Healing the Highlander's Heart Read online

  Healing The Highlander’s Heart

  Highland Brides Book One

  Scarlett Adams

  Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  Thank you, friends!

  About the Author

  Prologue

  The keep was dark and still and high up on the ramparts, a lone guard swaddled in a cloak against the bitter cold patrolled by a flickering torchlight.

  Ailbeart clutched his bundle to his chest, looking up to the sky. The moon hung low over the walls and spread a white shadow across the floor of the inner bailey, touching the covered bridge that spanned a small court that sometimes bore minstrels playing for the pleasure of the noble ladies and sometimes the lord chief settled disputes in.

  Ailbeart looked to the guard again, he had snuffed out the taper that led him out from the enclosed gardens, knowing his way through the castle with or without light. He knew where to press himself to become one with the shadows, except tonight there were no shadows. The moon lay an incriminating blanket for him to walk upon, ready to draw the guard’s eyes to him when he dared cross. But then, the guard was almost asleep, bundled in that cloak as he was and leaning ponderously against his staff, his gaze was permanently fixed to what was coming in, not what was going out.

  Making up his mind, Ailbeart stole across the wide, white expanse as quiet as a mouse, feeling only secure when he was back in the shadows. He would be hard pressed to explain what he was doing in the bailey at this time of the evening if he was caught. He won’t be able to explain that he has been in the garden listening to lady Seonag reciting poems she had written, or their fingers brushing as she handed him the fragrant soap to have his bath after he had told her between all the servants soaps melt like butter in head. It smelled like a garden itself, just like the lady Seonag herself. He must take extra care not to be caught tonight, so as not to put lady Seonag in trouble.

  The portcullis that led out to the outer bailey had been let down for the night, so he pulled open a door to what happened to be an abandoned cellar.

  He had discovered it during one of those times he had skived off his duties and pretended he was a clan chief, or an earl and he could ask for lady Seonag’s hand in marriage. The cellar had a long corridor lined by empty dusty suits of armour that stood watch. They were relics of the times clan Domhnall went to war, hammered plates of steels, mails, scales and boiled leather. If this were sometime in the day Ailbeart would have taken time drawing lines across each suit, dreaming up a history for each of them.

  Tonight, he hurried down the sloping corridor, took the worn steps two at a time they went down a long way and when he came to the end, he was hot and panting. Stuffing the bundle to under his arm, his fingers searched for the crossbar the held the heavy oak door shut and lifted it. He squeezed himself through coming out into cold night air and stumbled down the rest of the way, dislodging pebbles. Behind him, the castle remained silent and none was wise about his sneaking out.

  Quite satisfied, Ailbeart followed the muddy trail through the glen and down to the loch, careful to remain in the shadows. When he finally made it to the little clump of trees that provided a little screen from whomever might be looking from the castle, he relaxed and laid his bundle down, shedding his sweat soaked clothes and waded into the loch. The water was icy, but he liked the feel of it on his skin even more so the soap. He was scrubbing his armpits when he felt something brush against his privates and first thought it was a fish come to nibble; he hurriedly brushed it away but his hand came on something hard and he yanked it away, stumbling back. He lost his footing on the slippery stones and fell backwards landing hard in the water. Spluttering, he came up for air and in the rather bright light of the moon he saw what he had brushed against. It seemed to be a purse. His heart calming from the palpitations it had worked itself up to, he picked himself up and sloshed through the water to it.

  At first glance it seemed to be a coin purse and with a hopeful heart he shook it but heard no coin jingling inside. He pulled the strings open and poured the contents about. What came out was a long rosary and a little wood piece. Disappointed, he shoved them back into the purse and drew the strings close. He consoled himself with the fact that the purse itself was made of silk and he might be able to sell it for a piece of coin. He was pondering on this when a thought occurred to him, how had the purse gotten here? It couldn’t belong to the lady Seonag or her lady mother. They never came down from the castle to the loch and even so, the lady Seonag hadn’t mentioned to him she had lost her purse.

  Ailbeart looked around to find anything else when his eyes caught something golden glinting among the reeds and he hurried towards it splashing water before stumbling to a stop barely a foot away. It was a bracelet, but it was attached to a woman. Her head was out of the water, nestled amongst the shoots but the rest of her body was submerged in the water. At first, she appeared to be dead but on a second glance her chest was moving. Curious and concerned, Ailbeart dragged her out of the water and laid her on the grass. Bending over her, he inspected her. She must be the owner of the purse even though her garb was one of peasants, or a kitchen maid even. What was she doing in the water? He had never seen her before.

  A low moan came from the inert girl, startling him. The girl had moved, and he spotted a cut on her temple. With a regretful thought of lost soap, he threw on his kilt and rushed back to the castle.

  Chapter 1

  “Surely you are jesting father,” Dougal Domhnall turned a piercing gaze on his father, the Domhnall himself.

