The Highlander's Challenge: Romance in the Highlands, #5

By Fiona Grant

Hamish Maclean has overcome many challenges in his life, but none so difficult as the one that faces him now: how to win the trust of a woman who has borne too much mistreatment in her life. Jessie Gunn trusts no man, and has good reasons for feeling that way.

Renowned for his fierceness on the field of battle, and especially for the hot temper that has seen many a warrior quail, Hamish has been content to encourage the rumours that enhance his reputation. It's to his benefit that other clans and warriors think twice before facing Hamish Maclean. 

Until now—when he yearns for a woman who abhors violence and thinks that Hamish is the embodiment of all she detests.  

Hamish has never forgotten his first sight of Jessie Gunn. Then a quick-tempered youth with blood running hot in his veins from battle, he came across the young lass cowering in a dungeon: battered, bruised and covered in the blood of one of Cormag McPherson's cruel guards, lying dead close by. 

Jessie was then like a wild thing, ready to attack any male who came hear her. Now, six years later, she is content with her life in the service of her beloved mistress Caitriona, safe in the Maclean keep. She is adamant, however, that she has no use for a man. 

Then disaster strikes, and once again Hamish and Jessie find themselves caught up in a war between clans caused by a woman's need to defend her honour. Hamish is distraught about bringing trouble to his clan, while Jessie is terrified that she will lose her freedom.

Laird Maclean has a solution—but will the troubled pair agree?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blue Gem Publishing
• Release date: Dec 25, 2017
• ISBN: 9780645215144

Book preview

BACK FROM THE BATTLEFIELD

Hamish had always loved the smell of horses. No matter how deep he was in the midst of a battle, how loud the screams of dying men, no matter how empty his stomach was or how tired his feet, the smell of horses brought him back to a sweeter place, a time when his wars were fought with wooden swords in the moors behind his father’s castle.

But he was no longer the wee lad who had spent afternoons scampering about the highlands with his brothers, Alastair and Duncan. How much he had envied them then: the two older lads who got to serve their father and defend the keep! 

Now, he knew better. Twas not a good life in the mud.

He stood, home in his brother’s stable after a brutal eighteen-month stint on the front lines, with his forehead resting against the body of his prized bay destrier. The horse, Òg, paid him no mind. Instead, the stallion pressed his fine nose deep into the pile of sweet, summer hay that Hamish had just tossed into his stall. 

He had come to the stables early, to feed and brush Òg, and spend some time in the quiet before the rest of the keep woke up and began bustling about. As it was, he had already been forced to brush off the nervous stable boy, who did not understand why the young gentleman would wish to care for his own horse when he had a dozen servants who could do so. Hamish had simply told him that he had grown used to caring for his steed while in the middle of battle, and he was not about to stop now. 

The full truth was that he felt he owed Òg his life. The animal had been a brave partner for many years now. Brushing him and seeing to his feeding was the least he felt he could do. 

Try as he would to think of other things, his mind kept travelling back to the horror of the past few months. It had been a hot and wet summer, the worst time Hamish had ever spent out on the front. Men died and rotted right before his eyes, and there was no place to bury them, for they would only be washed up in the rains which pelted the island day in and out. The stink had been terrible. The nightmares were worse. Several of his best men had been slain by English troops, including his closest friend, Graham Wilson. 

Òg had been with him the entire time. The horse was his battle partner, his shield, his friend when he had no one else to talk to. More than once, his life had been saved by the destrier’s bravery against their enemies and his swiftness of hoof. 

They had both earned a rest, and Hamish had been happy to visit at his brother, Duncan’s, invitation. Duncan had said forthrightly that the time away from their father’s land might do Hamish some good—and, he added, he had a wee lad now who had been clamouring to meet his uncle. 

Hamish understood that his brother was hoping the lad would cheer him up and help chase away the shadows of lost friends after his time at war. Duncan, too, had spent months on the front lines. Only a crippling injury had brought him back home permanently, though the ghosts of the battlefield still haunted him as well. 

