Historical Romance: The Highlander's Sweet Spy A Highland Scottish Romance: The Highlands Warring, #8

By Anne Morrison

The Highlander's Sweet Spy - A Medieval Historical Romance Book

 

From the beginning, Catriona knew that she wasn't meant for a subtle and peaceful life.

She wanted adventure and excitement, and she found all of that and more as Robert the Bruce's most clever spy.

 

She's smart.

She's careful.

And she's always worked alone... until now.

 

Catriona MacBride is in trouble.

 

This time, Catriona can't go alone.

Someone is following her. A Highlander.

 

Brody MacLaren.

 

The moment Brody and Catriona meet, sparks fly, and the passion can't be contained!

 

The Highlander Brody is about as subtle as a hammer, but for his mission with Catriona, he's going to have to learn some subtlety.

Catriona is going to have to learn that no matter how she has always worked before, she's not alone.

 

Passion's consequences might be deadly!

 

Catriona and Brody have both faced danger.

Before, it was their heads on the line.

Now it's their hearts!

 

Will Catriona and Brody's love win through?

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anne Morrison
• Release date: May 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393595212

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

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September 1305, Anwynn Castle, Scotland.

Brody MacLaren of Clan MacLea tilted his head to one side, looking at the king's man curiously.

Begging your pardon, MacBride, but do I look like a spy?

Angus MacBride, an older man with a canny eye, glared at him, cracking his staff on the ground impatiently.

No, you look like a great lump of a soldier who is probably going to get himself hung for a brawler and a drunk as soon as you get too close to the English. However, it's the Bruce's order, and if you care to argue with him, he's just finished his talk with the Norsk mercenaries.

No, no need for that, Brody said because Robert's temper after dealing with the Norsemen was becoming legendary. I don't see why MacTaggart's little brother hasn't been called in for the job. He's the one who can actually talk at least a little like a Southerner.

Reed? No. He's off on other work for the Bruce. Like it or not, MacLaren, it has to be you. And again, I ask you not to argue with me. I am only the messenger, and unlike Robert, I have no task for you that would prevent me from giving you a good thump on the head if you give me grief.

Brody sighed, standing up and stretching out to his full height. He was a big man, bearish through the arms and shoulders. He had been looking forward to finding some snug berth in the North to ride out the winter, but apparently, that wasn't to be.

A shame. I was hoping to pass some time with that widow from Glen Fennan...

I suppose there's no help for it. Am I meant to beg my way down, or am I at least getting some money to eat off of? I could always start killing English soldiers for my drinking money, but that doesn't sound like very spy-ish behavior.

Angus grumbled, handing Brody a purse.

It's what can be done for you at the moment. There will, of course, be a reward when you finish your task.

Heard that one before...

And one more thing.

Angus drew out a much smaller bag on a long leather lace, obviously meant to be worn around the neck. Angus was right. A bauble like that could draw a great deal of the wrong kinds of attention in England, even in various parts of Scotland now, given the wars. Brody opened it and blinked at the engraved gold ring he found on the inside. On the plate, an R tangled with a larger B, the device of Robert the Bruce, the would-be king of Scotland.

Well, he said with some surprise.

Angus shook his head.

Best you get that stowed away, he advised. That's not for pawning for a meal or flashing to girls to get a good night out of them.

Then why did you give it to me? Brody asked with a grin, but he tucked it away out of sight. Angus was right. A bauble like that could draw a great deal of the wrong kind of attention in England, even in various parts of Scotland now, given the way the war had been going, Brody opened it and blinked at the engraved gold ring he found on the inside. On the plate, an R tangled with a larger B, the device of Robert the Bruce, the would-be king of Scotland.

He tied up the bag and slid the lace over his neck. Underneath his tunic, it was invisible but secure.

All right, so you are sending me south with scarcely enough money and a ring that even I am too ethical to trade away. Is that all?

That attitude will get you killed quicker than standing in the way of an English spear, but that's no trouble of mine. You need to make contact with one of Robert's spies in the south, in Carlisle, in a week's time. You're to meet him at the Red Rooster Tavern on the afternoon of the fifteenth. He'll know who you are, just sit tight.

Brody gave Angus a skeptical look.

That's it? Wait for a man at the Red Rooster Tavern in Carlisle?

