JUST in TIME
for a
HIGHLAND CHRISTMAS
A Highland Gardens Novella
Book 2.5
by Dawn Marie Hamilton
BACK COVER BLURB
Can a determined brownie craft a perfect match in time for Christmas?
When the Chief of Clan MacLachlan travels to the stronghold of his feuding neighbors to fetch his betrothed, she is gone. A year later, she is still missing. Making life more vexing, a band of reivers are stealing clan cattle, leaving behind destruction. Archibald MacLachlan determines to capture them and administer harsh punishment.
Though once in love with the man, Isobell Lamont refuses to wed her clan's enemy. After running away, she joins the band of reivers set on revenge.
Can Archibald forgive the raven-haired beauty? Will a journey through time bring them together for a Highland Christmas?
Journey from the Scottish Highlands of 1511 to the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina with Just in Time for a Highland Christmas.
COPYRIGHT
Copyright © Dawn Marie Wolzein, November 2014
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is coincidental.
DEDICATION
This novel is dedicated to those who cheer Christmas spirit.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
So many individuals helped bring this book to fruition, and I thank you.
Thank you to Cindy Davis for editorial guidance. To Cathy MacRae and Cate Parke for critiques. With a special thank you to Sarah Hoss. Words cannot convey how important you are to me.
Thank you to the members of Celtic Hearts, From the Heart, FF&P Romance Writers and my Luckies for keeping me sane.
Most importantly, I thank Frank, my husband, best friend, and personal hero.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
JUST in TIME for a HIGHLAND CHRISTMAS
BACK COVER BLURB
COPYRIGHT
DEDICATION
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ALSO FROM DAWN MARIE HAMILTON
FUTURE WORKS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PROLOGUE
Fir-wood, Strathlachlan, Scotland, 1511
They weren’t alone on the land. Branches rustled and cracked, the sound amplified by moist Highland air. Archibald signaled the men to silence.
A lone rider broke from an adjacent clump of trees, glanced around, then galloped through the amber grass, leaning low against the stallion's black neck. The slight figure looked over a shoulder once before darting into the wood at the far edge of the meadow and disappearing through autumnal foliage.
Archibald released a loud hiss. The path the fool had taken at risk to both horse and rider was nothing more than a narrow game trail, a dangerous track to approach at such speed.
“Ach, that ragged lad rides well,” the redheaded Duncan exclaimed.
Archibald eased back in the saddle and threw his cousin a sideways glance. "He rides a fine piece of horseflesh, I grant you that. He is likely one of the Campbell's rash, young grandsons."
“Without guards, and on MacLachlan land? Nae Campbell would dress in such tatters.”
Duncan's aghast expression brought a smile along with a forgotten memory to Archibald. As green lads, he and his twin brother Patrick had dressed in servants’ castoff garments and snuck away from Castle Lachlan for a jaunt in the Fir-wood. They later received a memorable scalping when Da caught them roaming about without escort.
“Must be a Campbell lad unaware of the border to our land. I am sure he will feel his father's disfavor across his backside before this day is through. That is, if he avoids breaking his neck first.”
“Aye. For a fact, Chief.” Duncan laughed. A hearty sound that never failed to cheer Archibald.
Poor lad. Duncan braved his temper on this frustrating journey. He'd owe the man a boon upon their return to Castle Lachlan after they fetched Archibald’s bride.
“Let us be on our way, I want my lady ensconced within our keep before winter sets in.”
He reined his horse to the left toward the more traveled trail through the Fir-wood, eager to reach Toward Keep, the stronghold of the Lamonts. Duncan rode at his side as captain while the rest of the Lèine-chneas, his hand chosen guard, followed a short distance behind.
The image of laughing violet eyes urged Archibald to a faster pace. He couldn't wait to hold the raven-haired Isobell in his arms again, inhale her intoxicating scent, caress her ivory skin, and kiss her pouty lips.
* * *
The sun set on the horizon. Crimson colors faded to mauve, a beautiful end to the day after its wet and trying start. Isobell Lamont spurred her horse to greater speed. She would escape the dictates of her overbearing father, even if she might die in so doing.
Her aunt in Glasgow would surely hide her, if Isobell avoided capture. Before she reached the burgh, however, she must cross the land of her unwanted MacLachlan betrothed, the hated Campbells, and other clans she didn't ken. She reveled in the knowledge her journey might be fraught with peril. She'd always dreamt of doing something truly adventurous.
The doing is never as grand as the dream. With a shake of the head, she ignored the nagging voice admonishing her and rode into the wind, the scent of fir in the air and an invigorating chill on her cheeks.
After risking discovery by crossing yet another open meadow, she eased the reins and sought the wood. Thank the good Lord the weather had cleared. She coaxed Dealanach Dubh into the shelter of a thick cluster of firs and slid from the stallion's massive back.
“Good lad,” she crooned as she patted his sweaty flank, a horsy odor prickling her nose.
