The Rebel (The Mammoth Book of Scottish Romance)

by Julianne MacLean

  Quickly, he brought the kiss to an exquisite finish and took a step away from her. They stared at each other in dazed bewilderment. Heaven help her. She did not know what to say. There were no words.

  “That was… unexpected,” he whispered.

  Her heart began to race. What was happening between them? She was losing sight of all propriety and wanted to pull him closer and drag him down to the floor. She wanted to feel the weight of him on top of her. She wanted it with a primal madness she could not begin to comprehend.

  Swallowing uneasily, she loosened her grip on his shirt and dropped her hands to her sides. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

  He chuckled. “No need to apologize, lass. Your lips were sweeter than anything I’ve tasted in years.”

  She blushed and dropped her gaze to the floor.

  “I’ve never met a woman quite like you before,” he said, “and for that reason, I must leave you now, because you look too pretty in that frock, and you smell good, too. I fear that if I don’t back away now, I may do something far worse than just kiss you goodnight.”

  Elizabeth shivered with longing. “Would that be so terrible?”

  His eyes smiled at her, then he toyed with the hair over her ear, sending delightful waves of desire across her flesh. She turned her cheek into the warmth of his wrist and let her eyes fall closed. All the hardships of the world seemed to float away like dust on a summer breeze, as she breathed in the musky scent of his skin…

  “I really must go now,” he whispered in his deep Scottish brogue.

  She did not try to stop him, for what she loved most about him was his integrity, and she did not wish to tempt him into doing something he might later regret.

  “Goodnight,” she said.

  He paused at the door and spoke in a quiet, husky rumble. “Good night, Elizabeth.”

  She let out a soft sigh of besotted rapture, and then he was gone.

  A moment later, still greatly aroused from the intimate encounter, Elizabeth settled down on the soft pallet by the fire, pulled the woolen blanket up to her shoulders, and watched the flames dance in the grate for quite some time before she finally managed to fall asleep.

  That night, she dreamed only of Alexander MacLean’s handsome face in the firelight, and the irresistible magic of his touch.

  It had been almost ten years since Elizabeth saw her Uncle Charles, and she was not entirely sure he would recognize her when she walked into his shop. In the years since her mother’s passing, they had exchanged very few letters, for he and her father did not agree on much of anything. Her uncle had the “unmitigated gall” to marry a woman from the Scottish Lowlands, and for that reason they never shared the same political opinions. Hence, over the years, Elizabeth’s connection to her uncle slowly dwindled away to nothing. To be honest, she was not completely certain he still lived.

  It was late afternoon by the time they rode into the crowded streets of Edinburgh. As they trotted through the tight congestion, past the street vendors who were shouting to sell their wares, the stench of stale rubbish assaulted Elizabeth’s nostrils. Alex enquired about the bookshop, and they had to ask four people before an older man in spectacles and a tricorne hat was able to point them in the proper direction.

  Exhausted and hesitant about her future, Elizabeth locked her arms around Alex’s waist and rested her cheek on his shoulder. With silent assurance, he steered them through the narrow, winding streets.

  At last, they came to a tiny bookshop on a busy lane with a sign out front that said Morrison’s Books. She knew they must be in the right place, for that was her mother’s maiden name.

  “I believe this is it.” Elizabeth dismounted and stood on the walk for a moment, glancing over all the books in the paned window.

  Alex tethered the horse to a post and came to stand beside her. “I give you my word that I will not leave you,” he said, “until I am satisfied that you are in good hands.”

  A young boy ran by in a panic, cradling a chicken in his arms. Elizabeth jumped, and realized she felt rather panicked herself. She turned her eyes to Alex and felt a terrible pang of dread in her belly, for she was not yet ready to leave him.

  While the cold November wind lifted his long dark hair off his tartan-clad shoulders, he did not speak a word. Elizabeth shivered in the chill.

  “It’s time to go inside,” he finally said, then took a step forward and opened the door.

