by Alisa Adams
Highlander’s Lionheart
Alisa Adams
Contents
A Free Thank You Gift
Beasts of the Highlands
About the book
Glossary of Scottish words
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
Afterword
Beasts of the Highlands
Highlander’s Scarred Angel
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Also by the author
A Free Thank You Gift
Thank you a lot for purchasing my book.
As a thank you gift I wrote a full length novel for you called Rescuing The Highlander.
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Click here to get you FREE book
Or use this link directly in your browser.
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Beasts of the Highlands
Book #1
Highlander’s Lionheart (This book)
Book #2
Highlander’s Scarred Angel
Book #3
Highlander’s Wounded Beast
Book #4
Highlander’s Fierce Wolf
Book #5
Highlander’s Heart of Steel
Book #6
Highlander’s Golden Jewel
About the book
Freedom or duty? Which would you choose?
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Four Scots orphans flee their home of Castle Fionnaghall to escape the wicked schemes of their mad uncle....
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The eldest sister, Godet Ross, believes their best chance of survival lies in her childhood betrothal to the neighbouring Laird's son — Gordon MacDonnell.
A sudden spark ignites when their eyes meet!
* * *
Since youth, Godet has blossomed into a buxom beauty and Gordon has risen to become a burly and fearsome warrior.
Unbeknownst to Godet, however, Gordon has been promised to another: Lady Bridga MacTavish.
* * *
Fearing for their safety from their brutish uncle, Gordon allows the Ross sisters to seek refuge in his castle, much to Bridga's chagrin.
* * *
Their uncle Mungan isn't so easy to thwart, however. He plans to marry Godet and seize Fionnaghall for himself once and for all and he believes no one can stop him— not even Laird Gordon MacDonell.
* * *
Confined by their circumstances, the heated connection between the fiery Godet and the indomitable Gordon continues to flourish despite the chaos surrounding them.
* * *
When they are offered the help of the most unlikely of allies, will Gordon and Godet finally have any hope of being able to break free from the chains that bind them?
Glossary of Scottish words
Mo graidh - my beloved
Mockit, manky, mingin, mauchit - dirty/filthy
Puggled - tired out
Puckled - out of breath
It’s a dreigh day - bad weather
Ill whilly - bad tempered
Naft numpty - empty headed
Wabbit - under the weather, exhausted
Gallus - bold, cheeky, cocky
Stotter - excellent example
Scunner - disgust/loathsome person
Glaikit - not very clever/foolish
Bampot - violent, deranged, idiot
Bowfin - unpleasant
Boggin – foul-smelling
Blootered - extremely drunk
Noo - now
Gaunnie - going to
Haiver - to talk rubbish
Dither/fouter - to not get on with it
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Blether - gossip, incessant chatter
Braw - beautiful
Waesucks/zourds - pity, horror
Skiver - lazy person, shirker
Sard/sards - foul word
Tall-athon/tolla-thon - another name for ass
Gommerel - half witted
Corbin/corbie - crow
Fash - worry
Eejit - idiot
Cockernonnie - hairdo
Bawface -big, round face
Mither - mother
Mon - man
Doon - down
Och - oh
Aye - yes
Dinnae - don’t
Ye - you
Yer - your
Bidh gaol agam ort - I love you
1
The Scottish Highlands in the late 1700’s
Godet Ross sat wearily upon her giant of a horse, her hips swaying with the big draft horses’ walk as her clan’s tartan blew over her shoulder in the wind. Her long, black, and unruly curls streamed out behind her as well. It had come loose from a hastily put up braid this morning. She knew it would have been wiser to put the horse in harness to pull the cumbersome and heavy traveling coach that was lumbering along behind her at some distance, but she had left quickly. If the slow-moving coach was overtaken and they lost their trunks full of their belongings, so be it. She was not going to chance leaving her horse behind nor her sisters, her aunt, or the other large draft horses her clan was known for.
Mungan Ross had everything now. But not her. Not her sisters. Not the horses.
Godet looked ahead along the winding dirt road that weaved endlessly through the grassy Highlands, it’s path disappearing behind hills and climbing up craggy barren peaks only to be seen again in an open view of more grass. Endless, endless grass dotted with sheep. How she had come to hate sheep.
“I dinnae see nothing but mauchit sheep!”
Godet looked down from her big horse and smiled wearily at the tiny, older lady on the small Highland pony beside her. Her Aunt Hextilda spat at the ground as she glared at all the sheep.
“Aye, Aunt Hexy, Mungan thinks he is being canny clearing out our clansmen and using the land for sheep. He dinnae agree with me that he is naught but a blootered skiver!” She sighed tiredly, remembering her fierce argument with her drunken uncle when he had cleared her clan out of their homes, all to make a larger profit off of sheep. She winced as she pushed the wild, dark curls away from the side of her face, “I’m gaunnie work on it, aunt. There isnae much I can dae until I get the MacDonell’s help.”
