In Bed with a Highland Healer (Preview)

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Chapter One

May 1692, near Appledore, Wester Ross, the Scottish Highlands

“I’m warnin’ ye now, lass, dinnae even think about causin’ a scene once we get tae the chapel, or I’ll tan yer hide,” Althea MacNeacail’s father, Laird William MacNeacail, told her gruffly as she sat nervously opposite him in the carriage. “Ye’re tae be obedient tae yer new husband. Yer purpose is tae give him an heir.”

I’d dae anything tae escape this carriage…

It was the first time he had spoken to Althea since setting out on the journey to the chapel. Indeed, he had barely glanced at her. He had only sat rigid with satisfaction that his plans were coming to fruition. Upright in posture, with his graying dark hair swept back neatly, short-trimmed beard, and finely woven plaid adorned with the MacNeacail crest, he had the bearing of a man used to being obeyed.

“Aye Faither,” Althea began, making a last-ditch, daring attempt to convince her father her life was worth far more than simply being the vile Ronan Munro’s broodmare. “But even though I’ll be married, I will still practice me healin’ once—”

A familiar bark of displeasure cut her off.

“Ach, haud yer wheesht. I’ll hear none of that nonsense now,” her father growled. “Ye’ll put all that silliness about bein’ a healer behind ye now. D’ye think Ronan’s gonnae tolerate such blather from his wife? Ye’ll likely earn yersel’ a slap, and quite rightly too.”

Althea stared at him, her anger boiling.

Why dae I even try?

Resentment mixed with the dread that had settled in her belly like a lump of cold porridge

“Are ye listenin’?” he snapped when she did not immediately answer.

“Aye, I’m listenin’, but I dinnae understand why ye say such things when Maither hersel’ was a healer. She passed her knowledge on tae me and Valora fer a purpose, tae help heal folks like she did.”

Instinctively, she moved back in her seat as he leaned forward in his, pinning her with his sharp blue eyes.

“Now, listen well, Althea, fer I willnae repeat meself,” he hissed menacingly. “If ye embarrass me by so much as mentionin’ anythin’ tae dae with yer foolish interest in healin’, weddin’ day or nae, I’ll make sure ye rue openin’ yer mouth, I promise ye. Dinnae speak tae me about it ever again. The topic is closed.”

Crushed by disappointment, filled with anger, and wondering, as she had many times before, what she had done to deserve such a cold, brutal father, Althea fell silent.

But though she sat quietly, her fingers in their silk gloves twisting in her lap, her mind was racing, aware she was heading towards a future she had not chosen.

If her father had his wish, she would shortly be marrying Laird Ronan Munro, a man she had met only once for a brief time, when he had visited her father out of the blue. She recalled the day of the meeting vividly.

She had been blithely going about her daily business, knowing nothing of Munro’s arrival at Trotternish Keep, her father’s stronghold on the northernmost tip of the Isle of Skye. She had no idea of the reason for his visit nor what took place during the private meeting between him and her father that sealed her fate.

When her father had introduced her at supper to Laird Munro, she had thought little of it.

Seated next to her, call-me-Ronan had initially seemed like the perfect gentleman, a model of chivalry who paid her every polite attention during the meal. Yet his eyes had unsettled her. A pale gray, they held no trace of warmth even when he smiled and spoke smooth courtiers’ words. They reminded her of fishes’ eyes, cold, with no trace of emotion.

She was profoundly shaken later that evening when he suddenly leaned over to her and, his breath stinking of drink, leered down the front of her gown and whispered something in her ear that turned her stomach and frozen the marrow in her bones.

“Och, the way that gown hugs ye, ye wee tease. Like beggin’ tae be claimed. I can tell ye’re tired of bein’ a maid and want a real man inside ye, eh?”

Althea had recoiled, repulsed. No one had ever spoken to her that way and she certainly had not expected it from a supposedly civilized laird. Only fear of her father’s reaction—he had made it clear the man was his honored guest—had stopped her from slapping his face.

After that, she had tried to ignore him without seeming outright rude. The whole evening had been very uncomfortable. The incident had left her with the feeling that, beneath the veneer of charm, Ronan Munro had little, if any, underlying respect for women.

The feeling was only heightened a few days later when her maid Maggie, whose cousin worked at Ronan’s residence, had told her that Laird Munro had a reputation for casual cruelty and especially for mistreating women, which he regarded as disposable playthings to be used for his own pleasure.

No wonder then that now, on her wedding day, it felt like every turn of the carriage wheels was taking her closer to her doom.

