His Secret Highland Bride

Chapter One

July, 1695 Scotland

Breathing in the scents of blooming heather and sunshine, Shane MacPherson allowed the first moments of his return home to sink in.

“Go away, you rotten whoreson!” A woman’s shout rent the clean mountain air he’d been enjoying.

Not exactly the welcome he’d been expecting after being away for five years fighting in France. Though since he was still far from the castle, he hadn’t expected any welcome at all.

“I’ll split your skull until your tiny maggot brain falls out on your boot!” The woman’s shouts were becoming more colorful in her distress.

Instincts, honed by war, had both him and his horse ready for battle as they headed toward the sound. Before he made it, the woman’s scream shattered the still air. His blood went cold as he worried what he might find.

Memories flickered through his mind. A broken body, pale skin, and dark eyes that seemed to search for him even in their emptiness. He’d let her down. He would not do the same with this lass.

Shane was out of his saddle before Hades came to a stop in the small clearing. The soldier in Shane had him pull his sword without thinking, as he assessed each threat separately. Two men, maybe only ten and seven, were being held back by a striking woman with raven hair and a large stick. The sleeve of her shabby, ill-fitting gown was torn and her dark eyes wild.

For a moment, he thought it was Maria, but he shook the thought away when she spoke again, for she didn’t speak with a lilting Spanish accent. This woman was a Scot and much taller than his Maria. Plus, his wife was dead, buried back in Spain.

Once again, he shook himself to action. He would be no help to this woman if he couldn’t get his head straight.

“Stay away from me, ye wee maggots,” she spat out while poking the closest of the men in the stomach with her crude weapon.

The man bent slightly from the strike but managed to hold on to the stick and toss it aside. With no protection, she turned to run but was grasped by the other man and hurled to the ground. That was plenty for Shane to know what they intended, and he wouldn’t allow it on MacPherson lands, especially not when he was now responsible for the clan.

He’d received word from his stepmother that his father had died. Shane wasn’t any more certain how he felt about this news now than he’d been when he’d received the letter more than a month ago. Their relationship had been strained after the laird married Deirdre, his stepmother. The older man had become obsessed with his young bride to the detriment of the clan and his relationship with his children. Shane was the oldest, but his younger sister and brother were equally ignored by their father.

If his father was indeed gone, it would be Shane’s turn to run the clan. And he wasn’t ready. But as the new laird, he wouldn’t allow these men to accost his people. “Hold!” he called, his deep voice grabbing their attention. “Unhand the woman. You are on MacPherson lands. Who are you?”

The men laughed and shook their heads. “Ye think we don’t know whose lands we’re on?” the taller man asked. “We are MacPherson guards, and ye don’t belong here. Get on with ye, and let us to our business.”

Shane hid his surprise. These vile creatures were MacPhersons? He took in their dirty clothes and thin bodies. These were warriors, these scrawny lads with no honor? Regardless, he’d not allow them to carry out their plans. “I said, you’ll unhand the woman and leave her be.”

With begrudging sighs, they pulled their blades. Though rusted and bent, there were two of them against Shane’s single sword. For the past five years, he’d had Ronan at his back as he fought. He’d parted ways with his stepbrother the day before, as Ronan had business with his grandfather, leaving Shane to finish the journey. Together, they were unstoppable, but this battle would be fought alone.

Using proper strategy when faced with a single opponent, these scoundrels split up and moved out, leaving Shane exposed on every front. He pulled his dirk from his belt and flung it into the shoulder of the first man, dropping him where he stood, his sword clanging to the ground as he cried out in pain.

With the taller man down, Shane turned toward the other one, who, after seeing his friend bleeding on the ground, spun and ran away like a coward. At the sound of a loud thwack, Shane turned back to the man on the ground to see he was knocked out, and the Valkyrie was once again wielding her large stick.

She gripped it tightly as Shane slid his sword into the sheath strapped along his back. He held up his hands, palms out, to show he meant her no harm. “Ye are safe now,” he told her, hoping it was true.

MacPherson soldiers armed with worthless weapons and no respect for women didn’t bode well for the state of his clan. The clan he would soon be in charge of. Shame roiled through him at the thought. When Shane had last stood on MacPherson lands, he’d been barely a man at twenty. Now, he felt aged beyond his years. Unlike Ronan, Shane had managed to come back much the same as he’d left. At least in body. His mind, however, would never be the same.

