His Highland Pledge (The Clan Sinclair Book 4)

by Celeste Barclay

  His Highland Pledge

  The Clan Sinclair Book 4

  Celeste Barclay

  His Highland Pledge Copyright © 2018 by Celeste Barclay. All Rights Reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Cover designed by Lisa Messegee, TheWriteDesigner.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Celeste Barclay

  Visit my website at www.celestebarclay.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing: Nov 2018

  Celeste Barclay

  ISBN-13

  This is novel is dedicated to the hopeless romantics who still believe in happily ever after, even if only in a book. Let this be one more tale where the girl gets her guy.

  ~Happy Reading~

  Celeste

  The Clan Sinclair

  Book 0 Their Highland Beginning, Prequel Novella

  Liam Sinclair and Kyla Sutherland

  FREE

  Book Funnel

  MyBookCave

  Prolific Works

  Book 1 His Highland Lass

  Mairghread Sinclair and Tristan Mackay

  Book 2 His Bonnie Highland Temptation

  Callum Sinclair and Siùsan Mackenzie

  Book 3 His Highland Prize

  Alexander Sinclair and Brighde Kerr

  Book 4 His Highland Pledge- Magnus Sinclair and Deirdre Fraser

  Book 5 TBD-Tavish Sinclair and Ceit Comyn

  The Clan Sinclair

  Liam Sinclair m. Kyla Sutherland

  b. Callum Sinclair m. Siùsan Mackenzie (SH-IY-oo-san)

  b. Thormud Seamus Magnus Sinclair (TOR-mood SHAY-mus)

  b. Rose Kyla Sinclair

  b. Alexander Sinclair m. Brighde Kerr (BREE-ju KAIR)

  b. Saoirse Sinead Sinclair (SEER-sha shi-NAYD)

  b. Tavish Sinclair m. Ceit Comyn (KAIT-ch CUM-in)

  b. Magnus Sinclair m. Deirdre Fraser (DEER-dreh FRA-zer)

  b. Mairghread Sinclair m. Tristan Mackay (Mah-GAID)

  b. “Wee” Liam Brodie Mackay

  Chapter One

  Magnus Sinclair detested being at the royal court. There was nothing redeemable in his eyes, and his face ensured everyone knew the Highland giant was not there to exchange pleasantries. Standing at six and a half feet tall, he towered over almost every man in the king’s household and all the men who sought the monarch’s attention. Only a few visiting Highlanders mirrored him in height and physique. As though sticking out like a sore thumb from his height and his insistence upon wearing his plaid was not enough, he felt naked without his claymore. Locked away in his chamber, his two-handed broadsword was as much a part of him as either hand. For the safety of the king and his family, they allowed no one to wear or carry a sword into the main gathering hall. Magnus’s sword forged to accommodate his size, and even though custom designed, the enormous sword looked like little more than a young lad’s wooden practice sword when Magnus held it. Needless to say, it was not a welcome sight strapped to his back. When he arrived the day before, he resigned himself to just carrying his dirks, of which he had at least eight on various parts of his body.

  Arriving early the previous morning, Magnus spent all of the day and much of the evening in a passageway, standing, awaiting an audience with the king. This day came and went, just as the previous one had, with no indicator of when the king would meet with him. This only aggravated Magnus more as a representative from the Sinclair clan summoned rather than volunteered to attend court.

  The royal court’s oppulence was lost on Magnus as he saw no need for the ornate decorations, the expensive fabric, the great expenditures on excessive food, or the waste on such things as hundreds of candles. He understood the king’s significant birthright and could rationalize the necessity for the king to maintain an aura of wealth, but the material items held no importance to him. He was much more concerned with whether the king would continue to be a fair and judicious leader.

  Magnus craned his neck to look over the crowd and catch sight of the king and queen entering the massive gathering hall from the far side. Resolved not to be ignored any longer, Magnus weaved his way through the crowd. He knew this was not the time for a private audience, but he determined to make his presence known to the king. As his father’s, Laird Liam Sinclair, representative, he was in the wretched smelling, overcrowded, viper’s nest to settle the ongoing dispute between the Sinclairs and the Gunns complicated by a potential feud with the Kerrs and de Soules. He was not there to make the pretty and hobnob with the grasping aristocrats with whom he was peers. His impatience to return to his home in the Highlands overlooking the North Sea rolled off him like the waves that crashed along the rocks he could see from his chamber in Castle Dunbeath.

  Couldnae ma bluidy brothers manage to marry without killing anyone? First, it was Callum killing Laird Gunn’s brother for kidnapping and molesting Siùsan, which I didna blame him for since I was ready to run him through too. Then it was Alexander’s hiding Brighde away that brought not only the Gunns but the Kerrs and de Soules along for the fun too. I dinna blame him for that either, as I was the one who laid waste to the Gunn maself. But now the Gunn laird is dead and buried alongside the Kerr laird and Randolph de Soules. It wouldnae surprise me if the grass died over their rotting souls. And I’m stuck here making nice with these Lowland fops and trying to appease a king who’s worried he looks incapable of controlling the Highlands. The sooner he, and everyone else who isnae a Highlander, realizes we canna be controlled nor manipulated, the better of Scotland would be.

