by Willa Blair
Table of Contents
Excerpt
Praise for Willa Blair
Highland Troth
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Epilogue
A word about the author...
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
“It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other, Caitrin,” Jamie said, trying to change the tenor of their conversation before they got too far down the wrong path. “Canna we begin again as the friends we once were?” He studied her eyes, searching for the lass he used to know, then smiled, hoping to encourage an answering smile from her. “Yer da’s description in his letter to the Lathan didna do ye justice.” Flattery might work. It usually did with a lass. Certainly, it couldn’t hurt.
“Think ye to sway me with sweet words, Jamie Lathan? I’m nay longer a lass of sixteen years to be swept away by a lad’s fawning attention. I’m the heir to Fletcher. Dinna patronize me.”
“I never would,” he replied. Too quickly, he realized, as her eyebrow arched. Ach, think. What was she up to? “I merely hoped to renew our acquaintance. Since we’ll be spending the next several days together, I thought we might enjoy—”
“We may be forced to travel together, but there’s nay reason for us to make anything more out of the journey. Ye are here to do a job.”
Jamie winced as she spoke the same words he’d said to himself not so very long ago. At least they were in agreement on one thing. “Aye, I am.”
“Then I trust that ye will do it well and deliver me to my da.”
Praise for Willa Blair
“The wonderful setting in the Scottish highlands, along with the mix of valiant characters and a creatively robust storyline succeed in making [HIGHLAND HEALER] enjoyable.”
~InD’Tale Magazine (3.5 Stars, heat level 4)
~*~
“Sixteenth-century intrigue, muscled men with claymores and a doomed romance—is it any wonder I was reluctant to leave the rich, riveting world of HIGHLAND SEER? Good thing I can make my way back easily enough—all I have to do is treat myself to Blair’s celebrated debut, HIGHLAND HEALER.”
~USAToday HEA
~*~
“Excellent storytelling with exciting characters and an intriguing storyline! Wickedly delicious!”
~My Book Addiction Reviews (4.5 Stars)
~*~
“Again Willa Blair delivers! Intrigue, betrayal, and forbidden love against a rich, wonderful Highland tapestry.”
~Tanya Anne Crosby, NY Times bestselling author
~*~
“Willa Blair delivers sizzling romance and adventure.”
~Rebecca York, bestselling author
~*~
“Ms. Blair’s writing style is natural and evocative...”
~Let Them Read Books
Highland Troth
by
Willa Blair
Highland Talents, Book 3
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Highland Troth
COPYRIGHT © 2014 by Linda Williams
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Tina Lynn Stout
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Faery Rose Edition, 2014
Print ISBN 978-1-62830-654-5
Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-655-2
Highland Talents, Book 3
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
This one is for my fans
who’ve been clamoring for Jamie’s book.
He’s finally here!
Acknowledgements
It’s not easy to change editors in mid-series. I’m one of the lucky authors who did just that and prospered, thanks to my new editor, Frances Sevilla. She took me on in the midst of the third title of this series. This is the fourth. I look forward to a fifth, and more, whether in this series or another. Thanks, Fran!
Prologue
Scottish Highlands, 1502
Caitrin Fletcher wrapped her arms around her middle and stared out the open window. “I willna go. Ye canna make me.” There was no point in starting an argument, one she knew she would lose, but she didn’t know what else to do. Outside, the sky brightened and wind blew aside the morning fog long enough for her to see her father and some of the men saddling horses. It was nearly time. In moments, she would leave the only home she’d ever known, perhaps forever.
Her old nurse, Rona, sighed behind her while she packed the last of Caitrin’s things. Caitrin heard something clatter to the floor but didn’t turn around to see what fell. To do that would be to face what she could not bear to see—her small chamber, stripped of all her belongings.
Her father was bent on sending her to foster with a clan of strangers. She didn’t understand why. Had she done something wrong? Why wouldn’t he tell her? Surely now Mama was gone, he’d want to keep her close by. Not send her away to people she didn’t know.
Rona’s footsteps approached. “I dinna believe a lass of nine summers has much to say about it when her da has his mind made up.”
Caitrin cringed. The weight of Rona’s hands on her shoulders nearly made her shaky knees collapse. The back of her eyes burned. She would not cry. She would not!
“Yer da is doin’ what he believes is the best for ye, lass.”
“Nay, he isna.”
Rona turned Caitrin to face her.
Caitrin kept her head down, refusing to meet her nurse’s gaze. For the second time in a month, her world was falling in on her.
“Do ye think this is easy for him, lass? He misses yer ma, too.”
Caitrin’s eyes welled, and no matter how hard she tried to prevent it, a tear leaked and trickled down her cheek.
“Now, lass, ye needna cry. The Lathans are no’ strangers to yer da. He wouldna send ye there unless he kent they would care for ye as one of their own.”
