Wicked Highland Ways

  Also by Mary Wine

  Highland Weddings

  Highland Spitfire

  Highland Vixen

  Highland Hellion

  Highland Flame

  Between a Highlander and a Hard Place

  The Sutherlands

  The Highlander’s Prize

  The Trouble with Highlanders

  How to Handle a Highlander

  The Highlander’s Bride Trouble

  Hot Highlanders

  To Conquer a Highlander

  Highland Hellcat

  Highland Heat

  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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  Books. Change. Lives.

  Copyright © 2019 by Mary Wine

  Cover and internal design © 2019 by Sourcebooks

  Cover art by Craig White

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

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.

  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

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

  (630) 961-3900

  sourcebooks.com

  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Note from the Author

  Excerpt from Highland Spitfire

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  This book would never have come into being without the belief of my amazing editor, Deb Werksman. I know readers see this sort of dedication a lot; believe me, without this woman believing in my books, there never would have been any titles on the shelves for the readers to discover. Deb is the first person to fall in love with my creations and the one who is fighting to make them into a reality for the readers. Thanks, Deb.

  One

  1579

  It wouldn’t be the first marriage contracted for the gain it would bring to the groom’s family.

  Brenda contemplated the road in front of her and felt almost nothing.

  That was by far the saddest part of what would be her second marriage. She felt nothing much about it at all. Not that she expected to be happy about being ordered to leave Scotland and wed a man she’d never met by a king who was only fifteen years old and therefore too naive to understand what he was sending Brenda off to do.

  But feeling nothing?

  She thought she might at least have felt a sense of injustice over it all.

  For it was vastly unfair for her to have to wed at James the Sixth’s command simply because the boy was enamored of Esmé Stewart. Of course she would hardly be the first person to suffer from royal lack of concern when a king was intent on smoothing the ruffled feathers of his dearest friend.

  Her temper stirred at last as she thought about the Frenchman known as Esmé Stewart who had fought so hard to ensure the land that was now Brenda’s dowry was returned to his English cousin. He was the young King’s favorite and closest friend. He was also a man with ambition and an eye on his family having more holdings than anyone else. At least the King had settled the land on Brenda. It meant her cousin Symon could keep his new bride, who had arrived in Scotland fleeing from the man Brenda was being sent to wed. Noble families like the Stewarts did stick together.

  Well, Brenda could hardly find fault with such actions. Family members should watch out for one another, and land…well, land was the truest form of wealth. It was the thing that kept the nobles in power because they could charge rent for land. She felt her temper rising over being sent to wed because of a dowry. However, the flare of anger didn’t last very long; it sputtered out before her mare had crossed even half a mile. The reason was simple enough.

  At this point, Brenda expected to be used by men for their personal gain. She simply didn’t think any better of the world around her.

  Jaded.

  It was bound to happen. Honestly, she really didn’t know why she lingered over the idea of knowing she’d completely lost her faith in the world around her. Her first marriage had smashed her illusions to little bits, her tears drying when she realized her husband only viewed her as an amusement to bring him notice from his friends. His father had eagerly collected her dowry as the wedding was celebrated in fine style at the Scottish court.

  And she’d been bedded in full view of more than a dozen of her husband’s friends.

  Drunken sods who had leered at her and enjoyed her horror all while calling themselves noble lords.

  Now, it seemed impossible she had ever been so tender. Brenda felt her lips rise into a little grin. It was at her own expense, and yet she just couldn’t keep herself from marveling at the difference between who she’d been then and the woman she was now.

  She had been so naive to think her future might include love or even something as simple as a marriage where husband and wife treated one another with kindness. Clearly she had failed to look around her. As the laird’s niece, she’d been born into the role of bargaining chip. The matter of her marriage was one for discussion and planning.

  Yet there had been a time…when ye’d listened to songs of love and dreamed…

  Brenda stiffened, banishing the memory, because she had decided long ago never to allow her first husband to hurt her ever again. She’d wed at her father’s command for the alliance it would give her clan. It had been her duty. She’d gone to him with ideas of her obedience yielding understanding from him. Truthfully, her anger should be directed at the upbringing that had taught her erroneously that dutiful behavior led to happiness.

  Or perhaps she might think ill of her Campbell relations, who had so gleefully enjoyed seeing her tender illusions shredded on her wedding night and throughout her first year of marriage, when her husband had seated his mistresses right at the head table alongside her and the laird of the clan Campbell. They’d encouraged him to show off how vigorous he was in keeping a mistress, and he’d discarded each poor woman the moment another one took his fancy. In the end, Brenda had learned to have a measure of understanding for her kin in wedding her to him because a wife could not be tossed out. No, she’d been there to see her husband’s women come and go, while all around her people told her to accept her portion with dignity.

