by Amy Jarecki
Highland Dynasty
Complete Series
Amy Jarecki
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be sold, copied, distributed, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical or digital, including photocopying and recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of both the publisher, Oliver Heber Books and the author, Amy Jarecki, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
PUBLISHER'S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2020, Amy Jarecki
Edited by: Arran McNichol
Highland Dynasty Boxed Set, The
Knight in Highland Armor - First Release: January, 2015
A Highland Knight of Desire – First Release: March, 2015
A Highland Knight to Remember – First Release: May, 2015
Highland Knight of Rapture – First Release: July, 2015
Highland Knight of Dreams – First Release: 2018
Published by Oliver-Heber Books
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Contents
Knight in Highland Armor
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
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Author’s Note
A Highland Knight’s Desire
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
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Epilogue
Author’s Note
A Highland Knight To Remember
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
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Author’s Note
Highland Knight of Rapture
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
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Highland Knight of Dreams
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Also by Amy Jarecki
About the Author
Knight in Highland Armor
Highland Dynasty Series—Book One
1
Dunstaffnage Castle, Firth of Lorn, Scotland, 29th August, 1455
The cries of the motherless baby shrieked through the passageway and filled his chamber. Seated at the round table beside an immense hearth, Colin cradled his head in his hands. He could do nothing to stop his newborn son’s cries. Yes, he, the feared Black Knight of Rome, had also been powerless to prevent Jonet’s death. He’d now lost two wives. The first to the sweat, and last night, his dearest Jonet’s lifeblood drained into the mattress while baby Duncan suckled at her breast.
The relentless high-pitched screams gnawed at Colin’s insides. He’d stood beside his wife while her face turned from rosy to blue. It happened so fast, the midwife had little time to react. Colin had barreled through the stone corridors, shouting orders. He’d sent for the physician, though by the time the black-robed man arrived, Jonet had passed.
Colin hated his weakness. His heart stuck in his throat. His eyes burned with unshed tears. Why did death follow him like a shadow? He’d seen more than his fill. A Knight of the Order of St. John, a Hospitaller, Colin had seen unimaginable brutality and death in his seven and twenty years. The war against the enemies of Christendom had earned him the reputation of Black Colin, a knight feared throughout the Holy Land and beyond.
He combed his fingers through his hair. A dark cloud of despair filled his insides. Jonet was his beloved. Beautiful, with luscious raven hair and a winsome smile, she embodied his ideal of femininity.
He bit his fist and forced back his urge to weep. He had not shed a tear since the age of seven. By God, he would not show weakness now, not even while sitting alone in his dimly lit chamber.
Colin’s gaze dropped to the missive lying open on the table. He steadie
d his hand, picked it up, and reread the critical request delivered this morn.
…Your brothers continue to fight in your absence. Since Constantinople fell to the Turks, the infidel Muslims have increased their efforts, raiding Rhodes and surrounding islands. Though I understand your duty to your family following the death of your father, the esteemed and venerated Lord of Argyll, we desperately need your leadership and your army forthwith.
I fear our stronghold at Rhodes and indeed our Order will fall if we cannot marshal our efforts and drive our enemies out of Christendom once and for all.
I respectfully appeal for your return to Rome for a third term, for once a Knight Hospitaller, you are bound to the Order for life.
Dutifully, your brother in Christ,
Jacques de Milly, Grand Master, The Order of St. John
Colin slapped the missive onto the table and shoved back his chair. The crying intensified. He stood and paced, clenching his fists. So many things demanded his attention. He’d executed not a one with a modicum of success. After the death of his father, his first priority was to see his nephew, the new Lord Argyll, established in his lofty role. Until order on that side of the family was restored, he’d overseen the obedience of the crofters who paid rents. Fortunately, with England embroiled in civil war, threats to the Campbell dynasty were minimal—merely feuding clans and marauding outlaws.
The crying stopped. Thank God. At last he could think clearly. Wallowing in his own self-pity would serve no one, and most certainly would not hasten his voyage back to Rome. His nephew had assumed his role of Lord Argyll with little resistance. At least that significant hurdle had been surmounted.
A light tap disturbed his misery.
Colin faced the heavy oak door. “Come in.”
Effie, the woman who’d nursed him as a babe, now in charge of Duncan’s care, entered and curtseyed. “The wet nurse has arrived, m’lord.”
“I assumed the same, given the sudden quiet.”
Sadness filled her eyes. “He’s a strong lad.”
He scratched the two days of stubble peppering his face. “Aye, if his lungs are any indication, he’ll become a feared knight of Christendom.”
“Following in his father’s footsteps, no doubt.”
Colin forced a smile, though the ache in his heart made the effort near impossible.
Since the death of his ma, his old nursemaid had played the part of a mother figure, though his reliance on her advice had waned considerably after his marriage to Jonet and tours of duty for Rome. Effie stepped further into the room. “You look troubled, m’lord.”
