Castles, Kilts and Caresses

by Carmen Caine

  But then the wench perched upon his knee stood up with a scowl. “Did ye not hear about Old Bertha? They burnt her as a witch a fortnight ago!”

  Alec cocked a surprised brow her way.

  Old Bertha was daft, but she’d been a harmless old woman. Who could possibly think her capable of witchcraft?

  The conversation lulled, but then Alec’s younger brother ducked inside the alehouse and strode their way, his plaid-draped shoulder stiff with anger.

  “Ach, the lot of them are fools!” he spat, lifting a booted foot over the bench to join his kin. “’Tis not highwaymen lurking along the road launching attacks on the unwary. 'Tis the Cunninghams and well all know it!”

  As usual, the name of Cunningham shifted the mood.

  “Aye, not a Cunningham exists whom I’d allow to walk upon the Earth, if I had my way,” Alec said without hesitation. “Useless, the lot of them.”

  “Ach, have ye brought new tidings?” Taran asked with a note of scorn. “Or is this merely an opining of the same blood grudge that’s lasted nigh on a hundred years?”

  The younger Montgomery opened his mouth, but whatever he was about to say was lost upon Alec as the door to the alehouse opened once again, this time revealing a lass at the threshold.

  She arrested his attention at once.

  Slim and delicate with a mane of coppery curls, she wore a homespun blue dress that accentuated her stunning blue eyes, eyes that seemed to bore deep into his soul. But then she moved, and he couldn’t make up his mind if her eyes were instead gray, or mayhap green.

  She began to move his way.

  Tilting his head toward his brother and cousin, he queried in a low tone, “The lass coming our way. Do we know her?”

  “With as many lasses as ye kiss, Alec, I’d say ye do,” his cousin observed with a sardonic crook of his lip.

  But Alec only had time to toss him an exasperated glance before the lass was there at the table.

  She was quite delicate and a bit younger than he’d first thought.

  And her eyes, aye, her eyes. Her eyes seemed to shimmer from blue to green as the flicker of the candlelight struck them. Or mayhap it was the anger in them that caused them to shift color.

  With a proud toss of her head, she slapped her hand down upon the table. “Ye owe me a debt, Montgomery.”

  “I do?” Alec asked with an easy grin. His eyes swept her up and down in outright appraisal. “Forgive me, but I canna recall ye, lass, though I’m fair flummoxed how I ever could forget ye.”

  She pushed a silver pin across the table, and the three leaned close to inspect it.

  Alec raised a questioning brow.

  There was nothing particularly special about the pin but for the fact that it was the Montgomery crest.

  He shrugged, and then sent her his most seductive smile. “The pin means naught to me, but I canna say the same about your lips, lass.”

  Her eyes flashed and her bosom heaved.

  But before she could respond, a bald man wearing a dark cloak opened the alehouse door.

  At once, the lass dove upon Alec’s lap and pulled the corner of his plaid over her shoulders.

  He had no objection. She was frail and slight, but deliciously curved in all of the right places.

  He slid his hand around her waist and pulled her even closer.

  “Has any of ye seen an odd redheaded lass with uncanny eyes?” The bald man’s voice reverberated throughout the low-ceiling room.

  Several heads turned their way, and the lass dropped her hands to grip Alec’s hard.

  He froze, startled, and glanced down at her fingers resting atop his. Her hands were delicate and warm.

  And strangely, inexplicably familiar.

  Perplexed, he looked deeply into her mysterious, ringed eyes and then asked a bit chagrined, “Ach, have I bedded ye afore?”

  If he hadn’t, he knew he certainly would.

  She answered him with a swift kick to the shin.

  “Her name is Sorcha,” the man approached them, his voice continuing to shake the alehouse rafters. “She’s a witch. A Cunningham witch!”

