by K. E. Saxon
HIGHLAND MAGIC
by
K.E. Saxon
HIGHLAND MAGIC : Book Three : Highlands Trilogy
A trial by combat…A fight to the death…A test of the heart…
The third in the Highlands Trilogy, HIGHLAND MAGIC begins where HIGHLAND GRACE ended, giving you Branwenn and Callum’s story.
Set in the turn of the 13th century Scottish Highlands. After fleeing her wedding to her Norman betrothed and being swept into the Irish Sea during a storm, Branwenn Maclean finds herself once more in the land of the Highland Scots. Little does she know, however, that the maimed man who drops through the ceiling of her hiding place is none other than Callum MacGregor, the man who both vexes and beguiles her.
Callum awakens in a darkened sea cave believing he’s being nursed by a sea nymph. Little does he know, however, that the fey creature is in actuality none other than his massive warrior Maclean cousins’ foster sister, Branwenn, the lass that has taunted and haunted him since his first encounter with her one year past.
Highland Magic
Copyright © 2009 by K.E. Saxon
http://www.kesaxon.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author K.E. Saxon, the copyright owner and publisher of this book, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the publisher. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in its work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
License Notes
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to any major online retail bookseller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Cover Photo obtained from Romance Novel Covers
* * * *
eISBN: 978-1-4760398-3-1
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The twelfth and thirteenth century Scottish Highlands is a fascinating time in history. Although much is known, there is still much that remains in shadow and supposition. The old laws of succession, and the old Celtic systems were mixing with the new feudal systems brought in by the Norman-influenced kings of Scots (the first key figure in this being David I, who became king of Scots in 1124).
Although, by the time of William the Lion (William I), who ruled Scotland from 1165 to 1214, the feudal systems were more firmly established in the southern region of Scotland, the king had managed to exert his influence and sway in the wilder northern and western regions as well. Mostly through alliances with foreigners to whom he chartered land, or to natives who sought a royal charter for their land in order to secure it for their own offspring.
My vision, therefore, was of a kind of “melting pot.” The old ways, not completely abandoned, yet the new coming to be embraced.
Although I did many, many (many) months of research into this time in the Scottish Highlands history, I still found it necessary to take some creative license on certain aspects in order to fulfill my vision for the romance, and allow for less confusion to the romance reader. I won’t list the licenses I took, but hope that the history purists will close an eye to these instances and simply enjoy the tale.
K.E. Saxon
GLOSSARY
anail iasg: Fish Breath, or as close a translation as I could find (thank you so much fiairefeadha from the www.irishgaelictranslator.com forum, who gave me the Irish Gaelic so I could look up the Scottish Gaelic spelling.)
Bealltainn: The Celtic May Day Festival (May 1 or 2)
Boabhan Sith or Baoban Sith baa'-van shee Scottish Highland fairies that look like beautiful women but are really vampires thirsty for the blood of young men. They appear first as ravens, then as girls in white or green dresses with hoofed feet. Iron is said to repel them.
Canonical Hours: Lauds, dawn; Prime, 6 a.m.; Terce, 9 a.m.; Sext, 12 p.m.; Nones, 3 p.m.; Vespers, sunset; Compline, after sunset, usu. after the evening meal.
daoine sìth: fairy-folk
Hogmanay: December 31
ingeniator: latin word meaning ‘to devise in the sense of construct, or craftsmanship’. Root of engineer.
Northvegia: Medieval latin name for Norway
seed wool: cotton wool not yet cleansed of its seeds.
uisge beatha: Lit: ‘Water of Life’, a.k.a. whiskey
Samhainn: the first day of November, marking the beginning of winter and a new year for ancient Celts; a.k.a. ‘All Souls’ Day’.
Sìdh Chailleann: Schiehallion is a prominent mountain in Perth and Kinross. The name Schiehallion is an anglicised form of the Gaelic name Sìdh Chailleann, which is usually translated as ‘Fairy Hill of the Caledonians’.
Oidhche Shamhna: the eve of Samhainn; a.k.a. ‘All Hallow’s Eve’ or ‘Halloween’.
Kipper: To claim the armor and weapons the knight employed a vassal or squire as his 'Kipper'. A Kipper was expected to collect the 'Spoils of Combat' as the tournament proceeded. The word 'Kipper' originated from the Scandinavian word 'Kippa' which means to snatch or to seize. The weapons and armor of a knight were very expensive and a fallen knight would not give them up easily. The Kipper was therefore armed with blunt, but heavy clubs, with which they could knock the unfortunate Knight into an unconscious state and collect the spoils of combat. See: http://www.middle-ages.org.uk/knights-tournaments.htm
Tryamour: Lit. ‘Test of Love’. A fairy that fell in love with a Welsh knight. She promises to give him everything he desires, but in exchange, he must never reveal her to anyone. *This is from a 12th century French lai by Marie de France titled, ‘Lanfal’, which was later adapted to Middle English as ‘Landavall’, but the fairy lady does not get named until the 14th century english version titled ‘Sir Launfal’ by Thomas Chestre.
