Highland Scandal

HIGHLAND SCANDAL

Mageela Troche

Historical Romance

Sweet Cravings Publishing

www.sweetcravingspublishing.com

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A Sweet Cravings Publishing Book

Historical Romance

Highland Scandal

Copyright © 2015 Mageela Troche

E-book ISBN: 978-1-63105-459-4

First E-book Publication: January 2015

Cover design by Dawné Dominique

Edited by Lori Paige

Proofread by Courtney Karmiller

All cover art and logo copyright © 2015 by Sweet Cravings Publishing

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED:
This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

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Sweet Cravings Publishing

www.sweetcravingspublishing.com

Dedication

To my nephew, Lucky-Seth, you bring me joy and pride in my life and I wait to see the wonderful things that will happen in your life. I love you.

HIGHLAND SCANDAL

Mageela Troche

Copyright © 2015

Chapter One

Men professed women lacked the mental necessity for politics, yet they used ladies as pawns in their machinations for power and riches. Men called these moves marriage arrangements. Yet, the brides were the ones who had to spend the rest of their days living with these political choices.

Rowen MacKenzie was one of those women whose life was not her own, which was fitting since her heart wasn’t, either.

She had been foolish and loved the wrong man. A deep desire gnawed her from the inside out. It came from her very soul. She wanted nothing more than to forget her duty, to live a life of her choosing. When she was a lass and had trailed behind her brothers, she had dreamed of running away to live in forests and glens. She planned to live among the wilds and the fairies. She could hunt, shoot a bow and arrow, and even wield a sword. One day, she had slipped away from her home with nary a word to anyone. With her provisions lashed to her back like the clan women, she slipped into the woods. For most of the day, she either swam or sat soaking her feet at a burn. She had caught a rabbit and built up a fire. She was prepared for the night, not afraid of the calls of wild animals surrounding her and seeming to grow more menacing as the sun dipped from the sky.

Her father had found her as the sky turned the burnished red of autumn leaves and the air cooled. His face had turned ruddy as he bellowed at her. Her hair had blown from the force of his breath. He shook her in between pacing. Once he calmed, he dragged her down beside him on a fallen log. He spoke a great deal, most of which she closed her ears to. When her turn came, she told him that she refused to live her life as others dictated. She wished to have a say in her life, to do as she pleased. Her father laughed at her. She had stomped her feet and screamed that he should not treat her feelings as a jest. The burst of anger covered her hurt. He always understood her. Then he told her one truth that she called upon throughout her life—no man or woman lived as they pleased, even he. He had to be laird, lead the MacKenzies, and care for the families, people who looked to him. Rowen had teared up. He hugged her close and told her another truth—there are times when life can be your own.

For many years, she had a life free of burdens. No husband or children to care for. No matter, though, for she knew the day would come when that duty would fall to her. Her father avoided arranging a marriage contract. It had lulled her into a place where marriage never seemed a possibility for her. Then the day came, an ordinary one where she had come in from riding. She had been summoned by her brother—the Chief of Clan MacKenzie and the Earl of Wester Ross.

Instead of finding him in the Great Hall, she entered his chamber to find him fussing over his wife, Brenna, and her swollen feet that matched her belly.

“All is well?” she questioned. A sliver of fear picked up the pace of her heart as she spotted Brenna lying in bed.

Brenna hauled herself up on her elbows. “Aye, except Caelen tells me that my feet are twice their normal size. I must take his word for it since I cannot see anything but this.” She ran her hand over her expanding middle.

“You rest and I shall oversee everything.” At least that task gave her something to fill the hours.

“That isn’t the reason I called you here.” Caelen set her foot on the folded blankets. Brenna gave him a nod of encouragement. He rose and planted his hands on his hips.

“A marriage has been arranged for you.”

His words sounded in such a tone as if she had been sentenced to death. She waited for the burning of her chest to die before she spoke. She lifted her chin, prepared for the strike his words would deliver.

“Who is to be my husband?”

“Eacharn, son of Laird Murray.”

“I have never met him!” she screeched.

“Nay. It is a sound arrangement and he is a good man.” Caelen looked over his shoulder to his wife. She grinned up at Rowen.

“You will be happy,” Brenna said, with more hope than with surety.

“What if I do not like him? My choice does not matter.”

“I would not give you to a man not worthy of you.” Caelen rested a hand on her shoulder. “Rowen, it is time you wed.”

The time loomed closer with each step of her horse.

Her mount shied, running from the same fears as she. Caelen looked at her. His blond brow cocked.

“I wish life could be different, Rowen, but please cease with the sour face.”

