by Alisa Adams
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Beasts of the Highlands
Book #1
Highlander’s Lionheart (This book)
Book #2
Highlander’s Scarred Angel
Book #3
Highlander’s Wounded Beast
Book #4
Highlander’s Fierce Wolf
Book #5
Highlander’s Heart of Steel
Book #6
Highlander’s Golden Jewel
Chapter 1
Scottish Highlands
Late 1700s
* * *
Cenna Ross stood on a hill covered in yellow gorse and purple heather. She was looking out onto the blue waters of the loch that lay nestled in the hills above the MacDonell highlands. One hand was on her hip while the other hand was rapidly spinning her dirk between her fingers. She had a stubborn, mutinous expression on her beautiful face. Her green eyes glistened in the bright sunlight reflecting off the waters, and her tawny blonde and brown hair twisted out behind her in long tendrils as the wind played happily with it. The breezes made her pale, green skirts twirl around her legs and pressed her loose white shift to her stays, which showed off her slim waist and breasts. Cenna was oblivious to it all. She only heard her brother-in-law’s words. He stood beside her, telling her what his plans were for her. Nay, she thought, ordering her!
Her chest was heaving in anger the longer he talked. Finally, he was silent, staring at her. Waiting. He had a small grin on his face which made Cenna even more angry, if that was possible.
Cenna looked up at her huge brother-in-law. Her hand still now, holding the small knife that she had been twirling. It had become habit, twirling her dirks between her fingers. Sometimes she was not even aware of it. Right now, she clutched its handle tensely in her fist.
“Why me? I dinnae want to go,” she said. “Not now.” She knew she sounded childish, which was so unlike herself. But he had pulled her off the training field, her favorite thing, practicing with weapons. To talk, of all things!
“You are the only one,” Gordon MacDonell, Laird of Clan MacDonell and her brother-in-law, said in his deep voice.
Cenna started to twirl her dirk between her fingers again, the stubborn look still on her face.
Gordon stared down at his sister-in-law. She was stunningly beautiful, though of course he did not believe she was as beautiful as her older sister, Godet—his wife. He studied his little “sister.” Cenna had lighter hair and crystalline green eyes with a slight slant to them, lending them an ethereal quality. They were light, like Godet’s, but his Godet was dark-haired and had silvery, grey, mysterious eyes. His wife and her sisters were all fierce, brave warriors, and all were extremely protective of each other. Godet was the eldest, and he had fallen in love with her instantly, even though he had been betrothed to another. When Godet came to him for help, she had brought her three younger sisters to protect them. Flori was the second oldest; gentle and kind and timid. She looked like a softer version of his Godet. Cenna was the third sister; brave, brash, fearless and fearsome, as well as a bit of a jokester. And then Ina; the youngest—a petite, blonde angel who was full of mischief.
“Godet needs me,” Cenna said, in what she was embarrassed to admit was a stubborn pout.
“She is healthy and so is our babe growing within her,” Gordon said as he puffed out his chest.
Cenna glared up at him. “Why cannae Flori go?”
“You and I both know that Flori is a gentle soul. This is a warriors task I send you on,” Gordon said as he studied her. “Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps ye are not the warrior I thought ye to be.” At Cenna’s quick furious glare, he continued. “But I dinnae think I am wrong. Ye are a warrior.” He paused, commanding her with his eyes alone. “So, what is the real reason you are acting like such a wee bairn?”
Cenna scowled mutinously up at him. At a movement behind him, she flipped the handle of the dirk between her fingers and flung it with such speed it made a whirring noise as it flew past Gordon’s arm.
The dirk landed at the feet of his younger brother, standing a few feet beyond them.
“I told ye Tristan!” Cenna called out. “I told ye I wanted to talk to yer brother alone. Why cannae ye give me some room to breathe, ye glaikit mon!”
Gordon looked back at his brother with a wry grin. He had his answer.
“Tis Tristan isnae it? He is the reason you are dithering,” Gordon asked her firmly.
“Why is he coming? I dinnae need him,” Cenna said. “He makes me uncomfortable,” she added under her breath.
