The Highlander's Rose: Highland Romance, #1

By Sophy Stone

Killian had expected plenty of change when he returned to the Scottish Highlands after a long exile, but not this …
His father's dead and the clan lands have fallen into disrepair under the leadership of his brother, Ayden. And the fact that his childhood sweetheart, Muiriall, has married his brother of all people puts the crown on everything. But Killian must face his past if he wants to save his clan …

They call her "The Rose of Forse Castle". But her life is a disaster! Abandoned years ago by her great love, since then Muiriall has endured the humiliations of her tyrannical husband.
Then Killian returns unexpectedly. But she can never forgive him for leaving without a word. Besides, she is now married to his brother …

A Highland romance – exciting, dramatic and funny – written by Sophy Stone.
Complete, stand-alone novel – no series – no cliffhanger!

First volume of Sophy Stone's Highland Romance Books - finally in English

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sophy Stone
• Release date: May 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223659655

Book preview

The Highlander’s

Rose

by Sophy Stone

Imprint:

Sophy Stone

c/o E. Lingnau

Spitzenstr. 44

42389 Wuppertal

GERMANY

[e-mail]

Copyright © Sophy Stone

All rights reserved.

Original German Edition was independently published

in April 2020 as:

Der Highlander und die Rose von Forse Castle

Cover design:

Ivo Belle

Images: stock.adobe.com, periodimages.com (Brad & Angelique)

© vik_y, © Lukassek

Proofreading/editing (German original):

Monique Del Noir (email: [e-mail])

Proofreading/editing (English translation):

Jenny Williamson

References:

Chapter headings: Scottish myths freely told

Further references in the postscript

Ouch, I fell down,

but I'm getting up,

do my crowning,

and move on …

I dedicate this book to friendship.

The glory of friendship is not the outstretched hand, not the kindly smile, nor the joy of companionship; it is the spiritual inspiration that comes to one when he discovers that someone believes in him and is willing to trust him.

Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803–1882)

How sad it is when the delicate plant of a new friendship is destroyed by the envy and resentment of others before it has had a chance to grow into something wonderful.

Sophy Stone

Prologue

The legend of the Laird o’ Co’:

Many hundreds of years ago, the Laird o’ Co’ lived in the old castle of Colzean in Ayrshire.

Scotland, Caithness, Forse Castle, 1702

Where’s Ayden? Killian yelled at a stable boy who, startled, jumped back and let go of the reins of the horse he was leading out of a box. The mare reared into the air with her front legs and missed the boy by a hair’s breadth.

Killian cursed loudly. His tall, imposing figure cast a long shadow in the narrow passageway of the stable, which was half wood and half stone. His black hair, which he had tied into a braid at the back of his neck, threatened to come loose as Killian ran his hands through it.

He left a quarter of an hour ago. Killian heard the dark, scratchy voice of Iver MacDuncan. The old stable master of Forse Castle stood at the back of the stable and was just about to clean the hooves of the stallion who belonged to the Laird Sutherland of Forse.

Killian stormed to the stall where his bay mare was standing, led her out into the corridor and with quick, practised movements put the saddle on her. The mare danced nervously as her owner transferred his restlessness to her.

Killian was wearing a shirt that he had tucked into brown trousers and over his shoulder the woollen plaid in the clan colours. On a belt at his hip hung his sword, which struck against his legs with every movement.

Where did he go? Killian Sutherland snarled.

Iver let go of the stallion’s leg, stood up and raised his hands.

I don’t know, Master Killian. Probably the village.

Killian swung into the saddle without another word and rode out of the stable. At that moment, his cousin Miles trotted over the drawbridge, through the high archway and into the courtyard.

Killian! he cried as he dismounted but Killian didn’t respond to his cousin’s greeting.

Killian drove his mare through the courtyard and onto the drawbridge that led across the wide moat and separated the castle from the mainland.

When the horse had left the wood of the bridge, Killian looked over his shoulder and noticed that Miles was following him. Killian pressed his heels into his horse’s flanks and spurred her into a sharp gallop. He took the road to Forse, the village that lay behind the castle. Halfway there, he remembered his brother’s favourite place. He tore at the reins and made the mare change direction. Killian listened to the loud beating of the hooves on the ground and cursed because Miles was close behind him.

After a few minutes he reached a pine grove. Killian listened to the sounds of the forest. A few metres behind the trees, a narrow stream ran between high rocks.

