Highland Faith
Table of Contents
HIGHLAND FAITH
Prologue
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
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
HIGHLAND FAITH
The Wild Thistle Trilogy
MADELYN HILL
SOUL MATE PUBLISHING
New York
HIGHLAND FAITH
Copyright©2017
MADELYN HILL
Cover Design by Anna Lena-Spies
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Published in the United States of America by
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Macedon, New York, 14502
ISBN: 978-1-68291-416-8
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BY MADELYN HILL
Wolf’s Castle
For The Love Of A Gypsy
Heather In The Mist
Christmas In The Highlands
THE WILD THISTLE TRILOGY
Highland Hope
Highland Faith
What Readers are saying about Madelyn Hill’s novels ~
“Madelyn Hill wrote a wonderful romance book. The plot was not like one I've ever read before which was pleasing to me. Thumbs up for originality. I was thoroughly intrigued to keep reading to find out how it was going to end for everyone involved. The pace was a steady rhythm without any hiccups.” HIGHLAND HOPE 5 Stars – Long and Short Reviews
“What a promising debut novel (Wolf’s Castle) for a talented new author! There is obviously a rich store of possibilities in storytelling ahead.” InD’tale Magazine
“WOLF’S CASTLE is a quick romantic read with a little bit of everything: betrayal, heartbreak, secrets, lies, romance and a little sex. If you are a fan of the historical Scottish romance where the leading man is reluctant to fall in love and struggles with His own demons, then Wolf’s Castle is ideal read for a lazy afternoon.” The Reading Café 4 Stars
“HEATHER IN THE MIST is full of betrayal, adventure and romance in a Scottish highland setting this story is electric! Rogan is a strong-willed lass who keeps her faith in love while Ian is honorable and courageous, tempting both the reader and Rogan at every turn. A number of surprising twists with perilous adventure will have one's adrenaline pumping while the moments of romance filled with passion and emotion will have one's heart-a-flutter.” InD'tale Magazine March 2016 Nominated for the coveted InD'Tale's 2016 RONE Award!
“How Madelyn Hill creates a soul mate love out of all the hurt and chaos is not to be missed. Not only does she give the reader a beautiful love story that heats the blood, she also weaves together the diverse personalities so a sound, happy, clan emerges and the Christmas celebration is one to remember. CHRISTMAS IN THE HIGHLANDS is a JOY to read any time of the year.” 4 Stars - Long and Short Reviews
To my daughter Giuliana.
While it frightens me to death,
you seek adventure through your travels.
Continue to explore, my love,
even when I beg you not to!
Prologue
Black Isle, Scottish Highlands, 1703
The waves swept across the ocean in unrelenting scrolls of terror as the water of the Sound of Sleat boiled like a witch’s cauldron. Hope watched, afraid their presence tempted the angry sea further as its rage competed with the battle between her clan and Clan Mungo just outside the keep. Metal clashed, then thunder boomed. She grimaced as men screamed. Beside Hope, Faith looked from the tower; her chin barely reached the top of the crenellated barrier between her wee body and the sheer cliff below. Their sister Honor, their father’s favorite and little love, stood beside them, her eyes wide with fright, five-year-old lips trembling. Hope held onto her hand, crooning a few words of reassurance; her twelve-year-old maturity marked her as the most braw of the sisters.
Their maid Nora screeched above the roar of the whipping wind as her portly form bustled toward them. She gathered them into her outstretched arms and herded them away from the sea. “Lasses, come, yer mother has me scouring the castle for yer wee hides!”
Weeping breached the broad doors protecting the laird’s rooms. At once the girls glanced at one other, nervous and afraid. With a hearty shove from Nora, they crossed the threshold. Faith, a bold and curious lass of eight, dragged her sisters farther into the darkened chamber.
“We’re doomed,” their mother moaned, her body hunched over a figure on the mammoth, canopied bed. “They’ll take all from us.”
Hope rushed forward and patted her on the arm. “Tell me, Mother. Why are you crying so?”
Catriona MacAlister lifted her head and wiped at the tears channeling down her face, her bright blue eyes faded by redness, her usually porcelain skin ruddy. Strands of golden yellow hair escaped her veil and mussed around her grief-stricken face. “My angels.”
Honor gasped and attempted to crawl upon the bed. With help from Faith, she pulled herself up and began wailing. Her sisters’ gaze followed her pointed finger and tears began to thread down their freckled faces.
There lay their father, the strength of their lives and Laird of Clan MacAlister. Blood crusted his pale brow, mangled his red hair.
