Kissed by the Laird (First Ladies of the Fae Book 1)

by Sydney Sloane

  Kissed by the Laird

  Sydney Sloane

  Copyright 2015 Sydney Sloane Kissed by the Laird

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No portion of this work may be reproduced by any means whatsoever without the explicit written consent of the author and the author's publisher. This work contains people who have been used in a fictionalized setting for the purpose of historical reference. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased is used strictly for the embellishment of the story to lend creditable influence to the fictionalized work. The copyright laws of 1988, namely the Berne Convention Copyright Laws of 1988, and the Digital Millennium Copy Right Act of 1998, enacted by Congress protect this work from piracy and any transmission, trade, or sale through means electronic, printed, shared, or otherwise is strictly prohibited and will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law.

  Cover art Design by Dark Water Arts Designs.

  The final approval for this work was granted by the author. This book is published under Galaxy Press as a time travel romance-at Celestial Waters Publishing

  Prologue

  Moy Castle, 1500

  Scotland

  A bitter wind blew through the window of the sparsely lit chamber that held Hettie MacLaine captive. In and out of consciousness, she could not remember how many days had passed since her new husband, Stuart Campbell, banished her to the southeast tower of Moy.

  Clad only in her thin wedding chemise, she lay upon a threadlike pallet with no covers. She no longer shivered as the raw ocean air connected with her delicate skin. The last of her trembling ceased hours ago, and the pains of hunger had dulled to a slight ache. The end was close. She was sure of it.

  A young female voice whispered in the distance.

  I must be dreaming, or perhaps my mind has finally gone over the edge.

  A gentle knock came, and a tiny voice came again. “M’lady. Are ye well?

  Was she hallucinating? The voice sounded familiar. She used the last of her strength to prop herself up onto her elbows. “Mai…” She winced when her voice cracked from the lack of use, and water.

  Running her tongue across her parched lips, Hettie tried to speak. “Mairi, is that ye?” Just those few words angered her already irritated throat.

  The little girl’s sigh of relief penetrated through the thick, wooden door. The grinding sound of metal on metal broke the silence. A few seconds later, the bolt released and the heavy door swept open. The rusty hinges screeched in protest.

  At the sight of the bedraggled little girl, Hettie released tears of joy. For the first time in days, she had a sense of hope and her mood began to lighten.

  The little girl hurried across the room. Within her arms, she carried several items. Once she was by Hettie’s side, she explained, “Fenella gave me a book.” Mairi placed the thick tome next to her on the floor. “And forbid me to open it. She says only a MacLaine can beckon its magic.”

  Hettie eyed the cumbersome book while the little girl rummaged inside a bundled plaid. When she saw Mairi pull two bannocks out of the sack, her stomach rumbled. Lack of food for the last two days made them look like a veritable feast. Hettie devoured both bannocks and gazed over the book the Fae woman, Fenella, gave to the little girl. Once she licked every flake from her thumb, she sucked down the fresh water from the leather pouch. She closed her eyes, as the cool liquid eased her dry throat, and washed the meager meal down.

  Hettie grimaced when she shifted the heavy tome in front of her, and caressed the frayed, leather cover and read the title aloud. “Tir Nam Famhair…The Land of Giants. My grandmum told me this tale, though I have not heard it since I was a small child.” Looking up at Mairi, she said. “It’s a treasure to be sure, but I must admit I find the key that bid ye entry to be more valuable at the moment. Where did ye find the key, lass?”

  Auburn curls bobbed around the little girl’s face when she shook her head. “I did not, m’lady. Fenella, she be the one who gave me this key. I have never seen anything like it before. It be carved from the bone of our ancestors, and tis magic she says and will open any door ye want.” Her blue eyes grew larger when she spoke of the Fae’s magic. “She says the key be more powerful than the tome, and that ye should guard it with your life. It will not just open any door, but the desires of your heart. All a body needs to do is go where the Fae magic flows strongest.”

  Hettie’s brow drew together at the girl’s words. Magic? Desires? She wrung her hands, as her eyes looked toward the chamber door that remained ajar. Stuart Campbell, her husband, could return at any moment, but she did not have the heart to stop the excited lass.