She bit her lip against the uncomfortable sensation of bees buzzing on her skin that had begun with Rona’s last words. “Ye’re just saying that. Trying to make me feel better. But it isna working.”
“Nay, lass, ’tis true. All will be well.”
“I ken ye’re lying to me. I can feel it. There’s something wrong.”
Rona gave her a little shake. “Look at me, lass, and listen. Ye must stop. Ye canna frighten peop
le when ye reach yer new home. Do ye wish to be left all alone?”
Caitrin shook her head, gaze still on the floor and Rona’s boots though the torment on her skin had faded.
“Ye willna have any friends.” Rona continued, “Nay other lasses to play with. That isna what ye want, now is it?”
“Nay!” Caitrin couldn’t help it. The word came out as a wail, and tears washed down her cheeks much as they had when her da told her Mama had gone to the angels, and a wee bairn along with her.
Rona wrapped thin arms around her and hugged. “If ye keep what ye can do to yerself, ye’ll be fine, lass. No’ a soul needs to ken.” For a moment, Caitrin let herself be comforted, wrapped in the warmth of her old nurse’s embrace as she had been so many times before. But even that comfort could not console her. This might be the last time for that, too.
“I’ll ken.” Her words came out as a hiccup and Caitrin’s tears fell faster. “I’ll ken when they lie. It hurts me. How can I pretend I dinna ken when I do?”
“Ye must find a way, lass. Ach, my wee lassie, ye will find a way. Listen to their words, no’ what ye sense. Ye must learn to hold yer tongue.”
“Why can ye no’ come with me?”
“We’ve talked about this, lass. I’m too old to make the trip. I must stay here and take care of yer da.”
The bees came back. Caitrin wrenched away from Rona, shaking her head. “Da doesna need ye to care for him. He has all those men.” She pointed to the window where she’d seen the men saddling horses. “And servants. And...and...”
“Hush, now. What’s done is done.” Rona turned back to the bag on the bed, put in the last few items and closed it. “There, all set.”
Her voice sounded strangely hoarse. What was she hiding?
“Put on yer cloak, lass, and let’s get ye down to yer da for a proper leave-taking.”
Caitrin stood helpless under the onslaught of emotions as Rona draped the travel cloak over her shoulders and did up the clasp at the throat. Somehow, she found the will to protest. “Must I, really? This isna all just a bad dream?”
“’Tis real enough. But ’twill be a grand adventure.” Rona’s lips compressed into a shadow of a smile. “Ye’ll see.”
Caitrin’s chest hurt. Through the wash of tears, she barely saw the room she was leaving. As she made her way downstairs, her heart suddenly weighed more than the bag she carried.
Chapter One
Scottish Highlands, Spring 1518
“A rider approaches!” The tower guard’s voice rang out over the bailey. At the sound, Jamie Lathan hesitated long enough to earn a solid blow across his back from the flat of the claymore wielded by his cousin—and best friend. The breath left his chest in a whoosh. “Damn it, Toran!” he choked out and dropped to his knees.
Toran Lathan stood grinning, one eyebrow raised, waiting.
Jamie knew what he wanted—a concession in the long-running jest between them. “Very well, Laird, I let myself be distracted and ye bested me. Are ye satisfied?”
Toran laughed and planted the point of his blade in the packed dirt, ending their sparring session. In the failing afternoon sunlight, the blade cast a long, thin shadow between their larger silhouettes. “’Twas Donal’s favorite tactic to use on me. It’s taken me the six months since he left us and married Ellie MacKyrie, but I finally figured out how he does it.”
“Am I supposed to be proud of ye?” Jamie took a moment just to breathe. “Tell it to Donal the next time we visit the MacKyrie keep.”
“Nay. I’d rather show him.” Toran waggled his eyebrows, promising retribution with a grin and reaching out a hand to pull Jamie to his feet. “For now, ’tis a good time to stop this—it’ll soon be too dark to see ye land on yer arse when I knock ye down again. Let’s find out who’s coming up the ridge. I wasna aware we were expecting visitors.”
Jamie nodded and sheathed his weapon. “I hate to admit it, but I’m starting to miss our former arms master,” he muttered, rubbing his sword arm as they climbed the tower stairs. “I havena needed this much sparring since we were lads.”
“I never expected Donal to fall for a pretty face, but I canna be completely sorry he’s gone. He married well with Ellie.”
“Better than that skeptical bastard deserved, aye.”
“And his absence gives me the chance to knock ye on yer arse now and again.”
Jamie laughed. “Beware, my laird. I’ll be knocking ye on yers before too long. If ye’d stop sending me out as yer envoy, I’d have more time to train.”
Toran chuckled, failing to take his warning seriously.
As Jamie intended. Humor made a fine weapon, too, which Toran should have learned by now. And Jamie had mastered the taunting that cemented their friendship as young lads well beyond the bonds of blood they shared as cousins.
They arrived on the battlement as the rider reached the gate. “Who are ye?” Toran called down in answer to the rider’s hail.