  He seemed to be in better spirits today, although his eyes were still sunken if sharp and alert and his complexion was the grey underbelly of a toad. Seated on the high chair and covered in the furs like he was, he presented a broad and powerful figure, but Dougal knew of the wasted body they concealed beneath their folds. So did the lady Caitir, the laird chief’s lawful wife. She had a bejewelled hand placed upon the swaddled shoulder of the chief as though refraining him from standing, even though they knew that was never his intention, and was glaring dirks at Dougal who studiously ignored her.

  That he was born out of wedlock and from a woman the laird truly loved even after all the years she had been dead was a reason of rancour for her which had festered as the years went by as Dougal grew from a wee bairn to a man in his own right. She had been married to the chief when he was in the middle of mourning his dead lover that he paid no mind to her and nonetheless she was expected to raise the bastard as though he was her own.

  No matter what Caitir had done, she couldn’t get the chief to forget his dead love and she couldn’t bring herself to love the boy who took so much to his father and was the product of the love she could never have from the chief. It only added to her bitterness that he excelled and had his father’s ears, something that oughtn’t labour her own seven-year-old son. Her bitterness was received, and once Dougal had sought maternal love and acceptance from her only to be rebuffed and had since stopped. Nonetheless, he loved her children; his half-siblings, more than life themselves and would do his best to protect them. That was why he was against this travesty.

  Douga
l had just arrived from a patrol of their land with a handful of his men to find the castle in a much brighter mood than the sombre one it had sunk into since the laird had fallen to some illness two years ago. Thinking the laird had finally been healed, Dougal had raced to his father’s solar to see only to be present with his half-sister’s impeding nuptials. And much worse, with a member of the McLagan clan.

  “It’s a good match!” Lady Caitir declared.

  “For whom? Surely not for sweet Seonag whose life you’d be ruining if you married her to the McLagans.”

  Throughout his years of travels and dealings with other clans, he had found the McLagans the most unsavoury of all lots. Dark rumours swarmed them like flies, each one as bad as the next, and although Dougal didn’t pay much mind to rumours and superstitions, he found he had to listen when they keep harping on the same message: The McLagans were a bad bunch. They did not sleep with nor eat their dead and neither did they mate their women with wolves, but they were robbers, have a history of bloodthirstiness, even the former chief had gone through ten wives before his death, each dying after birthing when they bore females. His daughters had also disappeared under mysterious circumstance. That mustn’t be the clan his father wishes to marry Seonag into.

  Lady Caitir was carrying on, “It’s already settled; they’ll be coming to Castle Alban in today for the hand-fasting ceremony. There is nothing ye can do to stop it.”

  “Father,” Dougal insisted. “Ye dinnae mean to marry your sweet daughter to rapers and murderers. It’s a bad choice.”

  Lady Caitir flinched as though she had just been delivered a solid wallop to the abdomen. She stiffened on her chair, her face quickly turning red and her eyes glittering with rage and hate. Her hands were clenched to fists and Dougal was certain she had half a mind to start nagging them about, presumably on his face. Her mouth worked violently as she started to spew her hate.

  “Ye presume to ken what is good for my daughter…” she began, seeming to swell into a considerably size with rage.

  “Caitir…” the laird interjected with a croak of a voice, but his protest was lost in between the maelstrom going on.

  “…you half-bred son of a welsh whore!” she finished with all with poison she could muster.

  “Caitir!” the Laird exploded but they paid little mind to him.

  If it hadn’t been said so many times those words would still have their sting. Now, Dougal just lifted a corner of his mouth in a mirthless grin and stared right into her raging eyes.

  “It must be an awful joke that ye seek to marry your beloved daughter into a family full of half-bred sons of whores.”

  Caitir flinched again and sagged on her chair, angry beyond words, her fists had gone impossibly tight and Dougal was sure her nails were digging hurtfully into the skin of her palm to the point of breaking them.

  “Your daughter will suffer awfully if she is married into that no-good clan and you ken that even if you pretend not to.”

  The Lady Caitir started to swell again. “Why ye…?” she began but got nowhere.

  “Dougal,” the laird started, trying to make peace. “I wouldna have approved to this match if I hadna thought it would be good for Seonag. Or d’ye think me too old and sick to make the right decision for my own daughter?”

  It was on the tip of Dougal’s tongue to say yes but he restrained himself and gave his father a smile he wasn’t feeling. “Of course not father, I was just concerned. The rumours I’ve heard…”

  “Are nothing to concern ourselves with,” Lady Caitir cut in. “Malicious rumours, nothing more.” Her voice brook no further argument.

  Dougal stared at her for a moment before inclining his head in a curt nod of assent. “If it is your wish father, then so be it.”

  “It is,” the laird said gravely, appearing diminished. “Now, tell me what you have learned from your patrols.”

  “Nothing that can wait till after we’ve supped. By your leave, I gathered a lot of dust on my person through the journey and would like to rectify that.” He gave a stiff bow and without waiting for the lord’s assent, he swept out from the solar.

  “He’s challenging you,” Lady Caitir noted stiffly.

