Lusting for the Highlander: A Steamy Scottish Historical Romance Novel

by Lydia Kendall

“Seize her,” Fordun replied nonchalantly. Immediately two of his guards came from around him with shackles in hand; one carried a set for her feet, the other for her wrists.

  “Is that really necessary?” Jamie Reid asked, speaking up from the other side of the room.

  “I’m afraid it is,” Fordun replied, not hiding the disgust in his voice. “This creature is exceptionally good at finding her way out of her messes. I want to make sure that she can’t get out of finally paying for her sins.”

  At Morgana’s side, both Gregor and Zeus growled protectively. Although Fordun laughed, his guards took an unsure step back.

  “You’ve something to say?” Fordun asked, looking at Gregor. “Or are you going to just stand and growl there like a common mongrel?”

  Gregor took a step toward the man, but one touch from Morgana’s hand stopped him instantly. However, nothing could stop the look of pure fury that was etched across his face.

  “That’s what I thought,” he told Gregor cockily. “Now what did I say? Get. Her. Now.”

  “But the beast, my Lord,” a guard protested.

  Annoyed at the blatant show of cowardice, Fordun rolled his eyes before baring his teeth and pulling his sword out of his sheath.

  “Tell the beast to step down or I’ll ram it through again,” he warned, ready to strike.

  “Zeus, stay,” Morgana said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Stay with Gregor like a good boy.”

  Zeus whined like a pup, but he obeyed his mistress dutifully and stayed by Gregor’s side.

  Fordun watched the exchange with disgust. “How you thick-skulled Highlanders can’t see she’s a witch is beyond me,” he snarled angrily. “No woman of this mortal coil could have such control over a beast.”

  He looked over at his guards, who were still standing, and roared in impatience.

  “Get her, you fools!” he exclaimed.

  Jamie came over to stand beside his nephew and Zeus as Fordun’s men shackled Morgana. She kissed Gregor on the cheek a final time before she was led away from them and brought to Fordun’s side. He watched in pleasure as the two full-grown Scottish men fought to keep their tempers under control.

  “We’ll see you gents tomorrow then?” he asked, thoroughly enjoying the moment. Gregor broke loose from Jamie’s grasp then and he stormed up to Fordun until their noses nearly touched.

  “Aye,” he said, his tone deadly. “And the world will finally see you.”

  In a cocky manner Fordun sniffed at Gregor’s threat, even though he was feeling slightly out of sorts about it. By the time they were outside again he was furious and had decided to make Morgana pay for it. Taking her chain from the guard, he pulled her to him and forced her to walk in front of his group of soldiers and himself like a dog on a leash.

  This time, there were no sneers, just loud cheers from pleasure-starved crowds. Time and time again no matter how poor English folk were put down, they rejoiced in another’s unfortunate position.

  No matter how harsh the insults that were slung at her though, or even the rotten fruit that was lobbed at her head, Morgana kept her head up and her eyes forward at all times. Her chin was raised proudly, her head refusing to bow.

  Cocky little thing, Fordun fumed, growing angry over her nonchalance. Then a twisted smile came over his face, and he relaxed.

  We’ll see just how much that cockiness is still intact after what I have in store for you tomorrow.

  At the Magistrate’s Office, the jailer stayed clear of Fordun and let him lead Morgana into her cell himself. Nor did he say a word, when the Lord locked himself inside of her cell with her. A strong surge of power overcame him as he glared over at the man and watched as he flinched and looked away.

  He loved the control he had over other people. The more he had, the freer he felt. With Morgana’s death finally in place, he would finally experience true, unabashed freedom. But that wasn’t until tomorrow, and he had hours to dwindle to make the night sweeter for him.

  Chapter 32

  As Fordun had promised, he had made up for lost time. Morgana winced as she gently lowered herself down onto the cold, stone floor so she could rest her bruised shoulder there. Her mouth tasted like copper from his fist, and her head ached from a patch of hair that he had nearly yanked out.

  Still, she stuck to her no-screaming policy, and after a while, a fairly short while, Fordun left her alone. Hatred for the man roiled through her like lava. If her skin was as hot as her temper, she would have melted the very stones she was lying upon for cool comfort.

  After a while she pulled herself up onto the mound of straw that was to serve as her bed, and quickly fell into a fitful sleep. In her dreams, she saw the trial. Gregor was there, his body vibrating with fury as he passionately implored the Magistrate to find their evidence worthy. A bright red light radiated out from around his form.

  She saw Fordun too, answering each and every question calmly and in a superior fashion. Surrounding him was an inky black cloud, twisting like spindly tentacles.

  Morgana woke up with a gasp, and found the sunlight slowly filling her cell. Around her the dungeon was abuzz with life, and there were people packed in tight around her cell, staring down at her.

  “She’s awake!” A woman yelled, and the crowd erupted into excitement.

  “Get the jailer! She’s awake!”

  “Move it!” A familiar voice shouted behind the fray. Morgana stood up slowly, taking in the odd scene around her.