Angus smiled, not a particularly nice smile.

And, of course, the Bruce wishes you good luck.

Ah, I see. And I assume you wish me faster on the road, so you do not have to keep looking at me.

Angus beamed at him.

What a clever and insightful spy you will make.

In spite of himself, Brody had to laugh.

Right, right. Well, all things being equal, old man, hopefully, I'll be spared my head on a pike over the ramparts, and I'll see you next year for the battle-season. I can't imagine Robert would rather have me as a spy than a soldier.

After that, there was nothing to do but to collect his gray gelding from the stables in town and turn south. It was still mid-morning, and any distance he could cover to Carlisle would be good. The way was long, and the fifteenth was coming up fast.

He rode out of Anwynn Castle with his mind full of the task ahead of him, but he couldn't deny that there was some relief to it as well. He had always been a man who had to be up and doing, and even with a woman as handsome as the Glen Fennan widow awaiting him, he had never been all that fond of the inertia of winter, when there were no crops to till and no battles to be won. This, at least, was going to be a change of pace, if a dangerous one.

Ah, well. Perhaps the Southern girls will be pretty and sweet. Might not be a total loss at all.

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chapter 1

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Carlisle, Border of England and Scotland

Catriona MacBride walked quickly. She had to. It was imperative to get out of range before the subdued angry muttering she had left in her wake turned into furious shouts. The gambling house hadn't been a particularly nice one, and there were no stern guards to escort rowdy men out of her way before they struck her down.

She was on her own, and she was more than happy to be so. She was like a cat that always landed on her feet, and as long as she had her small knife strapped to her ankle and her loaded dice in her secret skirt pocket, she thought that she would be just fine.

As she walked along the narrow street, the wind blew hard against her, making her skirts flap and blowing the wisps of black hair that had escaped her braid. Catriona shivered. She might be able to beat any honest man at a dice game, but she was enough of a Northerner to know that there was absolutely no beating winter.

Ah, well, the English have mostly moved on from Carlisle for the winter and given what happened this year, there's a good chance they will not be back. Perhaps that means I can find myself some small and cozy berth at home this winter. Might even go up to Lorngall. I heard Big Brother's gotten himself married, and it's been years and years since I've seen him.

Her brother was none other than Malcolm MacBride, Robert the Bruce's favorite killer, and though they had had no contact, she had still jumped a little when word filtered its way south that he had married some Lowlander. She wondered if he would be marching in the next battle-season or if he would try to stay well clear. The war had been raging since she was just a girl, and it seemed as if there was no end to the beast, not at all. She wouldn't blame him if he wanted to take some time away from being the terror that the Bruce kept on a leash and find out if he could be someone else.

I'm the lucky one. I can be a different person with some new clothes and a new town...

Yes, perhaps after her little mission to Glen Tavrie, it would be a good idea to say she wanted to go home for a little while.

She was headed back to her room above the tannery—odoriferous, but very warm from the vats—when she came across a small public house that had a man chained up to the post in the front. She couldn't see anything about him in the rapidly dimming twilight except for the fact that he was built large. A strange shiver ran up her spine.

Catriona had had to make a quick getaway more than once, and there were all kinds of shivers that told her it was time to get a move on. This one... wasn't one of those. It was different. It was telling her to pay attention now because everything was going to change.

Well, that's good enough for me. She approached the man at the post, staying out of swiping distance.

Well, you are having a terrible night. Her accent was pure English at the moment, and he looked up at her with a glare. He snapped his teeth at her, but she only grinned.

What did they get you for? she asked, keeping her voice low. Did you steal a goose? Sleep with a married woman?

He bared his teeth at her, and they were almost shockingly white in his grimy face.

Nothing as nice as all that, English girl, he snarled, his voice bringing her straight back to her home in the Highlands, where she hadn’t been in close to a year. Best you get on before I break out of these chains and do something not at all nice to you.

Well, you Highlanders do talk a big game, Catriona said with amusement. Tell me quick now. What did you do to get into this mess? Or was having that accent and those clothes enough?

He looked up at her with confusion, and she could see that he was beginning to wonder what manner of thing she could be. Well, that was all right. Her mother had barely known, and these days, even her closest allies barely knew.

Who are you? he asked, and she reached out flick his hair out of his eyes with a delicate finger. He tossed his head at it, and she pulled back.

