Mesmerized by a Roguish Highlander
A Historical Scottish Romance Novel
Maddie MacKenna
Edited by
Maggie Berry
Contents
A Gift from the Highlands
Scottish Brogue Glossary
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Epilogue
Extended Epilogue
Preview: Captivating a Highland Warrior
1. Revelations
2. Regret Is A Lousy Friend
3. A New Ally
Also by Maddie MacKenna
About the Author
A Gift from the Highlands
Thank you very much for purchasing my book. It really means a lot to me, because this is the best way to show me your love and support!
As a way to show you my gratitude, I have written a full length novel for you, called Highlander’s Untamed Bride. It’s only available to people who have downloaded one of my books and you can get your free copy by tapping the image below or this link here.
Once again, I can’t thank you enough for your support!
Maddie MacKenna
Scottish Brogue Glossary
Here is a very useful glossary my good friend and fellow author Lydia Kendall sent to me, that will help you better understand the Scottish Brogue used:
aboot - about
ach - oh
afore - before
an' - and
anythin - anything
a'side - beside
askin' - asking
a'tween - between
auld - old
aye - yes
bampot - a jerk
bare bannock- a type of biscuit
bearin' - bearing
beddin' - bedding or sleeping with
bellend - a vulgar slang word
blethering - blabbing
blootered - drunk
bonnie - beautiful or pretty
bonniest - prettiest
cannae - cannot
chargin' - charging
cheesin' - happy
clocked - noticed
c'mon- come on
couldn'ae - couldn't
coupla - couple of
crivens - hell
cuddie - idiot
dae - do
dinin' - dining
dinnae - didn't or don't
disnae - doesn't
dobber - idiot
doesn'ae - doesn't
dolton - idiot
doon - down
dram - a measure of whiskey
efter - after
eh' - right
'ere - here
fer - for
frein - friend
fey - from
gae - get or give
git - a contemptible person
gonnae - going to
greetin' - dying
hae - have
hald - hold
haven'ae - haven't
heed - head
heedstart - head start
hid - had
hoovered - gobbled
intoxicated - drunk
kip - rest
lass - young girl
leavin - leaving
legless - drunk
me - my
nae - not
no' - not
noo - now
nothin' - nothing,
oan - on
o' - of
Och - an Olympian spirit who rules the sun
oot- out
packin- packing
pished - drunk
scooby - clue
scran - food
shite - shit
sittin' - sitting
so's - so as
somethin' - something
soonds ' sounds
stonking - stinking
tae - to
teasin' - teasing
thrawn - perverse, ill-tempered
tryin' - trying
wallops - idiot
wee -small
wheest - talking
whit's - what's
wi'- with
wid - would
wisnae - was not
withoot - without
wouldnae - wouldn't
ya - you
ye - you
yea - yes
ye'll - you'll
yer - your
yerself - yourself
ye're - you're
ye've - you've
About the Book
He will protect her from anything. But the enemy is closer than he thinks...
Raised in a God-fearing family, Mary Thompson suffocates under her parents’ constant control. When her strict father announces she is to marry a man she despises, she flees. Alone in unfamiliar territory, she has but one choice to ensure her survival: she poses as a voiceless maid.
Leith Balloch, son of the Laird of Lenichton, is determined to find the cure to his father’s inexplicable madness. What he stumbles across instead is a breathtaking English lass that instantly captures all of his senses.
Lost in their all-consuming feelings for each other, they fail to realize that someone knows. And someone always tells. A threatening note appears on Mary's bed, along with a promise of doom.
When Mary is thrown into the dungeons for bearing witness to an abominable act with the potential to destroy them all, Leith has to fight his demons in order to save her. And sometimes those demons wear a familiar face...
1
Harlington, England, 1670
Forgive me God, but this man is…repugnant. Is this truthfully the man my parents want me to marry? He’s almost three times my age!
Mary Thompson’s sapphire eyes were fixed on James Darby, the Viscount of Blackmore, with dismay. Seated across from him on the dinner table in her father’s house, Mary had to force her face to keep neutral.
