The Highlander's War Prize (The Highland Warlord Series Book 2)

by Tessa Murran

  The Highlander’s War Prize

  TESSA MURRAN

  Copyright

  The Highlander’s War Prize by Tessa Murran

  Highland Warlords Series – Book Two

  www.tessamurran.com

  © 2019 Tessa Murran

  All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

  Visit the author’s website at www.tessamurran.com or Twitter @tessamurran

  First Edition

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design by http://www.stunningbookcovers.com

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  The Highlanders War Prize takes place in 1318, four years after the Battle of Bannockburn. This stunning victory for Robert the Bruce did not bring an end to Scotland’s War of Independence from England. What followed, was a bloody trudge through pitched battles, brinkmanship and brutal raids into the north of England. Aided by his most ruthless fighter, Lord James ‘Black’ Douglas, Robert the Bruce took the war to his enemy, attacking English castles with small, mobile forces of men, and then melting back over the Scottish border to elude capture.

  My story begins during one such raid, when Lyall Buchanan, second son of a Laird and destined for a life of war, besieges an English castle. Inside it, he finds Giselle de Villers, a frightened, English lass who, on the eve of her wedding, ends up in terrible danger. Lyall claims her as a war prize and drags her north to Scotland. Soon, she becomes more to him than a hostage and a fat ransom, but does she return his feelings? Giselle has a secret of her own, which means she has to get Lyall on her side to survive.

  This is a story about courage, not just the kind that makes you face the bloodshed of a battlefield, but also the quiet, resilient kind, which makes you keep pushing forward when fate strikes a terrible blow.

  I put my hero and heroine through some pretty tough stuff in The Highlander’s War Prize, so this is definitely a high stakes romance, and there may be triggers for some people. It is hard to be cruel to your characters when you love them, and I do, even the wicked ones, but I always strive to live up to my motto, ‘wild and passionate historical romance’.

  The main characters in The Highlander’s War Prize are fictitious, as are several place names and locations, but my story is built around a framework of real historical events.

  The Highlander’s War Prize is Book Two in my Highland Warlords Series but can be read as a standalone book.

  Find out more about Book 1 in the series, The Laird’s Bastard Daughter, and also my three-book Highland Wolf Series, at the end of this book. For news on what’s coming next, check out my website www.tessamurran.com or visit Twitter, @tessamurran.

  Chapter One

  Wulversmeade Castle, Northumberland

  Summer 1318

  Giselle de Villers, of an old and revered house, took a deep breath as her servant, Agnes, put the finishing touches to her hair.

  ‘Don’t worry yourself over it, Lady, he’ll be a fine young man I am sure, and I know for certain that he is a lucky one, to be getting such a fair bride as you.’

  Agnes’ voice swelled with pride, and Giselle squeezed her eyes shut with the effort of not saying what she was thinking. Speaking it aloud would make it real, and then everything about her situation would be that bit more awful.

  She had already endured two uncomfortable weeks, trundling north in a wagon, heading for her future. Two long weeks of contemplating marriage to someone she had never met. Two long weeks to dread it, more and more, with each turn of the wheels.

  ‘I pray you haven’t taken a chill from the journey. Shame it was in such haste and in such foul weather,’ fussed Agnes.

  Swallowing her fear, Giselle turned to her servant. ‘I think the weather is always foul this far north. We were at the mercy of some summer storms, but I’m hale and hearty, so stop fretting Agnes. It’s just a little cold in here, that’s all. And you know full well why there was such haste. There was nothing to be done about it, so this is where we find ourselves. We must bear it with dignity and make the best of it.’

  The woman forced her plump face into a smile. They were both of them pretending good cheer for the sake of the other.

  Giselle tried to keep the homesickness out of her voice and hide her worry. Wet weather had slowed their progress with the wagon getting stuck many times in ruts in the road. They’d often had to whip the horses hard to get it moving. The land in England’s south was already in summer’s grip, with fields of barley ripening to gold, but as they drew further north, the weather had turned. They had scarcely travelled more than a few miles, for two days, due to high winds and gusting rain turning the roads to rivers of mud. Giselle had been forced to sit in the dank wagon in mute misery. Any delay could have spelt disaster. She must be married, and soon.

