Highlander's Lurking Threat: A Scottish Medieval Historical Romance

by Ava McArthur

  Elspeth knew that she was expected to be quiet, so she said nothing, but the news that Niall would have given up everything for her hit her like a thunderbolt. Would she have given up everything for him? She thought of the blissful nights they had shared, the stolen afternoons, waking up in the mornings to look into his eyes and falling into ecstasy again. Yes, she would. She would give away every material possession she had just for one night of passion with him, and she would do it because the feeling she had for him was something so much bigger than she was that it consumed her.

  “Then it seems there is nothing more to be said,” Colm remarked, giving Niall a cool smile. “May I see the prisoner?”

  “Of course.” Niall rose and went to Colm’s side to lead him away.

  “Lady Lorna, will you accompany us?” Colm asked. To Elspeth’s ears, there was a hopeful, pleading note in his voice.

  Lorna gave him an uncertain smile. Like most women, she hated the dungeons. “No, sir,” she replied. “I must see to our midday repast. Excuse me.”

  She walked away, and Colm’s gaze followed her. “Fine woman, your mother,” he remarked to Niall.

  “I always thought so,” Niall answered in a noncommittal tone. “She has been very lonely since my father died, though, and now, with Craig gone...” He shrugged.

  The two men looked at each other, and a moment of perfect understanding passed between them. Niall knew that another wedding would be celebrated soon, and the knowledge warmed his heart.

  After going down to the dungeon to speak to a very bitter Drew, the two men came back upstairs to eat. Lorna was sitting in the parlor by herself, so Niall left them alone for a moment to go and fetch Elspeth, who was changing in their room.

  As soon as she saw him, Elspeth grabbed hold of Niall’s arm and gazed at him with love.

  “You were going to give up your title and estate for me?” she asked incredulously. “All of it?”

  He nodded. “All of it. You are my wife, and I love you. I would kill for you, die for you. Surely you know that?”

  “I know you love me as much as I love you,” she said, shaking her head a little in disbelief. “But I thought you also lived to be in the thick of battle.”

  “Not anymore. I have laid down my arms and now I only live for you. You are the love of my life, Elspeth.”

  “Oh, God,” Elspeth whispered, tears of joy springing to her eyes. “Niall, I love you too. So much.”

  He smiled, cupped her face in his hands, and traced the pad of his thumb over her lower lip. It was soft, moist, and begging to be kissed. “You are adorable,” he whispered, before pulling her against the hard length of his body.

  He had never kissed her like this before; it was more than a meeting of lips and tongues. It was a declaration of the bond between them as his mouth claimed hers and explored every part of it. She was throbbing with desire and unwilling to break away because what he was doing to her, although it was not the ultimate act of love, was more tender and even more giving.

  They could have kissed each other forever.

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  Afterword

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  Prologue

  The sun shone brightly in the sapphire sky, although that did not mean it was a warm day, for seldom was there a warm day in the Highlands. Birds swooped in the air, and small animals scurried in the underbrush of the forest. Rivers and streams with crystal water flowed through lush green forests, and in many ways, it was an idyllic place, a land lost to time. Atop a sloping valley stood a stronghold, and below it, the hills were dotted with small huts. The building was made of stone; grim and resolute amid the beauty of nature, but nonetheless impressive. The previous laird, Lachlan McGregor, had died without leaving an heir, although that was not for lack of trying, as many women could attest. Even in his withered old age, he was still trying to spread his seed but to no avail. His body had been buried and belonged to the soil now, but the clan he left behind needed a new laird and a new name.

  They were simple people, living off the land, wanting no more than what the gods would bless them with. The forest around them provided all they needed, and they wanted a laird who would offer them strength, hope, and leadership. It was a prestigious position, and one that was filled with responsibility and duty. The shoulders that bore the weight of this position needed to be strong, although almost every man in the clan spoke of a desire to be the laird at some time or another. Some of this may have been boasting to impress a lady, as many of them would have found the idea of being a laird’s wife alluring.

  Eventually, the contest was whittled down to two good candidates: Calum, the elder and wiser—or so he would like to think—and Malcolm; both were brothers. Their hair was fire and their beards were thick, and they had both proven their worth to the clan time and time again. Malcolm was quick-witted and clever, preferring to use his mind to solve problems rather than his fists. Calum was the opposite. He was a rash and violent man, quick to anger, and quick to believe that it was he who should have the right to be laird as he was the strongest in the clan, and thus the most deserving.

  He roared as he walked among the people of the clan.

  “Ye need a strong leader, one who wilnae back down from any challenge, be it from a bandit or a bear! I hae always been the strongest. I hae always been ready tae defend the clan, and that’s why I should be laird!” he bellowed, thumping his fist against his broad chest. Everyone looked at him; none dared to speak against him for fear that he would take out his frightening temper on them. They had all seen how easily he broke thick logs that were beyond the capability of any other man in the clan, and all they could imagine was that it would be their bones next.

