by Eliza Knight
Series are clearly marked. All series contain the same characters or family groups except the American Heroes Series, which is an anthology with unrelated characters.
There is NO particular chronological order for any of the novels because they can all be read as stand-alones, even the series.
For more information, find it in A Reader’s Guide to the Medieval World of Le Veque.
About Kathryn Le Veque
Medieval Just Got Real.
KATHRYN LE VEQUE is a USA TODAY Bestselling author, an Amazon All-Star author, and a #1 bestselling, award-winning, multi-published author in Medieval Historical Romance and Historical Fiction. She has been featured in the NEW YORK TIMES and on USA TODAY’s HEA blog. In March 2015, Kathryn was the featured cover story for the March issue of InD’Tale Magazine, the premier Indie author magazine. She was also a quadruple nominee (a record!) for the prestigious RONE awards for 2015.
Kathryn’s Medieval Romance novels have been called ‘detailed’, ‘highly romantic’, and ‘character-rich’. She crafts great adventures of love, battles, passion, and romance in the High Middle Ages. More than that, she writes for both women AND men – an unusual crossover for a romance author – and Kathryn has many male readers who enjoy her stories because of the male perspective, the action, and the adventure.
On October 29, 2015, Amazon launched Kathryn’s Kindle Worlds Fan Fiction site WORLD OF DE WOLFE PACK. Please visit Kindle Worlds for Kathryn Le Veque’s World of de Wolfe Pack and find many action-packed adventures written by some of the top authors in their genre using Kathryn’s characters from the de Wolfe Pack series. As Kindle World’s FIRST Historical Romance fan fiction world, Kathryn Le Veque’s World of de Wolfe Pack will contain all of the great story-telling you have come to expect.
Kathryn loves to hear from her readers. Please find Kathryn on Facebook at Kathryn Le Veque, Author, or join her on Twitter @kathrynleveque, and don’t forget to visit her website at www.kathrynleveque.com.
Kathryn Le Veque on Amazon
Upon a Misty Skye
Terri Brisbin
Upon A Misty Skye
Alexander MacDonald, second son of the chieftain of the mighty MacDonald Clan, and Isabel MacLeod, heiress to The MacLeod of Skye, were not supposed to meet or fall in love or marry. But, they have and now their parents plan to separate them by any means possible.
As they flee to their homes looking for safety and a new life together, they are chased by warriors sent to capture them. Taking refuge in the only place they can, Alexander and Isabel find themselves deep in the ruins of the haunted Duntulm Castle.
On a dark and misty night on very edge of the magical Isle of Skye, the ghost of Duntulm Castle has been waiting centuries for forbidden lovers just like Alex and Isabel. . . .
Dedication
To Sue-Ellen Welfonder and our friend Lisa Trumbauer who took me to Duntulm Castle on my first trip to Scotland and to Skye all those years ago. It was informative and fun to be there with writers who saw the possibilities. I will always be grateful for those days in Scotland!
Acknowledgements
Thanks to the other incredible authors in this anthology – Kathryn LeVeque, Eliza Knight, Madeline Martin and Ruth A. Casie –for their help and inspiration as we wrote these stories.
Prologue
Duntulm Castle
Trotternish, Isle of Skye
A storm raged that night.
Lightning flashed and thunder crashed, illuminating the isles in the Minch. Rain fell in curtains, flooding the beach and covering the rocks beneath the castle. Neither man nor creatures could withstand the power of this storm, but she could.
Agneis MacDonald moved through the ruins, crying out her torment to the angry sky above her. With each scream came an answer from the storm for she was the one who brought the storm here.
Floating through the stone walls as she never could in her mortal life, Agneis stood there and searched the cliffs below her window. . . again. Not even the brightness of the lightning helped her.
The bairn was gone.
Gone.
One moment in her arms and the next. . . gone.
Agneis moved back through the walls and sought the lower chambers of the remains of the keep. She wrapped her arms around herself and moaned out the relentless pain. The thick stone walls held most of it in, but a few sounds echoed into the storm and thunder answered her.
At least the bairn died quickly and his spirit traveled on due to his innocence. That was the only mercy God showed that day to anyone named MacDonald.
Turning and twisting, she raced through Duntulm, through the chambers where she had lived and worked and loved that bairn as though he was her own. But always, Agneis returned to that damned window on nights like this. The storm called to her, mocking her and condemning her as her master had that night.
As her mistress collapsed at the news, her master had cursed her in life and death. To never have peace as he would never. To mourn the loss of the wee boy even as he did. Then he had her set afloat in the storm with no oars in the small boat, sentencing her to the same death as his son.
But hers took seven days.
The storm took her far out to sea where she faced the terrible sun and thirst and hunger. Then, as she lay near death, the winds of vengeance blew up waves that threw the boat into the rocks beneath Duntulm. Agneis died in almost the exact spot where the bairn had met his death.
Now, her soul would spend eternity wracked by guilt and grief. Her punishment for naught but a moment’s weakness was to never find release from this place. Or from her culpability in the bairn’s death.
