The Highlander's Reluctant Bride: Highland Mates, #1

By Aileen Adams

Love's challenge yields sweet rewards…

 

Caitlin Graham's a lowland lass, living with her uncle. She, her sister, and her brother were orphaned at a young age and Uncle Jamie graciously took them in. When her uncle tells her she's caught the eye of a highland laird at a wedding feast a few weeks back she agrees to secure her uncle's position with the highland tribes by taking the laird's hand.

 

Connor McArthur's land's been stolen by a highland scoundrel who's a distant relative, thereby relegating Connor to live among the hills, biding his time when he can get the lands and title back. He's heard rumor of a dowry wagon to be provided to the thieving bastard who's stolen his lands. Connor gathers his men and captures the wagon, but what's he to do with the fiery lass who is traveling with the dowry?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AilAd
• Release date: Jul 22, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201531003

Book preview

1

Agentle wind carried the bright scent of fresh-cut hay from the fields across the moors, swirling under the cool shadows of the old tree. It teased the tendrils of auburn and chestnut-colored hair that had fallen from Caitlin’s heavy braid that fell over her one shoulder, tied at the end with a leather cord. Midmorning light filtered through the cascade of foliage above, dappling the soft earth in greenish hues.

Caitlin tucked a stray curl behind her ear, then returned her attention to the bushel of bright green pods that sat waiting at her feet. One by one, her nimble fingers plucked the little verdant gems from their fibrous husks, the bowl of shucked peas growing in her lap.

Deidre worked diligently beside her, her attention instead on a basket of thorny blackberries she’d gathered from the brae on the other side of the river. The younger, dark-haired lass’s fingers were stained a deep purple, but she didn’t seem to mind the mess they caused. After all, a blackberry tart would be more than worth the effort in the end.

Relaxing with the repetitive nature of her chore, Caitlin’s mind wandered, settling finally on memories of only a few days previous. Dusk had been falling quickly, and she was spinning, twirling, the blues and whites of the flower garlands that trimmed the posts and orchard trees shining bright under the setting sun. An orange and purple flame lit the fragile sweep of thin clouds across the evening sky, transforming the cleared fields behind the MacGregor home into a wonderland of color.

A huge bonfire had been started so as to carry the merriment through the night, and the heady smells of peat smoke and roasting meat filled the air. She had sweet honey mead on her lips and the glow of the stars in her eyes. She was dizzy and drunk on the beauty of it all, lost in the ephemeral world of celebration and feasting.

A loud bleat broke Caitlin’s pleasant reverie.

She looked up to see one of the large she-goats eyeing Seth suspiciously. Half the barley oats spilled to the ground next to the feeding trough. Deidre giggled. The young lad—his hair the same dark auburn hue as his eldest sister—hastily dumped the rest of his bucket into the wooden trough. The pregnant she-goat, her stomach round and distended, bleated again after the lad as he rushed out of the pen. She was due soon; that was obvious and had grown more and more ornery with each passing day.

Seth fumbled with the latch, finally securing the wooden gate behind him. He looked toward the lasses, and his face fell when his eyes met Caitlin’s watching gaze. His head down, he made his way sheepishly to the foot of the old tree.

Caitlin gave him a half-smile, shaking her head. Ye alright? she looked up at her little brother, astonished at how much he’d grown in so short a time. At eleven years old, he was only a handsbreadth or two shorter than the lasses, his limbs almost but not quite taking on that gawky, lean length that would make him look the smallest bit awkward when puberty finally hit. Discouraged and embarrassed, he plopped himself down in the grass next to his sisters.

His eyes still down, he replied, Aye, merely spooked is all. She made me jump and spill the feed. He toyed with the woven rope handle of the empty barley bucket.

She rustled his hair, coaxing a smile from his pout. Ye dinnae listen to what I said, did ye? Ne’er sneak up on an old mama goat. Yer lucky ye dinnae get more than a little scare.

Yer right. I’m sorry, Caitlin. He met her eyes, much as their mother had always taught them to when making an apology.

Nae harm done. She’s already eatin’ up all ye spilled anyway. She looked past him to the pen, where the hungry goats were eagerly devouring the grain, both in the patchy grass and the wooden trough.

Caitlin turned her attention back to her work, separating the peas from their shells. Seth crawled along the roots over to Deidre, the lure of fresh berries too hard to resist.

Dinnae even think about it, Deidre teased, touching her juice-stained finger to his nose. He glared, rubbing at his nose lest some juice remain to stain him as well. Then, lifting his hands in a placating way, he tried again, this time for the basket of unhulled berries. He started plucking the leaves and twigs from the delicate fruit, helping Deidre with her chore now that his were complete.