*****
Historical source for joust:
Jager, Eric. The Last Duel: The True Story of Crime, Scandal and Trial by Combat in Medieval France. London: Random, 2006.
Table of Contents
Copyright
Author’s Note
Glossary
Prologue
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
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
DIAMONDS AND TOADS EXCERPT
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PROLOGUE
Cilgerran Castle, Southern March Region, Cambria
The Betrothal Feast, July 1205
Gaiallard de Montfort settled back in his chair and studied the chaos all around him. This betrothal would bring him the demesne he
’d been craving, but at a price for which he was growing more resentful as each day passed. He was expected to wed an awkward rustic, a mere girl! He, whom the ladies of the court had given the title ‘golden wolf’, both in and out of the bedchamber. Oh, she was pleasing to look upon. Her dark hair framed her face in a becoming enough manner and accented her most attractive asset: her large eyes bore the color of kings in their amethyst depths. But even his young sister had more curves than this boyish girl. And she was as green as his page—and just as unschooled in the ways of the court, mayhap even more so. How many times now had he been humiliated in front of his comrades by her graceless overtures and simple dress? If he had not given her, as a betrothal gift, the lovely purple velvet dress she now wore with the gold embroidery edging the square neck and sleeves, or the gold silk chemise beneath it, he had no doubt she’d now be wearing that godawful saffron woolen thing she’d worn to at least five of the seven previous evening meals this past sennight. Had she no understanding of the place she would be taking, had already been expected to take by his side? She was no good representative of his position in the hierarchy. In fact, she had made him a laughing-stock at court. And last eve, when she’d stumbled upon him with his sister—well, she would simply have to grow accustomed to such encounters as they were a well-established part of life amongst those of noble birth. He clenched his jaw to keep from groaning aloud in frustration. Why, oh, why had fate not been kinder to him? If all had gone as he’d planned, he’d even now be presiding over the demesne of Castell Crychydd with his chosen mate, Caroline de Montrochet. Now, there was a beauty, a perfect example of nobility, virtue, and womanliness. Gaiallard’s eyes were drawn once more to the trestle table below where the lady in question now sat nibbling a portion of sea fowl.
* * *
Branwenn watched her betrothed from the corner of her eye. He’d made it plain these past days that he was not as pleased with this match, with her, as he’d first pretended. And last eve—last eve! She’d stumbled upon him in his sister’s chamber. The poor lass had been in a distressing state, her gown torn and hanging from her shoulder, exposing red marks on her tender arm and chest where the drunken knave had abused and beaten her. Would he have gone further still—done the thing Branwenn feared had been his true purpose, if she had not interrupted his savage attack? And ‘twas clearly not the first time the lass had been the outlet for his violent lust either, for there had been older bruises in plain view as well. She turned her sight on the lass, Alyson, who even now sat much too quietly with her silver-blond head bowed and her hands demurely folded in her lap. The poor dear had barely touched the food on her trencher, nor the wine in her goblet. She was far too young to have been exposed to such lechery, for she surely was not more than twelve summers. Aye, ‘twas truth that according to tradition, she was a woman full-grown, capable of becoming a wife, should her father contract such an arrangement, but in Branwenn’s view, ‘twas much too young an age to be expected to perform such duties.
Reys ap Gryffyd dipped his head and whispered in her ear, “Have you second thoughts so late in the game, then, Branwenn? If so, you’ve dallied too long, my little dove, for your vows will be heard before the bishop and all this fine assembly in but a few hours’ time at the morrow’s morning mass.”
Branwenn bit her lip and turned her troubled gaze to the dark-haired, blue-eyed man she’d only discovered to be her kin a mere seven moons past when he’d been the first to cross the threshold of her heart-family’s keep, the Macleans, after the feast of Hogmanay. He’d come there to find her and bring her back to Cambria to wed this flaxen-haired Norman nephew thrice removed to the Earl of Pembroke that sat at her other side. For the marriage would make a blood alliance between her Cambrian cousin, twice removed, Prince Llywelyn, and the Norman usurper, Guillaume le Maréchal, the Earl of Pembroke. And tho’ she liked Reys well, even from their first meeting, she still did not feel the same strong bond with him that she felt for Bao Xiong Maclean, the man who’d raised her, the man who, in her heart, was her brother in truth. Should she tell Reys of her discovery? She’d been debating that very question these past hours since finding her betrothed with his sister. And tho’ the hour was late, she needed some guidance, some words to soothe her worry. “Brother, I have something I must speak with you about in all haste, but it must be in privy, for I have no wish for any here to learn of what I must tell you.”
