The Highlander's Runaway: Highland Mates, #4

By Aileen Adams

Highland runaway finds love's sweet surrender…

 

The Sinclair and the MacFie clans have been feuding for ages. Longer than anyone alive can remember why. They avoid each other at all costs, though their lands border.

 

Laurel Sinclair's brother has promised her hand to an oaf of a laird to secure payment of their family's debts. Dismayed and disgusted she takes the only option at hand. She flees.

 

Now that he's no longer part of the mercenary Iron Wolves, Caelen MacFie's taken to riding and securing the countryside of his family lands. Imagine his surprise when he finds a strange lass exiting the treeline. Even more concerning, she's sporting the colors of the Sinclairs. To further complicate matters, she's bleeding from a head wound and doesn't remember her identity.

 

These two strangers find themselves in a predicament when they feel a mutual attraction but are mortal enemies. Will her clan bring war to the MacFies in order to get Laurel back? Will her family be slaughtered? Will the MacFies be decimated?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AilAd
• Release date: Apr 2, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201200497

Book preview

1

There was a chill in the air that morning, and the memory of last night’s storm still lingered in the air coming off the cliffs. The wind whipped at the corners of Caelan MacFie’s woolen cloak as he made his way across the courtyard to the stables. He was a tall man of medium build, with dark hair clipped short and eyes the honey brown of amber. It was early and the keep yard was quiet. Swinging the doors open, he was greeted with the warm smells of hay and the familiar musk of all the large horses that filled the numerous stalls.

He grabbed his saddle from the wall and strode toward his favorite. She was a trustworthy shire mare with a long mane the color of mahogany and a flash of white down the center of her chestnut face. He whispered a few kind words to her and slipped her a few slices of apple and then swung the heavy saddle over her back and fitted her with a bridle in his work-worn hands. He was leading her outside when he realized he was no longer alone.

Are ye certain ye dinnae want company? a tall, muscular lad asked from the stable doorway, his shoulder leaned casually against the frame. He was young, at that age where he was all knees and elbows, when he hadn’t quite grown into the man he was meant to become. He reminded Caelan of himself only a few years ago. Of a life full of possibility. Of promise.

Bonnie is all the company I need, Caelan answered, nodding to his mount. He continued on his way, leading the horse past Euan and into the yard, where he planted his foot in the stirrup and swung his other leg over her back.

Ye spend a lot of time alone, ye ken. Euan stepped forward, patting the side of the horse’s head affectionately. Ye were nae always like that. Are ye getting jaded in yer old age?

Caelan chuckled darkly. He had a point. Euan was barely twenty, but it was true that the man Caelan was today was far different from the lad he’d been only a scant few years ago. We all cannae stay as young as ye forever, Euan. He forced a small smile. It was the most he could manage these days.

Aye, nae as handsome, the sixteen-year-old jested. Just be careful if ye go toward the eastern cliffs. The rocks are sure to be slippery from the storm last eve.

Thank ye for the warning, Caelan said, reaching out to ruffle the lad’s hair.

Euan grimaced in response, quickly smoothing back his dusty brown locks. I mean it. We almost lost a messenger last night to the waters.

The keep buttressed up against the sea, and while the roads did not get close to the cliffs that rimmed the edges, often riders would take a dangerous shortcut to make it more quickly to the gates. It was reckless, but so were the hearts of men traveling late into the night when the roads were unsafe.

I’d like to think I am a wee bit more thoughtful about such things at this point, Caelan said, giving the lad a wry look. When he received a frown in response, he continued. Aye, I’ll avoid the cliffs. Nae much to patrol out that way anyway.

Euan nodded at that, seemingly satisfied.

With a shake of the reins, Caelan urged his horse out of the yard, taking her past the gatehouse of the keep and out into the misty moors of the lands run by his brother. The keep and its environs were old and well kept, but it was only four years ago that they had come to inhabit them. Back then, Dominik had been awarded Riverrun Keep after he and his men fought and killed the previous inhabitant, Ruairi McCormack. Caelan had been made steward of the land, but it didn’t take long for him to become disillusioned with the position. The politics involved in in maintaining a keep that was not truly his own were exhausting. He eagerly returned the keep to his brother two years ago, when Dominik’s wife Mairi became pregnant with their first son, a precious bairn. Mairi was now expecting their second, which she swore would be a girl. By all accounts, Dominik was living a prosperous life, and despite Caelan’s own unhappy outlook on the world, he was happy for his brother. No one would have expected the former mercenary to settle down, but he seemed to be taking well to the endeavor. Caelan only wished he could find what would make him happy himself.

