Highland Heart (Highlander #4)

Prologue

Outside Kinloch

House the Highland soldiers stood, shoulder to shoulder, ringing

the fortress, oblivious to the March cold. Theirs was a death

watch. They would not leave as long as their leader had a breath

left in him.

Inside, Brice Campbell, known throughout the

land as the Highland Barbarian, lay barely clinging to life.

Riders had gone out to the far corners of the

land to call his loved ones home to keep watch with his beloved

wife, Meredith. From England had come Brenna MacAlpin and her

husband, Morgan Grey, and their two young sons. From Ireland, the

fiery Megan MacAlpin and her husband, Kieran O’Mara, bearing their

first-born, Sean.

Highland chieftains arrived with their

soldiers to pace the rooms of the ancient keep. Some, like Angus

Gordon, were boyhood friends whose hearts were heavy. Others, who

had been privileged to fight alongside this noble rebel, waited and

watched in shocked silence.

Wind swept down the chimney, scattering ash

and sparks. A flame sputtered and nearly died, then snaked along

the bark of a log until it leaped into a blaze of light. The men

and women clung together, as much to seek comfort as to give it.

Their children, having quickly overcome their shyness at the many

strange dialects, were becoming acquainted. But even their voices

were strangely subdued as they sensed the somberness of the

occasion. The servants moved around as if in a daze. A cluster of

hounds ringed the fireplace, glancing up nervously at each

footfall.

The silence was shattered by the sound of the

massive front doors being opened. A moment later a red-bearded

giant paused on the threshold. His gaze swept the room, then lifted

to the woman who was descending the stairs. Her figure was slender

as a maiden’s. Her gown of scarlet satin was partially covered by

the Campbell plaid. Thick chestnut hair spilled over one shoulder.

She carried an infant in her arms. Handing the infant to a servant,

she hurried forward.

“Oh, Jamie. Praise heaven, you have come.”

The lovely Lady Meredith hurried forward and clasped him in a warm

embrace. “I feared you would not be in time.”

“I came as soon as your messenger arrived.”

He studied her red-rimmed eyes and the fine lines around her mouth.

Seeing the weariness etched on Meredith’s beautiful features, he

drew her into his arms and pressed his lips to her hair. She was

the closest thing to a mother he had ever known. He had been

overjoyed when, years before, she had fallen in love with his

foster father and had agreed to make her home with them at Kinloch

House.

“Brice...” He could not bring himself to ask

the words that would tell him if Brice Campbell lived or died. The

unspoken question hung between them.

“He is gravely wounded. But he lives.” She

saw the relief on Jamie’s face.

“You have nursed him through grave wounds

before, Meredith. He will mend; you will see. You are his reason

for living.”

“Aye. I pray it is so. But his fate is in

God’s hands now.” She blinked back the tears that threatened.

“Brice insists upon seeing you as soon as you arrive.”

“Aye. I would see him now.”

She lifted her skirts and led the way. As he

followed her up the stairs he said sternly, “Tell me of this

strange attack. Your messenger said it was in the queen’s own

household. Can this be?”

“Aye.” Meredith paused at the head of the

stairs. “We were invited to sup with Mary at Holyrood. She is

confined these days, since she is with child.” With a slight smile

she added, “Mary has always enjoyed Brice’s company. And now that

her marriage to Lord Darnley is so unhappy, she surrounds herself

with old friends to cheer her.”

At the mention of Darnley, Jamie’s frown

deepened. He had heard the rumors of the queen’s husband. Drinking,

gambling, womanizing. If even half were true, the rake was breaking

their poor young queen’s tender heart.

“During dinner, Lord Ruthven staggered in. At

first we feared he had drunk too much ale. But then, seeing the

dagger in his hand, Brice pushed from the table to bar his way. But

at the same moment Lord Darnley appeared with several other

noblemen. Seeing them, Brice rushed to Mary’s defense, thinking

they meant to harm her.”

Jamie felt his heart stop. “Has our queen

been harmed?”

“Nay, praise God. Thanks only to Brice. But

poor Riccio.”

“It is true then that Mary’s secretary is

dead?”

“Aye,” Meredith whispered, suppressing a

shiver. “George Douglas used Lord Darnley’s own dagger for the

bloody deed. He and Lord Ruthven must have stabbed young Riccio

more than fifty times before flinging his body down the staircase.

The queen was near hysteria.”

“And Brice?” Jamie’s eyes narrowed. “Which

one held the knife that caused his wounds?”

“In the confusion, I could not see. There

were servants weeping, and the queen herself was kneeling over

Brice’s body, crying out for her beloved Highland Barbarian.”

Meredith trembled. “I did not see who inflicted his wounds. But the

damage is great.”

When they reached the door to the chamber,

Meredith turned. “You must not tax his strength. He has lost much

blood.”

It was not Jamie’s nature to feel fear. In

the past few years, fighting along the border between England and

Scotland, he had become known as a fearless warrior. He knew what

others called him when they thought he could not hear. The

Heartless MacDonald. Aye, he was heartless in the thick of battle.

But at the sight that greeted him, Jamie felt his heart stop.

It was as if his veins had suddenly turned to

ice. He studied the face of the man who was the only father he had

ever known, now lying as helpless as a wee bairn. Brice’s head was

swathed in bandages. Blood seeped through the layers of fresh

dressings. One arm was held stiffly at his side, covered with thick

linen. His chest rose and fell with each labored breath.

Jamie stood for a moment, fighting the

feelings that rippled through him. Fear, rage, helplessness.

Pushing aside his emotions he knelt until his face was close to

Brice’s. “I am here,” he whispered.

He watched as the older man’s lids flickered,

then opened. There was an unnatural pallor to his skin.

