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

by Lydia Kendall

“But ye ken ye cannae sail for’ver,” Rory reminds him. “Ye’ve duties back ‘ome.”

  Alec sighed. He thought of the letter from his faither that was sitting atop the desk in his cabin—the letter imploring him to come home. As the only son of the Laird of Herlay, Alec had responsibilities at home. He would eventually inherit the title of Laird and the duty that went along with it.

  But he wanted to put it off as long as he could. He wanted to live his life as he wanted, out on the open ocean. Free from the restrictions he knew would come with his life as the Laird of Herlay. Alec was not ready for it. Not yet.

  “Daenae remind me,” he said. “Ye should get a bit of rest. We’ll make Fortershire b’fore long.”

  Rory gave him a small smile and nodded before leaving the helm and going below, leaving Alec alone with the salty scent of the sea he loved so well.

  They had anchored near the mouth of a sheltered cove that was close to the harbor of the English county of Fortershire. A thick cover of clouds had moved in from the west, blotting out the moonlight and providing them with cover as they took the longboats from the ship into the harbor.

  Alec looked over at the other two boats; a total of thirty men were coming ashore with him. They were hardy, rugged men who could be counted on in a fight. They had been with Alec through more scraps than he could count, and the Crown in England wanted most of them for a variety of crimes. Despite what some might consider hard upbringings and checkered pasts, though, these were good men. Alec trusted them with his life, and he never thought twice about taking them on as crew.

  “Soldiers,” Rory whispered in his ear, “two on thae dock.”

  “Bows,” Alec ordered quietly.

  He watched as two men in the bow of each boat rose to their knees and nocked an arrow. They all drew back, pulling their arrows, sighted their targets, and held, waiting for Alec’s command.

  “Hold,” he whispered urgently. “Hold.”

  The torches hanging on the pillars of the pier illuminated the soldiers perfectly. They had their backs turned to the harbor and the flickering torchlight glinted off the bottle they were passing back and forth between them.

  For bein’ thae men who protect thae ‘arbor, they’re doin’ a shite job of it.

  The tension of the moment tied a knot in Alec’s gut and filled his veins with a feeling like liquid fire. He lived for moments like this. Lived for the excitement of a fight. Little else in this world made him feel so alive.

  The longboats drew closer to the docks, moving under the cover of darkness, the gentle splash of the oars quiet but Alec knew the sound would become obvious soon enough.

  “Fire,” he ordered.

  The soft twang of the bows sounded in his ears and a moment later, he watched the two soldiers on the dock twitch and jerk, silently falling into the water below.

  “Thae dock is ours,” Rory grinned.

  The men rowed the boats to the dock and quickly jumped out, tying the lines to the posts to secure them. Once that was done, the men all climbed out of the boats and secured their weapons to their belts and bodies, getting themselves ready for the coming fight.

  Alec looked around, smiling at the grim determination on the faces of his men. They were set and they were ready to take the fight to the Viscount.

  “All right, lads,” Alec said. “Let’s go see thae Viscount.”

  And with that, they set off. They moved swiftly and quietly through the streets of the town. At one point, Alec split off, leading a group of ten toward the marshes that surrounded the town while Rory took the rest of their fighters toward the main gates of the Viscount’s manor.

  The plan was for Rory and his men to stay hidden, out of sight of the soldiers who manned the walls that surrounded the large manor until Alec gave them the signal. Alec was moving through the marsh and forest to the east of the walls. Because of the natural features of the land, Alec knew that side of the Viscount’s manor was not heavily guarded–nobody would march an army through that slop.

  Nay, nae an army. But a group of ten? Aye.

  It took them nearly half an hour to get through the soft, squishy ground of the marshes, and Alec brought his men to a stop at the edge of the forest. He glanced up at the parapet at the top of the walls, watching the glow of a torch moving behind the crenellations.

  “Soldier on patrol,” Alec said. “He’ll be gone soon.”

  He watched until he saw the flames from the torch disappear from view, plunging that section of the wall into darkness once more. He turned to his men and grinned.

