Table of Contents
Dedication
Foreign Words used in The Highland Outlaw (Scots-Gaelic and French)
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
Epilogue
A Bit of History
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Discover more Amara titles… His Rebellious Lass
To Tame a Scandalous Lady
What a Scot Wants
Highland Salvation
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by Heather McCollum. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
2614 South Timberline Road
Suite 105, PMB 159
Fort Collins, CO 80525
[email protected]
Amara is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
Edited by Alethea Spiridon
Cover design by Bree Archer
Cover photography from The Killion Group
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ISBN 978-1-64063-871-6
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition October 2019
Dear Reader,
Thank you for supporting a small publisher! Entangled prides itself on bringing you the highest quality romance you’ve come to expect, and we couldn’t do it without your continued support. We love romance, and we hope this book leaves you with a smile on your face and joy in your heart.
xoxo
Liz Pelletier, Publisher
To my sweet Kyrra (who is still too young to read this book). Your love for animals inspired the relationship between Alana and her wolfhound, Robert. A heart that respects, protects, and loves animals is golden. May you always have a golden heart and a sweet bundle of fur in your lap.
– Love Forever, Mom
Foreign Words used in The Highland Outlaw (Scots-Gaelic and French)
Beinn Nibheis – Ben Nevis or Nevis Mountain
Sgian dubh – Black-handled knife
Mo chreach – My rage
Deamhan Die! – Die Devil!
Dia mhath – Good God
Gu buaidh no bàs! – To victory or death!
Falbh! – Go!
Mattucashlass – Short dagger
Ionnsaigh! – Attack!
Bòidheach – Beautiful
Tiugainn – Let’s go
la petite fille – the little girl (French)
trois bébés – three babies (French)
Màthair – Mother
Mousquet – Musket (French)
To Laird Shaw Sinclair, 7th Earl of Caithness
The infant who journeys under the protection of this letter is of strong health yet might succumb to an assassin’s poison. Therefore, she must be taken to safety shielded by the fierce Sinclair clan. Take the child to the ruins of St. Andrews Castle, where a ship will ferry her over to France to be raised in secret until such time as she can be claimed.
In return for your service, Castle Girnigoe and the lands historically kept by the Sinclair Clan will be retaken from Edgar Campbell of Glenorchy to be returned to Clan Sinclair. The child must arrive, alive, to the ship before the winter snows blanket the Highlands.
May God in his ultimate wisdom and power guide you and see that you protect this very important child.
20 October 1685
Chapter One
31 October 1685
West of Moulin at the base of the Grampian Mountains, Scottish Highlands
“Ooooo…” Cici MacInnes whispered, her eyes round as if lusting after a honey tart. “With this fine weather, the men will be tossing off their tunics along with tossing those cabers.” She bounced up and down on her toes and hurried to keep up with Alana Campbell.
“Evelyn would tell you to behave,” Alana said but smiled over her friend’s excitement. “That we are here merely to promote the school, not to ogle the men.”
“Fortunate for us then that Evelyn is traveling with Scarlet and Nathaniel back to England right now to ready Hollings Estate for lease,” Kirstin MacGregor, Alana’s best friend, said next to her.
Martha Campbell giggled. “So we can ogle all we want.” She linked arms with Cici.
“Very well,” Alana said. “But no getting carried off, wed, or with child.” They all burst out laughing as they nodded their agreement of the pact.
Together, the small group of Highland Roses School students strode across the meadow filled with representatives from various clans, their wolfhound jogging along beside them. It was the last day of October, and Samhain would begin when the sun sank below the line of mountains. The more senior students had traveled to the annual Samhain festival at the base of Beinn Nibheis, the tallest mountain in the grand, sweeping Grampian Mountains. Men, women, and children moved about in clusters as the clans competed, their tents set up by clan to ring the meadow in a colorful display of kinship pride.
Alana, sister of Grey Campbell, the chief of the Campbells of Breadalbane, glanced across the meadow to the men who walked along the line of stout tree trunks. Some of the cabers weighed over one hundred eighty pounds and stood to twenty-two feet high. Izzy Campbell, the youngest of their group at twelve years old, jabbed her finger toward the far end of the field. Izzy was mute, an affliction that had struck her when her parents died several years ago. Alana followed the girl’s motion to see a cluster of dogs across the trampled field. “I see them,” Alana said, smiling down at the girl. “I think Robert will beat them all in the competition. Don’t you?”
Izzy nodded vigorously, her hand patting the head of the large wolfhound who stared up with bright brown eyes. Shaggy gray, strong, and possessing the most playful expression, Robert made a wonderful companion, even though he still didn’t follow commands well when he became flustered and excited. He was also huge, standing well over Alana’s head when on his back paws, which deterred villains who might not have heard that the Highland Rose students were always armed and ready for defensive attack.
