by Aileen Adams
A Rebel’s Desire
Highland Heartbeats
Aileen Adams
Contents
A Rebel’s Desire
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Afterword
A Rebel’s Desire
Book Two of the Highland Heartbeats Series!
* * *
Some secrets are hard to keep…
Jake Duncan promised Heather MacDonald he’d keep her secret. He’d help her train to be a warrior and all she had to do was give him a kiss. He didn’t promise that she wouldn’t feel the stirrings of desire for this former soldier.
For Heather, a woman determined to become a warrior, Jake’s promise means the difference between life and death.
Wounded at war, then the target of a malicious healer, Jake Duncan, brother of the Highland Laird, has decided he has to prove himself, over and over again. He never thought that part of his journey would involve falling for the woman from the Lowlands who wasn’t as demure or as shy as he originally thought, especially not when she was wielding a dirk.
1
Hair flying unencumbered behind her, Heather MacDonald raced through the trees, exhilarated by such an incredible sensation of freedom. Never in her life—before the incident at least—would she ever have imagined herself behaving in such a manner. No, not her. Not shy, demure, and ever so proper Heather.
A giggle erupted from her throat as she barely dodged a young sapling, her shoulder brushing against its leaves as she sped past. The meadow was close, just beyond that small rise up ahead. In another few seconds, she would reach the top and, as always, she would pause in her tracks, taking in the sight of that meadow strewn with blue, yellow, and orange wildflowers.
She couldn't name the flowers, but she was sure that her sister could.
Sarah, the healer, recently wed to Phillip Duncan of the Highland Duncan clan. That was something Heather never would have imagined either. It had happened not quite a year ago.
Her sister had been kidnapped by the very same man she would end up falling in love with and marrying.
Heather hadn’t known any of that at first. She hadn’t known that Sarah had been kidnapped. Then, all she knew was that her sister had disappeared. She didn’t know if Sarah had died from a fall, gotten attacked by a boar, or if she had been injured and unable to get back home, lying out there all along for days before she succumbed to her injuries or the elements.
Those torturous days had been the longest and saddest that Heather had ever experienced.
Sarah had walked out the door that morning with her basket to collect her herbs, roots, and flowers like she did almost every other day. But that day, she had not returned. Within just a few hours’ passing, Heather had known something was wrong.
Dreadfully wrong.
Fear and dread had coursed through her. She had gone looking for her sister, older by two years, but couldn't find her anywhere. She did find her basket on top of the cliffside overlooking the ocean. The same location where their mother had died when they were young children.
Not wanting to, but feeling compelled, Heather had slowly inched toward the edge and looked over, just in case. She had gone limp with relief when she didn't see any sign of Sarah down there at the bottom, broken and crumpled as their mother had been all those years ago.
She hadn't known what to do nor whom to turn. Certainly not their stepfather, Patrick. A drunkard who had allowed a formerly lucrative smithy to languish while he spent his time drinking and carousing in nearby Kirkcaldy, sprawled along the southern Scottish coastline.
The days that followed Sarah's disappearance had been the most horrible Heather had ever experienced, save the death of her mother. She had been very young then, but had learned to rely on Sarah.
Sarah was the brave one; the one who stood up to their father’s abuse; the one who protected Heather as much as she could against it. Sarah had taken many beatings in order to safeguard Heather.
When Patrick returned home later that day, drunk as usual, his nose red, his eyes bloodshot, demanding to know why supper wasn’t on the table, Heather had told him that something had happened to Sarah. She hadn't returned from gathering herbs. Perhaps she had hurt herself in the woods? Been attacked by a wild boar or a wolf?
Patrick had merely shrugged, ordered Heather to put supper on the table ,or feel the back of his hand. At that moment, Heather hated her stepfather as never before.
Sarah had been gone for days. As soon as Patrick left the house to go who knew where every morning, Heather ventured out, looking for any sign of her sister. With each passing hour, each dawn passing into dusk, her fear and anxiety grew.
It was then that she realized how much he had come to rely on Sarah not only for protection, but to give her a treasured sense of security and constancy. Sarah was not only her sister, but personified the characteristics of a mother—protective, loving, always there to comfort and support.
But that had been nearly a year ago.
Now, Heather approached the edge of the Highland meadow and stood sheltered in the shade of the towering pines, watching the way the breeze gently tugged at the long meadow grass and prompted the flower heads to bob and sway. A butterfly landed on one of the flowers, flapped its wings twice, and then flitted away. The birds sang.
Heather heard the chattering of two squirrels, either playing or scolding.
Beyond the meadow, the mountains rose gradually; wild, rugged, filled with ravines and rocky crags.
The Scottish Highlands were now her home. She leaned against the tree as she contemplated the beautiful sight of the meadow against the backdrop of the mountain.
