When a Laird Loves a Lady (Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts Book 1)
Read When a Laird Loves a Lady (Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts Book 1) Online
Authors: Julie Johnstone
Tags: #Romance, #Historical, #Medieval, #Scottish, #Historical Romance
When
a Laird Loves a Lady
Highlander
Vows: Entangled Hearts, Book One
by
Julie
Johnstone
When
a Laird Loves a Lady
Copyright
© 2016 by Julie Johnstone
Cover
Design by Teresa Spreckelmeyer
Editing
by Double Vision Editorial
Proofreading
by Victory Editing
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rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any
electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied
in critical articles or reviews—without written permission.
The
characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to
real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the
author.
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Notes
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For
more information:
[email protected]
For
my editor Danielle Rose Poiesz who constantly challenges me to reach greater
heights on the mountain of publication by daring me to dig into my arsenal of
tools and use them to reach the summit. Thank you. You never blink an eye at
what I throw your way, and you are unfailingly supportive.
I’d
like to give special thanks to Chrissie MacRae with Stὸrlann Scots Gaelic
and Brian Wilton with the Scottish Tartan Authority for their assistance on
answering my questions regarding Gaelic, plaids, and tartans.
I’d
also like to give a heartfelt thanks to Eliza Knight and Kathryn Le Veque for
answering my many messages about random medieval and Scottish questions. Their
generosity deeply moved me!
Dear Readers,
I have taken great pains to make sure the words I
used in writing this story were as historically accurate as possible. However,
given that I am writing to a modern audience, there are some instances when I
chose to use a word that was not in existence in the fourteenth century, as
they simply did not have a word at that time to correctly convey the meaning of
the sentence.
All the best,
Julie
Table of Contents
England, 1357
Faking her death would be simple. It was escaping
her home that would be difficult. Marion de Lacy stared hard into the slowly
darkening sky, thinking about the plan she intended to put into action
tomorrow—if all went well—but growing uneasiness tightened her belly. From
where she stood in the bailey, she counted the guards up in the tower. It was
not her imagination: Father had tripled the knights keeping guard at all times,
as if he was expecting trouble.
Taking a deep breath of the damp
air, she pulled her mother’s cloak tighter around her to ward off the twilight
chill. A lump lodged in her throat as the wool scratched her neck. In the many
years since her mother had been gone, Marion had both hated and loved this
cloak for the death and life it represented. Her mother’s freesia scent had
long
since faded from the garment, yet simply calling up a memory of her mother
wearing it gave Marion comfort.
She rubbed her fingers against the
rough material. When she fled, she couldn’t chance taking anything with her but
the clothes on her body and this cloak. Her death had to appear accidental, and
the cloak that everyone knew she prized would ensure her freedom. Finding it
tangled in the branches at the edge of the sea cliff ought to be just the thing
to convince her father and William Froste that she’d drowned. After all,
neither man thought she could swim. They didn’t truly care about her anyway.
Her marriage to the blackhearted knight was only about what her hand could give
the two men. Her father, Baron de Lacy, wanted more power, and Froste wanted
her family’s prized land. A match made in Heaven, if only the match didn’t
involve her…but it did.
Father would set the hounds of Hell
themselves to track her down if he had the slightest suspicion that she was
still alive. She was an inestimable possession to be given to secure Froste’s
unwavering allegiance and, therefore, that of the renowned ferocious knights
who served him. Whatever small sliver of hope she had that her father would
grant her mercy and not marry her to Froste had been destroyed by the lashing
she’d received when she’d pleaded for him to do so.
The moon crested above the
watchtower, reminding her why she was out here so close to mealtime: to meet
Angus. The Scotsman may have been her father’s stable master, but he was
her
ally, and when he’d proposed she flee England for Scotland, she’d readily consented.
Marion looked to the west, the
direction from which Angus would return from Newcastle. He should be back any
minute now from meeting his cousin and clansman Neil, who was to escort her to
Scotland. She prayed all was set and that Angus’s kin was ready to depart. With
her wedding to Froste to take place in six days, she wanted to be far away
before there was even the slightest chance he’d be making his way here. And
since he was set to arrive the night before the wedding, leaving tomorrow
promised she’d not encounter him.
A sense of urgency enveloped her,
and Marion forced herself to stroll across the bailey toward the gatehouse that
led to the tunnel preceding the drawbridge. She couldn’t risk raising suspicion
from the tower guards. At the gatehouse, she nodded to Albert, one of the
knights who operated the drawbridge mechanism. He was young and rarely
questioned her excursions to pick flowers or find herbs.
