Forget Me Not, My Scottish Love (Heart of a Highlander Collection Book 3)

by Allie Palomino

  I've always wanted to write for a living, and fortunately, I do. I live with my husband, and with both fur and non-fur children. We have a busy house, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

  I am grateful for my readers and their support. I promise to try and not let you down! I'd love to hear from you. Please drop me a line, or write a review.

  I hope you enjoyed this labor of love. Check out my website for extras. You can also contact me via Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads, and Google+!

  Thanks, and happy reading!

  Other Books by Allie

  Heart of a Highlander Collection

  (Stand alone novels)

  To Have and To Trust

  The Highlander Who Saved Me

  Forget Me Not, My Scottish Love

  Please read on for excerpts from To Have and To Trust, and The Highlander Who Saved Me, stand-alone historical novels, part of the Heart of a Highlander Collection.

  Excerpt of To Have and To Trust, Andie and Gavin’s story

  Maitland Curse

  Anon comes the Maitland Curse,

  Listen close and wise,

  Though ye heed every verse,

  It willna stop death upon life.

  The Dark Wolf will meet a woman of sheer perfection,

  Love will blossom and they will wed,

  But there must be between them, a strong connection,

  So that their souls will be truly fed.

  The wife takes her laird to bed,

  The Dark Wolf plants his seed of life,

  The next Maitland laird has been bred,

  Upon the laird’s wife.

  The next Dark Wolf grows within her womb,

  Growing stronger with every rise,

  The last nail is cast in her tomb,

  The Dark Wolf’s birth causes her demise.

  The wife who bears the first born son,

  Has born the Maitland heir,

  The wife who bears the first born son,

  Has born the Dark Wolf heir.

  The heir shall open his eyes,

  For all to see their glowing pale color,

  The wife who has born the heir closes her eyes,

  Leaving the young Dark Wolf without his mother.

  Prologue

  The Prophecy

  Highlands, Scotland 1218

  “Every Maitland has a Prophecy,” he said to the sixteen

  year old laird.

  “I doona believe in that, old mon,” he said, casting a sidelong glance. He stood tall and proud, in his blue and green plaid. The flames of the fire burning in the hearth shined an orange hue on his face. His eyes fairly glowed.

  “Ye should, lad, for it became truth for yer father,” he responded.

  A furious breath exited the young laird’s flared nostrils. His chest was on its way to massive proportions. Years of hard practice under the supervision of his disciplined father had made him this way. It had also made him hard, unyielding, and cynical. His silver gaze turned icier and glowed eerily.

  Aye, this was the Dark Wolf, the old man thought. Every bit the Dark Wolf, as the Maitland legend told.

  “My father died in battle, honorably fighting,” said the young laird, irritated.

  “He died because he was careless. He thought himself invincible. He entered into a fight of which he had no hope of winning.”

  “Ye’re wrong, old mon,” the young laird said, turning blazing silver eyes onto the old seer. They were almost incandescent.

  “Yer father’s Prophecy proved to be true.”

  “What was this Prophecy, this fantasy of yers?” he asked, menacingly.

  “‘Twas no fantasy.” The seer paused. “Yer father’s Prophecy read:

  Bear no illusions,

  Ye have a weakness,

  Bear no delusion,

  ‘Tis nay bad to carry yer meekness.

  Bode the season well,

  Doona be so bold,

  Lest in battle ye fell,

  And so ye’ve been told.

  Ye’ll be the cause of yer own death,

  And when the time comes,

  Ye shall utter with yer last breath,

  Words that shall transfer responsibility to yer son.”

  The young laird shook his head, his black hair moving around his shoulders. “Ye’re wrong, old mon.”

  “Nay. And yer Prophecy shall come true, if ye doona heed it.”

  The young laird rolled his eyes. “If it humors ye, old mon, seer as ye claim to be, what is mine, then?” the young laird asked heatedly, threateningly. His eyes flashed at the challenge he issued.

