Highlands Deception: Highland Brides, #3

By Aileen Adams

Athdar has always had a charmed life. More or less. The son of a laird, he spent his time soldiering, carousing, and wenching at another laird's castle. Now, however, he's come home and his chickens seemed to have come home to roost as well. His father's preparing to turn the lairdship over to Athdar one day, but first, Athdar must be wed. He's to choose a wife from among a list of eligible daughters of nearby lairds. This handsome highlander's not having it. What's a highlander to do? Vanish, of course. And start a new life.

 

Orphaned Highland healer Rhona has a dream and a dilemma. Her dream? To be the healer that her mother was. Her dilemma? An overzealous suitor who insists that she take his hand in marriage. It does not help that her grandmother is pushing for the wedding as well.

 

And then, one day, a mysterious stranger drops in, practically from out of the sky. He appears in the ruins near her village, seeming to have no past, and sadly no future. Yet, he does possess something, this dashing, handsome highlander. By the end of a few days he possesses her heart.

 

Until he vanishes.

 

That's when Rhona learns that lies can tear asunder the best laid plans. What will it take to mend her broken heart and put her world to rights?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AilAd
• Release date: Jan 5, 2021
• ISBN: 9781386209065

Book preview

1

Athdar looked up from the book he was reading and scowled.

Footsteps.

He retreated deeper into the corner of the library he was in and ducked his head. He hoped whoever was about to enter the library would not notice him and try to talk to him.

It was called the library, but it was more the size of a large closet. Athdar’s father, Laird Carrick, was prosperous, as were his lands of Ferra, but books were a luxury, and the few bookshelves were only half-heartedly stocked with tomes. Light poured in from a window in the small tower the library was housed in, lighting up floating motes of dust like minuscule fireflies.

Athdar had been home in Ferra for almost two weeks now, returned from his extended stay at Duffus as one of Ewan’s warriors. Ever since he had returned, he seemed to always be running into someone who wanted to tell him everything that had happened to them since he left.

A select few of these people he had wanted to talk to. However, he had spoken to all of those select few within the first few days. Now he did not want yet another castle-dweller he had known since birth to tell him of their latest achy joints, or ask him about Ewan or his wife Isla or their newborn son, or tell him about a particularly excellent roast duck that had been served in his absence.

The door handle of the library door turned.

Sitting on the floor, Athdar scrunched up his shoulders and pulled his cloak partially over his face. Out of the corner of his eye, he peeked as the door opened and someone walked into the library. His heart sank.

It was his father.

Athdar loved his father, but it was no secret that Carrick had wanted Athdar to spend time at Duffus in order to become more of the man Carrick seemed to think Athdar should be. More of a man like himself—given to speech and warm-hearted negotiations. Athdar would never be a man like that or a man like Ewan—someone who enjoyed the attention of others. Athdar sensed he was a disappointment to his father and the sensation made him resent his father’s presence.

Me son, Carrick called.

Athdar looked up casually. He shoved his hair from his eyes. Wavy and light-brown, it drifted over the edge of his collar. `"Och, Father. Is something amiss?’

Stand up off the floor, said Carrick jovially. Yer not a scullery maid. What are ye reading?

Carrick did not wait for Athdar to answer. Instead, he read the title of the history tome as Athdar rose to his feet.

Reading of the dead is useful, me son, said Carrick, but not so important as learning of the living. Spend time poring over a tome in the dark hours, not during the daylight. Come out with me now to talk to the advisors.

Why? Athdar asked, not meaning to sound so gloomy. He wondered if something had gone wrong in the lands.

Carrick eyed him. "Nothing is wrong, but neither are the lands of Ferra without troubles. We are meeting as we always do, to discuss what should be done."

Dinnae ye just have a meeting? said Athdar, returning the book to the shelf.

Aye, last week, said Carrick. There was a note of disapproval in his voice.

Athdar said nothing but followed his father out of the library. He knew that the men would sit and talk and joke with one another, getting very little work done. About once a fortnight, a truly troublesome issue would arise, and then they would tend to it with good energy, but he suspected the meeting his father was leading him to was more of the usual.

