Highland Heartbreakers: Highlander Series Starters, Volume One

by Paula Quinn

  “They say animals can help folk recover,” Fynn said.

  “I think it’s true, my lord,” Jeannie replied, batting her eyelashes at the man like an infatuated maidservant. Trouble was, both eyes didn’t blink at the same time. “Nothing does as much good as a beloved hound, and nourishing food.”

  Shona was about to point out that Ruadh was her dog, and her uncle had barely eaten a crumb since his accident, though her aunt had more than made up for it.

  However, her companions ignored her as they withdrew to the window and became engrossed in conversation.

  “Now food is summat I ken about,” Fynn claimed. “I’m a fair to middling cook.”

  Jeannie flushed like the maiden she wasn’t. “Oh, my,” she gushed. “And I love to eat.”

  Shona rolled her eyes and groaned. “Ye’ll make a perfect pair, then.”

  Fynn clenched his jaw and stared at her as if she’d told him he had two heads.

  The truth struck her like a blow to the stomach.

  He knew.

  And what’s more, this rough and ready fellow and her aunt would make a perfect couple. Jeannie deserved a good man, especially after Ailig’s mistreatment. “Dinna fash, Fynn, we’re wise to yer charade, as ye are to ours. I have to get out of this chamber and find yer master.”

  His look of confused shock lasted only a moment before he took hold of Jeannie’s hand. “Forgive me, my lady, I’m nay the Laird Mackinloch’s son, as ye’ve surmised, and I hope ye dinna mind me saying I’m glad ye’re nay the woman Ewan is to wed.”

  His sentiments were the most convoluted confession of tender feelings Shona was ever likely to hear, but at least he’d confirmed Ewan was her betrothed. She headed for the door, anxious to be free to roam at will again.

  “The Mackinloch has left the castle wi’ David,” Fynn informed her.

  “Where have they gone?”

  “I dinna ken. They followed yon Mungo.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s up to no good. Him and his brother.”

  The color drained from Jeannie’s face. A tic seized her wonky eye. “Ailig? That’s impossible. Shona’s father banished him from MacCarron lands.”

  Shona glanced over to Kendric as a chill of dread crept up her spine. If her uncle died, Mungo and Ailig…

  Reality stared her in the face. Her clan was suddenly in dire need of a strong man, a warrior like Ewan Mackinloch. She just hoped she hadn’t alienated him.

  Despite her trepidation at what the future might hold, her spirits lifted when Ruadh jumped onto Kendric’s bed and lay beside him. As she exited, it occurred to her the dog looked like a lion rampant conveying the silent message that all would be well.

  *

  Though it went against his instincts, Ewan rode slowly, taking pains to arrive back at Creag well after Mungo. “I think it’s time we reveal our true identities,” he told David. “The Camron’s accident has changed matters.”

  “True e…e…nough,” his kinsman agreed.

  “If Kendric succumbs to his injuries, there’s nay doot in my mind the Morleys will make a bid for the lairdship. That wouldna bode well for Clan MacCarron, nor Clan Mackinloch.”

  “They m…mm…might not wait for him to die,” David said.

  Ewan discovered a new admiration for the youth. “Ye’re thinking they might try to take over while he’s lying injured.”

  “Or kill him.”

  Ewan thought back to the gatherings he’d witnessed in the hall, remembering the evil glint in Mungo’s eyes; by all accounts his brother was also a brute.

  Ice flooded his veins. There was danger to Kendric, right enough, but Shona would be the pawn in their deadly game. Even if they did away with Kendric, there’d be no guarantee the clan would accept Mungo as chief, unless he married the laird’s blood kin.

  Then there was the matter of the other faction, obviously opposed to Mungo, but on whose side?

  “Ye’re a smart lad, David,” he said as he spurred Liath to a gallop.

  *

  Desirous of making a good impression on Ewan Mackinloch, Shona decided to comb her hair and wash her face before going in search of him.

  Moira was on her knees in the chamber tidying a chest of rarely-worn gowns. She’d spread several garments on the carpeted floor. “I decided these could do wi’ a good airing,” her maid explained.

  Shona stooped to pick up a dark green velvet frock and pressed it tightly against her ribs. “It’s been so long since I wore this, it likely willna fit any longer.”

