Highlanders for the Holidays: 4 Hot Scots

by Glynnis Campbell

  She did not respond, and he feared she would lose her grip and fall before he could reach her. When he could almost touch her, she lifted her head.

  “I can’t hold any longer,” she whispered.

  As she started to fall, he dove to the side and caught her around the waist with one arm. But he’d thrown himself off balance and banged against the side of the cliff. He quickly found his footing again, but he’d started a small slide. Fearing it would grow, he raced up the rope, protecting Lily from the flying rocks and debris as best he could.

  When he made it to the top, he untied the rope and ran with Lily in his arms until they were a safe distance from the slide. He heard a crack and a thunderous crash and turned in time to see an entire stretch of the cliff break off and fall into the sea.

  He fell to his knees and held Lily tightly in his arms.

  Praise God, he had found her in time.

  “I knew you’d come,” she said, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  “I always will,” he said.

  “I know that now,” she said.

  When he got her back to the cottage, he bundled her in blankets, gave her a cup of hot whisky, and sat her on his lap before the hearth. His heart might never recover from this night, but Lily seemed to revive quickly.

  Once she did, she took him to bed and tested the strength of his heart again. And in the morning, she insisted they go back to where he had rescued her the night before.

  The cliff looked like a cleaver had shorn it, and there was a huge a pile of rocks on the shore below it.

  Lily turned to him and held out her hand. In her palm lay the key to her shop, the one she had been so frantic to find after they had made love the first time.

  She closed her hand around the key and then flung it off the cliff.

  “I take it that means you’re staying?” he asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

  “My home is where you are,” she said. “Always and forever.”

  Then she threw her arms around him and gave him a kiss to remember.

  Epilogue

  “Da is here!”

  Lily turned from where she was hanging boughs over the cottage door to look at her six-year-old daughter. “Are ye certain, Teàrlag?”

  Roderick had said not to expect him until much later.

  “Aye,” her daughter said. “My brothers too.”

  At times Lily found it unnerving how strong The Sight was in her small daughter.

  “They brought a present for me,” Teàrlag said.

  “It’s meant to be a surprise,” Lily reprimanded her. “Ye know ye shouldn’t look.”

  Her daughter lifted her shoulders and gave her an unrepentant grin.

  They had lost Seanmhair earlier this year, and Lily had wanted to return to the cottage to clean and decorate it for the Yuletide as Roderick’s grandmother would have done. In the morning, they would all return to the castle.

  “Da and my brothers are verra hungry,” Teàrlag said, tugging at her skirts.

  Lily just had time to set the bowls for the venison stew on the table when her three sons burst into the cottage with a cold wind and boisterous greetings. They smelled of damp wool, dogs, and fresh pine boughs. They were strapping lads who would become fine men and great warriors, a credit to their clan like their father. She was so proud of them.

  Roderick entered last, ducking his head through the doorway. The sight of him still made her heart flutter.

  Later that night after the children were asleep in the loft, Lily lay in her husband’s arms, watching the flickering flames in the hearth and thinking about how lucky she was.

  “Do you think we would have found each other,” she asked, “if your grandmother had not had that vision and persuaded the Lord of the Isles to send you into the Lowlands?”

  “Aye,” he said. “We were meant to be together.”

  “That we were,” she said, smiling up at him.

  “She told me that love has a magic all its own.” He kissed her forehead. “One way or another, I would have found ye.”

  THE END

  If you enjoyed this novella

  read books in the related series…

  The Douglas Legacy

  Captured by a Laird

  Claimed by a Highlander

  Kidnapped by a Rogue (coming)

  The Return of the Highlanders

  The Guardian

  The Sinner

  The Warrior

  The Chieftain

  All the King’s Men

  Knight of Desire

  Knight of Pleasure

  Knight of Passion

  About Margaret

  Margaret Mallory, a recovering lawyer, is thrilled to be writing adventurous tales with sword-wielding heroes rather than legal briefs and memos. Since abandoning the law for romance, she’s become a USA Today bestselling author, and her Scottish and medieval romances have won numerous honors, including National Readers' Choice Awards, RT Book Reviews' Best Scotland-Set Historical Romance, and a RITA© nomination.

