Stealing The Highlander's Heart (Tales 0f Blair Castle Book 2) Read online

  “Are ye well, lass? I heard raised voices and was nae sure…” Her voice faded as she took in the state of Alana and Malcolm’s undress.

  “Get out,” Alana commanded him once more, chest heaving, world spinning, then all went dark. The last thing she remembered seeing was Malcolm lunging across the room to grab her as she fell.

  Chapter Nine

  Cairngorm Mountains, Scotland

  “She did what!?” Rory roared. His face was a mask of rage.

  The maidservant trembled at his feet. “Yer daughter has fallen in love with Malcolm Murray. She shared her bed with him, then rejected him, causin’ a disgraceful scene that awoke the entire castle. I beheld it with mine own eyes, my laird.”

  “She has betrayed me,” Rory stated, shaking his head in anger and shame.

  “How has she betrayed ye, Faither?” Ross asked. “She bed him as ye ordered her tae.”

  “I did nae intend for her tae actually go through with it. I said that so that she would be forced tae get me what I wanted more swiftly. She has shamed us all. Not a word o’ this is tae reach Laird Sutherland. He will nae wed her if she has bed another.”

  “Faither, she would ne’er betray us. She is loyal tae ye and our cause,” Ross urged him to remember. “How was she tae ken that ye did nae mean what ye said?”

  “I dinnae have tae explain myself tae ye,” Rory growled. “I suggest ye mind yer tongue afore I mind it for ye. A tongue less heir is still an heir.”

  “Aye, Faither,” Ross answered, backing down.

  “She has forced my hand. We must attack as soon as possible,” Rory stated, rubbing his chin in thought.

  “She has nae revealed yer plans, my laird. Nae one at the castle kens the danger that awaits them,” the maidservant reassured him.

  “That is somethin’, I suppose,” Rory mused. “Perhaps it is as ye say and she remains loyal, but she has put me in the position tae doubt her and that cannae go unpunished. I will tend tae her sins when she returns. For now, we must move forward our plan o’ attack.”

  Rory bent over some papers on the table in front of him, motioning for Ross to join him there. He had made sketches of the castle and grounds from memory, filling in various details with each spy’s reports. Ross joined his father and studied the information before him. Father and son spent the next several hours reconfiguring the attack plans. By the time they were done, nothing Alana had known about remained.

  * * *

  Blair Castle, Scotland

  Alana awoke in her bed to find Malcolm and Freya standing over her with concerned looks upon their faces. “She is awake,” Freya announced.

  “Are ye well, lass? Do ye need anythin’?” Malcolm asked. His eyes had a lost helpless look to them.

  “Give her some room tae breathe, son,” Freya advised. “In fact, why don’t ye let Alana and I have a moment together alone so that we might speak woman tae woman.” Malcolm hesitated, then nodded and left the room. “Now then, tell me what seems tae be the trouble, lass? Ye obviously like my son if yer state of dress is any indication and he is nae the sort o’ man tae force himself on a lass. So, what is it that has ye so upset?”

  “I cannae be with yer son. I cannae explain why, but trust me what I say ‘tis true,” Alana answered, sitting up while clasping the blanket to her chest. “He is a good man and deserves someone better than I.”

  “Ye are fine bonnie lass, kind and carin’. Why would ye nae be good enough?” Freya questioned, sitting down next to Alana on the bed.

  “I cannae explain it,” Alana repeated.

  “Well now, I believe Malcolm deserves some kind of explanation, don’t ye, lass?” Freya chastised. “Ye hurt him a carryin’ on that way.”

  “I ken it and am sorry for it, but if ye kenned anythin’ o’ my life growin’ up ye would nae want me for yer son. My family hates yer family… hated,” Alana corrected herself, hoping Freya did not notice the slip. “It can ne’er be. I grew up with hard highland men and my faither was the hardest among them. He promised tae marry me off tae a terrible northern laird, who seeks my hand still. I dinnae trust that any man is truly good. They all have a dark side and this laird is the darkest among them. I have seen it. I dinnae wish tae marry him and be forced to surrender tae a man I dinnae love.”

  “But Malcolm is nae this dark laird that ye speak o’. Why can ye nae be with him?” Freya asked, obviously not willing to let the question go.

  “My faither would kill me,” Alana whispered.

  “Yer faither is dead, is he nae?” Freya inquired with a raised eyebrow.

  Alana hated lying, but there was no way out of it when asked a direct question such as this one. “Aye,” she nodded, averting her eyes as if in sadness.

  “Then I dinnae ken why, lass,” Freya informed her.

  “I will nae dishonor my faither,” Alana answered. At least that much is truly honest.

  A light of understanding dawned behind Freya’s eyes. “Ye dinnae want tae go against yer faither’s wishes?”

  “Aye,” Alana answered. She knew from the look on Freya’s face that Freya thought Alana did not wish to disobey her father’s last wishes.

  “An admirable thing tae be sure and one I cannae fault ye for,” Freya replied. “I can tell ye this, lass, family honor is important, but dinnae forget tae follow yer own heart. When it comes tae love, ‘tis the only thing that truly matters.”

