Highlander’s Phantom Lass
Ann Marie Scott
Contents
A Free Gift for you
Highlands’ Formidable Warriors
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
Chapter 21
Afterword
Highlands’ Formidable Warriors
Highlander’s Tempting Stranger
Prologue
Chapter 1
A Free Gift for you
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Highlands’ Formidable Warriors
Book #1
Highlander’s Royal Blood
Book #2
Highlander’s Warrior Heart
Book #3
Highlander’s Phantom Lass (This Book)
Prologue
Will McDougal stood before his laird, his heart hammering in his chest. He had longed for this day and thought it might not ever come, but now that it was here, he didn’t want it to end.
They were in the great hall of the McDougal keep, with the fire roaring in the fireplace to ward off the chill of the cold December day. Next to him stood his mentor, the Scot who had made this happen, a slight smirk on his face. When Trevor McDougal had asked him to take his place as second-in-command, Will couldn’t believe it. He had gone from a stable lad to rising through the ranks of the laird’s warriors.
He thought back to the day that he had stepped foot into the warrior barracks, a scrawny lad that could barely hold a dagger, much less the sword that was now strapped to his back, right between his shoulder blades. While Will had thought that his training would begin immediately, the man seated beside his laird had seen something different.
His laird was Katherine McDougal, and she was giving him a wide smile as she held the hand of a former second-in-command for the McAiwn clan. He had given up his position to marry the laird, and while most thought that he would be the one to take on running the clan, Trevor stayed true to his pledge to his lady and allowed her to continue to rule.
“Step forward,” Katherine stated, rising from her chair.
Will drew in a breath and did as she asked, kneeling on one knee before her, his head bowed. “William McDougal,” she began, her words soft, “do ye promise tae protect yer laird and yer clan with yer life?”
“Aye,” he answered, his voice ringing out in the hall.
The cold steel of a sword touched his shoulder. “Then rise and face yer brethren.”
Will did so, turning to the group of warriors that had gathered to watch the proceedings. “Do ye take William McDougal tae lead ye?” Katherine asked. “Will ye follow him tae whatever awaits yer fate?”
“Aye!” they called out, raising their fists to their chests as a sign of loyalty to their new leader.
Trevor stepped forward, clapping his hand on Will’s shoulder. “I knew the day ye stepped into the barracks that ye would one day take mah place. This is a proud moment, Will, and I cannae think of anyone else I would want tae have mah position.”
Will had to blink back tears. After years of being on his own, he had a family in the warriors. His brethren, the men that he would be in charge of, were not only to protect their laird, but the entire clan. If they failed, their clan would suffer.
“Aye, I hope tae make ye proud,” he finally said.
Trevor winked. “Ye already have, lad. Go, stand before yer warriors.”
Trevor stepped back, and Will went before the men that had trained alongside him, the men that had taught him all that he knew about protecting their clan. Dropping to one knee, Will bowed his head much like he had in front of Katherine. “From this day forward, ye will have mah loyalty tae ye and ye alone. I will fight alongside ye, die if need be for mah clan and for mah warriors.”
There was a rustle of movement; Will lifted his head to watch the warriors drop to one knee as well, their fists still over their hearts. Will stood and did the same, a grin on his face. It was complete. He was now in charge of these warriors and the safety of the clan.
There were cheers all around as Trevor clapped him on the back this time, with his wife Garia at his side. “There, ’tis done!” he announced.
“Finally,” Garia replied, rubbing her swollen stomach. “Now ye can stop spending so much time at the barracks and more at home.”
Will watched as his mentor eyed his wife. “I dinnae know if that is a fair trade.”
She punched him in the shoulder, and they all laughed, standing at attention as the laird and her warrior joined them. “Oh, do relax,” Katherine stated, waving her hand at Will. “I dinnae think that after all this time ye need tae be so formal.”
Will’s shoulders relaxed, and he accepted the forearm of Cameron. “I knew the moment I saw ye in that stable that ye was destined tae become a warrior someday. Now look at ye.”
Will grinned, thinking back to the day that he was a scared, scrawny stable lad attempting to guard the newly crowned laird. He had been frightened of the man before him when he had approached, but never in his days had he thought he would hear the words that had propelled him to this moment in his life. “Thank ye,” he told Cameron for the hundredth time since that day. “I dinnae know wot I would have done if ye hadnae taken a chance on me.”
Cameron laughed. “I dinnae think I had much tae do with it. Ye are the one that got yerself here, lad, not me.”