  “’Tis a shame. I like the material,” Moira replied, leaning forward to feel the fabric. “Mayhap ye’ll wear it again come winter.”

  Shona swished around the chamber clutching the dress to her breasts. “I might be much too fat by winter,” she teased.

  It didn’t take Moira long to understand. “Ye hope to be round with a bairn?”

  “Aye,” Shona whispered, suddenly awed by the notion of bearing Ewan Mackinloch’s sons. “I plan to reveal my true identity to the real bridegroom as soon as ye’ve helped me look my best.”

  Moira got off her knees just as someone rapped loudly on the door. “Hold yer horses,” she complained.

  Shona hesitated, fearing bad news about Kendric, but then reasoned she’d just left Jeannie; her aunt would have entered without knocking if the message was urgent. Pulling out the decorative hairpins that had once belonged to the mother she’d never met, she headed for the boudoir.

  Humming, she arranged the hairpins so the little enamel butterflies were lined up in a neat row. Satisfied, she drew the comb through her long tresses, hoping her intended preferred fair-haired lasses. “Who was it?” she called, trying to decide if a single or double braid would be the best choice for the occasion.

  Hearing no reply, she put down the comb and returned to the chamber. Indignant fear surged when she espied one of Morley’s men with his arm around Moira’s chest, a dagger pressed to the side of her neck. Mungo stood beside them, a strange smirk on his face.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” she demanded.

  “There’s to be a wedding,” Mungo crowed. “Me and thee.”

  Shona scoffed. “Never.”

  “Then Moira here is a dead woman,” he replied. “Such a shame.”

  Her instinct was to fight tooth and nail, but the terror contorting Moira’s face gave her pause. She didn’t have the strength to overpower two big Highlanders. “Ye’re no different from yer cursed brother,” she goaded in an effort to delay their departure.

  To her dismay, he failed to rise to the bait. “We’re going to walk out of the castle to the stables,” he advised, taking hold of her arm. “One wrong move, and…” Grinning, he drew his finger across his throat.

  She tried without success to pull her arm from his bruising grasp. “I understand ye only too well. Moira dies. Such a braw man to murder a helpless lassie.”

  She tasted bile when Mungo leaned close and breathed in her ear. “Aye, and if ye dinna please me, Wife, I might slit yer gullet as well. When I’m laird, I can do whate’er I please.”

  The other man chuckled, evidently as demented as his kinsman.

  Dread surged as Mungo forced her to the door. If his dire plan succeeded, her life would be forfeit, and Mungo couldn’t leave Ewan alive. The wrath of the Mackinloch clan would eventually fall on them all. MacCarrons would be massacred because she’d been too proud to accept a marriage alliance. Traitors had taken advantage of the confusion she’d caused.

  Her abductor made sure the hallway was clear before signaling his man to bring out her maid. Shona winced when he twisted her arm behind her back and set them in motion. She thought to cry out if they passed her uncle’s door, but he shoved her in the opposite direction. Fear for Moira paralyzed her voice.

  Determined not to succumb to despair, she clung to a glimmer of hope. Mungo didn’t know the identity of the true Mackinloch—and she still gripped a hairpin in her fist.

  Mischief Afoot

>   Ewan left David to take care of the horses in the stable and hurried in the direction of the laird’s chamber, perturbed not to find Mungo among the men gathered in the hall. He toyed with the notion of inquiring about the giant’s whereabouts, but that might lead to an argument and he sensed there was no time to waste.

  His fleeting presence caused a lull in the conversation, but no one followed him into the passageway.

  Irritated to discover no guards keeping watch, he rapped on Kendric’s door. The oversight would have to be remedied.

  Adjusting his plaid and hoping he didn’t look too much like a man who’d ridden hard for several miles, he smiled as the door opened, looking forward to some teasing and mayhap a wee flash of anger from Lady Shona’s green eyes.

  Jeannie quickly detected his disappointment. “My niece is nay here, my lord. But dinna look so crestfallen. She’s gone to find ye.”

  Evidently, everyone’s true identities had been revealed.

