Mesmerized by a Roguish Highlander: A Steamy Scottish Historical Romance Novel

by Maddie MacKenna

  Handing the map over to Tina, Mary sat as her maid studied it. Watching keenly, Mary saw when light leaped into Tina’s eyes and she placed the paper on the table with her finger jabbed at the spot.

  “I need a quill pen,” Tina said hurriedly. “I’ve found where my aunt lives. Thank God, she is near a river or I would have never found her.”

  As she reached for a pen and an ink well, she heard knocks at her door. Mary froze temporarily before gesturing to Tina to put the map away. Just as she did, the door was pushed open and her mother, Rebecca, came in and looked at the two of them.

  “Am I interrupting something?”

  “No, Mother,” Mary said while shaking her head, “Tina was just telling me about her favorite childhood doll.”

  “It was a raggedy thing,” Tina said smoothly. “I carried it everywhere I went until it became so torn it had to be thrown away.”

  “I see,” Rebecca said quietly, “and what was the purpose of that story?”

  “Nothing much,” Mary said. “We just happened to get on the topic of our childhood. What may I help you with, Mother?”

  “Your father and I need to speak with you in the prayer room,” the lady replied. “I don’t think it will take long. Tina, please be free to prepare a bath for Miss Thompson before supper.”

  Standing and curtsying, Tina nodded, “Yes, My Lady.”

  Following her mother, Mary’s palms dampened as she began to wonder why this meeting was called. Had her parents reconsidered this marriage? Were they going to listen to her and do away with it? She spared a moment to look over her shoulder to Tina and mouth, ‘Mark it’, before she took the corridor after her mother. She needed to know where to go if her parents were indeed going through with this marriage.

  They got to the prayer room where her father was sitting. His hands were clasped on his lap and his face was nondescript. His calmness did not sit right with Mary, but she had to hear what was on his mind before her feelings could be corroborated.

  “Mary,” he said, “please sit.”

  Nodding, she did as was told to and smoothed her skirts under her. Rebeca took her seat by her husband and rested her hand on his knee.

  “Mary,” her father began, “three days ago you expressed very vociferously about not marrying Lord Blackmore. We sensed your distress and wondered if we were doing the right thing.”

  A surge of hope began to build in her chest as her father continued. “We prayed about it for three nights on end, and we have come to the conclusions that…” Mary held her breath in “yes, you will marry Lord Blackmore.”

  Her breath whooshed out of her in one fell swoop. “What? But I told you—”

  “It is not a situation about feelings or emotions, Mary,” Rebecca said sternly, “It is about your safety and being provided for. We know you’re scared. We know marriage is a large leap from what you know and what you are used to. Every stage of life is frightening at first, but change is inevitable. We will be here whenever you need us, Mary. Lord Blackmore is just as devoted and committed to the cause of serving the Lord in the right way, just as we are.”

  “But you don’t understand,” she tried, “I am not averse to marriage; it is who I am being married to that is the problem. If the man was different, younger, more lively, unconstrained, I suppose, and without those double chins, I’d be much happier.”

  “Younger men are boys, Mary,” her mother said. “They will not understand or respect a woman of your stature. An older man will care for you; a younger man will not be there for you as much as the older one will be.”

  Her father nodded, “A younger man’s mind will be elsewhere but with you, Mary. His friends, business and even social events will take his time. I know because I was one.”

  But in a few years, I won’t be Lord Blackmore’s wife…I will be his nurse or his widow. Is that how you want me to live my life?

  Looking between the two, Mary felt it would be a waste of time to try and debate with them. They had made their decision, and she was going to make hers. “I understand. Will you excuse me?”

  “Don’t you want supper?” her mother asked.

  “Send it to my room. I have my own…” she paused while thinking quickly, “prayers to do. I need my own confirmation from God about this matter.”

  Her words earned her a pleased look passing between her parents, but Mary was not happy about deceiving them. She was not going to pray…she was going to plan. She had to escape this house and this benign betrayal from her own parents.

  “God will see you through,” her mother said sweetly. “I am certain He will say to you, just as He has told us.”

  She spun to take a good look at both of them, knowing that she wouldn’t see them again. Both of her parents were looking pleased. Her mother's soft-brown hair was curling around her shoulder and her smile was satisfied.

  Her father’s dark-blue eyes held the same emotion under his thick brows. His face, normally stern, was relaxed as well. She forced herself to remember them as they were then, her father's dark hair streaked with gray at the sides and her mother’s oval face.

  Nodding, she said, “Good night.”

  She took the corridors, walking slowly through the walkways and committing what she saw to her memory. She looked at the somber paintings of Christ and the wooden frames, the padded chairs, the only divan, and the austere carpets.

  Taking the stairs, she trailed her fingertips up the wooden banister and took the steps slowly. She entered her room with grief building in her heart. She did not want to run, it hurt her dearly, but her parents had not given her a choice.