  “Are ye sure ye wish to hear it, young laird?” the seer asked amused, narrowing his gaze to angry laird’s face. “Yer father was yer age when he heard his.”

  “Aye, old mon, tell it,” he ordered.

  “Verra well, laird. Yer Prophecy reads:

  The Dark Wolf shall fall prey to weak,

  Blindness shall lead him to both darkness and light,

  Danger comes through the darkness’s heat,

  It leads ye towards a difficult fight.

  Hair of wheat and eyes of honey,

  Defeat will come in stealth,

  Blind ye will be, for she will be bonny.

  Fool you she will, with her lust of title and wealth,

  A child she carries,

  A child to bear,

  And ye shall be married,

  To her, for love and to care.

  Ye’ve been told of this foresight,

  To save ye and yers,

  Failure to act in the shadow of light,

  Makes ye exist no more.

  When the time draws near, ye must make a choice,

  Ye must listen carefully to yer inner voice,

  In the wrong decision, comes yer end,

  The Dark Wolf’s death, never to mend.

  Destroy or be destroyed.”

  “Ye’re mistaken, old mon,” the young laird snorted, walking to the door.

  “Ye will be the legend, The Dark Wolf,” the seer said. “Had yer father spoken of this before?”

  “Aye,” came the curt answer. “I am the powerful Dark Wolf, as my father was, and as his father was, reaching far back in our ancestry. I am invincible,” the young laird said, his eyes glowing as he finished the sentence.

  “Doona get ahead of yerself, young laird. Ye must nay be so arrogant,” the seer warned.

  The Dark Wolf looked at the seer and his eyes glowed menacingly. “I’ll be what I choose to be, old mon,” the young laird said, as the door slammed on his words.

  Once outside the door and standing in the dark corridor, the young laird stopped. He was breathing heavily, and his eyes were glowing.

  “Dumb old mon,” he whispered in the darkness.

  As he stalked down the corridor, he could not help but think of the night his father died almost a month ago.

  It was a dark, rainy night. His father had underestimated his opponents. Instead of sending one of his men to alert and bring reinforcements, he’d wagered and lost.

  The young laird remembered his father’s final words as he stood by him. The rain pelted down on his father’s face. Silver dimming eyes gazed into silver glowing ones, as he struggled to speak. Breathing harshly, he’d whispered, “Son, I bestow on ye the title of laird. Be invincible, be superior, be the Dark Wolf.”

  Chapter One

  Highlands, Scotland 1230

  McBride Holding

  “Children have nay place in war,” he said, as he cupped the face of his child.

  The noise outside rose to a crescendo. Men were grunting and screaming in pain and agony. The fire being set to the cottages was visible through the window of his room. The fire lit the night sky.

  “I’m nay a child, Father. I’m ten and nine,” Andie whispered, shakily. She knew her father was dying. His face had become very pale. She had managed, with Bryce’s help, to bring him upstairs after he was felled on the field. Bryce was Andrew’s first in command, and he was no
w watching his laird die, standing silently in the shadowed corner.

  Alistair, her own cousin, was battling against her father for power. And he was winning.

  “Ye’re still my baby, Andie,” he said, smiling at her name. “I always wanted a boy and it wasna for want of trying. But I was ne’er disappointed at having yer sisters. All seven of them,” he said hoarsely, a shadow crossing over his green eyes. “Are they all dead, Andie?”

  She closed her eyes as the pain washed over her. The memory of seeing the bodies of her sisters and mother being violated and slaughtered came forward. She cleared her head and opened her eyes. Tears washed down her flushed cheeks.

  “Aye,” she said in a painful whisper.

  Andrew closed his eyes and erupted in a fit of coughing. Andie hastily brought water to his dry lips. She helped bring his head up and gave him water. He coughed even after a long swallow and some of the liquid spilled from his lips.

  “My draws near, Andie,” he said hoarsely. He looked at his youngest with love.

  “Nay, Papa, please hold on,” she beseeched painfully. He was all she had left.

