by Ruth Langan
Megan watched as smiles replaced the frowns. Laughter rang through the great hall. But at the head table, where she sat between Kieran and Jamie, there were no easy smiles, no gentle laughter.
Beside Jamie sat Brice Campbell. Beside Kieran sat his brother, Colin. The four men could have been carved from stone. Their food lay untouched on their plates. Their tankards still brimmed with ale, for not a drop had touched their lips.
“We offer you and your men lodging,” Lady Katherine said. “Yours has been a long and tedious journey. You will wish to tarry a few days and refresh yourselves before returning home.” She turned to her sons. “Is that not so?”
“Aye.” Kieran’s tone was flat.
“We are grateful for your kind offer, my lady.” Jamie spared her a glance, then turned to look out over the sea of faces. “But there are several hours of daylight left. Once my men have eaten their fill, we will begin our journey home.”
“So soon?” Megan felt her stomach lurch.
“Are you not eager to see your home, lass?” Brice Campbell studied her, noting the sudden pallor.
“Aye. When I think about all those I had forgotten. Old Morna, my nurse.” A wistful look came into her eyes. “Bancroft.” To Kieran she added, “he is the keeper of the door. Like your Padraig, Bancroft has been with our family for three generations.” At the thought of her family she said dreamily, “And I shall get to see my sisters, Brenna and Meredith.”
At the mention of his wife’s name, Brice said, “Meredith is with child again. She hopes this time it will be a girl child. She sorely misses you and Brenna, and thinks another female will be a joyful addition to our home.”
Kieran saw the look that came into Megan’s eyes at the mention of her sisters. He knew he was being selfish for wanting to keep her here with him. He had no right, when she had been separated from her loved ones for so long. But the thought of seeing her go lay like a stone upon his heart.
He looked up as Mistress Peake came bustling into the hall, tears streaming down her face. Getting to his feet he shoved back his chair and caught her by the shoulders.
“What has happened? Who has made you cry?”
“Oh, my lord.” Her lips trembled and she could not speak for the sobs that escaped.
“Tell me, mistress. What has…” He turned toward the doorway, where a dazzlingly beautiful woman with coal-black hair and eyes as blue as a summer sky stood beside a tall, darkly handsome man.
“God in heaven…”
At his oath, everyone looked up.
Lady Katherine, deep in conversation with Hugh Cleary, suddenly gave a cry and raced across the room. Beside her, little Bridget watched for several seconds. On her face was a look of complete astonishment. Then, as recognition dawned, she ran toward the couple screaming, “Mama. Papa.”
“Oh, Fiona. Is it truly you?”
The young woman scooped her little daughter into her arms, then drew Lady Katherine close and the two embraced. Kieran and Colin followed, and the entire family fell into each other’s arms, laughing and crying.
“My life is now complete,” Lady Katherine said between bouts of weeping.
From her place at the table, Megan watched Fiona’s homecoming and thought about her own. There would be much weeping and laughing when she was once again reunited with her family. But, she knew, a homecoming also meant a leave-taking. In order to return to her people, she must leave Killamara. And Kieran.
She was happy for these good people. So happy. Then why, she wondered, was her heart breaking?
Slipping unnoticed from the table, she made her way to her chambers to prepare for her journey home.
Jamie sat his steed proudly. He had come in search of his leader and he had found her. The hurdle that had once seemed insurmountable was now crossed. The path would be smooth once more. He was greatly relieved. For such a long time now he had thought Megan lost to them forever.
He saw the way Megan’s gaze followed Kieran O’Mara as he led his mother and sister toward her for a last goodbye. There was something between the lass and this man. But that was not his concern. She was, after all, the MacAlpin. Nothing must prevent her from assuming her rightful place as leader of the clan, as he and Brice had reminded her when they had finally found some time alone.
He watched with pride as she kept her composure even when the child, Bridget, clung to her and wept. Dry-eyed, she pulled herself into the saddle and gave a final wave of her hand.
“Safe journey, my lady,” Kieran murmured, pressing her hand.
She bit her lip until she tasted blood, but still she refused to give in to the tears. They had said their goodbyes. And she had been through all this before, when she had thought she was accompanying Malcolm MacAlpin home. But now, Megan thought, feeling her heart shatter into a million pieces, there was no hope left. He had his duties; she had hers. And though she had always known that leadership demanded a terrible price, she had never dreamed it would cost her so much pain.
There was a lump in her throat that she could not swallow. It threatened to choke her. As she nodded to Hugh and Lady Katherine, to Cara and Colin, to little Bridget holding firmly to her parents’ hands, she felt as if she were bidding farewell to her own family. She loved them, she realized. All of them. And especially this man. Kieran. He stood facing her, his features stern and unyielding. It tore at her to see him like this. But there was nothing she could say or do that would make the parting less painful.
At Jamie’s command the men formed neat columns and waited while Megan, followed by Jamie and Brice, rode between them. With their leader finally at the head of her troops, they started on their trek toward home.
