Highland Heart

By Ruth Ryan Langan

From New York Times bestselling author Ruth Ryan Langan.

Jamie MacDonald, a fierce warrior known throughout the Highlands as the Heartless MacDonald, searches for a traitor among the feuding clans.

Lindsey Gordon, proud, willful daughter of a noble clan chieftain, is the only woman who can reach this warrior's carefully-concealed heart.

"...a talented author who never disappoints..." -- Romantic Times

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ruth Ryan Langan
• Release date: Nov 13, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311945600

Ruth Ryan Langan

New York Times best-selling author Ruth Ryan Langan, who also writes under the pseudonym R. C. Ryan, is the author of over 100 novels, both contemporary romantic-suspense and historical adventure. Quite an accomplishment for this mother of five who, after her youngest child started school, gave herself the gift of an hour a day to follow her dream to become a published author. Ruth has given dozens of radio, television and print interviews across the country and Canada, and has been quoted in such diverse publications as THE WALL STREET JOURNAL and COSMOPOLITAN. Ruth has also been interviewed on CNN NEWS, as well as GOOD MORNING AMERICA.

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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 comfort 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.

Brice... 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 Scotland, 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 bairn. 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 rippled 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 Meredith 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 Cordons, who are the most powerful among the Highland chiefs. Douglas Gordon’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 MacDonald 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 flickered, 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. Meredith dropped her arms around the bairns, 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, ombre, 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 forest, 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 clans along with them. First he would have to get their attention; no easy task, since they respected no one outside their own blood. Then the trick would be to force them to sit still long enough to hear what he had to say. With so many of them, he was apt to find himself at the point of a sword before his first words could be spoken.

Jamie touched a hand to the stiffness of his shoulder, the lingering effects of an old battle wound. All those hours in the saddle, and now the rain that chilled him clear to the bone, were taking their toll. He yearned for a warm fire and a soft bed. With a trace of impatience he shook his head to clear his mind of such annoying thoughts. He could not afford to allow himself any distractions.

These Gordons were fighters like himself. They would not willingly listen to talk of peace among the Highland clans. Nor would they respect a man who came, hat in hand, to ask their help. It would take bold measures to get their attention. And even bolder measures to enlist their aid. He had not yet decided just what those bold measures would be.

Out of the comer of his eye he saw a sudden movement and forced himself to remain motionless. As the rider passed, Jamie noted the stubble of dark beard in a brooding, handsome face. The lad’s hat was worn at a rakish angle. His dark eyes gleamed with the sleek, smug look of a cat that had just stolen his master’s cream. This would be Donald Gordon, the second son, a rebel, and by all accounts a man who loved the wenches.

Jamie gave a satisfied nod. At last all the sons were accounted for. Now he would wait and watch for an opportunity to catch them unawares.

* * *

So, laddie, you’ve finally come home. Murray Gordon, touching a hand to his newly cultivated beard, gave his brother a lingering look. We were just about to break our fast. You’d best have an explanation ready. Father was planning to have Robbie and Neal comb the village until they found you even if it meant searching every maiden’s bed.

Donald Gordon gave his elder brother a wink. "They’d have had to look no farther than the widow Lennox’s cottage.’’

The widow Lennox? Murray’s mouth dropped before he added, Have you cut such a swath through the eligible wenches that you are now reduced to the charms of that plump baggage?

Donald threw back his head and roared. Not the widow, you dolt. Her fetching daughter.

Murray shot him a withering look. Why, she’s no more than a child.

A child? Donald tossed his cloak on a peg and shook the rain from his hair. Turning to his brother he said with a grin, While you were looking the other way, that child grew into a very charming lass. He dropped his arm around Murray’s shoulder as they strode toward the refectory. And believe me, she was most eager that I sample all her charms.

Both men threw back their heads and roared. The laughter died on their lips when they caught sight of the stern countenance of their father. Douglas Gordon, seated at the head of the table, speared them with a look of righteous anger.

How kind of you to spare your family a few moments of your precious time, Donald. It seems you can no longer sleep in your own bed.

There are so many more—interesting beds in the village, Donald said as he seated himself.

Douglas slammed his fist on the table, sending the dishes clattering. Everyone in the room fell silent.

Have I raised a son, or a rutting goat?

By all accounts, Father, I am merely following in your glorious footsteps.

Someone snickered.

Douglas Gordon’s eyes narrowed. It was clear the lad had touched a nerve. He spoke in a tone of regret. Aye. I fear I was guilty of wenching in my youth.

He fell silent as his only daughter circled the table to fill his goblet. His gaze softened. How like his dear wife Lindsey had become. She had inherited her mother’s thick, auburn hair, framing the face of an angel. Her slight, slender stature seemed even more pronounced because of a limp, which was only noticeable when Lindsey was agitated or weary. It was the result of a childhood injury that had nearly devastated her loving parents.

Her mother had died when Lindsey was but a child, and Douglas had done what any father would do; he had simply taken the girl with him and treated her the same way he treated his sons. The lass, surrounded by a warrior father and four brothers, had abandoned all attempts at feminine pursuits.

