Her Highland Beast: A Scottish Medieval Romance with a Fairytale Twist

by Madeline Martin

  His pulse thundered. He had to peer around the pile, but God help him he did not want to. His heart clenched and he forced himself forward. A pool of red glistened on the floor and stained the edges of the nearby mattresses with crimson. Everything was still. Quiet.

  Dead.

  Duncan finally made his way around the graceless heap of linen and down, careful to avoid stepping in the welling puddles when he saw her.

  Evina lay on the floor beside the bed in a riot of blood and feathers, one leg caught on the high wooden stairs in an obvious attempt to flee. Whatever had slashed her had been so violent, the mattress appeared to have exploded. Feathers settled throughout the room, floating in blood, covering her like soft snow and clinging to her dark hair.

  Large, rending slashes covered her back and reduced the kirtle she wore into shreds that blended cloth with torn muscle and flesh.

  “Evina?” Duncan said hoarsely. She didn’t answer.

  “Gods, I was right,” Gillespie said, his words tinged with the awe of wonder.

  Duncan barely heard him. He ran to her, slipping on blood and feathers.

  But where to touch her that he might not hurt her?

  Familiarity slammed into him. This was similar to how he’d felt when he found his mother and the witch. Too much blood. The threat of death, palpable and terrible.

  “Evina.” Her name came out of him, pitched with desperation.

  She didn’t answer. She didn’t move.

  Gillespie began muttering in a monotonous droning tone. Duncan ignored him and stared down at Evina’s broken body. So strong, so brave. The only female warrior he’d ever met, one resilient enough to last on the battlefields while her comrades fell. And Duncan had killed her.

  He carefully smoothed her hair away from her face. Several white feathers sifted free and floated to the floor, into a puddle. It shuddered against the feathers’ intrusion and made Duncan’s reflection tremble.

  The blood continued to shift and a slow current began beneath Evina, drawing the sanguineous stream toward her. A hot wetness spread over his hands. He snapped his attention up to find her wounds had begun bleeding again.

  “Gillespie.” He looked to his servant to find the other man with his palm spread over the carnage and his lips moving in an unending chant. The pale green of his eyes had gone completely white.

  The gore spilled into Evina, draining back into her body. But it wasn’t merely the blood returning itself to her veins; the jagged flesh of her wounds curled together and knitted into seamless, unblemished skin once more, leaving only the ruined kirtle.

  Evina gasped in a harsh, ragged breath, as if she’d been plunged into a frozen loch. Her body tensed and she scrambled away from the bed, kicking and flailing, her eyes wide. Fearful.

  Duncan moved after her. “’Tis fine now,” he soothed. “’Tis fine now.”

  He put his arms about her and cradled her against him. The tension in her body drained away and she stopped fighting. Her body fell limp against him and he tightened his hold on her.

  This woman who had stood up to him and showed him such bravery now trembled in the face of her own death.

  Death.

  The word caused a chill to ripple over his spine. She had been dead. And was once again alive. In his arms.

  He pulled in a long, slow breath and the sweetness of her feminine scent warmed his senses. She was soft against his hands, her hair like silk where it brushed his forearm, the curves of her body braced alongside his. If he did die in a fortnight, he hoped this was the final memory of his life before death claimed him.

  And he would have lost her were it not for Gillespie. Duncan found the older man getting to his feet, his eyes once more the same familiar green they’d always been. His face was flushed and his stare was edged with a wildness Duncan had not seen before

  “We must get her in a different chamber,” Gillespie said. “Can she walk?”

  “She doesna need to walk.” Duncan stood smoothly with her held in his arms.

  “I can walk,” she protested weakly. Her gaze was distant and her head wobbled slightly.

  Duncan adjusted her in his arms to ensure she was secure. “But ye willna.”

  Before she could struggle against him, he carried her from the chamber, leaving the ravaged state of it behind them. He took her to the chamber nearest his, the one with lushly appointed golden yellow velvet. The one which had belonged to his mother.

