Highland Burn (Guardians of Scotland Book 1)

by Victoria Zak

  Highland Burn

  Guardians of Scotland Book 1

  Victoria Zak

  Contents

  Newsletter Signup Victoria Zak

  Acknowledgments

  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

  Epilogue

  Preview of Book 2 - Highland Storm

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  About Victoria Zak

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  Highland Burn: Guardians of Scotland Book 1

  Victoria Zak

  Copyright 2014 by Victoria Zak

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without prior written permission of the author and publisher.

  All characters, events, and locations in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, dead or living, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Cover Design by JAB Designs

  Editing by Violetta Rand

  Created with Vellum

  Acknowledgments

  When I set out to write my first novel, I knew it had to have a few key elements in order for me to stay focused and entertained. I wanted to write what I was passionate about…dragons. And the next element had to be romance. I knew from the beginning that I wanted to write a romance novel, that was a given. And I knew what I didn’t want…a vanilla romance with no exciting toppings.

  I wanted a Rocky Road romance covered in sweetness. A storyline that had an interesting flavor, leaving your taste buds wanting more. A hero and heroine who added that special secret ingredient…magic. And secondary characters who would sparkle, topping my story with sprinkles.

  When the first scene hit me, of course, I was mopping my floors at the time, and stopping to take notes seemed like a great excuse. Well, a man and woman at a loch came into view. They were destined to be together but didn’t know it yet. Wait? What? A loch? Then mountains and mist began to appear and a man’s voice said, “Lass, what are ye waiting for? I have a story to tell ye.” A Highlander? Great, I have a Scottish romance novel to write. But what about my dragons? Because my main character was a true Highlander, he wasn’t keen on the whole dragon-shifting abilities and magic. But after a few bribes, and an extra sex scene, he agreed, and off I went to write a Scottish medieval paranormal romance.

  Along this roller coaster of a ride they call writing, I couldn’t have conquered my dream without the love and support of a few angels. I’m honored to have each and every one of you in my life.

  My husband: Thank you for your love and support and the countless times you stayed up late listening to my crazy ideas. I love you more than you could ever know.

  My wonderful and beautiful kids: Thank you guys for being patient with mommy. You guys are my heart!

  Prologue

  Before Scotland was Scotland, two powerful societies ruled the region together. Two kingdoms, intertwined and complementary—one could not flourish without the other. One kingdom belonged to the Scots and the other to Dragonkine. The Kine were a powerful and ancient race, borne by the masters of old. They possessed both a dragon and human spirit and could take the form of each. As legend would have it, they were created to provide balance to the world and heal the wounds of ‘pre-history’.

  Throughout their rule, Dragonkine had proven their worth far more than any riches or coin. They were masters when it came to the lay of the land. Because of the magic their inner dragons held, they knew where to plant fields so the harvests would flourish. They knew where to build temples, and with their superior strength, they could build sturdy, lasting villages. The Scots depended on the Kine greatly.

  Fierce warriors, Dragonkine defended their realm with unstoppable power and merciless force, yet they were not infallible. Without a mate, their inner dragons were unstable. Only a Dragonkine female possessed the power to calm the beast inside. Kine women were a rare race of their own. Though their bodies did not take on the configuration of a dragon, their beauty was beyond exquisite; it was magical.

  Beautiful, elegant Celtic knot work patterns marked their flawless skin from the forefinger up beyond the shoulders, stopping just short of the breast. A mated female was even more alluring. Once mated, the markings on their skin would assume the color of their mate’s elemental power. The women were valued as goddesses and worshiped by all Dragonkine.

  If it weren’t for the females’ grace and their ability to calm the restless beast, a warrior’s dragon would take over and unleash hell on Earth.

  Together, the Scots and Dragonkine fought off many Viking attacks and tribal conflicts and maintained peace between the kingdoms. They ruled together for over a hundred peaceful years until a sacred bond was broken. Since the time before time, it was forbidden for a human to mate with Dragonkine.

  Trouble began when both kings’ heirs came of age and were pressured into finding the proper mate.

  King Drest, the Dragonkine king, had a beautiful daughter, Vayla Blue. Because she was of marriageable age, her beauty had attracted many strong and wealthy Kine suitors. Not only was the princess appealing, Vayla had the grace of a queen and a loving heart. She was adored by all of her people, but most of all, she was the sparkle in her father’s eye.

  King Drest loved his daughter more than life itself. She was his only heir to the throne and, to carry on his lineage, he protected Vayla—mayhap a little too much.

  Five elite warriors followed her wherever she went. And when she wasn’t being followed, her mother relentlessly dictated to her how a proper princess should act, for Kine women were the backbone of their society.

