by Fiona Faris
Her Broken Highlander
Only he can save her, only she can heal him...
Fiona Faris
Contents
Thank you
Highlanders of Cadney Series
About the book
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
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Epilogue
Extended Epilogue
Afterword
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Highlanders of Cadney Series
Book#1
Her Highland Secret
* * *
Book#2
Her Highlander’s Heart
* * *
Book#3 (this book)
Her Broken Highlander
About the book
Her Broken Highlander
Only he can save her, only she can heal him...
His life was hers before they even knew each other's names...
Suffering unimaginable torture in the hands of his enemies, Gavin MacGille was thought dead by everyone. In a desperate attempt to escape, he saves the life of an angel-like lass, sacrificing his chance at freedom. When Gavin is finally released, he is a broken man, a shadow of his former self.
Amelia Pearson would do anything to solve her family's mystery. When she walks into the MacGille Castle to visit her sister, little does she know that she is under the same roof with the handsome Highlander that saved her life.
Now Gavin must pay the debt of life he owes, by saving her from others and from himself...
* * *
Prologue
Dunkeld, Scotland, Perth Goal, October 1689
The whispers and speculation in the gaol were enough to drive Gavin mad. Everything hurt, but he was determined, even in the pitch black, to open his eyes.
“They’re movin’ us tae a work camp.”
“Nay, surely they’ll treat us tae th’ end of a rope.”
“Aye, instead of wastin’ good food and coin keeping’ us alive.”
He felt for his weapon but wasn’t surprised when his hands came up empty. He often forgot he was in hell, unarmed. He looked over at his cellmate. Barely making out the delicate features of Tristan Cabduh. The lad was weak, much weaker than Gavin. Gavin couldn’t fathom why he had even been at the battle. Everyone knew Tristan had a delicate constitution; since birth, he had been sickly and weak.
“Holy hell…” he muttered, trying to sit up. He drew his hand up to his throbbing head and felt the beginnings of what was sure to be a right, large bump. He used his tongue to check that he still had all his teeth. He did. He had hoped the rumors were wrong, not for himself but for his cellmate. There was no way Tristan could survive the rigors of prison or a work camp. Both were riddled with disease and other untold horrors, mostly at the hands of their bastard English guards.
The coppery taste of dried blood met him as he fondled what seemed like a rather large split in his bottom lip.
“Surely they will nay hang us?” Tristan asked, pure fear in the whites of his eyes.
“Nay, Tristan, they will nay hang us. We’ve done nothin’ wrong. Ye’ve no need tae worry. Drink yer broth.” Gavin nodded at the chipped cup in the lad’s hands and hoped Tristan believed his lies. He had spent the last three months doing his best to keep Tristan and the other lads’ spirits up, often enduring the wrath of the guards for his wit and jokes. He knew the guards hated him for it, but he didn’t care. They wanted their Jacobite heathens to brood, Gavin thought. He’d be damned if he gave them the satisfaction.
More than once, he’d suffered for his insolence, but it didn’t stop him. He would gladly continue to take the beatings if it meant the men around him didn’t wallow in the darkness of their new home. These highlanders were his friends, his brothers in arms against the English. He would not let their captors break him. If only he could stop the throbbing in his head. It was last night’s fresh beating he was dealing with now.
“But we hae done wrong, Gavin. We rebelled against the English. We lost. We’ll pay with our lives.” Gavin supposed he was right. He wasn’t a stupid man. But still, he wanted to ease Tristan’s double mind. “Mayhap, friend. But we are alive today. Besides a work camp may not be so bad. Fresh air, out of doors. Ye could dae worse.”
“Gavin, why’re ye give th’ lad such reassurance,” someone called from a cell down the corridor.
“Yea, we’re all dead!” Another voice chimed in.
“Quiet Down! Quiet Down! Or I’ll make ya quiet!” one of the guards, roused from his drunken stupor, shouted from the guard post. Another guard got up from where he sat and wandered down to Gavin’s cell. He was missing all but two of his teeth, and the rot on his breath could not be hidden no matter how much whisky the man drank, but Gavin stood tall.