The man, aged over fifty years, was touted to be as pious as her parents but how was he so odious? What part did piety have with gluttony? The man had two-and-a-half chins, for God’s sake, and was built like the carriage he had come in.
This was the third time she had been with the lord, and without fail, he had not done a thing to impress her. On his first visit, he had spoken endlessly about the misdeeds of King Charles the Second. She had pretended to pay attention, but his droning voice had almost put her to sleep.
Then, on his second, they had taken a walk but merely twenty steps in the man had begun wheezing. He couldn’t even coordinate walking and talking. Now, she was seeing another side of him that moved her impression of him from dismay to pure repulsion.
Her appetite had vanished after she had seen the lord pile five portions of roasted fowl on his plate. He sloshed wine down his chin when he guzzled his drink and did not refuse the polite offers for a second helping.
The
man was a glutton. How could her parents not see that? She looked over her father, Oliver Thompson, the Baron of Harlington, begging him with her eyes to see what she saw in James.
Her father was not looking at her, instead, he was staring impassively at James from the head of the table. Her mother, Rebecca, was quoting something from the Old Testament that Mary could not follow because she had not heard what had come before it. Her attention was trapped with James.
“Isn’t that right, Mary?”
Calmly shifting her gaze to her mother who had asked the question, she nodded, “Yes, Mother, it is.”
Truthfully, she had not the faintest idea what her mother had said, but she had learned a long time ago to just nod and say yes in these instances.
She forced herself to pick the fork back up and spear a chunk of meat. Chewing it was a chore, but she managed to get it down. She began to ache to get out of this room, away from this man, and away from her parents. Did they not want her to enjoy her life? How could she be with this man?
“Cromwell did a service to this country,” Lord Blackmore said while dabbing his chin. Well, one of them anyway. “If only the people could have seen that.”
Her father, Oliver Thompson, the Lord of Harlington, nodded and took his drink, “I agree. Even now, the Anglican Church needs to be purified of the influence of the Catholic heresies.”
Sighing into her food, Mary tried to remember the inside of a church but could not. The last time she believed she had set foot into an Anglican church had been over fifteen years ago when she was eight.
One morning, her father told them that he’d been given a vision from God who told him to separate himself and his family from the Anglican church. They had become puritans that same day and held worship at home. They prayed three times a day, and she was banned from being in the presence of boys until she was sixteen. The only respite she had was that they had allowed her to know how to ride.
Mary had been young and impressionable at that age, but as she grew, she began to despise her life. The few friends she had, she had met at church and with her father separating them from the one place where she could go to socialize with other girls her age, she’d been cut off. Slowly, she began to pray for freedom from this repression. She had hoped a good, handsome, kind husband would save her, but now…this man was far from what she had envisioned.
Closing her utensils, she hoped her drink would be somewhat palatable. She knew the wine was sweet but it felt bitter to her taste. She had to tell her parents that this man would not be her husband, that she would spend the rest of her life in an abbey if it came to that, but she was not going to marry this man.
Her father called for a servant to clear the plates away and put before them slices of pudding as their dessert. The small sweet cake with figs and molasses was her favorite, but she could not even summon the appetite to bite into it.
“Dear?” her mother asked, “Aren’t you hungry? This is your favorite pudding.”
“I’m rather full, Mother,” she lied. Disgusted really. “Please, pardon me.”
Again, they paused to bless this meal, and over the rim of her goblet, she watched her parents and Lord Blackmore eat. She knew that when this meal was over, her parents would give her and Lord Blackmore time to talk. She knew she had to beg off from that. She heard the tines of the fork clink on the plates with dread inside her.
She then pressed a hand to her head and sighed, looking up with deep sorrow in her eyes she said, “Father, I am not feeling well, may I be excused?”
Her mother’s sharp eyes shot to her with suspicion while her father’s had more pity. “Are you sure, Mary? We wanted you to speak with Lord Blackmore for a bit.”
“I suppose, I can try and hold out for a little while, but I really have a headache,” she said, while mentally begging God to forgive her for lying. She set her goblet down and smiled faintly.
“I won’t take much of your time, Miss Thompson,” the lord said while wiping his mouth. “I just need to tell you a few things. Where shall we go to, Harlington?”