Athdar climbed the stairs after his father, watching his father’s big black boots as they strode powerfully. He wondered where his father got all the energy he had. He brushed away a fly that was buzzing around his head and noticed that his father’s boots had stopped moving.

Do ye hear that? asked Carrick.

What? asked Athdar.

There is a fly, said Carrick.

Och, aye, he said.

Carrick turned around, squinting in the stairwell, looking for the fly. He saw it land on the wall and thrust out a large hand, crushing it in one blow.

There, said Carrick, beaming at his son and turning around to continue their journey. That is how to deal with nuisances in Ferra.

Athdar sat in his chair around the advisor’s table, listlessly watching the sunlight that streamed in through stained-glass windows flicker in colored patterns on the surface of the wood.

His father’s castle was very colorful, Athdar realized. He had not thought of it growing up, but having spent so long in Ewan’s castle, he now saw that the way Ferra castle was decorated was not by chance. The tapestries on the walls were embroidered in bright colors, and although many of the windows contained no panes, those that did were often bordered in patterns of stained glass.

Athdar glanced up and looked at his father as he laughed with the other men. His beard was immaculately trimmed, and his hands were smooth and clean. He had not been a warrior for many years, Athdar realized.

Athdar ignored the counterargument his brain immediately brought up—that Carrick was such a good laird that Ferra had not needed to go to battle for many years. Athdar looked back down at the table. He scowled.

What are ye surly about, lad? wheezed the eldest of Ferra’s advisors.

Athdar looked up quickly, surprised and irritated to be noticed. Why is the castle so colorful? he blurted the question.

The table erupted in laughter.

What? said another of the advisors, a corpulent man who nearly spit out his drink before speaking. ’Tis made of gray stone.

Athdar felt his ears turning red with rage. They had no right to mock him, to continue to call him lad now that he was a man’s age. He turned a cold glare to the man and raised his eyebrows in a silent demand to have the question answered.

His father answered instead. Athdar must be referring to the decorations. Ye old ones have been in this castle so long, ye have forgotten what ’tis like in other castles. Verra dark and dreary, he joked. Athdar warmed to his father for taking his side by mocking the advisors in turn. Och, that was yer mother, son. When we were wed, I asked her to decorate the castle. She chose all the colors for the tapestries, and the glass for the windows, and the coverlet for our bedroom. His father grinned. Athdar was sorry he’d brought it up.

His mother had died when he was a nae more than a bairn. He remembered her vaguely, but the little grief he’d felt at the time had long since faded. He wished she was still alive—but in the sense one wishes they had something that they never had, not in the sense of feeling the loss of something he’d known.

She was a verra fine woman. Carrick looked down at the table and grew misty-eyed.

A verra fine woman, echoed the oldest advisor, also appearing sentimental.

Athdar watched them. He was satisfied with that answer. At least his father did not expect him to also decorate in bright colors when he became laird.

I am glad ye brought that up, Athdar, said Carrick, blinking away the mist and turning back to his son with vibrant energy. It leads into what I wanted us all to discuss today.

Athdar blinked at his father. The colors? He tried to ignore the fact that they had now been in the meeting for half an hour, and whatever business his father had could have been brought up long ago.

Nae, Carrick said. Yer mother.

Ye want to discuss me mother?

Nae, wheezed the eldest advisor. He wants to discuss yer wife.

Athdar almost blurted that he did not have a wife, and then he realized what was happening. His chest tightened. Why had his father chosen a moment like this to discuss his future? Why did all these other men have to be here? It sounded as though all of them were privy to the real purpose of the meeting except for Athdar.

’Tis time for ye to find a wife, Athdar, said Carrick grandly. Ye are of age now, and it is time that ye found someone who will share yer future days with ye.

Feeling cornered and unprepared, Athdar lashed out. What if I donnae want someone to share me future days with?

The table of advisors tittered.

Ye’ll be wanting a wife, Athdar, continued Carrick in a placating tone. There is nae equal to the love of a good woman.