Isobell's stomach rumbled. Should have raided the larder before running off in a rage. Dealanach Dubh could graze on the sparse grasses, but what could she eat? Would she never learn to think before reacting to Da in anger?
She'd needed to escape, though, before Archibald MacLachlan arrived to fetch her. She wouldn't marry her clan’s enemy even if she once thought herself in love with the man. It didn’t matter that his once-beloved silver eyes, cleft chin, and chestnut hair still haunted her dreams, or that the thought of his warrior’s body made her feel achy. She squeezed her eyes tight, refusing to shed a tear over a man who wasn’t what she once believed him to be. Grrrr. And Da intended to force her hand. He’d signed the betrothal agreement with the blessing of the king, giving her no choice but to run away. What had changed Da’s mind?
She jerked her eyes open and stared off into the wood. For the past year, he’d raged about the evils perpetrated by Archibald and his clan. She couldn’t wed such a despicable man even if Da changed his mind and thought the match a good one. The men's plans would come to naught. She leaned against a large tree and smiled.
Soon she would be in Glasgow, away from their schemes.
Wrapped within the false security of the dense trees, men's voices startled her. Everything within stilled. What have I stumbled upon?
After tying Dealanach Dubh to a branch, she crept closer to the voices, taking care to stay well hidden in the trees. In a wee clearing, a group of ratty men sat around a fire deep in discussion. She worried her bottom lip. Had she inadvertently stumbled into grave danger?
A sudden change in wind direction blew acrid wood smoke into her face. She sniffled, wrinkled her nose, and when she suppressed a sneeze, sagged against a tree in relief.
Gloaming was upon them, and Isobell strained to better see the men. Reprobates all. She started to scoot away— Wait. She recognized a few of them. Lamont warriors who’d left the clan in disgrace and, if rumors were true, taken up with Da’s banished henchman Malcolm Maclay. The warriors must have joined this band of ruffians after Maclay died during a fight with one of Archibald’s men.
She leaned forward to better hear the conversation. Perhaps glean something of import.
Most of their words were spoken in muttered whispers. With a frown, she edged closer, but then had second thoughts. Now would be a good time to leave before they learned of her presence. Too late. One man rose and paced toward her hiding place. Isobell fingered the dirk in her belt, ready to flee, but when he strode back to his cohorts, she held position.
“If we raid the MacLachlan encampment on the northeast border, we can make an escape across the disputed land with at least five head,” the man spoke in a deep voice.
Humph. They were planning—
A large hand gripped her shoulder from behind and yanked her around. She froze, breath stuck in her throat, too shocked by the familiar face to pull free her blade.
“What have we here?”
CHAPTER ONE
One year later
Near the border of MacLachlan and Lamont lands
Voices raised in anger startled a foraging wren. The disparate normalcy within the scene of devastation struck Archibald in the chest, constricting muscle. Legs planted wide, he pounded a fist against his thigh. This had happened too often in the past year.
“Were all the cattle stolen?” he managed to ask through gritted teeth.
“Aye. I have failed you.” The head herdsmen hung his head.
“Nae.” Archibald squeezed the man’s shoulder, offering solace. He couldn’t allow the man to accept fault for his inability as clan chief to protect his people and livestock. Rage choked him, and he swallowed hard. “Fires still burn. They cannot have gotten far.”
He grabbed his reins, anxious to give chase. The horse shied, rearing, sensing his agitation, yet the damn brunaidh remained steady where he stood on the beast's rump. Although a mere three feet tall, the MacLachlan clan brownie possessed oversized hands and feet. Feet that allowed for good balance.
Arms crossed over chest, muscles aquiver, Munn clenched a permanently wrinkled forehead even tighter and eyed the devastation from his superior position. The unusual blue-green of his eyes smoldered. Evidence of the wee man's ire caused Archibald's fury to flame hotter. This was the third raid in a fortnight. If they couldn't capture the thieves and recover the stolen cattle, the clan would be hard-pressed to survive winter.
“Lamont broke the truce,” Archibald growled, heat flooding his face.
“You cannot be sure ’tis Lamont,” Uncle Donald said. “Could have been Campbell men. Alexander threatened retribution. Should never have angered him by breaking his betrothal to your sister Elspeth.”
One of the injured herdsmen limped forward and dipped his head in respect. “May I speak?”
Archibald nodded though his mind had shifted to strategy.
“There was something odd about one of the reivers—a slight lad who rode a fine beast with more skill than any man I have ever seen. A stallion the color of darkest night. And when the lad’s cap slipped, ach, well, his long hair was like that of a lass and of the darkest night as well.”
Archibald shot a glance at Duncan whose eyebrows rose in question. Could it be the same horse and rider they’d seen last year?
“See. I told you. The Campbell is behind this.” Donald gloated. “Who else’s lad rides such a beast?”
