A Highlander's Gypsy (Highland Temptations Book 2)

by Aileen Adams

  A Highlander’s Gypsy

  Highland Temptations

  Aileen Adams

  Contents

  A Highlander’s Gypsy

  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

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Afterword

  A Highlander’s Gypsy

  Book Two of the Highland Temptations Series!

  Her gypsy soul haunts his dreams...

  William Blackheath’s had recurring dreams, the same one, over and over again, of a woman calling out for him, asking for help. He doesn’t believe in seers, but goes to visit one anyway, to learn what the dreams mean. He’s told that to find peace, he has to find the woman.

  Shana Invermore’s half Scottish, half gypsy. She’s definitely not a wilting flower, nor is she always one to follow laws. She can raid with the best of them. Until she’s caught.

  Now Shana’s the captive Jacob Stewart. And that damned Steward plans to use her as bait. She’ll show him who’s bait.

  1

  William Blackheath managed to stay upright in the saddle as he rode through the stone arch leading into the courtyard. Laird Richard’s household moved as it always did, with great energy, with life, with shouts and laughter and the sound of the blacksmith’s hammer striking iron. It moved around him as he walked his horse through the melee.

  He was among it, but he was not part of it. His concentration, if there was any, was far away.

  What would Richard think when William told him what the seer had to say? Well, it had been his idea for William to go to the woman for assistance, and before that, the notion had been borne in the mind of Richard’s silly spinster aunt. Innis Munro was known for her odd beliefs almost as well as she was for her unfortunate looks and shrewish nature.

  Yet, when she’d spied William looking less and less like himself every day—drawn, pallid, all but falling asleep on his feet while accompanying Richard in official duties such as visits to his tenants—she had finally inquired as to his health.

  No one got around Innis Munro and her sharp eyes when she set her mind on learning what it was she wished to know. And she had wished to know of William’s ailment.

  He’d very nearly been sorry to inform her it wasn’t an illness at all, unless being robbed of sleep night after night for weeks on end could be considered illness. He supposed it could at that. He did, after all, feel very nearly ill on an almost constant basis now.

  Never, even while serving alongside Laird Richard Munro in the Jacobite rising, had he so suffered due to lack of sleep. Yet it wasn’t only sleepless nights and the deepening circles beneath his eyes which plagued him.

  It was the reason for his sleeplessness. The dreams. Dreams which haunted his waking thoughts, which wrapped themselves around his mind like vines and squeezed the very life from him. He imagined them this way sometimes. At other times, these dreams and the haunting memories they left behind were like a bog filled with thick, sucking muck which threatened to pull him under and smother him.

  If sleeplessness hadn’t already left him half-dead of exhaustion, fighting against the nightmarish images which flashed before him every time he closed his eyes even for the briefest moment would have finished the job.

  He dismounted and handed the reins to the only stable lad he trusted with his prized horse, a sable gelding Richard had gifted to him on returning from the ill-fated war against the loyalists. The beast was magnificent, finer than anything William had ever owned, and Richard knew it. They’d grown up alongside one another when his father had served as the leader of Laird Hugh’s guard, and so they were aware of the other’s personal history as though it were their own.

  Entering the keep, he sidestepped two lasses carrying buckets of water before either of them sloshed onto his trews and hurried past the great hall on his way to Richard’s study. He would be there at this time of day, managing his correspondence while taking his midday meal.

  He looked up at hearing William enter, his familiar, dark eyes narrowing. “Close the door behind ye. What came of your visit?”

  William did as Richard bade, then took a seat before the fire and slumped in the high-backed chair. “’Tis a cold day,” he grumbled. “I feel it in my bones. We’ll have a hard winter.”

  “Aye, aye, I didna ask for your opinions on the weather, man.” Richard’s voice dropped to a whisper. “What happened with the seer? Was my aunt correct? Did she offer any assistance?”

  “Aye, she did, as everyone your aunt has suggested did.” William closed his eyes, reveling in comfort and the warmth afforded by the cheerful, crackling fire, and once again saw the image of a woman. A screaming, pleading woman. One in dire need of his aid.

  His eyes snapped open.

  Richard, naturally, was unaware of the nightmare images in his lifelong friend’s head. “What was her advice, then?”

  “Ye aren’t going to enjoy it, my friend.”

  “I dinna enjoy watching ye fall to pieces before my very eyes, either. Ye have turned into an old man long before your time.”

  “And I am failing ye.” William fixed him with a level gaze. “Let us come to the truth, then. I am failing in my position as head of the guard, and ye canna have that. Dinna argue with me,” he was quick to add, raising a hand in the air. “Ye deserve a man with strength, energy. I have neither of those things now.”

