Taming the Highland Beauty (Guardians of the Isles #7)

Chapter One

The Woodlands around Dunvegan Castle, Scotland

Saturday, April 25th, 1744

T he damp Scottish air brushed Gille’s cheeks as she peeked out from her hiding place near the base of the ancient moss-covered tree. The dense canopy of the forest loomed before her. The midday sun filtered through the leaves overhead in dappled shards, reminding her of both the freedom she longed for and the entrapment she endured. Each rustle of leaves, each snap of a twig, sent a jolt through her.

Anxiety gnawed at Gille as she adjusted the hood of the cloak that had been her constant companion since she had left the fairy world behind her. Her cloak, a patchwork of moss, leaves, and vines woven onto a base of thin, supple leather, felt like a mockery of comfort. It camouflaged her, helping her to blend into the wilderness, but nothing could hide the hammering of her heart within her.

Even so, beneath the fear, a fierce determination burned. She was no stranger to the forestland around Dunvegan Castle or the men who came to the woods with far more frequency since word had spread about how she and her sister, Aria, had rescued Keiran MacLeod from Fairyland. These men had learned she was now forced to live in the forest, to never leave its protection for more than seven days or she would turn into a tree herself, gnarled, trapped, alone for the rest of her life, all because of Oberon’s curse.

Yet men from the surrounding villages still came to the woods to trap her like a beast, to try to force her to use the little magic she still possessed for their own purposes, no matter the cost to herself. Over the past year, what they never seemed to pass on to each other was how many times they had failed to trap her, here deep in the woodlands.

Gille’s grip tightened around the edges of her cloak, pulling it more tightly around her. A disguise. A lifeline. She had chosen this spot, a natural choke point in the forest, for a reason. Her enemy never expected resistance, not here, not from a lone figure seemingly one with the foliage.

She closed her eyes, blocking out the sound of the birds singing overhead and the constant hum of the hidden animals and insects around her. Instead, she pictured herself training for this moment, recalling the hours she had spent both in Fairyland and in the human realm, honing her reflexes and silent movements. A single misstep, a single sound, could spell disaster. But Gille would not give her enemies that satisfaction. She had made herself a whisper in the woods, a predator waiting for its prey.

Taking a deep breath, she forced the tremor from her hands. Fear was a luxury she could not afford. Here, in the heart of the forest, under the watchful gaze of the ancient trees, Gille became an extension of the wild, a guardian waiting to strike. But instead of stomping masculine footsteps, Gille heard laughter echo through the trees, a bittersweet reminder of the life she could no longer have.

Suddenly, a whimper separated itself from the other sounds. Gille peeked through the foliage concealing her to see a young girl, no older than six, clutching a tattered doll. Her blond hair was tangled with leaves, and tears welled in her bright blue eyes. Another lost child.

The girl’s vulnerability tugged at something deep within Gille. Despite the curse that bound her to these woods, she could never turn her back on a child in need. She certainly knew what it was like to feel alone, isolated, and afraid. She would not wish that on her worst enemy, let alone an innocent child. She had to help the little one find her way home. The risk of becoming trapped in the form of a tree seemed inconsequential when compared to the despair of a child separated from her family.

Slowly, Gille pushed back the hood of her cloak as she stood, not wanting to frighten the child further. Still hidden by the foliage, she plucked a few leaves from her hair and set her cloak aside at the base of the tree before stepping into the dappled light. “Do not be afraid, little one,” she cooed softly, walking towards the crying child with slow, measured steps.

The little girl did not seem to hear. She kept walking in circles as tears raced down her cheeks, then she cried all the harder when she tripped over a gnarled root and fell onto her knees.

The need to help spurred Gille out of her usual reserve as she raced to the child’s side. “Are you hurt?”

The girl screamed and reared back, rocking back on her buttocks as she stared at Gille with wide blue eyes. Her tears vanished but fear now replaced her sorrow.

Why did children startle so easily? “It is all right. I am here to help you. I know the way back to your home,” Gille said in a calm voice.

The girl’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as she studied Gille’s face. What she saw must not have frightened her further because she visibly relaxed. “Who are ye?”

