Highland Shadows (Beautiful Darkness Series Book 1) (18 page)

Conall’s taste ran much simpler. Nothing pleased him more than the feel of cool earth sifting between his fingers or the satisfaction of a successful harvest. His croft was one of twenty on Cape Wrath, all home to families tied to the land, their devotion as steadfast as the cliffs themselves. Most could trace their lineage back to the days of the chieftains when the MacKay territory spanned out for miles.

Conall seldom considered the world beyond his croft. He traveled from his home fashioned of stone and thatch only when demand called him away, although it had not always been thus. Long ago, it seemed to him now, he had been married. When his wife, Mary, still lived, they would frequent the nearby village of Durness, but illness stole his young bride when he was not yet nineteen. Heartbroken, he gave his grief to the land and withdrew from village life. Now at twenty-six, he made peace with love lost and the resulting solitude. Unlike Davis, his life was a collection of simple pleasures and humble dreams. Conall tried his best to quell Davis’s baser inclinations with lessons in swordplay, animal husbandry, and fishing, but Davis merely scoffed at such honest pursuits. He craved excitement and always had. Several months ago, he had left Cape Wrath behind determined to join a Scottish regiment, or so he had claimed.

Two days ago, Conall was paid a visit by Gordon MacKay who resided in the village. He had encountered Davis in Edinburgh during a brief stay on his return from London, and his report was ill, indeed. He remarked on Davis’s lack of Scottish regimentals. Not only did Davis not appear to be a soldier, but judging by his mixed company, Gordon suspected Davis had found little other than trouble in Edinburgh. What worried Conall most was Gordon’s account that Davis had appeared frail and strangely agitated when Gordon had approached him. Only a few words were exchanged when Davis made excuses to leave, heading toward Cowgate, the lowliest part of the city.

As much as Conall wished to make light of Gordon’s report, the love he bore his brother would not be silenced. Davis had never been anything but trouble since he was a wee lad, but despite his follies, he had a kind and trusting nature. Besides, he was blood, and Conall was raised to honor blood ties above all others.

The irritating clacking of his horse’s hooves on the cobbled roads filled Conall’s ears as he rode toward Edinburgh. While still on the outskirts of the city, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He searched the slight breeze for just a taste of the Highlands, but only the acrid scents of city life hung in the air.

He left his horse at the livery
stable near St James’s Square in the New Town and then walked the short distance to a narrow street where he hoped the Cummings Inn would have a room available. In the past five years, the business of settling first his parent’s accounts when they passed away and later his uncle’s had compelled him to visit Edinburgh. On both occasions he stayed at the same quiet inn. He knew he could count on Mrs. Cummings running a clean and respectable business. Her fine cooking and one of her comfortable rooms were crucial to maintaining his sanity while in the midst of Edinburgh’s noise and congestion.

It was early in the evening when he arrived at the inn. After a fine dinner, he thanked Mrs. Cummings and left the comforts of the inn behind. He knew where he had to go, Cowgate, but before he could face the inhumane conditions of Edinburgh’s Old Town, he first needed a guide—someone who knew the streets and would not raise immediate suspicion. A stranger could not enter Cowgate and expect a warm reception, especially a Highlander. He pushed aside the sudden voice in his head that warned all was for naught. Desperation and corruption strangled all hope from that dark street. Davis’s knavish appetites would attract the most crooked and unscrupulous villains that Cowgate had to offer. Conall prayed that he might find Davis before misfortune did
.

Clinging to hope, he made his way to Prince’s Street. Affluence gleamed from every brick stacked with care to form the townhouses and shops, which served the wealthiest of Edinburgh’s citizens. Men in knee breeches with silk stockings, fine waistcoats, and top hats moved with leisure down the wide, clean cobbled street. Through narrow lids, they assessed everyone they passed with a haughty air of dominance. These were men used to their own way who served no one but themselves. Conall wished nothing more than to punch the smug expression from each of their faces.

On the other hand, the women seemed to move without a care. They lacked the strength and presence of Highland women. Like pretty snowflakes, they fluttered about in dresses of varying shades of white, some plain or embroidered with flowers, but otherwise they all looked the same. The dresses fell straight, close to their figures and cinched not at the waist but beneath their bosoms. Lace trimmings, attached at the low necklines, provided at least some modesty. In his mind, he could hear his Aunt Agnes tsking her disapproval.

The empire waist gowns were worn in his village as well, but they were made of sturdier fabrics. Although it was late spring, there was a chill in the evening air. Still, none of the lasses wore cloaks or jackets. He had to resist the urge to throw a shawl or blanket around a young woman’s shoulders who could not have been much older than thirteen. He held his tongue as he hurried passed, but much to his amusement, the lass, who gasped when she saw him, was not as capable as he at concealing her thoughts. He earned similar responses from four young women walking in his direction who suddenly stopped when they saw the large Highlander in their path. He almost laughed out loud when they hurried to cross the street, nearly tripping over themselves in their haste to keep their distance. He pretended not to notice as he turned on to St. David’s Street. Accustomed to the flurry of interest he incited upon entering Scotland’s southern cities, he was not at all surprised that he was quickly becoming the center of attention. To the typical lowlander, he was an uncommon sight.