“I suppose I could send him by himself but as your Aunt Hextilda pointed out, he does not know Fionnaghall like you do. She suggested heavily that he accompany you. Besides, it is your home,” Gordon said lightly, watching her response.
“He wouldnae be able to protect Fionnaghall, he is far too pretty to be fearsome in case she was attacked again,” Cenna said with her chin in the air.
“She?” Gordon said, stifling the growing grin on his face. He knew his brother could hear everything Cenna said and he also knew his brother was seething at her words.
“Fionnaghall. She is a grand old lady. Her name means white shoulders. She may be ancient and crumbling; all those white stones she is made from may be ready to crumble and fall into the sea she looks over, but still she is beautiful,” Cenna said in a reverent voice.
“Tristan is the best Cenna, you know this. He is unmatched in battle. His ‘pretty’ looks aside,” he said, unable to stop the grin on his face at that description of his brother, who he knew to be as deadly as any assassin or warrior there was in Scotland. “I trust him to safeguard Fionnaghall.” Gordon’s voice was deep, stern, and solemn. And to guard you, he thought to himself.
Cenna scoffed at Gordon’s words. “Your best?” she asked mockingly.
Just as Cenna finished her sentence, she heard a whirring. With a loud thwack, her dirk was impaled in the ground at the tip of her booted feet. She looked past Gordon to where Tristan stood. His hands were on his hips and a crooked grin on his face. He batted his impossibly long eyelashes at her and then chuckled. He began to walk slowly, stealthy—like a wolf who knows his strength—towards them, stopping beside his brother. He stood shoulder to shoulder with the laird. Both so large they would be intimidating to others. His arms were across his massive chest, his heavy kilt blew slightly in the breeze, and his linen shirt billowed about his broad shoulders. His shoulder-length dark hair was pulled back from his strongly chiseled face by a leather thong.
“He is impossible!” Cenna seethed as she bent down and yanked her dirk out of the ground.
“The man is as skilled and lethal with all weapons as you are, Cenna. Someone must be in place at Fionnaghall in case the Munroes try to take your home again,” Gordon said in a commanding voice.
The Munroes taking over Fionnaghall had sent Cenna, Godet, and their two other sisters to Clan MacDonell for protection, where Gordon and Godet had fallen in love. They had defeated the Munroes and chased them out of Fionnaghall, and returned to the MacDonell lands for Gordon and Godet’s wedding. The months had slipped peacefully by. Cenna knew Fionnaghall needed a leader, and knew that one of the sisters had to return.
Tristan took another step forward and bowed slightly at the waist.
“I shall accompany you to your home and help you protect your dear old crumbling pile of white stones—your Fionnaghall, from the Munroes. I can assure you I will keep my hands to myself as long as ye keep your acid tongue in your mouth,” he said quietly to her, with a smile on his lips.
His voice was as deep as his brothers and seemed to vibrate through Cenna’s chest. She looked up into his green eyes and tri
ed not to stare at his mouth.
He made her warm.
He made her feel like lightening was sizzling through her veins, just under her skin.
He made her stomach feel odd, almost sick.
He infuriated her.
She stuck her dirk up under his chin.
“Ye are gaunnae stay away from me Tristan, I dinnae want ye trying to touch me or...” she huffed out a breath, “…or kiss me, or anything else! Dee ye ken ye gallus mon?”
Tristan took one stalking step and came right up against her, looking down into her crystal green, unusual, almost exotic eyes. He felt the prick of her dirk, felt the small trickle of blood that its tip caused. He saw her eyes dilate, saw the heat there, the awareness.
For him.
He knew she was fighting it, his fierce warrior.
And he wanted her desperately.
But he would wait.
His brave warrior was frightened. He would wait until she was ready.
Until she asked him to kiss her.
That was his plan, anyway.
Chapter 2
Tristan and Gordon stood staring after Cenna as she marched angrily across the gorse back to Castle Conall. They could hear her talking to herself. She was furious and spouting off foul language in the old Scots language, a curious trait that Cenna and her younger sister seemed to enjoy. Her arms were waving about as she let off expletive after expletive.
