Highland Gem: MacKinnon Brothers, #2

By Barbara Magoon

When Caelan receives word that his young nephew is in peril, he prepares to ride to the lad's rescue. Never did Caelan imagine that included escorting a golden-haired lass whose past is shrouded in mystery and fraught with danger. Yet just one taste of her lips and he will do anything to protect her.

 

Ilyssa McCoy's life-long dream was to become a healer. During a visit to court with her aunt and cousin, she encounters a stranger in the king's private library. His arrogance annoys her, but the intensity of his stare leaves her breathless.  When long buried secrets from her past threaten to destroy her, she has no choice but to ask for help from the very man who shunned her. Caelan MacKinnon.

 

Before long, Caelan and Ilyssa are bound to each other by her need for his protection. But who's going to protect her heart? And his?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Champagne Book Group
• Release date: Dec 26, 2023
• ISBN: 9781957228433

Book preview

Highland Gem

BARBARA MAGOON

CHAMPAGNE BOOK GROUP

Highland Gem

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Published by Champagne Book Group

712 SE Winchell Drive, Depoe Bay OR 97341 U.S.A.

~ * ~

First Edition

eISBN: 978-1-957228-43-3

Copyright © 2023 Barbara Magoon All rights reserved.

Cover Art by Melody Pond

Author Image by Derik Bowley of Derik’s Photos

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To my dear friend, Marybeth.

Prologue

Castle Dorcha, 1639

Darkness descended upon the land as clouds that had been threatening all day unleashed their burden. The icy sheets of rain did not deter horse and rider, for they knew they were near their destination. It had been years since he had been in this part of Scotland.

Kieran McNeil felt his horse labor a bit as they made the climb. A little longer, Seamus, he said, patting the horse’s muscular neck. He breathed a sigh of relief when he spied the towering columns looming in the distance.

The bridge lowered at his approach. Crossing over, he heard a cry from the tower announcing his arrival. Men ran out to meet him.

Welcome, Sir Kieran, a guard said.

Nodding, Kieran threw the reins at the approaching stable boy. Rub him down good and give him an extra portion of oats. There’s a shilling for yer trouble.

Aye, my lord. The freckle-faced lad beamed.

Traversing the yard, Kieran entered the inner bailey. He paused, gazing up at the gothic spires. A dim light glowed from the high window. He was being watched.

Stepping into the massive hall, he shed his oilskin cloak. Gilbert, he said to the castle chatelaine, at his approach.

Gilbert took the sodden cloak. At last, my lord, ye are here.

Kieran narrowed his eyes. Is he still…?

The trusted servant averted his gaze. Aye… he still lives.

Kieran mounted the grand staircase, taking the steps two at a time. Following the corridor, he stopped before the double doors. He exhaled through clenched teeth, bracing himself for what waited on the other side.

The stench of sickness assailed his senses when he slipped into the room. It was dark except for a cheery fire burning in the hearth. The light sent shadows dancing about the walls, which was a contrast to the chill of death hanging in the air.

Once his eyes became accustomed to the dim, he saw a slight form laying in the canopied bed. Shocked, he retreated a bit.

The man lay wasted, lost in the folds of covers and blankets. His face was sallow with cheeks sunken from illness. Tufts of white hair haloed his pate, dotted by large liver spots.

At first, Kieran feared he was too late, but upon closer inspection he watched the rise and fall of the man’s fragile chest. The rattling within confirmed life still clung to the motionless form. Kieran decided to wait ‘til morning to speak to him when a boney hand shot out to grasp his forearm. He flinched from the contact.

Son?

Father, he said flatly.

Kieran, ye have come… ye are here, his voice rasped.

I came as soon as I received yer missive. Kieran disengaged the hand from his sleeve. I can return another time. Mayhap we can speak on the morrow?

Nay… may be too late. We best speak now. He opened his mouth but fell into a coughing fit.