He was so upset that he couldn’t enjoy the peace and beauty of the green that surrounded him as he usually did. Birds were chirping above him in the branches of the trees, and the sun was falling through the long pine needles, painting colourful patterns on the soft forest floor. Although it was summer, the air was cold early in the morning, and small clouds of steam left Killian’s mouth when he opened it to call for his brother.

Ayden! Killian bellowed as he reached the edge of the running water. The brown water shot over the stones in little eddies and shimmered in the sunlight. A faint smell of sulphur rose to his nose.

His brother’s horse grazed a few metres from the shore. Killian dismounted and tied his mare to a tree. At that moment, Miles rode up, bridled his horse, but remained in the saddle. Killian glanced at him but didn’t pay him any other attention.

He had been right. Ayden always came here when he needed to think. Killian looked around and discovered his brother sitting on a fallen tree with his head resting on his hands. Killian stormed towards him and drew himself up in front of him.

You asked Angus MacKay for Muiriall’s hand? Killian shouted, without greeting him first, and struck at Ayden’s shoulder with his fist.

He looked up and grinned. Yes, the wildcat will soon be my wife. Angus has consented. Ayden confirmed Killian’s worst fears.

Muiriall is my wife, roared Killian. Since Beltane, she belongs to me. You knew that.

Ayden looked at his brother mockingly. Until she is married, Muiriall is nobody’s woman. And Angus will give her to me. Killian could barely contain his rage.

You two-faced serpent! You marched to MacKay behind my back? You knew I was courting Muiriall.

Ayden raised his hands, still smiling.

Killian, stop it. Listen to me, MacKay has already agreed, cried Miles, who had dismounted and approached.

Stay out of this, cried Killian, giving Miles a scornful look. This is between me and Ayden.

It’s a done deal, Ayden said. We’ll marry in Samhain.

Killian swung and hit Ayden in the jaw, so that he almost fell off the log backwards. He rubbed his chin in amazement and shook himself.

Miles reached for Killian’s shoulder. Killian, stop that, he said, frowning disapprovingly.

Killian spun around and gave Miles a push. I told you to stay out of this. He put his hands on his hips. I’m going to talk to Father. He knows I’m courting Muiriall and he’s never going to give you permission. Muiriall will be my bride, do you hear me?

Ayden had got up by now. Do you think father would allow you to marry a MacKay? he sneered. You’re the future laird. The MacKays are our rivals.

Muiriall is the daughter of Angus MacKay, and he is Father’s closest advisor. Father will not object, said Killian.

We shall see, said Ayden, drawing his sword.

Miles stood next to them in shock, watching the two fighting cocks. Stop it, both of you! he shouted, in an attempt to appease the brothers.

But Ayden had already put himself in fighting position, made a lunge, raised his right sword arm and turned his body sideways. He gracefully lifted his left arm and bent his elbow.

Meanwhile Killian had thrown aside the plaid that he had carried over one shoulder and drawn his sword as well. He had lost his hair cord during the sharp gallop and his long black mane blew around his head. His eyes had narrowed to slits.

Why, brother? Why? Killian called, raising his sword.

Then Ayden attacked. Their blades crossed, and Killian drove his brother in blind rage towards the tree trunk where he had been sitting just before. When Ayden touched the wood with his thighs, he made a leap and hopped onto the log. Quickly he danced over it and jumped down to the ground on the other side.

Ayden stretched out both arms. Come on, brother, come and fight.

Killian, don’t. You shouldn’t fight over a woman. Miles grabbed Killian’s arm and tried to hold him back. But Killian grabbed the log with his hands and jumped over it with one leap.

Muiriall will be my wife. We are already engaged, he called and raised his sword.

Father doesn’t know about this, Ayden replied and stood in position again.

Killian attacked. With force, he raised his sword against the weapon of his brother, who was parrying the blow.

The brothers were both well-trained fighters. Killian was the taller and older of the two, but what advantage he had in strength Ayden made up for with skill. The blades crossed each other again and again in skilful parries and feints and both men were equal. Finally, Killian cornered Ayden. He pushed his brother against a tree but Ayden thrust Killian away and ducked away from him.

