by Amy Jarecki
Her heart fluttered like butterfly wings. “Oh? And what is that?”
“I aim to marry you.”
“Here?”
Grinning from ear to ear, he couldn’t have looked more like an angel if he’d tried. “If you’ll have me.”
She peered around him and saw no one. “Do you mean to say Thomas is a priest?”
“Nay. I want to marry you in the Highland way. The way of our ancestors.”
Gooseflesh pebbled across her skin—everything felt surreal. “Now?”
“Aye.” His eyes twinkled as, taking her hand, he knelt. “Lady Magdalen Keith, you would make me the happiest man in all of Christendom if you would do me the honor of being my wife.”
A wee tear dribbled down her cheek. True, she didn’t want to cry anymore, but she’d make an exception this once.
“What say you, my love?”
“I say yes.” She strengthened her grip on his hands. “You are finer to me than anything on this earth, and if it will make you happy to have my hand, then I willingly give it.”
It didn’t take long for Aiden to fetch the two Atholl men who had made the cottage ever so cozy for their arrival. Maddie greeted them both with a warm smile, the empty chasm in her chest all but gone. “Thank you for taking care of us. It meant ever so much to arrive at this delightful cottage and have it warmed by the fire.”
“Much obliged, m’lady,” said Thom, holding up a leather thong.
“A strip of leather?” asked Aiden.
The old guard shrugged. “Couldn’t find a bit of ribbon anywhere. Sorry.”
“Very well then. Carry on.”
Benjamin raised a knife. “Give us your hands.” First he made a wee incision in Aiden’s palm, then he took Maddie’s and did the same. It bit, but she didn’t make a sound. Benjamin pressed their palms together, then Thom stepped forward and wound the thong around their hands. “By binding your hands, the blood coursing through Lord Tullibardine combines with that of Lady Magdalen. Once your blood is merged, you will no longer be one man and one woman, but a couple. Once your blood commingles, you, Lord Tullibardine, will be a part of Lady Magdalen, and Her Ladyship a part of His Lordship. You will be bound in the eyes of the Highlands, in the eyes of your ancestors, and in the eyes of God Almighty.”
“Let it be done,” Aiden said, gazing into her eyes—those boyish dimples making her stomach leap. “I will love you until I take my last breath on this earth.”
Maddie smiled, her heart full and heavy with love, shoving aside the chasm that had tormented her. “And I shall love you with every fiber of my being throughout eternity.”
The wound on her palm pulsed with life, Aiden’s strong blood mixing with hers. Though earlier that day she had been filled with despair, this was the happiest moment in her life. At last the man she’d loved for years had pledged his adoration in such a way that no one could repeal it.
As Thom removed the leather binding, Aiden joined his lips with Maddie’s. She barely heard the door shut as the two loyal guards took their leave. Melting into the warmth and tenderness of his kiss, Maddie could have been floating on air.
“Are you hungry?”
“Oddly, no.”
He grinned—dimples—handsome as a devil. “Then let me take you to heaven.”
Aiden slowly removed every last stitch of her clothing. Then, standing very still, he held his arms out while Maddie unpinned his plaid, loosened his belt, and let his kilt fall to the ground. She bent to remove his hose and his shoes, but before she straightened he’d already whipped his shirt over his head.
Together they climbed into the box bed and sealed their love with a night of endless passion, of worship, taking pleasure in the beauty of their bodies and reveling in the strength of their bond.
While she made love to Aiden, Maddie didn’t think about the future or the past. All that existed was Aiden, a man with whom she’d fallen in love and a man with whom she would live out the rest of her days.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
It didn’t take much for Aiden and Maddie to settle into a routine. He should have brought her to the shieling in the first place. Had he known the depth of her despair, he wouldn’t have hesitated. Fortunately, the isolated cottage was exactly what she needed to heal. The entire world was shut out. He hunted, fished, and set traps, and together they prepared their own meals, which wasn’t difficult—not even for a man who had grown up surrounded by servants.
He often thought about staying there forever.
Perhaps they could, especially if Thom brought oats, leavening, and flour now and again.
