The Highlander's Secret Maiden: A Scottish Historical Romance Novel

by Lydia Kendall

  “What's it matter to ye?” Marcas asked.

  “Nothing in the world,” Conall replied bitterly.

  “Well then, are we off yet? Or do ye need some time to say yer goodbyes to that lass from the other evening?”

  “She was no lass, she was someone who could give me what I needed. There’s a difference,” Conall said.

  “If ye’re chasing bodies and nothing else, do ye really think ye’ll ever be happy?”

  “I’ll be happy when we run our swords through every English blighter we pass. Noo, are we done with yer yapping about happiness? There’s a battle tae be won,” Conall demanded.

  “As ye wish.”

  They finished their readying in complete silence and Marcas allowed his eyes to continually gaze up to Georgina’s window. He saw her form looking down on him as well, clearly already missing him. How could he leave such an angel?

  “Alright, men, are ye ready?” Conall finally asked.

  The crew of soldiers voiced their agreement that it was time to leave. The battle would soon be fought and many of these men might not come home to their wives. For Marcas, that option was out of the question.

  Climbing on the backs of their horses, each man rode off into the unknown. Conall charged the way south toward England.

  The road was clear and there was little to fret about for the day of travels ahead. They knew they would most likely join with other clans that were heading to the battle and finally they would all meet just south of Edinburgh before making their way to the field of battle.

  What a strange thing it was, to plan a fight like this. And yet, they knew they were needed by those clans along the border who were suffering near-constant attacks from the English.

  Marcas wondered how safe Georgina was without him at the castle to protect her. Carnarvan had plenty of guards and shelter for safety, plus being close to the cliffs meant they had at least one side protected. But what if Bolton came while the brothers were in battle?

  The other matter to consider was that his leg was yet to be fully mended. He hoped with all his might that he could remain on his horse during the majority of the battle or be at a distance with his crossbow as he generally preferred. And yet, there was a part of him that wondered if Conall might have other thoughts in mind.

  No, Conall would never intentionally put me in harm’s way out of jealousy, would he? What a terrible thing to think of me brother!

  Conall may not have been the leader Marcas would have chosen to be, but he was still a good leader and one that put his clan’s wellbeing before his own.

  Marcas edged his horse up alongside Conall’s.

  “A fine day for our journey,” he said, making uncharacteristic small talk. The brothers never engaged in trifling chit-chat, but Marcas knew he had to break the ice.

  “Aye, right,” Conall replied, not turning his head but keeping forward at a steady pace, gently bobbing along at the trot of his horse.

  “Ye think we’ll make it before nightfall?”

  “Not at this pace, but I dinnae mind if we reach it tomorrow. So long as we hit Edinburgh by day’s end, then we’ll see who all has joined us,” Conall said dryly.

  “Ye think it isnae going to be until day’s end that we reach Edinburgh?”

  “I fully intend to stop before and have a rest. I ken we’re clan MacGowan, strong and brave as all that, but we are heading to battle and I dinnae want another like the last. Faither scarcely lost a man in his wars, and in me last, our number plummeted. So, I’ve no intention of letting that happen again.

  “Our men will rest, eat well, stretch their groins after riding the day, and then we’ll be off and away,” Conall divulged.

  “I think it's a very wise plan, me Laird,” Marcas replied, feeling true respect for his brother. Conall’s pride had prevented him from ever confessing failure but his careful tactics this time around let Marcas know that it didn’t mean Conall wasn’t aware that his failures existed.

  “Yer Laird? Are ye playing at respect now?” Conall challenged casually, as if it didn’t hurt him.

  “What do ye mean?”

  “Well, the Laird is entitled to certain rights, ye ken. And ye’ve taken from me as it is,” he answered.

  “If ye’re referring to what I’m guessing, ye should ken that a lass is never an entitlement to anyone,” Marcas said by way of scolding.

  “Aye, right. What a gentleman ye are. I’m betting ye’ve never used a woman for anything other than true love and romance?” The accusation in Conall’s voice was undeniable.

  “I never made any such claim. But I cannae say I havnae been learning,” Marcas replied.

  “Well ye can keep yer lessons to yerself for now and I'll learn me own over time. How’s that for ye?”

  “If that's what ye wish then that’s what I’ll do.”

  “Right then,” Conall said before giving the horse a gentle kick to make him walk a hair faster than Marcas.

  Marcas fell back with the rest of the men feeling like his attempts to cool his brother’s temper had only caused further problems. He had no idea how he might manage to bring peace, but the frosty air between them would not help matters in the clan or in the battle.

  “How’s the leg?” Alpin asked, sidling up to Marcas.

  “Hurts like a bugger, but I’ve had worse.”

  “And how's the big, bleeding, pulsing wound between ye and yer brother?”

  “Infected…” Marcas replied.

  “Aye, I guessed as much,” Alpin said.