  To his relief, Kendric lay propped up on pillows, Ruadh beside him on the bed. His eyes opened a crack when Ewan approached and cleared his throat. “Laird MacCarron,” he said with a respectful bow, “I’m Ewan Mackinloch, yer niece’s betrothed. I fear there’s mischief afoot in the castle and I intend to root it out.”

  “Aye,” Kendric rasped. “The buzzards are nay doot gathering. I kent ye’d be a strong mon. I thank ye.”

  Ruadh woofed as the laird drifted back into sleep.

  Ewan spoke to Fynn. “How long since Lady Shona left?”

  Jeannie frowned. “A fair while.” She turned to look at Fynn who quickly put his arm around her waist. She leaned into him, clearly finding comfort in his support. It appeared things had progressed in a very short time.

  “David and I were out riding,” Ewan explained, suddenly feeling optimistic that Shona had decided to search for him. “Mayhap she didna think to look in the stables.”

  Fynn shook his head. “Nay, I told her ye’d followed Mungo.”

  The color drained from Jeannie’s face. “It canna be true that Ailig has returned.”

  “Thin, dark-haired man, with a wicked scar down his cheek?” Ewan asked.

  Jeannie closed her eyes. “Aye,” she breathed. “A result of the fight with my older brother.”

  Fynn clenched his jaw. “I dinna ken what he did to ye,” he declared, “but rest assured he’ll nay live long.”

  “I’m of the opinion the Morleys intend to claim the lairdship,” Ewan said. “I want a guard on this door at all times. Men ye trust, my lady.”

  Jeannie nodded, forcing a smile. “We perhaps shouldna worry too much. Knowing my niece, she likely went to her chamber to arrange her hair. She was afraid ye might be a wee bit aggravated and wanted to look her best.”

  Foreboding knotted Ewan’s gut. “Lead the way there,” he said.

  *

  Shona hoped the desperation in her eyes would alert David as he came towards them in the stables. The blow from behind took him by surprise and dropped him like a felled tree. Moira wailed, but stopped when the dagger was pressed to her throat.

  Shona had thought the man who’d struck David on the head was trustworthy. Watching him grasp the youth’s ankles and drag him into an empty stall, she worried about the strength of Morley’s support among the clan.

  “Tie him up with the maid,” Mungo hissed.

  Relief threatened to buckle her knees. At least Moira would be safe.

  “Simpler just to kill them both,” his henchman said.

  Shona clenched the hairpin tightly, wishing she held something more lethal than a hair adornment. Banking on Mungo’s reputation as a superstitious dullard, she narrowed her eyes at him. “Best watch yer back if ye murder them. I’ll haunt ye even after I’m dead.”

  He gnawed his lip. “Bind them,” he repeated.

  While his man bound and gagged Moira and David, Mungo hoisted Shona onto his saddle, then mounted behind her. “We’ll meet at Conger’s Rock,” he declared, spurring his horse out of the stables and through the open gates.

  He held her fast as they galloped away. The hairpin dug into her flesh. She relished the discomfort lest she scream out her terror.

  *

  The disarray in Shona’s chamber added to Ewan’s fear she’d not gone willingly.

  Jeannie confirmed his suspicions. “Moira would ne’er have left a chamber in such a mess. Look at all the lovely gowns strewn about.”

  Fynn emerged from the boudoir. “Empty. Just a hairbrush and a few pins.”

  Jeannie gasped. “I was right. She took down her hair.”

  Despite the uncertainty, Ewan felt a small surge of satisfaction. She had wanted to look her best—for him. The turmoil in his innards was a clear sign Shona meant more to him than just a young woman who might need his help. They’d shared only the briefest of kisses, but his heart knew.

  He muttered an oath, filled with guilt that his stubborn determination to avoid the marriage had led to her abduction.

  Be brave. I’ll nay let ye down again.

  He hoped Jeannie was strong enough to deal with the dire possibilities. “Mungo will try to force her into wedlock. Where will they take her?” he asked.

  Fynn stroked her back as she sobbed into his chest. “I dinna ken, and if Ailig…”

  Ewan raked a hand through his hair, frustrated he was in unfamiliar territory. “Think, my lady. A chapel. A priest who’s nay too particular about the rules.”

