Highland Engagement
Scottish Strife Series Book 7
by
Dana D’Angelo
Copyright Information
Copyright © 2020 - Dana D’Angelo
www.dana-dangelo.com
All rights reserved. This book, in its entirety or in parts, may not be reproduced in any format without expressed permission. Scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book through the Internet or through any other type of distribution or retrieval channel without the permission of the author is illegal and is punishable by law. Please purchase only legitimate electronic versions of this book and do not engage in or encourage piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
The characters, places and events portrayed in this fictional work are a result of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarities to real events, locales, or people, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
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
Thank You Gift
Acknowledgments
About The Author
Glossary
More Titles By Dana D’Angelo
Chapter 1
France, 1561
“Bonjour, mademoiselle,” a servant said as she walked by while carrying a basket of dirty linens. “I wish you well on your special day.”
Anabell MacNeadain pasted a smile on her lips and responded to the greeting. Today was the day she turned eighteen. Everyone in the castle was in the middle of preparing a feast in her honor. She was supposed to be happy about the occasion. Instead, she felt suffocated and restless.
“Here, let me take that to the laundress,” she said.
“Mais non,” the servant said. “It’s your birthday. I cannot —”
“I insist,” Anabell said, taking the basket. “I’m heading in that direction anyway, and I know you have other work to do.”
“Are you certain, mademoiselle?” she asked.
“Oui,” Anabell nodded her head.
The servant looked reluctant to leave, but Anabell waved her off. More than one person in the castle had wanted to converse with her, although she wasn’t in the mood to speak with them today. Fortunately, she found a way to distract them, and that was by offering to help them with their chores. In the end, it wasn’t a hardship for her. The servants were like family, and she didn’t mind assisting them whenever she could. And in this deal, she believed everyone benefited. She got the peace she wanted, and they received a slight break from their workload.
But the workload could have been avoided in the first place. She suspected that part of the reason for the birthday celebration was to bring her and her suitor together. Artur Beaulieu was from an old noble French family. Even though Artur’s household didn’t have substantial wealth, he was her best option. She had to admit that he was charming and knew how to make her mother smile, although Anabell didn’t particularly like him. Still, her mother thought he was a match for her.
A few minutes later, Anabell dropped off the clothes basket and left before she got caught in another social exchange. As she hurried back to her bedchamber, she heard her Scottish nursemaid Maggie calling out her name. She quickened her steps and pretended that she didn’t hear the call. When she entered her bedchamber, she went directly to the trunk that was located at the foot of her bed. Digging into the chest, she found what she searched for.
Her nursemaid knocked once on the door and pushed it open. Maggie stood at the entrance, staring at her. The older woman’s clothes were styled in the French fashion, but there was nothing French about her. Her red hair was streaked with gray strands, and she had the distinct characteristics of her people. It was obvious to anyone that she was proud of her heritage. And while she understood the local language, she continued to speak in her native tongue.
“I was looking all over for ye.” Maggie paused when she saw the cloak in her hand. “Where are ye going, lass?”
Anabell opened her mouth to offer an excuse. But the nursemaid’s keen eyes narrowed, and a knowing look appeared on her face. She had raised Anabell since infancy, and no lie had ever worked on her.
“All right,” Anabell said, unable to hide the guilt in her voice. “I’m going to the cliffs.”
“Ye will be missed,” the servant said, frowning. “The celebration will take place in a couple of hours —”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be back in time,” she assured her. “I don’t need you to come with me.”
“I cannae allow ye tae go on your own.” She moved aside as Anabell passed through the door, and then she closed it firmly behind them. “Wherever ye go, I must go as well.”
Anabell sighed and shook her head. Maggie’s protectiveness had its negative side. She had tried many times to tell her companion that she was a grown woman, and she no longer needed her services. But she knew that any argument would fall on deaf ears.
“All right, let’s go.” Anabell headed straight to her mare and climbed the horse.
Her nursemaid found her ride but struggled as always to mount it. Usually, Anabell was patient with her companion, but today the delay annoyed her.
“I told you that you didn’t have to come.” She held her reins, trying hard to bite back her impatience.
Maggie grunted and balanced herself on the horse’s back. “And I told ye I cannae let ye go tae the cliffs on your own.”
Anabell shook her head and steered her mount out of the stable. As soon as the mare was in motion, she urged the horse to go faster, and the wind whipped her hair back. And as the sun touched her face, she breathed in the salty air. Somehow, the strange restlessness that had plagued her all morning began to fade.
She tore past the gatehouse, instantly feeling more alive and free. As she approached the cliffs, she could see and hear the waves crashing along the shore. The continuous movement of water hitting the land created a constant cycle of wind. The strong gusts lifted her dark hair, causing her tresses to fly every which way.
