Historical Romance: The Highlander’s Ransom A Highland Scottish Romance: The Highlands Warring, #11

By Anne Morrison

The Highlander's Ransom - A Medieval Historical Romance Book

English noblewoman Madlen Colvin has done things she never thought she could do to save her father.

 

She has lied.

She has swindled.

And … she has stolen.

 

She is far from the innocent girl she once was.

 

Nothing shocks Madlen more than Highland rogue Matthew Herries.

 

The Highlander frustrates and maddens Madlen by turns.

Matthew has never met anyone like Madlen before.

There's no one like this fierce English girl in the entire world!

 

Madlen is determined to do what it takes to save her father.

And … to save her father, she needs money.

 

After hearing about a vulnerable payroll delivery on the border …

The English girl and Highland warrior join forces.

With her brains and his skills with a sword, they could both be richer than they ever imagined.

 

Madlen wants to free her father.

Matthew wants to make his impoverished clan a force to be reckoned with.

 

Both of them want each other!

 

The fire between them cannot be put out, and they both know it.

Is the Highlander's ransom enough to buy their passion

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anne Morrison
• Release date: Jul 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393435587

Anne Morrison

Anne Morrison is a multi-voiced writer who aspires to use different voices in telling her stories, seeing characters coming alive through the multi-faceted writing styles give her great satisfaction. As a young girl, Anne has been fascinated with romance stories of Scottish Highlander where brooding, glaring heroes fight to win the hearts of strong-willed, captivating heroines. Such an act requires bravery, such an act requires faith.  She now lives in south London with her husband and two lovely children.

Book preview

prologue

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

London, 1304

When Madlen woke that morning, she could sense that something had changed. Though there was still a sharp chill to the air and the apple tree outside of her window was still bare of leaf or bloom, she could tell that winter was over.

Oh, thank Heaven. I had thought that winter would never end, that the spring would never come again.

As she slipped her rust-red gown over her head, Madlen found herself thinking of her mother, dead these three years but still so much a part of Colvin House that it still made Madlen ache. It was too easy to remember sitting on the high stool as a little girl, her mother combing out her coal-black hair and reminding her to be patient, to stay calm.

The winter always gives way to the spring, my little dove, Martha Colvin had said when it seemed as if her daughter was nothing but fidgets and a longing to run and explore. Only wait. One day gives way to the next, gives way to the next, and before you know it, things are better. The snow goes, the rain washes away, and we are left with the finest spring in all the world. Something so fine is worth waiting for, isn't it?

It was a hard lesson for an eight-year-old to remember, but at seventeen, she had it a little better. She had certainly had plenty of experience waiting in the years since her mother had died, she reflected, going down to the lower part of the great house.

Colvin House was a neat and tidy manor on the outskirts of London. There were orchards in the rear, and the main highway going north was only a mile away from the front door. It had been the Colvin House since the time of her great-grandfather, and since her mother died without giving birth to a son, it would be part of her dowry.

It was hers, Madlen knew, but she had never thought about it that way.

I was never meant to live here all alone, she thought, going to her father's small study to look over the household accounts. Papa, you must hurry home so that I am not so lonely.

Of course, she knew what he would say to that. He would blink his large black eyes, tugging at his gray whiskers as if in great surprise, and then he would make her turn around so he could inspect her in confusion.

Well, I thought that this was my clever and competent daughter Madlen! Paul Colvin would say. "I had thought that it was my brave girl who was never afraid of anything, not a shy little city mouse who could only sigh after storybook knights and admire beautiful fabric for her dresses."

Lord Colvin would be right, too. Her mother and father had raised her to be a lady, and to them, that meant someone capable of running a great house, of managing the niceties of a noble's banquet and settling disputes with the servants, of doing accounts and making sure that the merchants did not cheat her. Martha Colvin had been known to be a firm mistress but a fair one, and she and Lord Colvin had raised Madlen in her image.

Still, I wish Papa would come home. Surely, the fighting in France does not need him for much longer?

Suddenly, Madlen felt a shiver run up her spine, something that shook her from her toes to the crown of her head. She frowned, wondering if a draft had come in, but then Mary, the eldest maid, appeared at the door.

My lady, Lord Pembroke has arrived with urgent news for you.

Madlen's heart started to beat faster as she rose from her father's desk. She knew that her face had gone pale.