  “As such, since I refuse to find anyone else to fill your position, I will ask ye again what the seer told ye to do. Not another tonic, I pray.”

  “Nay. I dinna believe I could swallow one more tonic. Or ale, for that matter. Tinctures, all a waste of time. In this case, the seer in question recommended I take action.”

  “Take action,” Richard repeated with a frown. “And what does she believe you’ve done all along? You’ve been taking action by visiting every seer and healer from here to Hades and following their advice.”

  “I have not, however, tried to find the one I dream of.”

  Understanding washed over Richard, and he sat back in his chair with a sigh. “Ah. That’s it, then. She instructed ye to leave the castle and search for this one who’s been plaguing ye for weeks.”

  “That she has.” William stretched his legs before him, his feet still cold and needing to be nearer the fire. Removing his tam, he ran a hand through his unruly hair in an attempt to tame it, though it was a waste of time. Both the deep red color and the wildness of the way it waved and curled were beyond his control.

  He sighed again, a heavy sigh filled with weariness and trouble. “She does not believe these dreams are merely dreams, but signs. Warnings. When I told her they’re all of the same one, and that she appears to be in danger and in need of my aid, that decided her. I’m to ride south—she was certain of this, mind ye—and find the lass.”

  “She was certain she lives? That this isn’t all in your mind?”

  “I’m sure the woman knows no more about dreams than we, but she swears they have a deeper meaning. Ye know me, man. I pay no heed
to such nonsense.” He ran a hand over the back of his neck, which ached from the mere effort of holding his head erect. “Yet I must admit, if there is a way to rid myself of this torture…”

  “Did the seer have anything else to offer?” Richard looked as unconvinced as William felt, but his aunt had sworn as to the honesty and talent of this latest seer. “Who is she? Why does she need ye?”

  “I’ve not the first notion, and the seer could offer nothing. I canna tell ye who she is, for I never saw her before the dreams began. Most nights, her face is never clear enough for me to make out her features. She might as well be made of smoke, which I suppose she is, in a way, as she’s nothing more than a dream, no matter what the seer believes.”

  “This is more than a dream, and ye know it. Why else would I stand by and allow ye to do something I know ye believe to be foolish? You’ve no more faith in seers than I have. It’s no wonder none of them have provided ye any relief before now.”

  “There is not promise that this will offer any, either.”

  “Ye canna go on this way. Ye must try.”

  “And leave this castle? For who knows how long? I canna leave my position. Unless ye wish to be rid of me and replace me with one of the other men.”

  Richard scowled. “Och, aye, ‘tis precisely my plan. You’ve gone daft, man. I only wish for ye to be rid of whatever it is hanging over your head. If searching for the one you’ve dreamt of and—if need be—saving her is what need be done, so be it. Besides, with the cold weather coming on, we’d all be sitting around the fire getting fat. We’ve no threats in the surrounding area. We shall do well without ye for the time being.”

  William stared into the fire, brooding over the idea of being away from the only home he’d ever known. “If only there was a way of knowing where I need to be, or how long it will take to get there. This is the height of folly.”

  “Aye, I suppose it is. Though ye had best be on your way before the truly cold weather settles in. There is no time to sit and ask yourself if this is the best course of action.”

  “I dinna wish to ride over the country, feeling like a fool.”

  “What if I order ye to go?”

  This got William’s attention. He turned to his friend. “Ye have never ordered me about in your life, and I’ve never been likely to listen to an order.”

  “Then it’s high time ye begin to listen to my orders,” Richard decided, rapping his knuckles on the wooden table at which he worked. “I order ye to assemble your packs, and I’ll send one of the girls to the kitchen to arrange food and drink to be taken with ye. Ye had best be on your way soon, as night will fall before ye know it and you’ll wish to have time to find somewhere to take shelter for the night.”

  “Ye dinna mean it. Ye expect me to leave now? Today?”

  “Why wait? Ye wish to spend another sleepless night beneath this roof, when ye might be that much closer to finding this lass and ending this once and for all? I’ve never known ye to be anything but a man of action. If there was ever a time to take action, ‘tis now.”

  A time to take action. If only he knew which action to take. “What if this seer was just as wrong as the others? Wouldn’t that make me the biggest fool in all the Highlands? Riding about, finding nothing and no one, wasting my time when there’s work to be done here, at the castle.”

  “Work which ye canna do if you’re falling asleep on your feet, man.” Richard looked down at his table, scrolls, and papers strewn across it, and picked up a silver-handled dirk.

  William recognized it as having belonged to his father.

  Richard never allowed the weapon to stray far from his sight. He tapped the tip against the table, eyes on William all the while. “Dinna make me threaten ye, man.”

  “As if ye would,” William scoffed.

