by Alisa Adams
Highlander’s Stolen Destiny
Alisa Adams
Contents
Free Exclusive Gift
Greetings from the Author
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Highlander’s Stolen Wife
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Highland Rebirth
Marooned
Awakening
More Memories
The Kiss
Consequences
Some Conclusions
Troubles
The Puzzle Solved
Making Plans
Murdo the Coward
Murdo's Men
Afterword
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Alisa Adams
1
Love in the Spring
* * *
Castle Diabaig, the Highlands, summer, 1346
* * *
“Hurry up. At the pace ye are going, we will never make it up to the top and back to Diabaig in time.”
The young man scrunched his face at her challenge and upped his pace, just enough to look as if he was complying. She was so sprightly and agile. She danced over the glens and crags as if they didn’t even exist. Skye reminded him of a fairy. Her blonde hair shone like a halo in the sunlight. Not even the occasional cloud hiding the sun from view could dull its golden luster.
“Come on, Brice,” she cried out again, giggling.
This time the laird’s son and heir to the title did not grimace. He smiled. He had actually let Skye take the lead the entire time, preferring to watch her as she navigated her way across the magical and mystical land called the Highlands. She certainly was nimble, but Brice, at nineteen summers, was considered one of the fastest swordsmen in the clan. His father, Alastair MacLeod, and his trusty companions, Murtagh and Mungo, had taught him well. If he wanted to, he could overtake her with a few swift leaps on his strong legs.
Skye stuck her tongue out at him in an attempt to coax him forth. She spun around on her heels before continuing her ascent up the hill that was nearly a mountain. It loomed proudly above their home, Castle Diabaig, and the village surrounding it. Jagged rocks interspersed with patches of long grass that reached the knees covered the incline. The higher one got, the more rocks there were.
Brice stopped in his tracks. His breathing was steady despite his exertions. It was Skye again. This time, her pert backside that swung this way and that made him forget to breathe. She was magnificent. So innocent and carefree. She was a free spirit that roamed the lands and shared her beauty with all and everything around her. Her appearance reflected her manner. Skye was the most formidable woman. A siren in both beauty and mind – a mere moment with her was enough to make a man’s heart beat faster.
Brice had made up his mind. It was time. There would never be another woman like her. Of that he was certain. He had known it since they were children. At seventeen summers, Skye was two years younger than he was. Despite the age difference, when growing up, there had never been the usual animosity shared between boys and girls. Skye had always formed a part of the group that included his two brothers; she would have it no other way.
In parts, Skye was very much like a boy. She did not partake in the usual feminine pastimes of sewing, cooking or singing. If she were a Norsewoman, then she would be coined a shield maiden. Her dexterity with the blade was almost as good as Brice’s. Her father, Mungo, had commissioned a custom-made sword for her with the local blacksmith. It was lighter than a man’s blade and perfectly sized for her. And Mungo made especially sure that she knew how to use it.
“Get that bahookie of yers up the bleedin’ hill, yer skiving walloper. I can’t believe it; ye are just standing there like an idle pillock. Just to remind ye, ye were the one who suggested we go for a wee walk.” Skye stood at the top of the hill, staring down at him with her hands firmly planted on her hips. “Come on then,” she challenged once more.
Brice grinned at her. He gradually resumed the climb, picking up his pace as he went. As he got closer to her, he again had trouble breathing. Her countenance was perfect in every way. She swayed her hips from side to side impatiently. Her legs were long and perfectly shaped as if God had taken one entire day to sculpt them. Brice regretted the advent of her plaid that hid her thighs from his view. He knew what lay thereunder for they had often swum naked together in the loch by the castle.
Skye had a kind of understated beauty – perhaps because she was so beguilingly unaware of it. Her porcelain-colored skin was absolutely flawless. It flounced off youth and health from her person. In a way, she was all about simplicity, making those around her feel at ease and happy. Skye hardly ever had a bad thing to say about anyone – when she was outside of the sword practice area that is.
Maybe that was why her skin glowed so. It was her inner beauty that came to the surface, lighting her deep blue eyes and adding a subtle sheen to her skin. When Skye smiled, like she was doing now, despite her impatience, one couldn’t help but smile along too. Being in her company was to feel as if summer rays had kissed your skin, warming your soul and making you feel special. That was how Brice felt that very moment.
“Well about time too,” said Skye when Brice finally graced the hill’s summit with his presence. “What’s with ye today? Ye ask me out on this walk with ye, and then ye go all doolally on me. Is there something the matter?”
“No, blossom. On the contrary, I feel wonderful. I always do when I am with ye.”
