Highlander’s Veiled Bride: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance (Highland Seductresses Book 2)

by Shona Thompson

Angus knew what his people were saying about him. He knew that they called him a murderer behind his back and that they thought he had done terrible things to his late wife and child. Granted, he had never fallen in love with Kirsteen, but he did love her, and he had wanted that child more than he had ever wanted anything else in his life.

  To say that he had murdered them both was enough to bring Angus down to his knees, but he still cared for the very people who gossiped behind his back. They were his people, his clan, and it was his responsibility to care for them.

  So, he decided to find out what it was that had caused such problems in the villages that were the furthest from the castle. Angus thought he knew everything about his land, about the way that it was run and the people that resided in its expanse, but in reality, he knew little about villages like Tayvallich, which were so far from the castle that they were difficult to control and watch over. Besides, he didn’t have spies and political allies there, because he didn’t feel the need to. The villages were nothing like England or France, where Angus had people who would report to him every time there was an issue.

  Cormag, of course, lived in Tayvallich, and Angus would have thought that his former General and mentor would have mentioned something regarding the village’s struggles. Cormag was old, though, and he was retired, and Angus thought that perhaps the man himself didn’t realize the extent of the issue.

  Since Cormag wasn’t a reliable source of information, Angus decided to assemble a group of clansmen, calling them all to his study to give them their instructions.

  “Ye wish for us to go all the way to the edges of the land, m’lord?” Colin, one of Angus’ men asked. He sounded incredulous, and Angus wondered for a moment whether everyone around him had forgotten that he was the Laird of the MacMillan clan and that he was the one giving the orders.

  “Aye,” Angus said. “Do ye have a problem with that? Does any of ye have a problem with that?”

  Silence hung heavy in the room, and Angus couldn’t help but smile a little to himself. He still had some authority left, after all, and he was determined to gain the trust of his people back, no matter what he would have to do to achieve it.

  When no one spoke, Angus began to give his men their tasks. “The villages at the edge of our lands are suffering,” he said. “We dinnae ken why. The people are starving, they are falling ill and dying, and we are sitting here, in the castle, doing nothing to help them. It canna be anything other than attacks, lads. Something or someone is attacking those villages, and we need to find out what . . . we need to stop it.”

  There was a chorus of agreement around Angus, and he allowed himself to feel a little more cheerful, a little optimistic. If he could still inspire some trust in his men, enough for them to unanimously agree with him, then he was heading towards the right direction.

  “How long have the villagers been suffering?” Euan asked, the youngest in his group of men. He had always been the one to speak his mind first, always foolishly brave when it came to a confrontation with his Laird. “Why do we only hear about this noo?”

  “Because I only heard about this noo,” Angus said. “Word from those villages doesnae reach the castle. We dinnae visit those villages, none of us . . . we only visit them once a year, when it is time to collect the gold. Ye ken that weel yerself, Euan. Yer the one who always complains about sleeping in the woods.”

  “Aye, m’lord, yer correct,” Euan admitted. “Forgive me . . . all of us share a part of the blame, that much is true . . . but perhaps we should send some men there, someone to protect them, to fight for them.”

  “Aye.” Murray, a man who didn’t speak much during such meetings, was now quick to agree with Euan. “Some of us have family in those villages, we canna leave them alone to fend for themselves! They’re no warriors . . . they’ll perish before they can learn how to fight.”

  “There are over ten villages on the edge of our land,” Angus pointed out. “If I send enough men to fight for each of the villages, then there will be no one left at the castle. Besides, we dinnae even ken if it is an enemy that we can fight. What if it’s no more than failing crops or a disease that is spreading around the villages?”

  “The Laird’s right,” Peadar said. Unlike Euan, Peadar was the oldest in the small council that Angus had assembled, and he also seemed to be the wisest. Angus, much like everyone else in the room, trusted Peadar with his life, and he knew that if he agreed with him, then he was making the right choice. “Our help will be for naught if we dinnae ken who the attackers are. We will fight them once, we will fight them twice, and then what? They willnae stop coming, they will only come back stronger. We need to rip them out from the root.”

  “Weel . . . how will we do that if we dinnae have enough men in each village?” Euan asked. The men around him agreed with him, thinking that he was making a valid point, but it was a question that Angus couldn’t answer. “Two men canna fight an entire army of brigands!”

  “Peadar, Euan . . . we dinnae ken if men are responsible for the attacks, Euan,” Angus reminded them. Everyone in his council was always so eager to start a fight that they couldn’t see past their own noses. “We dinnae ken nothing about what is happening, and that is what we are trying to do here. This isnae for ye to defeat an army of brigands on yer own, it’s so that we can learn more aboot what is killing the people. Yer not to interfere, yer to observe.”

  “Not interfere?” Euan asked with a scoff, incredulous and as though Angus had personally offended him. “What do ye mean, m’lord? What if it is brigands? What if there is an attack right in front of our eyes? Are we to stand aside and let those brigands pillage our land, kill our men, and rape our women? Are we to stand aside and offer them no help in their time of need?”

