My Highland Rebel Read online

  Also by Amanda Forester

  Medieval Highlanders

  The Highlander’s Sword

  The Highlander’s Heart

  True Highland Spirit

  The Highlander’s Bride

  The Campbell Sisters Novellas

  The Highland Bride’s Choice

  The Wrong Highland Bridegroom

  The Trouble with a Highland Bride

  Regency Romance

  A Wedding in Springtime

  A Midsummer Bride

  A Winter Wedding

  If the Earl Only Knew

  Thank you for purchasing this eBook.

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  Copyright © 2017 by Amanda Forester

  Cover and internal design © 2017 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover art by Craig White

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All Latin scripture quotations are taken from the Biblia Sacra Vulgata (Latin Vulgate Bible), used with permission.

  Scripture quotation is taken from the Holy Bible, King James Version, which exists in the public domain.

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

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  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-one

  Thirty-two

  Thirty-three

  Thirty-four

  Thirty-five

  Thirty-six

  Thirty-seven

  Thirty-eight

  Thirty-nine

  Forty

  Epilogue

  An Excerpt from The Highlander’s Bride

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  To Edward, who always sees me as my best self.

  One

  Highlands, 1362

  Cormac MacLean snuck out of the monastery, Aristotle in one hand, Marcus Graecus in the other. He was not stealing, just borrowing the scrolls until such time as it was convenient to return them. Had the good brothers of St. Finan’s Monastery allowed him to read the scrolls in their extensive library, he would not have had to help himself. So really, if you thought about it logically, it was the monks’ fault he had to steal.

  Cormac slipped noiselessly across the cobblestones of the monastery courtyard to the gate. It would be locked at this time of night, the wee hours before dawn, but Core was accustomed to overcoming obstacles. He stuck Marcus in one side of his wide leather belt and Aristotle in the other. He reached up and began climbing the wrought iron gate in smooth, fluid movements. A few moments more, and he would be free.

  “Stop, thief!” a black-robed monk shouted at him from across the courtyard.

  Cormac hoisted himself up and over the gate with renewed vigor. It was time to disappear into the night.

  “Open the gates! We must catch the thief!” shouted the determined monk, running toward him. The church bells began to ring, waking the good brothers from their slumber.

  Cormac ran down the road and then veered to the north into the moors of the Highlands. He would cut across country and lose them in the thick mist of the coming dawn. Cormac settled into a loping stride, his long legs carrying him far from the monastery. ’Twas a shame what a man had to do to get a little education.

  * * *

  She had always wanted to have an adventure. That was her first mistake. Her second was to set off for a little privacy in the thick fog of the Highland morning.

  Lady Jyne Campbell tramped along the cold ground of the Highland moor, trying to retrace her steps back to camp. She could not have gotten far. Could she? She considered calling out to her brothers for help, but rejected the idea. She wished to show her clan that she was capable of taking care of herself. Admitting she had gotten lost in the fog was not going to help her cause.

  Being the youngest daughter, Jyne was accustomed to being bossed about by all of her fourteen siblings. And not just any siblings—Campbell siblings. Her eldest brother was David Campbell, laird of the powerful Campbell clan. The Campbell brothers were tall, broad-shouldered, hardworking, and a formidable foe to their enemies. The Campbell sisters were statuesque, brave, bold, and ready to stand shoulder to shoulder with any man to defend the Campbell clan, or against any clansman who got out of line. Jyne’s mother had borne fifteen children, and not one of them had the audacity to die in childhood. No, frailty was not allowed in the Campbell household.

  All except Jyne. She had been born a little too soon and had always been small. In childhood, she was prone to illness and had a delicate constitution. Being of questionable health during her formative years, she was never chosen to travel or join her clan in anything beyond the castle walls. Though her dreams were as big as any of her siblings, she had to content herself with listening to the stories of others and making herself useful about the castle, while the other siblings returned with wild tales of their exploits.

  It was hardly fair, for she was not even the youngest sibling. Her younger brother, Rab, held that honor, yet at eighteen, he was treated as a man. Though she was twenty years old, she was not given the same freedoms. But Rab knew better than to be sickly and grew up just as strong and tall as any of his elder brothers. While Jyne remained…just Jyne. Though no one ever said it to her face, she knew that within the Campbell clan she was considered the runt of the litter.

  Jyne paused a moment, straining to hear sounds from the camp. She had been so excited when David had finally allowed her to travel to see her dower lands at Kinoch Abbey that she had not slept well and had risen early to care for her morning ablutions before the rest of the camp was awake. And now, she was lost.

