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Turn on to the next page to read the first chapters of Conquered by a Beastly Highlander, one of my best stories so far!
Preview: Conquered by a Beastly Highlander
Prologue
Before the War
Tormod Dunaidh watched them all dance, his eyes focused only on his star as she shone through the heavens. He had taken part in the first reel, to be polite, but he didn’t dance well or often, and so was content to watch from the sideline since.
Much to Roibert’s eternal disappointment. I dinnae think I’ll ever stop disappointin’ him.
Roibert Dunaidh was Tormod’s best friend and cousin, though as much by birth as by circumstance. The two had been born within days of each other five-and-twenty years before and had been inseparable ever since. They even looked similar, tall, dark-haired, and with the warm brown eyes that all the men in their family seemed to sport.
They’d been nearly impossible to tell apart as children, but that changed when they aged. Where Tormod was obviously muscled and bulky, Roibert was slender and toned. Tormod’s beard and hair were wild, though not unkempt–the thick dark curls simply refused to stay in one place. Roibert kept his beard short, and his hair was straight and tidy.
But that wasn’t what made them stand out from each other. No, that was their personalities. Roibert had been blessed with a silver tongue and the ability to charm with a smile. Tormod, on the other hand, just had the strength. He could hold his own well enough, but his manners were rough, and he found people and their complexities extraordinarily nonsensical at times.
Bit of a problem when ye’re soon to be the Laird of a sizable clan and ye cannae even talk to the girl of yer dreams for fear of mistakenly offendin’ her.
Because, for Tormod, it always came back to her. To Anabella.
Anabella MacAlpien was just twenty-years old, but already she was the finest woman that Tormod had ever met. She was the daughter of Ringean MacAlpien, Laird of the neighboring Clan Galloway. Therefore she and Tormod had moved in the same circles since childhood.
He didn’t know when he’d started to love her. Perhaps it was when she had first accepted a dance when they were in their adolescent years. Or maybe it was when she had been truly introduced to society, and he saw her as the woman she was rather than the girl she’d been.
Or maybe I was just always meant to love her. A woman like that deserves to be loved.
Anabella had long dark hair that cascaded down her back in an inky waterfall. Combined with her ivory skin and large gray eyes, it made her look like some Seelie princess. As she’d grown, she’d developed generous curves in her hips and chest, and Tormod knew he was not the only one to take notice.
He’d tried, at every event that his Clan–the Seaghaghs–and the Galloways both attended. He’d brought her gifts. He’d dined with her a few times. He’d held conversations and gotten to know her. He’d made it very obvious that he was attempting to court her, but he still could not tell if she returned his feelings.
And ye will nae just ask. A big lad like ye, scared of a lass.
Well, it was true. She did scare him. Nobody else held more of his happiness in her grasp.
Now was the time. There was a war brewing on the horizon, and Tormod needed to act before he went off to fight. He needed her to know of his adoration lest he never return and spend the rest of eternity in regret. He needed to take his tentative courtship and turn it into a real offer.
He’d almost begged off attending the dance, such was his fear. He could face down armies without flinching, but this was more daunting than any command. But Roibert had pushed him, reminding him that, at five-and-twenty and as heir to an entire clan, it was far past time he was wed.
But still, he had no idea how to approach her. She was dancing with everyone, confident and bright like the sun. He knew that some part of her was assessing every single male candidate on his suitability to be her husband.
If I dinnae act, I’ll lose her forever.
Roibert was dancing with her now, whispering to her, no doubt trying to promote his awkward cousin in her mind and heart. Of Roibert, at least, Tormod had no concerns. Though he was charming and loving, Roibert had firmly stated for years that he had no intention of ever marrying. He preferred the company of his friends, his cousin, and his dogs to that of women.
Which is all good for Roibert. He’s nae a Laird, just me advisor and cousin. He can do whatever he likes.
And what Roibert liked, apparently, was to be approaching him now, leading Anabella by the arm.
