Secrets of a Highland Warrior

by Nicole Locke

  The key to his past...

  ...lies with the enemy sharing his bed!

  Part of The Lochmore Legacy: a Scottish castle through the ages! Rory Lochmore had expected to wage battle, to claim land and finally secure his standing within his clan... Instead he won a wife. A McCrieff wife. Their convenient marriage could unite the two long-feuding clans forever. But can a political alliance give way to a passion strong enough to stand the secrets of the past?

  The Lochmore Legacy

  One Scottish castle. Four breathtaking romances through the ages.

  The bitter feud between the Lochmore and the McCrieff clans is the stuff of legend. And Lochmore Castle has been witness to it all.

  The battles, the betrayals, the weddings, the wild passions.

  But with the arrival of a new owner to Lochmore, the secrets buried deep in the castle are about to be revealed through four romances, as we fall back in time through the Victorian, Regency, Tudor and Medieval eras...

  Discover more in

  His Convenient Highland Wedding

  by Janice Preston

  Unlaced by the Highland Duke

  by Lara Temple

  A Runaway Bride for the Highlander

  by Elisabeth Hobbes

  Secrets of a Highland Warrior

  by Nicole Locke

  Author Note

  What can be said about a marriage of convenience except it’s never convenient? This is true for Rory and Ailsa, as well. After all, they are from enemy clans, and every time they talk, they argue.

  Then circumstances change, and marry they must. Then everything changes on their wedding night for they are now a combination of their clans, and they have to do a bit more than talk.

  So what happens after? Well, there are still those circumstances that forced them to wed, and there are still those reasons why they argue. Just because they get tangled in Ailsa’s laces doesn’t mean all is resolved... In fact, matters go from bad to worse.

  As I went on Ailsa and Rory’s passionate journey, I wondered how they could possibly find their happily-ever-after. They surprised me, and I hope they surprise you, too.

  NICOLE

  LOCKE

  Secrets of a

  Highland Warrior

  Nicole Locke discovered her first romance novels in her grandmother’s closet, where they were secretly hidden. Convinced that books that were hidden must be better than those that weren’t, Nicole greedily read them. It was only natural for her to start writing them—but now not so secretly.

  Books by Nicole Locke

  Harlequin Historical

  The Lochmore Legacy

  Secrets of a Highland Warrior

  Lovers and Legends

  The Knight’s Broken Promise

  Her Enemy Highlander

  The Highland Laird’s Bride

  In Debt to the Enemy Lord

  The Knight’s Scarred Maiden

  Her Christmas Knight

  Reclaimed by the Knight

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.

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  Traveling through romantic dialogue and dense Scottish mists. Careening over passionate scenes and rocky Highland paths. Forging on ahead in character conflicts to a Highland castle (or two), this book is dedicated to Elisabeth Hobbes, Janice Preston and Lara Temple, who are brilliant writers and even better friends. Thank you!

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Epilogue by Janice Preston

  Excerpt from The Rake’s Enticing Proposal by Lara Temple

  Chapter One

  Spring 1293

  ‘I don’t like this.’ Rory surveyed the landscape surrounding him and his men. Tall branches bending slightly in the spring breeze, birds calling softly, the stream mere horse-lengths in front of them, rushing past carrying winter’s melting ice.

  Around them was nothing else but rolling fields and a wide sparse treeline that had been manned and maintained to remain that way since before he was born. Enough trees for game, but not enough for enemies to hide behind.

  Not that there should be enemies while they stood on Lochmore land, but across that stream...

  ‘Perhaps they are waiting over that ridge.’ Paiden sidled his horse alongside his and whispered low.

  Rory didn’t turn his attention to the other men. They had maintained their position and were far enough behind to not hear the words that Paiden inevitably desired to share. Of the same age, if different temperament, Paiden had been at his side for as long as he had memory.

  Paiden had been talking for that long as well and Rory was used to his friend’s humour even in the direst circumstances. Now, on this mildest of mornings, the circumstances weren’t dire, but they weren’t safe either. His men, well back from the stream few ventured near, didn’t need to hear words to comprehend their predictament.

  ‘How likely is it that a garrison of McCrieffs and their horses are crouching behind a hill no taller than a couple of rabbits could breach?’

  ‘Oh, as likely as toothless Joan is capable of eating overcooked venison.’

  Not likely at all. There was no one to greet him and his men this fine spring day. Twenty of them in all here, one hundred more waiting at the castle should he make the agreed signal. Twenty was enough of a force for the expected confrontation, but not enough to provoke a first strike. If the McCrieffs wanted a fight, then there were enough to defend the Lochmore claim. If they wanted to negotiate, the numbers weren’t so intimidating that the possibility was there as well.