  It was a daughter’s duty to marry where a father commanded, and fate had dealt the de Villers family a blow which meant Giselle could not afford to be choosy. She was lucky to find someone to take her, though she had yet to meet her husband to be.

  Edric de Mawpas. She said the name over and over again in her mind, trying to accustom herself to it. He was the youngest son of her father’s oldest friend, Sir Hugh de Mawpas, who had been a knight of some renown in his day and a veteran of the crusades.

  Giselle’s path north had ended at Wulversmeade Castle, though on first glance it barely merited the word, more a fortified manor house than a castle. It was small and ugly, and backed by dark woodland and scrubby, wind-scoured moorland, with a low and crumbling curtain wall, no moat to speak of, more a muddy ditch. The muck outside it was ankle-deep, and a rank smell wafted across from the midden.

  ‘Lady, does it not vex you that your betrothed did not greet you at the gates yesterday eve at the end of our long journey?’ Agnes’ voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

  It had indeed been strange. But they had arrived in the middle of torrential rain, turning everything to a grey misery. Giselle wished Agnes would be more cheery in her conversation as she was nervous enough already.

  ‘Perhaps Edric preferred not to keep me standing out in the foul weather, and he wants to greet me formally instead. His father was all courtesy, was he not?’

  Indeed Sir Hugh de Mawpas had been welcoming in a gruff, hurried kind of way, ushering them quickly inside and barking at his men to secure the gates well behind them. Did he think she would run away? Had she not hidden her trepidation well enough from his steady gaze?

  ‘T’was the least he could do to honour your father, his oldest friend, but his son could have shown some chivalry and attended us,’ said Agnes tersely. ‘I know it is not my place to say it…’

  ‘Then don’t, Agnes. You must show respect. Within days, Edric de Mawpas will be my husband, and I must be loyal to him.’

  Giselle took the woman’s hands in hers. ‘Don’t fret for me. I was thankful he was not there, for I was dirty from the road, and it was good to have had a bath and to look my best on meeting the man I will share my life with.’

  Agnes frowned and looked chastened.

  ‘I know we are a long way from home, Agnes, but I have one chance to fulfil my father’s wish and e
scape poverty, and I must take it. Edric is probably feeling just as nervous about meeting me as I am, him, and I am sure all will be well. I promised Father I would do this, and so I will.’

  Tears pricked Giselle’s eyes at the thought of her beloved father before a brisk knock on the door had them both turning. Agnes shouted, ‘Enter.’

  A servant strode in and gave a low bow. ‘Lady de Villers, my Lord requests you attend him in the hall to dine. I am to escort you.’

  ‘Very well, wait outside, and we shall come presently,’ replied Agnes, before Giselle had a chance to say anything.

  The man cast them a sneering look and withdrew.

  Agnes grabbed Giselle’s hands tight in hers. ‘I know it is not my place, but you have no mother here to guide you, and as your father is not with us…I just wanted to say…’ She took a deep breath. ‘Be proud of who you are Lady, you are from a fine house with a fine lineage.’

  ‘And no money, land which has been snatched from under us, Agnes, and I’ve scarce enough dowry to tempt a man to have me.’

  ‘Do not speak so. Wealth is not all in this world. You are lovely Lady, with a good heart and so much love to give. Any man with eyes in his head would want you, and many have looked, I have seen it. They stare at your pretty face, and the fire in your hair and they swoon like fools. Money or no, you will show your worth, and if Edric doesn’t immediately fall to his knees with love at the sight of you, I will have something to say about it.’

  Her voice broke into a sob, and Giselle pulled her close. They hugged for a long time as neither wanted to let go of the other, until Agnes pulled free, sniffing away tears.

