Highlander's Wounded Beast (Beasts 0f The Highlands Book 3)

by Alisa Adams

  Aunt Burnie nodded her head and frowned. “Aye, he is a scunner,” she said and pointed at Cruim. “No hay for the Lords, or is it no Lord is a Hay or a Crumb?” she mumbled. “Och, I am so vera tired…”

  Aunt Hexy patted her arm, talking softly and comfortingly.

  “Tis glad I am that ye are safe!” Tristan said respectfully. Then he walked to Beiste. “Ye may find this interesting, Duke,” he said and handed the paper to him.

  Beiste shoved one of his swords into Tristan’s hand. He pointed to Cruim and his men. “Point it at them while I read this.”

  “Twill be me pleasure, particularly if they move…at all,” he said with a threatening smile.

  Beiste read the letter and then looked back at Ina, sitting regally up on his white stallion. He smiled a huge smile. Then he looked back down at the paper in his hand and read it aloud.

  “This appears to be the first page of the King’s letter,” Beiste said as he narrowed his eyes at Cruim before he began reading. “It states; ‘In thanks and great gratitude for the gift of your prized stallion I bestow to George Beisteson Beaumont, Duke of Beaumont and Brandon, one of the four greatest jewels in Scotland.

  “‘I request that you travel to Fionnaghal Castle to meet the youngest of the Ross sisters, for it is the Ross sisters that are Scotland’s greatest jewels. I think Lady Ina Ross, the youngest, will please you greatly and that you will please her, for you are surely her fairy tale prince that I heard her talk of at length. And she is a tiny and most beautiful princess at heart.

  “‘I much enjoyed meeting her and getting to know her unique spirit when the Ross sisters, along with the MacDonells, caught Red Munroe.

  “‘I have great hopes of a marriage between the two of you and look forward to the children you will have. Go meet her, and if you find her to be what you have always wanted in a wife, and I think you will, I will happily bless the marriage.

  “‘My only sadness is that I cannot be there when the two of you meet, for I am sure it will be very interesting when she finds that I have sent her an actual prince.’

  “The stamp on this page is the King’s mark for a special license to marry immediately.’’

  Beiste raised his eyes to stare at Cruim. “Your page just reiterates the location of Fionnaghal and our King repeating his blessing to seek out Lady Ina and wed her.” He paused and looked at Aunt Burnie.

  “I suspect that you tried to do away with Burunhilde by leading her into the caves knowing she would not be able to find her way out. You needed her gone because she recognized me, and she also knew that there are no ‘Lord’ Hays. Isnae this correct?”

  Beiste stared Cruim down, his brows lowered in a menacing stare.

  He did not need an answer, for Cruim’s face said it all as he began to back up slowly.

  “She will die then, you cannot have her!” he screamed at Beiste as he threw a knife at Ina.

  But Ina had seen Cruim reach for the knife and ducked as it flew past her.

  “May I, me Beiste?” Ina called as she placed a dirk in her hand, watching as Cruim grabbed another knife which he threw this time at Beiste.

  Beiste ducked. “As you wish. Crumb’s knife throwing skills are worse than mine, my darling,” he said as he looked at her. His sword was in his hand as he readied to go after Cruim. He stopped and grinned, ducking another knife without looking away from Ina.

  “There appears to be a spider on the beach m’eudail.”

  “I shall rescue ye me darling, after all I owe ye another rescuing so that we are even,” she called out, flinging a dirk just as Cruim brought his arm back and threw another knife at Beiste.

  Beiste ducked that one as well. “I think I have rescued you more,” he called out as he ducked.

  Ina’s dirk hit Cruim in the hand and he let out a high pitched scream. He stopped and bent over, clutching his hand to his belly as he continued to scream. “I am bleeding!” he wailed.

  Ina’s sisters cantered down the beach and surrounded Cruim with their horses.

  “Shall we finish him off then Duke?” Ceena called back to Beiste and Ina. She was grinning broadly.

  “Ceena!” called out Tristan. “Ye are a blood-thirsty woman! He will be taken to the Edinburgh prison with the others!”

  The sisters groaned in mock disappointment, then they looked at each other and laughed.

  Beiste shook his head and grinned at Ina’s sisters. Then he went over and put his big hands on Ina’s waist and pulled her down off of Victorious.

  He did not let go of her waist as he looked down into her lovely blue eyes.

  “Will you marry me and let me rescue you when needed and blissfully love you for the rest of my life?” he said with a crooked grin.

  “Aye, and I shall rescue you when needed and love ye blissfully for the rest of mine!” she said joyously as she leapt up into his arms and circled his neck with her arms. “I shall rescue ye particularly from spiders,” she said as she smiled mischievously up into his face.

  “And I shall rescue you whenever a crab nibbles on your toe. Only I shall be allowed to do that.”

  “Only ye are allowed to nibble on me toe or only ye are allowed to rescue me?” Ina giggled.

