The Highlander's Fiery Bride: A Steamy Scottish Historical Romance Novel

by Lydia Kendall

  Stepping out of the bed, he put on a shirt and slipped some smallclothes under his plaid. It was still mostly dark and he watched the golden rose-pinkish rays of the rising sun streaking the sky. His head felt clearer—much clearer—and it was evident his fatigue and stress had been clogging his mind for the past few days.

  Perhaps he had been going about removing the witch the wrong way. The witch was his enemy but what became crystal clear to him was that he did not know his enemy. With any other foe, like an enemy clan or a rogue band of thieves, he always knew what he was going against, but this woman was unknown—a veritable mystery. He was going to go about this like any warfare tactic and the first thing was that he needed to know more about this woman.

  Who is this dratted woman and where had she come from?

  Surely, there had to be someone who had seen this woman arrive? It was not like she had sprung out of the ground like a sapling. She had to have come from somewhere. Once he knew who his enemy was, then he would get the ammunition to fight her.

  He lingered in the room until the sun rose and he could hear and see the castle waking up. Servants were out and about and squires were assembling to train in the inner courtyard. Going to the kitchens, he requested a cup of tea while contemplating how to go about finding who this woman was.

  “Yer tea, Me Laird,” said a woman with her dark hair banded back. She smiled and handed his cup over to him.

  Accepting the warm cup, Angus smiled his thanks. He wandered back to the dining hall, deep in contemplation. No one was going to kill this woman but him. He felt so invested in this that he only wanted to wrap his hands around the witch’s neck and squeeze.

  With a quick run to his rooms, he donned some hardy trousers, a thicker shirt, and strong boots. He settled a pouch of coins in his pockets, slung a hooded cape over his arm and bounded his way back down. On his way to the stables, he nearly collided into his mother.

  Her eyes darted up to his, “Yer… lively.”

  He kissed her on her cheek, “Thank ye for knocking some sense into me yesterday. I’m going out, Mother, I have to find out who this witch is to understand how to fight her.”

  Lady Isobel was shocked but Angus shook his head, “Ye are nae dissuading me from this, Mother. I need to ken me enemy. I’ll be careful, I promise.”

  She was not happy and her growing frown showed it. Eventually, her brows unknitted in resignation, “Just have yer eyes in front and behind ye.”

  “Aye, Mother.”

  With another kiss to her cheek, he ran off, directly to the stables. He knew it was wise to have eaten something first but he ignored it. He could easily find food in the town nearby or pick fruits in the forest. With Titan saddled and fed, with some apples pocketed just in case, he slung the hooded cape over his shoulders and rode off.

  The main village nearest to the Williamson Clan had escaped the fury of the madwoman, but the other one resting on the foot of the Seabhag Crag Mountains, through the forest, was not so lucky. Since the third fatal attack by the witch, Angus had ordered guards to patrol the town and keep any stragglers from roaming anywhere near the crags where they could get hurt.

  A half-hour trot through the forest road took him easily to the outskirts of the village. It was still early and the mist from the loch nearby had the air foggy and softly cool. He reined Titan in while entering the village center. Thankfully, his hood would conceal his face for a while, so the hubbub of having the Laird in their midst would not be so sudden.

  Where to start searching… or rather whom to start asking?

  “Can I help ye, Sir?” a timid voice asked.

  He turned his head to see a boy, tall, gangly with a smattering of freckles across his face. He was carrying a load of wood in his arms and Angus guessed he was a farmhand or a son sent out for firewood. The boy was shifting uneasily on his feet and Angus knew Titan was the reason the youth was timid, hell, grown warriors were intimidated by the horse.

  “Aye, where are the elders here?”

  The boy eyed the horse again before looking back at him, “There are only seven elders here, and they live all over the village.”

  “Tell me still,” Angus asked.

  “Erm, who are ye, Sir?” The boy asked cautiously.

  In answer, Angus tugged his hood off. “Angus Williamson, yer Laird.”

  The light of comprehension flew into the boy’s eyes. “Oh, sorry me Laird, I’ll tell ye where to find them.”

  Listening closely, Angus grimaced—the elders, truly, were scattered all over the village. By the time he was halfway done asking them questions, the news of his presence would be in town already. Still, it was a price he was willing to pay.

  “Thank ye, boy,” Angus said, flipping him a coin and spurring the horse off to his first stop, a lady named Angharat.

  Her home was a small cabin with slate roofing and a small garden. Angharat received him graciously, offering him food which he kindly declined. She did not know much about the witch but said she prayed every day for the earth to open up and swallow her.

  “I hope she is nae so evil that hell would spit her back out,” the woman scowled.

  Smiling, Angus gave her his thanks and then moved off. The second, third, and fourth elders did not have any substantial knowledge of the woman but he still gave them his thanks. Entering the village again, he groaned to see the looks he was getting. He was right in believing that knowledge of his presence would be all over the town.

