Consumed by the Lost Highlander
A Historical Scottish Romance Novel
Maddie MacKenna
Contents
A Gift from the Highlands
Scottish Brogue Glossary
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
Epilogue
Extended Epilogue
Preview: Ravished by the Iron Highlander
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Also by Maddie MacKenna
About the Author
A Gift from the Highlands
Thank you very much for purchasing my book. It really means a lot to me, because this is the best way to show me your love and support!
As a way to show you my gratitude, I have written a full length novel for you, called Highlander’s Untamed Bride. It’s only available to people who have downloaded one of my books and you can get your free copy by tapping the image below or this link here.
Once again, I can’t thank you enough for your support!
Maddie MacKenna
Scottish Brogue Glossary
Here is a very useful glossary my good friend and fellow author Lydia Kendall sent to me, that will help you better understand the Scottish Brogue used:
aboot - about
ach - oh
afore - before
an' - and
anythin - anything
a'side - beside
askin' - asking
a'tween - between
auld - old
aye - yes
bampot - a jerk
bare bannock- a type of biscuit
bearin' - bearing
beddin' - bedding or sleeping with
bellend - a vulgar slang word
blethering - blabbing
blootered - drunk
bonnie - beautiful or pretty
bonniest - prettiest
cannae - cannot
chargin' - charging
cheesin' - happy
clocked - noticed
c'mon- come on
couldn'ae - couldn't
coupla - couple of
crivens - hell
cuddie - idiot
dae - do
dinin' - dining
dinnae - didn't or don't
disnae - doesn't
dobber - idiot
doesn'ae - doesn't
dolton - idiot
doon - down
dram - a measure of whiskey
efter - after
eh' - right
'ere - here
fer - for
frein - friend
fey - from
gae - get or give
git - a contemptible person
gonnae - going to
greetin' - dying
hae - have
hald - hold
haven'ae - haven't
heed - head
heedstart - head start
hid - had
hoovered - gobbled
intoxicated - drunk
kip - rest
lass - young girl
leavin - leaving
legless - drunk
me - my
nae - not
no' - not
noo - now
nothin' - nothing,
oan - on
o' - of
Och - an Olympian spirit who rules the sun
oot- out
packin- packing
pished - drunk
scooby - clue
scran - food
shite - shit
sittin' - sitting
so's - so as
somethin' - something
soonds ' sounds
stonking - stinking
tae - to
teasin' - teasing
thrawn - perverse, ill-tempered
tryin' - trying
wallops - idiot
wee -small
wheest - talking
whit's - what's
wi'- with
wid - would
wisnae - was not
withoot - without
wouldnae - wouldn't
ya - you
ye - you
yea - yes
ye'll - you'll
yer - your
yerself - yourself
ye're - you're
ye've - you've
About the Book
This game started years ago, and can only end in the death of one...
On the verge of financial ruin, Lady Juliana Petrey sacrifices herself to save her family’s future. Traveling to Scotland to marry a Laird she has never met, all her plans are demolished when she meets the dashing Highlander sent to escort her.
Andrew MacLohl’s life changed with his father’s death. A warrior under Laird Lochenbrew’s command, he leads a quiet life, despite the Laird’s dismay for him. When he is tasked with the protection of the Laird’s bride-to-be, his efforts not to give in to his scorching desire for her fall short.
Ambushed by bandits, Juliana and an injured Andrew are forced to take shelter in a neighboring Laird’s castle. Only to stumble upon long-buried secrets that should have been taken to the grave: a conspiracy that started twenty-six years ago.
A conspiracy that thirsts for Andrew's blood…
Prologue
Lochenbrew, Scotland, 1695
Andrew raised the metal hammer high above his head and it rang down on the heated metal below. Sparks of bright orange danced in the dim light of the small blacksmith shop.
Those who saw Andrew on the streets knew that he was a boy, his young face not yet hardened by time, but when he was working around funaces and bellows, he was often mistaken for a man.
He was fifteen years old, yet his forearms were already thick and strong, wielding a hammer with the same skill as he wielded swords. He was already tall, standing over six feet, and wore a constant serious expression on his face.
