Lusting for the Highlander: A Steamy Scottish Historical Romance Novel

by Lydia Kendall

  He smiled at her wolfishly. “I cannae wait,” he replied. His devilish tone made Morgana’s face redden.

  Once she left Gregor set about scrubbing himself. As he did so his amusement for Emily’s lecture and Morgana’s smile began to fade, and he thought back to her many reservations about the night’s events.

  Gregor’s heart ached for her. She had yet to tell him more about her past, but from what little he did know it had been painful and lonely. Though she wouldn’t confirm or deny, he had drawn the conclusion on his own that she was running from something, or someone.

  What he couldn’t fathom though was why. Is it another man? An old lover? Morgana was a strong, beautiful woman. There was no doubt in his mind that she had been pursued by many other admirers in her life. The very thought though made his temper blacken, and he steered away from it. Whatever it was, he just knew he wanted to protect her from it.

  Father Monahan watched from the church’s bell tower as villagers began to make their way to the castle in the dusky blue light. It was the middle of summer, a time people rarely bathed but he could be the cornerstone of the kirk that every single one of them looked freshly scrubbed. They had dressed in their finest. Little girls had their hair neatly plated in braids with ribbons woven into them, and the boys had all dressed in fresh kilts.

  “Sinners,” the priest whispered in disgust. None of them, not a single one, had bothered to dress so nicely for Sunday services. Scotland had been a difficult land to tame for the church of the true God. He knew that many in the village still followed old pagan ways, but the open display of admiration for the witch disgusted him.

  How could they dare to worship a witch over the Almighty God?

  He would make them pay for their false idol as soon as Sir Nigel Fordun of the Sacred Witch-Hunter Council arrived and showed them once and for all that she was nothing more than a hand of the devil.

  Father Monahan looked down at the letter he had received from Sir Fordun and read it again for the hundredth time. They had not planned for his arrival to be the day of the ball, but he found the timing a sign of God. In just a few moments he would leave the village, and ride out to the forest to meet the illustrious hunter and bring him to the witch. Then it would all finally be over, and the village would once again find their peace in God.

  As planned, he waited until the stars began to peek out through the night sky, and then took his leave. With the village practically empty he didn’t even to have sneak out. Dressed in dark robes and adorned with a heavy golden cross around his neck, the priest rode proudly through the main gate.

  Outside the gates he lit his lantern and guided his horse toward the witch’s cottage, where he would gather proof of her sorcery and wait for the witch-hunters. As he approached, he kept watch for the giant black beast that was always by Morgana’s side. Believing it to be her familiar, he was certain the demon dog’s spirit was guarding the witch’s dwelling.

  Father Monahan circled the cottage twice and found nothing. When he was certain he was alone, he went to the neat rows of vegetation that filled the fields on its eastern side of the cottage, and stirred his horse to walk through them over and over again until they were all destroyed.

  By the time he was done the moon had risen high in sky. The hours had marched on and from the forest he could hear the sounds of the Witch-Hunter’s caravan creaking down the worn road. Through the trees he could see the bright light of the caravan’s torches, and excitement filled him.

  The caravan stopped when they saw him approaching and took a defensive stance. Quickly he came down from his horse, onto his knees, and bowed his head to the ground. From the most elaborate wagon out stepped a tall, muscular man with the most beautiful armor the priest had ever seen.

  Father Monahan stared up at the man in awe, and knew he made the right decision to ask him for help. Surely this was the man that would rid Henwen of the evil witch once and for all, and restore rightful goodness.

  “My dear priest,” Sir Fordun greeted, walking up to him until his feet were mere centimeters from Father Monahan’s praying hands. “I believe you’ve found my witch.”

  Chapter 17

  Henwen Castle

  Morgana looked into the mirror, stunned. The seamstress, Alice had said, had been working with the castle for years. But despite that knowledge Morgana still couldn’t believe how well the dress fit her. Never before had a dress hung on her so well or perfectly accentuated her figure.

  Under the beautiful garment she wore a borrowed a matching chemise and undergarments that were just as fine as the dress that covered them. Alice had lent them to her, along with a pair of beautiful satin shoes. Also borrowed from Alice was a stunning necklace of diamonds and sapphires. Suspended from her ears were matching strings of them that dripped nearly down to her bare shoulders.

  A servant had worked with her curls until it was pinned up in the latest style. Through some of her curls she had weaved powder blue ribbon, a startling contrast to the red. Someone had then come in with various little pots of colored creams and had painted her lips and cheeks.

  Never before had she been in such finery. Though her parents had made sure to give her all she could need as a child, such luxuries were well beyond their reach. She had never minded or wished for more, but instead appreciated all that she was given. Looking at herself now though, she couldn’t help but love every part of her ensemble.

  “Oh, me sweet lass,” Alice gasped as she, Erica and Tily came into her room. “Look at ye! Such a vision.”

  “Ye were right, dearie,” Tily praised, her eyes growing moist as she looked on at the young woman she’d grown to love as a daughter. “The blue is perfect for the night.”