Her father stood with a slight scrape of his chair, “The drawing room I think is best.”
Standing, she followed in step with her father and her soon-to-be husband. She must do something to stop this. She hoped her father had not given the man a definite yes on her hand.
They came to the drawing room that had a very austere look with simple chairs, a single carpet under the coffee table and a single piece of artwork on the wall, that of the Virgin Mary. Lord Blackmore sat on a curlicue chair, and Mary sat on the adjacent one with a carefully crafted notch resting between her chestnut brows.
Mary folded her hands on her blue dress as her father briefly rested his hand on her shoulder before he took his seat to supervise. It would have galled any other woman to be under such scrutiny, but Mary had grown immune to it. Her father was silent between this meeting but she felt his eyes on the back of her neck.
“Lord Blackmore?” she asked quietly. “Is something wrong?”
The man plucked a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed at his face that was beading with sweat “I must say that I am overjoyed about this engagement, but though, I am eager to have your hand, I am told I must journey to London. Our wedding was to be in three days…”
Mary snapped her head to her father, her eyes wide and full of disbelief. How could her father do this? Was he going to wait until the very day to tell her she was going to be married? She sat quietly, but inside she was bristling. It was a miracle her hair was not standing up on end like wet cat’s. She kept her eyes from narrowing and her shoulders from stiffening but kept her eyes on the lord.
“…but I must be absent. Please pardon me for those few days.”
Mary bit her tongue and nodded, “You are pardoned, My Lord.”
Lord Blackmore dabbed his face once more, his dark beady eyes holding a tinge of nervousness. “And when we are wed…we will be moving to Chelmsford.”
Her eyes did pop at that time. Chelmsford! Halfway across England? This did not feel right.
“H…how long will you be gone?” she asked trying to cover the tremble in her voice.
“A week or possibly more depending on how it goes with parliament and the King,” the Lord replied. “Never fear, when we are married you will be free to accompany me. I happen to know where in the countryside the queen consort of England, Catherine of Braganza, goes for her favorite pastimes. I am assured I can get you an audience with her.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Mary saw her father’s jaw stiffen and for good reason—the Queen was devoutly Catholic and they were puritans. Her father would not like it if she mixed with those who they termed heretics.
“I’ll…consider that,” Mary said cautiously with her eye on her father. “so, I suppose the only thing I can tell you is safe travels.”
She stood as the lord did and took his hand. “Send me word on your safe arrival.”
His chin jiggled when he shook her hand and plopped his hat on his head. “I will see you soon, Miss Thompson, and you have my regards, Lord Harlington.”
Stepping aside to let a footman usher the lord to the door, she waited until he came back with the report that Lord Blackmore was in his carriage and was off.
When he was dismissed, she turned to her father and said, “When were you going to tell me about the marriage day, Father? I believed we had much more time than this.”
“That was my doing,” Lady Harlington said from the doorway. “I thought it best to have you married quickly.” The lady came in, the skirts of her dark dress brushing on the carpet. “You’re young, Mary, I think there is little time for you to bear a child with this man.”
Bear a child? God forbid!
“Mother…” Mary said quietly, “I will not marry this man.”
Her mother stared at her then calmly said. “Pardon?”
Nerves began trembling her spine at her mother’s calm tone, but she carried on, “I will not marry that man. He
is odious and has a bland personality. I will suffocate if I marry him.”
Her mother came closer and gently took Mary’s chin. Her smile was soft, “You are so young, Mary. I understand your fear, but no one is better for you. He is safe, has a good income, and you will have an easy life.”
“An easy life? Mother!” Mary exclaimed. “What about a life I would want to live; one I can be happy with a man I love?”
“Love?” Lady Harlington’s tone dipped to a warning and hint of scorn, “This has nothing to do with love, dear. This is about your future, your life, and your well-being.”
“Well-being?” Mary said askance, “The man spoke for over an hour on the way silk is made. I’d die for boredom under his well-being!” Shooting a desperate look to her silent father, she said, “And why not love? You married father because you loved him? Why can’t I do the same?”