  Freya pulled Alana into her arms and held her as she would one of her own daughters. Alana had not been embraced by another woman since her grandmother. The years melted away and Alana was once again six-years-old, lying in her grandmother’s arms listening to her Irish lilt telling stories of banshees and the fairy folk. A single tear rolled down her cheek to land upon Freya’s hand. “Och, poor wee lamb,” Freya murmured, rocking Alana back and forth like a bairn. “Ye are safe here with us. Nae terrible lairds o’ the north will reach ye here. Give it some time. Ye will see that I am right. Listen tae yer heart, lass, it will show ye the way ye are tae take whether it is my son or nae. I will speak with him and tell him what ye have told me, but on the morrow I suggest ye might wish tae apologize for scarin’ the poor man.”

  “Aye, I will. Please tell him I dinnae mean tae hurt him,” Alana asked.

  “I will, but be sure that ye tell him yerself upon the morn,” Freya advised. “Sleep now.” Freya arose from the bed and left Alana to recover in peace, but peace did not find her.

  The bed smelled of Malcolm and the love they had made together. Alana tossed and turned all throughout the night. Images of their love making flashed through her mind, making her hot with desire, then she would remember her father’s words and the desire would drain out of her, leaving her cold with shame. By the time morning came, she could not face Malcolm for fear she would tell him everything.

  Wishing to avoid the entire household, Alana arose before the family, donned her arisaid and left the castle. She walked across the glen. The storm had let up, but rain still fell in a steady stream. The river overflowed its banks so Alana steered herself away from its edge and walked towards the mountains of her home. As she walked through the forest, she looked for herbs to ensure that she would not come to be with child. The last thing she wished to do was impose the misery she now suffered upon an innocent bairn. Father would nae forgive me comin’ home breedin’ a bairn. He would likely end us both for the shame o’ it.

  The dream she had had of her and Malcolm’s children playing in the very same forest she now walked flashed through her mind, causing her heart to ache with a mixture of dread and longing. Alana placed her hand upon her belly and imagined what it would feel like to have Malcolm’s bairns. She would never forget the way he had stood by Mary’s side as she delivered her child. His words rang in her ears, ‘In this family we dinnae leave our lass’ tae birth our bairns alone. I ken well enough ‘tis done differently elsewhere with men leavin’ the birthin’ tae the women, but here we are made o’ sterner highland stock. In battle we dinnae leave a
warrior tae fight alone. ‘Tis the same with birthin’ bairns.’

  Alana groaned in despair. He is a good man, the best man I have e’er met, and yet… Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of an approaching horse. There was no possible way a rider could have gotten over the river, the bridge was covered in water. Any rider in the forest would have had to of come from the castle or the mountains. She looked about her for a place to hide, but caught motion out of the corner of her eye and saw that she was too late. Finlay Erskine rode through the trees and stopped his horse in front of her.

  “Good morning,” Alana greeted, hoping to avoid a confrontation. The man looked rather pleased with himself in a dark and angry sort of way, and that worried her.

  “I ken who ye are,” Finlay growled, not bothering with pleasantries.

  “And who is that?” she asked, tilting her head up defensively.

  “Ye are Alana Murray, daughter of Rory Murray, nae James Murray as ye claimed,” he practically crowed his discovery. Every syllable dripped with disdain. She could practically feel his hatred for her in the air.

  “And how de ye come tae believe this?” she asked, uncertain whether to fight and stand her ground or flee for her life.

  “I have spent days riding from village tae village askin’ about yer family and found nothin’ ‘til I came upon a wee village in the mountains yon,” he answered, gesturing with his head towards the Cairngorms.

  He found my home, her mind whispered in warning.

  “Ye are from a small village on the edge of Murray lands, that much is true, but yer faither is nae dead, but alive and well from all accounts. How yer faither has managed tae keep his whereabouts a secret for this long I dinnae ken. Were it nae for the storm I would ne’er have found ye out. I could nae return by my usual route and had to cut up higher in tae the mountains than I would have otherwise. I had ne’er been up that far. There was ne’er any need tae or that is what we thought. All these years ye have been but a stone’s throw away.” Finlay practically sneered at her.

  Alana cursed the storm for the havoc it had wrought. “Ye have me confused with someone else.” She tried to maintain the lie.

  “Nae, dinnae have it confused. Ye are that Alana Murray. I heard tales o’ a bonnie lass o’ yer description who was a healer. I dinnae ken any other Alana’s o’ that kind. Do ye?” he asked.

  “I dinnae ken. I am sure there are more in Scotland than I,” she argued.

  “Dinnae be test my patience, lass,” Finlay growled. “Were I ye, I would be runnin’ about now.”

  “I will nae run from the like a ye,” she retorted in rebellion for his disdain of her person.

  Finlay kicked his horse forward and backhanded her across the face. Alana’s head snapped back and she fell upon her back onto the soggy forest floor. Water seeped through her clothes and chilled her skin. “Ye will run o’ yer own accord,” he hissed, “or I will make ye run.”

