Highlander’s Flaming Secret
Adamina Young
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Contents
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Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Highlander’s Beautiful Liar
Prologue
Chapter 1
Also by the author
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About the Author
Prologue
The wind whipped Laird Artair MacCrae’s straggling hair around his face. There was more grey in it now than black. He rode his horse, Janna, hard. Hooves pounded into the ground, and the thunder of the other horses crashed around him. Artair was surrounded by five of his best men, including his three sons Broden, Connor, and Jamie. Their faces were twisted in vicious snarls as the impressive sight of Castle MacCrae loomed behind them. Twinkling stars dotted the night sky, and the moon hung like a lantern above, making the sea shimmer with its silvery light.
Not that any of them were taking the time to enjoy the view. Their focus was on the dozen bandits that rode up ahead. Two of them were driving a wagon that carried a few goats and sheep—animals that had been stolen from the fields that were dotted around the MacCrae castle. Laird Artair was never going to let bandits get away with such a brazen crime, so as soon as the alarm had been raised he and his sons had charged away. The wagon was being ridden hard by the bandits, with the others flanking it with horses, obscuring the wagon to try and give it the best chance to escape.
They headed towards the coast. The raging water crashed and rumbled below, foaming as it hit the cliff face. The jagged rocks promised death and pain, but none of them reached close enough to be in any danger of falling off. They were all used to the terrain, including Crow Forest, which beckoned ahead. Laird Artair knew that if the bandits reached it his hopes of catching them would vanish. Crow Forest was notorious for its twists and turns, and there were tales of many people vanishing within it and their spirits haunting the forest. It was said that at night one could hear their whispers and wails. Laird Artair would never venture into Crow Forest for the sake of a few farm animals, but he was going to hunt the bandits as hard as he could before they escaped.
“Dinnae let them get tae the forest!” Broden shouted. Laird Artair smirked. Broden was a forceful man, determined and stubborn, just like his father. The Highlanders rode their horses hard, pushing them to their limits, and closed the distance between them and the bandits. Two of the horses turned and the Highlanders drew their swords, ready to fight. Connor pulled out his bow and started firing arrows high into the sky. They rose up, touched the heavens, and then hurtled to Earth like fallen angels, narrowly missing one of the bandits. The sight emboldened the Highlanders to ride even harder. Their steel gleamed under the moonlight. Laird Artair pulled out his battleaxe and whirled it around in the air, feeling the comfortable weight in his experienced hands, eager to feel the crack of bone of these worthless men. There was nothing worse than bandits. They were men without honor, without homes—criminals who plagued the land.
Artair’s jaw was clenched tightly. He grit his teeth as a number of the bandits had turned to engage them in battle, hoping to delay their advance and buy enough time for the wagon to get away. Artair narrowed his eyes.
“Take care of them, boys. I’m gaeing for the wagon!” he yelled. He leaned forward and kept low as he led Janna directly into the bandits, while his sons fanned out and engaged the other bandits in combat. He swung his battleaxe and hit one firmly in the chest, sending him flying. He heard the sound of steel as swords clashed, then saw an opening and took it, racing past the bandits. He heard their helpless cries and laughed to himself. There were few men who ever got away from Laird Artair or his sons.
He saw the wagon up ahead. There were still a number of bandits to fight, but he was confident in his ability to crash through their defenses. After all, they didn’t have weapons as fine as the Highlanders. However, as his gaze swept around he noticed that some of them had good technique—far better than he would have expected from common criminals—and their weapons seemed stronger than usual, able to withstand blows from the Highland swords. He would think about that later though. Right now he had to get to the wagon, haul the drivers away, and retrieve his stolen animals.
He was getting ready to make his final attack when he saw one of the drivers turn and raise an arrow. The next thing Artair knew, pain flared in his shoulder and he was thrown off Janna, hitting the ground with a thud. He groaned and crawled to the side, growing faint from the sight of the arrow lodged into his flesh. He cried out in pain and all at once his sons came to him. Broden was the first to arrive.
“Da!” he cried.
“I’m fine lad.” Artair winced. He waved his sons away, trying to get them to go after the bandits, but it was too late. He managed to summon the strength to push himself up and watch the wagon disappear into Crow Forest. Artair then slumped to the ground, annoyed and frustrated, and surrendered to the pain. While Broden cradled him, he wondered if he was simply getting too old for all of this.
1
1500s - Near the coast in the Highlands
Iona Hendrickson breathed happily as she stood on the grounds of her family estate. The large house was like a castle in some ways, although it wasn’t as tall. Servants smiled at Iona as they moved around the grounds. There was a slight breeze that tugged at her silver-blonde hair and green dress. An emerald necklace hugged the hollow of her neck; it had been a present from her mother.