Not a laird, Caelan had become little more than a discouraged soldier in the days since he’d taken residence in the keep, far away from the Iron Wolves and his adventures with the mercenary troupe. It had been a life of constant travel, and now he was sedentary, in one place all the time, rarely traveling beyond the land they kept. It was easy to maintain youthful optimism before, when he hadn’t seen the cruelties men could inflict on one another firsthand. Now, he seemed to only see the darkness, where he once was able to find the light.

His head filled with such grim thoughts, Caelan rode his horse east, avoiding the cliffs to the west as warned by the lad he considered family. He roamed past the overgrown orchards, the gnarled branches of the apple trees reaching up to the sky, barren of fruit and leaves now that winter had fully set in. The sun above was obscured, the yellow light diffused by thick clouds that turned the heavens to a dreary, dirty gray. He traveled past the nearby fields, quiet and dormant now this time of year. It was rare to find anyone out on these patrols. Occasionally, a beggar would wander by, or one of the vassals from a nearby farmstead would come around, searching for a lost livestock, but there was never anyone of serious consequence. It made for a boring, but relaxing ride through the countryside, and it was one of the few things Caelan had grown to look forward to now that the seasons had turned. He kept his eyes on the horizons, searching past the fields and to the rocks beyond, keeping alert for movement he doubted he would see.

He’d been patrolling for at least half an hour when the stillness of the morning was disturbed. A flash of color against the rocks, unnatural in the gray tones of the day, alerted him to another human presence. He watched the figure stumble through the rocky terrain, passing through leafless trees. They had no horse to speak of, and their footing seemed rocky at best. Spurred by curiosity, he propelled his horse forward, and the mare obeyed, trotting toward the tree line.

There, on the edges of his brother’s land against the western mountains, was the figure of a woman with wild red hair and fear in her emerald eyes. From here, Caelan could also make out her tartan. She was a Sinclair, a longstanding enemy to his own.

Perhaps this morning would not be boring after all.

2

Having finally reached the bottom of the craggy hill, Laurel picked her way across the brush line, stumbling over roots and clods in the cold, packed earth. Her shoes, she realized almost right away, were not made for this. The soft doe hide was meant for the smooth stone floors of a keep, not the craggy ground of the Highlands in winter.

But what else can I do? I made me bed, and now ‘tis time that I lie in it.

Laurel had chosen to run away from her family, from a comfortable life arranged by her brothers. She didn’t have any other option but to leave, or stay and be unhappy the rest of her life.

It was a week ago when Brodric came to her with his decision. As her eldest brother, he had taken charge of the Sinclair family affairs when their father passed the previous year. He inherited the keep and more importantly, all of their family’s debts. They’d had no idea how much their father owed to neighboring lairds, having gambled much of the wealth away in his free time about the town.

But ye could change all that, Brodric had said, a smile wide across his face. In exchange for yer hand, Laird McCullagh will forgive the debts already owed to him and assume payments for the rest that Father had accumulated. A marriage such as this will change all of our fortunes, of that, I am sure.

Laurel tried to hide her look of disgust but knew from her brother’s reaction that she had failed. Laird Jameson McCullagh was a horrid man of considerable girth, and he smelled of ale from dusk until dawn. He was married once already, to a girl half his age years ago, but she had died of fever and left him a widower. Laurel loathed the man and the way he looked at her like a cattle farmer appraising a new herd. And whose idea was this? she asked. Yers? Or was it his?

Brodric’s eyes narrowed, and the muscle of his dimple twitched ever so slightly. It was a sign that Laurel had hit on something that bothered him.

Yers then, I take it? she confirmed.

Does it matter? Brodric countered. ’Tis yer duty to do what is best for the clan, and ‘tis what is best.

Ridiculous, Laurel said, rolling her eyes. If ‘tis so important, why donnae ye marry the brute?

Gavin, her second oldest brother, strolled into the room. He looked between the two of them. Och. I take it ye told her yer plan, then? He crossed his arms over his chest, a bemused expression on his face.

Ye knew as well? Laurel exclaimed, turning on her other brother.

He raised his hands in surrender, showing he meant no harm. I told our dear brother ye would nae take it verra well.

Laurel’s nostrils flared with distaste and growing anger. I will nae be sold off to pay yer debts like some sow to the slaughter. Find another way. Her voice had risen to a crescendo, loud and booming in the small room.

