The Forbidden Highlands

by Kathryn Le Veque

  A woman with a beautiful heart, hidden no more.

  The End

  About Kathryn Le Veque

  Medieval Just Got Real.

  KATHRYN LE VEQUE is a USA TODAY Bestselling author, an Amazon All-Star author, and a #1 bestselling, award-winning, multi-published author in Medieval Historical Romance and Historical Fiction. She has been featured in the NEW YORK TIMES and on USA TODAY’s HEA blog. In March 2015, Kathryn was the featured cover story for the March issue of InD’Tale Magazine, the premier Indie author magazine. She was also a quadruple nominee (a record!) for the prestigious RONE awards for 2015.

  Kathryn’s Medieval Romance novels have been called ‘detailed’, ‘highly romantic’, and ‘character-rich’. She crafts great adventures of love, battles, passion, and romance in the High Middle Ages. More than that, she writes for both women AND men – an unusual crossover for a romance author – and Kathryn has many male readers who enjoy her stories because of the male perspective, the action, and the adventure.

  On October 29, 2015, Amazon launched Kathryn’s Kindle Worlds Fan Fiction site WORLD OF DE WOLFE PACK. Please visit Kindle Worlds for Kathryn Le Veque’s World of de Wolfe Pack and find many action-packed adventures written by some of the top authors in their genre using Kathryn’s characters from the de Wolfe Pack series. As Kindle World’s FIRST Historical Romance fan fiction world, Kathryn Le Veque’s World of de Wolfe Pack will contain all of the great story-telling you have come to expect.

  Kathryn loves to hear from her readers. Please find Kathryn on Facebook at Kathryn Le Veque, Author, or join her on Twitter @kathrynleveque, and don’t forget to visit her website at www.kathrynleveque.com.

  Kathryn Le Veque on Amazon

  Laird of Twilight

  Eliza Knight

  A MacDougall Legacy Novella

  A future foretold…

  Only one man can fulfill her destiny…

  Lady Lilias Cameron has spent the last thirteen years skeptical of a prophecy regarding her future—until the very man described by the seer is introduced as her escort to a doomed marriage. Brooding and handsome, she cannot help the sparks of awareness he triggers. Nor can she ignore the deep desire to be true to herself.

  Dirk MacDougall, Lord of the Isles, is to deliver a worthy bride to his Norse enemy, in an alliance that will hopefully bring peace to his country. The only problem is, he finds himself quite enamored by the spirited and charming lady. When one kiss leads to another, desire to claim her as his own takes hold.

  If the alliance is broken, a mighty battle will be waged across Scotland begging the question: is forbidden love worth the price of war?

  Dedication

  To my amazing family! You all are my rocks.

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you so very much to my amazing writing partners, Kathryn, Terri, Amy, Collette, Emma, Victoria, and Violetta! Without you all, this story would not have been possible. And what a blast it was writing! Thank you to my traveling partners in crime, Andrea Snider and Brenna Ash who have taken many adventures in Scotland with me!

  Prologue

  1251

  Scottish Highlands

  Twilight crept over the forest, sneaking up on Lilias and her lady mother at a pace neither had anticipated. As if the wood sought the darkness, craved it. They came to a clearing, the trees looking like they’d stepped back to make a circle and at the center, the spookiest of places wee Lilias had ever seen.

  A wattle and daub croft was dark, no candle of firelight cast from the single window, or the cracks in the weathered door. No smoke curled from the chimney. Growing up the sides were twisted vines that seemed to reach for the sky, pushing past the sagging limbs of the overbearing trees that hovered above the roof. The croft was not in the least welcoming. It lacked life. For as much as she could tell, there was no one about at all.

  “Mama, I dinna like this place,” Lilias said, with a shiver.

  “We’ll not be long, Lili.” Her mother’s fingers held firm to her arm, correctly suspecting Lilias’s desire to run—and she would if given the chance.

  At just shy of seven summers, her vivid imagination was going wild at what manner of creatures the eerie croft and woods at dusk held.