If Ronan Munro were the last man on earth, I’d rather die an old maid than wed him. I have tae find some way gettin’ out of this bloody carriage and away from here.

She leaned over and looked out of the window, as much as her cumbersome gown would allow. The fulsome skirts took up most of the room inside the carriage, and the bodice was so tight, it was hard to breathe or move.

Her eyes scanned the forest they were currently navigating on their way to her horrible fate, seeking any possible means of escape. It was infuriating that her father had only informed her about the wedding the day before. She knew it had been deliberate on his part—another reason to hate him—a precaution to make it impossible for her to run and seek help from her elder sister Valora.

Valora would have welcomed her. So would her husband Torrin Gunn, Laird of Clan Gunn. They lived in Caithness, miles north up the mainland’s eastern coast from Skye. If she’d had time to ask them for help, Althea had no doubt they would have come to her aid without hesitation. Valora shared no love for their father either.

There’s still time tae get away. I’m nae wed yet.

She was determined not to give up on her hopes and dreams of freedom, of being a healer instead of Ronan Munro’s broodmare.

If I can get away somehow, maybe I can get tae Valora, or find someone else tae help me.

But as she looked out of the window and saw the column of mounted armed guards sent by her husband-to-be to escort her to her wedding, her heart sank even further. The idea of slipping away felt impossible.

Realizing that escaping during the journey was likely out of the question, she tried to think of another way.

A moment alone is all I need. Maybe there’ll be a chance when we get tae the chapel. The ceremony willnae begin as soon as we arrive. There’ll be final preparations, and I might slip away then. ’Tis nae much of a plan, but ’tis the only one I have. Fer now, all I can dae is hope and wait fer the right moment tae come.

The carriage was bumping its way along an uneven road lined by thick forest, traveling inland towards Inverness, where Ronan’s lands lay, when to her surprise, it suddenly began to slow and finally came to a complete stop.

“Why are we stoppin’, Faither?” she asked, hearing the horses snorting and stomping outside as if agitated by something.

Her father ignored the question and banged on the carriage roof with his stick, shouting impatiently at the coachman, “What’s the delay? I didnae tell ye tae stop.”

“Perhaps we’ve broken down,” Althea suggested, secretly hoping this was fate giving her a chance to run.

The driver’s voice come back strongly, “Nay, Laird MacNeacail, ’tis—”

There was a strange thud, and the man’s voice cut off abruptly with a choked scream. Alarmed, Althea’s hands flew to her mouth as she looked to her father.

He grunted, let down the window and stuck out his head. Althea tried to see around him, but she could see little.

“Ambush! We’re bein’ attacked!” came a chorus of urgent shouts from Ronan’s men outside.

Althea’s blood froze in her veins.

Attacked?!

Suddenly, chaos erupted outside the carriage as the terrifying sounds of men fighting filled the air. Metal clashed on metal, volleys of arrows whistled through the air, the yells and screams of men and horses ripped through the tranquil morning.

Althea started to shake, muttering a prayer under her breath as panic took hold of her.

She had heard many horror stories of what happened to hapless women in the hands of such ruthless cutthroats. She did not want to be one of them.

Her father’s face went purple with fury, and a horrible grimace appeared on his thin lips.

“What dogs dare tae attack us?!” he roared, rising and drawing his sword. “I’ll slit them from throat tae gizzard!”

He glared at Althea as though she were personally responsible for the ambush. “Stay here, and keep yer head down,” he barked at her.

She nodded mutely, cowering back into the farthest corner of the carriage as best she could, keeping out of sight. In the back of her mind she knew she ought to care that he was going out there to face danger and possible death. But she felt no concern for his safety at all. If he had ever shown her one iota of affection, things might have been different.

Her father tore open the carriage door, and with a bellow of fury, leaped out into the fray. He slammed it behind him with such force, it bounced open and hung there a few inches ajar.

She held her breath as, through the gap, she glimpsed the ferocious battle going on just feet away—a violent jostle of fast-moving bodies, flashes of Munro colors, blades glittering as they arced through the air, agonized cries of men being cut down swelled into a blood-curdling cacophony of slaughter.

Inside the carriage, as yet undiscovered, Althea’s pulse quickened as she realized she was alone.

Nay one’s seen me, the attackers dinnae ken I’m here. This is me chance tae run. There’s naye time tae lose!

Stealthily, she peered out of the window on her side of the carriage. Deep forest beckoned just a few yards away. The roar of battle continued unabated, but on her side of the carriage, there was no one.

