A Healer For The Highlander (Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance)

by Fiona Faris

  The priest nodded and motioned with his hand for Logan to slide the ring on her finger.

  “With this ring, I bind ye tae Sophia. Sophia, yer vows now, please.”

  Sophia smiled then as she looked up from the ring that fit perfectly on her finger.

  “Logan, I vow tae hold ye in all the ways I can hold ye, tae cherish, that yer name be the only name I sing at night, and yer eyes the only eyes I look tae in the mornin’.” Logan felt a warmth spread through his chest.

  “With this ring, I bind ye tae Logan.” The priest motioned for Sophia to place the ring on her new husband’s finger.

  “I now pronounce the tae of ye husband and wife. Logan, ye may kiss yer wife.”

  Logan didn’t let the priest finish his sentence before he wrapped his arms around Sophia and dipped her low. He parted her soft lips with his tongue and gave her the kiss he had dreamed of giving her on their wedding day since he had asked her to be his wife.

  “This is Mr. and Mrs. Logan Maxwell,” the priest bellowed. Sophia fanned herself as she was dizzy with the passion of the kiss and the sudden drop in Logan’s arms.

  Everyone sitting in the pews rose and cheered. People threw flowers and herbs of every kind at the couple as they made their way to the great hall. The bagpipes began playing loud celebratory music. They made their way in a procession towards the estate, everyone eager to begin the festivities. The kitchen had been preparing for days: cooking meats, baking rolls, gathering fresh vegetables and cheeses. Visitors were coming in from the border lands to celebrate. The feasts would last for two days.

  They walked slow and steady and Logan felt proud to be holding Sophia’s hand. He smiled widely as he looked behind him and saw so many people from the estate falling close behind. There were times when Logan had been worried, only months before, that people were going to rebel against him. And yet, here they were now, celebrating him and his new family. It was all he could have hoped for.

  By the time they arrived to the great hall, Sophia was famished, but she needed to talk to Logan. She pulled him by his hand away from the crowd as they moved into the castle.

  “Are ye alright, Sophia? Are ye ready tae celebrate?” Logan asked.

  “Aye, I am, but I need tae talk tae ye first. Logan, I want ye tae know, I am with child.” Sophia bit her lip, wondering how Logan would feel about this, if he would be as excited as she was.

  She was very surprised when he let out a loud shout. He picked her up and spun her around.

  “Yer with child? Ye have no idea how happy I am tae hear that.” He set her back down and pulled her face towards his and gave her a long kiss.

  “I was worried. Tis so soon.”

  Logan shook his head. “Nae, tis perfect timing. I have waited long enough tae find ye, my true love. I am ready to see what the rest of our life brings.”

  “Aye, me tae, Logan. I am ready fer it—finally,” Sophia responded.

  With that, the two turned and headed inside, ready to begin their lives as husband and wife.

  Extended Epilogue

  Eager to learn what the future holds for Sophia and Logan?

  Then you may enjoy this extended epilogue.

  Simply tap here and you can read it for FREE, or use this link:

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  Afterword

  Thank you for reading my novel, A Healer for the Highlander. I really hope you enjoyed it! If you did, could you please be so kind to write a review HERE?

  It is very important for me to read your thoughts about my book, in order to get better at writing.

  Please use the link below:

  https://www.fionafaris.com/9myc

  Do you want more Romance?

  Turn on the next page to read the first chapters of the prequel to this story, which was my first best-selling novel: Highlander’s Wicked Desire

  This is a story about a woman with no memories and a Highlander who is trying to unravel a plot against him...

  * * *

  Highlander's Wicked Desire

  Prologue

  The Isle of Skye, Scotland

  James Alexander MacDonald stared down into the dark empty pit as his body was gently lowered down into the earth. The entire clan had gathered to bid their laird a tearful farewell, having no notion of the heinous crimes he had committed that had led him to his well-deserved end. James had loved and respected his father for his entire life until the day that he had kidnapped the woman James loved and threatened to rape her. When Marra’s husband, Duncan MacGregor Campbell, had come for her, James had aided in her rescue, but his father had pursued them with a number of his men and attempted to kill them all, including James. Duncan was forced to kill James’ father and the laird’s men. Duncan had escaped with Marra safely back to the mainland, leaving James to pick up the pieces of his shattered life. Not wishing to have a war declared between his people and Duncan’s, James had lied about his father’s true cause of death, citing a fall from the cliffs onto the jagged rocks below. So far no one had questioned his word, but he had not rested easy since the night it had happened.

  Now as he surveyed the faces around him, people he had spent his entire life with, he never felt more alone. While they genuinely mourned his father, James did not, or at least not the man he had become. Or was he always this man and I ne’er kenned it tae be so? How many others has he harmed in his quest for power o’er all the isles? James frowned at the thought.