  One summer morning, King Drest called a royal meeting, and by midday, his great hall was filled with top-ranked warriors from both realms, including King MacAlpin, the king of the human realm. They had gathered to discuss urgent business regarding a neighboring tribe crossing borders and pillaging villages.

  “Mac, are we to wait for yer son to show up or do we start without him?” King Drest was becoming impatient with the young lad. MacAlpin should teach his son some manners when it came to being on time.

  MacAlpin ran his hand repeatedly down his plaited beard as he stood by the window sternly eyeing his son hastily making his way through the bailey, winking as he passed by a group of Dragonkine females. “He’ll be here,” he grumbled.

  Constantine, King MacAlpin’s son and heir to the throne, charmed the ladies with his vivid green eyes, chiseled jaw, and long, sandy-blond hair with war braids framing his youthful face. As beautiful as he was, the gods had also blessed him with brawn and brains, yet his maturity was questionable.

  MacAlpin glared at Co
nstantine as he entered the great hall. He loved his son, but the boy needed discipline. Not that he wasn’t honorable or respectful, but trouble seemed to find him. MacAlpin blamed his wife for allowing Constantine to run amuck, for he could do no wrong in her eyes.

  Once everyone was seated, King Drest called the first order of business. Constantine soon became bored and looked out a window daydreaming, when a beautiful woman came into view. Her long, tawny hair streamed down her back in flowing waves, and her white gown outlined in gold hugged her body, revealing her slender figure and full breasts. He froze, enchanted when her bright blue eyes caught his gaze. Constantine was busy admiring the way she moved, the curves of her body, and most compellingly, the expression on her face—which called to him. He did not notice a small green dragon perched on her shoulder. She was feeding him some kind of fruit.

  Constantine thought he would never take another breath when she flashed him an irresistible smile. His heart paused, then began to thunder, and his body responded to her beauty and allure. He knew that this woman, nay, this magnificent woman, had to be his wife. He would not—could not—settle for less. It sounded like madness, but somehow, she had reached inside and stolen the heart he had always thought invulnerable.

  The meeting took forever, at least for Constantine. He couldn’t wait to find his woman, and it didn’t help that he was as hard as a rock. He desired her as he had never desired another, and his yearning had him shifting in his seat. He even tried thinking about their hag of a cook back home, naked, but he was sure nothing but the seductive lady who had passed in and out of his sight was going to satisfy him.

  Once the meeting was over, it didn’t take him long to find her. From the expression of joy and desire on her face, he thought she had been looking for him, too. “What is your name?” he asked.

  She placed her finger on his lips. “Shh,” she whispered, “it does not matter. We have found each other.” She waited, blue eyes filled with hope.

  Constantine nodded. “Yes,” he said. He had never felt this strange sense of serenity and excitement. Her nearness filled him with expectation. He took her hands and felt her trembling. “It’s all right.”

  Vayla moved so close that he could feel her breath against his skin, “It’s meant to be. I can’t explain. I just know,” she said. They stood that way for a long moment, then joined hands and headed for the shelter of some rowan trees.

  It was as if they were under a powerful, erotic spell as they removed each other’s clothing, exploring each other with their hands. Constantine kissed her like no other, soft and slow, building up to an unquenchable rapture. Vayla surrendered to her own needs as he backed her up against the tree and claimed her ever so sweetly.

  With their lust finally sated, Constantine laid her down upon lush green grass and made love to her again, but this time he took his time, discovering her luscious body. He couldn’t get enough of her soft skin, curves, and her long, lean legs.

  After they had their fill, Constantine fell asleep with his head on Vayla’s lap. As she watched him sleep, she made a small cross out of twigs from the rowan tree and bound the sticks together with strands of her golden hair. This was forbidden. Dragonkine women were never to marry or bed a human. They both knew that, yet their hearts had no boundaries.

  Before Constantine left, she placed the cross in his hands. “May this protect ye until we meet again.” It was as though Vayla Blue knew what the outcome of this beautiful rebellion was going to be.

  He kissed her and headed back to his home. It would be the last time he saw her.

  1

  The Loch

  Late summer of 1314

  Medieval Scotland

  “Fergus, the water is verra refreshing. Why don’t ye join me?”

  The white stallion inhaled deeply then snorted as he ate from a patch of lush grass.

  “Well, ye dinnae have to be rude about it.”

  Long white hair with streaks of gray fell over his muscled neck as the fine steed shook his head and stomped his hoof. He pulled on a blade of grass, indicating that he was perfectly content grazing near the loch’s edge.

  A giggle escaped her mouth as she splashed at her horse.

