by Cathy MacRae
THE HIGHLANDER’S RELUCTANT BRIDE
Book 2 in The Highlander’s Bride series
By Cathy MacRae
PUBLISHED BY
Short Dog Press
www.cathymacraeauthor.com
The Highlander’s Reluctant Bride © 2014
All rights reserved
Amazon KDP Edition License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. The ebook contained herein constitutes a copyrighted work and may not be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, or stored in or introduced into an information storage and retrieval system in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This ebook is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
To my readers who asked for Ranald’s story,
And to my critique partners, who kept him true to the man he was meant to be.
BOOKS IN THE HIGHLANDER’S BRIDE SERIES
The Highlander’s Accidental Bride (book 1)
The Highlander’s Reluctant Bride (book 2)
The Highlander’s Tempestuous Bride (book 3)
The Highlander’s Outlaw Bride (book 4)
The Highlander’s French Bride (book 5)
A NOTE ABOUT THE SERIES
Though The Highlander’s Accidental Bride begins the tale of the Scott family and wends its way through the Highlands, each book is a stand-alone read and not dependent on the other books.
That said, you will notice characters may make appearances in more than one book.
Enjoy!
Table of Contents
DEDICATION
BOOKS IN THE HIGHLANDER’S BRIDE SERIES
A NOTE ABOUT THE SERIES
Table of Contents
Words of Interest:
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Chapter Twenty Three
Chapter Twenty Four
Chapter Twenty Five
Chapter Twenty Six
Chapter Twenty Seven
Chapter Twenty Eight
Chapter Twenty Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty One
Epilogue
Authors’s Notes
Acknowledgements
Other Books by Cathy MacRae
An excerpt from The Highlander’s French Bride
The Highlander’s Reluctant Bride
Determined to keep the Macrory clan’s holdings out of the clutches of warring clans and marauding pirates, King Robert II sends his man, Ranald Scott, to hold Scaurness Castle. There, Laird Macrory lays dying, awaiting word from his son who is missing on the battlefields of France. If the son is not found before the old laird dies, Ranald will take over as laird—and marry Laird Macrory’s headstrong daughter.
Lady Caitriona sees no reason she cannot rule the clan in her brother’s stead, and is bitterly disappointed with the king’s decision to send a man to oversee the castle and people. Not only is Ranald Scott only distantly related to the Macrory clan, but he was her childhood nemesis. She has little trust or like for him.
Her disappointment turns to panic when the king’s plan is completely revealed and she realizes she must wed Ranald. Pirates, betrayal, and a four-year-old girl stand between her and Ranald’s chance at happiness. What will it take for them to learn to trust each other and find the love they both deserve?
Words of Interest:
A chuisle – darling, my dear
Cubbie – basket
Mo chroi – my heart
Plaistert – drunk
Puddies – frogs
Porritch – porridge
Puggelt – at a standstill from exhaustion or frustration; at the end of one’s resources
Sea bree – sea spray
Sea cowl – crab
Sea fallen star – starfish
Sea swine – porpoise
Sea waur – sea weed
Sonsie – engaging, friendly, hearty, jolly
Targe – shield
THE HIGHLANDER’S RELUCTANT BRIDE
Chapter One
1377, Scotland, above the Firth of Clyde
Riona jolted awake. She blinked, her eyes blearily registering the red glow pulsing across the stone wall of the laird’s bedroom. The banked hearth did little to dispel the gloom, the embers like so many pinpoints of burnished light. What shone through the window seemed much brighter.
Her head shot up. Flashes of ochre and scarlet flickered through the narrow portal. The harsh scent of smoke rose on the air. Riona bolted to her feet, her stool tumbling noisily to the floor.
The door to her father’s room swung open and a man swept inside. “Lady Caitriona.” His voice ground harsh and overly loud in the sickroom, but Riona did not fuss. A quick glance to her da reassured her he still slept, his breathing barely moving the blanket drawn over his chest.
She turned to the man at the door. “What is happening, Fergus?”
Chorused shouts from the parapet caused her to jerk in response, but she could not pull her gaze from Fergus’s pale face.
“The castle is under attack.”
* * *
“Fire!”
Ranald Scott reined his horse to a halt, waving a hand to silence the dogs whining anxiously beside him, their sensitive noses twitching at the acrid stench of smoke filtering through the trees. Along the crest of the cliff, the night glowed red around the base of Scaurness Castle and Ranald could see dark forms scurrying back and forth like misshapen ants in the glare.
He spoke to his captain. “Keep it silent, Finlay. We dinnae want to alert the attackers.”
Finlay nodded to the men riding behind them. “Ride with haste but caution. The rocks are treacherous.”
