by Joanne Rock
Scotland, 1890
Doomed to eternal wandering for over a century, Highlander Magnus Darroch has never encountered any creature—mortal or fae—like American heiress Elizabeth Harrison. She may be considered too tall and ungainly for polite society, yet the moment she dares to kiss him, Magnus knows he must possess her.
Magnus has vowed to protect Elizabeth from his family’s curse even if it means they must part. But in his embrace, Elizabeth feels desirable for the first time. And she soon finds that no force is greater than this highland warrior’s passion….
Secrets of the Darroch Clan
The Highlander’s Dark Seduction
Joanne Rock
Author Note
I’m excited to return to the world of the Darroch clan this month and I am so grateful to you for joining me! Ever since I opened a copy of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight as a high schooler, I have loved a little bit of the paranormal mixed with my historical tales!
If you remember Magnus Darroch from the first story, The Highlander’s Haunted Kiss, you’ll know he’s the roughest around the edges of the Darroch men. I wanted to be sure to give him a heroine who could handle his fierce side, so I searched far and wide for a worthy heroine. Elizabeth Harrison tested her mettle in drawing rooms rather than on the sidhe battlefield, but I think she holds her own.
Please do let me know what you think! I love to hear from readers at
www.facebook.com/joannerockauthor or @JoanneRock6 on Twitter!
Happy Reading.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
The Legend
In the most remote hills of Am Monadh, Scotland’s ancient Grampian Mountains, the forests keep secrets from bygone days. Shifting mists hide murky lochs while winding rivers can lead hapless travelers in circles. Here, a legend lingers from the earliest of times, a tale passed down among the hardy souls who carve out a living in this unforgiving land.
It is whispered that the veil between worlds grows thin in those lush glens and dense forests where progress does not tread. And on a quiet day, if one wanders onto the wrong path, the mountain mists can lure a person into the land of the sidhe, the magical fey folk who exist in a time outside our own.
Untouched by the passing years, the sidhe live alongside us, usually perceived out of the corner of an eye—a movement in the trees, a flash of color in the bushes. Occasionally, one of these lovely immortals is glimpsed as if in a dream, so impossibly compelling that most men won’t believe the vision could be real. Very rarely, a mortal can be lured into the timeless lands for the entertainment of the mystical beings that live there, only to be cast back into the real world years later, where their old existence never feels as magical as it did in those enchanted green hills.
Every now and then, a determined mortal tries to cling to that fey world by refusing to leave. One stubborn Highlander named Fergus Darroch even went so far as to kidnap a particular sidhe female who captured his heart. But down that path lay madness. Or in the case of the Darroch descendants, the curse of eternal wandering.
This is the story of one such time-walker cursed by the sidhe.
Chapter One
Scotland 1890
Most young ladies of Elizabeth Harrison’s acquaintance would have traded anything for the invitation to a summer party at Balmoral while Queen Victoria was in residence.
American heiress Elizabeth Harrison, however, would have given anything to leave Balmoral without the fanfare her great-aunt insisted on making as they stood near the horses. Elizabeth had been ready to part since dawn, desperate to escape the week of mockery she’d endured after a spurned suitor had spread rumors about her inability to wed due to her plainness. But Aunt Sophia had made their leave-taking a long and drawn-out affair.
“Aunt Sophia, I will be fine.” Elizabeth leaned closer to her maiden aunt who acted as her chaperone at Balmoral since Elizabeth had no luck convincing anyone else to accompany her to the Highlands. “I fear I should have been underway half an hour ago, so truly, I must beg your leave—”
“I only hoped that handsome Italian count would come down to see you off, my dear. What was his name?” Sophia patted her niece’s hand absently as she peered over the pristine lawns in the early morning haze.
“He’s a fortune hunter, Auntie,” Elizabeth insisted, more determined than ever to make her departure from the cruelty of a society where she’d never quite fit in. “He is a deposed count with no more holdings and his dwindling resources are the only reason he ever seeks my company.” She’d had enough awkward conversations with men who only saw her father’s bank accounts when they looked upon her. Or, more often, “up” to her. At almost six feet tall, Elizabeth often felt like a lurching beast among parties full of delicate girls. “Which is all the more reason I should depart since I have no wish to field indelicate questions about the extent of Father’s possessions. I will write you when I arrive.”
“You’re sure Lily is expecting you?” her aunt fretted. “I expect I should chaperone this journey, if not the visit.”
Elizabeth had argued to make the trip into the mountains alone, a point that she’d only won because her aunt detested country living and all the lack of luxury it implied. Elizabeth’s mother had died when she was barely out of the nursery, and it had forced her to be more independent. Her father had been too deep in grief to pay much attention to raising her so she’d raised herself and took care of him, too. Even now, she felt like more of the caretaker for her aunt than vice versa.
“Lily is a widow and a perfect chaperone. She can’t wait for my arrival,” Elizabeth lied, anxious to be free of society for a fortnight or however long she could stretch the visit. She would need a chaperone far less in the Highland wilds than she did in the corners of crowded ballrooms where men and women mocked the height they likened to a giraffe’s. “I will return before you know it!”
