Highlander's Deception (Scottish Medieval Historical Romance) Read online

  Highlander’s Deception

  Adamina Young

  Contents

  A Welcome Gift

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Extended epilogue and Free book

  About the Author

  A Welcome Gift

  I want to thank you very much

  for purchasing my book.

  As a gift I wrote a full length novel for you called Highlander’s Perilous Love.

  You can get it for FREE at the end of this book.

  Enjoy!

  1

  The bagpipes cut through the otherwise somber atmosphere beneath the gray skies as the long line of men, members from five different clans, marched down the last leg of the journey and pooled by the graveside of one Quinn MacFarlane. As he led the procession, Lachlan MacFarlane’s boots sank into the ground that was still soggy from yesterday’s rains. Beyond the expansive graveyard, the view was breathtaking and even in his dark mood, Lachlan took a moment to appreciate it. From the plateau, he could see the land of three different clans, two of which were responsible for the death of his beloved cousin. A light fog clung to the acres of woods, farmlands, and villages and only his keep, a large and proud stone castle that he was proud to call home, rose up and stood against the weather.

  For the first time in years, the Fentons and the Brisbanes stood side-by-side without causing bloodshed. Once, they and the MacFarlanes were a feared alliance, but now Lachlan knew that at least one of those clans was responsible for the arrow that had ended Quinn’s life. He just wasn’t sure where to put the blame.

  After months of playing peacekeeper to the violent feud, enough was enough. This morning, they would mourn and this evening, Lachlan would make his decision known. Either the fighting ended or he would take steps to strip Errol Fenton and Gair Brisbane from power.

  Even now, he could feel the hatred simmering at his back, but he didn’t bother to turn around. The two feuding lairds were honor bound to attend the funeral, even though one of them was responsible for the murder. They were surrounded by two other clans, the Cunninghams and the Donahues, who were also members of an alliance. Anyone who dared to start a battle today would swiftly meet their end. The peace would continue today and for another two days in honor of Quinn and Lachlan would make sure that it didn’t start back up again.

  Father Shaw waited until the bagpipes quieted before he launched into the funeral rites. When he paused, the clan’s seanchaidh, or historian, stepped forward.

  “Quinn MacFarlane, son of Eanrulg, grandson of Hume, great-grandson of Camhlaidh, and kin to Lachlan, Calder, Balfur, and Elig MacFarlane. A direct descendent of our clan’s beginnings and a warrior and hunter who brought down the great wolf that took the lives of three of our children. Quinn also fought in the bloodied battle to keep our beloved safe and saved the life of our noble Laird.”

  There were murmurs in the crowd as the historian continued to list Quinn’s many feats, but Lachlan was distracted by the reminder that Quinn had indeed saved his life when Lachlan had foolishly slipped away and joined the battle against invaders trying to take control of the Highlands. Five years younger than his cousin, Lachlan had always privately thought that his father should have chosen Quinn to inherit the lairdship, but Quinn had never seemed interested. He had a wilder side that enjoyed the hunt and the fighting. Too often, he told Lachlan that he would not be tamed as laird.

  The low hum behind him turned to an outright chuckle and Lachlan could only assume that the seanchaidh was now going over Quinn’s additional conquests—the women who fell happily enough into his bed although none had stayed long enough to become his wife.

  Finally, Father Shaw took back over and Lachlan’s throat tightened when it was over. As a cold fury snapped inside of him, he turned and led the procession back through the villages toward the impressive MacFarlane keep. For three days, the castle would host the neighboring clans and their families during the funeral celebrations while the other visitors who stayed would scatter among the land. Many brought food with them, so Lachlan was not worried about feeding them and those that couldn’t find housing would bed in the stables or erect encampments in the fields. It would be chaos, although, privately, Lachlan knew that Quinn would have adored it.

  The women of the village and the female visitors lined the path to the keep, all of them nodding in reverence to the brilliant man they’d lost today. Maggie, his mother, and Freya, his sister, stood closest to the castle. Freya especially held grief in her eyes. She and Quinn had been particularly close and she was taking his death hard. She had wept since the moment they’d learned of his death, but she’d pulled herself together today and nodded at her brother with trembling lips. Next to her stood Kenzy, the sister of one of his warriors. For the past several months, he’d felt the pressure to marry and produce an heir. Kenzy was the most logical choice although he barely knew the woman. At least now, he could put the decision off. Traditionally speaking, he wouldn’t expect to marry during the three-month mourning period of his cousin.

  Inside the keep, his father immediately pulled him into an empty chamber and closed the door. Calder had stepped down two years prior when a battle injury took most of the strength out of his right leg and left him bed-ridden for months. Lachlan had taken over during that time and when his father never recovered fully, he stayed in power. His father had accepted his fate and even seemed to enjoy his older years without the pressure of protecting a clan. He was an infinite source of wisdom.

  “Lachlan,” he said in a low voice. “I knew that ye are hurting, but ye must not let that anger show during the celebration. This is a time to bring the other clans closer together.”