  As the clergyman began to speak of the heavenly delights that awaited all of God’s faithful children, James felt a wave of disappointment and disgust, combined with the deepest of heartbreaks over his father’s betrayal of all that was good and right. He could not imagine a man such as his father making it through heaven’s gates, and he was immensely relieved that it was not his responsibility to determine such a fate. ‘Tis best tae leave God’s business tae God.

  When the ceremony was over, the clan gathered in the castle’s great hall to celebrate the laird’s life. There was a grand feast in his honor with copious amounts of ale and stories of the laird’s many exploits. Cheers of, “Tae the Laird o’ Skye!”, rang out through the air as tankards of ale were slammed together, sloshing their contents out upon the floor and tables. James sat at the high table upon the raised dais watching it all.

  “There will be a ceremony tae swear ye in as laird upon the morrow,” the clergyman informed him at his elbow. They appeared to James to be the only two sober men remaining.

  “Aye,” he nodded his head in acknowledgement.

  “Are ye ready tae take on yer faither’s mantle?”

  “As ready as one can e’er be, I expect,” James turned to meet the clergyman’s eyes. “I thank ye for yer kind words at the graveside. ‘Tis certain that ye were a great comfort tae many o’ our people.”

  “Aye, but was I a comfort tae ye?”

  “Aye,” James lied, attempting a smile. “Aye, that ye were.”

  “I am relieved. I was nae at all certain.”

  “Dinnae fash, Minister. Ye did as well as can be expected o’ ye under such circumstances.”

  The minister smiled and moved on to speak with another member of his parish. William MacDonald, one of the clan’s best warriors, approached the dais and came around to sit in the minister’s now vacant chair. “I ken as well as ye that the laird’s wounds did nae come from a fall on jagged rocks. ‘Twas a sword that did him in, sure as ye and I are sittin’ here.” James’ heart sped up in his chest as his eyes bore into William’s, attempting to read his next move. “I ken what he did tae that wee lass o’ yers. Nae man should e’er treat a lass in such a way. Ye have me word that I will nae tell another soul about what happened, but I wanted ye tae ken that ye are nae alone in this. If e’er ye need a trusted man tae serve at yer side, I am he.” William stood, clapped James on the shoulder in sympathetic comradery, and then walked away to rejoin the feast.

  James let out a long low sigh of relief. His secret was safe for now. But for ho
w long will it remain so? A cold chill passed down James’ spine as if in foreboding of what was to come.

  Chapter One

  One Year Later

  Knock Castle, The Isle of Skye, Scotland

  James stood atop the walls of Knock Castle and looked out over the land he loved so dearly. The Isle of Skye was imprinted upon his heart in indelible emerald green ink. He could not help but miss its craggy shores each time he left for business upon the mainland. This time he had been away for Duncan and Marra’s wedding. They had been handfasted for a year and a day and had decided to make it official before the eyes of God and man. Marra had gone into labor with their first born before the ceremony. It had been a riotous affair to be sure, and at its conclusion, they were wed, and James had become the godfather to their newborn son, Ewan.

  James smiled at the thought of the wee bairn. He would need to travel back and forth to the mainland often to see his godson. He knew that children grew so very fast, and he did not wish to miss out on Ewan’s life any more than was necessary. It had been difficult watching Marra marry another man, but he knew that Duncan MacGregor was the one and only man for her, and he would never dream of coming between such a love as that.

  Perhaps young Ewan can come and stay with me for a time when he is auld enough. That is assumin’ I have a place for him tae come tae.

  James looked down at the piece of paper in his hand. It was the second attempt at blackmail he had received since becoming laird. Someone in the clan knew what had truly happened to his father and was threatening to tell the others and displace him as laird. The first letter had come but a month ago. He had at first suspected William as the only other clansman who had known his secret, but William had more than proved his loyalty over the last year in helping Duncan and Marra’s people to get back on their feet after being attacked and betrayed by a group of their own people led by Duncan’s cousin Lachlan. When James had approached William about the letter, he had denied any knowledge of it, and James believed him. He had received the second letter as soon as he had entered his bedchamber upon his return.

  Footsteps approached from behind him, and he turned to see who it was. “How was the weddin’?” William asked, leaning his elbows against the top of the castle wall.

  “Eventful,” James answered, smiling at the memory.

  “’Tis about time for ye tae consider settlin’ down yerself, is it nae? Perhaps the daughter o’ one o’ the clan’s more influential members?” William suggested, with a raised brow. “’Twould certainly go a long way tae securin’ yer lairdship, would it nae.”

  “Aye, it might, but I am nae ready yet,” James answered, shaking his head.

  “Still pinning o’er the loss o’ young Marra MacDonald, are ye?” William asked, knowing the answer already.

  James shot him a look but otherwise chose to ignore the comment. He handed William the most recent blackmail attempt and stood silently while the warrior read it. “So they have nae ceased in their threats but dinnae make any demands o’ ye.”

