Sins of a Highland Devil: Highland Warriors Book 1
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Sins of a Highland Devil
Highland Warriors Book 1
Sue-Ellen Welfonder
USA Today Bestselling Author
Contents
Blurb
Praise for Sins of a Highland Devil
Praise for Sue-Ellen Welfonder
Mini-excerpt
Acknowledgment
A Personal Note to Readers
Quote
The Legacy of the Glen
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
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Sneak Peek - Temptation of a Highland Scoundrel
About the Author
Connect with Sue-Ellen Welfonder
Also by Sue-Ellen Welfonder
Copyright 2011 by Sue-Ellen Welfonder
E-book Edition Copyright 2019 by Sue-Ellen Welfonder
www.welfonder.com
Cover Design by JennJ Designs
www.jennjdesigns.com
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Blurb
Highland Warriors
Three fierce warriors in a battle only one can win … three proud women sworn to end the bloodshed … an exciting Scottish medieval trilogy!
Since the oldest days of Highland memory, the Glen of Many Legends has been drenched by the blood of three clans who claim the glen as their own. The warrior chieftains are bold and powerful, each refusing to yield land held for centuries. Unbeknownst to them, three determined lasses are about to unite to end the feud and return peace to their cherished glen. But when their plan takes them from battlefield to bedchamber, neither laird nor lass will escape the blaze of passion…
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Sins of a Highland Devil
Highland Warriors Book 1
When the Scottish King commands three feuding clans to resolve their dispute with a trial by combat, proud Highland warrior James Cameron ‘The Devil’ soon learns that he’s fighting for much more than his beloved glen and that his greatest triumph will be winning the love of beautiful Catriona MacDonald, his enemy’s headstrong sister.
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Watch for the next two books in Highland Warriors…
Temptation of a Highland Scoundrel
Seduction of a Highland Warrior
Coming soon!
Praise for Sins of a Highland Devil
Top Pick ~ 4.5 Stars ~ K.I.S.S Hero Award
“The first installment in Welfonder's Highland Warriors trilogy continues a long tradition of well-written, highly emotional romances. This marvelous novel is rich in love and legend, populated by characters steeped in honor, to make for a sensual and emotional read.” ~ RT Book Reviews
“A richly enjoyable story. Welfonder is a master storyteller.” ~ ARomanceReview.com
“Welfonder continues to weave magical tales of redemption, love, and loyalty in glorious mid-fourteenth-century Scotland.” ~ Booklist
“A true treasure … Few writers can bring history to life like Sue-Ellen Welfonder.” ~ Heather Graham, New York Times Bestselling Author
Praise for Sue-Ellen Welfonder
“With each book Welfonder reinforces her well-deserved reputation as one of the finest writers of Scottish romance.” ~ RT Book Reviews
“Welfonder takes the reader away from the mundane and gives her an emotional journey that floods the senses and makes the heart pound.” ~ Long and Short Reviews
“Welfonder weaves ancient histories, legends, and fascinating lore into sensual Highlander romance.” ~ Writers and Readers
“Welfonder’s love of Scotland shines on every page.” ~ Romantic Times
“Welfonder writes great tales of passion and adventure.” ~ Romance Reviews Magazine
“Welfonder knows all the best ingredients for the perfect Highland romance.” ~ A Romance Review
“Sue-Ellen Welfonder books are like good friends...you’ll laugh with them, cry with them, dream with them and keep them with you always!” ~ Amazon
Mini-excerpt
A Fiery Wench…
The MacDonald wench stood at the edge of the chaos. On seeing her, James felt an even hotter flare of irritation. He stepped closer to the wall, hoping he erred. Unfortunately, he hadn’t. She was truly there, hands on her hips and looking haughty as always.
Joining him, his cousin Colin gave a low whistle. “She’s Catriona MacDonald, the chief’s sister. The wildest of that heathenish lot.”
“I know who she is.” James did. “And she is wild - so prickly some say she sleeps in a bed of nettles.”
Colin laughed. “She’s bonnie all the same.”
James scowled at the lass. “So is the deep blue sea until you sink in its depths and drown.”
Dedication
With love for Franziska Goldstein who lives on in my heart and memories. Thank you for the many walks in the woods, all the Kaffee and Kuchen – at your table and at Café Fischer and Dallmayr, autumn afternoons spent on benches high above the Isar River. I can still see your twinkling-eyed smile and hear your laughter. Someday we’ll meet again and once I’ve dried my eyes, I’ll tell you how much you’ve been missed.
