Highlander’s Unexpected Love: A Medieval Scottish Historical Highland Romance Book

  Highlander’s Unexpected Love

  A Medieval Scottish Historical Highland Romance Book

  Alisa Adams

  COPYRIGHT - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Copyright Alisa Adams Publications © 2018

  This book may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form without the written permission of the publisher. In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher.

  DISCLAIMER:

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters are not real people and exist only in the imagination of the author. All events in this book are fictional and for entertainment purposes only.

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  Contents

  A Free Thank You Gift

  1. Heather

  2. Bruce

  3. Bridie

  4. The Funeral

  5. James

  6. The School

  7. Opening Day

  8. Kenneth

  9. Kenneth's Resolution

  10. A Beginning and an Ending

  11. James

  12. Jessica

  13. Jessica Goes to Dinner

  14. The Storm

  15. After the Storm

  16. Kenneth's Woes

  17. Interview with Laird McVey

  18. First Kiss

  19. Working Hard

  20. Goodbye and Welcome

  21. A Trysting Place

  22. James and Jessica

  23. Bruce's Story

  24. Prospective Suitors

  25. The Elopement

  26. A Discovery

  27. Wedding Night

  28. Laird Gordon

  29. A Kiss

  30. The Search

  31. Letters

  32. The Invitation

  33. The Ceilidh and the Blacksmith

  34. Discussions

  35. Dougie and Jessica

  36. Return to Invergar

  37. Bruce, the Laird, and the Lady

  38. A Stranger

  39. Plans

  40. The Stranger Returns

  41. Laird Sinclair and Son

  42. The New Laird's New Name

  43. Nora

  44. A Problem Solved

  45. The Ball

  46. The Wedding

  47. Fraserburgh

  48. A Hope Fulfilled

  49. Happy Spring

  Extended Epilogue

  A Free Thank You Gift

  Thanks a lot for purchasing my book.

  As a thank you gift I wrote a full length novel for you called Rescuing the Highlander.

  You can get it for FREE through this link

  http://www.alisaadams.com/b7f

  1

  Heather

  Heather McVey may have been one of the richest and most privileged young ladies in the whole of Aberdeen, but on that wet and blustery day in April when she went out rabbit-hunting, she certainly was not the happiest. She had thought that the blue sky to which she had awoken that morning promised a day of fine sunny weather, but it was not to be. Around noon, ominous towering clouds began to gather and she realized that getting home dry would be impossible. That day she was wearing functional working clothes over which she had draped a thick woolen cloak. They were all drenched and she was absolutely freezing.

  Just then her big black stallion Tommy began to skip steps and limp a little. She dismounted and lifted one of his feet. There was no shoe there, but she saw it lying further back on the path. She groaned as she went to pick it up.

  "Tommy, boy," she admonished him, "this has been a very bad day. No rabbits, no fish and now you go and cast a shoe. You are not helping!"

  Tommy looked at her as if to say 'and you think this is my fault?'

  Heather sighed and rubbed Tommy's velvet nose. It was a mile from the village of Invergar and she was absolutely exhausted. Think happy thoughts, Heather! she told herself. So, she thought of her wedding day, still ten months away in June, when hopefully it would be pleasant and mild. She had no idea what she would wear, but she hoped her father would allow her to wear the family tartan since she loved its muted red and soft sage green pattern that would bring out the colors of her bright red hair.

  Her best features were her deep brown eyes, which gave the impression that she could pierce the soul of anyone she looked at. Indeed, she was a deeply intuitive person who, if she could not quite read the mind, could certainly read the signals people gave out with their faces and bodies.

  The wedding loomed large in her mind since she would be Lady Heather Jamieson then, wife of one of the wealthiest and most powerful Lairds in Scotland. Her father had arranged her prestigious marriage, but Kenneth had wanted Heather since the first time he saw her at a Hogmanay ball. He had seen her head of flaming red hair from across the dance hall and immediately sought her out since she was easily the most beautiful woman in the room.

  Kenneth himself was tall and fair with a pleasant, open face and a figure that had seen slightly too many good dinners. He was an easy-going, tolerant person too if sometimes a bit pompous, and while Heather was not in love with him, she liked him enough to believe that she could be with him for the rest of her life and bear his children. He was older than she by ten years, but twenty-nine was not old for a man.

  She felt ambivalent about children, but if she was a wife then it would be her duty and she was ready to do it for the sake of her family. For herself, she would go on with the life she loved. After all, there were always nannies and wet nurses. Heather was nineteen-years-old and had no idea of the demands that a marriage and family would place on her young shoulders.

