The Highlander's Reckless Bride: Brides of the Highlands, #4

By Fiona Grant

Owena Macleod, daughter of Laird Iain Macleod and twin sister to Crissa, has always yearned for an adventurous life. When her father arranges her betrothal to Laird Kenrik Maclean, she cannot bear the thought of such a constrained life—especially now that she has fallen in love with a brave and dashing King's spy!

She pleads with her sister Crissa to take her place in the nuptials, pretending to be Owena. After all, she says, nobody will care if Crissa, a widow, decides to marry one of the King's men!

Crissa finally gives in, and Owena takes her name and slips away to marry her spy, breathlessly anticipating a life of adventure.

Barely two months into her marriage, she realizes that her husband is not the man she thought. Her hopes and dreams have turned to ashes. But Owena was never the kind of lass to sit back and accept what life throws at her, so she decides to follow her husband when he sets off on a mission. She will either reform him, she vows, or leave him and find the kind of life she wants!

Before the sun has set on the first day, Owena finds herself in a great deal of trouble. Who is this hard-eyed man who has been following both Owena and her husband? And what does he have in mind for Owena?

Owena discovers that it is far from easy to navigate the treacherous waters inhabited by spies and traitors, all the while remembering that she is supposed to be her sister Crissa!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blue Gem Publishing
• Release date: May 20, 2018
• ISBN: 9781922772145

Book preview

Chapter 1

Disillusionment

"O ch! I thought we should have a home of our own by now, Leslie! Owena Morgan tossed her head, sending shining auburn curls tumbling about her shoulders. Her blue eyes flashed as she turned to face her husband. I am tired of forever being a guest in another’s house. I am sure your brother and his wife are sick of playing host to us as well. They are kind enough, but tis not right to continue to ask for their hospitality."

Then you shall be homeless, you stubborn wench, Leslie Morgan snapped at his wife. He sat atop his horse, stone-faced and scowling at the woman he had wed only a few short weeks ago.

Still holding the reins, Owena crossed her arms over her chest. I dinna ask for much, Leslie. Merely a home of our own, and for you to stay with me sometimes. I thought you had said the king would give you lands for your service? Then, you should not need to work so much as a spy. You could stay home and train men at your keep, as my brother does. She stared at him, truly puzzled. Wouldnae you prefer that? To stay at home with your wife? Why would you wed me if you never wish to see me? I am tired of roadside taverns and your brother’s keep! I am tired of feeling like I am nothing more than a whore, trailing after a soldier. 

He kept his gaze straight ahead as he snapped: I cannot expect a lass to understand the affairs of men. 

And I cannot understand a man who has an affair! Her eyes flashed again and, despite herself, Owena felt tears threaten. She squeezed her eyes shut for a second to regain control, annoyed with herself. She would not cry. She refused to be one of those weepy women that got their own way through tears and tantrums. Resolutely, she bit her quivering bottom lip and held her breath until she could calm herself. 

She looked over at her husband. His jaw was clenched tight, and the vein that popped out on his forehead when he was angry pulsed hard and fast. Her words had stung him, and she knew she would pay for it later. It had not taken Leslie long to abandon the charming words and smiles that had made her run away with him, overjoyed to be hand-fasted to the man she loved. 

The life of adventure he had promised had become nothing but hours twiddling her thumbs in a dingy tavern, staring at the walls while she waited for him to come back from some vague mission. It was just as boring as the life she had rejected as the wife of Kenrik Maclean, running his keep and popping out weans. 

Now, if she spoke out of turn, he would likely as not dispense a quick slap to keep her quiet. Unfortunately, keeping quiet was never something Owena had found easy to do. 

Barely two full moons after their romantic hand-fasting, Owena was finding it difficult to rein in her anger. A mere sennight into their marriage, he had declared he had no choice but to leave her at his brother’s keep. The king, he claimed, had urgent work for him to do, a spying mission behind enemy lines. It all sounded so exciting, so important; Owena had passionately kissed her husband goodbye and whispered prayers for him each night before she went to sleep. 

