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

by Maddie MacKenna

  “How did it feel?” Emily compounded the questions. She did not want to forget to ask any detail.

  “It felt—” Theodora shrugged and Emily burst into laughter again.

  “Oh, bless Colt, I bless him from my heart,” Emily sang to the trees about them. Her song was caught in her throat when she saw the look on Theodora. It was a look she knew all too well.

  Many times, it was the look that had given up their mischief when they had been but little girls. It was the look of obvious guilt. Emily realized that Theodora had done something REALLY terrible.

  “What is it, Theodora?” she asked her.

  “I wasn’t thinking about Colt. I was thinking about another man,” Theodora answered her best friend.

  15

  Chatter, chatter, chatter, it was the atmosphere of the tavern. Naomhan sat watching the man there. Do not tempt yourself, the priest had always told him, to run away from all forms of temptations. But there he was, so close to alcohol for two days straight and he had not taken a single sip.

  “Are you a priest?” The daughter of the tavern keeper asked him. She placed a cup of beer on the table and slid it towards him. Naomhan muttered his thanks to her without raising his head to meet hers, as he slid the cup back so slow that it appeared polite.

  A priest, she had asked if he was, and he feared she might have known him from Embleton. That was the last thing he wanted.

  “You did not answer my question. Are you a priest?” Her words came again, holding a hint of humor.

  “Why do you ask this?” he asked her, hoping to know more than tell.

  She leaned towards him on the little round table with her arms folded, pressing her breasts into a tight cleavage which was intentional, before she spoke. Her eyes teased him just as they had for the few days he had come to the tavern. She was beautiful in a way that seemed intimidating to most men, with eyes that instantly challenged them to speak, to stammer about her.

  In another lifetime, perhaps he would have been challenged and drawn to those daring eyes and pale breasts, a lifetime before he had set eyes on Theodora. He wasn’t flustered and he could tell that was the reason that she had taken a keen interest in him.

  “Well, that is the only reason I can think of why a handsome looking man like yourself would come to a tavern and not drink beer or talk to the other men,” she replied. With each slow and heavy word, she pushed the cup back to him.

  “Many men come here for many reasons. Your tavern is home to different kinds of men, the sad and the happy, the good and the bad, the angry and the lost,” he replied, not taking his gaze off hers.

  Her eyes were nothing compared to Theodora’s blue eyes, which captivated him, and struck his tongue speechless at times. Her eyes were bland with less mystery than her provocative looks. Was that not enough for every man? He wondered to himself. No, only to a man who had never crossed paths with Theodora Kent.

  “So which of these many men are you?” she asked him. Her cleavage seemed to squeeze even tighter and her breasts grew even fuller as she spoke.

  “I am angry,” he told her.

  “Who has stolen from you, a woman?” The cup came to his side of the table again.

  “No, someone greater. I cannot blame him but life is just what it is. I am alive, so that has to mean something—” She pressed her cheek against her clenched fist inquisitively as she listened to him. “It has to mean that there is more than I can do about what is left.”

  “You sound wise and older, much like my father,” she said pointing back at her father who was having a conversation with three loose-lipped drunks. “He says, ‘Victoria, we make our own destinies’ with a straight face.”

  Naomhan let himself laugh for the first time in days. His past few days had been full of gloom and the chatter of drunken men. Victoria, the daughter of the tavern keeper, was a simple woman who had made his best company so far.

  “What is your taste in women, angry man?” she asked him.

  Theodora, she was his taste in women. She was slender and she could make a man buckle his knees by parting her lips. Her words were as beautiful as the chipper of birds in the twilight of the morning or the sound of the waterfall at noon. As much as most men would have wanted to unwrap Victoria in her tight gown and corset, he had no interest, as there was little else left for the imagination.

  Theodora Kent was a forbidden secret that he wanted to know, a mystery that drew him in. Her form was never revealing but he always feared he could tell if he looked with intent. The thought of Colt always kept him from going overboard, from peeling away at the clothing that housed her beautiful form.

  He had seen women naked before but he could tell she was pure. He could smell her fresh flowery scent, her skin looked flawless and smooth. Her skin, he could picture running his fingers along and her squeamish to his touch. Oh, the pleasures he could show him about herself but he was a deacon.

  In anger, he grabbed the cup of beer and brought it to his lips before he stopped himself. He brought it back down to the table to find Victoria’s eager eyes watching him. Then her face fell in disappointment.

  “I tend to like the women I cannot have,” he answered and her face beamed once again.

  “I know what you mean. I—” Victoria’s words faded away as Naomhan turned his gaze to the door into the tavern.

  Walking through the door were two men; one built like a barrel, bigger even than Naomhan, while the other was thin as a blade and sported a straw from the side of his mouth. They were the ones Naomhan had come to the tavern to seek out.