  Mary saw Tina sitting in the same seat she had left her, but on the table was the map. She came closer, took up the map and saw the tiny circle and the ‘x’ marked on a spot near a river. Tina stood and came closer.

  “This is the place?” Mary asked.

  “As close as I can give you,” Tina said. “It is a big farmhouse with a barn to the side and three wooden posts painted white in the front yard. You cannot miss it, Miss, if you get there safely.”

  Scanning the map, she spoke to Tina over her shoulder, “Pack a bag for me and have it ready at all times. Choose three dresses as old as they can be and use marsh grass to scrub patches into them to make it look poorer. Pack a cloak and a few rags. We will have to act soon, not tonight but soon.”

  Tina wrapped an arm around Mary’s waist and laid her head on her mistress’s arm. “I am going to miss you.”

  “Me too, but…” Mary dropped the map to hug her back, “I will call for you when I get somewhere safe. My parents will blame you, and I will not let you suffer for me.”

  “Just mention my name to my aunt and tell her you are a friend of mine,” Tina said, “and she will look after you.”

  They broke apart when someone knocked on the door, and after Mary gave permission to enter, her supper was carried in. Smiling, Mary went to eat, knowing that soon this luxury would be gone.

  Mary sat at the window, dressed in a thick cotton dress and her coat, with her bag in her hand and a satchel where the map rested. A few gold coins were sewn into the hem of her cloak. Mary sat in anxiety waiting. It was three days after her mother and father had told her that she was going to be married off. This was the night she was going to run.

  Her eyes kept flitting to the doorway, with her anxiety mounting. Tina was supposed to come to her door and knock thrice. That was the signal telling her that all was well, her parents were asleep, and she was clear to run.

  Her gaze trailed around the room, looking at the four-poster bed, the thin carpet underfoot and the bare wooden furniture. She had lived in this room from the day she was old enough to move from her nursery. The room had grown with her, as did her dresses and shoes.

  She would not miss this room, rather, she would miss the comfort it gave her. Her heart leaped into her throat and she dropped the bag in fright when the knock came. She stood on wobbly legs but managed to stride confidently to the door with her bag in
her hand.

  Pushing the door out as softly as she could, Mary stepped out into the dark corridor. Tina took her bag from her and led her down the stairs and toward one of the servants’ doors. Mary kept glancing up in fear that her father or mother would wake up and discover her. Thankfully, neither did.

  She went through the door and stepped on dew-wet grass. To her surprise, Tina led her not toward the stables but directly to the back gate. There, a horse was already saddled and waiting for her. Had Tina done all this?

  “Tina,” Mary asked as she grasped the horse’s pommel. “Did you do this? Did you organize all this?”

  “That, Miss,” Tina sounded pleased as she latched the sack on the back of the horse, “is for me to know. Just be assured that all is well.”

  Gasping her hand, Mary hugged her tight and spoke though a clogged throat, “Thank you, darling. You’ve been so good to me for many years, I will never forget you.”

  With ease, even clad in a dress, Mary mounted the horse and flicked the cowl of her cloak up and grasped the reins. “Please go back to bed and try to sleep, Tina.”

  Making sure to not look at her friend in case she would start crying outright, Mary rode through the gate and took the road. It was dark but she had good eyesight and the moon was full and bright.

  At the bottom of the road, she looked up to see her home, a shadowy edifice resting on a slight hill, looming over the lane above it. She felt her stomach wrench with pain in knowing that this—running away—was what she was being forced to do. Stifling a cry, she turned away and rode off.

  The moon’s silver rays highlighted the way through the countryside road. This far out in the rural terrain the houses were far placed. A pair of neighbors had a few miles of forest between them and were strangers.

  Mary could not remember the last time she had gone to the Baxter’s, their closest neighbors, where twin girls called home. Her horse trotted quickly down the crushed gravel road toward the town. From there, she would turn north and then she was on her way to Scotland.

  “God, please guide my way,” she prayed as the horse rode on. “Please keep me safe and bar all harm and danger from my way. I may not have happiness or true love, but please give me peace.”

  4

  Langholm, Scotland

  Clan Robasdan

  Clan after clan…nae a single one has a competent healer within their midst. My only hope now is Clan Robasdan.

  A week ago, after Leith had decided to find help—the best help—for his father, he had set out to search all of Scotland if he had to. A man, Nicholas, who was his father’s second in command over the lairdship, was in charge of all the clan’s needs. Dugald and Finlay were guarding his father and his mother was in safe hands with those two.

  He had left his home with a good measure of confidence that all would be fine at his home. But clan after clan, he had been met with had ended with disappointment. No one knew a healer who could deal with a maniac. He was even told to take the man to the church because he could be possessed.

  It was tempting, but Leith knew that was not the case. There was no devil in his father. Something else was happening, but he would be damned if he knew what it was.

