Highland Vixen Read online

  Also by Mary Wine

  HIGHLAND WEDDINGS

  Highland Spitfire

  HOT HIGHLANDERS

  To Conquer a Highlander

  Highland Hellcat

  Highland Heat

  THE SUTHERLANDS

  The Highlander’s Prize

  The Trouble with Highlanders

  How to Handle a Highlander

  The Highlander’s Bride Trouble

  COURTLY LOVE

  A Sword for His Lady

  STEAM GUARDIAN

  A Lady Can Never Be Too Curious

  A Captain and a Corset

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  Copyright © 2017 by Mary Wine

  Cover and internal design © 2017 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover art by Judy York

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

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  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

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  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  A Sneak Peek at Highland Hellion

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  One

  1572

  She was not afraid of him.

  At least, Helen had told herself so a hundred times over, and had even made certain to tell Marcus MacPherson the same when he was glowering down at her.

  Yet, the truth was, she was running from him, and that bit of truth left her cheeks warm from temper. She snorted, finally pleased with some part of her circumstances. Standing in the rain, looking out over a deserted moor, she needed any way to warm herself, even being disgruntled. Her fingers were frozen, and beggars couldn’t be choosers, after all.

  “Having second thoughts, Helen?”

  Helen turned to look at Brenda Grant. “No, simply enjoying a view that does no’ include MacPherson Castle.”

  “Ye were there a long time.” Brenda spoke softly, her tone hinting that she wasn’t convinced by Helen’s answer. “Long enough to consider it home.”

  Helen shook her head. “It is no’ me home—that’s why I left with ye.” She felt something tugging at her heart but was determined to resist naming it. She’d made the choice to leave, so there would be no dwelling on anything left behind.

  One of the Grant retainers burst out laughing. He was sitting with his comrades farther up the hillside from them in front of a fire. The men had built a crude shelter for the women before withdrawing to what was likely thought to be a respectable distance to preserve their good names. In the middle of the wilderness, it seemed ridiculous.

  Brenda let out a sigh. “No’ that I am one to offer advice on men. Me own circumstances are a mess, to be sure.”

  She patted the length of wool next to her. “Sit down, Helen, I am nae yer mistress. Share the shelter with me.”

  “I’ve no quarrel with me circumstances,” Helen responded. “I am grateful.”

  Brenda’s face contorted with disgust. “Oh aye, we are both reduced to being grateful for having to run like a pair of rabbits from the places that should have been our homes. Men have no kindness in them.”

  Helen settled down next to Brenda.

  “Do ye think they know we’re gone?” Brenda asked.

  “I hope no’. The longer they think we’re in the chamber with Ailis, the better.”

  Brenda looked at her. “Ye think Marcus will come after ye?”

  “Nay, he has too much pride. The man is War Chief of the MacPhersons,” Helen answered. “I worry they will come after ye, because returning ye to Grant land would gain them good favor.”

  Brenda was the niece of the current laird of the Grants, and she was a rare beauty. Laird Grant had arranged a second marriage for her, and she’d run before being forced to the altar.

  “That is all we are to men in the end. A tool to be utilized,” Brenda said. “Ailis is fortunate to have Bhaic’s love.”

  “She is,” Helen agreed as the rain increased and they both drew their feet up.

  Brenda’s words were haunting. Helen heard them well into the dark hours of the night, likely because the fairies and other night creatures enjoyed tormenting her by reminding her of her lot. Her simple life had shattered the moment she met Marcus MacPherson. He’d plucked her from her happy home as easily as he might a flower.

  But she would not be broken, would not wither. No, she was going to find a way to regain control of her fate. So she’d left MacPherson Castle dressed as Brenda’s serving woman. For sure, many would tell her it was reckless to venture out with so few men, but her alternative was to remain inside the castle and wait for Marcus to force a marriage on her.

  She shifted in her sleep, the memory rising in full color. Marcus had lined up his men and offered her as a bride to them. To settle her into her life, he’d said. Well, she’d have none of it. Nor was she going to think about the way the man had decided to fight over her before one and all, as though he’d offered her even a single kind word that might have made her inclined to accept him. Damn him. He was her captor. She wouldn’t be forgetting that.

  Ever.

  * * *

  MacPherson Castle was huge. It needed to be, because there were over three hundred retainers alone. When supper was laid out on the tables, their conversation echoed through the stone corridors. But that didn’t stop a woman’s scream from penetrating the chatter. Men came off their benches, their kilts flipping aside as they started toward the back stairwell where the sound had come from.

  What stopped them was their War Chief, Marcus MacPherson, coming through the wide arched passageway. He had a woman with him who wasn’t pleased to be his captive.

  “What are ye doing?” Shamus MacPherson demanded from his seat at the high table.