  “If the issue stems from attackers, then whoever it is that is attacking the villages isnae murdering or hurting the people,” Angus reminded the other man. “I went to the village meself, and I never once saw anything to suggest that the people were dying from anything other than disease. Dinnae ye worry yerself so much, Euan—”

  “Dinnae ye worry meself?” Euan’s voice was loud and jarring, and even Peadar gasped in surprise at his sudden outburst right in front of the Laird. “Dinnae ye worry meself? How can I not? How can I not worry when I ken that the people in the land are suffering? Unlike ye, m’lord, I have a heart! I canna help but wish to give my life for those people!”

  “Shut yer mouth, ye fool!” Peadar shouted right back. “This is our Laird yer talkin’ to, not one of yer lads! Show some respect!”

  Angus could have said a number of things. He could have ordered Euan to get out of his sight, or he could have even ordered his men to take him to the holding cells, but how would that make him a different man than the one Euan thought he was? He had to prove to Euan, to everyone, that he was not the kind of Laird who couldn’t take any criticism or who would send his men to the gallows the moment they voiced their concerns, no matter how inappropriate their tone with him.

  Besides, Peadar was more than happy to chastise Euan for him, it seemed.

  “Everyone quiet!” Angus said eventually, tired of their bickering. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, and for the first time that day, he realized just how tired he was, just how massive the toll this issue had taken on him. “Euan, you may wish to listen to Peadar. I understand yer frustration, I do . . . Heaven kens that I share it with ye. But standing here and arguing like bairns will do nothing to save the people of the villages.”

  There was silence among his men then, and even Euan seemed to see Angus’ point, despite his anger. Before Angus could say anything else, though, the silence was interrupted by a knock on the door, and the messenger who entered right after.

  “M’lord,” the man said, rushing to Angus and handing him some papers. “These reports came from France.”

  “What do they say?” Angus asked, as he skimmed through them, his gaze simply running over the page, as he knew he couldn’t read it an
yway.

  “We . . . we dinnae ken, m’lord,” the messenger said. “Cormag was the only one in the keep who could speak French.”

  “Ye canna speak French?” Peadar asked, now sounding just as incredulous as Euan had. “What did ye learn as a bairn if not French?”

  “Do ye speak French, Peadar?” Angus asked, cocking an eyebrow at the man. “I didnae think so.”

  “But I’m no Laird,” Peadar reminded him. “Do ye ken any Lairds who dinnae speak French?”

  “Aye,” Angus said. “Yer looking at one right noo. I was too busy learning how to hold a sword as a bairn, are ye not happy aboot that?”

  “Aye, m’lord, verra happy,” Peadar said, unwilling to rile Angus up even more. He wasn’t the kind of man who tempted fate. “What are we to do noo?”

  “Send for Cormag,” Angus said. “If he’s the only one who can speak French, then he’ll come and translate the documents for us. Go and fetch him the noo, we need him as soon as possible.”

  “Aye, m’lord,” the messenger said, rushing out of the room with the same urgency that he had arrived.

  “And ye,” Angus continued, turning to look at his men. “Dinnae leave for the villages before Cormag comes to the castle. We must ken what these documents say before we make another move.”

  “Aye, m’lord,” every man said in unison, even Euan, who seemed to have been put in his place by Peadar earlier.

  “Leave me, noo,” Angus said, and just like that, he was left alone in his study. With a heavy sigh, he threw himself down on his chair, and he grabbed the cup that stood on his desk, taking a sip of wine.

  With everything that was happening in his land, and after finding out that virtually everyone was against him, Angus had forgotten about the woman that he had met at the market in Tayvallich.

  At least up until that moment.

  Now that he was alone, his thoughts began to drift back to her, to the lines of her face that reminded him so terribly of Vika, to the kindness that she had shown to the two children that was so unlike Vika.

  Angus didn’t like mysteries. Vika had always been one, and she had broken his heart to pieces, or rather, she had ripped his heart out entirely, until there was nothing left there but a void, one that no woman could fix.

  Now the woman at the market was just as much of a mystery to him, and so Angus couldn’t help but feel a sliver of dread every time he thought about her.

  What if she was secretly just as wretched as Vika? What if fate had put her in his life to finish what Vika had started?

  She wouldn’t be a mystery for long, he decided. Once Cormag arrived at the castle to translate the documents, he would ask him about her. Angus was certain that the other man would know, since he, too, lived in Tayvallich those days.

  He was determined to learn the truth, and he could only hope that the woman had nothing in common with Vika other than their looks.

  Chapter Four

  “What do you mean?” Ishbel asked the man who had come in the middle of the night to Cormag’s and her house, asking for Cormag’s immediate appearance before the Laird. “My uncle is an old man, as I am certain you know. He can’t be traveling such long distances, especially at night.”

  “Ishbel,” Cormag called from the other end of the room, much to Ishbel’s displeasure. She was certain that if her uncle knew the Laird had called for him, he would immediately go to him, even if he risked his health on the way. “Who is it?”