  “Is it as obvious for the whole clan as I’m thinking it to be?” Marcas asked.

  “Nah, it’s only ‘cause I ken ye both so well. Most are thinking Conall’s just caught up in the lairdship. Trying to be like yer faither, trying to keep Bolton out, all that.”

  “It’s partially true. At least, I’m thinking it's probably why he’s gone stressing himself out so bad over little things like women and that silly competition,” Marcas said.

  “Well, I cannae say I’d be angry if he took the rage out on Bolton. Ye ken Conall did an awful lot for me after…and so did yer faither when he was around,” Alpin said.

  “I ken. It’d have been a shame if they hadnae.”

  “Losing me family to Bolton was the worst thing in me life, but I have tae say, it at least let me get closer tae yers,” Alpin confessed in a rare moment of vulnerability.

  “And what is it about me family that has ye most drawn to us?” Marcas asked. He knew Alpin was his best friend, and his father and brother had looked after him, but he also knew his sister had carried a torch for Alpin for years. He couldn't help but wonder when Alpin might realize it.

  “That stalk of flame rooting from yer heed,” Alpin said and laughed. It was clear he wished to say more but wasn’t ready.

  Marcas decided to let it go. It didn’t need to be said, not yet anyway, not as they pressed toward battle. But it was a moment that gave him hope that perhaps Fiona did have a shot with him.

  “Ye think they’ll have all turned out?” Alpin asked.

  “I’m sure of it. Who of our men wouldnae turn out for a chance at battering the enemy? We’re soldiers, that’s all there is tae it,” Marcas answered.

  It was true, he had no doubt. It just wasn't like a Scotsman to turn down a battle. They were the thistles, ready to prick anyone who thought them useless weeds or, worse, delicate flowers.

  And now Marcas was ready to prick the enemy, one arrow at a time.

  After a rest and a few more hours of travel, the army reached just south of Edinburgh. Camps were already set up for those waiting for the coming of the rest of the clans.

  It was a good-sized crew of highlanders and lowlanders alike. The Jacobite cause was thick in the air…and so was the whisky.

  Conall had given his men a limit of two drams that night. Perhaps only half the men heeded the warning, but the others stuck to it. They knew he gave the order for a reason. Most of them had fought in the previous battle.

  For
Marcas, the question was who would be alive to fight in the next?

  Chapter 26

  “Georgina, it looks as though ye've a letter!” Fiona declared excitedly. Knowing her new friend had been hoping to hear from her father, it seemed that the prayer was being answered.

  “Oh, really?” she asked, excitedly, rushing to Fiona’s side.

  Fiona handed her the letter with a grin.

  Georgina ripped open the paper sealed with her father's signet ring. The letter contained the smoothly curved lines of his penmanship.

  My Dearest Georgina,

  It warms my heart to hear that you are safe, that you are well. I cannot say that I understand your decision, nor can I say that I support it. However, the knowledge that you are alive is enough to make me consider that perhaps there is more than I had thought in this for you.

  My darling, I ask that you reconsider the proposal from the great Morgan Bolton. I fully believe that you will grow to love him, despite your current misgivings. He is a good man, a man who has done more for his country than a young woman could really understand. These matters are not for your concern. But I digress.

  My wish is that you would return home to me and would accept the proposal of this great man. Should you choose to stay the course you have chosen, know that I will think of you often in hopes that you might return.

  Your Father

  Georgina sighed. It was not her ideal resolution, but it was a start. At least her father had not completely shunned her. He was considering that she was his daughter and that was something.

  If only she might be able to convince him that she needed his support for the McGowan brothers.

  “What is it, then?” Fiona asked, coming close to Georgina and brushing her hair back from her face.

  “He still wishes me to return to England and consider the proposal from Morgan Bolton. How could he think I would ever wish for that? Especially now!” Georgina asked with exasperation.

  “He’s only doing what he thinks is best for ye. Dinnae worry, eventually he'll come around. Truly, the very fact that he wrote ye back is something. If he’d given up on ye, he’d nae have written tae ye,” Fiona encouraged.

  “I suppose that’s true,” Georgina said, trying to ease her mind.

  “Do ye think the lads are well?” Fiona asked, staring out the window.

  It had been a painfully present question in Georgina’s mind as well. She knew it was even more difficult for Fiona. These were her people, her brothers, her love. All of them. For Georgina, they had grown to be family, but it was truly Marcas that reigned in her worries.

  “I’m sure they will be just fine,” she replied, having no idea at all. She couldn’t allow Fiona to see her grave concern. But the painful thought of Marcas not returning, or of him coming back maimed far worse than the wound in his leg, it was too great for her to bear.

  “Fiona?”

  “Aye?”

  “Do you think it is worth it for him? For Marcas? I mean, he had to battle Bolton for me and heaven knows that isn’t over. And he's having to be at odds with his own brother. Do you think it is worth the sacrifice?” Georgina asked.