“I bear a message from the Fletcher for the Lathan.”
Toran raised an eyebrow at Jamie then nodded to the gate guard. “Let him in.”
“A message from the Fletcher?” As they made their way back down the tower stairs to the bailey, Jamie’s chest tightened. “That’s a name we havena heard in years.”
Toran shrugged. “At least five, or is it six, since Caitrin Fletcher was called home?”
“Closer to six years.” Jamie’s heart skipped a beat, but he kept his pace even and his voice level. “So does the Fletcher have another daughter to foster with us?”
“We’re about to find out.”
The Fletcher ghillie dismounted as Toran and Jamie reached him.
“I’m Lathan,” Toran announced. “This is Jamie. Welcome to the Aerie.” As they greeted him, lads led his horse away to be cared for in the stable.
“I’m Uilleam Fletcher. Call me Will,” he said, offering his hand. “I have a letter for ye from my laird.”
Toran gripped his arm then told him, “Let’s get a draught to warm ye. Ye can give me yer message inside.”
“My thanks.” Will shuddered. “’Twas a long, cold ride.”
Jamie’s curiosity got the better of him as they walked. “Do ye ken what message ye carry?”
“Aye,” Will answered, stepping through the doorway into the Aerie’s Great Hall. “’Tis about his daughter, Caitrin.”
Jamie exchanged a glance with Toran while they led their guest toward the hearth. Caitrin! A memory flashed before his eyes. Caitrin, coltish and beautiful, not long before she was sent away, while she laughed at something Toran said. But Jamie recalled her gaze moved quickly to him, and he’d never forgotten the flash of need he’d experienced. The need he’d never been able to satisfy.
He held onto his composure and nodded to their guest. “The dinner hour has passed, but I’ll send to the kitchen and see something is brought out to ye,” he offered, taking a step back to allow the Fletcher ghillie to deliver his message to the Lathan. His wave got the attention of a serving girl.
“I’ll no’ refuse yer kindness,” Will said with a sigh as he finished warming his hands at the hearth. He pulled a rolled-up vellum from his shirt and handed it to Toran. “I’m to say to ye that the Fletcher would be most pleased to receive a swift reply or action, since he is bound away from his keep within a hand of days.”
Toran nodded. “Ye’ll stay the night and return on the morrow with my answer, if one is required.”
The man dipped his head in thanks and took the seat Toran pointed to. In a moment, a serving girl brought a platter piled high with sliced meat, cheese, and bread.
After Toran gave the girl orders to see a bed prepared for their guest, he took his leave, gesturing for Jamie to accompany him. On the way upstairs, Toran ordered one of his men to stay with the Fletcher ghillie and see to his comfort and security.
“I’m all for providing guest-right,” Toran told Jamie, as they made their way down the hall, “but I willna have a stranger moving about t
he Aerie unescorted.”
In the solar, they settled by the hearth with a dram of the best MacKyrie whisky, a gift from Donal McNabb’s new bride. Toran broke the seal on the velum.
Jamie sipped and stared at the fire, watching out of the corner of his eye as Toran read the Fletcher’s request and frowned.
Finally, Toran dropped the letter into his lap and leaned his head against the high back of his chair.
“Well?” Jamie kept his tone even, despite the chill that had washed over him as the mention of Caitrin Fletcher’s name brought back memories he’d thought long suppressed. A chill even the whisky had yet to warm away. Those had been terrible days. What had happened to her now that the Fletcher would need to involve the Lathan?
Toran didn’t leave him guessing for long. “Our friend and ally requests I lend the prestige of the Lathan name and presence to secure the betrothal of his only and cherished daughter, Caitrin Olivia Fletcher, to the MacGregor.”
Jamie’s heart sank at the news even as he blew out a relieved breath that she must be well. He’d been right not to seek her out in the years since the tragedy that took her from him. But the news that she was about to marry saddened him, though he had no claim on her. He’d never had a chance, and thought he’d accepted her loss. Now this. Would he steal her from her intended if he had the chance?
“The MacGregor?” He’d known a MacGregor at St. Andrews. “The Lathan name and presence?” He set his drink aside, a crease deepening between his eyebrows. “Why would he think he needs ye there to convince the MacGregor to marry Caitrin? Wait. Olivia?” The name ‘Olivia’ didn’t fit the tomboy lass Jamie remembered.
Toran cleared his throat. “In a nutshell, aye. There’s more, of course.”
Jamie’s lips quirked. “Of course.”
“He’s leaving early to begin the negotiation with the MacGregor in person. He doesna want to bring Caitrin with him and put her at risk, unless he kens she’ll be honored and safe in the MacGregor’s keep.” Toran huffed out a sigh and tapped his knee with his free hand.
Jamie straightened, trying to recall his days at university. “The auld MacGregor died at Flodden, aye? Who is laird now?”