“I am a friend of the forest. I have come to help you. Would you like to go home?”

The child nodded, then got to her feet. Again, she studied Gille, but with more curiosity than fear. “Where did ye come from? Do ye live in the forest? Why are ye dressed like that? Why do ye have leaves in yer hair? Are ye a fairy?”

Suddenly Gille remembered why she usually avoided children. They were too perceptive and asked too many questions. Gille remained silent, hesitating, yet the young girl simply stared at her, waiting for a response. Gille blew out a breath and replied, “I was walking in the forest.” A lie. “I live in the area as you do.” A partial truth. “These are my clothes, and you also have leaves in your hair.” Two truths. “Do you believe in fairies?” she asked cynically, hoping to avoid answering the question. She need not add any new rumours to those already seeking her out.

The girl pressed her lips together, and indecision flared in her eyes. “I do believe in fairies. That’s how I got lost. I was followin’ a butterfly that was supposed tae lead me tae a fairy.” The little girl pointed to the orange and black butterfly nearby. “Or at least that’s what the other children said.” Tears welled in the little girl’s eyes once more.

Gille frowned. Another truth was the butterfly had led her to a fairy. “Come.” Gille held out her hand. “I can walk with you back to your home.”

The girl did not hesitate to take Gille’s hand in her own smaller one and allowed herself to be led through the dense forest until they came to the edge of the treeline. There, Gille stopped and released the little girl’s hand as she beheld the imposing silhouette of Dunvegan Castle rising in the distance and Dunvegan village before them. “Do you recognise where you are?” Gille asked the little girl.

The girl turned her face up to smile at Gille. “How did ye ken I lived in the village?”

She had guessed. Oberon had sent her into the Dunvegan forest with his curse so that she would be close enough to know what she missed, yet too far away to form connections with anyone within the gates of the castle or streets of the village. Besides, the other surrounding villages were too far away for a child experiencing neither hunger nor cold. Gille plucked a few leaves from the girl’s hair before turning her to face her home. “Go. I am certain someone is missing you terribly.”

The little girl nodded.

“And next time you and the other children play, stay closer to the village. The forest is not a safe place for children alone.”

The little girl looked back over her shoulder. “But ye are there tae help children like me. Children who get lost.”

“I cannot protect every child,” Gille said as a sudden heaviness weighed her down. “Tell the others to stay out of the forest. It is a dangerous place.”

The girl nodded, twisting her long blond hair over her shoulder. “Are ye coming with me?”

As if the forest were answering for her, a tendril of shadow, cast by the ancient beech behind her, fell over Gille’s face. She swallowed roughly as a stinging regret mixed with a deep sense of grief in her throat. “I will return to my own home. Go now. And do not wander again.”

The little girl took off in the direction of the village, skipping through the dappled sunlight as Gille pressed herself deeper into the gnarled embrace of the hollowed-out beech tree at her back. She had spent many days and nights nestled inside the old tree, watching the castle in the distance where her sister and mother lived freely amongst the MacLeod clan.

A wave of longing washed over Gille. She yearned to follow the little girl, to be a part of a family for the first time in her life. But the curse tethered her yet again to another place she could not escape for more than a few days. Nay, it was better for her to remain here, amongst the animals who had come to accept her.

At least she no longer lived in darkness, but in a place filled with light for a portion of each day. She tipped her face up, seeking the sun as it dipped towards the horizon. A few hours of daylight remained. Instead of turning back to the trees, she nestled in the cradle of the hollowed-out beech and let her gaze linger on Dunvegan Castle.

A stream of visitors headed for the gates. The MacLeods were obviously having a gathering with a neighbouring clan. A pang of jealousy moved through Gille. How she wanted to participate in such things. Instead of attending, she would sit in the tree and imagine the festivities. And if she were lucky, she might hear a few refrains of bright music as it floated from the castle to the surrounding vicinity. That would have to be enough for Gille tonight and any other night for as long as she remained under Oberon’s curse.

