Once Upon a Highland Moon: A Scottish Historical Romance: The Highland Moon Series, #2

Once Upon a Highland Moon

By Gwyn Brodie

Lady Sorcha MacPherson is betrothed to Archibald Campbell, the Laird of Clifftower Castle, where she is staying until her wedding day. Once she realizes what a cruel and vicious man the laird truly is, Sorcha’s plans change. She refuses to marry him and live the abusive existence Sorcha knows she will if she becomes his wife. One moonlit night, with the help of Campbell’s own guards, Sorcha, her two guards, and maid leave to return home to Blackstone, where her brother, Alexander, is laird. The following day they are attacked by highwaymen before being rescued by Galen MacKinnon, a brave and most handsome Highland warrior, and heir apparent to Moorloch Castle.

Galen is quite taken with the red-haired beauty and wants naught more than a taste of her lips. Sorcha is most appreciative of his help—until he learns her identity and abducts her to exchange for his brother's freedom because her brother is holding his brother prisoner! Campbell chases after them because he wants Sorcha, and especially her dowry. Galen vows the cruel laird—nor any other man but himself—will have her. Will their love survive the deceit, betrayal, and danger that greets them at every turn?

Once Upon a Highland Moon

By Gwyn Brodie

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Copyright 2014 Gwyn Brodie

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. This book is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, locations and events are fictitious or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental or from this writer's imagination.

Dedication

To my husband, Michael, for always being there when I needed him.

To my friend, Vonda, for her unfailing encouragement and motivation.

Once Upon a Highland Moon

By Gwyn Brodie

Prologue

Scottish Highlands , June 1604

A full moon hung low over the Scottish Highlands, sending a wide ribbon of moonlight through the open window and across Lady Sorcha MacPherson's bed. Since retiring to her bedchamber the hour before, she'd done naught but toss and turn. It'd been that way each night following her arrival at Clifftower Castle the week before.

She peered over the side of the bed where her ladies' maid, Inna, slept soundly on her pallet, then glanced across the room at the large chest of dark wood positioned along the wall. It held the pale blue brocaded dress in which she was to wed. It fit her perfectly, emphasizing Sorcha's every curve. Laird Archibald Campbell was certain to find her beautiful—and desirable—when she entered the small chapel where he'd be waiting for her on their wedding day.

Already awake, Sorcha decided to make quick use of the garderobe. Careful not to disturb Inna, she donned her robe and slippers, lit a candle from a tiny flame still flickering in the fireplace, and slipped out of the bedchamber.

As she headed down the corridor, the sound of sobbing tugged at her heart and pulled her in a different direction. Someone appeared to be in great distress. A female's cries grew louder and louder as she neared the solar. Perhaps she could console whoever 'twas in such terrible anguish. After all, she'd soon be the lady of the castle and should be aware of the goings on there. The solar door stood slightly ajar. Sorcha hesitated for a moment before pushing it open.

Archibald stood beside the fireplace, his back facing the door, with a young servant shoved against the wall. Bent on seducing the girl, he was not aware Sorcha had entered the room.

Speechless, Sorcha watched in horror as the man she was about to marry groped the sobbing girl's bodice while she struggled to get free. He brought his mouth down hard against hers.

The servant girl shoved against his chest and tried to turn her head away from him. Nay, m'laird, she begged, before letting go another round of pitiful cries.

Och, cease thrashing about, Ellie. I'll have you beneath me this night whether you wish it or not, he said, then grabbed a handful of her long black hair, forcing her to remain still while he brutally ravaged her mouth.

Anger blazed through Sorcha. Leave her be! she shouted, the tremble in her voice evident even to her own ears.

Without turning around, Archibald dropped his hands to his side. He stepped away from the girl, who fled the solar as if the devil were after her—and in truth, he had been.

Instead of apologizing for his offensive behavior, Archibald lowered his brows and narrowed his eyes. Without showing even a speck of remorse, he glared at her. Another man had taken the place of the Archibald she thought she knew. The one she had planned to spend her life. The real Archibald was someone who both frightened and disgusted her.