  ... to be continued in "Heather House: Witch of the Moors"

  Follow Carmen Caine on Twitter:

  http://twitter.com/CarmenRomances

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  http://www.facebook.com/Carmen.Caine

  OTHER BOOKS

  Carmen Caine writes fantasy as well as Medieval Romance

  The "Glass Wall" is the first book of her new quirky paranormal series about ancient beings, Tulpas and different dimensions:

  "The Glass Wall" (Now Available)

  "The Brotherhood of the Snake" (Now Available)

  "The Inner Circle" (Now Available)

  "The Egg"

  Her Scottish Medieval series, "The Highland Heather and Hearts Scottish Romance Series" covers the span of years

  ranging from 1478-1488:

  "The Kindling Heart"(Now Available)

  "The Bedeviled Heart" (Now Available)

  "The Daring Heart" (Now Available)

  "The Bold Heart" (Now Available)

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Like many of us on this planet, Carmen Caine is from another world. She spends every moment she can scribbling stories on sticky notes that her kids find posted all over the car, house, and barn.

  When she is not working as a software engineer, she is busy ferrying her kids to various appointments, writing lyrics for her husband's songs, taking care of the dog Tigger and his heart condition, attempting to tame her three insane cats, scratching her three Nigerian Dwarf Goats behind the horns or coddling her flock of thirty bizarre chickens from around the world.

  The "Glass Wall" is the first book of her new paranormal series about Ancient Beings, Tulpas and different dimensions.

  Carmen would love to have you as a friend http://www.facebook.com/Carmen.Caine.

  A Highland Knight to Remember

  Highland Dynasty Series—Book Three

  by

  Amy Jarecki

  ~Scottish Historical Romance~

  Rapture Books

  Copyright © 2015, Amy Jarecki

  Jarecki, Amy

  A Highland Knight to Remember

  AISN: B00W5M225M

  ISBN: 978-1942442035

  First Release: May, 2015

  Book Cover Design by: Amy Jarecki

  Edited by: Scott Mooreland

  All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work, in whole or part, by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, is illegal and forbidden.

  This is a work of fiction. Characters, settings, names, and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination and bear no resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, places or settings, and/or occurrences. Any incidences of resemblance are purely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  The Scottish Highlands, Late Fifteenth Century

  Gyllis Campbell forgot the pain in her backside when Dunstaffnage Castle came into view. It was all she could do not to dig in her heels, slap her riding crop against her mare’s rump and overtake their dreary entourage. But Mother would surely admonish such a display of unladylike exuberance.

  In the castle foreground, blue and white striped tents festooned with colorful flags flapped in the breeze. The sight made butterflies flit about her stomach. If only she could hop off her horse, she’d be able to walk faster than the guards leading them. Gyllis had been looking forward to the annual Highland fete for ages. At long last they’d arrived and the rain had stopped. It would be Beltane on the morrow—May Day. And it couldn’t possibly rain on the opening day of the games.

  Gyllis cast an excited grin toward her sister. “What is the first thing you plan to do?”

  Helen licked her lips. “I can already smell the honeyed cryspes.”

  Food?

  Though only a year younger, Helen could be incredibly dull. She even opted to wear a veil and cover her
lovely honey-colored locks, though she was a maid and within her rights to flaunt her beautiful tresses. “Sounds delicious,” Gyllis managed a disinterested reply. She set her sights on more interesting fare and scanned the scene for Highland warriors. Where is he?

  “And you?” Helen asked.

  “Hmm?” Gyllis focused on a gathering of well-armed knights ahead. No handsome lad with a head of thick dark locks among them. She could picture Sir Sean MacDougall in her mind’s eye as if she’d seen him only yesterday. She adored everything about the knight including his long, athletic legs she’d admired many times when he sparred in the courtyard as one of her brother’s Highland Enforcers. A potent and powerful man, Sir Sean’s face was as equally rugged and handsome as his form. It had been six months since she’d last seen him before he left to patrol the borders. But forever burned into her memory was the way his azure eyes had stared at her from across the table during last year’s Beltane festival. No man had ever gazed upon her with such fervent hunger. More so, his stare had awakened a longing deep within Gyllis’s soul that would not be forgotten.

  “What will be the first thing you’ll do, silly?” Helen asked again.

  Gyllis waggled her brows. “I want to watch the games.”