Brodric’s eyes went cold as steel in response. His voice dangerously low, he spoke. Nae, dear sister. Ye are nae to be sold off. Laird McCullagh will provide for ye better than we could now, and ‘tis only a boon that he is willing to cover our debts as well. Cry and scream all ye want. I’ve turned this problem over and over again in me mind and this is the only solution I can find. Ye will marry him, and that is final.

Laurel’s eyes never left her brother’s firm stare, and he broke away his gaze first, turning on his heel. Before he was out the door, Gavin spoke up. Yer sure to outlive him and his liver anyway, and then ye’ll have all the peace and lonesome quiet ye want. What’s better than that?

Freedom, Laurel said quietly, knowing full well she’d lost the argument.

Later that night, she met with her third and youngest brother Kamden in the study of the old and drafty keep. He found her staring out over their family’s land through the great blown glass windows. Iron lattice work crisscrossed the chilly scene beyond, the casement showcasing the sleeping gardens that filled the grounds behind the keep.

He told ye, did he? Kamden asked, joining her at her post. He carried with him two mugs of sweetened black tea, and she gratefully accepted one for herself.

Ye knew too, aye? she asked, no malice in her voice any longer. She’d burned through that hours earlier, and she could never aim her ire at Kamden anyway.

Only as of this morn. I told him he better tell ye sooner than later, and I guess he did take that to heart at least.

That he did, she replied.

They stood in silence for a moment, taking sips of their warm tea.

Gavin noted that I should at least outlive him, she said finally.

Our crass brother does have a point there at least, Kamden replied. And then ye’d have a keep all to yerself and yer wee ones. That could be great, aye?

Nae ye, too, she bemoaned, letting out a heavy sigh.

Och, ‘tis nae like that, Laurel. If I could solve our money problems through marriage to some old lass, ye ken that I would. But I’ll nae hold me breath for such an unlikely possibility.

Duty, then, she said dully.

Do we nae have anything else? The corner of his lip raised in a sympathetic smile.

She leaned her head against his tall, thin shoulder.

For the rest of that week, Laurel had tried talking to Brodric time and time again, but nothing ever came of it. He refused to speak to her on the matter, and instead even threatened to move the date of the marriage even closer. Afterall, he had said, if ye donnae want the marriage what do ye care about a wedding? We can have the ceremony with our local friar on our property in the chapel and be done with it. As soon as he said the idea out loud, it was clear he liked the sound of it. Aye. That is exactly what we’ll do. He smiled at her, but there was no mirth in his eyes.

For a moment, Laurel could see he took no pleasure in enacting this course of action, but that he did so out of desperation.

Our financial state is truly so dire? she asked, hopelessly.

Brodric, obviously expecting more of an argument, deflated at her resignation. He had been gearing for a fight, not a surrender. Father tore through everything, Laurel. There are nae even family heirlooms left to be part of yer dowry. Laird McCullagh kens this and is still willing to marry ye. And the sooner the better. He turned, unable to meet her eyes any longer. This Sunday. Aye. We will hold the marriage then.

Not if I can help it. Not even a real wedding. I surely am merely a transaction it seems. Even if her brother was doing so reluctantly, he was still selling her off. How could he understand the toll that such a decision could make on a woman? Resolved, that very night she gathered what little she had by way of personal possessions and snuck out of the keep at the first light of dawn.

Not willing to leave her brothers in even worse straits, she took the least of the horses, a small thin-legged pony with a ragged mane. She didn’t need him to go far, only as close as the town of Nareen, where she could try to find work as a barmaid or someone’s housekeeper. Maybe if she earned her keep, she could make enough that she didn’t even need a dowry. Maybe not even a husband at all. At least she would have a chance at living a life for herself, and not for a drunken lout with heavy pockets.

But Laurel had never ridden to Nareen by herself before, and she was too wary of bandits to keep to the main roads. It was her own fault that she got lost in the woods, she knew, although the pony slipping and throwing her from his back was more due to the weather than anything else. She’d crashed against the hard ground and bruised her temple. Even now, a small robin's egg sized lump was starting to form, although the bleeding had thankfully stopped.

The forest was just opening up into fields, from which she thought she could rediscover the road, when she saw movement on the horizon. It was a man, and he had stopped his horse. Like a startled deer, her whole body stilled, but it was too late. He was coming toward her. He must have spotted her and there was nowhere to run, even if she thought she could manage it. She instead straightened her back, standing tall and wholly visible.

Be him brigand or saint, I’ll nae tremble at his