Highlander Romances

By Cathleen Ross

The Highlander Romances is a boxed set of three Forbidden Fantasy stories: Highlander, Highlander in Her Bed and In Her Wild Highlander's Bed.
Highlander is a 10,000 word erotic romance set in Scotland, 1308. When Sir James Bruce conquers enemy territory, his reward is the hand of beautiful virgin, Lady Isobel McLaird. Although Isobel has no intention of marrying Sir James, he intends to tame her to his touch.

Scotland 1308 Sir David McLaird is a prisoner of Sir James Bruce. When healer, Lady Arabel Bruce tends to his wounds he doesn't expect to fall in love. The trouble is Arabel is from the enemy clan.
Lady Arabel loves the wild highlander but won't betray her clan and marry him, until Sir David abducts and makes her his.

When Sir Jasper Bruce discovers a lady hiding under his bed in the castle he has just conquered, he doesn't expect to fall in love.
Lady Rosamund Percy can think of nothing else except escaping to England when her Scottish betrothed leaves her stranded. The trouble is Sir Jasper considers her a delicious prize of war. How can she convince him to let her go when he wants her in his bed?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cathleen Ross
• Release date: Jan 17, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311619341

Cathleen Ross

Cathleen Ross likes to write about the quirky side of life. She loves writing erotic romance. Psychic Sex and Shift into Pleasure are her latest Harlequin Spice Brief releases. Psychic Sex was included in the Naughty Bits Anthology. When Cathleen's not writing for Harlequin, she's working on her Forbidden Fantasy self-published series.

Book preview

The Highlander Romances Boxed Set consists of three linked stories. I hope you enjoy them as much as I enjoyed writing them.

Cathleen Ross

Highlander

Published by Cathleen Ross at Smashwords

Copyright 2014 Cathleen Ross

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Chapter 1

Lady Isobel McLaird spun on her heels at the thunderous noise of metal and hooves approaching the marketplace. Her maid, peasants and livestock scattered as the phalanx of knights drew to a halt, but Isobel stood her ground. At their head was Sir James Bruce, the man who’d once held her and made her yearn for his caresses. Now she hated him. With her heart in her throat, she gathered her skirts to confront him. Murderer! she shouted.

Sir James’s enormous black steed reared at the sound of her sharp cry. Hooves flailed near her head as the fearsome knight fought to keep in his horse in check.

Fear chilled her blood and she stepped back.

After climbing down from his horse and throwing the reins to his page, Sir James took off his helm revealing dark blue eyes, which fixed upon her. You’re as beautiful and foolish as you were on the riverbank three years ago, Isobel McLaird.

When he pushed back his chain mail, she saw his raven hair was cropped shoulder length and his lips were as sensual as ever under his noble nose.

Wet from the river, her shift sticking to her skin, he’d held her. She’d turned her lips up to his to be kissed.

I was foolish not to have reported your trespass on my father’s lands three years ago. You’re a traitor to King John Balliol and my brother’s murderer.

He strode towards her, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

Fear rooted her feet to the damp earth of the marketplace. Though the rain had passed and the sun shone, for her, everyday was gloomy because of this knight.

Have you not noticed that you’ve not an army to defend you now? A half smile formed on his lips.

You jest about my people’s destruction, brave men all, led by my brother. Your cruelty does you no merit, Sir. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. David and his men would have gone down fighting the stronger Bruce army until the end, determined to give everything for the cause of John Balliol, the true king.

At her accusation, the smile slipped from his face and his eyes held sympathy. It is a bad day for Scotland when Scotsmen spill the blood of their own. I’ve news for you, my lady, but it comes at a cost. Your brother lives.

What? For a moment, Isobel thought the ground had shifted under her feet. Owen, David’s best friend had seen her brother killed by this knight’s very hand.

You play with me, Sir.

Nay, my lady. I do not jest about a cause so dear to your heart. Take this proof of my words. He took a piece of parchment from his page and handed it to her.

