Highland Angels (Fated Hearts Book 3) (25 page)

The edge of the forest near Curacridhe, August 1361

Anna walked hand in hand with Andrew, the late afternoon sun warm on their backs. The basket she carried was nearly full of blackberries. She couldn’t say the same thing for their young daughters’ baskets. They walked well ahead of Andrew and Anna, squabbling about who picked more.

“Wheesht,” called Andrew. “The answer to who picked more is mama—and it always will be until ye put more in yer baskets than in yer bellies.”

Eight-year-old Lissa frowned. “Ye and mama eat berries too.”

“At least we’re taking
some
back,” said twelve-year-old Ella. “When David and Callum and Kent used to pick berries with us all the baskets were nearly empty.”

A sad smile crossed Anna’s face. She missed her sons. David of course had returned to Curacridhe after completing his training several years ago. At twenty five he was Andrew’s right-hand, just as Andrew had been Dougal’s until the old laird passed away.

“Mam, I am
not
going berry picking with my wee sisters today,” her ever so grown son had informed her when she suggested it after the midday meal.”

Andrew noticed her wistful look. “Angel, ye know David would have come if ye really wanted him to.”

“I know, but it isn’t quite the same as when at the merest suggestion of berry picking they tumbled out of the keep—making us practically run to keep up with them. They grow up so fast and I miss my wee sons. I hate that we send them away.”

“Anna, our sons weren’t so very ‘wee’ when they went to train. All three were fourteen—or very nearly. Davy was already home again before Callum left and Kent only left a year ago—plus he’s just at Sutherland’s. We see him often.”

“It all sounds very logical and reasonable when ye put it that way, but reasonable or not, I miss them.”

He lifted her hand, kissing the back of it. “It sounds like Mairi likes it no better.”

Mairi and Tasgall had just gone back to Naomh-dùn with their two youngest children after attending the Lammas Feast at Curacridhe. And just over a month ago they had travelled to Brathanead castle, in the southern Highlands, so their oldest son, Dougal, could begin training as Laird MacLennan’s squire.

Andrew smiled. “Tasgall said she cried the whole way home.”

Anna rolled her eyes. “Mairi said Tasgall exaggerates.” At Andrew’s arched eyebrow she added, “But I expect she did cry a bit. The MacLennan holding is so far away.”

“It’s nearer to Naomh-dùn than it is to us, and it’s fairly close to the Chisholm holding as well. Plus Ena’s youngest has gone there too.”

That was true. Shaw was two years older than Dougal and a year older than Kent. As they grew, whenever the cousins were together, those three were inseparable.

Anna nodded. “Aye, Dougal will like that.”

“It was wonderful to hear the Matheson’s good news.”

Anna smiled broadly. “Aye, it was. Even though I watched him grow up, it is hard to believe the gangly lad who freed me from that cave is a married man with a child of his own on the way.”

Andrew squeezed her hand a little tighter as he often did whenever that horrible day was mentioned. It was as if he still feared she might slip away from him. “That was another case of the right person being in the right place at the right time. If Fearghas had ridden with Da that day, instead of me, I don’t know if anyone would have been small enough to get into the cave and free ye. By the saints, the fact that Tadhg was with us at all was a miracle.”

“Why? Ye’ve never told me that before.”

“Nay, I guess I didn’t, but I only found out when Fearghas told me at Tadhg’s wedding.”

“What did he tell ye?”

“Apparently, Fearghas had no intention of bringing Tadhg that day. The lad was still quite young and had only just started training. But in the uproar that ensued after we learned ye’d been captured, Tadhg simply mounted up and went with us. We were well on our way before Fearghas realized it, and by then he figured there was no point making a fuss over it.”

“That’s…well…amazing.”

“I thought so. Although it is a bit less amazing than ye being near the strait when David needed ye.”

“Why do ye say that?”

Andrew winked at her. “Fearghas hadn’t specifically told Tadhg that he couldn’t go but I believe a certain wee MacKay had been forbidden to walk north on the bluff.”