Days turned into months and then into years and decades and centuries and still she was not released to find peace. Though others visited the castle even when it became ruined and fell apart, no one could see her. Och aye, they could hear her and see the storms she called.
Agneis understood the truth of it—she had never been shriven before set upon the sea. Without a chance to confess her sin and ask for absolution, her soul was damned to never leave this place. She would pay the price for eternity.
Unless. . . .
Chapter One
Dunvegan Castle, Isle of Skye
In the Year of Our Lord 1500
“Father!” Isabel yelled once more at the locked door. “I pray you let me out!” Frustrated, she screamed out even louder. “Father!”
Isabel MacLeod’s hands hurt from pounding on the thick wooden door. No matter how many times she had yelled or slammed against it, it did not give way. Nor would, she suspected, her father. Leaning against the door and catching her breath, Isabel knew how stubborn he could be when his temper was high.
And her declaration that she would not marry his choice in marriage had done exactly that. Not even her mother’s soothing voice and supplication had changed her sire’s mind on his decision—neither the one about whom he had chosen nor the one about her punishment for not obeying him.
Ranald MacLeod would never relent on this. She had insulted his honor before their clan. As she turned and slid down the surface of the door to sit on the floor, Isabel understood her mistake. Too late, it would seem, to do anything about it. Her throat and her palms throbbed as she considered her actions and her choices. Pushing the hair out of her face, Isabel glanced around the now empty chamber and realized she had little to choose.
Stripped of every comfort, her bedchamber was emptied on her father’s orders. Her clothing, trunks, jewelry and belongings were gone. Her bed was gone and two blankets lay thrown in the corner for her use. He had even ordered the shutters removed from the window so that the cold sea winds would have no barriers. The MacLeod wanted his daughter to suffer for her refusal to bow to his wishes. When a strong burst of wet wind filled the chamber, she climbed to her feet to rescue the blankets.
As she stood in the center of her room, Isabel did ken that being held prisoner in this place was her biggest obstacle. No one would help her while she was being punished b
y her father. She began pacing around the chamber, staying as far from the window as she could. Her thoughts came more easily when she moved and it took little time to come up with a plan.
First, she must get free of this chamber.
Then, she would send word to Alexander.
Finally, she and Alexander would escape their fathers’ demands and control.
Isabel was not clear yet on the how and the where of it, but she trusted that Alex would have a plan by the time he helped her escape Dunvegan and her father.
Somehow.
A few hours passed before she called out to the guard her father had left outside her door, asking for her father’s forgiveness. No response came that night or the two days following. With only a jug of water left for her use and no food, she was weak and cold when the door opened and her father entered. From the victorious smirk that lay across his stony face and her mother’s worried expression as she peeked into the chamber, Isabel knew her punishment was not over yet.
“Bring her to the hall. My daughter can beg my forgiveness in the place where she insulted me.”
Two guards entered and took her by the arms and she was dragged down the stairs from her chamber in the west tower. After two and more days exposed to the cold and wind without food, she had not the strength to oppose the guards. And when they stopped at the front of the chamber and her father took his place there in the huge chair reserved for him, their hold was the only thing keeping her on her feet.
Isabel tried to put words together in her thoughts, to prepare herself to apologize, but terror filled her as she watched her father nod to someone behind her. She had seen the expression on his face before and it did not bode well for her. Daring a glance over her shoulder, she watched as the huge giant of a man called Gair strode forward and stopped just a pace behind her.
“My daughter has insulted my honor before all of you,” her father called out. Isabel’s body trembled. “A recalcitrant daughter is something no man should bear.” Without realizing it, Isabel began tugging against the guards’ hold on her. “Certainly not the chieftain of the Clan MacLeod.”
As many voices called out in his support, her father nodded to Gair who grabbed the back of her gown and tore it open with only his hands.
“Father, I pray you,” she called out. “Forgive me!”
Isabel knew what came next. She had witnessed it many times, usually when kith or kin misbehaved and sometimes when they willfully disobeyed.
Willful disobedience.
Her throat tightened and shudders coursed through her then, causing the guards to strengthen their grasp of her arms. With one final tear, her gown fell open exposing her entire back to those watching. Naked now from her shoulders to her feet, she realized the punishment to come.
Whipping. He would have her whipped with a lash.
“My lord?” Gair said, his voice sending shivers through her.
“Ten, Gair,” he ordered. “And do not hold back because she is my daughter.”
“Aye, my lord,” Gair said, dropping the length of his whip and shaking it free. He snapped it in the air next to her a few times and she could not help but tremble each time.
“You there, hold her head up so I can see her face.” The guard on her left took hold of her hair and pulled it tightly, forcing her face up.
“Father, I beg your forgiveness. I ken I was wrong. I pray you. . . .”
Gair waited not for any further instructions, striking quickly. The leather strip struck against her back, its tip stinging her skin. She gasped. Then Isabel gritted her teeth and tried to ready herself for the next one. No preparation would have helped for Gair delivered it to the same place, worsening the pain. She closed her eyes and waited for the third. The guard pulled hard on her hair.
