Marrying a Highland Outlaw – Get Extended Epilogue
Author: Kenna Kendrick
Marrying a Highland Outlaw – Extended Epilogue
Macdonell Castle
December 1304
Hannah Macdonell loved the snow. It was like a magical transformation that changed familiar places into something altogether different. Lacy icicles stretched from the castle ramparts lending it an air of mystery, a place that fairy-folk might inhabit instead of the mere mortals who went about their daily business there.
Today there was an air of excitement abroad at Castle Macdonell. Only days ago, Hannah’s brothers Blaine and Errol had returned from the Isle of Mull with their wives, Ivy and Edina and Ivy and Blaine’s twin girls, Mirin and Alba. This time, they were accompanied by Edina’s sisters Skye and Margaret.
The castle was bustling, filled with the joy of the season, as preparations were in hand for holiday feasting.
Hannah and the others had been out collecting holly and ivy to decorate the great hall and create ribboned wreaths to hang on the castle doors. She entered the solar where the lasses had gathered and were busy with their nimble fingers creating the decorations. She looked around at the smiling faces with a joyful heart.
At times she’d been lonely in the castle, especially when the men were absent – sometimes for days – visiting outlying villages, patrolling the Macdonell lands, ever-watchful in case Sir William de Coughran should attack the castle again.
But today, all was peaceful. There was a definite thrill of anticipation in the air. Not only was Christmas Day fast approaching, but this was the day when Taveon and Payton’s sister Arya would be returning from The Priory, where she’d been languishing for several months, safe with the good sisters. Now, finally, as there’d been not a peep out of Sir William de Coughran and no sightings of his men anywhere on or near Macdonell land, Payton, as the Laird of the Macdonells had decreed it safe enough for Arya to return home.
Her bright presence had been sorely missed and Hannah was eagerly awaiting her return. Although regular messages had been conveyed to the convent, there was so much to tell her. After all, Arya had been whisked away to safety the very morning following Hannah’s capture and abduction to Lochnell Castle. There were so many adventures to recount, not the least of which was the story of Hannah and Taveon’s wedding.
Hannah had embroidered two cushions for Arya’s chamber. While there were no longer any colourful hangings in the room, she’d found an elderly workman from the village who had plastered the walls and painted them with Arya’s beloved roses, along with bouquets of other flowers. Now Arya’s bedchamber glowed with color and beauty.
As the morning wore on, the excitement grew. They had stopped work and were partaking of a soda of rosewater and honey and some almond marzipan cakes, when the twins came running in. “She’s comin’,” they chorused in unison.
Hannah flung aside the arrangement she’d been working on and put down her cup of rosewater. Straightening her skirts and tucking her hair under her lace cap she raced out of the solar, heading pell-mell for the keep.
The others followed more decorously.
Hannah dashed outside, arriving at the keep only seconds behind Taveon and Payton. She fidgeted from foot to foot, waiting while the gatemen drew up the unwieldy iron gate. The cart was slowly approaching when an impatient Arya leaped down and raced toward her brothers and Hannah, her arms open wide.
They all met in a tangle of hugs, tears and kisses.
Arya was introduced to the newcomers and it was clear from the smiles all round that not only Ivy and Edina, but Blaine and Errol, had taken to her at once.
Arya was glowing, seeming so much more grown up than when Hannah saw her last.
“Ye look beautiful,” Hannah exclaimed, holding her newest sister-in-law at arm’s length. She was clad in a navy-blue cloak trimmed with white fur and, with her mane of red curls tumbling down her back, she looked exactly like a true princess.
She hugged Hannah tight. “Oh, Hannah I cannae wait tae hear all yer stories. It was a terrible morning when I left, knowing that ye’d been abducted by that monstrous man.”
“And if nae for yer brothers’ courage, I might still be his captive,” Hannah responded, her mind darting back to the awful blackness and the sudden terror when she realised she was once again in Sir William de Coughran’s clutches.
Arya’s blue eyes misted with tears. “It almost broke me heart tae miss yer wedding tae Taveon.”
Hannah hugged her again. “But ye were with us in all your glorious roses. Me dress was rose-pink in yer honor and the roses were everywhere.”
They entered the castle arm-in-arm, leaving the servants under Maggie’s instructions to bring in the luggage.
The remainder of the day passed in a happy blur of catching up. Hannah recounting the details of her kidnap and the journey under threat to Lochnell Castle.
“Were ye very afraid, Hannah?” Arya asked.
“Aye. But mayhap I was more angry than afraid,” Hannah responded, “yet when I spoke with Fyfe de Coughran and he reassured me that he would nae make me his wife, I believed there was hope.”
Arya’s eyes widened. “And then my brothers came tae yer rescue?”
“And me brothers as well,” Hannah added, laughing, “with our most loyal friend Gillebride. Once I saw them, I knew that, somehow, they would take me tae safety.”
Arya sighed. “I have nae exciting stories. My life with the sisters was tranquil and contemplative. I did a little embroidery, but I confess my fingers are nae deft like yers. I spent most of me time in the garden.” She looked up, her blue eyes sparkling. “I learned so much about herbs and healing that it’s certain ye’ll come tae think me a witch. It’s nae only roses, but I wish tae grow my own herbs here at the castle. I’ll spend much time learning all I can from Sister Margaret in the infirmary.”
“Come now,” Hannah said, tucking her arm into Arya’s. “I wish ye tae see yer bedchamber and tell me if ye like it.”
Christmas day was a day of thankfulness and feasting and the days that followed were pleasant, family times, that had been all too rare over the past years of war.
Hannah was thankful for having her family together for the very first time. Since Arya’s arrival two days ago, along with her sisters and the children, they’d fallen into a pleasant routine. After breaking fast, they spent the morning in the solar, chatting, gossiping, embroidering and mending. After lunch they would all venture out into the snow. They’d made snowmen, tobogganed down the slopes beside the castle walls and waged snowball wars.
Occasionally Taveon and the other men joined in, always the targets of a flurry of snowballs.
