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.
The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced
or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,
including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval
system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the
publisher.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of
trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated
without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or
cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar
condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent
purchaser.
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."
"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
"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