  “Why are we here?” Her voice came out so low, she was surprised her mother heard her at all.

  “I’ve explained already.” Mama dragged her closer to the door. Suspicious in the extreme, Lady Cameron had been having dreams lately of her daughter in trouble. What exactly those dreams contained, Lilias didn’t know for certain. She’d only heard her mother lament of them to her father. Whenever Lilias drew near enough to eavesdrop, her mother always seemed to sense she was near. The awareness her mother had when it came to Lilias was almost magical in its power to reveal her at every turn. Enough so that Lilias often wondered if her mother weren’t a magical creature herself.

  If that were the case, then she could keep Lilias safe now, couldn’t she?

  As they approached the door, the wind howled and the leaves rustled. Rubbing together in way that sounded like a hundred tiny footsteps shifted all around them.

  Lilias bit the inside of her cheek to keep from whimpering in fear, and she scooted closer to her mother, grateful now for the firm grip on her arm.

  Though it was summer, when the sun set this evening, a chill swept over the moors. They wore their cloaks, but even the wool didn’t keep the brisk air from sweeping up the hem of her gown.

  “I’m scared,” Lilias said.

  Mama glanced down at Lilias, her eyes shining from where the moon crept through the branches overhead. “Hush, now, Lili. Dinna be afraid. We are here to see what the future holds.”

  With her knuckles, Mama gave two swift knocks and then three more. It sounded like a pattern, a code. Mama held her breath and Lilias counted to seven. Mother did the same sequence of knocking once more, and then seven breaths later, the door burst open.

  If possible, the chill from the air that whooshed from within was colder than the temperature outside.

  Lilias shuddered once more, staring into the void. There was no one standing beyond the threshold, just blackness and the scent of musty herbs. Who had opened the door?

  “Mama…” Lilias said, seeking her mother’s hand and winding her fingers with her mother’s.

  “All will be well. Ye need only reach inside yourself, love. Ye alone have the strength to endure,” Mama said, tugging her inside.

  As soon as they were across the threshold, the door swung shut behind them, followed by a loud click as the handle latched. The sounds of the rustling leaves, the howling wind, it all dissipated in that one moment, leaving them in complete silence. And darkness.

  Lilias opened her mouth to tell her mother once more of her fear, but the grip on her arm lightened, mama’s signal that she was…relaxing? Suddenly, Lilias did feel stronger. What her mother said was true—she could endure.

  “I have been expecting ye.” An old woman’s voice scratched from somewhere to their right.

  There was the sound of a flint-rock being struck and then light came from a single candle set on a rickety, round table, illuminating the room. Herbs hung from the rafters of the croft. The dim candlelight cast large and odd-shaped shadows over the floor and walls. Sitting in a chair by the hearth was an old crone with silver hair that danced in the candlelight. Shoulders stooped, long chin reaching close to her chest, she looked as though she’d lived to be one hundred twenty years.

  How had she lit the candle from the chair? There was at least six feet between the two. And there was no way she’d been able to get from the table to the chair without them having seen. Or very quickly for that matter. She looked as though she’d not left the chair in a very long time.

  “Magic,” the old crone whispered.

  Lilias glanced up at her mother, certain she’d not spoken her question aloud. The crone had read her thoughts. There was a word on the tip of Lilias’s mind—witch—that she dared not speak aloud.


  The older woman clucked her tongue, disapproving of this thought. “I am a seer. A taibhsear, ye ken? Come closer, child. Stand before me. Let us not dally.

  When Lilias made no move to go forward, Mama tugged her closer to the empty hearth, her numb feet begrudgingly sliding over the earthen floor.

  The musty, herbal scent grew as they approached the taibhsear, as though it were the seer’s own essence.

  “Ye have come seeking answers about your daughter’s future,” the seer said.

  “Aye.” Lady Cameron’s voice was strong; nevertheless, Lilias could sense the underlying fear.

  “Closer, child.”

