The Age of Knights and Highlanders: A Series Starter Collection

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Graham grit his teeth, rage simmering hot and fierce at the insult. “I killed her father because he was a cruel bastard. I dinna give a damn about any inheritance or payment for my services.” Graham strode forward another step. “I married the woman because I love her. Nothing else. Ye can take yer insinuations and yer gold and rot in hell with them.”

  “Graham!” Mercy gripped the king’s hand. “Please forgive him, Your Majesty. I am afraid my husband is a very passionate man and speaks before he thinks.”

  King William smiled, a genuine smile that lit up his face. The man was pleased. He nodded, then motioned for Crestshire and Marsden to come forward. “Please escort these two…” He motioned at Duncan and Gretna. “To our personal solar. We shall all enjoy some refreshments after we finish our private business with Lady Mercy and her husband.

  Crestshire and Marsden both sprang into action and led Duncan and Gretna from the room, closing the door quietly behind them.

  King William turned to Mercy. He kissed her fingers, then gently patted her hand. “I loved your mother very much,” he said softly, his voice filled with pain.

  Mercy’s lips parted, but she remained silent.

  Graham tensed. This sort of conversation made him more than a little uncomfortable. Such intimate knowledge about the king could end badly.

  King William released a deep sigh and smiled. “She was so much more to me than a mere mistress. In another world, another time, she would have been my cherished wife. She was my heart, dearest Mercy, and always will be.” King William scooted forward to the edge of his seat, slid a finger under Mercy’s chin, and tilted her face upward. “You are so like her.”

  He turned and looked at Graham. A weariness settled back in place, pulling a deep sigh from his lungs. “When Yumiko placed this precious child in my arms for the first time, our very own baby, I was filled with such indescribable joy.” He shook his head. “And sadness. You see…I held my daughter, the beloved child I could never claim as my own.”

  He lifted Mercy’s hand to his mouth, pressed another kiss to her fingers, then bowed his head. “It is I who must ask forgiveness, my daughter, for allowing all this misfortune to befall you. I promised your mother you would always be under my protection. I failed both her and you.”

  His Majesty lifted his head and leveled his gaze on Graham. “You and your clan are safe as long as you care for Lady Mercy and treat her as the cherished woman she is. But know this, if any more harm befalls her, I shall see that Clan MacCoinnich are wiped from the face of this earth. Is that understood?”

  “Aye.” Graham stepped forward and rested a hand on Mercy’s shoulder. She’d grown pale, and he feared she was about to swoon. “Are ye all right, love?”

  Mercy clutched her hands to her chest, took in a deep breath, and eased it out with a nod. “I had heard rumors,” she said as she turned back to the king. “And Mama always spoke so fondly of you.”

  King William leaned forward, his lowered voice weak and filled with pain. “I still miss her terribly.”

  “So do I,” Mercy whispered.

  Graham suddenly felt very much the outsider. He shouldn’t be here right now. Mercy needed this chance to come to terms with her truths. She needed to speak with the father who had always loved her. “By your leave, Your Majesty, shall I wait in the solar for yourself and Lady Mercy to join us? I feel ye have much to talk about. Alone.”

  “You see? A good man.” Mercy smiled up at the king.

  “A good man,” the king repeated. “A rare thing these days.” He nodded. “We would be most grateful if you would do so, Master MacCoinnich, but we must bid you keep the particulars of this conversation secret for reasons we are certain you understand.”

  “Aye, Your Majesty.” Graham gave the man the polite bow he’d earned. “I shall take this secret to my grave. I swear it.”

  The curved banister surrounding the balcony held Mercy steady. She upturned her face to the sun, closed her eyes, and sent a silent prayer. I will be all right now, Mama. Rest in peace.

  And she truly believed it. Life had not gone the direction she’d thought it would, but she would take it, relish it, and be thankful.

  Illegitimate daughter to the king. Blind wife to an unruly Scot. Mercy pressed a hand to her stomach, still smooth and flat, but according to Madame Zhou, not for long. She had earned many titles in what seemed like the blink of an eye and also rid herself of many burdens. Life was now filled with promise.

  “Mercy?”