Cici whistled low. “Look at him,” she said, brushing her red hair back from her pretty round face to tuck behind her ears. She jutted out her chin toward the far field. “He is a brawn fellow and so tall.” Her assessment ended with a dramatic sigh.
The group of men opened a path to allow the warrior to enter the field where three other men dropped a long, thick caber. He was broad and towering, the muscles obvious in his bare arms where dark lines formed a picture on his tan skin. He wore a kilt and a sleeveless tunic with the autumn sun covering the scene with golden warmth. Alana caught the toe of her boot in her skirt and stumbled to a pause in her stride.
With large biceps and powerful legs, the man squatted low to lift unde
r the caber’s end. Alana’s breath stuck as he heaved the soaring tree upward, taking several power-filled steps forward to build the momentum of his toss. His shoulders bunched as he threw his strength into lifting the end of the tall caber so that it flew upward toward the blue sky. His deep yell from the effort reached across the field, sounding very much like a war cry. Alana realized that all six of them had stopped in their tracks to watch as the tall caber flew over, landing in a perfectly straight toss.
“’Tis a horse’s head painted on his arm,” Martha said, her words breathless.
Robert circled the Roses as if guarding them, his rope leash dragging untended behind him to get caught on their skirts. The warrior turned, his arms reaching overhead where he grabbed his elbows in a stretch as he strode effortlessly back to the cheering men. “Och,” Alana murmured. “Who is he?”
Kirstin tsked where she had stopped next to her. She bent her face closer to Alana, lowering her voice. “They are Sinclairs, so do not even look. All Sinclairs are tricksters, liars, and scoundrels.”
“The enemy then,” Lucy Kellington said just behind them, her sharp English accent still fresh since she’d come to Scotland only six months prior.
“Aye,” Kirstin said. “To Campbells anyway. He is likely the chief who won the lairdship when his horrible uncle died almost ten years ago. I heard his name is Shaw, Shaw Sinclair. Don’t know why they are this far south unless they are here to cause trouble.”
“Trouble?” Alana asked. There had always been whispers about the mighty Sinclairs from the north, their ancestors being godlike warriors with unnatural abilities to guide horses. But she thought that they were now virtually powerless, a penniless and landless clan. What type of trouble could they cause?
Kirstin propped her hands on her hips. “Kerrick told me that even though Campbells took their clan castle, Girnigoe, fairly to pay a debt incurred by the old laird, once he died, his nephew has been trying to steal it back ever since. There was a battle about five years ago to regain the castle, but the Sinclairs lost. You know the one at Altimarlach, Alana.”
Alana nodded, remembering her father and Donald Campbell sending troops to defend their Campbell cousin’s won castle in the northernmost edge of Scotland. Even Grey fought to defend the legally won bargain.
“Why must all the men I have to stay away from be so…enticingly brawny?” Cici asked, a prominent pout on her lips.
“Perhaps he is coming south to attack Campbells to win his clan castle back,” Martha said in a hushed voice filled with drama.
Alana had once suffered the loss of her clan’s castle when Finlarig Castle was taken by the English crown because of lies that the Campbells were plotting against the king. She rubbed her arms as the smoke from a cook fire brought back the terror-filled memories of the cruel fire, a constant nightmare she tried to block.
“Why would they attack Campbells in the south when there are plenty of them up on Sinclair land in the north to attack?” Kirstin said, wry irritation in her voice as she frowned at Martha.
“Whatever his presence here means,” Alana said, glancing first at Martha and Izzy, then sliding her gaze to fix meaningfully on Cici, “we shall stay well away from the Sinclairs while we are here.”
Hopefully they would listen to her. When they made plans to attend the festival, her brother had put Alana in charge. But then Kerrick volunteered to come. Instead of acting like their escort, he acted as if he were their leader, and the other students had started to ignore Alana’s guidance. Back at Finlarig Castle, Alana sort of…blended in, especially with such strong women like Evelyn and Scarlet Worthington in charge of the school. There was nothing special about Alana, so she’d been looking for a chance to stand out a bit more and prove herself.
She stood even straighter and cleared her throat, raising her voice over the girls’ continued chatter. “We are here to represent the Highland Roses School.” She started them walking again toward the knife-throwing area of competition. “Talk to the ladies you meet. Tell them how important it is to be able to read. Right, Izzy?” She looked at the girl, who nodded vigorously. Izzy had read an important message when an English officer abducted her last year. The knowledge she’d gained from the letter had saved their clan in the end.
Martha picked up her steps to move slightly ahead, glancing back with a determined smile. “And how every student learns to defend herself. I think that is the most important skill taught at the school.”
Alana nodded, keeping her gaze on the targets far at the end of the throwing field. “Although being able to read, especially all those books in the school library, brings us knowledge which can defend us nearly as well as a sgian dubh.”
Kirstin smiled wryly. “Evelyn would be so proud of ye,” she teased.
“Oh yes, I love the books,” Cici said. “Especially that art book.” She couldn’t contain her laughter, and Kirstin joined in before sucking her lips inward to stop. Alana shook her head but smiled. It was a festival, after all, and a perfect place to be silly.
