Highlands Forever (Books 1–3)

by Rand, Violetta

  “Jamie?” Helen said. “Is it safe to send Miran out? After everything that has happened…”

  “Tis the best time to do so. Yer father has offered his blessing, Baran Munroe is dead, Duncan is out of the way for the rest of the winter, and there isna another clan foolish enough to challenge the MacKays right now.”

  Jamie tipped his cousin’s chin up so his cousin had to look him in the eyes. “I doona know why ye are acting like a spoiled bairn all of a sudden. Ye are usually quiet and keep to yerself.”

  “Ask the captain why,” she said defiantly.

  “Has he disgraced ye in some way?”

  “Aye,” she said. “He told me I was beautiful!”

  Jamie chuckled. “How is that wronging ye?”

  “When I admonished him for doing so, he went out of his way to find me and say it over and over—in front of the servants and soldiers.”

  “He is teasing ye,” Jamie said.

  “Attention I doona want or ask for.”

  “Miran,” Helen soothed. “Ye are beautiful—strong and capable. How can any man keep from telling ye?”

  “I willna go with him, Jamie.” Miran shivered into the folds of the over-sized cloak. “And if ye try to make me…” She dinna finish her thought, but instead, stormed off.

  “What has come over the lass?” Jamie asked his wife.

  “I think she loves him,” Helen offered.

  Jamie’s red brows shot up.

  “Aye,” Helen said. “And I think she resents him for it. He isna the kind of man her father envisioned her being with—not from what she’s told me.”

  “She’s stubborn,” Jamie said. “Used to having her way. I see the error in it now. Alex and I indulged her to make up for the loss of her parents. We wanted her to be happy.”

  “She is happy.”

  Jamie pointed in the direction Miran had gone. “If that is her way of acting happy, what is she capable of when she’s angry?”

  “Give her time to adjust to her new life here. We all need to get used to living with each other.”

  Jamie tugged his wife into his arms. “Ye are a very clever woman.”

  “I am?”

  “And verra beautiful.”

  She smiled.

  “Please doona send her away with Kuresh.”

  “I willna change my mind, Helen. Let her get a taste of what it’s like to be outside in the dead of winter. Perhaps she will come to appreciate more of what she already has.”

  Helen had taught Jamie how to love without intending to. And now, he wanted his cousin to learn not to reject love. For that’s what Miran MacKay needed more than anything—the love of a good man. She’d lived so long without it, without her parents, without any brothers or sisters, that she’d neglected her own heart, living as a maid to cover up the pain.

  “I will speak with her tonight.” Jamie said.

  “I hope she will listen,” Helen said. “But I warn ye, I don’t think she will. She’s too much like her cousins for that. Far too much like you.”

  THE END

  Unyielding

  Highlands Forever, Book Three

  Violetta Rand

  To Kathryn Lynn Davis, a true friend.

  Thank you.

  Prologue

  Constantinople, 1459

  Prince Kuresh hurried from his mother’s reception hall and rushed outside. An urgent message had arrived instructing him to meet his father in the courtyard of his mother’s white-washed palace. Only one time before had his father visited him in this manner, and the news had been tragic; his sister had died from fever. So, preparing himself for the worst, he prayed for his remaining seven brothers and sisters and paused at the top of the stairs leading down to the garden.

  The stairs were decorated with small tiles painted with dozens of colorful tulips, the symbol of his father and mother’s home. Theirs had been a love-match, a rare gift to Ottoman nobility. He breathed in the fragrant air, the mixture of roses, crocuses, and tulips in full bloom. High walls surrounded the private place used mostly for celebrations, where his mother and sisters could go uncovered and enjoy the heat of the sun.

  A wading pool and fountain graced the center of the courtyard, deep enough to sit in or to simply wade through on the hottest of days. A cool breeze ruffled his hair as he descended, finding his father, Lord Kalil, his two half-brothers, Cyrus and Naseem, and several advisors who accompanied his father everywhere, waiting.