  “Thank you,” she replied, her face illuminated with her smile. “You all look so beautiful too!”

  And indeed they did. Alice was dressed in a gorgeous dark-blue gown with pearls sewn into the bodice and white-satin shoes much like the ones Morgana was wearing. Erica’s dress was made of a buttercream silk, the pale yellow accentuating her stunning light green eyes and slightly darker complexion. Tily, as stalwart as ever, was dressed not in a gown, but in a full skirt of her family tartan and a stark white bodice that had a high frilly collar and tight frilly cuffs. At the neck sat a glittering pendant shaped like a snowflake.

  The four of them were ready for a ball of the highest courts. Alice and the other ladies had been planning it since the day after Morgana was able to return to her cottage, and it was meant to be one for the ages. Over the past several days servants had been hard at work getting the castle ready for the celebration, cleaning and cooking, decorating and visiting the market. Now it was here, and everyone was waiting for her.

  Morgan’s stomach had been in tight knots since the morning. Her only reprieve had been when she and Gregor had met in the bath hall. The Laird had brought out a playfulness in her, and they had shared laughter that she sorely needed. Once she’d left to finish getting ready though, her nerves became frayed once again. Despite Gregor’s assurances, she had the feeling something wasn’t right.

  Anxieties or not though, the time had come to participate in the celebration that was being held in her honor. Linking arms with the other women, the four of them left Morgana’s dressing room and headed toward the castle’s great hall. When they arrived, they found Laird Henwen standing outside the grand doors, looking as handsome as ever.

  Gregor had dressed in a traditional Scottish kilt with green hose and a crisp white shirt. Over his shoulder he wore his family tartan proudly. His hair, usually as unruly as hers, had been combed and slicked back, and he had trimmed and brushed his beard.

  Seeing Gregor had Morgana’s anxiety running toward the door. And when he smiled at her, worry disappeared completely. Feeling more at ease, Morgana smiled warmly back at him as she tried to ignore the new, much more pleasant feelings gathering in her lower abdomen.

  “Me dear ladies, ye all look stunning,” he greeted, bowing at the waist as they approac
hed. They all stopped and curtsied to him in return, thanking him for the compliment.

  “We’ll leave ye two a moment,” Alice sang, her smile coy. “Come ladies.”

  Gregor waited until the servants opened the doors and the herald announced their entrance before he turned his full attention to Morgana

  “Look at ye,” he praised, that deep voice sliding pleasurably over Morgana’s ears. His eyes raked over her person, drinking her in.

  “Ye are angelic…” he paused for a moment, as if looking for the right word. “Angelic in yer beauty,” he finally finished.

  The compliment stunned her. She had been called many things in her life but an angel was not one of them. The kindness of it had tears pricking at her eyes, but she quickly blinked them away. Morgana beamed up at him as she curtsied, unable to hide her delight.

  “Thank you, Laird Henwen,” she replied warmly. “You look quite handsome yourself.”

  Gregor scowled, but laughed. “Thank ye lass, but I feel like a damned fool’s arse in such frilly things.” He pulled at his tartan, to prove his point.

  Morgana giggled, feeling perfectly at ease with him. “I promise you there is nothing frilly about you. Handsome, yes. But frilly? No.”

  His eyes raked over form once more, giving her a look full of heated desire.

  Is it so wrong that I want him staring at me like this?

  To think he might be thinking of her? Perhaps it was, but it pleased her in an exciting and new way. Delicious tingles would travel up her spine, over her breasts and wrap around her hips. It was a feeling she’d never experienced before, but she enjoyed it immensely.

  “Right,” Gregor sighed after a long perusal of her person. A smile was tugging at his lips.

  “Let’s get ye in there, aye? Yer public awaits.”

  Gregor reached out for her hand, and she gave it to him. He lifted it to his lips once more, grazing a gentle kiss over her knuckles before he tucked it into the crook of his elbow.

  “Daenae ye worry lass,” he comforted, giving her arm a gentle squeeze. “This is going to be fun.”

  Morgana struggled to accept his words and for a moment contemplated running right back to her room. But as the herald announced their arrival, the doors opened to a room filled with light and finery, and she gasped at the beauty.

  Several dozen large sconces, two immense fireplaces, and metal chandeliers hung from the ceiling cast a warm glow over immaculate tapestries of the beautiful Highlands in the springtime. Also from the ceiling hung giant swaths of sheer white fabric that glittered with golden thread.

  Looking down the long stone staircase, Morgana could see that nearly every single one of the villagers of Henwen had come to the celebration for her. Each and every one of them, even the children, were all beaming up at her and Gregor as they descended into the room together.

  To Morgana’s surprise, her fear and anxieties vanished, and she breathed deeply, sucking in cool air to flood her lungs. From the far corner of the room, the musicians started up the music once more, and the festivities moved into full swing. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she was greeted with thanks and praise, and offered dance offers. Appreciation for her work was rare and it made her sort of giddy, but she soon began to relax.

  Gregor insisted on the first dance, and led her to the center of the floor where the crowd had made space for them. When she told him she didn’t know how to dance, he took her into his arms gently, and in a soft voice guided her through the steps of a sweet, slow Scottish love ballad.

