Highlander’s Veiled Bride: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance (Highland Seductresses Book 2)

by Shona Thompson

  With a shout, he charged at Angus, blade held high and ready to strike. Angus was faster, though, and he swung his sword, cutting the man’s throat open.

  Angus and Donal were soon drenched in the man’s blood, which sprayed out of his neck even as he tried to stop the bleeding with his hands as he took his last few, labored breaths. Naturally, it didn’t work.

  The man was dead in seconds, joining the other two on the ground.

  The battlefield was full of bodies and blood, and Angus could smell the iron in the air. It made him sick to his stomach, knowing that so many lives had been lost without a real reason, or at least one that he didn’t have, one that he didn’t know.

  Hamish’s army had been depleted, though, and those who were not dead had been captured by Angus’ and Donal’s men. Angus could see them, kneeling on the ground, the blood of their fellow men seeping into the fabric of their trews, as his own men stood over them, keeping a watchful eye over everyone.

  Some men were still fighting. There were men from the Keith clan who refused to stand down, and others who had been captured but were now trying to rise up against Angus’ own, using their fists and their legs, anything that would get them free of their captivity, and though Angus couldn’t say that he had any fond feelings about them, he admired their dedication.

  Of course, the battle wouldn’t be over, not until Hamish showed himself, wherever he was. If he wasn’t at the camp, then Angus would follow his trail until he found him, and then he would get the explanation that he wanted. If he was in the camp, then he would fight him; he would fight him for as long as he had to until the man yielded.

  But he wouldn’t kill him. Killing him would be too much of a mercy, and besides, Angus couldn’t let the man die before he explained himself and his actions.

  “Where is Hamish?” Angus demanded.

  No one answered him, as everyone seemed to be busy with fighting, each side trying its best to subdue the other. Hamish himself was still nowhere to be found, though, by that time, Angus was almost certain that he was there.

  There was that tent, the biggest one in the camp, from where no one had come out. Angus knew that Hamish must have been hiding there, waiting for everything to end before he would come out.

  “Coward!” Angus shouted. “Fine! If ye dinnae come to me, I’ll come to ye!”

  Perhaps warning Hamish and everyone else wasn’t the brightest idea that Angus had ever had, but he was boiling with rage, his blood coursing fast through his veins. He began to stomp his way to the tent, but just as he had expected, one of the Keith men blocked his way and began to fight him, trying to stop him from getting there.

  “So he is there,” Angus said, and though the man he was fighting didn’t reply, he knew it to be true. The two of them swung their swords towards each other, the flash of the morning sun blinding on their blades. Angus moved around the other man fast, avoiding every single strike of his until he finally pushed his sword through his back, and Euan, who had come to help, stabbed his own through the man’s chest.

  “Go get Hamish,” Euan told Angus. “We are fine here. We can handle it. Go get the bastard.”

  Angus nodded, and then he continued walking towards the tent. The men around him did as Euan told them, holding off the Keith clansmen and keeping them away from Angus’ way, just so that he could get to Hamish.

  Angus approached the tent carefully. The last thing that he wanted was finding out too late that Hamish was right behind the flap that closed it off, ready to attack him. So, Angus took his time, and he made sure that he couldn’t see any shadows behind the fabric before he grabbed it in his fist and yanked it aside.

  What he saw there gave him pause. His mouth hung open, eyes wide and skin pale as though he had just seen a ghost.

  Perhaps he would have reacted better to seeing a ghost, he thought.

  Hamish was there, with his sword in his hand. He was standing in front of a pile of furs, something that seemed too extravagant even for him, but right behind him, spread over the furs as though she couldn’t care less if she tried, was Vika.

  She was there, in nothing but her nightshift, and she was looking at Angus with a smile.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Vika had gone through a lot to get where she was. After Angus had put her in a monastery, she knew that she had to escape and to build another life for herself.

  And eventually, she knew that she had to get her revenge.

  Being a nun in a monastery was no life for her. She had grown up in riches, running around a castle and having servants for her every need. She had imagined a life for herself where she would be the Lady of a clan, and she would never have to lift a single finger. She had imagined a life where she would wear the finest dresses, eat the tastiest delicacies, and have the best bard in the land to entertain her whenever she so wished.

  Life in the monastery was nothing like that.

  She was never allowed to sleep in, and so she never felt rested. She was forced into working along with the rest of the nuns, gathering and preparing the food that they would eat, cleaning, and taking care of others before she could take care of herself. She was forced into seemingly endless prayer every day, and she had soon come to hate her life and worry that she would perish in there.

  It hadn’t taken her long to escape, all things considered. She bid her time, though, planning her escape carefully, as she knew that if Angus heard that she was no longer there, he would perhaps send men after her, and then she wouldn’t stand a chance. She also knew that if she wasn’t careful, if she didn’t plan her escape correctly, then it would be impossible to leave her cage under the watchful eye of the other nuns.

