Ruining a Highland Healer (Preview)

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Chapter One

Near Inverness, September 1691

The last time Valora MacNeacail had felt hope seemed so distant now that the memory was untethered from herself, as though it belonged to someone else. Life happened, a ceaseless sweeping tide, the waves of color swirling madly around her as young girls were taken to the dance floor by men, some of them twice their age, others too young. And just like her, none of those girls had a choice.

Abandoning herself to her fate, Valora looked around in search of anyone she knew. Her plan backfired, though, as a man approached her. Valora couldn’t place his face nor did she recognize his clan colors, or the red and black sigil he proudly displayed on his chest.

All she knew was that he seemed much older than her twenty-five years and that his smile, though friendly at first glance, never quite reached his eyes. They were an icy blue, the kind that seemed to peer right through her, and Valora felt an unpleasant shiver run down her spine.

He had been drinking; Valora could smell the sour stench of alcohol on his breath and she was that he moved slowly, his limbs heavy with wine. When he bowed, he did so clumsily, with an unsteadiness that betrayed his condition.

“Laird Alban Keith,” the man said, introducing himself in a slurred voice. Valora took a good look at him from head to toe, her eyes narrowing as she noted his features—those eyes, the coal black hair that he wore slicked back to perfection, the sharp, angular features of his face. He was a striking man, but Valora wouldn’t call him handsome. There was something about him, something unquantifiable that gave him an odd appearance. Perhaps it was only the drink, or perhaps it was something else, something much more sinister.

“May I have this dance?”

She wanted to refuse so badly. However, with a stiff nod, she gave Laird Keith permission to pull her into the next dance, one hand taking hers as the other settled on the small of her back.

The touch was far from welcome. Valora remained stiff and straight-backed, every muscle in her body rigid as Laird Keith led her around the dance floor. The hands on her waist were firm, almost possessive. Valora tried her best to stop herself from recoiling, which was far from an easy task, but with her father’s presence behind her, she could be nothing short of perfect. Enduring this was the only way to ensure that her sister would be spared a similar fate, and Valora would do anything to keep her sister safe and happy.

Laird Keith spun her around the room with the ease of someone who was well-practiced in the art of dance, but combined with the clumsiness of someone close to a drunken stupor. Valora followed his lead as best she could, wincing quietly every time they bumped into another pair of dancers and offering them apologetic smiles.

And then she felt Laird Keith’s hand sliding lower and lower, down to her backside, where it rested for a brief moment before she promptly slapped it away.

Time seemed to stall. A collective gasp echoed all around them as the other guests bore witness to her transgression, shocked and scandalized.

But what about his transgression? Surely, someone must have seen it! Why is he nae bein’ held accountable fer his vile behavior?

There was a simple answer to that, one that Valora knew well; Laird Keith was a man with a lot of power. He could act as he pleased when it came to a young woman like her, and no one would do anything to stop him.

Laird Keith stared at her and Valora stared right back, refusing to be the first to break eye contact. She was not the one at fault here.

Under the dim light of the candelabras, Laird Keith’s face was a deep shade of red, the color of a ripe tomato. His blue eyes seemed to glow against that color, his gaze filled with such coldness and fury that it took every bit of Valora’s willpower not to look away. All around them, people seemed to hold their breath. They were all eager for a scene, a scandal, something that would keep them busy until the next big thing.

From the corner of her eye, Valora caught a twitch in Laird Keith’s hand, as though he was preparing to strike her in retaliation in front of everyone. Her heart hammered in her chest, beating like a drum. She didn’t move; it would be foolish from his part to hit her, even if she had provoked his wrath.

I willnae allow this man tae intimidate an’ humiliate me. If this is what he wants in a wife, then he can find someone else.

He then removed his hand, bowed slightly and walked away.

Thank God!

All she could think to do at that moment was to escape to the balcony for a few moments, where the night was peaceful and quiet—or as quiet as it could be with the music and the laughter from the room spilling outside through the large windows, saturating the air around her. But at least she was alone there, hidden in the dark shadows waiting for the rest of her life to be over. As she rushed off, no one dared follow her, not even Laird Keith, who was surely furious with her now.

God, what I wouldnae give tae stay in me bed forever!