“Who are you?” the woman asked, still holding out the stick in what she probably thought was a threatening manner.

That was a very good question. Who was he? A laird who wasn’t ready to rule.

He didn’t know if he’d ever be ready, but he planned to take a few more days regardless, especially since the letter he’d received included even worse news than the loss of his father. Before his death, the laird had negotiated a marriage between Shane and the daughter of another clan.

His father had no way of knowing Shane had already been married to a woman who had called his heart to pounding just to look at her. He’d lost her. And with her, his own soul. He would make a terrible husband to this poor woman his father had shackled him to. Not that she would expect any less. Alliances through marriage were common in the Highlands. Shane always knew he was destined for such a fate.

Making a match to strengthen his clan was one thing. Despite wishing to be alone, he took no issue with marrying to gain cattle to feed his people or land, or even an ally. But marrying to gain more riches for his conniving stepmother didn’t sit well with him. Shane wondered who this woman was who would be sacrificed to gain coin for Deirdre’s desires.

Embarrassed by his clan and the name he’d once felt honored to own, Shane offered a shrug and answered the trembling woman. “I’m just a soldier. Ye can call me Shane.”

…

Lindsay Wallace frowned at the man. Shane.

He had possibly saved her life, her virtue for certain, but he was even more imposing than the two lads who had attacked her. He’d held the large claymore as if it were no heavier than the stick in her grip.

Actually, the stick was becoming quite heavy as she attempted to hold it out from her body. Her hand shook either from fatigue or the reality of the situation settling in. In the end, it wasn’t the fact that he’d sheathed his giant sword, or that he was holding out his hands unthreateningly, or even that she grew too tired to hold up the stick.

It was the smile he offered that made her stand down and relax.

She instantly felt silly, for a smiling man could be as deadly as a sneering one. Perhaps even more so. But this man’s smile, despite the emptiness of it, spoke of safety. Shane. His brown hair and moss-green eyes had disarmed her of more than the stick. She blinked rapidly, trying not to allow the tears building in her eyes to fall. She didn’t want to seem weak, but if this man knew all the things she had endured in the last month, he could never think her weak.

Lindsay, daughter of the Wallace laird, looked nothing like she had when she’d left her home a month ago. Her mother had sent her to the MacPherson clan with a maid and a retainer to care for her mother’s sister, who was ill. But when Lindsay arrived, she’d learned her aunt had already passed. Her uncle begged her to stay on to help him tend to his three motherless boys, but as soon as the retainer left to return home to Riccarton, everything descended into chaos.

Her maid ran off in the middle of the night, taking Lindsay’s gowns and jewels with her. Her uncle’s lingering gazes unsettled her. The boys were sheer demons who, like their father, treated her like a maid. When she wrote to her mother requesting safe passage home, she was denied for reasons she still couldn’t accept. Her father planned to marry her to the heir of the MacPherson clan. She couldn’t think of a greater disgrace than becoming a member of this horrid clan.

Except, perhaps, returning home to tell her father she had rejected yet another betrothal he had arranged for her. Last summer, she had refused Robert Fletcher, the heir to the Fletcher Clan, and caused great embarrassment for her father.

She shivered at the memory of seeing such disappointment in her papa’s eyes. But, surely, he would need to understand why becoming the mistress of the MacPherson Clan was entirely unacceptable.

“Are ye a MacPherson?” she asked, her chin lifting as if she could tell if he offered a lie.

“Aye, though I’ve not been here in five years. I’ve only just returned today.” He frowned at the man lying on the ground, who was still breathing but unconscious from the knock to the head she’d delivered.

“It appears my clan has declined in recent years, if these two are any testament to the men tasked with protecting the people here.”

She sniffed. “I’ve not seen many better than these two.”

“And yet you go about the forest unaccompanied.” His frown showed his disapproval, but she saw something else as well. Worry. For her? Still, his reproach ruffled her feathers greatly.

She wished she hadn’t tossed away her stick, for she would have pointed it at him for greater effect. “Do ye think to judge me for taking a moment to sit on a rock alone in the middle of the woods? Why should I not be safe here? This is how the MacPhersons treat their women?”