Five days after Christmas, Hannah was re-entering the keep after their afternoon outing when Taveon caught up with her, warming her cheeks with his kisses.
He took her hand as they walked inside. “Payton has asked that as soon as ye’ve shaken the snow out of yer hair and taken off yer boots and cloaks we all meet in the solar.”
She raised a questioning eyebrow.
“There is news. A messenger came this morning from King Robert.”
“Does that mean…?”
“Hush, love, Payton will tell us all. Make haste tae the solar.”
Hannah collected the others and, once they’d changed out of boots and cloaks into slippers and shawls, they all assembled in the solar, waiting for Payton.
Would this be the news they’d so long awaited? A message from King Robert, accepting their petition to join his side in the war against the English king?
When Payton walked in, grinning from ear to ear, it was clear that whatever his news, it met with his approval.
“I ken ye’re all anxious tae hear what I have tae say. As ye ken, the chiefs of Clan Macdonell are in agreement with my proposal that we swear allegiance to our rightful King, Robert the Bruce. We sent him a petition several months ago and have been waiting for his response.”
“What this will mean tae Clan Macdonell is that we will be allied with the other Highland clans who are fighting with the Bruce. Following the wedding of mmey brother, Taveon, we are already allied with Clan MacKinnon, and an allegiance tae King Robert will provide us with his patronage and protection. Our strength will increase and we’ll nae longer fear the likes of traitors such as Sir William de Coughran.”
A cheer went up and cups of mead were passed around.
Hannah turned to Taveon. “Are ye now tae journey tae kneel afore the King?”
“Aye, lass, we will journey tae Glasgow in the new year when the snow has melted. There we’ll meet with the King and his lords.”
Her face fell at the thought of being alone again, without her beloved by her side.
“Dinnae fash,” he said “Ye’ll be with us, along with all yer sisters and the weans.”
“Oh!” she gasped. Then she leaned into him with a big smile, her heart beating fast. “And, at last, I’ll be married tae a man who has knelt in allegiance tae the true king!”
The End.
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If you want to know what lies ahead in our story, you may want to get the sequel…
When Arya Macdonell saved a lass’ life, she didn’t know she’d doomed her own. While hiding from her past, her life takes an unexpected twist when Gillebride MacThomas rescues her. Her savior, her brothers’ ally… and the one man who has turned her down. Scarred by his own past, Gillebride is determined to resist their growing emotions, but his forbidden desires are catching up with him as the stakes continue to rise. Because Arya’s past is closing in on both of them with alarming speed.
Marrying a Highland Outlaw – Get Extended Epilogue
Marrying a Highland Outlaw
Marrying a Highland Outlaw (Preview)
Prologue
Edinburgh, Scotland
May 1304
Shivering slightly, Taveon Macdonell wrapped his heavy woolen cloak tighter across his shoulders as he entered the tavern. The oak door slammed shut behind him and he looked around. He blinked, half-blinded by the sudden near blackness. He could scarcely make out more than dull shapes in the smoky, noise-filled interior.
He cursed inwardly as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. He was bone-weary, fatigued by his life as a hunted man, sick and tired of the distance he’d been forced to keep from his home in the Highlands. And oh-so-fed-up with seeing a stranger reflected back at him whenever he glanced in a looking-glass. He scarcely recognized himself – his hair darkened, his jaw shaved, his clothes shabby and nondescript. All he wanted was to cast aside this damned disguise and get his life back.
His heart cried out to be able to return to Macdonell Castle, to his brother Payton and his precious little sister Arya.
His gaze fell upon the two men who awaited him, seated at the rear of the room. On heavy, aching limbs he slowly made his way to their corner table. As he approached, one of the men rose menacingly, a dirk grasped in his hand.
The man, grey-haired and grey-bearded and burly, snarled. “Who the devil are ye? Ye’re nae Taveon Macdonell.”
Taveon scowled for he knew this man. His name was Tal Macintyre and if Tal didn’t know him, at least he could be assured his disguise was doing its job.
“Ye stupid arse, Macintyre,” Taveon countered. “Of course I’m Taveon Macdonell. Have ye nae eyes tae see?”
The man grunted. He was half a head taller, looming over Taveon. “I remember ye as fair-haired and bearded.”
“I once was. But blessed be walnut juice for dyeing my hair and this sharp knife for keeping my beard trimmed.” He placed his hand on the hilt of the sharp dagger sheathed at his waist, making no bones about his own ability to fight, if this meeting turned out badly.
“The password.” The seated man spoke abruptly. He was the younger of the two, his light-brown, greasy hair, tied at his nape, his shirt and britches of fine cloth.
Taveon spat the word. “Gaisgeach.”
The man laughed. “Ah yes, the Scot’s word for warrior.” He spoke with an English accent. “Name’s John Sykes, at your service.” He indicated a space at the table. “Join us Taveon Macdonell.”
As Taveon pulled up a chair, Sykes signaled to the tavern keeper, who hurried over at once.
“Three tankards of yer best ale,” Sykes said smiling affably. Once the man had departed, he turned his attention back to Taveon, his smile fading. “Are ye ready and willing to do our bidding Macdonell?”
Taveon leaned back in his chair folding his arms across his chest, biting his tongue on an angry retort. He spoke his answer in measured tones. “I’ve done all that was asked of me. Made meself a traitor tae Scotland tae suit William de Coughran’s blasted cause. And all tae keep me wee sister safe. I’ve nothing more tae give of meself.” He shook his head, a determined glint in his green eyes.
“There’s yet a month before I’m due in Carlisle tae deliver the details of the Scots’ battle plans tae yer English masters and I’ve sworn tae complete me mission. Ye cannae command more from me.”
The man gave him a tight-lipped smile. “You’ll do as you’re told Macdonell. That is, if you wish to see your family again.”
Shaking his head, Taveon went to rise, but Macintyre’s hand shot out, grabbing his arm in an iron grip, forcing him to stay in his seat. Gone was any pretense at civility.