  ‘Come on, Agnes. Be of good cheer. We will go down to the hall with our heads held high.’

  ‘Yes, we will, for we are the de Villers of Ravensworth, and besides, what’s the worst that can happen?

  Giselle squared her shoulders and tried to still her trembling hands. It was all very well reassuring her servant with bold words, but she had a bad feeling about this, and she could not seem to shake it.

  ***

  When they entered the hall, Giselle gasped in surprise. It was far grander than she had expected, in contrast to the shabbiness of Wulversmeade’s exterior. The room was clad in ornate oak panelling, with a gallery at one end, and it was bright with hung tapestries, spun through with gilt thread which caught the firelight.

  Sir Hugh’s people were finely dressed, and they all turned as she walked in, making her pause. Giselle was not vain, but she knew that she drew the eye, for her hair alone could do that. It was deep red, a family trait, and though tamed tonight into plaits coiled around her head, she knew it made her stand out. She had always hated that it did.

  For an instant, she froze as people crowded around for a closer look, with no pretence of good manners, and then Sir Hugh rushed forwards and took her cold hand in his.

  ‘How splendid you look tonight, Giselle, you do honour to your father.’ He drew back and swept out his arm. ‘May I present to you, my son, and your betrothed, Edric de Mawpas,’ he said, drawing aside to reveal a young man behind him.

  Oh, how Giselle wished she could have met her future husband in private. She tried hard to look delighted, aware that everyone was watching. But it was so hard to keep the disappointment from her face when presented with the plump young man stepping forward with a sullen expression.

  Edric bowed low before her, took her hand limply in his, and kissed it with thin lips.

  ‘It is an honour, Lady de Villers,’ said Edric, ‘and I do declare myself the luckiest man in Christendom for getting such a beautiful wife,’ he continued, smiling at those around him. ‘I am your most humble servant, Giselle. May I call you that?’

  His smile was broad, but it did not quite reach his eyes, and Giselle suspected it was for the sake of the onlookers, rather than her.

  ‘Of course, you may, Lord Edric. I am pleased to meet you at last,’ she said, feeling sick with disappointment.

  Edric held out his arm to lead her to the high table, and Giselle took it. She wanted to recoil from this stranger, she did not want to touch him, but instead, she fixed a soft smile on her face.

  This was not what she had expected. This was not the kind of man who young girls dreamt about marrying. Edric de Mawpas looked as though he were made of dough, so pale and soft was he. His face was plain and pudgy and sallow, eyes small and a limpid blue, and there was little warmth or humour in them. He was a deal shorter than her and had nothing in his looks to recommend him. Unfortunately, he did not seem to realise his shortcomings and addressed her in an arrogant and pompous tone far beyond his twenty-three years.

  ‘It is such a delight to meet you, Lady Giselle, I trust your journey was not too unpleasant?’

  ‘We journeyed as comfortably as possible, and it was well worth it, for Wulversmeade is quite magnificent.’

  ‘Aye well, my father has been blessed with good fortune over the years, unlike some.’

  Giselle cast a glance at him and frowned. Edric was still smiling benignly at her, but his words were at odds with his demeanour. Had she misread the spite in them? Was she just imagining it or had he just made a cruel barb at her family’s misfortune?

  Edric said nothing more until they reached the dais where he pulled out a chair for her in a show of chivalry. He smiled as he poured wine for her, and when his father stood up to toast their union and welcome her to the family, he grabbed her hand and squeezed it, beaming at those around him.

  The food was brought in, a magnificent banquet of pheasant and suckling pig and thick-crusted pies. Giselle could feel many pairs of eyes on her and, when she glanced up, she caught the eye of a young man. There was adoration in his expression as he smiled pleasantly at her, and then looked away. At least someone approved of her, as her betrothed did not seem to. Perhaps she had offended him in some way without realising, for Edric addressed her no further as he sat there, filling his face with food and copious amounts of wine, like a pig with its snout in a trough.

