by Allie Mackay
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Teaser chapter
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Praise for the Novels of Allie Mackay
Some Like It Kilted
“I’m a kilt convert! After plunging into the rowdy world of Some Like It Kilted, I would follow Allie Mackay’s hot Scot anywhere!”
— New York Times bestselling author Vicki Lewis Thompson
“If you want a fun and passionate ghost love story look no further than Allie Mackay!”
—Sapphire Romance Realm
Tall, Dark, and Kilted
“An engaging urban romantic fantasy with a touch of a mystery and a terrific twist. ... The story line is brisk and breezy from the moment the ghost and the American meet, and never slows down. With a strong cast, paranormal and human, fans will enjoy Cilla’s Scottish adventure in love.”
—Genre Go Round Reviews
Highlander in Her Dreams
“Scottish charm, humor, and . . . hot romance.”
—Night Owl Romance
“Sexy . . . imaginative . . . a fascinating mix of exciting action and passionate romance.”
—Romance Reader at Heart
“Cleverly plotted and well written . . . a fun, sexy story.”
— Romantic Times
“[A] pleasing blend of wit, passion, and the paranormal. . . a steamy romance that packs emotional punch.”
—Romance Reviews Today
“A fabulous mixture of magic and romance. Allie Mackay has penned an enchanting romance of lovers from different times . . . a captivating paranormal romance and a wonderful addition to a book lover’s library.”
—Fresh Fiction
Highlander in Her Bed
“[A] randy paranormal romance. . . . The premise is charming and innovative. ... This novel definitely delivers a blast of Scottish steam.”
— Publishers Weekly
“A yummy paranormal romp.”
— USA Today bestselling author Angela Knight
“A delightful paranormal romance. The writing is poetic, compelling, and fun, and the story features an imaginative premise, crisp dialogue, and sexy characters whose narrative voices are both believable and memorable. HOT.”
— Romantic Times
“A superb paranormal romance.”
— Midwest Book Review
“A sexy, humor-filled romance with delightfully amusing characters. Artfully blending past and present, Highlander in Her Bed is an entertaining read. Well written. Readers will enjoy this one!”
—Fresh Fiction
“Appealing and amusing. Sizzles with passion.”
—Romance Reviews Today
“A whimsical read that will have you panting from start to finish! Mackay knows what a Scottish romance novel needs and socks it to you! Red-hot sizzling chemistry ignites from the moment Sir Alex materializes in front of feisty Mara . . . a sure-bet bestseller.”—A Romance Review
ALSO BY ALLIE MACKAY
Some Like It Kilted
Tall, Dark, and Kilted
Highlander in Her Dreams
Highlander in Her Bed
SIGNET ECLIPSE
Published by New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
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First published by Signet Eclipse, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
First Printing, January 2011
Copyright © Sue-Ellen Welfonder, 2011
All rights reserved
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PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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This one is for Horatio, Hercules, and the gang, for everything they are and do. Only their intrepid leader knows how much their extraordinary support means to me. Hopefully she also knows how much I love and appreciate her.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book’s heroine loves Scotland passionately. I share that love and have done so all my life. My family hails from the Hebrides, so loving Scotland comes naturally to me. So does yearning to be there, to return again and again to the special places that beckon so strongly. Scotland is extraordinary, a magical place held in awe by so many. The mere mention of words like “glen,” “heather,” or “mist” can make someone’s face light up. Eyes then glisten, and pulses race, the longing for the Highlands touching hearts. Toss in a kilted man with a sexy Scottish accent, let the pipes skirl and the drums roll, and women everywhere swoon.
In my previous career as a flight attendant, I was fortunate to travel the world for decades, visiting many fascinating lands. Beauty can be found everywhere.
Yet I cannot name one place that stirs souls like Scotland. Even those who have never set foot there, like Margo Menlove at this book’s beginning, are fierce in their love of the Highlands.
Margo is my nod to dedicated Scotophiles everywhere. I hope that, like her, you’ll someday visit the land of your dreams. And if, like me, you’re already a frequent Scotland visitor, I know you’ll agree that the magic never fades. Each trip proves anew that Scotland is so much more t
han a destination. It’s a passion that burns forever.
Margo’s journey will take you to some of my favorite West Highland places. Gairloch, Badcall, Badachro, and Redpoint, as well as other locations, all exist. I’ve changed hotel names, and Badcall Castle is pure fiction. But even these fictitious places are based on a blending of real hotels and castles I know and love in this area. If you visit, you’ll be as enchanted as Margo.