  “Uncovering a deception,” Marcus replied to his father and laird. He set the woman in front of the MacPherson laird. “Helen and Brenda are no longer in this keep. Ailis has kept to her chamber to deceive us all into thinking Helen and Brenda were there with her. While this one”—he pointed at the girl—“has made sure no one saw her face to notice the game.”

  Shamus dropped his knife and looked at the girl. Her eyes widened. “I did as I was told by me mistress.” She lowered herself awkwardly.

  He snorted at her in reprimand. “Allowing her to act foolishly and leave the protection of this stronghold is no’ to be commended, girl. Ye lack the sense to be a personal servant
to me daughter-by-marriage.”

  The girl paled, shaking like a dried-out leaf in a windstorm.

  Shamus grunted and waved her away before turning to his other son. “Best ye go discover what yer wife has been about this last week.”

  Bhaic MacPherson was already pushing his chair back. There was a grim set to his jaw as he moved behind the other chairs and down the steps to where his half brother was glowering at him.

  “With child or no’, that wife of yers needs a reckoning,” Marcus growled.

  Bhaic stopped in the passageway, just out of sight of the rest of the clan. “She is with child, so ye’ll manage yer temper or no’ be seeing her.”

  Marcus crossed his arms over his chest and grinned at his brother. Bhaic grunted, recognizing the promise in the expression. No one liked a fight better than Marcus, except perhaps Bhaic.

  “I mean to have words with her, Brother,” Marcus warned Bhaic. “And they will nae be kind.”

  “If ye truly want to frighten Ailis, speak nicely to her.”

  Marcus grunted and took to the stairs. Bhaic reached up and pulled him back by the shoulder.

  “Helen may well be in the hands of the Gordons, thanks to this deception. Ye killed Lye Rob, and they would take great delight in paying us back in blood.”

  Marcus shot back at his brother. “Brenda and Helen could no’ have more than half a dozen men with them.”

  Bhaic’s face tightened. “I know ye’re right to be angry, Brother.” He passed Marcus and took to the stairs. He offered his wife a single rap on the door of their chamber before he pushed it in and Marcus followed him.

  Ailis Robertson was waiting for them. She stood in the center of the receiving room, ready to face them. Damn, but Marcus loved her spirit, even when it was at odds with what he thought she should be doing with all that strength of character.

  “Ailis…” Bhaic began.

  “I’ve deceived ye,” she stated. “I’ve been pretending to be more ill than I am, so the women could stay with me and no’ be seen.”

  “Ye know very well how the Gordons treat their captives.” Marcus pointed at her. “Did ye no’ think of what might happen to Helen and Brenda if they tried to ride across the Highlands with naught but a handful of men?”

  She paled. Bhaic reached forward and gripped her forearm, but she sucked in a breath and steadied herself.

  Marcus snorted at her. “How long have they been gone?”

  “Four days.”

  Marcus gripped his sleeves so tightly his knuckles popped. “Where did they go?”

  “To court, to seek shelter from Brenda’s kin.”

  “Court.” Marcus spat the word out like a curse. “Right into the hands of the Earl of Morton. Ye might recall how that man treats women he thinks can be of use.”

  Ailis stiffened. “I do.”

  Marcus grunted at her before he purposefully turned on his heel and left the chamber, the longer pleats of his kilt flaring out behind him.

  * * *

  “Ailis.”

  Bhaic MacPherson adored his wife, but his tone made it clear that he was less than pleased with her.

  Ailis turned to face her husband. “I had to help Helen. Surely ye can see why.”

  “I was worried about ye,” Bhaic informed her. “Abundantly so.”

  Ailis felt the nip of guilt. “I am sorry for that, truly.”

  Bhaic considered her for a long moment before he grunted. “Ye twist me, madam, and it is no’ kind of ye to lord such a skill over me.”

  “It was nae for naught,” Ailis defended herself. “Helen needed to escape before she was forced to wed a man whose only interest in her was pleasing his laird.”

  “Are ye blind, woman?” Bhaic demanded. “Marcus is smitten with her. He’s been waiting for that serving woman to pop her head out of this chamber so he might have words with her because he thought she was Helen. Waiting. Marcus does nae wait on anyone except our father.”

  Ailis slowly smiled. “And yet, Marcus has no’ said a single word about claiming her, only shown her to his men.”

  Bhaic was brought up short, forced to admit his wife was correct. “Marcus is a man of few words.”

  “As ye said, the only man in MacPherson Castle more stubborn than ye is yer brother.”

  Bhaic’s eyes narrowed, but then he chuckled quietly. “Aye, I said so and it’s a solid truth. But he fought for her. When Symon was here, and ye know Symon had to offer to take her home since she was his kin and he is going to be the next laird. Ye know, Ailis.”