Daniel Pembroke was her father's friend, and they had gone to France together. There were a few reasons that Lord Pembroke might have returned without her father, but only one could make her feel as if the world was suddenly so far away. As if from a great distance, she saw herself nod.

Thank you, Mary. Is he in my mother's solar?

Yes, my lady.

Good. Please send to the kitchen for refreshments. He may have been long on the road.

She heard herself give the orders, and a part of her, the part that wasn't screaming and demanding she run to the solar at once, nodded in satisfaction. That was what a lady would do. That was what the daughter of Martha and Paul Colvin would do.

She did not run, but she walked as quickly as she could to her solar, where Lord Pembroke turned from the window as she entered. He was a tall and gaunt man, almost skeletal under the thick padding of his long rich robes trimmed in fur. Madlen had known him her entire life, and some of her earliest memories involved being dandled on his knee.

My lady, he said, bowing slightly at the waist.

My lord, Madlen replied, her voice more than a little breathless. You have returned to London. My father, is he—

He held up one hand.

First, put your mind at ease, my dear. He is alive.

The flood of relief made Madlen waver. She must have been as pale as she felt because Lord Pembroke came forward to steady her. For some reason, she stepped back out of his grasp, offering him a pallid smile in apology.

No, no, I am fine. But tell me what is going on, unless this is only a social call?

Lord Pembroke looked at her gravely, shaking his head.

I am afraid not, my dear. Please, will you sit down?

She did, but she hardly felt any more stable or steady when she was seated in her mother's chair, not when Lord Pembroke was looming over her so.

My lord, please...

Yes. Your father is alive, and when last I left him in Paris, he was healthy. He was wounded at Rouen, but it was a light thing. He was already recovering when I left. However... he has been taken hostage by a French lord.

Madlen gasped, but Lord Pembroke hurried to reassure her.

The lord in question is a noble one, I swear. He has taken your father back to his household in the south for the battle season. Remember, Lord Colvin cannot be used in a prisoner exchange unless he is healthy and whole, according to the chivalric code.

Madlen nodded, clasping her hands together lightly in her lap.

So when King Edward can do a prisoner exchange with France...

Lord Pembroke's face took on a grave aspect.

I am afraid that might take some years, my dear. There was an exchange just last fall. To put it quite frankly, England currently does not have any prisoners that France would bargain for. However...

However...

A ransom, he said, his voice heavy. A ransom can be paid to the French lord for your father's release.

A ransom, Madlen said, her stomach sinking with dread. How much has he asked?

When he told her, Madlen thought she would faint. She had never seen that much money together in her life. It was more than Colvin House was worth, more than the animals and lands around it. She looked around wildly at the house that she had lived in all her life, where she and her father had both been born, where her mother had died.

I can't... I can't...

Then Madlen realized what she was saying, what she was really thinking, and her resolution firmed up. She stood from the chair, startling Lord Pembroke.

My lord, she said. You are my father's greatest friend. Can you be the go-between between me and the French lord? Can you make sure that the money from the sale of Colvin House gets to the right place?

He looked shaken at her determined words, but he nodded slowly.

My child, yes, of course, but I hardly think your father—

My father is held captive by a French lord, far from home, she said, her voice stern. I am his daughter, and I can do no less than secure his freedom, no matter how costly it might be.

Lord Pembroke gave her a sorrowful look.

The manor will not be enough, my lady...

Then I will get the rest of it on my own, she said.

Madlen knew how foolish she sounded, could see the doubt in Lord Pembroke's eyes. She was a young woman without a trade, without a patron, without anything in the world but the intense need to free her father and bring him home.

Madlen.

I will, she insisted. You will see. I will.

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

chapter 1

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

October 1306

Saughtree, on the border

Matthew Herries knew the smart thing would have been to keep walking. The smart thing, as he had learned from more than a decade of war, was always to keep walking. There were atrocities enough that were actually his responsibility. The disasters he could never account for, the ones he could not prevent or help, were endless, especially when England and Scotland clashed at war.

As he walked through Saughtree looking for lodging, he knew that the only thing he should have been focused on was where he was going to sleep that night, or perhaps where he would be spending this winter. Those were pressing questions, and they had nothing to do with the thin cry he heard down the alley.

He stopped, thinking for a moment that he had imagined it, and when it came again, he cursed, because he was already turning from his path. The only light came from the moon above, but it was risen bright and beautiful, giving him more than enough illumination to see the scene before him.