  A servant flitted about within, her movements so fast, they appeared jerky as she dusted a tabletop. Her hair fell down her back in a bushy brown mass. Duncan’s boots thudded over the hard floor and the woman jumped, dropping the rag she’d been holding.

  “Sorry,” she squeaked. “So sorry.” Her beady gaze darted around the room before she raced out with the same impossible speed she’d cleaned with.

  Gillespie shrugged. “Squirrels.”

  Evina struggled in Duncan’s arms, pushing at him until he had no choice but to lightly set her on the ground. Her cheeks were no longer pale, rather they were flushed with the same rage which left her eyes a deep, stormy gray.

  “What has happened?” she demanded. “What attacked me? What had you put in my bed?”

  Duncan tried to relax his face, to maintain a seemingly innocent countenance. “Ye should lay down.”

  “Nay.” she stabbed a finger into the air at him. “I’ve no’ bled a drop in my entire life, and yet I nearly died.”

  Duncan’s heart slid into his stomach. “Ye did die. Gillespie…” He observed the older man in quiet wonder. “Gillespie brought ye back to life.”

  Gillespie shook his head. “I dinna bring her back to life. I’m no’ that strong. I simply returned the blood into her body. I’d hoped she would be able to do the rest.” He grinned, a wide, excited grin. “And she did. Because of who she is.”

  Evina shook her head. “I dinna understand.”

  “Ye mean ye dinna know?” Gillespie’s brow pinched.

  Duncan shook his head. “She was left at a monastery as a lass. She dinna know her parents.” There would be more to explain to Gillespie later. Aye, he’d seen Duncan’s rage, but he didn’t understand what had prompted such destruction.

  Gillespie stepped toward her, and put a long, thin hand on her shoulder. “Ye, my dear, are a daughter of Morrigan.”

  PERHAPS EVINA SHOULD HAVE LAID down. The floor seemed to waver under her feet and left her knees soft. Duncan had been right to carry her into the chamber, though she’d never admit it. Her flesh still hummed with a pleasant warmth where her body had pressed against his. Not that it helped her believe a tale so preposterous.

  “Ye spin some wild tales, Gillespie,” she said. There was a tightness in her chest. Surely it wasn’t hope. “I am many things, but a goddess’ daughter isna one of them.”

  The men exchanged looks.

  “I dinna believe ye’d question it if ye witnessed what we did, lass,” Gillespie said.

  “Dinna ye ever wonder about yerself?” Duncan asked. “Ye said ye dinna bleed until now. Ye’ve said ye’re the only surviving member of a band of mercenaries in a battle where no one else survived. Have ye truly no’ ever questioned these things?”

  Evina gave in to the weakness in her legs and sat down hard on the edge of the bed. She had ruminated over those things, to be sure. Her whole life, she’d been curious. Why didn’t she bleed? Why did she survive? After so many of her comrades dying, how did she emerge without so much as a scratch or a nick?

  “This.” Gillespie lifted a spearhead, rusty and chipped. “This was enchanted to only cut a daughter of Morrigan. We put the layers of mattresses over it to ensure it was not overpowered. Did it no’ cut ye last night?”

  Evina’s face blazed. “It did. But a warrior doesna complain about their weakness. And it only sliced when I would fall asleep.”

  “Of course. I should have expected as much.” Gillespie gave a wry chuckle. “Sleeping is the only time a daughter of Morrigan ever has her guard dow
n enough to keep from deflecting the hit.”

  That part did make sense. She had never been hit in battle, her moves too quick, too deft.

  “Why?” Evina demanded. “Why would ye put that in my bed?”

  Duncan lifted his brows at Gillespie, who paused before answering. “We had to ensure ye were absolutely the daughter of Morrigan. I had my suspicions, but I couldna be sure.”

  “Ye could have asked.” Evina folded her arms over her chest.

  “We dinna want ye to be aware we knew,” Gillespie answered. “I’m endeavoring to create a spell to free Duncan and I required a daughter of Morrigan for it. We worried if ye knew, it would complicate matters. We dinna anticipate ye’d strip the mattresses from the bed. It was unexpected.”

