A Hellion for the Highlander: A Steamy Scottish Historical Romance Novel

by Lydia Kendall

  “I asked a question!” he snarled in his most Laird-like voice.

  “He said he’d been sent to protect the O’Donnels!” the fourth guard told him. “He said—”

  But Alexander was already sprinting away, leaving the young men behind him, half-forgetting they’d ever existed in the first place.

  He bolted up the remainder of the stairs, knowing he should be winded but unable to care as he rushed towards the room where he—he, himself—had put her.

  What a fool I am! How could I nae see me own man turn against me! Hang on, Cicilia. Hang on, Annys an’ Jamie.

  The more he ran, the more the pain of betrayal threatened to drown him. Because while his initial reaction had been a wish to deny, he kept finding more and more reasons to accept.

  Who else could have so easily manipulated the economic output of the castle? Who else could have known the Laird’s intimate secrets to twist and spread around the clan? Who else knew about Cameron O’Donnel’s death?

  Stupid. Alexander had been naïve and foolish and brought shame unto his father and the Lairdship. He’d do better—he would—but first, he had to make sure Cicilia wasn’t dead or worse at the hands of a man he’d trusted.

  And of course, who else would have been in the position to plant men at the O’Donnel farm to slaughter the livestock and start the flames? Who else could leave a note on Cicilia’s pillow here in the protected Castle?

  When he reached Cicilia’s door, his heart dropped like a stone to see it was slightly open. He could not hear voices from the inside, and the horrific images inside his head simply would not go away.

  Suddenly, he really, really did not want to enter that room. He did not want to see the children in pain or dead. He did not want to see Cicilia gone.

  But he had to.

  So, he pushed open the door with one hand, holding his sword tight with the other. When he stumbled through, the powerful shock of the scene inside nearly made him collapse then and there.

  Chapter 27

  Alea Iacta Est

  The Die is Cast

  It all seemed to be going well. Had Nathair not been so distracted, perhaps he’d have realized that it was, in fact, going too well. That, as with every battle turned without too much bloodshed, something was about to go very, very wrong.

  Three of the leaders, including Ron Jacobs himself, had consented to accompany him—only, of course, if they were permitted to bring their weaponry alongside them. It took all of Nathair’s strength not to roll his eyes as he returned down to the throng of men.

  As if these malaperts could take me down even three against one. The only reason they’re nae deid is that Alexander doesn’ae want too much bloodshed.

  Alexander was kind. Too kind. Nathair wasn’t sure he could be the same in his position.

  He met the three elected men at the front of the crowd—Ron leading them, of course—and nodded at them. “Thank ye for listenin’,” he said. “The Laird is up in the residential wing. It will nae take long before—”

  And that was when it hit.

  Nathair screamed in pure red agony as unexpected, intense pain shot through him. The arrow had hit his shoulder from the back, and when he looked down, his hands and his vision shaking, he could see the head of it pointing dangerously through his front, covered in the red tang of his blood.

  Ron and the two other men had identical expressions of shock on their faces, and one of them let out a wordless yell of alarm. More cries were coming from all around him, but Nathair suddenly felt dizzy. Some sounds were louder than they should be, others he couldn’t hear at all.

  Get it together. Ye’ve got to get it together. Ye’ve got to—

  But then he screamed, more like a loud, furious roar, as his knee crumpled under him, a weight smashing hard against the back of his leg and sending him to the floor.

  Dimly, through his swimming vision, he could see the guards from the residential wing hurrying to defend him.

  What are they doin’ here?

  Ron had his sword out, but it was hard to tell if it was pointed at Nathair or at whoever had attacked him. There was confusion, screaming. Someone called out, “Ye’ll never trick us into submission again!”

  Then came the hardest thud of all as something smacked hard against the back of his head. His teeth rattled, and he felt like his brain was shaking inside the skull. That was followed by a sickening crack in Nathair’s ears.

  And then he saw and heard and felt nothing at all.

  The village was strangely empty as Jeanie walked through. The children who usually played on the streets were indoors, the men hardly anywhere to be found. Half of the shops were closed, the other half staffed only by the womenfolk left behind.

  Nathair had told her that it was to be a battle, but she had not realized the size of the thing until she saw how empty the village had become. Apparently, men from other villages were involved, too.

  Jeanie’s heart was almost overwhelmed with the fear she felt for her betrothed. He had sworn he’d send the women and children down to her on some pretense. Indeed, she could hear a little carriage in the distance even now. But what would he do? What about Alexander?

  There were no guarantees in war. When this was over, would there be a Laird left to follow? A Man-at-arms left to marry?

  An’ where in the world is Cicilia?

  Part of the reason she’d come here rather than elsewhere was that Cicilia had been spending more and more time here. But hard as she looked, she couldn’t seem to find her.

  Has she gone back to the Castle?

  That made her guts clench so hard that she thought she may be sick. Bad enough that the men were there—was she to fear losing her best friend, too?

  Jeanie approached the village entrance just as the carriage stopped, and three people bundled out. The tightness in her belly got stronger. Only Catherine, Alice, and Matthew walked toward her now.

