Her Highland Rogue: A Wild Highland Guardian Novel

by Violetta Rand

  “We ride north, to the mountains.”

  —

  As Aileana ascended the rocky incline that took her back to the one place she’d felt free, she had plenty of time to think about her life. Only God’s mercy kept her from slipping to her death, for most of the snow that had blanketed the mountains days ago was gone, but the even ground was blighted by patches of ice. Guilt weighed heavy on her shoulders—the idea of poor Errol finding her gone pained her greatly. The man had done nothing but open up his heart and home, and love her unconditionally.

  In his beleaguered mind, he’d see this as the ultimate betrayal, for she’d promised never to run away again. But only she knew the truth about tonight, and she’d do anything to protect Laird MacRae, Errol, and her aunties from Broc’s vicious lies. Disappearing seemed the best thing to do.

  Broc had kept his word and released her just as the sun started to peek over the horizon. He even gave her his fur cloak and advised her to walk northwest, where she’d find some fishermen who might help her find a place to go.

  Instead, she’d waited until he rode out of sight, then headed north to the Five Sisters.

  Hours later, she made it to Sgùrr’s cave, and could hear the seer singing inside. For reasons unknown, the sound of her melodic voice made Aileana weep. The control she so carefully kept while dealing with Broc disappeared, and the tears fell, bitter and violent.

  “Who is there?” Sgùrr called.

  Unable to answer, Aileana coughed and tried to clear her throat. It didn’t matter, the seer appeared at the mouth of the cave, wrapped in a fur and surprised by her uninvited guest.

  “Dearest Aileana?” She rushed to her side. “Are you hurt, lass?” Her sure hands ran up and down her body, then gently turned her around. “Are you in pain?”

  “Aye,” she managed to choke out. “My heart…”

  “Are you alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “It is cold. Come inside.” Sgùrr took her arm and steered her around the deer hide that acted as a door. “What has brought you back to my humble dwelling so soon?”

  Aileana sniffed and wiped her face with the back of her hand. “I-I…”

  “Drink this, child.” She shoved a cup into Aileana’s hand. “All of it.”

  The bitter liquid warmed her throat first, then spread to her belly and limbs, bringing a sensation of peace. “What did you give me?”

  “Herbs that will help settle your nerves. Nothing that will cloud your judgment, if that’s what you fear. Now sit at the table and tell me everything. I’ve thought of you often, child.”

  The more she told Sgùrr, the angrier the older woman became. “Did the bastard rape you?”

  “No,” Aileana assured her. “Though he wanted to. The pendant you gave me stopped him. I doona understand that part. For he was determined to violate me—he made that abundantly clear.”

  Sgùrr folded her hands on the table and stared at her for a long, quiet moment. “Do you love Errol MacRae?”

  Aileana’s eyes flew to hers. “There’s a hole in my heart,” she confessed. “And I can think of nothing else. I doona care what happens to me, so long as the MacRaes don’t suffer for my stupidity.”

  “You surprise me.” Sgùrr took her hand. “When faced with the prospect of death, you think nothing of yourself, but instead fear for the welfare of the men who are sworn to protect you. You aren’t stupid, lass. And I’d like it very much if you stopped doubting your own intelligence and value. Men are the lowest creatures when it comes to affairs of the heart. It’s a wonder to me that the gods wasted their time forming brains in their skulls, for everything is driven by the wee head between their legs.”

  Aileana understood that perfectly, for in the moments leading up to her joining with Errol, she could think of nothing but seeing him naked. “I am just as guilty.”

  “Are you?” She smiled. “You are pleased to have sacrificed your virginity to such a volatile man as Errol MacRae?”

  “He isn’t the same man ye met here,” she rushed to her betrothed’s defense. “He is kind and gentle.”

  “I am pleased to hear that,” Sgùrr said. “Now dry your eyes, Aileana. The time for tears is over. Will you trust me to help assure that you have a happy future?”

  Aileana’s gaze flew to Sgùrr’s. There she found the most serene look, one that made her feel confident that as long as she stayed with this wise woman, nothing would hurt her. Not Broc’s filthy hands and mouth. Not her broken heart. And not her endless self-loathing. “I will.”