  Finlay prodded his horse forward once more as if to trample her beneath his horse’s hooves. Alana scrambled to her feet and raced in the opposite direction. She stumbled over rocks and branches, tore through brambles, dodging trees. She could nae return home having failed her father, and she could not return to the castle having been discovered, so she just kept running. When she could run no more she walked, trudging through the mud one weary step after another.

  When she reached the River Tilt, she found the waters flowing rapidly over its banks. She eyed the water level flowing over the bridge and in her desperation to escape her pain and guilt decided she would attempt to cross it. Alana hiked up her skirts, tucking them into the waistband of her skirt, pulled her arisaid closely around her, and began to cross the bridge, clutching the edge so tightly her knuckles turned snow white under the strain.

  Alana made it about half way across when the bridge let out a loud groan and shifted beneath her feet. She lost her footing and slid down the side of the bridge, just managing to catch herself on its ledge. Another shuddering groan and the bridge gave way, splintering beneath the watery onslaught. Alana screamed as she was pitched into the rushing river. Her mouth and nose filled with water. Unable to breath, she struggled to rise to the surface, but her wet clothing weighed her down. She fought against the fabric, doing everything in her power to wrench free of deathly grip. Lungs bursting, naked and exhausted, she swam to the surface only to be thrown about like piece of tree bark and pushed back under.

  Alana fought her way back up to the surface, gasping for breath only to be dragged under once more. Flailing blindly, dragged along by the current, her arms and legs grew weak from fatigue and her lungs burned with a pain she had never experienced before. I cannae fight anymore, Alana’s mind whispered into the dark turbulence that surrounded her. I cannae. Tired, in pain, and filled with despair, she stopped fighting and allowed the current to take her.

  Chapter Ten

  Blair Castle, Scotland

  Malcolm had not been able to sleep the entire night. His mother had explained the reason behind Alana’s actions, but Malcolm had still felt hurt, rejected, and lost. She had shaken his heart with her passion and fire only to take it away, leaving him cold and empty with only the memory to warm him. He had rotated between anger and guilt over and over again as the night had dragged on. He had lain staring up at his ceiling knowing she was but a walls breadth away from him and yet he could not reach out and touch her. He longed to hold her close and erase whatever doubts plagued her, but his mother had advised him to leave her alone. Out of respect for both women, he had obeyed and returned to his room.

  Come the morning light, he left his room to break the fast with his family and found that Alana was not among them. He had hoped to speak with her and was disappointed. Freya, noting his crestfallen demeanor, offered to go and see what was keeping her. When she returned, she had a puzzled expression on her face. “What is it?” Malcolm asked.

  “She is nae in her room. I looked in all o’ the places she could be but did nae find her.” Freya sat back down at the table with her children. “I assumed she would have gone tae look in on Mary, but Mary said that she had not seen Alana since the birthing. She was nae with yer faither or in the kitchen or the library. I cannae think o’ any place else she would have cause tae be.”

  “Are ye speakin’ o’ the wee bessom that has been lyin’ tae the lot o’ ye?” Finlay’s voice asked from the doorway.

  “Her name is Alana and I will thank ye tae keep a civil tongue in yer head when ye speak o’ her, brother,” Malcolm advised.

  “Ye will nae say as much when I tell ye what I have discovered about the wee chit,” Finlay argued. “Come, brother, this is a matter for the laird’s ears as well.”

  Finlay left the room once more and Malcolm and Freya arose to join him in the laird’s bedchamber. “Speak clearly, brother. I am nae mood for riddles,” Malcolm warned as the three of them stood around the laird’s bed.

  “What is this all about?” Andrew demanded to know. “Wife, do ye ken what the lad is haverin’ about?”

  “Nae, my love. I dinnae ken it at all,” Freya answered, coming around to sit beside him on the bed, taking his hand in hers.

  “The lass has been lyin’ tae ye all along,” Finlay began.

  “What lass?” Andrew inquired, clearly confused as to what was going on.

  “He is talkin’ about Alana,” Malcolm answered. He could not keep his anger from tinting his voice.

  “Alana? Why she is the kindest lass, aside for yer dear sweet maither and sisters that I have e’er known. What reason would she have tae lie tae us about anythin’?” Andrew questioned Finlay’s accusation.

  “She is nae the orphaned daughter o’ any James and Mary Murray. She is the daughter o’ yer auld brother in arms turned enemy, Rory Murray, who is alive and well in a wee village fortress in the Cairngorm Mountains.” Finlay proudly offered the piece of information as if it were a prize won at a village faire.

  “Ye lie!” Malcolm growled, moving forward with
a thought to pummeling the satisfied smirk from his brother’s face.

  “Malcolm!” Andrew’s voice brought him up short. “Yer brother would nae lie about such a thing and ye ken it well.”

  “Aye,” Malcolm admitted grudgingly. He did not want to believe what Finlay was saying. “There has tae be some kind o’ explanation for her deceit.”

  “I am sure there is,” Freya agreed nodding. “She would nae lie tae us without good reason.”

  “Have her brought tae me immediately,” Andrew ordered his sons.

  “We dinnae ken where she is,” Malcolm admitted.