A few minutes later, she came upon her favorite lookout near the cliffs. She dismounted and allowed the horse to graze on the long grass that grew in the area. A powerful breeze swept across the grass, almost flattening the vegetation to the ground.
Maggie clambered off her horse, groaning slightly as she landed on her feet. “Ye shouldnae ride sae fast,” she said, panting slightly. “I’m nay longer young, ye ken.”
“You could have stayed in the castle,” she reminded her.
The older woman let out a snort. “I still dinnae ken why ye want tae come out here anyway. All the excitement is back at the castle.”
“I don’t know either,” Anabell said. She scanned the area and spotted some flowers nearby. “But I think I’ll pick some wild blooms.”
A seabird flew overhead, letting out a screech that echoed all around her. Every time she came out to this spot, there was something new to see. She paused to watch the bird circle in the air before it plunged into the water. When it had flown away with its catch, she resumed her quest to search for flowers in the grass. She was working on a still life painting, and the wildflowers would make ideal specimens to paint.
Just after she picked up a couple of blooms, she noticed a ship
heading toward the port town. Since she was small, she loved watching large ships head inland. The idea of them fired up her imagination because they arrived from a place she longed to see. When the day was clear, and the conditions were right, she could observe the landmass across the sea. But the land slightly to the north was Scotland, her birthplace.
Anabell set the small bundle of flowers aside, and gazed into the shimmering water, imagining the bonnie country as her nursemaid described it. The picture was a bit hazy, but what she remembered had lingered in her mind for many years.
What would have happened if she had stayed in Scotland? Certainly, she loved France and the people here, but the land on the other side of the ocean called to her. And in the ten years that had passed, this calling had never waned.
A sigh escaped from her lips, and she sat back. All the while, her brooding thoughts tumbled forward, and the restlessness she felt earlier returned with a vengeance. She didn’t know how she was going to shake the feeling. In a few hours, she needed to return home and face the local gentry who would arrive for the party.
She turned to Maggie. Her nursemaid’s stories about the country always made her feel good. Today, she needed to hear one of those tales. She needed something to take her mind off the heavy feeling that had settled in her chest.
“Tell me about Scotland, Maggie,” she said.
“Och, ‘tis a magical land with green rolling hills as far as the eyes can see,” Maggie said softly. “And there are plenty of glens, heaths, and moors running among those.”
Her eyes had brightened slightly at the question, but it faded quickly and was replaced by a sad, distant look.
“Do ye think ye will ever go back?” Anabell asked.
“’Tis unlikely I’ll ever see it again,” she said. “I have tae stay here and take care of ye.”
“I can take care of myself.”
Anabell waited for her nursemaid’s expected rebuttal, but the older woman kept quiet. She studied her companion for a moment and saw that her eyes were also fixed somewhere across the water.
“You do not seem yourself, Maggie. What’s the matter?” Anabell asked.
The woman had always been there for her and was more like a friend than a servant. A sense of guilt began to overwhelm her, and she began to berate herself for giving her nursemaid a hard time. She had been so absorbed in her own problems that she neglected to notice any emotional upset that her companion was experiencing.
“Dinnae mind me. ‘Tis nothing.” Maggie quickly lifted her hand and wiped a tear that had escaped from the corner of her eye.
She took hold of Maggie’s hand and started to speak. But then she gave a quick look over her shoulders to ensure that no one eavesdropped on their conversation. Satisfied that they were alone, she switched to the Scots language.
“Look, I ken ye are lying, Maggie,” she said, the soft brogue rolling smoothly on her tongue. “I have never seen ye sae upset.” She thought for a moment, and then an idea occurred to her. “Are ye thinking about your lover from the Highlands?”
“My lover?” she asked, startled at first. “Nay, lass, ‘tis nae Oswyn I’m thinking about.”
Her nursemaid started to tell her that she was fine, but Anabell shook her head. “Maggie,” she said. “Ye will tell me the truth.”
The other woman was silent. Anabell could almost read her mind as she appeared to debate with herself.
After a long moment, Maggie looked at the ground. She then lifted her gaze. “Your paternal grandmother is verra ill,” she said quietly.
“My paternal grandmother?” Of all the things she expected the older servant to tell her, this wasn’t what she was prepared to hear.
“I — I’m afraid she disnae have much longer tae live,” the nursemaid continued.
Fear took over Anabell’s heart, and any trace of the restlessness she felt disappeared.
“How do ye ken about my grandmother?”
“I was in the chamber when your mother received news from Balisle Castle.” Maggie looked to the ground. “I’m nae supposed tae tell ye this.”
“This is terrible! Why would my mother withhold this information from me?”
Anabell folded her arms over her chest, and she stared out into the sea. In her mind’s eye, she saw her grandmother lying on her deathbed, her face yellow with illness. She was alone and suffering. A wave of sadness rushed through hers. This was not how it should be, and she clenched her fists. As she thought about the injustice, a strong sense of determination set in her heart. She couldn’t allow her grandmother to die without seeing her one last time.