The fight lasted several minutes. Suddenly, Ayden tripped over a root sticking out of the ground and fell. Just in that moment, Killian lifted his sword and his brother fell sideways into the blade. Killian felt the sharp metal penetrate Ayden’s body and get caught on the ribcage. Ayden clawed at Killian’s sleeve and slipped to the ground. Blood oozed from the wound and Killian stared down at him, dazed.

Ayden, damn it. You fool, you damn fool, he said, and settled on his knees at Ayden’s side. Killian pulled the sword out of Ayden’s body with a jerk, grabbed the plaid he had carelessly thrown to the ground and quickly pressed it down onto the long cut from which the blood gushed.

Ayden! cried Miles, who had come running over immediately. He looked at Ayden, who lay motionless on the floor. Then he looked angrily at Killian. Tears were in his eyes and he had a grimace on his face.

You damn fool! Miles suddenly shouted, dragging Killian to his feet and punching him in the face. Killian stumbled backwards and looked at his cousin in shock.

Stop it, Miles. We have to take Ayden back to the castle, Killian said. That damn fool tripped and fell on my sword and …

Miles hit out in a blind rage and struck again. You killed him. How could you? Miles yelled at him.

Killian ducked and shoved his fist into Miles’s side.

Stop it, Miles, Ayden is still breathing. He squeezed out the words as Miles clasped both arms around his chest and squeezed the air out of his lungs.

They both went down and wrestled doggedly for a few seconds, rolling back and forth on the leaves.

Killian fought back vehemently when he was buried under Miles and shoved at him with all his might. Eventually, he managed to push his cousin’s heavy body away but he was immediately struck again. Killian pulled up one knee and raised his boot in front of Miles’s side. He managed to thrust Miles so far away that he was beyond the reach of Miles’s fists.

Killian straightened up and Miles jumped to his feet. Once again, Miles gave Killian another hook to the jaw so that he fell backwards like a log.

Pain exploded in Killian’s head and he felt himself fall. He stretched out his arms backwards to cushion the fall, but his head slammed into a hard object with force even before his hands touched the ground. Again, pain rang through his head and then gave way to complete darkness.

***

Killian came to as a wet caress tickled his face. He opened his eyes, staring at blue sky framed by black branches. He raised his head, moaning.

His skull was hammering and he quickly squeezed his eyes together. Carefully he leaned on his elbows, picking himself up into a sitting position.

In front of him stood a horse, nudging him timidly again and again.

He looked around.

He was sitting on the bank of a stream. The bank on the other side of the water stretched out in front of a grey rock face.

The sun was high in the sky, making the small waves in the stream sparkle.

There was a huge rock behind him and when he turned around he saw that it was splashed with blood. He ran his finger over one of the splotches. The blood sticking to his hand was still wet.

The movement hurt and he carefully felt the back of his head. His hair was sticky where a huge bump had formed. When he took his hand off his head, his fingers shone from the fresh blood seeping from a wound.

What had happened? Where was he?

Killian searched his memory for what had happened. But his mind was completely blank.

He got up on shaky legs and went to the riverbank. He drank a few sips from his cupped hand and splashed water on his face.

He should go home. The horse! He would ride.

Killian looked around and noticed a sword in the grass. He wondered, was it his? He couldn’t remember the sword.

Was that his horse? He had to go home.

He noticed that he was wearing a sword scabbard on his belt, which was empty. It had to be his sword. He picked it up and looked at it helplessly, then pushed it into the scabbard.

He stepped to the horse and mounted. That felt familiar. He would ride home now. Killian thought hard. Home. Where was his home?

Jesus, he couldn’t remember! He panicked. He had to know where his home was. He was … his name was … Christ, he didn’t even remember his name. What the hell had happened?

He had obviously hit his head on the rock. Suddenly he heard voices and the clinking of horse harnesses.

Killian! cried a man’s voice. Killian hurriedly drove the horse behind the first treeline to hide.

Who was this Killian? No, it certainly wasn’t him. He would remember.

The horses came closer and so did the voices that kept calling this strange name.

Killian panicked even more, slammed his heels into the horse’s flanks and dashed off.

Despite the hammering in his skull he galloped on and on. He had no idea where he was and in which direction he was riding or what his goal was.

When the sun sank deeper, he stopped and allowed his horse and himself a rest at a lake. He drank some water and curled up under a tree.