  Abigale Bruce had ridden hard and fast through the glen most of the morn. Since her father’s recent victory over the English at the battle of Bannockburn, Abigale had been freed from the nunnery. Her excitement at finally being able to experience life made it even more appealing to charge through the forest. Now she rewarded Fergus with a patch of grass while she cooled off in the loch. Oh, how she cherished these moments, they were few and far between.

  Eight long years at Dunfermline Abbey wasn’t the ideal place to grow up, but she had no choice. Her father, Robert the Bruce, King of Scotland, had placed her there in order to keep her safe from his enemy, the English. Throughout her time at the Abbey, Edward, the King of England, had gotten close to capturing her a few times, but the small secretive community of nuns had held true to their oath and kept her hidden well.

  Unhappy about the newly crowned King of Scotland, the English had killed Abigale’s three uncles and captured her stepmother, half-sister, and her two aunts and held them prisoner behind iron bars of a bird cage hanging over The Tower of London. Though Abigale lived like a prisoner at the abbey, she knew it was nothing compared to the humiliation her family had endured.

  Abigale’s trouble had started as soon as she walked through the gates of the abbey. Robert Bruce had given the nuns a generous donation to repair part of the church that had been attacked by King Edward. In return, he requested that Abbot Benard take his daughter in and protect her. The abbot could not refuse. Therefore, Abigale, at the wee age of ten, had been placed in the cruel hands of Abbess Margaret.

  Abbess Margaret oversaw twelve nuns, she declared she had not the time to look after the wee brat, so she left Sister Kate in charge of Abigale. Abbess Margaret was a beautiful, middle-aged woman with short, raven hair, and possessed the ability to inflict the cruelest of punishments. She watched and waited for Abigale to slip up so she could take pleasure in punishing her. Abigale knew why the woman hated her; she was jealous and thought it unfair that she had special treatment just because she was the king’s daughter.

  Abigale was afforded few exceptions to the rules. Because of her lack of interest in taking vows as a nun, she didn’t have to cut her hair like the sisters. Furthermore, she could marry and own property. Although there was one rule that had to be followed; she must be obedient. And Abbess Margaret took great pride in punishing the girl. Sending Abigale to clean the chamber pots daily seemed to make the corners of her thin lips twitch. “Ye’re no princess, but a bastard child who her own father has abandoned."

  After a few missed visits from her father and daily tongue lashings from the Abbess, Abigale started to believe her vile words, yet her spirit held firm.

  Sister Kate had kept a watchful eye on Abigale, keeping her workload full so she would stay out of trouble, but trouble seemed to follow her wherever she went. Abbey life wasn’t the life for her. She grew to hate the prayer bells, for they rang eight times a day, starting at the wee hours of night. The blasted bell would ring either when she was sound asleep or assisting a monk in surgery. More times than not, she was late to prayer, and being tardy was frowned upon. The consequences were harsh. In fact, they were harsher than falling asleep during worship.

  Abigale knew this all too well; she had fallen asleep in a choir stall one night. Sister Kate had been the circator that night, pacing up and down the aisle as she shined her cresset lamp into the stalls checking if anyone had fallen asleep. A sharp poke with a stick to her ribcage had woken Abigale up quickly. Of course, she got a rap on the legs for that one. Thank God it was Sister Kate, for she showed mercy.

  Now that she was home, her father was adamant about keeping his family safe. He vowed to never allow another Bruce woman to be captured by the filthy Sassenach. Just as Abigale thought she’d regained her freedom, it was once again
ripped away from her by an arranged marriage to her father’s first in command. Who better to protect her than the Bogeyman himself?

  Trepidation sent a shiver through her body as she thought about her future husband. “The Black Douglas.” A man with a reputation that would make the Devil himself shudder with fear. A ruthless warrior who had fought in many battles with her father. The English feared him terribly, making up nursery rhymes warning their wee bairns to “hush before the Black Douglas will get ye”. She’d never met the man before, but the deal was done. Abigale was to abide by her father’s orders.

  She turned to Fergus who was chewing on a blade of grass. “At least ye don’t have to marry the Bogeyman.” She shuddered, because saying it out loud made it all too real.

  For a moment, she wondered just what the Black Douglas would look like. Could her father be so cruel as to wed her to an evil, battle-worn, old man? Nay, who could possibly be scared of an old man? Then again, a warrior’s reputation lived on even after death. Or mayhap he really was a monster of some sort, a mythical creature of the night that lurked under the bed waiting to nip at people’s heels. Abigale was letting her imagination get the best of her. Shaking those thoughts, she submerged herself in the cool water, washing away every bit of worry. Today was her day and she was going to enjoy the peace that the loch gave her.