Anna laughed and supplied the words that usually followed that statement, “But ye’ll be forever grateful that I did.”

“Aye, I will.”

They walked a bit in silence, before Andrew asked, “Speaking of that day, have ye had anymore dreams of Grizel?”

Anna had loved those dreams. “Not in years. I think the last one was the one when Lissa was about three. Grizel said that year was a good year for blackberries too.” Anna sighed and smiled. “Now that I think about it, it was a very good year. David had just returned from training and Callum hadn’t left yet. All seven of us went blackberry picking several times that summer.”

Andrew laughed. “I remember. Lissa wanted to pick her own but she couldn’t quite manage to avoid the thorns catching her clothes. Each time she got stuck, she squealed and one of the lads would pluck her loose. Finally David swung her up on his shoulders and handed berries up to her to eat as he picked.”

Anna laughed heartily. “That’s right. She had blackberry juice all over her little hands and Davy had purple stains all over his face from where she held on. Aye, that was a very good year for blackberries.”

“Every year that I get blackberry kisses is a good year. In fact, ye have a bit of blackberry on yer lips that needs kissed off.”

She grinned, “I do not have blackberries on my lips.”

“Oh, I beg to differ.” He reached into her basket, smashed a berry between his fingers and smeared the purple pulp on her lips. Then he cupped her cheek in his other hand, lowering his lips to hers.

Even after nineteen years of marriage, his kisses still thrilled her, transporting her to a place where nothing existed but the two of them and nothing mattered but the feel of his lips on hers. Before she was quite ready, giggles from the two lassies pulled her back to the here and now.

Andrew broke the kiss, gave her a roguish wink and turned to their daughters. “Yer mama had blackberry juice on her lips. And ye know how I love blackberries.”

I hope you enjoyed reading about Anna and Andrew’s story. It might surprise you to learn that while Highland Angels is my seventh published work, Anna was the second heroine I created. Just like Katherine (Highland Solution), she existed in my imagination before I ever wrote the first word of my first novel. In fact, I started writing Highland Angels while I was still writing Highland Solution. When I ran into a block on one, I shifted to the other.

However I had to keep postponing Anna’s story because others needed to come first. When I finally could focus on her, she had evolved. The initial plot centered largely on Andrew trying to win her love. But as her character became even more fully formed, I realized that Anna gives her love freely, at least when she isn’t afraid. As Andrew tells her at one point, it is part of who she is and why she didn’t think twice about saving Davy. It was Andrew and not Anna who needed saving and who needed to open his heart again.

Finally, I would like to share a story about the source material for Anna’s dreams about Grizel. When I was six, my grandfather, a coal miner most of his life, died from Black Lung Disease (coal workers' pneumoconiosis). When I was a young adult I started having recurring dreams about him which were very similar to Anna’s dream. I would be with him. We would talk for a bit until he said it was time to go. He hugged me and I didn’t want to let go; I didn’t want him to leave. But he always said, “I have to go, it’s the rules.” Like Anna, each time I awoke from one of these dreams, I felt as if I had actually been with my grandfather. Also, like Anna, I felt the loss, but more importantly the sense of being profoundly loved. Anna had been so terribly disappointed when she wasn’t allowed to go home. I thought she needed a brief visit from Grizel to realize how much she was loved as well as to help redirect her anger and disappointment into purpose. Then it seemed only fitting that Grizel share her joy at being in love and offer her the promise of blackberry kisses.

With love,

Ceci

Ceci started her career as an oncology nurse at a leading research hospital, and eventually became a successful medical writer. In 1991 she married a young Irish carpenter who she met at a friend’s wedding. They raised their family in central New Jersey but now live with their dogs and birds in paradise, also known as southwest Florida. While she loves spending time writing “happily ever afters” she still works fulltime in the pharmaceutical industry.

Her bestselling, Duncurra series,
Highland Solution
,
Highland Courage
,
and
Highland Intrigue
are available as e-books, audiobooks, and paperbacks. There are also inspirational versions of each of these which close the bedroom door. Ceci will be continuing this series in the near future.