  She smiled at the loving concern she always heard in Graham’s voice. “Here. On the balcony.”

  “Sunning again, are ye?” Graham’s arms slipped around her from behind, and he hugged her back against him. Resting his chin on her shoulder, he nuzzled a kiss to her ear. “Ye’re warm as a bannock straight from the oven. Are ye feeling better after your wee nap?”

  “Much better.” The meeting with the king had drained her. She had begged to be excused after their talk, feeling too sick to speak to anyone. The many revelations had left her emotionally drained. The quiet rest had done her good. “When do we return to Tor Ruadh?”

  “Tomorrow.” Graham chuckled as he hugged her tight, kissed her ear again, then shifted to stand beside her at the banister, his arm still curled about her waist. “Gretna and Duncan are seeing to the packing of the wagons. ’Tis my understanding that ye’ve four trunks of clothing? Is that no’ a bit excessive?” He leaned in close and whispered, his breath tickling her ear, “Even for a king’s daughter?”

  Mercy smiled. Wait until he understood why. Perhaps clothing trunks were the best way to introduce Graham to the subject. “Madame Zhou prepared a complete wardrobe for me now, one for later when I am much larger, and a christening gown, as well as the first few months of swaddling and wraps for the baby.”

  Graham’s arm dropped from around her waist. He took hold of her and turned her toward him. His hands trembled. Oh, how she wished she could see his face. Unable to resist, she reached up and felt his features. Satisfaction filled her. He had taken the news well.

  “A b-bairn?”

  “Yes.” She took his hand and pressed it to her stomach. “According to Madame Zhou, we await our first child.”

  Graham roared, gathered her hard against his chest, then jerked a step back, still holding her by the shoulders. “Lord. I’m sorry. Please forgive me. Did I hurt ye?”

  Laughter spilled from her. What a fine father Graham would be. “No. You most certainly did not hurt me.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. “I am not a fragile flower.”

  He tucked his face into the curve of her neck and rumbled against her in a growling whisper, “Nay. Ye’re no’ a fragile flower. Ye’re a rare, fearless woman, and ye’re all mine.”

  Epilogue

  Tor Ruadh

  Summer 1694

  The sight of Mercy cradling their son in her arms nearly brought him to his knees in gratitude each and every time. Her laughter paired with their son’s contented cooing was the sweetest song he’d ever heard. Aye, life was good, and he’d been blessed a damn sight more than he deserved.

  Graham leaned back against the low, stone wall of the inner courtyard, contentment filling his heart. He nodded toward the women, Mercy, Catriona, and Gretna, enjoying the warm spring sunshine of the garden with all the bairns. “This happiness could be yours, brother.”

  Duncan shifted in place, then elbowed Sutherland leaning against the wall as well. “He’s talking to ye.”

  “I think not,” Sutherland said with a pointed look at Gretna. “She’s widowed six months now, has three young ones to feed, and the two of ye have always been close.” Sutherland graced Duncan with a knowing smirk and poked him in the chest. “He’s speaking to yourself.”

  Graham caught Mercy’s head barely turning in their direction. She’d bade him speak to Duncan about Gretna, and he’d agreed to do it to keep the peace, knowing full well it would more than likely not go as she wished.

  “Besi
des, I leave for Skye tomorrow,” Duncan said. “The MacDonald pays a fair price for a good smuggler able to slip past the excise man, and I need some coin.” He pushed away from the wall and rolled his shoulders, his eagerness apparent. His tone faltered as his gaze followed the women moving about the garden. “Gretna’s a fine woman. Deserves better than me. I’m no’ the sort to sit about and bounce bairns on my knee. I could never keep her happy.”

  “Alexander and I felt the same way before our wives changed us,” Graham said with the wisdom of time and experience forcing a smile he couldn’t wipe off his face if he tried. “Fate had other plans for me.”

  Duncan clapped a hand to his shoulder. “My fate is to be the favorite uncle of all my brothers’ bairns, ye ken? I’ll regale them with stories of my exciting adventures. Just ye wait and see.”

  Graham laughed, and Sutherland rolled his eyes.