“Ya shouldn’t lie to th’ man, Highlander,” the guard spat. “Tomorrow yer all headed to the camps, by yer leave.” His eyes were glassed over, and as he laughed at Gavin and Tristan, small flecks of whatever he had eaten for dinner flew from his mouth. Yet, Gavin would not back down, he simply stared at the guard. The camps were not a threat. He knew men died there, but for Gavin, it would be different. The transport offered an opportunity. He relished the idea. Tomorrow he would finally have his chance at escape.
* * *
“I’ll only slow ye down Gavin,” Tristan leaned against the wall, his head hanging low. “Ye must go without me.”
Gavin scowled at the younger lad; he was not going to let Tristan’s fear slow them down. This was their chance. There weren’t enough guards to stop them, and if he could cause a large enough distraction, they might have a chance.
“Even if we weren’t locked in this hell hole together Tristan, I wouldnae leave ye. Yer stronger than ye ken. Together we’ll be free.”
“I wish I had yer
confidence, MacGille.”
“It’s good then that I hae enough for us both.” He managed a grim smile, hoping Tristan believed his lie. Both men coached down as a line of carts came rolling toward the prisoners. He picked up a stone, throwing it at the first horse in line, hitting the poor beast between the eyes. As much as he hated hurting the animal, he knew his aim startled the horse more than injured it. It achieved the desired result; the animal reared up, giving a loud whinny.
The guards rushed away from the line of prisoners to see what had distressed the horse, and Gavin yanked hard on the chains keeping him and Tristan locked together, breaking the weakened metal, and shoving Tristan forward into a run toward the crowded village center. Tristan looked shocked, despite Gavin having explained the plan to him just moments before. He would break the chains, and they would run towards the crowd, hoping to blend into the mass of people on the streets until they could find a safe place to hide until nightfall.
“Go on, run, man!” Gavin shouted. Tristan snapped back into himself before the guards managed to turn their attention back to the prisoners. Shite! They weren’t distracted long enough. If he didn’t run now, two of the four Englishmen would rush him, and he would be in chains faster than he could blink.
Gavin turned and made his way quickly toward the crowd, away from the line. If he broke into a run, they would surely notice, but perhaps if he moved with purpose and kept his head down, he would blend in. A piercing scream took his attention away from the task at hand. Gavin turned back toward the prisoners and guards. The same horse he had hit with the stone was bucking wildly, the animal spooked beyond comprehension. The other two horses were now also stirred, and the men were quickly losing control of them.
For a moment, Gavin thought the heavens must be smiling down on him. He had his chance. As if drawn up from thin air, a figure appeared in front of the beasts, catching his attention. The figure was slight, and a long dark cloak hid them from Gavin’s full view. Fool, idiot, anyone would know better than to get in the way of an out-of-control animal, yet the figure stood still as stone, either oblivious to the danger they were in or frozen in terror. Either way, it wasn’t Gavin’s problem; their stupidity would be his salvation.
Then before he could turn away, the hood of the cloak slid away, and hair fell around the figure’s face. It was curled slightly at the ends and was the color of gold spun in sunlight. The cloaked figure was a woman, and she was terrified. And there was no way Gavin could leave her to be hurt, not when it was his fault the animals had bucked, to begin with. His feet carried him to the lass with a swiftness he had almost forgotten locked up in the English prison.
“Och, lass, watch out!” he bellowed, frantically trying for her attention. It worked; she turned and looked directly at him as he closed the distance between them and grabbed her up into his arms. He dropped them both immediately into a roll away from the spooked horses, holding her tight to protect her from the worst of the damage.
He brought the woman up on top of his chest as he sat, breathing heavily. She was slight, to be sure, but his heart still raced in his chest. She looked up at him, and a shock of awareness rushed through his blood. Her eyes arrested him. He had never seen eyes as blue as ice frozen over a loch in the winter. The woman held his gaze, her own breath coming fast.
“Are ye hurt?” he ran his hands up and down her arms, searching for injury. She simply shook her head. “What’s yer name, lass?”
“Amelia.” English. Gavin could hear it in her voice. He should push her off him, move away quickly. She could be nothing but trouble, was already trouble, yet he couldn’t bring himself to let her go. “Amelia…” he repeated.
