A Knight For Her Highland Heart (Scottish Highlander Romance)

by Barbara Bard

  Christian smiled—Gavina did not need to propose him any further.

  They wandered into the same bedroom in Finlay and Isla’s cottage that remained unsullied by the fire that had consumed it. They felt alive, more alive than they did before as they began stripping off each other’s clothing.

  Though the fire had scorched a significant part of the house, they did not care. They were too consumed by each other, too thrilled to be alive that all they wanted to do was hold each other in a warm embrace and let every worry they had slip away.

  Gavina mounted Christian, placing him inside of her quickly and biting her lip with ecstasy as he smiled with pleasure. She groaned and moaned, digging her nails into his chest, both of them unable to help themselves from laughing with joy from everything that had transpired.

  Christian grabbed a firm hold of Gavina’s buttocks and began rotating her on his body. Gavina smiled, the sensations sending shockwaves through her body as Christian guided her grinding. He moved her, up-and-down, up-and-down. He sat up, cupping her bare breasts with his hands and kissing her neckline as Gavina giggled from the sensations.

  Christian then laid Gavina on her back, his bare flesh pressed firmly against hers. They moved in sync, feeling sensations that were more elated than they ever thought possible as they made love in the hollowed-out remains of Isla and Finlay’s home.

  Gavina nibbled on Christian’s ear before kissing him, biting the lower part of his lip gently and sucking on it as if it were nourishment. Their tongues then began to reach out, teasing one another as they took comfort in the warm, slick and sweet quality of each other’s taste.

  Eventually, they climaxed, lying beside each other and saying not a word as they held each other in their arms. The look in their eyes that they exchanged was more than enough of a recognition to one another that they loved each other.

  The McManus clan, sans five members, including Rory, were gathered on horseback at the head of the village, near the spot were the burnt-down barricade was currently being dismantled. The man at the head of the group, Sean, Rory’s brother, looking forlornly off in the distance.

  “Are ye alright?” Finlay asked as Isla and a few other members set up supplying the McManus clan with fresh supplies.

  Sean nodded. “I miss me brother,” he said. “But he died a warrior’s death.”

  Finlay nodded. “Ye did well. We would nae hae won this fight if it not fer yer assistance.”

  Sean extended a handshake. Finlay took it up. They shook.

  “Thank ye,” Sean said. “Fer all ye hae done. Ye inspired this clan tae nae be as selfish with our intentions.”

  “And ye hae our loyalty. If there is ever anything that the McManus clan may need—the Baird’s will be there tae assist ye.”

  Sean nodded. “I just hope that the conflict has passed. War has torn these lands apart long enough.”

  “Aye. The feeling is mutual.”

  Sean sighed. “I sense, though,” he said, “that it will nae be the last we hear of the king. I am sure that word will soon reach England of what has transpired.”

  “It will,” Lord Torstein said as he stepped in. “I will return and give word myself.”

  Sean furrowed his brow. “Will he nae kill ye the moment ye announce this?”

  Lord Torstein shrugged. “I hae been through worse in my lifetime. The king does not frighten me.”

  Sean extended a hand to Lord Torstein. “Ye are a good man,” he said. “And I did nae think I would live tae see the day that I would say that to a Sassenach lord.”

  Lord Torstein shook Sean’s hand. “I am more a Scotsman now than I am an Englishman.”

  Sean laughed. “I shall take it.” He gestured to his other riders that the time had come to disperse. He then turned his attention to Finlay and Isla. “Ye are friens of the McManus clan noo,” he said. “Now, and always.”

  Finlay saluted. “Aye. As dae ye.”

  “Come!” Sean shouted to his riders. “We make our leave!”

  The McManus clan then rode in unison together away from the village, their heads held high and spirits strong as they slowly disappeared over the horizon.

  Christian and Gavina emerged from Isla and Finlay’s cottage, squinting as they watched Sean and his men vanish over the horizon.

  “The McManus clan has left?” Christian said.

  Lord Torstein nodded. “Yes…But only for now.”

  The group walked in unison through the village, the charred remains of several buildings being cleared away as room was made to rebuild.

  “It will take some time tae get things situated,” Isla said.

  “Aye,” Finlay said with a nod. “And we require mair supplies tae dae so.”

  “I shall lead the charge,” Gavina said. “Along with the Bairdsmen.”

  “They are all well? Lachlan? Tessa?”

  Gavina nodded. “Aye. A few scrapes and bruises, but they are well.”

  Finlay hooked his arm around Gavina and pulled her in close. “I am quite proud of ye…Ye hae become a true leader. Yer mind was of great asset tae us during this fight.”

  Gavina smiled. “All thanks tae a good teacher…”

  The group then moved together toward the center of the village, bustling with the activity of dozens of clan members seeking to rebuild and start anew. It was inspiring to watch as the dutiful members of the clan moved to-and-fro, laughing and working alongside one another as the remnants of the battle were swept clean from the area.

  Gavina and Christian stood proud, smiling as they held one another and saw a glimmer of hope off in the distance, the sun clipping off one of the buildings off to the left with a resplendent golden hue. They looked into each other’s eyes and kissed once more to seal the hopeful future that they knew was just beyond the horizon.

