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

by Maddie MacKenna

  The widow, Isla Grant, got down on her knees and said a quick prayer for the safety of her son. Afterwards, she went to join Logan for supper. Her youngest was curious about his mother’s radiant demeanor that evening. As much as it gladdened him to see her happy and with a healthy appetite, it was a strange sight to him.

  “Ye seem quite jolly tonight, Mother. What happened?” Logan asked her, as he held her seat for her. She took her seat and smiled at him

  “I just have a feeling that all will be well,” Isla Grant told her son. Logan smiled back and took his seat at the head of the table. The weight of becoming a Laird was already stealing away the boyish smile of her teenage son. With Naomhan returning, that weight would be lifted off Logan’s shoulders, she knew.

  Isla Grant ate that night with a common worry about Naomhan’s safety but there was something else that night, hope to see him once again because he was very close. She could almost hear his baritone voice in the wind when she closed her eyes. She knew he was out there somewhere, hiding like a fugitive. He had promised that he would meet her the next day. Together, they could all put an end to his wrongful accusation.

  Every time Logan looked her way inquisitively, she fought the urge to tell him. The lower the number of people that knew of Naomhan’s presence in Scotland, the safer it would be for him, she believed. Little did the Grant widow know that there were others who were privy to the contents of the letter.

  Thirty minutes before Isla Grant got a letter from her son.

  The letter had been handed over to the Mrs. Grant’s maid. The little messenger had refused to give it to any of the guards except she saw Mrs. Grant. The maid, Marian, had been called down to the gate to meet the little messenger. She had assured the little messenger that the letter would be delivered to no one but her mistress. Reluctantly, the messenger gave up the two letters and Marian headed back into the castle.

  Isla Grant was always inside her room and hardly ever came out, except to be at council meetings with her young son, or tending to the gardens when her mood was up for it.

  Marian was headed up the stairs when she came to see Stephen lurking in the corridor of the castle. He had seen the exchange downstairs. Marian quickened her steps when she saw Stephen turn his gaze to her. With a knowing smile on his face, he stepped into her path. Though she tried to evade him, he made himself large before her.

  “What is that in yer hands, a letter from another lover?” He asked her as he put his hands on her arms, holding her to face him.

  Marian scoffed and tried to struggle out of his grip but it was futile.

  “I daenae belong to ye or any man. If I have a secret lover, it is none of yer concern,” she snapped at Stephen, who did not lessen his grip. He craned his neck to search her face. Though she might talk stubborn to him while they were alone, he knew that she was smitten by him, weakened by his close proximity to her. This, he often used to his advantage.

  The game of power was shifting rapidly in the Grant castle and he had to be up to speed lest he be left behind. He tried to pull the letters from Marian’s hands but she would not let go.

  “Come now, let me have a look,” he asked her.

  “Nay, Stephen. I have orders to hand this over to me mistress and nothing more,” Marian told him, pulling herself out of his grasp. She wanted to head down the corridor for the stairs but he stayed unmoving before her still.

  “I will dae to ye that thing that ye like so much,” Stephen promised, and could see his words work their magic fast enough. Her pale face was red with a blush, as he knew she remembered what he meant

  “Me mistress must nae ken that I let ye see her letter,” Marian begged Stephen, who nodded readily as he held his palm open to her. A satisfied smile crossed his face as she put the letters in his hand. He pulled her with him against the wall so that they would not be seen from below and they would see anyone who walked into the corridor minutes before they were spotted.

  “What is it?” Marian asked Stephen when she saw a scowl on his face.

  “It is news for Mrs. Grant alone. I was wrong,” Stephen told her as he folded them and handed them back to her. His scowl was replaced with a look of disinterest. Marian felt slightly disappointed by his look and was tempted to check the words in the letter herself but she refused the temptation. She hurried along the corridor to find Mrs. Grant as the messenger had instructed.

  “That will be all. Thank ye,” Mrs. Grant dismissed her as she opened up the first letter, one from Logan to Naomhan as evidence of his truth. This was so that she would know that it was not from an imposter.

  Watching Marian walk away from him with the two letters, Stephen wondered what he was going to do with the piece of information that had found him. He was torn between his obligations as a Scottish man, his loyalty to the throne, and that of his best friend and cousin. Whatever decision he was to come to, he knew it had to be fast. Naomhan was going to be within the walls of the castle the very next day.

  Scotland or friendship, he thought to himself, as the moon owned the night skies.

  29

  Naomhan met Theodora in the evening of the next day, the day he was supposed to meet his mother. It was going to be the first time in two years that he would set foot in the castle. Thinking back, he realized the sadness and hurt that his family would have felt, having never had the opportunity to bid him farewell.