“Thank you. I can’t thank you enough.” Her voice was sweet and light, but her eyes were serious. She was the most fascinating woman Gavin had ever seen.
“Och, dinnae fash,” he replied, absently rubbing his thumb down her cheek. It was as if he had taken leave of his own senses. “Amelia,” he said again, testing her name on his tongue.
“Fash?” she asked, a small crooked smile on her lips. Gavin sucked in a breath, her lips were perfect, pink and full. Lips that on any other day, under any other circumstance, he would want to crush against his own. He closed his eyes, fighting back a wave of desire that shot through him.
Before he could return to his senses, Amelia was ripped from him.
“Get yer dirty hands off the woman!” Gavin couldn’t react fast enough, and a hard fist slammed into his jaw. “She doesn’t need help from the likes of you!” Amelia screamed again, and Gavin saw her fighting against one of the guards. He quickly stood and slammed his fist into his own attacker, rushing toward Amelia when three more guards crashed into him, knocking him to the ground.
“No…,” she screamed. “He saved me!”
“It’s alright, girl,” Gavin heard a guard. “Ye can go on yer way, we’ll take care of this Scottish scum!”
“Don’t hurt him!”
Gavin wanted to tell her to go, to run. Amelia…he would be all right, but she shouldn’t see what would happen next. Amelia…he was all too familiar, and now that he had been caught out of chains, there was no way it would be a light beating. Amelia…not this time.
“Don’t hurt him!” she screamed again. It was the last thing Gavin heard before everything went black.
Chapter One
Four Years Later… Cadney Castle, Scotland, 1693
“Ye look like momma.” Amelia knelt to make herself eye level with the little red-haired sprite that was her oldest nephew, Angus.
“Do I? Well, that is because I’m her sister. Do you know what that means?”
“That means yer my auntie.” The boy placed his hands on his hips and nodded with authority. He was proud of himself at figuring the family connection, and Amelia’s heart constricted. It had been too long she had been separated from her older sister Ella, and now she was an aunt to not only Angus, but little Nicholas, and a new baby on the way. She looked back at her sweet sister, sitting quietly with her embroidery by the window. The soft rays of morning sunlight giving the room its light. Amelia let out a sigh.
“You don’t seem content this morning, Amy,” Ella said, giving Amelia a look of concern. Ella was the only one who ever called her Amy, and over the last four years, she had missed the endearment. After their mother had died, it was Ella who took care of them, kept them clean and fed and out of the way of their father.
“I think I am?” Amelia crossed the room and sat at her sister’s feet. Ella placed a hand on her sister’s golden hair. As Amelia looked up at her, she realized how similar in their youth, they would have looked to the Highlanders around them, both with golden hair and ice-blue eyes. They stood at similar heights. And even though Ella was a few years her senior, the time spent apart had aged Amelia. They could have been mistaken for twins. Except that in her pregnancy Ella’s hair had grown darker by a shade or two, and her face had rounded a little
Amelia loved looking upon her sister. When they parted, it was under extreme duress. Amelia has spent the time they were apart hating their father for what he did to Ella, and what he tried to do to her. The lies he told were unforgivable. Thankfully for them both, he died only two months after Ella left, his lifestyle of drinking, gambling, and excess finally taking its toll.
Unfortunately, his death bed confessions to Amelia she was forced to carry alone, at least until she could prove them true. At first, she had wanted to rush to Scotland and find Ella, tell her what father had said, but she had quickly decided she needed to solve the mystery herself. She’d known it was what was best, especially now, seeing Ella happily married, settled, and with children of her own. Amelia would wait until she had more answers before she would do anything to take the smile of contentment from her sister’s lips.
“You’ve promised to tell me of home and your travels; where have you been since father’s death?”
“Did you not get my letters?”
“Aye, I did, but I don’t und
erstand. You seem much changed. After Father’s death, you traveled to Ireland, Wales, and Paris, yet your letters seemed vague. No talk of fashion or theater, simply descriptions of landscape and emotional pleas. I know Father’s death must have been hard for you, but did you not enjoy your travels?” Amelia knew it would be difficult to fool her sister. In truth, she had not been to any of the places she had described in her letters, not knowing the letters would even reach her sister until she had received word that she had married a highland laird.