  “Godspeed to ye, brother,” Graham said as Duncan sauntered away. “May God and fate, both, have mercy on your soul,” he added under his breath.

  “I’m off before the lovely Lady Mercy decides I’m next to be fitted with a wife.” Sutherland strode from the garden at the quickened pace of a man running for his life.

  Graham shook his head and huffed out a silent laugh. Fools, his brothers. The both of them. Someday, they’d long for the contentment he’d found. He joined the trio of women herding the children. Coming up behind Mercy, he wrapped his arms around her waist and propped his chin atop her shoulder. “We shall have to look elsewhere for a match for Gretna, dear one,” he whispered as he nuzzled a kiss to her neck, then smiled down at his son. “Duncan and Sutherland are fools.”

  “I heard.” Mercy lifted the babe to her shoulder and kissed his chubby cheek. The child let out a gurgling laugh, hands grabbing for Graham’s nose. Mercy laughed. “Little Ramsay loves the garden. It always puts him in the best of moods.”

  Graham took Ramsay out of Mercy’s arms and lifted him high until the child squealed with delight. “That’s because he’s an adventurous wee lad who loves his Highlands.” He cradled the child in the crook of one arm, took hold of Mercy, and led her a few steps away from the others. “I have news I think will please ye.”

  “What?” Mercy leaned closer, hugging his arm to her side.

  “Alexander has asked we stay here. Permanently.” Graham watched Mercy closely. She feared herself a burden on those at Tor Ruadh, especially since Ramsay’s birth. But she worried about managing a home should they build a keep of their own. “Alexander needs my help with the running of the clan. The Neal-MacCoinnich union has been prosperous and grown.”

  Mercy rested her cheek against his shoulder, caught hold of the baby’s hand. “You are certain it’s not charity? Pity?”

  “Nay,” Graham reassured. He glanced back at the others at the far edge of the garden. “He and Catriona both said they need us here, and since Gretna lost her husband, she needs ye as well. Helping ye gives her comfort.” He pressed a kiss to her furrowed brow, praying the news would ease her worries. “They both said the entire third level of the keep is ours to fill with our bairns.”

  Ramsay squealed and kicked his tiny feet back and forth, rubbing his heels together as though dancing.

  Mercy brightened. “Your son appears pleased with the news that he’ll live here and grow up with his cousins.”

  “And what of his mother?”

  Mercy’s peace and happiness meant more to him than anything. Graham watched the emotions play across her face.

  Mercy’s brow smoothed and she smiled. “Yes. I am pleased too.” She tickled her fingers across the babe’s tummy and leaned close enough so he could pat her face. She laughed and cocked her head as though listening. “What’s that, my son? What’s that you say?”

  Ramsay gurgled and cooed and kicked his feet even faster.

  Mercy straightened and gave Graham a pointed look. “Ramsay says he wishes he had a sister.”

  Graham laughed and pulled Mercy into a hug as he looked down at the wee lad. “I shall do my best to grant that wish, my son—as soon as ye take a nap.”

  The End

  Highland Heroes Series

  The Guardian

  The Warrior

  The Judge

  The Dreamer

  About Maeve Greyson

  “No one has the power to shatter your dreams unless you give it to them.” That’s Maeve Greyson’s mantra. She and her husband of almost forty years traveled around the world while in the U.S. Air Force. Now, they’re settled in rural Kentucky where Maeve writes about her beloved Highlanders and the fearless women who tame them. When she’s not plotting her next romantic Scottish tale, she can be found herding cats, grandchildren, and her husband—not necessarily in that order.

  SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS:

  Website: maevegreyson.com

  Facebook Page: AuthorMaeveGreyson

  Facebook Group: Maeve’s Corner facebook.com/groups/MaevesCorner

  Twitter: @maevegreyson

  Instagram: @maevegreyson

  Amazon Author Page: amazon.com/Maeve-Greyson/e/B004PE9T9U

  BookBub: bookbub.com/authors/maeve-greyson

  Heart of Ashes

  Hearts of the Highlands

  Book One

  By

  Paula Quinn

  Prologue

  Bannockburn, Scotland

  The Year of Our Lord 1314

  Cainnech MacPherson, second Highland commander to King Robert the Bruce, smashed his shield into an English soldier’s chest, knocking him to the ground. Cainnech dropped his shield, put his boot on the soldier’s belly, and lifted his spear in both hands.

