by Annis, Dawn
Table of Contents
HIGHLANDER’S CHOICE
Acknowledgments
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
HIGHLANDER’S CHOICE
DAWN ANNIS
SOUL MATE PUBLISHING
New York
HIGHLANDER’S CHOICE
Copyright©2019
DAWN ANNIS
Cover Design by Rae Monet, Inc.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Published in the United States of America by
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ISBN: 978-1-68291-931-6
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For Scott and Nick,
pickle
Acknowledgments
Linda Burgat, Dr. Eric Straumanis, Mary Hagen, Tina Newcomb, Lori Corsentino, Becca Maxton, and Kay Alber
Chapter 1
Outside the Port of Struan on the Isle of Skye
1746
“Bugger!” Callum MacLeod rubbed the spot on his head where he had banged it on the crossbeam for the third time since his voyage began.
Irritatin’ as hell.
“Ho, ho. Ye will have a mighty bump on yer head from the smack,” Captain Smythe chuckled.
“Aye, I ken it.”
He finished his climb and stood on the deck of the ship. Salty spray dampened his face and hair. Callum watched the sun’s rays sparkle across the ocean like bright diamonds. Its heat warmed his muscled shoulders until the chilled breeze started to worm its way under his cloth coat.
The captain joined him and raised his hand to shield his eyes against the sun’s glare.
“Clear skies and a fair wind will take us into port,” the captain said, watching the sails. “The sea is a slumberin’ woman this day. She can be a ragin’ bitch at times.”
“I dinna doubt it.”
“D’ye have a sweetheart waitin’ for ye in port?”
“Nay, only a mother wantin’ me home.” He wasn’t sure he’d made the right decision. He’d fought so hard to leave. Why by the saints and the gods did he want to come back?
Only for his mother’s sake would he board a ship for Scotland.
“Women. If ’tis no one, ’tis the other.”
Callum leaned against the edge and laughed. “Ye sound like a man bothered by both.”
“No any longer. Why d’ye think I sail the seas? Hard as she can be, ’tis no what a woman can do to ye.”
The captain clapped Callum on the back hard, knocking him a step forward. The man gave him a hearty laugh, turned, and strolled across the deck, hollering at his crew as he went.
The days at sea were a refreshing blessing from the long hours spent on the muddy roads of England. The tang of the fresh salt air energized his mind and body. The white-capped waves poured over one another with raw endurance. He found satisfaction with the sea and its strength. The captain was right. The sea resembled a strong-willed woman. His will, his force on the world seemed paltry in the face of such vast power. Humbling a man, it made his troubles seem small and insignificant.
Callum gazed toward his destination, the Isle of Skye. Whether from the icy sea wind or the feeling of what was to come, a chill settled on his shoulders.
The port town of Struan grew steadily in the distance. He came home with a single purpose. To disabuse his mother and father of any further notion of his taking over as laird of his clan. With resolve planted firmly in his mind, he sailed into port.
Sailors brought in the sails and folded them, securing the line. Callum made his way down the gangplank and into the swirling sea of humanity.
The docks bustled with activity. Vendors hawked their wares while people tried to make their way around them. Gulls swooped in to snatch a tasty morsel where they could. A wagon passed by, carrying wooden casks full of whiskey from a clan distillery, a clan mark branded into the oak, the barrels ready to be loaded onto ships sailing for foreign ports. Passengers disembarked while men unloaded the ship. Others readied their cargos, anxious to catch the next tide and set sail.
He strolled down the road, taking in the sights of women scanning the windows of the shops while keeping a motherly eye on their offspring running in and out of the legs of the crowd. The hum of activity surrounded him. The local pub was busy regardless of the early hour. He pushed through the throng to the inn. There he would hire a horse to take him on to Dunvegan Castle, the family seat of the Clan MacLeod. The innkeeper greeted him with enthusiasm.
“Och, Master Callum. ’Tis good to see ye home agin.”
“I thank ye, Marcus. ’Tis good to be home.” Callum shook the man’s hand. “Have ye a mount ye can spare? My maw dinna ken when I would arrive. I can pay ye top dollar.”
The innkeeper batted away the offending words with a smile. “I will no hear o’ takin’ yer coin.” Marcus prodded a lanky young man with his boot. “Kenneth here will saddle yer ride, and we will have ye on yer way. Come in while yer waitin’ and take some o’ the parch from yer throat with a bit o’ ale.”
Both men entered the cool of the inn. After signaling the tap wench to bring Callum a pint of ale, Marcus waddled to the back of the inn.
The scarred tables were the same as the last time he’d been here. He strolled to the end of one in the corner. As he drank his ale, he traced the crude carving he’d made of a bird. The past was creeping up on him.