Tormod swallowed and got to his feet, feeling the sweat on the palm of his hands and the racing of his heart as he watched them approach.
Now or never.
“Ye remember me cousin, Seaghagh the Younger,” Roibert said cheerfully. “His friends call him Tormod, and his Maither calls him Torry.”
Tormod coughed, wondering just how bad it would make him look if he punched his cousin now for his teasing.
But Anabella smiled at him, and his embarrassment was immediately forgotten. “Of course, I remember. How do ye do, Sir?”
“Aye, I’m fair grand, Maid Galloway. Ye’re a fine dancer; I was watchin’ ye dance with me cousin here,” Tormod replied.
She nodded gracefully. “Thank ye. Dinnae ye want to dance as well?”
Roibert nudged him with his elbow, and Tormod cleared his throat. “Aye,” he said gruffly. “I mean, nay, I’m nae such a good dancer. Two left feet and all that. Me cousin is definitely the better option for ye.”
“Oh,” Anabella replied, and from Roibert’s exasperated expression, Tormod knew he’d said the wrong thing.
Idiot. She wanted to dance with ye, ye pillock!
“Tormod and I are off to the front lines on the dawn,” Roibert told her. “Tormod’s Faither, me Laird Uncle, has always believed that the rulin’ family owes it to their people to fight at their sides, and Tormod believes the same.”
“That’s very noble,” Anabella said, her gray eyes wide and innocent and even admiring. It was an expression that made Tormod’s heart thrum in his chest. “Will ye be quite safe, Sirs?”
“I hope so,” Tormod replied. “Me Faither has trained me for battle since a young age. Yer own Faither will be joinin’ us soon enough, will he nae?”
Anabella nodded. “Aye, much as I wish he would nae. Fightin’ is a young man’s game, but our clans are allies, and he’ll stand with Seaghagh in this war.”
Tormod nodded his head. “We appreciate his bravery, ye ken.”
Roibert rolled his eyes just out of Anabella’s sight, then said, “Actually, Tormod was tellin’ me before we got here that he wanted to speak with ye tonight. Were ye nae, Tormod?”
He felt the skin under his thick beard go hot as her gaze turned questioning. “Er…aye, actually. If…if ye’ve got the time and dinnae mind.”
Hesitantly, Anabella asked, “Talk? Now? With Roibert with us?”
“Nae, I was wonderin’ if ye might nae want to…take a walk in the gardens?” Tormod asked. He could barely believe that he was saying such a thing, that he was acting so bold–but it was the right thing to do, and he knew it.
“I…I cannae,” she replied. His heart sank, but she quickly added, “Nae because I dinnae want to, but…me Faither will nae allow me to be alone with a lad, nae tonight at such an event. But if ye cared to dance–?”
Roibert nudged him again, but Tormod didn’t need the encouragement this time. “Aye, of course,” he said, trying to swallow his disappointment, “just be patient with
me.”
She smiled. “Let’s go, then.”
He followed her, and they took their place in the dancing circle. The whole time they danced, he was trying to build up the courage to ask her now, while nobody was looking. It may not be as private as he wished, but as they effortlessly matched each other’s steps, it was as private as they’d get.
The dance brought them close together, and he said, “Anabella, I’ve been…there’s somethin’ I wanted to ask–”
She shook her head, but she didn’t look upset. “Nay, nae now,” she said–practically pleaded. “Whatever ye have to ask me, pray wait until ye return from the war. I cannae bear to act like all is normal now.”
And then the dance was over, and she was walking away, and Tormod tried not to let anyone see how his heart was crumbling to dust.
Chapter 1
After the War
The war raged for a solid year, and Tormod was fueled by one thing–that Anabella was waiting to hear his question when he returned. He thought of her nightly while they camped out at the borders of the Clan.
Though her father fought with them, he did not see him often. That was good because he had barely an idea what sort of thing he could possibly say to the man.