  Lilias took tentative steps forward, her mother’s pointy fingers in the small of her back urging her on. When her boots touched the tips of the seer’s, she stopped. She couldn’t look the old woman in the eyes. They were so dark, so deep, seeming to reach the ends of the earth.

  The taibhsear leaned forward, her bones creaking. She grabbed hold of Lilias’s hand, her fingers sharp with bone. Turning over the palm, she ran a crooked nail over the center of Lilias’s palm. A chill ran through Lilias and she tried to clench her fingers closed, to hide her palm from the woman’s view, but some unseen force kept her fingers open.

  “She has an important destiny.”

  Mama shifted beside Lilias, her body stiffening. “I can only pray ’tis so.”

  “Did ye bring payment?”

  “Aye.” Mama pressed a ruby ring into the crone’s gnarled hand.

  The taibhsear slipped the ring onto her finger and then reached up, hands steady when they looked like they should be shaking.

  The seer touched Lilias’s forehead, the cold, bony tips of her fingers chilling her skin to a sting. “I see… a man who commands twilight.”

  Mother gasped. “Is he coming for her?”

  “Shh…” The seer rebuked, one eye popping open in disproval as she eyed Mama, then slammed it closed once more. “Summer shall come to pass thirteen times before he makes his presence known.”

  “Who is he?” Mama asked impatiently, and Lilias too wondered at this stranger who was going to get her.

  “He is dark of hair, stormy of eye, and fiercer than the wickedest gale storm. This laird of twilight shall wed Lilias.”

  Nay! She did not want to wed, and especially not a man as terrifying as this one sounded.

  “So, she will live at least that long.” Mama blew out a breath of relief. “In my dreams—”

  The seer’s eyes flew open, meeting with Mama’s. She removed her hand from Lilias’s forehead and placed it over Lady Cameron’s face. “Those dreams… they are not about your daughter.”

  “Then who?”

  The seer shook her head, removed her hand, and took a step backward. “I dinna know.”

  “How can ye not know?” Frustration oozed from every one of Mama’s words.

  “I am drained.” The taibhsear sank back into her chair, as though the effort to sit up was too much now.

  “Ye want more? I can give ye…” Her mother grabbed for another ring on her finger, but the seer stopped her with a shake of her head.

  “No more today, my lady. Ye wanted to know your daughter’s future, and I have given it to ye.” She closed her eyes and slowly traced something in the air. “A man who commands twilight. Dark of hair. Stormy of eye. Fiercer than the wickedest gale storm. He is her future.”

  Lilias frowned as the candle on the table flickered, and Mama ushered her from the quickly darkening croft. Outside, the door slammed closed once more, all life from within seeming to be extinguished.

  Lilias did not want a man to be her future. She wanted to forge her own. But saying such to her mother was out of the question. No doubt now, and until this laird of twilight made himself known, Mama would search out every warrior with a stormy look to his eyes.

  Chapter One

  1263

  Dunstaffnage

  A static charge filled the air of the great hall. Men shifted on their feet, servants skittered about. Sitting between his mother on one side and his grandmother on the other at the dais table, Dirk MacDougall, Lord of the Isles, felt an uncomfortable tingle along his limbs.

  They waited for the arrival of the bride he was to deliver to his distant cousin and enemy.

  The reason he was chosen for the chore was obvious, but still a major pain in the arse. Alas, he would do his duty to his bloodline and for the peace of his people.

  Dirk was descended of King Somerled, and as Lord of the Isles, he was allied to King Alexander III of Scotland. His distant cousin, Magnus Olafsson, was descended from the rival Crovan dynasty, styling himself King of Mann and the Isles, and loyal to King Haakon of Norway. Needless to say, it made family gatherings non-existent. In fact, they were more prone to fighting for lands and power.

  Each of Dirk’s twenty-nine years so far had been one battle after another. His father, Torquil and his grandfather, Beiste, had done all they could to try and unite the clans and remain loyal to their king. Moreover, they’d both died in great battles doing just that, and now it was up to Dirk to see their legacies continued.