  “Fenella dug the book from the stump of a dead tree.” Once again, the young girl’s eyes lit up. “The goddess, Nichneven, gifted the MacLaine healer with the magical book one Samhain night long ago.”

  As Mairi recalled the day’s adventure, Hettie absorbed the old Fae woman’s predictions. The longer she listened to the child’s encounter the more the instructions made no sense. The most important thing is she had a key. Not just a key, but an enchanted one that would open any door she desired.

  Palm up, Hettie reached out her hand. “May I have the key, Mairi?”

  Once in her hand, she closed her fist around the treasure that would grant her the freedom she desperately sought, and clutched it to her chest.

  “There is one more thing…Fenella bid me to tell ye, though I did not fully understand her meaning.” The little girl lowered her head and shuffled her feet. “The book’s magic is verra powerful. The old Fae woman said to guard the book against those who would seek to use it to destroy the MacLaine’s.” The little girl gnawed at her bottom lip.

  “That is not all is it, Mairi?”

  The little lass shook her head and whispered, “Another shall come and bear the mark. It will be she that will fulfill the prophecy.”

  “Prophecy?” The time to relish her renewed hope slipped away.

  “Aye. That is why ye must leave this realm. When the time comes, ye will know of her arrival and aid in her training. The Guardian will need protecting at all cost. Without her, the MacLaine line of Moy will vanish.”

  “Training? Am I to teach her how to make a straight stitch, how to do inventory on Moy’s stores?

  “Fenella says…” The little girl swallowed and looked down at her feet. “She will have the sight though the Guardian may not know it yet, Fenella says she will need your guidance.”

  “The mark, Mairi. What did ye say about the mark?” Hettie’s words of concern stumbled forth.

  “The Guardian shall be marked by the image of a flaming sun, and though she does not yet know it…she will have the sight.”

  I canno’ think on all this now. I must see Mairi is safe abed in her own cottage, and I must flee. There will be time to dwell on the Fae woman’s words at a later time.

  Looking back down at the girl, she spoke. “Ye need to heed my words, Mairi. Ye have done your task well, but Campbell cannot find out ye aided me this night. There is no end to his perfidy, and though I may be too late to have saved the laird…..I would not have ye placed in danger.”

  Tears pooled in the girl’s eyes. Hettie’s heart pinched, as her own reserve started to crumble. “Nay, lass.” The lump in her throat made it difficult to speak. She pulled the girl to her chest and gave her a tight embrace. “Do not shed tears. Ye are a wee brave girl and ye have done all I have asked.”

  When Hettie pulled the girl back, she motioned toward the darkened corridor and gave her a gentle prod. “Go straight to your cottage, lass, and speak about this night to no one, and I swear ye shall be safe.”

  Without complain
t, Mairi nodded and walked to the door. An emptiness filled the hollow walls of Hettie’s chest, when the girl’s tiny form slipped through the door into the darkness. She wrapped her arms around her waist and listened to the sound of the girl’s footsteps echo down the corridor until they disappeared. Never in her life had she felt so utterly alone.

  The feel of the pointed bone key in Hettie’s hand encouraged her stand onto weakened legs. Bending over, she clutched the cumbersome tome to her chest. She rose back up too quickly and paused at the onslaught of dizziness. Grateful the wall was nearby, she used it to support herself and willed the room to stop spinning.

  It felt as though she were in a dream, and stood outside her own body, as the last few minutes played out before her. A frigid gust blew in, and broke through the thin barrier of her chemise, as the cold mist from the loch cut deep into Hettie’s flesh. Her head pounded, as her body swayed back and forth. Bright shards of lights sparkled out the corner of her eyes and intensified as she pitched forward. The book fell from her hands and sailed across the chamber. An eerie, green glow encompassed all that surrounded her, as she waited for the leaden weight of her body to slam onto the unforgiving stone floor. It never came.

