Highland Heartbreaker: Highland Hearts, #2

By Steffy Smith

Alexander MacNichol, the epitome of a hot-blooded Highland warrior. Loyal to Scotland, lover of women and a merry time. The last thing he expected from his King, Robert the Bruce, was an order to marry a whey-faced English lass from the wrong side of the border.

Lady Grace Worthington, one moment betrothed to an Englishman she fears, and the next, thrust into the arms of a Scottish brute named MacNichol. All the while, battling her own inner demons.

When they come face to face, and skin to skin, they are astounded by their own feelings. Grace's ever-present nerves start to disappear, and Alex becomes focused solely on the wife thrust upon him.

Yet, life in the Highlands is not at all what Grace expects. When their short-lived happiness and joy is marred by cryptic messages and runes that whisper of evil, Alex and Grace will have to forge something deeper to protect one another from the ultimate betrayal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Steffy Smith
• Release date: Apr 25, 2024
• ISBN: 9780645444827

Book preview

Prologue

Scottish Highlands, Murray Lands, 1316

Awizened woman, a seann bhuidseach to all that knew her, held up an aged cloth bag to the night sky, asking the powers that be (wherever they may be) to provide blessing for inner sight tonight. A carved Celtic cross gleamed in the Scottish moonlight as an unearthly mist swirled around its height. Her lineage of wise women had passed down magic from the Britons, Romans, Vikings, and her very own Celts, and she embodied it in her own way. Rune casting was one of her favourite crafts.

She cackled as she returned to her lone hut deep in the woods, in front of where the cross stood, knowing her closest companion would be unimpressed with her magic havoc. Gnarled ancient trees, Scots pines, rowans, and hazel trees loomed tall over the solitary hut and all around; no one would even know she was there, unless they knew specifically where to look.

Loki, her companion, a long-limbed black cat, meowed in annoyance, her cackle waking him from his slumber in front of the smoking fire. She waved her hand at him, unperturbed by his protest. Loki tended to find much of what she did annoying, about which she cared nought; they had been together for so long now, she knew he would shortly get over his snit. It was late in the night and there was powerful magic in the air, perfect for rune reading. I want to embrace every moment of it, she thought to herself gleefully, as she tossed the first stone.

Och, Loki, the fates must be in wicked humour as they weave and spin their tales yet to unfold.

At the sound of her voice, Loki stood up and walked over to her, leaping up on a stool to sit beside her at the table. The round wooden table top was uneven and littered with herbs, feathers, and flowers spilt from chipped bowls. In front of her, was her set of ancient runes. The wisdom and lore of her ancestors was shared as they had been handed down through many generations. The weathered and worn wood contrasted with the etched symbols which shone brightly, their golden aura enchanting, belying their ancient age. She was bent over so far to eye them, her forehead almost rested upon the table as she stewed over the message being shared.

"Hagalaz, the hailstone, the ninth rune. It tells me, Loki, that we need patience and protection; but, who will be needin’ to have the patience and who will need protection?" Loki’s yellow eyes watched her intently as she brooded over the meaning of this rune with squinted eyes, its message vexing her.

"Berhana – this one, Loki, also confounds me. She tapped her chin in concentration as she muttered, It is nae reversed nor forward, but on its side. This is verra unusual, Loki. Is it telling me of family? I sense new life, but I also sense a loss; but is that loss of the mind, or of the body? Or is it both?"

She moved to the third rune and shook her head, knowing all too well there could be no other interpretation of what the runes represented. And while this last rune gave her no sense of confusion, she felt no joy for what it did represent. A feeling settled within her aged bones – a feeling of dread, despair, anger, and regret. She hovered her hands over the runes and sensed the energy emanating in waves.

"Ehawaz. There will be a betrayal," she whispered, tapping her finger on the rune with a symbol displayed like a ‘W’.

She stood up, still slightly hunched as her back never straightened, and continued muttering to Loki. I need to gather more fern, heather, agate, rosemary, apples, elder branches …

She rattled off a list of items she needed to replenish her stores, to make spells of protection to assist where needed. Practicality was her nature, not to ruminate over things that cannot be changed. Instead, she prepared for better or worse, until more signs and visions settled upon her. Deciding she did not want to wait for it to happen perchance, she determined to make the magic come to her.