  “Pardon me, my lady,” Naomhan said to Victoria as he left his table and approached both men. They sat at their tables and waved to the tavern keeper who acknowledged them also. Then the tavern keeper called to his daughter to help serve their guests.

  Naomhan came up to their table and unsheathed his sword. The two men remained in their seats and stared at him blandly.

  “Put that away lest you hurt yourself, young man,” the bigger of the two men remarked, to the amusement of his slimmer companion.

  “I want to fight,” Naomhan told the man, unimpressed by his nonchalance.

  “I cannot help you get killed. I might be big and frightening to women, children, and especially men, but I have a heart of gold and I would not want to be the reason you lose your life.”

  The man’s casual way of speaking angered Naomhan, whose hand tightened around the handle of his long blade. He was not much older than Naomhan was, perhaps only a decade, but that meant nothing to Naomhan. All he wanted from those men was access.

  “I could slay you where you sit now if I so wish,” Naomhan dared the man. He had fought a ton of his father’s guards and had seen the flash of rage that grew in their eyes when they felt ridiculed by defeat or a dare. The same look crossed the brute’s face as he rose to his feet swiftly, much quicker than many would have believed for a man of his size.

  Naomhan raised his sword quickly, having caught the movement of the man’s hand as he had pulled out his sword. The two blades clashed about the table as both men tried to lean into one another in fury.

  With echoes of applause, the slimmer man stood up and put a calming hand on the shoulder of both men. “This is jolly good. I think our friend would be able to hold his own in a ring. He has a peculiar strength about him, a rage that must be fed, and I think that is what led him to us,” he said to his friend.

  Both men slowly put away their swords and sank into seats at the table. Victoria served them beer but Naomhan declined.

  “You can come with us. We put up our show by noon and I hope you do not have family or a fiancée because today might well be your last.”

  Theodora was quiet throughout her ride with her mother out of York. It was their second trip in two days; two days since she had last visited the church at Embleton and had seen Naomhan.

  The bakery wasn’t in their town. Her mother had chosen a settlement that was without access to a bakery to build hers. It had been an
idea that her husband had been overly proud of.

  Theodora liked the scenery of the town, being local, less populated than York, with a lot of plant life and sparse houses. It was someplace she could move to if she had her piano with her.

  “You like it?” Mrs. Kent asked a question to which mother and daughter knew the answer to.

  “It is quiet. I like it,” Theodora answered as they rode in their carriage. People halted in their wake to get a look at the woman who owned the new bakery in their little town.

  “We came from the North. To the South is Embleton, where your church friends live.”

  Theodora only smiled at her mother’s words. She felt better after talking with Emily, who had oddly been silent throughout her narration of her two encounters with Naomhan. She had not judged her but had advised her to follow her heart.

  “I have never been married but I know that it is forever. You have to be sure, lest you become an old hag by forty. I would not be able to be friends with you then,” Emily had joked but Theodora had been able to grasp the advice.

  “You seem much better after visiting Emily. It has been lovely to have my old daughter back these past few days. That is good,” Mrs. Kent said looking out of the window of the coach, away from her daughter. Theodora let herself chuckle as she noticed what her mother was trying to do. She would pretend to be understanding so that Theodora would feel guilty for not trusting her mother enough to tell her things.

  It was an act that had worked through Theodora’s formative years but she was grown and had become a woman.

  “Do not worry, Mother, I shall tell you soon enough,” Theodora said reassuringly. Mrs. Kent hid her smile behind the little curtain and shrugged. Theodora reached and pulled the curtain away from her mother’s face to reveal her smile.

  “What audacity! I am still your mother,” Mrs. Kent remarked in mock anger.

  “And my best friend,” Theodora said. Mrs. Kent opened her arms to hug her daughter. Theodora fell into her mother’s arms and they embraced, just before the coach suddenly came to a stop.

  “What is the problem? Why are we stopping?” Mrs. Kent asked the coachman. There was noise coming from far ahead of them. Theodora wanted to check the windows but her mother pulled her back.

  “You do not go near the door,” she cautioned her.

  “People are gathered ahead of us, ma’am. I think they are having fights. I heard from a farmer the last time we came here, ma’am, that it is a regular occurrence around these parts,” the coachman replied.

  “Could you have them move so that we could be on our way?” she asked of the coachman.

  “I could, ma’am, but I doubt it would be of much help. We might have to walk the rest of the way to the bakery, ma’am,” he answered.

  “We should walk, Ma, if we want to get to the bakery and powder our faces in flour,” Theodora remarked with a smile. She grabbed her mother by the wrist and pulled her towards the door.

  “But there are hooligans outside,” Mrs. Kent expressed her fear. She was not as brave as her daughter.

  “They will not harm us, plus the coachman has his pistol still, does he not?” Theodora spoke loud enough for the coachman to hear.

  “Yes, ma’am, I do.”