He saw no reason to leave anytime soon, and hadn’t even broached the subject with Maddie.
A fortnight had passed when they sat at the table about to dig into a meal of lake trout and oatcakes. Beyond the cottage the sound of horses neared.
Maddie glanced up, a horrible look of terror filling her eyes for the first time since they’d arrived.
Aiden headed for the musket he kept loaded by the door. “Hide in the bed.” Moving to the window, he lifted the curtain and peeked out. Sure enough, horses moved through the foliage. Opening the window ever so slightly, he cocked his weapon and slid it through the gap.
“Hello the cottage,” hollered a voice Aiden could never mistake.
Quickly he removed the musket. “’Tis my da.”
“His Grace?” Maddie asked, as if she couldn’t believe the Duke of Atholl would ever come calling at such a rustic outpost.
She moved beside him as Aiden threw open the door. Not only had Da brought a dozen men with him, the Earl Marischal rode in as well.
And they weren’t smiling.
Aiden braced himself for a battle of words. “Welcome, m’lords.”
“My God, Son, do you have any idea what this looks like, hiding out in the Highlands with a fugitive?”
“Former fugitive,” said the earl. His face cracked a wee smile, though he gave his daughter a pointed look. “Maddie, are you well?”
She curtsied. “I’m quite well, thank you.”
The duke dismounted. “I think we need to have a word in private, Son.”
Aiden didn’t budge. “Anything you have to say to me can be uttered in front of my wife.”
The Earl Marischal beamed. “Good on you, lad.”
But Da’s eyes bugged as he gripped his fist over his heart. “I beg your pardon? Do not tell me you’ve gone off and married a bastard?”
Sliding his arm over Maddie’s shoulders, Aiden pulled her tight to his body. “I have, and I’ll thank you for never referring to Her Ladyship thusly again.”
The earl slapped His Grace on the back. “That means our families are allies, John. That should make the queen happy.”
The duke mumbled a string of curses under his breath.
“We were about to have our nooning. Will you join us?” Maddie asked.
“Have you any whisky?” His Grace gave her a bullheaded look as he marched through the door.
“What news of court?” Aiden asked.
“With Lord Seaforth’s help, we proved that the chandelier fell of its own volition. The chain links were worn right through,” said the earl.
“Aye, but it practically took an act of Parliament to convince the queen to drop the charges and reinstate your title.” The duke climbed onto the bench. “Bloody ungrateful lad loses his title days after earning it, then runs off and elopes with a ba—”
Aiden sank his fingers into his father’s shoulder. “Pardon me?”
“Runs off with a lady born out of—”
Aiden pounded his knuckles on the table. “Lady will do.”
The duke cleared his throat and swiped an oatcake from the plate. “Ye ken Mother will have one of her spells.”
Aiden waited until Maddie and her father sat, then took the seat beside Da. “Ma will be fine—and happier than a lark when bairns come.”
The two men looked to Maddie. “Are you…?”
“Not that I know of.” She turned
redder than an apple. “So what of Lady Saxonhurst? Was she implicated in the investigation at all?”
The earl shook his head. “That woman feels it is her duty to cause a stir at her every opportunity.”
“Unbelievable,” said Aiden. “I would have thought she had some hand in it.”
“Well, the whole debacle was an accident, plain and simple.” The duke bit into his oatcake. “I wanted you to ken the news and to take you back to Blair Atholl before the snow sets in for winter.”
“I think we might spend the winter here.” Maddie’s blues flashed with mischief. “What say you, Aiden?”
He mulled it over. “It was the only option a few moments ago, but in a month’s time, the snow will be up to the rafters.”
The Earl Marischal wrapped his arm around Maddie’s shoulders. “Besides, your mother is awaiting you at the castle.”
Maddie’s eyes grew round as silver coins. “I beg your pardon?”
He gave her shoulder a pat. “I figured it was about time I told you. Miss Agnes is your mother. She was my first love—my only love, really. But unlike you, I couldn’t marry her because she is a commoner.”
A chuckle pealed through Aiden’s lips. “I always thought you pair looked like kin.”