A short time later, Kenneth entered.
“Sir, yer mount is ready.”
Callum stood and tossed several coins onto the table. As he passed through the door, Marcus popped out from behind the bar, and Callum raised his hand with a small wave of farewell to the innkeeper. He’d forgotten the feel of familiarity and comfort only home could provide. Marcus reminded him in a small, brief way the soothing feeling of people one knew well, liked, and trusted.
He didn’t like the feeling.
He didn’t want to feel comforted.
He hadn’t felt comfortable since
he’d left his home. England provided him sustenance. That was all.
He didn’t want to feel comfortable now.
Callum enjoyed the bump and roll of the slow ride as the horse traversed the rugged terrain.
In the twilight, the bend in the road revealed his home. Callum inhaled a deep breath and let it out slowly. He rolled his shoulders.
Dunvegan Castle was a mishmash of angularity, each chief from the thirteenth century on adding his own odd contribution to the structure. The result, striking and beautiful with its beige native stone. It stood on a rocky outcrop along the shore of a large loch. The front entrance, flanked by twin turrets, stood within the fifty-foot keep walls. The great hall, private apartments, and bed chambers were also located within its ten-foot-thick walls. The exterior turrets and impressive observation tower added to the stronghold’s castellated appearance.
Callum turned to his left to take in the western wing and the Faerie Tower. It’s square and solid appearance added form and strength to the castle.
Built to honor the Faerie Flag, a legend the MacLeods had held on to for centuries. The flag was believed to protect the clan in times of strife.
He remembered the many days spent atop its stone walls. As a lad, he was the captain of his own ship, fighting pirates. The king of his own realm, his brave knights pledging their allegiance to him. Here, he’d dreamed the many dreams of youth.
As a young man, he’d often walked along the top with his father. He’d learned about his heritage and what it meant to be laird of his clan on the Faerie Tower.
Torches burned bright at the entrance doors. Callum dismounted and stood in the courtyard, removing his gloves. He couldn’t help but feel a certain joy at being home. It had been too long. The beastly journey from England to Dunvegan had been worth its bother for him to be standing right here, right now.
His delight faded. Soon he would meet his father. His stomach roiled over the argument he would have with the ailing man.
His mother had written to him that his father was seriously ill. When Callum received the message, he’d taken a day to ponder whether he would comply with his mother’s wish for him to come home. The last time he’d seen his father, harsh words had been exchanged on both sides. In the end he’d sent word he would be home in less than a fortnight.
As son of the MacLeod, Callum would inherit his father’s place as chief and laird of his clan. It was a role his father had prepared him for his entire life. His coming of age found him chafing at the bit. Young and brash, he hadn’t wanted his future decided for him. He desired to discover his place in the world without the constant responsibility of duty hanging over his head.
Callum had argued against forcing an eldest son to become laird. Duty may have been his father’s choice, but it was not his. Shouting words to hurt and anger his father, he’d declared the family and clan unimportant to him. It had worked. Callum had gained his freedom. Even now he felt sick to his stomach over the hurt he’d seen on his father’s face, but the words were too far gone to take them back.
He proceeded across the yard to the castle. Silence. No one to greet him. His bootheels clicked across the stone. His steps faltered at the door into the great hall. He entered and peered into the stone room, lit by a single fire, the torches cold.
Easing his way up the staircase, he called out, “Maw?” The sound of sobbing led him down the first hall, the sound tearing at his thumping heart. Callum hurried to his parents’ chamber, and he tapped on the door. No answer. He knocked. “Maw!”
The door flew opened. There stood his mother. She came forward, her gait unsteady. Tears coursed down her blotchy face as she stepped into his arms. He hugged her to him, and his eyes stung with emotion at seeing her so distraught. Her body shuddered against his chest as she clung to him.
“Dinna weep, Maw. I have come home,” Callum said, his throat tightening as he squeezed her.
“I promised m’self I wouldna, I truly did. ’Tis all I do. The sight o’ ye here, so verra tall and handsome has been my undoin’ once agin.” She stepped back and wiped her face and eyes with her apron.
Tilting his head, Callum brushed her cheek with his knuckles. He cradled her face in his hand for a moment.
“Lad, yer home. I am so verra glad to see yerself,” she said with a catch in her voice.
Callum brought his mother in for an extra squeeze, reluctant to release his hold on her.
“Yer da does no fare well.” Her voice low as she gently pushed Callum out of the room she and his father shared. “He sleeps now, but mayhap ye can sneak in to peek on him later tonight. Ye can have a proper visit with him in the morn. Yer sister is anxious to see ye.”