  He tugged his hood off as it was useless and smiled at any whose eyes met his. He went to the next elder, a man named O’Hagan who was at the far end of the village. His home was a squat brick home with fences around the large square of land. He dropped down from Titan’s back and grasping the reins went to the front, ready to call out, when the door was pushed open and a man wielding a sword marched out.

  Angus dropped the reins and held up his hands. “Whoa, Sir O’Hagan, there’s nay trouble here.”

  Elder O’Hagan dropped his weapon, squinting at him from under a shock of grey hair. “Who are ye, son?”

  “Angus Williamson,” he clarified. “Laird Williamson of Ratagan.”

  “Ah,” the elder shuffled back, the sword now at his side. “Welcome, me Laird, come in.”

  Hitching Titan to a post, he nodded and climbed the steps. “Thank ye.”

  They sat on the wicker chairs inside the home and Angus went directly to his purpose. “I need to ask ye a question… dae ye ken anything about the witch in Seabhag Crag?”

  O’Hagan’s lips thinned and his hand tightened on the hilt of the sword. “I dae…but it’s nae as much as I would have liked.”

  “Anything ye can tell me will be appreciated,” Angus said eagerly.

  “She came here from Edinburgh,” the elder said dourly. “I ken ‘cause I was in the village when the carriage came. I never saw the woman, but the driver had the Edina accent. He said the woman, a widow, had come to claim a home her dead husband had given her and needed directions.”

  Angus felt his chest brim with the new knowledge. In the dryness of his ignorance, the words the man was saying felt like an oasis. “Edina, ye say.”

  “Aye,” O’Hagan glowered. “If I had kent that the woman was the witch she is now, back then, I would have given them the direction off a cliff but…I told them where to go. I’m one of the few who know about the old house on the cliff and the owners.”

  “Dae ken her name?” Angus pressed.

  “Nay,” O’Hagan grumbled. “But if she is from Edinburgh someone will ken who she is. I would search there if I was ye.”

  “Thank ye, O’Hagan. I owe you a pot of gold for yer help,” Angus vowed.

  “Me payment would be ye sending the woman off to the grave,” the Elder requested.

  “God’s will, I will do so,” Angus said while standing. “Good day, O’Hagan. May God remember ye for this kindness.”

  “Take care, Laird,” the man nodded and then shuffled back inside.

  Angus t
urned the horse back to his home, “I hope that old man is right about Edina.”

  Chapter 5

  Keswick, England

  Magdalene stood by her Uncle as another twenty of her father’s men hefted their packs and marched through the gates. It was nearly supper time and Uncle John had sent another troop away, this set making it sixty men that he had dismissed. Magdalene could only assume what these men, who depended on her father’s stipend for their daily bread, would do when they got back to their homes in the town.

  Uncle John had delivered on his promise to merge his men with his brother’s but Magdalene was beginning to think it had gone lopsided. Her father’s fighting men had numbered a hundred at first, but now they were whittled down to forty.

  “Well, that’s done,” Uncle John acknowledged over her shoulder. Rather coldly, Magdalene thought.

  She turned to go back into the nearest room, feeling uncomfortable with both Uncle John’s attitude and the warm heat that was clogging the air. She had barely entered the room when a tall, classically handsome man with dark-hair stood. Frowning, Magdalene watched as Uncle John approached him and shook his hand.

  “Ah, Sir Godfrey Irgon,” Uncle John smiled. “Welcome.”

  “My pleasure, Lord Keswick,” the young man nodded.

  Still curious about who this man was and why he was there, Magdalene shifted her gaze between them both. Then, her eyes landed on this Godfrey. His dark hair was a curly tumble over his ears to his shoulder and his olive skin highlighted his green eyes.

  “Sir Godfrey Irgon,” Uncle John stepped back. “This is Magdalene Crompton, my late brother, Lord Keswick’s daughter. Magdalene, this is Sir Godfrey Irgon, a knight from my own home. He is here to complete the transition of my men to this estate.”

  The knight bowed, “Pleased to meet you, Miss Crompton.”

  He’s very young for a knight…but handsome.

  Shooting another apprehensive look at her uncle, she then nodded. “You too, Sir Irgon.

  Her hand was taken and a kiss was placed on the back of it. She was too surprised to react suddenly. It was only when he released her with a swipe of his thumb over her knuckles that she shivered softly. “You are as fair as your Uncle said.”

  Magdalene looked quickly at her Uncle who was looking inordinately pleased. “I…thank you.”

  Something felt out of place and she had the pressing urge to leave but she could not just turn and walk away. That would be unspeakably rude but she could not help feeling there was more to this meeting than just an introduction.

  You are as fair as your Uncle said...

  Magdalene fumbled for words to say when her mother rescued her. “John?”

  Lady Larie came to stand beside her and Magdalene watched her mother’s cool eyes run over the two men, “Who is this?”

  “Lady Keswick,” Uncle John said proudly. “This is Sir Godfrey Irgon. He is in charge of making the transition of my men to here.”

