The Highland Secret Agent

by Emilia Ferguson

  Beauty with a Hint of Madness?

  Ambeal McDonnell is used to the finer things in life, though she was raised by a witty falconer after the death of her mother. Her father is a rich and powerful thane with little time for her, aside from planning her future from her childhood. Now that his original choice has chosen another bride and broken their agreement, the McDonnell wishes to wed his beautiful daughter to his one-time ward, a cruel man with more plans for her inheritance than Ambeal. Now he just has to discredit Ambeal so that her say in the matter is limited in the eyes of her doting father…

  A Highland Warrior with a Daring Plan…

  Best friend to the man her father views as a deserter, Alf McNeil is nowhere close to the ideal man her father would choose as a replacement suitor. However, his heart belongs to Ambeal on first sight, and he’ll do whatever it takes to win her hand in marriage—with or without the approval of the McDonnell. He’ll battle his rival to the death—the once-ward of her father—or perhaps find a better alternative…kidnapping the beautiful lass.

  Life on the Run…or Submit to Duty?

  Ambeal is now faced with a hard choice. She can follow her heart and run away with Alf, watch as he battles a ruthless man who’ll lie, cheat and steal in order to murder Alf before a fight, or marry the evil man before he has a chance to harm her handsome Highlander. None are without risks, and any of them could lead to her death—or the death of the man she adores.

  When meeting the man who was supposed to be her husband, she instead falls head over heels for the man beside him...but will it cost her life to marry him?

  But will it be too late to save herself from the ruthless man her father would choose instead?

  PROLOGUE

  PROLOGUE

  Ride! Ride!”

  Ambeal screamed it back to Alf as they stormed over the moors together, their horses keeping pace as they crossed the hard-packed ground. As she looked over her shoulder, she could see him, just behind her, his ox-blood hair tousled by the fitful breeze.

  She leaned forward, twisting in the Spanish saddle – made for side-saddle – and drew in her breath as they raced across the barren landscape. It was almost nightfall, and the last light lingered in the mist, a reddish haze over the purple-darkened moorlands.

  If they catch us now, we're finished.

  She leaned forward and breathed, holding in the first waves of panic.

  They flashed from the moorlands into the trees. Here, the hunters were less likely to find them. She twisted round again, searching behind her for Alf. There!

  At her side, he had just entered the trees a few moments before.

  Now we have a chance of being safe.

  She noticed he had slowed and slowed her own pace. The woods were dangerous. Going too fast here could mean death from a sudden collision with a bough.

  “Are we still ahead?” Alf asked. He hung his handsome head, his hair on his brow wet with perspiration despite the cool of night.

  “Yes.” She nodded. She was breathless and drained, the tension draining out of her now that they were safe – or safer – leaving her limp and relaxed.

  “Good.”

  She shook her head. “I can't believe he'd do this.”

  “Well, he did,” Alf sighed. “I hope...I hope he'll receive us well.”

  “So do I.”

  Ambeal sighed. The person in question – the reason for the guardsmen who scoured the forest with verderers and dogs to help them track – was her own father, The McDonnell, Lord of Bronley.

  Alf sighed. “I suppose I did wrong, by coming here.”

  “No,” Ambeal corrected him. “I would never regret it.”

  He smiled warmly. “Nor do I.”

  They rode together through the forest in silence. The place was quiet now, disturbed only by the distant rise of a hunting-horn somewhere far off to her left. If the hunters were out there, they were not anywhere close to them.

  Somewhere nearby, she heard the cool sound of water, running in darkness. Somewhere closer, something rustled in the scrub. All else was silent. She looked at Alf where he rode beside her in the dark.

  He is so stunning.

  She could just make out his profile, outlined against the black of night behind. He had a high forehead, a straight nose and a blunt jaw, with a thin, rugged mouth.

  The cloak he wore hid most of his body, but she had noticed, on other occasions, that it was lean, hard and well-muscled from the hours on the practice-ground or riding in joust.

  I am married to Alf. But as yet, I have not found out more of him.