  “Father.” Kuresh bowed. “I came as soon as I could.”

  The lord acknowledged him with a nod. “Fear not, I do not bring news of death.”

  Relieved, Kuresh relaxed a little. Why were his half-brothers there? And the advisors—they should not have been granted access to the inner sanctum of the harem. What if one of his sisters or his mother decided to go for a walk and these men saw them? The punishment for such an offense included the gouging out of eyes or death.

  Lord Kalil’s compound consisted of four palaces connected through an intricate system of courtyards and gardens and surrounded by a ten-foot wall. Each palace housed one of his father’s four wives and their children. Outsiders were forbidden.

  “Do you love me, my son?” his father asked.

  A strange question. Kuresh respected and even feared his father, but love him? The idea had never occurred to him. The emotion had never been fostered between them. “I honor you in all things,” Kuresh said, meaning it. As the first-born son of his father’s second but favorite wife, Kuresh had indeed benefitted from his father’s position of power and wealth. And next month, he was to take his own wife. “Is there something I can do for you, Father? Name it, and it will be done.”

  The lord fingered his beard. “I am pleased to hear it.”

  Kuresh bowed, then looked at his brothers skeptically. Upon closer inspection, he noticed their hands were tied together by silk cords. “Have my brothers committed crimes?”

  His father smiled. “Nay. The cords are ceremonial, symbols of my surrender.”

  “Surrender?” Kuresh did not like the sound of that at all.

  “One of our enemies paid a mercenary infidel to execute me, Kuresh.”

  Kuresh’s hand immediately sought the handle of the scimitar he always wore at his hip. Let the bastard try and hurt his father again. He’d take his head with one mighty stroke of his weapon and present it on a silver platter as a trophy to his lord. “Where is this dog?”

  His father gestured at the great iron gates beyond the courtyard. “Waiting outside.”

  “He is here?” Kuresh drew his sword.

  “Stand down, my son. In the heat of battle, I became exhausted and dropped my weapon. The infidel took advantage of my weakness and overpowered me. The moment he would have sunk his blade into my chest, I begged for mercy.”

  His father had begged for his life? Shame crept into Kuresh’s heart and mind as he lowered his weapon. He would not protect a coward. “Why is the man here?”

  “To claim the reward I offered in exchange for my life.”

  Perhaps one of Kuresh’s beautiful sisters? But then he eyed his brothers again. “What price were you willing to pay for your life, Father?” Kuresh swallowed the bile in his throat.

  “I have always favored you, Kuresh,” his father said. “And I regret what I promised the infidel. But the law of this ancient land requires I keep my word. You, Cyrus, and Nasim are to be handed over as slaves.”

  Slaves? Kuresh would sooner kill himself than serve an enemy. He’d sooner kill his own father and suffer the most painful death—weeks of torture, rotting in a maggot-infested cell, and public execution than slavery. Never. He raised his sword again, staring incredulously at his once honorable father. “Why have you done this?”

  “Kuresh!”

  All of the men turned to find his beloved mother running down the stairs into the courtyard, uncovered.

  “Mother.” Kuresh ripped his linen belt from about his waist and met his mother at the base of the stairs, covering
her nose and mouth with the material. “Strangers are in the courtyard, you must return to your rooms. Please.”

  Deep brown, tear-filled eyes gazed up at him. “But…”

  He kissed her forehead, his affection and love for her more powerful than anything he’d ever felt. She had given him life and so much more.

  “Is it true?” she asked.

  “Emine,” his father scolded her. “Do as your son has bidden. Go inside.”

  Kuresh took his mother’s hands in his. “Do not fear for my life, Mother. I swear to return here a free man, God help me.”

  She squeezed his fingers, cast a dark look at his father, then climbed the narrow stairs back to the palace.

  Every step she took shattered another piece of Kuresh’s heart. He swung around and faced his lord. “When has one life ever been worth three?”

  Kalil frowned. “When I realized how much I have to lose. Look about you. Would you give this up easily?”