  “Wonderful to meet you, Sir Irgon,” her mother said coolly. “But if you would excuse Magdalene and I… we have some matters to discuss. Magdalene, if you would accompany me.”

  “Yes, Mother,” she said, flummoxed about what her mother wanted her for, as she had no recollection of any matter they had to discuss. They said their farewells and walked off with her mother taking Magdalene’s wrist in a tight grip.

  They did not speak until they were ensconced in her mother’s Spartan rooms. Her mother then closed the door behind them.

  “I don’t know if you have seen it, but your uncle is getting too comfortable with his new position. Almost all of your father’s men are gone for space of his men. I don’t like it. I think he is cutting us off from the men we know and can rely on.”

  In reflex, Magdalene looked over her shoulder to the locked door. “Why? That does not make any sense.”

  “I told you he and your father were at odds for many years,” her mother added, as she began to pace. “Their rift is more than over one thing. They argued over politics—John was more of a loyalist than your father, who was an independent. They fought over governmental practices over this Barony. John hated how your father eschewed the rule of the monarchy in favor of being a law unto himself. John hated how your father followed the old ways of governance and the opinions of the same men instead of considering the newer systems to rule by.”

  “But…” Magdalene was still confused. “Why would he use any of that as grounds to isolate us?”

  “To finally trump his brother, even from the grave,” Lady Larie said tightly. “Have you realized that even now, no one has come forward with any news on who might have killed my husband, even though the request was sent weeks ago?”

  “And you think he stopped them?” Magdalene inquired while moving to sit. “Why would he do that? Father was his brother, too.”

  “I cannot tell,” Lady Larie said. “Which is why I am still preparing to send you to my sister.”

  Looking down at her hands twisting on her skirts, Magdalene thought deeply. Her Uncle had changed in the last three weeks. He had taken control of the barony as was expected, organized her father’s men, and spoken with his brother’s advisors, then more changes had come.

  Half of her father’s fighting men were being changed out for his. Uncle John had removed some of her advisors with some of his and the household servants were also being segmented for some of John’s to take their place.

  Those changes were expected but what Magdalene had noticed was that the most fervent of her father’s supporters, advisors, fighters and servants were the ones being let go. Was her Uncle truly removing the men and women she and her mother could trust?

  “How have you spoken to her?” Magdalene asked.

  “We send letters by a trained falcon,” Lady Larie replied. “She is in a place called Seabhag Crag. Perse is devastated after her husband’s death and moved away to the countryside home he left her. She went there to grieve. I think seeing you would help her along her way.”

  “I have not seen Aunt Perse in a long time,” Magdalene said. The last time she had seen her Aunt was when she was six. “I’d like that, I think.”

  An unseasonably chilled breeze came through the window and Magdalene shivered. “I think we should go to supper now.”

  Her mother was still a bit upset but managed to nod, “I think it’s best.”

  Together, they went to the dining hall and entered to see the table set with cuts of meat, baskets of freshly baked bread, pots of tea and bowls of pudding. The tall tallow candles were lit and waiting women stood there with basins for washing hands and Magdalene greeted them. Uncle John was not present yet but over the weeks they had realized that he came in late to the two daily meals.

  Magdalene sat and a gestured to a woman, who came over and offered her the washing bowl. Quickly, she washed and bowed her head for grace. After the amen, she reached for the knife and speared some meat into her pewter bowl.

  They ate in silence until a scuffle of footsteps took their attention to the doorway where Uncle John was entering with Sir Godfrey Irgon beside him. Magdalene paused while reaching for another piece of meat. Curiosity ran through her at seeing her Uncle and the young knight.

  She spun on her seat and was about to ask a question when Uncle John stood at the head of the table. Sir Irgon stood beside him.

  “John?” Lady Larie asked.

  “I have asked Sir Irgon to join us. I don’t think it will be a problem, will it?”

  “No,” her mother said reservedly. “Welcome, Sir Irgon. The table is blessed so you may begin.”

  “Thank you, My Lady,” the knight dipped his head in a bow and he took a seat.

  Under her lashes, Magdalene took furtive glances at the young man. The uncanny feeling from earlier in the day came back. Her Uncle had the same satisfied smile from before and she wondered why. Supper ended and after another wash of her hands, Magdalene made to stand but Sir Irgon got there first. He helped her out of her seat and smiled kind
ly.

  “Thank you, Sir Irgon,” she managed. The feel of her mother’s eyes on her was piercing but she tried to ignore it.

  The knight went off to help her mother but was waved off. “Thank you, Sir Irgon, but I can help myself.”

  Lady Larie stood and looked at both men, “Goodnight John, Sir Irgon.”

  With a curtsey and a smile, Magdalene turned with her mother towards their living quarters. She slid side-looks to her silent mother as they went back to prepare for bed, expecting an explanation from her but only got a soft goodnight and a reminder to pray before going to bed.