  “Oh, my little warrior,” and then he smiled. “Ye remember when I first started calling ye that?”

  She nodded her head.

  “Aye. I was convinced ye were a lad before yer mother birthed ye. And, well, I couldna help calling ye little warrior. Ye were always outside, watching me train the men. Ye picked up a small branch and began waiving it in the air as if it were a sword,” he said, laughing, remembering.

  She smiled, the tears falling from her hazel eyes.

  “Andie?”

  “Yes, Papa?”

  “Andie, ye will become laird.”

  “But Papa-”

  “Nay, I’ll nay name another.”

  “But Papa, Bryce is more fit. Even Uncle Cooper. I am just a woman,” she said.

  “Nay. Cooper is old and a twisted, bitter mon ever since that day long ago when the clan named me the new laird. He was ne’er a fit laird, or fit mon in his head. Alistair is proof of that.” He stopped and laughed, saying, “Ye doona believe that ‘ye’re just a woman’ rubbish. Ye’re more than a woman, Andie. Ye’re what the clan needs. I always wanted ye to succeed me, Andie. Ye’re fair, honest, and noble, but have the strength of iron in ye. Ye’ll be the best laird ever to lead the McBrides. And I’ve spoken to Bryce. He will follow my wishes, won’t ye, Bryce?”

  Bryce moved away from the dark corner where he had stood moments before. The light barely lightened his face, a face that held shadows of sadness. “Aye, laird. I will protect her, guide her, and follow her,” Bryce said, his voice deep with sorrow.

  Bryce was an honorable man. He had grown up with Andrew, and as young boys often did, they had become brothers. Bryce was like a second father to Andie. Bryce’s own daughter, Meghan, was her very best friend.

  “Oh no! Bryce, where’s Meghan?” she asked worriedly, as she thought about Meghan.

  Bryce’s long dark hair moved slightly as he nodded, his lips pursed. His silver eyes centered on Andie.

  “She is safe, Andie. Once this has passed, I will collect her from safekeeping.”

  She closed her eyes and looked up, as relief flooded her. Andrew’s coughing brought her attention back to her father.

  “Ye must go to one of our allies, Andie. They will help gather more men. Bryce will go with ye.”

  “What about Charlie?” Andie asked, her concern over Charlie, the second in command, obvious.

  “He’ll be commanding the soldiers here, until we gather more soldiers from our allies,” Bryce said.

  Andrew reached out, touching her hand. “Ye must go, Andie. Start with the McKendricks.”

  “What about the Maitlands? They border us.”

  “Nay. Although we’re allies, the Dark Wolf has become bitter and angry. He willna take a liking to a woman laird. Nay, ye must go to Donald McKendrick,” Andrew said, coughing harshly.

  “I willna leave ye now,” she whispered.

  “Yes, ye will. ‘Tis an order, Andie. I willna have ye disobeying!” Andrew said, coughing again. His breathing became labored.

  Her father was stubborn and had always been, but she was her father’s daughter, and stubborn as well.

  “I willna leave ye alone. Either Bryce stays or I will. Choose,” she said firmly, a stubborn glint in her eyes.

  “Nay, Andie, ye will follow my orders,” he said as sternly as he could. He wanted to smile and gave into the urge when he saw the iron in her straighten.

  “Alright, Andie. Go on, then. Bryce will stay here with me and follow ye…after,” he said, making reference to his looming death.

  Andie looked down at her father. She kept the tears at bay, but one snuck away from the well.

  “Oh, Papa,” she whispered, hurtfully.

  “My little warrior, ‘tis alright. Ye must go on and lead this clan. Ye’re the hope…the only hope left.”

  She stood up and leaned down over him, kissing his forehead.

  “I love ye, Papa,” she whispered, looking into his eyes. She squeezed his cold hands tighly.

  “I love ye, too, my little warrior.”

