Read Dawn Marie Hamilton - Highland Gardens Online
Authors: Just in Time for a Highland Christmas
Dawn Marie Hamilton - Highland Gardens
Can a determined brownie craft a perfect match in
time for Christmas?
When the Chief of Clan MacLachlan travels to the
stronghold of his feuding neighbors to fetch his betrothed, she is gone. A year
later, she is still missing. Making life more vexing, a band of reivers are
stealing clan cattle, leaving behind destruction. Archibald MacLachlan
determines to capture them and administer harsh punishment.
Though once in love with the man, Isobell Lamont
refuses to wed her clan's enemy. After running away, she joins the band of
reivers set on revenge.
Can Archibald forgive the raven-haired beauty? Will
a journey through time bring them together for a Highland Christmas?
Journey from the Scottish Highlands of 1511 to the
Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina with
Just in Time for a Highland
Christmas
.
Copyright © Dawn Marie Wolzein, November 2014
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be
reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or
mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage
and retrieval system, without written permission from the author, except for
the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places
and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business
establishments, events, or locales is coincidental.
So many individuals helped bring this book to
fruition, and I thank you.
Thank you to Cindy Davis for editorial guidance. To
Cathy MacRae and Cate Parke for critiques. With a special thank you to Sarah
Hoss. Words cannot convey how important you are to me.
Thank you to the members of Celtic Hearts, From the
Heart, FF&P Romance Writers and my Luckies for keeping me sane.
Most importantly, I thank Frank, my husband, best
friend, and personal hero.
Fir-wood, Strathlachlan, Scotland, 1511
T
hey
weren’t alone on the land. Branches rustled and cracked, the sound amplified by
moist Highland air. Archibald signaled the men to silence.
A lone rider broke from an adjacent clump of
trees, glanced around, then galloped through the amber grass, leaning low
against the stallion's black neck. The slight figure looked over a shoulder
once before darting into the wood at the far edge of the meadow and
disappearing through autumnal foliage.
Archibald released a loud hiss. The path the fool
had taken at risk to both horse and rider was nothing more than a narrow game
trail, a dangerous track to approach at such speed.
“Ach, that ragged lad rides well,” the redheaded
Duncan exclaimed.
Archibald eased back in the saddle and threw his cousin a
sideways glance. "He rides a fine piece of horseflesh, I grant you that.
He is likely one of the Campbell's rash, young grandsons."
“Without guards, and on MacLachlan land? Nae
Campbell would dress in such tatters.”
Duncan's aghast expression brought a smile along
with a forgotten memory to Archibald. As green lads, he and his twin brother
Patrick had dressed in servants’ castoff garments and snuck away from Castle
Lachlan for a jaunt in the Fir-wood. They later received a memorable scalping
when Da caught them roaming about without escort.
“Must be a Campbell lad unaware of the border to
our land. I am sure he will feel his father's disfavor across his backside
before this day is through. That is, if he avoids breaking his neck first.”
“Aye. For a fact, Chief.” Duncan laughed. A hearty
sound that never failed to cheer Archibald.
Poor lad. Duncan braved his temper on this
frustrating journey. He'd owe the man a boon upon their return to Castle
Lachlan after they fetched Archibald’s bride.
“Let us be on our way, I want my lady ensconced
within our keep before winter sets in.”
He reined his horse to the left toward the more
traveled trail through the Fir-wood, eager to reach Toward Keep, the stronghold
of the Lamonts. Duncan rode at his side as captain while the rest of the
Lèine-chneas
,
his hand chosen guard, followed a short distance behind.
The image of laughing violet eyes urged Archibald to
a faster pace. He couldn't wait to hold the raven-haired Isobell in his arms
again, inhale her intoxicating scent, caress her ivory skin, and kiss her pouty
lips.
* * *
The sun set on the horizon. Crimson colors faded to
mauve, a beautiful end to the day after its wet and trying start. Isobell
Lamont spurred her horse to greater speed. She would escape the dictates of her
overbearing father, even if she might die in so doing.