A buzz of voices swarmed as the villagers gathered around her but Isobel paid them no heed. With trembling fingers she saw the parchment contained her brother’s fine hand.

Her gaze flicked up to meet Sir James’s. David says the Bruce will no accept ransom.

Aye, my cousin, the king will brook no opposition to his claim and your brother is a formidable knight. I warrant my cousin will keep him prisoner. And now I’ll take my price for giving the message.

Isobel reached for the purse that hung at her waist.

Sir James stepped forward, wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off the ground. Would that I had done this those three years ago by the river. I can’t get you out of my mind.

She opened her lips to protest, but he planted his mouth hard on hers. Surprise, hotly followed by indignation rose within her. She slapped her hands on his chest and kicked with her feet, but her toes met body armor. A sharp pain zinged through her foot and she opened her lips further to cry out. The knight taking full advantage, put his lips to hers, moving them in a rhythm. His action was bold. Her blood pumped wildly and sensations she had no name for, rushed through her.

Though she dug her nails into his clothing, the mail he wore under his surcoat resisted her damage. Soon though, her hands stilled as sparks of pleasure shot through her. A sigh left her lips, soft with need.

The knight, perhaps sensing her acquiescence, touched her tongue with his. Isobel jerked back, but he followed the movement of her head, refusing to break his kiss. The impropriety shocked her to the core and yet the repeated gliding sensation of his tongue sent tingles down her spine and the feel of his hot lips on hers drugged her to his wishes.

Pinned to his body by his powerful arms, she was helpless, lost as excitement raced throughout her that was better than riding her horse unbridled and wild.

One of his hands slid under her veil and fisted her hair. The sharp pull of it along with his lips, hot and sensuous, demanded more from her. Seized with an unquenchable fire, she let go, closed her eyes, lost in the new sensations.

Tentatively, she followed the movement of his tongue taking pleasure in the most intimate sensation she’d ever savored. He tasted of ale and virile male. Her nipples tightened under her gown and though the weather was inclement, she thought she was melting.

She’d never experienced anything like this. No man had ever kissed her. His face, though shaven, was still in need of a razor. The barbs on his jaw grazed her cheek and though the soft skin surrounding her lips chaffed, the sensation sent heady bubbles through her blood as if she had sipped on too much of her father’s wine.

My lady! her maid screamed.

Aware of her maid’s high-pitched voice and the hum of the villagers witnessing this improper act, Isobel twisted and turned though she thought her hair would rip from her scalp.

Release me, Sir.

When he released her hair, she pushed back on his chest with the flat of her hands, aware of his glittering eyes. He did as she asked however, slowly lowering her, but after he placed her on her feet, she noticed his chest rose and fell. The skin on his neck had darkened with blood and she sensed he barely held himself in check.

What manner of payment is this? she asked.

I have no use for your coin, Isobel, but this, he touched his finger to her lips, is worth more than any gold.

Cheeks burning, Isobel stepped back, aware of the gaze of the villagers, of the hum and whisper of voices in the air. This was the lord responsible for the devastating defeat of her brother and his men, and yet he had brought comforting news that her brother lived instead of glorying in her loss. Confused, she couldn’t still the thumping of her heart. I’ll deliver my brother’s message to my father.

Tell your father to expect me when the moon wanes. I’ll have terms to discuss. He bowed, turned and mounted his horse.

Isobel watched him leave, her hand on her lips barely able to believe his inappropriate conduct and her eager response. Sir James had a formidable reputation as a warrior. What would he want? If her father didn’t agree, how could they defend their battle-ravaged lands from this giant of a man? What if he demanded her as part of his war prize?

Isobel swept towards her father’s staterooms, her hands clutching her skirts to raise the hem in her haste. It was unusual for her father, Sir William, to summon her from her sport of hawking but she’d heard the clatter of hooves on stone and knew Sir James and his men had come. With Robert the Bruce’s determination to crush all opposition to his kingship of Scotland, her life sat on a knife’s edge.