  “Come on,” he said. “‘tis time.”

  Chapter 2

  Ten men dashed across the hundred yards of open ground between the edge of the forest and the wall of the manor. They pressed themselves flat against the stone to keep from being seen should a soldier happen by above them.

  Alec edged along the stone until he came to one of the turrets built into the wall. He’d had a dalliance with one of the chambermaids a couple of months back and had gotten the information he needed to stage a raid on the Viscount’s manor–including the location of a secret door. The door was an escape route should the manor look like it was about to fall. It provided the Viscount with a safe exit. Except for tonight, it would prove to be his undoing.

  Alec felt around the edges of the stone, looking for the trigger she said would be there. He didn’t find it at first and was beginning to worry she had deceived him. But then his fingers brushed the edge of a flat, smooth rock that seemed unnatural. He pushed on it and heard the distinct click of a latch giving way and the scrape of stone. A moment later, light showed around the edges of the hidden doorway, and he let out a soft sigh of relief.

  Thank God this worked or this’d been all for naught.

  The excitement flowing through him doubled as he gripped the edges of the door and pulled it open. He crossed the ground floor of the turret, looking warily at the staircase that wound upward to the parapets. Not hearing anything, he moved to the door and pulled it open a couple of inches. Alec pressed his eye to the gap and scanned the yard.

  “What d’ye see, Cap’n?” whispered one of his men.

  “A whole lotta gold just waitin’ for us tae take it,” Alec grinned.

  The stone wall surrounded the manor with a turret stationed at each corner. Stables ran along the bottom of the wall to his left and, across the yard on the other side, were what looked to be booths housing a smithy, a fletcher, and an armorer, among other things. Against the wall behind the manor sat what looked like housing for the Viscount’s troops.

  The manor sat in the center of the yard, large and imposing. It was built of a combination of light and dark stones and stood higher than the curtain wall itself, the top floors looking down upon the ramparts. The roof of the manor was flat and crenelated like the parapet that sat atop walls that surrounded the manor. Narrow windows and arrow slits were set in the walls and the main door was made of a thick oak reinforced with steel bars.

  “What nou, Cap’n?”

  “Nou we slip inside’n relieve thae good Viscount of all his treasures.”

  Quiet, muffled, but excited laughter sounded behind him. Alec knew from experience that most of the manors these minor nobles built were the same; he never credited the English lords with a lot of originality or creativity. Common areas, reception chambers, kitchens, and servant’s quarters usually occupied the ground floor. Offices and guest chambers made up the second floor, and the Lord of the Manor had his apartments on the top floor.

  Alec led his men out of the turret door and single file they hugged the curtain wall, moving past the stables. The one weakness he’d found in most all English manors they’d raided over the years was that most of them had a servant’s entrance near the rear. It was rarely guarded and always easily accessible. Alec had never credited the English lords with a lot in the way of smarts either.

  Still in the shadow of the curtain wall, Alec cast a wary eye to the ramparts. There were but a few soldiers in s
ight but they stood with their backs to Alec and his men. They had their eyes trained toward the village, guarding against an attack from without, never anticipating the enemy to be already inside.

  “Colin, ye’re on thae doors lad,” Alec whispered. “Go quick’n go quiet.”

  A young man–barely more than a boy really–darted away from the group, moving from shadow to shadow. He was the swiftest and smallest among them, so his job was to lock the soldiers into their dormitory and keep them from reinforcing the household guards. A protracted and bloody fight was the last thing Alec wanted.

  He watched as Colin swiftly threaded the rope through the pull handles on all three doors. He then took the rope and tied it to a stationary post, essentially locking all of the soldiers inside their dormitory, save for the ones manning the walls, of course.

  Alec grinned to himself. The idea had stemmed from a jest Rory had played on him when they were younger. He had been trapped in that outbuilding with a pile of fresh manure as tall as he was for more than an hour before Rory let him out.

  Willnae hold ‘em forev’r, but should dae thae trick lon’ enough.