  Jeannie looked up, tears rendering her strange eye even more peculiar. “The Morleys hail from Glen Nevis. Ailig may have been hiding there after his banishment. It’s remote.”

  Ewan weighed his options. “A foray into a hostile village with only three of us doesna stand much chance of success, especially since we dinna ken the lay of the land.”

  “Aye,” Fynn agreed. “And we canna leave the laird unguarded.”

  Ewan paced. “Seems to me there were a number of men in the hall who didna support Mungo.”

  Jeannie sat on the edge of Shona’s bed. “No surprise. He isna well-liked.”

  “Do they champion another as the next laird?”

  Jeannie dabbed her eyes with a kerchief Fynn produced from who knew where. “After my older brother died, Kendric took over, though reluctantly. As far as I ken, there’s been only distant rumblings about Shona’s husband succeeding to the chieftaincy when it became known she was to wed a Mackinloch.”

  “That’s what Mungo’s afraid of,” Fynn said.

  His words conjured an ugly suspicion. “This recent accident. How did it happen?”

  “I dinna rightly ken. The men were out hunting deer to fill the larder for yer visit. My brother’s horse threw him. Kendric might be able to tell us, though sometimes these things happen so fast.”

  “Was Mungo part of the hunt?”

  The lazy eye was suddenly perfectly still as she stared at Ewan. “Nay, but he came soon after. Too soon mayhap. And there were likely other Morleys in the hunting party.”

  “Fynn, get back across the hall and bar the door of the laird’s chamber. Stay there until Lady Jeannie returns with armed guards, then find me. I’ll be looking for men willing to help me search for Shona.”

  Makings of a Good Laird

  Mungo didn’t blindfold Shona, so she was able to discern they were traveling south, following the River Lochy. She’d never heard of the rock he’d mentioned to his men and she lost her bearings once darkness fell. They seemed to veer away from the sound of the rushing river.

  The night brought a welcome respite from his incessant chatter. She surmised he must be unsure of the terrain. She’d never known a man blather on so much about nothing. He would talk her to death if she was indeed forced into marriage.

  They came at last to a clearing. Mungo dismounted and she was obliged to accept his help to stay upright when her numbed feet hit the ground. “I’m frozen to the bone, and hungry, ye big lout,” she complained. “Not to mention I hafta see to my needs—in private.”

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sp; “Dinna fash,” he replied, herding her towards an enormous boulder. “Behind there. Go on. I’ll leave ye be.”

  Determined not to lose her only weapon, she twisted the hairpin into her curls, then squeezed herself between the rock and prickly hawthorns. No possibility of escape there, and the scurrying of night creatures panicked her into completing the necessary task quickly.

  She yanked her skirts off the thorns and emerged, glad to be out of the bushes.

  “There’s food and blankets in yon cave,” Mungo said, pointing to some unseen destination up ahead in the dark.

  She balked. “Cave? If ye think I’m spending a night…”

  He put his hands on her bottom and pushed. “Cease caterwauling and climb.”

  It was difficult to see where she was going on the steep, overgrown trail. She lost her footing several times on the slippery pebbles and scraped her wrists and knees. Fingernails tore as she reached for gorse bushes lining the path.

  When she feared her lungs might burst, Mungo took hold of her elbow and pushed her into an opening so small she’d have missed it. She crawled through, then shielded her eyes from the unexpected light of a campfire burning inside a large cavern. She wrinkled her nose at the pungent smell of charred meat.

  Flames cast dozens of giant shadows on sheer rock walls. Her heart sank—she hadn’t thought Mungo capable of mustering so many supporters. Making a run for it would likely result in being hunted down quickly, even if she made it out of the cave.

  “Sit by the fire,” Mungo ordered, dropping a blanket onto her shoulders. “And no more complaining, woman.”

  Shutting out the grunts of amused male agreement, she obeyed, glad of the warmth of the fire, but then one voice turned the blood in her veins to ice.

  “They’re born complainers, the MacCarrons.”

  Ailig.

  She peered across the flames. There he sat, cross-legged, chewing on a bone, the scar on his face rendered all the more hideous by the orange glow of the fire.

  “Ye’re an outlaw on MacCarron lands,” she hissed.

  He spat into the fire. “These are Morley lands, lassie.”