by Bambi Lynn
Table of Contents
Prequel in the GODS Series
About This Book
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Excerpt from CAMULUS
Also by Bambi Lynn
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Copyright
Mask of the Highlander
A Gods of the Highlands Novella
Series I, Prequel
Bambi Lynn
Bourdeilles Books
Contents
Prequel in the GODS Series
About This Book
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Excerpt from CAMULUS
Also by Bambi Lynn
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Copyright
Prequel in the GODS Series
Gods of the Highlands
Mask of the Highlander: Ty and Kenna
© 2015 by Bambi Lynn
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ABOUT THIS BOOK
Forced to marry to avoid war between clans, Kenna Cleary endured three days of her new husband's painful brutality before he rode off to battle with the English in France. In the five years of his absence, she bore him a daughter, increased his holdings and gained the love of his people. Now he's home. Must she and the clan learn to endure his cruelty once more?
The Earl of Vass has returned from war a changed man--more so than his wife or clan can possibly know. Now the warrior faces a new battle, one for his wife's heart, and his peoples' trust. He must walk the knife's edge of deception and danger, while proving he is no longer the cruel tyrant they came to know all too well.
But when his father embroils both them in a deadly plot, can the couple find a way to prevent war between the clans?
CHAPTER ONE
Highlands of Scotland, 14th Century
Kenna waited on the stoop. She gripped her cloak beneath her chin with one hand, shivering in the chilly air. Despite the cold, the sky was exceptionally sunny for such a dismal day. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was drier than Innis Cheith in summer. She clenched her other fist so hard her ragged nails drew blood in her palm, a wasted effort to calm her quaking nerves.
He was almost home.
The day she had dreaded for the past five years had arrived. Her husband's party had been spotted on the road from Inverness.
Cold dread settled in the pit of her stomach. Lord, I beg you. Make his horse stumble. A painless snap of his neck as he hits the ground. Even as she let the fantasy wash over her, she knew it would not happen. She had prayed fervently that her husband would never return. Men died in battle every day. Was it too much to ask that God send that devil of a man back to hell?
The sound of thundering hooves reached her before she saw him. The rhythmic thump matched the pounding of her heart. She wanted to run, to find a safe place to hide.
But she knew there was no such place.
He crested the hill, followed by half a dozen men. They tore across the knoll, churning up the earth, and through the gates of Castle Vass. People gathered round to greet the men. They were met with hugs, kisses, squeals of excitement and tears for those who had not returned. But most shied away from Ty Vass. Those who had not felt the lash of his tongue, or his fist, had heard tales that would give a bairn nightmares. The rest knew only too well the danger of drawing the laird's attention.
The men continued to dismount, handing off their horses to boys who led them away toward the stables. Ty sat unmoving on his stallion. Thus far, Kenna had looked everywhere except at him but she could avoid it no longer. If he decided she had humiliated him, his punishment would be harsh indeed.
She pulled her shoulders back and took a deep breath before she snapped her eyes to his.
To his eye.
The other was covered with a black patch. Now he looked as ominous as his brutality proved him to be. Kenna tried to hide her shock, but fear welled up inside her. When his full lips spread into a smile, she almost feinted where she stood.
He stared back at her, that sardonic grin frozen into place. Much of one side of his face was obscured by the patch, but it failed to completely mask his hard features. The breeze caught his long black hair, lifting in a swirl of darkness that matched his homecoming. Kenna laced her fingers in front of her, squeezing tight and praying for strength.
He lifted one leg over his stallion, ensuring his red and black plaid did not entangle with the saddle, and jumped to the ground. Robby, a boy of fewer than ten winters, reluctantly trudged over to retrieve the reins. Ty reached for his head with a grin.
Robby ducked, one hand held up in defense.
Ty's smile changed instantly to a frown as he ruffled Robby's hair. The boy looked up at him, wary and skittish, his small hand outstretched. Ty handed the reins over to him and watched with a troubled expression as he hurried away.
When Robby had disappeared, Ty turned his attention to her. Kenna took a step back, but then forced herself to remain still. She would not cower. He had beat her, cursed her, raped her for three days, consummation of their pact, he claimed. The Munro had forced him to marry her, and Ty Vass had promised to make her suffer for it until the end of his days.
Or hers.
Her own clan chief had made the same demand of her, a last effort to avoid an all-out war between Clan Munro and Clan Mackintosh. She had agreed with an open mind and an open heart. She, as much as anyone, wanted to avoid more fighting between the two clans. She had lost three brothers, and an uncle. Enough had died.
However, she had not reckoned with her betrothed's sadistic nature. He was the devil, an evil brute of a man who enjoyed the pain of others. Kenna had cowered enough during the three days following their wedding. Then he left, praise the Lord. For five years he had been fighting the English in France. Five glorious years during which time she had born a child, increased her husband's income and grown to love his people. As much as she had suffered for those three days, many of the people at Castle Vass had had a lifetime of him.