Upon entering the large room, excitement set her heart thumping at the sight of the dark-haired knight, her gaze already taking in his well-muscled body. As she walked towards the high table where the knight sat, she could see his blue eyes flashing with naked desire. His large frame dwarfed her father who sat hunched nearby. From the power Sir James emanated, she understood why he was Robert the Bruce’s most trusted warrior. Helmet removed and clad in chain mail and surcoat, which blazed his coat of arms, she had full view of his strong face with its penetrating gaze and full lusty mouth.

Although she wore a sleeveless gown the color of a hedge rose over a sage kirtle and silken gloves, she felt his gaze upon her, stripping her naked. Just like before. Even the delicate skin of her lips tingled, the memory of his kiss, a delicious ripple though her consciousness. It was wrong. Brazen. She couldn’t get enough of him.

Lifting her hand momentarily to her hair, she realized the wind had released her red locks from their braids. This was not the time to be disheveled. Not when she needed every bit of her strength to maintain her dignity.

Father. Isobel curtsied, glancing under her eyelashes at Sir James.

Her father stood, as did Sir James.

Daughter, began her father, I do not believe you have met Sir James Bruce, though his name is well known to our family.

Isobel forced herself to curtsey. She’d told her father a page had delivered the message from her brother, determined not to reveal the shame of the incidence in the marketplace. Her heart seemed to swell in her chest and she prayed her father would not notice the high color that certainly stained her cheeks.

I have had the pleasure of meeting your spirited daughter, Sir James said.

Would he give her away? Would he shame her in front of her father? Would he describe how her body had melded to his, how she had responded to the kiss of a traitor to their cause?

Sir James eased himself down onto the high-backed chair, stretching one long leg out in front of him in the feigned relaxed manner of the conqueror.

Her father frowned.

We have not been formally introduced, she said.

The side of Sir James’s mouth twisted.

She couldn’t take her eyes off him, instinctively knowing he wanted her in the shocking carnal way her confessor had sworn would send a sinner straight to the bowels of hell. Yet her blood boiled as perspiration heated the sensitive skin between her breasts. She wanted him too. No man had ever pressed himself against her and kissed her with a passion that had made her head swim. How desperately she yearned to feel his lips, the delicious taste and power of him, again.

The very air between them sizzled.

Sir James brings terms from his noble cousin, Robert the Bruce. It seems his Lord has been most gracious. He will allow me to keep my title and lands in return for transferring my support from the Balliol cause.

But Father, John Balliol is the rightful heir to the Scottish-

Silence! Her father clenched his fist, but a fit of coughing seized him. Grabbing the goblet in front of him he drank.

Some evil malady had invaded his lungs and every movement ebbed his strength. It struck her that his beard was almost filled with grey and his shoulders were the stooped shoulders of a man in illness and defeat.

Our cause is lost. Her father sank to his chair.

No! Isobel cried, unable to prevent cry of misery leaving her lips.

Balliol has fled to France and the Red Comyn is dead, Sir James said.

Murdered by the Bruce, Isobel cried. She knew from the darkening of his handsome face and the way that his eyes narrowed to two slits, she had gone too far.

Isobel! her father shouted. Hold your foolish tongue.

Sir James slapped the table in front of him and he made to stand. I’ll not have the king’s name blackened.

Isobel started, looking from her father to Sir James. With her father unwell and her brother imprisoned what did this mean for her? Although greatly feared, the knight was rumored to be fair in battle but how would be behave with her? Yesterday her defiance had enamored him.

Isobel started to shake.

Forgive my daughter. She is only eighteen and has become willful without her late mother’s influence. She will calm under a good hand, her father interjected.

Sir James eased himself back into his seat.

Whatever did her father mean? She turned to him. And David? Her voice trembled, but even she could endure the humiliation of their defeat if she knew David would come home where she could nurse him to health.

McLaird will stay locked away awaiting the King’s justice, Sir James said.

