The Reluctant Bride Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  The Reluctant Bride

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  About the Author

  Also Available from Resplendence Publishing

  www.resplendencepublishing.com

  The Reluctant Bride

  A Scottish Love Songs Story

  By Temple Hogan

  Resplendence Publishing, LLC

  http://www.resplendencepublishing.com

  The Reluctant Bride

  Copyright © 2013 Temple Hogan

  Edited by Delaney Sullivan and Juli Simonson

  Cover art by Adrian Nicholas

  Published by Resplendence Publishing, LLC

  2665 N Atlantic Avenue, #349

  Daytona Beach, FL 32118

  Electronic format ISBN: 978-1-60735-625-7

  Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Electronic Release: January 2013

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental.

  A special thank you always to my long suffering editor Delaney Sullivan for her patience and tact, to granddaughter and writer, Abigail Barnett, for my help calls and to friend and writer, Bronwyn Green, for saving my bacon. You guys are all awesome. Also to my sweet husband who not only saves my bacon but brings it home with smiles and kisses.

  Prologue

  “Mercy, Logan. Logan, I beg of you!”

  Logan MacPherson’s hand tightened on his knife and stared at Gowain MacLaren who’d become his friend during the bloody months of battle and imprisonment. Now for all their efforts to come to this bitter end—a choice of death or recapture, which was no choice at all.

  Logan’s gaze wavered, unable to meet the pleading look of the highland chief. Gowain MacLaren’s breath came in gasps. His eyes rolled from side to side, seeking help, but there was none. No help for either of them, Logan thought bitterly. Beyond their hiding place, the night was dark, the moon hidden by a cloud. But how long before its light would reveal their whereabouts?

  His companions watched, ten men loyal and true, desperate hunted men, but they could not save him from what he must do. Even now Logan could hear the calls of their hunters and the thunder of hoof beats as the search deepened. They could not stay here, else they’d be found and once again face the hangman’s noose.

  “What will you do, man?” Jaimie Gillecroix roughly demanded.

  “Don’t ask me,” Logan cried hoarsely. The knife was heavy in his hand, a reminder of his failure, a rebuke he could not bear. He longed to fling it from him, but knew he couldn’t afford such luxury. They would need it. The smell of blood filled his nostrils, Gowain’s blood and now he must take more. He must inflict the final deathblow.

  “God help me, I can’t!” he whispered.

  “You must,” Jaimie said.

  “Mercy, Logan, mercy,” Gowain gasped.

  “God have mercy on my soul,” Logan said and brought the dirk high, but before he could send it on its deadly path, Gowain stayed his hand.

  “Wait,” he said, his strength waning. “I would ask of you one more thing.”

  “Anything is better than this,” Logan said in relief.

  “My daughter.” Gowain whispered so low, Logan had to lean forward to hear. “You must protect my daughter from my enemies. Take her as your wife. Swear it.”

  When Logan made no answer, Gowain grabbed hold of his arm with his remaining strength.

  “Swear it,” he demanded.

  At that moment, the moon broke free of the clouds, its light revealing the dying man’s ravished face. Logan raised the blade high and without hesitation sent it into a downward arch. All his men clearly saw the force with which Logan drove the blade into Gowain’s heart. The Highland chief felt no pain, but his eyes darted to Logan’s face in a final plea.

  “I swear,” Logan whispered in his ear and hugged the man to him. “I swear.”

  With a sigh, Gowain let go of life. When Logan looked at him, he saw a face filled with peace. Slowly, the warrior rose, his heart filled with despair.

  “‘Tis done,” he said flatly and walked away without a backward glance at the man that he’d once called friend.

  Chapter One

  Cailla MacLaren lay in the mud of her beloved Tioram and fought the blackness that gathered around the edge of vision and threatened to claim her. She had no strength to rise and face her enemy again. She was defeated. She shivered, trying to draw a breath, but it was caught, painfully so, in her throat like a bird in a net.

  The suddenness of Donel Moncrieffe’s attack had stunned them all. Aggie was the first to recover.

  “M’lord,” she cried aghast. “You’ve no call to strike a noblewoman.” She knelt beside her mistress.

  “Silence, woman,” Moncrieffe ordered, “or I’ll have your tongue cut out. William, kill everyone left alive in the castle, save this woman and her maid. Bring them to Girnigoe. Father Thomas will wed us afore the night is o’er.”

  “Aye, father,” Kenneth and William answered in unison.

  Cailla heard his words and still could not rise to deny them. Painfully she rolled to her side and felt her breath come rushing back. She drew in air and the blackness that had nearly claimed her receded. She forced herself to stand, her eyes filled with tears as she gazed around the castle keep.

  “Run, hide. They will kill you!” she screamed for anyone who had not already done so.

  Deliberately William rode his horse at her, veering at the last moment so she was knocked to her knees.

  “Careful you don’t kill your new stepmother,” Donel ordered and William withdrew.

  Cailla got back to her feet and stumbled toward Donel’s mount. Clinging to his stirrup she turned her face up to him. “Please, I beg of you, spare my people. They’ve done naught to you.”