  Kuresh refused to answer.

  “Very well,” his father said. “Put your hands together and let Raffi tie them.”

  Kuresh growled. “Touch me…” He glared at the advisor. “And I will take your worthless life.” Then he turned to his father. “I will do as you ask, but I will meet this infidel as I am now, free.”

  Kuresh had never challenged his father. Silence rose between them.

  “Follow me.” His father started toward the outer gates.

  Guards swung the iron gates open, revealing the stranger that was to be Kuresh’s master.

  “I present to you my three sons,” Kalil said. “My eldest son, Nasim. Kuresh. Cyrus.”

  The stranger with dark hair considered Kuresh and his brothers. “You dinna lie to me, Lord Kalil. They are young and strong.”

  The infidel spoke Kuresh’s language with a funny accent.

  “And if I refuse to go?” Kuresh blurted, anger building inside him. No one had disarmed him; he could fight.

  The stranger blinked at him and said, “Then I will kill your father.”

  Kuresh could not stop from smiling. His father deserved to die. He gazed back at the palace he had grown up in—a happy life filled with laughter and music, luxury. The kind of comfort few ever experienced. For some unknown reason, he did not want to be a part of it any longer. With the exception of his mother and siblings, who would be safe now that his father’s life had been spared, there was no reason to stay.

  “Will you resist?” the stranger asked. “Fight me for your freedom?”

  “What do they call you?” Kuresh asked.

  “Alexander.”

  “And where are you from?”

  “The Highlands.” Alexander pointed in the direction of the harbor. “Another world. Another lifetime.”

  “Is it as beautiful as I have heard?” Kuresh knew of the barbarians and their island-home. The snow-covered peaks and heather-strewn valleys, the red-headed women and blood-thirsty warriors.

  “Tis the most beautiful place I have ever seen.”

  Kuresh offered his sword to Alexander, then kneeled. “I will serve you without question.”

  “Stand before me, Kuresh,” Alexander commanded. “I am no’ in need of a servant. I require fierce warriors at my side. Walk as a free man, fight for me.”

  Kuresh rose to his feet and sheathed his scimitar. He refused to live upon his knees as a slave and turned to his father. “I curse you. Disown you and everything you possess. If I ever set eyes upon you again, I will kill you.”

  Chapter One

  Sands Airgid, northern Highlands

  Winter, 1463

  “I beg you to reconsider this notion,” Miran MacKay said to her newly seated cousin, Laird Jamie. “There is nothing Kuresh can teach me. And even if there was, I refuse to learn anything from him. I find him arrogant and uncivilized.”

  Jamie looked about his great hall, where only a few servants remained to clean up after the late meal. Everyone from the smallest child to his most accomplished warrior had been busy setting up his new household. Recently granted permission to establish a new branch of MacKays by his laird and cousin, Alex, Jamie had worked from sunrise to sunset, finally exhausted after filling his belly. His cherished cousin, Miran, had been tasked with accompanying his right hand, Kuresh, across the northern Highlands to recruit maids for his household.

  “I gave ye an order, Miran. Twas not a mere request.”

  She shook her head, anger showing on her pretty face. “Let me return to Alex’s household. At least I was happy there.”

  Jamie sighed and leaned over the high table, staring down at Miran who had chosen to stand below the dais instead of sitting at her usual place of honor. “You dislike my home? Our home?”

  She stared at the floor. “Sands Airgid is a beautiful manor house,” she assured him. “Everything is so new and elegant…”

  “But?”

  “I find little comfort in luxury, milord.” She gazed at him. “Ye know this of me.”

  Aye, the lass had often chosen to wear rough-wool gowns instead of linen. She had chosen to live as a servant instead of the noblewoman she was born to be.

  “Ye agreed to accompany us here, Miran. To shed yer old life. The same way Lady Helen and I have given up our pasts to embrace the future.”

  “Aye,” she said. “But I dinna agree to accept Kuresh and everything he represents.”