  “So,” he murmured, as they moved effortless about the floor, “is it as horrible as ye imagined?”

  Morgana laughed warmly. “I can’t believe this is for me. It’s so beautiful.” She shook her head, still amazed. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  “Thank ye for coming to Henwen,” he replied, his gaze warm. As he stared at her though, the innocence left his eyes, and something much more primal took over.

  Gregor looked at her as if she were water and he hadn’t had a drink in days. It made the hair on her arms stand up and her heartbeat quicken. Suddenly Morgana didn’t care one bit about the ball.

  Chapter 18

  Hours passed and Morgana was swept up in a world of light and laughter. The castle’s kitchen cooks had prepared the most extravagant of feasts, and barrels of sweet wine were flowing freely. Around her adults were dancing and chatting; children were giggling and chasing one another, playing games.

  As Gregor was a noble, duty called him away often. Despite that though he made a point to find a way back to her to make sure she was alright. If he wasn’t by her side, Erica, Tily, or Alice were. Morgana felt overwhelmed by the protection she felt from her new friends, but only because she had been alone for so long. She was grateful for their watchful eyes and clever wordplay when questions too personal were raised.

  By midnight Morgana and everyone else seemed to be feeling free and relaxed. To her left, Gregor was chatting pleasantly with his uncle and Alice’s husband, Jamie Reid. To her right, her three new friends were talking with her boisterously about possibly opening a shop at the market for Morgana to sell her medicines.

  Morgana was excitedly discussing the possibility when suddenly she felt a sharp pain slice up her side. Her heart began to beat suddenly and she felt sweat prick at her forehead. Wildly she looked around, trying to understand what was wrong. As she did Gregor caught her gaze, stopped talking to his uncle, and strode back to her.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  Morgana shook her head. “I don’t know. Something doesn’t feel right.” She looked around, suddenly feeling incredibly vulnerable. “Where’s Zeus?”

  “In the stables,” Gregor replied, his brow furrowing. “He’s safe, he’s with Hermes.”

  She shook her head again, feeling her stomach lurch. “No. No something isn’t right. I need to go to him.” Morgana started to walk away from the crowd, the feeling of danger growing greater with every passing moment.

  “I’ll take ye” Gregor promised, catching up to her take her hand. “Come on.”

  His offer to go with her did little to ease her discomfort, but she was grateful all of the same. Gregor led her through the ball, up the stairs and toward the main doors. The door attendants were just opening them when suddenly from the other side they heard a great commotion of screams and growls.

  “Zeus,” Morgana whispered, suddenly rushing for the doors. Immediately Gregor was in front of her, pushing her behind him protectively as the entryway opened up to a bloody scene. What Morgana saw made her blood run cold. There, grappling with Zeus for his life not twenty paces from her was her hunter, Nigel Fordun.

  “Let him go!” she screamed, running toward the scene. Morgana was ready to put her body between the evil man and Zeus, but Gregor’s arm wrapped around her waist and hauled her several paces back. For a moment she was filled with fury, but she quickly understood when she saw him run ahead and deliver a powerful blow to Fordun’s nose.

  Despite the solid right hook to his face and Zeus’ powerful jaws locked on his arm, Fordun was still managed to pull the dagger from its sheath at his belt. Morgana watched in slow motion as he thrust it up to the hilt into Zeus’ soft belly, making her beloved beast suddenly yelp in pain and go limp.

  “No!” Morgana screamed, rushing to him. From behind her several dozen men from the village had ran up the stairs at the sound of the commotion and were now brawling with Fordun’s soldiers. Ignoring all of them, she fell to her knees at Zeus’ side and gathered his limp body into her arms.

  He whimpered as she moved him, but he was still conscious. Even with the deep wound, he was trying to comfort and protect his mistress. Tears began flowing down Morgana’s face as she glanced quickly at the damage. The bleeding had slowed, but there was a good chance of internal gashes. Still, if she could get him to her room she knew he’d have a fighting chance.

  “Come on boy,” she whispered, ignoring the commotion going on around her. At her si
de Tily suddenly appeared with a sheet.

  “What’s that for?” She asked.

  “Put it under him,” Tily explained quickly. “We can move him easier this way.”

  Morgana quickly did as she was told, finishing right before a hand from behind grabbed her hair and yanked her backwards. She screamed at Tily to get Zeus away before she twisted violently and landed a swift punch between the legs of the man that had grabbed her. He howled violently and pushed her away from him hard, making her stumble into another fight.

  She thought of her bow and arrows setting in her room, knowing how quickly she could end the fight if only she had it. Angrily she fought her attackers, trying to get to the hallway to retrieve it. She was nearly free when a sharp whistle went up through the crowd.

  Around her everyone stopped and turned to the sound, including her. In the center of the room Gregor had Fordun in a headlock in one arm, and a dagger pointed at the man’s chest the other. The look of fury on Fordun’s face was undeniable, but he was too self-absorbed to risk actual death, so he stayed still.