The sun shone warmly today, but autumn faded fast. The leaves had already changed their colors and began to fall. The nights grew chilly. In a few more weeks the weather would change still more; the temperature would fall, and bitter cold would thread its icy fingers over the land.
Until then, Heather would take advantage of her opportunities to hone her skills. Not the skills of her sister—a healer with expertise to make medicines, tinctures, and potions with nature's bounty. Not the skills to birth a baby or mend wounds.
No. Not at all. Not for Heather.
Heather wanted something different. It had taken the incident to make Heather realize what she so yearned for.
It had been hard to grasp at first. But over those first few days following Sarah’s disappearance, she had realized that it was time to learn how to stand on her own two feet. To be independent. To defend herself. To stand up for herself.
It had taken Sarah’s disappearance—and reappearance—to teach Heather that.
Sarah had been gone for nearly two weeks before a roguishly handsome man had ridden up to Heather’s door asking for their stepfather, Patrick MacDonald.
Her surprise at seeing the stranger at her door disappeared instantly when she noted the look on his face; a glowering, impatient expression. She didn't know what this man wanted with her stepfather but assumed, like so many others, Patrick had offended him in some way.
At first, she hesitated to tell the stranger where she thought he might find her stepfather, but then decided that it wasn't her co
ncern.
Patrick MacDonald didn't care about anybody but himself. Why should she care about him?
Heather had told the man where she might find Patrick; at one of the local pubs, even in the middle of the day. She had gone about her chores.
Perhaps an hour later, the man had returned, ordering her to come with him. She had protested until he told her that Sarah was waiting for her in the forest nearby. Heather had taken one last look at the house where she had spent so many miserable, fear-filled years and allowed him to lift her onto the back of the horse.
Only after they rode away from the house did she consider the stupidity of her behavior, and her naïve and complete trust in a stranger who very well may have had nefarious ideas.
But she hadn't thought about that then. The only thing that had run through her mind was being reunited with her sister—and the freedom that the man offered.
She startled from her reverie when she spied movement on the other side of the meadow. A deer… a young buck with short antlers, nose lifted slightly into the air.
She was downwind, so he wouldn't sense her presence.
This was her chance. Ever so slowly, she squatted down to place four of her pilfered arrows softly to the ground. Then she rose just as slowly, lifting the bow she carried in her left, nocking the fifth arrow to the bow string. She pressed her back pressed against the rough tree bark.
Schooling herself to be patient, she waited while the buck took one tentative step into the meadow and then another. The buck moved to the center of the meadow and then, ears flicking one way and then another, lowered his head to graze on the long grass. The animal stood sideways, giving her a perfect target. She would aim for the spot just behind his right shoulder.
Do it! Let your arrow fly!
She tried to do what her brain told her to, but then she flicked her gaze toward the buck’s head, saw his huge, brown eyes, chewing peacefully. Her heart melted.
She sighed and slowly lowered the bow.
The deer moved off.
Heather stubbed the toe of her shoe into the dirt, shaking her head in self-disgust. She had so wanted to make Sarah proud of her. Proud of her newly learned hunting skills, her ability to help put food on the table.
No, it wasn't expected of her, but Heather was determined to never be reliant on anyone else, ever again, not even her sister or Laird Phillip Duncan.
Would she ever triumph?
At this rate, it was doubtful.
How long would she succeed in sneaking off to practice with her bow and arrows before someone discovered her? She didn’t know of any other woman who could shoot a bow and arrow. That’s why she had chosen to learn. She wanted… she wanted to be skilled at something. Like her sister.
Every girl learned to sew, to cook, to do household chores. What could Heather learn that was different?
She had thought about it for several weeks and then decided that she wanted something just for herself.
That would show others not to underestimate Heather MacDonald. In anything.
For the past two months, she had managed to sneak away from Duncan Manor; sometimes during the day, but mostly at night. She had swiped the bow and the small handful of arrows from the armory behind the stables. She felt guilty about that, but not guilty enough to return the items and admit to Sarah what she had been doing.
Heather had ventured into the armory one day, bored, with nothing to do. The sight of so many weapons intimidated but fascinated her at the same time. Weapons of war. For hunting. For protection. That’s when the idea first struck her.
She had tried to lift one of the swords, but it was nearly as tall as she, and likely twice as heavy. She fingered a number of dirks, daggers, and short swords that had also captured her interest. She had found the axes, the maces, and several crossbows and their short bolts all too heavy and cumbersome.
Then she had come to the bows—several different sizes, and dozens upon dozens of finely crafted arrows. She had lifted one of the smaller bows, surprised by its lightness of weight.
She had often watched Duncan clan’s men practicing in the field in front of the manor, beside the pond. It didn't look too difficult.
Nock the arrow onto the middle of the bowstring, pull back, aim, and release.