The bellows were pumped one more time, and the devilish flames raged inside the stone furnace. The sword was plunged into the scalding flame and brought out to be hammered once more. When he was happy with it, Andrew dipped the sword into hissing water, and turned the blade this way and that, admiring the faint sheen on the cooling metal.
“Aye, another fine blade.” Adair came close and studied the metal.
Adair was the only family that Andrew had. His mother had passed away in childbirth, and he was the first and only child of the McLochl’s. His father was an only child too, and contact had been lost many moons ago with his mother’s family. All he had was his father.
Not that it bothered Andrew. Not much in life annoyed the boy. He had grown up under the guidance of his father to be the boy he was today, and, soon, he would be a man. He had learned politeness, courtesy, stubbornness, and patience from his father, but, most importantly, he had learned how to wield the tools of t
he blacksmith.
If there was one thing that Andrew was born to do, it was to shape metal. Adair was the best blacksmith in the clan, and Andrew would take over that mantle soon enough. They were in such high demand that the Castle often came to them with special work, forgoing the Castle blacksmith for the Adairs. It was the Laird’s sword that Andrew held in his hand.
“It’s not good enough,” complained Andrew.
“Och, ye worry too much about the quality when no one else knows the difference.”
“I know the difference.” It was true that he would be able to tell the difference, but he also knew that his father was right, no one else would know.
“Aye, ye do that,” said Adair. “Well, ye have an hour until Laird Lochenbrew gets here. He’ll like it just the same now as he’ll like it after ye’ve worked on it some more.”
“Just a few more hits.” Andrew liked the way that the metal danced in his hands.
“Aye, aye,” said Adair. “Dae what ye need tae.”
“The Laird is a stern man,” warned Andrew. “Stern but fair. I only want tae give him the best.”
“Aye, he is that. The sword will make a fine weapon for him, ye can be sure of that.”
“I need tae go check the balance.” He knew that he was overcomplicating the process, but he did not want to disappoint the Laird.
“Aye, ye dae that, and I’ll have a wee lie down.” Adair looked tired and a little pale. Andrew worried for the man, but knew the rest would do him good.
“Ye feelin’ all right, Father?” asked Andrew.
“Just a wee bit tired,” Adair replied. “Nothin’ that a wee nap won’t fix.”
“Are ye sure that ye are well, Father? Ye’ve not been well for almost a month.”
“Just the changin’ seasons,” said Adair. “I’ll be back workin’ in no time. Ye just worry about that sword.”
“All right, I’ll wake ye before the Laird arrives,” said Andrew.
Adair retreated to the back room, a small room with two beds and a small fireplace. It was all that Andrew knew as home. He thought about the Laird coming from the Castle. He had been in the Castle twice in his life and marveled at how big and grand it was. He had delivered weapons to the armory, and loved seeing the soldiers training within the Castle walls.
“Someday, I will be a soldier too,” Andrew whispered to himself. He had spent far too long making swords and not enough time wielding them.
The furnace raged once more, and the sword was heated before being beaten again. The orange metallic glows flew through the air and disappeared as if they were fireflies. When Andrew was happy with the blade, he let it sit in the cool water for a few minutes before taking it outside to practice.
Lochenbrew Castle stood tall in the distance, a beacon of hope to those who lived around it. The stone was pale and bright in the midday sun, and a circle of birds swarmed above the towers, before being lost in the clouds. Andrew looked at the small wooden blacksmith shop in comparison.
It was home, but was it much more than that? He dreamed of something different in life, but knew that he had to settle for what he had. It was not that bad of a life, after all. He had not yet told his father, but he was seriously considering finding work in the Castle. He knew what his father would say. The blacksmith in the Castle did nothing more than make the same swords over and over, and life would be tedious, but at least he would get to live within the walls.
He had not yet been able to bring himself to talk to his father about it. As he dreamed of the conversation, he took out his frustrations on the bale of hay in front of him. It was the perfect shape and density to slash and poke with the sword. He loved his father too much ever to leave, yet the life of a soldier was one with the promise of adventure. He thrust the sword deep into the guts of the hay, before yanking it out. He would even settle for being a Castle blacksmith, something to disturb the life that he had now.