“Come now,” Katherine stated, sliding her arm into her husband’s. “Are we going tae just stand around or eat the food that the kitchens have been working on for days? Do ye know how hard it is tae walk past the kitchens and smell something ye cannae taste?”
The group laughed, and Will let them walk ahead of him, drawing in a deep breath. This was his family, the family he would protect with his life, to the end of his days. It was much more than just a position he had been given, but a lifetime of servitude.
A lifetime that he had wished to have since the moment he had stepped into those barracks.
He would not let them down.
1
Breta McLeish waited patiently for her father outside of his study, wincing as she heard the yell of his voice through the heavy oak door. He had been closeted with his advisors all morning, and by the sound of it, the discussion was not a pleasant one.
They were likely discussing the recent raids on the outlying farms along their borders. She had heard the snatches of conversation in the great hall at night, the worries of villagers that they might be next. So far, no one had been captured, and the McLeish warriors had been out night and day in an attempt to find the culprits.
“’Tis not polite tae eavesdrop.”
Breta tur
ned to find her mother standing a few steps away, her hand on her hip. Lady McLeish was a lovely woman, with long auburn hair that was barely streaked with grey and a trim figure that belied the fact she had bore three daughters. It was said that when her father laid eyes on her mother, he wanted no other woman but her, and even fought the Scot she had been promised to in order to win her hand.
It was the story of legends.
“I am waiting mah turn.”
Lady McLeish laughed, a knowing smile on her face. “Sure, ye are. Wot is it that ye want tae discuss with yer da?”
Breta shifted her stance, her leg growing sore from standing in one position. “I wish tae compete on behalf of the clan at the games.”
Lady McLeish’s smile faltered, and Breta sighed. She was the second born, now the perceived future laird of the McLeish clan since there were no males. The eldest sister, Garia, had wed a warrior in Clan McDougal five years ago, giving up her birthright to live a simple life, so Breta was now the next in line.
She was much like her sister in the fact that she was not a genteel woman. She enjoyed riding her horse across the moors, learning to throw a proper dagger before her tenth year. She could shoot an arrow as well as any Scot in their clan, and recently had engaged in sword fighting.
It was important to Breta that she knew how to protect herself and her family. Had she not been born a laird’s daughter, she would force upon her father to become a warrior instead. After all, it was a sight better than learning how to darn socks and providing weekly council to the clan. Breta loved her clan, but she wanted to serve them in a different capacity—starting with the games.
When she had first heard of the Highland games the McDougal clan was hosting, Breta knew that it was her time to show her father and the clan what she could do. She wouldn’t attend to find a husband, but to represent their clan and win the coveted games.
That was what she wished to do.
First, however, she had to get her father’s blessing to do so.
“Ye cannae compete, Breta,” her mother finally said with a sigh. “Ye are a woman—a daughter of a laird—and if ye are tae attend, it will be tae find ye a husband, nothing more.”
“I can do everything that a lad can do,” Breta forced out. “Why must I be denied because I am a lass?”
Her mother reached out and cupped her cheek. “Mah sweet Breta. It has nothing tae do with ye being a lass. Ye are destined tae marry and carry on our bloodline. Can ye not see how important that is?”
“But this is important,” Breta argued. “I need tae do this, Mam. I need tae show that I can be just as strong.”
“Ye are strong, just like me. I’ve no need tae prove mahself, and ye shouldnae either.”
The door opened suddenly and her father’s advisors hurried out, red-faced. Breta stepped back and allowed them to pass before entering his study. It was one of her favorite rooms in the keep—always warm due to the fireplace, and faintly smelling of old leather. She had spent a great deal of time in there as a bairn, often choosing the study as her hiding place whenever her sisters were looking for her.
Laird McLeish sat at the massive table near the fire, his head in his hands.
“Da?”
He lifted his head. “Breta, lass, now is not the time.”
“I need ye tae approve it, though. I dinnae have a great deal of time.” The games were due to start in less than a week’s time.
He sighed heavily. She felt bad for bothering him. It was clear that he was frustrated about his recent meeting.
“Fine,” he said. “Tell me wot is bothering ye.”
Breta grabbed ahold of the wingback chair before the table, the worn fabric rough against her hand. “I wish tae go tae the Highland games.”
Her father arched a brow. “’Tis a good idea, lass. Ye can find yerself a husband there.”
“Nay, Da. I wish...I wish tae attend in order tae compete.”
His eyes widened. “Compete?”
“I know I am but a lass,” she rushed on, thinking of her mother’s words, “and I know I am tae be the next in line, but I wish tae show everyone that I am so much more.”