  “Good.” Sgùrr stood up. “You will need a new dress?”

  How had she guessed? Aileana rose and unpinned the fur cloak, revealing the tear in the front of her gown.

  The seer shook her head. “Broc will suffer for what he’s done, I promise you that much.” She walked away, disappearing into the depths of the cave.

  Minutes later, she returned with a blue gown and wool leggings.

  “Thank you for taking me in,” Aileana said, accepting the clothes. “If it weren’t for you, I’d have nowhere left in this world to go.”

  “No need to thank me,” she said. “Hurry and dress now, for we have a long journey ahead of us.”

  Aileana gazed at her in shock. “Yer leaving home?”

  “We’ll go together. This is no place for a young woman with such promise.”

  She would do anything Sgùrr wanted, for life could only get better from this point forward—God help her.

  Chapter 19

  Errol wished he could face the new day with a clearer head, but after failing to find Aileana in the mountains, and there being no news of her whereabouts, he started to fear the worst. Sgùrr’s cave had been empty. Perhaps the woman had matters to attend to with one of the clans, which meant Aileana was alone somewhere in the Highlands. He forced himself to walk into the great hall, where he’d have to explain the empty chair next to his at the high table.

  Laird MacRae greeted his son. “Ye were gone yesterday,” he said. “And so was Aileana.”

  Errol took a generous gulp of ale before he looked at his sire. “Aye,” he said. “And I will likely disappear for another day and night.”

  His tone must have alerted his father. “What ails you, lad?”

  Errol’s shoulders slumped. “Aileana is missing—again.”

  “Missing or hiding?” His father remained calm. “She’s the skittish sort, always has been.”

  Errol didn’t need to be reminded. If anyone knew Aileana, it was he. Which is why he felt so blameworthy for her disappearance. He should have never seduced her. He leaned close to his sire. “ ’Tis my fault,” he murmured. “I couldna wait until our wedding night to consummate our marriage.”

  Laird MacRae sighed. “Did ye force the girl?”

  His whole body tensed at the notion. “What kind of question is that?”

  “An honest one,” his sire said.

  “Nay. She was a willing mate.”

  “Then there is no harm done. If anything, you gave her every reason to stay. And by bedding you, the lass has made her choice.”

  Just as his father finished speaking, Gunn hurried into the great hall, looking haggard and concerned. “Milord.” He bowed to Laird MacRae and Errol. “I spent the better part of yesterday and this morning taking a closer look in the bailey.”

  Errol met his brown eyes, then stood. “And?” His heart pounded with dread.

  Gunn frowned as he unclenched his hand and revealed a clump of copper-colored hair that matched Aileana’s. “I found it attached to one of the trees in the spot where the maids break their fast. Along with footprints in a patch of snow.”

  Errol’s mouth went dry. No one else in the household had hair that color. Every fear, every bloodcurdling scenario that had played out in his head, surfaced again. Did someone kidnap her? Did a wild beast attack and drag her into the forest? “Show me.”

  Errol followed the warrior outside. He must see the evidence with his own eyes before he formed
an opinion of any kind.

  It was just as Gunn had described; he examined the prints in the snow, one pair made by smaller feet, then eyed the trunk of the tree. Errol stood in front of the birch, sizing up where the back of Aileana’s head would have rested if she was leaning against it. He didn’t bother to hide his outrage—there was no doubt in his mind now, someone had been here with Aileana. And judging by the size of the second pair of footprints, it was a man.

  As to the reason why…raw emotion took his breath away.

  “I am sorry, sir.”

  “No.” Errol faced him. “Ye did well, and I willna forget it.” He stormed away, wishing a bolt of lightning would strike him and put him out of his misery.

  After the meal was over, Errol visited his father’s solar. He dismissed the maids and Cameron, his black mood deepening. “I doona know what to think,” he said out loud, pacing in front of his sire’s table.

  “What is there to say?” Laird MacRae asked. “Aileana must be recovered, immediately.”