At Honor’s cries, his eyes slowly opened. All wasn’t lost, it appeared, for their great oak of a father still lived, unlike the many clansmen who hadn’t survived the war with Clan Mungo.
“Ah, here’s me women,” he rasped beneath a grimace of pain.
They all came closer, eager to be near him despite his battered state. His right hand clasped his wife’s face as his left pulled Honor closer. “Me loves, ye have tae be helping yer mother now, ye ken?”
Honor’s wails stopped, yet tears still overflowed her lashes.
Hope took her father’s hand from her sister’s into her own. “Aye. We’ll do our duty to the clan.”
Faith nodded, obviously too frightened to speak.
“Remember, lasses. Through Hope, Faith, and Honor, ye can rule.”
His eyelids cl
osed as a stuttering breath brushed past his lips. His hand went limp as it fell from his wife’s face. All four females stared as if eager to hear him speak again, touch them with his infallible spirit of life.
Catriona began keening with such heartache the girls could barely stand to stay in the chamber.
The great Laird of Clan MacAlister was dead.
God help them all.
Chapter 1
Twelve years later . . .
’Twas her sister’s fault.
Hope had married Aidan MacKerry, leading the MacAlister Clan together, and now they were acting like lovesick cows. Aye, they’d recently had another bairn and ’twas why they were smiling like amadans. But Faith MacAlister had had enough of the cooing and kissing.
She had to leave the Wild Thistle Keep or go mad.
Hunting was the only option.
The size of the MacAlister Clan dictated hunting trips each fortnight to keep the larder full. Faith grabbed her quiver and bow, left word with the guards at the palisade to inform the lairds Aidan and Hope her direction, and left to find sustenance and peace.
And now, three days later, she continued stalking the elusive stag. She kenned her sister would be close to sending a group of men to look for her in a day or so. Luckily she’d managed an agreement with her sister who was also her laird. An agreement between sisters proved hard to negotiate, but she’d won in the end. And she hunted without escort as long as she never left without telling the guards her direction.
She walked through a sun-filled day, just cool enough not to need too much clothing that may hinder her movement, but hot enough she wouldn’t need to start a fire to warm herself. She stretched in the britches she’d stolen from one of the stable hands. Aye, she’d tried the tartan her sister Hope loved to wear, but found it too revealing as she moved and climbed to find her prey. And a gown, the devil take them, would make it nigh impossible to hunt and secure meat for the clan.
She moved quietly through the wood. Each footfall, purposeful, silently brought her closer to her elusive prey.
Aye, there he stood. In the morning mist that hovered just above the low foliage, a proud, beautiful stag who’d avoided her arrow for too long. Huge, with several points on his rack and a cocksure stance stating, I’m king of the forest. She hated to take down the magnificent animal. But he’d provide for her clan, and her duty dictated securing meat for those who depended on her.
She drew her bow, stretching the sinew, straining her arm muscles as she prepared to let the arrow fly. The feather fletching grazed her cheek as she held her breath waiting for the perfect moment to release. She’d traveled far for this chance, stalked her prey as her father had taught her so many years ago with her so wee she could barely hold a bow, much less draw and aim. And today, her size may well again thwart her hunting. ’Twould be problematic once she felled the massive stag. She’d have to dress him in the field and lug the meat back with her. No matter, she’d manage as always.
Two more steps forward. She stared down the length of the arrow past the head, ready to release.
“Well, well, well. What have we here?”
“Damn,” she muttered as she turned toward the voice. The stag fled, leaping gracefully away from her.
Vexed, she redrew her bow and aimed toward the interloper.
She gasped as she spied the man.
He held up his hands and chuckled. “Now, darling, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Dear Lord, he was large. He leaned against a tree, one of his legs crossed arrogantly before the other. His direct gaze set her heart pounding as she tried to catch her breath.
He nodded toward the wood surrounding them. “I never travel alone. My men surround you, darling.”
She glanced to the right, then left, all the while keeping the arrow nocked. She didn’t see anyone, but if they were trained men, they were cloaked in the brush and pine.
The man chuckled. “Aye, darling. They’re here—watching you. Well trained and well hidden.”
He moved forward with long, purposeful strides. The bow nearly slipped from her sweaty grasp.
She swallowed. Piercing blue eyes sized her up as he lazily raked his gaze from her head to her toes. Irritation spiked at his cocksure grin.
He wore a billowing liene and a tartan slung low on his hips. At his side rested a gleaming sword. If she weren’t in the wood alone with the stranger and his men, she’d ask to see the impressive weapon. And to her trained eye, expertly made.
