Highland Enchantment (Highland Heartstrings #2)

Chapter One

Scottish Highlands

Summer

Rory Hart grunted as he swung his arm up and his fingers found a small slip of ledge to slide into.

He pushed off with his booted foot and repeated the gesture.

Below him, swift waves crashed onto rocks, breaking up the bright white peaks.

The briny smell of the sea surrounded him and he inhaled deeply as he made his way up the wall of rock.

He could spend all of his days for the rest of his life out here doing this same thing every day and he would die a very happy man. There was no one to bother him. No one nagging him about responsibility or what he should be doing for the family. For the clan.

Being the second born son of the laird, he didn’t have the amount of responsibility that had been placed on his older brother, Alpin’s, shoulders since birth, but he had his share.

And he’d rather ignore them.

There was naught he disliked more than being holed up in Hartsmoor Castle. His familial home was massive and held a commanding presence in their part of the highlands, but whenever he was indoors, he longed to be outside. He felt held down. Closed in. A prisoner of sorts.

Reaching the top of the rock, he pulled himself up and over the edge to the summit.

He rolled his burning shoulders in an attempt to ease the tightness from the effort of the climb.

He looked at his fingers, the knuckles bloody where he’d managed to scrape the skin off when he dragged them across the rough stone surface.

But sore and bloody, he didn’t care. Nay, the beautiful view laid out afore him was worth every scrape of skin. Every sore muscle. He dropped to the ground and brought a knee up to rest his arm upon as he lifted his chin and squinted at the sun.

The silence of his rowdy siblings and castle life was a welcome reprieve. There were plenty of noises here to fill his ears. The sound of the crashing waves. The birds sing-song. The faint rustle of the wind blowing through the grass and trees, shifting the leaves.

All of them were amongst his favorite sounds. Natural sounds that he expected to hear when he was in the midst of nature.

Here he didn’t have to listen to his mother, Lillias, lovely as she was, lecture him about taking unnecessary risks.

“Ye will fall one day. Yer fingers or boots will slip and down ye will go.” She would make an exaggerated sweep of her arm, arcing it through the air.

“And we will ne’er ken. For days ye could lay upon the rocks, a bloody mess, or worse, dead, and we willnae ken.

’Tis too dangerous.” Then she would drop a kiss on his cheek afore patting his head as if he were a wee lad and move on to trying to convince his father, Arthur, laird of clan Hart, to order him to stop.

But his father kenned better. The highlands called to Rory. The fresh air beckoned him.

His family would never be able to drag him away from them.

He refused to be remanded inside doing Lord kens what.

Leaning back on his palms, he let the early summer sun warm his face and skin. He closed his eyes and took a slow, cleansing breath.

Soon, no matter how much he didn’t want to, Rory would need to return to Hartsmoor. Back to the raucous that was his family. Having four siblings meant that the castle they called home was never quiet—especially with three sisters.

Here, though, in the highlands, in the trees, scaling rocky cliffs and hiking mountains, Rory felt like he could forget the rest of the world existed. It was just him and nature. No pressure. No demands.

He could just be.

Sighing, he pushed himself up off the ground and dusted the backside of his trews off. He began his descent, choosing a different path than the way he had come up. As he made his way down, he saw a hawk circling in the distance.

Something in the area must have perished, or it was tracking its prey. Either way, Rory was sure it would not be long afore it dove down and snatched whatever creature it was that the bird had spotted.

The closer he got to Hartsmoor the more solemn his mood grew. His shoulders felt heavier. His feet moved a little slower. That always happened when he spent a day doing what he loved only to return to the confines of his family home.

Rory loved his family. Every single sibling. His parents. He never wished ill will to fall upon any of them and would not cope well with one of them becoming injured. Was it wrong then, that even though he loved them, he didn’t want to be around them?

His sister, Moira, had an independent streak that their parents had tried to break her of.

All the good that did. Instead, she deceived them all by concocting a plan to visit her best friend for an extended period of time and traveled the highlands with a MacLeod.

Not just any MacLeod, but Laird MacLeod’s first-born son.

The clan was Hart’s sworn enemy at the time.

Had been for years long afore Rory’s father had been born.

Now, they were married, uniting the clans and bringing to light a history that none of them had been aware of.

When their father had found out what she had done, Rory thought he was going to meet an early grave. Arthur was ready to scorch the earth from their lands to the MacLeods.

But it all worked out in the end and now she and her husband, Errol, were building a new life together on a parcel of land that now acted as a bridge of peace betwixt the Hart and the MacLeod clans.

With Moira and Errol’s settlement there, the lands were joined, creating a new future devoid of the fighting that had long defined their families.

Walking up the road that would lead him to Hartsmoor, Rory dragged his feet with each step.

For some reason, he felt unsettled. As if bad news was headed his way.

He paused and sucked in a huge gulp of crisp highland air, letting it slowly out through his nose as he gazed at the trees lining either side of the road.

If he turned left the road would take him to the bustling village where merchants of all kinds were selling their wares—jewelry, embroidery, clothing.

Aught that one could imagine would be sold on the streets.

Then there was the baker, with his tasty treats and breads.

The ale maker with his honey and heather mead.

The blacksmith—one of the finest this side of the highlands.

Rory himself had purchased a small dagger from him on one of his trips into the village. It was made of supreme craftsmanship.

Entering the bailey, a young page ran up to him. “Master Rory, yer father awaits yer return. He wishes to speak to ye immediately.”

Rory furrowed his brow. “Did he say why?” He questioned.