“I know, dearie. But ‘tis fair puggled and puckled I am,” her aunt said with a harrumphing noise.
“Aye, aunt, me too,” Godet replied quietly as she looked back at her three sisters on the other big draft horses straggling behind her. “I am sure we are all weary. Why dinnae ye and the girls go ride in the coach. ‘Tis a bit more comfortable fer ye perhaps?”
“Nonsense that is, I can still ride. I dinnae need to be closed up in yon carriage where I cannae be smelling my braw highlands and heather and gorse.” Aunt Hextilda looked up at the eldest of her nieces. Noting the weariness on her young face. She had the weight of her clan on her shoulders. Ever since her parents had died and that skiver Mungan had come to Castle Fionnaghall, declaring himself Laird and joining in the Clearances to sweep out crofters and clans-men in lieu of the profit from sheep.
Aunt Hextilda
studied Godet with wise old eyes that peered up at her niece from her hooded cloak. Godet was such a bonny young lass and her three sisters were as bonny as she, each so very different. Godet had dark hair that blew wild and free as the winds in the Highlands, her eyes were the silvery, blue-gray color of a stormy Highland sky. The muted red plaid of the Ross clan was proudly worn on her gown and the tartan she had wrapped around her shoulders. She should have married by now and had the protection of a man. Then none of this would have been necessary.
“We will be arriving in MacDonell lands soon, aunt. Then we can rest.” Godet looked down at her aunt. “Ye sure that ye sent the message? I just dinnae understand why I wasnae told aboot this betrothal between myself and Gordon…”
“Och and sure I am that yer dear parents died before they could tell ye. But Gordon and his parents will remember the pact to be sure. Ye’ll see. Dinnae ye fash noo,” Aunt Hextilda added quickly, looking away from her niece.
“I think Aunt Hexy is up to something as usual Godet,” her sister Flori said as she came riding up on her own big draft horse.
“I agree,” Ceena added as she too caught up with Godet on her draft. “Where has he been? Why hasnae he come to claim ye before this?”
“In the tales, he would have come riding up just as Uncle Mungan was yelling and putting up sich a fright!” Ina, the youngest sister exclaimed in her dramatic voice as she rode up on her draft mare. “With Mungan tossing out the poor, weeping crofters into the cold as ye stood between him and their poor burning crofts. He would have swept ye up onto his magnificent horse and carried ye away before Uncle Mungan could strike ye again…”
Godet rolled her eyes. “Dae ye ken that is the stuff of fairy tales, Ina?”
Ina looked down at her hands where she held the reins of her horse. “Mither told me tales like that, it could happen,” she said adamantly.
Aunt Hextilda smiled indulgently up at Ina from her pony. Neither she nor her pony seemed bothered at being surrounded by the huge draft horses. They were used to it. Though her pony puffed up and pranced a bit in their presence, letting them know that he was big too.
Godet stared at her sisters. She loved them more than anything. She would dae what she had to in order to keep them safe. If that meant showing up at Castle Conall and demanding Gordon MacDonell marry her according to some old betrothal from when they were children, then she would put aside her pride and dae that. Then she would find a way to get her clansman’s homes back and hopefully, Castle Fionnaghall as well.
Her sister Flori reached over and put her hand on Godet’s, looking mournfully at her face. “It’s a crumbling pile of stone,” Flori told her in a sad, serious tone. “Let Mungan have it, Godet. There’s naught there for us anymore.”
“But the clan…” Godet began, her voice thick with frustration and sadness as she stared back at her sister.
“Clan means family, isnae that right? Family is the people, not the place,” Flori said sorrowfully.
Godet turned her hand up and squeezed her sister’s hand.
“We have each other and Aunt Hexy,” Ina said bravely, her blonde curls blowing around her face.
“Plus, we saved the Clydesdale stallion and mares!” Ceena laughed happily as she patted her horse.
Godet smiled and patted her big stallion as she looked at her sisters.
Flori was ever the pragmatist. She was dark-haired like Godet, but somehow, her face was a bolder more dramatic version of her own. She kept Godet from overthinking things. But now, she was always sad, always serious. Mungan was responsible for that. He had killed Flori’s beloved on the eve before their wedding. Flori had witnessed it herself and Godet had come upon Flori in hysterics with Mungan’s soldiers surrounding her. Mungan was raising his hand over her where she kneeled on the ground over her beloved’s body. Flori had never said what had happened and didn’t say if Mungan had struck her for disobeying him. But Godet had stopped him from hurting Flori in that moment. He had happily beaten Godet instead since she was the eldest.