  “Aye, like every son must to his father.”

  “More than that,” Caitir insisted. “Like a rival who has his eye…”

  “Dougal is a loyal lad.”

  “And what will happen when ye’re dead. Will we Dougal remain loyal even then?” she asked with barely restrained venom.

  “See all the hate if ye mus’, but Dougal loves his kin and deep in your heart ye ken that.”

  Caitir flushed and grumbled before recovering herself. “He needs to be wed.” she proclaimed.

  The Laird snorted. “Enough of that wife.”

  “It is the truth if anythin’ else. Wi’ that black-temper of his, he needs a woman to calm it.”

  “Dougal will pick his bride when he feels it is time for him to, anything he wouldna be too glad if ye try to pick one for him. might be inclined to reject her outright.”

  “But if ye order him…” she trailed off suggestively.

  “Dinnae worry much about Dougal, he wouldna thank ye for it,” the laird said with heavy meaning.

  Lady Caitir stopped talking.

  The pounding headache had finally stopped.

  Dougal pushed his wet hair back and secured it with a leather thong. His finger crawled up his shoulder to trace the newest scar he had acquired. An outlaw had crawled up when they were asleep had tried to divest Dougal of his coin purse, not taking into account that Dougal might not be fast asleep. It had taken a second to kill him, but Dougal had relaxed his guard, allowing the second outlaw to sneak up on him and the cut on his shoulder was the consequence of letting his guard down.

  It wasn’t as bad as the mess his abdomen was in a year ago, and he only had hard men like him pour whiskey on it before binding in not the golden haired serving girl that had held his hand as they burned the wound on his stomach shut. She had stroked his head after as he slipped in and out of delirious dream and sang to him. Lili. Her name was. The lass the half-idiot lad Ailbeart had found in the loch. Gold of hair and blue of eyes, she had featured in his fevered dreams after that and some were innocent of nature while others were sinfully erotic. Even now thinking of it, his loins tightened.

  He hadn’t been with a woman for three months now. Not since that whore that half killed him with what she had between her thighs. All the other women after had been unappealing, even Moire. They were not his bonny lass that visited his dream with delicious promises on her lips, though it was only in his dreams he could touch her, feel the heaviness of her breasts in his hands and know the taste of her lips. She was not for him. too innocent, too sweet to be corrupted by a devil like him.

  Dougal has seen the way she acted around others, even Ailbeart and it caused him great jealousy, the way everyone reacted to her. It was though she carried an inner sun that everyone was attracted to, they wanted to feel the warmth and even Dougal couldn’t barely resist. But for her sake, he kept away, keeping her safe from his satyric lust. His resistance had almost broken several times and each time that happened he took himself away from the castle for several days or purged his growing lust on Moire who was eager and as corrupt as he was.

  Now, his lust was burning. Dougal slung on his plaid, pinning it at the shoulder with his brooch and left his apartments. Alec, the second in command of his own band of men was waiting in the yard, idling away time by swinging his sword about to the delight of the wee lads that had gather and in the same stroke impressing the gentle ladies. He stopped as soon as he saw Dougal approaching, sheathed his sword and fell in step with him.

  “No need to follow, Alec. Just going to see the horses, ye can go on with delighting the crowd.”

  “Me and the lads goin’ ter the alehouse at eventide, ye comin’?’”

  “Maybe. I owe Father Colum a visit though.”

  Alec gave a long theatrical groan
as he fell back and as Dougal walked under the portcullis to the outer bailey, he was back to entertaining. While his initial plan had been to seek Moire out and sink his turgid manhood into the heat and wetness of her cunt, the thought of father Colum began slipping into his mind. He should see he man that had help him through the difficult times of his growing up and it had been a while since his last confession, the old priest would be pleased. Nothing like a confession to drain a man of his lust, after he could go attend to the horses to take his mind off the idiocy his family was plunging themselves into until the McLagans arrived and the welcoming feast would begin.

  “Hurry up Lili or it would be verra late afore we get to the market and Mistress Eubh wouldna be pleased!”

  Dougal came to a sudden halt as Lili came into his view, carrying a large basket and red in the face, a large kerchief covering her head but nonetheless she was as beautiful as the day she held his hand and as beautiful as she appeared in his dreams.

  He watched as she hurried up to the small dark wench that was waiting by the draw bridge and they both crossed it. He was watching until they were both out of sight. The ache in his loins had redoubled upon seeing her that all thought of Father Colum was banished from is mind, turning from the path of the chapel, he went in search of Moire.

  Chapter 2

  Lili dabbed the sweat from her forehead with the corner of her skirts, bending double to do so and almost losing her footing.

  Sighing, she let the heavy basket down and stood up straight. She would very much have liked to be back in the castle, helping in making the oat cakes than being here lugging a basket that felt as though thirty horses were standing in it while the person supposed to help her was flirting with the green grocer. Lili pulled up the basket and struggled up to the Ailis before setting down the basket yet and again and puffed warm breath on the side of her face.