Series by Julie Johnstone
Scottish Medieval Romance Books:
Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts Series
When a Laird Loves a Lady, Book 1
Wicked Highland Wishes, Book 2
Christmas in the Scot’s Arms, Book 3
When a Highlander Loses His Heart, Book 4
How a Scot Surrenders to a Lady, Book 5
When a Warrior Woos a Lass, Book 6
When a Scot Gives His Heart, Book 7
Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts Boxset, Books 1-4
Regency Romance Books:
A Whisper of Scandal Series
Bargaining with a Rake, Book 1
Conspiring with a Rogue, Book 2
Dancing with a Devil, Book 3
After Forever, Book 4
The Dangerous Duke of Dinnisfree, Book 5
A Once Upon A Rogue Series
My Fair Duchess, Book 1
My Seductive Innocent, Book 2
My Enchanting Hoyden, Book 3
My Daring Duchess, Book 4
Lords of Deception Series
What a Rogue Wants, Book 1
Danby Regency Christmas Novellas
The Redemption of a Dissolute Earl, Book 1
Season For Surrender, Book 2
It’s in the Duke’s Kiss, Book 3
Regency Anthologies
A Summons from the Duke of Danby (Regency Christmas Summons, Book 2)
Thwarting the Duke (When the Duke Comes to Town, Book 2)
Regency Romance Box Sets
A Whisper of Scandal Trilogy (Books 1-3)
Dukes, Duchesses & Dashing Noblemen (A Once Upon a Rogue Regency Novels, Books 1-3)
Paranormal Books:
The Siren Saga
Echoes in the Silence, Book 1
When a Scott Gives His Heart
Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts, Book Seven
by
Julie Johnstone
When a Scot Gives His Heart
Copyright © 2018 by Julie Johnstone, DBA Darbyshire Publishing
Cover Design by The Midnight Muse
Editing by Double Vision Editorial
Proofing by Victory Editing
Kobo Edition
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without written permission.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
License Notes
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Dedication
This book is for the Wenches! Many of you have been there with me from the first book that was ever published. I appreciate greatly the support and eagerness you always give me and my books!
Author’s Note
Dear Readers,
I have taken great pains to make sure the words I used in writing this story were as historically accurate as possible. However, given that I am writing to a modern audience, there are some instances when I chose to use a word that was not in existence in the fourteenth century, as they simply did not have a word at that time to correctly convey the meaning of the sentence.
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Julie
Table of Contents
Cover
SERIES BY JULIE JOHNSTONE
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT PAGE
DEDICATION
AUTHOR’S NOTE
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
EPILOGUE
EXCERPT FROM MY FAIR DUCHESS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Prologue
1358
Scotland
Marsaili Campbell stood upon the ramparts of Innis Chonnell Castle as her father’s warriors filled the courtyard below. The battle-hardened Highlanders spilled out from the sanctuary, past the iron-spiked, tower-manned gates and down the stone path to the loch that surrounded the Campbell stronghold. Rain poured from the sky, turning the hill into a stream of raw, red, slippery earth that could easily cause a man to lose his footing and tumble down the rocky cliffs to his death. The throng was a terrifying sight to behold, which was what her father, the Campbell laird, had wanted.
As if he sensed she was thinking of him, her father raised his arms, his black cape billowing in the wind in front of her. Before he said a word, a deafening cheer rose from the masses. Whether it was out of adoration or fear, she could not say for certain, but she suspected it was the latter. She would never dare utter such a suspicion aloud, however. A shiver ran through her just thinking of the penance cell in the dungeon where she’d spent many a night for speaking her mind. At eighteen summers, she fully understood to keep her thoughts to herself by now.
“The Gathering is upon us!” her father shouted to his men.
“Steward sworn!” came the thundering reply from the warriors, as well as her mother, brothers, Colin and Findlay, and sister, Helena, who were by her father’s side. Marsaili stood alone at the back of the rampart. It used to vex her being set apart from her family, but now she secretly considered it a badge of pride. She was different from them. She had honor—or she hoped she did, anyway.
Her father motioned for silence, and a hush immediately rippled through the crowd, leaving it so quiet that a squawk from a bird flying above made Marsaili twitch in surprise.
“Today marks a bold step toward taking the throne from King David,” her father began. He paused as another cheer rent the air.