  Magnus forced his scowl to relax into the most neutral face he could muster. He only looked to be grimacing now instead of ready to take someone’s head off. He did not have to worry about the crowds of people who thronged about as they parted for him like he was Moses brought back from the dead. Magnus attempted to move about without bumping into people, but there were far too many bodies for even such a large room. He neared the dais when he heard a sound that froze him in his tracks and thrust him back in time seven years.

  He would recognize that peal of laughter anywhere. It was a sound that was so etched into his every nerve and fiber he could never forget it. He could feel his pulse speed up, his brow broke out in dots of perspiration, and his hands felt clammy. The hammering of his heart in his ears almost drowned out the offending sound but not quite. Slowly, he turned to face the table where the owner of the throaty laugh sat. He knew exactly who would be seated there but seeing Deirdre Fraser for the first time in seven years felt like a poleax just swung into his gut. His visceral reaction to seeing the lady for the first time in so many years made him feel so physically ill he wanted to run and hide for the first time since he was a wean. He forced himself to take several deep and calming breaths as he managed to put one foot in front of the other and continue his path to the dais. Accustomed to the whispers that followed him about everywhere he went, Magnus paid little attention to them now, especially those coming from women. Coupled with his impressive height, his dark chestnut hair gleamed with threads of gold in the light from the hundreds of candles in the chandeliers, and women frequently complimented his dark chocolate eyes that had an amber starburst around the pupils. His arms were as wide
around as a blacksmith’s and his legs were as sturdy as two oak tree trunks. His chest and shoulders were so broad he had to turn sideways to make his way through doors in this castle. That was yet another thing he missed about home; in the Highlands, they made doors for men, not boys, to pass through. Women began chasing Magnus when he was barely over four and ten. He began paying them attention when he was five and ten, and by seven and ten, he was ready to swear them all off. All but one, Deirdre Fraser. He moved past court ladies who tried to gain his attention. He never had an interest in their provocative stares and glancing touches, and he was in even less of a mood to tolerate them.

  Deirdre Fraser forced herself to laugh at another incomprehensible joke her cousin Elizabeth yet again mistold. She stopped listening quite some time ago but at least knew when she had to give an expected response. Her mind was drifting off to Alpin, her newest eyasses. The young falcon was only a few weeks old and had a deformed claw that worried her. She was mulling over how she might make her escape to check on him when Mary Kerr elbowed her in the ribs.

  “Look at that heathen! Why he’s gigantic and hardly clothed. I do not understand why those Highlanders believe walking around in a blanket is an appropriate means of attire for His Grace’s court. That man is larger than any other I have ever seen, and I am sure I see knives on him. Zounds! Are we safe? What if he turns beserker and attacks the king or worse tries to steal us, ladies, away?”

  Deirdre forced herself to bite her tongue. She and her family had lived at court long enough that most of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting forgot that she, too, was a Highlander. Her brogue had softened over the past half a score of years to a light burr, but in her heart, she was still a Highlander and would not change that for all the gowns and courtly graces foisted upon her.

  Elizabeth leaned around her to see for herself what had caused Mary to become so agitated. She gasped and turned to Deirdre, but before she could whisper a warning to her cousin, Mary was speaking again.

  “I believe he’s one of those barbarian Sinclairs. Did you hear what they did to my father? I cannot believe he has the audacity to show his face in here. He should be chained up and dropped into the oubliette.”

  Deirdre froze.

  Ever so slowly, she turned on the bench where she sat and scanned the crowd. It took only the length of a breath to find Magnus Sinclair. He was walking parallel to her table with his head held high and his eyes focused forwards, and as he came even with her, his eyes could not help but shift and lock onto hers. Only a heartbeat later he refocused on making his way to the king, and Deirdre was attempting to maneuver herself out of her seat without tripping over all of her skirts.

  What in the name of St. Columbo’s bones is he doing here? And why the devil canna I get over this bench without putting ma slipper through ma hem? Dammit! I need out now and not fall on ma bluidy face in the process. I canna stay here.

  Deirdre righted her kirtle and step back from the table.

  “Dee, where are you going,” Elizabeth hissed.

  “Ye ken I canna stay here. I canna breathe,” Deirdre whispered back.

  “Lady Deirdre, what did you say? Why in heavens do you suddenly sound like some peasant? You sound like one of those people,” and she gestured toward Magnus.

  “I beg your pardon, Lady Mary, but I am suddenly not feeling well. I believe I should not have had that last cup of wine until after I ate. Please excuse me.”

  Without waiting for a response from Mary or her cousin, Deirdre made her way as inconspicuously as she could to the wall that would lead to doors to the passageway to her private chamber. Her eyes swung between where Magnus now stood and where she knew her parents, or specifically her father, sat.

  Dear God in Heaven, please dinna let Da see him. Not yet at least. I dinna want to be here for that reunion. I dinna want any reunions.

