“He won’t challenge Alasdair or James.” She kept petting Hercules. “He’ll provoke them into picking a fight. He’s that clever, my brother.”
Isobel couldn’t deny it.
There was reason for concern. The enmity between the three chieftains hadn’t wholly vanished, though each warrior tolerated the other. James and Alasdair had even grown friendly, to a degree.
And they’d all agreed to stay in convivial spirits throughout the day’s celebrations. No heated words were to fall, not muttered, spoken loudly, or even implied. No bloodletting of any kind.
Isobel, Marjory, and Catriona, had insisted, using what influence they could.
So far it was working.
Nothing marred the fine, crisp day. A brisk wind blew in from the west and not a single cloud broke the brilliant blue of the afternoon sky. Nought’s soaring granite peaks sparkled in the sunlight, while autumn-red bracken shone like jewels on the moors. Yellow and gold leaves skittered along the rocky ground, adding whimsy. And the air was fresh and clean, smelling of woodsmoke and, as always at Nought, the heady tang of cold, damp stone.
The Glen of Many Legends was smiling.
It was just a shame that Marjory was not.
“You are too hard on him.” Isobel softened words that might sound traitorous by gently tucking a strand of Marjory’s hair behind her ear. “Kendrew only desired to show his rivals a bit of bluster. This is his day, after all. You weren’t in the hall early this morn when he spoke to his younger warriors.
“He paced back and forth in front of them, warning them how to behave at the wedding feast.” Isobel smiled, remembering. Kendrew hadn’t known she stood in the shadows, watching. “He cautioned them not to get too ale-headed, not to quarrel, and to be gallant to visiting womenfolk, dancing with and complimenting them all.”
“He would forget every word if Alasdair claimed me for one dance.” Marjory drew a breath, her gaze once again on Alasdair.
“So he would, yes.” Catriona joined them, slowly lowering herself onto a large, flat-topped boulder at the base of a cairn. “He’s taunting my brother, Alasdair, with his plans to see you wed to a Norse nobleman.
“He claims” – Catriona glanced between Isobel and Marjory, and then at the three warriors – “he’s already heard from several keen to wed you.”
“Pah!” Isobel dismissed the possibility.
It was true, sadly.
But now wasn’t the day to spoil Marjory’s enjoyment of Alasdair’s company, however sparse any contact between them proved.
“I’ve heard nothing about a Viking husband for Norn.” Isobel set a hand on Catriona’s shoulder, squeezing lightly to warn her not to disagree.
“I will not wed such a man if he finds one.” Norn set down Hercules, brushing her skirts in place when she straightened. “I’ve waited long to fulfill my part of our pact.” Her voice was strong, unwavering. “You both know – Alasdair and I have feelings for each other. I’ll not allow Kendrew to ruin my chance at happiness.”
“We won’t either.” Isobel knew she spoke as well for Catriona.
When Catriona nodded, her gaze dipping to Isobel’s ambers, Isobel understood her friend’s message.
Agreeing, she reached to remove the precious necklace, fastening them as swiftly around Marjory’s neck. “You must wear these ambers now, dear friend.” She gripped Marjory’s upper arms and kissed her on both cheeks. “And you must see them returned to Blackshore Castle, their true home.”
“But…” Marjory curled her fingers around the stones, her lovely blue eyes glistening. “If Kendrew sees me wearing them, he’ll grow suspicious.”
“He’ll do no such thing.” Isobel had ways of distracting him. “If he says anything, we shall tell him-”
“Tell me what?” Kendrew spoke from the end of the cairn. He leaned back against the stones, his arms folded, his gaze locked on Isobel.
“Why...” She completely forgot what she’d been about to say.
Kendrew did that to her.
Especially looking as he did this day, the sun and firelight making his mail glitter. The heat in his eyes stirred a thrilling response deep inside her. And - her heart fluttered – to see him so magnificent here in the vale of the dreagans where their story had begun.
She turned to her friends, hoping they’d help her wriggle out of an awkward situation, but Marjory and Catriona were gone. They were moving swiftly across the stony ground, making for the feasting tables. Catriona had her hand tucked securely into Marjory’s arm. Little Hercules trotted in their wake, his head and tail held high, his gait jaunty as if he was part of a conspiracy.