  “I said move!” The voice bellowed louder. This time the crowd parted like red sea, and in front of her jail cell door was Bartholomew.

  Relief flooded through her as he gave her a quick wink before putting his angry face on again. He unlocked her door and came in to grab her. As he did so, she whispered into his ear, “What are they doing?”

  “They’re here for the show,” he murmured under his breath, securing her shackles again. “This is a savage city.”

  “Now move,” he commanded, this time loud enough so that everyone could hear. A roar of approval went up among the crowd, and they parted again to let them through. They were almost to the hallway when a mean-looking man stepped in front of them and drew his fist back.

  “Touch the prisoner and I’ll gut you like fish where you stand. Do you understand me, mate?” The words came out quickly and clearly, with a tone just odd enough to make him sound slightly insane. The man sneered, but moved out of their way.

  In the court room, both the main floor and rafters were filled to the brim with onlookers. Another loud roar of crass cheer went up around her as the crowd saw her led in. Bartholomew took her down the main aisle to the court’s stage.

  There, he unlocked the door of the birdcage-like cell and guided her in. She had thought that he was going to push her to emphasize the show, but to her relief, he took her by the crook of the elbow and simply walked her in.

  “Thank you,” she mouthed.

  “Stay strong, Morgana,” Bartholomew whispered. Abruptly he turned his back and headed toward his guard post. Morgana took a moment to look around then, and she spotted Gregor and Jamie not far from her. On the opposite side of their table sat Lord Fordun. The Magistrate sat directly to her right, seated on a highly-elevated platform.

  Morgana looked up at the man who held her fate in his hands, and found him to be rather old and pious, but not powerful. He was simply a man on the verge of being old. A very normal, aging man with leathered, drooping jowls, sad eyes, and a dewlap chin. If it hadn’t been for the finery he was wearing, Morgana wouldn’t have been able to pick him out of a crowd.

  The Magistrate’s hand came down hard on the bench, the room immediately filled with silence. Anxiety ate away at Morgana’s gut as the proceedings began. To her relief, Gregor’s eyes were on her as often as they possibly could be.

  As a matter of propriety, the Magistrate allowed Fordun to present his case first. Listening to what he had to say about her, she finally began to understand why so many villages had turned
on her. His fantastic lies painted a picture of an evil snake, born at birth with the sole purpose of seducing and destroying men.

  He gave outlandish theories as to why she was so good with herbs, why she was able to control Zeus, and most importantly, how she was able to keep eluding him. Him, the most well-reputed witch-hunter of his time.

  When he finished with that, he moved on to Gregor. Which, if the circumstances weren’t certainly dire, Morgana would have assuredly cracked a smile and perhaps had even giggled. Fordun’s theory was that Morgana had cast a love spell on him so that he would protect her, and make him her servant.

  “How clever it would be, your Honor, for her to take a noble under the weave of her magic? Would they not have powerful strings to tug and pull as they pleased? Come now. We cannot deny the open facts. Why else would a Laird of such stature want to wed such a lowly English country girl? Because he is being controlled!”

  Fordun’s fist slammed down onto the table, the crowd erupted with applause.

  Morgana’s anxiety spiked as she looked over the happy crowd, and her eyes landed on Gregor. She had thought that she would see him red and shaking with anger, but instead he was laughing, rather obnoxiously and loudly, at Fordun’s testimony. Around him the crowd grew silent, and watched him uncomfortably.

  “Is there something comical about Sir Fordun’s testimony, Laird of Henwen?” the Magistrate asked, leaning forward from his bench.

  “Aye, yer Honor, there is,” Gregor replied, wiping a tear from his eye.

  “Pray then, let us in on the joke,” the Magistrate demanded. “Laird of Henwen, you have the floor.”

  Gregor stood up, dressed once more in his most royal attire, and came around to the stage. Whispers went up from the arena rose in the air like fluttering birds, but the Magistrate slammed his hand on the bench again and they abruptly stopped.

  “Yer Honor, I laugh so heartily because this could be nothing further from the truth. The woman that you so wrongfully have in that cell next to you is not a witch at all, but the man that you have parading around as yer best witch-hunter, is.”

  Gasps rose from the air and the court erupted into chaos. Fordun let out a raucous laugh at the accusation, and among the noise began to spew his good works and well-known moral character.

  “Enough!” the Magistrate roared, banging the bench again. “I will have silence!” The old man looked down from his bench at Gregor suspiciously.

  “As I’ve warned you before, Laird Henwen, such accusations are very dangerous if proven false. Are you sure you want to go through with this?” He glanced over at Morgana with total disregard. “Tis but a woman after all,” he smirked.

  “My woman,” Gregor emphasized. “And aye, yer Honor. I accept all responsibility for this testimony if I am proven false. However I have evidence today that I truly feel could prove Morgana’s innocence.”

  For the first time, Fordun’s insecurities surfaced, and he stared hatefully over at Morgana. Fear trembled down her spine as he looked at her that way. It was as if she could see him tearing her insides apart in his own mind. Silently, she began to pray for a miracle.