“Ye’ll sit and listen tae what we have tae say, Macdonell, and ye’ll keep yer blasted mouth shut.”
Taveon drew in a deep breath, filling his lungs with the smoky air, steadying himself, holding back the torrent of rage building inside him.
So, this is what it has come tae.
He was nothing more than a pawn in the traitors’ games, helping the English against his own countrymen.
But he reminded himself that, after his mother’s death giving birth to his baby sister Arya and his father’s decline into drink and gambling ending in his murder by the hand of William de Coughran’s men, he and his brother had made a sacred pact, one they had kept without faltering. The older brother, Payton, would fulfill his duties to the clan, while Taveon would be responsible for his family. It was Taveon’s sworn duty to keep his sister and brother safe from De Coughran, who was his father’s creditor and had vowed to make them pay for their father’s sins. If his actions were to save his kin from harm, he had no choice but to abide by whatever was asked of him now by his enemies.
“Go on, then,” he said, gritting his teeth as Macintyre twisted his wrist and pressed his hand to the table. Before Taveon had a chance to pull free, the man brought down the sharp point of his dirk, piercing the flesh between Taveon’s first and middle fingers, pinning him to the table, trapping him.
He watched, stunned, as a bubble of blood welled and trickled onto the worn oak table-top.
Sucking in a breath, ignoring the pain in his hand, he met John Sykes’s gaze front on. The man’s gray eyes flicked over him, lingering on Taveon’s bleeding hand for a moment, his lips spreading into an ugly grin.
“You may recall Castle Ardtun,” he said, clearly amused at Taveon’s plight. When he received no response other than a thunderous scowl, he continued.
“The MacKinnon Clan’s seat, the home of Laird Blaine MacKinnon? Surely, you recall the family.” Sykes gave a sharp laugh. “I am sure you have not forgotten your long months of incarceration there, waiting for the hangman to put a noose around your neck.”
Taveon’s mind shot back to the time he’d spent imprisoned on the Isle of Mull after he’d been captured on his way to the English. He’d been treated well, better than he had deserved, eventually making his escape with the assistance of a sweet young woman. He’d heard, later, that she’d wed the laird’s younger brother. He had forgotten her name, but he recalled her gentle, anguished words before she’d freed him from the dungeon. Her quest to free him resembled his own, a vow to protect her siblings. He wondered if she hated herself as much as he loathed himself while doing so.
“I remember it very well, Sykes. Although I cannae see it’s any of yer treacherous business whether my memory serves me well or nae.”
“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong.” Sykes swilled another mouthful of ale. “Your memory of the MacKinnons is exactly what my business is with you today. We have in mind a fitting punishment to be dealt to the MacKinnons. They must be taught a lesson and made to understand we will not be interfered with. We need reprisal for your imprisonment, something that will cut deep, cause pain. Something that will bring down a hail of nightmares, prevent them from sleeping.”
“I dinna follow yer train of thought, Sykes. Castle Ardtun is well guarded. Sir Michael Wemyss attacked and tried tae take the castle, but his men were nae match for the MacKinnons and their clansmen. Ye’ll find great resistance if ye attempt another raid.”
Sykes pshawed loudly. “No, Macdonell, we’ve nothing so clumsy in mind. We’re counting on your knowledge of the
castle and the country surrounding it. We’ve an altogether different and far more painful retribution in mind.”
He leaned forward, a sneer on his bloated features, his beery, rancid breath assailing Taveon’s nostrils. “You are to return to Ardtun and there you will whisk the laird’s younger sister out from under his nose. Once you’ve captured her, you’re to take her to Sir William at Castle Lochnell. If MacKinnon wants his sister safe back home with him in Castle Ardtun, he’ll have to pay a bounty to the English, in exchange.”
“Ye can count me out, ye lying bunch of bastards.” Taveon’s voice rose. “I’ve done what I was asked and that’s it. Nae more. I was told that once I’d delivered the Scots’ plans tae the English ye would leave me family alone. Me father’s debts would be overlooked and we could live our lives in peace.”
“You forget yourself, boy. You’re impertinent. Let me remind you that you’ve still to fulfill your side of our bargain. The plans have not yet reached the English commanders.”
Taveon slumped in his seat. His hand was throbbing steadily now, and a pulse beat in his forehead ached like the devil. Would he never be free?
“Ye ask too much of me. I was promised my actions would nae bring harm to any soul directly. My task was tae steal the plans and take them tae the English side. Nae more than that.”
Sykes cackled gleefully. “And were you such a prize fool Macdonell, that ye believed you’d be harming no one by giving the plans to the Scots’ enemies? The Scots will be slaughtered once the plans reach the army. And that will be on your head.”
Taveon shuddered. Of course, the man spoke the truth.
“So, if you want to keep your family safe, you know what is required of you.”
Taveon gave a weary nod. He could see no way out for himself but to accept this cursed new mission.
“I’ll do what ye want,” he said, his green eyes fixed on Sykes. “But I want your sworn word on one thing. Nay harm will come to Hannah MacKinnon while she’s held captive. She’ll be returned to her brother as soon as he pays the ransom.”
Sykes flicked his forefinger finger at Macintyre who ripped away his dirk, freeing Taveon.
“Of course,” Sykes said smoothly, as Taveon rose to his feet, blood still welling from his injured hand. “You have my sacred word on it. No harm will come to the girl and she’ll be returned, unscathed, to the heart of her family in due course.”
Chapter One
Castle Ardtun, Mull
May, 1304
Peeping through the leaves in the hedge, Hannah could just make out little Mirin half-hidden behind one of the shrubs in the garden. Mirin’s twin sister, Alba, stood in the middle of the lawn, eyes closed, counting to ten.
It was a golden day of sunshine. Apart from a few puffy white clouds, the sky was blue, perfect for a fun game of hide ’n seek with her nieces. Spring was all around, daffodils were blooming and Hannah’s favourite tree, the crabapple, was covered in buds, soon to be bursting into a mass of fragrant pink flowers.