  Errol rested his hands on the edge of the table and looked his father deep in the eyes. “I found no evidence of a struggle. No blood. Nothing but footprints and the clump of hair Gunn discovered. The guards didn’t see anyone, and surely dinna hear anything. I am a man of facts, Father, as you taught me to be. And I am ashamed of what I suspect.”

  Laird MacRae’s eyebrows shot up. “A rush to judgment has never benefited anyone.”

  “Aye,” Errol agreed. But he’d never been faced with a betrayal of the heart, and had never been in a position to give a damn. “There is only one reason for a lass to be leaning against a tree in the middle of the night.”

  “Oh?” his sire said. “Are you an expert on such matters?”

  “I am a man.”

  His father’s laughter shocked him. “A man in love. Which makes you a liability. You are exhausted and not thinking straight. What reason has Aileana given you to question her loyalty? Was she not a maiden?”

  Errol sucked in a breath. “Aye.”

  “Then set aside your jealousy and rely on common sense. Things are not always what they seem. If I were in your place, I’d resume the search.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest, weighing his sire’s words. Yes, he was in love—recklessly so. Was it his fault that the idea of her having a clandestine meeting with another man in the middle of the night made him crazy?

  “I am sorry, Father.”

  “Doona apologize. Take what men you need and go. If I were able, I’d join you.”

  Errol nodded and stalked to the door.

  “Lad…”

  “Aye?” He turned back.

  “Bring her home.”

  —

  The Isle of Skye had loomed over Aileana all her life. She’d heard stories of Clan MacDonald, sworn enemies to the MacRaes and MacKenzies. Wars had been fought, women and children kidnapped and killed; recently, lands had been seized by the crown and given over to the MacKenzies, which made her sure no MacRae would be welcome here. But the moment she stepped off the galley that greatly resembled the pendant Sgùrr had given her, she felt an instant connection with the wild place. And with the brawny men who waited on the hills above. The wind whipped their tartans and long hair. Long red hair, like hers.

  She turned to Sgùrr, full of questions, ones she dared not ask anyone before. “Why are we here?”

  “Can ye not see why, child?”

  Aileana followed her gaze, fixed on the waiting men. “Why don’t they come down?”

  “MacDonalds greet no one—arrogant fools. Loch Duich separates two worlds. The clans from the mainland mean nothing to these fierce warriors. And unless we’ve been summoned before their chieftain, we best have good reason to trespass on their lands.”

  “Do we have a plausible reason?”

  Sgùrr gestured for the man unloading their bags from the ship to wait. “Give us time to see if we are safe before you leave.” Then she slung her leather pack over her shoulder and offered Aileana her small bag. “Follow me, child. Doona speak unless I say to.”

  A well-worn footpath spiraled up the slopes, and Aileana paused to catch her breath as they neared the top. Captivated by the view, she admired the frost-covered trees and snowcapped peaks in the near distance. Winter had not relented on this side of the loch, and the air felt thicker in her lungs.

  She walked the last few yards, taking her place behind Sgùrr.

  “Do my eyes deceive me?” a flame-haired man asked.

  “I am Sgùrr MacDonald,” she answered, head held high. “The only daughter of Bruce MacDonald, God rest his soul.”

  The stony expression on the man’s face only deepened. “Kateland Mary MacDonald,” he said. “Nothing more than a cursed tannasg, come to make my life miserable.”

  “I am a spirit only if you think of me as the woman I used to be. Katie died long ago. But Sgùrr was born the minute you gave her that name—the day you deserted me for not bending to your will.”

  Panic churned inside Aileana’s stomach. The man who appeared to be the leader grew more hostile by the second. “Your name has long been struck from the clan records. Yer nothing to the MacDonalds, and are most assuredly dead to me.”

  Sgùrr clicked her tongue. “I am too old to exchange insults with you, Cian. If it’s a fight you seek, cross yon water and rage against the MacKenzies. You will grant us sanctuary for the night and feed the poor, cold lass standing behind me.”