  “Elizabeth! My word, is it really you?” Her Uncle Charles came bounding down a creaky set of stairs with an open book in his hand. “What are you doing here?”

  He was still as tall and slim as she remembered, but he had aged since she saw him last. His hair was bone white and pulled back in a queue, his skin had grown wrinkled, and he wore spectacles perched on his nose.

  Carefully he navigated his way around tables piled high with dusty books and approached her. “You look so much like your mother.”

  Elizabeth’s heart swelled with a mixture of sorrow and joy as her uncle pulled her into his arms and embraced her.

  “I am so happy to see you,” he said.

  “And I you,” she replied, weeping and laughing at the same time.

  Eventually he stepped back. “I learned of your father’s death,” he said, “fighting for King George. I am deeply sorry, Elizabeth.”

  “Thank you, but I am afraid there is more bad news. James was killed as well, three weeks ago. I am the only one left of our family – alone now.”

  Charles laid a hand on her shoulder and shook his head. “No, Elizabeth. You are not alone. You have family here.”

  She clung to her uncle’s steady gaze. He tapped her nose with the tip of his finger, just as he used to do when she was a child. Then he glanced toward the door where Alex was waiting.

  “Who is this man?” her uncle asked. “And why does he carry such a big sword into my bookshop?”

  Alex strode forward. “My apologies, sir. I am Alexander MacLean of Duart Castle, and I fought in the battle at Sherrifmuir. That is where I met your niece.”

  “He has been my protector, Uncle,” she quickly explained. “I was lost and alone after James was killed. Alex found me on the battlefield and saved my life. He has delivered me here safely, so I owe him a great debt.”

  “As do I, it seems.” Charles reached out to shake Alex’s hand. “Thank you for bringing my niece home. I should like to repay you somehow.”

  Alex shook his head. “There is no debt, sir.”

  “My wife is upstairs tending to our children,” Charles replied. “Will you at least stay for supper?”

  Elizabeth’s heart began to pound, for she knew what Alex’s answer would be. The time had come. He was going to leave her now, and she would have to say goodbye.

  But she was not ready. She did not want him to go…

  Alex paused. “I’m afraid I must return to Perth as soon as possible.”

  Every breath in her body came short. Her knees went weak under the weight of her anguish.

  His eyes locked with hers, and neither of them spoke for what seemed an eternity. He palmed the hilt of his sword, and she wet her lips, feeling as if someone was slowly ripping her heart out of her body. She should say something. She should beg him to stay, just one more night…

  “I wish good fortune to you both.” Alex bowed slightly, then turned and headed for the door. It opened and closed with the tinkle of a bell, and before she could work out what to do, he was gone.

  The whole world fell silent, except for the beating of her heart in her ears, like thunder over her head.

  No…

  Picking up her skirts, she dashed around the tables piled high with books and ripped the door open on its hinges. She hastened out into the street. Her eyes darted left and right. His horse was already gone. Crowds of people and carriages obstructed her view in both directions. Where was he? And why hadn’t she told him how she felt? How could she have let him go?

  “Alex!” She rushed down the street, shoulderi
ng her way past hordes of people who blocked her way. Reaching the corner, she stood up on her toes. “Alex!”

  But he was nowhere. He had left to return to his home in the Highlands, and it was not likely she would ever see him again.

  She laid her hand on the side of a building, rested her forehead against it, and closed her eyes. A flash memory of the first moment she saw him on the battlefield came hurling back at her, and she remembered the frightening sound of their steel blades clashing, and the fury in his eyes before he struck her down with his targe...

  Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined the battle would turn out quite like this. She had not expected to surrender so completely to her enemy–in heart, body and soul.

  Five months later

  It was a particularly wet spring in the Highlands, and by the end of April, Edinburgh was a sea of muck.