They continued working in the relative quiet, sparrows chirping from their nests in the old oak tree overhead. Caitlin started to find her rhythm again, lulling herself back into her musings.

Next to her, Deidre sighed long and loud.

Blessed silence lost, Caitlin turned to her sister. Go on, what is it, lass?

Deidre’s smile grew with the opportunity to break her sister’s unspoken rule of morning peace and quiet. I cannae stop thinking about how beautiful Isla was in her wedding dress. Do ye think we will be so lucky?

It had been Isla’s wedding the family had attended only a day ago. At eighteen, Isla was a year younger than Deidre, two years younger than Caitlin. She and the neighboring lad Duncan had been a pair since they were wee ones, so having a hand fasting ceremony was a matter of time. Caitlin may have found herself lost in the occasional daydream, but Deidre could not stop talking about the event. It was like the lass had never attended a wedding feast before.

Aye, I’m sure ye will be verra beautiful whenever the time comes calling, Caitlin assured the lass, deliberately leaving herself out of the answer. Deidre might be wishing for a suitor, but as the eldest, Caitlin had enough on her hands dealing with Uncle Jamie’s farmstead duties. Not that there are any lads to me liking, Caitlin thought to herself bleakly.

The chapel was lovely, all draped in bluebells and heather. Where did they find so many flowers? Deidre stared off into the distance, her eyes wistful.

The bluebell field, likely, Caitlin answered practically, a drop of bitter sarcasm on her tongue.

Well accustomed to her sense of humor, Deidre laughed, a high, lilting sound that shared the same beauty as church bells or wind chimes.

The drumming of hoofbeats cut off any response Deidre may have had at the ready. They looked up across the infield to see a horse and rider galloping to the main house. As the rider swung from his mount, their uncle came out to meet him. The two clasped arms, speaking a greeting too far away to hear. Looping the horse’s lead to the post outside, the pair disappeared into the house.

Who do ye think that is? Deidre asked, her voice wistful at the mystery.

I dinnae ken and dinnae care, Caitlin lied.

Unannounced visitors were never a good thing. Her thoughts flashed to a similar rider who’d shown up to her parents’ home when she was but Seth’s age now, and he was but a baby. The old soldier had come to deliver the news himself that their Papa had been killed in battle. Not only that, but he was heavily indebted to a local yeoman. All three children and their mother were soon without their home, traveling to live with their uncle in the lowlands. Mama had passed a few years after that from a fever that would not relent, no matter what the friar prayed or the healer administered. They’d been alone with their mother’s brother Jamie ever since.

Ye dinnae mean that. Deidre chuckled. She was always good at calling out Caitlin on her blustering.

Seth, Caitlin changed the subject, go check on the horses, make sure they have enough feed for the day. Deidre and I will finish up here shortly.

Aye. The lad got up, barely holding in the disappointed breath on his lips. Chores were no match to the lure of a stranger, certainly. He trudged toward the stables reluctantly but obediently.

That lad might be the death of us, Caitlin sighed without any real venom.

She returned to her work. Only a few more pods remained. After this, she’d have to start work in the kitchen, preparing and preserving the late summer yields. Fall would be here soon enough, and winter thereafter. Best to have a full larder earlier than later. With four mouths to feed, the more the better.

She and Deidre settled back into silence, finishing their plucking and cleaning. In the end, they had a nice big bushel of peas and enough blackberries to make a batch of jam in addition to the tart. Seth came back with a bucket of five eggs from the chicken coop as an apology for spilling the grain earlier. They’d make a nice lunch for sure. The three headed back to the house, where the horse still waited patiently outside, nibbling at the nearby grass. It was a great roan dappled mare with an old leather saddle and greying whiskers around her snout. Caitlin commiserated with the wary look in her big black eyes, giving her a comforting pat on the thick cord of muscle along her neck. She plucked a blackberry from Deidre’s basket, feeding it to the old lass.

Yer going soft, Deidre teased.

Shush yer tongue, Caitlin teased back.

The pair giggled but quickly went silent as they stepped over the threshold into their home of nearly ten years. Deidre and Seth peered around for the strange visitor, but Caitlin took all three bundles and headed straight to the broad wooden table and the large stone hearth that dominated the center of the room. There was plenty of work to get done before the morning was over. If he has anything important to say, he’ll come to tell me hi’self, she thought as she set the supplies down and stoked the wooden timbers of the fire.

The day would be a full one. First, the peas would need to be prepared and dried for winter storage. Then the berries not going into a tart crust would need to be boiled down and made into jam. And, of course, she had to heat up tea and cook up the eggs Seth had gathered for lunch.