Ye speak of love, said Athdar. I donnae love anyone. Shall we hold this meeting again when I have found someone who has inflamed me with a passion that will never die?

Several of the men smirked at his sarcasm, which only served to irritate him further.

Ye can learn to love someone, Athdar, said Carrick. And I will nae force ye into a marriage of me own choosing. I will let ye choose yer own bride. But ye must begin the search for one.

Athdar’s heart sank. Visions of himself awkwardly attempting to make conversation with unknown lasses at banquet after banquet flitted through his mind. His anxiety flared.

I donnae wish to be married yet, he said. I will nae start searching yet.

I dinnae say ye had to be married now, said Carrick, but ’tis time ye begin looking. He rose and walked to a shelf on the wall behind them. He took down a roll of parchment.

This is a list of all the unmarried laird’s daughters in Scotland, said Carrick. Well, he added, chuckling, all those from lands we are on good terms with. There are more than I had expected—

Nae, Athdar said.

Carrick looked up from the scroll he was unrolling. What?

I will nae start looking for a wife yet.

Carrick frowned. His eyes flicked dangerously. Athdar knew that look. He knew he should take warning from that glance.

He did not.

Ye cannae force me to marry anyone. Ye certainly cannae force me to do it yet.

Ye must produce heirs, said Carrick slowly, his tone becoming almost as dangerous as his eyes.

Do ye expect me to die in the next decade? There is nae rush, Athdar protested.

Carrick’s nostrils’ flared. Ye will do as I tell ye, he said. I command ye to begin to search for a wife.

Athdar felt he could not give in now. His blood was pounding. These men had mocked him, and his father was threatening to take away his freedom to choose for himself. He would not agree to that.

Nae, said Athdar.

The storm clouds gathering on his father’s countenance darkened. Ye will, or I will take away yer right to become laird after me. I will give yer place to someone else.

Athdar stood, shaking with fury. I donnae want to be laird. He walked out of the room and shut the door.

Behind the wood, he heard the advisors erupt into discussion. No doubt, complaints about his unseemly attitude, Athdar thought, walking away from the meeting room.

Once he could no longer hear the voices of the men, relief swept over him. He stopped walking.

"I donnae want to be laird," he said aloud, staring at the hallway in front of him.

He shook himself and continued walking back to his room. He wanted to hasten to the stables, to take his steed, and let the beast have its head as they rushed through the lands.

He also realized that he could not do that. Not without someone noticing and giving chase immediately.

So he’d hide in the quickest place he could get to.

Knowing his father would try to find him there, but he also knew it was unlikely his father would look inside his wardrobe, he rushed to his room. Once inside, Athdar opened his wardrobe and climbed in. He shut the door, enjoying the quiet.

Memories of the meeting flicked through his mind. He grimaced, knowing how immaturely he had behaved, but then he thought of the smirks on the advisor’s faces, and his anger flared again.

He waited in the wardrobe until he heard a knock on his bedroom door. After a few moments, he heard his father’s voice call, Athdar?

Carrick sounded gruff but no longer angry. He knocked a few more times, and then Athdar heard the door to his room squeak open. He heard a few footsteps as his father stepped into the room, looking for him.

Athdar could picture him standing awkwardly in the center of the room, his big hands dangling helplessly under his powerful shoulders, not knowing what to say. Athdar heard his father heave a deep sigh and then turn and leave the room.

As soon as he heard the door click shut, Athdar stepped out of the wardrobe. He sauntered over to the window and stared out at the beckoning Highlands.

He knew exactly what he needed to do.

2

R hona. Ye have burnt the stew again.

Rhona brushed her hair out of her eyes and looked up from her work. She was sitting behind the cottage she lived in with her grandmother, tying bundles of herbs together with thread. Deftly, she placed the herbs that were lying on her lap onto the ground and stood up. She scampered around the cottage to the front door and ducked inside.

She squinted as her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. Outside it was a bright day, but inside the cottage, it was like twilight, for there was only one window in the front room which served as