Highland Angels is part of the
Fated Hearts
series and includes
Highland Revenge
, Ceci’s novella from the Highland Winds collection, and
Highland Echoes
. These are all standalone books which can be read in any order.

Ceci started a new time-travel series called
The Pocket Watch Chronicles
, with her novella, The Pocket Watch, in the
Highland Flames collection
.

If you enjoyed Anna’s story, you might like to read Eoin and Fiona’s story and meet a younger version of Anna.

Highland Revenge - Excerpt

Eoin MacKay hadn’t gone terribly far when he caught a glimpse of white halfway up a massive oak. She was well hidden. Her plaid was dark green; he wouldn’t have noticed her among the leaves if he hadn’t been specifically looking for her. He strode closer to the tree, stopping once so he could look up through the branches. There, perched in the crotch of two thick limbs was a woman so perfectly beautiful she might have been part faery. He was left momentarily speechless. Her skin was fair, with a faint pink blush to her cheek. He couldn’t see the color of her eyes, but they were ringed with sooty lashes. Something told him that, regardless of their hue, they would sparkle. Her rosy lips were full and soft—lips that were made to be kissed. The late afternoon breeze ruffled the mass of black curls around her shoulders. Her léine was torn, but otherwise she appeared none the worse for wear.
She is not a faery, she is a MacNicol
, he reminded himself.

She looked down at him silently with her head cocked to one side, as if she was trying to solve some puzzle. She didn’t seem remotely frightened. That would have to change if he was to exact his revenge. “Have ye had a lovely day perched in yer tree, watching us search for ye?”

“I suspect my day was better than yers.”

Her impertinent answer irritated him. “Well ye’ve had yer bit of fun, but it’s over. Climb down.”

She ignored him. “Who are ye?”

“Yer captor, and I ordered ye to climb down. Do it now.”

“Nay, I asked ye a perfectly reasonable question, and ye aren’t my captor if ye can’t reach me. Until I know who ye are, I think I’d just as soon stay free, even if I am up a tree.”

“Free? Nay lass, ye’re as good as locked in my dungeon, and I promise ye will regret yer impertinence.”

He called to one of his men. “Donald, it fair breaks my heart, but the MacNicol lass doesn’t wish to join our company.”

“An arrow would bring her down quick enough.”

“Aye it would, but ye heard her guardsman. This is Fiona MacNicol, Bhaltair’s niece. I wouldn’t want to harm a hair on her wee head.”

Donald snorted. “Ye have no love for the MacNicols, and neither do I. Have ye forgotten? One of my older brothers rode with ye that night.”

“Ye’re right, Donald. I have no love for the MacNicols, but the ransom this one will fetch will hurt Bhaltair’s greedy, black heart nearly as much as a steel blade thrust into it. Mark my words, we’ll have our revenge. We are leaving. Climb up, drag her down and bind her. She managed to evade us once and I won’t have it happen again. We have already wasted too much time on her.” He didn’t spare her another glance but called over his shoulder, “By the way, lass, I am Laird Eoin MacKay, and ye’re most assuredly my prisoner.”

Highland Revenge is available as an
e-book
,
audio book
and
paperback
.

Like Highland Angels, Highland Echoes continues the story of a character we meet briefly in Highland Revenge, Bram Sutherland.

Highland Echoes - Excerpt

Sutherland Castle, Early June 1340

Soaked by the late spring rain and chilled to the bone, Bram Sutherland thought the gates of home had never looked so inviting. It had been a long, wet ride from Castle MacKay. The skies had only cleared in the last hour. They would have been welcome to stay another night waiting out the storm at Naomh-dùn, the MacKay stronghold, but thankfully his father had declined. Bram couldn’t stand the thought of spending another minute there. His betrothed had married Eoin MacKay. Bram hadn’t wanted to linger and be reminded of his loss.