  “Both,” he laughed as he took her lips in a hungry kiss.

  “I love you, my wife, and I am keeping you, forever,” he said with wonder against her lips.

  Ina kissed him back with all the pent up love she had for her Highlander beast.

  “My husband,” she sighed, “I love ye so vera much, and tis good that ye are keeping me, because I am gaunnie keep ye, and we will be blissful, I am sure.”

  Beiste pulled her back to him and kissed her deeply, hungrily, with love...and with blissfulness.

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  Afterword

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  Beasts of the Highlands

  Book #1

  Highlander’s Lionheart

  Book #2

  Highlander’s Scarred Angel

  Book #3 (This Book)

  Highlander’s Wounded Beast

  Book #4

  Highlander’s Fierce Wolf

  Book #5

  Highlander’s Heart of Steel

  Book #6

  Highlander’s Golden Jewel

  Want more romance?

  Turn the page to read the first chapters of the next installment of the story, “Highlander’s Fierce Wolf.”

  Prologue

  The night was stormy and dark in this northern part of the Highlands. The tree branches overhead scratched their limbs at each other, making an eerie sound as he dismounted. He patted his big war horse’s neck, his large hands subconsciously gentling over the heavily battle-scarred areas of his loyal stallion as he looked around. With narrowed eyes he patiently scanned the forest until satisfied; only then did he head out of the cover of the trees. There came a steady, miserable drizzle that fell on the long, dark cloak he wore over his shoulders, making him look even more intimidating, even larger than he already was. He walked with the confidence that only a man proven in battle could have. A man used to leading, a man that others followed—no matter the da
ngers he faced—for he had never failed in any battle. His name was known and respected by all warriors. Even his King knew the value of this man and had sent him into many a battle in the name of King and country.

  It was this very King that had sent for him again. King George had sent word to meet him here in this desolate spot. Alone and in total secrecy, he had demanded. Tell no one, the missive had said.

  He walked out of the dark woods into the open. His steps were sure and confident as he walked over the heath to the edge of the sea cliff. The wind blew his cloak and his kilt out behind him as the rain hit him in the face. He tilted his face up into the winds, reveling in the wildness of the sea wind and salty spray mixed with rain. It blew his dark hair around his head, revealing a face that was neither beautiful nor ugly, but only strong, weathered by the elements and of waging war. He braced his legs apart as he stood there in tall, thick, leather boots encasing muscular calves, steadily facing into and against the strong sea winds. His hands remained quietly fisted at his sides where he could instantly reach for the long broadsword belted to his kilt’s waist. On the other hip, near his other hand, was a pistol, and over his back a sturdy bow and a quiver filled with arrows. He was an expert in any weapon. He feared nothing, and no one.

  The Highland warrior waited for his King.

  There came a short whistle. He turned at the sound to see several men on horses galloping out of the forest. One man road forward, whistling again. It was the signal he and the King had always used.

  His fists relaxed and he went to greet King George.

  They talked quietly for several moments.

  The man's shoulders bunched up, his face became taught, his chin tightening as his lips thinned.

  “You want me to go to the vera north of Scotland sire, to retrieve a child?” Wolfram Gunn McKay asked the King. He tried to be respectful, but he could not hide the disgruntled tone in his deep voice.

  “Not just any child, but yes Wolf, I do. I cannot have my Queen discover my indiscretion. Nor can I let my enemies discover the boy. He would be used against me in too many ways.” The King spoke quietly and solemnly to the huge Highland warrior.

  Wolf did not understand the King's loyalty to a woman—any woman. Much less a desire to find and protect an illegitimate child.

  Wolf stared hard at the King. Something was different. The King had sent a clandestine message requiring that Wolf meet him immediately in this spot that was in the middle of nowhere. Everything about their meeting was quiet, secretive, and mysterious. Unusual. Wolf knew there was something his King was not telling him. The King looked nervous for he was shifting his feet back and forth and twitching his fingers in agitation.

  “Why have you asked this task of me, one of your warriors? Tis not a warrior’s errand.” Wolf asked in a gruff voice. “Is there something you are not telling me? Tis simple to retrieve a small child isnae?”

  The King looked down. Then slowly his eyes rose to stare at the massive, proud, powerful Highland warrior in front of him. “It will be dangerous. There are others that have been sent before you. Others that cannot be trusted. I cannot attest to their loyalty from what I now know.”

  Wolf’s eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened. Now he understood. “Your enemies are hunting the boy?”

  “Yes,” was all the King said.

  “Very well sire,” Wolf said with quiet respect.

  “You will do this for me?” the King asked once again.

  “My word is truth,” was all he said before he bowed and walked back towards his waiting horse.

  Chapter 1

  Scottish Highlands

  Late 1700s

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  Swannoc McKinnon stared up at the ruins of her home, Brough Castle. The wind whipped through her red hair and twisted her long skirts about her ankles. With the wind came the sharp, acrid tang of ashes mixed with the wild ocean smells of the Pentland Firth.