  “Aye, it is as if their only purpose is tae make me aware that they ken the truth and that at some point in the future they intend tae share it with the rest o’ the clan.”

  “And tae kill ye if these words are any indication,” William noted, tapping the paper in his hand with disgust.

  “Have ye had any luck in findin’ anythin’ on the blackmailers in me absence?”

  “Nae, I have nae,” William answered, shaking his head angrily. “I have spoken with everyone I can ‘bout how they feel ‘bout yer bein’ laird, and I did nae come across anyone who does nae believe ye tae be the rightful Laird o’ Skye. O’ course, they could have lied. As I am nae able tae reveal the real reason for the inquiries, me ability tae ascertain who the cuddies might be is limited at best.”

  James nodded his head in understanding. It had been exceedingly difficult to make inquiries into who might have left the letter for him without revealing the contents. He had been forced to burn the first letter detailing the truth to avoid any risk of discovery. Had it been only his life at risk, he would have admitted all and been done with it, but it was not just his life. The fate of three clans depended on his father’s true cause of death remaining a secret. Duncan’s, Marra’s, and James’ own clan all hung in the balance. “All we can do is continue tae try and apprehend the blackmailers before it is tae late.”

  “Aye, but how?” William asked, handing him back the letter.

  “I dinnae ken, but we will think o’ somethin’. We must.”

  William nodded his head, and the two of them stood gazing out over the sea. They watched as the sky darkened, and a fierce storm blew toward them from across the water. “’Twill be a rough one.” William gestured out toward the brewing storm. “’Tis good ye came home when ye did. I would nae want tae be out on the water in that.”

  “Aye, ‘tis good tae be home in spite o’ everythin’,” James agreed. “Nae man or beast could make it safely through the likes o’ such a storm. We should go down and ensure that all is secure afore it reaches land.”

  “Aye,” William agreed, and the pair of them descended the stairs down into the keep and out into the courtyard to aid their fellow clansmen in preparation for the incoming maelstrom.

  When the storm hit, it ripped across the land, pouring down its wrath onto the island’s inhabitants. James had moved many of his fellow clansmen and women into the keep as a precaution for their safety. As the wind screamed outside of the castle walls, the Clan MacDonald of Skye laid snuggly sleeping on pallets strung out across the floor of the great hall, safe and sound. By morning, the storm had passed.

  Upon waking, James and a handful of warriors began to help the people back to their homes and make repairs to their crofts where needed. Items from baskets to blankets had been strung out across the landscape leading down to the rocky shoreline. Children scampered over the rocks, collecting their family’s lost goods. James and William aided an elderly couple back to their home a little way from the castle. When they arrived, they found that a section of the thatch had been blown off and was in need of repair. Rolling up their sleeves, they immediately set to work mending the damage.

  As they were working, a young lad came running up the shoreline, yelling excitedly. “They’re dead! They’re all dead!” The little boy ran up to James in the croft’s yard and grabbed his hand. “They’re all dead, Me Laird!”

  “Who, lad? Who is dead?” he asked, taking the boy by the shoulders and bending down to the lad’s eye level.

  “The Englishmen!” The boy grabbed James’ hand once more and took off running back the way he had come.

  James and William ran after him toward the beach. As they circled the rocky crag, they were stopped in their tracks at the ghastly sight before them. There upon the rocks and sand lay a string of dead sailors interspersed by a much smaller number of British Redcoats. Beside them lay bits and pieces of a broken ship’s mast with the British flag atop it. “God in heaven,” breathed James as he moved forward to ensure that they were indeed dead.

  “Aye, that’d be where they are now tae be sure,” William agreed, doing the same.

  They moved through the dead, rolling them over to leave no doubt as to their state. James walked over to the flag lying upon the ground and was startled when a groaning sound emerged from beneath its sodden folds. “There is someone alive over here!” he called over to William. He lifted the flag, tossing it back to reveal the wounded form of a woman. Her head and hair were covered in blood, hiding her face. She lay in the sand, her head near the mast. It was clear that it had been the cause of her head wound.

  James bent down and smoothed the blood-soaked hair from her face, causing her to moan again. She was so pale and cold that she was almost blue. Her features were high and fine, classical in nature, much like that of an Italian marble statue. Her neck was long and slender, her hair lay in long, dark, curling tendrils around her face and shoulders. She wore a dress of fine quality in spite of it
s sodden, filthy state. The color appeared to have once been a lovely sky blue with ermine and lace trim at the neckline and sleeves. Gold and silver thread decorated the bodice.

  “An English noble lady,” William remarked over James’ shoulder.

  “It would appear tae be so,” James agreed and lifted her from the ground into his arms.

  “What should we do with the rest o’ them?” William asked, frowning at all the bodies.

  “They cannae remain here tae rot and be eaten by scavenging animals. They will need tae be buried.”