Highlands Forever (Books 1–3)

by Rand, Violetta

  Departing the great hall, he headed for the barracks where some of the soldiers lived. Over the last two years, Alex had recruited new men, including warriors who had sailed with Jamie from Constantinople, choosing the Highlands as their new home.

  He entered the single-story wood building to find a large group huddled around a table playing a dice game brought to the Highlands from Constantinople. “Is this what ye do with yer free time?”

  “Jamie, welcome,” Kuresh said with a broad smile.

  Jamie and Kuresh had travelled to Constantinople together. Kuresh had acted as his interpreter, councilor, and guide—keeping him safe in the strange and brutal place. Now best friends, Jamie could always count on him.

  “Give me the dice,” Jamie said.

  One of the guards dropped the two cubes in his open hand. Jamie shook them vigorously, then dropped them on the table, rolling two boar heads.

  “Ye win!” Kuresh pushed the pile of silver toward Jamie.

  He rolled again, this time a pair of snakes. More coins were added to the pile, but Jamie shook his head. “I doona want to take yer winnings. Here.” He added a gold coin to the cache. “I need six men to accompany me on patrol.”

  Twenty raised their hands.

  “Pick five,” Jamie directed Kuresh, “then meet me at the stables.”

  A short time later, the mounts were ready, and Jamie rode through the gates with his unit, ready to torment anyone that dared trespass on MacKay lands.

  Chapter Three

  “Is it true?” The attractive maid with blond hair asked Helen once she was settled in her bedchamber. “Ye ran away from yer sire, the Earl of Sutherland?”

  Not accustomed to servants asking personal questions, Helen entertained the thought of chastising the lass. But the look on the young woman’s face suggested innocent curiosity. “Aye.”

  “I canna imagine doing something so bold and dangerous.”

  “What is yer name?”

  “Miran.” The maid curtsied. “I beg yer pardon, m’lady. Laird Alex instructed me to stay silent unless spoken to. But I find it verra difficult not to talk to ye.” She opened Helen’s only bag, pulling out the gowns and other garments Helen had managed to pack before she fled Dunrobin Castle.

  “I doona mind conversation,” Helen said honestly. “I am afraid of how the rest of yer clan will react to my presence here.”

  “The women in the kitchens already know about ye.”

  “Oh?”

  “Aye.”

  “And what did they say?”

  “Though some are suspicious as to why ye showed up in the middle of the night, many remember how fondly Lady Keely talks of ye. The way ye helped her when she ran away.”

  Helen smiled. She’d held those memories close to her heart, for Keely had filled her quiet life with laughter and friendship. When Keely left Dunrobin Castle without warning, Helen suffered greatly, for her world had changed back to the way it used to be—full of unbearable loneliness. As the daughter of a powerful earl, there was little for her to do on a daily basis. And she would have done anything to go with Keely—to taste freedom and choose her own path in life.

  Helen gazed around the elegant chamber. Though it was small, colorful tapestries decorated the walls, furs covered the stone floor, and a canopied bed with embroidered coverlets and pillows waited for her tired body. Someone had already lit a cozy fire in the hearth, kindling neatly stacked in the corner. Two padded chairs and a table were arranged beside the hearth.

  “Who usually occupies this room?” Helen asked, unlacing her leather boots.

  “Tis a guest chamber.”

  “And who keeps rooms along this corridor?” Helen wanted to know who slept nearby. Had Laird Alex strategically placed her here?

  “Ye share walls with other notable women,” Miran assured her. “Some are the noble daughters of Laird Alex’s captains and cousins. Worry not, guards are kept on this floor of the keep. MacKay lasses are well protected.”

  “And where do ye sleep?”

  “At the foot of yer bed.”

  “Ye canna sleep on the floor!” Helen protested, standing and stretching. It felt so good to be free of those tight, leather boots. She wiggled her stockinged toes as the warmth from the fire slowly seeped into her bones. “Where do ye normally sleep?”

  “I have a small room off the kitchens.”

  “If ye prefer…”

  “Nay,” Miran said. “Laird Alex gave me specific orders.”