Kieran sensed a slight stirring of compassion but squashed it. His father motioned to the pitcher on the side table. He handed his father the glass, but his hand trembled, sloshing water down his chin and onto the collar of his bedclothing. Taking hold of the cup, Kieran lifted it to his lips.

Light the taper. I wish to see ye.

Lighting the candle, Kieran cursed. Ralston Gerome McNeil was unrecognizable. The tyrant who once ruled with an iron fist was gone. Only a husk of the man remained.

I need to speak with ye, son. I must confess to ye… Once again, his father began coughing, tears streaming down the crags in his face as he tried to catch his breath.

Father, I have no wish to listen to yer confessions. If ye want, I will fetch the priest.

Ralston lifted his finger to wait.

I think ʼtis best ye rest. I will return—

ʼTis about yer sister, Ralston blurted. She lives!

What is this madness? Kieran dragged his fingers through his hair. Meribeth has been dead for fifteen years! ʼTis a sad state if yer mind has ye convinced otherwise.

ʼTis the truth, son, Ralston said, raising his voice.

Kieran waited for another coughing fit, which didn’t happen. Sickness has addled yer mind. Ye know not what ye say.

Dinna patronize me.

Clearly the man was mad. Kieran regretted his decision to return home. His fists clenched as he forced himself to stand before the man he called father.

ʼTis as ye say, I thought Meribeth dead. She fell into the rushing water. I will regret the day as long as I live, his father continued.

Kieran crossed his arms. Aye, she rode yer favorite mare. The loss devastated ye.

Ralston bared his teeth. I’ll never forget the fear in her eyes when she slipped away.

Resisting the urge to scoff, Kieran rubbed the stubble on his chin. Turning, he walked to the tall windows to stare at the rain streaking down the panes.

He remembered the day his sister died. She had come in search of him. Not quite a year older, he worshipped her. She was dressed in her best traveling gown, her green eyes dancing with excitement.

Father is taking me on an outing. She jumped up and down.

Even at a young age, he realized their father treated his sister as if she didn’t exist. He knew this was important to her.

We are going to the village, and Mother gave me a coin to buy some ribbons. I plan to purchase something for ye. Mayhap a sweet? Meribeth waved the shiny coin.

Nay, Meri, ye havna had new ribbons in a while. Besides, Paddy put a honeycomb in with my porridge. Kieran was given the best while his sister received leftovers. He wanted her to enjoy her time with their father.

Well, ʼtis my coin to do as I please, and I will spend it as I see fit. She laughed, then hugged him. As she ran out of the nursery, she waved goodbye.

It was the last time he saw his sister. Night had fallen when his father returned, telling them of a terrible accident. While crossing over Cowie River, the bridge gave way, and Meribeth fell into the rushing water. They found her horse several miles downriver, dead. They never recovered his sister’s body. The news devastated their mother, who descended into madness from grief.

Why were ye on the north road that day, Father?

I have told ye numerous times, son. Ralston closed his eyes, releasing a long sigh. I sought to speak to a man about some sheep. ʼTwas a good day to ride. After so much rain, I wasna aware the river had swollen so much it compromised the bridge. I thought yer sister would enjoy—

He cursed under his breath.

Ralston swallowed noisily. About four months after your sister died, there were rumors that a monk found a child and gave it to a family to raise. I knew the chances were dim, but for yer mother’s sake I pursued it. I sent my men to every church and abbey in the Highlands. One came back saying he suspected a monk of lying. I interviewed the monk myself. I offered him money, a lot of money, for any information. He denied everything.

I’m surprised ye didn’t have him brought here to spend time below the castle. Ye might have persuaded him then, Kieran drawled.

Ralston clenched his jaw as he pointed to his desk where a missive lay rolled up. About a year ago, I received a letter from a monk named Brother John. Someone must have written it for him, for he was on his deathbed. I summoned ye home as soon as I read the letter.

Kieran scoffed. He was certain his father was demented; however, curiosity took over. Taking the scroll, he scanned its contents. This tells me nothing. It doesna say if the child was a lass or lad. Someone abandoned the poor soul. ʼTis not uncommon, even in Scotland. ʼTis a shame, but the truth.

