by Terry Spear
My Highlander
The Highlanders, Book 8
Terry Spear
Terry Spear
Contents
Acknowledgments
Foreword
Introduction
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
Also by Terry Spear
About the Author
My Highlander
Copyright © 2017 by Terry Spear
Cover Art by Cora Graphics
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.
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Discover more about Terry Spear at:
http://www.terryspear.com/
ISBN-13: 978-1-63311-028-1
ISBN: 978-1-63311-028-1
To Michelle Haumberger. Thanks for loving my books for years and years. Hope you love this Highlander, and he sweeps you off your feet! May you dream good dreams of Highlanders of old.
Acknowledgments
Thanks so much to Dottie Jones, Sandi Carstensen, and Donna Fournier for helping me make this book so much better. No matter how many reads and how many eyes look at these, it’s so easy to miss typos and such. I so appreciate them for helping to catch the bloopers. And thanks, Donna, for always being there when I need to bounce stuff…lots and lots and lots of stuff…off you! Also, many thanks to Cora Bignardi for the beautiful cover. And to all my readers who encourage me to keep on writing from world to world!! YOU are my inspiration.
Foreword
Note from Author
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Scotland is magical and some of my ancestors came from there and from England, Ireland, Wales, Germany, and France, and we learned that our MacNeill line had Viking roots. Just like it is anywhere in the world, people move, marry, have children who represent not only their mother’s heritage, but their father’s, a combination of all those who came before them. Even back in the times of old. I hope that you enjoy The Highlanders series!
Introduction
Synopsis
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Many want him dead, but he is her prisoner for now.
Quinn’s mission is to steal a woman from a clan and escort her to his brother, Cormac, the chief of their clan, so he can marry her. But Quinn’s brother has tried to have him murdered before, and Quinn suspects Cormac is hoping the woman’s clan kills him this time, if the mercenaries they sent with him don’t do the deed first.
Avelina’s cousin warns her that the storm sank a ship and a warrior lays on the shore, badly injured, but armed. Armed with a sword of her own and with her wolf companion, Avelina finds Quinn and rescues him from the incoming tide, but now she must hide him from her kin before they learn he planned to steal her cousin away. If he survives his injuries and her kin, he must deal with his traitorous brother before it is too late.
1
Quinn eyed his older brother with contempt. If Cormac wanted to steal a chief’s daughter from the Hebrides Islands to wed her, then Cormac should be the one to do it. Quinn halfway suspected his brother thought this time he wouldn’t survive. That Cormac didn’t want the woman, as much as he wanted Quinn to face the very real chance of dying at the hands of the woman’s kin. Quinn was surprised Cormac hadn’t sent him to fight a battle to the east where he’d sent many of his men in support of a clan he was allied with. Why not let Quinn chance getting killed in that battle? Or even set it up so that he did?
For two months, his brother had sent him on missions where he was ambushed, and Quinn swore Cormac had planned it. This time, the sorry lot accompanying Quinn were belligerent, all five of them mercenaries, not his own kin. They were more likely to turn tail and run, than fight for his brother’s cause, leaving Quinn to face stealing the lass away on his own. None of the men had family and Quinn suspected his brother felt no one would miss them should they fail to return to the clan. That was the way Cormac dealt with men he’d rather be rid of. Send them on a task with little chance of survival.
“You will do this for me, aye?” his brother asked, his blond brows raised in question. “Fenella has no other way to leave her family to join me, if you dinna fetch her. And I’ve told her I was sending you to rescue her. Her kin are a disagreeable lot and dinna want her wed to me, but we will well suit and they’ll see that in time.”
“Aye.” Though Quinn thought his brother wanted to wed a lass to make an alliance with another clan, not an enemy of one, so this was a surprise to him. Unless Quinn wished to leave their lands for good, he had little recourse but to do as his brother commanded. Where would he go otherwise? What would he do?
He supposed he could join Malcolm MacNeill’s clan for a while, see if he could help to fight his battles instead. They had become friends once, while they were allied with his da and fought several battles together. When Quinn’s da was killed in one of those battles, Cormac had taken over and accused Malcolm of not providing as many men as he had promised, which was the reason Quinn’s da had died.
Truth was, with more men or not enough, Quinn had to remind himself that their da could still have been cut down like he was in the field that day. Maybe Malcolm wouldn’t welcome Quinn into his clan after the accusation Cormac had made against him.
Even though Cormac seemed to despise Quinn, the warriors he fought with, and the lassies he teased, appreciated him. Which, Quinn felt, irked his brother even more. Cormac was well thought of enough to lead the clan, though not as well liked. Still, Quinn didn’t understand the animosity his brother felt for him.
“You dinna looked pleased with the task,” Cormac chided. “Should I send someone else to get the task done?”
As if his brother would send anyone else to steal the lass away from her kin. Quinn stood taller, prouder, and frowned at his brother. “I will leave as soon as I can.”