  “My son died this day, madam. Don’t ask for mercy from me,” he said implacably.

  “Then let it be me. By all that’s holy, I swear ‘twas my arrow that struck him down. The arrow was meant for you.”

  Donel started with rage, then looked at her slight figure and laughed contemptuously, obviously unable to believe that a mere woman could take his son’s life. He leaned forward and grasped her thick braid, yanking it meanly so she fell against the horse and would have fallen if not for his fist knotted in her hair.

  “You’re naught but a woman with a lying tongue,” he bellowed, “but I’ll soon change your ways, make no mistake of that you haughty wench.” Abruptly, he released her so she stumbled to regain her footing. He raised his head and listened to the death cries of her people. His laughter rang out cruelly.

  Hopelessness weighed heavily on Cailla’s shoulders. There would be no quarter given by this barbaric laird. No wonder her father had mistrusted him. His voice was harsh and unrelenting.

  “When you were just a slip of a girl, barely past your menses, I came upon you bathing in a stream in the woods. Your breasts were tiny rose tipped buds that made a man’s mouth water. I would have tak
en you then, but your guardsmen made themselves known, so I rode away. But I’ve thought of your pale body and I’ve waited for you. Now you’re mine and just to look at you lights a fire in my belly that nearly drowns my grief. Nearly, but not altogether.” He glared down at her.

  “You’ll pray for such a release as I’ve given your clansmen,” he boasted. “Tonight, you’ll know what it is to be a Moncrieffe.”

  “An honor I would gladly forgo,” she cried then bit her lip. She saw the anger flare in his small eyes and the promise that retribution for every slight and insult as well as the death of his son would be visited on her this night.

  “Bah!” he said, flinging her braid away as if barely able to touch her. He wheeled his poor horse and galloped out of the courtyard, his men following behind save for the handful left with William and Kenneth.

  “Run, Aggie,” Cailla screamed and ran for the castle itself. She heard the thunder of hooves as William galloped after her and knew her efforts to escape were of no avail. She fully expected to be ridden down, but William dismounted and pursued her on foot.

  His smile of anticipation was as cruel as his father’s had been. “Best cooperate with me, lass. It’ll go easier on you for when father is finished tonight, he’ll pass you on to Kenny, Robbie and m—” He paused, as if remembering his brother Robert had been killed in battle, then grinned evilly. “I’ll have you to myself.”

  “You animals,” Cailla cried, fighting against her captive.

  Her booted feet connected with his shins, her clenched fists pounded ineffectually against his chest. William laughed and made sport of her waning strength. More often than not, his hands gripped her in places she’d never been touched. Cailla kicked out again, this time aiming higher. William doubled over in pain, gripping his crotch. Cailla seized the moment to run.

  “Catch her,” William called feebly and, having finished his bloody work in the bailey beyond, Kenneth galloped after her, swooping her up by her arm so she was delivered back to William with her feet thrashing the air.

  “Will you let a mere lass best you, brother? Father will not like the hearing of it,” he sneered dropping her at William’s feet, but she scrambled up and faced them. William glared at her, his pale blue eyes filled with hatred and retaliation.

  She saw his blow coming but could not avoid it. Once again pain nibbled at the edge of her consciousness and her knees collapsed beneath her. The soft flesh of her lips split beneath his blow and she lay on the ground bleeding and shivering. All fight was gone. Unceremoniously, William scooped her up and dumped her over his saddle like a sack of meal.

  “M’lord,” Aggie cried, running to her mistress’s aide but William pushed her so she fell heavily and lay in the dirt watching as the men rode from the courtyard with her beloved mistress.

  They’d barely crossed the moat before they were brought up short. From her dazed upside down position, Cailla could see other horsemen lined up across the causeway. They seemed a motley desperate lot, their stern faces black with grime, the colors of their filthy tartans unrecognizable. By contrast, their horses were sleek and fine looking. Stolen, no doubt, she made a quick assessment.

  “Who goes?” their leader called. He was the most fearsome looking of the lot, a lean giant with blade like cheekbones, fierce eyes and long, black matted hair and beard. His mount was a magnificent white steed with long graceful legs and smooth muscles beneath sleek horseflesh. Though man and horse seemed as one, Cailla knew such a superior specimen had no doubt been whisked away from the stables of some wealthy nobleman.

  Cailla knew roving bands of criminals plagued the countryside, existing on what they could find or steal, but they seldom showed themselves so boldly in broad daylight and in the face of such opposition as the Moncrieffes represented.

  “Well, speak, man,” the unknown leader growled. “Have you no tongue?”

  “We’re Moncrieffes, you brainless cur, and you’ll let us pass if you know what’s good for you,” William said haughtily. He apparently expected little trouble in dispensing with this lawless band. The Moncrieffes were a law unto themselves.

  “Aye, I do indeed know what’s good for me,” the leader replied unperturbed. “And at this moment, I’m not certain it’s that I move.”