At nearly six and a half feet in height he towered over most men. Current fashion demanded men trim their hair short around the ears and at the nape. His light brown hair fell free down his back. His legs were not burdened by breeches, nor did he carry a cane. He wore a kilt, belted at his hips, a linen shirt, and a plain wool jacket. Wool socks were folded at the knee and ended in a pair of deer hide shoes. His sporran completed his attire. He looked as foreign in his own country as he might in one of the distant colonies. He stopped to allow the passing of several carriages, the occupants of which all stared at him, the ladies hiding their interest behind their fans.

The stares of onlookers were forgotten as he crossed to the other side of the street, for someone had caught his attention, someone who appeared to belong in that place even less than he. A boy of no more than thirteen or fourteen years was slumped against a building, shielded by a fine carriage whose footman was occupied speaking with the proprietor of a dress shop. The boy stood out among the manicured trees and bushes and polished inhabitants of Edinburgh’s New Town with his bruised and dirt-smeared face, but no one seemed to note his presence, except for Conall. The lad’s quick darting eyes conveyed his dishonest intent. The young urchin was just the sort of person who might aid Conall on his quest to locate his brother.

He started toward the lad but then froze when the small, ragged body slunk back against the wall and held so still that he appeared to vanish into shadow. Meanwhile, two gentlemen passed by his hiding place. Conall noted with amusement that the pompous men noticed the lad no more than they would a smudge on the cobbles. And then something incredible happened. Conall could scarce believe his own eyes. The lad’s hand flashed out of his filth covered jacket, and with a touch, which must have been as soft as a sea breeze, he pinched a bag of coin from inside the nearest gentleman’s jacket. No sooner did the lad grab the purse than he dashed away and turned off down Thistle Street.

With a grin Conall followed. His long stride overtook the lad whom he grabbed by the back of the jacket and lifted into the air.

“I am willing to bet ye thought ye made a fine escape,” Conall said with a smile.

Continue reading A Jewel in the Vaults
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ABOUT LILY

 

Historical romance author, Lily Baldwin, loves writing, Scotland, her wonderful husband and beautiful young daughter--though not necessarily in that order. She has a BA in anthropology from the University of New Hampshire, and an MA in International Studies from Birmingham University in the UK. She daydreams constantly, and gets her best story ideas while running; she is even training for a half-marathon. She also finds inspiration in Nature, a quality revealed through the powerful description and drama in her books. Currently TO BEWITCH A HIGHLANDER, HIGHLAND THUNDER, and TO LOVE A WARRIOR (Books 1-3 of the Isle of Mull series) are available, and Lily is also the author of A JEWEL IN THE VAULTS~one of the seven original novellas included in the Scrolls of Cridhe Bundle by the Guardians of the Cridhe (available now). Her newest release is Highland Shadows (Beautiful Darkness Series, Book 1). Other Guardians of Cridhe authors include Suzan Tisdale, Tarah Scott, Ceci Giltenan, Kathryn Lynn Davis, Sue-Ellen Welfonder, and Kate Robbins.

 

Lily lives in New England with her cherished husband

and daughter.

 

To find more books by Lily Baldwin visit her website:

http://www.lilybaldwinromance.com

 

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Other Books by Lily:

 

To Bewitch a Highlander (Isle of Mull Series, Book 1)

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Highland Thunder (Isle of Mull Series, Book 2)

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To Love a Warrior (Isle of Mull Series Book 3)

http://amzn.to/1ut8mvw

 

Highland Winds, The Scrolls of Cride Vol. One

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A Jewel in the Vaults (Flights of Love Series, Book 1)
http://amzn.to/1bSs8ih

 

She has never met a man like him before. Then again, he

has never met a lad like her.

 

In 1802, Edinburgh’s poverty-ridden Old Town is rife with

danger, but it is the only home Robbie MacKenzie has ever

known. To safeguard herself against the worst villains of the

street, Robbie conceals her femininity behind her shorn hair,

dirt-smeared face, and tattered breeches. To all the world she is a

lad, but beneath the ruse is a woman aching to break free.

 

Leaving his beloved Highlands behind in pursuit of his

prodigal brother, Conall MacKay journeys to Edinburgh. There,

he solicits the aid of a young street lad named Robbie. But

Conall soon realizes that there is more to both Robbie and

Edinburgh’s Old Town than meets the eye.

 

In a world where wickedness governs and darkness reigns,

a savage struggle for dignity, survival, and love begins.

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