  “But they do not start until the morrow.” Helen tsked her tongue. “Bless it, you are incorrigible.” She leaned toward Gyllis. “I know what you’re doing.”

  “So?” she snorted. “Eoin will be here, too.”

  Helen whipped her head around so fast, she nearly fell off her mount. “Wheesht. Ma will hear you.”

  Gyllis glanced over her shoulder at her mother and younger twin sisters. Bogle’s bones, she and the lassies would all need to find husbands soon. She had long past attained the age of twenty. Many highborn lasses were wed by ten and six—the same age as Alice and Marion. Yet her brother, the all-powerful and domineering Lord of Glenorchy, frowned upon every available noble who passed through Kilchurn Castle’s gates. Well, Gyllis had decided it was time to take matters into her own hands, lest she end up a spinster. If her brother deemed no one suitable to place a ring on her finger, she would follow her heart—a love interest she had harbored for years.

  “Gyllis?” The commanding tone in Mother’s voice made her sit straighter. “Have you seen Duncan?”

  I’d prefer it if my overbearing brother remained on the borders. “Not as of yet.”

  “His missive said he would meet us at the gate.”

  Gyllis eyed the barbican and the long pathway leading to Dunstaffnage’s immense grey stone walls. “Perhaps we shall see him when our entourage proceeds closer to the castle.”

  “Can we not stop and look at the wares first?” asked Alice, Gyllis’s youngest sister—aside from Marion who was born moments later.

  Mother cleared her throat. “No one will be doing any browsing at the fete until we are settled in our rooms.”

  Gyllis rolled her eyes to the sky. “The servants will see to that. We’ll be in their way.”

  “Oh?” Mother said. “And how will you know where you’ll be sleeping?”

  Gyllis grinned at Helen. “You can tell us, Ma.”

  “Ungrateful children,” Mother sighed. “It shan’t take long. Together we will proceed to our rooms and I’ll hear no further argument.”

  With a wink, Gyllis leaned toward her sister and whispered, “You’ll have to wait a wee bit longer for those honeyed cryspes.”

  “And you must put off ogling Sir Sean.”

  Her heart fluttered at the mention of his name. She flicked her riding crop at Helen. “I’ll wager you’ll be dancing with Sir Eoin MacGregor this eve.”

  Helen grasped the crop and yanked it from Gyllis’s hand. “You are shameless.”

  “And you are ungrateful.” Gyllis snatched the whip back. “Remember, I am the one who intends to keep the Campbell sisters from spinsterhood.”

  ***

  Sean MacDougall left his horse with his squire and removed his helm. He inhaled a deep breath of Highland air. The sweet scent of home enlivened him. He’d been looking forward to the Beltane games as he did every year and now even more so.

  After spending six months patrolling the borders with the Highland Enforcers, he needed clean air and good sport. He scrubbed his knuckles against his scalp and marched from the stables toward the smell of roasting meat.

  “Where are you off to in such a hurry, nephew?”

  Sean stopped on the path leading to the castle’s main gate and turned. He’d recognize his uncle’s timeworn scowl anywhere. “If it isn’t the Lord of Lorn, himself.” He held out his hand for a firm handshake. “I see you’ve outdone yourself this year. The collection of merchants is grander than ever before.” Indeed, the tents sprawled across Dunstaffnage’s foreground posed an impressive sight.

  Lorn chuckled—though not a tall man, he had a deep voice. “We do bring in more tinkers every year.” He rubbed the tips of his fingers together. “And with it comes more coin—as long as they can keep their thieving hands to themselves.”

  In the past six months, Sean had endured enough of backstabbers and thieves to last a lifetime. At times he’d reckoned fate must have doled him out a parcel of bad luck. But he aimed to rectify his lot starting now. “I wish you well controlling the roustabouts. I’m here for the games.”

  “I would assume no less.” Lorn chuckled and squeezed his arm. “And I expect you to be victorious—I’ve wagered a nicely sum upon it.”

  Sean grinned. “I aim to give it my best.”

  “Good lad.” Lorn smoothed his fingers down his grey, pointed beard. “I haven’t seen the Laird of Dunollie as of late. Will he be dining at the high table with me this eve?”