Do you think Greig will let us help him feed them? The wee lad Aidan tumbled about Jessie’s skirts as they made their way together to the horse stables. 

If you ask nicely, I am sure he will. But you canna dance about like this once we reach the stables, wee man. You shall spook the horses, and then you shall be trampled! Jessie tried to reach out for the bairn’s hand, but he was spinning about so fast with his enthusiasm for a trip to the stables that he was impossible to catch hold of. Only after she reprimanded him did he slow down enough to let her lift him up.

Come, you silly lad! Let me carry you until we reach the stables. Tis too muddy out here for a wee lad your size. What would your father say if you were to slip and fall and soil your new clothes?

Jessie scooped the bairn up into her arms, and then they were off again. The stables were not far from the main entrance to the castle, but still, she did not think it wise for the child to be scurrying about in the mud of the courtyard. 

Which steed is your favourite, Aidan? she asked, pressing her face into the child’s hair. He smelled sweet, as all bairns did, and Jessie loved to press her nose into his skin. This age, she had long thought, was the only good age of men. Once they were grown and had shed their innocence, they let their need for a woman in their bed rule their heads. She dreaded the day young Aidan grew into a true lad. 

He threw his head back to look up to her, blue eyes open wide and a cockeyed grin on his face. My favourite is Bess!

Bess! The old wagon nag? Jessie asked, surprised. She would have thought the wee lad’s favourite steed would have been one of his father’s coursers or his mother’s elegant rouncey. 

Aye! Aidan giggled. I like her feet!

Her feet?

They are so big! As big as your head, Jessie! The bairn dissolved into a fit of giggles in her arms. Jessie had a hard time holding back her own. Jessie, do you think if I am good, Greig might let me ride Bess today?

Perhaps, Jessie said. They were nearly at the stables now, and the child squirmed harder in her arms, impatient to get down now that they were near the cobbled ground. 

Shhh! be quiet! Jessie chided him. You shall scare the horses if you keep up your babbling. 

Threatened with the loss of a chance to see his beloved horses, the child fell silent in her arms. Jessie squeezed him just a bit tighter. 

They walked into the gloom of the stables together, eyes peeled for signs of Greig. Jessie could hear a small sound coming from the stall farthest from the entrance. The sound of a soft brush against a horse’s back. She moved quietly forward, the child still in her arms. 

There was a man in the far stall, brushing a beautiful bay destrier. His back was turned, and she could not see his face to know if she knew him. Despite that, there was something familiar about the lad, and she thought she might be acquainted with him. Walking as quietly as she could so as not to spook the great bay horse, Jessie moved closer. 

The hair on Hamish’s arms raised. He knew, without a doubt, that there was someone behind him. All his senses pointed to it. Without thinking, with only his battle reflexes to guide him, he whirled on his attacker, whipping out his dagger with one hand and grabbing at an arm with the other.

It was only when he saw the startled brown eyes of a lass that he remembered he was no longer on the front lines of a battle but home in his brother’s keep. 

God’s bones, woman! Why would you sneak up on me like that? Though he could see the surprise and sudden fear in her eyes, it did not quell the shock and anger that had bubbled up inside of his chest a moment ago. She moved to pull her arm free, but he held it tight. 

Then he recognised the shocked face of the maid caught in his grasp. Jessie! Jessie Gunn? The girl had changed; grown older, more mature. 

But still vibrant. 

Aye! Tis me alright. And who do you think you are? Snatching my arm like that! Jessie wrenched her arm out of his grasp, brown eyes flashing with anger. The bairn she held began to wail in her arms. Och! Look what you have done! Tis alright, Aidan. She rocked the child and cooed to him. 

I am sorry, Jessie, Hamish said abruptly, but you know better than to sneak up on a warrior like that. We live in savage times. A man such as I can never let his guard down. Annoyed both with himself and with her, Hamish spoke more harshly than he had intended. You will not sneak up on me anymore if you know what is best for you. He nodded at the child.