  Months had gone into the planning of this day. A fortnight spent on discussing the number of men, the weaponry, the day and the hour. Rory was prepared for every likely scenario when it came to this day. The nothingness they faced wasn’t any scenario at all.

  Which was why they stayed on the Lochmore side of the stream. Across the water was the beginning of McCrieff land. Or what was McCrieff land. It was now his by royal decree.

  After his clan supported the crowning of John Balliol last November, the English King Edward had granted the Lochmores part of the McCrieff lands. The ones that bordered along the stream that for years had separated the two clans. The two enemies.

  The stream had been a firm divide between the clans and a well-welcomed one. Owning the land, however, gave the Lochmores even more pleasure. To take by any means something precious from the McCrieffs was worth any price paid.

  But months had passed since Edward’s decree. During that time the McCrieffs ignored Edward’s law and the Lochmore Chief’s messages.

  So it came down to this day, to this hour to fight, to battle. Except all that was before him was the rising of the morning sun and the blades of plentiful grass the horses fed from.

  Ce
rtainly, the beauty of the land was enough to please any Highlander, but the landscape wasn’t what he intended or expected to see right now.

  The granting of this land wasn’t at the McCrieffs’ consent. In fact, this very land had been bitterly fought over for years. Everything between them had been fought over for years.

  Also, being Highlanders, it wasn’t expected that the McCrieffs would agree to an English king’s decree. After all, what right did he have over a Highlander’s lands?

  However, since it was convenient at this moment for Lochmore’s Chief, Rory’s father, to accept, he did. But with no word from the McCrieffs, it seemed they didn’t accept the terms.

  Now, with no one here, it didn’t seem like anything at all.

  ‘It’s a trap,’ Paiden said.

  ‘Truly, that ridge wouldn’t be able to hide one horse and we’d hear them if they laid in wait. Where would they lay a trap?’

  Rory looked behind at his men waiting for command. They were as restless as the mounts beneath them. They expected to let out a war cry today. Indeed, they’d feasted and bedded in celebration the night before in case today was their last.

  If they returned now, it would be without gaining the honour of such celebration. If he returned to his father emptyhanded with no resolution or information, today might indeed be his last. His father wouldn’t allow such ambiguity. McCrieffs present or not, Rory’s only choice was to confront.

  ‘I’m crossing,’ Rory said. When Paiden pulled his horse only slightly more ahead, Rory stopped. ‘The others didn’t move.’

  ‘That’s because you didn’t give the signal to move.’

  ‘Exactly, so what are you doing?’

  ‘You can give the men commands all that you want, but I’ll still be by your side.’

  ‘When I’m Chief—’

  ‘You can give me orders and I won’t cross you in front of others, but until then... Forget it.’

  When he was Chief. Not yet. Not without his father’s death and an elder’s approval. But Rory hadn’t been concerned for approval because of this honour today of leading his men to confront the McCrieffs. To demand why they ignored a king’s decree and a clan’s chief.

  For months, the firm conclusion as to why the McCrieffs had ignored the decree and messages was that they contested the claim. So in the last message the Lochmores had arranged this day. To meet and agree or if not, to fight. The McCrieffs made no reply, but that, too, wasn’t a concern. For no Highlander would be so cowardly as to ignore a challenge and the last missive was a challenge.

  Thus, because he was the only son, the only child of the Lochmore Chief, he wore the best armour his clan owned and wore a sword he’d sharpened himself. The McCrieffs had all to gain with his death and they would not claim it. This was to be his day to prove himself to his father, to his clan. To himself. It was all to be his. His to battle, wrest and claim.

  If no blood was to be found on this side of the water, he’d simply ride forward to find it. The hatred between the Lochmores and McCrieffs was too deep for there not to be some argument this day. Some trophy to be won so when he did face his father again, Finley would give his proud approval. Rory would never give up until he finally obtained it.

  ‘If I can’t rid myself of you...’ Rory sighed with exaggeration ‘...then the others will want to ride as well.’ With his arm raised, he drew a large circle in the air. Whatever might come, this land was his to ensure this day and ensure it he must. For once, he’d be the Lochmore his father wanted him to be.

  Chapter Two

  Ailsa set the bowl of bone broth and bread on the table and raised the cup of tisane to the thin lips of the Chief of Clan McCrieff. Only a few drops did he take this morning, only a few more throughout last night. The tisane was important for the pain, the beef-broth mixture crucial to retain his strength.

  But this last fortnight both had been increasingly difficult for him to swallow. It was that which was telling of the sickness overwhelming him more than the grey pallor of his skin and his laboured breath. His body was slowly wasting away. His ice-blue eyes, however, were sharp as ever and steady on her.

  If his eyes could speak, Ailsa knew the barrage of hate would be fierce. Though he was losing his strength day by day, he hadn’t lost his opinions.