  The wedding would be in the chapel of Kenneth's castle, and afterward, she knew that they would go somewhere far away and exotic on their honeymoon trip. Maybe even to Ireland where it was said that there were pots of gold at the end of every rainbow. Heather was intelligent enough to know that she was naïve, but there were worse things to be. No doubt life would reveal itself to her as it went on.

  She was relieved to see the village after another twenty minutes of walking. The blacksmith's forge was easily recognizable by the glow of its furnace and Heather stopped next to it, warmed by the flames of the forge.

  There was no-one there when she arrived and she stood waiting impatiently for the blacksmith to arrive. Eventually, she became irritated and called out, "Hello! Anybody there?"

  The man who emerged was a complete stranger since she had expected to see Robbie, the old, sinewy man who always had a kind word, a cheery smile, and a treat for Tommy. This man was as different from Robbie as the day was from the night. He was much younger with thick black hair and light gray eyes that looked almost silver against his black, soot-stained face. He wore nothing on his upper body under his leather apron and she could see that he was tall, powerful, and muscular. He had thick biceps, broad shoulders and the only thing that stopped him from being a very handsome man was the scowl on his face. He said nothing as he came up to her; he merely raised his eyebrows enquiringly. Heather felt a stab of irritation but kept calm as she handed him the iron shoe.

  "He has been walking for about a mile without it," she said, "I hope he has come to no harm."

  The man knelt down by Tommy's foot and picked it up, inspecting it closely. "Nae harm done," he announced, standing up. He looked at the horse's long, trusting face for a moment the
n, to Heather's astonishment, he ruffled his forelock and caressed Tommy's nose with his knuckles.

  "Ye're a beauty, are ye no', big boy?" he said gently. As if in answer, Tommy gave a soft whicker and the blacksmith laughed, the creases of his laugh lines white against the oily black of his face.

  "His name is Tommy," Heather said proudly.

  The man said nothing else, but quickly and efficiently began to change the horseshoe. He took out the nails then cleaned, trimmed and filed the hoof and hammered it to size. Then he checked for fit and filed down the rough edges of the metal before hammering the shoe on and removing the protruding points of the nails.

  All the while he was talking, whispering and singing to Tommy who was standing absolutely still as if he were thoroughly enjoying the whole process. Then he wiped his forehead with a dirty rag so that it became even dirtier. Heather only just stopped herself from laughing.

  "Where is Robbie?" she asked curiously as she handed over his payment with a substantial bonus for his quick work.

  The man looked at the amount and frowned. For a moment, she thought he was going to complain, but he put the money in the pocket of his apron and swallowed whatever he had been going to say.

  "Robbie's wife passed away yesterday," he answered in a matter-of-fact tone, "an' efter the funeral, he decided tae retire. Me an' my wife moved intae his cottage."

  "I am so sorry to hear that," she replied sadly, "and what are you called?"

  "Bruce," he said abruptly, "Bruce Ferguson."

  "I am Heather McVey, daughter of Laird McVey."

  Bruce said nothing but continued to look at her sullenly. Heather's temper boiled over.

  "Are you always so insolent?" she snapped, "or are you just having a bad day?"

  For a moment, she thought he was going to strike her, but, though she could see that he was angry at her remark, he took a deep breath before he answered her.

  "Is there onythin' else I can dae for ye, mistress?" He answered. His voice was polite but the silver-gray eyes that bore into hers were as furious as a bull about to charge.

  "Yes," she snapped haughtily, "you may call me Lady McVey."

  Again, he was silent and giving no sign at all that he had heard her, he turned away and went back inside.

  Heather was incandescent with rage. She did not often demand much in the way of deference from her tenants, but this man had irritated her beyond reason and she had done nothing to provoke him. It was so unfair.

  Yet, he was so very attractive. She was troubled and fretful all the way home and as she got to the last half mile the rain began to come down in earnest, great wind-driven sheets of it. She was dripping and chilled to the bone by the time she got back. After she handed Tommy over to the stable boy, she sprinted inside as fast as her heavy waterlogged cloak would allow. She stood for a moment in the great entrance hall, breathless and shivering. Puddles were beginning to form around her feet and her leather riding boots were slick and slippery with mud and rain. The butler immediately called for Heather's maid to come and attend to her while he rushed off to get hot water for a bath.

  "Mistress!" Agnes, her lady's maid, hurried to meet her. "Where have ye been? Yer faither's been that worried aboot ye!"

  "I'm fine, Aggie," Heather replied wearily, "don't fuss."

  Agnes, a tall thin, gray-haired spinster in late middle age, frowned at her disapprovingly. She had always been concerned that her mistress's tomboyish ways would get her into serious trouble and today her late arrival home had almost sent her mad with anxiety. They went up to Heather's bathroom where Agnes quickly stripped her of her clothes before rubbing her down with a towel and wrapping her in a warm blanket.

