The Highlander's Secret Maiden: A Scottish Historical Romance Novel

by Lydia Kendall

  “Congratulations, Sir, on behalf of the McGowan clan. We wish ye’ both a lifelong happy marriage,” Conall said his piece, both brothers took turns to shake the sweaty palm of the Earl of Aylesford. Thankfully, they were spared the need to make small talk as other guests crowded around the Earl to offer their congratulations and words of wisdom.

  Conall eyed a server pouring out glasses of liquor, “Ach, thank Christ. Let’s get a dram doon us.”

  “Ah could sure do wi’ it after all this fraternizing wi’ the enemy.”

  “The job hae ta be done if I’m tae live up to father’s legacy.” Conall had been appointed the title of Laird after their father passed away and it had been a role he’d gladly stepped into, even if Marcas was an equally viable candidate.

  “Cheers tae that.” They clinked glasses and swallowed the booze in one gulp, Marcas relishing the warming burn. It wasn’t nearly as revitalizing as the whisky back home, but it would do to take the edge off.

  “Come oan, will we find a fine lassie or two for a twirl aboot the dance floor?” Marcas posed the question as an excuse to continue scanning the room for the dark-haired beauty again, sipping his second drink a bit more slowly this time.

  “Ach aye, if you reckon an English bird is gonnae be willing.” Marcus laughed at Conall’s smirking.

  “Yer mind’s in the gutter as usual Conall.”

  “Ye can hardly speak, who was it bedding that McEwan lass in the barn after the homecoming feast?”

  “Ach come on, we were just home fae battle, we all deserved a bit o’ skirt after that.” As the pair of them laughed about their conquests, Marcas caught sight of the girl again.

  “Well, if ye’ll excuse me, I’m off to get me a dance.” He polished off the rest of the liquor in his glass, handed the empty beaker to Conall and straightened his shoulders before striding up to the lass.

  For all his bravado, the sight of her made him feel weak at the knees, and his heart was in his throat as he opened his mouth to speak. “Care to dance Madame?” He put on his most charming smile, the one that made the lasses back home melt into putty in his hands. He wasn’t normally fazed by women, as a powerful Highland soldier from the prominent McGowan clan, they fell at his feet and were glad of his attention without much effort on his part.

  “Madame?” her face broke into a cheeky but alluring smile, “You make me feel positively ancient.” Her voice was clipped with that haughty English accent, but in her warm, joking tone even that was endearing.

  “Ach, well, I was always taught tae make a lady feel special.” He met her dazzling smile with one of his own, feeling a tug deep inside him as their eyes met again and he felt the instant heat of connection flow between them.

  “Well, you seem like a good enough candidate to save me from my terrible fate.”

  “And what fate wid that be?”

  “Being the last girl left alone on the dance floor.”

  “Ach, well we cannae have that can we?” Marcas held out his arm, and his heart thudded as she slipped her delicate wee arm into the crook of his, his hair standing on end as her flesh brushed his for a brief moment.

  Soon they fell into step with the rest on the dance floor and Marcas concentrated on pulling all his best moves, he couldnae have this lass thinking he was nothing more than a clumsy Laird’s brother in a kilt.

  “That’s a rather exotic accent you’ve got there.”

  He smiled at her gentle taunting. “Aye, that’s the exotic sound of the bonnie Scottish Highlands, me lass.” She had a fair spirit on her this one.

  “A Highlander at an event such as this? Whatever is the world coming to?”

  “Well there’s more to us than meets the eye,” he spun her around and watched the lengths of her hair fly out and her lips twitch into a smile before he caught her with his arm around her tiny waist.

  “There certainly is indeed.” Marcas gazed into her eyes, completely at sea, but before he could tell her how bonnie her eyes were, Conall sprung up at his side.

  “May I cut in? It’s fairly selfish of me brother to keep the bonniest lass in the room all to himself.”

  Oh, ye utter cad, Marcas thought upon his brother’s interruption.

  Marcas could have kicked him. It was just like Conall to muscle in, always having to prove that he was stronger, older and a better leader than Marcas.

  “Brothers? How interesting. I shall have to find out which one of you is a better dancer in that case.” Marcas couldn’t help but smile once more at her teasing and sharp wit, trying not to let it show that he was feeling in any way threatened by Conall.

  “I’ll let Conall try and outdo me in that case. The name’s Marcas my lass, Marcas McGowan.” He took her hand and brushed his lips against it briefly, his eyes never leaving hers as he did so.

  “Why it’s nice to meet you Marcas and Conall. My name is Georgina Andrews.”

  “Come on noo, Marcas, the lady is waiting for the dance of her lifetime.” Conall stepped closer to Georgina, held out his arm and waited for her to take it.

  “The pleasure was all mine, Miss Andrews.” He turned and walked away, utterly smitten and hell-bent on finding a way to make her his.

  Chapter 3

  A feeling of reckless abandonment had taken hold of Georgina. Her father had approached her with Morgan Bolton at his side and announced: “Georgina, you’ll be happy to hear that Morgan has finalized his proposal for your hand in marriage and I am delighted to have accepted on your behalf.”