There, she had said it.
Breta had never asked for much, and after Garia married her warrior, her father hadn’t taken much interest in his other daughters. For that, Breta was grateful. She had watched her sister being driven out of her home to escape an arranged marriage, and she didn’t want the same to happen to her.
It seemed as though her father had learned his lesson.
But now, she needed for him to see her reasoning. She was the strongest out of them all. She was the one who could win those Highland games and launch her family’s name—her entire clan—to the brink of greatness.
Finally, he shook his head. “Nay, ye cannae. I have already picked the warrior that will represent our clan.”
“Who?”
“Orin.”
Breta snorted. Orin was nothing more than a bulky Scot with no skills. She had sparred with him and found his sword skills lacking, amongst other things. While he had a handsome face, he couldn’t protect a fly if it came down to it.
“Please, Da,” she begged, “come and see mah skills if ye dinnae believe I can do it. But give me this chance.”
“Mah answer is final,” he said, his jaw clenched tightly. “Now leave me be, Breta. I have work that needs mah attention.”
Breta bit down on her lip and stiffly left the room, holding back her tears until she had made it to her chamber. Once the door was shut, Breta allowed the first one to fall. Her father was unwilling even to entertain the idea unless she was looking for a husband. And the warrior he had chosen most likely wouldn’t make it past the first round.
“When have ye ever let his words stop ye?”
Breta looked at her sister, Ferra, and sighed. “Wot can I do, Ferra? ’Tis not like I can just go and compete. There is bound tae be questions if two arrive in the name of McLeish.”
Ferra swung her legs on the bed, her expression pensive. Out of the three sisters, Breta felt like Ferra favored their father the most, especially when she was lost in thought.
“We’ve done it before.”
“Done wot?”
Ferra smiled, showing off her straight teeth. “We snuck Garia out before. We can do it again.”
Breta shared in her sister’s smile. They had been nothing but young lasses when they had caught Garia attempting to flee her arranged marriage, and had formulated a plan to get her out of the keep unnoticed. It had worked, sending the entire keep in an uproar for days. No one ever suspected that the two sisters had been part of the plan, and for years afterward, they had laughed about being able to get away with it.
After all, it had worked out in Garia’s favor. She was a happily married lass now, with a husband that loved her madly.
“I dinnae know,” Breta said slowly. “That still doesn’t solve the problem of Orin.”
Ferra grinned. “I can handle the warrior. A bit of herb in his ale and he will be indisposed.”
“Ferra!” Breta admonished. “I dinnae wish tae kill him!”
Ferra waved a hand at her sister. “I’m not going tae kill him. I am going tae make his stomach gurgle so much that he will wish he were dead.”
Breta swallowed. Ferra had been spending time with Tesla, who had been Garia’s dearest friend and now was the clan’s healer, learning the trade of herbal healing. Their mother allowed it, stating that it never hurt for a woman to know the basics, but Breta was starting to realize that her sister was learning far more.
“I dinnae know, Ferra...”
Ferra hopped off the bed and took Breta’s face in her cool hands. “Do ye want tae go or not?”
“Of course.”
“Then it’s settled. And when ye win the Highland games, ye can make yer own fate, dear sister. Da will be so proud, and Mam will as well. I’m proud of ye regardless.”
Breta wrapped her arms around her sister and hugged her tightly.
Since Garia left the keep, they had grown closer than ever.
“I wish ye could come as well.”
Ferra hugged her back. “Mah time will come soon. Now, we have less than a few days before the group departs. Let me start tae work on the potion, and then ye can slip into Orin’s place. As long as ye wear a cloak and keep yer head down, no one will know.”
Breta felt her heart flutter in her chest. Her sister was giving her the one thing that she had lost the moment she had stepped out of her father’s study—hope.
Did she dare defy the laird’s orders? He would be enraged when he found out, and once he arrived at the games, he would know what she had done. It would be far too late, of course, and as long as Breta kept winning, he would not have a reason to pull her from the games.
“Ye think ye can do it?” Breta finally asked.
Ferra pulled away from her sister, a glint in her eye. “Of course I can,” she snorted. “I wouldnae say so unless I could.”
Breta crossed the room to look out of the window, where she could see the village beyond the keep’s walls. This was her only chance to do something that she wished to do. It was a way to prove herself to her father and to her clan. She was not just a laird’s daughter, but something far more.
“I am going tae do it,” she said, hoping that she wasn’t making the wrong decision by agreeing to this plot.
Highlander’s Phantom Lass: A Steamy Scottish Medieval Historical Romance Page 1