Shuffling over to the fire, she pulled a bowl from a nearby shelf and pinched the contents between her fingers. She spoke clearly into the fire in what can only be described as an ancient language. She threw the dust pinched between her wrinkled fingers into the flickering fire, and the room filled with hazy smoke as she spoke to the other side. The smoke travelled out the solitary window of the hut, to the Celtic cross, and entwined with the mist. Loki sensed the energy change and the air grow heavy, and lifted a lazy eye to his owner. The woman sat still, her body in the hut but her mind crossed over to another time, as she tried to understand what the future would hold.

Chapter One

Scottish Highlands, MacNichol Lands, 1316

The sound of a heavy drape being sharply pulled back broke through the silence of the bedchamber. The morning light poured in across the stone walls from the Scottish Highland skies, though the colder months this time of year provided a duller glow to the ray of sunlight as it beamed from a grey, muted sky.

Alex, ye drunken fool, wake up, said a deep, frustrated male voice with a strong brogue.

The warmth on Alexander MacNichol’s face welded into his dream-like state, and the voice berating him did not penetrate his ale-induced stupor, so his lusty thoughts continued. Aye, my bonnie sweet, come lie with me before the fire – the words played through his mind as he imagined a busty lass with no inhibitions and a saucy grin.

Och, he smells like he bathed in ale; I am glad I brought extra soap, a husky female voice observed with distaste.

"Aye, leannan, ye always come prepared, one of many things I love ye fer."

Alex’s erotic dream faded away as these voices started to settle in his mind. Even in my dreams, I get no bluidy rest. What is this sappy shite I hear buzzing in my head? Maybe if I keep my eyes closed, they will go away.

’Tis lucky we got here early, Jamie – I told ya he would need us. He reminds me of a wee bairn sometimes, like he needs someone to watch over him.

"Ye are right, Izzy, mo chridhe. But right now, how do we bring him out of the stupor? And please let our bairn tucked in yer belly grow to have more sense than this bampot," Jamie replied wryly.

Let me throw this pitcher of water in his face, that will do the trick, said Izzy in a cheeky tone.

This comment did now penetrate Alex’s groggy mind, but before he could yell ‘nay’, he felt the icy splash of cold water on his face as Izzy dumped the contents of the entire pitcher over his head. He shot up to his feet in an instant, his warrior reflexes engaged.

"By the rood! he yelled. Why cannae I be left alone?" As he shook his head, the rivulets of water sprang forth in all directions.

Stop that ye fool, yer flicking water at us. Yer just like Duff after I give him a bath, Jamie scolded him, comparing Alex to his deerhound.

Alex looked up and saw the scowling face of his best friend, Laird Jamie Murray. Beside him stood his diminutive but wise and feisty wife, Lady Isobel Murray, who was staring at him with a slightly bemused, slightly disgusted expression. It was the usual gaze she reserved for him, with of course the one copper eyebrow raised. She was also the bonniest lass in all of Scotland.

Alex looked at his two best friends and ruminated on the journey that brought them together. Izzy healed Jamie from an arrow wound. Jamie took her back to his keep to take care of his sister. Unbeknownst to them both was that Izzy was not a simple village lass, but the daughter of a laird. Alex got to witness firsthand the fiery passion that brought them together and then threatened to tear them apart. He would never forget the look of relief and all-consuming love on Jamie’s face when Alex brought her home from her kidnapping. Aye, a love story for the ages theirs was, and now they looked to him for the next.

Mustering a dry tone and an air of dignity only one with his level of arrogance could raise, he threw his head back and straightened his stance. Jamie was the size of a bear, but Alex was slightly bigger and the two of them filled the chamber with their bulk. Highland-born and bred, they had learned everything together: how to ride a horse, how to swing the great claymore with skill, and what it meant to be future lairds. The only difference between them was that Jamie was serious and always looked to do right, and Alex found everything amusing and enjoyed doing anything not right. Squaring his feet, Alex faced the two people who had awoken him and attempted to imitate Jamie’s stern face.

Compared to a dog and awoken like a peasant. Pray tell, my dear best friends, what did I do to have ye both grace me with such kind company on this bonnie morn? Each word was more exaggerated than the last in his deep Scottish brogue.

Izzy slapped him on the arm, her tiny hand surprisingly leaving a sharp sting and he could not help but grin at the little termagant she was.

"Did ye forget ye are to be married today, ye tolla-thon?" asked Izzy, and as usual, not bothering to hide her exasperation.

Alex stared at her blankly, the question hitting him harder than her slap.

Ye daft fool, she will be here with Robert the Bruce in a few short hours and look at the state of yerself! exclaimed Jamie, as he looked at Alex’s expressionless face.

Aye that is right, ’tis the day of my sentencing, he thought to himself sourly. And why I decided to wake up alone.