  “Where are the twins?” she demanded as soon as Madame Sinclair was in sight. “Did ye nae bring them? Ye cannae have left them at the Castle, Catherine.”

  Tall, awkward, adolescent Alice shrugged. “Aye, they dinnae want to come until their sister got back. We must o’ passed her on the road if she’s nae here wi’ ye.”

  Catherine gave her a faint worried look that was meant to be reassuring, Jeanie supposed. “The bairns are well guarded. Nathair an’ Alexander themselves saw to it.”

  Jeanie’s stomach roiled. “All right. Cicilia, then. It may be that we should check around the village once more, make sure I have nae missed her.”

  She prayed that she had. If Cicilia was headed back to the Castle alone, who knew what horrors awaited her there? The sun was just beginning to set on the horizon. Had she arrived at the Castle already? Was she hurt? Was she safe?

  “Why does it matter?” Matthew asked in the blunt way that only a child could. “She’s tough enough to make it back herself, an’ Uncle Alexander is at the castle, an’ he fancies her, ye ken.”

  Alice giggled at that, but a worried look hid just behind Catherine’s eyes, too. Jeanie couldn’t keep the fear away, and she looked away from the children to hide the tears nipping at her eyes.

  Cicilia, where are ye?

  Catherine was a marvel, probably thanks to her life’s training as a Laird’s daughter and then a Laird’s wife. She managed to turn it into a game.

  Catherine took Matthew, and Jeanie walked with Alice. The competition was the first to find information on Cicilia would win.

  “May I have a lemon cake, Miss Jeanie?” Alice asked politely as they walked past the bakery. Jeanie didn’t see why not, even in her worry, so the pair of them went through the door.

  The baker’s wife waited behind the counter, and she barely seemed to notice that anyone had come inside. She was frowning off into nothing, clearly thinking hard about something, and the lines of worry on her face aged her.

  Jeanie knew her from the time she’d spent in the village, but she’d never seen her wear s
uch an expression. “Susan?” she asked uncertainly. “Where’s yer husband?”

  Susan blinked a few times then seemed to register she had company. “Oh, well, if it is nae Miss Jeanie. An’ Maid Sinclair, to.” She hastily curtseyed at the latter.

  “I’d like a lemon cake, please,” Alice said. “Oh, an’ have ye seen Miss O’Donnel anywhere?”

  “Cicilia, ye mean?” Susan asked. She glanced at Jeanie, a small frown still worrying between her eyebrows. “Aye, she was here early afternoon. Me an’ me friends were havin’ a chat wi’ her…ye mean she is nae back at the Castle yet?”

  Jeanie bit her lip so hard she could taste the coppery flavor of her own blood. It was all she could do to prevent herself from crying out in fright and scaring poor Alice.

  “Where’s yer husband, Susan?” Jeanie asked again.

  Susan looked at her, and understanding passed between the women. The baker’s wife nodded slightly, then scooped out one of the cakes from the display and handed it to Alice. “There ye go, me love,” she said. “Why dinnae ye eat that outside while me an’ Jeanie catch up?”

  Alice frowned. “Are ye gonnae talk about grown-up things?”

  “Alice can stay if she wants,” Jeanie said archly. “She can stay an’ help us work out the accountin’ for the next—”

  “Och, never mind. I’ll be outside wi’ me cake,” Alice huffed.

  The second she was through the door, Jeanie said, “Well? What’s goin’ on? What was she doin’ down here, an’ where’s yer—”

  “Cicilia’s been tryin’ to get the village women on the Laird’s side,” Susan said. “That’s why she was down here earlier. But Jeanie, if she’s still travelin’ alone on these roads, I’m fair worried for her safety. The attack—it’s happenin’ as we speak.”

  Jeanie only just managed not to yell in alarm. She’d known it would happen tonight, but she’d been sure they had hours yet.

  “What? Why did ye nae say anythin’ to her? Why did ye nae let us ken to prepare?”

  Susan held up her hands defensively. “I dinnae ken! Ron only told me where he was goin’ when he was leavin’, armed to the teeth. I half-thought he was jestin’. Ye ken me puddin’ o’ a husband couldn’ae say boo to a goose when it comes down to it.”

  They talked a little more, Jeanie gathering as much information about Cicilia’s words and whereabouts as she possibly could. She thanked Susan, then hurried outside.

  “Miss Jeanie?” Alice asked. “Ye look pale. Did somethin’ happen?”

  Aye, Alice. Yer uncle an’ Nathair might be deid, an’ now Cicilia an’ the twins, too.

  Out loud, though, she just said, “Nay. Let’s go find yer mither an’ brother though, aye? I’m fair worn out.”

  Alice tilted her head, confused. “Are we nae gonnae look at weddin’ fabrics, then?”

  Was that the story that Nathair had gone with? Jeanie had almost forgotten the pretense in her fear for her friend’s life. “We can do that another day,” she said impatiently. “Come, hurry, let’s go.”