  “Then ye will share my bed.”

  Miran eyed the bed. “Tis not meant for me, m’lady.”

  “If I say it is…”

  Miran nodded. “Are ye hungry?”

  “Aye.”

  “Come, sit at the table and I will serve ye. There’s hot stew and bread, and a bit of wine.”

  One taste of the thick broth and tender morsels of venison pleased Helen. She gladly ate all of the food, even enjoying the sweet wine Laird Alex had so generously provided for her. With a full belly and feeling better than she had in days, Helen knew the moment her head rested on one of those pillows she’d fall asleep. Yet, she had so many questions about Keely and her twins. About the current state of affairs between the MacKays and Sutherlands—about the world in general.

  “Tell me of yer mistress,” Helen said. “Laird Alex dinna have much time to share conversation about his new children.”

  Miran grinned. “Babes always fill a home with joy, no?”

  “Aye—endless joy.”

  Miran refilled Helen’s cup with wine, then set the pitcher back on the table. “The boy is named John, after Laird Alex’s elder brother.”

  Helen grimaced. The brother she was sure her father’s men had killed in battle two years ago. Though she dinna get much information from her brothers, the earl couldna hide all of the truth from her. Servants talked, and Helen had learned how to eavesdrop without getting caught.

  “He favors his father, while the wee girl, Rebecca, named after Lady Keely’s mother, has the reddest, curly hair I’ve ever seen on a bairn.”

  “John and Rebecca,” Helen repeated. “Which was born first?”

  “The lad.”

  “A true blessing for his parents.”

  “Laird Alex wanted a son, of course, but one of the maids that helped birth the babes said he favored the lass as soon as he set eyes upon her.”

  More news that warmed Helen’s heart. The only reason the earl cared for Helen was because he had three sons before she was born. There was something special about a man who dinna esteem his son over his daughter.

  “Do ye want a big family?” Miran asked as she began to unbind Helen’s hair.

  “Aye,” Helen admitted sadly. But not with Laird Baran Munroe, the monster her father had betrothed her to. His children would come into the world screaming with vengeance, for her brothers had not shied away from telling her about her future husband’s exploits. Then there was the question of whether the man had murdered his latest wife. “Someday…”

  “I am sorry for asking ye that question.”

  “Why?”

  Miran stopped working on her hair and walked around the chair and looked down at Helen. “Yer voice changed when ye answered. And by the look on yer face…”

  “Think nothing of it,” Helen said. “Like any noble daughter is expected to do, I must marry the man my father chose.”

  “A man ye doona want.”

  “A man I’m sure no woman wants.”

  “Will he come looking for ye?”

  Helen had considered that before she decided to ride to MacKay lands. Just how far would Laird Munroe go once he found out his bride refused to marry him. Highlanders dinna like being humiliated. And the shame that would fall upon her father’s shoulders, her brothers, and Clan Munroe would leave them with no choice but to recover her. The Sutherland motto, Sans Peur, meant her clan did everything without fear. The Earl of Sutherland feared nothing but dishonor. And Helen had shamelessly disrespected her sire.


  “I believe he will.”

  “Laird Alex will protect ye.” Miran squeezed Helen’s hand reassuringly.

  “I pray he will.”

  “Perhaps ye should let me finish yer hair so ye can go to sleep.”

  Aye—and maybe she’d wake up and find all of this was a bad dream.

  *

  Jamie and Kuresh crawled through the snow, getting closer to the campfire they’d spied from the hills. Jamie had sensed trouble from the beginning. A woman like Helen Sutherland couldna possibly ride away from her home unnoticed.

  These trespassers proved him right. The question was, what should he do to them? Fight to fight, or kill? He stared at Kuresh. “What do ye wish to do?”

  His friend shrugged. “There’s no mercy in the desert. Why should there be any in the Highland hills?”

  Jamie appreciated the way Kuresh thought. His people believed in harsh justice—an eye for an eye. Jamie licked his dry lips, weighing his options carefully.