Two English soldiers, a common enough sight on the border after the battle season was done, had surrounded a little lass who he guessed was no more than fourteen. They had pushed her back against the stone wall, and while they had not done much more than frighten her yet, Matthew could tell there was far worse in the air. Her voice was thin as she told them to leave her alone; their voices were rough with the assurance that, of course, no one would make them.

Well, I suppose no one would normally. Saints above, but it's hardly not my business, Matthew thought even as he stole up behind the man on the left.

Matthew had had plenty of killing under his belt after the summer. He had no need to add another notch to his belt, and so when he drew his sword, he reversed it, bringing the hard pommel down with stunning force on the man's head. The man dropped with a cry, and then Matthew was on the next one, slamming him in the face with his sword hilt as the man turned. Matthew could feel the man's cheekbone shatter under the hard bar of steel, and as the man dropped, Matthew turned toward the girl.

You better get along—

He realized that he was speaking to thin air. She had seen the chance and taken it, and Matthew grinned. She had gotten unlucky today, but he thought that she would be all right. The border grew girls who were clever and strong, and she would likely be fine after this.

Then a cry went up from the opposite end of the alley, he saw the flash of torches, he heard English voices, and he realized that right now, he needed to be as smart as that girl was. Just as he took to his heels, he heard the pounding of feet and saw the flash of torches behind him, and he cursed.

He had been walking all day, and he had been on half-rations for a week. He had money, but there had been no place to get food since before Saughtree. It didn't look like he would be able to get any food anytime soon, not when it sounded like an entire squad of English soldiers was hot on his trail.

Horse. I need a horse if I'm to get out of this alive...

Matthew had seen an inn a short distance down the street, and he made for it now, hoping that his luck would hold and he would not simply run into a blind alley. Even though the battle season was over, the English soldiers would have little reason not to simply string him up if they caught him.

The inn was large enough that there was a tiny stable yard between the buildings, and luckily for Matthew, a dearth of big dogs and men with sticks guarding them. In fact, a thin, cloaked figure was mounting a bridled horse now, and Matthew whispered a prayer to the saints as he took a desperate leap.

It could have ended in disaster, but instead, it ended with him mounted soundly behind the thin figure on the horse. The figure was thin enough that it had to be a lad, short and narrow enough that Matthew could reach around him with ease and seize the reins from his small hands.

Well, this looks like my ride, he said cheerfully, and he kicked the horse's sides hard just as the English soldiers gained the entrance of the alley behind him. He wasn't going to bet on there being another outlet, and he had been a soldier long enough that he knew not to lose any surprise he might have had.

He wheeled the horse around in a tight circle as his unwilling passenger protested, and he drove straight for the men who had been chasing him. If there was one truism he could take from his time in Robert's army, it was the fact that men on foot had no chance against a man on a horse, and it seemed as if the English soldiers agreed. They shouted and swore, rushing to get out of the way, and his passenger yelped as they surged past.

What in the name of all that is holy are you doing?" the youth demanded.

Matthew laughed.

Getting away!

The soldiers weren't so eager to give up, and he could feel their grasping hands as they went by. If they could drag him down to the street again, or if they could grab the horse's reins, it would be over.

Well, we just have to make sure that doesn't happen.

He blinked a little when the youth lashed out with one foot, hitting one of the soldiers hard in the face, and he laughed.

Well done!

Just keep going!

He started to tell him that there was no need to tell him that twice, but then he heard different voices coming up from the inn, an outraged roar followed by other cries.

Oh, holy spirit, you were stealing this horse, Matthew groaned, urging the horse to a gallop down the road.

I hardly think you had permission to borrow it! came the indignant response.

Matthew couldn't help laughing.

Right you are. Now let's make sure that neither of us ends up with our necks stretched before dawn. Hang on. I'm not stopping for you if you fall off.

The outraged squawk made him grin, and then they were off, thundering down the road that led out of town. At first, the sounds of pursuit were close, too close, but faster than Matthew would have thought possible, they faded away, sinking well behind them as they took the road east out of Saughtree.

Soon enough, the town faded behind them, and Matthew turned them off onto the narrow road into the forest, the track only used by hunters and deer.

I sincerely hope you know where you are going, came the muffled voice from his passenger. I do not relish having my night interrupted by tumbling into a ravine and dying out in the forest.

Hush, it will be fine, Matthew said, his heart slowly returning to its normal rhythm as he guided the horse carefully along the path. The deer know their way in the forest and so do I. The track won't lead us astray.