*

Time and space seemed to melt away as Callum MacLeod closed his eyes and continued to strum the strings of his mandolin. The innovative harmonies of Bach’s “Chaconne in D Minor” demanded his full attention. Callum’s brother, Orrick, had commissioned a hand-copied version of the piece from one of his friends in Edinburgh as a gift. Callum was forever grateful for the addition to his musical library.

Preparing to play, Callum shut his eyes on those gathered in the great hall for Gwendolyn’s cèilidh . The social gathering with Clan Nicolson was touted as a way to thank their allied clan for their help in locating the English regiments scattered through the Highlands over the past year, but Callum suspected the gathering was merely a way for his sister-in-law to introduce him, her brother, and sister to other young, unmarried people in that clan. Callum wanted nothing to do with anything other than entertaining or protecting his clan. And today called for much entertainment.

Callum resisted the urge to open his eyes, forcing his excess energy out through his fingers, translating it into something beautiful and emotional. Music did that for him, released the dammed-up reservoir of emotions he held inside, until he felt weightless and free. Only when the song came to an end did he open his eyes to the sound of applause and to see his kin gathered around him.

Alastair, his oldest brother and their clan leader, smiled in appreciation. Callum could finally smile back. It had taken two years since his brother’s return to Dunvegan to let go of Callum’s resentment at being left to run the castle and manage the family alone after their father had died. Callum had barely reached his majority at the time and had not had any training in running a vast network of estates. Their loyal staff had stepped in to help him, but that had not decreased his anger with Alastair, or the rest of his brothers and sister, who had gone away for various reasons. Music had been his only constant.

Callum’s gaze travelled about the great hall. Tapestries from ages past lined the walls, and chandeliers hung overhead, casting a golden light about the chamber. It was a cosy room, despite its grand size. It had been a haven he’d sought many times when he needed solace.

His brothers Tormod, Orrick, and Keiran had all returned over the past two years, as had Graeme, the captain of the guard, and Aria, their long-lost sister. Wives had been added. He smiled at Gwendolyn, Fiona, and Isolde as they continued to express their appreciation of his talents. The only two people missing were his sister, Rowena, and her husband Marcus, who were sailing the seas in search of adventure.

Also, never far from their sides since she’d been freed from the Fairy Tower, was their ghostly mother. Lady Janet lived a kind of half-life, stuck between the human and the spirit realm. Callum nodded to the spirit.

Your talent never ceases to amaze me. Lady Janet’s words were not spoken but entered the minds of all around her, allowing her to communicate with her family.

“Tell us a story, Mother. Something we have not heard before—something related to Dunvegan,” Tormod asked from his seat next to Fiona, wanting to continue the revelry.

I have told you all the stories about Dunvegan over the years.

“Tell them about the Dunvegan selkies,” a female voice came from amongst those gathered towards the back of the great hall.

“Aye, a selkie story,” Tormod said. “You never really explained to any of us why you have such a great fear of the selkies in the loch. There must be a reason why?”

Lady Janet floated back and forth, as though suddenly agitated. Her features became pinched. I do not fear the Dunvegan selkies. I simply do not trust them. That is why I have always warned my children to stay away from them.

“Tell them the tale of the selkie wife,” the female voice offered from her place, hidden amongst the guests.

Callum stood, trying to see who had suggested the tale, but he could not identify the woman among so many others.

“Aye, the selkie wife,” Tormod said with an encouraging smile and patting the open space on the bench beside him. “Please, Mother. None of us have heard it before.”

I have heard the story many times, but this is the only time I will tell you this tale, so listen closely. Lady Janet hovered on the bench beside Tormod as silence settled across the chamber.

One night, during a storm, a lonely fisherman walking along the shore stumbled upon a sight that made his breath catch. Lady Janet cleared her voice; even so, her tone held an emotional rasp as she continued. A group of beautiful women with hair all the colours of seaweed and skin that shimmered like moonlight frolicked on the shore. He instantly knew they were selkies who could shed their sealskins and walk on land.

Startled by a noise, the women grabbed their sealskins and vanished into the churning waves, all except for one, the most beautiful woman of them all, who hesitated. Driven by desire and greed, the man crept forward and took her sealskin, trapping the woman in human form. He offered the woman a deal: be his wife and he would keep her sealskin safe.