  Giselle took some of the delicacies on offer, but could not eat a bite. She felt it prudent to say nothing until Edric addressed her.

  Suddenly he spoke. ‘You should eat, keep your strength up for, soon, you will need it.’

  Giselle looked at him quizzically.

  ‘Two days hence,’ he said, still chewing, ‘we are to be wed. I begged my father for a few more days of freedom, but he has denied me, as usual.’ He threw a cup of wine down his throat in one gulp and belched.

  ‘So soon?’

  ‘You don’t look pleased, Giselle. Well, that makes two of us.’ He glanced slyly over at his father to ensure he was not overheard. ‘Let us have no more pretence here,’ he said, wiping grease off his face with the back of his hand. ‘My father has ordered me to marry you or lose my inheritance, a singular piece of irony, seeing as marrying you is diluting my inheritance tenfold.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Giselle in horror.

  ‘The only reason my father agreed to this union in the first place was in payment of a debt.’

  ‘It was a pledge, not a debt.’

  ‘Some foolish pledge then, made years ago in the heat of the moment. One which my father never thought he would have to honour. So you know of it?’

  ‘Yes, I know. Our fathers were comrades in arms, friends for years and my father saved your father’s life at the siege of Acre. Sir Hugh promised that one of his children would marry a de Villers as a mark of his gratitude.’

  ‘Yes, but that was when your father’s star was rising, but now I hear rumours that it is waning and that Baron de Villers is sickening and has fallen on hard times. So I am the unlucky son who has to take an impoverished wife who brings no acceptable marriage portion, little wealth and land, just because your father has written, begging bowl in hand, calling in old favours.’

  Edric’s insult to her father stirred Giselle’s anger, and her face grew hot with it. ‘Do you think I wanted to marry under such circumstances? Do
you think it is easy for me?

  ‘Well you, my dear, have no choice, whereas I had my sights set far higher than the poor daughter of a fallen Baron. At least you are pretty and won’t embarrass me in that regard. God help you if you were plain, as well as penniless.’

  ‘If this union is so distasteful, don’t wed me then. Refuse your father.’

  He smiled at her nastily. ‘There’s the rub. If I refuse to honour his promise, I will be thrown out and left to fend for myself. He is not very fond of me, you see, so he has set me to marrying you as my penance for my sins.’

  ‘Which I am sure are many.’

  ‘Oh yes, for the most part, gluttony, licentiousness and drunkenness,’ he announced with pride.

  Dear father had begged her to do this. She couldn’t let him down. ‘Neither of us wants this Edric, but can we not make the best of it?’

  ‘No, Giselle, I will not make the best of it. My older brothers go off to war and glory, or to court in London, while I am stuck here, in this dreary place, to oversee an old man and his mouldering castle, with an unworthy wife foisted on me.’

  ‘I am not unworthy, you are.’

  Edric grabbed her hand and squeezed it spitefully until she thought her bones might break. ‘When we are wed, tomorrow, for I cannot cling on to my freedom longer than that, you will learn the prudence of obedience, or I will deal with that tongue of yours.’

  He released her and sat back in his chair. ‘Oh, and Giselle, I expect you to provide me with some sport. What you lack in coin I expect you to make up for in enthusiasm when you share my bed. You owe me that much at least.’

  Edric rose with a loud scrape of his chair, and stalked away from the table and out of the hall.

  The Earl watched him go with a hard look on his face and then he leant towards Giselle.

  ‘Don’t mind my son, he is a half-wit, good for nothing. He’ll do as he’s told. I will honour my pledge to your father. Ah, it stirs my blood to think on it now. Made it at Acre as it was falling, with the infidel’s blood still wet on our hands where I pulled an arrow out of his shoulder, an arrow meant for my heart. If he hadn’t shielded me with his body, I would not be here today offering you the tiresome fruit of my loins. Don’t look so glum. I know Edric’s not much to look at, but you will have a protector in life at least. We will get this thing done soon, before my son cuts and runs, eh?’