“She’s a braw woman when she’s angry,” Tristan mused as his eyes followed Cenna’s lithe strides.
“You’ll have your hands full brother,” Gordon said as he clapped him on the back. “She truly dislikes you. Think she’s off to pack?”
“Och, no, she’s headed back to the training ground. She will be wanting to bust some heads. The poor young lads willnae know what’s headed their way. I best go after her,” Tristan said with a frown.
“A word of advice little brother? Let her work it out. You need her on your side when you get to Fionnaghall. The Clearances are still pushing tenants out. If Red Munroe is truly acting as sheriff to send more crofters off any lands he chooses, you must be there to stop him. As a Black Watch commander, we are loyal to the crown and our duty is to keep the peace. If Munroe is acting for nefarious means, just as his uncle Mungan did before him by trying to force Godet to marry him to take control of Fionnaghall, then we need to find out.”
“Aye, the girls cannae go through that again. How did anyone allow Red Munroe to be sheriff? The mon’s a monster! His brutal murder of innocent people earned him that name for sard’s sake,” Tristan stated angrily.
“Still, as sheriff, he is appointed through the Clearance Act to remove tenants. I dinnae think he will respect that Fionnaghall is aligned with Clan MacDonell and is not a Jacobite supporter, and thus our lands should not fall under this Act.”
“Mungan Munroe already cleared most of the tenants and crofters off of Fionnaghall’s land. She is weak indeed. I’ll need some of the Black Watch army,” Tristan said with a frown as he continued to watch Cenna stomp through the gorse and heather.
“Take what you need. I dinnae want to lose Fionnaghall. We need the sea firth she looks over so that we may ship our whiskey unimpeded,” Gordon said curtly. “And Godet and her sisters need their home,” he added softly.
“I’d like to have Loughlin and Liam with me,” Tristan mused.
“Loughlin will not leave Flori’s side. And Flori will not leave her sister’s side. Godet needs at least one of her sisters with her and Flori has the sweet, motherly personality she needs while the babe grows within her. Aye, Loughlin has claimed Flori and is not going to be parted from her.”
Tristan grinned. “I know how Cenna would react if I told her that I was keeping her, as Loughlin did with Flori.”
“She’d pull her knife on you?” Gordon said with a laugh.
“Och, far worse. She pulls her knife on me every day it seems, for some reason or another! I shudder to think what she would do when she was truly angry!” Tristan gave out a short laugh.
“The sisters are unusual arnae they?” Gordon said softly.
“Aye,” Tristan answered just as quietly.
“They have stolen our hearts, one and all,” Gordon said with a smile.
“Well, there’s little Ina yet, the minx. You’ll have to be keeping your eye on her, brother. She’s got too many of the men chasing after her.”
“She’s far too young—”
“Och brother, nay she isnae. She may be the youngest of the four but she is as wise as the rest of them. She may look tiny and bright as a little angel but she is a wily little thing. Watch over her. She’ll be crushing our men’s hearts,” Tristan said, shaking his head.
“I know. She is a sparkling bit of the sun, and mischievous as a sprite. But you Tristan, I worry. Cenna is a fighter, a warrior. She is not ready for you.” Gordon did not speak unkindly to his brother, though his voice held concern. “Indeed, she will not be controlled or owned by any man.”
Tristan frowned at what his brother said. The huge laird of the MacDonald clan was devoted to his new wife. And deeply in love with her. He would die for his Godet, just as she would for him. He envied that. But still, “Do ye own Godet?” he asked his brother.
“Of course not! We are partners. It is different with us. Godet has a soft side that I fear Cenna does not. I just dinnae see her falling in love, letting down that warrior side of her fierce heart,” Gordon explained.
Tristan’s eyes had never left Cenna’s figure as she went across the gorse. “Aye, I know. Either she will accept that she is mine, or I shall find another.” He shrugged.