Their mother kept her eyes downcast. With no other choice, the selkie agreed. The two married, and for a time were happy. The man was a good husband, and the two had children, yet a deep sadness clung to the selkie woman. Her eyes, the colour of the ocean’s depth, would wander to the horizon, drawn by the call of the sea.

One day, while cleaning the attic, the selkie woman came upon a hidden chest. Inside, nestled amongst old clothes lay her stolen sealskin. A wave of longing washed over her and, in that moment, the life she had built with the man and even her children paled in comparison to the freedom of the sea. Tears formed in their mother’s eyes.

With a heavy heart, the selkie woman went to the water’s edge and donned her skin, let out a mournful cry at all she left behind, and slipped beneath the waves. Tears rolled down their mother’s cheeks and her voice sounded tight as she continued. The selkie woman was forever caught between two worlds. Her heart belonged to the sea, but her children were born of the land.

At the conclusion of the tale, the noise in the chamber resumed as those gathered talked about what they had heard. But not their mother. The story had affected her deeply as evidenced by the tears she tried to bat away, only to have her hands pass right through her ghostly face. Her failure only brought more tears.

Callum stood and went to their mother’s side. While the festivities continued around them, Callum and Tormod looked on with concern. “Thank you for the tale, Mother,” Callum said. “Now I understand why it was so hard for you to tell us that story, because you are also caught between two worlds.” Callum tried to wrap his arms around her seemingly corporeal body, but his hands also went right through her.

“That’s odd,” Tormod said. “We were able to embrace you a few weeks ago.”

Lady Janet’s gaze met Callum’s, and he saw not only fear but also pain. Something is changing. I am not as solid as I have been in the past, and there is an ache inside me that grows more intense each day.

“Mother, why didn’t you say something?” Tormod asked.

You were all so busy planning this celebration and preparing for Beltane next week. I did not want to distress you.

“Do you know what might have triggered this... pain?” Tormod asked.

Sadness filled their mother’s eyes. I am not certain, but I believe I am being pulled into the spirit realm where I should have been when I died, instead of here with you, my children. I fear that if I cannot truly pass into the afterlife soon, I will be caught in the emptiness of the spirit realm and live in eternal torment.

“Is there anything we can do?” Callum swallowed roughly, forcing his emotions back as he met Tormod’s gaze. They had to do something to help their mother.

Since it was fairy magic that most likely kept me with my children all these years, I believe it is only fairy magic that can help me to move from the human realm into the afterlife before I am consumed by the spirit realm.

“Do you think Aria or Pearl could help you?” Callum asked.

They have already tried. Their magic is diminished after their last battle with Oberon.

“Then who can help us?” Distress pulled at the corners of Tormod’s mouth.

There is one who might, but she was cursed by Oberon to live in the forests beyond Dunvegan. Helping me might jeopardise her own survival. We could not ask that of her.

“Who is this fairy, Mother?” Tormod asked.

Gille, Aria’s sister.

Callum straightened. Why did it always have to be fairies who could help the MacLeods? Over the years he had sworn to keep his distance from fairies. That had included Aria and her mother, Pearl, for a time, until he convinced himself that they were more human than fae, despite their bloodline. But Gille? She was different—spirited, untrustworthy, dangerous. He had not given her a second thought for over a year now. “She disappeared from Dunvegan after we defeated Oberon.”

Oberon is not defeated. Gille’s presence in the forestlands outside Dunvegan is proof of that.

Callum stood. Against his better judgement, he knew what he had to do. To save his mother, he would put aside his own feelings. “I will convince Gille to come here and help you.”

’Tis not that easy, my son. She never leaves the woodlands. Their mother’s face contorted as she clutched her midriff.

Tormod stood. “I am going to get Lottie to see if she can do anything to help relieve Mother’s pain.”

Callum nodded, even though he knew the healer most likely could not help. None of Lottie’s potions or unguents would work on someone who was not truly of this realm. “As soon as I am able, I am going to the forest to bring Gille back here. None of us want all that you have done to protect your family for the past fourteen years to be in vain.”

Son . . .

“Nay, Mother. Gille must help you. I will force her, if need be.”