Ranald unleashed the dogs to save them from the danger of being stomped by the horses. They would follow with caution, having been raised in his stables and accustomed to the great beasts. With his soldiers falling into line, he spurred his horse forward, bolting up the mountainside. Hearn’s muscles bunched and surged beneath Ranald, fighting to keep his footing on the stony slope.
Beside him, Finlay’s horse stumbled to its knees, a well-timed jerk of the reins giving the steed back his balance. Their shod hooves rang on the rocks, but the shout
s from the castle had grown louder and covered the sound of their advance.
Ranald stifled a curse as Hearn slid on a loose stone, nearly pitching him from the saddle. Would they reach the castle in time? Unscathed?
The harsh glare of the fire dimmed in the first light of morning. With a roaring battle cry, Ranald released his soldiers across the field. Three score swarmed into the unsuspecting flank of those firing upon the castle. The postern gate hung partly ajar, but the main gate remained unbreached as bowmen on the parapet held the attackers at bay.
Around the base of the walls, flaming oil clung to the charred grass and soil, keeping the enemy away and at the mercy of the clouds of arrows raining down whenever they approached too closely.
At the unexpected challenge from Ranald’s men, the attackers split into two groups, peeling away from their attempt to broaden the opening at the damaged postern gate. Shields raised against the maelstrom of arrows left them no protection from the mounted horsemen sweeping them from behind. Quickly the forces engaged, but surprise was on Ranald’s side. He and his men plunged into the fray, swords singing in the morning air as mist rose from the water below and wafted across the bloody ground.
“Retreat! Retreat!” The cry went up among the harried attackers, and they drew back into the forest, fading wraith-like into the early morning shadows.
“Hold!”
The Scott soldiers grouped, searching the now-empty field for sight of the enemy. Ranald wiped sweat from his eyes, barely registering the gritty feel of partially dried blood caking one side of his face. At his whistle, the hounds, Pol and Senga, bounded to his side.
With a jerk of his head, he turned his men to the gates of Scaurness Castle.
* * *
Riona gazed down from the parapet. The men who had routed those attacking the castle now reformed about their leader, bristling with swords and triumphant battle-lust. The field had cleared of the enemy, except for six who lay dead. She peered closely at the still forms. Though impossible to tell from this distance, she hoped the dead did not include the soldiers who had come so unexpectedly to their aid.
Men shouted in the bailey below and she heard the creak of the heavy portcullis as it lifted. Their unknown supporters approached the castle.
“I will join Manus.” Handing her bow and half-full quiver to a soldier, Riona hurried down the steps to the bailey. She made her way to the gate, finding the captain of the guards deep in conversation with one of his men. Manus ended his conversation as Riona approached.
“My lady.” His words were clipped, the expression on his face just short of hostile. Riona ignored the tone of his voice. He made it clear he did not approve of her assumed leadership of the clan since her father’s illness. Though it rankled, Riona no longer let it bother her. It was not his decision to make.
“Do ye know these men at the gate?” Manus demanded.
“I believe they have been sent from the king.” Her reply did not seem to improve Manus’s attitude. Men from the king sent to rule the Macrory clan had not been his choice, either.
Riona flexed her fingers to relieve the strain from the bow. “Let them in.”
Manus gave the command. The gate swung open and the bloodied soldiers rode through the narrow barbican, Macrory soldiers watching warily through arrow slits along either side of the passageway.
* * *
Ranald’s muscles tightened, poised to react at the least provocation. Roiling battle-fury had yet to bleed away, compounded by the obvious distrust of the Macrory soldiers reluctance at allowing them into the castle—and the frown on the face of the young woman standing at their head.
Tall and slender, her dark red hair bound back in a thick braid, she stood her ground. Ranald knew it was irrational, but somehow her attitude rankled. He drew Hearn to a stop several feet away from the woman. Pol and Senga pranced over to the two fallen men lying inside the open postern gate, sniffing the bodies curiously.
The woman eyed the enormous dogs. Hearn pawed the ground, tossing his head impatiently. Ranald made no attempt to control the beasts. His sympathy lay with those newly come from battle, not the young woman who faced him with a regal air.
“This is Lady Caitriona.” The hulking, dark-haired man beside the woman took a step forward.
Ranald acknowledged the woman with a brief nod, earning another frown.
The dark man jutted his chin. “I am Manus, captain of the Macrory guard.”
Ranald leaned forward in his saddle, at last checking Hearn’s movements. “I am Ranald Scott. I am here to secure the castle for the king.”