“Off to get some medicine?” he
inquired.
“Yes,” she lied with a smile and a
little pang of guilt. But this was survival, she reminded herself as she
entered the tunnel. When she exited the heavy wooden door that led to freedom,
she wasn’t surprised to find Peter and Andrew not yet up in the twin towers
that flanked the entrance to the drawbridge. It was, after all, time for the
changing of the guard.
They smiled at her as they put on
their helmets and demi-gauntlets. They were an imposing presence to any who
crossed the drawbridge and dared to approach the castle gate. Both men were
tall and looked particularly daunting in their full armor, which Father
insisted upon at all times. The men were certainly a fortress in their own
right.
She nodded to them. “I’ll not be
long. I want to gather some more flowers for the supper table.” Her voice
didn’t even wobble with the lie.
Peter grinned at her, his kind
brown eyes crinkling at the edges. “Will you pick me one of those pale winter
flowers for my wife again, Marion?”
She returned his smile. “It took
away her anger as I said it would, didn’t it?”
“It did,” he replied. “You always
know just how to help with her.”
“I’ll get a pink one if I can find
it. The colors are becoming scarcer as the weather cools.”
Andrew, the younger of the two
knights, smiled, displaying a set of straight teeth. He held up his covered
arm. “My cut is almost healed.”
Marion nodded. “I told you! Now
maybe you’ll listen to me sooner next time you’re wounded in training.”
He gave a soft laugh. “I will.
Should I put more of your paste on tonight?”
“Yes, keep using it. I’ll have to
gather some more yarrow, if I can find any, and mix up another batch of the
medicine for you.” And she’d have to do it before she escaped. “I better get
going if I’m going to find those things.” She knew she should not have agreed
to search for the flowers and offered to find the yarrow when she still had to
speak to Angus and return to the castle in time for supper, but both men had
been kind to her when many had not. It was her way of thanking them.
After Peter lowered the bridge and
opened the door, she departed the castle grounds, considering her plan once
more. Had she forgotten anything? She didn’t think so. She was simply going to
walk straight out of her father’s castle and never come back. Tomorrow, she’d
announce she was going out to collect more winter blooms, and then, instead,
she would go down to the edge of the cliff overlooking the sea. She would slip
off her cloak and leave it for a search party to find. Her breath caught deep
in
her
chest
at the simple yet dangerous plot. The last detail to see to was Angus.
She stared down the long dirt path
that led to the sea and stilled, listening for hoofbeats. A slight vibration of
the ground tingled her feet, and her heart sped in hopeful anticipation that it
was Angus coming down the dirt road on his horse. When the crafty stable master
appeared with a grin spread across his face, the worry that was squeezing her
heart loosened. For the first time since he had ridden out that morning, she
took a proper breath. He stopped his stallion alongside her and dismounted.
She tilted her head back to look up
at him as he towered over her. An errant thought struck. “Angus, are all Scots
as tall as you?”
“Nay, but ye ken Scots are bigger
than all the wee Englishmen.” Suppressed laughter filled his deep voice. “So
even the ones nae as tall as me are giants compared te the scrawny men here.”
“You’re teasing me,” she replied,
even as she arched her eyebrows in uncertainty.
“A wee bit,” he agreed and tousled
her hair. The laughter vanished from his eyes as he rubbed a hand over his
square jaw and then stared down his bumpy nose at her, fixing what he called
his “lecturing look” on her. “We’ve nae much time. Neil is in Newcastle just as
he’s supposed te be, but there’s been a slight change.”
She frowned. “For the last month,
every time I wanted to simply make haste and flee, you refused my suggestion,
and now you say there’s a slight change?”
His ruddy complexion darkened.
She’d pricked that MacLeod temper her mother had always said Angus’s clan was
known for throughout the Isle of Skye, where they lived in the farthest reaches
of Scotland. Marion could remember her mother chuckling and teasing Angus about
how no one knew the MacLeod temperament better than their neighboring clan, the
MacDonalds of Sleat, to which her mother had been born. The two clans had a
history of feuding.
Angus cleared his throat and
recaptured Marion’s attention. Without warning, his hand closed over her
shoulder, and he squeezed gently. “I’m sorry te say it so plain, but ye must
die at once.”
Her eyes widened as dread settled
in the pit of her stomach. “What? Why?” The sudden fear she felt was unreasonable.
