My Highland Lover

By Cathleen Ross

1314 Highlands
Grieving widower, Sir Eoin Bruce is forced to marry wealthy Lady Jehanne de la Croix in order to keep her dowry in Bruce hands. Eoin hates enchantment of any kind and he soon discovers Jehanne is the witch who haunted his dreams. She brings him more titles and wealth than he ever thought possible as a second son of a laird. Can he overcome his grief and go against everything he believes in to love her?

Jehanne de la Croix wants nothing more than to be safe and loved by her husband, Sir Eoin Bruce but she was born from a line of great seers. If she can't get Eoin to accept her prophesies, she will burn at the stake and he will meet a violent end. Everything rests on Eoin and his willingness to love a witch.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cathleen Ross
• Release date: Aug 26, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370278541

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

My Highland Lover

By Cathleen Ross

Published by Cathleen Ross at Smashwords

Copyright 2017 Cathleen Ross

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Feb 1314 Highlands

Chapter 1

I want no Sassenach walking Scottish land before the year is out. King Robert the Bruce thumped his fist on the high table of Turnburn Castle addressing his clan in the great hall. Tomorrow, we take Roxburgh Castle.

Eoin Bruce, cousin to the king, sitting two down, raised his goblet in a toast. He took in the strong face of the Bruce with its determined jaw and nodded. With his cousin leading them, they would win independence. Eoin was sure of it. His king's policy of slighting castles so the English couldn't inhabit them was working.

All around him the highlanders roared approval, their voices rising to the rafters and echoing in the great hall, but he couldn't force his breath to leave his throat and join them, for joy no longer resided in his body since his wife had died a month ago.

That another battle was looming was nothing new, for there would be several more before the lowlands were cleared and the Sassenach vermin forced back to England where they belonged. Victory would bring rewards but Eoin wanted nothing, except for the crushing weight of grief that clamped his heart to leave.

Even alone at night he could find no peace. When sleeping in his chamber, misery stabbed deep in the shape of a mysterious raven-haired wraith that lingered in the shadows, seen by no one save himself. Who was this woman haunting him? Perhaps some would think he'd lost his wits but he could see her approach in his mind's eye, a lady who lurked at the edges of his dreams and stirred his blood against his will, always slightly out of reach. Not even ale would drown her out when she reached for him, telling him to come to her.

Was this his punishment for slaying a man of God in his last battle? A harmless priest or so he'd learned later, dressed as a base soldier, forced to fight by his Sassenach overlord. The priest had stood there, a rabbit before a fox. Eoin's claymore had cleaved the man's head from his body revealing the tonsor haircut, once his ill-fitting helmet had fallen off, and the wooden cross worn around his neck. Since then, God had smitten Eoin's wife and children with the pestilence and now when darkness called the strange black-haired wraith hovered at the edge of his consciousness calling his name.

Perhaps he was next to die.

Sir James Bruce, Eoin's older brother, nudged him in the ribs. Eoin. Eoin! I'm talking to you. You're staring at nuthin' like an idjit. Did you not hear me?

Aye. Your yelling fair deafens me. He pulled at his earlobe then drained his ale, slapping the goblet down on the trestle.

There was concern in his older brother's searching gaze but Eoin said naught, for the wraith was akin to the hoar and would fade as the day wore on, returning at night when the light diminished and he was alone. Now he must concentrate on the king's business, as there were two remaining castles to take before they were rid of the Sassenach from Scotland. He forced himself to focus for he didna want the concern of his older brother. Tomorrow they would be fighting for Scotland's freedom and no one wanted a mad man by their side.

Eoin's eyes flickered open and he pushed himself to a sitting position. No light entered the slit windows of his chamber, telling him that morn was yet to come. No ember burned in his grate. It was always in the pitch of night she came and he could see her silhouette in all her dark glory across the room. She floated closer, her feet skimming the floor until she stopped at his side so close that he could make out her features. Her face was pleasing, her dark hair loose and wild with long curls floating around her. She appeared comely, her breasts large and rounded though it was difficult to make out more as she was garbed in a loose fitting shift. Already his body warmed and his cock swelled responding to her power of enticement, yet fear crawled up his spine, a coarse reminder of his plight.

Wraith. Demon. Hellion. Get back. He was not fooled by her guise of a fair maiden. He knew this devil used tricks to beguile his mind and make him a supplicant.

Eoin.

Her voice seemed little more than a whisper in his head. Instinctively he began to pray as he had been taught to do though his words were no more than an undertone. Lord have mercy upon my soul. Forgive me for my sins. Yet even entreaties to the Lord were not enough to save him. His whole body froze, his arms and legs stilled as she hovered within reaching distance. He fought to move, but to no avail.

She'd never come so close before. Had she come to suck his soul from his body and pull him down to hell?

One of her ghostly hands reached out for him, the fingers so close, so real he could see the dragon seal on the ring she wore. When she touched his cheek, his skin prickled as if caressed by the cold. Yet her touch was gentle, more a breeze than a blight and an odd sense of calm stole over him.

Who are you?

Your lady, Jehanne.

No. No. I have no lady.

I will bring you great happiness, sweet Eoin. We are to be wed.

Devilish spirit, I know what you are about. You'll not seduce me and steal my soul. Yet his eyes shuttered as the sorceress stroked his face, her touch now as soft as a real woman's.