Her stomach clenched and shards of pain stuck her temples as she thought of her beloved brother. She turned to her father. Father, please. Her voice rose in a wail. Demand David’s release. Her brother had risked everything for the cause. Tears filled her eyes as she thought of him wounded in an icy, damp cell. How long would he last under those conditions?

Your brother’s freedom is not on the bargaining table, Sir James said.

Sir William’s face became ashen. I did not call you here to argue, Isobel. I have made my decision to support our new king.

While her brother rotted.

Then why did you summon me?

The very air went still. Even the howling wind outside that had whipped her hair from her braids no longer lashed the castle walls.

Sir James strode from behind the table and towered over her. Under the terms of your father’s surrender, I have asked for your hand in marriage, Sir James said.

Marriage! Isobel cried, her hands moved to her mouth. Blood rushed to her face until she thought her cheeks were ablaze, so hot where they to her touch.

Sir James appraised her as if she were delicious, naked morsel.

How long before he pressed his body against hers; had her under his command? Despite the shock, something deeply feminine stirred in her. If ever she were to be bedded by a man, no one would be more suited than him.

Your surety will ensure Sir William’s fidelity to our new king, Sir James said, said his tone husky. His gaze lingered on her lips as if he desired to taste her again.

And then the image of her beloved twin, trapped and wounded crashed into her mind.

You have the power to petition the Bruce for David’s freedom but you refuse. I will not marry my brother’s jailor.

If he were angry at her refusal, he didn’t show it. Aye, but you will, lass. His voice resonated with seduction and she wondered how she would be able to fight his command.

I have given my permission, Sir William said, coming to stand at Sir James’s side. It is a good match.

You would sacrifice me, to keep your lands and not fight for the son who gave his freedom protecting you.

Pain clouded her father’s eyes and for a moment she regretted her harsh words. Would the cost of this submission kill the elderly man?

Isobel turned to Sir James. I see my father has no will to make demands but I will go to hell before you get me to wife, Sir.

Mayhap you will find it the same place.

The fiery, possessive look in his eyes set the blood coursing through her body. The memory of his kiss still burned on her lips. If he made love the way he kissed, she knew it would be no hell. But she also knew where her loyalty lay even if her father did not. Tears scalded her eyes. When David dies as he surely will without the mercy of kind hands to tend his wounds, his blood will stain your name. Her voice quavered, but she forced herself to continue. My heart will turn against you forever. Think on it. Is this what you want of a wife?

Isobel didn’t bother with the formality of curtsying. With hot tears falling from her eyes, she lifted her skirts and ran from the room, past Sir James’s men at arms stationed at the door.

Her mind whirled with ideas, all of them focused on escape. One by one, the clans were bowing to the Bruce’s demands. David would never gain his freedom under this new king. As much as he would hate it, her only hope lay in getting to England and asking the English king, Edward Longshanks for help.

She raced up the stone staircase to her solar, the only place where safety reigned. For a brief moment she lamented the stark need to flee her beautiful quarters with its large double bed, the elegant tapestries and the engraved stone fireplace, but there was no time for lamentation in her life. Nothing would ever be the same again. The marriage proposal was not made from love, despite the sensations Sir James had elicited from her in the market place. Oh no. It was simply a way to wield a club that would ensure the servitude of her noble family. Grief gripped her but she used it to steel her momentum. She had to act fast to outwit Sir James. He would not breach her private apartment while formalizing a truce with her father.

Nor would he expect her to flee the castle.

Pulling off her gown and kirtle, she left on her linen shift and changed into a plain grey woolen gown and grey fur-lined robe. She had to get across the courtyard unnoticed. Glancing in her hand mirror, she gathered together her wild red locks, fixed her tresses into a hairnet and fashioned a linen veil over her head. A dour, grey figure. Unrecognizable.

She rushed to her wardrobe to grab her late mother’s jewelry. Gold and jewelry were the only currency she had to secure accommodation in London. Bundling it in her kerchief, she pulled out leather shoes and pulled them on. There was no time to think of anything else.