Her aunt in Glasgow would surely hide her, if
Isobell avoided capture. Before she reached the burgh, however, she must cross
the land of her unwanted MacLachlan betrothed, the hated Campbells, and other
clans she didn't ken. She reveled in the knowledge her journey might be fraught
with peril. She'd always dreamt of doing something truly adventurous.
The doing is never as grand as the dream
.
With a shake of the head, she ignored the nagging voice admonishing her and
rode into the wind, the scent of fir in the air and an invigorating chill on
her cheeks.
After risking discovery by crossing yet another
open meadow, she eased the reins and sought the wood. Thank the good Lord the
weather had cleared. She coaxed Dealanach Dubh into the shelter of a thick
cluster of firs and slid from the stallion's massive back.
“Good lad,” she crooned as she patted his sweaty
flank, a horsy odor prickling her nose.
Isobell's stomach rumbled.
Should have raided
the larder before running off in a rage
. Dealanach Dubh could graze on the
sparse grasses, but what could she eat? Would she never learn to think before
reacting to Da in anger?
She'd needed to escape, though, before Archibald
MacLachlan arrived to fetch her. She wouldn't marry her clan’s enemy even if
she once thought herself in love with the man. It didn’t matter that his
once-beloved silver eyes, cleft chin, and chestnut hair still haunted her
dreams, or that the thought of his warrior’s body made her feel achy. She
squeezed her eyes tight, refusing to shed a tear over a man who wasn’t what she
once believed him to be.
Grrrr
. And Da intended to force her hand. He’d
signed the betrothal agreement with the blessing of the king, giving her no
choice but to run away. What had changed Da’s mind?
She jerked her eyes open and stared off into the
wood. For the past year, he’d raged about the evils perpetrated by Archibald
and his clan. She couldn’t wed such a despicable man even if Da changed his
mind and thought the match a good one. The men's plans would come to naught.
She leaned against a large tree and smiled. Soon she would be in Glasgow, away
from their schemes.
Wrapped within the false security of the dense
trees, men's voices startled her. Everything within stilled.
What have I
stumbled upon?
After tying Dealanach Dubh to a branch, she crept
closer to the voices, taking care to stay well hidden in the trees. In a wee
clearing, a group of ratty men sat around a fire deep in discussion. She
worried her bottom lip. Had she inadvertently stumbled into grave danger?
A sudden change in wind direction blew acrid wood
smoke into her face. She sniffled, wrinkled her nose, and when she suppressed a
sneeze, sagged against a tree in relief.
Gloaming was upon them, and Isobell strained to
better see the men. Reprobates all. She started to scoot away—
Wait
. She
recognized a few of them. Lamont warriors who’d left the clan in disgrace and,
if rumors were true, taken up with Da’s banished henchman Malcolm Maclay. The
warriors must have joined this band of ruffians after Maclay died during a
fight with one of Archibald’s men.
She leaned forward to better hear the
conversation. Perhaps glean something of import.
Most of their words were spoken in muttered whispers.
With a frown, she edged closer, but then had second thoughts. Now would be a
good time to leave before they learned of her presence.
Too late
. One
man rose and paced toward her hiding place. Isobell fingered the dirk in her
belt, ready to flee, but when he strode back to his cohorts, she held position.
“If we raid the MacLachlan encampment on the
northeast border, we can make an escape across the disputed land with at least
five head,” the man spoke in a deep voice.
Humph. They were planning—
A large hand gripped her shoulder from behind and
yanked her around. She froze, breath stuck in her throat, too shocked by the
familiar face to pull free her blade.
“What have we here?”
One year later
Near the border of MacLachlan and Lamont lands
V
oices
raised in anger startled a foraging wren. The disparate normalcy within the
scene of devastation struck Archibald in the chest, constricting muscle. Legs
planted wide, he pounded a fist against his thigh. This had happened too often
in the past year.
“Were all the cattle stolen?” he managed to ask
through gritted teeth.
“Aye. I have failed you.” The head herdsmen hung
his head.