I just hope that you don’t land on one of Wee Hughie’s whirlwind tours. Scotland is meant to be savored, enjoyed with leisure and lots of ooh and ahh moments.
For the curious, Magnus MacBride could’ve existed. The Norse ruled the Hebrides for several hundred years and their fierce assaults on Scotland’s isles and mainland coasts lasted even longer.
Somerled, the great warrior chief of Clan Donald in the twelfth century, fought the Vikings tirelessly and eventually chased them from the Hebrides. He comes closest to how I envisioned Magnus. The book’s setting is an area that was a frequent and favored target of Viking raiders. Their legacy lives on in a wealth of culture and tradition, place-names, wealth of culture and tradition, place-names, archaeological finds, and even character traits and physical features. The melding of Celtic and Norse gives us the Highlander so beloved today.
Three special women helped me take Margo to Scotland. Roberta Brown, agent extraordinaire, who is also my dearest friend. She is an angel on earth.
Kerry Donovan, my supertalented editor, for her excellent input and direction. Thanks, too, to my copy editor, Michele Alpern, for her sharp eye and skill.
Ladies, I’m grateful.
Much love and appreciation to my very handsome husband, Manfred. He might not slay Vikings, but he keeps all trouble from my door and guards my turret, always. I couldn’t do this without him. As ever, my little Jack Russell, Em. My four-legged soul mate, he holds my heart in his paws. I hope he knows how much I love him.
“Loving Scotland isn’t just my greatest passion.
It’s who I am.”
—Margo Menlove, founder of the Bucks County Kilt Appreciation Society
Prologue
Badcall Bay in the Northwest Highlands
A fine summer’s eve, 1250
“Spawn of Satan!”
Magnus MacBride, proud Highland chieftain, drew rein on the heathery ridge just above the sheltered cove of Badcall Bay and stared through smoke-tinged clouds of choking haze at the six many-oared Viking longships, beating swiftly away from the coast and toward the open sea. His men thundered up beside him, each one jerking his steed to a sudden, jarring halt. They were fierce fighters, well armed and battle-proven. But just now they could do no more than rattle their swords and shout their outrage.
Not that Magnus heard them above the roar of his own hot blood pounding in his ears. Or the terrible hammering of his heart that raced in time with the flashing oars of the longships as they sped across the waves, almost flying and leaving great plumes of spray in their wake. Magnus glared after them, shock and dread slamming into him like a hundred hard-hitting fists. White-hot fury scalded him, squeezing his chest and making it impossible to breathe.
The hot, ash-filled air also made inhaling difficult, but that unpleasantness was the least of his concern.
Now, this moment, his entire world had contracted to hold only those six fleeing longships.
Nothing else existed.
Even at this distance, he recognized the garishly colored sea dragon painted on the square sail of the largest Norse vessel.
The coiled, fire-spewing monster was the emblem of Sigurd Sword Breaker, the worst of the heathen Norsemen who terrorized this coast. His hasty departure and bloodthirsty reputation left no doubt that he was responsible for the thick columns of smoke rising from the fishermen’s cottages lining the foreshore beneath the ridge.
The most times peaceful hamlet was a raging inferno.
Black, acrid smoke that stank of more than burning roof thatch came to Magnus and his men on the wind, stinging their eyes and scalding their lungs.
The smoke also obliterated their reason for being there.
Knowing it as well, the horn blowers and drumbeaters at the rear of Magnus’s party fell silent.
Even his piper quit his strutting and stood stunned, the rousing skirls of his blowpipes dying away to a pitiful moan. Brought along to herald Magnus’s arrival at Badcall village—a journey made to collect Liana Beaton, his soon-to-be bride—these men, too, swiped at streaming eyes and gaped at the hellish scene.
And it was hell.
Badcall Bay was now a place of the dead.
No screams or cries rose above the wicked crackle and roar of the flames.
Whoever might remain in the little fishing community at the foot of the steep and rocky cliffs lived no more.
And if anyone did yet draw breath, God’s mercy on them, for they’d met a terrible and undeserved fate.
Bile rose in Magnus’s throat and he welcomed its bitterness, wishing he could take on the agonies suffered by the hapless fisherfolk of Badcall Bay. He couldn’t, regrettably. But he was sure that giant, unseen hands had clamped tight iron bands around his chest. His pain was that great, especially when Liana’s innocent face flashed before him.