Calling to the driver through the carriage’s open window, Elizabeth waved to her aunt and began her journey at last. Away from the prospect of marriage. Away from self-important suitors who thought she should weep with gratitude when they asked her to dance because they were nobility while she was not only plain, but even worse… an American.
The word meant something entirely different for her than it did for them. Her friend Lillian Desalles, who’d very briefly been Viscountess Broadville, understood this. And if Elizabeth was truly going to see her old friend Lily from New York at the end of this journey, Elizabeth would be delighted.
Except she did not know what she’d find at the other end of her trip. Because the truth was that Elizabeth hadn’t heard from her best friend in weeks. She knew Lily had taken shelter at a nearby Highland castle after being unexpectedly widowed following a brief marriage. Lily had described the romantic, crumbling ruin of Invergale in her last missive, along with a few other peculiar details that left Elizabeth uneasy for her friend’s safety.
Withdrawing the letter from her reticule, she reread the lines that had her worried:
…I saw a man in the woods, dressed like a Highlander of days gone by. If that wasn’t strange enough, I pointed him out to the footman and he could not see the vision that was so clear to me! I am telling no one else about this for fear Father would threaten me with an asylum to push me into another marriage.
Elizabeth clutched the note tighter while the rhythm of the rocking carriage shook it lightly in her hand. Had Lily been imagining things? She had attended fin
ishing school with her back in New York and had never known her to be anything less than completely sensible.
They’d both despised dancing class and vowed if they needed to dance well to impress a husband, he was not worthy of them. Back in those days, they hadn’t realized what a very serious business their marriages would be. Or how their small freedoms would be over once they were given to husbands who saw them only for their income potential. One particularly cutting remark she’d overheard two days prior had been that her features would have ensured she died a spinster if not for her fortune. Another man had likened her to the proverbial “bull in a china shop” when she danced at a recent party, even though she knew from an academic perspective that she performed the dance with textbook perfection.
Elizabeth turned her attention back to the letter.
…Part of me wonders if the remnants of the old Caledonian Forest surrounding Invergale are making me overly fanciful. A pity, though, since the Highlander I saw was a finely made man!
Indeed, Elizabeth could empathize with wanting to wish an appealing man into reality. Her father and stepmother had bundled her off to London to find a husband with a title no matter how ancient or distasteful. They’d draped her with jewels and gowns that advertised her wealth more clearly than a Fifth Avenue shop window, an approach that only made her feel all the more awkward and unattractive by contrast beneath the glittering finery. They were disappointed that Elizabeth had yet to choose one of her few brave and desperately poor suitors while Lily had agreed to a match with an aging viscount shortly after arriving in London. Little did Elizabeth’s parents know how cruel Lily’s father could be in forcing his daughter to his will.
A fact which made Elizabeth all the more eager to attend to her friend’s safety. Besides, a few days away from Balmoral ensured Auntie Sophia wouldn’t be able to parade her past potential fortune-seekers, especially the earl who’d all but threatened to compromise her reputation in order to secure her hand.
Perhaps Elizabeth would find a finely made Highlander in the ancient wood surrounding Lily’s home instead. A very tall one, at that. The thought made her smile as she settled back against the leather bolster to rest her eyes. Soon, the rhythm of the jostling conveyance, coupled with the steady drum of horses’ hooves, soothed her with their strange lullaby. She’d been thinking about her trip the night before and hardly slept a wink….
So when the carriage later jerked to a halt later, Elizabeth couldn’t be certain if she’d slept for a few moments or a few hours. Maybe she could tell by the position of the sun—actually, where was the sun?
She yanked aside the red curtain that covered the decorative slats on her open window. Long shadows outside meant it was either nighttime or that they’d ventured so deep in the Highland forest that the trees obliterated the sun. Or maybe both were true. The scent of pine and decaying wood drifted into the dark conveyance on a cool breeze, the thicket unnaturally still, as if she’d awoken inside a dream.
She shook herself to chase away whimsical thoughts. Yet, even the horses made no sound.
“Lawrence?” Elizabeth called to the driver, a stab of panic going through her as she straightened.
When he did not respond, fear crawled up her back in an icy scuttle. Had something happened to him? Was there someone else out there?
She stuffed Lily’s fallen letter back into her reticule, hands trembling. Should she step out of the carriage to see what was the matter or would that be entirely foolish? Her heart slammed against her ribs as she reached for the door. She couldn’t stand not knowing what was out there. Especially if her aunt’s trusted driver was hurt and needed her assistance.
Twisting the handle, she pushed the door until a shaft of unnatural gray light filtered inside the carriage, as if the moon had suddenly broken through the tree cover. Perhaps she dreamed. Elizabeth debated giving herself a pinch when the door was wrenched the rest of the way open.
“You must come now,” a man’s voice barked at her even as hands reached toward her, a voice nothing like the ancient Londoner Lawrence who drove her carriage.
Her eyes could not seem to focus, the scene before her was so strange. For a moment, surprise trumped fear as she spied the forest transformed under a sudden trick of moonlight. Every tree branch and moss-covered rock sparkled with a silvery glow as if each surface had been sprinkled in moon dew or fairy dust.