  Clan Robasdan was his last hope, past the middle marches and down to borderlands. He was in the middle of the clan’s hunting forest and was now approaching the clan’s castle. It was a tiny clan but had a powerhouse of warriors who had struck fear into all border reivers to not even think of attacking their farms and cattle.

  Tarrant Allanach, Laird of the Robasdan Clan, was an ally of his, a far-placed ally but a strong one. He had not personally spoken to him nearly a year, but he was sure their bond was strong enough to weather the distance of time.

  The ground was wet and sodden with the latest spring rains passing through. He had instructed his horse, a massive grey stallion, to walk as he had no desire to be flung by a cantering horse slipping on slick mud. He was crossing through the last stretch, a slope that led down to a ravine when he saw something strange.

  He caught it through the corner of his eye and had to reel his horse back from moving away. He had the horse turn back when he saw the crushed shrubs and trampled underbrush. He came closer and when he saw a burlap sack on the ground and the contents were strewn out.

  There was a bodice of a dress and a rag. He frowned, what were a woman’s things doing here in the middle of a forest? He slid off the horse and tapping the stallion twice, a trained code to have him stay where he was, went to the edge where the snapped saplings were. Leith grabbed unto the stump of a sapling and looked over the edge.

  As soon as his eyes rested on what lay below, his blood ran cold. A woman lay there, unconscious with her cloak twisted around her. Instantly, his instinct kicked in. Cursing under his breath, he swung his legs over the edge, and picking his footing carefully, inched his way to the woman that was laying on the rocks; the side of her head was a dark russet with blood—congealed blood.

  He got to the lass, his blood pumping with strength. She was laying precariously on a ledge of dark flint where her head had made an impact on a jagged rock and her face was deathly pale. He had to act quickly and slid his hands under her neck and knees but his foot slipped on loose gravel and he nearly careened over the edge. Down at the bottom, a horse lay broken and dead on the rocks. Thank god, she had not suffered the same fate.

  Fearing she was already dead, Leith leaned his ear to her nose and heard her take shallow breaths. She was alive but barely. A bit comforted that she was alive, Leith secured his footing and lifted her. It was impossible to return the way he came, so he had to get creative.

  He spied a way down to the bottom, but the way was merely a foot-and-half wide probably more if he came closer to it. With the woman in his arms or over his shoulder, it was still going to be perilous to do. He held on to the rushes that were growing out of the rocks and angled his body so the majority of the weight was balanced to keep them still on the rock.

  Everything was wet and slick, so he had to be very careful. Leith moved as though was walking on eggshells. One unsure placement of his feet or a slip would have the both of them ending up like the horse below—dead.

  The lady did not move as he inched his way down to the bottom, and he was grateful for that though he knew she needed help. Step by step, he took them down to the level where the poor horse’s broken body lay. With the majority of harm’s way behind them, he was able to hold the woman better. Now, her head was nestled under his chin and her body close to his chest.

  He felt her head shift under his and he glanced down to see the lass’ eyes flutter and get a glimpse of lovely blue eyes. They were gone in moments but he felt entrapped already. God, she, whoever she was, had gorgeous eyes. As he came to a slope that would take him up toward his horse, he prayed that this lovely lass had not lost her memory.

  If she knew who she was and where she had come from, he could take her home. But now, she needed rest and care, and he knew he could rely on Laird Robasdan to give her that.

  He made it back to his horse and where the sack was dropped; he knelt and picked it up one-handed. He then attached it to his horse, rested her on the saddle before holding her there and swinging up behind her. He settled her on his lap sideways with her head under the right side of his chin and her legs to the left.

  Leith looked her over. The lass was beautiful, a comely oval face, dimpled chin with plump lips, the bottom of which was busted and bloodied and lovely arched cheekbones. Her face, though matted with blood to the side, had no other bruises, breakages but a few blisters on her cheeks.

  He took hold on one of her hands and felt pure softness, not a callus in sight. This lass had not had a hard life or even a mildly strenuous one for that matter. Her skin was an even rosy color with no blight from the sun and her dress though worn was of the best cotton. He was instantly intrigued.

  What’s a privileged lass like her doing all the way in Robasdan territory?

  He had the horse quick
en its steps as he held onto her. They had just a little more way to go to get to Tarrant’s stronghold. As much as he remembered, the citadel made the defenses of the famed Caerlaverock Castle look tame in comparison.

  The Robasdan Castle, built in a circle, rested in the middle of an artificial moat a hundred-feet deep and hundred-feet wide. The dark moat filled in with peat to make it unnavigable to a swimmer, was filled with poisonous snakes, but even before someone would get to the castle, there were guard towers and hidden traps in the forest beyond.

  The castle itself had walls of pure rock with steel girders placed vertically on the walls and fitted with iron spikes. A drawbridge was the only way in and to Leith’s knowledge the only way out. However, Leith did not doubt the slyness of Tarrant’s forefathers. There could well be a tunnel under the moat that he did not know about to allow his people to run in the almost-impossible instance of a successful siege.