I can be a friend, if I have a mind to be, so maybe put me in a better frame of mind. I will ask you one more time.

She shifted her accent until it was closer to his, though not so deep. The MacBrides were no Lowlanders, but this man had the mountains in his speech. It was a long way to go for a Blair, but he might have been a MacTaggart or a MacRae.

Tell me who you are.

He looked up at her, and the moment of hope in his eyes was somehow incredibly beautiful despite what bad shape he was in.

I am Brody MacLaren of Clan MacLea, he said. And I broke the captain of the guard's head.

Hm. Is he dead? Catriona asked speculatively.

I don't know. It wasn't a good fight nor a clean one.

You should have been sure, she said with a grin. That one's a bad piece of work and no mistake.

Well, you are a lass with ideas about the world, aren't you?

Better ideas than you have got, she said with a laugh. I'm not the one sitting penned up like a mad dog.

He started to respond, but she shook her head.

Don't fash yourself, Brody MacLaren of Clan MacLea. We'll set you to rights. The men watching you. I imagine they're having a drink in there?

Yes, but what are you going to do?

She could hear the curiosity in his tone as well as the dismissive quality to it. She sighed inwardly. It always startled her how men, English and Scottish both, could never imagine a woman who was competent, who could do what she said she could and who would have her own ideas as well.

I'm going to do you a little miracle, my heart, she said with a wink, and she walked into the inn.

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chapter 2

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Brody's day had started out badly with the sky pissing rain down on him, and it had gone worse when he had finally arrived in Carlisle with only a day to spare before meeting with Robert's agent. The rains had started, washing out some of the roads that had honestly been little more than cow tracks to start with, and he had badly gotten turned around somewhere around Culpepper.

Then, of course, the first thing he had seen upon entering the town at sunset was a man harassing a wee little thing just trying to get her fish in from the market, and when the man hadn't stopped after one warning, Brody had decided to take matters into his own hands.

He took some satisfaction in knowing that he had won that first fight, sending the man to the ground with a single blow. However, he had the lost the next fight with the four men who had come boiling out when the first man hit the ground. Then he realized the first man was the English captain of the guard in Carlisle and that he might have lost a lot more than just a fight.

The only blessing was that they didn't bother to search him before chaining him up outside of the public house. He still had Robert's signet ring around his neck, and he still had the purse that Angus had given him. Now he just needed to figure out how to get out of what felt like very solid chains, and he would be fine.

Very, very solid chains.

He was thinking about how to do just that when a little slip of a thing wandered out of the shadows, hands on her hips and an inquisitive expression on her face.

Cat, he found himself thinking, because that was what she reminded him of, a kitten too young not to be brave, too curious to resist its own worst impulses. In the dim light, he only knew that her hair, braided in a crown around her head, was dark, and that she was small and curvy under her neat bodice and billowing skirts. A town girl, perhaps, though one with some freedom to roam since she was on the street so close to dark.

Then she had spoken, and when she had done so, she left his head spinning. There were too many questions, starting with who she was and where she had gotten that accent. Before he could properly respond, she was off, swinging her hips and with a toss of her dark head that made his breath catch in his throat.

What in the name of all of the saints?

She made his head spin, and Brody didn't think that it was only because of how their exchange had gone. Something about this wild little thing made him sit up and take notice, and he didn't know what to think, given that he was taking notice when he had actually been chained to a post by English soldiers.

He waited, tense, for what might happen in the public house, but when the minutes dragged on and nothing happened, he slumped back against the post. Brody told himself that he was foolish for hoping. Perhaps this was only a game for her, and she had gone on her way out the back, or perhaps she had found something else with which to distract herself. She didn't seem like the most stable girl in the world, and he should have known better than to expect—

Suddenly, the door opened, and that girl was coming back, walking quickly this time so that her skirts rippled around her legs. He noted that underneath her skirts were two very trim brown ankles, and then she was almost on top of him.

Hands. Hands, give them to me.

Shocked, he did as she said, and then she was fumbling with his chains, jamming a key into the small hole that must have been nearly invisible in the dim and lowering light. He blinked at the curses she was muttering, things that might have made a sailor blush, but then, to his surprise, his hands were free.

Get up, she hissed, catlike after all. Get up, if you can.