“Nae.” Archibald squeezed the man’s shoulder,
offering solace. He couldn’t allow the man to accept fault for
his
inability as clan chief to protect his people and livestock. Rage choked him,
and he swallowed hard. “Fires still burn. They cannot have gotten far.”
He grabbed his reins, anxious to give chase. The
horse shied, rearing, sensing his agitation, yet the damn
brunaidh
remained steady where he stood on the beast's rump. Although a mere three feet
tall, the MacLachlan clan brownie possessed oversized hands and feet. Feet that
allowed for good balance.
Arms crossed over chest, muscles aquiver, Munn
clenched a permanently wrinkled forehead even tighter and eyed the devastation
from his superior position. The unusual blue-green of his eyes smoldered.
Evidence of the wee man's ire caused Archibald's fury to flame hotter. This was
the third raid in a fortnight. If they couldn't capture the thieves and recover
the stolen cattle, the clan would be hard-pressed to survive winter.
“Lamont broke the truce,” Archibald growled, heat
flooding his face.
“You cannot be sure ’tis Lamont,” Uncle Donald
said. “Could have been Campbell men. Alexander threatened retribution. Should
never have angered him by breaking his betrothal to your sister Elspeth.”
One of the injured herdsmen limped forward and
dipped his head in respect. “May I speak?”
Archibald nodded though his mind had shifted to strategy.
“There was something odd about one of the
reivers—a slight lad who rode a fine beast with more skill than any man I have
ever seen. A stallion the color of darkest night. And when the lad’s cap
slipped, ach, well, his long hair was like that of a lass and of the darkest
night as well.”
Archibald shot a glance at Duncan whose eyebrows
rose in question. Could it be the same horse and rider they’d seen last year?
“See. I told you. The Campbell is behind this.”
Donald gloated. “Who else’s lad rides such a beast?”
Archibald glared at his uncle. “We have nae feud
with the Campbells so dinnae place blame where none belongs. Alexander’s father
is still the Earl of Argyll and holds command over the clan. He and I came to
an accord; Elspeth’s marriage to Finn was for the best. You agreed at the
time.” Archibald was sick to death of Donald’s unwarranted hatred of their
Campbell neighbors. For Christ’s sake, his stepmother Mairi was born a
Campbell, God rest her soul.
Hatred should be directed at the Lamonts. They
were the ones responsible for Mairi and Da’s disappearance and probable demise.
Part of the never-ending feud. And the claims made by the addlebrained Finn
MacIntyre were nonsense. People couldn’t travel through time. His stepmother
and father didn’t travel on faerie dust to the future. They went missing after
being chased by Lamont warriors, and certainly perished. If not dead, they
would have found their way home before now. Archibald rubbed his chest where
tightness threatened to crush him.
Damn Lamont and his clan. Damn them to hell.
Yet the description of the lad and horse resembled
that of another lad who’d daringly crossed MacLachlan land a year ago. At the
time, they’d thought him a Campbell, but he could have been anyone. No
Campbell, to Archibald’s knowledge, possessed dark hair.
Dark hair reminded him of Lamont’s daughter
Isobell, his betrothed, missing for the past year, and brought another dagger
slice to an already-damaged heart. Their marriage had been meant to bring an
end to the feud and peace to the neighboring clans.
“And you, Isobell, let me guess, you wish to
wed Archie.”
She nodded. “Aye. With all my heart.”
Patrick and Isobell’s words from so long ago
haunted him, driving the breath from his lungs. What happened to harden her
heart against him? Her father claimed she ran away so she wouldn’t be required
to wed. Why? They’d been in love. Why would she stay hidden? Could it be she wasn’t
in hiding—what if something had happened while she’d been out riding?
“Chief?” Duncan’s voice startled Archibald.
He unclenched his fists and shook off the
troubling memory. He would fulfill his vow to find her. Just as soon as he
punished those who perpetrated the destruction that lay before him. Failure was
unacceptable. The clan’s survival depended on success.
“Aye?”
“Shall I stay and help?”
“Nae. You are needed for the hunt. Send a
fast-running
gillie
to the keep to procure supplies and manpower to
assist with the cleanup and rebuild—”
Munn’s throat grinding made Archibald stiffen,
certain he wouldn’t care for the brownie’s counsel. “Dinnae lecture, wee man.”
