A Magical Highland Solstice

by Mary Morgan

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  Praise for Mary Morgan

  A Magical Highland Solstice

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  A Note from the Author

  Eve Brannigan’s Eggnog Scones

  A word about the author…

  Other Books You Might Enjoy

  Also Available

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  With each steady trot, her body swayed

  and Cormac tried to focus on the road. The castle. Fighting in the lists. Bathing in the icy waters of the loch. Anything but the soft curves of the lass’s body pressing against his own. What was wrong with him? He prided himself on being a man always in control of his emotions—especially his lustful ones. Yet, now he found himself confused, tongue-tied, and his gut twisted into knots.

  So deep in his thoughts, he did not notice Fingal veering off the main road until the lass let out a giggle. She had the most musical sound, and he found himself smiling. Guiding his horse back to the path, he could hear his men doing their best to contain themselves. A glance back confirmed William was coughing loudly and Gordon trying his best not to fall off his horse.

  “I swear Fingal, I am tempted to trade ye in for another horse. Ye must be going blind, or worse, old.”

  His horse let out a large snort.

  Eve clicked her tongue in disapproval. “For shame, Mr. Murray. How cruel. I think he’s a kind animal. Perhaps it’s the man holding the reins who can’t see clearly the path in front of him?”

  The lass was quick with the wit, he mused. “I dinnae ken your word, but ye may call me Cormac.” He leaned near her again. “And I can assure ye, I am nae blind, nor old.”

  Praise for Mary Morgan

  “With her vivid imagination, the author Mary Morgan, transported us again in her world of Dragon Knights…”

  ~Nicole Laverdure

  ~*~

  “Mary Morgan does it again! For those of you who haven’t yet read her Dragon Knight’s Series, I suggest you start.”

  ~Tea and Book

  ~*~

  “Beautifully written, this enthralling romance has one sitting on the edge of the seat as the pages turn rapidly.”

  ~InD’Tale Magazine

  A Magical Highland Solstice

  by

  Mary Morgan

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

  A Magical Highland Solstice

  COPYRIGHT © 2016 by Mary Morgan

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

  Cover Art by Debbie Taylor

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Fantasy Rose Edition, 2016

  Print ISBN 978-1-5092-1125-8

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1126-5

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  For my siblings

  Mimi, Vici, and Randy with love.

  My fondest memories of the holidays

  were spent with you.

  Prologue

  Once every hundred years, two souls are brought together through the veil of time. They are deemed the chosen ones by the Fae. Through their acts of kindness, generosity, and love to others, they often neglect to find their one true love. Their devotion to aiding others blinds them to their own happiness, leaving them alone.

  It is during the season of the Winter Solstice—a time of great magic and love that the Fae search for these worthy to receive their gift. Faery guardians will clear the path and open the doors between the realms, so the two lovers can meet. Their souls destined to become one with each other.

  Yet, time is fleeting and only the strongest and purest of heart will be able to capture the spark of love. If the ember ceases to grow, then on the stroke of midnight on the Winter Solstice the two lovers will be returned to their own time. The doors of past and present to be closed forever.

  In this year, 2016, the Fae have chosen Cormac Blaine Murray and Eve Catherine Brannigan to receive this special blessing—a chance of love—everlasting.

  When the light of true love whispers in their hearts, Cormac and Eve must trust and believe in the magic that brought them together before the sands of time vanish into the mists of the Highlands.

  Chapter One

  Castle Creag—December 1207

  “Bind together the pine, cedar, oak, and birch to create the incense of the season.”

  If he could, Cormac would flee to the hills to rid himself of the latest disaster in the kitchens. His cook, Moira, usually a calm and even-tempered woman, had become the target of the latest in a series of mischief between two of the castle’s lads. Both of whom now stood before him—shouting and accusing the other of plotting to let a few of the sheep roam into the kitchens. All done in an effort to fetch a couple of freshly baked tarts. Their folly had caused Moira to trip over one of the ewes and injure her leg, and burn her arms.

  Was it too much to ask for a few moments of peace and solitude while he ate his meal? Perchance, if he closed his eyes, the lads would ignore him and take their argument out into the bailey. A wishful thought he swiftly pushed aside.

  “Ye are full of horse dung! I never told ye to bring the sheep. I said the dogs!” yelled Bran.

  “Are ye daft? I told ye I would nae bring in the laird’s dog or any other of the hounds,” protested Ranald.

  Bran snarled at him. “Ye were scared of what the laird would do to ye.”

  Cormac pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off the impending pain creeping in behind his eyes. “Enough!” he roared. “I can tell by your arguing in front of me—your laird—that neither of ye has any remorse from this mishap.”

  Both lads immediately went quiet and bowed their heads.

  “’Tis shameful!”

  Both nodded silently in agreement.

  “Ye should not be allowed to step foot inside the castle. Mayhap I shall banish ye to the stables for the rest of the month.”

  “And miss the Yule feasting?” both protested in unison.