  Well, he’s dead now…

  She was her own woman at last.

  Or at least she had been until her cousin found Athena Trappes in May. The English girl had been escaping from Galwe
ll Scrope, who wouldn’t be expecting Brenda to arrive with orders to wed him. In fact, Galwell had tried to make Athena his mistress. So horrified had she been that she had dressed as a boy and managed to get hired by a traveling merchant, thus escaping from Galwell.

  Brenda smiled sincerely now. Her cousin Symon had been smitten with the girl. It had been a dream come true because Symon and Brenda were the last of their line. They’d spent more than one winter evening recognizing the need for them both to wed. And then, in a moment, Symon had met Athena. Oh, she’d made him court her, but not out of a need to twist him around her finger.

  Brenda liked Athena even more for her sweet ways.

  Brenda felt her expression tighten. Esmé Stewart had done his best to ruin it all without a care for how deeply in love Symon and Athena were. The nobleman had discovered the dowry left to Athena by her father and used his friendship with the kind young King James to attempt to send Athena back to Galwell so the land would stay in the Stewart family.

  At least young James hadn’t been willing to take Symon’s wife away, so once Symon married Athena, there was nothing to be done. The Scottish king might have been only fifteen, but he had proven himself worthy of his royal blood by settling the land on Brenda and sending her to wed Galwell. The land had been transferred to her because the King had upheld Symon and Athena’s marriage. Thus, the land was a Grant holding from thence forward.

  Her lips rose into a sarcastic twist. Galwell would soon learn that nobles and royals arranged matters to suit themselves first. If Galwell expected the delicate, sweet, and soft-spoken Athena to return to him, Brenda imagined a fiery Highlander woman would be quite a shock to the English nobleman.

  However amusing it might be to contemplate how unhappy Galwell would be, Brenda knew for certain that she, as his wife and chattel, would be the one to suffer for his disgruntlement.

  There it was: the way life had always treated her. There was no kindness, only a very determined dictate that she never maintain a happy state of being for too long. As soon as she believed she was safe, fate would reach out and slice her open with its talons.

  No, she only managed to get tastes of happiness long enough to allow her to recall with perfect clarity how much she enjoyed those brief respites. However, she was very pleased to know Athena was happy, and Galwell wouldn’t find her so easy to intimidate. Brenda had learned how to live as chattel, and she thoroughly enjoyed knowing Athena would never know how the position chafed. And there was the knowledge that her cousin Symon wouldn’t face the displeasure of his king. All in all, as far as doing her duty went, Brenda decided her English marriage suited her far more than her first one had. The reason was simple: she wanted Symon to be happy. If it meant she had to obey James of Scotland and wed an English noble, well, Brenda would far rather it be herself heading to England instead of Athena.

  Brenda smiled again. Athena wasn’t jaded, and Brenda was going to enjoy knowing she’d helped ensure the girl would have only a happy life. The knowledge offered a little glimmer of hope that Brenda was going to clasp tightly to her heart.

  Symon wasn’t happy with her though. Her cousin had wanted to protect her as well as his young wife.

  He was a good man. Which was why she’d spoken up and declared she’d obey the King when Symon had been set to protect Brenda. Symon would have gotten himself thrown into chains for defying the young King. Brenda didn’t fault her cousin for his need to shield his family. No, James had neatly twisted the situation so Symon might keep his new bride, Athena, but at the expense of having Brenda promised to the English noble from whom Athena had fled. The man only wanted the land. It was a common enough thing, for certain. So there was no reason for Symon to anger his King. No reason for Brenda not to step up and do as the King demanded. No reason to think about how much she didn’t want to wed again.

  At least there was the comfort of knowing she was ensuring her cousin was happy and her clan in good standing with the King. Her first marriage had also brought an alliance that prevented bloodshed.

  Yes, it was her duty to wed Galwell Scrope.

  By royal command.

  However, she found less comfort in going off to face Galwell than she had the first time she’d wed. Protecting the Grants? Well, she knew her kin and clansmen. A piece of land? Galwell wanted the rents from the property. Land was the truest form of wealth. Noble families owned it all, keeping the lower classes paying for its use.

  Hence she was heading to England. So be it. She’d face whatever came her way, as she always had. As the Highlander she was.