  “He is my captain.”

  “He is a heathen.”

  Jamie scratched his stubbled chin. “Ye would judge a man for his faith?”

  “Did God no do the same?”

  Obstinate creature! But correct. God had indeed instructed his chosen people to avoid anyone outside their faith. But those times were in the ancient past. And Kuresh… The man had served his cousin honorably and saved Lady Helen’s life. “I doona care for the stories from the Old Testament.”

  Miran arched a blond brow. “Doona let the priest hear ye say that!”

  “Miran.” Jamie stood and rounded the trestle table, stepping off the dais so he could speak to her on the same level. “I choose no’ to judge a man for his religion.” He rested his palm on her proud shoulder.

  “Doona criticize me for having my own opinion of him.”

  Because she was ruled by the rigid logic she’d inherited from her father, and emotions like her mother’s, Jamie dinna know what to say, except the hard truth. “Are ye laird of this clan?”

  “Nay.”

  “Do ye have the right to disobey me?”

  “Nay.” Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes but dinna fall.

  “Did ye swear allegiance to me? Promise to serve my wife? Did Laird Alex no agree to ye joining this new branch of the MacKays?”

  “Why are ye asking me questions ye already know the answers to?”

  “To make sure ye understand. Twas not a conditional arrangement. Ye have no right to flee the moment something happens ye disagree with or are afraid of.”

  She wiped her eyes and sniffled. “I am tired, laird. So tired of fighting ye and everyone else who thinks they know what’s best for me. I am a lady, no? Left a substantial inheritance from my father. Enough to grant me independence if I so wish.”

  Jamie sighed. “Independence? As a woman?” He chuckled at the thought. “Every woman is dependent on a man in some form. For a woman of yer education and birth, ye are acting foolishly.”

  Miran propped a hand on her hip. “If I pledged my soul to God…”

  “Nuns?” Jamie chuckled again, but not as happily as before. “Servitude to the Almighty is even more restrictive.”

  “But doesna require dependence on a man. No directly.”

  She made a fair point, but… “Is God no’ a man?”

  “Maybe…”

  “Miran?”

  “As far as we can comprehend who God is, aye.”

  “Then submit to me. I would never place ye in danger, ever ask ye to do something I thought would harm ye.”

  She grudgingly nodded. “Tis unfa
ir. I am more capable than half the men in yer service!”

  Jamie smiled as he watched her climb the narrow stairway that led to the women’s quarters on the third floor. Like most of the MacKay women, pride often got in the way of her doing what was best. But he wouldna hold it against his sweet cousin, for he loved her, and Miran had always made his life more interesting. That, and because she had suffered much for being so young. He would help her find happiness, even if it meant forcing her to do things she dinna want to do.

  “I am afraid the lady does not like me.” Kuresh appeared from the shadows.

  “And how much of our conversation did ye overhear?”

  “Enough to know when I am unwelcome.”

  “Some might call that eavesdropping.” Jamie offered him a tankard of ale.

  “Or self-preservation.” Kuresh grinned before he took a deep drink.

  “I thought ye were forbidden to drink anything fermented.”

  “Then why do ye keep offering me wine and ale?”

  “To see if ye ever accept.”

  “And now I have.” He finished the drink and shoved the vessel back into Jamie’s hand. “More.”

  Jamie gladly refilled the tankard. “Take it slow, my friend. This drink will go straight to yer inexperienced head.”

  “Do you think me some kind of maiden? I have drunk fermented camel’s milk and Kumis since I was old enough to stand. And had my share of ale while serving Laird Alex.”

  Jamie remembered sampling both during his extended visit to Constantinople. After the first time, he nearly vomited from the strong aftertaste. “French wine and Scottish ale are far better.”

  “I agree.”

  “Do ye think I am being too hard on the lass?” Jamie asked.

  “I am not the man to ask.”

  Jamie pulled out a bench at one of the lower tables and sat down. “I know ye are attracted to my cousin.”