  “Very well,” the Magistrate lamented. “You may proceed.”

  “Yer Honor, I would like to call Bartholomew Morbane to speak.”

  “This is outrageous!” Fordun roared, suddenly out of his seat.

  “Who is this Bartholomew Morbane, Laird Henwen?” the Magistrate asked.

  “The captain of Sir Fordun’s guard,” Gregor replied. “And a witness to black magic and murders carried out by Fordun himself.”

  Even the Magistrate paled when Gregor said the words, and Morgana felt a flutter of hope in her gut. Unlike before, when there was a chaos, the court went completely silent as Bartholomew rose from his seat and walked proudly to the front of the room to sit on the opposite side of the Magistrate.

  “Your honor,” Fordun protested, his face a deep shade of red. “You aren’t really going to go on with this charade, are you?”

  The Magistrate ignored Fordun’s plea with a look of fury on his face, and beckoned Gregor to proceed. Having no choice but to deal with the current reality, Morgana watched amusedly as Fordun appeared to internally combust before he finally sat back down.

  Gregor immediately proceeded to question Bartholomew, asking him to recount the many morose and vile acts Fordun had committed to both witches and human innocents alike. The Magistrate nor the people had nothing much to say about such perversions, much to Morgana’s disappointment.

  However, they could not keep their discomfort hidden when Bartholomew began to explain in great detail what happened to poor Father Monahan. Murmurs went up through the crowd as he retold the horrific story of murder and sacrifice, and by the time Bartholomew was finished, the room had been lathered into a state.

  Excitement skittered through Morgana as she assessed the room. Fordun looked as if he could strike Bartholomew dead at any moment, and the Magistrate appeared incredibly perplexed as to what to do with this information. Looking to Bartholomew, she had to look incredibly close to see any form of unsurety, but it was there.

  By the time Bartholomew finished his statement it was well past noon. The Magistrate ordered the court to break for a small recess of an hour, but before he dismissed everyone, he ordered his guards to throw Bartholomew in the cell with Morgana.

  “Now wait a minute,” Gregor protested as guards seized either side of Bartholomew. “On what charges? He’s done nothing wrong!”

  “I suggest you focus on your lady love, Laird Henwen,” the Magistrate advised. “If you want any hope of her leaving this alive at all.” He directed his gaze to Fordun.

  “And you, Sir Fordun. It’s best you come talk to me in my chambers. We have some matters to discuss.”

  “Bartholomew, I’m so sorry,” Morgana apologized after he was thrown into her cell with her. Her heart ached for the treatment he was receiving and she instantly regretted suggesting he put his life in danger for her. “I should have never asked you to do this for me.”

  Bartholomew shook his head no, and rubbed his sore jaw, “No Morgana, you were right to ask me to do this. It’s time for it all to stop. I can’t let one more innocent woman be killed because of some sick man’s perversions.”

  Overcome with gratitude, Morgana threw her arms around Bartholomew’s waist and hugged him tightly.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, tears pricking her eyes. For a moment Bartholomew just stood there awkwardly, then he gently returned the hug.

  “Gregor is a very lucky man to have found you,” he said gently.

  “Aye, I am,” Gregor agreed as he approached the cell. Morgana immediately ran to him and hugged him through the bars. Relief, however small, came when his lips met hers and he kissed her sweetly.

  “I want this to be over,” Morgana confessed, feeling so nervous her stomach hurt and her body shook.

  “I ken, sweetheart,” Gregor soothed, kissing her once more tenderly. “But we’re swaying the crowd, which means we’re proving something.”

  Morgana wanted to feel as optimistic as Gregor did about the day’s outcome, but she just couldn’t shake the feeling that all was lost. She didn’t care about the opinions of the people, for they could be swayed too easily to violence and she knew it. In fact, she counted them being there to watch someone die in a foul and inhumane manner.

  Through the course of the hour recess Gregor brought her fresh water and decent food, and then put up a cloak around the bars for her to use the chamber pot in private. All too soon though the hour was up, and people were filtering back into the courtroom.

  “Stay strong,” Gregor whispered, kissing her knuckles. “I’m going to get ye out of this.”

  “Order!” the Magistrate yelled, silencing the room. “We will continue with today’s proceedings and I will begin by allowing Fordun to question Morbane. Sir Fordun, you have the floor.”

  “Bartholomew,” Fordun sighed, getting up out of his chair. “My, how m
y mightiest have fallen.”

  “Perhaps it is not I that is falling, sir,” Bartholomew replied. His response garnered gasps from the crowd.

  Fordun smiled twistedly, but chose not to respond to the quip.

  “You say that you are witness to these horrible crimes you’ve committed,” he went on. “That I have taken innocent lives and used my good name and reputation to spread fear and death through our countryside, but I ask you this, have you ever been with me when examining one of our captors?”

  Bartholomew shook his head.

  “Answer him appropriately, Morbane,” the Magistrate demanded.

  “No, sir. I was not.”

  “No, you haven’t. So, you were never with me when I found any witch’s marks or when given confessions, would that be accurate?”