Highland Wrath

by Madeline Martin

  PRAISE FOR THE HIGHLANDER SERIES

  “Readers will greatly admire Martin’s ability to capture

  their attention with the combined allure of romance and

  the swift-moving elements of suspense.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  on Possession of a Highlander

  “Martin’s Highlander series is filled with interesting

  characters and is an enjoyable read.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  on Enchantment of a Highlander

  Also by Madeline Martin

  The Highlander Series

  Deception of a Highlander

  Possession of a Highlander

  Enchantment of a Highlander

  The Mercenary Maidens Series

  Highland Spy

  Highland Ruse

  Diversion Books

  A Division of Diversion Publishing Corp.

  443 Park Avenue South, Suite 1008

  New York, New York 10016

  www.DiversionBooks.com

  Copyright © 2018 by Madeline Martin

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For more information, email info@diversionbooks.com

  First Diversion Books edition July 2018.

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-63576-389-8

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-63576-388-1

  LSIDB/1807

  To Lili,

  Thank you for always being there to help with my stories and for working so hard to make them shine. You push me to be a better writer every time, and I’m so grateful for it!

  Merci pour tout!

  Prologue

  MARCH 1601

  INVERNESS, SCOTLAND

  Sylvi’s entire life had built up to this one moment. She’d sacrificed, she’d trained, she’d gone without. And now she would learn to kill.

  The noblewoman she watched stood alone in the courtyard, her dress vivid red against the somber gray stonework of the castle behind her. She moved with the grace of a mountain cat, and could be just as lethal.

  The woman spun once, her skirts lifting out like the petals of a poppy, and slammed her fist into an invisible enemy before bringing her elbow upward. My Lady. The woman who held the life Sylvi desired.

  How many times had Sylvi watched this careful practice, only to return to her humble lodgings and mimic those very moves?

  Far too many to count, but they were in her mind now. In her blood and her soul and her heart.

  Determination flared through her. She was ready.

  Her feet were silent on the uneven cobblestones, her body pressed to the shadowed wall behind her. Her heart pattered in her chest at a speed she could not control. With a deep, even breath, she slid the dagger from her pocket and took aim.

  “You think I don’t see you there, Girl?” My Lady crossed an arm in front of her and brought it down, severing an attack from her invisible partner. Her gaze did not shift to the shadows. “Throw it.”

  She turned her back to Sylvi with such nonchalance, it could only have been done as a challenge.

  Sylvi kept her fingers loose on the blade and let finesse rather than strength free the cool metal from her grip. It sailed smoothly through the air, toward the bright red back facing her. My Lady swept from its path and stared through the veil of shadows directly into Sylvi’s soul.

  The movement had been so abrupt, My Lady’s skirts swayed around her still body. She lifted a finger and curled it, beckoning. “Come here, Girl.”

  This was it. Sylvi grit her teeth against the tensing anxiety screaming through her and forced action into her stiffening limbs.

  My Lady nudged the fallen blade with the toe of her satin slipper. “I see you finally have a proper weapon.” The smirk on her lips told Sylvi she remembered all too well the last time Sylvi had used a bit of wood in place of a dagger.

  The weapon had come at a high cost. Sylvi’s cheeks burned at the recollection of how it’d been procured, but she shoved the memory down. She never wanted to think on that again.

  There were many things she never wanted to think on again.

  She stooped to pick up the dagger. The leather braid on its hilt settled warm against her palm despite the chill in the air. Her breath came short and shallow with what she was about to say.

  She squeezed her hand around the dagger. “I’m ready.”

  My Lady lifted her head and regarded Sylvi for a long moment. While not particularly beautiful with her narrow lips and sharp jaw, she somehow presented an allure regardless, an air of mystery and danger.

  Silence widened between them and begged to be filled with justifications. Sylvi had endured loneliness to maintain discretion, sustained deprivation to practice her training, maintained the determination she’d held steadfastly to all these years in her clutch of hope.

  But arguments and pleas would not work with My Lady, no words would.

  Sylvi tucked the dagger into the battered belt at her side and threw a punch at the woman she sought to have as her mentor. Never before had Sylvi been so bold.

  My Lady ducked to the side, easily avoiding the blow.

  “How long have you been following me now, Girl? Seven years?” She lunged forward and her fist flew at Sylvi’s face.

  Sylvi threw her hands up to block the hit. Something hard and strong slammed into her stomach, nearly knocking the wind from her.

  “Ten years, My Lady.” Sylvi backed up and straightened, recovering easily after having built up the necessary strength in her abdomen for such a blow. “And I’m no girl anymore.”

  My Lady’s gaze slipped down Sylvi’s body. “No,” she conceded. “You’re not. You’ve gone from being a foreign gutter rat to something becoming. In fact, you’ve grown to be rather lovely in that savage way these Highland men like.” Her forefinger wagged the air between them. “Yet your manner of speech is fine enough to land you in the heart of James’s court without arousing a lick of suspicion. How did you manage?”