Surely she dreamed.
“What is this place?” she whispered, half afraid to break the beautiful spell of this enchanted spot, not that there appeared to be anyone to hear her. Her driver was nowhere in sight. “Have I died? Is this heaven?”
“It’s the Highlands, lass. But I’d call it a slice of heaven, myself.” The thick brogue of a Scotsman reached her ears as a huge, half-dressed Highlander in a tattered kilt stepped directly into her view. Muscles bulged in places she’d had no idea men possessed muscles. And although she’d once dreamed of a tall man to sweep her off her feet, she had no idea that men could actually be so tall. So large in general.
Fear stifled her scream before she could voice it, her throat raking over silence. A strangled mewing sound emerged from her lips as she shrank back into the carriage.
Oblivious, the man only scowled before he continued, “Heaven or no, these sidhe bastards lurking at the edge of the clearing would rather eat yer soul for breakfast than sing an alleluia. We’d best hurry.” He held out a hand to her as if to help her from the carriage.
Or drag her from it by the hair, perhaps.
“Who are you?” She scooted away from his outstretched fingers, her voice shaking as it returned. “What have you done with my driver?”
The man canted back as if he’d been scalded.
“What have I done?” The Scotsman glared at her from under thick, dark eyebrows. His eyes were light but she could not determine their color as he glowered in the moonlight. He crossed powerful arms over his chest, his shoulders so square they might have been hewn from a quarry. A navy plaid draped around his waist and chest did not cover all that it should, providing her with a distracting lesson in male anatomy at a time when she should be defending herself. He carried a sword at his hip. An honest-to-God sword.
She swallowed hard, responding carefully.
“Lawrence does not answer when I call him,” she clarified, sitting up straighter, trying to hide her fear the same way she would when meeting a fierce hunting dog or a spirited mount. “Where is he?”
The dark gloom around them seemed to deepen, the silver mist on the trees glistening brighter in response. What caused that strange glow?
“Your driver stopped to answer the siren’s song of some soulless she-devil in the wood.” The stranger threw his hands in the air as if the very idea disgusted him. “If you aren’t careful, you’ll go moony-eyed for a poetry-spouting spectral yourself, so hurry lassie, before one of them kisses the sense right out of you and you’re turned into a wood nymph to plague me for the rest of my days.”
“Excuse me?” Her heart pounded faster. He ranted nonsense like a lunatic. Perhaps he’d escaped the asylum.
“The sidhe are coming.” His voice grew more urgent as he waved her forward. “Can ye not see their enchanted light all around? We must flee and fast.”
Surely he was crazed. Yet the only thing that gave her pause was that Lily had described seeing a man like this, in a forest like this one. Except no one but Lily had been able to see him.
“But I’m on my way to see my friend, Lillian Desalles, at Invergale. Once I retrieve my driver—”
The Highland menace leaned right into the carriage, his shoulders a hair’s breadth from hers so that she could feel the warmth of all that brawny flesh.
“That’s Lily Darroch, these days,” the man corrected her. “Yer friend is my new sister-in-law and ye have her to thank for sending me on this fool’s mission to bring ye to her!”
And with that cryptic warning, the man’s hands landed on her waist and hauled her toward him.
; “No!” she cried out, shoving at his thick slab of shoulders even as he pulled her from the carriage, her skirts snagging on the door handle.
“We must hurry,” he urged, dodging a blow she aimed for his head. “Did ye nae hear? Lily sent me!”
He hefted her against his chest and she heard the fabric of her ruffled traveling gown shred down one seam. The horses danced backward at the commotion, or maybe it was the unnatural stillness of the forest that spooked them. Whatever it was, the animals bolted with the empty carriage, reins dangling.
“No!” Her bag was still strapped to the gleaming black cabin quickly disappearing. “Release me,” she huffed and struggled, twisting in her captor’s iron grip.
A noise rose up behind them. The sound distracted her, a distant hum on the breeze like a thousand bees swarming past her ear. The light in the forest grew, concentrating into a pinpoint of brightness so intense she would have shaded her eyes if she didn’t hold onto the Highlander’s shoulders for dear life.
“By the saints.” She gripped the man’s arms tighter, suddenly grateful for the breadth of his warrior’s body between her and that spinning white light as he pitched forward in a blazing sprint.
The humming sound exploded in her ears. The light blinded her. She ducked her forehead against the stranger’s shoulder, hiding from whatever was happening out there in this unholy place.
Eyes squeezed shut, she tried to block out the light and the sound and the fear. She concentrated on the man’s solid chest against hers. The feel of strong arms holding her tight.
Moments ago, she’d been afraid of him. Now, she understood that he kept her safe.
He ran like the wind. Maybe it was just another mad illusion since her perceptions all felt skewed. She focused on his steps, listening for his footfall on the dead leaves of the forest floor. She timed her breaths to his every fourth step. Then, as they moved farther away from the light and the peculiar nature of the forest clearing, her breathing slowed more.