Marsaili forced a smile in case one of her siblings, her mother, or God forbid, her father turned around and saw her face. She could ill afford to appear anything but enthusiastic about all the Scottish lairds, lords, and their chosen repre
sentatives arriving at the Campbell hold today. Some of them had come most willingly. Others, she knew from eavesdropping at her father’s solar, had been enticed with promises of greater wealth and land, and still others had been threatened with reprisal from her father if they did not attend the Gathering and pledge their support to Robert Stewart, who was known simply as the Steward due to his title, High Steward of Scotland. He was the nephew of King David II, King of the Scots, and he wanted his uncle’s throne.
“We will nae tolerate a king who does nae care what his people think, feel, or want!”
Swords clanked against shields with a vibrating hum that filled Marsaili’s ears. She wanted to spit her disgust, but she swallowed it instead. Her father was a wordsmith at best, a perverse liar at worst. She had heard from his very mouth the real reason he had pledged his support to the Steward. It was because King David was a strong king whose views on how to rule Scotland differed from those of the wealthy lords and lairds, and he neither needed nor wanted greedy men like her father telling him what to do. And it was because the king believed the common people of Scotland were as important as the wealthy, if not more so. The commoners gave the king their full support; therefore, he was rewarding them with land and coin that he was taking from men like her father, men who thought to rule the king himself.
“For the next two fortnights,” Father went on, “I will gather support for the Steward and ensure the pledges that have already been made are still strong! We must show our strength to all friend and foe!” Cheers and shouts of agreement rose from the crowd. “We go forth with the hope that the Steward will take the throne, but we must ready ourselves for every possible outcome. Every man who steps foot on my land these next two fortnights, from the squire of a Highlander to the powerful English Earl of Ulster, must ken my power. They must nae forget that I am an ally they need. Must nae forget to fear ever crossing me. Ne obliviscaris!”
“Ne obliviscaris!” roared the warriors and Marsaili’s family alike.
The Campbell clan motto, Forget not, reverberated in her ears. She had the untimely urge to laugh, which sometimes happened when she was disgusted. Forget not, her father had chanted. Forget not his greatness, he’d told them. Forget not his power, he’d said. What she could not forget was his cruelty, his harshness, his greed.
“Go forth to yer posts,” he continued. “Our guests will soon be arriving.”
He turned from the men below to face his wife and her siblings, and Marsaili supposed her, as well, though he never looked at her unless she angered him. He never spoke directly to her unless to reprimand, either. She pressed back against the stone wall, wishing she could fly away like a bird. Her father raised a questioning eyebrow, and her family immediately burst out in praise of his speech.
When they fell silent, her mother said, “I was nae aware that ye had extended an invitation to King Edward’s son.”
“That is because ye are but a woman and nae made aware of all I do. Do ye forget yer place, Wife?” he challenged, his tone sharp.
“Nay, Husband,” Mother said. She was wise enough to know when to grovel.
Her father nodded, a satisfied look sweeping his face. “Inviting the Earl of Ulster ’tis a recent development. I’ve heard whispers that King David might relent to King Edward’s demands to name Edward’s son, the earl’s elder brother, John of Gaunt, as David’s successor if David fails to produce an heir. John is happily married, but Ulster… I happen to ken that Ulster’s wife is near dying and that he is searching for a leman and, eventually, a new wife. I see opportunity there.”
His calculating gaze raked over Marsaili, much to her dismay, and her nerve endings flared to life. She knew that look. He was plotting something, and she feared it involved her.
“David is weak,” Father snarled, “to even consider relenting to the English king’s demands, but I will take advantage of his weakness.”
“Well, King David must consider it, nay?” Mother asked.
“Aye,” Father answered. “He kens well the Scottish lords and lairds will nae pay the debt he owes King Edward. The ransom for David’s release from that blasted English prison should nae be our responsibility. ’Tis David’s own fault he was captured and imprisoned.”
“Aye,” agreed her mother.
Her father’s lips twisted into a gruesome smile. “Were I on the throne, I’d find a way to fulfill my debts that did nae require bowing to the wishes of King Edward.”
Mother quirked her mouth. “Will ye tell me of yer cunning plot involving Ulster?”
He smiled. He did so love to be indulged. “I must cultivate alliances with all who could possibly be named king while still maintaining my outer show of fealty to David.”
“If we truly want a position of favor, perhaps ye should make a match between Ulster and Helena,” Mother offered.
Marsaili tensed. Her mother was wily, too much so, and knew how to state her opinions in a way that usually did not anger Father by the mere fact that she had been so bold as to give an opinion. But presently, her father’s eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. She had not been quite manipulative enough this time. Marsaili wanted to laugh, then felt a flush of guilt at wishing ill on her mother, in spite of the poor way she treated Marsaili.