  Elizabeth had spent the winter mourning the death of her brother while helping her uncle in his bookshop, assisting customers and organizing his inventory. Her cousins – two boys and one girl, all under the age of ten – lifted her spirits with laughter and games, but each night, after she read them stories, she retired to her own chamber and whispered a quiet prayer for the safety and happiness of the Highlander who had rescued her from her vengeance. He never ventured far from her thoughts, and she often wondered what he was doing at any given moment during the day. While she was gazing out her window at the moon and stars, was he, too, admiring the night sky from somewhere on the Isle of Mull?

  She liked to imagine him riding his horse through a lush green glen, his dark hair blowing in the wind, his tartan pinned at his shoulder with that exquisite brooch she had once touched and admired. Eventually she began to think she was idealizing his memory, turning him into some sort of god-like, mythical hero, and she tried very hard to push him from her mind.

  Then one day, on a clear afternoon at the end of April, while she stood on a stool dusting the books on the highest shelves, the door of the bookshop opened and closed. The hanging bells chimed with their familiar hollow sound, and she heard light footsteps across the plank floor as she so often did, but she did not look away from her task, for her uncle was out front.

  Something, however – something she could not begin to explain–caused her heart to beat a little faster. All the tiny hairs on her arms stood on end.

  Lowering the dust cloth to her side, she stepped down from the stool and peered around the tall bookshelf. A dark-haired Highlander stood with his back to her while he spoke to her uncle. He wore a kilt, with a sword sheathed at his side.

  Was it Alex? A hot fireball of excitement dropped into her belly, and she sucked in a breath to steady herself.

  Do not be foolish, Elizabeth. You’re dreaming again. Surely it could not possibly be…

  Then he turned and met her eyes, and her heart exploded with a burst of radiant bliss. It was him! Her handsome, heroic Highlander!

  What was he doing here? What did he want?

  Struggling to contain the juddering thrills that were dancing up and down her spine, she swallowed hard and smoothed out her skirt, before taking a few tentative steps forward to say hello.

  They met in the center of the shop, where sunlight streamed in through the windowpanes, creating a sparkling beam of hazy, dreamlike rapture.

  “Alex.”

  She could think of nothing else to say.

  His eyes filled with joy. “Ah, lassie. I’m pleased to see that you did not forget me.”

  Elizabeth laughed out loud. “Forget you? Are you mad?”

  They regarded each other with affection and a familiar sense of calm.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed her uncle quietly disappearing up the stairs.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, careful not to get her hopes up. Perhaps he had simply walked into the shop to purchase a book.

  “Can you not take one look at me and answer that for yourself?”

  There was such hope in his expression. It was contagious, and she experienced a wild, kicking desire to throw her arms around his neck and dance a reel around the room.

  “You came to see me?”

  Oh, how ridiculous it was to speak with such casual curiosity, when her heart was practically beating out of her chest!

  He flashed a smile that dazzled her witless, then laid a hand on the side of her neck, his thumb brushing lightly over the sensitive flesh behind her ear. The touch of his huge warrior hand sent a flood of desire through her entire body.

  “Of course I came to see you, lass,” he replied. “I’ve thought of nothing else all winter long but your bonnie face and feisty nature. I could not live another day apart from you. I had to see you again.”

  “Is that all?” she asked. “You just came to see me? To say hello again? And then goodbye?”

  He ran the pad of his thumb over her parted lips and shook his head. “So stubborn, as always. Can you not accept that I am in love with you and that I mean to ask you to be my wife?”

  All the thoughts in her brain toppled. It was a terrible calamity of epic proportions. “I… What are you saying?” She was completely breathless.

  He laughed. “Don’t play innocent with me, lass. You know very well what I am saying. This is a proposal. But if it’s too quick, I’ll settle for courtin’ you for a short time, at least until you can make up your mind whether or not you wish to love me.”

  Her need for him erupted out of the joy in her heart. “Of course I wish to love you. I’ve loved you since the first moment I came charging after you on that battlefield.”