Beneath his fearsome glare, an icy finger trailed up Sorcha's spine. She took a step backward toward the corridor. How could you treat anyone in such an appalling manner? She forced herself to regain her composure. I don't understand why you would wish to bed another woman right under my nose. Do I mean naught to you? I ken you don't love me, but you at least owe me a bit of respect.

The corners of Archibald's mouth turned up into what resembled a smile, but his eyes remained cold and distant. I'd not wished you to ken before the marriage, but since you've found me out, I see no harm in letting you ken you'll not be the only one I'll be bedding once we're wed. I've a mistress in the village and plan to take my pleasure as I always have. I have no intention of changing my way of life to accommodate my marriage to you.

Shocked by Archibald's cruel and uncaring words, Sorcha gasped. My brother would have never agreed to a marriage contract between us had he be aware of the sort of man you truly are, she said, fighting back tears of rage and betrayal.

He shrugged. 'Tis too late. The contract is signed. And I'm quite certain MacPherson, even if he is Laird of Blackstone Castle and its vast holdings, wouldn't want to do anything so foolish as to break it. It'd not be looked kindly upon by the king—as you well ken. You'll become my wife whether you like it or not. And once we're wed, your brother will bestow upon me a more than ample dowry to fill my coffers. I have no intention of giving that up—especially the lands extending my holdings to the sea and the waterway.

Sorcha could no longer fight back her tears. They spilled down her cheeks, and she choked on a sob. Is that all I am to you, Archibald? A way to fill your coffers and expand your holdings? she screeched. She'd regret not keeping her voice low. By morn every resident in the castle would be aware of what had happened between them, and they would pity her. She didn't wish pity from anyone.

Ignoring her obvious distress, Archibald folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the fireplace. I'm in need of an heir, which you'll provide me.

An unfaithful marriage. A business transaction. That was all their union would ever be. 'Twas not an uncommon practice-to treat a marriage contract the same as any other business transaction. Sorcha had hoped her own marriage would be different. But Archibald didn't care about her feelings. 'Twas painfully obvious she could expect no more from the man standing before her.

Sorcha opened her mouth, but naught came out. Shaking her head in disbelief, she backed into the corridor, leaving Archibald alone in the solar, then quickly ran to her bedchamber and locked the door. More likely than not, he'd go in search of poor Ellie to finish what he'd started.

Sorcha didn't love him. How could she? They barely knew each other. But she'd been certain they would come to love one another in time. If she hadn't truly believed that, she'd never have agreed to marry him.

When Alex had introduced the tall, immaculately groomed Laird Archibald Campbell to her in the drawing room at Blackstone, he'd seemed pleasant enough, and she'd thought him handsome, even though at thirty-eight, he was seventeen years her senior. Alex deemed it a good match and had proceeded with the marriage contract. She'd also thought it to be a good match—but how wrong they both had been.

After what she'd just learned about Archibald, she could never love him—nor did she want to. Once Alex was made aware of Archibald's real character, she didn't believe he'd force her to wed such a man—even if it did mean breaking a marriage contract.

Sorcha slipped back into bed, her cheeks stiff with dried tears. She turned onto her side and stared out the window at the full moon. There had been a time when she'd dreamt of marrying for love. But it had been just that—a dream—a girlish dream.

Her thoughts wandered back two years, to when John Lamont, the second son of the Laird of Glenfinnah Castle strolled into Blackstone. His sparkling blue eyes and handsome face had near taken her breath away. While their fathers discussed business, he'd swept Sorcha off her feet, stealing kisses whenever he could during their week stay. She'd made the mistake of falling in love with him and was naïve enough to believe that he was just as in love with her. So, when John asked her to meet him late one night at an abandoned crofter's hut, she'd hesitated but a moment before agreeing.

Trembling with excitement, Sorcha sat in the dark hut, perched on a broken settle, waiting for him to arrive. But he never came. Once she realized that he never would, she buried her face in her hands and cried until she had no tears left. Brokenhearted, when the first light of morn pinked the skies, she made her way back to Blackstone.

Sorcha rolled onto her back and closed her eyes. Hadn't she learned her lesson? She should have known better than to put her trust in another man. By the saints, she'd not make that same mistake again.