  “No one, Uncle Cormag,” Ishbel shouted right back, but then she heard the unmistakable footsteps of her uncle as he approached the door. “This man is asking you to go to the castle.”

  Ishbel took a deep breath, preparing herself for the argument that was sure to follow. Her uncle would insist on going, she would try to stop him, and in the end, he would get what he wanted, and she would spend the night worrying about him.

  “Why do ye need me at the castle, lad?” Cormag asked. “Did something happen?”

  “The Laird received some documents from France,” the messenger explained. “Since ye were the only one in the castle who could speak French, he asked for ye to translate the documents for him.”

  Ishbel raised an eyebrow at that, turning to look at her uncle. “The Laird doesn’t speak French?” she asked, shaking her head. “What kind of Laird—”

  “Ishbel, that’s enough, dinnae ye think?” Cormag chastised her. “Canna the Laird wait till the morrow? As my niece said, I’m an old man . . . my riding isnae what it used to be.”

  “The Laird was clear that ye should come as soon as possible,” the messenger insisted.

  Cormag sighed, running a hand through his hair. Then, Ishbel had an idea, though it was one that she didn’t like one bit.

  “I’ll go, Uncle,” she said. “You’re too tired tonight to go, and I speak better French than you do anyway. I’ll go and help the Laird.”

  “Absolutely not, lass!” Cormag said, shaking his finger at Ishbel as though she were a young child. “At this time of the night? Yer not going anywhere, I willnae have it.”

  “I’ll be alright, Uncle, don’t worry,” Ishbel insisted. It was better for her to go than her uncle, after all. If Cormag went to the castle, then she would worry about him until he would come back, if he came back at all.

  “I said no, Ishbel. I made a promise to yer mother once that I’d keep ye safe, and I willnae have ye running around the woods in the middle of the night.”

  Ishbel had to resist the urge to roll her eyes at her uncle. “I won’t be running around the woods, I’ll be riding to the castle, and this man will be with me,” she said, pointing at the messenger who was watching the two of them, his head going back and forth between them. “I can take care of myself just fine. If this man came all the way to Tayvallich to get you, then it must be urgent, and out of the two of us, I should be the one to go.”

  Cormag didn’t seem convinced, no matter how much Ishbel tried to change his mind, though. He was simply not having it, and Ishbel cursed her own stubborn blood, which she had undoubtedly inherited from her mother’s side.

  “I’ll go,” Cormag insisted, as he tried to push his way past Ishbel, where she was blocking the door.

  “Uncle, you aren’t even wearing proper clothes!” Ishbel yelled as she slammed her hand against the door frame, blocking Cormag’s way completely. “You will stay here, and I will go to the castle. Nothing will happen to me. I’ll be back here before you know it, I promise. Out of the two of us, you’re more likely to have something happen to you.”

  “Ishbel.”

  “Uncle.”

  The two of them stared at each other for what seemed like an eon to Ishbel until the messenger broke the spell with a polite cough, designed to get their attention.

  “I dinnae wish to disturb ye, but I must be on my way, either alone or with one of ye,” the man said. “Ideally, with one of ye.”

  “I’ll come,” Ishbel said, and with that, she grabbed Cormag by the arm and began to lead him back into the house, even as he tried to resist. She looked at the messenger then, who was impatiently waiting for either of them to follow him. “Wait here. I’ll be back.”

  Making Cormag go to bed was harder than making a stubborn child do the same, but in the end, he wore himself out. He was already tired, as he refused to slow down throughout the day, still acting like a young man instead of who he truly was, and in the end, Ishbel managed to convince him to simply go to sleep.

  Ishbel reasoned that she couldn’t present herself to the Laird of the clan in the clothes that she was wearing, which were stained with a day’s worth of sweat and had a soiled hem from all the walking around the village. Besides, she thought that she had to do something about her face.

  Her face, which was so much like her cousin’s, the same woman who had broken the Laird’s heart. The last thing Ishbel wanted was for the man to despise her immediately, simply because of the resemblance that she carried to Vika, and from the stories she had heard about him, she was cert
ain that he wouldn’t give her a chance to show him her character.

  There wasn’t much that she could do with her face other than hide it behind a thick veil and hope that the darkness would help keep her identity a mystery. Once she was dressed in clean clothes and had placed the veil in her pocket, she met the messenger at the door of her house once more, and the two of them made their way to the castle in the darkness of the night.

  Once at the castle, Ishbel was led through the courtyard and then through a seemingly endless maze of corridors, until her guide dropped her off in front of the Laird’s study. Ishbel hesitantly knocked on the heavy door, her knuckles gently grazing over the wood.

  “Come in,” said a voice from the other side of the door. It was a voice that sounded familiar, though Ishbel was certain that she had never met the Laird before.

  She braced herself and opened the door, but not before she had pulled her veil over her head, obscuring her face but also making it impossible to see where she was heading. She could only hope that she wouldn’t stumble on a torch or a candle on the way into the room, and she kept her gaze on the ground, navigating around the study as well as she could.