Soon, though, Valora sensed a familiar presence before anything else alerted her to it. She never managed to turn around. Her father grabbed her by the arm and yanked her back from the high, stone rail, forcing her to face him.

His fingers sank into her flesh, causing bruises that would only appear in time, as they always did. But Valora could already feel them forming, deep under her skin, an unpleasant reminder of every other time he had been too harsh with her in the past.

“What dae ye think ye’re daein’ out here?” her father demanded. Valora had to tilt her head back to look at him as he towered over her, her eyes like a mirror of his—a deep, luminous blue that reminded her of him every time she looked at her reflection in the looking-glass. “Ye should be in there, tryin’ tae a secure a good alliance an’ ye’re out here daein’… ach, who kens what it is ye’re doin’! Go back inside. Immediately.”

“It was only fer a moment, faither,” Valora said, though she doubted her words would make any difference to him.

“It is yer duty tae find a good husband,” said her father, undeterred, as though he hadn’t even heard her. “An’ smile more. Ye look so terribly unpleasant.”

Valora had smiled—forced, practiced, hollow—but only for Althea. None of this was for herself or for him. Every gesture of politeness, every attempt to look agreeable, was a shield meant to buy her sister more time, so she’d done her best to be a dutiful daughter. Obviously, it was not good enough for her father which worried her.

“Ye ken what happens if ye fail,” her father said. “Ye either find a husband taenight or yer sister will have tae perform yer duty fer ye.”

Their father had made it abundantly clear that if Valora failed, it would be her sister, Althea, who would have to secure an alliance for the clan. But Althea, at nineteen years of age, was too young, too innocent. Valora could weather an unhappy marriage. She could weather anything that life and her father threw at her, as long as Althea didn’t have to.

She would endure this, too. She only wished she could do so with dignity. She had no illusions about noble marriages—they were always out of convenience, out of duty. She wasn’t seeking love; only the chance to find someone who was neither too old nor too young, someone who was kind. So far, none of the men in that room had managed to meet her—admittedly low—expectations.

Valora’s father spoke of her duty with such detached nonchalance that anyone who heard him may have thought he was discussing cattle instead of his own daughters. Valora was used to it by; his coldness was nothing new to her, nothing that was even worth her anger.

Dragged back to the room, Valora had no choice but to be there—even as Laird Keith approached her once more, making all the blood drain from her face. She didn’t want to speak to him or face his wrath or her father’s, who by some miracle had apparently missed their interaction. But Laird Keith was approaching fast, and her father was still by her side, and no matter where Valora looked, there was no one to save her.

“Laird MacNeacail,” Laird Keith said, his voice strained with fury. “Is that how ye raise yer daughters?”

“I dinnae understand what ye mean,” her father said with a frown, though Valora could practically see the gears turning in his mind as he realized that she must have done something uncouth.

“Fergive me, Laird Keith,” Valora was quick to say then, stepping between the two men as a last resort. She didn’t know if she feared the man or her father more, but she didn’t want to find out.

Laird Keith said nothing. The two of them stared at each other in silence for a long time, stuck in a stalemate, and Valora could only wish that the ground would open up and swallow her whole where she stood.

Before either she or Laird Keith could make a decision on how to get out of their staring contest, another man stepped between them—this one taller and broader at the shoulders, with ink-black hair tied at the nape.

Valora couldn’t see any of his features, turned as he was to face Laird Keith. What she could see was Laird Keith’s resolve fading as he took a step back, just so this man wouldn’t be so close to his face.

“Fergive me fer interruptin’,” said the man, “but I would very much like tae have the next dance. With this young lady, o’ course. Nae with ye.”

Valora barely managed to stifle a smile, but others around her were not as restrained. Not many had heard the man, but those who had were amused, which only served to turn Laird Keith’s face an even deeper shade of red.

When Laird Keith made no attempt to move, the other man added, “Perhaps ye could have a seat an’ a drink fer a moment. It’s only one dance. I promise.”

Valora didn’t know if it was the man’s words or the look he gave Laird Keith that made him retreat, but he did so slowly, with a sharp nod. Only when he was gone, disappearing into the crowd, did the other man finally turn around, and Valora saw his face.

Immediately, she was taken aback.

He’s so handsome… like a paintin’.