As they crested a hill Megan reined in her mount and turned for a final glimpse of Castle O’Mara. Its turrets caught the glint of late afternoon sun. Swans glided on the glassy surface of the lake. One figure still stood in the courtyard, watching their progress. She knew it had to be Kieran, but she could no longer see him clearly, because of the tears clouding her vision.
Kieran removed his shirt and crossed the room to poke at the ashes on the hearth. Beneath the layer of ash, hot coals glowed in the darkness. Soon a thin flame licked along the bark of a log.
He turned to glance at the night sky. Clouds scudded across a crescent moon. After a day filled with pounding and hammering, the night seemed unusually quiet.
He had spent the day at Colin’s manor house, overseeing the village workmen. Cara had ordered significant changes in the old structure.
Changes. He leaned a hip against the rail of the balcony and thought about all the changes that had blown through their lives like a whirlwind in the past few days.
The bishop had presided over the funerals of his brave priests. They lay buried beside the chapel. And though Bishop O’Mara made plans to return to the monastery, he still lingered, reluctant to leave the little chapel that seemed to give him such a sense of peace.
Lady Katherine had wasted no time in marrying Hugh Cleary and had returned with him and his men to his castle in Armagh. Kieran had never seen her so radiant.
Fiona and her husband had bundled little Bridget off with them to her husband’s estate outside London, where they would continue to work toward peace between their two countries. Kieran marveled that his sister could find such happiness with an Englishman. But then, he thought with a sudden pain around his heart, had not he and Megan seemed an unlikely pair, as well?
Megan. There was never a moment in the day when she did not crowd his thoughts. Even in sleep she slipped unbidden into his dreams to torment him. He tried to picture her aboard a ship bound for Scotland. But the thought was too painful. With an angry toss of his head he turned.
The quick tap on his door deepened his frown. He wanted no more of Mistress Peake’s sulking complaints because there was no one to eat the meals she prepared. She found the castle too empty. As did he. But there was no solution to it.
In quick strides he crossed the room and tore open the door. The wo
rds he was about to hurl died in his throat.
Megan, dressed in hooded traveling cloak, stared at him for long, silent moments.
“Since you do not invite me in, I invite myself.” She brushed past him and crossed to the fireplace. “It is a cold night, my lord. I feared my blood might freeze in my veins before I reached the warmth of Castle O’Mara.”
He stood in the open doorway, staring at her as if he could not believe his eyes. Then, quickly composing himself, he closed the door and leaned against it, crossing his arms over his chest.
“I thought you would be on a ship bound for your home.”
“Aye. I should have been.” She turned to face him. “In fact, I was aboard ship before I realized I could not go.”
He dared not move as he drank in the sight of her. As she lowered the hood of her cloak, her hair tumbled down her back in a riot of golden tangles. Her cheeks were as red as the roses in his mother’s garden. Her eyes glowed with a warmth that made his blood run hot.
“Will your Highlanders not come back for you and remind you of your duties?”
“They tried to dissuade me. But I am the MacAlpin,” she said with a trace of pride. “At least until another is chosen from among our clan. For now, Jamie MacDonald will lead my people. He has proven his love and loyalty. No one need remind me about my duties. My duties lie with my heart, Kieran.” She untied the cords that held her cape and let it drop to the floor. Beneath, she wore a gown of scarlet velvet. In the glow of the fire, she shimmered and burned brighter than any flame. “And my heart,” she added in low, husky tones, “lies with you.”
He crossed the room and lifted his hands to her hair, afraid for a moment that his heart had yearned so desperately for her that he had merely conjured this image to ease him through his loneliness.
“Are you truly here with me, Megan?”
“Aye. And this time, nothing, no one, will persuade me to go.”
He put his hands to her waist and felt the blade of her dirk tucked into her waistband. Lifting it to the light, he chuckled low and deep in his throat. “Did you think you would need a weapon to persuade me, little warrior?”
She took it from him, then dropped it to the floor. “I take no chances, Kieran.”
He felt the heat of her begin to race through his veins and he cautioned himself to go slowly. But the hunger that gnawed at him had his hands closing around her arms, drawing her close. Against her temple he murmured, “You have given up so much to come to me, my lady.”
“Nay.” She turned her face until her lips were brushing his. The fire began, slowly at first, then building until she thought she would go mad from the heat. “I am greedy, Kieran. I want it all. You, your love, this wild country. I want the chance to fight by your side and sleep by your side all the days of my life.”
“Oh, Megan.” His lips found hers, warm and firm and willing, and his arms came around her, drawing her close against his chest. “I thought I would go mad from the loneliness since you left.” He lifted his head and stared deeply into her eyes. “Promise me you will never leave me again.”
“I promise. Of course, I do expect you to make the journey to the Highlands when my sister, Meredith, has her third child.” An impish smile touched her lips as she added, “It would be nice if we could bring a child of our own on the journey, to see his mother’s land.”
With great tenderness he lifted her face for his inspection. “The bishop is still here in Killamara. We will ask him to preside at our wedding.”
“Can we be wed immediately?”