Very confident for a man who needed to steal a horse from someone who was already trying to steal a horse.

Ah, that's what I thought you were doing. Are you angry that I took advantage of your hard work? If you like, I'll take the blame for this if they catch us, and that means I will be the only one hung.

Generous of you.

Not really, as I have no intention of getting caught at all, Matthew said with a grin. What's your name, lad?

Lad?

Just then, they crossed a bare spot in the forest, something far too small to be called a clearing. It was nothing more than a parting of the trees, but it allowed a thin beam of moonlight to come down just as Matthew's passenger twisted to look at him.

Illuminated in the moonlight was a face of astonishing prettiness, large dark eyes, a small pointed chin, and lips that immediately made his heart resume its hard beat.

Oh, he said softly. No lad at all.

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

chapter 2

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

One moment, Madlen was well on her way to stealing a well-trained handsome gelding, and the very next, she was part of some kind of high-speed getaway. She couldn't get off the horse without falling and likely breaking her head wide open, and at the same time, she had no idea if she wanted to stay aboard with the man who had stolen her stolen horse and, as far as she was concerned, stolen her as well.

After that brief quandary, there was nothing to be done, because the last thing that Madlen wanted was to be in a courtyard surrounded by shouting and angry people, so that meant her lot was cast.

There had been no time to think about anything at all, at least, not until they were in the woods and winding their way along the deer trails. She had almost relaxed, almost let down her guard before he called her lad.

For a moment, she almost wanted to go along with it, but then she remembered that though they were patched, she was wearing skirts, and no lad would be wearing a dress. Then she had twisted to face him, and in the moonlight, she had found herself struck by his good looks. His stern features were softened by his mouth, which looked too sensual by far to belong to a man. She had found herself nearly hypnotized, and then he had spoken again.

No lad after all, he said, and his voice sent a sensual shiver down her back that made her gasp at how it seemed to lay her bare.

The next moment, Madlen slipped off the horse, giving the gelding a hard slap on the rump as she went and scampered into the woods, her heart pounding fast.

She had been running free in the borderlands for almost two years now, and she knew what it meant when a man spoke like that, as if he thought he was surely the most charming thing in the world and that any young girl would surely be happy to be his.

That's not quite right, is it? Be honest, that was as much about how you reacted to him as to how he reacted to realizing that you were a girl...

She had no time for such things, not when the man who was mounted on her stolen horse wheeled it around again so quickly and so very skillfully.

Madlen took cover underneath a fallen tree, grubbing down into the mulch and the earth to press herself even deeper under its shadow. Perhaps he would be careless. Perhaps if he slept, she could steal the horse back.

Lass... lass, I am sorry if I scared you.

He had wheeled the horse surprisingly close to where she had hidden, and Madlen held her breath. Surely, it was only luck? He had been turned when she darted into the forest. Surely he hadn't seen where she had bolted to.

Whatever you think I was going to do to you, believe me, I wouldn't. I'm a man of honor.

He laughed a little at that, shaking his head.

"All right. You're right, I doubt any maiden on the border would come out of hiding for that, would you?'

Madlen almost laughed, because he was certainly correct. The border was a dangerous place, and the girls who lived there, whether they were rich or poor, pretty or plain, clever or not, learned very quickly that a man's honor wasn't worth a handful of chicken feed.

I certainly wouldn't, the man continued. Look, lass, I don't mean to leave you in a bad place, and any way you reckon it, well, except perhaps that of the law itself, this is your stolen horse and not mine. Thank you for the loan of it. I would like a chance to give it back to you, if only you will come.

That surprised her. He further surprised her by dismounting, murmuring quietly to the gelding when he snorted and stamped a little. By the light of the moon, Madlen could see that the man was tall and sturdy, though without the powerful, almost square build of the men in the far north. Instead, there was something lithe about his shape, something almost catlike about the graceful way he moved.

He moves me. It made her think of her mother, answering one of Madlen's endless questions about how she had met her father and why she had consented to marry him.

I only knew that he moved me, little curious one, Martha Colvin had said lovingly. "That is all that is required, before you even speak. Before you even say hello."

Madlen shook her head impatiently, because her mother was dead and even if she wasn't, she certainly had not spent years judging men and living on crusts and hope on the borderlands. There was no reason to think about being moved in any way by this man.

She watched as he hung the gelding's reins over a branch and retreated to the other side of

Reviews for Historical Romance

[benn9314 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A great story but sad about the Scottish early years