  Alec and his men watched Colin do his job quickly and efficiently and then he gave them the sign to move. With one last look to the ramparts, Alec slid his sword from the sheath on his belt and darted to the servant’s door in the back of the house. His heart thundering in his chest, he reached out and unlatched the door and gave it a gentle push.

  The door swung inward on surprisingly well-oiled hinges and didn’t make a sound. Alec held his breath and listened but heard nothing in the lower levels of the manor. Everything was still and silent. He crossed the threshold and found himself in the kitchens. The fires in the ovens had been banked but still smoldered, filling the room with warmth.

  He smiled, then turned and waved for his men to join him. The house was theirs. Once his last man crossed the threshold, he gathered them around.

  “All right,” he started in a low voice. “First things first. Gather up all thae servants but they are nae tae be ‘armed. ‘Tis nae their fault they work for a right arse. Gather them ‘ere in the kitchens. Go nou.”

  As his men moved out, he grabbed Colin by the arm. The younger man looked at him with wide, eager eyes and a rueful grin touched Alec’s lips. Colin was barely past his fifteenth summer but already had a sentence of death hanging over his head, courtesy of the English Crown. He’d been an orphaned boy, hungry and desperate, and had been beset upon by an English lord who beat him within an inch of the boy’s life.

  Something inside Colin had snapped and he defended himself. He ended up accidentally killing the lord and, thus, forfeiting his own life. He’d been twelve. When Alec had heard the boy’s story in a tavern one night, he’d set a plan to rescue him. Alec did not think it was right or just that a boy who had simply been defending himself from a beating should be put to death for it because the other man had been a noble.

  Alec and his men had staged a raid, freed the boy, and had taken him under their protective wing. They were his family now and Colin held a special place in Alec’s heart. But he was still just a boy and not ready for the dangers his men faced.

  “Nay lad,” Alec said gently. “Nae yet.”

  Alec saw the flash of disappointment in the boy’s eyes as he looked down at the dagger in his hand. It glittered coldly in the dim ambient light. Alec cupped the back of the boy’s neck and made him look up at him, his expression sober and intense.

  “There’ll come a day when ye’re leadin’ thae charge,” he said softly. “But ‘til then, it’s me duty tae keep ye safe. Tae keep ye out of ‘arms way.”

  “But I can fight,” he argued. “I wantae fight.”

  “I ken ye can. And I ken ye dae,” he replied. “But not yet, lad. Ye still got much tae learn and I’ll nae ‘ave ye get yer guts split open b’cause ye werenae ready.”

  Colin sighed and sheathed his dagger with frustration painted upon his face. Alec laughed softly. He admired the spirit of the boy. But he was still unwilling to put him in any unnecessary danger.

  “Nou go’n get thae gates open and give Rory thae signal,” Alec said. “We daenae wantae be caught with our breeches down ‘ere.”

  Colin nodded and Alec tousled his hair, giving the boy a fond smile before ushering him out the back door to complete his task. Elsewhere in the house, chaos erupted as the servants, pulled from sleep by large, hard men with blades, were being herded into the kitchen. In all, fifty servants in their nightclothes stood huddled together, trembling, pale, their faces etched with fear.

  Alec heard the ring of steel on steel and knew the fight was engaged and that time was short.

  “Is this all of them?” Alec asked.

  A tall dark-haired man named Lamond nodded. “Aye Cap’n,” he said.

  “Good,” he replied. “Let’s get ‘em secured, lads.”

  Alec nodded and looked at the group as his men started to tie them up. That gave rise to fearful murmurs and the sound of the women sobbing with fright.

  “Let’s nae ‘ave any undue fussin’,” Alec intoned. “We’re nae ‘ere tae ‘urt any of ye. And we’re nae ‘ere for anythin’ of yers, so settle yerselves down nou.”

  The room fell silent, and the women wiped away their tears, quietly sniffing, but Alec saw that none of them looked reassured. But nothing could be done for that. He nodded to the men holding the ropes that bound the servants and called for one of his most trusted swordsmen, Albus, to join him.

