ABDUCTED AT THE ALTAR
Brides of Skye, Book 1
Cynthia Wright
Abducted at the Altar
Brides of Skye, Book 1
Copyright © 2018 by Cynthia Challed
Excerpt from You and No Other Copyright © 1984, 2011 by Cynthia Challed
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Thank You.
Digital Edition published by Boxwood Manor Books
ISBN: 978-1-948053-12-9
Cover art by The Killion Group, Inc.
Formatting by Author E.M.S.
~ Table of Contents ~
Copyright
Book Description
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Epilogue
Thank you for reading
Author’s Note
Excerpt from YOU AND NO OTHER
Meet Cynthia Wright
Books by Cynthia Wright
The Jewels of Historical Romance
Final Word
~ Book Description ~
“Romance the way it was meant to be!”
~ RT Book Reviews
When a spirited Scottish lass crosses paths with a charismatic Outlander, sparks fly that threaten to set fire to their separate worlds…
Vibrant Fiona MacLeod has never left the Isle of Skye, except in the pages of cherished books. However, everything changes when her mother makes a deathbed request that Fi travel to Falkland Palace and experience the royal court. It may be her last chance to see the world before she is married off to an overbearing Highland warrior.
Across the ocean in Europe, architect Christophe de St. Briac enjoys a perfectly-ordered life. He’s a rising star among the artistic builders of the Renaissance and has his pick of women to warm his bed—until King François I pressures him to accept a project at Scotland’s Falkland Palace.
Although Fiona and Christophe are from different worlds, they soon find their passionate souls have everything in common. But while they seem to be on a collision course with destiny, dark forces are conspiring to keep them apart…
Connecting Books
YOU AND NO OTHER (Thomas & Aimée)
OF ONE HEART (Andrew & Micheline)
ABDUCTED AT THE ALTAR (Christophe & Fiona)
RETURN OF THE LOST BRIDE (Ciaran & Violette)
coming in June 2019
The St. Briac Family in the 18th century
THE SECRET OF LOVE (Gabriel & Isabella)
HIS MAKE-BELIEVE BRIDE (Justin & Mouette)
* * *
Welcome to the magical world of Cynthia Wright historical romance novels! You’re invited to view the special Pinterest board for ABDUCTED AT THE ALTAR and sign up for Cynthia’s newsletter here: www.cynthiawrightauthor.com. Thank you for your interest!
~ Dedication ~
To authors Ciji Ware & Kimberly Cates, my faithful critique partners and sister-friends. I love & appreciate you both more than you will ever know!
And many hugs and thanks to my Beta Readers—Julie Ackerman Singer, Lynne Shear, Heike Conrad, Gretchen Peters, Leah Clayton, Kathryn Lynn Davis, and Rose Lipscomb. You’re the best!
Prologue
Duntulm Castle
Isle of Skye, Scotland
May 1538
Tears welled in Fiona’s eyes and filled her throat as she gazed at her mother, dozing fitfully under a woven tartan bedcover. Eleanor Lindsay MacLeod had once been vibrantly lovely, but now, after years of slowly failing health, she was thin, pale, and weak.
“Your da should be here,” muttered Isbeil, the nursemaid. The old woman had looked after the three MacLeod offspring since birth, and now that they were grown she stayed on to help care for her bedridden mistress.
“Shh,” cautioned Fiona. She certainly agreed that her father, Magnus MacLeod, ought to be the one sitting on the edge of her mother’s bed and holding her dry, hot hand, but it was difficult to hear the words spoken aloud. “Mama might hear.”
Isbeil sniffed. “Nay. She’s not even opened her eyes for days.”
Fiona ached with unshed tears. She was exhausted and numb after such a long, vain struggle to return her mother to health. The books Eleanor had taught her to read when she was a wee lass were stacked haphazardly near the bed. In recent months, their roles had been reversed and Fi had read aloud in Latin and French to her beautiful, bedridden mother. She’d acted out The Complaint of the Black Knight, written by the English monk John Lydgate, even jumping up to pace across the tower room and pantomime the action. When Eleanor laughed or grew tearful, Fiona had felt triumphant.
But now there was nothing more to be done. She could scarcely bear the thought that the end might truly be at hand.
Just then, Eleanor’s eyelids fluttered.
“Praise God!” breathed Isbeil.
“Mama?” Fiona’s heart beat faster.
“Darling lass,” her mother whispered. “There is something…I desire to give to you. Isbeil knows…”
The old nurse immediately went to a carved chest and opened the lid. A moment later, she approached the bed holding a small silver casket, its top inlaid with enamel. “Your ma has been waiting to pass this on to you,” Isbeil explained and put the box in her hand. “Open it, lass.”