  Perhaps if she found Catherine now, she and the others would discover Cicilia on the road. Or, if she was home already, maybe the carriage would get them back quickly enough that she’d be able to see her best friend and the man she loved one more time.

  Catherine and Matthew were thankfully nearby, and though Jeanie didn’t tell her outright what had been said, they talked in code well enough that Catherine understood the meaning. Together, they rushed back to the carriage, barely speaking. Both children were confused, both women wrapped up in their own thoughts.

  What if they were too late? What if Cicilia had already reached the Castle, and the mob had claimed her? What if Alexander had fallen to whoever the traitor was? What if Nathair was—

  Nay. I cannae think like that, or I’ll nae survive the journey. Hold on, Nathair. Hold on, Cicilia. I’m comin’ as fast as I can.

  Chapter 28

  Ad Vitam Aut Culpam

  For Life or Until Fault

  “Alexander!” Jamie said brightly as he met his eyes. “Do ye fancy havin’ a cup o’ tea wi’ us?”

  Alexander stood framed in the doorway, at a complete loss for words. Inside, Cicilia sat with both of the twins at the little table with some tea and honey cakes as if there was nothing wrong in the world. Jamie poured tea from a delicate pot, while Annys put a cake on a plate and held it out in offer to the Laird.

  Behind them, tied to a chair next to the fireplace, bleeding from the head, was Thomaes. The man was awake, or near enough to make no matter, and so thoroughly trussed that Alexander doubted they could untie him without cutting the rope.

  “What—what happened in here?” he asked faintly.

  Cicilia beckoned, and Alexander approached as if in a dream. He sat at the table where she indicated and allowed Annys to place the plate in his hand and Jamie to set a cup in front of him. “Me an’ Mr. Cunningham were just havin’ a lovely chat, were we nae?”

  Thomaes groaned, and Alexander jumped. He hadn’t been aware the accomptant was awake. “Go back to the hells that birthed ye, ye witch,” Thomaes snarled.

  Alexander almost stood in a fury, ready to defend Cicilia from such terrible words, but she put a calming hand on his arm.

  “Dinnae ye worry. Thomaes is just a wee bit upset that he was bested by a couple o’ bairns.” Cicilia smiled brightly and said, in a matronly tone, “Now, Mr. Cunningham, do ye want to tell the Laird what ye told me, or shall I?”

  Thomaes simply grimaced at her, glaring balefully, and Cicilia shrugged. “Well…” she started.

  “Oh!” Annys said. “Can I? Can me an’ Jamie tell it, please?”

  Cicilia laughed while Alexander looked between them all, baffled to the point where he had no idea what was going on. “Aye, all right,” Cicilia said. “Start from what I told ye happened in the village.”

  Annys beamed. “Well, it all started when Cil was in the village, tryin’ to talk some sense into the folk before they started fightin’. The women were listenin’, but their menfolk were nae. Cil wandered into a close an’ found out why—the mysterious hooded lad had been payin’ lots o’ money an’ tellin’ lies to make people hate ye.”

  “An’ the mysterious man was Thomaes!” Jamie said with a dramatic flourish. “So Cil ran all the way up here to try to make it before he an’ the mob arrived, but even when she found ye, ye would nae listen properly.”

  Alexander felt a little ashamed at that. He’d been so confident that he knew the right thing to do. He had so single-mindedly focused on protecting Cicilia and the twins, that he’d forgotten to pay attention when it mattered most. “Aye, but I did hear ye,” he told her. “I heard when ye told me who it was. I went to look for him immediately.”

  “Aye, well, while ye were lookin’, he made his way up here. Seemed he quite fancied me sister for himself!” Annys replied. “I think he wanted to wed her because that’s what he said when she let him in.”

  “Ye let him in?” Alexander demanded, distressed.

  Cicilia was unapologetic. “Aye, after he’d confessed a few things. About how he riled the whole town up against ye wi’ money an’ lies. About how he’s been plottin’ this wee uprisin’ to get yer seat for over a decade.”

  “Thirteen years,” Thomaes growled. “Thirteen years, an’ an upstart woman an’ a couple o’ unnatural bairns—”

  “Thirteen years?” Alexander interrupted. “But that—what do you—”

  “He’s been manipulatin’ ye the entire time,” Cicilia said with disgust. “Usin’ yer youth an’ yer grief against ye.”

  What is she talkin’ about? Is she sayin’ he maneuvered me into this position to make the people turn against me?

  Jamie patted his hand, and in his sweet little voice, he sadly said, “An’, well, he said somethin’ about yer faither and mither to, actually. An’ a carriage?”

  Alexander suddenly felt sick as he gazed about the accomptant—a man he’d thought his friend—with new eyes. Because
if Jamie meant what Alexander thought he said … if he was implying what it sounded like he was suggesting…

  Thomaes rolled his eyes. “Dinnae look at me like that, Sandy. It is nae like I ran a sword through them. I just gave some orders. Yer sister survived. That yer parents dinnae is nae fault o’ mine. They should o’ learned to swim better.”

  Alexander was on his feet in a flash, sword clutched as he lunged towards the villain who he’d once trusted above almost anyone.