Under a Highlander's Spell: A Steamy Scottish Historical Romance Novel

by Maddie MacKenna

  Down, I need to go down there, Naomhan told himself, even though he knew it was the worst idea he could ever think of.

  When the watching became boring, he would take up his sword and hack at the trees. He could never allow himself to get so comfortable that he would lose his edge but it was never the same as having a sparring partner. It made him miss his best friend and cousin, Stephen.

  Stephen had saved his life but he wondered where Stephen was. His cousin had always been the smarter one. He would know what to do, Naomhan knew. He also knew that Stephen would kick him in the groin if he left the safety of the mountains to visit him.

  So, Naomhan stayed still, beating down his urge to see familiar faces, hear familiar voices, and eat his mother’s meals. In the nights, he thought out different ways to rewrite the wrong that had been done him but everything led him back to Stephen. He never considered leaving for England as his parents had advised. Only traitors did that, he told himself.

  2

  Naomhan awoke the next morning to an odd feeling he was familiar with. Something bad was about to happen. His mother claimed to have been the one to pass that gift onto him. He got up quickly and pulled his sword around his waist. He tried to make the cave as clean of his presence as he could manage and set out into the barely visible day.

  Naomhan would later realize that he would have been caught by the Queen’s men in his sleep had he stayed a few minutes more. There is no way they would know to check the mountains, he thought to himself and for the first time in a long time, Naomhan knew fear. I have to see Stephen, he will know what to do.

  For the coming days, there were more men scouring the area but what saved him was his knowledge of the mountains. As long as he didn’t sleep much, they would never find him. So he kept a vigilant eye on the men.

  One day, he got close enough and hid up in a tree just above them as they sat down to rest.

  “This is a waste of time. I should be in a tavern now, getting’ pished and lookin’ at bonnie lasses,” one of the guards said. His comrades laughed, except for the oldest of the group, who seemed to also be the most ranked as they quieted when he spoke.

  “Even if he is not here as we were told, we were given the order and we have to follow it. Others are out there searchin’ for him but we owe it to our Queen to catch him. The entire monarchy is very well at stake here. Whenever dae we get to dae anythin’ important?” He asked his men and their chests were puffed out again in a sense of patriotism.

  “I wish we catch him quickly. My wife needs me now with our child comin’ soon. I haven’ae thought of a name yet,” another said and his leader appeased him. Only a few more days, he promised him.

  If only you knew the truth, Naomhan thought to himself up above them. They were all determined to bring him before the Queen to gain her favor even though he was innocent.

  So Naomhan decided that he would give himself up to the Queen once it was safe to leave the mountains. Watching the group as they scoured around the mountain, he realized that they did not return to old spots that they had checked. So he returned back to the cave, which still had the best vantage point. They could never creep up on him or so he thought.

  He waited five more days before he saw the group leave the mountain.

  Tomorrow, he thought, tomorrow I will give myself up.

  The next day came too quickly as Naomhan awoke to a kick in his side. A man stood above him with a sword pointed at his face.

  “Daenae move lest I cut yer throat,” the man said to Naomhan, who did not listen. With a quick and hard sweep, he kicked the man’s legs and threw him down. Naomhan tore away from him quickly and grabbed his sword. The sword was unsheathed in no time and he was soon facing his assailant.

  “If ye daenae put that sword down, I will beat ye to a pulp,” a familiar voice said to him and Naomhan felt his sword drop from his hands as tears welled in his eyes.

  “Stephen,” he said, as he went to hug his cousin. He held his cousin for so long that Stephen had to tap him to let go.

  “I was planning to come find ye down there,” Naomhan told him.

  “Do ye want to kill yerself?” Stephen asked him and Naomhan laughed for the first time since he had run up the mountains.

  “How is my faither? What about my mother and Logan? Are they safe?” He asked Stephen all the questions that had plagued him for the past months.

  “They are safe but worried. They would be even more worried when they ken that ye were stupid enough to still be in Scotland,” Stephen spat. His usually calm face wore anger.

  “I cannae leave. I have cost my family their honor. Someone lied against me and ye want me to run? That will only make me look guilty,” Naomhan argued.

  “But at least ye would be alive—” Stephen pushed Naomhan hard in anger “—ye would be alive. Do you want yer mother mournin’? Leave Scotland and never look back. That is what yer faither would want.”

  “How would ye ken what me Faither would want?” Naomhan asked. His usually hot temper was flaring up.

  “Because I see him every day. He is but a shadow of himself, Naomhan. All he prays for every day is yer safety and ye are here playing bandit.”

  Naomhan felt his temper slowly leave him. It had not dawned on him how much his family really suffered because of the rumors. He walked back sluggishly to pick up his sword. “I had decided that I would give meself up to the Queen,” he said.

  “Where is the wisdom in that? Tell me, Naomhan, because I daenae see it. If ye see it, tell me please,” Stephen asked him but Naomhan had no words for his cousin.