But now the fighting was over, and it was time to return home. Tormod’s own father, Alec Dunaidh, Laird of Seaghagh, had been injured many months before. Though the Laird had wished to stay on the field until he had recovered, his progressed age and his importance to the Clan had finally made him listen to Tormod’s insistence that he go home to recover.
Stubborn old man. I cannae wait to see him again and let him ken of our victory over the Lowlanders.
The Sassenach attackers had truly tested their limits. Still, Tormod, in his father’s stead, had led the army to its eventual victory. His debt to Clan Galloway and their other neighbors, Clan Wrightley, would not soon be forgotten. The combination of the soldiers and tactics of all three clans had brought them the win they so desperately needed.
The army camp was only halfway home, still a few days ride away when the messenger found them, and the thrill of victory that had surrounded them all drained away. The messenger approached Tormod and Roibert directly and spoke the words that would change his life forever.
“Yer Faither’s wounds were worse than we thought,” he said solemnly. “I’m sorry for yer loss.”
“I dinnae understand,” Tormod said, though he did, and he didn’t know how he was supposed to comprehend it.
The messenger gave him a sad smile and a bow. “Ye’re the Laird now.”
These words spun around and around Tormod’s head, and he wondered as he traveled the rest of the way home in an exhausted blur if they’d ever leave again.
There was a state funeral and a small private one, and Tormod had not been able to cry at either. Tormod’s stepmother, Mairead, was inconsolable. As the oldest son, and most importantly, as the Laird, his job was to remain stalwart in the face of his pain. His stepmother and his younger half-brother, Doran, did not need to deal with politics on top of their grief.
After the funerals, the chain of visitors started. Unsurprisingly, many of the Lairds and lesser nobles brought with them their single daughters, ready to capture the unwed new Laird of Seaghagh in an inescapable alliance.
Had Tormod been another man, this latest Laird’s daughter would have been more than enough temptation to break through his grief and abandon all thoughts of Anabella. Siona MacTiridh was two-and-twenty, an accomplished woman with skill at the harp and at song. She was quietly respectful while her father paid his well wishes to the new Laird, and tolerably well-spoken when Tormod engaged her in conversation.
And she was beautiful, he had to admit that. Tall, blonde, blue-eyed, and well proportioned. She did not walk with the air of someone aware of her graces; instead, she was timid and sweet.
“She’d make a good wife,” Mairead told him after the second night of the MacTiridhs’ visit. “She’s a kind lass. And she kens the business of Lairdship. Will ye nae consider askin’ for her hand? I ken her Faither is more than eager.”
Tormod sighed. “It’s nae that simple, Mairead,” he replied. “There’s…a lass. A lass I’ve been waitin’ for since before the war. Since before that, even. I love her, and I promised…I promised her I’d–”
“Ye love her?” Mairead echoed. There was a soft sadness in her eyes. “Aye, I ken what it is to love. I loved yer Faither, more than me own heart, me own breath. If ye’re sure about this lass, then I’ll put MacTiridh off, dinnae ye worry.”
So the days passed, and the MacTiridhs left. The next visitor came, then another, and then finally, a month after the funeral, the Laird of Galloway arrived along with his wife. With them, they brought their daughter and their younger son.
Calum MacAlpien, the heir to Galloway, was ten-and-four-years old, and he and Tormod’s three-and-ten year old half-brother Doran bonded immediately. His mother, Ceit, was pleasant to Mairead, and of course, Tormod knew the Laird from the battlefield. All in all, it was a pleasant visit.
Apart from the fact that I cannae seem to get Anabella alone.
In fact, if he didn’t know better, he would think she was avoiding him. But Roibert had assured him that his mysterious words before the war had been naught but encouragement. After all, everyone was acting a little strangely in reaction to Tormod’s father’s death.
I’ve just got to try harder.
He did, and it paid off on the last night before the MacAlpiens were due to leave. He found Anabella walking out in the gardens by the grand fountain his stepmother loved so much, and he called out her name.