  The other nuns had never warmed up to her, though she could hardly blame them. They were women of God, after all, and Vika was anything but. Where the other nuns liked to spend their time praying and helping others, Vika liked to indulge every impulse that she had, to give in to every single pleasure, and to live only for herself.

  She had never helped a single person in her life.

  So, Vika made the other nuns believe that they had begun to break her. She began to follow the daily routine without any more arguing about it or even complaining about it, and she would always do as she was told. She allowed them to think that she had finally become one of them, that she had let God into her heart and that she was becoming a different person, someone who put others above herself and who was repentant for her crimes.

  It was a good thing that those nuns were gullible.

  Once they started to trust her a little more, calling her change of attitude a miracle from God, Vika had found the perfect moment to escape. The nuns would allow her out of the monastery more often then, and she would help them pick mushrooms, berries, and herbs in the woods, and that was when she finally left, running as fast and as far as her legs would take her.

  At first, she had nothing. She only had her clothes from the nunnery, no money to her name, and no one to help her, but then, she was found by a poor merchant who took pity on her, especially when she told him her story.

  Or at least the story that she wanted him to hear.

  She told him about how her monastery had been attacked by some faithless men, how they had ransacked and burned the place down to the ground, and how no one but her had survived, because she just so happened to be picking mushrooms, berries, and herbs in the woods when the attack came. She told him how she had returned to find everything and everyone gone, and how she had nothing but her gratefulness and a prayer to give him if he would only take her to the next village.

  The man could never say no to a nun, especially not one as beautiful as Vika. Not only did he take her to the next village, but he also gave her some clothes, drab as they were, and some money to buy herself room and board for the night.

  Vika always had a way to make men help her.

  She had spent the night in that village, though she hadn’t been happy about it. The inn where she stayed was, naturally, nothing like a
castle. It was noisy, and the other guests were rowdy and rude, but she didn’t have any other option unless she wanted to sleep in the street. The following morning, she had found yet another merchant, who took her to the next town, and she had continued to find different men in different places until they finally led her where she needed to be.

  The Keith clan had always been friendly with the MacMillan clan, that much Vika knew. She also knew, though, that with enough effort, she could sway any man and make him do as she wished, even the Laird of a clan. All she had to do was seduce him, and she doubted that Laird Keith would be as difficult to seduce as Donal had been.

  When she arrived at the clan’s grounds, though, she found out that the Laird had no heirs, no one to take over when he would die, which would be soon enough. Vika contemplated for a few moments to try and seduce the Laird; after all, she was young and beautiful, and the Laird was a weak, old man, who hadn’t seen a beautiful woman in his bed for decades.

  In the end, though, she decided to go for one of his men, Hamish, the man with the kind of drive and determination that she needed.

  Hamish had wanted to become the Laird of the Keith clan long before Vika had stepped foot in the clan’s grounds. He had seen his Laird’s deterioration, and he wanted to be the next in line, ambitious as he was. Vika saw a part of herself in him, and in another life, she could have even loved him, she thought. In the life that she was living, though, he was a means to an end, and the fact that he was handsome enough didn’t hurt.

  It took her only days to find her way to Hamish’s bed. The man could hardly believe that Vika had become fond of him, and he was more than happy to have her, urged even further by the fact that Vika had stopped playing coy. She was insatiable, and so was he.

  His ambition also helped Vika convince him to attack the MacMillan clan. Hamish wanted a way to prove himself as a worthy heir to the clan, and what better way than to wage and win a war, expanding his clan’s land in the process?

  It didn’t matter that the MacMillan clan had always been an ally to the Keith clan. Many within the Keith clan were unhappy with the fact that their Laird, weak as he was, had lost a big part of the clan’s power, and many wanted the glory of their past years to return.

  So, Hamish’s supporters were plentiful among the Keith clansmen.

  Vika was finally going to get what she had always wanted; she would become the Lady of a clan, and she would spend the rest of her life giving orders and being pampered. Perhaps she would have a few children, just to anchor Hamish by her side even more, and then there would be nothing to stop her anymore.

  With any luck, Angus would die in the process, too, and she would finally have her revenge.

  She hadn’t factored in the fact that Donal would bring his own men to help Angus out. She hadn’t considered the possibility that Hamish’ men would be outnumbered and overpowered, and that she would end up with him standing in front of her, holding a sword in his hand, and swearing that he would protect her from whoever tried to come in.

  It was sweet of him, she thought, but she would much rather have him out of the tent, fighting so that she could escape once more if she had to.

  Now there she was, laying on her furs, with Hamish and Angus staring at each other as though they were trying to kill each other with just a look.

  Angus had grown older, very much so, Vika noticed. It suited him, in a way, the baby fat gone from his cheeks and replaced by a strong jawline and sharp cheekbones. He looked haggard too, though, as though he had been through too much, as though life had not been very kind to him.