  He looked around with a sneering look, confident that nobody would challenge him. There was only one who dared—his younger brother.

  Malcolm stepped forward, ahead of his pregnant bride, the beautiful, raven-haired beauty called Iris. She was heavy with child and glowing with all the nurturing love of nature, but she had an anxious look on her face. Her hand reached out, grasping nothing but air as she tried to pull her husband back, not wanting him to challenge Calum for fear of what might happen. There had always been tension between the brothers as the years had gone by.

  Malcolm’s physique was no match for his brother’s, but what he lacked in brute strength he made up for in his quick mind and kind heart. As much as he loved his brother, he knew that Calum wouldn’t make a good laird as he didn’t have the capacity to lead. He prayed that his brother would listen to reason. He knew Calum only wanted to be the laird because he saw it as a position of power.

  “Calum,” he began, “are ye sure ye want tae be laird?” Malcolm asked. A hushed tension crept through the clan as everyone watched, afraid of what might happen. Calum was like a taut rope, the tension ready to snap at any moment. None of them wanted to witness a fight to the death between brothers.

  “It doesnae matter whether I want tae be laird or nae. As the strongest man here, it is my right!” Calum bellowed, lifting his head up so that he l
ooked even taller than he already did. His muscles tensed and glistened in the sun. The thick bed of hair on his chest was as dark as night and bristled as a breeze drifted past, although he showed no sign that he was affected by the cold.

  Malcolm licked his lips and stepped forward.

  “But dae ye truly want the responsibility?” Malcolm asked in an imploring voice. “Dae ye want tae spend yer days planning how tae improve the land or forming trade agreements with nearby clans and towns? Dae ye want tae take care of all these people?”

  “They can take care of themselves,” he sneered.

  “But dae they want a laird like ye?” Malcolm turned away from Calum and looked at the rest of the clan, continuing his speech in a raised voice. “Dae ye want tae want tae be ruled by a man who only knows how tae solve problems with his fists? Aye, ye may well be protected from anyone who wants tae harm ye, and I doubt that any bandits would dare tae challenge a clan who can boast such a mighty leader, but every clan starts tae resemble its leader eventually. We hae been a peaceful people, tending tae the land and benefitting from all the glory it offers. Ye all know in yer hearts that will change if ye accept Calum as yer laird. How many of ye want tae become warmongers?” He looked around; everyone else looked away.

  Malcolm turned back to Calum.

  “What plans dae ye hae for the clan, Calum? How are ye gaeing tae make their lives better? What are ye gaeing tae dae when ye cannae solve a problem with yer fists?”

  Calum narrowed his twitching eyes and clenched his hands into tight balls. Malcolm knew what he was doing was desperate, as Calum’s anger might have erupted into a killing blow, but the younger brother did not show any sign of fear. The question lingered in the air, and Calum had no answer. He grit his teeth and his nostrils flared, for he had never developed the capacity to look for any other answer than the one that always worked for him. Malcolm turned back to the clan and spoke quickly.

  “If ye want tae be laird, then let’s fight for it,” Calum said.

  Malcolm shook his head and met the suggestion with a laugh. He was not foolish enough to do something like that.

  “And give ye a clear advantage? I dinnae think sae. Nay Calum, the only duel I will hae with ye is tae put my name out there tae the people and see what they think. If they truly want ye tae lead them, I will accept their wishes. I would hope ye dae the same,” Malcolm said.

  Calum seemed confident that they would choose him anyway. He stretched his back and folded his arms across the expanse of his chest, waiting for the inevitable. There was no doubt in his mind that for all of his younger brother’s silver words, Calum still had the right by age and by might. Everyone had always done anything he wanted because they had been scared of him before, so he didn’t think this time would be any different. The two brothers waited for the people to pass their judgment. Calum’s face twisted with rage when he realized that nobody was calling out his name or raising their hand in support. But when Malcolm stepped forward, people welcomed him. They clapped their hands in the air and hollered. As a group, they were emboldened; after all, Calum couldn’t possibly throttle them all. When Malcolm had stood up to Calum, he had shown the rest of them that they could stand up to Calum as well.

  Calum paced the ground angrily, slamming one hand into another. The air seemed to shimmer around him, sizzling with the furious heat of his rage. He was angry with all of them, but most of all, with his younger brother.

  “Ye hae stolen this from me!” he hissed, jabbing a thick finger in the air. “I wilnae forget it.” Then he walked away, storming into the forest, never looking back at his own flesh and blood. The clan rejoiced in his leaving and celebrated their new laird with a feast. Malcolm was joined at his side by his bride, and that night they spent their first night together in their new home. They promised the clan they would make the land better, and when their son was born, they promised that it would all be his someday.