I am surprised at ye both, that ye expected to find me waiting with joy fer my bony, whey-faced, miserable English wife, Alex replied in a cranky tone. Mo dhia, I sound like a mewling babe.

I am glad ’tis just ye we have to deal with, and nae ye da as well, said Jamie, shaking his head.

He is right; if there was any time to wed the English, it would be when his da wasnae around.

Come now, Alex, said Jamie in a gentler tone, at odds with his large stature. "Ye ken this was to happen. Ye may come to enjoy married life! Look at the love I share with mo aingeal, Izzy." Jamie’s eyes moved to Izzy as he spoke, so he could see the endearing blush that flamed her cheeks when he called her sweet names.

Well, Jamie, if I had seen Izzy first, trust me – I would have made her mine before ye even had a chance, Alex replied with a roguish wink. How could he let the perfect opening for such a retort pass him by?

Maybe ye need some more help coming to yer senses this morn? Jamie asked with a mock fist.

But, ye wouldn’t have tried to wed me, ye would have only tried to bed me, ye rutting beast, Izzy quipped, before Alex riled Jamie up too much. Turning all business, she clapped her hands loudly, causing both men to jump. She smiled at the sight.

Down to the loch, both of ye. Take the soap, Jamie, and make sure our braw groom scrubs every inch of his body, so he lives up to his famed beauty, she quipped again, laughing at Alex’s scowl. He moved towards the door, but then stopped and took an overzealous bow.

But alas, my beauty is but a curse, my dear Izzy. See the hand fate has dealt me? Marriage. His tone became increasingly dramatic to match his performance.

Izzy only scoffed; his charm was forever wasted on her, which only encouraged him more as he gave her a wink.

Ye ken ye missed yer calling as a mummer, Alex; though I wouldnae pay a coin to see ye. The slightly bemused, slightly disgusted expression was back on Izzy’s face. Ye are twenty-six years going on seventeen years. Time to grow up, laddie.

Come, man. My wife has spoken and ye ken I do as she says, and so will ye, smiled Jamie to Izzy, as he and Alex left the room. "Dinnae fash, I will have him back shortly, leannan."

Jamie and Alex headed to the loch within the perimeter of Alex’s keep, Castle Balla Cloiche. Simply translated, it meant ‘wall of stone’. The MacNichol lands were curtained by a wall of stone that extended well past the keep and onto their demesne lands. In the last few years, due to Alex’s socialising and his father’s erratic behaviour, the town was generally busy with passersby and the local tavern was renowned for its rowdy behaviour.

Alex thought of his own behaviour. He was aware he had been churlish, but he and Jamie had been friends for too long to let that impact their bond. Clamping his hand on Jamie’s shoulder, he expelled a long breath, coming to terms with what the day before him held.

Och, Jamie, my old friend, tell me – what have ye heard?

Jamie let out a grin. He knew Alex was slowly coming to accept what would soon take place.

I ken yer keen to hear aboot her looks, but I have nae heard much. But, I have heard other information aboot yer soon-to-be bride.

Jamie paused, purposely wanting Alex to have to ask for more information. Alex gave him a sideways glance, opened his mouth, but clamped it shut again. He heard a snicker from Jamie and ignored it. To annoy him further, Jamie started to whistle a happy tune. Alex, now grinding his teeth, held back a rude retort. ’Tis what he wants, he thought, his ire already cooling. Having no brother himself, Alex loved the camaraderie he’d had with Jamie since they were little lads, and knew the traps Jamie would lay to get a rise out of him. They reached the loch and began to strip. Jamie threw a bar of scented soap at Alex, who caught it in one hand. As he stepped into the icy water, he took a deep inhale and smelt sandalwood and rosemary – a typical earthy but indulgent soap, made by Izzy.

Give yerself a good scrub. If I ken my bonnie wife, she will give ye a good whiff to make sure ye cleaned yerself up right.

Alex rolled his eyes in response, but the grin on his face belied his annoyance. Izzy was an extraordinary woman. Her courtship with Jamie had been turbulent and passionate. Despite her bonnie looks, after seeing the love the two shared and coming to care for her as a sister, Alex could never imagine Izzy in his bed. Not that he would ever admit that to Jamie, since every now and then it was fun to ignite his jealousy.

What are ye grinning aboot? called Jamie. Ye look a wee bit wicked.

None of yer business, Alex countered, as he soaped his braw chest into a lather, the suds glistening off his tanned skin. Thinking back to what Jamie knew, he became more and more curious. Ducking his body in the water to