Read it, son. All of it. Ye too will realize the child they speak of is our Meribeth. Just read it! he snapped.

Kieran brought the parchment closer to the taper, then gasped aloud at the last paragraph. Jerking his head up, he glared at his father. I must leave. I must know the truth. Rolling up the missive, he tucked it into his jacket pocket. Ye know what this means. If I find her, then everything changes.

The information is for ye to do with as ye please. I have given ye the truth, and now I can die in peace. Ralston closed his eyes, signaling the end of their conversation.

As Kieran came down the grand staircase, Gilbert paused with a tray laden with food and drink. I have lit a fire in yer room, my lord. Would ye care for a hot bath?

Aye, thank ye Gilbert. He walked to where his cloak hung drying and shrugged it on. The servant blinked at him. I want to check on my horse. I rode him hard today. The servant nodded. I will need provisions. I plan to leave on the morrow.

Ye are l-leaving so… s-so soon? Gilbert said. But your father… he still lives.

Kieran narrowed his eyes. Pity.

~ * ~

The following morning, Ralston Gerome MacNeil stood before the window in his bedchamber. Below, men were running about as Kieran gave orders. His son was preparing to leave and had not bothered to say goodbye.

My lord! Ye should not be out of bed. Gilbert walked in carrying a tray with his breakfast.

Ye heard what the physician said. I am on the mend.

Gilbert set down the tray. Kieran refused yer generous offer to have yer outriders escort him.

ʼTis not important. I have my men watching where he goes. They will report his every move. It makes it more difficult, but not impossible. Keiran glanced up. Ralston didn’t step back from the window.

I dinna understand yer purpose, my lord. What if he finds your daughter?

Cease your prattling. Ralston snarled as he watched Kieran mount his horse. ʼTis not a surprise yer feeble mind canna grasp my plans.

His son rode through the gate without so much as a glance back.

Mayhap he will not find yer Meribeth. After all, ye spent the last year searching for her.

Ye underestimate my son. Ralston stepped away and allowed the servant to put him to bed. He will find her, and so will we.

What then, my lord? Gilbert placed the tray on his lap.

Then I’ll finish what I started… all those years ago. Ralston sneered.

Chapter One

Edinburgh Castle, 1639

Four months later

The din from the crowd assailed Caelan MacKinnon’s senses from the moment he stepped foot in the Great Hall. He scowled as he scanned the roomful of people, looking for his errant brother.

Spying a rather large group of ladies gathered in the far corner, he hoped to find his quarry there. He smirked to see Blaine MacKinnon standing in the middle. Caelan couldn’t fault them. There were few who could resist Blaine’s good looks and charming wit. Though just as tall and broad shouldered, his brother’s long blond hair was a sharp contrast to his own raven locks.

Caelan strode purposefully toward his brother, ignoring the greetings and salutations from clansmen he passed by.

And that, my dear ladies, is how ye skin a cat, Blaine was saying.

The women fell into fits of giggles behind fans and gloved hands.

He raised his tawny brows. Who do we have here? Ladies, ʼtis an honor that we are in the presence of my brother, Laird Caelan, chieftain of clan MacKinnon.

Caelan frowned at the grandiose introduction.

Brother, allow me to introduce to ye some of Scotland’s fairest. If ye will—

I’m afraid introductions will have to wait, Caelan said, a slight edge in his voice. My apologies, but we have an audience with the king in ten minutes, and I would like a private word. He gave them a curt nod.

Seemingly unfazed by his abrupt dismissal, Blaine smiled. Another time, ladies. I look forward to seeing ye at the king’s ball. He took the hand of the nearest lass and lifted it to his lips.

Giggles and hushed whispers trailed them as they left the Great Hall.

Caelan and Blaine followed the page to the king’s private quarters. Although less opulent than expected, the ceiling boasted intricate wood carvings. Tapestries of outstanding workmanship hung on the walls.