  The wet-cold bit at his skin, but he dinna care as he drew his sword, readying to attack. Four men were sitting about a blazing fire, passing a wineskin between them. And as he studied them, he realized they dinna wear Sutherland colors, but the red and green Munroe tartan.

  “Shite,” Jamie whispered.

  “What is it?” Kuresh asked.

  “I’d hoped for Sutherlands, not Munroes. Seems the lass’s betrothed has sent men to keep watch over her.”

  “She is a prize?”

  “Hair the color of the desert, eyes the color of crystal.”

  “She would bring much gold in Constantinople.”

  “Here, she’ll bring death if we doona silence these men.” The choice had been made then—dead men couldna talk.

  On the count of three, Jamie and Kuresh rushed from the trees, surprising the Munroe soldiers. Kuresh moved off to the left, and Jamie stalked straight ahead. Two challenged Jamie, and he quickly cut the first down, circling the other, the taste of blood already in his mouth.

  “Why have ye come here?” he asked.

  “Do ye not know?” the soldier countered, blocking a blow from Jamie’s weapon.

  “If I did, I wouldna ask.”

  “Helen Sutherland rode through yer gates tonight.”

  “And how would ye know that?”

  “We followed her from Dunrobin Castle.”

  The warrior’s answer left Jamie confused, for what sharp-witted man would let a lady escape and ride so far away from her home? When Kuresh appeared behind his rival, Jamie lowered his weapon, surprising the Munroe soldier. Of course, Jamie had no intention of killing him anyway; he needed information.

  “What are ye doing?” the warrior asked.

  “Letting ye live.”

  “I dinna ask for mercy.”

  “Aye, but I’ll give it. Ye’re worth more alive than dead.”

  Kuresh smashed the soldier in the back of the head with a wooden club he carried on his weapon belt. The man staggered forward, dropping his sword, then sank to his knees.

  Jamie kicked his weapon out of reach and moved in with a length of rope, tying the man’s hands behind his back. Jamie whistled, and four more MacKay soldiers emerged from the trees.

  It took several sips of ale for the wounded Munroe warrior to recover from the blow to his head, but he finally opened his eyes, acknowledging Jamie with a nod.

  Jamie had situated him in front of the fire.

  “I’ll have yer name,” Jamie demanded.

  “Duncan Munroe, nephew to Laird Munroe.”

  Had God given Jamie the foresight not to kill this man? For if he had cut down the laird’s nephew, it would have started a war between the MacKays and Munroes. “God’s grace is with ye tonight.”

  “I doona believe in grace, I believe in myself.”

  Kuresh chuckled. “I thought all Highlanders feared God.”

  Jamie shook his head. “This is no ordinary Highlander. He’s a bloody heathen from the isles. Leftovers from the days of Vikings.”

  Once again, Kuresh laughed. “All Highlanders have Viking blood running through their veins.”

  Duncan climbed to his feet suddenly, glaring at Kuresh. “What the fook is he?”

  Jamie looked between Duncan and Kuresh. “What do ye mean?”

  “Dark skin. Black hair and eyes like the devil.”

  “There is a fairy mound not too far from here,” Jamie offered. “But I doona think Kuresh is a bloody fairy—he’s too big and ugly.”

  Kuresh stepped closer to their prisoner, the fire casting shadows across his face and body. “Ugly?”

  “Doona come any closer,” Duncan said, obviously afraid.

  Jamie had witnessed other people react to Kuresh and his russet-skinned brothers the same way, afraid of strangers, of the unknown. But Clan MacKay had welcomed the foreigners with open arms, because they’d shed blood to save his people. “He’s a giant that will crush yer bones and eat yer tender Munroe flesh if ye doona answer my questions quickly.”

  The other MacKay soldiers laughed at Duncan’s expense.

  “W-what do ye want to know?” Duncan lowered himself into a sitting position again, keeping a sharp eye on Kuresh.

  “Why did ye follow Helen here? Why not stop her and alert her sire?”

  “My uncle wanted to find out what kind of character the lady possesses.”

  “Ye risk much letting her travel so far alone.”

  “We stayed close. The lady was never in danger.”

  Jamie frowned. The cold posed a threat to a woman who had always lived in sheltered comfort. “Tis the dead of winter.”