“Open your eyes, Daughter,” her father called out. “I would see yours as you receive your just punishment.” The blow came quickly then, forcing a scream out even as she met her father’s gaze. The next one landed in the same spot and tore the skin there. Tears streamed down her cheeks in spite of her attempts to control herself.
Gair was a master at making punishment go quickly or making it last an ungodly amount of time. So, which would it be for her? Could she survive this? More importantly, could the bairn she suspected she carried within live through it?
She had no more time to think on anything as Gair increased the timing and the power behind each stroke. Isabel dared not look away from her father during the rest and he seemed pleased by her screams of pain. Her back, her hips, her buttocks and her legs throbbed in excruciating pain. Blood now trickled down from the open slashes across her body. Gair finished the ten, breathing heavily behind her as he waited for more orders.
“What have you to say, Daughter?” her father voice echoed across the now silent hall.
Her throat dry from too long without water and her voice hoarse from screaming, Isabel forced out the words. Her life depended on it now.
“I will do your bidding, Father. Forgive me for my insult.”
No sounds save those of her panting breaths and Gair’s labored ones could be heard as they waited to learn if The MacLeod was satisfied with her plea.
“Seat my daughter in her place at table,” her father said quietly. “She can join us at supper.”
He knew she could not move on her own. He had withheld food for more than two days and she should be ravenous. But the waves of pain and the smell and feel of the blood that now dripped down her back and legs made her want to retch and fall unconscious.
“My lord husband,” her mother’s voice broke into her growing confusion now. Where had she been? Why had she not tried to intervene? Isabel knew why. “May I have her washed and dressed as is appropriate for your table?”
’Twas an attempt to see to her, but one even Isabel understood would fail. Ranald MacLeod would make certain that the humiliation and pain lasted much longer than this rather brief amount the whipping took.
“Nay, wife. She stays as she is until I say otherwise. Her stubborn nature must be taught a lesson.”
The guards dragged her forward, up the steps to her chair on her father’s left. She could not help but cry out when they dropped her onto its hard seat. Grasping the edge of the table for support, Isabel tried to find a less painful position but ’twas impossible. When her father approached and stood behind her, she pushed herself to her feet by sheer will alone and waited for him to sit.
He dragged out the meal, giving her a cup of water when wine or a stronger spirit could have aided with the pain. A crust of bread was the only piece of food on her plate, but she could not eat even that. Words blurred together around her. She blinked against the shadowy people as they moved in front of her and spoke to her father. When she could no longer hold herself up, he smiled. As she slumped off the chair towards the floor, Isabel began praying.
“Take her away.”
Her prayer continued through the next dark days and nights, even as she cried out in pain as her wounds were treated. She entreated any saint or holy person who would hear her prayers to let her live. Whether it was their intercession or the Almighty’s plans or her own stubbornness, she did survive.
Five days after her father’s punishment, Isabel could stand on her own and tolerate garments on her skin. She knew she must find a way to contact Alex. Since her own serving maid had been replaced with a woman who shared her father’s bed, Isabel had to be even more careful in her actions and words.
Seven days after her humiliation in the hall, her mother brought word that she was to be married to The MacKinnon’s heir in three weeks’ time.
And seven days later, she realized that her monthly courses had been missing for two months and that child she carried still lived within her.
The MacLeod would not take that news well if he discovered his daughter had lost her virtue under his own watch.
Chapter Two
Castle Knock, Isle of Skye
One Week Later
Alexander MacD
onald, second son to the chieftain, strode into the hall just as his father burst into loud and raucous laughter. Alex had been waiting for his return for weeks and now he had arrived. His matter could wait no longer, but as he watched, his father leaned over and slapped Alex’s older brother on the back.
“Can you imagine it, Connor?” Eoin MacDonald asked, glee filling his voice. “Can you see it?” The others there, elders and the chieftain’s men, laughed.
“I cannot, but I wish I had,” Connor answered. Alex reached the front of the large chamber and nodded to those gathered.
“Oh, Alex, you canna believe the news we just heard,” his father’s face grew red as he laughed once more. “Go on with you, Brodie. Tell Alex what you heard.”
Brodie was a cousin and one usually set to watch over the MacLeod’s comings and goings. From the look of him now, he had ridden and sailed hard and long to reach Sleat from the far west of Skye. Distrust had long reigned between the two powerful clans who each claimed control of huge sections of the isle and the mainland of Scotland as well. Now though, fear filled Alex’s heart and a strange tightness in his stomach began as the man spoke for his own matter involved that clan on the other side of Skye.
“The MacLeod’s daughter defied him in his own hall!” Brodie said. Everyone there laughed again, including his father, but Alex felt no glee at this news. Not when. . . .
“Defied him in what matter?” Alex asked. He hoped his interest was not showing in his tone of voice.
“Does it matter, lad?” one of the elders asked. “No one naysays The MacLeod and lives.”