  Chapter 1

  Thirty years later…

  “And that son was ye, Camden,” Malcolm said. The words fell out of his thin lips in a wheezing breath. Camden smiled at hearing the story again, although there was little joy in his heart as his father’s breath was labored, and each one seemed as though it was going to be the last. Malcolm had once been a wiry, yet vigorous man, but recently his muscle had sloughed away, leaving his skin loose and thin. The color had drained from him, and his eyes had grown cloudy, losing their spark. His hands trembled, and he could barely move without needing to rest. It was a humbling and harrowing sight to see a man whose energy had driven the Innes clan to be prosperous to be so lacking in vigor. It was as though the life was being drained from him drip by drip, and only the gods knew how much was left in him.

  Beside Camden was his mother, Iris. Her raven hair had lightened, now streaked with grey. There were lines upon her face and her shoulders were slightly stooped. Ordinarily, she appeared to be in good health, but Malcolm’s deterioration had taken its toll on her too. She looked exhausted, and her eyes were lined with tears.

  Camden was thirty; old enough to understand death and be aware that all things come to an end, but still young enough to think that his father should have a few more years left, at least. As the only son, he had always known that he was going to inherit the position of laird from his father, but it always seemed as though it was something that would happen far into the future. Now that it seemed inevitable, he was left feeling unsettled. By all accounts, he was a worthy successor, boasting his father’s looks and kind heart. He was just over six feet tall, with short brown hair and light stubble around his jaw. His green eyes shone as brightly as the emerald leaves on a spring morning, and a life of hard work had forged his body into hard angles and taut muscles, marrying his father’s mind with his unknown uncle’s brawn.

  “It’s a good story, Da,” Camden said. He always liked hearing about the times before he was born.

  “Aye. Make sure ye...make sure ye tell that tae yer son one day,” Malcolm said. Every word took a tremendous effort to speak, so much so that Iris choked on a sob. A fire burned in a hearth near the bed; it crackled brightly, filled with life, and the room was illuminated in an ember glow. Camden actually found it uncomfortable. Sweat pooled all over his body underneath the rough fabric of his simple clothes, but his father had been plagued by shivers and seemed to be chill even though the fire was always ablaze.

  “Ye are a good son, Camden, and ye will make a fine laird. I…I’m proud of ye,” Malcolm said. With what little strength he had, he moved his hand and placed it upon Camden’s. Camden squirmed inside at how weak his father seemed. How was it possible that such a mighty man could be brought down so easily? The illness had sapped Malcolm of all strength, and the only treatments the healers could offer were ones that relieved his pain. It was a slow and steady decline with only one end result.

  “I’ll try tae make ye proud, Da. I’ll try tae rule just the way ye ruled, with fairness and justice,” Camden said. All of a sudden, his cheeks were wet with hot tears dripping down like melted wax. “How did ye know they were gaeing tae choose ye?”

  Malcolm laughed, which was a surprising sound as Camden didn’t think he was capable of that any longer. But it wasn’t the same laugh that Camden was used to hearing; it was a hollow thing, like a rattling chain in an empty hall.

  “If ye ask people what they want, they’re gaeing tae tell ye. The truth is I went around and asked them all what kind of leader they wanted. I knew that Calum was gaeing tae assume the position, I just haed tae give everyone else a reason tae speak up against him. One thing ye hae tae dae is trust that people are gaeing tae make the right decision. Calum could never understand that a laird is measured by the strength of his character and his heart, nae by the size of his muscles.”

  Malcolm patted Camden’s hand as Camden nodded in understanding. It was one of the lessons he took to heart, and he swore that he would never, ever forget them.

  He stayed by his father’s bed for the rest of the
day and night, with his mother beside him. His father fell asleep; the storytelling had taken a lot out of him. The emotional ordeal took a lot out of Camden as well, but he was determined to spend as much time with his father as he could.

  The hour drew late, and the candles burned to the wick. The moon rose outside, as though to welcome Malcolm into her celestial embrace. Camden was drifting to sleep when he jerked awake, awoken by the sensation of his father’s hand slipping away from his.

  Camden leaned forward. “Da!” he gasped.

  In the soft light of the moon, he saw his father’s chest rise, then fall, and then it remained still. Camden clasped his father’s hand and bowed his head as a tight ball of emotion twisted inside him. Iris wept and fell upon Malcolm’s body, draping herself over him like a shroud. The kindhearted laird lay still, surrounded by his family and now at peace.

  I hope you loved the preview! Click here to read “Highlander’s Trapped Siren.”

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