A maid still, for they’d shared only chaste kisses.
Her wonder that he’d defied station and tradition in desiring her for his wife had driven him to prove to her that he loved her above all else. He’d vowed to protect her always, keeping her safe from all ills and ensuring that her family and village would prosper. And—the that her family and village would prosper. And—the memory speared him—he’d sworn to fill her days with happiness and her nights with boundless passion.
Together, they’d raise strong sons and beautiful daughters, showing the naesayers that no other bride would have better suited him.
How she’d smiled when he’d made those promises.
Now, as he remembered, instead of seeing her eyes alight with pleasure, he saw them wide with horror.
Unspeakable terror that—he was certain—would never have visited this quiet place if not for him.
Viking sea raiders cared little for heaps of fish nets and strings of dried herring.
But they would have known—and rightly—that any Highland chieftain worth the title would shower his bride-to-be and her family with riches.
Those coffers of silver and coin would have been the spoils that attracted the Norsemen.
“Calum!” Magnus swung down from his saddle and signaled to one of the horn blowers, an older man who had once been a renowned Viking-fighter but now handled horses better than he wielded a sword. “Take young Ewan”—Magnus jerked a glance at Calum’s grandson—“and see the garrons away from this smoke. The rest of us will go down to the village and put out the fires. We’ll find you when we’re done.” He didn’t add that they’d be burying the burned and the slain.
It wasn’t necessary to put words to such a ghastly task.
Calum nodded, grimly.
He knew better than most what awaited them along the shoreline.
“Ewan and I can tether the horses and come back.” The older man’s gaze flicked to the cliff edge, where a steep track began its zigzagging descent to the little bay. When he looked back at Magnus, he straightened his broad-set shoulders and spat on the ground. “You’ll be needing all hands when you get down there.”
“Aye.” Magnus gripped Calum’s arm, firmly. He hoped his old friend—a man who was much like a father to him—would leave it at that.
He was also thinking fast.
The cliff path was too treacherous for a man of Calum’s years. Especially one with a knee that was wont to give out on him, however much the doughty warrior chose to make light of his occasional stumbles. And Ewan had yet to bloody his sword.
Magnus didn’t want the devastation below to be the lad’s first taste of carnage.
“I’d rather you and Ewan guard the horses.” Magnus seized the first excuse that came to m
ind. “Sword Breaker and his men likely slaughtered the village cattle and took the meat onto their longships.” That was true enough. “They may have left someone behind to search for other beasts and then hasten them away to a hidden landing beach to be fetched later.”
Magnus doubted it. But he was grateful to see Calum bobbing his bearded head. “If such men should appear, you and Ewan can dispatch them.”
“Aye, right you are.” The old man’s chest swelled.
“We’d make short work of the ravaging bastards.” He patted his sword, looking fierce. “They’d ne’er see the blow that felled them. We’d be on them that quickly.”
“Good, then. See you to it.” Magnus stepped around him, making for the cliff edge, where the others were already pounding down the track.
Calum maneuvered in front of him, blocking the way. “She may no’ be down there, laddie,” he warned, voicing Magnus’s worst dread.
Liana in the hands of Sigurd Sword Breaker would be a fate worse than death. The Viking sea raider was known for committing atrocities on those he sought to ransom. And if any attempts at rescue were made . . .
Magnus blotted the thought from his mind, unable to bear connecting the woman he loved with the Norseman’s blackest villainies.
But if Sword Breaker had her, he’d upend the world to free her.
Calum leaned close then, his gaze direct. “You’ll do well to brace yourself. I fought Sword Breaker’s father, Thorkel Raven-Feeder. I know what they do—”
“I’ll find Liana, where’er she is.” Magnus clapped the old man’s shoulder, silencing him. Then he turned and raced after his men, tearing down the steep, dizzying path as quickly as his hurrying feet would carry him.
The scene at the bottom was worse than he’d imagined.
He glanced wildly about, staring at the chaos.
Beneath his feet, the ground tilted dangerously, almost bringing him to his knees.
“Liana!” He shouted her name, knowing she wouldn’t answer him.
Fire-blackened—or butchered—bodies were everywhere, littering the crescent-shaped strand in glaring testimony to how savagely they’d died. No mercy had been shown. Each slashing wound displayed how ferociously the Norsemen had wielded their spears and axes.