  “Ye have saved me once before, let me save everyone now,” Naomhan told him. He headed past Stephen out of the cave. He had his mind made up. People spoke of the wisdom of the Queen and her heart for justice. It was the noble thing, as much as the right thing, for him to do, he had decided. Seeing the fear in Stephen’s eyes which he tried to cover with anger, Naomhan’s resolve was only strengthened.

  “I am sorry, Naomhan, but I cannae let ye go. It is better I strike ye down here than I let ye be hung for treason,” Stephen said, holding his sword back up.

  “Ye need to let me go, cousin,” Naomhan begged. Stephen would not be moved as Naomhan would not be. So high up in the Scottish mountains, both Grant men drew their swords to battle one another.

  Stephen was the first to charge and Naomhan parried away his sword easily. He was always the stronger and faster of the two of them, but Stephen was always smarter. As the battle went on, neither man let up and soon enough, the duel became even deadlier to both men, especially when Stephen drew first blood, a slight cut to Naomhan’s left arm.

  Naomhan swung harder and harder at Stephen, pushing him further and further into defense. However, he always stayed on his guard, expecting Stephen to surprise him but Stephen wasn’t his usual crafty and calm self. He was an angry man and he fought like one, disregarding his wit and just swinging at a physically superior opponent.

  After about thirty minutes of cutting one another, Naomhan suddenly grabbed Stephen by his armed wrist and slapped him so hard across the face that he fell and released his sword to Naomhan.

  “I willnae slay ye but I need ye to allow me to go. It is the right thing,” Naomhan told him.

  “But ye would die,” Stephen begged him still. “Ye are not me enemy. Run, Naomhan, run.”

  “I have defeated ye. Ye have no choice. Would ye help me or wouldnae ye?”

  Stephen held his hand out and Naomhan helped him onto his feet.

  “I willnae go with ye. I willnae have that on my conscience. Ye have my sword so I cannae stop ye. All I can dae is warn ye and not let ye die as little as I can try. All I can tell ye is that the Queen’s men are everywhere. The farther from the palace they catch ye, the less likely it is that they take ye to Her Majesty. There is a path, however, that isnae so patrolled…” Stephen told Naomhan and hugged him for his final goodbye.

  Naomhan gave his cousin back his sword and walked away, headed for the
foot of the mountain.

  “Naomhan,” Stephen called his name one last time and Naomhan looked back. “Ye never asked how the guards ken to look in the mountains.”

  “It didnae matter. Only ye, me, me faither, mother and Logan knew, and none of ye would talk. It was by chance. The mountains are always the best place to hide,” Naomhan answered.

  “Rose told them,” Stephen told him.

  For the second time that morning, Naomhan had been caught by surprise.

  Rose had been Naomhan’s love interest. Unlike most women, she had been better at hiding her attraction to him and that had driven him mad over her. He had been driven to win her heart more than anything else.

  Rose had been sweet, with breasts so pale that he had been a slave to them. She had been a timid woman but not so much when they were within closed doors. He had made her that way and had taken her innocence in the first instance. She had loved him and he had also loved. Though Rose had been quite a mysterious woman, one thing he had known about her, he had her love which bore loyalty to him.

  It made no sense that she would tell the guards about the mountain. The thought of it bothered him greatly as he descended the mountain but he knew Stephen would not lie to him. He tried to think out the circumstances around her confession. Perhaps she had been threatened, as well as her old mother, he told himself. But he needed to know for sure. So he decided that he was going to go by her house to look in her eyes. He had to know before he placed himself at the Queen’s mercy.

  True to Stephen’s words, there had been no guard on the path he had told him about. Disguising himself as much as he could, he made it through the day without calling attention to himself. At night, he covered as much ground as he could before finding a place to rest and stare up at the stars. Over the period of time he had to himself in the mountains, he had grown more acquainted with the heavenly bodies. Through them, he felt a link with his family and those he loved because he knew the same stars that looked down on him looked down on them, also.

  When morning came, he walked some more before he came to Rose’s home. She lived in a cottage with her mother in the woods. Looking around to be certain there was no one around, Naomhan walked towards her house. Sneaking in through her window as he used to when he had been a free man, he got into her house.

  She wasn’t in her bedroom, so he walked out into the rest of the house. He could hear the heavy snore of her mother as he walked past her room and came to the kitchen where he found Rose sweeping. Her face held shock when she saw him, as though she had seen a ghost. She just froze there, unmoving, until he opened his arms to her and she ran into them.

  Her arms squeezed him so tight that he had trouble breathing. He wanted to ask her if she had told on him but he couldn’t bring himself to as she was crying against his chest. His arms wrapped around her for he had missed her greatly.

  “I have betrayed ye, Naomhan. I told them—” He held her closer to his chest when she started to speak. He had come to hear this, hoping to challenge her for her wrongdoing. But seeing her and holding her frail form in his arms had stolen his will for vengeance or anger.