  Together, they ascended the stairs, encountering no resistance. He had expected to encounter more than a dozen house guards. But his men had dispatched them quickly and there did not appear to be more inside the manor. Which told Alec the main body of the Viscount’s force was either up on the walls or in the dormitory.

  ‘Tis a bit of good news and somethin’ goin’ right for us for a change.

  He and Albus made it to the third-floor landing and stopped just outside the door to the Viscount’s apartment. Alec reached out and tried the latch, but when he tried to push the door inward, it did not move–bolted from the inside. As they stood there, a noise drew Alec’s attention and he exchanged an expression of disbelief with Albus.

  “The bleedin’ arse slept through thae whole thang,” he laughed softly.

  “Good news for us,” Albus shrugged.

  “Aye,” Alec grinned, enjoying their sudden reversal of fortunes.

  Albus moved to the side as Alec positioned himself before the door. He raised his foot and mustering all of the strength in his body, drove it forward. The door crashed inward with a mighty roar, coming loose at one of its hinges, making it hang awkwardly. Wood splintered and cracked, exploding into the room as if a barrel of black powder had been ignited.

  Alec rushed forward, his sword bare, and Albus right behind him. He may not have heard the commotion downstairs, but the Viscount heard his door blowing inward, sat bolt upright, face blanching, and a look of absolute terror etched upon his features. He looked at them, his eyes wide, lips quivering. But he sat up straighter as he tried to muster some sense of dignity and control.

  “What is this about?” he demanded. “Who are you and what are you doing in my home?”

  “Time tae pay thae piper, Viscount Blandford,” Alec growled.

  “Get out thae bed,” Albus added.

  The Viscount hesitated, so Alec raised his sword, pointing the tip at the English lord’s throat.

  “I daenae want tae kill ye in yer bed,” he said, his voice low and menacing. “But I will if I ‘ave tae.”

  The Viscount slipped out of bed and while Alec kept his sword on him, Albus moved quickly to tie the man’s hands securely behind his back. With their prisoner bound, they marched him downstairs and into the kitchens where the rest of his staff, who still huddled together in a far corner of the room. Alec pushed the Viscount up against a wall with the tip of his sword pressed the hollow of the man’s throat.

  “B’hold, Viscount Hector Blandford, be
ater of women, starver of children,” Alec leaned closer so his face was mere inches from the English lord’s. “Murderer and coward.”

  “I am well within my rights as a noble and member of the King’s Court to punish ne’er-do-wells as I see fit,” Blandford huffed.

  “Ye are, are ye?”

  “Quite right. Furthermore, you and your men have forfeited your lives by your actions this night.”

  “Is that so?”

  Alec looked around the room and chuckled. His men glared hard at the Viscount, all of them making a display of brandishing their blades. Lord Blandford trembled and seemed to visibly shrink as Alec turned his eyes back to the man. But the Viscount sniffed loudly and lifted his chin defiantly, doing his best to put on a brave face.

  “However, were you to free me and my household staff–unharmed, of course–and leave my manor, I would be willing to grant you and your men leniency,” Lord Blandford said, his voice quavering.

  Alec and his men laughed. Blandford’s household staff had stopped crying and looked on in fascination, some of them with hope in their eyes that he actually would run Blandford through. It told Alec all he needed to know about the man.

  “‘Tis a mighty gen’rous offer, Me Lord,” Alec spat, putting a sarcastic edge to the honorific. “But I could just kill ye and be done with it.”

  “And what do you imagine will happen when my soldiers outside–”

  His words were cut off by the sound of the front door to the manor, crashing inward. Heavy bootsteps sounded on the hard wooden floor and Alec grinned at Rory, who entered with the rest of his men. He noticed a couple of red stains on Rory’s tunic.

  “Ye all right, lad?” Alec asked.

  Rory nodded. “Aye. He ‘ad some stubborn mules for soldiers but they been dealt with,” he replied.

  Alec turned his eyes back to the Viscount. “Ye were sayin’ what ‘bout yer soldiers?”

  Lord Blandford swallowed hard and licked his lips nervously but said nothing. Alec cast a grin at him.

  “This ‘im then?” Rory asked.