  No, not lost, just momentarily disoriented due to the fog. She was sure if she continued just a little farther, something woul
d start to look familiar. She would rather search for hours than admit to her overprotective brothers she had gotten lost in a bit of mist.

  She continued walking in the thick gray fog, which blanketed the rugged landscape. The moor was damp and boggy, and she hoped to avoid having wet feet for the rest of the day’s journey. She hummed a bit to herself to keep up her spirits. Sometimes she dreamed of being caught up in some great moment of crisis. Her castle would be besieged, and elephants would burst through the gates. Everyone would panic, but she would somehow stand bravely against the onslaught to save the keep. Of course, she had never actually seen an elephant, but she had heard the stories of Hannibal and his elephants, and thought that if she were attacked by them, she could be brave. Then maybe her family could see her for something other than sickly little Jyne.

  She strained to see ahead of her in the fog and stepped onto something she thought was firm ground, but suddenly wasn’t.

  “Oh!” She fell forward into a bog, gasping as the cold, muddy water engulfed her to her thighs. “Oh, no!” She struggled, trying to find firm ground to drag herself out of the treacherous moor, but everywhere she touched was made of cold, wet mud. Her efforts were rewarded only by her sinking into the bog a few inches more.

  The freezing sludge seeped through her clothes and held her fast, like an icy claw. The smell of rotting swamp gas made her gag. Her heart pounded in her throat, along with the remnants of her last meal. She had heard stories of people getting trapped in the bog and never returning.

  She clenched her teeth to stop them from chattering. Should she call for help? The thought of the looks on her brothers’ faces to find her stuck in the bog shut her mouth. She made another try for solid ground, straining her reach for a crop of grass.

  She could almost make it. Her fingertips brushed tantalizingly against the stems of the grass, but there was nothing to grasp. She could not reach solid ground. Her efforts had only caused her to sink another few inches as fear slithered down her spine. Nothing she could do was going to get herself out.

  “Help! David? Rab? Help!” Her pride was gone. She only hoped her brothers would hear her before she was gone. “Can anyone hear me?”

  She had expected her siblings to come running as soon as she called. She could not be that far from camp. Could she? She listened for footsteps, for any hint that help was on the way. She heard nothing.

  Panic surged within her, tinged with frustration. The one time she actually wanted her brothers to hover over her, and they were nowhere in sight. She made another lunge for solid ground, but the more she moved, the farther the bog sucked her down, and soon she was up to her waist, panting with exertion and sheer terror.

  She closed her eyes and screamed with all her might, “Help! Heeeeeelp!”

  “Here, lassie, take my hand.” A man, a stranger to her, flung himself onto the solid ground and reached out his hand over the murky bog. She grasped it, and he began to back up slowly, pulling her from the quagmire. He pulled hard, but the swamp resisted, as if unwilling to release its prize from its cold clutches. Finally, he wrenched her from the deadly swamp, and she collapsed beside him on firm ground.

  “Thank ye,” she gasped, not sure if she was trembling from the fear of coming near death or the frozen chill of the mire still permeating her bones.

  “Are ye hurt?” asked the stranger. He was a tall, lanky lad dressed in the plaid kilt of the Highlander, belted at the waist and thrown over one shoulder. He had a wild mop of unruly brown hair and glinting dark eyes. He was armed with a bow and quiver of arrows and had several scrolls stuck into his wide leather belt.

  Her teeth chattered. “N-nay, just relieved to be out o’ the bog.”

  The stranger stood up and took her with him, easily lifting her to her feet. “Ah, lass, ye’re chilled to the bone.” He pulled her close and wrapped the ends of his plaid around her, warming her with his own heat. She melted into the comforting warmth and safety of his arms.

  Jyne sighed. She had a vague feeling she should not be enjoying an embrace with a total stranger quite so much. She was simply thankful to be out of the bog. At least that is what she told herself to explain why she rested her cheek against his chest.

  “Thank ye. I dinna ken what would have happened to me if ye had’na come along,” said Jyne into the man’s chest. “Ye must have been sent by the angels to save me.”

  The man laughed. “Angels? That would be the first time anyone said that about me.”

  Jyne looked up at him. He had a decided jawline and sharp cheekbones. His face was almost angular, but attractive. His dark green eyes gleamed in the early morning light. He was a tall, trim man who looked to be in his early twenties. Perhaps it was her brush with danger, but she decided he was the most handsome Highlander she had ever seen.

  “Then I am glad to be the first to say it to ye. Ye truly are my hero.” Jyne’s voice trembled with sincerity.

  “I’m nobody’s hero.” He tilted his head with a sardonic smile.

