Highland Rogue
Scottish Strife Series Book 5
by
Dana D’Angelo
Copyright Information
Copyright © 2017 - Dana D’Angelo
www.dana-dangelo.com
All rights reserved. This book, in its entirety or in parts, may not be reproduced in any format without expressed permission. Scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book through the Internet or through any other type of distribution or retrieval channel without the permission of the author is illegal and is punishable by law. Please purchase only legitimate electronic versions of this book and do not engage in or encourage piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
The characters, places and events portrayed in this fictional work are a result of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarities to real events, locales, or people, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
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
Thank You
Dedication
Acknowledgments
About The Author
Glossary
More Titles By Dana D’Angelo
Chapter 1
Scotland, 1560
“Mother!” Donnell MacKelon screamed as his mother raced toward their home, leaving him with Alpin, a neighbor. The English invaders had arrived, and the villagers pushed and shoved all around him in their attempt to escape the chaos and impending massacre.
The town had resisted the enemy invasion, and now the English had breached the town’s defenses and were looking to punish everyone in their path. They torched the thatched roofs of all the houses, and slaughtered animal and man alike. While many of the villagers ran away, Ross MacKelon and his friends stood their ground in order to protect their homes. But it was a foolish move because Donnell’s father and his friends were no match for the English knights. His father possessed only a pitchfork, and the knight easily knocked it away with his broadsword.
The knight was about to finish his father off when his mother joined in. She picked up a large stick from the ground and began bashing the knight from behind. The man wasn’t wearing his helmet so the stick rained down on his unprotected head.
But this attack only served to enrage the enemy further. Snatching the branch, he yanked it out of her grip and shoved her away. She fell to the ground, crawled to Donnell’s father, and the two embraced each other, watching helplessly as the knight approached.
“Leave them alone!” Donnell yelled. The panic and fear rose to Donnell’s chest.
“’Tis too late, lad,” Alpin said, his voice unsteady.
Donnell started to run to his family when the older man’s arm snaked around his waist. He threw the other arm crossed Donnell’s chest, dragging him back from the horrific scene. “There’s nothing ye can do.”
“Nay, I have tae save them,” Donnell cried, trying to break free from the hold. When that was ineffective, he whipped his head back to slam it against the man’s front.
Alpin yelped at the unexpected blow and stumbled. Ignoring the sharp pain at the base of his skull, Donnell bent his head to bite the arm that imprisoned him. The man howled in pain and released him. As soon as Donnell’s feet hit the ground, a burst of energy from somewhere propelled him forward.
He carried no weapon and the only things he could find were the stones in the dirt. Picking up several, he aimed one at the knight’s unprotected head. But if Donnell thought that throwing rocks at the knight would stop his parents from being murdered, he was wrong. When both of his parents lay lifeless on the ground, he screamed and screamed, his pain and horror reverberating above the chaos. He was only fourteen years old, and his brain couldn’t grasp that his family was gone…
The soft whinny outside of the tent penetrated his sleep. Donnell opened his eyes and stared up at the roof of the enclosure, allowing his heart to slow. He had been dreaming again.
He could hear the snores of the other men in the shelter, and he knew that the dawn had yet to arrive.
Sitting up, he buried his face in his hands. The murder of his parents had occurred twelve years ago, but the frequent dreams over the past month had brought everything back each time. After his parents died, he discovered that it was Eadwig Gorbidshire who had terminated them. Donnell never wanted to erase the image of the killer from his mind. He could still see the gash at the side of the man’s right nostril where his father had poked him. When the knight finished off his family, there was an evil glint in his eyes. He enjoyed slaughtering people, and he showed no qualms about killing a youth. Fortunately another knight had interrupted them, and Donnell was able to make his escape. But he didn’t run for the hills like the others. Instead, he hid in the village to find out more about the Englishman. Donnell learned then that Eadwig was a low-ranking knight. But as the years went by, his status increased until he commanded King Harold’s army. Since Donnell vowed to avenge his parents, he tried to discover as much as he could about the commander. All the while he honed his fighting skills, biding his time until one day he would confront his adversary.
He felt a streak of anticipation course through his body, but then it began to fizzle just as quickly. As much as he wished it, he had yet to find the opportunity to meet his enemy.
The sound of the horse outside the tent caught his attention once again. It was impossible to get back to sleep. He pushed himself to his feet in one fluid motion. And stepping over some slumbering men, he went outside.
The blast of winter air hit him and he welcomed the cold.
“Ye are going tae Newtonburgh?” he asked as he saw the two men in the gray light.
Coinneach and Erik, the two newest members of the mercenary group, were hitching a cart to a horse, preparing to leave. They had the task of going to town to restock their food supplies.