Pulling up her kirtle, she hugged her knees. The girls would never find her in this spot. It was a hollowed-out space between the hedges, perhaps made by an animal sheltering over the winter, but it made for a perfect place to stay hidden, even though the girls were hardly more than an arm’s length away.
Squeals and giggles indicated that Alba had discovered Mirin’s hiding place. Now both twins were searching for her.
“Hannah, Hannah. Come out.” Alba called.
“She’s nae here,” Mirin whispered.
“Perhaps the little people have taken her,” Alba said, her voice suddenly fearful.
“Hannah, please come out,” pleaded Mirin.
Hannah could stand it no longer. The game was only fun if no one was scared by it. She leaped to her feet. It was at the moment that she heard the sound of men’s voices entering the garden. The girls swirled around and took off.
“Athair,” they cried in unison.
Hannah’s heart did a flip. It was their father, Blaine. Her brother. Straightening her kirtle and brushing leaves out of her hair she ventured out of her hiding place. It was unusual for Blaine to be in the garden. This was the place where the women came to chat, to embroider, or attend to their mending. It was her favourite place within the castle walls. She often came here with the twins and her sister-in-law Edina’s sisters Margaret and Skye, who were around her age.
Here in the garden, they could chat and make as much noise as they liked without an angry face appearing at their door telling them that girls should be seen and not heard. She also frequently came alone, just to sit and enjoy the birds and butterflies and the flowers coming into bloom. It was a peaceful place, a respite from the duties and busyness of the castle.
Now, disturbing the gentle harmony of the place, was her brother.
Whatever does Blaine want?
She stepped hurriedly out of the hedge, feeling foolish and off-kilter under the watchful presence of her brother. Her foot caught on a protruding tree root as she hastened forward, sending her head over heels. She squealed, putting out her hands to break her fall. But despite her best efforts, she landed face down on the grass.
Mirin and Alba raced over, giggling as Hannah struggled to s sitting position, her hands muddied and her kirtle covered in grass.
Alba tugged at her aunt’s braids. “Oh wait, Auntie Hannah, ye’ve a ladybird in yer hair,” she shrieked, gently removing the little insect.
Blaine stood watching them, his mouth screwed in lines of disapproval, his eyes narrowed.
It was not until Hannah had finally risen to her feet, and was brushing her tangled skirts and neatening her hair, that he spoke.
“I regret intruding intae yer area, sister, but it seems ye pay nae heed tae my requests for yer presence. Thus, ye give me nae other option but tae come here in search of ye.”
His displeasure was rolling off him in waves, and Hannah noted with dismay that the vein in the middle of his forehead was prominent. Always a sign he was in a rage, but containing it.
Her stomach lurched. She had received his summons but the time seemed to have flown and she’d lost track of when she was to have the meeting with him.
“I’m so sorry brother. Please forgive me. I was nae heedless of yer message, but simply unaware of the time passing.” She looked around. Gillebride had taken the twins by the hand and was leading them out of the garden.
It was only then that Hannah saw Errol, her other brother, standing quietly at the entrance to the garden, another man at his side. Her heart sank as she became conscious of her dishevelled state, her muddy hands, grubby kirtle and messy braids. Her forehead was stinging and she was afraid she may have scratched it when she fell, bringing further disharmony to her appearance.
She gripped Blaine’s sleeve. “What is it? Please tell me what’s going on. Who is that man and why is he looking at me like that? Are we in danger?”
The man had stepped forward, taking his place beside Errol and was now standing in the sunlight where she could observe him fully. He was tall, possibly around Blaine’s age, with well-coiffed dark hair and blue eyes.
Blaine made the introduction. “May I present my sister Hannah?” The man nodded in Hannah’s direction, favouring her with a haughty smile, his eyes mocking her.
“This is a dear friend of mine, Duncan Buchanan.”
Taking an instant dislike to him, despite his handsome profile and fine clothes, Hannah bobbed a curtsy and offered the man her most dazzling smile.
“I am so very pleased tae make yer acquaintance, my laird,” she responded as graciously as possible.
Inwardly she was heaping a mountain of curses on Blaine for putting her in such an unenviable position with a stranger. And why had her brother, the Laird, seen fit to bring this strange man to invade this private space?
“Would ye excuse me, sir, tae have a few words with me brother?”
The man nodded politely, turned on his heel and walked off with Errol.
Hannah turned to Blaine, her brows drawn in a frown.
“I dinna like yer Duncan Buchanan,” she hissed once the two men were out of earshot.
Blaine sighed. “Ye dinna understand, Hannah.”
Glaring, she placed her hands on her hips defiantly. “Well, then, brother, please do go ahead and explain what all this is about.”
“Ye’ve told us often enough of yer longing tae find a husband and be wed,” he began.
She huffed impatiently. “Yes. I’ve envied my brothers their happiness. Ye know I wish for nothing more than tae find a man tae love and tae have me own family. Like ye with Ivy, and Errol with Edina.” Her eyes misted as memories came flooding in. “After our parents died, ye two were everything to me, ye were me entire family.” She gazed up at him, trying to gauge his reaction to her words. Would he understand how much this meant? “But now ye have families of yer own, and I’m a little lost. It’s as if I dinna belong anywhere, nowadays.”
Blaine nodded, reaching a hand to squeeze her arm gently. “Well, yer brother and I have talked with the Council of Chiefs. Ye’re nineteen, old enough tae wed. It’s been decided we dae our best tae grant yer wish.”
Hannah’s blue eyes lit up. “Blaine, ye mean… ye’ve agreed tae allow me tae wed?”
He laughed softly. “Aye lass. It’s what ye want.” His eyes grew serious. “I want tae know ye’ve a man tae protect ye when the battles come again, and I cannae keep ye close forever, nae matter how much I’d love tae have ye in me sight.”
She frowned up at him. “Do ye think the English will attack?”