“See that you do. I canna wait to bed the lass. Be careful that you dinna get yourself killed in the process. I wouldna be able to live with myself.”
Then why send Quinn into a situation where he could very well die? His brother loved to twist the truth.
Quinn gave him a quick incline of his head, and Cormac turned his attention to one of his men. “Tell the men that I want to go on a hunt.”
That was Quinn’s cue to leave, and he hastened out of the great hall where his brother loved to rule with an iron fist.
Quinn’s good friends, Lorne and Liam, hurried to join him. “I asked the chief if we could sail with you, but he said he had more important business for us to take care of,” Liam said.
“More important than securing his bride?” Quinn arched a brow at his friend.
Liam glanced around. Seeing no one within earshot, he said, “He means to kill you this time.”
“I’m certain he tried the other times too,” Quinn said dryly.
“That goes without saying.”
“I’m hard to kill. He should have learned that by now.” Quinn meant it as a jest, even though it seemed to be true.
Liam’s mood was as dark as his black hair and brown eyes. He didn’t even crack a smile like he usually did when Quinn tried to make light of a dangerous situation. Instead, Liam’s brooding expression dark
ened further.
“Keep on his good side, or you’ll be assigned such tasks in the future,” Quinn warned. Unlike the way Quinn felt about his brother, ever since their da had died and his brother had taken over the clan, Quinn’s friends were like real family to him.
“I have half a mind to stow away on the birlinn to aid you.”
“That would be a grave mistake, my friend. Before long, I will return with the lassie in hand.”
“And then your brother will come up with another mission to have you killed.”
“I can only focus on one assignment at a time. Take care, Liam, Lorne. I will return soon.”
“If those five lazy louts accompanying you end up returning without you, they’re dead men,” Liam said.
“Aye, I will help Liam,” Lorne said.
“What if they return with the lady, and I’m the only casualty?” Quinn continued to walk to his chamber to pack.
“We will wait until the time is right, then wring the truth out of them. Then we will kill them. Your death will be avenged,” Liam said
Quinn slapped him on the back. “You are both good and loyal friends. I will return. Too many lasses will miss me if I dinna.”
Lorne rubbed his chin in thought. “Mayhap you should stay away for a time.”
Quinn smiled. “I will see you both upon my return.” But Quinn knew not to take this mission lightly. The gods would have to favor him if he were to return home in one piece.
Once Quinn packed and headed to the harbor, he thought maybe a storm, which was off in the distance, would bypass them. It looked to be heading out to sea. He and the other men boarded the birlinn. The sturdy oak vessel was outfitted with a single mast, the square sail made of thick, threaded wool, small squares sewn together, and the ropes made of heather or moss-fir. The long-ships could be sailed or rowed. This one had a dozen oars and three men per oar. The ships were often used to carry troops to battle, cattle, and people and other items for transport, though Quinn had never known them to use one to steal a bride before.
He prayed the weather would hold out, and it seemed the captain wasn’t worried about it. Since he was used to navigating in these waters, he should know.
The first part of the journey, the sea was rough, the sky filled with clouds, but not overly dark. It worsened the closer they got to the island, the clouds suddenly darkening, and he knew they were in for rain. But it was much worse, the wind creating massive waves, the rain pouring down in a deluge, the sky nearly black as night. Lightning flashed overhead, and thunder boomed and crackled with a vengeance. The wind whipped the sea into a frenzy. Quinn was certain they wouldn’t make it. Not with the way the ship creaked and groaned under the assault. Or from the panicked looks on the sailors’ faces.
With a thunderous boom, the single mast snapped in two and fell toward the deck. The sailors, Quinn, and the mercenaries dove out of its path.
Cries of terror sounded as two sailors were crushed under the weight of the mast. The broken mast and voluminous sail slammed into the sea and dragged through the water like a soggy anchor.
Everyone was trying to keep from being washed overboard. Even so, the five mercenaries conferred briefly with one another and then headed straight for Quinn. Two of them brandished their swords, letting him know their intent.
The rain and wind whipped everything in its path, and they were all drenched, the air cold and blustery. If they’d just wait, they’d probably all end up in watery graves, no need to fight. But it appeared they had a mission—and killing him couldn’t wait. Maybe they worried that they might die, and he’d still survive. If they did nothing else with their miserable lives, they were going to end his.
Not planning to give them the chance, he withdrew his sword and grabbed some of the rigging flailing in the high winds to keep from falling while the ship rocked in the high seas. The sailors shouted, trying to do what they could to keep the ship from breaking up, or themselves from being washed overboard.
“My brother paid you to kill me, aye?” Quinn needn’t have asked. He knew the truth.
“Everyone says you canna die,” Griswold shouted in the high winds, the surliest of the five. If anyone looked cross-wise at him, he was ready to slit throats. “We plan to prove how wrong they are.”