Acknowledgment
As ever all my appreciation to my very handsome husband, Manfred. I don’t know how he does it, but he always has my back. And in loving memory of my late Jack Russell terrier, Em. He was my lodestar for almost fifteen years. One kiss from him, a single tail wag, and the worst storm evaporated. He was and remains everything to me and there aren’t words for how much I miss him. His best buddy, my darling writer cat Snuggles looks after me now. Found and rescued as a feral kitten, he came to me in Em’s last years, filling my heart anew.
A Personal Note to Readers
Please note this is a work of fiction and not meant to reflect cold, hard reality. The following pages contain elements of fantasy such as myth and legend, curses, magic, standing stones, ghosts, enchanted beasties, ancients who practice the old ways, etc. A suspension of belief is therefore required. As this is a romance novel, there is also explicit sex. As a romance novel written by me, it does not contain the F-word or other profanity. It does include proud Highland warriors, Vikings, bloody medieval battles, bold lasses, and places in Scotland that are dear to my heart. Some of those places are written as enchanted, locations where unusual things can happen. That’s because I perceive them so. Above all, this story is filled with love for Scotland, Highlanders, the past, and animals, too. The real world won’t be found in this book’s pages, only a reflection of how I wish the world could be. I hope you’ll enjoy
spending time there.
Wishing you Highland magic,
Sue-Ellen Welfonder
(aka Allie Mackay)
Quote
“Men are rooted deep to the rock on which they are born. Only a fool would try to dislodge them.” ~ James Cameron ‘The Devil’, Clan Chieftain and Laird of Castle Haven
The Legacy of the Glen
Deep in the Scottish Highlands, three clans share the Glen of Many Legends. None of them do so gladly. Each clan believes they have sole claim to the fair and fertile vale. Their possessiveness is understandable because the glen truly is a place like no other. Bards throughout the land will confirm that the Glen of Many Legends is just that: an enchanted place older than time and steeped with more tales and myth than most men can recall.
Kissed by sea and wind, the vale is long and narrow, its shores wild and serrated. Deeply wooded hills edge the glen’s heart while softly blowing mists cloak the lofty peaks that crowd together at its end. Oddly-shaped stones dot the lush grass, but the strangeness of the ancient rocks is countered by the heather and whin that bloom so profusely from every patch of black, peaty earth.
No one would deny the glen’s beauty.
Yet to some, the Glen of Many Legends is a place of ill fame to be avoided at all costs, especially by the dark of the moon. Strange things have been known to happen there and wise men tread cautiously when they must pass that way.
But the MacDonalds, Camerons, and Mackintoshes who dwell there appreciate the glen’s virtues above frightening tales that may or may not have credence. Good Highlanders all, the clans know that any storyteller of skill is adept at embroidering his yarns.
Highlanders are also a proud and stubborn people. And they’re known for their fierce attachment to the land. These traits blaze hotly in the veins of the three clans of the Glen of Many Legends. Over time, their endless struggles to vanquish each other have drenched the glen with blood and sorrow.
Peace in the glen is fragile and rare.
Most times it doesn’t exist at all. Yet somehow the clans tolerate each other, however grudgingly.
Now the precarious balance of order is about to be thrown into dispute by the death of a single woman.
A MacDonald by birth and hereditary heiress to the MacDonalds of the Glen of Many Legends, she was a twice-widowed woman who chose to live out her days in the serenity and solitude of a nunnery.
Sadly, she neglected to set down her last wishes in a will. This oversight would not be so dire if not for the disturbing truths that her first husband had been a Cameron and her second, a Mackintosh.
On her passing, each clan lays claim to the dead woman.
Or, it can be more aptly said, they insist on being her rightful heirs.
Soon land-greed and coveting will once again turn the glen’s sweet grass into a sea of running red and many good men will lose their lives. But even when the last clansman sinks to his knees, his sword sullied and the end near, the real battle is only just beginning.
When it is done, the Glen of Many Legends will be forever changed.
As will the hearts of those who dwell there.
Chapter 1
Blackshore Castle The Glen of Many Legends - Autumn 1396
“A battle to the death?”
Alasdair MacDonald’s deep voice rose to the smoke-blackened rafters of his great hall. Across that crowded space, his sister, Lady Catriona, stood frozen on the threshold. Alasdair’s harsh tone held her there, but she did lift a hand to the amber necklace at her throat. A clan heirloom believed to protect and aid MacDonalds, the precious stones warmed beneath her fingers. She fancied they also hummed, though it was difficult to tell with her brother’s roar shaking the walls. Other kinsmen were also shouting, but it was Alastair’s fury that echoed in her ears.