He shook his head. “I dinna ken, luv. All I ken is that a war is raging, that the traitor Taveon is still abroad with our battle plans, and sooner or later it will come tae our doorstep. And when it does, I want ye safe and – Heaven forbid, should something happen tae me and Errol – under the protection of a powerful family.”
She clutched his sleeve again. “If battle’s where yer thoughts take ye, I must tell ye this my dear brother. The man I’ll wed must be a true Scot. One who’s nay traitor tae the rightful king. Never a man the likes of that traitor Macdonell Edina helped escape from yer dungeon.”
“Aye. we have all forgiven Edina for the heartache she caused. I ken why she took such a great risk and almost broke Errol’s heart. Tae keep her sisters safe. I’d have done the same if I had been her.” Her eyes flashed. “But I’ll nae forgive Macdonell for his wicked treachery.”
Blaine smiled fondly at her determination and loyalty. “Never fear, sweet lass, the man ye wed will be one who takes an oath of allegiance to our Liege Lord, King Robert.” He gave her a wry smile. “Someone like Duncan Buchanan, the next Laird of the Buchanans.”
Hannah gasped, raising a hand to her mouth. “Och, my dear Lord. Are ye telling me that man is me suitor?”
Again, Blaine chuckled. “Dinna worry, lass, he’s nae the only one. Ye’ll be kept busy all through the summer. There are lads lining up tae ask for yer hand. Buchanan is only the first.”
Beaming, she glanced up at him.
“Methinks he’s the first, but by nay means will he be the last.”
“The first of many,” Blaine said, pulling her into his arms for a great bear-hug. “Ye’ll be wed before winter is upon us, wee sister.”
Chapter One
Ardtun, Isle of Mull
Midsummer, 1304
The heavily-laden woodsman’s cart rattled its way up to the castle gate.
“Whoah,” said the cloaked figure, pulling on the reins. The strong cart-horse came to a standstill as the two guards nodded toward the woodsman.
“It’s Euan, bringing another load for the castle fires,” the guard called. Moments later the gate into the keep was slowly raised, allowing the cart’s entry. The man on the cart gave a brief salute as the cart rumbled through the gate and across the cobblestones.
He circled around the back of the castle and pulled up beside the servants’ quarters near the kitchen, where he tethered the horse and set about unloading the timber logs and kindling.
Some of the heaviest wood he carried on his shoulders, muscles straining, to stack on the covered wood-pile beyond the kitchen while several servants filled baskets from his smaller choppings to be used in the great kitchen fires.
He filled a basket and carried it through to the great hall where he was relieved of the weight by the serving-man, whose sole job it was to ensure there was sufficient fuel for the roaring fires that warmed the castle.
The man they called Euan had been carrying out these tasks for the past weeks, coming and going through the castle’s iron gates with nary a glance from the guards, all the while taking care to keep his cloak wrapped securely and his hood shadowing his face.
Taveon hated his disguise almost as much as he hated being here. His memories of the dungeon were still fresh enough in his mind to make him shudder, even though it had been months since he’d found his freedom. Yet, it had been simple enough to find a way to enter the castle. He’d paid a handsome bounty to borrow Euan’s cart with its load of wood and take his place three times a week when he took the timber load to Castle Ardtun.
In his woodsman’s guise, Taveon had been able to make his way through the castle unhampered. On the rare occasions he’d been questioned, he’d simply shown his basket of trimmed logs and been waved on.
Now that his plan was coming to fruition, he had high hopes he’d be able to overwhelm the laird’s sister unnoticed. He’d capture her swiftly, putting miles between the two of them and the MacKinnons, before her disappearance was discovered and the alarm was raised. If his luck held, her absence would not be noticed until morning.
In the weeks he’d been surveilling the castle, he’d become aware of the small garden frequented by the women. The first time he’d been there he’d been casting his eyes around, taking in his surroundings, when a young woman and two little girls burst through the entry way. Before they could catch sight of him, he’d quickly crouched in the hedge, finding a space there where he could observe them.
The wee girls’ innocent play put him in mind of his sister Arya when she was a bairn. That memory was like a knife between his ribs.
He heard them call “Hannah,” and his heart jumped.
She was beautiful. Tall, slender, her golden hair falling in waves to her slim waistline. He hadn’t counted on her loveliness, or on the feelings that stirred inside him as he observed her – hair flying, skirts tucked up, long legs on display. He watched, enthralled, as she laughed with the wee girls, playing catch-me-if-you can and skipping a rope. The ache in his groin and the urge to seize her and bury his face in that glorious mane of hair, to hold her soft curves against him, to crush her lips to his was, suddenly, almost unbearable.
It had been many years since a lass had made his heart beat faster. He’d been leading a monk’s life for too long.
He was suddenly assailed with doubt. This lovely creature did not deserve the fate that lay in store for her. The MacKinnons had treated him well while he was their captive. They’d given him good food and ale and despite knowing him as a traitor who threatened the lives of their clansmen, he’d not known cruelty at their hands.
To inflict the pain he knew was in store for them went against everything he believed was right in the world.
Conscious that such feelings were dangerous, threatening the cold-heart required for his mission, he steeled himself with the knowledge of the fate awaiting his own kin should he not succeed.
On several further occasions, when the weather was good, he’d snuck into the garden, observing the women chatting and laughing at their needlework or frolicking with the bairns.
Hannah spent more time there than the others. More often than not she was alone, sitting quietly, sometimes with her eyes closed, peacefully breathing in the perfumed air. He knew it was only a matter of time before he came upon her when there was no one around to come to her aid.
Tonight, after carrying out his usual duties with the firewood, Taveon slipped away from watchful eyes, making his way, unseen, to the little garden. The cart was empty, save for a sack containing his tools, and he’d drawn it as close as he could to the doorway near the kitchen. At this time of the evening, he could count on the servants being too busy serving the laird and his family to be coming and going through the door.
The evening was still warm in the long twilight, and Taveon had high hopes Hannah would come here, as she did so frequently, to take in the air before retiring to her bedchamber.