She bent over him. You will get from me many children. Great warriors. Her long hair moved around her face as if kissed by a breeze, some falling down touching his skin as she moved beside him.

He wanted to squeeze his eyes shut but her dark gaze compelling him to look at her. She had an alluring, sensual face, her nose petite under wide eyes and a full, lush mouth. Her hand moved lower down his chest and over his stomach resting lightly on his groin.

Despite his pounding heart, a rush of heat hit him against his will. Oh dear God he was beguiled by her magic. He could make out the plump curves of her breasts where her shift opened. Up close, she was more a tempting vixen than a wraith. Sweat dribbled down his brow as he fought to free his mind and body from the scourge. An enchanted fool was a dead fool. My wife lies fresh buried. Leave me be. His words rushed out in a twist of anguish, yet the woman's touch was so pleasurous, it made him hard. Shame bit at him. He didn't expect God to forgive him, not after the offense he'd committed, but that didn't mean he'd allow himself to sink into depravity by consorting with a servant of the devil.

You must find me.

Nay. Eoin shuddered at the thought. My wife and girls paid for my sin. Do you not ken how guilty I am? God has punished me enough. Get from me, demon.

His chamber door opened and the lady vanished. Light from a flaming torch revealed the shape of James Douglas, a close friend of the king and the knight who would be leading the battle on the morn. The Black Douglas entered the room lifting his torch as if searching for enemies. Eoin. What is it, man?

Freed from the spell, Eoin put his head between his hands. He couldn't tell the Black Douglas about the wraith. The man would think he was losing his mind. He sucked in a deep, shuddering breath trying to collect himself. Finally, raising his head he stared at him. A dream. Bad. Forgive me for the disturbance.

Eoin, if you prefer not to raid Roxburgh with us on the morrow, I willna think the less of you.

I'm as ready as any other man to serve my king. His words were a growl, as the last thing he wanted was to see sympathy on the face of the Black Douglas. Eoin had enormous respect for the man but he'd offer no excuses for respite as all men had lost kin in this war, some more than he had.

James Douglas nodded. Good night to you then.

Eoin slumped; sleep a farcical notion until the wee hours.

Chapter 2

On Farsten's Eve, Eoin thought it was ironic that he was impersonating a hungry ox, when the Sassenach in Roxburgh Castle close by were feasting. Still he kept down on all fours in the icy night air pretending to pull at the frozen grass, which grew in front of the castle gatehouse. The great black cloak he wore gave a sturdy impression of a beast as he ambled to and fro amongst the other similarly disguised Bruce men. So far neither he, nor any of the clan had received an arrow in the back from the Sassenach guarding the tower walls above.

From the sound of the music and beating drums the soldiers in the hall would have full bellies from their feast. Chances were they'd be dancing too, celebrating their last feasting day in front of a great warm fire before Lent. His own stomach rumbled. It troubled the Bruce not, that he had chosen a penitential day to strike, for his king gave the Sassenach no respite in his determination to rid Scotland of them.

Eoin respected his king's hard decision but hoped this battle did not tip into Lent for he was wary of displeasing God further. The Bruce king had no demon haunting his nights, no comely lady laying her hand where she had no right to and making him want for a woman. The plan of having every clansman dressed as a beast was both canny and crazy enough to work, but Eoin wished madness away. At least the lady was not in his ear practicing her seductive wiles though darkness reigned. He thanked God that she had not followed him into battle for he needed his wits about him if he wanted to live. Whoever heard of a man marrying a wraith? His mind was addled for sure. He stretched his aching back as best as his armor would allow, desiring to stand for his joints were turning to stone. How long before the Black Douglas' man cast his grappling hooks over the battlements and climbed the attached ladder?

A strangled cry rent the air, quickly cut off, no doubt with a knife buried deep. His men around him stirred. Within moments the portcullis gate rose. Eoin cast off his cloak that concealed his armor and surged forward toward the courtyard, claymore drawn. A Douglas, he yelled. His men crossed the courtyard, meeting up with the Black Douglas' soldiers. Together the clansmen surged forward into the well-lit hall.

All around him, his kinsmen yelled, their claymores drawn for battle, A Douglas.

Soldiers, drunk on ale, sat stupefied on their benches. Clearly caught off guard, the Sassenach fumbled for whatever weapon they could find. Eoin raised his sword and dispatched his first man, too slow to put up a fight. He and his kinsmen slashed their way through an opposition, too befuddled by drink and rich food, to gather their wits.

After running his sword through a soldier trying to escape, he looked around for the lord. Nowhere to be seen. Despite the cries and acrid scent of blood, it was soon apparent that the Sassenach gave poor battle without their leader. Many lay dead or wounded as the Bruce men finished their work.

At the end of the hall, he caught a glimpse of a richly dressed lord disappearing out the far door, his furred cloak sweeping behind him.

Forward, Eoin yelled, motioning to his clansmen. His shield ready for retort, Eoin rushed across the hall, his boots clumping on the wooden floor, out the door into an antechamber. Looking around him there were several passageways and a spiral staircase made his choice hard. Until he heard a thump above. He sprang forward and climbed the narrow circular stairwell, his breath heaving as he approached the top of the steep stone stairs.