  She bit back her smile, wondering what it would be like, their wedding night. They had been married in secret at Dunkeld, the home of his father. Now, they were returning to her own home, to confront her father with the truth.

  She was no longer a tool to be wielded for his ambitions. She was a married woman. She had chosen Alf.

  “Ambeal?” he said. His voice was raw.

  “Yes?”

  “I don't regret it.”

  Ambeal chuckled. “Well, nor do I.”

  He smiled. “Good.”

  “Alf McNeil,” she said with a voice low with feeling, “how can you even think I would?”

  He chuckled. “When we return, remind me never to cross you. You have a fire inside you, Ambeal.”

  She giggled. “I should hope so. And you only fan the flames of it.”

  Alf grinned and she shivered, looking into those dark eyes. They rode close now, so close her legs could almost brush with his.

  “Come on,” he said with a voice rough with emotion. “Let's go.”

  She nodded. “It'll be too dark to ride soon.”

  “Yes.”

  They went slowly, for the trees were close and any false step could kill them or their favorite horses, but they went steadily on into the darkness.

  Heading for Bronley castle, the home of Ambeal and of her father, the enemy of Alf.

  As she thought it, Ambeal felt herself shiver.

  What have I done? What will happen?

  She could not know. All she could know, as she rode on beside Alf, was that she was in love with him. She could not have chosen any other way, because of her passion and wonder.

  Somehow, in her heart, she knew that would be enough. They were in love. That would carry them out of this darkness and into a new adventure.

  CHAPTER ONE

  RIDE TO THE FORTRESS

  RIDE TO THE FORTRESS

  The fortress was dark and brooding. Ambeal looked up at it from where she and Alf had stopped beside the water gate around the back of the castle.

  There were no sentries on the walls, which was a sign that her father had sent most of the troops out to seek them out.

  Good. That will make it easier to enter.

  Ambeal looked round to Alf, where he stood behind her, also studying the ramparts. He put his hand on her shoulder and she shivered, liking the feel of his closeness.

  “The wall's empty tonight,” he commented.

  Amabel nodded. “Yes. Indeed.”

  “This gate,” he continued, walking up to it. “It is open?”

  “Sometimes,” Ambeal admitted. Whether or not it would be today, she had no idea.

  Answering the question, Alf put his hand through and lifted the latch.

  “Locked.”

  Ambeal bit back a frustrated sigh. “What can we do?”

  Alf frowned. “I have an idea.”

  “Oh?”

  “Is there a stone or something like that about?”

  Ambeal frowned and bent down, picking up a pale pebble she could see in the soft-edged dark. “Is this close enough?”

  He chuckled. “Perfect.” He took it from her and their fingertips brushed. Ambeal bit her lip, feeling the warmth of his touch thrill through her body.

  “Well,” he continued, bending down near the gate, “if you could help me fetch some dry grass, leaves, or something of the sort?”

  “Very well.” Sh
e bent down, raking her slim hands across the almost-obscured ground, swallowed by the shadow of the high stone wall. She came back a few moments later, some dry grass and leaves held in her hands.

  “If you could pile them here?” Alf asked, pointing to the base of the gate. Ambeal nodded and knelt gracefully beside him, packing the tinder close to the bottom of the gate.

  “There. Now, we need a bit of shelter from any draft.” He murmured it to himself as he bent over. Ambeal watched, frowning, as he reached for his belt-pouch and then drew out a stone. Then she understood.

  It was a flint. Striking it with the stone that he'd requested, he made sparks. The sparks caught the tinder and soon they had a small fire going, crackling and bright. Behind her, Ambeal's horse, Lily, snorted, reminding her that horses don't much like the smell of fire.

  “Shhh, lass,” she whispered. “It's well. Just a little blaze.”

  “Mm.” Alf nodded. “Now we need some bigger branches. If you could?”

  Ambeal nodded and, gathering her long linen skirt in her left hand, headed out into the nearby copse to fetch pine branches.

  She came back with a modest armful, the sticks ranging from the width of a finger to some the width of her forearm. Alf raised a brow.