  Evina remained quiet. She had been the one to strip the bed. That was not their fault. “What do ye want from me? From a-a” She broke off, unable to say the words: Daughter of Morrigan. The idea was far too extraordinary.

  “I…I I’m uncertain as yet.” It was the first time Gillespie faltered and it left Evina questioning the truth of his words.

  There was a reason they wanted proof as to who her mother was, but they weren’t saying it. Not that it mattered. She would find out.

  Evina hadn’t paid much mind to the Gods and their stories. They had never had an impact on her as they had with others. Or so she’d thought. It appeared they had impacted her entire life. Or at least one had.

  Morrigan.

  The goddess of death and war.

  It was no wonder Evina had taken so easily to weaponry and battle, nor how she’d walked away from every fight alive. The blood in her veins had been forged by death and war.

  She had been born for the life she led.

  Why then had Morrigan not claimed her, come to her, told her who the hell she was? Frustration tightened a knot into Evina’s shoulders after having spent a lifetime under the impression she was a thrown away child abandoned at a monastery.

  “I want to learn more about my mother,” she said finally.

  “I can assist ye with that,” Duncan said. “As long as Gillespie doesna mind. I gave him all my mother’s books on magic.”

  Gillespie grinned. “I’d be honored to share the collection with a daughter of Morrigan.”

  “And I’d prefer to help too.” Duncan’s gaze rested on her. “But only when ye’re ready.”

  “I’m ready now.” Evina stood to prove her strength.

  Duncan frowned. “Lass, ye were dead only a few minutes ago. I think ye should rest.”

  Evina did not sit down. Her nerves tingled and her mind swam with a thousand combined thoughts. “I have spent my entire life assuming I was little more than an orphan. I’ve considered who my parents might be, but never had I dreamed my mother was a goddess. For the first time in my life, I have a bit of knowledge about who I am.”

  Duncan nodded, but kept his gaze fixed on her for a long while, as if trying to reassure himself she was as well as she claimed. “Then let us begin.”

  Evina’s heart soared with expectation. “I’d like nothing more.”

  Duncan held his hand out to her, and she realized he intended to guide her to wherever they were going. It was an endearing gesture. She placed her hand in his, and relished the warmth of his skin against hers. He grinned down at her in a way that made the steady rhythm of her pulse go a little faster, and led her from the chamber to where she would find out more about her mother.

  Her mother.

  A giddiness spiraled in her stomach. Evina could imagine no better way to spend the afternoon than learning everything she could about Morrigan.

  Gillespie stopped in front of a large double door with scrolling, gilded leaves covering the wood, like the overgrown gate to a garden long ago left to the wild. He pushed open the doors and Duncan led her into a room nearly as large as the great hall, and filled floor to ceiling with books. The backs faced outward in various colors, some worn with age, some appearing new with brilliant gilt letters set against the leather spines. A true treasure if ever she’d seen one.

  Gillespie directed them to a corner by the window where sunlight streamed in and washed over several shelves. “Over there is where anything on Morrigan might be found.”

  Evina breathed out a long breath. “I’ve no’ ever seen so many books in my life.”

  Duncan gave a wistful smile. It lightened his face in a kind way and she found herself unable to draw her gaze from him. “My da was much older than my mother. She made him happy in his life, especially after giving him the son he’d always wanted. He indulged her every want, and she had a great love of learning. Most especially magic and lore.”

  “I see that.” Evina’s scanned the corner where Gillespie had indicated.

  It would certainly take more than the afternoon to go through, and she couldn’t wait to uncover information about her mother, herself, and her life.

  CHAPTER 7

  SIX DAYS HAD PASSED and they had a mountain of books to show for their efforts. Duncan found his attention sliding to Evina for the countless time. Her fingers framed the bottom of a line to mark her place, her lashes lowered while she read.

  “Ye’re watching me again.” Evina lifted her eyes to him. There wasn’t irritation in her tone. In fact, her lips curled up in a becoming manner as she spoke. As if she found it amusing.