  Sylvi had not realized how roughly she’d spoken until My Lady had pointed it out. She’d been only a girl then, one who easily blended into crowds, as unnoticed by the wealthy as rubbish heaped in a dark alley. “I followed the noblewomen of Edinburgh,” she replied. “Same as I followed you.”

  “Clever girl.” My Lady’s eyes narrowed. “Clever woman.” She swept her leg toward Sylvi’s feet, but Sylvi leapt into the air and easily landed without her balance rocked. With footing so sure, Sylvi did not need to wait to recover and drove her elbow in the direction of the other woman’s temple.

  My Lady caught her arm and held it in a merciless grip. Her blue eyes were chips of sapphire when they met Sylvi’s. “Clever women are dangerous.”

  “Clever women are advantageous with the right alliances.” Sylvi wrenched her elbow free. “You know that better than most.” She pulled back and slammed her fist into My Lady’s jaw too fast for the woman to block her.

  A smile quirked at My Lady’s lips. “You’re better than I thought, Girl.” She touched a finger to her mouth and looked down at a smear of bright blood. “If I train you, there will be rules.”

  Sylvi’s heartbeat doubled at those words. Never had they even begun to discuss Sylvi truly joining her. For years, it had all been a list of reasons why she couldn’t. A long list.

  But she hadn’t accepted defeat. She’d adapted, addressing every “no” and improving herself until every excuse had been struck from the lis
t.

  “I understand.” Her voice was stronger than the quivering mass of her insides.

  My Lady held her gaze. “If you do not abide by those rules, you will pay with your life.”

  “I understand,” Sylvi repeated. “But I also would like to make a request.”

  My Lady stared at her for a long moment, and then a laugh erupted from her red painted lips. “You would make a request of me?” Her hand waved in the air with embellished invitation. “By all means … ”

  Sylvi’s breathing went shallow, and her lips tingled. This one request was bold. It could be the one thing that ruined her chances. But it was also the one thing that had driven her so far. “When I find the man I’m looking for and the men who follow him, I want permission to leave so that I may pursue them.”

  The sun overhead was blotted out with a swell of graying clouds. Sylvi refrained from allowing an ominous shiver to trickle down her spine.

  “The man with half an ear.” My Lady had said it casually, but her knowledge jabbed into Sylvi’s heart.

  “How do you know?” Sylvi whispered above the pounding of her pulse.

  “Do you think I’d allow you to follow me and act as my page without learning more about you? After so many unsuccessful years, you most likely will not find him.” My Lady paused and regarded Sylvi. “What would you do if you did?”

  The kindling of hatred roared through Sylvi at the very thought. “I’ll kill him.”

  “You’re very determined for one so young. What happened to you?”

  The image flashed in Sylvi’s mind before she could stop it. Her family, all with the same white-blonde hair as hers, their eyes pale blue and seeing nothing. The slashes at their necks gaping like macabre second mouths. Their screams echoed in her skull, her mother’s pleading to spare the children.

  Sylvi jerked her head to the side, as if she could fling the memories out.

  The scar at her throat burned with the memory. Her fingers found the coarse ribbon tied around her neck before she realized what she was doing. “You have your secrets.” Her voice came out so rough, it was near unrecognizable. “And I have mine.”

  My Lady’s gaze fixed on the ribbon, and for a moment Sylvi worried she might be told to remove it. The blood roared in her ears.

  “You may have your request. I will agree to train you, but not work with you. I work alone.” My Lady’s stare softened. “You must know he will be hard to find. And know killing will not bring you what you seek. Death brings consequences, not solace.”

  Rain spit down at them from the swollen skies. My Lady bent to retrieve her belongings. “Get your things, Girl. You’ll be staying here from now on rather than that hovel you call a home.”

  “My name is—”

  “Girl.” My Lady straightened. “And I am My Lady to you.”

  Sylvi nodded in compliance and gazed up at the towering height of the stone manor. Bits of stone and mortar had flaked away, and the structure had gone dark with age, but it was the most beautiful home Sylvi had ever seen.

  She would be living there, training with My Lady.

  And regardless of what the death of her enemies would bring her, they would still be dead, and her family would be avenged.

  Chapter 1

  APRIL 1608

  ELGIN, SCOTLAND

  Night was a cloak Sylvi wore well. She possessed none of the alluring seduction of My Lady, but instead favored the silent discretion of her more recent instructor, Connor. He had acquired her to be part of an elite group of women to spy for King James. After all, Sylvi had required a job of her own once she had grown. She couldn’t rely on My Lady’s generosity forever, and My Lady had made it clear from the beginning—she worked alone.

  Her stealth was not the only habit Sylvi had acquired from Connor. She also kept the girls who worked for her from the ugly task of killing.

  Assassinations were not something she liked to take on, but this particular one had been at a price she could not refuse. It was no cheap task to run a spy ring of women. Especially with a recent blunder in which one of her clients lost their daughter and refused to pay. While Sylvi did not blame Delilah for the botched mission, the hit to their coffers had been hard enough to lead Sylvi to accept the abysmal task. If it weren’t for the other women counting on her for their survival, she would have readily refused.

