by Cathy MacRae
Table of Contents
THE HIGHLANDER’S CRUSADER BRIDE
About the Book
Copyright
Armenian and Arabic Words of Interest
Scottish and Gaelic Words of Interest
The Hardy Heroine Series
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
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Epilogue
A Note from the Authors
Acknowledgements
About the Authors
More Books by Cathy MacRae and DD MacRae
Excerpt from THE HIGHLANDER’S WELSH BRIDE
The Highlander’s Crusader Bride
Book 3 in the Hardy Heroines Series
Cathy & DD MacRae
AMAZON KDP EDITION
PUBLISHED BY
Short Dog Press
www.cathymacraeauthor.com
The Highlander’s Crusader Bride
Born in the Holy Lands only a few years after the Third Crusade, half-Armenian, half-Scot Arbela MacLean is a true daughter of the desert, beautiful and untamed. Trained to be a warrior to avoid her gentle mother’s fate, Arbela has honed her skills with Turkish bow and arrow, sword and throwing darts—and dreads the day her father choses a man for her to marry.
After more than thirty years in the Holy Land, Donal MacLean, Baron of Batroun, is recalled to Scotland, the last son available to take up leadership of clan MacLean. He brings with him knights, treasure, trade—and a daughter of marriageable age.
Caelen MacKern, known as the Bull of the Highlands, is cynical about women. His first marriage formed an alliance, and he did not grieve when his spoiled, immature bride passed away. He has agreed to marry again—against his better judgement—for the men, means and coin to recover from a devastating pestilence that all but wiped out his clan.
More than a little resentful at finding himself forced to remarry, Caelen’s proposal to Donal MacLean’s headstrong daughter nevertheless piques her interest. Each will receive what they want most from life—the ability to live as they please without interference from a meddling spouse. But their marriage of indifference will soon change to one of passion that neither Arbela nor Caelen could have predicted.
The Highlander’s Crusader Bride
Copyright © 2017 Cathy & DD MacRae
All rights reserved
Amazon KDP Edition License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. The ebook contained herein constitutes a copyrighted work and may not be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, or stored in or introduced into an information storage and retrieval system in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This ebook is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
THE HIGHLANDER’S CRUSADER BRIDE
About the Book
Copyright
Armenian and Arabic Words of Interest
Scottish and Gaelic Words of Interest
The Hardy Heroine Series
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
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Epilogue
A Note from the Authors
Acknowledgements
About the Authors
More Books by Cathy MacRae and DD MacRae
Excerpt from THE HIGHLANDER’S WELSH BRIDE
Armenian and Arabic Words of Interest
Albarun – baron
Ari – brave, spunky
Barev – hello
Destry – daughter
Ditel – (to) watch
Haryry – father
Hijab – head scarf
Im dustry – my daughter
Morak’uyr – aunt
Orhnut ’yunner – blessings
Sher, asad – lion
Singha – courageous lion
Thawb – loose, flowing robe
Asasiyun – a disciple of the Hashashin order
Hashashin – an order formed in the late 11th century primarily as a counter-movement to a political coup in the Seljuk Empire. They were practitioners of asymmetric warfare that negated most of their enemies’ advantages, and specialized in covert operations.
Jan – (pronounced j-ar-n in Persian) A unique word which expresses love and tenderness toward the person addressed. It is used as a suffix only when referring to family or close friends.
Scottish and Gaelic Words of Interest
Addis – flame
Amadan – fool
Beannachdan – blessings
Beannachdan air ar taighean – Blessings on our house
Dunfaileas – Reflection fort
Langa – fish
Leannan – sweetheart
Maon – hero
Slainte mhath – good health (a toast)
Slainte mhor – great health (reply to a toast)
The Hardy Heroine Series
(with DD MacRae)
Highland Escape (book 1)
The Highlander’s Viking Bride (book 2)
The Highlander’s Crusader Bride (book 3)
The Highlander’s Norse Bride – a Hardy
Heroine novella
(available 2018)
The Highlander’s Welsh Bride (coming 2018)
Chapter 1
The Holy Land
County of Tripoli
Late fall, 1221 A.D.
