Her Highland Rogue: A Wild Highland Guardian Novel Read online

  Her Highland Rogue is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Loveswept Ebook Original

  Copyright © 2016 by Violetta Rand

  Excerpt from MacLean’s Passion by Sharon Cullen copyright © 2016 by Sharon Cullen

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book MacLean’s Passion by Sharon Cullen. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.

  ebook ISBN 9781101883730

  Cover design: Carrie Divine/Seductive Designs

  Cover photographs: Period Images (man), Geribody (Gergely Zsolnai)/Depositphotos.com (background)

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  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  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

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  By Violetta Rand

  About the Author

  The Editor’s Corner

  Excerpt from MacLean’s Passion

  Prologue

  KINTAIL, SCOTLAND 1498

  Ownership of the lands surrounding Cinn Tàile were under protest. And with war in the air, Sgùrr scanned the world below. From the mountains, everything looked insignificant and small. Even the islands of Eigg, Rum, and Skye, visible in the distance, failed to inspire peace inside her.

  At this elevation, no MacLeod or MacDonald could threaten her. She’d sought refuge and had found it in a cave. Let men destroy one another. Sgùrr refused to get stuck in the middle—even if she was guilty of bedding two warriors from enemy clans. The babe who now kicked furiously inside her womb would not wait much longer to draw her first breath. And with snow threatening to fall early, she’d had little time to prepare.

  Another pain assailed her, and she stumbled over the rocky terrain, the opening to her shelter only yards away. The identity of the father was inconsequential; the babe grew stronger every day. Allegiance to lairds and tartans didn’t matter. God alone judged souls, and Sgùrr had mistakenly fallen in love with two men at the same time. One had stolen her virtue, the other her heart.

  When they found out about each other, she fled, preferring freedom over the bonds of marriage. She’d deal with her punishment in the afterlife.

  Reaching the cave, she dropped her bundle of kindling on the dirt floor. It had taken four separate trips and some trickery to outsmart the MacDonald guards, but she’d managed to steal enough linens, a fur, dried meat, beans, and skins of wine to survive. She’d even stuffed two blankets she’d sewn together with dried grass to sleep on.

  The fire in the rock pit she’d built at the mouth of the cave needed attention, and she untied the piece of rope holding together the firewood she’d just collected. She chose four branches and arranged them carefully in the pit. The dried wood crackled and popped as the flames caught. The warmth pleased Sgùrr as she rubbed her hands together, wishing instead one of her lovers was providing the heat she needed. But alas, she wouldn’t risk their lives.

  Jealousy had overridden their common sense. Cian MacDonald had grabbed his sword and dressed for battle, threatening to ride to the MacLeod stronghold to challenge her other warrior. She shook her head, knowing these memories were all she’d have left of the men she loved. And her…Sgùrr massaged her swollen belly. As if the unborn babe heard her thoughts, she kicked violently. Sgùrr lost her breath and bent over, her hands resting on her knees. She began taking measured breaths, long inhales and controlled exhales. It relieved the pressure some.

  A skilled midwife and healer, Sgùrr had brought dozens of children into the world. Her own should be no different. She made sure everything she needed was within reach of the pallet in the back of the cave. Fresh water, clean linens, her dirk, and some dried venison to chew on if she required sustenance for a long labor.

  Satisfied, she changed into a linen shift, removed her leather boots and wool leggings, then settled on the thin mattress, wrapping the fur about her shoulders. Although the cave kept the rain and snow off her head, occasionally a frigid wind penetrated the crag, chilling her to the bone. It reminded her how delicate the balance of life truly was. Her child would grow up in a place free of hatred and violence. She’d teach her early that a man’s worth should be judged by his actions alone. Words meant little. For Sgùrr had heard the highest laird swear an oath, only to break it soon after. She’d share the beauty of nature with her—no hall could rival a sunrise or the view across Loch Duich.

  She grunted as the pains came closer together, praying the delivery would be swift. Many women died in their birthing beds, but Sgùrr knew this little one had a purpose. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead as she continued to pant and wait for the moment to come. “Blessed Lord, keep us safe…”

  Chapter 1

  KINTAIL, SCOTLAND, 1515

  Laird MacRae stared at his only son with disappointment. “Every member of this household is equally valued. Whether you or a kitchen maid, it matters not to me. A lesson I learned too late in life. But I’ll be damned if yer going to make the same mistakes. Men of power are responsible for their people—and the future laird will demonstrate compassion whenever he can. Do you understand?”

  Errol grumbled under his breath, displeased with his father’s public chastisement. Chasing after an errant girl who felt humiliated because a besotted warrior fondled her arse didn’t interest him. Men were naturally attracted to bonny faces and a firm backside. But instead of defending herself, Aileana ran away.