  Through slit lids, she was met by the face of an angel. A rich, dark-eyed angel chiseled from stone. The angel of death was a man? The scent of sweat, salt air and sandalwood teased her nose and caused her limbs to relax. Her time had come, and she would embrace it.

  Chapter One

  Mounted upon his destrier, Ian MacLaine paused at the top of the grassy knoll. He looked down into the glen below, and scanned the valley and hoped that the dark-haired beauty returned. His eyes drifted to the swaying ancient alder tree. Ian released a pent up breath when he spotted her shiny brown locks glistening in the afternoon sun. She read beneath a giant alder tree with her legs crossed. She was back.

  Ian gave his horse’s flank a kick and slowly descended the hill. His eyes took in the sight of the rich, green grass that blanketed the glen below. Careful not to frighten her off, Ian dismounted when he reached the bottom of the hill and crossed the field that was dotted by the pale yellow color of primroses. He bent over and plucked several of the dainty, fragrant blooms. All women loved flowers, didn’t they?

  When Ian closed in upon her, the lass lifted her head and their eyes locked for several heartbeats before he spoke.

  “I am…” Ian’s voice cracked. His throat went dry from having her near. She was truly the loveliest creature he had ever seen. She pushed the leather bound book from her lap and stood, her eyes locked onto his own. Ian’s palms grew clammy and he tugged at his tunic. Her eyes narrowed, before she took a step back.

  Ian swallowed. “Nay.” His voice filled with panic. She could not leave him. Not before he got her name. “I mean ye no harm, lass.” He extended his arm and offered the tiny primroses that were still clutched in his fist.

  Her hands twisted in front of her, as she stared at his meager peace offerings for several moments. Ian’s frantic heartbeat increased as each silent second in her presence passed. Then a slow, gentle smile spread across her face. She took a timid step forward and took the flowers from his hand.

  The woman brought them to her nose, closed her eyes and inhaled their sweet scent. “Thank you.”

  “Ye are quite welcome…”

  “Caroline. Caroline Andrews.”

  Ian dried his sweaty palm down the front of his trews before he took the delicate fingers of her free hand. “Tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Caroline.”

  He raised it to his mouth and brushed his lips upon the soft, ivory skin of her hand. Then from out of nowhere, a strong gust of air bore down upon them, and the sun disappeared. The limbs of the alder swayed like giant arms, as though they warned of an approaching danger.

  A fluttering sound drew his attention toward the tome, and Ian followed the sound with his eyes. Still lying beneath the tree was the heavy book Caroline was reading, the pages blown open by the force of the breeze. Compelled by a powerful pull toward the tome, Ian released Caroline’s hand and approached. Getting onto his haunches, Ian touched the worn leather edges of the cover. At his touch, thunder shook the ground beneath his feet and gave him a start. Dark clouds raced across the sky threatening to open the heavens up at any moment. He turned back to where he had left Caroline and his horse. Both were gone.

  Ian MacLaine awakened for a second consecutive night by the peculiar dream. Even now in the daylight, Ian could envision the dark-haired beauty who haunted his dreams. Her silky tresses fell over one shoulder, as she read beneath an alder tree. The dreams never lasted more than a few moments, but were powerful enough to stir him from his slumber.

  A rest before the mid-day meal was exactly what Ian needed, especially after his boorish demeanor at breakfast and then the rigorous training in the list. Even his clansmen skirted out of his sight when they saw him coming. If he were honest with himself, Ian hoped to fall fast asleep and visit with the irresistible beauty again. Caroline.

  Ian shook his head at his last thought and muttered under his breath. “I’m starting to sound daft as Mo Daol.

  Sleep would have to wait.

  Ian had bigger problems. His cousin, Tam had just informed him that there was a Campbell in his keep requesting an audience. Rest would have to wait and would come easier once the scoundrel was gone.

  Even as Ian MacLaine placed a hand on the brass knob to enter the room, he could hear the snide remarks from his men on the other side of the door. If he had not been awakened before the sun again this morn, Ian might have a taunt of his own for the unexpected guest.