Which, of course, he was, as her friends had plainly deserted her.
So she did what anyone would do in such a position and stood straighter, putting back her shoulders. She also lifted her chin, letting her eyes snap.
Only then did she trust herself to face Kendrew.
“How long have you been standing there?” She tried for indignation.
“Long enough for my ears to ring.” He gave her one of his crooked smiles.
It was the same roguish smile that melted her at the Midsummer Eve revels.
“I…” Isobel felt her knees weaken, images and memories whirling across her mind.
“Is aught amiss?” The smolder in his eyes showed he knew what ailed her. The way his gaze roamed over her revealed he was also recalling all that happened here, in the shadow of these stones.
“Can it be” – he pushed away from the side of the cairn and strolled towards her, setting both hands on her shoulders as he looked down at her – “that you are no longer wearing your ambers?”
Isobel lifted a hand to her bare neck, guilt sluicing her. “I gave them to your sister. She has a greater need for them than I do now.”
That was true.
“She needs them?” Kendrew arced a brow.
Isobel nodded, vigorously. “I’ve told you the ambers are enchanted. They warn of danger and-”
“I’ve dealt with any threats hereabouts.” Kendrew leaned down and kissed her, long, slow, and thoroughly. “No woman in this glen need close her eyes in fear at night. No trespasser would dare set foot here again. Word has spread – they’ll know the welcome they’d reap.”
He swept his arms around her, lowering his head to nuzzle her neck.
Isobel leaned into him, delicious tingles rippling across her nerves when he nipped her ear.
“I gave Marjory the ambers because I felt sorry for her.” She did, but not in the way she was leading Kendrew to believe. “I thought they’d take her mind off watching her two best friends wed while she is still a maid.”
Kendrew straightened, looking fierce for a moment. “She’ll marry soon enough.”
Isobel hoped so fervently.
Just to the man Marjory loved, Alasdair MacDonald.
If the fates were kind, the MacDonald ambers would protect her, signaling if a Norse betrothal should indeed loom on the horizon.
Such a help wasn’t much, but better than nothing.
The three women could then prepare their defenses, readying for the next battle.
Until then…
Isobel slid her arms around Kendrew’s neck and lifted up on her toes to kiss him deeply. When she pulled back, she glanced at the huge cairn behind them. “This place feels blessed now, at peace.”
“So it is, my lady.” Kendrew scooped her up in his arms and started walking down the side of Slag’s Mound, following the same path into the shadows as he’d taken the night of the revels. “Nought has a fine new mistress who loves every lichened stone and each blast of cold, racing wind.”
“Perhaps Slag and his master are at rest now?” Isobel reached to trail her fingers along the cairn’s stones. “I’m sure it was them we saw that night from Duncreag’s battlements. They were on a ledge in the storm. Do you remember?”
Kendrew glanced at her. “I remember you pointing at rain and mist.”
“You’re just bei
ng stubborn.” Isobel knew that was true.
“And you dinnae ken the first law of a good legend.” His voice held a teasing note. “If you spoil the riddle, the tale is a legend no more.”
“That’s not an answer.” Isobel protested.
“It wasn’t meant to be.” He pressed a kiss to her brow.
Before she could argue, he carried her around a red-berried rowan tree and then set her down. They’d entered a dense thicket, shielded by a jutting outcrop. Two plaids, Mackintosh and Cameron, covered the ground. A wicker creel of feasting goods rested near a clutch of heather. Nearby, a wine jug peeked out of the grass beside the plaids, while several tasseled cushions indicated why Kendrew had brought her here.
“This day we make our own legends.” He was already throwing off his bearskin cloak, his flashing smile encouraging her to reach for her bodice laces.
He slanted a glance at the plaids, tossed his cloak onto the heather. “A meet celebration, what?”
“Oh, yes.” Isobel stepped out of her gown, the cold wind chilling her skin. Her heart began to pound, her pulse racing.