Fiona felt the warmth of her mother’s gaze on her as she lifted the lid. Inside was a striking circular brooch, a ruby at its center, surrounded by four identically carved sea monsters. “Mama!” she breathed. “It’s wonderful! Why have I never seen this before?”
Eleanor looked to Isbeil. “Please…explain to our Fi.”
“The brooch was part of a treasure buried by the savage Vikings who invaded Skye. Ye may know, the MacLeods are descended from Leod, the son of the Norse king, Olaf the Black.” Isbeil spoke reverently, as if repeating an oft-told tale. “When our great clan chi
ef, Alasdair Crotach, came into possession of the treasure, he shared some of it with his son…your da.”
“Aye, I knew that Grandfather had given Da some of the Viking treasure, but I have never seen this piece…” said Fiona.
“Magnus gave me the brooch on our wedding day. I tucked it away,” murmured Eleanor, “saving it for the daughter I prayed we would welcome one day. It is right that you have it, my love, for you are a MacLeod and have ever loved the history of your clan…”
“It must be hundreds of years old!” A wave of emotion swept over Fiona as she allowed Isbeil to fasten the ancient silver brooch to her bodice. The ruby at its center seemed to glow in the soft light. “Oh, Mama, I love it. I believe the carvings must be the blue serpents who live in the Minch.”
“I knew you would say that.” Eleanor clasped her hand again, tears welling in her eyes even as she smiled. “Think of me, sweet daughter, when you wear it.”
“Of course, I will. I will treasure it!” Fi stroked her hair. “Now you should rest, Mama.”
No sooner had her mother drifted off again than Fiona heard a step on the stairs. Please God, let it be Da, Fiona prayed silently. However, when she turned, she saw her two older brothers instead. They stood with eyes downcast, twisting their wool bonnets in their hands.
“Fi?” whispered Lennox. His powerful body was still as he waited. As always, he seemed to know that he didn’t need to say more than her name in the way he always had, trusting her to provide whatever information he needed.
“I…fear for our precious mother,” Fiona managed to reply.
“Lads,” Isbeil interjected gruffly, “make your farewells.” The old nurse gestured to them to come forward.
Lennox and Ciaran MacLeod both went white as Fiona stepped away from the bed to make space for them. She wanted to go into her brothers’ arms, to take strength from them, but it was she who had been carrying the rest of the family through this long ordeal.
“Where is our da?” she whispered to Lennox.
His sea-green eyes widened. “Da? I—I think he’s down in the hall. Having a cup of ale.”
She knew an urge to scoff, “Our father is a big, strong coward,” but it wouldn’t help anything to say such things to her siblings. “I will fetch him then. Like it or not, he must be here by Mama’s side now.”
Stepping out to the spiral stone staircase, Fiona paused for a moment at the keyhole-shaped gun-loop that helped to light the castle’s shadowy interior. As always, her spirits lifted when she beheld the sweeping view of sparkling sea and the small hump of Tulm Island. Duntulm Castle was perched high atop a stone pinnacle that jutted out from the north coast of Skye, into a wild channel known as the Minch. It was a fortress…but their mother always insisted that it was first a home.
When refined Eleanor Lindsay had fallen in love with Magnus MacLeod and agreed to live with him on the untamed Isle of Skye, he had added a new tower to the old castle and brought new tapestries and furnishings from France. Magnus often said that he would do anything to make his bride happy, short of moving to the civilized Kingdom of Fife where Eleanor’s family still resided.
Swept by yet another urge to weep, Fiona instead squared her shoulders and forced herself to deal with the challenges at hand. Where had Lennox said she might find their father?
Fiona descended the twisting stairway and emerged from the tower to pass into the rush-strewn hall. There she saw her father, sitting by the fire, drinking ale, and absently stroking the head of his great shaggy wolfhound, Dougal.
In spite of the flame of resentment that burned in her heart toward him, she also felt a wave of compassion. He was a man of rare energy and enthusiasm, capable (as his wife liked to say) of persuading the faeries to do his bidding. Yet now his broad shoulders slanted downward, as if he’d suddenly grown old. When Fiona drew near, she had to touch her father’s arm to penetrate his reverie.
Even then, he glanced up at her with hazel-green eyes that seemed a shade paler than usual. “Oh. What do ye need, lass?”
“You must go to Mama,” she said firmly.
“I do not think I can bear it,” came his faint reply. He drank deeply from the pottery cup.