She knew he didn’t mean she was really going to die, but her palms were
sweating and her lungs had tightened all the same. She sucked in air and wiped
her damp hands down the length of her cotton skirts. Suddenly, the idea of
going to a foreign land and living with her mother’s clan, people she’d never
met, made her apprehensive.
She didn’t even know if the
MacDonalds—her uncle, in particular, who was now the laird—would accept her or
not. She was half-English, after all, and Angus had told her that when a Scot
considered her English bloodline and the fact that she’d been raised there,
they would most likely brand her fully English, which was not a good thing in a
Scottish mind. And if her uncle was anything like her grandfather had been, the
man was not going to be very reasonable. But she didn’t have any other family
to turn to who would dare defy her father, and Angus hadn’t offered for her to
go to his clan, so she’d not asked. He likely didn’t want to bring trouble to
his clan’s doorstep, and she didn’t blame him.
Panic bubbled inside her. She
needed more time, even if it was only the day she’d thought she had, to gather
her courage.
“Why must I flee tonight? I was to
teach Eustice how to dress a wound. She might serve as a maid, but then she
will be able to help the knights when I’m gone. And her little brother,
Bernard, needs a few more lessons before he’s mastered writing his name and
reading. And Eustice’s youngest sister has begged me to speak to Father about
allowing her to visit her mother next week.”
“Ye kinnae watch out for everyone
here anymore, Marion.”
She placed her hand over his on her
shoulder. “Neither can you.”
Their gazes locked in understanding
and disagreement.
He slipped his hand from her
shoulder, and then crossed his arms over his chest in a gesture that screamed stubborn,
unyielding protector. “If I leave at the same time ye feign yer death,” he
said, changing the subject, “it could stir yer father’s suspicion and make him
ask questions when none need te be asked. I’ll be going home te Scotland soon
after ye.” Angus reached into a satchel attached to his horse and pulled out a
dagger, which he slipped to her. “I had this made for ye.”
Marion took the weapon and turned
it over, her heart pounding. “It’s beautiful.” She held it by its black handle
while withdrawing it from the sheath and examining it. “It’s much sharper than
the one I have.”
“Aye,” he said grimly. “It is.
Dunnae forget that just because I taught ye te wield a dagger does nae mean ye
can defend yerself from
all
harm. Listen te my cousin and do as he says.
Follow his lead.”
She gave a tight nod. “I will. But
why must I leave now and not tomorrow?”
Concern filled Angus’s eyes.
“Because I ran into Froste’s brother in town and he told me that Froste sent
word that he would be arriving in two days.”
Marion gasped. “That’s earlier than
expected.”
“Aye,” Angus said and took her arm
with gentle authority. “So ye must go now. I’d rather be trying te trick only
yer father than yer father, Froste, and his savage knights. I want ye long gone
and yer death accepted when Froste arrives.”
She shivered as her mind began to
race with all that could go wrong.
“I see the worry darkening yer
green eyes,” Angus said, interrupting her thoughts. He whipped off his hat and
his hair, still shockingly red in spite of his years, fell down around his
shoulders. He only ever wore it that way when he was riding. He said the wind
in his hair reminded him of riding his own horse when he was in Scotland. “I
was going to talk to ye tonight, but now that I kinnae…” He shifted from foot
to foot, as if uncomfortable. “I want te offer ye something. I’d have proposed
it sooner, but I did nae want ye te feel ye had te take my offer so as nae te
hurt me, but I kinnae hold my tongue, even so.”
She furrowed her brow. “What is
it?”
“I’d be proud if ye wanted te stay
with the MacLeod clan instead of going te the MacDonalds. Then ye’d nae have te
leave everyone ye ken behind. Ye’d have me.”
A surge of relief filled her. She
threw her arms around Angus, and he returned her hug quick and hard before
setting her away. Her eyes misted at once. “I had hoped you would ask me,” she
admitted.
For a moment, he looked astonished,
but then he spoke. “Yer mother risked her life te come into MacLeod territory
at a time when we were fighting terrible with the MacDonalds, as ye well ken.”
Marion nodded. She knew the story
of how Angus had ended up here. He’d told her many times. Her mother had been
somewhat of a renowned healer from a young age, and when Angus’s wife had a
hard birthing, her mother had gone to help. The knowledge that his wife and
child had died anyway still made Marion want to cry.
“I pledged my life te keep yer
mother safe for the kindness she’d done me, which brought me here, but, lass,
long ago ye became like a daughter te me, and I pledge the rest of my miserable
life te defending ye.”