“’Tis true I canna die. You know it to be so.” Not that Quinn was so conceited to believe such, but if it made any of the five fear him, he would do or say whatever he could to improve his odds. He knew he couldn’t fight all five of the brigands at once and hope to win.
The ship rolled heavily to the leeward side and two of the mercenaries collided with each other and snatched at the railing. Another fell and landed hard on the deck, sliding in seawater. The other two grabbed the railing. Once the ship rocked back, Griswold and Ivar lunged at him, swinging their swords before another wave slammed into the ship.
Holding onto the wet rigging, Quinn kicked out with his feet and slammed his boots into Griswold’s stomach, knocking him back. With the water washing over the deck and the rocking and rolling of the ship, Griswold lost his footing and fell back on his arse.
Quinn immediately swung his sword at Ivar and the two swords clashed with resounding clanks.
One of the other men had gotten to his feet and rushed at Quinn with a sgian dubh in his clenched fist. Quinn swung around and cut him from his shoulder to his hip and the man dropped his weapon, clutching his belly and screaming like a wee lassie. Another of the mercenaries tried to advance on Quinn. The next wave crashed over the side of the ship and washed him and the wounded man overboard.
Ivar came at Quinn again, Griswold having a time getting to his feet between dealing with the wet slippery deck and the rolling ship.
The other mercenary was holding onto the railing, waiting for Ivar to finish Quinn off, but the man didn’t have hold of any rigging like Quinn did, and his arms were flailing as he tried to keep his balance and dash in to fight Quinn again.
Then Ivar rushed forward, swinging his sword. Quinn leaped out of the way and came around and struck Ivar’s sword again, this time so hard, the man lost it. He lunged for his sword, and Griswold came in for the kill. But then his gaze shifted to the rigging above Quinn, and he assumed the man hoped to cut it loose, so Quinn wouldn’t have the advantage. He swung forward and struck at Griswold, whose only recourse was to defend himself and fall back, slipping, falling on his arse again, and sliding across the deck.
Quinn turned to see where Ivar had gone and witnessed the biggest wave cresting that he’d ever seen. It slammed into the ship and the birlinn cracked in two. This was the end.
Not that Quinn was giving up. He’d only begun to fight.
He let go of the rigging as men yelled and fell into the boiling sea.
The next wave washed Quinn overboard. He struck crates and barrels hard before he hit the cold water. He gasped, got a mouthful of seawater, and spit it out. Trying to keep his head above water, he couldn’t avoid the ship’s wreckage as splintered wood struck him in the head, shoulder, and ribs. In the high waves and pouring rain, with lightning stabbing the restless sea, he swam toward the island, maybe a mile away. He prayed he wasn’t making a mistake and was heading in the right direction.
“Avelina! Come quickly. An injured man, mayhap even dead, is sprawled out on the shore. Shipwrecked during the storm, from the looks of it. Pieces of splintered wood are scattered about the sand,” said Fenella, Avelina’s cousin and the chief’s daughter, as she ran up the stairs to Avelina’s chamber to fetch her.
Dashing into the stairwell, Avelina started to join her down the stairs, but stopped. “Wait. I must get my sword.”
“He might have died.”
“You didna check him to be certain?” Avelina cast a look over her shoulder as her cousin followed her up the stairs, her blond hair lighter than Avelina’s. Her hair was more reddish in color. But they both had blue, blue eyes and they looked very much like sisters.
“Nay. I came straight away to get you.”
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“Och, he may be dead then, and we will have to bury him.” They had trouble enough with the storm that had damaged several farms and the western wall protecting the keep. There was barely anyone able to do the work. The few men who were left behind were responsible for defending the keep and fishing for food when they needed it.
“Better that than having to fight the devil on our lands. Though mayhap he can rebuild some of the farmers’ damaged crofts after the storm tore them down. With none of the able-bodied men able to do the work now, we have enough chores to manage.”
“A fighting devil?” Avelina grabbed her sword from her chamber and hurried down the circular stairs in the tower to the great hall and headed for the door.
Fenella eyed Avelina’s sword, created just for her so that she could wield the much shorter sword in self-defense. “Could be. He had a sgian dubh in his boot and a sword belted at his waist. I dinna think you will be a match for him, should he come to and want to fight you, or worse.”
“What would be worse than wanting to fight me?” Avelina shook her head at her cousin. “He’s wounded, so you say. And besides, I have killed three marauders on my own.”
“Mostly, on your own,” Fenella reminded her.
Avelina did not need the reminder. She was glad that her da had approved her learning to fight with a sword to protect the women and children who could not protect themselves, if brigands attacked and she was needed, even if it was as a last resort. She knew she wasn’t as strong as the men, even the ones she had mostly killed. “Except for the one. I took him down all on my own.” Though she was well aware she had the advantage that time or she wouldn’t have managed. Standing high above him on the stairs where he couldn’t swing at her, she’d been so angry that he’d tried to kill a bairn that she’d had more strength than she ever thought she could call on.