“Da, it is your duty as her husband!” Fiona heard her sharp tone and drew a deep breath. “Would she leave you to die alone?”
Magnus shook his big head. “When I see her suffering, ’tis like a knife in my heart.”
She took a chair beside him and looked into his weathered face. “You would rather ride into battle, facing certain death, I suppose.”
“Aye! It is the worst pain imaginable to not be able to rescue my bride.”
“But you can do so. You can ease her way from this world, Da.” Fiona squeezed his hand and said more forcefully, “You must.”
Without another word, he blinked back tears and heaved himself to his feet. It came to Fiona that her mother had always seen to their family’s emotional challenges, sparing Magnus that discomfort as much as possible. More recently, as Eleanor’s health declined, Fi had shouldered that responsibility.
She was weary.
“Come on then, I’ll be right here beside you, Da.”
Magnus was a warrior, a trusted lieutenant to his father, Alasdair Crotach, the chief of Clan MacLeod. He had never been afraid of anything, as far as Fiona knew—until now.
When they came to the top step and turned into the tower bedroom, Fi saw that her brothers were still there. Ciaran stood looking out the narrow window, his face an impassive mask of cold fury. Lennox sat on the edge of the big bed, holding their mother’s hand, his tawny mane of hair agleam in the fading rays of sunlight.
“So, ye have come,” Ciaran said, turning as they entered. He was as tall as Magnus, dark and chiseled, silver-gray eyes glittering with anger. He and Fiona had both inherited their mother’s black, rather curly hair.
Fi understood why he glared at their father, but she knew it was pointless. Da was oblivious to everyone except Mama, and he was doing the best he could in a situation that must have felt like unbearable torture.
As they approached the bed, Lennox gave a little start and looked up. His striking face, which Mama had always fondly compared to the Viking raider who’d built their castle, was wet with tears.
“Move aside,” Da growled, and his son quickly obeyed.
Fiona felt consumed by pain and helplessness as she watched Magnus hesitantly take his dying wife’s hand. After a moment, Eleanor opened her eyes and gave him the gentlest of smiles.
Magnus straightened his shoulders, his entire attitude transformed. He tenderly murmured what must have been private love names in the Gaelic tongue. She wanted to rush to her mother’s side and take her other hand but sensed that she must wait.
“Husband,” Eleanor whispered. For a moment, she was lovely again, her violet-gray eyes soft. “How brave you are.”
From the window, Ciaran made a disparaging sound, but when his two siblings shot him quelling looks, he fell silent. A muscle flexed in his jaw.
“Nay,” Magnus replied. “I’ve been a coward. I couldn’t bear to see you…”
“I understand. It’s all right. I know well enough how much you love me.” Eleanor paused to sip from the cup that Isbeil held to her lips. “You see, I have been waiting…to beg a favor of you.”
“Name it!”
“Magnus, after I…leave, I would have you take our daughter to court.”
Fiona gasped. It was the last thing she expected to hear.
Her father shook his big head. She knew full well what he was thinking. He had other plans for his only daughter. “’Twould be foolish, love, to take Fiona away, when she is needed here so desperately.”
Fiona saw her brothers exchange glances.
“It is my wish for her, Magnus.”
His tone turned soothing. “Perhaps ye have forgotten that she has taken on your duties since you fell ill, love. Our lass, who learned to read and speak like a lady at your knee, has also taught Ciaran and Lenn
ox to read, write, and do numbers! Fi manages the castle staff, she looks after me…we cannot spare her.”
Through the partially open door, Fiona was startled to see Ramsay MacAskill lurking about in the shadows. Watching, waiting. A chill spread over her. How long had he been there? Even as she wondered who had given this man leave to visit during a family crisis, her sixth sense told her he had been summoned by Magnus. She feared that her father had plans for her he would never divulge as long as her mother was alive.
Eleanor waited until Magnus paused for breath, then whispered, “I think you know that it has always been my wish to take Fiona to Fife, to visit my clanspeople at Hilltower, to go to court at Falkland Palace so that she might taste my heritage…before she returns to her life here on Skye. Remember the Viking brooch your da gave to me after we were wed? It was always my intention to give it to Fi when she visited the royal court. I cannot take her myself, but I have not surrendered that dream.” Her eyes closed for a moment, and Fi imagined she could see her mother’s heart beating through the thin fabric of her nightgown. “You must take her in my place, Magnus. She has cared for all of us and deserves something for herself.”
Abducted at the Altar: A St. Briac Family Novel (Brides of Skye, Book 1) Page 1