Knowing she had to move fast, she reached for the catch with shaking fingers and opened the door tentatively. She was just about to go when, at the last second, she glanced over her shoulder to check no one was looking at her.

Her heart stopped beating when she realized someone was.

Through the tiny gap in the door, her eyes locked with those of a big, blonde-haired warrior who stood momentarily outside the fray. He was panting, covered in gore, the blade in his fist red and dripping. His stance amid the surrounding chaos was calm yet lethal.

His sharp, hazel eyes held hers, halting her. For the briefest moment, her breath caught in her throat.

He was striking to look at, unnervingly so, and Althea felt an odd pull towards him she could not begin to comprehend. Neither of them moved. They simply regarded each other, and it felt to Althea as though they were somehow separate from the mayhem going on around them.

A loud scream snapped her out of it.

Go! Quickly, before he can stop ye.

She pushed open the door and, encumbered by her ridiculous gown, clambered awkwardly to the ground.

As soon as her feet, in their delicately dyed kid slippers hit the ground, she hoisted her skirts and took off running into the trees, bent on loosing herself in the forest. Her only plan was to run as fast and far as she could to escape Ronan’s guards, never mind the attackers.

She had not gone far before she heard a shout ring out from behind her above the sound of the fighting. “Look, the lassie’s gettin’ away! After her, quick!”

Without slowing down, she glanced over her shoulder and saw two of Ronan’s guards running after her.

I’ve got this far, I’m nae gonnae loose me chance of gettin’ away from Ronan!

Gripped by panic, fueled by determination, she raced on as fast as she could over the uneven forest floor in her fancy gown, struggling for breath beneath the tight bodice as she tried to put as much distance as possible between her and her pursuers.

“Go on, lassie, run if ye want tae. We dinnae mind a bit of a chase!” one of them shouted after her.

“It’ll dae ye nae good in the end!” his companion yelled.

“We’ll catch up tae ye in a minute, lass, and when we dae, it’ll be the worse fer ye!” the first guard bellowed, his voice nearer now.

With their threats and the sounds of fighting still echoing in her ears, Althea panted wildly as she dodged through the trees, jumping over logs and tree roots and a small burn, ripping her skirts free as they caught on twigs and thorns she ran, desperate not to let her one and only chance of escaping Ronan Munro slip away.

Chapter Two

“Our Laird wants ye fer his wee wife, and he always gets what he wants, so ye might as well give up now.” The second one shouted, much closer now.

Despite her efforts they were catching up to her, her dress and the forest itself seemingly conspiring to slow her down or trip her up.

“Aye, and he’ll nae be bothered if we have tae handle ye a bit roughly or tie ye tae bring ye tae him. He likes tae see a few bruises on his lassies!” the other yelled.

Althea’s terror mounted, certain this was no empty threat, that Ronan’s punishment for her trying to get away from him would be brutal.

The situation seemed hopeless.

Yet even as she ran blindly, struggling to marshal her thoughts, she tried to come up with a way to evade them, knowing she would be better off dead than live under the control of a cruel man like Ronan.

Her hopes of escape rekindled as the trees and undergrowth began to thicken as she pushed deeper into the woods, and she began casting about for a place to hide.

The sounds of battle at last began to fade, the voices and harsh breathing of her pursuers seeming to grow a little fainter as she plunged ahead and they lost sight of her. For a few moments, she started to think she had shaken them off.

But then, to her horror, a tree root snagged her slippered foot and she flew forward, her arms flying out to save herself from being sent sprawling to the ground.

“Dammit!” she cursed, jolting violently as she collided with a tree trunk but managing to right herself before running on, praying the men had not seen her. The prayer went unanswered.

“There she is, over there, get her!” one shouted, resuming the chase.

She was so exhausted by then that they were on her in moments.

“Got ye!” one panted as they both grabbed her arms and twisted them viciously, starting to drag her back towards the carriage.

She shrieked in pain and fought to get free. “Let go, ye’re hurtin’ me!”

“Ach, shut yer noise, or ye’ll get a slap,” the bigger one with the beard growled at her, his face red and sweating.

“Aye, ye’ve caused us a pack of trouble, ye wee bitch,” the smaller, wiry one spat, shaking her so roughly, her teeth rattled.

“Get yer hands off me, ye filthy swine, let me go at once. Ye’re nae takin’ me back there!” she screamed at them, kicking, dragging her feet, trying to twist out of their grasp, anything to prevent them taking her to their loathsome laird.

“I told ye tae shut up!” the bearded one growled.

“I’ll nae shut up, let me go, I tell ye!” she yelled, trying to bite his arm.