“What do you want?” she asked with more bravado than she felt. Chills shivered up her spine as she tried to see the men watching her. Where were they? And would they hurt a helpless lass?
She nearly scoffed. I am no helpless lass. “Step back or I’ll release the arrow.”
The man tipped his head back and laughed. The husky, throaty laughter sent shivers down her spine. The chuckles of his men joined him and she cursed the day she wasn’t born a man. If she were a man, she would have had the strength to challenge him immediately.
She nodded her head at him. “I am a sure shot,” she warned without a hint of pride—her prowess with a bow ’twas common knowledge. Again, she drew her bow.
“Damn.” She arched her back when a sharp weapon poked into it.
“Release the bow, lass,” a gruff voice said from behind her, “and I’ll let ye live.”
If it were only two men, she would have released the arrow toward the arrogant man, then turned on the man with the knife and laid him on his arse. But the stranger mentioned men, which she assumed meant several able-bodied men. Too many for her to thwart on her own.
But she was a lass, more’s the pity. With a heavy sigh, she loosened her grip on the bow and denocked the arrow. She turned to the man behind her and nearly screamed. Dark scraggly hair and strange markings covered his face. Beady eyes met her gaze. He grinned at her with a nearly toothless mouth. A madman, to be sure.
“Dinnae touch me.”
He laughed, then grabbed her bow and quiver before quickly lifting her over his broad shoulder.
“Release me, you fool.” She pounded his back and flailed her legs. “I will see you hanged, drawn, and quartered.”
“Now, darling, the lad means you no harm.” The handsome man walked in front of them, leading the way deeper into the wood. “Dinnae drop her, Dougal, she’ll fetch the coin, she will.”
Fetch the coin? Did they think to ransom her? Laughable, to be sure. Hope would surely be glad to be rid of her. She and her sister rarely agreed and most of the time, they fought over the right path for the clan. Their arguing had escalated so, she hunted rather than spend time with her sister or the Clan Council. No matter, making her way through the land outside the keep soothed her. She’d inhale, smile, then rush to the forest and make an adventure of providing game.
As the man carried her, she glanced left and right. It would be vital to familiarize herself with the area and make a map in her mind so when she escaped, she’d know the way back to Wild Thistle Keep.
She must escape. For the sake of the clan.
“Why, yer as light as a feather, ye are,” Dougal said before he launched into a rather ribald song. Others joined in, though she’d yet to see them.
Aye, the lass was bonnie with a rounded arse and full bosom ready to fall from her—
“Dougal,” the leader warned. “We’ve a lass present.”
“Aye, m’laird,” he replied as he began humming instead of singing.
Laird? A laird or did the brute carrying use the title as a sign of respect?
“Let me go,” she warned. She’d been in worse circumstances, hadn’t she? Well, she admitted, not quite this dire. But damn, being captured so easily dealt a mighty blow to her ego. And if she’d had her wits about her, not focused on the stag, she’d have fl
ed. Many a time she’d been able to use the forest in which to hide from animal and people alike, creeping into vacant caves or berms of trees. And her skill at climbing any mature tree aided her as well.
And the current bastard toting her through the wood acted like an animal.
The man tightened his grip. “Nay, lass. ’Tis what me laird wants.”
Blood rushed through her veins, a mix of fear and challenge she fully embraced. She grabbed for an overhead branch, trying to pull herself from his arms as she kicked her legs. Dougal’s chuckle started low in his chest and rumbled into full laughter.
“Darling, you’ll have to do better than that to best Dougal. He’s the strongest of us.”
Of course. She gritted her teeth. “Let me go.”
“Nay, m’lady.”
“I can walk. Let me walk.” If she could walk, mayhap she’d be able to escape. Remain calm, she reminded herself as her heart began to ratchet against her chest. Steady as when you are releasing the arrow from the bow. Focus on the goal at hand—escape.
The leader smirked and continued on his path. “Aye, and run from us,” he called over his shoulder. He began whistling as if it was any other day and he had not just kidnapped her. She caught sight of his handsome profile. A strong jaw, straight nose, and tanned skin. Those piercing blue eyes—What was she thinking? She must find a way to escape.
“Where are you taking me?” she yelled. She continued to watch the landscape for when she broke free of her captor. A clear, distinct path would be needed in order to run from these men.
Why had she traveled so far from home? Aye, the area appeared safe. They’d settled their differences with the Mungos and peace reigned in this corner of the Highlands. And just when she felt it was safe enough to track the large stag, she’d been distracted by this blasted laird.