Iona spent as much time outside as possible. She found that staying inside was suffocating, and sometimes she wished she had the freedom of her older brother, Brice, who could come and go as he pleased. Even Malie, her older sister, had more freedom. Iona occasionally got to go on a trip to the nearest town’s market but her father, Ciaran, did not like her to spend too much time away from the estate. She was seventeen though, on the cusp of womanhood, and thought it was about time that she be allowed more freedom.
Iona was determined to talk to her father about it when he returned. She had tried talking to her mother, Freya, but Iona had been told that her father had the final say. So she waited and busied herself with thoughts of a life of adventure. Twenty-six-year-old Brice always came back with such wonderful stories and she wanted to have stories of her own. Even Malie, twenty-one, had tales of feasts and balls, for she was at the age where she was ready for marriage. Ciaran told Iona that her time would come and all she had to do was be patient, but it was difficult.
Having two older siblings made Iona feel that time was running out on her. She always felt as though she was lagging behind, and while this was natural considering she was younger than them, it still felt as though she should be further ahead than she actually was.
Part of her motivation was because she wanted to prove to the others that she was a part of their family. Brice and Malie’s mother had died while giving birth to Malie. Shortly aft
er, Ciaran had married Freya and then Iona had been born. Although Iona adored her siblings, they were a little jealous of her, feeling that Ciaran doted on Iona more than them. Iona knew this wasn’t the case, however, and Freya loved both children as though they had been her own. Their mother’s death had been hard on Brice especially, and as a result he had turned into a hard man.
There were times when Iona felt as though she didn’t belong.That was why she wanted to venture forth beyond the walls of the estate; not only to find her place in the world, but to find herself as well.
“Iona! Get some help! Ye da Ciaran has been in an accident!” Ally, the estate manager, rode through the gates at full speed. His face was the picture of panic, and Iona felt the same sensation flare inside her. She immediately turned and raised the alarm. Men poured out while she ran towards the carriage. Brice was out hunting with her father, and Iona didn’t know where Malie was. Without a second thought, Iona jumped into the carriage and felt the thrill of adventure surge through her blood, although it was tinged with worry for her father.
“Where’s Brice?” Iona asked. Ally sighed and his head dropped. He merely offered a shrug, which explained everything. Brice had a habit of going off on his own and not telling anyone where he was headed or what he was doing. There was no doubt her headstrong brother would have thought he could have had a more successful hunt alone.
As soon as the carriage was on its way trundling out of the gate, the click-clack of the wheels providing a steady rhythm, Ally turned and led them back the way he came. Iona pressed herself up against the door of the carriage, looking out at the blurry landscape. They rode hard and fast. The horses were pushed to their limits because they couldn’t allow the Laird to come to harm. The hooves thundered against the ground and Iona was almost thrown from her seat as they traveled over the rocky path.
They ventured into the nearby fields and eventually came to a stop, both jumping down from the carriage. They ran over to her father and saw there was a long trail where his horse had dragged him along the ground. His clothes were tattered and stained, his face and hands covered in scratch marks.
“His foot got caught in a stirrup. The horse had nae idea what tae dae and bolted. Ye da struggled tae release his foot as the horse dragged him. I dinnae ken where he was gaeing tae stop, and I knew I needed help,” Ally said, breathing heavily. Sweat prickled on his brow and he seemed to be taking personal responsibility for this occurrence. Iona looked at her father with curiosity. All her life she had thought of him as invincible, but out here he was hurt and weak, groaning from pain. If things had gone differently he might well have died, and Iona wasn’t sure how to comprehend that thought. She leaned down by her father’s side and took his hand, hoping that her love and affection would heal him. The other men then lifted him up and carried him back to the wagon, and then to home where his wound could be tended to.
Before they left, Brice came riding up, looking unperturbed by what happened, although his brow did furrow when he saw how weak his father looked.
“What happened?” he asked.
Ally explained the accident. Brice pursed his lips, although he didn’t get down from his horse.
“I told him tae gae easy,” Brice said, shaking his head. Iona didn’t know why Brice was being so coldhearted towards Ciaran when it was hardly his fault that the horse had gone wild.
“Did ye catch anything?” Iona asked. “I was hoping for a feast taenight!” Her tone was light and teasing, but Brice glared at her and didn’t seem to take it in the spirit in which it was given. The smile quickly fell from Iona’s face. It was a stark reminder that although she loved her siblings, they did not share the same affection.
When they returned to the estate, everyone was there to greet them and help Ciaran out of the carriage. He was groggy and couldn’t form complete sentences. Freya and Malie rushed up to him and gave him doting care. Brice alighted from his horse and stood by his sister. It was striking how similar the two of them were. Each had inherited the flaming red hair of their father, and the same piercing green eyes. Although there was a height difference between them, for Malie was the shortest of the three siblings, she made up for it in her personality. She was outspoken and had no qualms about sharing her opinion, even when it wasn’t asked for.