  With a curse, William dumped Cailla on the ground and reached for his sword. The steed danced nervously, barely missing her head with its iron-shod hooves. She rolled to her feet and, crouching low, slipped across the moat bridge to the castle gate. From behind her came the clang of steel against steel and the grunts of men in battle. Donel Moncrieffe had ridden ahead with the rest of his men, now William met an enemy equal to his own numbers.

  Cailla made no effort to determine who would be the victor, for neither bode well for the castle and its people. She raced into the courtyard where Aggie lay sobbing in the mud.

  “Quickly, Aggie.”

  The serving woman stopped her wailing and raised a muddy tear streaked face to stare incredulously at her mistress.

  “Oh, m’lady, you got away from them devils.”

  “There’s not much time. Hurry.”

  They rushed to the last wall that ringed the inner bailey. When the Moncrieffes rode out the servants who’d managed to escape Kenneth’s sword came out of hiding to tend the wounded, but they’d found few to save. Their wails rose like a rebuke against the sullen sky.

  “Quick, Iver, help me close the gate,” Cailla cried. Though this smaller gate had not the thickness or strength of the outer one, it might afford them some protection until they could escape.

  “The bar is smashed, m’lady,” The guardsman stammered. His arm hung limp at his side and his clothes were stained with blood. “That bloody Kenneth Moncrieffe did it. Damn his fiendish soul, may he rot in Hell.”

  “Leave it then. Are you badly wounded?”

  “Nay, m’lady. I kin do your biding.”

  Cailla blinked against the hot prick of tears at such loyalty. “This is my biding, Iver. We must get everyone out.”

  The clang of steel and the cries of dying men could be heard from beyond the moat followed by the frantic hoof beats of horses and men in retreat. William had routed the gang of robbers. Cailla ran to peer over the wall and was surprised to see it was Moncrieffes fleeing with the ragged band riding pell-mell in hot pursuit. William led the flight seemingly without regard to his brother who sagged against his mount’s neck and trailed behind.

  Cailla held her breath and waited a heartbeat. What madness was this? Had an outlaw band driven off William? She gazed at the uncommon sight, relishing the sight of Moncrieffes in retreat, the shrill Highland cry of their pursuers ringing across the green hills with a wildness that brought terror to all who heard. All save Cailla. She stood considering what advantage this might give her. Mayhap all was not lost after all, but her shoulders sagged as the thought occurred to her. She had simply traded one enemy for another.

  The pursuing outlaws seemed undaunted by the unknown terrain, their horses strong and sleek. For all their ragtag appearance, they rode as a cohesive group. Cailla waited until they were out of sight then turned to those gathered in the courtyard.

  “They’ve gone, but they may be back. We must flee into the glens and hide until they’ve given up and left Tioram. Take food and water to last for several days. You must use the secret passage. Hurry now, for there’s not much time.”

  The people scurried away, the women to the kitchens and storehouses to gather needed rations, the able bodied men to gather what weapons they could find so they might protect the women and children.

  “M’lady,” Aggie called beneath her breath.

  Frantically she signaled beyond the gate. Keeping low, Cailla peered over the wall. A lone horseman had entered the outer bailey. She recognized him as the leader who’d challenged William Moncrieffe. He looked huge and even more menacing this close up for now she could see more clearly the unyielding width of his shoulders, the brutish strength of his heavily muscled limbs and th
e grim, thin line of his mouth beneath his shaggy unkempt beard. His eyes beneath the thick, black shock of tangled hair were dark and brooding, his nose and cheeks sculpted from Scottish granite.

  He seemed one of the untamed Picts of old who had waded ashore and captured Scotland—half men, half devils they’d been. Cailla felt her heartbeat thunder with fear within her chest. Such men could not be conquered.

  Briefly she’d thought to throw herself on his mercy, pleading for the lives of her servants, but now she knew it would do no good. Such men had no honor, no mercy. Still she must do something to gain time until her people escaped.

  “Aggie,” she whispered, “bring me a sword.”

  Chapter Two

  “Go after them, Jaimie, lad. See where they’re headed,” Logan MacPherson instructed his tanist as the Moncrieffes beat an ignominious retreat.

  “I can’t leave you alone, man,” Jaimie Gillecroiex protested. “You don’t know what awaits you inside those castle walls.

  “These poor devils have been defeated and offer no danger. Like as not, I’ll be hailed a hero and have all the pretty maids showing me their gratitude before you’re halfway back.”

  “Save one for me then,” Jaimie cried and dug his heels into his mount. “After them, men.”

  They were seasoned fighters and they’d shared many adventures together. They’d soon run the attackers to ground.

  Glancing at the splintered gate, Logan swore under his breath at the devastation wrought on the great castle and the sprawling bodies of the brave MacLaren men who’d died defending it. He’d come too late and Gowain’s castle lay in ruins. Like as not, his daughter lay ravished or dead.

  He’d failed Gowain and the weight of it lay heavily on his shoulders. He thought of the promise his friend had exacted, a promise that would have no bearing if Cailla MacLaren had met her end this day.