  Vika knew all about that, but she still couldn’t sympathize with him. He should have done as she had told him all that time ago. He should have simply let her take the reins, and then he would have never been hurt like that.

  There was no escaping Angus then. While the men had been fighting outside her tent, Vika had made sure to listen closely to the battle sounds, and she was certain that Hamish’s men had been killed and captured. The fact that Angus had made it to the tent only solidified that suspicion and Vika knew that her end was close.

  She couldn’t escape. She couldn’t run, and she couldn’t go anywhere. She knew that she wouldn’t be safe anywhere in the Highlands, and even if she managed to somehow head to England or even cross the sea, she doubted that she could even take the first step; she doubted that Angus and his men would allow her to leave the camp.

  On the other hand, she couldn’t let Angus get his hands on her, because she knew that she would be facing certain death. He would have her head, and he would do it publicly, in the most humiliating way possible.

  If she was going to die, she wanted to die on her own terms.

  “Vika . . . stay where ye are. Dinnae move,” Hamish warned her, his tone worried and frantic. “I willnae let him hurt ye.”

  “Do ye really wish to die for a woman like Vika?” Angus asked him then, and Vika wanted to point out that many men would die for her if she simply asked. “Do ye really wish to kill for her, more than ye already have?”

  “Ye almost killed for me,” Vika reminded him. “And ye dinnae almost kill an enemy . . . ye almost killed yer best friend.”

  It was a taunt, and it seemed to work. Angus’ face, which had gone pale when he had first laid eyes on her, was now rapidly turning red with fury, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword so tightly that his knuckles turned white under the pressure. Vika couldn’t hold back a huff of a laugh as she watched him, shaking her head.

  “Ye’ve always been so quick to anger, Angus,” she said. “How’s the fight out there? Are we losing?”

  “Aye,” Angus said. “Aye, ye are. Hamish’s men dinnae stand a chance against mine and Donal’s.”

  Vika hummed at that, a hand coming up to brush through her blonde hair leisurely, in that way that used to drive Angus crazy with lust, though she was surprised to see that he hardly even glanced at her. There was a part of her that certainly didn’t like that, as she was used to getting all the attention that she ever wanted, but she tried not to show it; she didn’t want to give Angus the satisfaction.

  “I suppose this is it, then,” Vika said with a small shrug. “Will ye two take this outside? I dinnae wish to get blood on me furs.”

  It was a last resort, asking them to move their fight outside, a last chance for her to escape. She thought that with enough luck, she would be able to slip through the back of the camp undetected, and Angus’ and Donal’s men would be too busy taking care of their dead and their wounded to even notice or go after her.

  With any luck, she could survive another day.

  Neither man moved nor spoke. They simply stared at each other, and Vika could see Hamish’s hand shaking as he held his sword. She didn’t know whether it was because of fear or because he was so full of adrenaline, his blood rushing through his veins, but it made him look like a cornered animal.

  Vika glanced between the two men as she patiently waited for an answer that never seemed to come. She began to despair, and she began to think that her time was truly up then.

  “Weel?” Hamish asked, giving Angus a wicked, sly grin. “What do ye say, Laird MacMillan?”

  Vika could hear the jealousy as it dripped from Hamish’s mouth when he addressed Angus by his title. She could hear the resentment, an unspoken complaint that Angus had had the chance to be a Laird, but he hadn’t.

  She didn’t blame him. Vika thought that Hamish would make a great Laird, not a kind Laird, or a good Laird, but a great one. He could become a Laird who conquered land after land, village after village until everything belonged to him, ambitious as he was.

  And with Vika by his side, they could have been unstoppable.

  Angus didn’t answer Hamish’s question. Instead, he simply stood there in silence, watching him carefully, like a bird of prey watches the animal that is soon to be its food.

  Then, before Vika knew it, there was a primal scream, and Angus attacked.

  Chapter Twenty
-Four

  Though the tent was big, it wasn’t big enough for a swordfight. When Angus charged at Hamish, the latter took a step back, startled and scared, and almost toppled on top of Vika before he caught himself. Angus knew that by the time they were done, they would have torn the entire tent to pieces.

  He didn’t want to step outside, though, not while Vika was right there. She had escaped the monastery where he had put her, and nothing was stopping her from escaping again if he let her out of his sight. So, the fight in the tent would have to do, and he and Hamish started to move around as they fought, avoiding Vika, who was cowering in the middle.

  Hamish was a good fighter, much better than any of his other men. He was a capable man, and he had clearly been trained well, that much Angus could see.

  He could have been a good Laird, Angus thought, had he not been so power-hungry. Perhaps it was inevitable, as he and everyone else knew that Hamish had always been hot-headed and untrustworthy, ever since he had been young, but Angus would have liked to see him grow and care for his people more than he did for himself.