  They met behind a blacksmith’s stall, a man he remembered who was grey and thus had to leave his stall early to get back home and rest. Theodora held onto him so tightly that he found it hard to breathe as she hugged his rib cage. Her head rested on his chest as though listening to his heartbeat. He held her to himself as he had missed her as much as she had missed him.

  It was the first time in days that they had spent most of the day away from one another. They held each other like that for moments before Theodora finally let him go. They had met there because he wanted to give her clear instructions. The day before, he had sent a letter to his mother about a meet but she was worried still.

  “What if your mother never got the letter?” she asked him.

  “She would have gotten it. It is best to be hopeful now. We made our way to Scotland, escaped a giant at the inn, and Colt’s men. This is the last straw. I see my mother and brother, and then we shall know which step to take next. They need to know that I am well,” he told her. His hands wrapped around her small waist as he pulled her to himself.

  Any time she was worried, he always felt the urge to hold her in his arms and assure her that all was fine. Standing there, they both knew that a number of things could go wrong. The letter might have never gotten to his mother, or it might have been intercepted by someone else, but they had to be hopeful. There was no other way that he could be certain that the letter was delivered except that he went to the castle himself.

  “I wish to go with ye,” Theodora pleaded with him with a pout that would have weakened his resolve if he had not known how his journey would be. He kissed her forehead as a reward for her attempt at speaking the Scottish tongue. He was often proud of the way that she worked hard at things to make sure that he did not have to worry about her.

  “Nay, we have talked ‘bout this. I need ye to be here when I get back, to have our bags ready in the event that we would need to flee,” he told her, raising her chin to look into her stubborn eyes. He knew that if he did not make certain that she stayed behind, she would disobey him.

  Theodora nodded sadly and he saw in her eyes that she would keep to her promise.

  “It would only be for tonight. I shall speak to me mother ‘bout ye and tomorrow, ye shall be taken to the castle for yer safety,” he promised her.

  “The both of us,” she asked him.

  “Aye, the both of us,” he said to her and leaned to kiss her forehead.

  After watching her ride back to her inn, he headed for the castle. His cloak covered his face so that riders and passersby would not see his face. He knew the routes to take that had le
ss of the Queen’s men patrolling. It had been two years and he let himself rest easy that they might not recognize him if they did see his face.

  Seeing fewer guards as he approached the gates to his home, he knew his mother had gotten his letter. In it, he had told her to reduce the number of men that patrolled the courtyard so that he could sneak in with ease.

  He kept his head bowed as he came to the single guard at the gate. The guard was quite young and Naomhan knew that he could wrestle the man to the ground quite easily if the need arose.

  “I am here on the Laird’s orders,” Naomhan told the guard.

  “Pull off yer cloak that I might see yer face,” the young guard ordered. Slowly, Naomhan tried to reach for the knife hidden under his cloak but he knew the guard would catch him before he revealed it.

  “I said, ye should pull off the cloak now, or best be on yer way,” the guard repeated himself.

  Having a limited amount of options, Naomhan pulled off his cloak.

  30

  Theodora sat by her bed watching the Scottish stars space themselves about the dark skies for their performance. They would stay up there come winter, come summer, come autumn, no matter the worries and cares of the world below. She wished that sort of power on both her and Naomhan.

  It had already been a few hours since Naomhan had left her and she had not heard a word from him. She feared to think the worst of the situation but she could not help her worry. There was an empty feeling about his absence from her. It was an unfamiliar feeling that made her heart hurt but it was her cross to bear, her dependence on another apart from herself.

  Naomhan will return to me, she knew. He would never leave her again. They were both kindred spirits that had found one another. They had survived ordeals together and she had faith that he would survive anything that came his way. But she could not shake off the feeling that he was in grave danger.

  She got down onto her knees by her little bed and said a prayer on his behalf.

  “Please Father, let Naomhan return to me,” she prayed.

  I have to return to Theodora, I promised her, Naomhan thought as the young guard searched his eyes for recognition. Naomhan had his mind made up to strike the guard down if the need arose, which seemed the mostly likely option the older the night got.

  “Ye might ride on,” the guard said after a tardy moment.

  Naomhan nodded to the guard before heading into the castle grounds, his home. For a moment, he was tempted to stop and breathe the air once more. The castle where his brother and mother lived lay ahead of him but he could not dare ride in that direction. The risk was way too high. He could almost hear Theodora’s wiser voice in his ears, keeping him in check and caging his inner demons.

  He rode to the meeting place. There were no guards around as he had written to his mother. His heart rose in his chest as he dismounted his horse and walked towards the little building. There was a little candle lit by the window. He tried to contain his joy as he came to the door and pushed it open. It had been too long, he thought to himself. He wondered how his mother would look. However, she would have been more worried about what he looked like. She always worried more about him.

  The door came open quietly and Naomhan stepped inside.

  “Ma,” he called, but there was no answer. He was alone in the room, or so he thought.