“Said naught.” Munn jumped from the horse and
marched about the scorched land. “Nae Campbells.” He sniffed the ground,
glanced at the overcast sky, and scrunched his nose in distaste. “Nae Lamont
warriors.”
He paced, shaking his head and muttering.
Archibald banged a closed fist on his thigh in
quick repetition. “Well? If ’tis not Campbells nor Lamonts, who?”
“Renegades.”
“How do you ken such?”
“Just ken.” Munn wrinkled his nose and sniffed
again. “Ach, a female.”
Archibald placed a hand over his mouth and
coughed.
Duncan burst out laughing. “A woman traveling with
reivers? You must be mad to think such, Munn.”
The wee man bristled, rose to his full three feet,
and glowered.
Archibald shook his head.
“Mark my words.” Munn spun in a circle and vanished
with the smoke from the smoldering fires.
* * *
Munn whirled onto the
Sithichean Sluaigh
,
the knoll of the fae within the Fir-wood, spinning in tight circles, sucking
leaves and other forest debris into the whirlwind surrounding him. Fuel for an
all-consuming anger. When the rage petered out, he halted in front of Caitrina
in a puff of smoke-infused dust.
The irritating
sithiche
coughed delicately
and, with the flick of a slender wrist, the dust settled on the ground at her
feet and dissolved. A wave of a graceful hand, and foliage poked through the
velvety green grass, presenting vanilla scented phlox blossoms.
Showoff
.
She arched an auburn brow and tossed long flowing
locks over a shoulder. “What do you want, wee man? Your summons interrupted
important machinations.”
“’Tis past time to make the third match.”
Caitrina shrugged. “The queen refuses to reveal
the couple’s identities.”
“I ken who they are.” Munn jounced, hardly
containing growing excitement.
Emerald eyes flared. “How would you ken the mind
of the fae queen?
You
are naught but a wee brownie.”
“Stop calling me wee.” Munn glared at the halfling
princess. “The queen requested my help once before.”
“And you made a mess of things.” Tall and willowy
like most of her kind, Caitrina looked down her pert nose at him. He leaned
forward, hands fisted.
“Did not.”
“Did so.”
Caitrina pressed a palm against his chest and
pushed. He fell back a step, losing balance, but recovering quickly, glared at
the faerie.
She had the gall to smile. “Well, if you are so
knowledgeable, who are the pawns in the queen’s game?”
Munn rocked back and forth, feeling smug.
“Archibald and Isobell.”
“Phew! Impossible.”
“I smelled Isobell at the scene of a cattle raid
on MacLachlan land.”
“Did you tell your chief?”
“Nae. He does not believe what he cannot see.”
“What does any of this have to do with the match?”
“Isobell must hate Archibald. When he learns she
is not truly missing and has participated in the raids against the clan this
past year, ach, he will never forgive her. A most impossible match as the
queen’s challenge dictates.”
“Interesting. Perhaps—”
“Who else could it be?”
Caitrina raised a finger to her chin. “Not sure.
Seems too easy for a final match. The last two matches traversed time, brought
star-crossed strangers together. Archie and Isobell are in the same time and
already in love.”
“Were in love. I believe Isobell is mightily
averse to a union with Archibald.”
“Hmmm. There is that,” Caitrina conceded.
“Then…”
“I sense something faulty with your logic. Oonagh
has left the game board unattended.”
“Where has the queen gone?”
“To seek out Finvarra in Ireland. You ken she
wouldn’t leave unless she believes she will win the final match. I can’t allow
her that success.”
Munn understood Caitrina’s concern. If the Queen
of the Fae won the final match, Caitrina would never regain her royal status.
She would remain a slave to the queen for eternity. As a halfling—half-mortal,
half-fae—Caitrina would wither under the burden.
Munn shivered. He’d nearly faded into nonexistence
at the whim of the queen when he failed to keep Caitrina from completing the
first match.