He swung at her, and she only just ducked the blow to her face.

The other dug his fingers cruelly into her flesh, making her squeal. “If ye dinnae haud yer wheesht, I’ll cut out yer bloody tongue,” he hissed menacingly. “The laird willnae care if ye cannae speak.”

The threat terrified her, but not as much as the thought of being forced back to stand with Ronan at the altar, so she continued to struggle to get loose.

“Get off of me, ye’ve nay right tae treat me like this!” she shouted, determined to fight them every inch of the way. But inside, she despaired, seeing her earlier glimpse of freedom collapsing.

“That’s far enough,” said a gruff, commanding voice seemingly out of nowhere, startling Althea. She reeled in shock when a large figure suddenly stepped out from behind a tree in front of them, gripping a bloody sword.

Taken by surprise, Ronan’s men halted. They drew their weapons but did not let go of Althea. She stopped struggling to look at this new threat.

Her gaze met the same pair of hazel eyes as before, and her breath caught in her throat once again. ’Tis him, the blond warrior!

Up close, he was even more striking and fearsome to look upon, huge and muscular with broad shoulders. Unruly locks of bright hair curled around his ears and stuck to the sheen of sweat on his broad brow. His strong, sculpted features were tanned by the sun and hardened by battle. There was a predator’s dangerous stillness about him, and his presence radiated power and command. A cold chill ran up Althea’s spine.

Who is this man?

Althea saw recognition flicker across his face as they looked at each other. She felt the same odd pull towards him as before, but layered with fear and uncertainty.

The man appeared cold and dangerous.

Which was why what he did next astonished her. Breaking their gaze, he turned his attention to the two guards still holding onto her. The man overtopped them considerably and presented a formidable barrier. She sensed their hesitation at taking him on, wondering how they would fight him and keep hold of her at the same time. Hope of escape flickered once more in her chest.

The mysterious warrior spoke again, his voice deep and gravelly.

“When a lass tells a man tae let her go, he ought tae listen. If ye wish tae fight, ye should pick battles with men who can fight ye back,” he told the two men.

“Who the hell d’ye think ye are?” the bearded guard sneered. “Mind yer own bloody business and get out of our way.”

“That’s nae very friendly when I’m tryin’ tae give ye a piece of good advice, is it?” the imposing stranger replied, the cold light in his eyes sending chills down Althea’s spine.

“This is yer last warnin’, move aside or it’ll be the worse for ye,” the wiry guard snarled back.

“I wish I could, but I cannae abide seein’ two men manhandlin’ a defenseless woman that way, so I suggest ye let her go and leave immediately.” The man said and stepped forward.

Incensed, the bearded soldier roared, “It’ll be ye who’s leavin’ this world fer the next, ye interferin’ bastard,” lunging at the warrior with his sword raised for attack.

Althea jerked aside as, with a seamless movement, the blond man met the guard’s blade with his own and expertly deflected the strike. Then, with a deft flick of his wrist, using the flat of his sword, he flipped the weapon out of the guard’s fist and onto the ground.

Cursing, the guard reached for the dirk at his belt, but he was too slow. Althea gasped in shock as, with ruthless efficiency, the warrior drove his blade into the guard’s chest in a single, clean motion. Effortlessly, he withdrew the blade, and the man collapsed to the ground with an agonized gasp, his grip on Althea’s arm falling away.

But her shock at seeing the man killed before her eyes was so great, it momentarily blocked out any thought of running. In that split second, the remaining guard transferred his grip from Althea’s arm to her throat. She gasped as he clamped his arm around her neck, almost choking her.

Althea was horrified to feel the cold edge of his blade pressed against her throat as, using her as a shield, he began dragging her backwards.

“I warn ye, take one step closer and I’ll slit the lassie’s throat,” he growled threateningly at the stranger.

Althea struggled for breath and clawed desperately at her captor’s arm in a vain attempt to loosen his grip. But the blond warrior did not move, and despair engulfed her.

After all I’ve done tae get away from Ronan, I’ve failed. All is lost!

Just as she resigned herself to her fate, the warrior suddenly moved. Fast as lightening, he closed the gap between them, his blade flashed a hair’s breadth from her cheek and slit her captor’s throat with a swift, controlled strike that left her stunned and breathless.

Gurgling for breath that would not come, the guard crumpled behind her. Althea stumbled free, bloody, coughing, but otherwise unharmed.

She had not taken her eyes off the man the whole time. As he calmly wiped the blood from his blade on the grass and sheathed his sword, she instinctively stepped back over the guard’s still twitching body, needing to put some space between them.