  Margaret lives with her husband in the beautiful (and rainy) Pacific Northwest. Now that her children are off on their own adventures, she spends most of her time with her handsome Highlanders, but she also likes to hike and travel. You can find information on Margaret’s books, photos of Scotland, and historical tidbits on her website. She loves to hear from readers!

  For more information:

  @MargaretMallory

  margaretmallory.author

  www.MargaretMallory.com

  margaret@margaretmallory.com

  The Thief's Daughter

  by Suzan Tisdale

  Prologue

  October, 1424

  Highlands, near the Forth of Moray

  No one but her mum had ever called Onnleigh pretty. Thief, liar, wretched creature? Daughter of a drunkard and thief? Aye, she’d been called all those things, more times than she could count. But pretty? Nay, not pretty.

  “I dunnae lie to ye, lass,” Darwud MacCallen told her as he sat next to the stream that helped feed Loch Moy. He was smiling at her as he played with a long blade of summer grass betwixt his fingers. She was in the stream trying to catch a fish for her supper. Though the water was frigid this time of year, fishing was a necessity, especially if she wanted to eat anything more than dried apples for her supper.

  He was being so kind to her, something she was not accustomed to, especially from members of her clan. An outcast since the age of nine—all because of her father’s love of drink—to have a young man like Darwud tell her how pretty he thought her was more than unusual.

  “Stop yer jestin’, Darwud MacCallen,” she told him as she waded farther into the cold water. She’d been in the stream for at least half an hour and had yet to catch anything. Darwud was a distraction she wasn’t necessarily sure she wanted to go away.

  He laughed, his crooked smile showing less than perfect teeth. Darwud was not a handsome lad, but neither was he hideous or unappealing.

  “Ye wound me, lass!” he said as he crossed one ankle over the other and tossed the blade away. “I would never lie to such a bonny thing as ye.”

  Bonny? Pretty?

  He’d been coming around now and again for a few weeks, offering to help with her garden, her chickens and milk cow. He’d even been kind enough to help mend the thatched roof of the croft she shared with her father.

  Standing in the center of the stream, with the hem of her dress tucked into her belt, she slipped an errant strand of hair behind her ear. Bonny. Pretty. How many times had he said such sweet things to her?

  A large trout swam between her ankles, its tail fin just brushing her left foot. Damnation! she thought to herself. If she didn’t focus on the task at hand, they’d be eating dried apples. “Why do ye say such things?” she asked, turning her attention back to the stream.

  Before she knew it, he was wading into the water. “Let me help ye, lass.”

  Mayhap time had changed people. It had b
een years since she’d set foot anywhere near the MacCallen keep. Mayhap Darwud didn’t know about her father, his reputation as a drunkard and layabout. Aye, all they said about her da was true, she’d not deny it. But what they said of her? Not one word of it the truth. She never told a lie, hadn’t stolen anything since she was nine, and worked very hard to keep home and hearth. She supposed it boiled down to what the Bible said about the sins of the father passing to the son and all that. Though she wasn’t Grueber’s son, she reckoned the good people of Clan MacCallen didn’t care to take that into consideration.

  Darwud was standing next to her now, bent over at the waist, hands cupped under the cool water. “Now watch and see how I do it.”

  She resisted the urge to scoff at him. With a father as unreliable as Grueber, she’d learned early in life how to fend for herself. That included fishing. Still, it was awfully kind of him to help.

  A warm autumn breeze flittered in over the tree-lined bank, caressing her skin, and pulling more of her unruly red hair out of her braid. Though she was trying to catch a fish, her mind was anywhere but on the matter at hand.

  Moments passed by, with her heart happily dancing against her chest. Dare she believe that the rumors and stories had faded with time? Dare she hope that someone might take a fancy to her?