  “Ye daenae have to tell me,” he told her but she pulled away from him.

  “Ye should’nae have come. The Queen’s men are watching me. They ken ye would come. Soon, they will make their way through my door to take ye,” she told him. He stepped back from her, finding his anger again.

  “Why?” he asked her.

  “I had no choice. Believe that I loved ye but—” The sounds of hooves stopped her words. The guards were riding fast to them.

  “Just tell me why and I promise yer me forgiveness,” he told her, holding her arms tenderly. He wanted to make her know that he understood; that he did not doubt her love despite what she had done but he couldn’t because she held more guilt.

  There was more that she wanted to tell him but she couldn’t because she wanted to save him. It took a moment to realize that she was dragging him towards the back of the house and they were running into the woods together. The sounds of ranting men inside the cottage, not far enough behind them, gave his reason. He ran.

  They came to a clearing where there was another cottage and a horse was tied in front. “Take that horse and ride away. They will kill ye if they catch ye. There is a bounty on yer head. Even the people would take yer head to the Queen,” she told him.

  He grabbed her hand as she tried to run back. “Come away with me, Rose. Ye will be in trouble if ye return,” he begged her.

  “I cannae—” she pulled her hand from his grip “—I betrayed ye for me lover. I am sorry, Naomhan. I am safe, he will protect me, but he will kill ye, as would the guards. Go as far away as ye can. I only hope with time, ye will come to forgive me,” she said, as she began her run back to the cottage. Naomhan looked at her as she began to disappear gradually from his view.

  She loves another, he repeated the words as he turned back and headed towards the horse with a dwindled spirit.

  Soon, he was back on the road riding out of Scotland—for his family, for those he loved, and for his broken heart.

  3

  1690, England

  Naomhan had been calm enough to pick clothing that would not stand out before entering the new country, losing his kilt and sporran. It had taken him four days at the border trying to evade both the Scots and the English soldiers. It only dawned on him once he was on the soil of England that he was a man without an identity—by the feel of the ordinary clothing clinging to his skin—and country.

  England was different to Scotland. The air was different, lighter, and there weren’t as many high landscapes like in his homeland. The oddest thing he noticed about the country was the populace. England seemed more populated than Scotland. Back home, he could have ridden on his horse for hours, just him and the wind, but it was not so in England. He encountered people the farther he rode, but he could not stop riding until he was as far as he could get from the borders of Scotland.

  It was a strange land, so he could not simply wander into the woods to scavenge for fruits. He ventured into the towns whenever he was hungry and asked to do odd chores for food. A few times, he was lucky to find fighting bouts where he earned enough to buy himself meals, but he never stayed in a town long enough to become famous.

  In his third week, he was overcome with sickness and had to stop by a little town, the Protestant town of Embleton. He had enough to afford a medicine man but he had to find one first. The fever came and broke as it willed. That morning, he was strong enough to handle the reins of his horse but he knew the fever would overcome him again in a few hours. The easiest place to find a guide was always the market square.

  When he had almost arrived at the market, he saw three men gathered around a frightened old man.

  “Is somethin’ the matter, sir?” Naomhan bellowed to the man atop his horse. The four pairs of eyes fell on him.

  “I am not in trouble, thank you,” the old man said, trying to speak as calmly as he could. Naomhan knew he had not misread the fear in the old man’s eyes, which was a clear contrast against the menace in the eyes of the three younger men. He knew he could beat up the three men quite easily and easier even if he used his sword.

  “I have heard ye, sir, but—” he started to get off his horse “—I would need directions to yer town’s medicine man.”

  “The old man said there was no trouble. You should leave,” one of the three said, pulling out a knife.

  “What if I decide nae to?” He held out his arms to the three, daring them to come at him.

  “Please, you should go. I will handle this,” the older man pleaded. Naomhan wasn’t having any of it. He had been spoiling for a fight ever since he had left Scotland and had a lot of anger within himself to get rid of.

  The one with the knife charged at Naomhan. Naomhan dodged his swing and grabbed his hand when he was fully stretched—the seconds before he could right himself—and twisted the knife out of his hand, twisting his arm behind
his back. He slapped the lanky man away and engaged the other two. They were easily beaten. With two beaten to the ground, he grabbed the liveliest of the trio by the neck and held him up.

  “Never beat on the helpless, ye hear me?” Naomhan asked the man who fiddled for his pockets. Naomhan just stared at the man, like a predator who had his prey against the wall. The man was already beaten and weak and would be too slow to harm him, so he wasn’t bothered.

  He saw the knife too late before it was thrust into his side. He dropped the wiggling man and fell onto his knees as the sun seemed to burn him hotter. The three men fled and the old man rushed to his side.

  “Do not pull out the knife,” he instructed Naomhan before screaming for help. “You will not die,” he kept assuring Naomhan. But Naomhan wanted nothing more than to pull it out. The old man frowned at him, scolding when he saw his hand on the knife.