  She would do her duty.

  * * *

  Chief Bothan Gunn pulled his horse to a halt. He reached forward to rub its neck as he contemplated the view before him.

  Maddox, his captain, came up beside him, tilting his head to one side as he waited to see why Bothan had stopped. Both of them peered at the land in front of them, the place where Scotland ended and England began.

  “I never thought to lay eyes on that,” Maddox declared when Bothan remained silent. His voice drew out the last word, making it clear Maddox cared little for the place they were heading.

  Bothan turned to look at him. “Or cross into it.”

  Before them were the borderlands. England lay on the other side of them. He didn’t belong there, but Bothan set his stallion into motion because Brenda Grant wasn’t suited to England any more than he was.

  She was wild.

  And he was going to ensure she could remain unbridled by those who didn’t understand the value of a woman with the spark of life burning in her. Let the English keep their wives in submissive obedience. He craved a wife who would singe him with her heat and give him children with the strength to rise up to the challenge of living in the Highlands.

  Brenda was that woman.

  She would spit in his eye, though. At least until he proved his worth to her.

  He slowly chuckled as he contemplated the battle ahead.

  It was a fact; he was going to enjoy it.

  And so would Brenda.

  He’d see to that…personally.

  Of course, first he had to rescue her. His lips curved into a grin. At last there was something pleasing about his journey into England. Snatching a prize from the hands of the English—well, there was something he would enjoy full well. They told tales in England of wild savages such as himself.

  Highlanders.

  Not that he was planning on changing the way the English thought about him.

  No, he was riding onto their land to retrieve the woman he craved. Any who stepped between them was going to discover he was tenfold worse than any story they had ever heard.

  * * *

  The English captain escorting Brenda was happy to be on home land at last. His face bore the marks of his worry, and Brenda watched the way he ran a hand over his face before sitting down at a long table in the common room of the tavern they’d stopped in for the night.

  An English tavern. Which, by the look on the captain’s face, made a world of difference to the man.

  Well, Brenda could hardly think ill of him for being happy to be home. She would have smiled brightly indeed if she were spending the night beneath the roof of Grant Tower.

  The captain caught her looking back at him from the top of the stairs.

  “You will find your supper abovestairs, Mistress,” he called out. The man was well suited to his position; his tone was full of authority, no hint of insecurity. And it was loud enough to fill the common room of the tavern.

  But she knew he was just a bit shaken by her appearance or he wouldn’t have spoken from where he sat, so that his voice bounced between the walls and made his wishes clear to everyone there. She allowed her eyes to narrow and enjoyed the way his lips thinned in a hard line. He was wise enough to know she might be a great deal of trouble if she decided to be a thorn in his side.

>   She could see the fear lurking in his eyes.

  But she did not bother. It was best only to pick a fight when she needed to win. Tonight she wouldn’t be making an attempt at gaining her freedom because her own word bound her to the journey. The captain knew it too, which was why there was no man posted outside her door. At that moment, Brenda could see the man thinking through his choice to trust her at her word. Brenda offered him a serene expression as the men in the common room went silent in response to the rising tension.

  “I would like some water,” Brenda said as she came smoothly down the steps. A few of his men cast her harassed looks. They were drunk on their own arrogance, thinking her nothing more than a nuisance.

  If only they knew just how difficult she might be if she hadn’t given her word to see the wedding through. They misjudged her simply because she’d been riding without any comment for so long. They mistook her compliance for docility.

  “Drink the ale in your room, woman,” one of them groused at her. “Water will poison you. Ye’ll get the fever from it.”

  The captain didn’t take his eyes off her. She watched as he gauged her reaction to his man’s order, surprise flickering in his eyes as she merely kept moving at the same pace. The captain’s jaw was set, but he never denied her, so Brenda turned and moved toward the back of the common room, heading to the door that led to the kitchen.

  “Addams, go with her,” the captain ordered from behind her.

  Brenda heard a bench skid against the wooden floor of the tavern as Addams stood with a grumble and reluctantly fell into step behind her. The kitchen was smoky as the end of the day meant it was time to let the fire burn down to conserve wood.

  Peat was often laid on top of the coals to keep them alive until the morning. It made for a slow, smoldering fire that smelled like a barn floor. The back door was open wide to let the smoke escape, but now that they were in the city, the air beyond the doors smelled less pleasant.

  Another marriage wasn’t the only reason Brenda had to loathe her return to what so many considered civilization. She’d take the Highlands over the congested city any day.