Donnell had been a part of the team for a little over a year. He kept to himself, did his work and got paid for his efforts. Before he joined this company, he was involved with another mercenary band that traveled to different nations to fight for the highest bidder. It was a successful organization until the appointed leader got butchered. After that, the men couldn’t decide who would take over the leadership role. The in-fighting caused too much friction, and when the time came to battle, carelessness and the lack of leadership led to needless slaughter of some members. Donnell found this unacceptable, since he didn’t sign up for the company in order to die. But then he heard news of the whereabouts of his archenemy. It was then clear to him that he needed to leave the group. Unfortunately he didn’t have the ability to strike out on his own since no employer wanted to take on a lone warrior. In large campaigns, the employers needed hundreds of men fighting on their side.
By a stroke of good fortune, he found an acceptable mercenary troop to join. They called themselves the Black Targe Company, and were led by the fierce leader Blane Cunningtoun. This organization was newer than most, but it had quickly gained the reputation for getting the job done. This meant that Donnell had plenty of opportunity to hone the combative skills that he needed to finally bring justice to his family.
“I hope we didnae wake ye,” Erik said.
“Nay,” Donnell said, shaking his head. Other t
hings disturbed his sleep, but he didn’t want to speak about them. “I’ll go with ye, and give ye a hand.”
The men exchanged glances before turning their surprised faces to him. In all honesty, Donnell didn’t know what possessed him to accompany the two newest recruits to the town. The act itself wasn’t bad, but it required taking the entire day off from training. The time off from fight practice was an impediment to mercenaries whose sole purpose was to be in peak condition to fight. To do less would ensure death in this line of work. But then again, the warriors needed to eat.
“Ye will require a horse,” Coinneach pointed out. “I heard that your mount is lame.”
“Ye are right, ‘tis lame at the moment, but I’ll find a new ride,” he said. “Ye go ahead. I’ll catch up.”
As Donnell made his way toward the horse compound, he warmed to the notion of going to Newtonburgh. And instead of heading to where his own mount was kept, he veered over to the next enclosure. His horse was getting older, and it struggled with the grueling training schedule. Somehow during a training session yesterday it had become injured and it moved stiffly afterward. Obviously Donnell couldn’t ride it to town, but he could find another steed to borrow.
He scanned the other horses in the pen, setting an admiring eye on each beast. But then a sleek black mount caught his attention, and he walked toward it. Smoothing his hand along its muscled neck, he gave it a pat.
“Ye will do just fine,” he said and untied its reins from the fence, and got on its back.
“What are ye doing there?” a guard said behind him. “That beast belongs tae Niall MacRell —”
“Dinnae worry,” Donnell said, maneuvering around the man. “I should be back before he notices ‘tis missing.”
***
By the time they arrived at Newtonburgh, Donnell’s mood had darkened. When he awoke this morning, he had merely wanted a distraction. But the long ride into town gave him too much time to think, and he began to question why his dreams occurred with such frequency.
Donnell sent a sweeping glance at the number of people moving toward the busy market square. Townsfolk as well as Highland warriors from Bracken Ridge arrived to replenish their supplies. With the number of people wandering around, horses were not allowed in the square.
“Coinneach, ye stay here with the mounts,” he said, and gave the horse he rode an affectionate pat on the neck. The animal he took was swift and adjusted to him well.
“Just dinnae be too long,” Coinneach grumbled as he hopped off the cart. He went to lean against the vehicle, his massive arms crossed over his chest as he looked out into the crowd with a menacing glare.
A few people from the town stared warily at them, and gave them a wide berth. It was necessary for someone to guard their transportation while they finished obtaining their provisions. Fortunately, Coinneach was the best man for this task.
Donnell divided up the money and tasks between him and Erik. “We should be able tae get the necessities quickly, and return to the encampment before sundown.”
“Aye,” Erik said, and they went their separate ways.
As Donnell walked toward the stalls, his scrutiny slid across the crowd of people, stopping when he saw a dark-haired lass. He would have continued on his way except it was then that she turned her face. Suddenly, the air sucked away from his chest. His gaze attached to her lovely countenance as if dragged there by some magnetic force. She possessed an ethereal beauty that was reminiscent of a faery queen. At the moment, she stood in front of a stall at the far end of the market. Judging by the tension in her small body and the angry expression on her visage, her negotiation with the merchant wasn’t going her way. The seller glowered at her, his voice also raised. Her cheeks flushed even more, and instead of detracting from her allure, it made her more comely.
What was it about this woman that fascinated him? She had an air that made her seem different from the other lassies in the town. Exactly what that difference was, he wasn’t quite certain. It wasn’t her womanly figure, because in the brisk morning, her entire frame was bundled in a thick layer of clothing, hiding any trace of her curves. The only thing visible at the moment was her dark glossy hair that hung freely down her slender back.