Gordon threw his head back and laughed. “You think it will be that easy? To find another woman for you once you have met the one that is your heart’s mate? And that woman is a Ross sister? I think not, brother.” Gordon slapped Tristan on the back once again and stalked off, his long legs eating up the distance.
Tristan let him go. He was deep in thought. He knew that Gordon had intentionally left out that Fionnaghall needed a leader, and that he—Tristan—would be that leader. This would not sit well with Cenna.
He also knew that Red Munroe would try again, one way or another, to take Fionnaghall. Or take one of the sisters to get Fionnaghall.
* * *
Tristan headed back to the castle. He needed to gather the men he would need, weapons, food stuffs. He was eager to be off. Fionnaghall was a beautiful old castle. Yes, she was an ancient pile of stone that was falling down in some parts. But she sat there, majestically and regally looking out over the sea from the verdant green rolling hilltop she sat on. Her white stones shone brightly in the sun that reflected off of the sea. The lulling sound of the waves rolling onto the shore created a harmonious heartbeat like rhythm with the earth, the sun, the air. The breezes coming off the water smelled of salt and fresh air and...adventure. There was something about her that made your heart swell.
As he walked along, noticing the thick yellow gorse, the rolling green hills sweeping up higher into barren craggy peaks, the purple heather, and the beautiful lochs he had called home his whole life—he knew that all this was his brother’s. As Laird of Clan MacDonell, it would always be Gordon’s to lead. Gordon had offered him other holdings to be chief of but they hadn’t spoken to him as Fionnaghall had. Fionnaghall was his to lead, to be the caretaker of. At least for now. He grinned in anticipation and walked on faster.
When he entered the great hall of Castle Conall there came a cacophony of noise that crashed into his ears. He looked around the big space. The hearth was unlit as it was a warm day, but still the space was brightly lit as Godet and her sisters had made many small changes. The tapestries that covered the walls in this oldest and original part of the old castle were cleaned of their years of dust and soot from the hearth. They now hung brightly with all their silken threads able to shine now, catching every bit of light. The scenes of battles past were colorful and ones the MacDonells were proud of. They showed the hist
ory of the clan; hard won battles, the MacDonald lairds and their highland warriors fighting bravely throughout the ages. The men were glad that the ladies hadn’t tried to put up something newer, but instead marveled at the old battle scenes depicted on the tapestries. The sisters especially cooed over the excellent depiction of the horses in the battles; each muscle, each graceful arch of the horses’ necks were glowing with silken threads and made the horses seem to come alive.
The furniture was clean and polished, its wood glowing richly, and the floor was clean and no longer smelled of dust, dirt, and manure tracked in. Overall, the musty old smell of the castle was gone. In fact, Tristan smelled flowers. Looking around, he saw pots placed down the length of the huge, long table that took up most of the hall. In each pot were giant bouquets of wildflowers, no doubt picked by Ina.
Tristan looked up the giant sweeping stairs to where all the noise was coming from. He frowned at the velvet curtains that hung upon the massive floor-to-ceiling windows on the first landing. The stately curtains had hung on the big landing since he was a small boy and had hid behind them in games with Gordon. The big landing was at the top of the grand staircase, just before the stairs turned left and right on either side of the landing. He had always thought those curtains were a deep, dark blue. The girls had taken them down and cleaned them as well. They were now a rich cerulean blue reflecting the bright blue of the sky outside the very windows they hung upon. Tristan smiled. He never would have guessed that those velvet curtains had been that dirty!
The noise got louder and he realized the sisters were coming down the stairs. He backed up a few steps so that he would not get trampled, for they were so engrossed in their discussion they had not seen him at the bottom of the steps. Tristan was fascinated by their vehemence, but it was Cenna that his eyes could not look away from. Her tall, lithe, athletic form was grace and strength in all her curves. The leather corset belt she wore over her white shift and the waist of her dark green skirts showed off her impossibly tiny waist. He could see rectangles of silver embedded all around it and knew that it was the sleeves that carried her dirks. Cenna was never without her dirks. She was a powerful force in her passion that surrounded the argument the sisters were having. Her sisters did not agree with her in whatever it was they were arguing over.