Reys had been jesting with her, believing that she was merely uneasy, as any new bride would be, at the prospect of her wedding. He sat forward and truly studied her worried countenance for the first time that eve. With a brief nod, he said, “Meet me in the chapel after supper. ‘Twill be empty, as all here will be enjoying the pipers and players afterward. Say that you wish a few moments alone to pray and light some candles. No one will say you nay, even this eve before you wed, for your desire to pray will be seen as an act of true piety, a great virtue for a new bride.”
Branwenn’s shoulders relaxed for the first time that eve. With a sigh and a nod, she said, “My thanks.”
* * *
An hour later, Branwenn, on her knees in the chapel with her head bowed and her eyes closed, felt someone settle beside her.
“We are alone now—all are in the great hall enjoying the players. Tell me what troubles you, Branwenn,” Reys whispered.
Branwenn slowly opened her eyes and, settling back to rest upon her calves, she dropped her clenched hands to her lap and turned her gaze upon this almost-stranger who just might give her the heart’s-ease she so desperately craved. “I know not how to begin....”
Reys placed his hand over hers. “Begin by telling me the thing that is giving you the most dread.”
Branwenn dropped her gaze to her lap and nodded. She took in a deep breath and released it on a sigh. “Aye, ‘twould seem to be the best place, I trow.” She cleared her throat. “Last eve...”
When she didn’t immediately continue, Reys dipped his head in an effort to see her countenance. “Aye, last eve—what happened?” he prompted.
“I came upon my betrothed in his sister’s bedchamber,”—she lifted her gaze to her brother’s once more and said in a rush—“he had beaten her, Reys! There were purple and red marks on her chest, her shoulders—even her arms! And her gown was torn, it looked as if he’d ripped it away to expose her breasts. And what is more, I could see other, older bruises on her flesh as well. Godamercy, Reys, I do believe he intended to...to...bed her!” There, she’d said it.
Reys’s eyes widened even further in shock and disgust. Why, the lass was barely out of swaddling clothes! He’d known Gaiallard to be a man who enjoyed the sexual privileges bestowed upon him due to his noble birth, but he’d had no true understanding of how dissolute, how morally corrupt, the man had become until just now.
Branwenn’s eyes misted with unshed tears. “I knew not what to do—I fled the chamber and have said naught about it to anyone, not even Gaiallard.”
“You cannot wed him, then. You must away this very night.” Reys pressed the base of his palm into his eye.
Branwenn grabbed hold of his wrist and held tight. “But how can I not? ‘Twould mean war—war with not only the Earl of Pembroke, but with the King of England himself, for he has decreed that this match must take place!”
Reys nodded and turned his gaze upon his sister once more. “Aye, and forget not that our cousin will surely skin me alive before hanging me on a gibbet to rot—and he’ll lock you in the tower gaol for all eternity, I doubt it not.” He turned and faced Branwenn fully. Taking both her hands in his own, he said, “But we must at least try to release you from this contract. I will speak with our cousin forthwith. There must be a way to delay this wedding, at least until I can procure our cousin’s agreement to free you from this bad bargain.”
Branwenn dipped her head and gazed down at their clasped hands. ‘Twas no use. Her fate was set, and there would be naught to stop it. For, she knew her cousin would never agree to such a thing; his empire was much mo
re important than she in the scheme of things. “My thanks, brother, tho’ I know not how you shall manage such a feat.” All at once struck with an idea, she lifted her head once more and gazed, wide-eyed with hope, into the midnight-blue depths of Reys’s eyes. “I beg you, do not be angered—or hurt—by the proposal I am about to make, for I mean you no injury—”
“Aye?” Reys said anxiously, “have you a plan then? Tell me quickly, I swear I shall listen without prejudice.”
Branwenn tightened her grasp on her brother’s hands and leaned forward a bit as she said, “Would it not fulfill the spirit, if not the letter, of the contract were you to wed Alyson instead?”
“Wha—?”
“Nay, hear me out before you balk. Do you not see? This is the best solution for all. The lass clearly needs a protector and you—well, I know you do not like speaking of the recent tragedy that befell your poor wife and bairns,”—Reys looked away, his mouth set in a grim line, and Branwenn brought her hand up to his cheek and gently forced him to look at her once more—“but you know that you are now free to wed. And you told me yourself, when first you found me in the Highlands, that the contract would have been fulfilled whether you’d found a brother or a sister, for the brother would have been contracted to wed the niece. You were not free to wed then, and I, for my own reasons, agreed to return to Cambria with you.”