He thought Lady Caitriona stiffened, but she inclined her head gracefully. “Welcome to Scaurness Castle, my lord. Yer arrival was most timely.”
Ranald swung down from Hearn’s back, handing the reins to a lad who stepped forward for the duty. Finlay remained at his side as he spoke to Lady Caitriona and her captain. “I want to know how they opened the gate.”
“My lord, ye are injured,” she replied. “We will tend ye and then discuss this. The gate will be repaired.”
Ranald favored Lady Caitriona with a half-smile. “The blood isnae mine. I’ll be glad of a wash in due time. We will settle this first.”
He caught a flash of gray eyes before she inclined her head.
“As ye wish.”
Ranald paused, waiting for her to retire to the keep. She did not.
They paced forward, Ranald and Finlay in step with Manus. Approaching the gate, Ranald noted its inner hinge sported a dagger jammed deep inside. Frowning, he turned to the Macrory captain. “This wasnae done by an outsider.”
Manus grunted. “Nae. We will find the traitor and deal with him.”
Ranald pierced him with a stare. “Do it.” He stepped forward and grasped the dagger. With a mighty heave, he pulled it from its berth, and the door swung slightly with release.
“Fix it.” With that, Ranald turned and jogged quickly down the shallow steps from the postern gate. He reclaimed his horse’s reins and swung into the saddle. His anger communicated itself through his arms to his horse’s bit, his legs tightening as Hearn danced in response. He urged the powerful horse deeper among the Macrory soldiers in the bailey witnessing his exchange with their captain.
Halting in their midst, Ranald used Hearn’s antics to fully capture their attention. “Hear me! I am Ranald Scott. I come at the order of King Robert of Scotland, at the request of Laird Macrory, to secure this castle from those who would seize and hold it against the king.”
Hearn’s forelegs lifted briefly, then jarred to the ground.
“I will tolerate no man standing against me or mine. If ye have issue with this, take it up with my captain. If ye canna accept it, the postern gate is still open, and ye are free to leave today. I will tolerate none who question my authority.”
Ranald eyed the Macrory soldiers. None offered him challenge. Their laird had requested help from the crown, bitter dregs to swallow, but they would face it, nonetheless. At least for now.
Satisfied with the response, he dismounted again, slapping Hearn’s rump to send him back to the lad reaching for his reins. Pol and Senga gamboled beside Ranald, and he rested a hand on Pol’s broad head. He turned to the laird’s daughter, expecting her to invite him into the keep.
Strands of burnished hair had torn loose from her braid, whipping in the wind. Her eyes narrowed with either dislike or distrust—or perhaps both—she appeared far more willing to usher him straight to hell.
* * *
The laird lay dying, his breath slow and rasping, his body wasted. Riona balanced on the wooden stool at her father’s bedside. Leaning against the straw-filled mattress, she held his gnarled hand in hers, gently tracing her thumb across the parchment-like skin. Servants slipped noiselessly about the laird’s room, stoking the fire against the seaside chill permeating the stone walls of the castle.
“Everything will be fine, Da. King Robert has sent men to help ye hold the castle. Stay with me, Da. Please.”
Laird Macrory stirred. His hand twitched and his eyelids flickered open. Riona forced a smile across stiff lips. “Would ye like something to drink?”
His eyes gleamed as they took in the room. He nodded, a single jerk of his head. Riona slipped an arm behind her father’s shoulders, clenching her teeth grimly at the unnatural feel of bones knitted together with withered muscles and flesh.
Lifting him from the pillows, she reached for the cup on the low table beside the bed and held it to his lips. At the first taste, the laird’s eyes cut furiously to her.
She shook her head, forestalling his complaint. “Wine is good for ye, Da.”
Laird Macrory turned his head away. With a sigh, she signaled to her father’s ghille standing guard at the door. “Get the man whisky.”
Fergus strode to a table across the room where a flask stood next to a pair of goblets, and poured a generous measure. Riona shoved a hank of loose hair from her face and reached for the goblet. Laird Macrory’s nostrils flared as he scented the rich amber liquid. Accepting her help, he drank it down.
Riona rose, arching her back against tired muscles, then helped Fergus settle the laird back onto the pillows. Exhaling her exhaustion, she stepped to the chest at the foot of the bed and pulled a linen sheet from within.
She nodded to Fergus. “Help him to the garderobe and I’ll change the linens.”
Laird Macrory’s shrunken body proved no difficulty for Fergus’s strong arms, and it had become a familiar routine. Riona tugged the soiled linens from the bed, smoothing a clean sheet in place as Fergus returned with the laird. In a trice they changed his nightshirt and Riona bundled the laundry together for a servant to deal with later.