  “Aye,” Lachlan said shortly. “And the Cunninghams and Donahues are more than welcome to enjoy our hospitality, but Errol Fenton and Gair Brisbane will not leave this keep until we’ve established an end to the feud. Quinn thought he could broker peace and he is dead for his efforts. They are both lucky that I am not joining in the fighting.”

  His father watched him intently with his aging eyes. For years, Calder MacFarlane had been a hard but fair Laird. He’d told Lachlan that he would set aside his own desires for the good of the clan. That’s exactly what Lachlan was doing now.

  “Tonight,” Calder started.

  “Tonight, I will be a gracious host to the four neighboring clans, but in the morn, we will begin the negotiations. If they doona submit, then I will go to the king and lay claim to our vengeance.”

  “And if ye do find a way to broker peace? Will ye set aside yer anger?”

  Personally, there was no way that Lachlan could forgive, but since he didn’t know which clan was responsible for Quinn’s death, he wouldn’t take action. For the good of his clan, he knew that the alliance of five was the only thing that kept their lands from being raided by others who wanted access to the river. If the Fentons and Brisbanes could cease thei
r fighting, then Lachlan would set aside his need for revenge. “Aye,” he said shortly.

  There was a soft knock on the door and when it opened, Freya walked in and tried to smile at them both. “Father, may I have a moment with Lachlan?”

  “Aye. I will see ye both in the hall soon.” After kissing his daughter, Calder walked out and left them alone.

  Lachlan sighed and eyed his sister. Freya was younger than him by almost a decade. In looks, they shared their father’s dark, thick hair and their mother’s flashing green eyes. Normally a sweet and soft-spoken young woman, she’d recently become argumentative and difficult. When a previous marriage agreement fell through, Freya staunchly refused to entertain the idea of marrying another MacFarlane and Lachlan began to see why.

  She seemed to harbor feelings for Gair Brisbane, Laird of the Brisbane clan. Even during the feud, they’d hosted the clan leader a number of times and at some point, Freya had developed what Lachlan prayed was just a passing fancy. He couldn’t agree to wed his sister and Gair while there was still so much bloodshed, but his fears were validated when she aggressively defended Brisbane declaring that he and his men would never have taken Quinn’s life.

  Although he didn’t have proof, Lachlan was inclined to agree. Brisbane and Quinn knew each other well and was even once considered friends. Gair would never have murdered Quinn in cold blood and he wouldn’t have mistaken him for a Fenton in the heat of battle. Errol Fenton, on the other hand, was a snake. Calder had told his son that he had always suspected that Errol had killed his own brother to be the Laird. He would not hesitate to kill Quinn hoping that Lachlan would finally join the fighting.

  “Freya,” Lachlan said in a tired voice. “If ye are here to defend Brisbane…”

  “I am not. I’m here to tell ye that we have an additional guest. We have no more rooms available except for the chamber adjoining yours.” It was the chamber that would have been given to Lachlan’s wife when he did marry. “I need yer permission to house her there.”

  “Her?”

  “Errol Fenton.” She said his name stiffly and with unusual hatred. “He has brought his daughter with him. Sloane. I have made it clear that if ye should approve the arrangement, it doesna mean anything, although I doona believe it matters. She seems a wee bit touched in the head.”

  Sloane Fenton. Lachlan knew that Errol had a daughter only a year or two older than Freya, but he’d always kept her hidden away whenever Lachlan was forced to travel to Fenton’s lands. It surprised him to know that Errol had brought Sloane here.

  “’Tis fine,” Lachlan said finally. “No one will think anything of it during the chaos. Why do ye say that she is touched?”

  Freya cocked her head and seemed to consider the question. “She is pretty enough. Quiet at times, but she seems too youthful for her age. She is inquisitive and asks the most unusual questions. She said she would be fine sleeping in the storeroom if we didna have a place for her.”

  The storeroom? No wonder Freya thought the lass might be daft. He couldn’t imagine the daughter of a laird sleeping on sacks of potatoes and grains. “Verra well.” Lachlan had no time to spend on the strange lass. “Find a servant to see to it and then join us for dinner. I doona expect trouble, but I want ye to stay close to me or my guards to be on the safe side.”

  “Gair willna hurt me,” Freya said quietly.

  “Perhaps not, but Gair Brisbane is hardly the only man out there.” Dismissing his sister, he took a few private moments where he mourned his cousin then he braced himself and turned to join the others in the hall.

  * * *

  Sloane Fenton was overwhelmed by the sheer number of people who gathered in the great hall and she wasn’t immune to the number of pointed and hated stares her way. The Fenton keep and lands were only about half the size of those of the MacFarlane’s. She was never able to join any gatherings or festivities so she’d never seen so many people before. Whenever she questioned the reasoning behind her solitary life, her father simply told her it was to protect her.