  “Dinna tempt me. You’ve had it coming to ye for many years, and perhaps I’ve been waitin’ for this very day. Ye shall go, ye shall what it is ye need to find, and ye shall return in time for the Christmas feast.”

  “Och, so there’s a limit to the amount of time I can spend away now?” Even as he asked, William rose, knowing he fought a losing battle. As ridiculous as it was, he would ride out in search of the one who haunted him so.

  His chambers were hardly as lavish as those of the laird of the house, but they were the rooms in which he had grown up when his father lead Laird Hugh’s men. This was his home, his world. He could close the door and shut out the concerns on the other side.

  Though it had offered very little comfort as of late, when night after sleepless night had left him walking the floors until sunrise. He’d watched the sky lighten from the window which overlooked the training grounds, watched the straw targets come into view as night turned to day.

  And there was no telling when he would return. That was the most difficult thing to come to terms with. Not knowing when he would rest his head there again.

  Or if he ever would.

  The sun had risen to its midpoint and just beyond, telling him he’d best collect his things and start moving before he lost much more time.

  He’d have to make up his plans as he went along, which was not a method to which he was accustomed. His skill at planning and then turning those plans into action were what made Laird Richard’s guard the strongest, the most feared of those of any clan within two, perhaps three days’ ride of Clan Stuart.

  Only a madman would dare test their forces against such a mighty, highly trained group of men.

  He might at least rest easy knowing he’d done all he could with them, that Richard would be secure during this fool’s errand.

  Yet even as he thought it, while folding his few tunics and trews he could not quite make himself believe it. Yes, it seemed the height of folly, especially to a man such as himself who’d always placed his trust in facts, in hard work.

  But in his heart, where he rarely had time or the desire to venture, there was no denying a pull toward… something. The moment the old crone to whom Innis Munro had sent him announced his quest, he’d known in that unused part of his body that she spoke the truth.

  He was meant to find this woman who’d called to him in his dreams, whose broken cries rang in his ears long after he woke. She never used his name, nor did she express her sorrow or pain in words. She need only pleaded for help.

  Help which, according to the seer and to that deep pull in his heart, only he could provide.

  2

  Drip. Drip. Drip.

  It never ended, that sound. The constant, steady dripping of gray water which crept through cracks in the stone walls above her. All around her. Tiny rivers cutting through rock, always flowing. Moving. Even when she slept, it moved—sometimes waking her from what little sleep she was able to get.

  Which was truly not much.

  Though there was little else to do. Sometimes she wished she could sleep, sleep through it all. Anything was better than hour after hour in a stinking cell, covered in filth. They would not even allow her to wash herself, and the stench coming from her body was enough to turn her stomach and make her gag on the meager bits of food her captor offered.

  Was this what they intended? To grind her soul down until she was little more than a grunting, stinking animal?

  They could wait forever, then, whoever they were. For she would not give them the satisfaction.

  The tiny window cut into the stone wall, very near the top and thus too far for her to reach, at least allowed a small bit of light into the cell. She stood in it, forcing herself to look up into the world outside. Not much was visible—grass, mostly—and a patch of gray sky.

  When she got out, when she was free, she would never take it for granted again. Not even during bad weather, which she had always hated as it meant rough travel.

  She had always traveled. In fact, these last weeks were likely the longest stretch of time she’d spent in one place over the course of her years, outside of winter quarters. Not much sense in struggling through the snow, the driving wind,
the icy rain when they might sit by a fire and plan their next movements once the weather turned.

  They’d be holding those meetings without her now.

  As she did every morning, Shana Invermore gathered her skirts before her knees to form a cushion before kneeling in the patch of light. She closed her eyes, clasped her hands before her, and prayed to the same deities her Ma had taught her to pray to as soon as she was old enough to speak.

  Even before she knew whom she prayed to, or why one prayed at all, she had recited the old supplications. For safety along the road, for fine weather. For good health and enough food to eat. For a warm fire, for comfort, for peace. That they might be left alone, that their enemies—everyone, truly—would let them go about their lives.

  These were the prayers she had always offered, to the ancient gods and goddesses. The names flowed easily, but there was one to which she returned again and again. Tara. White Tara. Compassionate Mother. Green Tara. The Great Protectress.

  Protect me. Love me. Embrace me. Grant me strength, Mother, that I might be protectress to my own kin. She murmured this, eyes closed, swaying slightly as the fervent prayers lifted her away from her present state and into something better. Higher. Far away from the dark cell.

  She almost didn’t hear shuffling footsteps approaching. Almost.

  That shuffle was almost as familiar as the dripping water. Her lame jailor. Delivering a meager meal, no doubt, hardly enough to keep her body and soul together. Would the bread have already begun to sprout mold? Would it be hard enough to chip her teeth? There was no telling.