  “Ah ha!” Darwud cried out as he scooped a large trout out of the water and held it up for her to see. It flipped and flopped, splashing little bits of water onto her nose. “That, my lass, is how it be done!” he exclaimed.

  Why she clapped her hands together, she couldn’t say. But she did. “That be a right good fish, Darwud!” she told him approvingly. “Da and I will give thanks to ye when we sit down to sup this night.”

  His expression changed from victorious to something far more mischievous. “Ye want the fish?” he asked.

  Her brow furrowed in confusion. “Aye, I do. Did ye nae catch it fer me?” Embarrassment forced the color to creep up her neck, flushing her cheeks.

  “Mayhap I did, mayhap I dinnae,” he said as he headed toward the rocky banks.

  Onnleigh remained standing in the water, feeling rather foolish.

  “Now, I might be willin’ to give ye the fish, if ye were to give me a boon.”

  A boon? Not a coin to her name. She thought everyone knew that. “I have no coin to give ye,” she told him, a little miffed that he’d expect her to pay for a fish that she could very well have caught on her own. Had he not been here distracting her, she would have caught more than enough by now. Ignoring him, she set about to do just that.

  “I dinnae ask fer coin,” he told her. “I asked fer a boon.” He tossed the fish into her basket and waded back into the stream.

  “Well, I do no’ ken what ye expect me to give ye. I be as poor as a field mouse.” She bent over, cupped her hands, and waited for another fish to swim by. Daft man.

  He was beside her again, laughing at her naiveté. “Well, I can think of somethin’ ye can give me that will be more valuable to me than gold.”

  Onnleigh pursed her lips and shook her head dismissively. What on earth do I have that anyone would think more valuable than gold? The man be tetched. “I’ll catch me own fish, thank ye verra kindly.”

  A moment later, he was tenderly taking her hands in his. Too stunned to think to utter a word, Onnleigh stood staring into Darwud MacCallen’s dark brown eyes.

  “Onnleigh, why do ye think I’ve been visitin’ ye nearly every day?” he asked, his voice soft and low.

  In truth, she didn’t rightly know. No one ever came to visit her. “I dunnae,” she whispered, curious, nervous and excited all at once.

  He grinned, his lips a bit lopsided, before kissing the tips of her fingers. “I think I might like to marry ye, Onnleigh of Clan MacCallen.”

  Her heart bounced to her feet and back up again. Marry? Me? “Now I know yer tetched,” she told him, dismissively. She’d given up the hope of ever having a husband or family of her own long ago. She and her da could barely afford to eat, let alone come up with any kind of dowry. Add those things to their less than stellar reputations, and, well, one could see how she would arrive at such a conclusion.

  “Why would ye say that?” he asked, looking hurt.

  Uncertainty settled in and she didn’t rightly know how to answer that question.

  “Ye be a beautiful lass, Onnleigh. Ye’d make any man proud to call ye wife.”

  ’Twas laughable, wasn’t it? Mayhap, just mayhap, the clan had forgotten all the rotten things her father had done to them. Mayhap they finally realized it was Grueber who had stolen their chickens, their vegetables, and anything else he could carry away with little effort. Mayhap they were ready to quit blaming her for his sins.

  Oh, the possibilities were endless! For the first time in more than a decade, she felt happy — nay, elated!

  Somehow she found her voice after swallowing hard twice. “Ye wish to marry me?”

  “I might,” he said playfully.

  “I have no dowry, Darwud,” she told him honestly. Her happy heart was beginning to pound against her breast.

  “I do no’ care about a dowry, Onnleigh,” he said, quite seriously. “’Tis ye I desire.”

  “Ye do?”

  He nodded twice, his dark brown eyes twinkling in the afternoon sun.

  “Ye dunnae jest?” she asked softly. Inner doubt was having an awful battle with her newfound hope and excitement.

  “Nay, I dunnae jest. I want ye.”