  She was gobsmacked. Don’t I get a say in this?

  She wanted to scream and rage at her father, but she was at a loss for words with Morgan standing right by his side. “Be sure to save me the next dance, Georgina, and we can then officially announce the joining of our two families.”

  She felt sick, surely this couldn’t be happening. This had to be a nightmare. She pinched herself in hopes of waking up, but it was no good, he was still very much there in front of her, the hard lines of his face scrunched up into what he thought was an endearing gaze.

  Her father cleared his throat and let out an embarrassed little laugh at her utter silence, “I do think we’ve taken you by surprise, Georgina, perhaps the news hasn’t quite sunk in yet.” There was a polite warning etched into his words, encouraging her to mind her manners.

  “Do forgive me, Mr. Bolton, Father, this is indeed quite the surprise.”

  “Come Mr. Andrews, let us give my wife-to-be a moment to gather her joy. We shall get our hands on the finest bottle of champagne in the room to toast to our upcoming nuptials.” She watched them walk away, the words ‘wife-to-be’ echoed repeating over and over again in her mind like a death sentence.

  Desperation took hold at that moment. She was not going to let these men dictate her life. What would happen if she brazenly refused to marry Morgan? As she tried to grab on to a viable solution, her panicked mind came crashing back to reality, reminding her that she had no power as a young woman alone, unless she were to completely sever ties with the life she was used to and turn her back on her social standing.

  When her vision filled with the intensely handsome Marcas McGowan escorting her to the dance floor, she felt like her prayers had been answered.

  Georgina felt free and reckless in the arms of both the McGowan brothers. As soon as Marcas approached her and asked her to dance, she’d felt a heady rush of excitement. Never before had she felt such things for a man, now she finally understood what all the fuss was about. The added brush with danger at his nationality was the perfect act of defiance against her impending engagement to Morgan Bolton.

  “Well, Georgina Andrews, what nonsense was me brother yapping about?”

  “Oh, just how he was swooping in to save me from my impending doom.”

  “Oh? Well, I think I’m the better savior oot o’ the two o’ us, I am a Laird efter all.”

  While Marcas was incredibly handsome and she’d felt an undeniable connection, there was something irresistible about Conall t
oo. Just one glance at him was enough to tell you that he was a strong man that could protect her.

  “A Laird? How impressive.” As she moved in step with Conall, she saw Morgan glaring at them from across the room, champagne glasses in hand, and a swoop of dread took hold of her.

  “What’s got ye so glum lass? I wid have expected a bit more excitement at the announcement of such a title.” His tone was still light and playful, and as she looked up into his eyes and drank in his tall warrior stance, she knew she was safe.

  “The truth is, I’m to be married to a brute of a man. My father has negotiated with him for my hand in marriage without consulting my feelings in the matter, and I want nothing more than to escape this horrible sentence.” Georgina felt herself break down in the comfort of Conall’s arms, all her flirtatious bravado stripping away. She felt betrayed by her father and was nothing more than an object to be traded, desperate for someone to swoop in and whisk her away from it all.

  “Ach lass, I ken it’s scary but I’m sure ye’ll grow to like him. A bonnie lass like you, he’ll be sure tae treat ye well.” Suddenly her eyes filled with tears and she was afraid that she’d weep right here in front of Conall.

  “You don’t understand. He’s a vicious monster. I’ll never let him touch me.” Would I even have a choice in the matter? Morgan didn’t seem the type to take no for an answer.

  Conall picked up on her gaze darting back and forth between him and Morgan, who was now beginning to stride across the dance floor, no doubt to claim his property.

  “Conall, quick, he’s coming.”

  “That bastard’s nae getting what he wants that’s fer sure,” Conall spoke with menace and Georgina sensed a hidden resentment within him. Without another moment to spare, Conall exaggeratedly spun Georgina around, picking up the speed of their combined steps and lead her right through the middle of the dance floor in the opposite direction from Morgan.

  “Marcas, get the horses ready. Now.” Conall’s tone became authoritative as he commanded his brother’s attention. Marcas stood patiently by the door, but at Conall’s words he immediately sprang into action and dashed out towards the exit.

  Georgina glanced back in Morgan’s direction, but it appeared that he was not so quick and nimble on his feet as Conall, for he had become trapped in amongst the merry crowd and was struggling to untangle himself. She would laugh if she weren’t so filled with anxiety about getting out of his reach.

  “Miss Andrews, take me arm as if we’re merely going for a quiet stroll.” She felt a pang of hope as Conall took hold of the situation, excitement rippling through her as she took in his smoldering dominance.

  It was too late for quiet, however, for Georgina and Conall’s flurry across the dance floor had caused quite the show and heads were turning as they saw Georgina heading for the exit with the clan leader.

  Rose and Eunice were in their element and whispered excitedly to each other while Georgina and Conall walked passed them, their faces animated with delight at this turn of events. It seemed that many of the guests were already following suit.