  The Extended Epilogue

  I am so honored that you finished reading my novel, A Knight for her Highland Heart, until the very end!

  Are you curious to learn more about what happened to our lovebirds?

  Click on the link below to connect to a more personal level and as a BONUS, I will send you the Extended Epilogue of this Book!

  Or Click here:

  http://barbarabard.com/book-8-exep/

  If you loved the story, I would love to read your thoughts in a review!

  Her Highlander’s Lion Heart –A Preview

  Prologue

  The Scottish Highlands

  Some time ago…

  The mist that saturated the sprawling emerald green of the Highlands was like the breath of God; a thick veneer of grey enveloping the valleys, creeks, and rivers with a breathtaking, yet foreboding, quality in the wee hours of the morning. A pine martin, small and compact with a body of fur matching the tone of the fog, timidly approached the crystal-clear waters of a creek bed. The waters softly churned and trickled with a peaceful and serene rhythm, as the pine martin dipped its paws into the water and rubbed the condensation on its petite, furred ears. The serenity of the early morning dew and the calm of the surrounding wildlife, in all shapes and forms, felt free of tension, violence, or fear.

  It was a perfect morning—And then the sounds of thunder began to accumulate in a thick cacophony, an approaching thunder that started to make the Earth tremble and quake.

  Four Scotsmen, brothers, strong and clad in fur and kilts, rode their massive, virile steeds with a hectic and furious charge through the valley. The ground now shaking underneath the paws of the pine martin and forcing him to retreat to his family, hidden somewhere amongst the brush. The four brothers on horseback, all of them sporting long auburn hair and thick facial manes to match, shouted and turned east toward a dip in the terrain.

  They were covered with thick beads of sweat, with two of them sporting wounds on their hands, and cheeks flowing with ribbons of ruby-red blood from the scuffle they had engaged in with the seven English noblemen pursuing them from fifty yards away. “Stop!” one of the chainmail-clad noblemen shouted after them. “All of
you!”

  The brothers grit their teeth and kick at the sides of their steeds as they charged toward an outcropping that ascended upwards toward a derelict castle that was burned down by a pair of their fellow countrymen, not more than a year ago.

  The largest brother, a man by the name of Lachlan, grabbed the youngest brother, Finlay, by his collar and pulled him in close. “We cannae outrun them,” he said with a huff. The noblemen now closing in on them from thirty yards out, one of them drawing a bow and arrow and preparing to take aim. “Gae!” he said to Finlay. “Take our brothers. I will buy ye some time.”

  Finlay’s eyes were wide, his dashing and rugged features contorted with fear as he shouted out “Lachlan!” to his brother in protest. “There is another way!”

  “Gae noo, Finlay! Take our brothers! Heed for the spot we chose! Gae far and away as ye can!” Lachlan pushed his brother away, withdrew his sword, and turned his steed around in a one-hundred-eighty-degree spin, as the nobleman archer unleashed his bow and landed it squarely into Lachlan's left pectoral muscle.

  Lachlan wobbled on his horse, but he was a powerful man that required more than just one pithy arrow to knock him off his mount. He corrected himself, bucked his steed, and took off toward the West; drawing away three of the seven pursuing noblemen as Finlay lead his older brothers Alec and Glenn into the East.

  “Damn fool!” Alex shouted after Lachlan. “He cannae fight them on his own!”

  “Ride!” Finlay commanded, the youngest of the Boyd clan, but by far the most brilliant of the four, crooking his finger past the direction of the derelict castle toward a peak far off in the distance. “Lachlan is on his own now…” The words were like a steel spike being driven into his heart—but Finlay knew that they held nothing but the truth.

  The four noblemen behind them continued to holler and curse, all of them looking to seek vengeance against the Boyd's after they had slaughtered six of their own back, at the Boyd’s encampment. Their breath, and that of their horses, huffed and panted and cut through the fog with hot and thick billowing like hounds from hell. The noblemen’s faces were pensive. The teeth were yellow and gritting. Their eyes were filled with nothing but murderous intent.

  Lachlan, far from his brothers now, exchanged several scything blows from his sword with the three noblemen that now flanked him on either side. He parried. Blocked. Struck. He fended off the noblemen well for several moments before his horse whinnied, and bucked, and kicked as the noblemen, clad with white tunics sporting red trim, laughed and converged on Lachlan before striking him several times in his arms and torso.

  The cold steel of the noblemen’s blades ripped at his clothes and lacerated his body as Lachlan used every last breath in his body to make his final stand. He swiped, spit, screamed, with all his might as the archer, backing up several feet and lining up his bow, buried a final arrow into Lachlan’s back.

  Lachlan outstretched his arms in a messianic pose, before falling to the earth and mud. The noblemen trampled over his body and put down his horse for good measure.

  Not seeing that their brother had fallen, Finlay, Alex, and Glenn threw looks over their shoulders at the four men pursuing them from nearly thirty yards away. Alex, his mouth agape and ready to suggest they head for a ravine just off to the West, lurched forward as a small stream of blood began trickling out of the corner of his mouth.