Ceena was always playful. She loved the horses and it was her idea to ride the breeding horses away from the castle. This line of Clydesdales had been in their family clan going back generations and were highly prized for field work, carriage pulling, and in old times, riding into battle. They were theirs, not Mungan’s, just as Ceena had stated. Ceena had striking green eyes and their father’s tawny, brown hair alongside his merry disposition. She could train and ride any type of horse. She lived and breathed horses.
Little Ina being the youngest still lived on dreams and fairy tales. She looked like a tiny angel with her dark blonde hair and clear blue eyes.
Godet knew that if her parents were still alive, she and her sisters would all most probably be married by now, except perhaps for Ina. Within a year, she too would have been married. Mungan being the greedy skiver that he was had been working on the best and most advantageous betrothals he could find. Flori’s betrothed was not his choice, and the marriage did not bring him any advantages, so he got rid of him. It was another reason that Godet had agreed to her aunt’s scheme to leave for the MacDonell’s castle immediately after her last skirmish with Uncle Mungan. He had hit her again, badly that time, for trying to intervene between his soldiers and her crofters whose huts they were burning. Mungan was proving that he was dangerous as well as violent.
She was praying that the MacDonells were as she remembered them: wealthy, civilized, and strong in their family bonds. Their own mother had been a MacDonell. As for Gordon MacDonell, she only had brief memories of him from clan games in the summers: a thin boy who teased her and pulled her hair.
If Gordon would not marry her, she would appeal to the clan Laird for help and protection until she knew what to dae.
2
Gordon MacDonell set a grueling pace. He had to intercept her. Godet Ross betrothed to himself? His parents had never mentioned it! Though he knew they were very close to the Ross’ and they had always met up with them at the summer games. But a betrothal?
He could not have Godet Ross showing up at Conall Castle claiming to be his betrothed. He was already betrothed! Brigda was at his castle right now, planning their wedding. With Brigda’s temper, who knew what would happen? She was a fiery lass and had led him quite the chase, but she had just recently agreed to be his wife.
His brother Tristan rode beside him. That grin had not left his face since the moment the message had arrived and they had ridden out of the castle. He was vastly amused by this turn of events. Gordon knew that Tristan did not like Brigda, not one bit.
Neither did his other men that were traveling with them. All his men knew that Castle Conall was for training soldiers. It was no place for women, in fact, women were not welcome. Brigda had proven to be… difficult. Gordon was surly and his temper was rising with each bit of ground they covered.
He spotted them after noon and breathed a sigh of relief. He was in time to stop Godet and turn her back. He urged his horse on faster with his brother right behind him. He galloped full speed up to the small traveling group and spun his horse to a stop in front of them.
The girl in the front on the huge Clydesdale stopped her horse and turned him sideways, blocking the others. She pulled out a small dirk and was staring at him fiercely, the knife pointed directly at him. “Dinnae ye move a step closer to me or my sisters, I’m giving ye fair warning!” she called out to him. Her voice was clear and lilting.
Gordon studied the vision before him, trying to control his shock. He remembered the big Clydesdale horses the Ross clan was known for breeding. This was definitely Godet. How could he have forgotten those long, silky, black curls of hers? Her hair fell to a tiny waist that curved out to the gentle swell of her hips. But it was her eyes that brought back the memories with their strange but eerily beautiful silver-blue color. She had the longest dark lashes he had ever seen which were sweeping over those bewitching eyes. Those eyes had always mesmerized him, even as a young boy.
She
wore the Ross plaid in her skirts that billowed out over her horses back. The lace that was at her wrists and was also peering out of the tight bodice she wore made her look impossibly more feminine as she sat on the giant of a horse. She looked at him bravely, not showing even a hint of fear in that upraised chin of hers. Yet, he noted the slight tremble of her slender, delicate hand on the reins of her horse. Gordon frowned. She was impossibly lovely. The young girl he remembered with the strange eyes had a grown into a stunningly beautiful woman. And she was a problem he didn’t need nor want. She was possibly even more beautiful than the buxom, red-haired Brigda waiting to marry him back at Castle Conall.
“Put that silly dirk away, lass. ‘Tis I, Gordon MacDonell, and I mean ye no harm,” he greeted a little irritably.
Godet frowned back at the man who was staring at her so brutishly and who was clearly annoyed. “Ye are Gordon?” Her eyes quickly traveled over his form. This was no skinny young boy. This was a man—a very large, very muscular man. Dark, wavy hair curled down from his head to touch the collar of his billowy white linen shirt. He had on a kilt in the dark blue and green of the MacDonell clan. The dark blue and green made his emerald eyes shine brilliantly as he stared so brazenly at her. His chin was square and firm, his nose was straight, and his lips were full, though they were now thinned in irritation. He clearly was not happy to see her.