  Suddenly, he heard the slash of a blade behind him and the candle was cut in half. The room was plunged into darkness. Naomhan could see nothing in the darkness of the room but there was someone else inside the room with him, someone who wanted to hurt him. It put Naomhan on the edge, his blindness and ignorance of his assailant’s position. There was no sound in the room save his heavy breathing.

  Naomhan held his blade in front of him, ready to strike at any sound or smell. He heard the clatter of a bowl to his left and he turned to it with his knife leading the way. Swinging his blade, he only hit air before he felt a seething sharp pain from his right arm as his knife dropped from his hand. His quiet assailant had cut him.

  “Show yerself, coward,” Naomhan yelled, but no one gave any reply. It was as though he was talking to a ghost.

  Naomhan knew he could not pick up his knife, so he kicked it towards the window and ran after it. The moonlight wasn’t enough to illuminate more than a few feet from the window. That left Naomhan exposed and quite visible to his assailant but it also meant that he would see his opponent when he came close enough to finish him off.

  “Show yerself, ye coward, hiding in the shadows makes ye less of a man,” Naomhan said to the man in the dark. He hoped to taunt the man but he had no such luck. His assailant never came out of the shadows.

  “Who sent ye? I would ask that ye tell me now of yer own accord before I have to beat it out of ye,” Naomhan asked but no answer came. He was in the little bit of light in the room, which meant that his assailant was watching him quietly and could see how much he bled from the cut in his right hand. Naomhan held his knife in his good hand but any swordsman worth his salt would have been able to tell that Naomhan’s left arm was his weaker arm. Naomhan only hoped that his bluff stood.

  “Who sent me matters nae. What matters is yer death and the bounty on yer head,” the familiar voice came from the dark. Naomhan could not place a face behind the voice. It had been quite a while since he had heard the voice.

  “Ye should nae have returned,” the man said. Naomhan dove at him hoping to connect with the man’s abdomen in the dark. With a stroke of luck, his shoulder connected with the man’s stomach. The man braced himself with his foot firmly planted on the ground. Naomhan’s hand reached quickly for the man’s knife arm and he grabbed the man’s wrist, trying to twist the knife out of his hand, while the man held onto his.

  Both men struggled in the dark, with no sight but their desperation to live and kill the other person. The other man dropped his knife and drove his knee hard into Naomhan’s belly, causing his arms to drop as his lungs begged for air. He was grabbed by his sides and tossed across the room.

  Naomhan landed hard on his bleeding arm. He muffled his hurt to keep his position a secret to buy time. He turned to the wall and used his hands to make his way to the door. Trying to pull it open, he realized that it was locked from outside. His assailant had help from someone else. The window was too small for an escape, which left him no other option but to fight. It dawned on him at that moment that it was really a death match.

  Turning away from the door, he heard the sound of a blade tear through the darkness at him. He turned around but could not move as the knife sliced the air towards him. His cold back was pressed against the door as he saw his death in the darkness.

  I made it home, but Theodora, you didn’t get to see it; that was the last thought that crossed his mind.

  Theodora screamed as she awoke from a nightmare. She got up from the bed and rushed over to the window in her room for air. Her heart pounded in her chest endlessly. It was the relentless sound of fear and death. She knew whose death she sensed. It was her heart—it was Naomhan’s.

  She pulled on her cloak and ran out of her room. There were late night drinkers and a piper who played a tune similar to that of mourning. Stop thinking it, she berated herself as she ran out to get her horse. It remained where she had tied it. She hurriedly untied it and got onto it.

  “The night is dangerous for a fair lady such as yerself. Ye sure ye daenae need some company?” A drunk stumbled out of the inn to talk to her.

  “If ye want to help me, ye can point me in the direction of the castle, the Laird’s castle,” she told him. He smiled at her for a moment and came down the short steps to the ground. He raised his crooked finger above his head first before he spun around crudely and pointed to his left. Theodora kicked her horse in that direction before the drunk could manage his next words.

  “It might be the other way,” the drunk said, but Theodora was already beating the wind to get to her beloved and cure the dread in her heart.

  It was cold, and ve
ry dark, so much so that it hurt his face. His face, Naomhan thought, as he realized that he wasn’t dead. The blade had gone past his head and its fury struck the wooden door. Naomhan sprang off the door and punched the man as hard as he could towards the window. The man staggered backwards but never got to the moonlight. Naomhan followed quickly with another punch to his jaw, sending him spinning towards the window.

  The man’s face was bowed so Naomhan could not see it still. He came at the man again but was kicked backwards. He came yet again but the man already had a knife in hand. His heart pounded so hard that he could know no fear or reason. Nothing was going to get in-between him and Theodora. Her teary face made him mad with rage, his arms trembling with the need to hurt anyone who dared come between them, or made her weep.