  “Ah! We are safe, Ma,” Theodora pushed open the door and led her mother out of their box of safety.

  As much as Theodora liked quiet, something about the noise drew her in, as well as seeing so many people clustered in a place relishing the intoxicating power of violence. She was curious more than she was afraid of the roaring men and women clustered around the bout.

  The coachman walked ahead of them. The town folks roared even louder as they drew closer. It seemed the fight had taken a significant turn and Theodora was pulsing to see, as the crowd was. Her mother held onto her tightly without letting go as they came to join the crowd.

  Theodora kept tiptoeing to try to see beyond the taller shoulders and heads but she could not see still. The crowd suddenly spilled in their direction and the coachman had to hold both women up lest they fell with the other people who did.

  There was screaming and wailing, which scared Theodora and her mother. Theodora opened her eyes and looked at the bloodied fighter who had scattered the crowd at her feet. His dark hair, build, and grey eyes, despite his swollen and bloodied face, shook Theodora. It wasn’t the horror of the extent of pain that he had endured, it was the man himself. It was Naomhan.

  He stared at her but did not seem to see her. He groaned but pulled himself to his feet. A bigger man, bare-chest as he was, clubbed his fists together in devilish delight as he came after Naomhan.

  “I told you today might be your last,” the man growled. He was beat and bloodied also but not as much as Naomhan was.

  Naomhan staggered, uneasy as he tried to stay up on his feet.

  “You are insane, boy. You cannot beat me,” the man yelled and the crowd cheered him. He was their champion, after all.

  Naomhan made a fist and readied himself. “I do not hope to beat you—” he spat blood from his mouth onto the ground between them in defiance “—I only want to feel pain, all that you can give. Come at me, I will take it.”

  Theodora froze unmoving where she was. She had never seen him that way and had never even imagined him in that light. Seeing him that way made her heart sour; his pain felt as though it were hers. Her mother tugged at her hands but she could not be moved.

  The bigger man licked his lips hungrily and charged at Naomhan, who in contrast limped towards him. Theodora moved without thought, freeing her arm from her mother’s as she reached for Naomhan to stop him but she was too late.

  The crowd echoed the impact of the punch that struck Naomhan across the face as he crumbled to the ground unconscious and dead to the world.

  Mrs. Kent was frightened even more by the cry that escaped her daughter’s lips at the sight of unconscious man. Theodora knelt in the dirt and blood as she raised his head onto her lap and bid for the coachman to help her get him into the carriage.

  Riding in the carriage as fast as the coachman could make the horses go, Mrs. Kent watched as Theodora cradled the head of the wounded man on her lap. Mrs. Kent had never seen the man before but there was genuine worry in her daughter’s eyes for the wellbeing of the strange man.

  Mrs. Kent became even more curious when she called her daughter to tell her it was going to be all right and saw welling tears in her eyes. Her daughter cared deeply for that man and she did not want to imagine how much.

  Who was the strange man? Mrs. Kent asked herself as they rode for the nearest infirmary.

  16

  Father Damian did not enjoy travelling but had grown to tolerate it and accept it as a burden of his calling. He was a priest and would always been needed by people. Riding from Embleton, he said a short prayer for Naomhan as he headed for the Kent Mansion. The letter he had received from Theodora had stated that he had been moved there for rest after all his wounds had been stitched up.

  He was welcomed into the large mansion by Theodora, who led him to see her mother, before she led the both of them to check on Naomhan, who was asleep in one of the house’s many bedrooms. Theodora had picked the one closest to the garden for him, saying the fresh air from the garden would be good for him.

  Mrs. Kent asked to speak to Father Damian alone while they left Theodora to care for him. Mrs. Kent led the priest far away from the room and the garden to avoid Theodora eavesdropping on them.

  “I would like to ask you a question, Father,” she told him.

  “Ask away, ma’am,” he addressed her with respect, even though he was quite older than she was. Father Damian was humble to everyone irrespective of their ages or status.

  “What do you think of my daughter, Theodora?” she asked him.

  “I have been blessed by her in the short time that I have known her. She is beautiful and kind, and intelligent. It is a rarity in the world today. Pardon me, ma’am, but I would like to say that you have done a
great job raising a daughter such as her,” he replied, and Mrs. Kent smiled in gratitude for his words.

  “What about Naomhan, what do you think of the two of them?”

  Father Damian sighed subtly at the question that he knew Mrs. Kent had intended asking from the very beginning.

  “As much as Theodora believes she can learn from Naomhan, I see that they learn from one another. Your daughter is engaged to the son of the Duke, Colt Ayers, who is close friends with Naomhan. You should see the two of them together. They are like blood brothers,” he told her and watched her breathe easy.

  “So, they are friends. That is good. Can you tell me why your deacon is involved in such crude fights? It is not a sport befitting of a Protestant deacon,” she asked him.