He could, and as he was working the blood back into his legs, she turned to a child sitting on the opposite side of the narrow alley, one he had barely noticed.

You. Tell them we went that way, she said, pointing, and flung the child a coin.

Then she turned to Brody, and her grin was as white and sharp as a sickle moon. He saw her blink as her eyes traveled up to meet his. He was taller than most and broader, and Brody found himself wondering if that would find any favor with her.

Well, big man, she said, the grin returning to her face. Think you can run?

Before he could answer her, there was a crash and a roar from the public house, and as one, they both took off running.

I suppose I'll have to, he growled. Come this way, lass. They never took my horse.

The gray was worn from the long trip to Carlisle, but it was a sturdy beast, more than capable of carrying two for at least a little while. He climbed up and gave the girl who had rescued him a hand up, and with a nudge, the gray was making a break for the edge of town.

Where can we go? he demanded. All I can do is take us straight back up the mountain.

Don't do that, she cried, sounding scandalized. I have an important meeting in town in the morning!

He turned his head slightly, both to keep an eye on where their pursuers might have ended up and to see if the girl who was hanging on to his waist was serious.

What did you do to get my key?

What's it to you? she asked defiantly, and Brody wondered where that possessive little flare in his heart came from. She didn't belong to him in any way, and whatever she had done, it had gotten him free and clear for at least the moment.

All I mean is, how angry will the captain of the guard be at what you did, and will you still be able to stay in town after that?

She tossed her head, hanging on a little tighter. He thought again of a cat, one along for the ride, and that thought made him grin.

Trust me to look after myself, she retorted.

He laughed.

All right, fine, I will. Now tell me which way, lass.

He followed her directions to take a track out of town, one that looked like it was mostly used by poachers and deer. The trees grew close here, and as the moon rose and cast grim shadows around them, he glanced back at her again.

If you had wanted me dead, lass, you might as well have left me with the guards.

Shush, I don't want you dead in the least. Take that left fork up there.

Brody wasn't sure he could really see a left fork. There was a space with a little less bracken to bar the way, so he veered left and hoped for the best. Maybe she could see in the dark like a cat as well. Some might have been afraid of witches, but the truth was that she wasn't an English guard come to gut him for breaking someone's head, and that was all the guarantee he needed.

They broke through the trees into a small paddock, the fence all broken and a stone structure at one end. Just as they came out of the brush, Brody heard an owl hoot menacingly nearby and the wind whistle like a demon through the trees.

Comforting, he said.

The girl behind him laughed.

It is, I promise you. I'm not going to eat you.

It made Brody think about her lips, full and lush when she had smiled at him, and he jerked his thoughts away from that.

That place there?

Yes. It'll hide us and the horse.

Brody urged the gray toward the structure, and as they got closer, the haunted feeling dissipated, and in the moonlight, it became a dilapidated barn, something that had once been used to house animals and feed. Most of the four walls were still standing, and though half the roof remained, it seemed like it wasn't going anywhere in a hurry.

As Brody looked around, the girl had already slid down from the gray's back, giving its velvety nose an appreciative pat.

Not bad, she said, looking around. This will keep us as snug as anything. No one from town comes up this way. They say it's haunted.

You don't think it is?

Oh, ghosts had better be afraid of me, she said with a toss of her head. What about you? Would you rather face the English than hide out with me and the ghosts?

For some reason, her bright white smile made his heart thump a little, and he dismounted as well.

I would brave more than some ghosts and some Englishmen to be with you, he said.

Instead of being offended by his words, she only laughed at him.

See to your poor horse, and I'll see about making us up a place to sleep. I thought I would be snug at home by now.

Grinning, Brody turned to do as she said, and at the same time, he wondered why in the world his heart was beating so fast, why he felt as if the night was brighter than it should be.

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chapter 3

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Catriona wasn't a girl who thought that much about regret. She couldn't afford to. If she looked back over every choice she had made, every moment that might have gone differently, every time when she might have made a better call, she would be done for. Her work, her life, required that she acted quickly and got good results.

She wasn't sorry for going into the tavern and setting the fox among the hens. It had been a matter of moments to get a group of guards who never liked each other much in the first place at each

Reviews for Historical Romance

[benn9314 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A book about war between the Scottish and English and how love happens no matter where you are