Highland Heart

  Highland Heart [070-011-4.0]

  By: Ruth Langan

  Synopsis:

  amie MacDonalds was a lonely and dangerous task unite the feuding

  Highland clans against a traitor's conspiracy. His desperate search

  for allies led him to Clan Gordon and, against his better judgement,

  into the arms of Lindsey Gordon, proud, wilful daughter of too fearsome

  reputation of the red-bearded giant they called the Heartless

  MacDonald, and she cared little for his rough ways. Yet, even as she

  struggled in his unwelcome embrace, she longed for the noble heart that

  this warrior.

  

  ISBN 0263823156

  Historical Romance. rich, vivid and passionate "I want you to leave

  me alone"

  For the space of a heartbeat, Jamie studied her.

  "That is why you came looking for me in the darkness?"

  "I was not looking for you, I was returning to my bed."

  His voice was a low whisper that sent tremors through her.

  "But now that you are here, do you know what I want?" He lowered his

  face to hers.

  Her breath caught in her throat.

  "Release me at once."

  Against her lips he murmured, "Woman, you would be wiser to command a

  waterfall to stop."

  Ruth Langan traces her ancestry to Scotland and Ireland. It is no

  surprise, then, that she feels a kinship with the characters in her

  historical novels. Married to her childhood sweetheart, she has raised

  five children and lives in Michigan, the state where she was born and

  raised.

  Recent titles by the same author:

  HIGHLAND FIRE

  HIGHLAND HEATHER

  HIGHLAND BARBARIAN

  TEXAS HERO

  Ruth Langan

  MILLS BOON

  To Caitlin Bea Shrader, And to her proud and happy parents, Mary and

  Dennis. And, as always, to Tom.

  Who started it all in first grade, With a piece of bubble gum.

  DID YOU PURCHASE THIS BOOK WITHOUT A COVER?

  If you did, you should be aware it is stolen property as it was

  reported unsold and destroyed by a retailer. Neither the author nor

  the publisher has received any payment for this book.

  All the characters in this book have no existence outside the

  imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone

  bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired

  by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents

  are pure invention.

  All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in

  part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with

  Harlequin Enterprises'll B.

  V.

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  MILLS & BOON and MILLS & BOON with the Rose Device are registered

  trademarks of the publisher.

  First published in Great Britain 2000 Harlequin Mills & Boon Limited,

  Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR

  Ruth Ryan Langan 1992 ISBN 0 263 82315 6

  Set in Times Roman 10 on'll1/4 pt. 04000882111 Printed and bound in

  Spain by Litografia Roses S.

  A.

  " Barcelona Prologue

  The Scottish Highlands, 1566

  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 com fort 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.

  "Bfice..." 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 Scot land, 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 hairn. 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 rip pled 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 Mer

  edith 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 Gordons, who are the most powerful among the Highland

  chiefs. Douglas Gor don'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 Mac Donald

  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 flickere
d 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. Mer

  edith dropped her arms around the hairns, 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, ombr6, 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.

  Chapter One

  Rain filtered through the thick canopy of trees in the for est,

  drenching the man who stood as still as a statue. Jamie's gaze was

  fixed on the courtyard of the fortress looming before him. For nearly

  two hours he had watched as the mounted men arrived, one after another,

  to disappear inside the sprawling Gordon manor house.

  These would be the sons, he decided. He knew there were four of them,

  though so far he could account for only three. They, along with the

  old chieftain, Douglas Gordon, would prove formidable opponents. But

  if he could get the fierce old warrior and his sons to work with him,

  they would bring a dozen fractious claffs along with them. First he

  would have to get their attention; no easy task, since they respected