Once he reached the empty garden, he found his way to the space in the hedge where he could observe whatever was taking place there. His heart was pounding and the blood thundering in his veins. If he was caught now there’d be no mercy, hanging or beheading would be his certain fate.
As minutes turned into hours of waiting, his legs stiffened and he rubbed his calves, keeping them pliant, aware that any stumbling misstep could be his last.
His mind meandered idly over thoughts of Hannah, imagining her looking at him with glowing eyes, her lips opening tenderly…
He froze, straining his ears at the sudden intrusion of voices, groaning inwardly. One of the voices was Hannah’s, but the other voice belonged to a man.
God’s teeth!
Hannah flew out of the great hall, aware that Hendrie was following on her heels.
“Hannah, wait,” he said plaintively. “I have something I want tae say tae ye.” He was like a young puppy; all sad eyes, floppy hair and gangly legs. She didn’t lessen her stride, heading straight for the Ladies’ Garden. Surely the boy wouldn’t be so foolish as to follow her to that private spot.
No. He had no time for such niceties. Entering the garden, he scooted alongside her and clutched her hand. Ugh. His hand was limp and sweaty.
Oh dear! What was Blaine thinking?
All smiles this afternoon, he’d presented her with young Hendrie Davidson, the son of one of his oldest friends. In the space of two months, Hendrie was the eleventh offering her brother had trotted out for her approval as a prospective suitor. Eleventh.
But, by all the saints in Christendom, this lad was scarcely out of the nursery. Still wet behind the ears. He was sweet enough, eager to please, but not yet bearded, with aught but peach-fuzz on his chin. She’d wager he was not a day over seventeen. Why, she stood at least a head taller than him, for goodness’ sake!
Was this Blaine’s plot to force her to agree to marry the next man that actually looked like a full-grown man? At least one with a beard.
Hendrie was clinging to her hand like a limpet. She plonked her bottom on the bench at the far end of the garden, spreading her skirts in the faint hope he’d realize there was no space for him to sit beside her.
Not in the least deterred, he flung himself on one knee on the grass in front of her.
“Fair lady, please let me recite the poem I’ve written for ye,” he begged.
She huffed indignantly.
Blaine must secretly hate me. Otherwise, he’d never keep beleaguering me with unsuitable, unappealing, impossible lads.
“All right. I’ll listen tae yer poem. But, afterwards, ye must promise tae take yer leave. I wish tae enjoy the evening air by meself,” she said sternly.
Hendrie took a deep breath, issuing a sigh. “I shall, melady. I shall leave ye once ye’ve heard me out.” He took a parchment from the pocket in his britches and unfolded it.
After clearing his throat, he began. “Fairest Jennifer,” he read.
“My name’s Hannah” she said, her lips quirking in a smile. Why, this buffoon had not written the poem for her at all.
“Oh…” he gasped.
“Methinks ye should stand, Hendrie. I’ve changed me mind. I nay longer wish tae hear yer verses.” She reached a hand to help him up.
Suddenly, he switched his eyes from her face, to the small creature that was climbing on the bench beside her. A spotted, brown, scaly creature.
“Ye gods. A monster,” he shrieked, losing his balance and, hands flailing, landing bottom-first on the grass.
In fright, Hannah heaped to her feet, her skirt tangling her feet, bringing her down to land beside him.
Pointing with a shaking finger, his ashen face washed of all color, he squeaked, “There. It’s a deadly, poisonous, serpent”
Scrambling to her feet, Hannah looked around.
“Hendrie. Get up.” She snapped. “While there are some shy snakes here on Mull that are poisonous, that’s nae snake. It’s a wee lizard. They are common here and that one visits me often in the garden.”
She savagely brushed at her skirt with one hand, fluffing grass and leaves out of her hair with the other.
“Now,” Her voice was unusually sharp. “I believe it’s time ye left me.” She lifted her chin in haughty dismissal. The boy stumbled to his feet, swiveled without a word, and hastily made his departure, leaving Hannah alone in the gathering twilight.
“At last,” she breathed aloud.
Leaning over the lizard, she whispered her thanks.
“Mr. Lizard.” She said, breathlessly. “I do so appreciate yer help in chasing that boy away. I was beginning tae fear he’d never go.” She laughed.
Then came a whispered voice in response, “Happy to be of service melady. I could see he was nae the man for ye. Ye deserve a strong, handsome fellow tae set ye tae rights.”
For one fleeting second it seemed as if the lizard was speaking to her, and she giggled. But then it dawned.
Someone was there, unseen, beside her in the garden.
She drew in a breath, filling her lungs, ready to scream bloody murder.
But, before she had a chance to let out an awe-inspiring shriek, a tall figure leaped from the shadow of the hedges and clamped a ruthless hand over her mouth.
Struggling furiously, she raked the hand with her nails, kicking out as best she could, although hampered by her long skirts. She heard a rough swear word as she tore at the man’s hand, but his other hand clamped her waist and she was hauled unceremoniously into the hedge, landing a hundred tiny scratches on her face and bare arms.
Before any further ado, a heavy cloth was wrapped around her mouth and fastened, her hands were seized in a strong grip and tied tightly behind her back with string. Throwing her head back she tried to butt against the man’s chin, but he was too quick for her. He dodged sideways, grabbing her hair, twisting it painfully around his hand.
“Dinna try anything, lass. It’ll go badly for ye if ye dae,” he breathed into her ear. “Stop struggling and ye’ll nae be hurt.”
Then the world went dark as a sack was thrown over her head and pulled down over her body to her feet. She felt the man fastening a binding like a belt at her waist, securing the rough hessian sack, and another binding her ankles.
Bound hand and foot, her mouth gagged so that her screams were stifled, she felt herself being hoisted over the man’s shoulder as if she was nothing more than a sack of chaff.
“If ye make a sound, if ye try and wriggle, I’ll run ye through with my dirk,” he said in a low, gravelly voice that shot terror straight to her heart.