The lad shook his head. “Nay, only that ye were to see him as soon as ye were back. He doesnae wish ye to do aught else.”

Rory cleared his throat and pushed his hands through his hair.

What could his father possibly want now?

Unless his mother had talked Arthur into trying to dissuade him from his mountain and rock climbing.

It wouldn’t be the first time, and he was for certs that it would not be the last time either.

But the page spoke with an undertone of urgency, so Rory doubted his required presence was due to his activities.

In the Great Hall, his father stood, tall and strong, fiery red hair crowning his head with a bushy beard to match. His barrel arms were crossed as he spoke.

“I thought it best I meet ye at the door to ensure that ye actually come and meet me.” His words weren’t harsh. They held a hint of mirth behind them and when he smiled, Rory kenned that the subject of the time he spent outside and away from Hartsmoor wasn’t going to be the topic of conversation.

“Let us go to my study.” He looked around, as if searching for someone, and appearing to be happy that whoever it was, wasn’t about, he asked, “How was yer climb today?”

Rory felt the tension ease a bit from his shoulders. “’Twas a good day,” he answered, stretching his neck from side to side.

He followed his father into his study and shut the door behind them when Arthur waved his hand for him to do so.

“I am glad ye had a pleasant climb.” Arthur sat down at his massive desk, piled high with ledgers and account books. “I must say I am happy that ye returned earlier than usual. I need ye to go to the village.”

Rory frowned. “What for?”

Arthur tapped his index finger on the desk for a few long moments.

If Rory didn’t ken him any better, he would think that he was contemplating what he was going to say.

But that wouldn’t be the Arthur he kenned.

Nay, the Arthur he kenned always kenned what to say.

No matter the situation, Arthur was always there with the right words.

Arthur formed a fist and rested it gently on the desktop. “There has been an accident—”

Rory pushed out of the chair he had been sitting in and straightened.

“Is it ma? Alpin? Eilidh or Morven?” Nay, if it were a Hart family member, his father would have gone himself and not waited for Rory to return.

Though a messenger would have been waiting for him when he arrived to send him to meet them.

“Or is it Moira? Did that MacLeod bastard hurt Moira? I will kill him,” Rory threatened as he clenched his fists.

His father raised an eyebrow and motioned for him to sit back down.

“Nay, the family is fine. Though I would advise ye to choose yer words wisely when speaking of Laird MacLeod. He is now yer brother-in-law.”

Rory dropped back into the chair, his anger ebbing at the relief of learning his sister fared well. He still held lingering doubts about her new husband, even if his sister seemed blissfully happy in her new marriage.

“There was a carriage accident outside of the village. A woman, she is a wee bit bruised, but otherwise unharmed when her carriage overturned.”

Rory shrugged, unable to understand why that was any of his concern. Carriages overturned on a nearly daily basis. He had never been called upon for one afore.

“She is demanding help to be transported to her betrothed, which is where she was traveling to when the accident occurred.”

“Demanding transport?” Rory did not like where this conversation was headed.

Anyone demanding aught of the Harts was clearly someone of higher standing.

No one else would dare to make such a demand.

Irritation filled him. He could not stand nobles and the entitlement they seemed to carry around with them like a shield wherever they went.

Dealing with them was a nightmare. “’Tis quite forward of them, dinnae ye think? ”

Arthur sighed heavily. “This is something ye must do.”

Rory shook his head. “Nay. I willnae.”

“I am demanding that ye escort her. ’Tis no’ up for debate. Ye will heed my command, son.”

Straightening in the chair, Rory studied his father’s face. In all his years he couldn’t remember a time when his father gave him a direct order such as this.

“Why cannae one of our warrior’s assist the woman? We have plenty. For certs we could spare one or two to play watcher of this woman who feels so entitled that she can make demands of clan Hart. Of Laird Hart.”

“She may be entitled. Hell, she may be a thorn in yer side for the length of yer travels, howe’er, her family has connections.

Weel tied connections that could serve us weel.

Providing assistance will show goodwill and that can go a long way for us in the future.

Ye ne’er ken when we may need to call upon them. ”

Rory rolled his eyes. “Is she a lady, then?”

“No’ yet. But she is betrothed to the MacDonell son.”

Rory groaned. His father needed not say aught further. The MacDonell clan held lands in the north close to Hart lands and undertaking such an endeavor would indeed bode well for their future.

“Shite.” Rory grunted.

“I need Alpin here, but e’en if I didnae, he doesnae possess yer skills. He doesnae ken e’ery inch of the terrain as ye do. It must be ye.”

Chewing the inside of his cheek to stop him from saying things he would regret, Rory pushed up from the chair. Anger would get him nowhere. And he couldn’t show his reluctance to his clan. Such disrespect to their laird would not be withstood.

“A sennight. I will agree to that. Just until I can get her to safety and then I will send her on her way and return home.”

His father nodded. “She is currently in the village waiting.”

“Weel, then,” Rory clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “I best no’ keep her waiting,” he finished sarcastically.

Arthur frowned. “Mayhap ye should clean up and change afore ye go.”

Rory shook his head, his jaw clenched as he looked down at his dusty clothes.

“Nay. I will go now.” He exited his father’s study, annoyance hanging over him like a heavy woolen cloak wet from a day’s rain.

Making his way to the stables to ready his horse, he brushed the dust and dirt from his clothes.

He laughed unbelievably. His father wanted him to change.

What for? So he could just get dirty again on his way to meet the woman and the ride back? Absolutely not.

By the time his horse was ready, irritation filled his veins as he thought of how quickly he could get her to safety so he could return to Hartsmoor.