  “Would ye believe me if I told ye I wasna looking at ye?” he asked.

  Her mouth lifted in a smile. “Nay.”

  He shrugged. “I was looking at the book. Tis the bonniest book I’ve ever seen.”

  She put her hand on the yellow, worn pages and admired the brown leather cover, stained and cracked with disuse and age. “This one?”

  He rested his chin in his palm. “Aye. The bonniest book.”

  “What do ye admire best about it?” she asked, her brow raised in question.

  He grinned at her. “The way yer fingers rest over the pages when ye read.”

  She laughed and the sparkle of her eyes remained locked on his. A pleasantness tingled up inside of him. This was how it had been between them the last few days, quiet flirtation and easy conversation.

  He hadn’t forgotten she was a daughter of Morrigan. After all, it was what kept them occupied these hours together. Nor had he forgotten she could be the one to break the curse. How could he? It blared in his head every waking moment, no matter how hard he tried to shove it aside.

  Their courtship moved too slow. He should have minded. He should have fretted over the remaining week and a half he had left. And yet for the first time in the last half of his life, he was enjoying himself. The languid rate of their building attraction, the way his heart flickered in rapid, excited beats when he saw her, talked to her, made her laugh as she’d just done. It was the purest form of joy in the world, and he found himself grateful for the occurrence. So much so, it was easy to put off concerns over things he did not want to waste time on. Like fretting over his impending death.

  “I appreciate other things about the book,” he said.

  “Oh?” She set it aside and cocked her head at him. Light from the setting sun gilded her smooth skin.

  Evina’s maid had created new gowns for her to wear. The servant’s meticulous detail managed to capture the femininity of Evina’s beauty while paying homage to her strength and power. The result was whimsical, fae-like gowns of flowing silk with sculpted breastplates, lightweight and ornate. With her glossy black hair falling over her shoulders, she appeared every bit the daughter of a goddess.

  “I like the way what ye’re reading makes yer brows draw together with concentration.” He drew his own brows in mock demonstration. “And I like it when ye pause at something and glance away, as if ye’re contemplating it before committing it to memory.”

  A pretty blush warmed her fair complexion. “Ye noticed all that about the book, eh?”

  “Aye. Which makes it the bonniest one I’ve ever seen.”

  The fox-man arrived soundlessly befo
re the table. “Will ye take yer supper in here again?” His golden gaze held steady on them.

  Duncan nodded and the man slipped away as quietly as he’d arrived.

  It had become their custom to eat in the large room filled with books on mythology and magic, ideas Duncan had always perceived as frivolous fancies of thought. The reading of them, however, had been fascinating.

  “What have ye found today?” Duncan asked. Information had been plentiful initially, but as the days wore on, the readings had become redundant.

  “Morrigan has a place for her daughters. They stay until the age of fifteen and then are released into the world.” Her eyes sparkled with excitement. “If I can get in there, I could meet her. My mother.” She said the last two words with reverence.

  Duncan lost himself in the radiance of her joy, basking in it the way one does the sunshine on a chilled day. “Does it say where it’s located?”

  Evina shook her head. “Nay, I couldna find another reference inside. Mayhap Gillespie will know.”

  While they had been researching information on Morrigan, Gillespie had been combing through his other supply of books under the auspices of discovering what Evina could do to aid Duncan in his curse.

  Of course, both men were well aware of how she could break the enchantment, but they couldn’t very well tell her. She would need to love Duncan of her own volition.

  “We’ll ask him when he arrives later,” Duncan agreed. At least now the servant would have a legitimate task. “And ye owe me another story about your travels.”

  Before she could begin, the cook swayed in with her wide-legged gait, pushing a small cart laden with food. The herbaceous scent of rich gravy flavored the air and left Duncan’s mouth watering in anticipation. The cook placed a trencher in front of them. Veal stew. No fowl, he noticed. Never any fowl with this cook.

  He thanked her for her efforts, and the woman waddled off.

  Evina watched the servant depart, her gaze sharp with curiosity, but she did not voice any concerns she might have had.