Despite her physical frailty, the lass possessed an indomitable spirit and a bright, logical mind. She had mastered the use of small weapons as easily as her brothers. The broadsword and longbow, however, required more strength than she possessed.

Douglas knew that if she had been born a male, she would have been his first choice to inherit the leadership of this fierce clan.

Realizing his family had grown uncomfortably silent, Douglas struggled to pull himself back from his somber thoughts. My wenching ended the moment I met Diedre. I want you to know that from then on, there was never another lass who could turn my head.

Hearing the pain in his tone, Lindsey Gordon brushed a kiss over her father’s shaggy eyebrow. Aye. I remember the love shining between the two of you. We all share your pain. Her warning gaze swept her brothers around the table. Do we not?

‘Twas a love like no other, Murray said in quick agreement.

Lindsey signaled to a servant, who filled the other goblets.

When I meet the woman of my dreams, my wenching days will be over as well, Donald said defiantly.

His words were greeted with hoots of laughter from his sister and brothers.

The woman of your dreams. Neal, the youngest, turned to the brother closest in age to him, whose sun-kissed hair and fair features caused many a village lass to turn and stare. Tell me, Robbie. Has Donald been reading your poetry?

‘Twould seem so. Tell us about this dream vision, Robbie said, winking at his sister as she took the seat beside him.

It wouldn’t do to fill your head. You’d best keep your thoughts on those pretty words you write, Rob. And leave the wenches to me.

Lindsey joined in the laughter. Describe this woman to me, Donald. Mayhap I will find her for you among the village wenches.

I need no help from my sister to find my future wife. Donald lifted his goblet, ignoring the jeers of laughter from the others.

Will she have big—eyes, like the widow Lennox?

Even Donald found himself laughing at that. But one look at his father’s face wiped the smile from his lips. Usually the old man was the first to join in the laughter and teasing. But this day he was in a somber mood.

What is it, Father? What troubles you this morrow?

‘We speak of foolishness while there are rumors of turmoil at Holyrood."

Turmoil. At the mention of Holyrood, the queen’s residence in Edinburgh, Murray’s head came up sharply. What have you heard?

Rumors. Gossip. No one seems to know anything. But ’tis whispered that the queen and her husband are far from happy.

Is there not soon to be a child? Lindsey asked.

Aye.

Then what can be wrong? They are so newly wed.

There are those who say the queen’s foolish young husband, Lord Darnley, would make our Donald look like a mere jester among the women at court. He glanced around the table at his children. If such whispers have reached us here in the Highlands, do you not think Queen Mary herself has heard the rumors? And is surely disheartened by them?

Neal, the youngest, broke the silence. Mary is queen. Can she not command Darnley to love only her?

Everyone burst into peals of laughter. Lindsey touched a hand to his cheek, but he pulled away sharply, embarrassed to be petted like a child. He was, after all, ten and six years, and taller than two of his brothers. Only Donald was taller, taller even than their father.

Why does that amuse all of you?

Because, Lindsey said patiently, even the queen cannot command someone to love her. Love cannot be ordered about. Love just happens, without reason.

And how would you know about such things? Murray asked. As the eldest, he felt a keen sense of responsibility toward his sister. She was, after all, still a maiden.

Mayhap she has been reading your poetry, Robbie, Neal called out with a laugh.

What care I about love? Lindsey snatched up her goblet, suddenly stung by their teasing. ’Twould only mean having another man underfoot.

That would not be the worst thing to happen to you, Donald said with a sly laugh. It is time you gave some thought to taking a husband and filling this old house with children.

I thought I would save that privilege for you, Donald. Since there are so many willing maidens hoping to catch your eye.

If the truth be told, there are far too many to make a choice. You, on the other hand, have had so little experience with the lads, any sturdy bumpkin should do nicely. Perhaps you would like us to pick him out for you.

I shall do my own choosing, thank you. Lindsey pushed away from the table. If you will excuse me, Father, I will see to the servants preparing our meal.

Aye, lass. Douglas watched as she flounced from the room, then commanded softly, Mind your tongues around Lindsey. She should not be forced to listen to your crude remarks.

She is usually the one who makes them, Neal protested. He remembered the first time he had heard his sister swear. She would have put a soldier to shame.

Douglas chose to overlook his son’s comment. Despite his daughter’s quick temper, she was the light of his life. Though she went about her chores without complaint, Douglas sensed her loneliness at times. Despite the fact that theirs was a lively, raucous family, he knew that his daughter had been denied the company of other women. Her isolation had given her a simple innocence that, to him, was refreshing. But to those beyond these secluded hills she would no doubt appear too artless.

He emptied his goblet and glanced at the sons seated to his right and left. Their talk soon turned, as always, to the state of their country and their beloved young queen.

* * *

Lindsey gathered the last of the eggs into her apron and

Reviews for Highland Heart

[benn9314 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Another great book well written about our wonderful Scotish history