  “Is it better to starve than hunt? To waste my time recovering an irrational girl when I should be preparing our men for a possible MacDonald invasion?” He couldn’t hide his frustration. Errol had every intention of talking his way out of this ridiculous quest. “The lass is probably hiding in the woods—weeping with the fairies.”

  “I’ve already doubled the guards,” his father said. “Have I ever failed to protect our lands? Come closer, my son.” He signaled for Errol to join him at the high table.

  He did as he was bid, claiming the chair next to his sire.

  “Why are ye so bent on defying me?” his father whispered, sparing him further public rebuke.

  Errol grabbed a cup of ale off the table and sniffed it, then took a drink. Good spirits shouldn’t be wasted. “Your mistrust in me hits deep in my gut, Father. I’m sworn to obey. But sending me on a fool’s errand is more a punishment. She’ll return as soon as the first snow falls—have you seen the sky? Let me instead
join my men for the hunt.”

  Laird MacRae’s humorless laugh echoed throughout the hall. “I never said I didn’t trust you.” His gray eyebrows were nearly as expressive as his mouth. “But there’s little time to restore your credibility, Errol. My fate is decided. With some dedication, the family ye so irreverently dishonored might be convinced to support you again.”

  Errol frowned. Only his father seemed to cling to Errol’s past. Six months ago he’d gotten very drunk. The next morning, a lad discovered him in the stables passed out with two naked maids draped across his body like a plaid. The boy ran away before Errol realized what had happened. “A man shouldn’t be judged by his conquests.”

  “Nor should he dip his wick in places it doesna belong.” His father rubbed his face. “You deflowered the only children of one of my most valued captains.”

  “I still question their virtue,” he claimed. The two sisters weren’t known for their chastity. And he recalled many occasions when the mindless creatures did more than smile shyly at him across the feast table. “I’d do it again if I were offered a second chance.”

  His father coughed violently. The spells were coming more regularly, and it pained Errol to see his father grow weaker every day—his once powerful body reduced to skin and bones. He suffered from a lung disease for which there was no cure.

  “This behavior won’t suit,” his father warned. “I’ve been patient with you. Turned a blind eye when you bedded the occasional serving wench. The daughters of my men are forbidden. And we’ve enough blackguards roaming freely in the Highlands. My only son won’t be counted amongst them. Fetch the lass.” Laird MacRae cupped his mouth with both hands and leaned forward in his chair. If he found the right position, he could breathe more easily.

  “Aye.” Errol bowed. His love for his sire outweighed his selfish pride, especially when his symptoms showed. He’d recover the lass, then take a switch to her arse. “May take me a while to find her,” he added as he walked away.

  “Take all the time ye need.”

  Errol left the great hall, his thoughts on more entertaining pursuits—like joining his friends in the forest.

  Half an hour later, Errol breathed in the crisp air as he mounted his horse. Nothing pleased him more than gazing at the mountains that surrounded his home in Kintail. To the north, five distinctly pointed summits, known as the Five Sisters, Sgùrr na Ciste Duibhe, Sgùrr na Càrnach, Sgùrr Fhuaran, Sgùrr nan Spàinteach, and Sgùrr nan Saighead, rose high against the colorless sky. Morning mist often blocked them from view, but today he could see the ridges as clearly as the stars on a cloudless night. Surely the wench hadn’t braved the long walk up high. If she had, he’d have greater cause to give her a sound beating.

  If he rode west, he’d search the fish camps located along Loch Hourn and Loch Duich first. Fishermen never turned away a pretty lass willing to clean and fillet their catch to sell at the market. But Aileana’s hands were too delicate for such harsh work. Since the day she showed up in Kintail as a nameless child with no memory of her family, Errol’s father had taken pity on her. She had the wildest mane of red curls he’d ever seen. And her blue eyes were too big for her face. She’d been assigned to the kitchen, where the elder women immediately welcomed her—shielding her from the gossip often spawned by foundlings.

  Eight years had passed since that day. And though the rumors had died down, the most superstitious hens still whispered about her—fairy child or a MacDonald spy. For what better way to infiltrate their enemies’ ranks than with an innocent child. Admittedly, Aileana favored the three rogue brothers who ruled their enemy clan.

  Errol clenched his jaw as he contemplated which direction to go. Instinct told him north. Inconsiderate lass, wasting his time. His precious time. He enjoyed the chase as long as it ended in his bedchamber or the stables. He smiled; the quicker he found her, the sooner he could return to his favorite activities. He’d let that be his motivation to recover her.

  Within the hour, he crossed into MacKenzie lands, the clan his forefathers pledged to protect. That loyalty earned his family wealth and prestige. And a permanent home in Kintail. He cut through the center of a large herd of brindle and black Bò Ghàidhealach, a breed of cattle with long, wavy coats. He stopped beside the stream that eventually emptied into River Croe, one of his favorite spots to fish.