Just before sleep overtook her, she'd made up her mind. The unhappy life that lay before her—if she married Archibald—was not the life she wanted to live. By whatever means necessary, she would return home to Blackstone Castle.

Chapter One

The shrill cry of a golden eagle filled the cloudless blue sky above Galen MacKinnon's head. A herd of fifty or more red deer grazed off in the distance, watched over by a massive stag positioned on the hill above them.

Three days ago, after receiving a vague missive from his father, Galen had left Ravenskull Castle, where he'd been staying with the MacLachlans. For reasons yet unknown, Alexander MacPherson, the Laird of Blackstone Castle, was holding his younger brother, Ewan, prisoner.

His father, the Laird of Moorloch, had recently taken a spill from his horse while hunting and broken his leg, leaving Galen, heir apparent to Moorloch, to handle the matter himself.

Galen blew out a long breath. What the devil sort of trouble could a sixteen-year-old lad have gotten himself into? Thinking back ten years, when he was his brother's age, Galen quickly realized it could be one of many things. In his case, a female was usually at the root of his troubles. He grinned. Aye, and most times, still was. More than likely this wouldn't be the last time he'd be getting Ewan out of trouble, for the lad had a handsome face and a devilish grin that caused the young lasses to look his way more often than not.

The sound of hoof beats drawing down upon him brought his thoughts back to the present. He turned his horse, Bhaltair, off the path and into the thick wood. The road he traveled on was frequented by highwaymen using its stretch of thick undergrowth to their own advantage, and many an unwary traveler had fallen victim. Galen had no intention of becoming one of them.

He quickly dismounted and cupped his hand over the horse's nose to keep him quiet. His other hand, he wrapped around the hilt of his broadsword and waited for the riders to pass them by.

A roar of laughter echoed through the glen. Duncan MacDonell. Galen would recognize his contagious laughter anywhere. And more than likely, 'twas Cinead MacLeod who rode with him. Galen, Duncan, and Cinead, along with Kade MacLachlan, the Laird of Ravenskull, had attended university together in Edinburgh and had been the closest of friends ever since. Over the years, they'd entrusted their lives to one another more times than Galen could count.

He grinned. There was no way he could pass up the opportunity to play a bit of mischief on his friends.

Galen waited until they were close enough for him to see them clearly through the undergrowth, then grabbed an oak sapling and shook it violently.

The two men quickly brought their horses to a halt. Galen heard the swish of weapons being drawn from their scabbards.

Leave me be! Galen squealed in a high-pitched voice, doing his best to imitate a female.

Duncan's feet were the first to hit the ground, his dark, shoulder-length hair hung loosely about his face and his brown eyes narrowed as he stared into the underbrush.

Cinead followed suit, his steely gaze never leaving the wood.

Have a care, Cin, Duncan whispered, there could be many.

Aye. Cinead whispered back, his broadsword held high in one hand and his targe in the other.

Galen let out a high-pitched wail.

With battle cries loud enough to rattle the heavens above, Duncan and Cinead rushed into the wood with their weapons raised, sliding to a halt when they spotted Galen grinning like the cat that ate the mouse. Their battle cries slowly faded away.

Galen burst into laughter and dropped to the ground, rolling about and holding his stomach.

Saints above! Cinead growled and shoved his sword back into its scabbard. 'Tis amusing, Galen, to be sure. But do you ken how close you came to having that pretty head of yours lopped off your shoulders?

Och, Cin. I've been watching you two the whole time, he said, bursting into another fit of laughter. You should've seen the looks on your faces when you realized 'twas I and not some lass needing rescue.

"Perhaps we should take his head, Duncan grumbled. Then we'd no' have to worry about finding eggs tucked into the toes of our boots, dead vermin wrapped in our plaids or concern ourselves with any of the other mischief he's put us through since we've known him. I'm certain Kade would agree if he were here."

Galen stopped laughing and got to his feet. Duncan, no need to feel that way, he said, brushing the debris from his belted plaid and shirt. I promise that from this day forward, I'll no longer amuse myself by playing tricks on the two of you—or Kade.