  Heather submitted to her ministrations mutely until Agnes began to chafe her frozen feet with her warm hands, then she let out a contented moan. It was heavenly. She had stopped shivering and her body had begun to warm up when the bathtub arrived, followed by two housemaids carrying buckets of hot water. Agnes poured a few drops of lavender oil into it and helped Heather into the tub.

  Heather sighed thankfully as the hot water closed over her. Agnes sponged and soaped her all over then left her to lie on her own for a few minutes while she took care of her mistress's clothes. She was a woman of quiet efficiency but few words and as she helped Heather out of the bath and dried her she thought how much harder her luxurious life would be without her.

  "Hae a rest now, Mistress."

  Agnes dropped her nightdress over her head, then turned the bedclothes down. Heather climbed in and Agnes pulled the blanket over her.

  She lay for a while drifting between sleep and wakefulness, thinking about a dramatically good-looking, silver-eyed face with its covering of oily black soot from the forge. Nothing could take away from the perfectly symmetrical beauty of that face under its thatch of thick dark hair. His thunderous expression only added to his attractiveness, but she could remember the smile that transformed him when he looked at Tommy. He obviously loved animals and by God he was handsome!

  2

  Bruce

  The woman who walked out of the rain that morning was obviously a member of the aristocracy, Bruce thought, and as usual, his hackles rose at the sight of one of them. He lived behind the blacksmith's forge in a tiny cottage rented to him by the blacksmith himself and it was there that he was sitting beside his wife, Bridie, as she slept in an opiate-induced coma. She had a tumor in her abdomen from which he knew that she would not recover. He only hoped that she could cling to life long enough to deliver the baby she was carrying. It was still too early for the birth, even if she had had the strength to deliver it, which he knew she had not.

  He had been stroking her limp hand, and gazing at her wan face with its frame of wispy fair hair when the imperious summons came from outside; a woman's voice, sharp and demanding. He had been lost in a memory in which Bridie was healthy and strong, walking with him along the seaside on the Aberdeen coast. She was flushed, happy, and with the wind blowing through her bright blonde hair she looked like the most beautiful woman in the world. The first tiny bulge of her new pregnancy was beginning to show and she looked forward to all the joy the coming years would bring with her new baby and handsome husband.

  He had loved Bridie from the first moment he saw her at the Hogmanay ceilidh in Invergar when she was but fifteen and he nineteen. At the first opportunity, he had asked her to dance and their relationship had begun, eventually blossoming into a passionate love. They had waited until she was eighteen to be married so that he could learn his trade as a blacksmith and she could be promoted from a scullery maid to a housemaid at the big castle of the McVey family.

  The castle stood at the top of a great, cone-shaped hill and brooded over the valley beneath as if by its dominance it was saying 'I am the master of this valley and you are all my servants.' Bruce had always hated the sight of it. He kissed Bridie's pale forehead before going out to see who was calling him.

  The woman had flame-red hair under the hood of a thick cloak that was absolutely dripping with rain. Usually, he would have greeted her politely, but today he simply could not. The sight of this rich aristocratic female in the best of health, wearing expensive clothes, and riding a horse that a year of his wages could not have bought, angered him beyond measure. What he would not give to dress Bridie in that warm wool cloak and sit her astride this magnificent animal! Bruce took an instant dislike to the haughty stranger.

  She greeted him politely enough, explained her predicament, and waited until he had taken care of the problem, then dropped his payment into his hand. It was more than he had expected and on another day, he would have thanked her, but when she accused him of being insolent he was glad he had not. When he was finished with her, he went back inside and looked at his sleeping wife again. Bridie spent most of her days like this now because when she woke up she screamed with pain and it broke his heart.

  She was painfully thin because she could hardly eat and Bruce wished he could kill her himself, quickly and
mercifully, to take her out of the hell she was in. They did it to injured horses, to cats, and to dogs, so why should a human being made in the image of God not return to Him this way? It was better than dying in agony.

  He had often contemplated putting a pillow over her face and holding it down just long enough for her to succumb or to give her a little too much opium. She would feel nothing in her drugged sleep, simply slip away. However, he could never bring himself to do it, thinking of the wonderful times they had shared and the eternal damnation which would await him. He could not bear to think of himself in hell and Bridie in heaven, parted from each other for all eternity.

  Now, he stood up and stoked up the fire to keep her little body warm. In her weakened state, even a breath of cool wind could set her shivering. He pulled the blankets up around her neck and whispered, "I love you, my Bridie." He fancied he could see a little smile turning up the corners of her mouth for a moment, but then thought that it was probably his imagination which wanted to see her smile then spring joyfully out of bed and fling herself into his arms. He kissed her softly on the forehead then reluctantly went back to the plow he was mending.