  Cormac crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at them. In his heart, he would never banish anyone to the cold, foremost a child, but he would not let the lads ken this yet. “Pray tell, what would ye have me do? Surely, ye dinnae believe ye can be forgiven so easily?”

  Ranald narrowed his eyes in thought, and Bran started to tap his foot, which told Cormac they were fully prepared to come to some sort of deal.

  Bran raised his hand. “If I may be allowed to speak, my laird?”

  “Granted,” stated Cormac.

  The
lad stole a glance at Ranald. “First, we will clean both kitchens. From hearth and stone.” He paused and scratched at his chin.

  “Continue.”

  “Then we will see to the kitchen duties and tend to Moira.”

  Ranald gave Bran a scathing look.

  “Do ye deem it wise to be in the verra place that would tempt ye to snatch food?” Cormac held up his hand when the lad started to utter a protest. “I agree to the first part of your terms. But for the second, ye will clean all muck from every place inside and outside the castle. From the stables, to the urinal pots. Since ye have mentioned Yule, this is a time of preparation and we need all hands to help.” Watching as their faces grimaced and then went to wretched horror, he fought the smile forming on his own face. “Are we in agreement?”

  “Aye,” muttered Bran.

  “Are ye saying we have to do this for one day, or for the entire month?” asked Ranald.

  The truth revealed itself with the lad’s question. Cormac knew him to be the leader in this devious plan. “For as long as I deem necessary. What say ye?”

  Ranald’s shoulders slumped. “Aye.”

  “Good! Now go and begin cleaning the kitchens. When ye are done, seek me out. If not done to how I ken Moira likes the place, ye will start over. Understood?”

  “Aye,” both mumbled in unison.

  “Off with ye.”

  Cormac watched their slow retreat from the Great Hall. Placing both his hands on the table, he whispered, “What am I going to do now?” With no cook, he would have to rely on one of the young lasses.

  One of his men, Gordon, stepped inside. “Have they been properly punished?”

  Waving the man over, Cormac poured some wine into a mug and handed it to him. “Aye, but not as severely as ye may think.”

  Taking the mug, Gordon sat down. “What? Ye are not going to tie them to a post in front of the gates for all to witness their punishment for their heinous crime?”

  “Worse. Not merely are they cleaning the kitchens to my approval, but every other place full of muck—from stables to urinal pots.”

  Gordon choked on his wine. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he shook his head. “Aye, ’tis far worse. No one will want to be near the lads’ stench. For how long will they be punished?”

  Rubbing his hand over his chin, Cormac shrugged. “Cannae say.” Sitting down, he poured some wine into his mug. “Did ye see the place?”

  “I ken all have taken a peek inside the kitchens.”

  Cormac pointed a finger at the man. “Next, the bards will be filling the hall with the tale of two lads.”

  “Och, a story for the ages.” Gordon laughed. “What are ye going to do? We have nae cook and ’tis almost Yule.”

  “Do not remind me,” he groaned and took a large swallow of wine.

  “Ye could always send for someone in one of the villages.”

  “Ye ken well there is no one.”

  Gordon leaned his arms on the table. “What about one of the lasses that helped Moira? Surely they can be of some service.”

  “Have ye not seen them? They are inexperienced cooks—young and foolish. Burning most of the meals. Neither is ready to feed an army of men, women, and children.” Cormac rubbed his eyes feeling the headache go from a dull ache to throbbing pain.

  Sitting back in his chair, Gordon finished his wine. “Let me search the villages. Perchance there is someone there who can help.”

  He gave the man an incredulous look. “And have them leave their family during the Yule season?”

  “’Tis your only choice.” Gordon stood. “Or ye could find yourself a comely lass and get married.”

  “Ye cannae be serious?” demanded Cormac.

  “Why not? Ye are the laird and ’tis long past time since ye should have taken a wife, or any woman for that matter. Ye let the last one get married, afore ye had a chance to ask her.”

  He shuddered. “Nae. I will not get married. Furthermore, Audra and I would not have made a good match.”

  “Humph! She was a beautiful lass, and your eyes followed her everywhere.”

  “I can look at beauty. However, the lass was meek and shy.”

  “Ye might want to make a list of what ye desire in a woman, my laird, and I can have the men search for her,” stated Gordon as he walked out of the hall.

  Cormac could hear his friend grumbling all the way out of the castle. Standing, he wandered over to the hearth, letting his gaze linger on the flames. Gordon was correct. He should have found a wife many moons ago. Many of his close friends were now happily married, including the MacKays—the Dragon Knights of Urquhart. They had found happiness with these women, and he was truly happy for his friends.

  Once, he had longed to have a woman share his life, home, his bed. However, as the years went by, Cormac found fault with those who were presented to him by other chieftains. Worse, he only bedded a woman until she demanded more from him. When that occurred, he sent them packing.

  He glanced at the tapestry of his parents. A blessed union, until his mother died. He had then watched his father descend into a dark abyss of drinking and melancholy. His mother’s death had ripped the spirit from his father, and he was never the same. Nae, Cormac would not let anyone torment his soul so much as to wish to die. Feelings that powerful were not for him—ever.

