safe enough but the squire who I had traveled with had to turn back and go home. I was lost and tired when some men accosted me.”

  A frightened look shot at her made Magdalene smile. Her Aunt cared for her, just like she would have for her own child. Mother was right.

  “A man came just in time to stop them and since I was injured, he took me back to his home to heal,” she finished.

  “And who is this gracious man?” Aunt Perse asked.

  “Angus Williamson, Laird of Ratagan,” Magdalene felt her chest warm with thinking of the caring look on Angus’ face that day. “He and his family took good care of me.”

  “I will have to thank him one day,” Aunt Perse murmured.

  “You could do that today,” Magdalene said, optimistically turning to her. “Can you go back with me today? It would prove so much. You can thank Angus and dispel this ridiculous notion that you’re a witch.”

  Her aunt went strangely still then chuckled. “Is that what they think I am, a witch?”

  “Yes,” Magdalene huffed out an exasperated breath. “No matter how many times I try to tell them that you are a Christian, they still think you are one. Even worse, they think you’re a fire witch, able to throw flames from your hand.”

  Aunt Perse’s chuckle was low, “Quite a devilish act to image this about me. I suppose that is what I earned by living by myself for so many years.”

  “And now you have the opportunity to correct them.” Magdalene added, “Say you will come back with me.”

  Perse tapped her knee and stood with care, “I’ll think about it but for now, come inside and let me give you something to eat. You must be hungry.”

  A bit perplexed, Magdalene stood. This was prime time for her Aunt to clear her name, why wouldn’t she take it? “I can eat.”

  The house was shadowed, a distinct contrast from the airy bright outside. It had a smell, too, like nutmeg and other woody spices. They took stairs to one big room with a massive fireplace and a chimney, the first level of the keep. Near the chimney was a big oak table, scrubbed to a dull shine, with some chairs placed around it. The floor was stone and wood with a large rush-mat in the center. The room was surprisingly Spartan.

  No knick-knacks were around, no trace of food was in sight, but on a large chair rested a ball of wool and knitting needles, and beside the chair as a woven basket. Perhaps that was what kept her Aunt occupied. Lifting the lid of the basket, Magdalene spotted a garment and took it out. It was a thick woolen shawl. Admiring it she smiled, “You have neat handiwork, Aunt. Mother taught me how to knit but I could never get my stitches even.”

  “I have a lot of time on my hands, darling,” Aunt Perse said as she puttered around the kitchen area, lighting a fire and hanging a pot on a protruding iron spit. “It’s a lonely life up here.”

  Sitting with the shawl in hand Magdalene asked, “Why didn’t you just come back to England and stay with us after your husband died? You know Mother would have loved to have you home.”

  “Ah,” Aunt Perse sighed, “The reason will sound strange to you, my dear. I got so used to Scotland that I didn’t feel like England was my home anymore and there is so much more freedom here than there is in England. All those rules were so stifling. It was what led me to come to Scotland in the first place and now… I guess you can say I got stuck in my ways.”

  “I understand,” Magdalene concurred. The freedoms she had been given at the Williamson home were so liberating. “I do.”

  “Settle in, Magdalene. We have a lot of things to talk about.” Aunt Perse smiled as she reached over and rested a withered hand on Magdalene’s knee. “Don’t worry, dear heart, I’ll certainly take care of you.”

  Settling back in her chair Magdalene felt at ease. See, Angus. There is no danger here. I’m safe here, I know it.

  Williamson Clan

  Three days: twenty-three hours of each of those were filled with worry for Magdalene and one of those was spent in sleep. Douglas had sent his spies out for him the very day his love had run off to her aunt and they were due back today. If he had his way, he would take what they knew, form a plan, and attack the witch’s home that night, kill her, and take Magdalene home to hide her away from the world.

  His day was rife with a level of anxiety so strong it was caging his chest in a vice. He made sure to make a few plans that he did not truly want to have enacted, like making Malcolm the Laird in case he did die, and willing it that Magdalene would be taken care of if he did and she did not want to go back to England.

  Time was slower than syrup to him and he was pacing the floor so agitatedly that it was a miracle he had not carved a groove in the stone. The sun was dipping and his fear was at its peak when Malcolm came. “The spies aren’t back yet.”

  A frustrated breath flared his nostrils and Angus spun. “Find me at the loch.”

  St. Hild at Streanaeshalch Monastery

  From her window, Lady Larie’s hands idly counted the rosary beads as she watched the solemn, black line of hooded Benedictine monks as they left the hillside chapel and shuffled down the slope with torches lighting their way. Soon the nuns would follow the monks' footsteps, come back to their rooms, go back to sleep, and then prepare for the second meeting.

  Seeing as she was not a nun and was not required to participate in all the rituals, she was given direct grief counsel by the Abbess herself and allowed time in the chapel to pray and grieve. Larie however, used a lot of that time to pray for Magdalene and receive divine revelation on who had killed her husband.

  She did not rely on her faith alone, though, and had found a monk, Brother Thomas, who was willing to send—and a day ago had sent—a letter to the King on her behalf. She was petitioning the throne to intervene and fetter out who had killed her husband since her traitorous brother-in-law was happy to let the matter be brushed under the rush-mats.

  “Lady Larie?” A quiet voice said from her doorway.

  Turning away from the window, Larie’s eyes coasted over the single cot and nightstand, wash closet and prayer cushion. She met the Abbess’ warm brown eyes. “Yes, Mother Abbess?”

  “Would you like to say a prayer with me?” The tall woman asked calmly.

  “I would, thank you,” Larie said, as she grasped her skirts and followed the head nun down the cold corridors to a solidary room. As the monastery was so close to waterways, the stones and air were perpetually cool. The morning mist seeped into the room from the tiny window openings.

  At the side of the room, Larie knelt and bowed her head to pray. Silent prayer was allowed—it was even more approved of than spoken prayer as the soul spoke instead of the body. She dug deep to not allow her anger with John to come to the surface, or an answer to her rage would probably make John drop dead wherever he was.

  Instead, she directed her thoughts to Magdalene. Her child must have found Perse by now. She prayed that Magdalene would get to know and love her long-lost aunt as she loved her. Her hand drifted to the small wooden cross resting around her neck as she prayed.

  She was anticipating feeling the calm confirmation that came with her prayer being heard but as she continued to pray for Magdalene and Perse, a heavy feeling of unease began to settle in her chest. Frowning, she stopped to judge the sensation, assessing if what she was feeling was right but instead of growing lighter the dourness grew.

  Her eyes opened—something was not right.

  Chapter 26

  Sleep did not come to Angus easily. After he had begun to swim, the water, warm from the heated bedrock stone, gave little comfort. Double trips around the lake had become four, and four had evolved to nine. By the time he had dragged himself out of the water the moon was high in the sky and his limbs were heavier than lead
. He got to the castle as the perimeter torches were being lit and the noise of the evening guards taking supper sounded from the great hall.

  He had stumbled to bed dismayed, tired, and fretful. It was not only his heart that pained him, his soul literally hurt inside him. His mother had asked him if he loved her, yes, he did but at that time, Magdalene had been with him and he had doubted being ‘in love’ with her. Now that she was gone and was in the midst of danger, he would give anything to have her back home, with him. He was in love with Magdalene and God help him, he would get a chance to prove it to her.

  He had to go save Magdalene. Sleep was uneasy and came fitfully as all he could see behind his eyes were the lovely eyes of the woman he loved. He tossed and turned until pre-dawn when a half-conscious thought came to him, the words the Druid Rhona had said.