“Oh my goodness, what happened?” Freya asked, worried for her husband.
“Da didn’t listen tae me. Again,” Brice said bitterly. Iona frowned at him.
“It was just an accident,” Iona said. “I checked the wounds and they seem tae be easily tended tae. He needs tae be washed and tae have a good rest.” She went to stand by her father, but Malie wrapped her arm around his waist and turned up her nose at Iona.
“Ye have done enough lass, ye ma and I can take care of him.”
Freya was too worried about Ciaran to notice how her daughter was stung by Malie’s words. Iona’s head dropped and she clasped her hands in front of her, unsure of what to do. All she wanted was to help look after her father, but she was prevented from even doing that. Brice huffed and walked away. There was no kindness to be found there. Slowly but surely, all the servants and guards walked away as well, leaving Iona alone.
The hunting accident had happened early in the afternoon. Iona had tried to visit her father, but Malie had barred her from entering, saying that there were already too many people crowding around him and he needed space to rest. While there was logic to her words, they were said with spite and malice. Iona was upset. Brice had shut himself away, as usual, so Iona was left to her own devices. She went into the gardens and spent time with the birds and the scurrying badgers and squirrels that foraged in the gardens. She giggled as she watched them go about their business, thinking to herself that they were funny creatures in some of their habits. It was disheartening to admit that sometimes she felt more at ease with the animals than she did her own family. There was no bitterness or jealousy among the animals, and how she wished the same could be said of her family.
She watched as a bluebird spread its wings and effortlessly soared high into the air, disappearing into the distance. How wonderful it would be to fly away, she thought. To soar into the sky and look down at the world. Everything must appear so small to a bird, and all the petty problems would just shrink until they didn’t matter at all.
At some point she knew she would have to leave home. Like Malie, she would be taken to feasts and banquets in the hope of finding a husband. To be married would be a lovely thing, she was certain of that. Her mother and father doted on each other and it was something that she wanted for herself. But it didn’t seem fated to happen. She looked different to all the other Highlanders and had noticed that they most often had one of two reactions towards her: curiosity or disgust.
Deep in the afternoon, Iona heard the rhythm of hooves approaching the gates. Although she wasn’t privy to her father’s plans, she didn’t think he was expecting anyone, so she went to welcome the guest. When she reached the middle of the courtyard, she stopped and saw the man in all his glory dismount his horse. Breath caught in her throat and her heart pounded as this dark-haired, brooding man seemed to fill her vision with his presence. He had broad shoulders, a determined expression, and a blending of youth and experience. A sword hung from his waist and his tunic revealed his muscular biceps. His forearms were covered in a bed of hair and he looked the epitome of masculinity. His appearance stung her with excitement.
“Where is Laird Hendrickson?” the man asked. Iona was so taken aback with him that she forgot how to speak, and the question floated past her mind. The man stared at her blankly, and then repeated the question. Iona’s cheeks flushed crimson with embarrassment and she almost wilted with shame. He was tall, with a mop of dark lustrous hair and deep brooding eyes. She had to tilt her head back to look at him for he was so tall. He stood as proudly as a mountain and his face was set in a grim expression. It was clear he commanded authority.
“Apologies,” she said, her gaze darting up at him. When
she met his eyes it was as though a thunderbolt shot through her. He looked at her differently than other men did. Instead of curiosity or disgust he gazed at her with something she thought was desire, although she wasn’t sure any man had ever thought of her in that way before. She found herself wishing that she was wearing something prettier than an old dull dress. The man carried himself a bit arrogantly, but it was one of the first times she felt like a woman rather than a girl, and his dominating presence intimidated her. “My da has been wounded.”
The Highlander arched an eyebrow at this. “Then it seems we have something in common. I’m Broden MacCrae.”
Iona knew the name of the reputable family. They lived on the other side of Crow Forest, by the coast. She had never seen their castle, but had heard people talking about it. It sounded impressive, and if it was as impressive as their men, well…it would likely be the most handsome castle in the world.
“Iona,” she replied in a soft voice, trying to speak gently to hide the quivering tremor caused by her nerves.
“Iona,” he breathed in his deep, rumbling voice. “Was ye da injured by bandits, like mine?”
“No, I dinnae ken of any bandit attacks,” Iona replied. “It was a hunting accident.” She decided not to say anything else apart from that. Broden stroked his chin and looked thoughtful, pondering her words. He lifted his head and looked past her, gazing around the estate. After a sharp intake of breath he addressed her again.
Highlander’s Flaming Secret (Scottish Medieval Historical Romance) Page 1