  “Dearie, I’ve no doubt that me brother would give his life and everything in it tae be with ye. Truly. I’ve never seen him like this about any lass, or about anything. Ye ken he’s high and away for ye,” Fiona reassured.

  “I hope it’s true.”

  “It's more than true. And ye ken he convinced Conall tae let him hand pick the guards that stayed with all of us ladies here. He made right sure that ye’ll be safe if Bolton tries anything while they’re gone. Just no more midnight walks…” Fiona warned and smiled.

  “Oh, you can be sure I have no intentions of trying that again!” Georgina promised. She had been so lucky to escape what she had been through, she would never take such a foolish risk again.

  “I find meself just thinking of nothing but their return. It’s like an obsession I cannae rest until they’re home,” Fiona admitted.

  “I understand completely. Truly. It is hard for us women in this situation, I think. I mean, the men go off to battle, they support us, they do all these things on our behalf and we are expected to just wait them out. It is exhausting,” Georgina said.

  “Ye’re right. It isnae easy being left behind. In some ways, I’d prefer the battle. At least it would keep me mind busy,” she said.

  “Precisely.”

  Fiona sighed. “And I cannae help but feel a bit guilty. Here me own brothers are out there fighting but more than them, I cannae keep meself from wondering about Alpin. He’s a fine fighter but not like me brothers. He never had the training given to a Laird’s bairns.”

  “Maybe not but you are right, I trust your word that he is a fine soldier,” Georgina said.

  “True. Ye ken, his first battle he was wounded right terribly. Straight through his abdomen, between the ribs. It was a miracle he survived and recovered so well. He said he’d never let himself be hurt like that again and I believe him,” Fiona said with admiration. Her eyes were gazing at nothing on the ceiling.

  “How long ago was that?” Georgina asked.

  “Four years. I was crushed, afraid he’d be lost to us.”

  “You’ve loved him that long?”

  “Before,” Fiona answered. “Georgina, I grew up with him, and once I began to see him as more than just me brothers’ friend, I couldnae see him as anything else.”

  “Have you ever considered telling him?” Georgina asked.

  “Aye. Many times. We lassies arnae like ye prim and proper British ladies. We can be bold as we please. But it never did matter for me, me own fears are standing in me way. Fears that he’ll see me just as tail for the night. Or that he isnae going to respond even for that,” Fiona replied.

  “Have you ever had feelings for another man?” Georgina asked.

  “Not one. But I’ve been chased by plenty. As I said, here, we can be bold as ye please. However, as the Laird’s daughter— and now sister — the men are a bit more cautious about making me theirs, ye ken.”

  “Does that mean you’ve never been with a man?” Georgina asked, wondering how Fiona would feel knowing that she had been with Marcas as fully his.

  “Well I didnae say that…”

  Georgina laughed.

  “And ye? How did Marcas say his farewell?”

  Georgina began to blush.

  “I thought as much. I dinnae want any details, but I’m glad ye’ve finally gotten past the shy state with him! I’m guessing ye havnae dealt much with Conall since?” Fiona asked.

  “No. Now he either looks at me with anger or makes inappropriate jokes at my expense. There is no in between with him. I want desperately to just come out with it and tell him that I am in love with Marcas but to be truthful, I’m afraid.”

  “Afraid? Why the hell are ye afraid?”

  “Well, he is the laird. And he made an enormous sacrifice to get me away from Bolton. What sort of gratitude would it be for me to tell him I’ve gone off with his brother? And what if he refuses protection for me? Or if he takes it out on Marcas?” Georgina said, spouting the list.

  “Oh, ye silly lass! Ye ought not to be so afraid. It’s true he’s got a right temper and he hates the English the same as most folk around here, but he’d never put ye at risk. Nor Marcas. We’ve lost both our parents. He’s not going to kill a brother and risk losing me in the process,” Fiona reasoned.

  “I suppose I hadn't thought of that,” Georgina replied.

  “Honestly, dearie, ye’re right beautiful and he likes ye an awful lot but dinnae put too much stock in that. He isnae going tae destroy lives for ye,” Fiona said then gently laughed.

  How foolish am I? Of course, Conall is occupied by far more than merely the thought of making me his.

  Georgina tried not to be embarrassed when she realized how her thoughts had spiraled into thinking she had such an impact on the clan.

  It was certainly true that Conall was fond of her, p
erhaps even in love but he would never risk his clan for her. He would never sacrifice his integrity as a leader purely out of jealousy.

  “Anyhoo,” Fiona began, “do ye think ye’ll write back to yer faither?”

  “I must,” Georgina said.

  “What will ye say?”

  “I have no answer for you on that. Not yet anyway. Perhaps another plea? Or maybe politely decline but tell him that I love him still and hope he changes his mind, for I certainly will not be changing mine.”