Deidre would be no help with the excitement of a guest, and regardless the lass had her archery lessons this afternoon anyway that were already keeping her distracted. That left Caitlin, always Caitlin, to the duties of the home. But in the end, what else would she do?

She was getting some water boiling for tea when Uncle Jamie emerged from the side room, the stranger in tow. Her uncle looked genuinely happy as he escorted the man to the door, shaking his hand and sending him on his way.

Seth and Deidre, watching in fascination, slipped out after the stranger to see him ride off. When she came back inside, Deidre asked eagerly, Who was that? What good news did he bring, Uncle?

Jamie turned and locked eyes with Caitlin. She had been trying unsuccessfully to busy herself with anything other than the mysterious conversation. With a grin that stretched from ear to ear, he said, Good news, ye bonnie lasses. Caitlin is to be wed!

2

The valley echoed with the loud rhythmic sound of splitting wood. Sweat poured from Connor’s brow as the sun beat down upon his broad shoulders, his tunic slick against his muscular frame. The steady pace of his arms eased the effort and distracted him from the here and now. There were other men who would do this work, and several had offered to take the menial labor off his hands. But as tiring as it was, their leader found it fulfilling to know that his people would enjoy the fruit of his toils with their fires throughout the night.

Och, Connor!

The sound of his own name cutting through the sharp crack of his axe broke his concentration. The rhythm lost, he let the axe drop to the soft loam of the forest floor. Several cords worth of wood were piled to the side. He whistled, and two young lads came running over with rope to sort and tie up the logs. Wiping his damp sleeve across his perspiring face, he looked in the direction of the call. What in heaven’s name did his brother need now?

Connor. Get yer arse over here and help me out, would ye? Aiden’s voice echoed across the glade in the irritating way only a younger brother can manage.

Knowing it was easier to comply than argue, Connor turned from his work, satisfied with the amount he had accomplished regardless. He headed in the direction of what the band had started referring to as the arena. The small area set aside for soldierly training had been cleared of brush, the trees toppled so that only their short stumps remained as makeshift stools. They created an almost perfect circle around the portion of flat land, acting as a natural perimeter. The area itself was large enough for four men to fight side by side. It was no good for practicing larger maneuvers, but it was perfect for one-on-one combat training and the occasional honor brawl. Connor had one rule when it came to the latter—only fight to first blood, and everyone comes out friends, grievances forgotten. They were too small a group to let pettiness diminish their ranks.

Aiden stood in the center of the space, training young Symon in the use of a broadsword. Both held wooden versions of the deadly blades in their hands to practice with. The crudely carved blunt blades would make a pretty bruise but would fall short of the fatal injuries caused by the genuine article.

What’s the emergency, Aiden? Forget what end to hold onto? Connor smiled, softening the jab at his little brother.

Connor and Aiden were of similar build, tall and broad-shouldered, but the younger brother was clean-shaven, his eyes full of a sort of cunning Connor could never quite manage himself. He was simply too honest, he’d found, and relied on his brother for the guile needed to run the band of disgraced brigands they had become in recent years.

Aiden glared, then rolled his eyes impatiently. Verra funny. He took the practice sword from Symon’s hands and held the hilt out for Connor to take. I need to show him how to execute a one-handed disengage with proper follow-up. That is, if ye want to have men that can actually fight for ye when the time comes?

It was Connor’s turn to roll his eyes. He took the sword regardless, and the pair settled into balanced stances just out of sword’s reach. They circled each other warily, mimicking a real bout, before smoothly transitioning into a slow, measured lesson for Symon. Sandy-haired and only fifteen years old, the lad looked on with eyes full of wonder as the pair demonstrated the defensive maneuver with practiced ease.

Yer turn. Aiden tossed his sword for Symon to catch, but he fumbled, letting it fall to the ground. He scrambled to pick it back up, his cheeks blushing apple red.

Dinnae worry ‘bout it, lad. Yer just learning. Connor shot a dark look at Aiden, who was chuckling to himself. His brother had always gotten a bit too much enjoyment in hazing ward like Symon. Connor preferred to teach with an encouraging hand whenever possible. But he had too many other responsibilities, so training new fighters fell to Aiden. Even as the eldest and rightful heir to the McArthur estate, Connor didn’t have ground to stand on as long as the training got done and no one left the arena with more than a few bruises to body and ego.

Alright, Symon, Aiden crossed his arms over his chest appraisingly. Show me what ye can do against our laird over here.

Ignoring the sting of his lost title, Connor took an offensive stance across from Symon. He lunged slowly, hoping to provoke the right movements from the inexperienced fighter. Symon barely deflected the blow with his wooden sword, but he remembered to drop his off-hand and pivot appropriately. Sadly, his grip was too loose, and without even trying, the force of Connor’s feint knocked the blunt instrument