  For the first time in her life, Onnleigh ingen Grueber of Clan MacCallen, felt beautiful, important, and special, all because of Darwud. Her excitement won out, beating down that inner voice that warned she should perhaps consider proceeding with a good deal of caution.

  ’Twas her first kiss, a wee bit awkward she thought, but since she had nothing to compare it to, she thought it a most wonderful, sweet kiss. His lips felt warm against her own, her excitement building, soaring to never before experienced heights. Someone wanted her, Onnleigh, the thief’s daughter. Darwud cared not about her father’s reputation, cared not that she didn’t have a dowry or a possession of her own to bring into the marriage. ’Twas her he wanted.

  On her tiptoes, she clasped her hands behind his neck and kissed him back. He wants to marry me. He thinks me bonny. He wants to marry me.

  One thing led to another, and before she knew what was happening, she was giving in to passions and desires she’d never felt before. Lying atop an old worn blanket on the rocky banks of the wide stream, Onnleigh became a woman in every sense of the word. It hadn’t taken as long as she might have expected, but it didn’t matter. Darwud MacCallen wanted to marry her.

  He might just even love her.

  Chapter 1

  In hindsight, Onnleigh should have listened to that inner voice. After she’d given herself completely to Darwud MacCallen, he kissed the tip of her nose, thanked her kindly and told her he’d be seeing her very soon.

  For days after she’d given herself to him, she walked in the clouds, happily going about her daily routines with a song in her heart and a skip in her step. Darwud wants to marry me. What more could a girl such as she hope for in life?

  Then a week passed by without seeing him. She thought that quite odd, for he’d been coming to visit nearly every day for a month. Mayhap he had fallen ill or had been injured and that was what kept him away. After the tenth day, she had convinced herself of that very thing. “What kind of woman would I be if I did nae go to tend him? I’ll be his wife soon and ’twill be me duty.” She didn’t want him to think she did not care about his health or well-being, so she set out for his home on a bright, clear, crisp morning.

  She knew he still lived with his parents in a nice cottage near the clan keep. Darwud had oft spoke with a great deal of pride about the size of their home, the number of sheep they owned, and how well their crops did each year. Oh, she didn’t quite believe everything he told her, but she didn’t want to insult his male pride by sharing her skepticism.
>
  It was not easy for her to take that long walk toward the keep. The last time she’d been inside the walls had been a most harrowing experience. She’d been but nine summers old and had made the mistake of listening to Thomas MacCallen. “Go ahead and take as many leeks as ye want, Onnleigh,” he’d told her. “We ken yer hungry. Maire’s mum will nae care.”

  Well, Maire’s mum did care. She cared so much in fact that she took a switch to Onnleigh’s backside and beat her all the way out of the garden, down the lane, and out of the walls. “Do nae ever come back here again, ye little thief!” she screamed as she tossed Onnleigh to the ground. That was how she got the scar that ran between her upper lip and her nose; she’d fallen down and landed face first on a sharp rock, splitting her skin open in the process.

  She had cried all the way home. Her da had been too into his cups to notice her tears or her cut lip.

  She hadn’t been back since.

  With her head held high, her shoulders back, and a wee bit more pride than she had felt in an age—if ever—she crossed the frost-covered glen and headed down the path. She was wearing her best dress, which used to be her mum’s, and tried to ignore the multiple patches. She had bathed, washed and combed her hair before working the wild red mane into a long braid. With her old shawl drawn tightly around her shoulders, she set off for Darwud’s home.

  Numerous neat and tidy cottages sat spread about the patch of land. Uncertain exactly which one was Darwud’s, she walked until she came upon a woman in her garden.

  “Excuse me, mum,” she said politely. “Can ye tell me which cottage be Darwud’s?”

  The woman stood and eyed Onnleigh suspiciously. “Who are ye?” she asked before recognition set in. “Ye be Grueber’s daughter.” ’Twas a statement, not a question.