***

Killian wandered through the forests and moors of the Highlands for several days without knowing who he was or what had happened. He wondered how he knew which roots or berries to eat, but they satisfied the worst hunger. One evening he even managed to catch a rabbit and light a fire.

At the end of the fifth day he arrived at a small settlement with five blackhouses arranged in a circle.

He could only hold his horse with difficulty. He had been dizzy for two days and could hardly mount again once he had dismounted. The pain in his head had become an unbearable constant pressure such that Killian feared his skull would crack open.

A man was standing in front of one of the houses when Killian slipped out of the saddle, half unconscious. He plummeted to the ground in front of the man.

Martha! called the man, and a woman came hurrying by. Quick, call John. He’s hurt. We must get him inside.

Killian saw himself being lifted by his arms and legs, being carried into the cabin. He was placed on a straw bed next to the fire.

An old woman carefully turned his head and examined the encrusted injury. This wound is already several days’ old, she said.

Killian had his eyes closed. His skull was pounding and his stomach was cramping from hunger and thirst.

His head was carefully raised and someone held a cup to his lips. Killian greedily drank the broth that flowed hot and spicy down his throat. When the cup was empty, he felt a little better and the dizziness subsided. With effort he opened his eyes, looking at the woman.

Better? she asked.

Killian croaked a hoarse Aye.

I still have some porridge, said the woman, holding a bowl of the greyish porridge under his nose.

Killian nodded and moaned. Every movement of his head made the hammering worse.

I’ll make you a willow-bark tea. Unfortunately, we don’t have any laudanum here. It would better help with the pain.

The woman, whom the other man had earlier called Martha, was tampering with a shelf on the other side of the cabin. Shortly after, she came back to him and held a cup out to him.

Here, drink this.

Killian took the cup from her and washed down the sticky porridge with the hot tea.

Thank you, he croaked, sinking to the bed. He fell asleep shortly afterwards.

When he awoke the next morning, the man whose feet he had fallen in front of the night before was sitting at a roughly timbered wooden table, talking to a younger one. Killian remembered the younger man’s name. John.

Aye, you’re up, said the older man. Killian straightened up slightly, moaning as the pain in his head immediately started to sting again. He bit his teeth together and sat up straight.

I’m MacQuery, the man said. James MacQuery and this is my son, John. Martha’s my wife.

Martha walked in and smiled at Killian. You’re awake. Are you feeling any better? You looked bad last night, she said, examining the wound on the back of Killian’s head.

Aye, I’m all right. After a good early meal I can ride on, he said. His voice came out of his throat as a croak, and Killian swallowed.

Come to the table, MacQuery said, helping him stand up.

Killian sat on a chair and Martha pushed a bowl of porridge over to him.

I’ll make you another willow-bark tea, she offered, stepping to the shelf next to the table.

The boy needs something stronger, said MacQuery, pouring three cups of whisky. One of them he handed to his son, who sat next to Killian, one he pushed to Killian and one he kept in his hand.

What’s your name, boy? MacQuery asked.

Killian looked at him. He was thinking. Alex. It was the first name which came to his mind. He didn’t know how or when he’d heard the name before or if it was his name or not.

Alex, he said after a while.

Alex, MacQuery repeated. Alex what?

Killian lifted his cup and avoided MacQuery’s gaze. Just Alex.

MacQuery gave Killian a strange look. Mhmpf. You’ve done something wrong, haven’t you? Slàinte mhath, he said, lifting his cup to toast Killian and his son.

***

A week later, Killian had recovered enough to ride on. MacQuery had asked no more questions. From talking to MacQuery and John, Killian learned that he was very close to the port town of Wick.

As his memory had not returned, he decided to sign on as a sailor. He knew that once he set foot on a ship he would leave his life and home behind him forever, but that had no meaning for him.

Without any memory of his previous life, his identity, his family or his home, he thought it best to start somewhere completely new.

Chapter 1

There a little boy came to him one day, showed him his wooden cup and asked the Laird o’ Co’ to fill it with ale for the boy’s sick mother.

English Channel, 1712 – ten years later

Killian stood at the railing of the three-master and stared at the horizon. The wind caught his black hair, which he had tied at the back of his neck. The blue velvet ribbon fluttered and threatened to come loose. The Aurora danced up and down on the waves and the sails billowed in the wind.

Killian. He heard Gordon’s voice. Killian felt his friend’s hand rest heavily on his shoulder.