  Six gazes moved to Aileana, and she nervously looked back, focusing on Cian last. His jaw ticked as he studied her.

  “Come closer, lass,” he ordered.

  Aileana hesitated, for fury boiled inside the stranger’s heart. She sensed it, as she did the love once shared between him and Sgùrr. The feelings were so potent and real she nearly threw up.

  “Doona fear me,” he said. “ ’Tis not your fault this woman brought you here.”

  She did as he asked, and stepped around Sgùrr, waiting.

  His gaze wandered over her. Not in the way a man ogles a woman, but a look of deep curiosity. He then turned to the man standing beside him and whispered something in his ear.

  “Turn around slowly,” the other man said.

  She obeyed, wishing to stay in the good graces of these people.

  Once she faced them again, they exchanged more indiscernible words.

  Anger flashed across Cian’s handsome features. “What have you done, Katie? Why have you come back? Have I not suffered? Look at me, woman.” He thumped his chest. “I never loved another. But that wasn’t enough for you, was it? You want me to grovel like some soulless creature at your feet. I willna do it. I won’t give you the satisfaction. And if I were half the man I used to be, I’d throw you from this hill and rejoice in knowing every bone in your treacherous body was broken.”

  Aileana gasped, then turned to her companion. “Surely we must leave.”

  “Leave?” Sgùrr repeated. “I have as much right to this land as any MacDonald. Don’t I, Cian?”

  He shook his fist at her. “Crawl back into the cold depths of the sea and never return,” he said, then stormed away, but his men didn’t follow.

  “Please,” Aileana pleaded. “Why are we here? Who is that man?” If Sgùrr’s answers didn’t satisfy her, she’d get on the ship and leave without her. The pain on Cian’s face reminded her of the broken heart she’d carried around inside her chest all her life. And she couldn’t be a part of any plan to torture another living being. “Who is he?” she asked again.

  “Your father,” Sgùrr said, then went after him, leaving Aileana alone with the warriors.

  Chapter 20

  Days of searching in every direction had proven worthless. From Eilean Donan Castle to deep into the wilds of Glenelg at the south, no one had seen or heard anything about a red-haired lass on the run. Gunn had traveled as far as the Fraser keep, returning as frustrated as all the warriors. It seemed the lovely Aileana had never really existed, for the only place Errol saw and tou
ched her now, or tasted her sweet lips, was in his dreams. Or nightmares, depending on his mood.

  Home for only a few hours, Errol joined his men for a late meal in the great hall. Not expecting to see his father until morning, he sat alone at the high table, nursing an ale and stirring his cabbage and meat together.

  “Keep churning it like butter, and you’ll end up with soup,” his sire said as he took his chair beside Errol. He coughed, then struggled to take a deep breath. “How many days have you been gone?”

  “Eight, counting today.”

  “And the lass has been missing for how long?”

  “Ten days.”

  Laird MacRae rubbed his chin. “No news?”

  “Nothing,” he muttered, returning his attention to the cold meat.

  “A messenger from Clan MacDonald delivered a missive to me yesterday.”

  Errol dropped his fork and stared at his father. “The MacDonalds? Here?”

  “Aye,” he said. “Glad something got your attention.”

  “Enough to make me want to kill.” He narrowed his eyes, the idea of wreaking havoc on an enemy clan as appealing as fucking himself into oblivion. “What do the MacDonalds want with us?”

  “Not us,” his father clarified. “You.”

  Errol sucked down the rest of his ale, then banged his cup on the table. “More,” he demanded.

  One of the maids rushed over and refilled his vessel.

  “What does the missive say?”

  “I know we agreed to leave the past behind us, but I must know something of grave importance, Errol. For Cian MacDonald, brother of the chieftain, has fingered you as the bastard who deflowered his only child.”

  Errol let out a wicked laugh. “Did he specify what sex it is? Male, female, or swine?”

  Laird MacRae glared at his son. “There are times I think ye stupid enough to still deserve the strap on your naked arse. For no matter how bitter you are over losing Aileana, I refuse to allow you to endanger our clan. Especially with your wayward prick.”