  The fact he didn’t speak now meant he was saving his strength...for what she didn’t know. She never could understand their Chief who was and had always been filled with rage and suspicion.

  Even towards her, their only healer. She glanced up to find his eyes piercing her the entire time he drank the tisane. Mistrust. As if her long sleepless nights and tireless searching for calming herbs weren’t because she was there to help, but to harm him.

  She would never, could never, do so. It went against everything she was. It was also a sin. God’s law should have been enough to appease Hamish McCrieff that she would do her duty to him. But she suspected Hamish had committed so many sins he didn’t see the breaking of one as much of a deterrent.

  Blasphemous thoughts. This man was Chief of the Clan and deserved respect and loyalty. But everything about him made fear climb like poisonous vines under her skin.

  Standing and setting down the cup, Ailsa nodded towards Mary, one of the most faithful of servants, who stood as well, and they adjusted the bedding so Hamish was made more comfortable. She didn’t know what ailed him, but she’d seen it before. The decline was slow, the body consumed on the inside until there was nothing left. All that could be done was to ease the pain and ensure a longer sleep until he died.

  A quick death would be more merciful and she had heard of men doing so to their brethren on the battlefields. But for her it was too kind for this man, who wasn’t worth risking her soul for. There was many a day when she wanted to. Something she went to confessional with often. Weeks of confessionals now. The seasons were changing and still McCrieff lingered, leaving the clan in a vulnerable state.

  It was no relief when Hamish’s gaze shifted over her shoulder. No relief at all since his accusing stare was aimed entirely at the only other person in the room. Her father, Frederick, who months ago had been elected to be heir apparent to the Chief. To become, in effect, Tanist. Further because Hamish was so ill it was also agreed that her father would be privy to any and all decisions that Hamish would decree. Most significantly, Frederick could suggest and, in certain circumstances, make decisions of his own that would be equally revered by the council. Unusual, but Hamish was dying and her father was a greatly respected warrior, with a bloodline linked to chiefs in the past. The decree was unanimous, including that of Hamish himself. However, Alisa always felt Hamish had given it unwillingly.

  Her father must have felt the same way as well. And whether it was because of loyalty to the Chief who he had served under for years or to keep the peace among the Clan, Frederick still consulted with Hamish. In front of the clan, it kept the peace. Only she knew what a toll it took on her father and it was no surprise that, after he gained her attention, he left the room.

  As quietly as possible, Alisa stepped away from the bed and let Mary continue with the rest of the routine. Months of working together, they no longer had to discuss the Chief’s care...they only had to endure it.

  The room next to the chamber was empty save for her father and Alisa closed the door behind her. He let out a breath.

  ‘He eats less every day,’ Ailsa said.

  ‘But drinks your tisane more. Is this because of the pain?’

  Hamish hid his pain from her; Ailsa suspected, because he didn’t want her father to know. But at night, when Hannah or Mary took over, when he tried to sleep, he cried out. For a man of Hamish’s stature to do so meant the pain was horrific.

  Ailsa nodded. ‘The pain is expected at this stage. For now he seems aware, but it will increase and he will be less... He may not even know who he is.’

  Frederick exhal
ed. ‘The others will not care.’

  ‘Others?’

  Her father raised his finger to his lips and shook his head once.

  Ailsa tightened her jaw and kept her words to herself. If Hamish’s health was in further decline, more decisions would be made by her father. The issue, of course, was even at the height of Hamish’s power, her father never saw eye to eye with their Chief. In the past, there were arguments, but to keep the loyalties strong, her father always yielded to the clan Chief...as he should.

  Since Hamish didn’t have the strength for all decision making, the clan would lean more on her father, whether Hamish wanted it or not.

  There should be no others when it came to the rule of McCrieffs. Everyone should be behind her father, who was a fair man. The Tanist vote and shared ruling was unanimous. It was rare and, to keep McCrieffs strong, to everyone outside the clan it was unknown, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t the right course for her clan. Hamish couldn’t be expected to rule as he once had. However, Hamish had lived long and had spread his venom deep. There were rumours that others were loyal to only him. It incensed her. Her father had every right by blood and sword to rule the McCrieffs and rule them justly. Yet, as long as Hamish lived, Hamish still kept his power and her father was forced to keep the balance.

  And she was forced to keep Hamish alive. When Hamish died, her father would face adversity no other McCrieff had ever faced before: To mend a divided Clan. Her father was a warrior, not a negotiator.

  However, Hamish’s decreasing strength could change the stalemate—

  The outside door burst open and both swung their gaze towards the messenger who bent over his knees to catch his breath. ‘Lochmores are here,’ he panted.

  Ailsa’s entire body seized. Their enemy was on their land. How could this have happened without her father being at the forefront of the fight? ‘Father, what is—?’

  Frederick kept his gaze on the young man before him. ‘How far?’

  ‘Just outside the village.’