Lord of the Highlands

Table of Contents

 

 

With her long flowing hair and doll- like features, she had the air of a pixie. So guileless, and with a look of expectancy on her pretty face. “What’s your name, lass?”

“Felicity.” She gave him a broad smile, and he felt his heart crack.

Felicity
. Was it a cruel joke? He’d not felt true joy in decades, and in his lap he held a woman with the name
Felicity.

Come for him? He couldn’t fathom it…

PRAISE FOR VERONICA WOLFF’S NOVELS

Warrior of the Highlands

“Passionate and magical.”

—
Publishers Weekly

“A rich, beautifully written love story that will haunt your heart long after you turn the last page.”

—Penelope Williamson

“Wolff enables readers to feel as if they are a part of history.”

—
Romantic Times

 

Sword of the Highlands

“Entrancing, luminous, and powerful! Romance, passion, and history come alive.”

—National bestselling author Monica McCarty

“A passionate tale . . . Very entertaining.”

—
Night Owl Romance

“A delightful time travel . . . Refreshing and intriguing.”

—
The Romance Readers Connection

 

Master of the Highlands

“Powerful, riveting, and vibrant. A must-read page-turner destined to be a keeper.”

—
USA Today
bestselling author Sue-Ellen Welfonder

“A clever time travel that maintains all the elements of the genre yet adds a charming freshness, thanks to intelligent characters and [an] appealing backdrop.”

—
Romantic Times

“A beautiful and poignant story.”

—
Night Owl Romance

MASTER OF THE HIGHLANDS
SWORD OF THE HIGHLANDS
WARRIOR OF THE HIGHLANDS
LORD OF THE HIGHLANDS

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

 

LORD OF THE HIGHLANDS

 

A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author

 

PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / November 2009

Copyright © 2009 by Veronica Wolff.

 

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

 

eISBN : 978-1-101-15120-4

 

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SENSATION
Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
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Acknowledgments

Heartfelt thanks to my usual posse of bright and talented women: Cindy Hwang, Leis Pederson, and Stephanie Kip Rostan. It’s an honor to be in their company.

And to the stalwart Kate Perry, who truly is one in a million. To have a critique partner who’s also a black-belted, cane-fighting, kung fu master? A girl’s dream come true.

Many thanks to Monica McCarty, fast friend and coconspirator, for far too many and varied things to list here. And to the man who so fearlessly led us through the Highlands, Iain Watson, for sharing wisdom, wit, whisky, and one Roman road.

A shout-out to Tawny Weber for the Tarot expertise. And to Kristen Lane for just generally helping me keep it all together.

As usual, love and thanks to my Mom, my primary and most encouraging reader. And to Dad, for the enthusiastic support, and for all that printing.

And finally, as ever, everything I’ve got goes out to Adam and our two glorious wee houseguests, with special props going to the O-man for insights into musket loops that only a little guy could have, and to “Jane,” my mommy-movie buddy.

 

“A man alone is no man.”

Prologue

It was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. Not slight like the ponies of other boys, but braw, with a chest like a great cask of ale, and a coat that shimmered dark gray, like a sword, or the dreadful eye of the Corryvreckan itself, a whirlpool so immense as to draw even the most magnificent of ships to a terrible fate far below.

His
pony.

Young Will cradled the oval-shaped currycomb in his palm, gingerly scuffing circles along the animal’s neck and shoulder, even though there wasn’t a speck of dust left to dislodge.

He’d need to choose a name. Something reminiscent of the great heroes of old. Something suitable for kings.

“Don’t think you’re better than me just because Da gave you some old hack.”

Will’s hand froze. Though his heart jolted, he forced himself to stillness. It was best to suffer his older brother’s taunts in silence.

He waited for the inevitable cuff on the shoulder, or along the side of his head, but it didn’t come.

Slowly Will resumed his currying.

“Naggy old swayback old hack.” Jamie was at his shoulder now, singsonging his insults. His voice had just begun to change, and the awkward cracking seemed to enrage the already volatile youth.

Will felt his cheeks redden. He concentrated on the comb, making intent circles, until his pony’s skin shivered.

“Oh, are you going to cry?” Jamie’s hand reached over Will to slap the beast sharply on the neck.

Ears flicking impatiently, the animal gave its tail an abrupt swish.

“Don’t cry, little Willie.”

He stilled. It was his seventh birthday. He’d not see this day ruined like all the others.

“Are you sad I don’t like your wee naggy beast?”

Not this day.
It was already so much more special than any he’d known. The most special of his life. His father had woken him early, leading him to the stable at dawn, where his birthday present had been waiting.

“This old hack isn’t that great.” Jamie began to pace a slow circle around them.

Will used the opportunity to slide the halter from his pony’s head, wanting to replace it as quickly as he could with his bridle.

The leather was tacky in his fingers, just polished, and the scent of oil gave a twinge in his nose. The pony took the bit placidly, and Will nearly crumpled with relief. He’d not have to struggle in front of Jamie, and in that moment, he thought surely that he and this animal were destined to be as one. Will eased the straps of the bridle over his ears, thinking it impossible to love an animal more.

“All the lads get their own mounts.” Jamie squatted at the pony’s rear, as if examining the legs. “He’s not so special.”

Anger swelled in Will. His brother dared pretend to inspect his pony, when all knew the boy knew next-to-naught about them.

It was
Will
who knew horses. Will whom their father had singled out, time and again, for special instruction.
See this, Will, this is how to mend a split hoof. See here, Will, how this beast was lamed.

It was Will who’d been given his own pony well before any of the other boys had.

It was time to stand up to his brother’s bullying. He would fight back this time. He would.

Will’s breath came quickly, shallow panting high in his chest. He overturned a bucket and kicked it to rest beneath the stirrups. Taking both reins into his left hand, he relished the feel of supple leather sliding through his fingers. He stepped onto the bucket, placed his foot in the stirrup, and hauled himself over.

His pony made a low chuffing sound and the mass of him felt so right beneath the saddle.

Though there was a quiver in his voice, Will turned his head and said, “You’re just sore Da thinks me the better horseman.” A small smile pursed his lips, pleased at how the words had come out.

The answering silence made him look, finally, at his brother.

Jamie was twelve and the meat on his bones had yet to catch up to the scrawny length of him. Will recognized bits of their Da on his brother’s face, but it was the look their father wore when he was riled. As if the Rollo features had settled sharp and angry onto his brother: the precise nose, but thinner and hooked almost to a point. The edge of cheek and chin turning Jamie’s face gaunt instead of fine.