Letting Fiona MacNicol go had been the right thing to do but that didn’t make it less disappointing. Until yesterday he hadn’t even met her. But once he had, he found her not only beautiful, but strong, loyal, and possessed of a loving heart—a heart that was, unfortunately, deeply in love with Eoin MacKay. Even though Bram had been tempted to force the terms of their betrothal contract, her heart would never belong to him and he couldn’t bear to see her unhappy.

They slogged into the courtyard. His father gave his mount to the care of a stable hand. “Son, I expect supper is nigh on the table. Leave yer beast to one of the lads. We’ll fill our bellies with good food and ale and try to put this mess behind us.”

Bram generally preferred to care for his own horse and while he had been looking forward to the warmth of hearth and home for hours, arriving at the start of the evening meal had disadvantages. He was less than anxious to face the onslaught of questions about what had happened and why they didn’t have Fiona MacNicol with them. “I’ll see to Goliath myself but I won’t be long.”

“Bram, ye could have had her. The law was on our side.”

“Nay, Da, we have been through this. It would have been wrong. Fiona and Eoin love each other.”

“Bah. Love. Kentigern MacKay would never have stood for this.” His father’s tone of voice clearly conveyed how unimportant that detail was.

“Perhaps not, but he is dead. Eoin is laird and in spite of being solid allies for years, if we had forced the issue, he would have become a mortal enemy to the Sutherlands until either I lay dead or he did. Not to mention the fact that I would be married to a woman who would have hated me forever. This was the right course.”

“Whether it was or wasn’t, it’s done now and we’ll need to find another way to ally with the MacNicols. I think I must consider Bhaltair’s daughter for Boyd, and the sooner the better. We need to get that sorted while they are young—before either of them gets any foolish notions about love in their heads.”

Bram just shook his head at his father’s utter dismissal of the emotion. Bram had understood from an early age that he would marry a woman of his father’s choosing, a woman who strengthened clan ties. He hadn’t thought much about love and perhaps had discounted its importance as thoroughly as his father had. That was until he saw Fiona and Eoin together. He didn’t want to admit it, but he envied them.

His father must have taken his silence for agreement, because he continued, “Aye, the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced. I will take care of it as soon as Laird MacNicol has recovered. And we will find a bonny bride for ye too, Bram. That young Anna MacKay is quite a pretty thing, even if she is a bit too bold for her own good.”

“
A bit too bold?
That is an understatement. Whoever marries her will have his hands full. I’m not sure I’m up to the task. Besides, she is very young.”

“Seventeen is not that young. But there is also Annice…”

“Nay, Da, please, can’t this wait? I don’t wish to discuss another betrothal at the moment and I need to see to Goliath.”

“Fine, we won’t discuss it now. It can wait…a few days. Don’t dwell on this, Bram.”

“Aye, Da.”

His father turned toward the keep, calling as he went, “Don’t be all night. Yer mother will want to hear every detail of what happened and I don’t have the patience.”

By all the saints, Bram loved his mother but he didn’t have the patience for an inquisition tonight either. Bram led Goliath into the stable, removed his tack, rubbed him down, and fed him an extra portion of oats. When he had finished, he was still not anxious to face the crowd certain to have formed in the great hall. He could avoid it by going straight to the kitchen. Innes would give him food and ale and he could slip up the backstairs, avoiding the great hall altogether tonight. He actually might be able to get through this day without having to rehash everything yet again.

Bram walked from the stables through the outer bailey heading to the rear entrance to the inner bailey, near the kitchens. As he passed one of the small dwellings located within the outer bailey, a woman’s voice, perhaps the most beautiful voice he had ever heard, drifted toward him on the breeze. He stopped to listen. The tune was unfamiliar and he couldn’t quite catch the words, but it was delightful.

He followed the enchanting melody, drawing close enough to the source to understand the lyrics.

Hush my sweetling, hushaby,

The sun sets slowly in the sky,

Tis time to sleep for evening’s nigh,

Hush my sweetling, hushaby.

Hush my sweetling, little dove,

Mama’s heart is filled with love,

Papa watches from above,

Hush my sweetling, little dove.