  Bah, ye little liar. Ye ken that isnae true. Ye’ve craved seeing him again every day for the past seven years.

  Now he is here, and I’m running away. Just like I did seven years ago. I canna see him now or talk to him here. But I must find a way. I canna ken he is here and not be near him. If I could just touch him once. Just once to ken, he is real. God how I miss him.

  Deirdre swallowed the sob that tried to escape. Her eyes were becoming glassy, and she felt unsteady on her feet. She tried to move faster towards the exit, but even with servants about to serve the meal, there were still a substantial amount of people milling about and standing between her and escape.

  She made it to the door when she felt a body press against her from behind. She recognized it thanks to the perfume saturated satin clothes used to hide a suffocating odor. A bony hand gripped her arm, and a whiny voice came from just behind her ear.

  “Just where do you think you are sneaking off to, my dove?” Archibald Hay sneered. He pinched the skin on the back of her arm, and it stung even though she had thick fabric between her skin and his. She could not fathom the disgust she would feel if and when his skin contacted hers.

  “I am feeling a little peaked and thought to retire early. I hope I have not caught the ague, but if so, I would not want to give it to you, my lord. It would be best if I was not to close to anyone.”

  “I have a very healthy constitution. Once we wed, we shall be together quite a bit. At least until you birth me my two sons. I suppose I shall have to get used to your sickly nature if you turn out prone to illness. As long as you can survive the birth, we shall get along quite nicely.” Hay tugged at her arm and dragged her from the hall.

  Deirdre looked over her shoulder and scanned the room for her father. A man she had purposely just avoided, her father was the one man she most needed to find. She attempted to push her heels into the floor and slow their progress, but even though he was a thin man, Hay was still stronger than her.

  “Come along,” she could not miss the note of warning as they passed through the doorway and he yanked her down the passageway.

  Chapter Two

  Magnus faced the king but his eyes had not left Deirdre since he walked past. He forced himself to look forward after catching her eye, but once he could angle himself to see her again, he watched like one of her prized falcons.

  Why do I have to remember every little detail as though it were just a day ago? It’s been seven long, miserable years, and it’s as though it was yesterday we were last together.

  “Magnus, I believe you wanted an audience with me and now your mind is clearly elsewhere,” the king sounded annoyed by the lack of attention he received from the youngest son of one of his favorite lairds. The Sinclairs were one of the most loyal clans he had in the Highlands, even across all of Scotland. The king was amenable to supporting the Sinclairs in resolving their current feuds but not if Magnus could not remember his manners.

  “Aye, sire. But just a wee moment ago, I saw Lady Deirdre Fraser leaving with a mon who didna seem vera gentle with her person. Who might he be?”

  “That would most likely have been Archibald Hay, the younger nephew of Lord Hay. Fraser is in the process of arranging a betrothal between Hay and his daughter. I rather like the lass and her father dotes upon her, so I cannot understand why he would even remotely consider marrying her off to him.”

  Magnus thought his head would explode. The ringing in his ears was back, and anger he reserved for the battlefield coursed through him. He leaned forward into a step before he realized from whom he was about to walk away.

  “Begging yer pardon, Yer Grace, but I wanted to greet ye and thank ye for the accommodations ye’ve provided during ma stay. I dinna want to keep ye from yer supper or yer advisors who seem to grow anxious. If ye will excuse me, I shall find ma way to a table.”

  Magnus bowed and backed away before the king could do more than nod. As he took another two steps back, the crowd filled in around him, so he could swing around and make his way to the door. He did not attempt subtlety while leaving.

  If she thinks she is marrying that mon or any other, then she wi
ll explain herself to nae just me but the bluidy pope.

  Magnus’s angry stride made it obvious to the guards he intended to leave, so the two men opened wide both doors. He passed through and scanned the passageway, spotting two figures just as the larger one pushed the smaller one into an alcove.

  Magnus began to run.

  “Lord Archibald, you will ruin my gown if you are not careful. My maid will surely tell my parents if I arrive with a ruined gown. They will not appreciate the wasted expense.”

  “I will buy you all the pretty gowns you will need, which will not be many since I intend to take you back to Slains Castle where you will not have to worry since it is remote, and no one shall visit.” He spun Deirdre around and pulled her to him. His hands grasped the front of the gown and pulled. The sturdy silk and embroidered satin of her court gown were strong enough to withstand his manhandling.

  “Lord Archibald, stop. Ye canna be doing this. This isnae right nor proper. Stop now.” A hand whipped through the air and a whistle followed just before Hay’s palm contacted Deirdre’s cheek.

  “I never want to hear that barbaric brogue come out from between your lips, or I will be shoving something between them to keep them quiet. Do you understand my meaning?”

  Deirdre was too scared and now too angry to think about her accent. She knew she had precious few minutes left to make her escape before Hay ensured there would be a wedding without question. She struggled against him and tried to push him away. She shoved him back a few steps, but his inability to stand his ground against a woman only infuriated him.