Annella

Annella

Brides of the Scottish Isles

Book One

A Sweet Highland Romance version of:

The Honor of a Highlander

April Holthaus

Cover design by Zak Kelleher

Printed in the United States

Edited by: One More Time Editing, first edition; 2017

Copyright © 2013, 2017 April Holthaus

All rights reserved.

DEDICATION

To my readers…thank you for your continued support!

CHAPTER 1

Late August

Argyll, Scotland 1297

"Bollocks," Annella cried out, pricking her finger with the needle for the second time.

This wasn’t the first time she’d had to repair her blue and green arisaid. After a series of mishaps and falls, one would think there would be nothing left of the cloak she’d had since she was young.

Berta cleared her throat, giving Annella a solemn look of disappointment. One of many looks. The old ninny. Bless her soul.

That is no way for a lady to speak.

Annella peered up at the elderly maid and gave her a sour expression when Berta was not looking.

Berta continued, How did ye ruin yer plaid this time?

I dinna ruin it. It snagged on a tree branch and ripped, Anella replied, waiting for one of Berta’s never-ending lectures.

Berta had been the head maid of the household ever since Annella was a wee lass, and she had a long history of being short-tempered.

"I’m sure ye were riding up the hill again. After ye get done, there will be nothing left of this arisaid. Come now, lass, ye must get dressed, and fix that unruly hair of yers. I will fix yer plaid while ye get dressed. Yer father has visitors coming today, and he is expecting ye to look like a lady. He wants ye down in the great hall to greet ‘em at a quarter past the hour, which dinna leave us much time."

Berta walked over to the wooden chest at the end of the bed and pulled out a fresh chemise and a dark green-colored gown with gold trim and long sleeves.

Visitors? Ye mean suitors. I dinna see why father does no’ just line up all the men of Scotland and get this done and o’er wit’ one time. I swear, I have nearly met e’ery eligible bachelor in all the Highlands, and none of them are worthy of attention!

Ye are far too particular, lass! Ye should feel blessed given such opportunity.

With a long and dreadful sigh, Annella slowly got up and took her time dressing. Another suitor! Even the thought of it made her stomach roil. Over the past several months, her father had invited several suitors for her to meet in the hope that she would agree to marry one of them without dispute. But that was never going to happen.

Why did she have to marry? Eldest heir to Clan MacCallum, she was certainly capable on her own to lead her people without the need of a man ordering her about.

Annella pulled the chemise over her head and picked up the green gown Berta had laid down on the bed. If only I was a lad, I would ne’er have to marry if I dinna want to…The thought of such freedom made her smile.

As Berta began to tighten the laces on the back of her dress, she asked, Why do ye keep riding up that wretched hillside, anyways? It’s steep. Ye know yer father does no’ like ye ridin’ unattended. Ye could get hurt.

Can a lady no’ enjoy ridin’ a horse? she replied, knowing all too well what Berta’s answer would be.

Berta placed her hands on the lass’s shoulders and turned her around so she could face her. Then she lowered her chin, and looked at Annella through her eyelashes.

Lass, ye cannae keep running off e’ery time a mon comes to ask fer yer hand. Ye are already nineteen, and it’s about time to be looking for a husband. Just take a look at yer younger sister, Nessa. She found herself a fine mon. It may no’ be the love match ye speak of, but she will learn to love him over time, just as ye will wit’ yer husband.

"Berta, I am no’ Nessa. Is it too much to ask for a marriage to be bound by love instead of obligation? Who is to say that he would be a better laird fer our clan? And what if the mon I am forced to marry is an awful mon, and ne’er loves me?"

Ach, my lady, dreams are lovely, but they are no’ real. True love matches are rare and dinna happen verra often. Fer a lady, all ye can hope fer is a mon wit’ a good name who can offer ye protection, she replied as she softly touched Annella’s cheek.

I dinna need protection, Berta. I have my horse and my bow. No’ to mention I can best any mon who challenges me.

Aye, I know ye can, lass, Berta chuckled. Ye have grown up so much, Annella. Yer mother would have been verra proud of ye. It’s been hard on yer father all these years, trying to raise two daughters on his own. And he feels that ye would be better taken care of if ye had a husband.

I suppose so.

I know so. Now get ye downstairs afore yer father gets in one of his moods.

Annella nodded and walked down the stairs, sulking. She didn’t want whoever the potential husband was to think of her as an eager bride. She took her time, slowly taking each step as if she were the delicate flower her father and Berta believed her to be.

***

Running thin on food and other necessities, Rory knew gathering supplies at Dunstan Castle would be beneficial to their journey. The chieftain of Dunstan Castle, Laird Hamish MacCallum, had been a lifelong friend of Rory’s father before he passed away two summers ago. Hamish was a good man, and no doubt would help support Rory’s cause.