They were the nonsense words mothers crooned to bairns, but he was entranced by the soft, sweet voice of what could only be an angel. He stopped in front of the tiny cottage to listen.

Hush my sweetling, little sprite,

Too soon ye’ll wake to morning bright,

So sleep now through the still dark night,

Hush my sweetling, little sprite.

The woman stopped singing words but continued to hum her lullaby until finally her voice faded away altogether. Bram was so captivated by the music it took him a moment to realize it had emanated from Innes’ cottage. However, it certainly was not Innes singing. She would be in the kitchen or the keep now, overseeing the evening meal. Who was it then?

As if in answer to his unspoken question, a young woman he had never seen before stepped out of the cottage. She was perfectly lovely. Her face was delicately beautiful; as angelic as her voice. Rich auburn hair spilled from under a white kertch in soft curls that reached well past the middle of her back. Tall for a woman, she had full breasts and her belt cinched a narrow waist. She stretched and rolled her shoulders, her movements graceful and oddly enticing. Bram felt a twinge of disappointment when his brain registered the kertch. She was married. Of course she was—she had been crooning a lullaby to a child.

When she cast a glance his direction, she gasped and stumbled backwards, feeling blindly for the door latch. “I didn’t see ye there. Ye startled me.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t intend to.” Why was he apologizing to her? He had committed no offense. He took a step toward her.

She went from frightened to ferocious in a matter of seconds. “Stay back. What are ye doin’ here anyway? Who are ye?” she demanded.

Who did she think she was? She was certainly in no position to demand anything from him. “I think, lass, it is ye who needs to start explaining.
Who are ye
and why were ye in Innes’ cottage?”

“Innes is my grandmother, she asked us to stay with her.”

“Yer grandmother? Innes has no children. I won’t tolerate liars, no matter how lovely they are. Who are ye? I want the truth and I won’t ask again.”

She scowled, affronted. “I am not a liar. I told ye, Innes is my grandmother and she did have a child, a son named Tristan. I am his daughter, Grace Breive.”

Tristan, aye, he had a vague memory of that. “I stand corrected. She had a son. But Tristan died years ago.”

“Nay, Tristan
disappeared
years ago. He didn’t die.”

“And ye are his daughter, Innes’ long-lost granddaughter. How sweet. And unlikely. What game is this? Innes is important to Clan Sutherland. I don’t want anyone taking advantage of her, playing on her feelings.”

“I am not playing on her feelings. I am her granddaughter and have proven that to her. But it’s a long story and I don’t see how any of this concerns ye.”

“It concerns me, Grace, because everything at Sutherland concerns me. I am Bram Sutherland, Laird Sutherland’s heir.”

Grace became immediately contrite. “I’m sorry, sir. I meant no offense. But, I have told ye the truth.”

“The babe ye were singing to is yers?”

“Aye, I have a young daughter. I should go back inside. I just stepped out for a bit of air. The rain kept us indoors all day.” Again, her hand groped behind her, searching for the door latch.

“This isn’t over, Grace Breive. If ye and yer husband want to live at Sutherland, ye will need permission from the laird, whether ye are Innes’ granddaughter or no. And I hope ye do have proof of who ye are. I won’t allow ye to hurt Innes in any way and giving her false hope about a long lost son would kill her.” He took a step towards her, reaching past to lift the latch, which so far had eluded her hand. “Goodnight, Mistress Breive.”

He was surprised by the expression on her face. It wasn’t anger or fear of discovery. The green depths of her eyes were guileless and she appeared…was it grateful?

“Goodnight laird—I mean Bram—I mean sir. Goodnight.” She backed through the door and closed it.

He stood there for a moment, trying to sort out his thoughts about this newest addition to the clan. It all seemed odd. He would speak with Da about this…but not tonight. He resumed his walk, entering into the inner bailey. He had almost reached the kitchens when his brother Ian called to him. “Bram, there ye are. Da sent someone to fetch ye from the stables, but I figured ye were avoiding dinner in the hall and I’d find ye in the kitchens.”