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In the Arms of a Highland Brute – Extended Epilogue
One month later
Four entire weeks had passed without Alba realizing it. Everything went by so fast, the preparations for the wedding taking up all her time, much to Magnus’ chagrin. But Alba had to make sure that everything would be perfect. Everyone would be there, after all; the Murray Clan, the Menzies Clan, and all their combined allies. She couldn’t possibly allow anything to go wrong on the day of her own wedding.
Thankfully, everything went smoothly throughout the ceremony, and before Alba knew it, she and Magnus were married. She had once thought that it would feel very different after exchanging vows, but with Magnus, it was still the same. It was easy to be around him like they were always meant to be together.
Now the two of them sat at their table, and Magnus’ gaze kept drifting to her, full of want and heat. Earlier that day, right before they got married, he told her he loved the baby blue dress she had chosen for the occasion and couldn’t wait to rip it off her later that night.
And then Alba had forbidden him from touching it. The dress was too beautiful for Magnus to destroy it in his haste. She feared his wandering hands would destroy the delicate lace that lined the sleeves and the hem.
She only hoped Magnus would listen, unlikely as that was.
The feast she and Evelyn had prepared was already in full swing. The clansmen and women were eating, drinking, and dancing to the music, the great hall filled with their laughter and conversation. Alba couldn’t help but smile the entire time, her happiness bursting out of her and seeping into the room.
For the first time in her life, she could say that she was truly happy. She wasn’t thinking about anything else. She wished her mother could have been a part of this day too, but she no longer felt the intense sorrow she used to when she thought about her, and she felt excitement for her new life. It was what she had always wanted, to remember her mother fondly without having to remember the awful event that took her life.
When she felt a hand on her shoulder, she looked up to see Tate there, who looked just as cheerful and youthful as he always did. Alba was certain that plenty of ladies would try to capture his attention that night, popular as he was with women, but Tate seemed oblivious to it all.
“Congratulations, Alba,” he said but then frowned a little. “Well, I dinnae ken if that’s the right thing tae say, considerin’ ye married my brother.”
Alba laughed as Magnus slapped Tate’s shoulder. A part of her feared they would start roughhousing, but thankfully, they both behaved.
“What’s wrong with marryin’ me?” Magnus asked. “Am I that bad?”
“Ach, stop it,” Tate said. He pulled Magnus into a tight hug, one that he reciprocated immediately. “Always complainin’ about somethin’.”
As Tate hugged Magnus, Alba couldn’t help but notice that he had a birthmark on his hand that she had never spotted before. It was rather faint, a splotch of darker skin over his hand that was easy to miss.
Ever since Lana had told her about the man who had helped her, Alba had gotten into the habit of looking at men’s hands. She wondered if fate would have it that the man was none other than Tate, although it seemed unlikely. She didn’t know what the birthmark Lana was looking for was like, and she doubted it would be something as easy to miss as this.
Still, once she returned from her trip to the town, where she had gone with the Clan’s healer to help deliver a baby, Alba would introduce her to Tate and to let her know that she should look at his hands. If they hadn’t met already, that is.
“It really is a wonder ye two ended up married,” Tate said, resting his weight on Magnus’ chair as he leaned against it. “I never thought I’d see the day ye’d speak tae each other without shoutin’, let alone the day ye’d be a married couple.”
“We had tae hate each other first so our love could be even stronger,” Magnus said, reaching over to take Alba’s hand and press a soft kiss on her knuckles. “I think it was fate.”
“I used tae tell ye that she’s a good lass, remember?” Tate asked. “And ye kept sayin’ nay, nay, she’s a beast.”
“A beast?” Alba asked, gaping at Magnus as she snatched her hand back from him. “Magnus! Ye called me a beast?”
“Well, ye were a wee beast,” Magnus teased. “Ye were always so cold, and ye certainly thought ye were better than me.”
“Ye were actin’ so lecherously!” Alba said. She supposed Magnus still did, but only with her now, and she couldn’t deny that she enjoyed it. “What was I supposed tae dae? Ye even tried tae kiss me!”
At that, Tate and Magnus exchanged a knowing glance, one that filled Alba with suspicion. She narrowed her eyes at them and tapped her fingers on the table impatiently, unsure whether or not she wanted to hear the truth.
“What is it?” she asked. “Why are ye lookin’ at each other like that?”
“Dae ye wish tae tell her?” Magnus asked Tate.
“Nay,” Tate said. “She’s yer wife.”
With a sigh, Magnus turned to look at Alba and once again took her hand. For the moment, Alba let him hold it.
“Mo ghràidh…”
“Dinnae try tae placate me,” Alba said.
“Well, ye see, when I tried tae kiss ye, it was because Tate and I had a bet,” he said.
“A bet,” Alba said, her tone flat and unimpressed. “A bet.”
“Aye,” Magnus said, flashing her his charming smile. It didn’t work, not one bit. “I said that if I could prove that ye were a tiny beast, then Tate would stay longer. And, well, ye slapped me. Very hard.”
For a few moments, Alba stared at the two brothers in silence. Then she rolled her eyes at them and flicked Magnus on the forehead as a punishment.
“Neither o’ ye has a single proper thought in yer mind,” she said. To think that Magnus would have tried to kiss her for a mere bet. And not just that, but that it was a bet to prove she was a beast! Alba could hardly believe it. But as always, she loved him too much to stay annoyed with him for long. In the end, everything had worked out, after all.
“Forgive me, mo ghràidh,” Magnus said. “I adore ye. Yer the love o’ my life. My bonnie wife. The light o’ me eyes.”
“All right,” Alba said with a fond yet exasperated smile as she waved a dismissive hand at Magnus. “Ye can stop now. I forgive ye.”
“Dae ye forgive me, too?” Tate asked.
“Och, I’m sure ye didnae dae anythin’,” Alba said, reaching up to pat Tate’s cheek gently like a mother would comfort a little child. “This barbarian makes ye dae all these things, does he nae?”
