A Highland Christmas Gift: A Highland Christmas, #2

By Fiona Grant

Myra Munro is devastated beyond words when her twin, Jaime, is killed in the service of the King. 

Her parents, strong in their grief, urge her to do honour to her brother's memory and nurse his best friend Ewan back to health. 

Ewan has not only lost his best friend but needs time and space while recovering from his injuries. Suffering himself, he understands that Myra is numbed with grief, but in the long road back to health, Jaime's twin Myra is the one bright light in his world. He cannot deny his feelings for her. 

But Ewan has a secret: a sacred trust. While dying on the battlefield, Jaime gave Ewan a Christmas gift he has been carrying with him to give to his beloved twin sister. But before Ewan can find the right time to speak with her about it, they find themselves in mortal danger…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blue Gem Publishing
• Release date: Dec 10, 2017
• ISBN: 9781922772176

Book preview

Chapter 1

Dreadful News

Rain pelted the world outside Myra’s tower chamber. She sighed and pushed aside the parchment on which she had been practising her letters, and the small box that contained her treasured inks. Her carefully penned examples of writing lay at her elbow.

Myra was a rare lass in the Scottish Isles in that she could read and write, and ’twas true that she was often found with her button nose pressed deep into the parchment of whatever examples she could find. But today she found herself growing restless. Much as she enjoyed reading and the painstaking task of forming graceful letters, she did not enjoy being locked up in her keep. It had been raining for nigh on a fortnight now and Myra was getting tired of the view from her chamber window.

There was something ominous about the weather, although Myra couldn’t put her finger on it. She wrapped her thick knitted shawl around her shoulders, before standing and walking to the narrow window set in the eastern side of her chamber. The moat had swollen and in another hour or so would overflow its banks. Already, thin fingers of water crept out into the flat moorland just beyond it. The sky beyond the hills was the same iron grey it had been for days now; the sun merely a weak glow somewhere beyond the storm clouds. She sighed and leaned against the chill stones, letting the rain prick her face. The fresh air felt good, even if it was cold and wet, ’twas still better than the stagnant air of the castle.

There was a screech and the rustle of something soft behind her and Myra jumped, shocked, to find a barn owl staring at her from its perch on her bed post. The bird swivelled its head and blinked, before deciding she was acceptable and, shaking out its dripping feathers, settled in to a nap.

Myra chuckled. When did you sneak in?

Twas not unusual to have creatures such as this spending a day or two in their keep during the worst months of the year. Their great hall became a shelter for a murder of crows each winter, and on particularly wet days twas normal for at least one bird to seek shelter in their home.

The bird opened one yellow eye in response to her question, and then shut it again and turned its head around to face the wall. Myra laughed again.

The sound of shouting pulled her back to the window view. A rider approached the castle. It was a man, she could tell that much through the driving rain, though she could not make out the pattern of his tartan or see his face beneath his hood. He was slumped in the saddle, and looked as if he would fall off at any minute. His horse, either through exhaustion or fear, walked slowly, weaving a careful path through the flooded field.

Myra watched as guards from her keep ran out into the weather towards the rider. Water splashed around their ankles and she saw more than one of the guards discard his helmet in order to see better in the rain. She watched them as they ran up to the man, grabbing his horse’s reins and yanking the poor beast to a stop. The rider fell forward, and would have fallen clean off if he had not been able to brace himself on his charger’s neck. The lead guard leaned in close to hear what the messenger had to say.

Word delivered, the man slumped, head first towards the ground. There were shouts and a scramble of feet and several of the guards caught the rider before he hit the earth. Together they lifted him onto their shoulders and walked him in through the gates of the keep. A squire followed behind, dragging the visitor’s bedraggled steed.

Myra’s hand flew to her chest. Her twin brother, Jaime, had been fighting King Edward’s battles with the English for the past several months. Was this news of him? Had something happened to Jaime?

Dread surged through her. Could this be why she had