He returned a week later, smelling of ale and cheap women; Owena had never been so insulted in all her life. Until it happened again, a few weeks later. And again, one night at a tavern they stayed at together. She awoke in the middle of the night to find herself very much alone and, upon a search, discovered her husband standing in a shadow behind the stables, the barmaid’s pale legs wrapped tight about his waist. She had screamed at the woman and would have locked him out of their room had he not pounded the door down. 

She had no idea how to extricate herself from this mess of her own making. Owena knew all too well that twas near impossible to get out of a bad marriage. Wives in that situation had to hope that their husbands would not return from war or were set upon by reivers. 

Almost as though he could read her thoughts, Leslie turned to face his wife. His grey eyes were hard, and his face, always a little florid, was flushed with anger. "I told you, wife, he said, that I have important business to conduct for the king. I cannot tell you what it is, nor can I expect you to understand some of the actions I must take to complete my missions. If he asks me to act as an unwed man, then I must act like one."

Owena opened her mouth to complain, but Leslie raised a threatening hand, cutting her off. She closed her mouth again and glared at him, not wanting to be slapped just now, only another hour or so ride away from his brother’s keep. She would never be able to face her new sister with a black eye or bleeding lip. 

He glared back, his lips tightening. You are becoming an insufferable wench. I have given you everything you asked for. Adventure. My name. An escape from your family duty. And here you sit, complaining about it like a spoiled bairn. I have ways to get rid of you, Owena, if I wish it. Be careful. 

Leslie! Shocked beyond belief, she stared at him. Was he truly threatening her with death if she did not do as he wished? 

Satisfied that he had made his point, Leslie smiled at her. It was not a kind smile. You heard aright. Tell me you understand how it is to be, Owena. 

Dinna call me by my name! she hissed. I am Crissa now. 

You are a fool, he said, his lip curling. Then, We shall be at my brother’s keep soon. Keep that pretty mouth of yours shut, or I shall knock you off you steed and break your jaw so you cannot speak. Does that sound fair? 

Owena’s eyes flashed in anger, but she closed her mouth. She would think of a way out of this, she vowed, even if it took years… but she could not afford to make her husband angry right now. 

She had lied to her family and run away from home to live with this man. If she were to return now, not only would she face certain punishment for her rash actions, but her twin sister would as well. 

Crissa, she thought with a pang, picturing her sister on her wedding day, with shining auburn hair and blue eyes that were an exact reflection of her own. Kenrik Maclean, beaming down at his bride, had no idea that he was marrying the wrong twin. Instead of Owena Macleod, he was exchanging vows with the widow Crissa, whose beloved husband and child had drowned in the loch but a year before. 

Crissa had not agreed readily to take Owena’s place in the marriage arranged by their father, but Owena had begged and begged until she gave in. Please, Crissa! Have you forgotten what it is to be in love? Would you deny me the same chance? Her blue eyes wide and tragic, she had squeezed her sister’s arm. A widow may marry whomever she pleases. We can switch places, as we used to when we were young lassies. No one shall know. They never do!

The morning after the wedding, Crissa had looked… happy. Owena had been relieved after watching her twin become a ghost of her former cheerful self in the months following the drowning. She need not feel so guilty, she told herself, if Crissa were to be happy. 

Now she saw clearly that she had made a terrible mistake, but she could not return and ruin it for her sister now. Nay, this had been her decision; she would see it through until she found a way to fix the mess she had made. 

Would she be able to win her husband over once more, merely to make life bearable? But then she thought of how quickly he had changed and admitted to herself with a sigh that twas unlikely. 

Leslie Morgan was not the man she had believed him to be. 

She turned her blue eyes ahead to the turrets of a wee keep climbing higher in the sky. Red banners snapped in the breeze, undeterred by the spitting rain. Men, tiny in the distance, waved their arms and shouted to one another about the riders approaching their gates. They would recognize her and Leslie by now, she was certain. They had been guests of the keep so many times since their marriage she felt the keep was as much her home as the elder Morgan’s. Her guess was confirmed when, only a few moments later, the sound of a drawbridge slamming down onto the ground reached her ears. 

Leslie reached across the space between their garrons and, with a rough hand, grabbed his wife’s arm, yanking her backwards, almost off her horse. Stop for a moment, he