“Anabella! Wait!” he called.
She looked around, wide eyed and surprised, then sank into a curtsy. “Seaghagh,” she said, straightening up. “I was nae expectin’ ye out here. I hope I’m nae trespassin’?”
Why was there a stutter in her voice? “Tresspassin’? Nay. I dinnae ken if ye remember, Anabella, but before the war started, I told ye I had a question for ye,” he told her.
Ye sound like a ramblin’ fool. Why did Roibert get all the smoothness of speech?
She swallowed, and he noticed an odd flicker to her eyes as she said, “I remember. What…what I mean to say is, did ye intend to…ask me now?”
He hadn’t, actually. He had planned it to be in a much more romantic setting, with much more preparation. But here, in the dark and next to the fountain, might be the only chance he would get. He coughed nervously. “Aye. I wondered if ye might…now that I’m Laird, I need a wife, and…I’ve admired ye for a long time–”
He trailed off, watching her expression. Though she was attempting to keep her smile, there was something like…was that fear in her eyes? Indeed, when he glanced at her hand, it was shaking.
What’s happenin’? Have I gotten it all wrong?
She bowed her head. “I’m flattered, Laird. Truly. But I dinnae…I think ye may find a better wife elsewhere.”
Her tone was too polite, and the intimidation too obvious, and it hit Tormod like a ton of bricks.
She doesnae love me. She’s never loved me. It was wishful thinkin’ and fancy. And now I’ve asked me question, and she’s told me for sure. She doesnae want me.
“Oh,” he said soberly. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didnae mean to make ye feel discomfort.”
He couldn’t see well in the dark, but he was sure she was blushing. “Dinnae…dinnae worry yerself, Laird,” she said, her voice still shaking. “I, er–”
“Go,” he said softly, and with a grateful look, she ran off, leaving him alone.
The next month or so passed in a blur, and Tormod was not sure he could recall it even if he wished to later. He spent much of it between his bedroom and his study, speaking little but to Roibert, Mairead, and the familiar young maid who brought him meals, Mariorie Boid.
He knew he must be wed soon regardless. He was Laird now, and his only heir was his half-brother. Doran was a good lad, but he was not so much young
er than Tormod that he felt it could secure a legacy. And besides that, the boy’s mind was elsewhere. He dreamed of traveling the world when he grew, not waiting for his brother to die to take a seat he did not want.
Even apart from all of that, it was every Laird’s duty to pass the seat on to his son one day.
I simply must marry. I’d be disappointin’ me Faither did I not.
Mairead was worried about him, too. He knew that. He wondered if she’d guessed–or perhaps Roibert had told her–about Tormod’s failure with Anabella. He owed his stepmother some positive news, and if that meant he must wed for duty rather than love, so be it.
Tormod spent some days thinking of all the eligible young women who had either shown interest or been suggested by their fathers. The choice, looking at it so bluntly, was evident.
“Mariorie,” he called.
The young maid with her round face and pretty short blonde bob appeared in an instant. “Aye, Laird?” she asked in that pleasant trill of hers.
She was a good lass, and Tormod was glad that Mairead had found her. “Mariorie, can ye do me a favor and get a message sent for me?”
“Aye?” the maid asked. “What message would that be?”
“To Laird Gregor MacTiridh of Rochel. Please let him ken I’d be pleased if I could arrange a meetin’ between me and his daughter Siona at his earliest convenience.”
The maid nodded and scurried out of the room, and Tormod sighed.
It’s done. I’ll wed Siona, and I’ll be happy.
He’d finally be able to put Anabella out of his mind forever. She’d never belonged there in the first place, after all. Over the next few weeks, he set about doing just that.
And yes, he may suffer pangs in his heart from time to time, but what man didn’t still ache from his first love?
Highlander's Trials of Fire: A Steamy Scottish Historical Romance Novel Page 28