“I started loving you here, Isobel.” He pulled her hard against him, tangling his fingers in her hair as he looked down at her. “You stole my heart the night of the revels. Now I’ll never let you go. You are mine forever. Woe be the man who even dares to glance at you.”
His words thrilled her.
“And you didn’t want a lady.” She couldn’t help but tease him.
“I didn’t, it is true.” He gripped her face with both hands and kissed her soundly.
When he released her, Isobel saw so much love in his eyes that her heart almost burst with happiness. “I’m so glad I persuaded you-”
“You tempted me, lass.” He kissed her again. “I couldn’t resist you.”
Isobel refrained from telling him that it was she who hadn’t been able to resist him.
Men didn’t need to know everything.
So she melted into him and gloried in his kisses as he lowered her to the bed of plaids. Then, as their guests drank mead and made merry, and clean, cold wind swept the dreagan vale, Kendrew kept his word…
New legends were born that day, in a wondrous place that already held so many.
And somewhere in a distant world beyond man’s hearing, the dreagans rumbled approval.
Author’s Note
Dear Readers,
Thank you so much for reading Temptation of a Highland Scoundrel. Writers might pen the words that make a book, but a story only comes to life when it is read and enjoyed by readers. Ink becomes the characters’ blood, the turning of the pages is their breath, and then the real magic begins. If you’re still reading along, you’re now ‘in my writing den’ where I will share my thoughts on the story.
For starters, Temptation of a Highland Scoundrel is one of my all-time favorite books. I love wild places, cold, raw weather, and big, bold heroes, so Kendrew and his beloved Nought Territory are special to me.
The book was originally published in 2011 by Hachette Book Group, also known as Grand Central Publishing. Even after so many years, I again fell in love with Kendrew and his world as I re-read the story. This new edition is almost exactly as the original. I made less than a handful of tweaks, not wanting to change anything. I also smiled as I worked through the pages. Best of all, certain parts squeezed my heart and misted my eyes.
I hope you also enjoyed spending time in Nought with Kendrew and Isobel. Read on for a few behind-the-scenes peeks at their adventure…
Nought ~ Of all the Glen of Many Legends, it is Kendrew’s home that makes my heart beat fastest. If I could move to the setting of any of my stories, Nought would be my choice. It is fictitious, of course. But also real as Nought is a blend of several wild, edge-of-the-world places I know and love in the Western Highlands and Scotland’s rugged far north.
Dreagan Stones ~ The inspiration for Nought’s dreagan stones came from the Neolithic chambered cairns and other such prehistoric sites scattered throughout Scotland. I doubt dreagans sleep in these impressive monuments, but who knows? Walking there on a chill, misty day does make it seem possible.
Dreagans and Old Dogs ~ Long-time readers know that my books always have animals. That’s because I am a lifelong animal lover. I worked actively in animal rescue in younger years and regret not seeking a full-time career in animal rescue and animal rights activism. As is, I do what I can. These days I help safeguard a colony of endangered shorebirds that nest and raise their young on a nearby beach every year. And I weave animal characters into my books.
Many of these animals are older dogs like Hector and Gronk or animals that are needy. Like Drago with his three legs or Slag with his great fear of storms. That’s because such animals pull so strongly on my heartstrings. Re older animals, it hurts so much to lose a pet – if you love animals, you’ll know that pain. Letting them ‘live on’ in my stories, giving them quirks shared with pets I’ve lost, is a way to keep showering love on them.
Writing dogs comes easy. But so did writing dreagans. I simply viewed them as dogs – just stony-scaled, much larger, and able to breathe smoke and fire. Slag, for instance, inherited his fear of storms from my beloved, now-late Jack Russell terrier, Em.
The term dreagan is an old Scottish word for dragon. I haven’t come across stone dragons in my research, but there are so many mythical creatures in Scottish legend and lore that it wouldn’t surprise me if they were believed to have existed at some point in Scotland’s long history.