His ranting hit her like a physical blow.
Her brother was a man whose clear blue eyes always held a spark of humor. And his laughter, so rich and catching, could brighten the darkest winter night, warming the hearts and spirits of everyone around him.
Just now he paced in the middle of his hall, his handsome face twisted in rage. His shoulder-length auburn hair – always his pride – was untidy, looking wildly mussed as if he’d repeatedly thrust angry fingers through the finely-burnished mane.
“Sakes! This is no gesture of goodwill.” His voice hardened, thrumming with barely restrained aggression. “Whole clans cut down. Good men murdered and for naught, as I and my folk see it!”
Everywhere, MacDonalds grumbled and scowled.
Some shook fists in the air, others rattled swords. At least two spat on the rush-strewn floor and a few had such fire in their eyes it was almost a wonder that the air didn’t catch flame.
Only one man stood unaffected.
A stranger, Catriona saw him now because one of her cousins moved and torchlight caught and shone on the man’s heavily-bejeweled sword belt.
She stared at the newcomer, not caring if her jaw slipped. She did step deeper into the hall’s arched entry, though her knees shook badly. She also forgot to shut the heavy oaken door she’d just opened wide. Cold damp wind blew past her, whipping her hair and gutting candles on a nearby table. A few wall torches hissed and spit, spewing ashes at her, but she hardly noticed.
What was a bit of soot on her skirts when the quiet peace of Blackshore had turned to chaos?
When Alasdair spoke of war?
As chief to their clan, he wasn’t a man to use such words lightly. And even if he were, the flush on his face and the fierce set of his jaw revealed that something dire had happened. The stranger – a Lowland noble by his finery – didn’t bode well either.
Men of his ilk never came to Blackshore.
The man’s haughty stance showed that he wasn’t pleased to be here now. And unlike her brother, he’d turned and was looking right at her. His gaze flicked over her and then he lifted one brow, almost imperceptibly.
His opinion of her was palpable.
The insolence in that slightly arced brow, a galling affront.
Annoyance stopped the knocking of her knees and she could feel her blood heating, the hot color sweeping up her neck to scald her cheeks.
The man looked amused.
Catriona was sure she’d seen his lips twitch.
Bristling, she pulled off her mud-splattered cloak and tossed it on a trestle bench. She took some satisfaction in seeing the visitor’s eyes widen and then narrow critically when he saw that the lower half of her gown was as wet and soiled as her mantle. She had, after all, just run across the narrow stone causeway that connected her clan’s isle-girt castle with the loch shore.
She’d raced to beat the tide. But even hurrying as she had, the swift-moving current was faster. She’d been forced to hitch up her skirts and splash through the swirling water, reaching the castle gates just before the causeway slipped beneath the rising sea loch.
It was a mad dash that always exhilarated her. As she did every day, she’d burst into the hall, laughing and with her hair in a wild tangle from the wind. Now she might look a fright, but her elation was gone.
“What’s happened?” She hurried forward to clutch Alasdair’s arm, dread churning in her belly. “What’s this about clans being cut down? A battle-”
“Not a true battle.” Alasdair shot a glance at the Lowlander. “A trial by combat-”
“I see no difference.” She raised her chin, not wanting the stranger to see her worry. It was clear he’d brought this madness. That showed in the curl of his lip, a half-sneer that revealed his disdain for Highlanders.
Alasdair noticed, too. She hadn’t missed the muscle jerking in his jaw.
She tightened her grip on him. “If men are to die, what matters the name you cast on their blood?”
Behind her, someone closed the hall door. And somewhere in the smoke-hazed shadows, one of her kinsmen snarled a particularly vile curse. Catriona released her brother’s arm and reached again for her amber necklace. She twirled its length
around her fingers, clutching the polished gems as if they might answer her. Her own special talisman, the ambers often comforted her.
Now they didn’t.
Worse, everyone was staring at her. The Lowlander eyed her as if she were the devil’s own spawn. He surely saw her fiery-red hair as the brand of a witch. Almost wishing she was – just so she could fire-blast him – she straightened her back and let her eyes blaze. MacDonald pride beat through her, giving her strength and courage.
She turned to Alasdair. “You needn’t tell me this has to do with the Camerons or the Mackintoshes. I can smell their taint in the air.”
“My sister, Lady Catriona.” He addressed the Lowlander, not her. “She sometimes forgets herself.”