  Gazing back into the flames, he let out a heavy sigh.

  ****

  “How do ye fare?” asked Cormac as he stepped into Moira’s chamber. “I brought ye some broth,” he said setting the trencher on a nearby table.

  “Slop,” she protested. “If ’tis the one made by Grizel, then I have nae wish for any.”

  “I believe Ina prepared this one,” he stated, bringing a chair to her bedside.

  Moira eyed him skeptically. “Since when does the laird tend to my needs? Fetch one of the others. Ye should not be doing this.”

  “Aye, I’m laird of Castle Creag, and as such, I am permitted to help any who require my aid. Ye happen to be under my protection.” When she started to object further, Cormac held up his hand to stay her words. Sensing her foul mood, he continued, “I am here on another matter.”

  He lifted the spoon to her lips and waited. She grumbled a curse, but then relented. Cormac dipped the soup back in the trencher. Giving her another mouthful, he asked, “Can ye think of anyone we can send for in the village to help out in the kitchens?”

  “My kitchens?”

  “Aye. Your kitchens.”

  She puckered her lips in concentration. Slowly, Moira let out a chuckle. “Aye, I do suppose there is one I would let into my kitchens. Though, ye may have a daunting task trying to get the woman here.”

  “Why? Is the woman in the next village? The snows are not so heavy.”

  Moira chuckled. “’Tis naught to do with the weather. Her name is Glenna. She keeps to herself. Does not like to be around others. Ye can find her on the other side of Wolf Cavern.”

  Frustration clawed at Cormac. “Then why would ye suggest the woman?”

  “Well, ye see, she is the only one I ken who can cook better than me. She can make a fine venison stew to outdo any other. And if ye ken me, Cormac Murray, I accept no one’s cooking over mine.”

  “There is no other ye can think of, Moira?”

  “None. Now feed me some more of this broth. ’Tis good, but I warn ye, dinnae tell Ina I said so, or the lass will want to rule the kitchens. One good meal does not make a cook.”

  Cormac laughed. “Dinnae fear, Moira, your secret is safe with me.”

  Chapter Two

  San Francisco—Present day

  “Sift together flour, salt, cinnamon, cloves, allspice, and make a faery wish.”

  “For the love of the angels!” Eve swiped at a curl that had escaped from her cap for the umpteenth time that morning. “What is wrong with the oven temperature? It keeps fluctuating and my breads are not proofing.”

  Hearing someone chuckling behind her, Eve glanced over her
shoulder at the two women standing in the corner of the kitchen. Sally and Linda—two of the most spiteful people she had ever encountered.

  “Perhaps if you paid attention and set it correctly, you wouldn’t have this problem,” suggested Sally. “Besides, your breads are not worth even entering the contest.”

  Linda waved Eve off as she moved out of the kitchen. “Give it up, Brannigan.”

  “Yes, they are,” she mumbled, watching them leave.

  “Don’t mind them, Eve,” said Tina, walking toward her. “They’re a couple of bi—”

  Eve gave her a warning look. “Please don’t say the word, my friend.”

  Tina tapped a finger to her head in thought. “I could always find another word or words.”

  “I have no doubt.” Eve rubbed the bridge of her nose contemplating what to do next.

  Tina flicked on the oven light. “Were these your test batches?”

  “Yes, thankfully. I’m creating a new type of cinnamon spice bread with pecans.” Opening the oven door, she reached for some oven mitts and pulled the breads out. Slamming them down on the counter, she shook her head. “Why are they trying to sabotage my efforts in this contest?”

  “Because you pose a threat.” Tina inhaled the aroma of the partially baked breads. “Smells divine. Such a shame. I was looking forward to a sample.”

  Eve looked at her friend incredulously. “You can’t be serious. They are two of the best chefs in the city.”

  Tina narrowed her eyes. “Where did you hear such crap? From them?”

  “Well…they did say they had both won awards. In addition, they work at The Golden Gate Tower Restaurant. One of the finest here in San Francisco.”

  She poked Eve in the arm. “Ha! For all we know they may have worked as dishwashers.”

  Eve looked at her friend skeptically. “If you recall, they had to audition here at The Blushing Rose Bakery—for Helen, the ultimate queen of baking.”

  “Just because Helen is the owner doesn’t mean she can pick the best. Thankfully, there’ll be other judges tomorrow.” Tina poked at the bread. “Mind if I take a piece?”

  “Seriously? It’ll be too soft in the center.” Eve leaned against the counter. “Gosh, I don’t think I’ll be ready by tomorrow.” She watched Tina take a knife and slice into the bread. All her hopes were in winning the prize money. Five thousand dollars would be more than enough to fix her car and repair the broken down heater her elderly neighbor needed. Eve had done her best in helping the woman, including offering her a place to stay until it could be repaired. Yet, the woman refused. Therefore, each night Eve brought her a hot meal and asked if she needed any supplies.