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

by Lydia Kendall

  “My heart flutters when you look at me that way,” she smiled while dropping a kiss on his lips. “But I think we have to go to the hall soon.”

  Slipping out of the bed, Magdalene belatedly realized she was naked but while red was crawling up her neck, she brazenly looked over her shoulder. Her long hair tumbled over her back and tickled her skin, “Are you coming or not?”

  “Temptation,” Angus grinned as he came off the bed. “Thy name is Magdalene.”

  Her courage in the early hours disappeared the moment she arrived at the doorway to the great hall. The smell arose from the freshly baked bread, cheeses, venison, roasted fowl, meat pies, and other choice meats, that were assembled into a veritable feast for the five assembled clans.

  At the entrance of the hall, Magdalene nervously tugged at her dark blue gown—another gift from Lady Isobel—and paused to run a hand over her hair, now cascading over her back and held back with pins.

  “They won’t bite ye,” Angus’ voice was in her ear.

  “You don’t know that,” she hissed under her breath.

  A familiar hand rested on the small of her back, “Breathe lass, I promise ye, no one inside will dare look wrong at ye.”

  “Let us hope so,” Magdalene murmured as she stepped in. Following Angus’ advice from the first day she had dared enter the great hall for a meal, she walked with her head kept high, though fretfulness was gnawing at her stomach. How many knew that she had been with Angus last night? From the looks she could feel on the side of her head, the whole room did.

  Oh, God.

  There was a small hush when they had entered but the conversation quickly kicked up again. Each side, all four tables were filled with people eating and chatting happily. Dishes were being passed around and trenchers were being handed out.

  From the corner of her eye, Magdalene spotted Angus sweeping his head from side to side, a mild glare on his face. But that did not stop one man from hooting at her passing. This time she saw Angus give the man a rude gesture and she stopped to look aghast at him.

  Angus stopped too, as her eyebrow rose up in a wordless reprimand. The Laird’s eyes dipped only to have the same man holler. “And she got him trained, too! Hear, hear ye all! Ratagan is collared!”

  “Oh, shut yer gob, Douglas!” Angus seethed. “Yer me friend but I have no qualms in meeting ye in the tiltyard.”

  The fellow man, another Laird, Magdalene supposed, only lifted his goblet up and sank back in his seat, still chortling. Blushing to her ears, Magdalene stepped up onto the dais and took a seat at the high table. Ailsa gave her a half-hug as a greeting while Malcolm only waggled his brows. Lady Isobel was missing but Ailsa whispered that she was overseeing matters with the cooks.

  “Oh,” she nodded. “We’ll see her soon then.”

  She dug into her meal, drinking her tea first before partaking in the smoked venison and bread. She was nibbling on her meat when the happy atmosphere was shattered into one of fear and fright. A squire came running in with horror stamped on his face.

  "Me Laird!” He called out in terror. “Me Laird, help!”

  Angus was out of his seat and rushing to the boy when another squire came in looking as horrified as the first. “What is it? What is going on here?”

  “Me Laird, it’s an elder from Seabhag Crag,” the second squire said. “Elder O’Hagan is here, he’s burnt, Me Laird. They brought him—”

  Angus was gone from the room the moment the name O’Hagan had been uttered. The room was silent as a graveyard and Magdalene suddenly lost all her appetite. She dropped her trencher and asked Ailsa.

  “Where are the kitchens? We need to get Lady Isobel.”

  “Come with me,” the young woman stood but Malcolm had bested them by darting out of the room. Moments later, the lady in question came running. Malcolm took charge of the room and asked the Clans to stay put. Magdalene, however, was out of her seat and hurrying after Lady Isobel as they left the room.

  In the entry courtyard, she stopped as squires exited the back of a wagon, lifting a stretcher out. Laying on the sheet tied between two wooden rods was a man, grey-haired—well, partially grey-haired as half his face was burned and so was his head. His clothes were singed and his left arm was red-black, blistered, swollen and his skin was flaking. The man was grimacing with pain so severe he could barely speak.

  “Oh God,” Magdalene covered her mouth in shock. She had never seen a man so mutilated before and it shattered her sensibilities. “Oh, God.”

  Angus came near her. His face was pale and his jaw set. “Oh, good lord, O’Hagan, what did ye dae?”

  Magdalene turned to him. “O’Hagan as in the same O’Hagan that had sent you to Edinburgh? That O’Hagan?”

  “Aye,” Angus said as he entered and took the stairs to the infirmary. He lingered at the doorway as they set O’Hagan down on a bed. Suddenly, his fist struck the bare stone wall and he swore. “I swear on me life, this is the last straw.”

  “Magdalene!” Lady Isobel called as she rolled up her sleeves, “I need yer help. Run into the sun-room and grab a pot of salve in a round terracotta jar on the third shelf to yer right. Hurry.”

  Following the directions, Magdalene ran into the room of herbs and quickly spotted the shelf and the jar. Grabbing it, she came back and handed the pot to the healer and stood back.

  “I will usher ye into hell meself, Perse Fenton—goddamn witch,” Angus was muttering under his breath.