  More than anything, she wanted to believe that. It was the only thing that comforted her, but now it perplexed her that her father would bring her here and now. Quinn MacFarlane was not the Laird, so she didn’t understand the large celebration of her life and she certainly didn’t understand why her father insisted that she pay her respects. Furthermore, she didn’t understand why so many people glared at her and her father. Had they done something wrong?

  Before people took their seats to dinner, people lined up between the tables to greet Lachlan MacFarlane first. When she and her father reached the MacFarlane Laird, her breath caught in her throat as she stared. Lachlan was huge. Compared to her father’s Highland warriors, he stood taller and broader. His dark hair fell wildly over his shoulders and framed his strong square face. Brilliant green irises tinged with silver pierced her as she walked up and she only dimly heard her father make the introduction. Power wrapped around him like an erotic lover and a sense of amusement clung to his lips as though he knew exactly what she was thinking. Mesmerized, she stared at those sensuous lips when they moved although, she didn’t hear a word he’d said. A strange tingling began low in her body, a sensation she’d never felt before and she pressed a hand to her stomach.

  Suddenly, she realized that Lachlan was staring at her expectantly. Pain shot through her body as her father gripped her arm and shook her. “I am sorry for yer loss,” she whispered before she swallowed hard.

  Errol sighed beside her in obvious aggravation. “Forgive my daughter. This is her first time traveling from Fenton lands and I am afraid that she is struck by the sheer size of the MacFarlane clan.”

  Lachlan nodded although his gaze swept over her curiously. “Lady Sloane, I thank ye for yer condolences. Ye and yer father are welcome to join us at our table.”

  “Actually,” Errol said smoothly. “I believe Sloane has taken a liking to yer sister. Would it be all right, my dear Lady Freya, if Sloane sat with ye?”

  Puzzled, Sloane cast a shy look at the petite woman. They’d only casually exchanged words. The woman looked equally confused, but she nodded her consent. Her father all but pushed her toward the woman. “I am sorry,” Sloane whispered to Freya as they drew away from the crowd and took their seats. “I doona know why my father said that.”

  “’Tis no worry,” Freya said stiffly. “We can make room.” Leaning over, she quietly shared a word with a pretty brunette who got up from the table and moved.

  “I didna mean to complicate things. I can sit elsewhere,” Sloane said as guilt clawed at her. The last thing that she wanted to do was create difficulties. Even though she never shared a meal in the dining hall before, she knew that she was creating upheaval.

  “Ye are an odd one, are ye not?” Freya muttered, but Sloane heard it and reddened even more. As they sat down, Freya shook her head. “I apologize for that. My cousin’s death has put me in a mood.”

  “’Tis understandable.” Sloane folded her hands in her lap and tried to look as small as possible. “I heard yer mother say that ye and yer cousin were close. I doona know what that is like, but I know it must be difficult to lose someone that ye love.”

  Freya narrowed her eyes. She shared her brother’s piercing eyes and Sloane couldn’t help but look over quickly in the MacFarlane laird’s direction. He was watching her. Her belly fluttered with nerves.

  “Ye doona have a cousin that ye are close to?”

  “I doona have a cousin,” Sloane admitted. “I have an uncle, but he spends most of his time traveling. We are not close, although he does visit with me when he returns to our lands.”

  “Then a friend, perhaps.”

  Sloane thought about the women who worked in the keep. They had become her friends. It would break her heart a thousand times over if anything happened to them, but she’d come to learn that her father didn’t approve of her calling the servants friends. Perhaps they felt the same here. “No. I doona have any of those either.”


  Freya’s eyes flared in surprise, but she didn’t offer any follow-up questions, much to Sloane’s relief. Wine was served with a lavish dinner and while she was not accustomed to large meals, she’d snuck her fair share of wine at home and she drank her share here to settle her nervous stomach. Despite its warming effect, her belly squeezed with anxiety. There was a time as a child when she dreamed of big events and loud crowds, but that was a long time ago. Now, she just wanted to duck under the table and hide.

  Searching for a familiar face, she looked around the table. Her father’s closest guards were seated at the end of the table where they eyed the other men seated around them with disdain. They had no reason to look after her. Most of them barely even knew her. Ness, her father’s youngest brother and the heir to the Fenton clan, was seated by her father. While Errol ignored her, Ness offered her a small smile. Her uncle, older than her by nearly a decade, was the only one to go out of his way to be kind to her although he spent most of his time traveling.

  Letting that smile comfort her, Sloane ate her dinner slowly and quietly. Freya, apparently having given up on drawing Sloane out in conversation, mostly ignored her as did the rest of the table.

  Lachlan MacFarlane was the exception.

  Every time that she dared look at the man, he seemed to know and his gaze quickly flitted back to her. As he watched her, Sloane’s body both heated and shivered in a reaction that she didn’t understand. His expression was unreadable. He neither smiled nor glowered at her and unlike her, he didn’t seem uncomfortable when she caught him watching her. Sloane had a feeling that Lachlan MacFarlane did what he wanted with no apologies.