  “Well done, dear.”

  She smiled, feeling a flush of happiness go through her at his evident approval.

  “It smells strong,” she commented as the pine went onto their fire, the flames growing and crackling, sending out wreathes of sweetly scented smoke.

  “Yes,” he said, grinning. “The more smoke the better. Now, we hide.”

  Ambeal nodded and she followed Alf into the nearby cluster of trees. The horses they led beside them, so they all four stood concealed in the forest.

  As the flames licked up, catching at the gate, they cast a wavering light on the wall. Then, about sixty heartbeats later, came the screams.

  “The gate! The gate's on fire!”

  Alf and Ambeal looked at each other, delighted. It was working!

  As they watched, the flames roared up across the rear side of the dry, well-prepared wood, the pitch used to make it weather-hardened making the ideal carrier for fire. The flames were bright now, casting a clear pool of warmth on the stony ground around the back.

  Then, just as Alf and Ambeal had hoped, someone threw open the gate. While they had waited, Alf and Ambeal had mounted their horses. They were waiting for the moment when they could ride up through the gate.

  As she watched, Ambeal saw some of the guards come out. They were beating at the flames, but to no effect. The cook was there too, dressed in a voluminous plaid cloak. She shouted at the men, angrily. “Fetch water! At the cistern.”

  Two men ran off. Ambeal couldn't help a smile. Trust the cook to know better than anyone how to stop a fire on pitch-soaked wood!

  “Now,” Alf whispered. “We should go now.”

  Ambeal nodded. The moment was perfect. Two men remained near the gate, still trying to smother the fire.

  “Go!”

  They touched their heels lightly to their horses' sides and burst out of the trees, heading for the gate.

  “Stop!” one of the guards yelled. They ran towards the horsemen, which was a mistake. Two riders, trained for the hunt, pressed ahead at full gallop. The guards stepped aside.

  “Out of the way!” Ambeal screamed, afraid she would trample someone as they raced for the gate. She passed through second, fractions of a heartbeat behind Alf.

  “Go, go!” Alf shouted. He was in the courtyard at the rear of the castle now, and his horse's hoofs rang on cobbled stone. Ambeal was beside him, and they rode ahead.

  “We can stop, now, dear,” she said. “We're in. We can stop.”

  Alf nodded and dismounted, his boots ringing hard on stone. As he did, the first of the guards rushed up to him.

  “Stop!” Ambeal screamed as the guard drew a dirk and Alf responded, reaching for his belt where he likewise wore a short sword.

  “Alf, no!” Ambeal shouted. She ran to the two men and faced the guard, shouting at him, “Stop! Put up your sword.”

  The guard, clearly terrified both by the unexpected command issued by a woman, and the fact that it was the thane's daughter, raised the blade. Alf did the same.

  “Now, Gaire,” she said to the guardsman quickly. “Go. Fetch my maid and tell her to prepare another room. We have a guest.” Thank heaven she knew the man's name! It made matters easier.

  “Lady Ambeal.” he bowed low.

  Ambeal inclined her head in thanks and he headed off. The other guardsmen, returning with water for the gate, looked at Ambeal askance. The fact that she had just burned the gate of the fortress was something they were clearly wary about. None would dare ask her, however. She was known for her swift temper, even among the men-at-arms.

  “Well,” Alf whispered. “That worked, yes?”

  “It did,” Ambeal whispered slowly. Inside, she was still cautious. If all went well here, it was still uncertain that the meeting with her father would go as well. She hoped to have some time in the castle to prepare before they had to do such a thing.

  In a moment, Gaire appeared. “The room's being readied.” He bowed low. “Come within, milady.”

  Ambeal nodded and gestured to Alf, who followed her inside.

  In the fortress, the hallway was lit with wavering light from a pitched torch bracketed in the wall. Ambeal shivered, feeling now how cold she'd been as the greater warmth of the castle enveloped her.

  Alf followed her in.