  Finlay, his arm reaching out to the right to steady his brother, saw the arrow protruding from Alex’s back, when the archer that had caught up with other four noblemen, smiled with joyful elation.

  “Glenn!” Finlay shouted, the words rasping his throat like the kick of harsh liquor.

  Glenn, his blood boiling and causing the veins in his head to protrude, withdrew his sword with his left hand, a hatchet stuffed in his belt with his right, and looked at Finlay with a grave and lethal glint in his eye, one that Finlay knew all too well.

  “Dinnae, Alex!” Finlay shouted. “Stop!”

  But Alex was committed. “Flee, Finlay,” he said. “Go far away from here.” He then turned his horse and rode toward the North, two of the five noblemen breaking off ,with three left behind to now pursue Finlay.

  “Bastards,” Finlay gritted through his teeth. “Ye all shall pay…All of ye.”

  Alex, raising the hatchet high over his head, squared his focus on the archer as the archer prepared to shoot an arrow in Finlay’s neck. As the archer drew back the bow and prepared to tenderly release his grip on the arrow, Alex threw the hatchet square into the man’s skull, knocking him off of his horse.

  Two of the noblemen on either side of him broke off and drew their swords as Alex raised his own to strike—but he was cut down from a strike to his sternum that ended his life in the quickest of moments.

  Finlay witnessed his last surviving brother fall as the final nobleman, bearing down on Finlay, began swinging a flail around in a circle above his head. Finlay knew that the spike balls tethered to a wooden handle would surely split his in two if he didn't do something quick.

  As the nobleman crept up alongside him, Finlay leaped off of his horse, knocked the nobleman from his own, and corrected his posture before taking control of the horse's reins. Finlay had impressed even himself as the nobleman with the flail tumbled along the ground and broke several of his bones in the process.

  "Gae! Gae!" Finlay ordered the beast as its hooves trampled and tore up the grass and dirt of the Highlands in thick chunks.

  He cast a look over his shoulder and saw that none of the other noblemen were pursuing, assuming now that he was far from their sights as he headed toward the coastline his brothers had picked out on the map. He was mourning them already, although the primal pounding of his heartbeat was coating his senses with a slight feeling of numbness. Finlay was too overwhelmed to properly digest what was happening.

  The noise of the chase was now dying down, nothing but the sound of Finlay's stolen steed grunting and puffing as Finlay clutched tightly onto the reins and headed for another decline in the terrain. Even though the fog was still thick throughout the entirety of the surroundings, Finlay was more than sure he was headed toward a creek bed.

  He felt his senses calming now, confident that he was out of harm's way—and then an arrow pierced him from behind, jutting out through the right side of his abdomen with a quick and wet thunk.

  Finlay’s horse pivoted and whined, standing on its hind legs and then bucking as Finlay was thrown from the saddle and straight over the edge a cliff. The world spun, and a sickly sensation overcame his stomach, as Finlay felt his back making contact with the earth, quickly evacuating the wind from his lungs. He then rolled over himself, everything around him like a blur as Finlay fell head over feet and back over belly down a forty-foot drop that ended in a churning river that cut through the valley.

  With a splash and a cold sensation now chilling his skin, Finlay came to rest in the water and felt himself being pulled in the current downstream.

  The chill of the water quickly shook Finlay out of his haze. He spit the water that was choking him out of his mouth and brushed his hair back with his fingers as the sounds of the noblemen became audible off to the right. Desperate, Finlay searched for something in the river to hide behind as the speed of his flow through it began to hasten.

  On his left, Finlay spotted a cluster of blackhorns grouped together. He shot out his hand, waited for the current to pull him closer, and then clutched onto with a tight handful of the shrubbery.

  “This way!” a nobleman shouted off in the distance as Finlay pulled himself from the river, threw the clothing covering the upper parts of his body into the river, and half-ran, half-stumbled his way toward an opening of a cave. As Finlay quickly ducked inside, the noblemen appeared on their horses at the edge of the cliff. They scanned around the area for any signs of Finlay.

  One of them pointed, “Look! Over there!”

  Finlay saw the men pointing at the cluster of clothing he had thrown into the river, far enough from the
noblemen from the current’s pull that it would be easy for any man to mistake it for an actual living person.

  “This way!” The archer yelled, guiding the men as he charged away from the river and informed them that they could “cut the bastard off!” at the other side of the valley. Finlay waited for several moments until the sounds of the hoofs pounding the earth had dissipated, stuck his head out, and wearily made his way further into the tunnel.

  Finlay walked four feet before collapsing to the ground, his gaze quickly falling to the arrow that had pierced his right side—both ends of the arrow had broken off, and now only the mid-section was lodged into his abdomen as the wound then started to profusely bleed.

  Crawling hand-over-hand, Finlay descending further into the dank and murky tunnel, the smell of mildew all around him as the light and even sound began to slowly evacuate from the enclosed space. Naw…Naw, he protested inside his head. Ye shall live, lad…Ye shall live…Keep going…Keep going…