  The roof has caved in, she noted, her shoulders falling in deep despair. Only the stone walls of the castle were left, but barely. Anything the King’s men could burn, they did. It had been quick and brutal and she had not stood a chance of attempting any defense. With this third attack she had taken the few people who were left and hid.

  She hung her head in shame.

  She had failed.

  She had been wrong in thinking they were safe.

  The Clearances had come to this most northern part of the Highlands.

  She had thought the people of Brough would be overlooked here on this wild and lonely peninsula. At its tip it overlooked the North Sea and the angry Pentland Firth, whose tides were fast and dangerous. Her family had been here for as long as anyone knew; from the times of the ancient people who had come across the sea to settle on this land.

  But it was she, Swannoc McKinnon—or Swan, as she was usually referred to—that had let her people down.

  It was she that had not been able to stop the end for Brough Castle and its people.

  She was looking sadly at the destruction of her home when she heard the plaintive howl of the wolf. It made gooseflesh rise on her arms. She spun away from the sound in fear and ran back to the nearly deserted village where she was now living. She started singing a song to calm herself. It also shut out the noise of the wolf howling. She sang rapidly in time with her footfalls. The faster she ran, the faster she sang.

  “Oh saw you bonnie Lesley,

  To see her is to love her,

  And love her but forever,

  For nature made her what she is,

  And never made another.”

  Swan ran right up to the door of the small cottage she was sharing with a young woman named Neilina, but preferred to be called Neely. The cottage was one of only a few that had not been burned to the ground by the soldiers.

  Neely was still awkwardly getting used to sharing quarters with the “Lady of the castle,” as she referred to Swan. Her father had been lost in an attack before this last one. She had no one, just like Swan.

  Neely yanked opened the door to the crofter’s cottage to see Swan standing there. Swan was out of breath and her face had gone white as she leaned on the door, trying to catch her breath. Neely looked at Swan from her booted feet, past her long, dark blue skirts, to her linen blouse and up to her hair. She was disheveled from head to foot. Swan’s red hair was loose, the curls wild around her face and down her back. Her delicate, creamy, white face looked stark and frightened. Her blue eyes were huge and dark.

  “I heard ye singing milady,” Neely said with a hint of animosity in her voice. “What frightened ye? For I know ye sing when ye are frightened. But ye sing a lot lately so either ye like to sing or ye are frightened quite a bit.” She frowned at Swan. “Or ye have discovered that what ye call singing frightens people away.” At Swan’s stern expression she asked more politely, “What caused ye to sing? Have the soldiers returned?”

  “No, not the soldiers. But I heard it again Neely,” Swan said, ignoring Neely’s observation on her singing. “The pitiful, mournful sound of a wolf. It’s guarding the castle I think.”

  “Tis all burnt, what would a wolf want with the castle Lady McKinnon? Tis bad enough they destroyed the castle and the village. Tis just a few wee children left, three women and one auld mon. Now we are plagued by a wolf milady? Me dear old dead da would have killed the creature by now,” Neely said, with a frown and a tsking noise. She looked sideways at Swan. The young girl that she had watched grow up in the castle had changed. The two were about the same age. But gone was the skinny, unfortunate-looking, carrot-haired girl who was afraid of her own shadow. Lady Swan had become striking—though she was still timid and fearful, always trying to sing away her fear.

  “I told ye to call me Swan, please Neely, things are different now,” she said as she grasped Neely’s hand.

  “Och I know,” Neely said and pulled her hand out of Swan’s grasp. “I just cannae control it sometimes. You are still the lady of Castle Brock,” she said, using the old Scottish
pronunciation of the castle’s name. “We can niver be friends. Tis hard to not call you anything other than milady, or Lady Swan, or Lady McKinnon, or Lady Brock,” Neely said as she unconsciously tucked a few stray, light brown hairs back into the braid that fell over her shoulder. “So that’ll be the way it is. Tis me tongue ye see. It has a mind of its own.” Her grey-green eyes made an attempt at a smile at Swan.

  The plaintive sound of the wolf came faintly again.

  “Where are the children?” Swan asked firmly, hiding what she was feeling in her voice. She knew what Neely thought of her.

  “They are out playing behind the cottage. Do not fear milady, Beak is with them, as is Kaithria. Ye know she’ll not be letting little Albie out of her sight. Scary lass that one,” Neely said, looking towards the back of the cottage. “Och and there goes me tongue again, I am sure she is not scary at all.”

  Swan smiled tensely at her. “As long as Beak is with them,” she said, relaxing her smile just a bit.

  She turned at the sound of voices to see the children coming around from behind the cottage. They were dancing around Beak’s knobby knees as he walked towards her in his old kilt. He still wore it daily, no matter the law saying the wearing of tartans were illegal. He had sworn that no one would care what happened this far north. That no one would ever come to this most northern peninsula of the Highlands.