  The sound of his cousin, Tam’s voice shook Ian from his thoughts. He listened to Tam hurl another insult. Though the thought of his guest’s discomfiture pleased Ian, he knew he needed to put a stop to it.

  Damon was nephew to the Tenth Earl of Argyll, and like all the other Campbell heirs before him, their greed knew no bounds, and they were notorious for always coveting what did not belong to them. Now the bugger stood in Moy’s study and requested to speak to him in regards—as the man put it— to a matter of utmost importance. There was a Campbell in his keep, and Ian knew from history this was no social call.

  “Seamus, I think some puir lad at Inverary must be running around bare-arsed. Looks like m’lord Campbell here has nicked the boy’s pants.”

  Ian bit back the urge to join in their mirth when the sound of raucous laughter penetrated the door.

  The boisterous banter settled down, and he could hear the deep baritone of his captain, Seamus MacLeod’s admonish his cousin. “Haud your wheesh’d Tam!” They did as commanded, though Ian could still hear a few snorts linger afterward.

  Another low-pitched brogue spoke out, so deep Ian felt the thick wood quake as it penetrated. Ivor. The man was wider than he was tall and like all highlanders, his hatred of all things English ran deep. Ivor had caused many fist-crunching brawls with his forthright speech and ability to prick a nerve.

  Ivor’s words came forth, before Ian could even place a hand on the brass knob that would allow him entrance.

  “Your uncle, the earl is nothing but a traitorous whoremonger. Tae side himself with that usurper King Billy and that bitch of a wife. She is no lady, to sneak around behind the king’s back—her own da—and have him ousted, and why…for a few Protestants too worried about their own necks.” The sound of boots scuffling filled his study, but as soon as Ian walked through into the room, everyone froze in their places.

  Ian spied Seamus with his bulky arms wrapped around Ivor’s middle, while Tam struggled to hold the outspoken warrior’s arm back. Argyll’s men were doing much the same for the man who would have met with Ivor’s meaty fist.

  Though Ian agreed with Ivor’s opinion with the precarious situation between Scotland and England, he didn’t need a brawl in his keep. “Enough!” His voice bellowed over the din.

  As though he could command his emotions with a wave of a wand, Ian’s visage returned
to his usual calm air of confidence as he crossed the room, all the while he scanned for Campbell. The man was not hard to spot. One look at his absurd attire and Ian knew the reason for the brash remarks from his men.

  The commotion was settling, but Ivor continued to stand nose to nose with the Argyll solider. The last thing Ian wanted to do was give his men any reason to resume their insults, but it took his entire muster to contain his own mirth. “Ivor?”

  “Aye, m’laird?” The man’s eyes never leaving his adversary.

  Did ye not hear my command? Enough. Though we are of a like mind, I will not have my study torn to shreds, nor would I have ye taint Moy by spilling the blood of cowardice traitors upon her floors.”

  At Ian’s remark, another scuffle ensued, as one of Argyll’s men said, “Ye MacLaines’s are not even fit to lick Argyll’s boots. We are no’ traitors!”

  Doing all he could to keep his legendary temper under control, Ian took several breaths before he responded. “Argyll seeks to line his own pockets with English gold, and is blinded by his own greed. Any Scot that thinks they can trust the words of an imposter…and I assure ye…he is an imposter, he is a fool. The true King of England is a Stuart. Those of ye who lay your trust in this William of Orange are fools. Ye side with an enemy that seeks a bigger prize. Scotland!” All went silent as Ian spoke the words in earnest.

  A murmur started to rise amongst the warriors within the study and then he said. “Has he not already proven he will betray a king, his own father by law to get what he wants?” There was a pause and then he finished. “Argyll and the rest of ye Campbells are nothing but marionettes to England, and never forget they will forever hold the strings once their prize has been gained.”

  Then before anybody could gainsay his orders Ian bellowed, “Everyone out, except Campbell and one of his men.” The captain of Moy’s guard opened his mouth to protest his order, but he cut him off. “Seamus, ye will stay after ye have seen the rest to the bailey.” When his captain nodded in acquiescence, Ian turned toward Damon and his man-at-arms.