“That is not the reason for what you call my sour face. I am tired of being on this beast.” She sniffed her sleeve. “Its unique scent has soaked into my skin.”

“Rowen, do not fear. The Murrays will love you.”

“Then I shall be their banshee. I will attach myself to the Murrays and protect them from disasters.”

Caelen groaned. “Cease with that silliness. Aye, you are pale and your hair is long and light blonde so in some light, it seems to shroud you in white, but your flesh is not wasting away.”

“And my shoulders do not look like wings.” She looked down at each one.

“Aye, and I haven’t heard you wail since you were a child.”

“Oh Caelen, you do not tease very well.” A small smile graced her face at his bad attempt to ease her.

If he felt any worries, then she had fears. When most people glanced her way, she noticed their moment of cold fear. Some crossed themselves. She always passed them without revealing the turmoil in her. Then the whispers started and chased after her, sounding like a hive with all the bees buzzing away.

Worse were the tales of witchcraft that highlanders spread through the land. Here, where the old tales and beliefs still held root, Rowen learned to ignore it, letting her annoyance be the only emotion she displayed. However, she lived among her clan. Within the lands, she was safe. She left the protection behind and being among the Murrays who didn’t know her…life could be a hardship. They could blame her for some twist of weather or stealing of cattle—or they could hold her responsible for the souring of wine.

Rowen had a small reprieve to be foolish for a while longer. Naturally, the wedding party should have sailed from her home. But with the king fighting with Hakon the Old and sending his crippled boats away to the safety of Orkney Isles, Caelen refused to risk any chance of a clash. Instead, the unrest between the Norse king and Alexander prevented that swift way of travel. Thankfully, her horse, Maiden, trailed behind the horses ahead of her. She was sure-footed, strong, and sweet-natured, leaving Rowen lost in her thoughts. She could still let herself love Lachlan for a little while longer. Yet with every step they traveled through the glens and mountains, the heavy lump in her stomach grew and weighed her down. How did one say goodbye to the one person who brought you to life and made the world around you crackle? She shook her head.

“This is the better choice for you. The time has come for you to wed. You deserve a home and family of your own.”

“I suppose I do.” She let out a rattling sigh. Male voices flittered through the broadleaf woodland. A deep tone laced with humor spoke. The words were barely audible.
Lachlan.
It took all her strength not to react to it.

The men halted at the forest’s edge. She moved Maiden forward. Lachlan sat upon his mount. He was straight-bodied with a honed warrior’s form. His hunting plaid blended with the brown, earthy surroundings. Surrounding him, few leaves clung to the tree branches. Their bright oranges and coppers highlighted the burnished reds and deep golden-blond strands of his hair. Every detail of his face had carved its likeness upon her mind. Nevertheless, her hungry gaze ran over him. His rounded brows rose and lined his high forehead. He flicked his thumb against the tip of his straight, small nose. On another man, that nose would be called feminine, but that was one word that could never be used when describing him. Her brother and Lachlan possessed different personalities. Most people would rather deal with Lachlan with his open, amicable expression. Most never realized the lethal glint in his brown eyes—beautiful, brown eyes, colored with more yellow and amber than brown.

“Welcome to MacLean lands, my lord.” The right corner of his shapely, thin-lipped mouth lifted before he flashed a smile. “The Laird sends his warm greetings, whereas I’m glad you have finally arrived.”

“Been on the horse long?” Caelen asked.

“I’ve grown hooves.”

He glanced at her, then away. She bowed her head, straightening the reins in her hold. This was the moment when she could wail. She felt as if she had betrayed him.

Lachlan turned his horse and headed toward MacLean Castle. She trailed behind them. She stared at his broad back. He rode stiffly in his saddle. He spared not one glance at her, making a point not to look in her direction so that he never looked upon her. He continued his steady discussion with Caelen.

She did the same. Not that she needed to look upon him. She was aware of him. The air crackled from his presence and his voice seemed to be the only sound she heard. She could pretend to ignore him if he was willing to do the same. Aye, her ears cocked every time she heard his voice. Aye, she snuck glances at him. She wanted to talk to him, to explain. This was not the time. She would catch him in the castle.

MacLean Castle loomed ahead. The weathered stone blended with the gray sky. A wind whipped up from the firth. She tucked her fur tighter about her. Above the curtain wall, the tower rose. The rain started then, slashing against her. With her chin tucked against her chest, she rode into the courtyard.

Lachlan swung off his horse. He took a great interest in his horse’s mane, and even gave him a pat. Usually, he sent her glances, winks, or smiles. Caelen came over and helped her down. She turned away from him. Lachlan was doing her a favor.