She was no longer the pitiful young waif he left broken and full of despair. She had agreed to marry him to protect her people. Now she would also look after his. They deserved peace, as well. For the sake of her family and his, she would honor this…marriage. She would see it through if it meant peace between their clans. She would not let him intimidate her further. She would stand up to him, fight back no matter what it cost her.
She was not foolish enough to deliberately provoke him though. It had taken weeks for her to mend after he had left. If not for Mrs. Dingwell, she might not have recovered at all. His abuse had been that severe.
Kenna shivered as a sob bubbled up in the back of her throat. Determined to make the best of it she may be, but she was more frightened of him than she wanted to admit.
Swallowing her fear, she met his gaze. He crossed the bailey with a slight limp. She could only hope it was from an injury that would pain him for the rest of his life, which she would continue to pray would not be long.
The gentle smile he pressed on her as he drew closer did nothing to e
ase her anxiety. She had seen that smile before and knew it hid evil beyond measure. He stopped at the bottom of the stoop and looked up at her with his good eye. Kenna stared back at him, reminding herself not to be afraid. He would not kill her, of that she was certain. Such an action would bring down the wrath of Clan Mackintosh, a price Ty Vass could ill afford. The Munro had threatened to take away all Vass lands if Ty did not make this work.
They each had much to lose without the other. Was that marriage? It certainly was not what she had dreamed of as a girl.
"Do ye no' have a kiss for yer husband, lass?"
***
Kenna swallowed the bile that rose to her mouth and dropped down the two steps to stand before him. With him still on the ground, they met almost eye to eye, but he was so tall, she still had to look up at him. She trembled uncontrollably now.
He wrapped his cruel hands around the upper part of her arms. “Yer shiverin, lass.” He rubbed her arms vigorously through the thick wool of her cloak. “I doona recall having such an effect on ye.” His lazy smile turned her stomach.
With a gentleness that contradicted his cruelty, he pulled her to him with agonizing slowness. Kenna curled her lip as she drew closer. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine that he was someone else. Anyone else. Old Angus the pig farmer would have been better. Ty’s warm breath made her want to retch, not that it was unpleasant. The scent of cinnamon wafted up to her as his lips touched hers.
She expected the sudden urge to heave, not the fiery jolt that shocked her right down to her toes. Her body tingled all over, but her mouth…
Her lips parted seemingly of their own free will. The instant they did, Ty plunged his tongue inside. The courtyard disappeared, leaving them alone even though the bailey still teemed with people. Kenna kept her fists clenched at her sides. Ty’s grip on her upper arms was firm, but not painful. He pulled her closer still until her breasts pressed against his chest. A groan rumbled from deep inside him, vibrating against her own pounding heart.
Kenna let her eyes slide open to be sure it was him, stunned at the emotions roiling within her. His lips were soft, his tongue like velvet gliding across hers. Her breath caught in her throat as excitement threatened to overwhelm her. She was a young girl again, experiencing her first kiss.
But this man was not Gavin. She was not lying amongst the heather in a field overlooking her father’s lands. She was at Castle Vass, a veritable prisoner in her enemy’s lair. The last time Ty Vass had touched her, there had been no hint of tenderness, only pain and humiliation. He had left her scarred, both inside and out, with a longing to end her life. She might have done just that if not for the baby.
The thought of Isla jolted her back to her senses. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to pull back from him. To her utter surprise, he let her, keeping a tight hold on her until she remained steady on her feet. She stared at him, unable to read his thoughts but startled by the raw passion in his expression.
That was a look she knew well. The look of her husband overcome with lust and eager to take what he wanted, by force if at all possible. It had haunted her dreams and led her to the parapets more than once. How many times had she stared at the ground from the top of the castle’s tallest tower and wondered how much it would hurt when she hit the ground?
Hoping to distract him before he kissed her again, she asked, “How did you lose your eye?” Her voice shook with trepidation.
Ty shrugged and reached up to touch the black patch that covered his injury. “Battle scars, a ghrá.” He lifted his hand to her face.
Just like Robby, she instinctively drew away. She regretted it almost immediately. He had trained her well not to pull away from him, but to suffer his abuse unless she wanted it intensified.
He smiled sadly and tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. “Ye need not fear me, Kenna.”
The way he said her name sent warmth up the back of her neck. What game did he play? Did he toy with her so she would let her guard down, making the assault she knew was coming that much more enjoyable for him?
She spotted Isla peering from behind Mrs. Dingwell’s skirt. No! she wanted to scream. Kenna knew she would not be able to keep their daughter from him indefinitely, but she was determined to put it off as long as possible. More than any pain he could inflict on her, she feared what he might do to her baby girl.