The Viking Stuff ~ Kendrew’s (and Isobel’s) fascination with their Norse heritage is not a stretch. Viking raiders eventually settled Scotland’s islands and much of the coastal regions, even ruling the Hebrides and northern isles for many centuries. Their beliefs and practices left a strong legacy. References in this story such as the power of a hammer amulet, giving a fallen warrior a weapon to hold as he dies so he can enter Valhalla, or the gory blood-eagle, are all taken from historical fact. There are many Viking archaeological sites in Scotland and if ever you get the chance to visit any of them – do so. If you go, take a moment when there to close your eyes and give a nod to Kendrew and Isobel. I’m sure they’d know, and smile.
Grim ~ This character holds a very dear place in my heart. From the moment he strode onto the page, I have sworn he is real – out there somewhere, just the other side of the ‘haze’ that separates our world from a more magical realm.
If you enjoyed meeting Grim, please keep an eye out for his story. His heroine is Breena, and their story will also show you what happens to old Archie MacNab at Duncreag Castle.
Revisit them all in a heart-stirring holiday novella: Once Upon a Highland Christmas. (releasing Oct. 2019)
That’s it till next time. Thank you again for reading Temptation of a Highland Scoundrel. And for taking the time to read this Author’s Note.
Wishing you Highland Magic!
Sue-Ellen Welfonder
(aka Allie Mackay)
Sneak peek - Seduction of a Highland Warrior
Enjoy a sneak peek at the next book in my Highland Warriors trilogy…
Seduction of a Highland Warrior
* * *
The Honor of Clan Donald
In the beginning of days, before Highland warriors walked heather-clad hills and gazed in awe across moors chased by cloud-shadows, old gods ruled the dark and misty realm that would one day be known as Scotland. Glens were silent then, empty but for the whistle of the wind and the curl of waves on sparkling sea-lochs.
Yet if a man looked and listened with his heart rather than his eyes and ears, he might catch a glimpse of wonders beyond telling.
For Manannan Mac Lir, mighty god of sea and wind, loved these rugged Scottish shores. Those who haven’t forgotten legend will swear that stormy days saw Manannan plying Highland waters in his magical galley, Wave Sweeper. Or that on nights when the full moon shone bright, he favored riding the edge of the sea on his enchanted horse Embarr of the Flowing Mane. All
tales claimed that wherever he was, Manannan never lost sight of Scotland’s cliff-fretted coast. One stretch of shoreline was said to hold his especial attention, a place of such splendor even his jaded heart swelled to behold its wild and haunting beauty.
That place was the Glen of Many Legends.
Storytellers agree that when the day came that Manannan observed a proud and noble MacDonald warrior stride into this fair land of heather, rock, and silvery seas, he was most pleased.
Those were distant times, but even then the men of Clan Donald were gaining a reputation as men of fierce loyalty and unbending honor.
They were the best of all Highlanders.
Even the gods stood in awe of them.
So Manannan’s pleasure grew when this MacDonald warrior, an early chieftain known as Drangar the Strong, chose this blessed spot to build a fine isle-girt fortress. Here, Drangar the Strong would guard the coast with his trustworthy and fearless garrison. And - the talespinners again agreed - the great god of sea and wind surely believed Clan Donald would blossom and thrive, gifting the Glen of Many Legends with generations of braw Highland warriors and beautiful, spirited women.
The world was good.
Until the ill-fated day when Drangar took a moonlit walk along the night-silvered shore of his sea-loch and happened across a lovely Selkie maid who no red-blooded man could’ve resisted.
Her dark hair gleamed like moonlight on water and her eyes shone like the stars. Her lips were seductively curved and ripe for kissing. And her shapely form beckoned, all smooth, creamy skin and tempting shadows.
MacDonalds, it must now be said, are as well-lusted as their hearts are loyal and true.
Drangar fell hard, succumbing to the seal woman’s charms there and then.
But such passions flare hotly only for a beat, at least for the woman-of-the-sea who soon suffers unbearable longings to return to her watery home.
Nor is any Highlander unaware of the tragedies that so often befall these enchanting creatures and the mortal men who lose their hearts to them. Such tales abound along Scotland’s coasts and throughout the Western Isles, with every clan bard able to sing of the heartbreak and danger, the ills that can break good men.
Temptation of a Highland Scoundrel (Highland Warriors Book 2) Page 31