“Your mother is aware of your love for Lady Beitris, and that’s why she dinnae want ye tae hear about this. I disagree with her thinking, but...” Maggie’s voice started to trail off as she studied her charge. Then a horrified expression flashed across her face. “Ye arenae thinking of going tae visit her in Scotland, are ye?”
“I have tae see her,” she said, her tone resolute.
“Aiya, your mother is going tae murder me!” Maggie cried.
“Dinnae worry. She’ll do nay such thing,” she assured the nursemaid.
With her decision made, Anabell’s restlessness completely diminished. She pushed herself from the ground.
“We should head back tae the castle now,” she said.
Chapter 2
The tavern was full, and with the amount of drink flowing in the establishment, most of the men had already lost control of themselves. Blane Cunningtoun spotted four kegs of ale stacked in the corner, and he wondered how much of it would be used to satisfy the men here. It was obvious that their thirst was insatiable.
Blane was the leader of the Black Targe Company, an elite mercenary group. Most men who became soldiers for hire did so to make money or see adventure. His reasons, however, were different. He wasn’t after glory or riches. If anything, he was content with just fighting with his claymore. He had no use for the niceties of town life. And he definitely wasn’t interested in going to the tavern.
“Ye are acting like an auld man, Blane,” Calum, one of the mercenaries, had complained.
“That’s because I am one,” he said.
His comrade laughed at the comment and thought it was a joke. But it was a half-truth. Blane was twenty-eight years old, but after all the things that happened to him, he felt twice his age.
After a few more minutes of cajoling, he finally agreed to join the other men. While he preferred to be alone in his room at the inn, he understood where his friends were coming from. They had just finished an assignment, had fought well and hard, and got paid for their troubles. Understandably, they wanted to spend their new fortune on women and drinks. It was their right to do what they wanted with their money.
When they had entered the establishment, his friends immediately sought someone or something to occupy their time. There were enough women and gaming in this tavern to satisfy everyone.
Blane started to search for an empty stool when he saw Giles pushed his way through the crowd. He raised his hand in the air and hollered to get his mate’s attention.
Giles’s entry into the group seemed as if it had occurred yesterday, but it was only two years ago when the Company had stumbled on a devastated village and found him. The villagers were nowhere to be seen, and several unmoving warriors were lying in the streets. None of the dead looked like they belonged to any specific clan since many of them wore different patterns on their great kilts. However, this didn’t mean they weren’t from the same group. His own mercenary company was started from a collection of strangers who later became like family to him. Through their combat skills and excellent track record, he and his men grew to become one of the most respected fighting organizations in Scotland and abroad.
But despite the accolades, he was aware that many similar mercenary groups existed. And such groups might have come to this village. If at all possible, he preferred to avoid any unnecessary and unpaid conflicts. Fortunately, from what he could gather, the
fighters battled, and the victors got what they wanted and had left. There was nothing here for Blane and his friends.
“We should get out of here before the culprits decide tae return,” one of his men said, his tone uneasy.
“Aye,” Blane agreed.
As they passed through the ruined settlement, a movement caught his peripheral vision. When he turned to look, he frowned at seeing the dead man. Even though he thought he saw the body twitch, his mind likely played tricks on him. Logic dictated that he should have continued on his way. After all, they were in a vulnerable position, and it was dangerous for him and his men to be out in the open. But for some reason, he felt compelled to approach the body. He dismounted from his horse and walked to the dead fighter. The others had halted as well and watched him in puzzlement.
Blane stood over the man, studying him. The warrior was lying face down, and blood pooled beneath his right leg.
Calvin, the unofficial physician of the group, climbed down from his horse and came to stand beside him. “Is he alive?” he asked.
“I’m certain I saw him move,” Blane said. “Help me turn him over.”
When they succeeded in moving the injured fighter, the man let out a weak groan. He had lost a lot of blood, yet somehow he still managed to live. His fighting spirit was one that Blane could respect.
The sun fell on the fighter’s face, and he blinked rapidly before he noticed people peering down at him. In that instant, a light of recognition reflected in his depths, and he seemed to forget his pain.
“Is that ye Blane Cunningtoun?” the man rasped.
“Who are ye?” he asked, surprised. “And how do ye ken my name?”
“’Tis I, Giles,” he said. “We used tae run around together as young lads.”
“Giles?” he said, unable to hide the astonishment in his voice.
This remote village was the last place he thought he would meet a member of his father’s clan. Giles was a little older, of course, and had whiskers, but he was the same fellow from a lifetime ago. He remembered that they participated in mock fights, and often fished at the nearby burn. But that was before Blane was sent to foster at the MacGregon clan. As he grew up in the other household, he had never forgotten his mate. And apparently, his friend had never forgotten him either.
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