  “The men took our horses to the stables,” he whispered to her in a low voice. “I hope they treat them decently.”

  Ambeal smiled at him. “They will.”

  Both keen riders, Ambeal and Alf would be deeply upset were their horses badly treated. Both spent many hours in regular horsemanship and their horses were as close as their companions.

  “Well, then,” Alf whispered tightly. “Now what happens?”

  “Now,” Ambeal whispered to him as she led him up the stairs toward the main part of the fortress, “we prepare for an audience with my father. Or I do.”

  Alf raised a brow. “Can't I come too?”

  Ambeal frowned. “I'm not sure. I think it may be best if I go alone.”

  “Mayhap,” Alf said. He sounded unsure.

  Ambeal smiled up at him. “Alf,” she whispered. “Do be cautious.”

  He grinned back. “When am I so?”

  She chuckled. “Never.”

  “Indeed.”

  They kissed, there in the darkness of the landing. Ambeal felt her whole body tense with sudden delight as his lips moved over hers. He flicked his tongue along the line parting her lips and Ambeal felt her body shiver as he drew her close, holding her against him.

  “Alf,” she whispered as he gently moved back.

  “Yes?”

  “We should go.”

  “Yes.”

  Reluctantly, Ambeal stepped away and they went upstairs.

  At the upper story, Ambeal headed left. She indicated where Alf should go. “Go right and to the second door. Knock once. Bronna will let you enter.”

  “Yes.”

  As she headed to her chamber, Ambeal felt her heart thudding in her chest. She was wary. To be frank, she was frightened. Her father was not the easiest of men – in fact that was an understatement. All her life she had been wary of his sudden changes of mood, though he had always treated her with respect and care.

  I still don't know if he would turn on me the way he sometimes turns on others.

  Shivering, she slipped into her own bedchamber.

  It felt strange, being back. The room was exactly as she had left it. Well, not quite. Her dress had been laid out for her to wear and the fire had been stoked. It sent a ruddy light across the room, glowing warmly on the rug by the hearth, the thick woolen coverlets on the bed.

  “Now I'm back.” She said it aloud, to try and convince herself of the truth of it. It still seemed unre
al. She was a different person then the one she had been when she left, a new and revitalized one. She was no longer Ambeal McDonnell, prized daughter of a reclusive chieftain. She was Ambeal, wife of Alf. A new person.

  She went to the dress that Bronna had laid out for her – a linen one of soft, cream fabric, the bodice straight and cut into a “V”-shape where it met the slim, straight-hanging skirt. She stroked the soft fabric and put it aside, deciding against it. She went to her wardrobe and drew out another, one of dark velvet that swept the floor in a thin train.

  “This one.”

  She was struggling with her own buttons when she heard a knock at the door.

  “Milady?” Whew. Thank goodness. Helping hands.

  “Enter,” she called. Bronna arrived.

  “Oh!” her gentle face lit with a fond smile. “You're here! I missed you! We were worried...”

  “Well, you needn't have been,” Ambeal said quickly, thinking that her father was likely furious, rather than worried. “For I am back.”

  “Indeed! Thank the heavens, yes!” she said gladly. “Now, let me help you out of that dress...heavens! You're a mess, milady.”

  Ambeal grimaced as she swept a hand down the gown noting where traces of leaves and dirt were caught in the fabric. “I am, yes, Bronna.”

  She smiled, unclasping the linen dress and fastening plum velvet, dyed dark and almost black.

  As Bronna brushed her hair, Ambeal regarded her face in the mirror. Thin, with a long straight nose and a high forehead, her face had an elegance that was offset by full, curving lips and big eyes. She had been called beautiful and did admit there was something unusual about her face, something arresting.

  Well, I hope I can convince Father of the suitability of my choice.

  That was what she had to do. She wanted to look calm, collected and strong.

  “Leave it loose, Bronna,” she suggested. “Only take it back off my forehead with a fillet, mayhap.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  As Bronna worked, Ambeal planned what she would say. She was not going to appease her father's wrath. She was going to face it. If he exiled them, so be it.