  “Unfortunately, Da needs rest. He was a wee bit fevered last eve, but I expect him to come round before the end of the games.”

  “Very well.”

  Above the crowd ahead, Duncan Campbell climbed the steps leading to Dunstaffnage’s inner barbican. Sean waved and Duncan offered an exaggerated bow, his black hair dropping into his eyes. They’d been friends since the age of ten and four when Sean’s father sent him to Kilchurn Castle to foster with the late Lord of Glenorchy, Duncan’s da.

  “Are you still riding with that Campbell blackguard?” Lorn asked.

  Sean raised an eyebrow. “You surprise me, Uncle. Duncan is one of my closest allies.”

  “I’d watch my back with friends such as he.”

  “It would be in our best interest if we Highlanders could manage to end our feuds.”

  Lorn scrunched his nose as if he’d just tasted a bitter brew. “’Tis easy for you to say, but I must find some way of keeping Campbell fingers off my title when I’m laid to rest. To my chagrin, my sister off and married the Earl of Argyll—if I pass without issue, the title will go to him, the bastard.”

  Sean regarded his uncle. Blood ran thick in the Highlands, but he cared not to taint it with hatred for friends. He thumped him on the shoulder. “You can always marry Dugald’s mother and legitimize your son. That should solve all your woes.”

  “But marrying so far beneath my station would cause consternation at court,” Lorn growled, drawing his thick brows together. “If only I had a legitimate heir like your father.”

  Sean headed off with a chuckle. “You must start on that, uncle—before you’re too old to get a rise out of your cock.”

  Lorn fell in step beside him. “Insolent lad. You should talk—how old are you now? Nine and twenty?”

  “Aye.” Sean had never thought about aging, but the way Lorn said it, he already had one foot in the grave.

  “You’d best be sowing your seed soon, else you’ll find yourself in a similar predicament.” Lorn jabbed his elbow into Sean’s ribs. “There’s no better time to find a ripe lassie than Beltane. You ken the legends.”

  “Ballocks to that.” Sean slapped a dismissive hand through the air. “I’m off to fill my belly and enjoy the sweet Highland air. I’ve plenty of time to worry about marriage after the
games.”

  Having had about all he could take of his uncle’s babble, Sean raced ahead and followed Lord Duncan through the gatehouse. The inner courtyard was filled with nobles dressed in brightly colored blues, yellows, and more red velvet than he’d ever seen outside of court. A tall man, it wasn’t difficult for Sean to push through the crowd, straight into the castle’s tapestry-lined great hall. The smell of roasting meat and baking bread made his mouth water and his stomach growl.

  From the high table, Duncan stood and beckoned him. “We’re not too late for our nooning.”

  “Thank the good Lord for small mercies.” Sean slid into the seat beside the baron. “And where is your wife?”

  “Lady Meg opted to remain at Kilchurn with the bairns. The wee ones are still too young to travel.”

  Sean reached for a ewer and poured himself a tankard of ale. “And how are the twins?”

  “Elizabeth has a healthy set of pipes for certain—though her brother Colin can hold his own.”

  “Was the birth worth returning from the borders early?”

  Duncan bit off a chunk of bread and winked. “I’ll say. Bloody miserable reiving thieves I can live without. A turn at home did me some good as well.”

  A servant placed a trencher of chicken on the table and Sean swiped a leg. “And Lady Meg, has she recovered from the birth?”

  “Aye, she’s as feisty as ever.”

  Sean laughed. He’d never forget the night they stole Duncan away from Edinburgh gaol. They were riding like hellfire when Sean realized someone had followed them. He’d set a trap and nearly killed Lady Meg before she uttered a word. If it weren’t for her shrill scream, Sean probably would have run her through. He still shuddered at how close she’d come to meeting her end. Feisty and fearless.

  High-pitched giggles across the hall pulled Sean from his thoughts. A lovely picture indeed. Gyllis Campbell and her sisters gaily flitted into the hall as if a ray of sunshine had brightened the entire room. Sean stopped mid-chew. It had been quite some time since he’d seen Gyllis. “God’s teeth.”