“They do.” The earl poured himself a cup of water. “I do not think I will ever tire of looking at mother and daughter when they stand together.”
Aiden raised his cup. “I ken I’ll never tire of gazing upon my Maddie. She has won my heart forever.”
Author’s Note
Thank you for joining me for The Highland Commander. This was a deliciously fun story to write, and I enjoyed taking my Scottish characters to eighteenth-century London. One of the interesting facts in the book was the incorporation of the “Screw Plot”: In 1708, a chandelier fell and was assumed to be a Whig assassination attempt on the life of Queen Anne. Because the time period was close and the scandal too tempting to expand on, I felt it added a bit of spice to the story when the heroine, Maddie, was blamed for a similar incident and ended up running for her life.
Aiden’s character was loosely based on William Murray, Marquis of Tullibardine (1689–1746). Murray matriculated at St Andrews University in 1706. In 1707 he entered the service of the Royal Navy as an officer and in 1709 became the Marquis of Tullibardine after the death of his brother, John, who was killed in action in the battle of Malplaquet.
The House of Atholl was divided over the rebellion and William opposed his father, the Duke of Atholl, who sided with the government. Tullibardine was one of the first to join the standard of Mar and the Chevalier in the 1715 Jacobite uprising. He was also one of the seven followers of Bonny Prince Charlie, who on June 22, 1745, embarked with him at Saint-Nazaire on the Loire. Lord Tullibardine was recognized by the Jacobites as the rightful Duke of Atholl and continued to be a prominent figure for the Jacobite cause until his death in 1746.
The marquis did not marry, making it convenient for me to introduce the fictitious and illegitimate daughter of the Earl Marischal of Scotland, Magdalen Keith. Although William Murray, Marquis of Tullibardine, never married, such a state of affairs wasn’t the happy ending Aiden deserved.
Also of note, because I adore the grandeur of the Banqueting House at Whitehall and wanted to use the Whitehall location in the London scenes, I stretched the timeline a bit. In 1698, a fire destroyed much of the Palace of Whitehall, though the Banqueting House still survives to this day.
The Earl of Seaforth promised a dying friend to look after his daughter. But when his new ward turns out to be a beautiful young woman, the earl finds the only thing that needs guarding is his heart…
Keep reading for a preview of
THE HIGHLAND GUARDIAN
Chapter One
The North Sea, off the coast of England, 14 May 1711
The gale blew through the English Channel like a savage rogue, making foam gush and spray from the sea’s white-capped swells. When, finally, the Earl of Seaforth’s sea galley sailed past the Thames estuary, Reid MacKenzie blew out a long breath, having navigated the treacherous crossing without incident. But relief was short-lived. In his wake the Royal Navy’s racing galleon gained speed, creeping closer with every league.
Nicholas Kennet lowered his spyglass. “They’re following us, I’ve no doubt now.”
“Stay the course,” bellowed Reid. He wasn’t only an earl, he was captain of his eighteen-oar, single-masted galley, and he’d dive to Davy Jones’s locker before he allowed one of the queen’s vessels to bully him into dropping anchor and submitting to an inspection. These were precarious times, and a man had to keep his opinions secret lest he be misunderstood.
“Someone must have tipped them off in Calais,” said Kennet. The Englishman had proved loyal to the Jacobite cause, and he’d become a friend and confidant over the past several months.
“Even if they did, they have nothing on us.”
“Except we paid a visit to King James.”
“What of it?” Reaching inside his cloak, Reid smoothed his fingers atop the leather-wrapped missive he carried in his doublet. A missive for those loyal to the cause. “Many a nobleman has traveled to France to meet with His Highness.”
Not a seafaring man, Mr. Kennet turned a ripe shade of green. He was a wealthy coal miner from Coxhoe in the northeast of England and had proved his loyalty with bequests of coin. “But none were carrying a message as incriminating as ours.”
The man hadn’t lied. After enduring nine years of Anne’s rule, the Jacobites had made an ironclad plea to James Francis Edward Stuart, the rightful heir to the crown. An appeal Reid had been certain the prince wouldn’t refuse. With her failing health, Anne’s days were numbered, and it was imperative to gain her half brother’s agreement to take the necessary measures to ensure his succession to the throne. Reid had been confident James would accept a temporary shift to the Protestant faith.