Skye pressed her eyebrows together suspiciously. “Ye want something, Brice Macleod… I ken it.”
Skye lurched forward and jumped on him. She had her legs wrapped around his midriff as she forced him down. Brice could’ve easily held her, but he was happy to frolic with her on the ground even though occasionally it was rather uncomfortable because of the stones on the top of the hill.
“So, now I really ken that there is something wrong with ye. Ye usually never let me win,” said Skye, straddling him.
Every time she shifted her weight, Brice had to stifle a groan. He felt the heat rise up to his cheeks as his arousal claimed him. There was no need for his embarrassment because he and Skye had spent much time discovering each other’s bodies. They had not slept together yet, but that didn’t stop them from being most adventurous in other areas when they were alone.
Skye looked down at the young man she had loved for all of her life. His face was soft, elegant and meticulously shaped. He in no way looked l
ike a Scotsman. His hair was ash-black, his nose straight and too perfectly sculptured. She often wondered how he had gotten away with it. Most young men his age would have had their noses broken at least once.
If the plaid would be removed from Brice’s person and he be attired in a gambeson and pantaloons, he would resemble an English lord. But he was beautiful, thought Skye. Sometimes when the light caught him in a certain way, his features were almost effeminate. However, his perfectly toned body was covered in muscles. He may not be as sturdy and as brawny as his brother Doogle, but he certainly was as strong. Skye often wondered where that power came from. His body was slender and athletic, which made him faster than any other.
“So, tell ye friend that’s poking up between my legs to calm down. There’ll be none of that until ye tell me what is going on. You hardly spoke the entire way up here. Ye looked about, but never at me. When I wanted to race ye up the hill, ye dawdled and stared at my bahookie the entire time. Crivens, Brice, you’ve seen the blimen thing so many times already.”
Brice had to stifle a chuckle when he saw the serious expression on her face. It was true; he was nervous as sin. He had been meaning to ask her something the entire time, but every time he had puckered up the courage to say some word on the matter, Skye had sprung another little caper on him. They had had flower-picking races, consisting of the Scottish thistle that had prickled his skin, challenges amounting to who could mount one of the bulls in the herds that roamed the countryside and lastly, the race up the final stretch of the hill.
“I am waiting, Brice MacLeod. Otherwise, I’ll pull this thingy off ye and then you’ll be sad.” Skye reached between his legs and grabbed his arousal, pulling on it lightly. “Tell me now,” she commanded with an evil glint in her eye.
“All right, all right, I’ll tell ye. Just let it go.” Brice squirmed underneath her. When she let go, he released a deep breath.
“Ye ken that ye can’t hide anything from me.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I am waiting.”
“Will ye marry me, Skye, daughter of Mungo of the clan Macleod,” he blurted. “I love ye, ye and no other… I’ve known it for years now.”
Skye’s eyes opened wide as she tried to assimilate what he had just asked her. She had thought about it a lot and more and more as of late. She just never thought he would ever ask. She knew he loved her but not as a husband would his wife.
“Now, I am the one who is waiting. Out with it, woman. Will ye marry me?” he asked again, his earlier nervousness miraculously disappearing.
“Yes, Brice Macleod, I’ll marry ye. I would have no other than ye.” Skye’s lower lip trembled with emotion. A wayward tear slipped off her lashes and slid down her cheek. More soon followed until she cried with free abandon.
“My love…” Brice lifted himself up and kissed her on the mouth. He trailed his lips around her mouth and across to her cheeks. He relished the salty taste of her tears. He lapped them up hungrily as if he was trying to suck up her happiness and make it his own. Brice was happy; he was elated and bursting with joy. This was the best day of his life.
“I love ye, Brice,” she whispered when his mouth found hers again.
“And I ye,” he breathed out as the next kiss became more demanding.
Brice rolled her onto her back as he continued to let his tongue play with hers as if it was the first time they ever kissed. It felt like it to them both. They were cautious like when he was fourteen and she twelve. That was when it had started. Brice and Skye had never looked back after that. Of course, they had always kept it a secret from their parents. Mungo would blow a vein if he ever found out. Skye like her sister, Effemy, was his treasure. He had often sworn that he would kill the man that tried to claim their virtue. It was no empty threat – Mungo was a warrior through and through. No one other than maybe Alastair or Murtagh would dare challenge him.
Skye pulled away from Brice, breathing heavily. “I would like nothing more than to make ye my man this very moment.” She hesitated. “I will if ye want me to. It’ll have to be quick though. Look, see, the sun dips below the horizon. It’ll be dark soon.”