The pungent smell of burning pitch and the screech of steel on steel dominated the afternoon. Crouched behind a merlon, Arbela MacLean took aim at the siege tower inching toward the castle and launched another flaming arrow toward the lumbering wooden target. Consumption by fire endangered the poorly constructed battlement. The men pushing it crowded behind shields to avoid arrows, stalling their advance.
The group manning a battering ram at the gates fared no better. Screams pierced the sounds of battle as a cauldron of heated sand tipped, pouring its burning contents through a chute built into the barbican, showering the men below. While enemy shields deflected much of the sand, Arbela knew it didn’t take many grains to slip into clothing, searing skin as if on fire.
“Remember Jerusalem!”
Her father’s men repeated the oft-heard battle cry from atop the wall. Ever since Saladin had retaken Jerusalem and slaughtered all the inhabitants, this had become the call to arms of all Latins in the Levant.
“Arbela!” her brother Alexander shouted, drawing her attention from the gates.
He and Philippe de Poitiers fought several Turkish warriors who had scaled the curtain wall, a ladder propped against the top. Arbela pulled four arrows and placed them in her right hand for rapid firing. Drawing her bow, she hit the enemy atop the ladder under the arm as he reached for the wall, sending him tumbling backward, disrupting his follower’s ascent. She fired the next three arrows in rapid succession, striking an equal number of warriors, her movements fluid and deadly. Alex and Philippe finished off the remaining invaders who had achieved the wall’s summit.
Alex offered her a brief salute of thanks, then used his war hammer to shatter the top rungs of the ladder. He, Philippe, and two other men pushed the ladder along the wall until it fell, its occupants plunging to the rocky ground below. As Arbela fitted another arrow and sought a target, the Turks abandoned their tower, fire consuming it as they fled. She turned to the gates and struck down the few remaining fighters. Their tenacity was to be lauded—their tactics, however, were not.
In the distance, the remnant of the invading army withdrew over the hills, likely headed from whence they came. After four days of attempting to breach the gates and walls, it appeared they’d given up the fight. This marked the third such attack they’d endured this year, each more desperate than the last. The Turks seemed to grow overconfident and more numerous as the months passed.
Alex removed his helm and coif, a triumphant grin beaming across his face. His black hair and deep brown eyes sparkled. As twins, he and Arbela shared the same coloring and similar features.
“I look forward to a hot meal and soft bed tonight, sister mine.”
Philippe strode toward them, sword in hand, enemy blood spattered on his tabard. “Aye, ’twill be a welcome change to a cold supper and keeping watch on the wall.”
“I long to trade my haubergeon and gambeson for a long soak in a hot tub.” Arbela pulled the short mail shirt and padded jacket, wet with sweat, away from her skin. She led the others down the stone stairs of the outer wall toward the keep. As soon as her feet touched the bailey, two dogs, one black, one sable, tackled her.
“Off! Ye two beasties! Leave off!”
Philippe and Alex laughed at her as they left her rolling on the ground with the dogs and strode toward the hall.
“Toros, Garen, sit!”
The two dogs dropped their haunches in obedience, tongues lolling, anticipating her next command. Arbela rose and dusted herself off.
“Come.” She snapped her fingers and each dog took up position beside her—Toros on the right, Garen on the left—nosing her hands. Each dog’s shoulder reached slightly above her knees, their furry tails and bodies wriggling with delight. Thus flanked, Arbela made her way toward the chapel where she would pray for the dead and ask forgiveness for taking life. She prayed to never grow so callused that killing—even in self-defense—would become commonplace. After cleansing mind and soul, she rose to do the same for her body.
* * *
“You look lovely, my lady, considering you’ve spent the past several days fighting the cursed Turks. I prayed for your safety daily, and the Almighty saw you through the siege without so much as a scratch.”