Duncan scowled. Umph, for some reason I don't quite believe you, lad. What are you doing way out here, then? I thought you were staying at Ravenskull. In fact, that's where we're headed. Did Jillian finally tire of your mischiefs and send you on your way?

Cinead chuckled.

Jillian was the best thing that had ever happened to Kade. Nowadays, his friend always had a smile on his face—especially since wee Robbie was born.

Nay. Galen shook his head. The lass likes me. I received a missive from Father. It seems Ewan has gotten himself into some sort of trouble and is being held at Blackstone Castle. Father wished for me to return to Moorloch and have several of the MacKinnon garrison accompany me when I met with Alexander MacPherson. Instead, I sent Jamie, who carried the message, back to the Isle of Mull to let my father ken that I intend to try and reason with MacPherson. The MacKinnons and the MacPhersons have no quarrels with one another. Whatever Ewan did couldn't be all that bad, could it now?

Cinead raised his brows. "The lad is your brother. Perhaps he is more like you than you wish to admit."

Galen glared at his friend. No matter. Perhaps I'll be able to talk him into letting Ewan go. If I offer him some sort of payment—for whatever my brother did—perhaps MacPherson will see fit to turn him over to me.

We'll be coming with you then, Duncan said, then turned to Cinead. What do you say, Cin?

Cinead nodded. Aye, I agree.

Good. I'll be more than happy to have the two of you watching my back when I ride into Blackstone.

Is Laird MacKinnon healing well? Duncan asked.

Aye, but these days he keeps close to the fire. The cold makes his leg ache. He's also taken to having a dram or two of whisky more often than usual since the accident. Galen led Bhaltair back onto the path, joining the others as they made their way on to Blackstone Castle.

Galen, how well do you ken Alexander MacPherson? Cinead asked, a gust of wind whipping his long pale hair around his broad shoulders and across his face. His Viking ancestry had always been a source of pride for him and he wore it well.

We've never met, but I hear he's a fair man. I pray that 'tis true.

Duncan's stomach growled loudly. Perhaps he is also a generous man and will allow us a bite to eat. I'm starving.

Cinead snorted. Duncan, you're always starving. You could eat a horse—or two—and your hunger would no' be satisfied.

Umph, Duncan said, feigning insult.

Galen grinned. He'd always enjoyed Duncan and Cinead's friendly bantering.

After several hours of riding, and with gloaming drawing nigh, Blackstone Castle seemed to rise up out of the earth like the mountains that surrounded it. 'Tis just ahead, Galen said, keeping a close watch for any sign of an attack by MacPherson's men.

They each kept a hand on the hilt of their broadsword, as they rode up to the gatehouse.

A tall, slender man watched their approach. What be ye business here? he asked, his brows lowered over narrowed eyes as he waited for an answer.

I'm here to see Laird MacPherson. 'Tis a matter of much importance.

And just who might you be?

Galen MacKinnon. These are my friends, Duncan MacDonell and Cinead MacLeod.

The man's eyes widened. You've come about the lad then?

A sliver of fear edged up Galen's spine. He nodded, Aye, I have. What the devil has Ewan done?

Wait here, said the guard before disappearing inside the castle, leaving a second guard to keep a wary eye on them. A few minutes later, the first man returned. The laird will see you after you take your horses to the stables, but you must leave your weapons here.

Galen quickly lowered his sleeve before the guard could see the small weapon strapped to his forearm, then handed over his broadsword, targe and two dirks. He didn't wish to deal with MacPherson without having any weapon at all.

Once Cinead and Duncan had followed suit, laying down their arms, the guard opened the portcullis, waited until the three men passed through, then lowered it again.

After handing over their horses at the stables, they headed up to the castle. A sense of foreboding lay heavy on Galen's shoulders, and he stayed alert for any sign of treachery, for he didn't ken MacPherson and wasn't sure what to expect from him. He didn't want the three of them to end up in the dungeon alongside Ewan. Several well-armed guards followed them into the great hall and took up position in the center of the room facing them.

A man with long, black hair, near Galen's own age, rose from a settle near the fire. "I'm Alexander MacPherson, Laird of