  “Is that a yes?” he asked.

  With a cry of euphoric laughter, she threw herself into his arms and knocked him backward into a stack of books that toppled off a table onto the floor. A thick cloud of dust puffed into the air.

  “Or course it’s a yes!” she said with a smile, pressing her lips to his and tasting a glistening slice of heaven in his kiss. “I am so happy.”

  He held her close and buried his face in the crook of her neck. “As am I, lass. My heart is yours, and I promise to love you and make you happy for the rest of my days. I will protect you and give you everything that is mine to give.”

  She hugged him tight, with knew without doubt that he would keep his word. “And I make the same pledge to you.”

  Then at last his mouth covered hers, and the world was suddenly, miraculously, peaceful and perfect.

  Author’s Note

  Dear Readers,

  I hope you enjoyed my short story, The Rebel. It is a prequel to my Highlander trilogy, though I wrote it after the completion of all three of those novels.

  The first book in the trilogy is Captured by the Highlander, which takes place a year after the Battle of Sherrifmuir. (The battle was a true historical event, though the characters in these stories are fictional.)

  In Captured by the Highlander, Duncan MacLean sets out on a path of vengeance following fictional events that occur during and after the battle. The character of Angus MacDonald, who appears in The Rebel in a villainous role, is an important secondary character in Captured by the Highlander, and it may surprise you to learn that he is the hero in the second novel, Claimed by the Highlander. Sometimes the darkest characters are the most interesting to write about and redeem.

  For more information about my Highlander trilogy, please visit my website at www.juliannemaclean.com. I enjoy hearing from readers and can be contacted directly through my website.

  Thanks for reading my Scottish tale! And please read on for an excerpt from Taken by the Cowboy. Enjoy!

  Sincerely,

  Julianne MacLean

  Author Bio

  USA Today Bestselling author Julianne MacLean is a three-time Rita Finalist and winner of numerous awards, including the Romantic Times Magazine Reviewers Choice Award, the Colorado Romance Writers Award of Excellence, and the Greater Detroit Romance Writers Booksellers’ Best Award.

  She has written more than 15 historical romances for Har
lequin and Avon/Harper Collins, and is currently writing more books for St. Martin’s Press.

  She is a devoted wife and mother, and loves to travel. She has lived in New Zealand and Ottawa, and is now settled happily in Nova Scotia, while working on her latest historical romance.

  Excerpt from Taken by the Cowboy

  Copyright © 2011 by Julianne MacLean

  HERO AND PROTECTOR

  Former bounty hunter, expert gunslinger, and the toughest sheriff Dodge City has ever known, Truman Wade is a real man from the tip of his black Stetson right down to his spurs and leather boots. He’s never met his match in a gunfight, but he’s never met a gorgeous, gutsy woman from the twenty-first century either…

  TORN BETWEEN TWO WORLDS

  Newly single after a rocky breakup with her self-absorbed fiancé, newspaper columnist Jessica Delaney crashes her car in a lightning storm and soon finds herself dodging bullets in the Wild West. Before the night is out, she’s tossed in jail for a murder she didn’t commit, and if things don’t seem complicated enough, the impossibly handsome sheriff in charge of her arrest has danger written all over him–and a sexy swagger to die for. Jessica knows she needs to get home, but when Sheriff Wade’s enticing touch sets her passions on fire, she begins to wonder if fate has other plans for her, and soon she must choose between the life she longs for in the future… and the greatest love she’s ever known.

  Prologue

  Dodge City, Kansas

  Present day

  JESSICA DELANEY SAT in the waiting room outside the Operating Room, barely able to move, much less comprehend what had just happened to her brother. “How much longer?” she said to her parents. “He’s been in there for two hours.”

  Jessica’s mother blew her nose, while her father sat in silence, squeezing his wife’s hand. “I’m sure they’re doing their best,” he said. “We’ll hear something soon.”