His storm-gray eyes seemed to see right through her and for a moment, Valora had the irrational feeling that he already knew her intimately. Over those eyes, a pair of straight, dark brows rested on a high, regal forehead. His sharp jaw, covered in a thick, short stubble, made him look as though carved from marble.

And when he placed his hand on her back, between her shoulder blades, the shiver that ran through her was not one of revulsion, but rather one of desire.

Chapter Two

The music swelled around them as the man pulled Valora into the sea of swaying bodies. The cornett, the lute, the flute—all instruments working together to create a fast reel that had the guests dancing joyously in a dizzying whirl of color. Her partner held her firmly as he led her through the steps, but his grip never became insistent or possessive, like Laird Keith’s had been. Valora’s hand rested on his chest, the pads of her fingers feeling the muscles under the layers of formal clothing. The man was solid as stone, but warm, radiating heat like the sun, and Valora found herself swept into the moment, forgetting where she was.

It didn’t last long. Even that wasn’t enough to make her forget the reality of that night—the fact that she and every other woman in the room were there to be used as bargaining chips.

How can someone like him be here? Is he truly nae different from everyone else?

The man was handsome, more so than any other man Valora had ever encountered, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was a good man. His external appearance could have no correlation with his inner world, for all Valora knew. He also didn’t smell like alcohol and his body wasn’t heavy with drink as Laird Keith’s had been, but it was still early in the night. There was plenty of time for him to get drunk, and Valora couldn’t say for certain that he wouldn’t.

Even as she glanced up at him, trying to find some clue regarding his thoughts, they proved to be well-guarded. His gaze betrayed nothing. His expression was blank, giving her no hints. He moved with purpose and practiced ease, guiding her confidently around the dance floor, but other than that, she couldn’t decipher anything about him.

What is a man like him daeing in a place like this?

Just as there was only one reason for the young women to be there, there was only one reason for the bachelors to be there; he, too, had to be in search of a wife. The mere thought was enough to leave Valora with a bad taste in the back of her throat, but despite everything, she felt safer in this stranger’s arms than she had felt all night alone.

What is the matter with me? Why would I trust this man at all?

She had several reasons to be attracted to him, from his striking eyes to his broad shoulders and solid chest, but physical attraction meant nothing without proof that he was a good man. She didn’t know him at all, and so she hated the part of her that was so easily comforted by his presence.

“Dae ye often slap yer dancin’ partners?” the man asked her. Now that he spoke in a low voice, his tone had a gravelly quality about it, a roughness that sent a chill through her as though she was at the mercy of a chilly breeze.

“Only if they’re bein’ inappropriate,” Valora said.

His handsome looks threatened to make her forget that he, too, was there to find a wife for a good alliance, and he had every choice he could ever want, while the women had none. It was a vile place, that ball, filled with men who felt entitled to the women around them, and this man couldn’t possibly be any different if he was among them.

“Then I shall have nay fear,” the man said confidently. True to his word, he kept his hand high up on Valora’s back, far away from her rear, much to her relief.

“How can I be certain o’ that?” she asked, unable to help it. She didn’t trust him; she didn’t trust anyone in that room. “Perhaps ye’re only sayin’ this so I will be fooled.”

“Why would I need tae fool ye?” the man asked her, his brows knitting into a frown. “Dae ye think everyone is tryin’ tae fool ye?”

“Nae everyone,” Valora was quick to say. “Only the men in this room.”

Looking around them, the man hummed as if in acknowledgment, nodding slowly. When his gaze found Valora’s once more, there was a slight softness there that she hadn’t noticed before.

“All o’ them?” the man asked. “Surely, some must be decent men.”

“Are ye talkin’ about yerself?”

“Perhaps.”

Valora couldn’t help it; with the way the man spoke, it was as though he was purposefully trying to make her admit she didn’t trust him, and she was not going to hold back.

“I dinnae think ye’re any better than the others,” she said, just as the man twirled her and pulled her close once more. Her breath caught in her throat for a moment as their bodies met once again, and she had to swallow in order to be able to speak once more. Still, she didn’t waver, nor did her assessment change. “Ye’re here fer the same thing everyone else has come for; tae choose a wife, when the wife has nay say in the matter. Have ye considered that some o’ us dinnae wish tae wed? Has anyone?”