  All leading up to this very dreaded day.

  In a deal made to keep the peace, Dirk had agreed to deliver to his distant cousin, a woman of worth, of beauty, and strength of blood from his own lands. A treaty that might help unite Scotland and the Isles—if only for a short time. At the very least, put an end to the plundering from King Haakon.

  “She has arrived.” The excited announcement traveled through the great hall reaching the dais table.

  Dirk stood to exit the great hall, to greet his ward. For the next sennight, they would traverse the Highlands to the Isle of Bute where Olafsson was currently staging court—at a holding that had once belonged to Dirk’s Scottish ally. ’Twas agreed that Olafsson would return the castle and lands to the Steward of Scotland as soon as he was wed to his Highland bride.

  A gentle hand on Dirk’s elbow had him turning toward his seanmhair (grandmother), Lady Elle. Even at seventy-seven summers, she was still quite a beauty to behold. Though there was a sadness about her eyes at having lost her husband and her son, she thrived more than most women half her age. His seanmhair had been a great source of support for Dirk’s mother, Lady Fenella, after the loss of his father.

  Together, these women were formidable, and Dirk respected them a great deal.

  “Let her come to ye,” Lady Elle said.

  “Why?”

  “It will give her a moment to compose herself.” This time it was his own mother who spoke, her voice quiet as she sat in contemplation. He could not forget that thirty years before Lady Fenella had been gifted to his father Torquil in a clan alliance with the MacArthurs.

  Dirk frowned. “Why should she need a moment?”

  A soft smile covered his grandmother’s lips. “Trust us, my laird. We would not steer ye wrong.”

  Dirk nodded and sat back down, easily accepting their advice rather than contemplate a female’s needs or mental state. Too complicated. Anytime he’d tried his head only started to pound.

  “Be kind to her,” Lady Elle whispered, sitting back down beside him. “The lass does her duty to her country. But she will likely not be pleased with being a bargaining pawn.”

  Dirk tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair, trying to hide his irritation. “We all have to do our duty, seanmhair.”

  “Aye, but we are not always pleased with it.” Her gaze floated away, somewhere distant, and he had the overwhelming desire to ask her where she’d just gone, but the doors to the great hall opened and a vision glided through them.

  So elegant. Hands folded at her waist. Head held high, a crown of raven-colored braids around the top, piercing blue eyes met his, startling him from his chain of thought. Creamy skin with nary a blemish covered high cheekbones, an aristocratic nose and small, oval jaw. Heart-shaped lips remained flat, hiding any emotion. The lass could have been carved from marble.

  “Saints,” his grand
mother whispered beside him. “But she is exquisite.”

  “I had forgotten,” his mother replied.

  And Dirk had never known. He’d sent out his men to scour the lands and neighboring clans for a woman of worth, of beauty, and strength of blood, and then he’d left the final decision up to his grandmother and mother, but…

  Never did he imagine upon seeing her that…

  Dirk cleared his throat.

  The lass was tall, reaching nearly the height of his Master of the Gate, and second-in-command, Gunnar, a man descended of many of the same name. Her back was straight, rigid. She wore a plain, simple gown of light blue, no woven clan colors or plaid, as his grandmother had likely instructed her, so as not to offend Olafsson. Her husband would decide her wardrobe, once married.

  Dirk found himself scowling once more as he studied her, his thoughts on such a beautiful and strong female being sent to marry his cousin who would likely not appreciate her as much as—

  Nay, nay, nay, he could not go along that path, thinking himself a better match.

  First of all, this was an alliance to gain back lands and fortresses his cousin had stolen, and also a guarantee that others would not be seized for as many years. Cousin. How he disliked the word and how it linked him to that man, however distant.

  The lass waited by the doors, intelligent eyes sliding from his to scan those in the room. Taking it all in. This was no simpering lass. No fool. Dirk found her inquisitiveness to be rather charming.