  “Ye are to me. I am Jyne and much in yer debt.”

  He shook his head. “Ye owe me naught.”

  She touched her hand to his cheek, and he tilted his head toward her, leaning closer.

  “Unhand my sister!”

  Jyne jumped away from the stranger and turned to see her brother, Laird of the Campbells, emerging from the mist.

  “David! ’Tis well. He was helping me.”

  “Exactly how was he ‘helping’ ye?” David Campbell glowered at her, his legs planted shoulder-length apart, his arms folded across his chest. Behind him was Rab, copying his elder brother move for move.

  Jyne took a step away from her brothers. It was not that she was afraid of her eldest brother, but David Campbell was built on a large scale and had decided notions of how his sisters should behave. He was never cruel or mean about his dictates, but he expected and received absolute obedience. He was a tyrant to be sure, but a benevolent one. She glanced down at her muddy gown. No hope to convince him she was capable now.

  “I…I got caught in—”

  “’Twas my fault,” the stranger jumped in. “I wasna looking where I was going in the fog, and I ran into this lovely creature and knocked her into the bog. For my clumsiness, I humbly beg yer forgiveness.”

  Jyne stared at the formidable stranger. He had lied for her. He had lied for her! Not that she condoned falsehoods, but in this case, it was tremendously kind.

  Jyne could not let his act of kindness go undeclared. “Ye’re too kind, but truth is I fell into the bog, and this man rescued me from the mire.”

  “Then I owe ye my thanks,” said David, still skewering the stranger with a deadly stare.

  “No trouble. Happy to be o’ service.”

  Jyne could not fail to notice that the stranger stood his ground against her imposing brother.

  A faint voice floated across the wisps of mist. “Stop, thief!”

  “What was that?” asked Rab, looking about for the author of the voice.

  “Sounds like someone else is in need o’ my help,” said the stranger quickly. “Must go.”

  “But I dinna know yer name—” called Jyne, but he was already gone. Jyne stared at the place in the thick fog where the stranger had disappeared. Who was this man? Her first embrace with a man not her kin was with a stranger who had saved her life and vanished into the swirling mist. She trembled with the excitement of it all.

  She turned slowly back to her brothers to find equal looks of disapproval. “Ye’re covered in mud,” observed David. “Come back to camp and change. We are headed back to Innis Chonnel.”

  “Wait, we are returning home?” Jyne hustled after her brothers as they led her across the moor.

  “Aye,” said David. “We got word this morning that the demon warlord, Red Rex, has struck a hamlet south o’ here. We need to get back to the castle and prepare a force to mar
ch out to face this threat.”

  “But what o’ the journey to my dower lands?” Jyne was crushed. Her expedition could not end now, not when it was only just beginning. “This is the first time I’ve ever left the castle.”

  “Nay, surely not,” said David, frowning at the thought. They emerged back into camp, where David had led them unerringly. He did not get lost in the fog.

  “But it is. I never have any adventures.” Jyne gave voice to a complaint she had often felt but seldom shared. She wished it hadn’t sounded childish, but she was tired of playing the role of the dutiful youngest sister.

  “Ye’re covered in mud, and I found ye in the arms o’ an unknown Highlander,” Laird Campbell accused. “That is adventure enough. Now, change yer kirtle. We leave shortly.”

  “I could take her to her dower lands and return her back home,” volunteered Rab. Jyne smiled at his support, though she knew he had his own reasons for wanting to accompany her.

  “Aye, that would be better for us all,” Jyne agreed. “For I warrant ye can move much faster wi’out me slowing ye down.”

  Laird Campbell frowned again, considering the request. Jyne held her breath. Kinoch Abbey was north of their location and should be well out of any danger.

  “All right then, but, Rab, ye best look out for her. Dinna let her wander off alone. Take her straight to Kinoch Abbey and then back to Innis Chonnel. And, Jyne, I ne’er want to find ye again in the arms o’ some strange Highlander.”

  “Aye, David,” Jyne acquiesced. She was in full agreement. If she ever ended up in the arms of that mysterious stranger again, she most definitely wished David not to interfere.

  She gazed again in the direction her intriguing stranger had gone. Her adventure had just begun.

  Two

  “Stop, thief!”

  The monk behind him was certainly determined. Cormac would have made a clean escape had he not stopped to assist the delightful young lass out of the bog. She was a lovely thing, slender, with high, regal cheekbones, blond hair plaited under her veil, and bright blue eyes. In truth, he would have stopped to help anyone stuck in the moor, but the beauty of the damsel in distress had made him linger.