“Alba!” Magnus explained in mock offense, clutching his chest. “I would never dae that! How can ye put all the blame on me?”
“Tate is young. He doesnae ken any better,” Alba laughed. “But ye dae.”
“I’ll spend the rest o’ me days makin’ it up tae ye, will I nae?” Magnus asked with a miserable sigh, letting his head fall against the table. It made such a loud noise and rattled so many of the plates and the cups that half the room turned to look at him.
“Och aye,” Alba said. But Magnus didn’t have to worry. She already knew a few ways in which he could make it up to her, and she was certain he would enjoy it, too.
Eventually, Alba allowed him to take her to the dance floor. The two of them glided around the room, and this time, now that all her injuries had healed, it was much easier for Alba to follow his lead.
Even though it had only been a little over a month since they had left Steward Castle, the events of those days seemed distant to Alba, as if they had happened to a different person in another lifetime. Ever since they had returned, she was surrounded by so much love and joy that she had almost forgotten about it.
The only thing that lingered were the nightmares, which Alba still had every now and then. While she still saw her mother and the fire in some of them, other times, she relived her kidnapping, while others yet, she saw Magnus being set on fire by Fletcher and Laird MacNab. Each time, she woke up screaming and covered in sweat, but Magnus was always there to calm her, whispering sweet, soothing words into her ear and holding her until she fell back asleep.
He never seemed to tire, no matter how many times it happened or how long it took for her to calm down. Magnus was always there for as long as it took, and each time, he promised her that he would always be there.
The rest of the feast went by in a blur as the maids kept refilling Alba’s cup. By the end of the night, when most of the clansmen and women had already gone to bed, she was giddy with love and alcohol, and she had to lean against Magnus for support when they made their way up to the chambers that they now shared.
Once they were behind their closed door, Magnus helped her out of her dress with such gentle movements that her breath caught her throat. His fingers seemed to touch every inch of her, brushing over her neck, her shoulders, and her arms, following the curves of her breasts and her hips. Then, once he had thrown his own clothes into a pile by the vanity, he took Alba to bed and helped her settle under the covers and into his arms.
Alba loved being in his warm embrace. Magnus was comfortable, safe, so incredibly loving, and familiar. It didn’t take Alba long to drift into a slumber. But then Magnus’ hushed voice pulled her out of it, and so did the hand that crept lower and lower until, much to her disappointment, stopped at her belly and refused to move, no matter how much she squirmed and tried to tilt her hips.
“Alba…” Magnus said, his fingers splaying open over her skin. “What dae ye think about havin’ a bairn?”
Babies were something Alba had never thought about, just like marriage. But the thought was appealing to her. She loved children and would love to have some of her own. Besides, she thought it would be a matter of time before she was pregnant, especially since she and Magnus couldn’t keep their hands off each other.
“Ye want tae have a bairn?” Alba asked with a small smile, her own hand coming to rest over Magnus’. “Ye never ken… we may already have one.”
“Are ye tryin’ tae tell me somethin’?” Magnus asked, suddenly sounding completely alert. Alba laughed and shook her head, reaching behind her to push him back down onto the bed when she felt him move.
“Nay,” she said. “I’m only sayin’ that there’s a possibility since we… are together so often. But I dinnae think so. Not yet.”
For a few moments, Magnus stayed silent, considering Alba’s words. “I’d like tae have many bairns,” he said once he finally spoke again. “Many wee ones, lookin’ like ye and me, runnin’ around the castle.”
It was a nice thought, and Alba let herself imagine it. She thought fatherhood would suit Magnus. For all he tried to stay away from people, to keep his distance from them, he was a very caring man with so much love to give. Alba couldn’t imagine a better father for her children.
“Robert will have someone tae play with, too,” she said. “Though I’m sure my sister will have plenty more bairns. We’re nae the only ones who cannae stay away from each other.”
It was the only reason Alba didn’t feel too guilty for spending so much time with Magnus. When Evelyn and Scott first married, they did the same thing. Alba could only hope that soon enough, her and Magnus’ desire for each other would settle into something calmer, less urgent.
They could hardly spend their whole lives in bed, after all.
Magnus laughed softly at that, and Alba felt him nod against her shoulder. “Aye, that’s true,” he said. “I cannae wait fer it. I never thought I’d want tae marry a lass, let alone have any bairns, but I cannae stop thinkin’ about it now. I want us tae have a family o’ our own.”
With a smile, Alba turned around in Magnus’ arms. She pressed a gentle hand over his cheek as she threw a leg over his hip, settling against him. “Yer so sweet sometimes, Magnus,” she said. Alba would have never thought this Magnus was the same person as the one she had met all that time ago, when their paths first crossed. Then again, the Magnus she knew back then was nothing more than a mask. Alba knew that now. It was how Magnus used to protect himself.
Alba kissed him slowly and tenderly, pouring all her love for him into the kiss. Magnus spoke her name reverently, like it was a prayer, his hands holding her like she was the most precious thing in the world.
Alba had never considered herself particularly lucky. If anything, only a few months ago, she would have called herself unlucky after the loss she had experienced and the grief that followed it. But now she felt as though fate was trying to make up for all that sorrow through Magnus. She finally had everything she wanted. She was finally loved, cared for, and safe.
She knew that hard times were still to come. Every life has its ups and downs, good moments and bad ones. But as long as she had Magnus and her family on her side, there was nothing that could hurt Alba anymore.
With a sigh, Alba closed her eyes once more, and this time, she let sleep wash over her. The smile on her face never faded, and she couldn’t wait to greet her first morning as a married woman.
The End.
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If you want to know what lies ahead in our story, you may want to get the sequel…
Tate’s innocent favor for a friend spirals into an intricate web of deception as he reluctantly steps into his shoes. Before he knows it, Tate ends up taking his friend’s place as laird, abducting a lass and… marrying her. When love blossoms unexpectedly between the two, Tate faces the dire consequences that certain choices carry. Yet not all Sins of a Highland Beast can be atoned for…