  Magdalene had caught only the tail end of his words but when she did, she was assured he had misspoken. “Pardon me,” Magdalene shot him a wide-eyed look, “What did you say this witch’s name was?”

  “Her name is Perse, Perse Fenton,” Angus groaned, as he watched the healers work.

  “What? What did you say?” She rushed to him and grabbed his tunic. “Did you say her name is Perse Fenton?”

  “Aye,” Angus said as he grabbed at Magdalene. “Why?”

  “My aunt’s name is Perse Fenton!” Magdalene cried. “She is a widow, not a witch. You're wrong about her. My aunt is a good person, Angus! You’re wrong!”

  Hands grabbed at her but she fought them off. Angus still held her in place. “Yer aunt is Perse Fenton! Magdalene, why dinnae ye tell me?”

  “There was no cause to tell you!” Magdalene said but squared her jaw. “I’m telling you now, you are wrong about my aunt. There is no way she had done any of those horrible things to anyone! She came here to grieve her husband.”

  “Magdalene,” Angus’ eye lowered in a grim expression then he looked around the room. The women were astonished and their wide-eyes showed it. “Nae here.”

  Grabbing her hand, he tugged her into the sun-room but Magdalene was still incensed. How dare he accuse her aunt of such a crime? Away from the healers, she tugged her hand away. “My aunt is not a witch.”

  “How dae ye ken she is nae one, ye haven’ae seen her in years,” Angus argued.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Magdalene defended staunchly, folding her arms. She felt stung, betrayed even, that Angus would think that of her aunt. “My aunt is a Christian woman. She would never do something like this.”

  Angus’ jaw worked. “The reason I was in Edina was that I had gone there to find out where she is. Faither Buchanan from St. Cuthbert's kirk told me that she hated her husband and even spat in his grave when he went into the dirt. Does that sound like a good woman to ye?”

  She ripped herself from his hold. “I do not believe that. Whoever told you that is lying.”

  “What sense would make a man of God lie to me?” Angus shot back.

  An obstinate look set Magdalene’s jaw in a line. “I don’t know but I am sure my Aunt is not a witch.”

  “Lass, listen to me, yer aunt is nae who ye ken she is,” Angus said. “And I am never happier than now that I had nae taken ye to see her.”

  You're wrong about Aunt Perse. And I might just have to prove it to you.

  “Angus!” Lady Isobel called out. “We need ye in he
re.”

  The Laird looked at the doorway and then back to Magdalene, “We’re nae finished about this.”

  “I know,” she said while looking around the room. “I think…I’ll go back to the hall and finished eating. If you need me you might find me in my room.”

  “Aye,” Angus said, “I’ll be with ye as soon as I can.”

  Hesitantly, Magdalene nodded and watched him hurry away. She stood undecided. How was she going to prove it to Angus that he was wrong? Angus was set on holding on to his belief that Perse was the witch, while every fiber of her body was decided that her aunt was innocent of this crime. If she had to deceive him to get him to understand that her aunt was not a witch, could she do it? What other way could she prove it to him that her aunt was not what he thought she was? Could she go there, get her aunt to come back and speak her case?

  Halfway to the great hall she stopped, spun and strode to the stables through a back door. Luckily, a stable hand was there as she assessed the horse Angus had given her, Glynn. Patting the mare, she asked as casually as she could, “Angus rides to Seabhag Crag often, does he?”

  “Aye,” the man said while fixing a girth. “He takes the road that cuts through the west forest, too. Gets there in half an hour or even less with how that horse of his runs. Titan’s a one-of-a-kind warhorse.”

  “I’d imagine,” Magdalene said quietly as she fondled the horses’ ears.

  “A forest road you say?” she murmured.

  “Aye, just at the end of the incline that leads to the village,” the man replied idly. “The road to the village is to the left but the one to Crag is on the right.”

  Ideas about how she could get to that junction sprung up but all were silly and see-through. It was highly unlikely Angus would let her leave the house without a chaperone and she did not dare leave in the middle of the night. God knew what kind of man-eating beasts were in those forests.

  The stable-hand moved off to attend to other horses while Magdalene stood with Glynn. Her fiery anger had died down somewhat but the embers were still smoldering in her chest. Her eyes were resting on Glynn happily munching away on hay while she debated her options.

  A quick glance out the window told her that it was the afternoon and that the opportunity to go to her aunt made by O’Hagan’s arrival, had gone. Cursing herself, she silently knocked her head back on the wall.

  “So now ye and me brother had a fight and you are out here abusing yerself?” Malcolm’s dry tease only made her eyes narrow. “Please tell me, what is the logic in that?”

  “There is none,” Magdalene said stiffly. “Why are you here, Malcolm?’

  Thick brows rose, and hand lifted, “I nae here to fight, I’m here to make sure yer all right.”

  She breathed out deeply, “I’d like to tell you that but I am not. How can I be when Angus is convinced my aunt is a witch?”

  “Dinnae we tell ye that Angus is stubborn?” Malcolm asked lightly. “He will hold on to this until he is proven wrong.”

  Which tells me my gut feeling is I will have to prove it to him. “And how do you think I will prove it to him?”