  Her tall form walked towards a hidden passage. Only the laird of their clan knew about it. It was passed down from laird to laird, but Andie had known about it for some time. ‘Twas only to be used during times like these. She heard the moans and groans of the fallen men more clearly now. The battle for control over the McBride territory raged violently.

  With one last look back to her dying father, the last of her family, she went through the opening. It closed up behind her, as if it had never opened.

  “She’ll be fine, Andrew. She has a fine head on her shoulders. Just like her father,” Bryce said, sitting next to his friend.

  “Go with her. Follow behind her. Now,” Andrew said in a shallow whisper.

  “Nay, old friend. I’ll nay do that. ‘Tis one order I’ll nay follow,” Bryce said.

  Andrew grunted in annoyance. “Both ye and her always had a stubborn streak.”

  “Aye. And yers surpasses ours one hundred times over,” Bryce said laughing.

  Andrew sighed and laughed as well.

  “Ye were always a good friend, Bryce.”

  “Ye were always a good leader, Andrew.”

  Silence followed, each comforted by the company of their childhood friend.

  She breathed deeply of the stale air. She wouldn’t allow her tears to fall yet. She put thoughts of her dead family out of her mind and continued to go forward. She at least felt safe here, in this passage. No one knew about it but her father, and now Bryce.

  She sighed.

  It was quiet and pitch black. She was cautious as she walked forward. Although she was sure no one could hear her from outside the passageway, she was still careful. She made her way towards the exit.

  “Almost there,” she whispered.

  She continued to walk forward. She stopped, remembering exactly where her father told her to press, to open the door. As she reached out with her hand, she was grabbed from the side. A hard hand covered her mouth. She railed against her captor, but he managed to pound heavily against the exit door. Andie bit his hand as the door opened. He cursed and took his hand away.

  “Ahh, cousin. Ever the feisty one,” Alistair said amused.

  “Alistair, let me go!” she yelled.

  “Ye can imagine my surprise,” he said, ignoring her request, “when I saw ye rushing to help yer father with Bryce. And here I thought ye were dead, like all of yer damn sisters and mother. Oh, by the way, doona fret for they had enjoyed themselves before they died,” he said, laughing at her anger. “As I thought on it, I realized this was fate. Aye. Ye had survived above my plans, for a purpose.”

  Her hazel eyes blazed with anger. She struggled against the man who held her. “Purpose! I have a purpose! To kill ye!” she spat, her face red with hatred.

  “Nay.”

  She laughed cruelly. “What purpose ha
ve ye in mind, ye snake?”

  “To wed me, of course.”

  She laughed. “Ye’ve completely gone mad, Alistair. I willna wed below me,” she said and laughed as his own face reddened in rage.

  Alistair slapped her. “Below ye? Ye think yerself too much above me, Andie? ‘Tis ye who are below me. My father was laird until yers took the power away. And I will have it back.”

  “Nay. My father didna take the power away. The clan didna want a crazed laird to lead them, nor his bastard son to follow,” she said and her head whipped to side as he slapped her again.

  “I am nay bastard,” he seethed.

  “Ye’er a self-righteous, conniving, arrogant son of a whore, and that makes ye a bastard,” she said through gritted teeth.

  Another slap. “I’ll break that independent, self-satisfied rebellion in ye, Andie. And I’ll relish every minute of it,” he said, inches away from her lips. She felt his hot breath on her face.

  She wrinkled her nose. “Alistair, do rinse yer mouth on occasion. It smells like rotten fish,” she said condescendingly.

  “Put her on the floor now!” Alistair yelled. A vein in his neck was throbbing.

  Andie’s heart skipped a beat. “Why? What are ye planning?”

  Alistair smiled at her fear. “Making ye mine, sweet Andie. Once ye’re spoiled, no mon will want ye. ‘Twill assure my position as laird in this clan. My clan!”

  His men dragged her on the floor and spread her legs and arms, despite her struggles. One man held her arms down over her head and the other held her feet down. Their grip was bruising. Alistair loomed over her, sweat forming on his face.