Hot ire flared up the back of his neck. What did she expect, a man hewn of iron? He met her concerned gaze and inhaled. Of course, Effie meant well. “I’ve received a missive from Rome requesting another crusade.”
“No.” Effie clasped her hands to her chest. “Duncan needs you…”
“My son needs a mother,” Colin snapped. “A bairn has no place in a knight’s arms.”
Effie steepled her fingers to her lips. “Have you a woman in mind? And what about your castle? The curtain wall has only begun to take shape now that you’ve returned. Someone must manage the project and complete the keep.”
Colin fisted his hips. “I do not need you to inform me of my responsibilities.”
She bowed her head obsequiously. “Yes, m’lord.” Then, casting aside her deference, she eyed him like she did when he was a lad. “Merely thinking of your comfort, Colin.”
He threw up his hands. “The master mason can oversee.”
“In my opinion, that man has not proved his skill in managing the labor.”
“Did I ask your opinion?”
Effie didn’t bother to bow this time. “M’lord.” She held up her palms. “These hands washed your noble arse. I do believe that fact has given me the right to look after you in adulthood, especially since there is no other living elder to do so.”
Colin ground his teeth and rolled his gaze to the ornate relief on the ceiling.
Effie moved in and placed a hand on his forearm. She’d made the gesture countless times before, but it soothed him directly. He blinked and thought of his mother. He longed for the touch of another human being after a sleepless night wallowing in the sorrow of his plight. He shook his self-pitying thoughts from his head. “I will not shirk my responsibilities before I go. I shall pen a missive to the grand master explaining I will be detained. Then I’ll ask the king for assistance in finding a mother for Duncan.” He cupped Effie’s weathered face in his palm. “Does that meet with your approval, matron?”
“Yes, if you must go at all. My stars, Colin, you’ve already served in two crusades. Surely the Hospitallers can find a replacement.”
“Aye, but I have experience. A man who’s faced battle before is worth ten who have not.”
After Effie took her leave, he resumed his seat at the table. Penning the missive to Jacques de Milly was easy. The missive to the king, however, took a great deal more thought. Colin would prefer to find his own match, but this time, the woman would not be for him. Colin wanted nothing more to do with the fairer sex. Aside from his duty to procreate, he could not allow his heart to care for a woman as it had for Jonet and Mariot before her. Loving a woman carried great risk. They were frail creatures, and losing one brought more pain than losing a whole contingent of men on the battlefield.
He dipped his quill into the black ink.
Most honorable and revered King James II,
I desire to open this correspondence by expressing my gratitude with your grant of lands following my meager role in quelling the Douglas uprising. The generosity of Your Royal Highness extends beyond anything I could have expected or hoped for.
It is with a heavy heart that I must request assistance from your apostolic majesty. Word of my beloved Jonet’s death may have already reached Your Highness. Most unfortunately, my infant son has been left without a mother. As you are aware, the Order of St. John is in dire need of my services in the war for Christendom, though I cannot in good conscience return to Rome without a mother for my heir.
Therefore, I must prevail upon you and your most noble Queen to assist me in finding a suitable stepmother for my son. Having been abroad a great deal, together with my duties in support of Scotland, I am left with no prospects for marriage.
I remain your most humble servant in Christ,
Colin Campbell, Lord of Glenorchy
Resting the quill in the silver stand, he sanded the parchment to dry the ink and then reread the missive. Colin hoped his mention of the Douglas uprising wasn’t too presumptuous, though it would remind the king of the value of his services. He folded the missive and held a red wax wafer to the candle’s flame. After dripping a substantial glob, he sealed it with his ring—the crest of Glenorchy.
Indeed, Colin’s role in the uprising had been anything but meager. That mattered not. He needed a wife, and he needed her posthaste. His letter clearly established the fact he wanted a mother for Duncan more than a woman with whom he would share a bed. Colin shuddered. He would have nothing to do with a wife. Not now. Not ever again.
2
Dunalasdair Castle, Loch Rannoch, 16th September, 1455
Margaret was in her father’s solar recording figures in his book of accounts when the approach of hoof beats roused her from calculating a list of sums. Margaret rarely erred when it came to numbers, a point of fact long overlooked by her father, Lord Robertson, Chieftain and Baron of Struan—until the day she glanced over his shoulder, calculated the math in her head and recited the figures flawlessly.
Ever since, she’d been placed in charge of checking the factor’s figures. A necessary responsibility that ensured no one ever cheated her father.
By the racket clamoring from below, there were more than a few horses approaching. Margaret rested her quill in the ornate wooden holder and dashed to the window. A crisp breeze blew in off the deep blue waters of Loch Rannoch. Margaret preferred natural light, and would endur
e a mild chill to have it. Only in the dead of winter did she pull the thick furs over the castle windows.