  “Nae,” Malcolm chuckled. “You ain’t pulling me into this kerfuffle with Angus. Anything I say will be used against me. I’ll be giving Angus permission to tear me head off if I say anythin’.”

  “Then ye better keep yer gob shut,” Angus said from the doorway.

  “And with that, I will take me leave,” with an exaggerated bow and a cocky grin, Malcolm spun and walked out.

  Magdalene pressed her lips tightly and kept her eye on anything but him. Angus noticed and came closer. She kept her eyes down still and his sigh was heavy. “Lass, look at me.”

  “I can’t,” she replied.

  “Why not?”

  “I cannot believe you would think my aunt is a witch,” Magdalene exclaimed angrily. “You don’t know her.”

  “And neither do ye,” Angus’ voice was tight. “Ye cannot be defending a woman ye dinnae ken, Magdalene. People change. The woman ye kent ye did or who yer Mother kent she did might not even be the same person anymore.”

  His words felt like a slap to her face. How could she prove to him the conviction about her aunt that was so deep inside her? Was there a way to bare her soul to him?

  “I refuse to accept that,” Magdalene said, her conviction was so solid in her mind that she could not allow doubt to creep in. Slowly, she stood and was about to walk away when Angus grabbed her arm. She spun and his eyes were heavy. He did not speak and the air was getting heavier by the passing moments.

  “Lass…” Angus’ voice was throaty as he reeled her in like a fish on a line. “Dinnae do this.”

  “Do what?” she asked.

  “Shut me out,” Angus said. “Dinnae let me be cast as the bad person here, Magdalene. Ye must understand where I am comin’ from. I have full faith that this woman is the witch.”

  “And I am telling you, you’re wrong,” Magdalene pulled her arm away and stepped away, only to have the words thrown at her back, “O’Hagan died, Magdalene. He’s dead.”

  She swallowed tightly and turned back to him. Angus’ expression was tortured. She did not say a word because there weren’t any she could form to ease his pain. Angus’ hand drifted to her cheek and his thumb rubbed lightly across her cheekbone, not saying or moving. When his eyes took on a dark hue that made her blood warm, Magdalene moved out of the way as his head dipped.

  She lifted her head high. “I’m sorry he died but it was not from my Aunt. Good bye, Angus.”

  It doesn’t make sense waiting… I’ll prove it to him as soon as he is occupied and I can steal away. I’m sure some of the villagers can show me where my Aunt lives. I’ll go and come back to the Williamsons’ with her, she’ll explain herself, and all this misunderstanding will be over.

  Chapter 25

  “Angus.”

  His name sounded far away and muffled, so that if felt dreamlike and he did not react quickly. It was not until the third or fourth recitation of his name that he reacted and rolled over on his back. He pressed a palm to his eyes and grimaced at the burn.

  “Aye?”

  “Ye need to get up,” the voice was clearer now, it was his mother’s. “It’s the afternoon.”

  The afternoon? Why had he slept so long? Oh right. After Magdalene’s rejection of his kiss he had gone back to the house, settled O’Hagan’s burial, went to the loch, swam for hours and came back to drown his pain in a wineskin of cider, which was why his eyes were burning and his temples were pounding.

  “And Magdalene’s gone.”

  “What!” Angus shot up in bed, eyes wild. His feet were out from the covers and his body was moving even before he realized it. He grabbed for his shirt to throw it on and rammed his feet in his boots.

  Lady Isobel’s face was pinched tight. “Mother! How could you let her go?”

  “I dinnae,” she said, her voice a bit cold and offended over his accusation. “If ye dinnae remember, our home is hosting four clans and we buried a dead man this mornin’. No one had eyes on her all day. A stable hand told me she took Glynn out this morning for a ride but never came back.”

  Angus was tying the laces with more force than needed. “She’s gone to her. She’s gone to her damn aunt.”

  “I kent that, too,” Lady Isobel said grimly.

  Grabbing his sword, Angus was fully prepared to jump on his horse and go save Magdalene from her foolish action when his mother stopped him cold. “Yer being rash, Angus. Ye cannae go charging into this witch woman’s stronghold without a plan.”

  A plan? A plan! Was his mother being serious? “Mother, I dinnae have time to sit around and draw up offensive strategies. I have to get Magdalene out of there!”

  Lady Isobel stepped right in front of him, using her body to block the door. Her eyes had narrowed to slits and the usual calm blue was stern. “Angus Leopold Williamson, use yer goddamn head for once. Dae ye ken this woman is going to harm her niece as she gets the
re? She was told to look out for her for weeks now. Even if the woman is Satan’s bride, she will not harm her.”

  “Yet,” Angus said stonily. “I have nae illusions about this woman, Mother, and I am not putting anything past her. I must get Magdalene back as soon as I can.”

  “Ye have a whole set of seasoned warlords with ye, Angus,” Lady Isobel’s tone had lost its frigidity. “Use their combined knowledge to make ye a plan and then go save her. If ye can kill this witch in the process fine but do not go merrily skipping into hell’s mouth when ye can avoid it!”