  “Aye. And if I thought she couldna withstand the cold, I would have ordered my men to take her into custody. Twas of more interest to see where she’d go. Much to my surprise, she rode into the arms of her father’s greatest enemies.”

  That made Jamie laugh. “Clan MacKay is hardly the worst of the earl’s rivals. Aye, there’s bad blood between us, but I can name three or four other clans more desperate for the earl’s noble head than the MacKays.”

  “Aye?”

  “Oliphants to start with.” Keely’s father had never recovered from the fact the Sutherlands had kept his only daughter a secret for five long years.

  “Laird MacKay’s father-in-law,” Duncan said.

  “Ye’re familiar with our history, then.”

  “Only what I’ve heard from the earl and his sons.”

  “I’m sure if ye listened to our version of the story, there’d be great discrepancies. Somewhere in-between is God’s indisputable truth.”

  “Maybe,” Duncan said. “Regardless of truth, ye canna keep Lady Helen. My uncle is betrothed to her, and he’s eager to claim his bride.”

  The idea of letting Laird Munroe touch Helen infuriated Jamie. “It doesna matter to me,” Jamie said. “The lady has requested sanctuary, and Laird MacKay has granted it.”

  Duncan frowned. “Ye know what this means?”

  “Aye, ye’re coming with us.”

  Chapter Four

  The arrival of Lady Helen had been a surprise. But when Jamie sent word back to Alex that he’d captured Laird Munroe’s nephew, he never expected the welcome he received as he rode through the gates with his prisoner. Hundreds of kinsmen and tenants filled the bailey, all curious to see Duncan Munroe.

  “What are ye going to do with me?” Duncan asked as Jamie tugged him from the saddle.

  “I am not the man to make that decision.” Jamie turned his prisoner around and freed his hands. “Since ye are the nephew of a laird, I will treat ye with respect. But doona take advantage of my kindness. If ye try to escape, I’ll bind ye hand and foot.”

  Duncan nodded. “I understand.”

  “Good.” Jamie aimed him in the direction of the keep.

  “Master Jamie,” Petro, Alex’s Italian secretary and friend, rushed down the stairs to greet him. “Laird Alex and the council are eager to see you and our distinguished guest.” He gazed at Duncan.
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  Jamie scrubbed his face. His eyes burned from the lack of sleep. “I’d hoped to meet with Alex privately.”

  “Laird Alex informed the council as soon as he received your message. He believes they have a right to question the prisoner.”

  Jamie dinna always agree with how his cousin conducted clan affairs. As laird, he could administer justice as he saw fit. But Alex preferred involving his council and captains before he made important decisions. And since Jamie was a member of the council, his opinion mattered, and he’d give it.

  Jamie and his men followed Petro into the crowded great hall. The trestle tables were full, and Alex sat at the high table, looking as exhausted as Jamie felt.

  “Welcome home, Jamie,” Alex said, standing.

  “Laird Alex.” Jamie bowed formally. “We were on patrol north of here and found four Munroe soldiers on MacKay land.”

  “And did these men threaten yer life?”

  “Och, aye,” Jamie said. “I dinna give the bloody bastards a chance to say anything.”

  The room exploded with laughter.

  “But this one…” Jamie gave Duncan a shove forward. “Is the nephew of Laird Munroe himself. In the interest of peace, I spared his life.”

  “A wise choice,” Alex approved. “What is yer name?”

  Duncan straightened, holding his head high. “Duncan Munroe, heir to Laird Baran Munroe.”

  “And why are ye here, Duncan Munroe?”

  “To retrieve a piece of property for my uncle.”

  Jamie growled at those words. “She’s not a cow,” he murmured in Duncan’s ear. “The next time ye refer to her as a…”

  “What are ye telling Duncan?” Alex asked suddenly.

  By everything holy… Jamie gritted his teeth. “Nothing of importance, Cousin.”

  “Nay?”

  He couldna lie to Alex. “I’m reminding wee Duncan that women shouldna be considered a piece of property, as if they dinna possess souls or minds of their own.”