The lass intrigued him, of that there was no question, although he resisted the urge to seek her out. Perhaps if he was younger and still foolish, he would have approached her. After all, it was nice change to see bonny features rather than the ugly faces of his peers.
But then Donnell got a hold of his senses. Women were trouble. Mentors in the past warned him of them, and he knew from experience that they spoke the truth. Women who were this beautiful only added complications to the lives of men. And with the war coming, he needed to concentrate on himself. He needed to avoid all unnecessary complications and distractions, and wait for that opportunity to confront his foe.
Deliberately turning his back on the woman, Donnell walked toward the corner of the market where all the grain farmers gathered. The area was crowded with people trying to buy their supplies.
He approached one of the stalls. The farmer had several sacks of various grains on display. He took a small sample and, spreading it across his palm, inspected the quality of the grains. Not only did they need the oats to make their meals, but they also needed some of the grains to feed the horses.
Donnell threw the sample back into the sack, and dusted his hands. “How much?” he asked, indicating to the bag. When the farmer told him the price, he handed the necessary coins to him. “I’ll take six.”
Since the bags were heavy, he had to carry two sacks at a time. He took a few steps when he heard a yell from behind.
“That’s him who took your horse!”
There was accusation in the voice, and it sounded like trouble to him. In cases like these it was best to mind his own business.
He heard startled cries behind him, as if people were being shoved aside. He started to turn around to see what was happening, when a hand landed on his shoulder, spinning him around.
“Sae ye dare steal my horse?” the man asked through clenched teeth.
“I dinnae...” He didn’t have a chance to finish his sentence before a fist crashed into the side of his jaw, causing his head to jerk back. At the same time he saw a bright explosion of lights.
Donnell gave a quick shake to his head. A split second later, he let out a roar and swung his arm, blindly hitting his assailant. Then all hell broke loose.
A shout caused Alisha MacTellnor to turn around. She let out an irritated breath when she saw men fighting. All around her, the vendors scrambled to close their stalls in order to avoid damage to their merchandise.
The townsfolk hurriedly finished their negotiations and moved away from the fighting men. Since the warriors had come to stay at Bracken Ridge, various scraps often broke out in the town. Alisha learned that when disagreements occurred in the market, she needed to complete her transactions before things turned ugly.
“Well, will ye take what I offer?” she demanded in a rush, taking full advantage of the merchant’s fears. She stretched out her hand, dangling the temptation in front of him. She prayed that he would make his decision quickly. Soon the skirmish would clear out the buyers from the square, and the dealer would have no more customers.
Many of the people scattered to safety while others wanted to get closer to the skirmish. Villagers shouted behind her, placing bets on which of the mighty warriors would come out the winner.
The merchant glanced nervously at her outstretched hand, and then turned his gaze to the fight, which had just turned violent. “All right, fine,” he said unhappily.
He plucked the money out of her hand and shoved the block of cheese at her before he rushed to the front of his stall to pack away his goods.
Grinning with satisfaction, Alisha placed the cheese into her basket. Her shopping was almost finished. She started to turn away when someone gripped her arm. She whipped her head around to see that it was the stranger that s
he had glimpsed earlier in the market. But before she could say anything, the man yanked her to the side. The force of the tug caused her to fall back. The next thing she knew she was sprawled on the ground with the contents of her basket scattered all around her.
Her mouth dropped open as she watched in horror as the two fighting men crashed into the spot where she had been standing. If she had stood there a moment longer, she would have been caught in the middle of the scuffle.
The man on top drew back his fist and slammed it down on his opponent. Everything happened in a matter of seconds. Suddenly one man lay unconscious while the victor got up calmly from the ground. He walked over to her.
“Next time ye should move out of the way,” he said, offering his hand to help her up.
Normally words came easily to her, but for the first time she was speechless. Somehow she placed her hand in his large one, and allowed him to assist her to her feet. She could feel the sizzling heat from his palm, and quickly pulled her own hand away. She wiped her palm on her skirt, although she couldn’t get rid of the tingling sensation.
Alisha took a step back and looked at the enormous Highlander, blinking as he towered over her.
“I’m uncertain whether I should be thanking ye since ye were a part of the brawl in the first place,” she said, finally finding her voice.
He quirked a brow at her. “Ye are welcome,” he said and moved away from her.
From the corner of her eye, she saw someone streak over to her.
“Who was that?” her brother Seamus asked. His wide eyes followed the sizable stranger as he made his way out of the market.
“I’m nae certain.” Her hands trembled as she picked up the items that had scattered on the ground. “He appeared out of nowhere, and pulled me out of harm’s way.”
But her brother wasn’t listening to what she was saying. He spied his friend who stood at the corner, staring at the prone man.
“Finlay will ken who he is.” Turning to her, he said, “I’ll go by the kirk later tae see Father Cormac off.”
Highland Rogue Page 1