The moment the words were past her lips, Valora regretted her outburst—not because she feared the retaliation from this man, but rather because she feared that her father would put the burden on Althea’s shoulders. All that mattered was that her sister was safe, and now she feared she had ruined all chances of that.

But the man only looked around them once more, taking in the crowd for a few moments. He didn’t seem offended by her words, and though that helped soothe Valora’s fear, it also brought up another.

He will laugh at me, or dismiss me concerns as unimportant.

Her father hadn’t cared enough to keep her safe from them. Her own father was more than happy to bring her there and give her to the man who had the most to offer him. Her well-being, her happiness—they were entirely irrelevant.

She couldn’t control her fury at the thought, and she was certain it showed on her face. She could feel her jaw tightening, her teeth clenching, but she couldn’t stop it. She could feel the slight tremble of her hand where it rested on the man’s shoulders, and she was quite sure he could feel it, too.

When she gathered the courage to look at him, though, she found his expression softening, his gaze taking on a curious quality. She didn’t sense any pity from him, much to her relief.

He only seemed curious.

“Why are ye here, then?” he asked her. Against her body, he was a solid wall of warmth, his touch gentle and tender now. It gave Valora pause for a moment. She didn’t know how to react when all she had expected was mockery. “If ye wish tae fight all the men who are here tae ask fer yer hand, then perhaps ye shouldnae have come at all.”

“I’m only here tae save me sister from havin’ this fate instead o’ me,” Valora said, the words tumbling past her lips before she could stop them or even truly think about them. Silently, she cursed herself for it. She didn’t need this man to know anything about her or her intentions, not when he could so easily spread rumors about her. Any show of weakness could prove detrimental, and now he knew one of the biggest ones she carried.

But once again, there was no mockery, no cruelty; no sign that the man would take this information and use it against her. If anything, his hold on her only softened even further, his hands becoming so gentle that Valora herself had the sense she was made of glass and had to be treated carefully.

When she looked up at him, his gaze flayed her raw. It was as though he was looking right through her once more, peering into the deepest parts of her—the parts that she wished to keep hidden from everyone, perhaps even from herself.

The music faded just as Valora came to a slow halt, stunned by that look. The man’s hand held onto hers for a moment longer, keeping them entwined even as the music stopped, before he finally let go.

“That is very admirable,” he said with a slight tilt of his head. “Nae many would dae that fer their sister.”

Before Valora could say anything to that, the man retreated into the crowd, disappearing from her field of vision. Valora stood there, heart hammering in her ribs as she searched for him with her gaze, but no matter how hard she looked, she couldn’t catch a single glimpse of him.

How could he have disappeared so quickly? And why? He was the only one that night who had made her feel as though she mattered, as though she was being seen. All everyone else cared about was the power that came with having the hand of the MacNeacail heir.

And who amongst them didn’t have that very same goal? All the men in that room were only after one thing—power.

Another hand wrapped around Valora’s arm, and she was about to slap that off too, before she realized it belonged to her father.

“At least ye did one good thing tonight,” her father said under his breath “The man ye danced with, he showed very strong interest in ye.”

Valora’s heart skipped a beat, then another. Could it be that the reason why the man had disappeared so quickly was because he wanted to express his interest about her to her father?

“An’ Laird Keith is a powerful man,” her father added, prompting Valora to frown.

“Laird Keith?” she asked.

“Aye,” said her father. “Ye danced with him, didnae ye? An’ despite what I heard about yer behavior, it seems that ye managed tae charm him.”

Nay. Nay, anyone but him.

If Laird Keith had the audacity to grope her, a stranger, in the middle of the dance floor, then Valora could only imagine how terrible her life would be if she were married to him. Behind closed doors, he would show no restraint, no mercy. He would simply take what he wished from her with no regard as to what she wanted.

She didn’t know if she could bear it. Spending the rest of her life married to him sounded like a torture that no patience and no stubbornness could help her endure.

But if she didn’t do it, then Althea would have to take her place.

“Dinnae move,” her father said as he let go of her arm. “I willnae be long.”

He disappeared before Valora could ask where he was going. Suddenly, she was left there, standing in the middle of the room with her head held high, resolve building inside her. There was nothing to be done but her duty, and she would shoulder it with all the dignity she had remaining.