“I knew you would come.”

Jamie’s voice trembled with fury. “I need

only a name and I will avenge this terrible deed. Tell me who

wielded the dirk. By nightfall your enemy will lie in his own

blood.”

“Nay. It is more than vengeance you must

seek.” The hand that grasped Jamie’s sleeve was surprisingly weak.

The man, who had withstood assault from armies, who had enlarged

his fortress in the Highlands and had defended it against all

attack, was now too weak to clench a fist. Brice’s eyes, though

glazed with pain, fixed Jamie with the old familiar look of

command. “Listen well. Your first concern must be our queen, who

was the true target of this attack.”

“Ruthven would kill our queen?”

“Not just Ruthven.” Brice struggled to speak

over the pain that raged with each word. “I do not trust Darnley. I

do not trust anyone to see to the queen’s safety but you.”

“Darnley! How do I place myself between the

queen and her own husband?”

“I know not. But you must find a way.” Brice

took several deep breaths, then forced himself to continue. “Our

poor land is in disarray. The Highland lairds are in turmoil over

this treachery. Unless someone steps forward to unite the clans,

there will be an orgy of killing, the likes of which has never

before been witnessed in our land.”

Jamie’s tone was low with anger. “Look what

they have done to you. How can you speak of uniting the clans? What

would you have me do? Thank them for not killing Meredith and the

queen as well?”

“Listen to me, Jamie.” Brice’s voice faltered

for a moment, and Meredith, alarmed by the drain to his energy,

hurried forward to kneel beside Jamie and touch a hand to her

husband’s brow. Brice waved her hand away and took a deep,

pain-filled breath. “I have known, from the time you were but a

lad, that you were destined for greatness.”

At his words Jamie went very still.

When Jamie began to shake his head Brice

clutched at the younger man’s arm and forced him to meet his gaze.

“You must take command of this ravaged land and protect our queen

at all cost. First you must see to the queen’s safety. Take into

your confidence the Cordons, who are the most powerful among the

Highland chiefs. Douglas Gordon’s mother, Sabrina, was a favorite

cousin to our queen’s mother. When Mary’s safety is secured, call a

council of all the Highland lairds. Demand that they unite to keep

the peace. Else this great land will not have to fear an attack by

the English. We will be destroyed from within.”

Jamie could see the wisdom of Brice’s words.

But the thought of uniting the warlike Highlanders was a daunting

one.

His voice was deep with passion. “You know I

would do anything for you, Brice. I will beseech them in your

name.”

“Nay. Not in my name.” Brice’s eyes closed

for a moment, and Jamie thought he had drifted into

unconsciousness. But a moment later his lids opened. The merest

hint of a smile touched his lips. “You will entreat them in your

own name. And however unwilling they may be, you will lead them.

You shall be a leader like no other. And when Mary is safely

delivered of her child, the name Jamie MacDonald will be revered

throughout our land.”

Jamie stared at the hand still clutching his

arm. Placing his hand over Brice’s, he said, “So long as you ask

it, it will be done, Brice.”

“Aye. I knew I could trust you with this

heavy burden.”

The burr in Jamie’s voice thickened with

emotion. “It is no burden, Brice. I am honored by your

request.”

Brice’s hand dropped heavily to the pallet.

His lids flickered, then closed.

For several moments Jamie studied this man

who, years before, had opened his heart and his home to a poor,

bewildered orphan. Brice Campbell had taught Jamie every value he

held dear. If Brice had ordered him to cut off his own hand, he

would do so without question. Though he doubted that any of the

Highland chieftains would heed his summons to a council, he would

send riders at once with the message. And if he could place his

sword and his life in service of his queen, he would do so

proudly.

With a last look at the sleeping Brice, he

got to his feet. “I ride to do his bidding,” he said softly to

Meredith.

“You must sup before you begin the

journey.”

“Nay. There is no time.”

“You must take time to rest, Jamie. Else your

heart will simply stop beating.”

“Have you not heard?” He shot her a roguish

smile. “I am called the Heartless MacDonald.”

She saw the weariness in his demeanor as he

descended the stairs and made his way to those who waited below. He

embraced Brenna and Megan and greeted their husbands. The children,

recognizing the red-bearded giant, launched themselves into his

arms. For a few moments his tension eased as he tossed them in the

air and hugged them close before releasing them.

Within minutes he had made his way to the

door. Meredith dropped her arms around the bairns, who clutched her

skirts. From the doorway she watched as Jamie wearily draped the

plaid around his shoulders. He had been in the saddle for hours

without rest. And now, at Brice’s request, he would push himself

beyond exhaustion. His queen needed him. His country needed him.

And he would give his last breath if necessary.

From the surrounding forest a great shaggy

hound suddenly emerged and raced toward Jamie MacDonald. When the

beast was a few feet away it paused. Jamie spoke softly to it, and

the animal cocked his head as if understanding every word.

From her position in the doorway Meredith

called, “Your hound would not join the others indoors since you

left us, Jamie. Neither would he eat what we tried to feed him. He

has prowled the forest, living like a wild creature, awaiting your

return.”

For a moment the man and beast faced each

other. Jamie gazed at the hound, whose muted coloring of gray,

ombre, brown matched the shadows of his Highland forest home. With

a practiced eye he studied the lean, battle-scarred body, the fur

matted with blood.

“So, Wolf, you give your loyalty but once,”

Jamie muttered. “We are two of a kind. You may as well journey with

me into the unknown.”

Jamie gave a salute to Meredith before

wheeling the stallion and taking off at a run. The hound kept pace

without effort.

Meredith watched until they disappeared into

the Highland mists. Aye, she thought, blinking back the sudden rush

of tears. The Heartless MacDonald, indeed.