The older woman crossed herself then finished braiding Arbela’s hair and affixed her hijab. Arbela, dressed in a flowing thawb—the one-piece garment commonly worn by both men and women—and loose salwar pants, sat patiently on a cushioned stool. Her clothes, constructed not of linen or cotton, were of embroidered silk, marking her as nobility.
“Thank ye, Aunt Zora. Ye are a treasure.”
Arbela flashed a look of gratitude to her mother’s older sister. After Arbela and Alex’s mother passed, Zora had offered to live with them and provide female guidance to Arbela. The thought brought a smile to Arbela’s lips. She had spent most of her childhood chasing after her brother, the two of them making a goodly amount of mischief. Aunt Zora had the patience of a saint, though, at her age, Zora was more grandmother than aunt.
After finishing Arbela’s ablutions, the two women descended the stairs, the noise from the hall expanding with each step. Supper in the great room carried a joyful mood as the residents of Batroun gathered to celebrate their victory. Donal MacLean, Baron of Batroun, had ordered a pair of fatted sheep cooked on a spit and a cask of his best wine to be served to all, as each played an important role in repelling the infidels.
Her father occupied the central chair at the high table with Alex seated on one side, and Farlan, his captain, on the other. Philippe, the third son of Bohemond IV, Prince of Antioch, Count of Tripoli, and her sire’s liege, sat next to her brother. He had fostered with them for years, growing up with Alex, the two of them inseparable. Truly, Arbela viewed him as a second brother, though not as close as her twin. He was a good man and a good knight.
Arbela sat at Farlan’s side as her sire stood and raised his cup. The hall grew quiet in anticipation.
“To victory!”
“To victory!” the people roared.
“A MacLean!” Gordon, one of her father’s knights toasted. The cheer was chanted thrice by everyone in the hall.
Her father drained his cup, then sat and turned to his captain as the crowd returned to their festivities, disquiet etched on his face. “The attacks grow bolder.”
Farlan, who had accompanied Donal from Scotland years earlier and had as much experience as any in Saracen tactics, paused before answering. “We protect the pass of Saint Guillaume. Its worth is well known to both pilgrims and traders.”
“Och, ’tis plain enough why we attract attention from the Turks. The question is, who is behind these assaults, and why do they keep coming?”
“Likely a nobleman wishes to make his reputation as a powerful caliph. By attacking holdings in the region, they may find a weakness and draw more followers with their success, no matter how small. Papal attention remains on Egypt and ridding the Iberian Peninsula of the Moors. This is widely known, so there is no expectation of another crusade on this soil in the coming year.”
Donal scratched his whiskers, dark red now peppered with gray. “Aye, but with each attack, the castle’s reputation of being impenetrable grows.”
“Begging yer pardon, Laird, but no fortress is impenetrable.”
The baron grinned widely. “Agreed. But the Romans knew what they were about when they laid the foundations for this keep. Sheer cliffs on all sides with a small approach from the east gives the advantage of spotting an enemy well in advance, with only one option for entrance. ’Tis mayhap a wee barony, but we have the most secure holding in the Levant. Only size limits how much food we can store over a long siege.”
Arbela entered the conversation. “Who fancies himself the next Saladin?”
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br /> The older men turned their attention to her question, a frown marring her father’s face.
“Mayhap the better question, daughter, is who among the Turkish leaders doesnae wish to emulate Saladin by driving out all Latins from the Holy Land?”
Firm in her da’s confidence of her logic, Arbela met his gaze. “Aye, but all three attacks have been undertaken by the same leader.”
Her sire’s dour expression gave way to a knowing grin. “What makes ye say that, lassie?”
Arbela nodded at his challenge. “Each attack learned from the previous. The men we faced in the past few days did not make the same mistakes the others did, nor did they use the same tactics. The important question is, how will this leader maintain his ability to draw followers to his cause if he continues to be defeated? I would think this aspiring warlord will pick lower hanging fruit for his next attack. Mayhap a holding further inland.”
Donal clapped Farlan on the back. “Now ye see why I need to find her a husband. When Prince Bohemond realizes her worth, he’ll replace me with my daughter, here.”