The sword had a keen blade and exceptional balance, the type of sword that would feel so natural in your hand, that you would not be able to fully appreciate just how expertly made it was. The sword was light and elegant as the blade caught the sunlight. Andrew twisted it in the bright sunshine, and almost did not see the Laird and his men approaching.
They were only a few hundred yards away when Andrew spotted them and ran back inside to wake his father. The front door was swung open wide, letting the sunlight cascade into the dim room, and Andrew would have tripped over his father if he had not been able to see him lying on the floor inside the door.
“Father!” Andrew screamed. He crouched down and turned his father from his front to his back. Adair lay there motionless and lifeless, his eyes were open but glazed over. There was a look of peace on his face as Andrew shook him, trying to wake the man who was now sleeping forever.
“Father!” He cradled his father in his arms, a man who once was a giant who would tower above him, and now felt so frail and weak. Andrew let the tears run down his cheek. That is how the Laird found him.
“What is goin’ on?” asked Laird Lochenbrew. “What have ye done?”
“What have I done!” screamed Andrew, momentarily forgetting who he was talking to. If it were anyone else, he would have lunged at him. Who was this man to think that he had done anything? Instead, he composed himself and looked up at the Laird, searching with his eyes and looking for help. “He was fine a minute ago. I just went outside tae test the sword. Ye have tae help him.”
“I’m sorry.” The words were plain and stern. “There is nothin’ more that can be done.”
“But ye have them fancy healers,” pleaded Andrew. “Ye have tae help me.”
“We’ll dae what we can,” said Laird Lochenbrew.
Still, Andrew looked up at the Laird and the men surrounding him, expecting one of them to reach down and wake his father, tell him that everything was going to be fine. He wanted that but knew that it would never come. He knew that there was nothing that the Laird could do, as powerful as he was.
His father was dead.
“I should've been there for him.” Andrew wiped the tears from his eyes. “I have tae tell someone. He didnae have much family, and a funeral, and the blacksmith shop, and I just wish that I had done better by him.”
He had felt like a man only a moment ago, pounding on the steel of the sword, and thrusting the blade into imaginary enemies, but the maturity slipped away. He was a boy again.
Andrew looked up at the Laird, the man who watched over the clan, and hoped for something to happen. The Laird stood with a stony and stoic look on his face. Andrew did not know what to say to the man.
“Is that my sword?” asked Laird Lochenbrew, finally breaking the silence.
“Aye.” Andrew had forgotten that he was still holding it.
“Ye can give that tae me,” ordered the Laird. “It is mine, after all.”
“Aye, of course.” Andrew stood up and handed over the sword. He wanted to look down at his father again but could not bring himself to look at the man who had raised him, lying dead on the floor.
The silence hung in the air.
“He had been sick,” said Andrew, the silence broken once more.
The Laird nodded.
“But, I didnae know that he was this sick,” said Andrew.
“Aye.” The words were impatient, the Laird had more important things to attend to.
Andrew wanted to cry, or shout, or run into the Laird’s arms. He wanted someone to tell him what to do. He wanted his father back.
“Ye’ll be fine,” said the Laird to Andrew before talking to his men. “Prepare the horses.”
“Aye, Me Laird.” They sprang into action immediately.
“Ye cannae go,” pleaded Andrew. “Please, ye have tae help me.”
“Ye will be fine.” The Laird folded his arms. “Yer a man now, Andrew. Yer time has come tae take over from Adair. He would want no other tae dae so.”
“Take me with ye,” blurted Andrew.
“What?
”
“Take me tae the Castle, please.” Andrew was desperate to be taken from this place. He could not be here anymore.
“I dinnae understand,” said the Laird. “Ye have work tae dae here, Andrew.”
“After all of this, I cannae work here, not now. Let me work in the Castle. I can fight for ye. I know how tae use a sword. Send me off intae battle, I dinnae care.”
“We have enough fighters,” said the Laird.
“Ye always need more blacksmiths. I’ll work for little. I work hard and dinnae mess around. Ye’ll not regret it.” Andrew was grasping for anything that the Laird had.
“We have blacksmiths,” said the Laird. “Ye have a good life here, ye dinnae want tae work in the Castle, Andrew.”
Consumed By The Lost Highlander (Steamy Scottish Historical Romance) Page 1