She curled her fingers around his arm and urged him up the steps. The bulging muscle there was as hard as stone. She squeezed it gently before she could stop herself. “You must be tired from your journey.” Kenna would have rather had a bad tooth pulled with nary a dram of whiskey than be alone with him. But at that moment her greatest concern was drawing him away from Isla.
Ty lifted one corner of his mouth, a seductive gesture that set her heart to racing. He allowed her to lead him up the steps, then followed her inside.
Kenna forced her feet to keep moving, across the fresh rushes covering the floor and down the dark corridor that led to the stairs. Torches had been wedged into the sconces bracketed to the walls on either side, but only a few had been lit. Steeped in shadow, the narrow passage forced them to walk one behind the other. Heat from his body seared her back. She hurried her steps but he kept pace despite the limp, his longer stride forcing him up against her every time she slowed.
Fear gripped her. To be alone with him in such close confinement was worse than any nightmare. Her nerves were drawn so taut, she actually squealed when he grabbed her hips.
Fear of reprisal made her halt instantly. He crashed into her with a soft "umph", the bulk of his chest pressing against the back of her shoulders. With his hands still holding her captive, he lodged himself into the crevice of her backside.
He was hard against her. Kenna noticed a twitch in her core that was completely foreign to her. She blocked it out. She could only imagine his satisfaction if he guessed she was in any way aroused by him.
"I dinna mean for ye to stop, a ghrá." He buried his face in her hair, his breath tickling the back of her neck. He took a deep breath, causing her to shiver. "'Tis dark in these halls, and I dread losing ye."
She swallowed hard. His whispered words filled her with a mix of dread and anticipation. With a gentle nudge, he urged her forward. Kenna needed no further encouragement. She rushed ahead, eager to quit the tight passage even though the privacy of his bedchamber would provide little more comfort.
They reached the alcove at the end of the corridor and ascended the stairs. When they reached the landing, he pushed the heavy wooden door open and indicated for her to go before him.
Kenna stared into the dark room she had not entered in five years. It was as though she stood on the threshold of hell and the devil himself stood there to usher her inside. She could barely breathe past the knot in her throat, but she well knew the punishment for delay. Dragging her feet, she stepped into the room just far enough for him to close the door behind her. The snick of the latch reminded her of a death knell.
"Now," he said, his voice low, menacing.
She closed her eyes and braced herself. Here it comes.
"Who is the wee lassie yer trying so hard to hide from me?"
***
Concern for her own well-being fled in a single beat of her heart. He would have to kill her before Kenna let any harm come to her child. It made no difference that he was Isla's father.
Again, she felt him at her back. She fought the unease rippling through her and the quiver of her insides.
"She looks like ye," he said, tangling his fingers in her hair and raising the strands to his lips. "Hair the color of a fawn’s coat, thick and silky-looking." He continued to rub her curls against his mouth as he circled around to stand in front of her.
Kenna stared at his chest, eye level with her small stature, and refused to look up at him.
He dropped the lock over her shoulder and cupped her throat in the palm of his hand, curling his calloused fingers around the back of her neck. "Skin like the finest porcelain." With his t
humb beneath her chin, he shifted her head back, forcing her to look up at him. "Eyes the color of the sea before a storm."
The patch covering his left eye lent him an air of malevolence that bordered on devilry. Surely the man was the spawn of Satan.
"Lips like red velvet." His voice, little more than a whisper now, trailed off as he lowered his head.
Kenna steeled herself. She was doing this to protect her daughter. She would use her body to shield Isla, give in to his sadistic demands if he would promise not to harm her.
"So who is she?"
Kenna kept her eyes closed. "She?"
"The lassie."
Her eyes snapped open. Fear gripped her heart.
He spoke again before she could respond. "Any fool can see she is yer bairn." He sat on the edge of the bed, lifted one leg and began tugging at his boot. "Do ye ken who 'er father is?"
Kenna drew her shoulders back and chanced a glare at him. "I have been with no other man."
He peered at her with his good eye. "That would make her four…five?" Failing with his boot, he slammed it down on the wood planks with a curse. "She looks to be little more than two. Come and help me."
His seductive manner was gone, replaced by the gruff, easily annoyed brute she recognized.
"She came early," she stuttered. He held his foot out to her and motioned her forward. Kenna hurried over. His wrath would be vicious indeed if he suspected Isla to be the issue of another man.
She took the heel of his boot in one hand and clamped the other across his ankle. The intimacy of the moment surprised her. Her first instinct was to stroke the soft suede, caress his leg as she attended him.
His leg was heavy, powerful. She met his gaze. His irritation was gone. This new, seductive husband of hers stared back at her with something akin to enlightenment. His lips parted. A war of emotion battled within the emerald depths of his naked eye. Had the color always been so striking?