  “Aye, I do,” Ailis agreed with a flush staining her cheeks. “That does nae mean I agree with the way yer brother locked Helen away the first time Symon was here.”

  “Because”—Bhaic held up a finger—“he is smitten with her.”

  “Yet he did nae declare himself.”

  Bhaic let out a long, frustrated breath. “He fought to keep her.”

  “After offering her to his men.”

  “He wanted to see if she’d take one of them. Marcus can no’ afford to appear weak. He is the War Chief. The woman he takes to wife must crave only him.”

  Ailis offered her husband a small shrug. “He will have to decide if his pride is more important than admitting that to her.”

  Bhaic chuckled. “That will be an epic battle indeed.”

  Ailis moved closer, needing his touch, since she’d been going without it for most of the week. “Am I forgiven?”

  Bhaic closed his arms around her, inhaling the scent of her hair. “Nay. Marcus is correct. It is dangerous to ride without proper escort.” He lifted her chin so their gazes locked. “Ye know it full well.”

  “I do, and yet ye and I both know what it is to be forced into a union. Fate has been kind to us, yet that is not what happened to Brenda. Her husband was a harsh man.”

  “Aye,” Bhaic admitted. “I see why they felt the need to run, but life is often hard, Ailis.”

  She knew that. It was such an undeniable fact that she stretched up and kissed the man she loved, taking solace in the way he brought her body to life and touched her heart. As for Brenda and Helen, she’d done all she could for them.

  Helen was in the hands of Fate now.

  * * *

  “Marcus.”

  There was only one man who could have stopped him in his tracks at that moment: his father. Shamus MacPherson still had moments when he sounded every bit as strong as he had been in his youth. But his hair was gray now and his body frail from the years he’d lived. Still, he sent his voice booming across the hall, so Marcus turned and moved toward him.

  “They’ve gone to court,” he informed his father.

  Shamus made a soft noise in the back of his throat. Marcus ground his teeth together—he’d wanted to avoid discussing this with his sire. Shamus wasn’t just his father; he was his laird. His word was law.

  “Well now, they should have spoken to me on the matter,” Shamus began. His captains were seated at the high table next to him, listening intently. “The Earl of Morton sent me a message, demanding details of how yer brother’s union is faring. Bloody regent for the king, thinks his word is law—yet I suppose it is, for the time being.”

  His father seemed to lose track of what the point had been. Marcus watched him put a chunk of cheese in his mouth and chew it.

  “Were ye planning on sending a message back to the good regent?”

  “Aye!” Shamus slapped the tabletop. “The man wanted yer brother and wife to come to him, but seeing as the lass is so ill with carrying the babe, I can nae agree to her traveling.”

  There was a gleam in his father’s eyes that made Marcus relax just a bit. “It’s the truth that she’s been in her chamber for nearly a week.”

  “As we all know,” Shamus continued. “And I can nae see sending Bhaic away, when it may wel
l distress the lass further to have her new husband gone. Women are controlled by their soft hearts.”

  There were nods from the men listening.

  “So then,” Shamus said firmly, “I see no other course than to send ye along in their place. Since you’re me only other son, the earl will have to be satisfied. Even if he is a Douglas.”

  Marcus reached up and tugged on the corner of his bonnet. He didn’t trust himself to speak because everyone would have heard how much his father’s orders pleased him.

  They shouldn’t have. He’d already spent far too much time thinking about Helen Grant. It might have been better if she’d been allowed to make her escape, for then he’d be able to get on with forgetting her.

  Indeed, he’d told himself the same every day that he’d waited on the stairs for one of Ailis’s waiting women to emerge from the chamber. He’d come so close to ripping the door open, and was slightly stunned that he’d managed to control the urge. Only his brother’s assurances that his wife was ill had kept Marcus from the room.

  He might be a bastard, but he wasn’t coldhearted enough to risk scaring a woman while she was carrying a babe. Ailis was a formidable woman, but he knew what he was as well.

  Feared.

  There were times his reputation was helpful. Marcus stopped and wrestled with his frustration.

  He needed to let her go. It would be better to have his father make a match for him with a bride who came to the union amenable.

  Ha! More likely her knees would be knocking beneath her skirts!

  “Going to be good to get out in the open air.”

  Marcus turned to find Finley coming up behind him. The retainer was wearing his customary grin, prompting Marcus to wonder for about the hundredth time just what the man found so enjoyable about life.

  “Been inside for months now,” Finley continued as he passed Marcus on his way out into the yard. He stopped and looked up before glancing back at Marcus. “Full moon, too.”

  “It will be that, all right,” Marcus agreed.

  Damn him for a fool.

  He followed Finley, taking the fact that the moon would light their way as a sign he should go after Helen.