“Tarts and fresh-squeezed apple cider,” called a woman from a tent as they passed.
Izzy jumped up and down. “I will take her,” Cici said, grabbing her hand. Since Izzy’s sister, Cat, had journeyed with the group traveling down to the Worthingtons’ English estate, they all took turns looking after the girl. Izzy had become best friends with the young English orphan, Mouse, who had returned with Cat from England last winter. But she and her friend, Michaela, had remained at the school with some other students and Mistress Jane, the new housekeeper. Slowly, but surely, the school was growing.
“Meet us at the dagger throwing then,” Alana said, and the two of them ran off, Cici just as excited as Izzy to get a tart and cider.
Alana breathed in the crisp air, glancing at the snow-topped mountain range rising behind the forest. The gorse and heather had darkened on the meadow, and trees of gold, red, and orange encircled the fair, adding to the festive atmosphere. Samhain would start at sundown with huge bonfires and people dressed in costumes to frighten away the evil spirits. Many feared that ghosts walked the world when the boundary between spirit and human worlds thinned on Samhain. Alana would set a place for both her father and mother at the meal tonight, in their memories. So much had changed in the two short years since they had been killed at a Covenanter meeting outside Stirling.
Alana scanned the contest area and couldn’t help but notice the large Sinclair warrior who had obviously won the caber toss. He frowned as he spoke with some of his men, one of them gesturing toward the tents with a jabbing finger. Something had them out of sorts.
No matter. She turned her gaze. The Sinclairs were no concern of hers or her students. She rested her palm on Robert’s shaggy back as they marched forward past the stacked wood for the bonfires to the far side of the field. The dog circled around her happily and licked her hand.
“Very well,” she said, wiping her hand on her skirt. “I love you, too.” Of all the dogs that she’d raised back at the school, Robert was the largest and the friendliest. No matter how many times the Campbell warriors asked, she wouldn’t give him up to them to train for war.
Alana stopped before a table covered with polished knives and daggers of every length and weight. She smiled at the man in charge of the competition, an older warrior who wore an impressive scar slashed across one cheek up to his eye. “We would like to enter the contest,” Alana said, her voice strong.
The handful of men standing at the table turned to look at her, but Alana ignored them, keeping her gaze centered on the one in charge. “Myself, Alana Campbell, and my two friends, Kirstin MacGregor and Martha Campbell.”
The man stared at her from under bushy gray eyebrows that curled in wild swirls. His lined mouth quirked to the side.
When he didn’t say anything, she cleared her throat. “I am the sister of Grey Campbell, the chief of the Campbells of Breadalbane. We are students and instructors at the Highland Roses School in Killin.”
No one moved, and Alana kept her strong stare despite the heavy thump of her heart. The man rubbed his chin and squinted his eye where the scar crossed it. “’Tis a competition for men. Not meant for lasses or children.” His voice was a gruff bark, but Alana imagined that he was Killin’s always-ornery blacksmith, Craig, with his lethal frown but kind heart.
She made a signal for Robert to sit, his head reaching up to her chest. She inhaled fully. “I request to see the rule book then, where it says that one must possess a jack in order to throw a dagger.”
Several of the men listening chuckled, and she heard one spit. Women were definitely the cleaner of the sexes. But she’d grown up around warriors, and she was used to their annoyances.
“’Tis not written down,” the old man said. He tapped his gray, shaggy head. “The rules are right up here, and they say no lasses compete.”
Alana heard more people gathering behind her to watch the disagreement and had to signal Robert to sit again, although his large head kept sweeping left and right to take in whoever might become an enemy. Alana kept her focus on the bad-tempered rule keeper. She wasn’t a screaming shrew nor was she strong enough to force her way into the competition. She needed a new tactic.
Her frown turned into a condescending smile, and she tipped her head. “You are afraid then? Afraid a lass might beat the mighty warriors here.” She swept her hand out to indicate the other men lined up to compete. Her breath stuttered when she saw that the Sinclair warriors had come over, including the tall caber toss winner. She let her gaze slide away to rake along the gathered men on her other side. “So, you are all afraid that a couple of lasses might beat you in the dagger toss?” She laughed lightly, playing the part that Scarlet had taught her back at the school. She looked at Martha and Kirstin. “’Tis too bad that Scotland is made up of warriors who are frightened of women.”
The men around them frowned, some of them grumbling a “bloody hell” or “damn not.” Although no one threatened them outright, the tone and tension were enough to make Robert stand, a low growl drawing up from his barrel chest. Cici and Izzy nudged through the crowd, along with Lucy, who strode with Kerrick Campbell next to her. He shouldered his way forward, and Alana held up a hand to stop him from trying to come to the rescue. Lucy frowned, stopping next to Martha, and whispered in her ear, giving her fiercest stare outward.
The Highland Outlaw Page 1