  He dismounted, leaving his horse to drink freely. He walked close to a few cows, clicking his tongue. The MacKenzies often left their herd to roam unsupervised. A privilege only the richest clans could afford. MacRae stock were always accompanied—not one bloody MacDonald would be given the chance to steal from their herd again. MacRaes had done their own thieving in the past, plucking the choicest heifers from MacDonald broods whenever the opportunity arose.

  Mere contests of arrogance—but they still paid with blood. Games were no longer the aim of the enemy clans. The crown intended to transfer ancient MacDonald lands to the MacKenzies, reason enough for the violence to flare up. That’s why he didn’t understand his father’s decision. Errol was one of his best fighters. He scratched his head and entered the closest glen to relieve himself. As he emerged on the far side, he found several MacKenzies huddled around a fire.

  One of the dark-haired fighters shot up from the ground, his sword ready to strike. “Approach slowly,” he advised.

  Errol ignored his ominous warning and went at him. As soon as the MacKenzie recognized him, he sheathed his weapon and smiled.

  “I’m not in the mood for gutting a wee bull today,” Errol said.

  Ian rolled his eyes. “Did your da let you come out to play or did ye sneak out?”

  They grasped arms, and the remaining warriors stood, offering Errol a wineskin.

  “Nay.” Errol took a drink. “I’m on official business for the laird.”

  Ian arched a brow. “By midday, the ground will be covered in snow.”

  “Aye,” Errol agreed. “I cannot delay. A lass wandered off last night and hasn’t returned. My father fears for her welfare.”

  “Is she beautiful? If so, I’ll volunteer to help you,” Ian said, pulling on his scruffy beard.

  As a boy, Errol had been intrigued by the wild Aileana, following her everywhere. And as he grew into a man, there was no denying her remarkable beauty. But he’d learned to control his feelings, and to stay away from her. Any man who claimed her would suffer the suspicion of the rest of the clan. “She’s a bonny lass.”

  “Perhaps I can be of service, then.”

  “She doesna require that kind of service,” Errol said, feeling suddenly protective. “She ran away for that very reason.”

  “And who frightened the poor creature?” Ian continued. “Broc could scare maggots off a rotting carcass. Or was it Skene, the one-eyed bastard?”

  Errol’s father had fostered Ian for half of his life. As boys they even shared a bedchamber. “Broc is the guilty one.”

  “Then I’d check the islands first,” Ian offered. “For if I were a helpless lass, I’d cross the sea to escape that ugly beast.”

  The other MacKenzies laughed.

  Errol watched them unpack a simple meal of bread and fish. “Care for a bite?” Ian asked.

  “No.” He scanned the mountains in the distance. “I’m headed to the hills, hoping to find her before nightfall.”

  “And a dolt for risking yer neck with MacDonalds on the loose,” Ian added.

  Errol patted the helm of his claymore, his targe hanging from his back. The last thing he feared was MacDonalds. They were known cowards. His people weren’t called the Wild MacRaes for dancing around bonfires like heathens. His kinsmen fought like ancient berserkers.

  “They’d have to catch me first.”

  Chapter 2

  Aileana opened her eyes, confused by her surroundings. She’d fled the MacRae stronghold after Broc cornered her in the kitchen, long after the other women had gone abovestairs to sleep. She’d stupidly volunteered to keep watch over the remaining men in the hall in case the
y required more bread and meat—or in Broc’s case, more ale. Once she’d refilled his cup, even leaving a full pitcher behind for the great beast to finish off, he stumbled after her, smelling of sweat and spirits, and drooling on her neck.

  She’d known him nearly all her life—at least for the time she remembered being alive. Before her tenth year, she held no clear memories. The occasional flash of a face or spoken word, but nothing that could connect her to a family or place. So she wandered through life nameless, though the MacRae laird had offered to recognize her as part of his clan. But whenever she considered it, something inside her warned not to do it. For once ye denied your name, whether you knew it or not, your fate might change. And she didn’t want to lose her only chance at true happiness. Deep down, Aileana knew there was more to her existence than being a bastard.

  That’s what half the women within the MacRae keep called her. Behind her back mostly, but sometimes directly if she was blamed for burning the bread or spilling wine.

  She kicked off the fur covering her from neck to foot, cold air sending a chill down her body. A fire burned at the opening of the rock enclosure, and she padded over to it, desperate for warmth. She stared beyond the flames, the world outside covered in white. Winter had come early to Kintail. And only by God’s grace had she met a woman last night in the hills. How could she turn down an offer of hot stew and a pallet to sleep on? So she’d walked quietly with the stranger to her cave.

  As soon as she finished eating and drained her cup of wine, sleep overwhelmed her. That’s all she remembered. And now she woke up alone. But there was a loaf of bread and a cup of milk on the table by her pallet, hopefully meant for her to eat. Her stomach growled with hunger.