Behind an ornate desk sat King Charles III, engrossed in his reading. He did not bother to look up as he tossed the letter on top of a pile and reached for a scroll amongst those strewn about.

The page cleared his throat. Your grace, Sir Caelan and Sir—

Ah, Caelan, Blaine, come in. The king waved them inside.

Sire. Caelan bowed.

It’s not every day my favorite knights request an audience. Does this mean ye are both ready to re-enlist in my service?

My sword is always at yer service, Sire. Caelan lifted his chin.

I jest with ye, Caelan. He laughed, motioning for them to sit. I don’t doubt your loyalty.

As he and Blaine took their seats, Caelan realized this would be a less than formal meeting.

The king turned to Blaine. How go my investments? I assume you have good news?

Blaine stood. Aye, Your Grace. I brought my ledgers to yer man of business, and I believe ye will be quite pleased.

Caelan always marveled at Blaine’s ability to maintain a relaxed composure even when he was addressing the king.

We increased productivity from the additional boats ye invested in. We are prospering, Blaine said.

Excellent! Ye are a fine proprietor, Blaine. I wonder if ye might go from boats to ships. I wouldn’t mind giving the East India Trading Company some competition.

Nay, sire. Although I appreciate yer generous offer, alas, I love the sea, but would not wish to venture so far from hearth and home. Blaine’s sincerity was noticeable.

Is there something else required of me? The king set aside the scroll.

Aye, sire. I would like to construct an icehouse.

Icehouse? I am not familiar?

The Italians came up with the concept. I visited an icehouse when I was traveling abroad. ʼTis constructed from brick and dome in shape. Most of the volume is underground. It houses the ice where we will store our fish until we are ready to transport. It canna replace brining, but we can preserve the fish longer.

The king leaned forward. Why don’t ye present yer plans to my man of business? Include estimated building costs. I want to see this icehouse.

Thank ye, yer Highness. Yer generosity is most appreciated. Blaine bowed and returned to his seat.

Now, Caelan, what brings ye to court? Would it be that you are ready to enter a betrothal agreement? the king said, his tone light and teasing.

Your Grace. Caelan stood. I realize someday I must marry, ʼtis my duty, but today I wish to address a different matter.

The king sat back, giving his full attention.

I am here to discuss the rightful heir of Slaine Hall.

The king released his breath in a gush. Am I to understand that you are also claiming title and property of the late Bertrand Pennycock? Why? You are chief and laird to a powerful clan. You have land and substantial wealth. Slaine Hall will not gain you much. The land was sold to pay off debts. It’s true the people there are in desperate states and in need of leadership. Is this something you wish to undertake?

I understand there have been others laying claims. I only want to make sure the rightful heir receives equal consideration.

I presume this has nothing to do with that nasty business between Bertrand and yer brother Douglas John. I was told there was bad blood between the two, but they resolved their differences once Bertrand left yer brother’s service.

Caelan squared his shoulders. Sire, Sir Bertrand died with no legitimate heirs. He married Sir Arles’s daughter, but ‘tis my understanding they did not consummate the marriage.

Sir Arles has denied that rumor. He, too, is claiming his right to Bertrand’s property, the king informed him.

Am I to assume Bertrand’s younger brother, Dugald, is demanding the title of heir?

The king nodded.

Is he still in prison for murder? This has not changed?

Aye, but I ordered a disambiguation. The king picked up a parchment from one of the piles. He pushed it toward Caelan. Dugald Pennycock will be deported to the colonies at the end of the month. I commuted him to a life of servitude.

I understand penal transportation is an answer to the overcrowding in the prisons, but the man committed murder, Blaine interjected.

Dugald continues to claim his innocence and has petitioned for release since the key witness has disappeared, the king said.

Caelan scoffed. Most likely eliminated.

Possibly, but in the meantime, many women have come forth claiming to have given birth to his son, although none provided a marriage certificate. The king rubbed the crease between his brows. I must investigate and consider each claim.

There is also Lady Kaylee, Sire. Bertrand’s younger sister.