Once again, Shane raised his hands in forfeit. “You have the right of it, Valkyrie. You should be safe to go anywhere you desire. I apologize for my clan that it isn’t so. May I offer my escort?”

She looked back to where the village lay beyond the forest. She wasn’t yet ready to return to the cottage with her uncle and the wee devils. She’d come to the woods for a bit of peace and had gotten just the opposite.

“I would request a moment to sit in silence before I return.”

He gave a single nod and gestured toward the rock where she’d originally hoped to find refuge. It looked out over a river that was swelled and rushing from the melting snow flowing down the mountains.

“I’ll wait until you are ready to depart and ensure no one bothers ye.”

He took a seat on a nearby stump and seemed content to wait for her no matter how long it took.

Shifting on the rock to find a comfortable position, she allowed the July sun to soak into her back as it sifted in through the trees to warm her. She looked down at her hands, red and chapped from the work she’d been made to do.

She wasn’t against labor. She enjoyed helping the Wallace women in the kitchens, and she took pride in what they accomplished by providing a hearty meal. The pleased grunts from her clan and the scraping of trenchers were her reward. But here, it was different.

Her uncle barked orders and forced her to do everything while he and his sons watched and made cruel jokes. They made her tasks more difficult for their entertainment. Tripping her while she was carrying wood. Bumping into her and making her spill the water she’d collected to make their meals.

She was exhausted most nights but feared sleeping too soundly for needing to keep watch. Her uncle had made no move to act upon his glances, but Lindsay worried it wouldn’t be long before he worked up the courage to do so.

“You would have been better not to have come here,” she said, breaking the easy silence between them. “Wherever you were, it was surely better than this place.”

He sniffed and frowned. “I don’t wish to argue, but, as I said, I’m a soldier. I’ve been fighting in France and Spain for the past five years. These two mutts don’t bother me compared to a line of French muskets.”

She recognized the pain swirling in his green eyes and wondered at what horrors he must have seen. Still, he wouldn’t find much peace here. “Ye haven’t been in the village yet, I assume.”

He laughed at that and then shook his head. “What is your name, lass?”

She rather liked the name he’d given her. After all, Valkyries were women of power and prestige. At least the Norse knew to respect their females. “Lindsay,” she said, pausing before providing her surname.

This man, honorable as he seemed, was a soldier just returned from war and most likely hurting for coin. Would he turn his back on honor if he learned who she was? The daughter of the Wallace laird, promised to the MacPherson chief, would bring a high price in ransom if given the opportunity.

At the last second, her lips formed the name of her feckless maid instead. “Cameron.”

The man winced. The Camerons were enemies of the MacPhersons. As soon as she’d spoken the name, she worried he might very well pull his sword again and bring it across her throat, but he made no move to harm her.

She held back a smile as he shook off his disgust and nodded.

“A Cameron,” he whispered. “Even still, any woman should be safe on MacPherson lands.”

“From what I’ve seen, the former laird and his lady care only for riches and allow their people to fend for themselves. The guard doesn’t have enough money to care for themselves, let alone a family, so they find their comforts wherever they can, willing or no.”

It was her turn to give him a look of distaste. Looking through the trees at the sun on the horizon, she sighed her reluctance to leave. “I imagine I must return.”

Without answer, he stood, and at his command, his horse moved forward so he could take the reins. Rather than mount or suggest they ride together—something she wouldn’t consider—he walked beside her through the forest. “Do ye mind if we make a stop here?” He nodded to a cottage at the edge of the woods. The roof was in good repair, but the building had an air of abandonment about it.

“Your home?” she asked.

“My brother’s, but he said I could stay, since he is not using it.”

She waited as he stabled his horse in the small building behind the house and then went inside. He left the door standing open and pushed out the shutters on the two small windows. She imagined he wanted to let the fresh air in.

He came out carrying a dusty bucket before returning to her side.

“Shall I see you home?”

“You may see me to the hovel where I am living at the moment, but I shall never call this place or this clan my home.”

“I remember a time when it was not so bad. When the MacPherson name was something to be proud of.”

Shane looked so distraught it was as if he was responsible for his clan’s disgrace himself. She might have said more, but the thought of being forced to bear the name MacPherson sent a shot of fear through her.

She couldn’t allow such a thing. She needed to find a way to get home without disappointing her father yet again.