  As they reached the front door of the estate, Georgina heard Morgan’s bull-like voice shout out after them, “Hey, just where do you think you’re going with my betrothed?”

  Conall hurried her on, “She’s not yer betrothed just yet Bolton, and at the rate yer going, she never will be.”

  As they descended the steps at a run, Marcas came into view, leading two sturdy horses readied and packed with saddlebags. Georgina sneaked a glance over her shoulder at the furious temper of her supposed future husband.

  Curious wedding guests were trickling out to learn the source of the commotion, and Georgina heard the hum of scandalized chatter begin to spread through the crowd. She heard not-so-quiet whispers about “improper” and “unladylike.” She wanted to turn and yell back you know what’s improper and unladylike? Being forced to marry a middle-aged walrus who demands obedience but there simply wasn’t time.

  “Marcas hurry,” Conall commanded, taking her hand and making haste out the door to the waiting horse.

  She heard her father yelling, “Georgina! What on earth is going on?” but it did not stop her.

  Settled in to the saddle behind Conall, she turned back to see her father’s shocked expression as he stood beside Morgan, who was fisting the neck of an unopened bottle of champagne.

  “Sorry father, I cannot marry that man. Don’t you want me to be happy?” She ignored the black rage on Morgan’s face and implored her father to understand.

  “Georgina, stop this foolishness now. Think of the spectacle you’re making. Come now, get down and we can discuss this properly behind closed doors.” She shook her head, knowing this was her only shot at escaping her dreaded fate.

  Conall tugged the reins. “Tck.” He clucked to urge the horse in a trot away from the manor house. .

  “Come back here with my daughter this instant, you brute!” From the moment she heard these words, she hesitated . Could I really leave him behind and throw our family under the gaze of a scandal? She heard Morgan’s voice pitch in and knew she was making the right decision.

  “McGowan, you have crossed the wrong man, the weight of the British Army will be upon you before you know it.” Georgina tensed at Morgan’s words, knowing the threat was real.

  She felt Conall’s body twist around to face the angry voices they were rapidly leaving behind, “Bolton, ye take somethin’ o’ mine ‘n’ I take somethin’ o’ yours. As they say, ‘all’s fair in love and war.’”

  His voice was just as threatening as Morgan’s. Georgina could swear she saw a flicker of fear in the officer’s face as he watched them leave. And with that, Conall turned back and urged his horse on, gaining on Marcas just ahead of them.

  Georgina wrapped her arms around his waist, unsure where else to hold on, and felt the wind fly through her hair in a stream behind her. Filled with ecstasy at her daring, she let out a gleeful shout of laughter as they sped away from her doomed fate, having never felt more alive than at this moment.

  Chapter 4

  “C’mon Marcas lad, we need to put a gid distance between us and them,” Conall commanded as he urged his horse forward and into step with Marcas riding just ahead.

  “I ken Conall, we’re certainly bloody damned, noo,” Marcas shouted back, Georgina’s ears only just catching his words against the wind created by cantering at full pelt.

  Georgina felt her high spirits dampen as quickly as they were ignited in the heat of the moment. Does he regret helping me to escape? He doesn’t sound overly happy about it right now.

  Maybe she had imagined the connection between them on the dance floor. Perhaps it had been her own desperation that fixated this urge onto the pair of eyes she met across the room.

  “Right, lass, hang on tight, we’re gonnae have tae run tae beat the devil.” Conall twisted round to call out to her and she held on to him like he said, feeling his rock-hard muscles tighten underneath his swathes of tartan cloth.

  Georgina buried her face in his back as he encouraged his horse toward a full-on gallop. The speed was both terrifying and exhilarating in equal measures. Just think, the faster we move, the further away that brutish man will be. You’ll never get your piggy hands on me now, Morgan.

  They soared through the air, her stomach lurched, her vision a blurry mass of green and grey as they passed stone fences and buildings. She imagined Morgan and his posse moving fast and furious for the McGowan brothers. The look on his face right now; it was probably bright red with fuming rage and liquor, and bellowing like a bear at anyone who would listen. It wasn’t often that things didn’t go his way.

  She broke out into spontaneous laughter but knew the threat of his pursuit was real. He and his men would not stop until he had combed the entire countryside to find her. It had nothing to do with love and everything to do with his bullish pride and vicious need to win. She shuddered at this thought of this and clung even tighter to Conall, willing him to g
et her as far from Morgan’s reach as possible.

  She clutched tightly around Conall’s waist and soon her hands were numb. Her legs ached from gripping the horse’s flanks. She had no idea where they were, what distance they’d traveled. All she knew was discomfort.

  She had never ridden a horse astride; it was improper to sit on the saddle like a man. Just how they could stand to sit like this? All the bumping up and down could not be pleasant for them surely.

  When the horses slowed to a trot, Conall and Marcas both let out a shout of glee. Georgina was astounded by the beauty of this unfamiliar stretch of the countryside: green fields on one side of a river, woodland on the other.

  “Welcome to bonnie Scotland lass,” Conall announced joyfully before guiding the horse to a halt, “woah, steady up.”