The faerie’s hands clenched and unclenched. “I
cannot allow her to win. For Danu’s sake, my father was a faerie prince. I
should be treated as a prized princess. If only Oonagh wasn’t so jealous of
mortal women.”
Munn smirked. “She would forget all else if she
learned King Finvarra whored with a mortal woman again. You ken how flighty a
full-fledged faerie is. The queen is the worst of all.”
“There is some truth in that.”
The King of the Fae was well known for his many
trysts with beautiful mortal women. Something the queen found intolerable.
“So what about Isobell and Archie?”
“I am not convinced. Oonagh refused to disclose
the target this time around. Why?”
“You think too much.”
“Perhaps.”
“So…”
Caitrina frowned, turned away, and then bestowed
upon him a most
beauteous
smile. “Let the game proceed.”
She vanished into mist.
Munn clapped hands in glee then spun in a circle and
disappeared from the knoll too.
* * *
Isobell reined Dealanach Dubh to a halt, inhaled a
deep breath to clear away the smell of smoke, and wiped soot from the side of
her face. She hated the burning. Hated the useless destruction. But she hated
Archibald MacLachlan more. So whatever it took to bring him and his clan to
their knees…
“’Tis nae time to stop, lass. We need to keep
moving.”
Isobell threw a glare at her second in command. As
always, his horrendous facial scars sickened her. Scars caused by Archibald’s
twin brother Patrick. Another reason to despise the MacLachlans.
She wiped soot onto already-filthy leggings. “We
should split up here.”
He sidled close, reining his horse in tight, and
tugged on her loose hair. “Where is your cap?”
“Dinnae touch me.” She slapped the dirty hand
away.
“Aren’t you still the high and mighty…” A mean
look crossed his face and he worked his jaw before forcing a crooked smile.
“Those raven locks of yours will be our defeat if anyone recognized you.”
Her long hair had flown free of the cap when
Dealanach Dubh took a jump too fast and they’d nearly fallen, but Isobell
doubted anyone at the cattle raid noticed. She tugged the cowl of her tunic
over her head. “The herdsmen were too busy fighting off our attack and putting
out fires to notice my retreat.”
“You better hope that is the case. If MacLachlan
learns
you
are behind the raids, he will stop at nothing to capture you.
He will make you regret crossing him. Dinnae be thinking you can flash that
comely smile of yours and all will be forgiven.”
She smirked. “He has to find me first.”
“Aye, that he does.” Malcolm chuckled—his quick
changes of temper sometimes made her dizzy—then glanced across the meadow to
the game trail at the far side. “Dinnae like you going off unprotected.”
“You ken I move faster alone.”
“Aye. That does not mean I have to like it. Your
father would never forgive me if anything regretful happened to you.” As if
that had mattered to Malcolm Maclay in the past. He hadn’t held allegiance to
her father in years, but the damage to his head from that fall from a cliff
during a fight with Finn MacIntyre last year had changed the man, addled his
senses. It had surprised Isobell and their band of Lamont renegades when
Malcolm allowed her to take the lead of their small party of reivers.
Still, she didn’t trust him. She slid a hand to
her boot, comforted by the cold steel secured at her calf. And by the weight of
the sword on her back.
Maclay caught the telltale movement and raised a
brow.
Isobell inwardly cringed. It wasn’t good to
display any sign of weakness. She’d need to be more careful in the future.
Maclay’s health improved each day and, with his renewed vigor, he became more
dictatorial. Soon he’d force her out, or worse. She mustn’t let him get in the
way of her revenge.
“We have been over this before. You and the lads
take the cattle southeast to meet the traders and secure the funds. I will meet
up with you on your return.”
“Then be off with you.” He slapped Dealanach
Dubh’s rump and the horse shot into motion, racing across the meadow.
Isobell hung low over the horse’s neck, reveling
in the speed. She would have her revenge.
After an uneventful trek across the disputed land,
she slowed Dealanach Dubh to a walk as they approached the glade with its
hidden cottage, cautious, senses alert. Something seemed off. Too quiet. She
slipped from the horse and with reins in-hand crept closer.