The young man sat at the head of the table in the great hall with Laird Hamish. The room was smaller than he was used to back at Dunakin, Rory’s home, and was furnished far simpler. It was dim, and the walls were nearly bare. Obviously the MacCallum Clan did not have much coin to spend on luxuries.

Laird MacCallum, another attack on Scottish soil is imminent. Messengers have reported all throughout the lowlands that English troops have been spotted burning villages and pillaging. William Wallace is planning a rebellion. He fights for our freedom. I have come to ask for men and supplies for our journey to answer Wallace’s call to action.

Call me Hamish, lad. No need for the formalities, he said. Looking to address his guard, he continued, Alastair, talk wit’ the men. If they choose to leave and fight, I will give ‘em my blessing.

Aye, my Laird, Alastair replied.

What of Wallace? I hear that he fights wit’ common men. What of the other lairds and earls in the north? Hamish asked.

Right now verra few have joined us. Longshanks claims he offers them peace by giving them property in England if they will follow him, but he is full of lies and deceit. He will no’ make good on his promises. He has raised the taxes to support his war against France, and e’en they are talking about joining the rebellion against him. Wallace will take any mon who is willing to fight for our freedom, and his numbers are growing.

I will see what I can do, Hamish replied.

While discussing terms with Hamish, in Rory’s peripheral vision appeared the loveliest sight he had ever seen. A beautiful young lass he hoped to meet.

She wore a long, tight-fitted dress as green as the Emerald Isles. Her auburn hair was loosely braided, and a few locks rested over her shoulders. Some shorter tendrils curled around her heart-shaped face, accenting the blue of her eyes. His own eyes traced down the shape of her body, over curvy hips to slender legs outlined beneath the fabric of her gown with every step she took. Rory continued talking with his host as he fought the urge to glance in her direction.

As she neared, Rory could tell that the lass was fairly nervous as she lightly bit her plush pink bottom lip. Her eyes widened like a frightened deer as she stepped forward. Rory stood to greet her properly.

***

Standing between her father and his guest, Annella could feel her legs shake and knees begin to wobble. He looked much different than the other men her father had called upon as propective husbnads for her. He was a Highlander, she mused, as he spoke with the same strong brogue her father had. Most suitors who had previously come were Lowlanders; young, and new to their station. But this man who stood before her was battle-worn.

The tiny scars that marred his chiseled features, the week old scruff on his face which already showed signs of greying, and the dark circles under his eyes were prominent indications this man was a warrior. Why would such a man come so far just to find himself a bride?

His shoulders and neck were thick and wide, and his chestnut-colored hair hung past his shoulders. Annella’s attention went to his dominant jaw line, then his eyes. They were as pale and blue as the sky in the early morning. For a beast of a man, he was strikingly handsome.

As he raised himself to his full height, Annella took the opportunity to admire all of him. He stood nearly a foot over her head. Towering over her, he looked like a Roman God. Every muscle appeared perfectly sculpted. He was everything a mighty Highland warrior should be.

At least this one is good looking, she thought. Her thoughts wandered. If they were to marry, would he love her and show her the compassion she so desired?

Hamish’s voice interrupted her thoughts. Laird Rory MacKinnon, Chieftain of the MacKinnon Clan from the Highlands, it is my pleasure to introduce my eldest daughter, Annella. Annella lass, his father, Laird Duncan, and I were friends since we were wee lads. God rest his soul, her father said, a little choked up when he mentioned his old friend.

My father often spoke verra highly of ye, my Laird, the warrior replied, then turned his full attention to Annella.

Tis a pleasure, my lady, Rory said, bowing at the waist.

Hamish turned his attention to Annella and said, Laird MacKinnon has come to ask for…

Immediately, Annella’s heart dropped in her chest. She pleaded to herself, dinna say my hand, please dinna say my hand.

…for supplies, and men to join him, her father continued.

Excuse me? she asked, taken aback by his response.

Laird MacKinnon has traveled from the Isle of Skye and is on an important mission to Stirling, he explained.

Annella raised her brow in confusion. Was he not the man who was coming to ask for her hand? Though she was grateful he was not, there was a small part of her that felt a slight disappointment. Trying to compose herself, Annella simply responded by nodding her head.

Laird MacKinnon, there is food prepared if ye and yer men wish to join our repast, Hamish offered.

Thank ye. We would welcome a warm meal.

Good. Tonight, we feast for Scotland!

Placing his hand on Rory’s shoulder, Hamish directed him back towards the dais. Annella walked behind them, trying to keep up with their long strides.

Loud conversation filled the room later. Nearly a dozen MacKinnon warriors had joined them for dinner, while the rest had taken refuge in the village. After everyone had filled their bellies with roasted lamb, breads, and cheese, the servants brought out a small barrel