How difficult could that be?
Not sure what compelled her to do so, Heather had taken one of the bows and five arrows and snuck out of the armory and into the woods, hiding them under a thorny bush about twenty yards away.
The following day she found a better hiding place deeper in the woods. She had wrapped the bow and arrows inside an old piece of cloth and tucked the bundle into a hollow log.
She had spent the next few days watching the men practice out in the field from her bedchamber window, down the hall from where Phillip and Sarah shared a room.
Gradually, she had gotten to know most of Phillip's inner circle.
Maccay Douglas, one of the castle troop commanders. Despite his important position and his obvious skill with a number of weapons—she could attest to that—Maccay Douglas was a good-natured, almost happy-go-lucky fellow maybe a year or two older than Sarah.
Then there was Hugh McInnis, a soldier, who like Maccay, had sworn his allegiance and protection to the Laird of the Duncan clan whose lands were situated along the slopes of Ben Nevis, an oddly shaped mountain of the Grampian mountain range.
Over the months, she had noted Hugh’s devotion to her sister, which she certainly appreciated.
Lately, she had seen Hugh glancing in her direction with a discerning gaze. Did he suspect?
Then, of course, there was Jake, Phillip’s brother, younger than his brother by two years, just as she was younger by two years from Sarah. Just shy of twenty years old, Heather was no stranger to the admiring looks of men. Her sister called her beautiful.
Sarah had sun-browned skin, and up until a few months ago, Heather had been just the opposite with fair skin.
Over the summer months, her own meandering through the woods and hours spent in the meadow had brought a bit of color to her cheeks. Her long, wavy blond hair reached her waist, as did Sarah's, although her sister’s was brown in color.
Heather was more petite than her sister, but she was gradually working on strengthening her muscles as well as her mind. She had always looked up to Sarah, her courageous sister who didn't let anything intimidate her. At least that's how Heather perceived her. Why her sister could climb trees, and once, a few years ago, had even fought off a wild boar with nothing more than her digging knife!
Though she wanted so much to be like her sister, Heather knew that their personalities, at least until recently, had been fairly different. Sarah was much more outgoing and talkative while Heather was more of a watcher. She studied people; their mannerisms, the way they spoke to others, their behaviors.
After she and her sister had returned to the Highlands, Sarah told her that Phillip had given her and in turn Heather, a choice.
They could live in the village or, as Sarah admitted with a blush to her cheeks, move into the manor house.
At first, Heather had been shocked. Even more so that Sarah actually contemplated the notion.
At the same time, she couldn't ignore the sparkle in Sarah’s eyes nor the obvious and growing affection she felt for the Highlander who had kidnapped her. Not just kidnapped her though.
The Scottish laird that had rescued her from a life of taking the brunt of Patrick's drink-besotted abuse.
Though Heather had been intimidated by the laird at first, she realized that, in a roundabout way, Phillip Duncan had saved them both. She never had to worry about Patrick striking her or her sister again. Never again would she have to take the brunt of his raging tirades, his insults, and his complete disregard for their well-being.
In fact, after she had gotten to know Phillip—
The sound of voices distracted her.
Quickly, Heather hid the bow and arrows inside a nearby bush, heart pounding, fearful of
being discovered.
If people knew what she was up to, what would they think? Would they laugh at her? Tease her? More importantly, what would Sarah think?
She frowned as she watched two young women from the village stroll into the meadow, each carrying hand baskets.
No!
This was her spot!
She didn't think anyone knew of it—that was foolish. She was less than a mile from the manor house, maybe a little less from the village. Of course, she wasn't the only one who knew this meadow.
She sank deeper into the shadows. Not only did she not want to be seen, and therefore to explain her presence, but she didn't want to be drawn into conversation.
The woods grew still as the two young women entered the clearing, their voices animated. Heather didn't mean to eavesdrop, really she didn't, but with leaves on the ground and the thick brush around her, she knew that if she retreated, they would likely hear her.
So, she remained where she was.
She looked upward into the tree branches, watching a squirrel scamper on a limb high overhead. She smiled.
“… but he's so handsome!”
Heather glanced from the squirrel to the clearing, immediately curious.
Who were they talking about?
“I don't find him handsome at all. Not nearly as handsome as his brother.”
Who? Who were they talking about?
“I wouldn't mind him warming my sheets at night,” one of them giggled.
Heather barely stifled a gasp of shock.
“But he's lame now! It's doubtful he'll be soldiering any more,” said the other one, reaching down to pluck some flowers.
At that moment, Heather had no doubt about the man’s identity.
They were talking about Jake, Phillip’s brother.
He had been wounded in battle last spring, the mitigating factor as to why Sarah had been kidnapped in the first place.
From what Heather had gathered from the story Sarah told her, the village healer had failed to heal Jake's battle wound.