Archibald glared at his uncle. “We have nae feud with the Campbells so dinnae place blame where none belongs. Alexander’s father is still the Earl of Argyll and holds command over the clan. He and I came to an accord; Elspeth’s marriage to Finn was for the best. You agreed at the time.” Archibald was sick to death of Donald’s unwarranted hatred of their Campbell neighbors. For Christ’s sake, his stepmother Mairi was born a Campbell, God rest her soul.
Hatred should be directed at the Lamonts. They were the ones responsible for Mairi and Da’s disappearance and probable demise. Part of the never-ending feud. And the claims made by the addlebrained Finn MacIntyre were nonsense. People couldn’t travel through time. His stepmother and father didn’t travel on faerie dust to the future. They went missing after being chased by Lamont warriors, and certainly perished. If not dead, they would have found their way home before now. Archibald rubbed his chest where tightness threatened to crush him.
Damn Lamont and his clan. Damn them to hell.
Yet the description of the lad and horse resembled that of another lad who’d daringly crossed MacLachlan land a year ago. At the time, they’d thought him a Campbell, but he could have been anyone. No Campbell, to Archibald’s knowledge, possessed dark hair.
Dark hair reminded him of Lamont’s daughter Isobell, his betrothed, missing for the past year, and brought another dagger slice to an already-damaged heart. Their marriage had been meant to bring an end to the feud and peace to the neighboring clans.
“And you, Isobell, let me guess, you wish to wed Archie.”
She nodded. “Aye. With all my heart.”
Patrick and Isobell’s words from so long ago haunted him, driving the breath from his lungs. What happened to harden her heart against him? Her father claimed she ran away so she wouldn’t be required to wed. Why? They’d been in love. Why would she stay hidden? Could it be she wasn’t in hiding—what if something had happened while she’d been out riding?
“Chief?” Duncan’s voice startled Archibald.
He unclenched his fists and shook off the troubling memory. He would fulfill his vow to find her. Just as soon as he punished those who perpetrated the destruction that lay before him. Failure was unacceptable. The clan’s survival depended on success.
“Aye?”
“Shall I stay and help?”
“Nae. You are needed for the hunt. Send a fast-running gillie to the keep to procure supplies and manpower to assist with the cleanup and rebuild—”
Munn’s throat grinding made Archibald stiffen, certain he wouldn’t care for the brownie’s counsel. “Dinnae lecture, wee man.”
“Said naught.” Munn jumped from the horse and marched about the scorched land. “Nae Campbells.” He sniffed the ground, glanced at the overcast sky, and scrunched his nose in distaste. “Nae Lamont warriors.”
He paced, shaking his head and muttering.
Archibald banged a closed fist on his thigh in quick repetition. “Well? If ’tis not Campbells nor Lamonts, who?”
“Renegades.”
“How do you ken such?”
“Just ken.” Munn wrinkled his nose and sniffed again. “Ach, a female.”
Archibald placed a hand over his mouth and coughed.
Duncan burst out laughing. “A woman traveling with reivers? You must be mad to think such, Munn.”
The wee man bristled, rose to his full three feet, and glowered.
Archibald shook his head.
“Mark my words.” Munn spun in a circle and vanished with the smoke from the smoldering fires.
* * *
Munn whirled onto the Sithichean Sluaigh, the knoll of the fae within the Fir-wood, spinning in tight circles, sucking leaves and other forest de
bris into the whirlwind surrounding him. Fuel for an all-consuming anger. When the rage petered out, he halted in front of Caitrina in a puff of smoke-infused dust.
The irritating sithiche coughed delicately and, with the flick of a slender wrist, the dust settled on the ground at her feet and dissolved. A wave of a graceful hand, and foliage poked through the velvety green grass, presenting vanilla scented phlox blossoms. Showoff.
She arched an auburn brow and tossed long flowing locks over a shoulder. “What do you want, wee man? Your summons interrupted important machinations.”
“’Tis past time to make the third match.”
Caitrina shrugged. “The queen refuses to reveal the couple’s identities.”
“I ken who they are.” Munn jounced, hardly containing growing excitement.
Emerald eyes flared. “How would you ken the mind of the fae queen? You are naught but a wee brownie.”
“Stop calling me wee.” Munn glared at the halfling princess. “The queen requested my help once before.”
“And you made a mess of things.” Tall and willowy like most of her kind, Caitrina looked down her pert nose at him. He leaned forward, hands fisted.
“Did not.”
“Did so.”
Caitrina pressed a palm against his chest and pushed. He fell back a step, losing balance, but recovering quickly, glared at the faerie.
She had the gall to smile. “Well, if you are so knowledgeable, who are the pawns in the queen’s game?”
Munn rocked back and forth, feeling smug. “Archibald and Isobell.”
“Phew! Impossible.”
“I smelled Isobell at the scene of a cattle raid on MacLachlan land.”
Dawn Marie Hamilton - Highland Gardens Page 1