Oblivious to their father’s ire, Marsaili’s sister nodded. “I’d like that, Father.” Helena’s eyes gleamed; she was just as hungry for power and wealth as Father. Marsaili had to grind her teeth to keep from speaking.
He chuckled, indulging her sister, whom he favored greatly. “I’m sure ye would, lass, but I have other plans for ye.”
Helena pouted, and Marsaili’s mother frowned. “Might I inquire what they are?”
Marsaili’s father scowled at his wife. “Silence yer questioning tongue, woman. I’ll tell ye my intentions when the time for ye to ken them is at hand. Besides, I just told ye the earl is currently married.”
“Aye,” her mother said, clearly disappointed that he wasn’t sharing more.
“However, my cunning wife,” Father continued, “use yer soft, female mind to recall that his wife is verra ill, and it is said she will nae live much longer.”
“Excellent!” her mother replied, which made Marsaili’s stomach turn. “Except,” she went on, “we’ve nae a daughter to put forth for Ulster if ye have plans for Helena.”
“There’s Marsaili,” her father said. Now Marsaili’s stomach dropped in shock at her father’s words. She had been correct about his look earlier. All eyes swiveled toward her. “Is she nae a lass and our daughter?”
A disgusted look came to her mother’s face. “Aye,” she bit out, “but—”
“But what?” her father snapped, his color rising with his temper.
Marsaili pressed herself harder against the stone wall, disliking being the object of this conversation or her father’s notice.
“She could nae catch the earl’s attention,” Helena snipped, looking down her nose at Marsaili. The bite of shame from her sister’s cruel words heated Marsaili’s cheeks.
“Aye, and she’s a daft lass,” Colin, her eldest brother, said.
Her other brother, Findlay, agreed. “The earl would nae wish to marry a half-wit.”
Marsaili clenched her jaw, bombarded with anger and humiliation at the same time. Her father’s cold gaze settled firmly on her. “Leave us,” he said. His hard words brooked no argument, not that Marsaili cared to argue. It would do no good.
She turned to make her way toward the stairs when her father said, “Nae ye, Marsaili.” Marsaili cringed as she faced her father once more. He looked over at their family.
“Us?” Her mother gasped. “Why do ye wish us to leave?”
Marsaili backed up a step when her father raised his arm as if to strike her mother. “Do ye question me again, woman?” She shook her head as she cast her gaze down. “Away with ye now,” he commanded and motioned to all but Marsaili. “Helena, select a gown—yer best—for Marsaili to wear tonight to meet the earl.”
Helena opened her mouth as if to protest, but when Mother shook her head, Helena pressed her lips together and nodded.
“Findlay, ye will greet the Earl of Ulster with me and then invite him on a hunt, which Marsaili will attend.”
“Ye are plotting, Father,” Colin said, his admiration clear in his tone.
“Always,” her father answered with a boastful smile. “And ye have a part in this, too, Colin. Ye will make certain ye dunnae win the hunt. The earl needs to be in front of ye, so that it will appear ye are taking aim at the wild boar when ye accidentally shoot the earl. His arm is most preferable, I think. And then Marsaili will be the one to tend his wound. She can rip her dress to do so. A nice touch, aye?” he added with a nefarious laugh.
The way her father so easily plotted to purposely hurt another made Marsaili’s stomach roil once more. Her nostrils flared as she tried to subtly suck in more air to calm herself.
Colin nodded and departed quickly behind Findlay, Helena, and Mother. Marsaili’s father caught her gaze but said nothing for a long moment. Finally, he said, “Ye have proven ye are a survivor, Marsaili. Cunning, too.”
“I’m nae cunning,” she replied, wishing immediately she had not spoken.
Her father gave her a condescending smile. “Ye are. I ken ye think yerself unlike the rest of us, but ye are verra much like us. Ye have used cunning to contrive a way to mostly escape yer siblings’ and yer mother’s notice. Ye have convinced them ye are a simpleton, but I ken ye are nae.”
Dread trickled down Marsaili’s spine.
“Ye are a clever lass.” He paused and cocked his head, as if considering what else to say. “Ye are plain, though,” he finally said, his eyes narrowing. “Dunnae forget that. Dunnae think to tempt a man to yer bed with yer appearance. Ye will only have a man by my good graces, my negotiations on yer behalf, and my say so.”
That statement almost made her laugh. Her father had no good graces, just plots to make himself wealthier and more powerful.
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