But he’d been wrong.
“The Royal Buckingham approaching portside, m’lord,” said Dunn MacRae, chieftain of his clan and Reid’s most trusted ally.
“Damnation.” Reid pulled out his spyglass and trained it on the upper deck of the navy ship. A red-coated buffoon wearing a feathered tricorn hat dashed aft, flailing his arms.
“Shall we heave to?” asked Dunn.
“God, no. That would only make us appear guilty.” He snapped his glass closed and addressed his crew. “Stay the course. Maintain present speed. Let the bastards sail past and find someone else to chase. We’re nae pirates, and we’ve done nothing wrong.” Aside from carry a missive calling the Jacobite clans to prepare for the succession.
“Is that why you’re not flying your pennant, m’lord?” asked Kennet.
Reid leered out of the corner of his eye while his mouth twitched. “No use broadcasting I’ve paid a visit to France.” He pointed to the navy ship. “Given a good wind, that galleon will beat us every time, but she cannot sail up rivers. If we can keep her guessing until we reach the estuary of the River Tees, I’ll have you sitting by home’s hearth before the witching hour.”
“Seaforth,” said Dunn MacRae, his voice steady—too steady. “She’s opened gunport one.”
Reid didn’t need his spyglass to make out the black cannon pushing through the open port like a deadly dragon. He swiped a hand across his mouth. “How near are we to the Tees?”
“Two leagues. I can see Tees Bay from here, m’lord.”
“Tack west. Aim the bow for the shallows.”
“Aye, Captain!” bellowed every man aboard the galley as the oarsmen increased their pace. Reid might be an earl when his feet were on land, but at sea his clansmen called him Captain.
“Surely they will not fire.” A gust of wind blew Nicholas’s hat and periwig to the timbers, and he scrambled over a bench to retrieve them.
Dunn pulled on the rudder while the boom swung across the hull, shifting the single sail. Ignoring the Englishman’s question, Reid watched the galleon as it sailed alongside
them. “They’ll most likely launch a warning shot across our bow.”
“Dear God. This is preposterous,” said Nicholas, shoving his wig and hat low on his brow. “If I hadn’t witnessed it myself, I never would have believed Her Majesty capable of such piracy.”
The flicker of a torch flashed through the gunport. “You’d best believe it, my friend.” Reid turned with a scowl. “Bear down on your oars, lads!”
The flash burst from the gunport and flared bright before the sound of the cannon blast boomed through the air. Reid’s skin crawled at the high-pitched whistle from the approaching cannonball. He ducked below the hull, praying the British ship had set her sights correctly for a warning shot. But as the whistling missile neared, hope became but a wayward prayer hurtling through the wind.
With his next breath, the bow of his ship splintered into a thousand shards. The blast boomed with a thunderous roar of water that gushed into the hull, instantly soaking the men and pulling them into the frigid whitecaps.
“Swim for your lives!” Reid yelled as he climbed atop the rowing bench. Casting his cloak aside, he prepared to plunge into the icy swells of the North Sea.
“Help!” Nicholas shouted, his voice strained.
As he took a quick glance over his shoulder, Reid’s blood turned cold. Dear God, a spike of wood at least a foot long protruded from Nicholas Kennet’s chest.
“Jesu.” Reid waded through the rushing water of his sinking ship and hefted his friend into his arms. “Hang on. Shore’s in sight. I’ll have you to safety in no time.”
Strengthening his grip, the Earl of Seaforth clenched his teeth and leaped into the sea. He was engulfed by biting salt water attacking him like a thousand knives, and air whooshed from his lungs. The current dragged him downward, threatening to tug Nicholas from his grasp. Bearing down with a surge of power, Reid kicked fiercely, battling the undertow, his lungs screaming for blessed air.
If the sea claimed him this day, it would not be without a fight. Ever since he’d faced off against the Marquis of Tullibardine and lost, Reid MacKenzie had not allowed a day to pass without pushing himself to gain more strength. To better himself.