  Sylvi eased through the empty street with a comfort she only found in the shadows. Her breath came faster than she liked, not from nerves but from the discomforting tension in her chest. Killing was nasty business.

  The image of the massive bag of coins on her desk sat in her mind like a stone. She’d scratched every coin with the tip of her dagger, the way her father had shown her as a girl. None of the gold had scraped off to reveal a false coin beneath.

  It was a silly thing to do, she knew, but old habits were not easily lost, and the ritual summoned a connection with the memory of her father.

  She quickly picked the lock of the flimsy door to the inn and slipped inside, allowing herself to be swallowed into the blackness within. This would be done and over soon, then she could move on as if it had never happened.

  Death brings consequences.

  The phrase had stuck in Sylvi’s head and lodged itself in her heart.

  She went quickly up the stairs. The man’s door was the second to the left. She had noted it when she’d pretended to be a paying customer earlier that day.

  Her hand curled around the cool door latch, and she pulled in a deep breath.

  She was Norse born, descended from a long-ago line of shieldmaidens who savagely fought in the centuries before. Her veins ran with cold blood, and her body was forged of iron.

  She could do this.

  She would do this.

  With a silence she’d gleaned in her years under Connor’s tutelage, she opened the door and entered the room.

  The moon cast a silver glow within, alighting on the bulk of a man lying in his bed. He was alone. For that, Sylvi was grateful. Having one additional soul staining her hands was bad enough. Two more would be borne with greater difficulty.

  The tip of her blade had been dipped in poison. A slight scratch and the man would be in a death sleep within seconds.

  Seconds, however, could last a lifetime depending on his skill with a blade.

  Slitting his throat would be far easier, but she could not bring herself to do to someone else what had been done to her. To her family. She could not again witness the unnatural split of skin or be surrounded by the odor of hot blood.

  He did not move as she approached, save for the steady rise and fall of his chest. She carefully slipped the dagger from her belt and crouched beside his bed.

  “Ye’re no’ the first man to try to kill me.” The man sat up abruptly and his leg kicked out, catching Sylvi hard in the chest.

  Were she not squatting, she could have easily kept her footing. But the move was so unexpected and so sudden, she succumbed to the impact and flew backward. Her body rolled with it, and she somersaulted before stopping and lurching upright.

  Moonlight fell over his face, showing up close what she’d only seen from a distance the past few days she’d followed him. Straight brown hair to his shoulders. Sharp cheekbones. A close-cropped beard. Dark eyes widening in surprise.

  “Ye would be the first lass trying to kill me though.” His smile was quick and easy, as if this were a jest rather than the impending end of his life. “Usually women come to my bed for a different purpose.”

  He winked, the fool.

  He wouldn’t find this so amusing for long. Sylvi darted at him and the poisoned blade flashed in the moonlight.

  He sank low and ducked from the path of her dagger. She spun around to attack once more and found him holding a chamber pot like a shield. His léine hung down his body and stopped at just below his knees.

  She stopped and furrowed her brow at the man in his undergarments holding a chamber pot as a mean
s of defense.

  He glanced down at the cheap pottery and shrugged. “At least it wasna full.”

  She swiped the blade at him, but he shoved the pot in the way so the dagger pinged harmlessly away. She repeated the act and he blocked it thus once more. They did this several times before the frustration of the ludicrous act sent Sylvi to the floor to sweep his feet from underneath him.

  He fell along with the chamber pot, which crashed near her head, narrowly missing her face. Her ear hummed with the force of the clatter, but not enough to miss the hiss of metal. A sharpness nipped under her chin.

  She followed the path of the long sword from where it touched her throat all the way up the blade. The man stood over her with his weapon pinning her into place. His chest pumped up and down as he caught his breath from their exertion, same as hers.

  A hammering pound sounded on the wall. “How many nights do I have to tell ye to keep it down? Some of us are sleeping, ye arse.”

  He grinned down at her. “I’m developing a reputation around here.”

  “Apparently a lot of people try to kill you.” She drew back her leg and kicked him hard between the legs.

  The impertinent smile crumpled from his face, and he staggered forward with his hands clasped around his crotch. A high-pitched groan squeaked from his throat.

  “Ye’ve no idea how bad that hurts.” He shot her a wounded glare. “Who does that to a man?”

  She caught the backs of his feet with hers and shoved him to the ground. He fell on his side, his body still curled around the weakness of his injured member.

  “Someone who will do whatever it takes to win.” She fell on top of him, her blade drawn. “And I always win.”

  He made a snorting sound somewhere between pain and scorn. “Was it Reginald who sent ye?”

  She put the poisoned blade to his throat. She would only need to nick him. Just a scratch.

  “He’s a handsome fellow, easily picked out in a crowd. Short and fat.” The man’s mouth lifted at the side in a show of mirth. “Couple of teeth missing along with half his left ear.”