She’d left her mare tethered in the courtyard and prayed a servant hadn’t returned her to the stables. Although she would be more conspicuous as a single woman riding a horse than on foot, the portcullis was open and once through the gatehouse, she had more chance of gaining some distance on horseback before the Bruce men realized she was gone.

Isobel pulled open her solar door and froze. Her father’s guard stood to attention. Owen. What are you doing?

Owen blocked her exit, his gaze wandering over her attire. His Lordship ordered me to stand guard, my Lady.

Owen had battled alongside David and Isobel had tended to his wounds when he had returned lamenting his inability to save her brother. Once, when fever had taken hold of him, he’d told her of his love for her but she could never give him her heart. Owen had been ecstatic at the news that David had survived, then gutted at the message of his friend’s perilous condition. Stand aside, Owen. I must flee.

Nay, my Lady. It’s not safe with the enemy at our door.

She gripped his hands and looked into his eyes. Owen, please. My father means to wed me to James Bruce. I’ll not marry the man responsible for my brother’s imprisonment. I know David wouldn’t wish me to. Please let me pass.

I canna. Your father has given me orders.

I have to get to London to petition King Edward to help David. If my brother’s love means anything to you… Help me. Please. Just let me get to my horse.

A scowl darkened his face. I donna want that traitor to take you for a wife. Would that I could stop this. The quiet love he held for her lit his eyes.

Nay, do nothing. My father has promised me. Sir James would put you to death and my heart is sorrowful enough already. I can’t bear to lose anyone else dear to me. Putting her hands either side of his face, she placed her lips momentarily on his cheek.

Flushing, he raised his hand to where she had kissed him.

I never thanked you for looking after my brother. Protect my father. Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes again. He is broken.

Owen raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. God’s speed, my Lady. May the Bruce and his followers rot for what they have done.

Isobel heard a crash on the stairs and jerked away from Owen.

Sword drawn, Sir James advanced towards them, his face dark with thunder. He thrust his sword at Owen’s throat forcing him to his knees.

Stop, Isobel screamed.

No man may lay his hands on what is mine, Sir James growled. His gaze flashed over her, clearly taking in her veil and travelling attire.

What is amiss? Sir William asked as he mounted the stairs, wheezing and out of breath. The treaty says my men are to be unharmed.

Sir James sheathed his sword.

Owen rose to his feet and stumbled, his face full of loathing, his lips working with unsaid vitriol.

Isobel placed herself between Owen and Sir James. You cannot force me say yes before a priest. I’ll get myself to a nunnery.

Sir James reached out, pulled the veil from her head and unfastened her hairnet so that her russet-colored locks tumbled over her shoulders. He fisted her hair and smiled, the blue of his eyes darkening with desire. You were not made for the nunnery, Isobel. You were made for me.

No! She tried to pull his hand from her hair, but he caught her fingers in his, gripped them and pulled her in against him. The heat of his body seared through hers. Her traitorous body wanted to wind itself in a sinuous fashion around his. For a long moment, she was drawn to the fierce, possessive glow in his eyes.

I’ll soon tame you to my touch, Sir James murmured, head bent low so that she could feel his breath hot on her face.

Aware of the beating of her heart and the silence of her awed male audience, Isobel realized that to fight Sir James only stirred his interest. She cursed herself for drawing his attention that day in the marketplace. She clearly hadn’t imagined the fire that roared between them every time they were together.

I intended to allow you time to prepare for our nuptials but I can see my plans were too generous. I’ll not have you run to a nunnery or throw your maidenhead at a callow youth to spite me. He flashed a look at Owen.

How dare you? Isobel said.

For you, I dare.

Sir James clamped his large hand around her back, bent, placed his arm under her knees and whipped her up into his arms.

Father! Isobel protested.

Misery stalked Sir William’s features. Stop this behavior, Isobel. Bring honor to this house. Obey your new lord.

Isobel slumped against Sir James’s arms realizing what it cost her father to see his remaining child carried off by the enemy as a war prize. Inside her, she seethed, wanting to

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