Brice was lost in her blue eyes. They drew him in like the sky or the sea with their magic. It took him a moment to realize that she had spoken to him. Feeling her strong physique underneath him nearly robbed him of all of his control. He wanted nothing more than to lay with her and take that final step that would bring them together forever.
“When we do that, Skye, I do not want it to be a quick tumble on a hill because we have to get back to our parents. I will have ye as a man, and ye will have me as a woman… my woman.”
Skye smiled at him. She loved him even more then. Brice always knew what she felt. There was hardly a moment when he would say the wrong thing to her. She nodded, feeling the heat on her body. She was ready for him – ready to be his woman in body, heart, and soul. To be truthful, they were already soul mates. All that remained was the carnal consummation of that union.
“Let’s enjoy the view for a few moments longer,” he said, lifting himself off of her. Brice pulled her up until she snuggled up next to him. Holding hands, they both stared down at Loch Torridon, and the sea beyond called the Minch.
The Highlands was the most romantic part of the world – it was all they really knew. And yet somehow, they were both certain that there existed no other place that effused the same enchantment. This was not at all strange given the stunning unspoiled nature with the rugged mountains, deep blue lochs and empty glens where majestic red deer ruled the hills. Occasionally, eagles flew in the skies above them. Due to the ever and fast-changing weather, the Highlands had a mystical touch, telling stories about what you saw and what remained a secret. One moment they could see the hills to the east, the very next they were gone, lost in a vapor of mist. As twilight approached, sunny spells and dark shadows moved over the hills, and the white snow-capped waves in the sea gave the Highlands its sparkling touch.
“It is magnificent,” said Skye.
“Aye, blossom, it is. There is nothing more beautiful… except ye.”
Skye smiled. She turned to him with a minxy expression on her face. “Ye are not getting all soppy on me now, Brice Macleod?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, lassie.” He leaned in and kissed her passionately on the lips before breaking away. “Last one down the hill and at Castle Diabaig will have to do the other’s bidding for more than a week. Ye will be my slave, Skye.” Brice jumped to his feet and began to charge down the hill.
“Hey, that’s not fair – ye surprised me and have a head start,” yelled Skye, barely containing her mirth. She did not linger for long. In moments, she followed the man she loved toward the small forest that was more of a clump of trees at the bottom of the hill.
Laughing and twirling, they entered amongst the Scottish pines, rowans, birch oaks and Junipers, for a moment disappearing from view. They burst out of the vegetation on the other side, continuing their race to Castle Diabaig and the village.
“Wait,” cried Skye.
“No, I ken yer wiles. Ye just want to slow me down.”
“Don’t ye want a kiss then… before we get back?” She laughed throatily when Brice stopped immediately.
He walked back toward her with his intent written right across his face. Skye loved it when he became so assertive, and she was all that he wanted in the world. She let herself be swept into his arms and released herself to the kiss.
“When shall we tell ye father and mine?” asked Brice, breaking away.
“Tomorrow,” said Skye with conviction. “Now, stop worrying and kiss me again.”
2
The Reunion
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Castle Diabaig, the Highlands, summer, 1346
* * *
The Great Hall was where feasts took place and the laird received visitants or supplicants. It was the most impressive chamber in the castle. It was a large rectangular room that was three times as long as it was wide. The ceiling arc
hed up, culminating in vaulted wooden beams that arced from the thick stone walls on the sides. On one side of the hall, enormous mullioned windows with beautifully decorated frames lined the flanks. On the other, magnificent wall tapestries bedecked the stone.
In the center wall, opposite the windows, there was a large fireplace with an elaborate overmantle with stone carvings, depicting the clan’s coat of arms. The sigil consisted of a red background with a white animal on it – a wolf, the fearsome beast that still roamed the Highlands in free abandon. The chamber, though slightly frugal compared to English taste, was magnificent. Various tapestries hung on the walls. Off and on and in between, banners hung loose from the ceiling, showing off the clan’s crest.
In the far reaches of the chamber, there was a dais where the most important personages in the clan would sit. On it, stood a large teak table upon which heavily wrought silver candelabras reared. Above it hung a chandelier that the Scots called a hart-horn. It was made of deer’s antler.
By the entrance, there was a minstrel’s gallery for the musicians. A huge fireplace in which a man could stand stood in the center and provided light and warmth. Along the walls and on a ledge, hundreds of candles cast their light when it was dark. Everything in the great room denoted the clan’s rise to fortune in the past one hundred and thirty years. They had played pivotal roles in the previous uprisings and their efforts could be seen in everything around the homestead.