I am aware of Bertrand’s younger sister, but the point is mute. The clan’s eldest chief made it clear that only a male can inherit. The king sat back, picking up a letter opener and fidgeting with it.

Caelan pressed on, Sire, in my possession I have their marriage contract. He reached into his doublet and withdrew a piece of parchment.

The king raised his brows as he took the document stamped with the seal of the Catholic Church. I see Father Maris performed the ceremony, he said, perusing the paper. This child—how old is he?

He has seen five summers.

Returning the marriage certificate, the king sat back. He grasped his hands, his index fingers forming a steeple. I now see yer interest. His eyes crinkled in the corners. Is this lad a MacKinnon?

Caelan released his breath. Aye, the lad is a MacKinnon.

Very well then. I advise ye to take great care of what ye hold in yer hands. It may be yer saving grace. The king rang for a servant. In the meantime, how about some refreshments?

Caelan did not move. If ye will bear with me, Your Grace, I would ask one more favor from ye. I fear for the lad’s safety. I would like to go to Slaine Hall and escort Patrick and his mother to Calderglen. I believe they will be safe there until ye reach a decision.

ʼTis a wise move. There is much unrest amongst the vassals. They have been without leadership for too long. Now, if you please. He motioned for him to sit as servants brought in goblets of ale.

Thank thee, Sire. I will leave on the morrow. Caelan reached for the offered drink.

On the morrow? And miss my birthday celebration? the king lamented. If my two most eligible bachelors do not attend the ball, the queen will have my head. Nay, ye will stay. There are many fathers whose daughters are in search of husbands.

Sire, Blaine and I will attend.

Excellent, now let’s drink to finding ye a bride. I’m sure yer mother would appreciate my support. The king chuckled and lifted the jeweled goblet to his lips.

Caelan couldn’t find pleasure in the brew. It would delay his departure by at least three days. Time was of the essence. He needed to get to Slaine Hall—now!

~ * ~

With little effort, over the next few days, Caelan avoided all the banquets, gatherings and other festivities associated with the king’s birthday. Unfortunately, the other chieftains besieged him with requests to meet and discuss the ongoing feuding between the clans.

Besides territorial issues, there was the never-ending problem with the English and their encroachment on Scottish soil. He had at least another full day of meetings.

It was late when he concluded his appointment with Laird Buchanan and Caelan was ready to retire, but the old knight had requested a favor from him. Together, they planned on purchasing a plot of land for farming. Laird Buchanan wanted to make sure flooding wasn’t a problem.

Although exhausted, Caelan agreed to research the possibility and sought access to the king’s personal library. There, he would find the almanacs he needed.

It was past ten o’clock when he arrived at the library. Someone had left a candle burning. There was an oil lamp on a large oak desk. Crossing over, he lit it and began his search. It was then he discovered a young woman sitting on a long settee.

Feet tucked underneath her skirts, she leaned against the armrest with her head nestled in her hand. A book lay open on her lap. At first, he thought she was reading, but her eyes were closed and her perfect bow lips parted. She did not stir.

She was quite comely. Her skin was flawless, and long lashes lay on creamy cheekbones like golden crests. He wondered what color her eyes might be.

Chiding himself for his foolish thinking, he focused on the situation. She was a slip of a lass and had no business being alone in the library. He cleared his throat. Erm, lass… ye best awaken. When she didn’t respond, he tapped her shoulder.

The woman startled. Take yer hand off me, she gasped, or I will cut it off!

Caelan saw the small, but lethal, dagger she held. Dinna fash yerself, lass, I mean no harm. The woman’s eyes—her very green eyes—clouded in fear. I dinna mean to startle ye. ʼTis best ye not be here.

The woman’s mouth gaped open, then snapped shut. A furrow formed between her brows.

Ignoring her, he returned to the shelves he was pursuing.

I have every right to be here. The king himself gave me permission, she said, her voice defiant.