  He looked down into the eyes of his enemy. His stomach should have twisted at what he saw. But it didn’t. He’d seen it thousands of times before. Killing another man was a nasty task that took its toll on the soul. One either learned to live with it or hesitate and die.

  He brought down his pike into the soldier’s chest.

  A warm breeze passed over him. It reeked of blood and piss and purpose. Comforted by the familiarity of it, he yanked his spear free of bone and chainmail and freed his axe from his belt. He swung it upward while he turned on another soldier coming up behind him. His axe caught the soldier under the chin, splashing blood across Cain’s face and giving deeper color to the glacial blue of his eyes. His gaze raked over the battle going on around him. The English forces were dwindling. Their cavalry was trying to make their way toward the hill.

  He left his axe where it had landed and bent to take the dead soldier’s sword from the man’s fingers. He used it to hack several more men out of his way until he had a clear line of vision to Father Timothy waiting in the mist.

  He followed the priest’s gaze across the ferocious melee from whence he’d just come, toward the woods where Thomas Randolph, the king’s nephew, brought his schiltron, or shield wall, out of the trees.

  Cain took a moment to appreciate their perfect formation and to enjoy the surprise on the faces of the English as the Scots hemmed them in.

  He took it all in, glad to be a part of it. He’d waited long enough. It was time to win Scotland’s independence…and his own.

  He picked up a shield and pounded his sword against it, then shouted for his men to make formation.

  They fell in smoothly, killing everyone in their way, and formed an impenetrable wall, weapons pointed at the English.

  Cain took his place in the front line, eager to fight, to show the English the monsters they’d unleashed.

  Pushing his shoulder against his shield, he prepared to give the order to move when he saw Father Timothy shoving his way to the front.

  “What the hell are ye doin’ here?” Cain demanded.

  “I am here to help,” the small, bald-headed priest replied calmly against his shield.

  It was the same thing he’d said sixteen years ago when he’d found a seven-year-old Cain huddled against the tree from which he was tied.

  “I dinna need yer help, old man. Now
get back to the—”

  “Ye should give the order to move now, Commander,” the priest offered in a softer tone. “The men are waitin’.”

  Cain scowled, knowing the priest was correct. This wasn’t the time to argue. His men were ready and awaiting his order. “Move!” he shouted. “On them! On the English! Ye!” He turned to Father Timothy. “Go back! Dinna let me see ye here again.”

  He didn’t wait to see if the priest obeyed him or not. Every man in his regiment obeyed him. They trusted him with their lives—and somehow he’d always managed to keep them alive.

  They charged as one living, moving entity, four hundred strong, decimating Edward’s infantry.

  Cain yanked his sword free from over two dozen men before he found a moment to turn to the one who would likely get him killed.

  “What d’ye mean by disobeyin’ me, Father? I told ye to go back!”

  “I obey the good Lord. Not ye, Cainnech,” the priest answered, unruffled by a glare that was said to stop the hearts of the English.

  “Oh?” Cain asked, tightlipped. “And the good Lord wants ye to fight? To kill?”

  Father Timothy’s brown eyes were large as he smiled, exposing old, yellowing, but straight teeth. “Some are called to carry out His judgment.”

  Hell! Again, this wasn’t the time to argue with the old fool! Cain respected King Robert and he’d give his life in battle for any one of his men. But he’d cared deeply for only one person in the last sixteen years. He wasn’t about to let Father Timothy put his life into the hands of something or someone Cain could not see.

  Without wasting another moment, Cain went to Father Timothy, grasped him by the back of his robes, and pulled him into the fray. He made certain nothing came too close to the priest while he swung his sword and hacked away at the English with one hand.

  Covered in the blood of his enemies and dragging a sword-wielding priest behind him, he set his course toward the hill and joined forces with Thomas Randolph’s men to drive the English cavalry into the marshes. The Bruce’s regiment took the English from the south, where the English king retreated.