Lettie peeked around the doorjamb from her room. Her eyes were red and puffy. She greeted him with a brief curtsey but kept her distance.
“’Tis good to see ye, brother. Welcome home.” Lettie stepped out, smoothing down the front of her gown with her hands in a nervous gesture. She brought a finger to her lips and bit her nail.
Callum gazed at the woman before him. Lettie had been six years old when he’d left home. The soft candlelight lit her from above. She had grown to be a beautiful woman, resembling so very much his mother with her bright blue eyes. Her chestnut hair curled with natural waves about her face and shoulders.
“’Tis good to be home, lass. Come.” Callum gestured for her tocome forward. “Let us havena formality between us. While ’tis true I havena seen ye in some years, we still ken one another.” He stepped toward her, holding his arms open and relaxed. Best not to frighten the lass.
Lettie hesitated. Callum followed her glance to her mother. With Fiona’s encouraging smile, Lettie crossed the stone tiles into his embrace. She buried her face into the crook of his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her. A small sob escaped her lips, but she quickly gained control. She drew in a deep breath and raised her eyes, bright with tears, to meet his. “Callum, I have missed ye.”
With one arm around Lettie, Callum wrapped his other arm around his mother.
“Have ye eaten?” his mother asked.
“I had a few oatcakes when I left the ship. I am fine.”
“Nay, ye dinna eat a meal. Come, we canna have ye starved.” His mother led the way to the stairs.
Descending into the great hall, Callum steered Lettie and his mother toward the repast the sleepy servant had laid. The fire had been stirred, and the flames warmed the hall. He held a chair for his mother, who stared at him with a raised brow. Callum gestured toward the chair.
“Sit, Maw. I have learned a few genteel manners in my travels.”
Sitting on the cushioned chair, his mother gave him a watery chuckle. Callum pushed her chair to the table. He turned to Lettie and helped her to her seat. They filled their plates with cold meat, cheeses, and warm bread.
“How was yer journey?” Lettie inquired, picking at a bit of bread.
Callum swallowed his bite. “Uneventful enough. Though it had its moments. For the foppish gentleman in the cabin next to mine, the voyage was most disagreeable and resulted in a challenge for m’self and the other passengers. The unfortunate was suffering from a mild case o’ sea sickness. Although horrible if ye were to listen to him and his complaints, the sound o’ his retching could be heard day or night.”
“Och, the poor man,” Lettie commented.
Callum raised a hand to stall her sympathy. “So ye say. I suspect much o’ his ailment was brought on by the man himself to prove the validity o’ his malady. The dandy dinna let an opportunity go by to regale anyone who would listen about the churnin’ o’ his stomach and the dizziness in his head.”
Callum’s mother spread soft cheese on warm bread and took a nibble. “No verra charitable o’ ye, Callum.”
He rolled his eyes. “I dinna mean to be unkind, but the ship’s cook did dose
him with an infusion o’ pennyroyal to cure the disposition o’ his stomach contents. While it did seem to bring relief to him, he was quick to point out his amazement he could keep it down.” Callum shared an amused glance with his sister. “We all avoided him the best we could. His complaints grew tiresome to say the least. At a brief stop on the Isle o’ Man for water and supplies, the dandy chose to disembark, much to the relief o’ his fellow passengers. We were all glad to see the man go.”
Before Callum finished his tale, they had relaxed into a familiar comfort with each other, sharing a laugh or two over the man’s theatrics.
After the late supper, the three climbed the stairs to the upper halls. Callum kissed his sister on the cheek and watched her enter her room. Lettie peeked over her shoulder, eyes bright.
“’Tis fine, Lettie. I will be here when the morn comes,” Callum assured her.
After watching her go in to her chamber, he walked farther down the hall and slipped into his parents’ room. Standing alongside the bed, he took his father’s cold hand into his own warm one, holding it gently. Callum listened to his father’s labored breathing. He’d no doubt his father would die soon regardless of his mother’s hopes.
“Callum,” a raspy voice sounded in the dark.
“Aye, Da,” Callum answered.
The MacLeod drew in an unsteady breath. “’Tis good ye are home. I have waited for ye, lad.”
“We will speak in the morn, Da. Rest now.”
“Nay, ’tis important for ye to ken. I am pleased ye are here.” The MacLeod’s voice weakened.
Callum placed his free hand on the old man’s shoulder. In her missive, his mother had not shared the extent of her husband’s illness. Callum ran a jerky hand through his father’s hair and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. He inhaled deeply, the smells of the sickroom bringing bile to the back of his throat. This was wrong. His father was the Laird of the MacLeods, stalwart, braw.