“You mean this very moment?”
“Aye. We have wasted enough time.”
“I fear we must waste a little more.”
For a moment Megan’s heart fell. Then, seeing the laughter lurking in his eyes, she relaxed against him as he lowered his mouth once more to hers. Against her lips he muttered, “We will seek out the bishop on the morrow. But for tonight, let me feast upon you before I die of hunger.”
He plunged his hands into the tangles of her hair and drew her head back, plundering her mouth, as he murmured against her lips, “Welcome home, little warrior. I love you, for now, for all time.”
Love. As she returned his kiss, she felt her heart swell with the knowledge. Love. She had once thought it a foolish, silly emotion. She had never wanted it. Had fought against it, in fact. But it had come, unbidden, into her heart. She loved him. So much, she had given up her reign, her family, her country. Ahh, but she had gained so much more. A lifetime of love. Love that would endure to the ends of time. And beyond.
HIGHLAND CHRISTMAS
Ruth Langan
TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter One
The Scottish Highlands, 1560
“Behind you, Ramsey. Watch your back.” Morgan MacLaren managed to shout a warning while he fought back the half-dozen swordsmen who came screaming from the forest. With each blow of his sword, he inched his way closer to his friend, who had been knocked from his horse and was fighting for his life.
The air was filled with curses and moans as the two men, friends since childhood, used their skill to dispatch the enemy.
“You’ve killed your last innocent Highlander,” Morgan muttered as he ran his blade through the heart of one outlaw. “And you.” He turned and lifted his sword high as two more leapt into the fray. “Let this be a lesson to you. My father, the laird of these Highlands, has vowed not to rest until his people are free of the likes of your kind.”
Morgan didn’t feel the pain as the sword pierced his shoulder. He seemed genuinely surprised at the trickle of warmth where the blood spilled. And even more astonished when his arm suddenly dangled uselessly by his side. Still, since he’d been trained to use both arms in battle, he caught up his sword in his left hand and continued holding his enemies at bay.
“Sweet mother.” Ramsey looked up to see a dozen more men racing from the cover of the forest. “We’re dead men, Morgan.”
Morgan turned his head, then came to an abrupt decision. “Take my horse. Ride to our stronghold and sound the alarm. These lawless barbarians must be stopped, before they turn our land into a bloodbath.”
“I’ll not leave you.” Ramsey knocked one of the attackers to the ground and ran him through with his sword, before turning to face three more.
“One of us must get the word to the others. Else these outlaws will overrun our lands. Do you want that?”
“Nay.” At that moment Ramsey was grateful when Morgan’s keen reflexes managed to save him from a flashing blade. In the blink of an eye his friend stopped the first man in his tracks, then killed a second before he could lift his sword.
As he braced for the next wave of attackers, Morgan turned to him. “The choice is no longer yours, my friend. Since I’m the stronger, and can keep them occupied long enough for you to make your escape, I command you to leave at once.”
“Morgan…”
“Not a word. The survival of our clan depends upon it. Take this gold. I’ve no need of it.” He reached inside his tunic and removed a fat pouch, tossing it in one easy movement. “Use it for food and shelter along the way. Now ride, Ramsey. And spare not a moment to look back.”
Trained to obey, the young warrior hauled himself onto the back of his friend’s horse and ducked to avoid a flurry of arrows. When he risked a glance over his shoulder, Morgan was surrounded by swordsmen, who seemed to be dropping like flies.
Ramsey gritted his teeth, determined to do as he’d been ordered. He knew if
anyone could survive a siege, it was his friend. In the past five years, Morgan’s fearlessness in battle had caused his enemies to begin calling him The Savage. It was a name that sent shivers of fear through his enemies, and a surge of pride through the men privileged to fight at his side.
As he urged his mount faster, the cries and shouts of the warriors were carried on the breeze. Ramsey felt a prickling along his scalp, and nearly gave in to the desire to return to his friend’s side. Then he thought of Morgan’s words. Nay. He couldn’t retreat. The survival of the clan depended upon him. He whispered a prayer that his decision wouldn’t cost him the life of his dearest friend.
“Lindsay.” The little boy and girl spilled out of the tiny hut and stared in amazement, then went flying back inside shouting, “Grandfather. Come look. Lindsay has a horse.”
“A horse?” The old man hobbled outside, leaning heavily on a sturdy stick for support. “Wherever did you come upon such a treasure, lass?”
“I found it grazing in the forest. The reins were tangled around some brush, keeping it from running off.” She drew closer and slipped from her mount’s back before tossing the reins to the boy.
“What’s that?” The old man pointed a gnarled finger at the bundle being dragged behind the animal.
“It’s a man, Father. A warrior, I suspect. He was surrounded by a score of dead men.”
The old man’s smile faded. “A warrior? And you brought him here to our home?”
“He’s badly wounded. In fact, I’m not sure he’ll survive the night. But I couldn’t leave him to die alone.”
“But we don’t know this man. He could be one of the outlanders who’ve been inflicting such carnage on our people.”