He glanced over his shoulder. The hour is late. ʼTis not safe for a lass to be about unescorted. No matter if ye possess the blessings from the Saints. He heard her huff. Even though ye come equipped with a viscous stinger, my little bee, ye best seek your quarters lest ye meet up with someone who may not be as agreeable.

The woman sheathed her dagger and gathered her belongings. She didn’t look as if she found him agreeable in the least.

By the by, what are ye doing in the king’s library? he asked as she passed him.

She opened her mouth as if to say something, then pressed her lips in a firm line.

He arched his brow, waiting for an answer.

Glancing down at the books in her arms, she stared back at him.

Realizing his question was rhetorical, he tugged at the collar of his shirt.

She hesitated as she reached the door. "May I ask why ye are in the library, my lord?"

I am interested in purchasing a parcel of land for farming. He thought nothing wrong with being truthful. The parcel may not be viable due to the possibility of flooding. I need the almanac for—

Askham or Buckminster? Either one ye will find on the third shelf toward the middle. She pointed to the opposite side of the bookshelf. If you want Richard Allestree’s almanac ʼtis on the second shelf.

Do ye require an escort? His honor dictated he at least make the offer.

Nay, my lord, I would not wish to keep ye from pondering such fascinating queries. She gave him a watery smile and closed the door to the library with a deliberate click.

He found the book where she said it would be. Settling into a leather chair, he began to read, but in no time, his interest waned. Rainfall reports could not stop his thoughts from wandering. The lass showed much spirit and surprising intelligence. There wasn’t a hint of flirtation, nor acts of feminine wiles. It was refreshing.

When she’d leaned down to pick up her book from the table, a long thick braid swung over her shoulder. By candlelight, it appeared like a rope of spun gold. He also couldn’t help admiring her shapely form. Even though the gown she wore was ill fitting, it could not hide her narrow waist or full breasts.

Caelan wondered who she might be. Realizing he was wasting time, he set aside his thoughts to focus on more important matters. He didn’t need to think about some wayward lass.

~ * ~

Ilyssa MacGregor McCoy ran to her bedchamber, knowing she had tempted fate. Her interaction with the man had left her unsettled. Not because she was caught sleeping. When he laid his hand on her shoulder, she thought she was back at the wedding.

A man had attempted to assault her then, and she’d fought to protect her virtue. It was fortunate she woke up in time. She could have injured him. She already had one man’s death to atone for.

Stepping into the suite, she tiptoed, not wishing to awaken her kin. Peeking into her aunt’s room, she found her sitting up and reading.

Ilyssa. Her aunt’s brows furrowed. ’Tis very late. Ye had me worried.

I apologize, Aunt Fenella. I dinna mean to be so long.

Lady Fenella motioned for her to come in. Have ye been at the library?

Ilyssa nodded.

All this time? She put down her book and crossed her arms. At this late hour and unescorted?

Thinking of the stranger, Ilyssa’s cheeks warmed. I dinna realize the hour. I will be more careful next time.

Please do. I canna have ye wandering about the halls without a proper escort. People will talk.

Aye, she said. I dinna mean to cause ye to worry.

Get some rest, darling. Remember, tomorrow night is the ball.

She leaned over and kissed her aunt’s cheek. Goodnight, Auntie. She went to the bedroom she shared with her cousin, Davina. Seeing that she was awake, Ilyssa plopped down on the bed and positioned her back to her.

Mama’s right, Davina said, unbuttoning Ilyssa’s gown. There’s much to do. I am depending on ye to help me get ready.

Aye, I will be there to assist ye, ye need not worry. Ilyssa finished getting undressed. As she put away her clothes, she released a hearty yawn. Good night, cousin.

Davina blew out the candle.

Pulling the covers up to her chin, Ilyssa tried to relax. The man’s image flooded her memory.

At first, she hadn’t seen his face. The light was from behind, shadowing his features. When he questioned her presence in the library, she was ready to give him a piece of her mind. Then he turned, and the lamp illuminated him fully. Her breath had caught in her throat.

He was so handsome she could only stare. He possessed a face chiseled by the masters. His cheekbones were high, his jawline sharp, and