She had been afraid of the guards because they were going to take her to Ronan. But now she wondered if she should be more afraid of the man who had so ruthlessly felled them both in the span of mere heartbeats.

Before she could decide, he spoke with cool urgency. “We need tae move quickly before more of yer faither’s and Munro’s men come lookin’ fer ye.”

She stared at him in confusion.

Daes he think I’m goin’ with him? And how daes he ken about Faither and Ronan? Is Faither even alive?

Opening her mouth to question him, she shut it again when a couple of dozen men wearing no discernable clan colors began appearing through the trees, panting and bloody from the fight.

She backed away fearfully, unsure of their intentions. But the stranger waved them over. “Lads, come over here. We need tae get out of here!”

Unquestioning, the men gathered around him, and Althea realized with a shock that he was not just another soldier—he was in command.

One of the men wearing a silver sergeant’s insignia on his collar addressed him respectfully. “We killed the guards, but MacNeacail escaped, me laird.”

Me laird?

Shock ran through her, followed by a cold realization about the man who had saved her from her captors.

If he’s their laird, then that means he ordered the attack—he planned all this.

The sergeant’s voice broke into her rushing thoughts, asking, “Shall we go after him, me laird?”

The laird’s glance met Althea’s stunned gaze for a moment, then flicked back to the sergeant. He shook his head. “Let him go. We’ve done what we came tae dae.”

What? Why kill all the others and let him go?

Althea felt an unwanted relief for her father’s reported survival as her suspicion of her rescuer’s motives grew.

And why save me? What daes he intend tae dae with me?

“Any men lost?” he was asking the sergeant.

“Donal’s got a nasty wound tae his shoulder. He’ll be all right though,” the sergeant replied, eyeing Althea curiously.

The laird nodded. “Right. We need tae get out of here fast. There could be more of Munro’s men about. I want ye all tae walk upfront and clear the path of any threats ye find on our way tae the boat. By the time I get there, I want it ready tae sail home.”

“Done what we came tae dae.” What daes that mean? And where is home?

“Aye, me laird,” the sergeant said and quickly hustled the men to do as he commanded. They began marching off through the trees, seeming to know where they were heading.

Althea found herself alone with the mysterious laird.

“Come along, lass, there’s nay time tae waste hangin’ about here. It willnae be long before someone finds out what’s happened and more soldiers come,” he said peremptorily, clearly used to being obeyed.

But Althea backed away, shaking her head. “I’m goin’ naewhere with ye,” she declared, surprised by the strength of her voice.

He stepped closer.

“Stay back!” she warned. In a surge of defiance, she snatched up a small rock from the ground and hurled it at him. It hit him on the shoulder and bounced away. He did not so much as flinch.

Instead, confusingly, his lips quirked, hinting at a smile. It infuriated her, especially because she could not deny his strange allure. He was too good-looking, too magnetic, and it unsettled her that she found him so attractive.

“Och, ye find the situation amusin’, d’ye?” she demanded.

“What amuses me is me business,” he answered gruffly. “Now, are ye comin’?”

“I told ye, I’m goin’ naewhere with ye,” Althea replied stubbornly, though she had no idea what she would do if she did not go with him.

She knew her father might be lurking somewhere nearby. Althea was afraid he would try to catch her and deliver her to Ronan as planned. She was not about to let that happen.

Nor did she like the idea of yet another man having power over her life.

On the other hand, this laird had mentioned a boat. A boat could take her away from her father and Ronan’s clutches, long enough to form a plan for her future.

But where tae exactly am I goin’?

She had jumped out of the frying pan. If she now went with this handsome, alluring stranger, would she land in the fire?

“Why nae?” he asked shortly, his hazel eyes flinty as they scrutinized her.

“Why? Well, maybe it has somethin’ tae dae with ye and yer men attackin’ the carriage I was ridin’ in, and the fact ye’re a complete stranger tae me.”

He considered that and nodded. “Fair enough. Stay here if that’s what ye want,” he replied with icy unconcern.

The man was cold, frightening. Yet for some unfathomable reason, the casual reply incensed Althea. She snatched up another rock, but before she could throw it, he closed the distance between them and caught her wrist, his grip firm but not brutal.

She gasped at the contact, which sent a strange jolt of energy through her. There was something maddening about the proximity and certainty of his presence. They stood like that amid the scattered sunlight and birdsong for several long moments, eyes locked, unmoving, until a familiar voice shouting her name rang through the trees.