Claimed by the Highland Warrior Read online

  “You’d better eat more than that, MacKinloch,” Nairna ordered him. “You need to get your strength back.”

  “And what will I be needing the strength for, a ghaoil?” Bram asked, taking her fingertips.

  Her face colored, and she held out a bite of fish, offering it to him. When she pushed the food into his mouth, her thumb brushed against his lip.

  The soft touch brought him into a deeper awareness of her. He ignored the clan members gathering, and the sounds of their conversation grew muted. He looked into Nairna’s worried green eyes, and kept her fingers locked in his.

  “Bram, are you all right?”

  No. He was tired, irritated at having to be around so many people, and his mind couldn’t stop thinking about the night he would spend with Nairna. The bawdy conversation was doing nothing to alleviate the sexual hunger he felt for her. He remembered the silken skin and the sweetness of her kiss. Even more, the way she’d clung to him when he’d kissed her only deepened his own arousal. He wanted to be alone with his wife right now. He wanted to explore her body, to learn the mysteries of a woman’s flesh. Unless she kept her hands off him, his control was going to break apart.

  When her hand came up to stroke his cheek, all semblance of reason snapped.

  Claimed by the Highland Warrior

  Harlequin® Historical #1042—May 2011

  Author Note

  Ever since I saw the movie Braveheart, I longed to write a Highlander story of my own set during the era of William Wallace…only, with a happy ending! Bram MacKinloch is a prisoner of war during this troubled time, and he must save his brother from the English who captured him.

  After seven long years, Nairna believed she’d lost her childhood sweetheart. But Fate gives her a second chance at love and a family. She tries to help Bram overcome his sleepless nights and horrifying memories, despite his belief that he doesn’t deserve happiness. It’s the story of healing and hope, and how two people can rekindle a lost love.

  A friend of my father’s was a prisoner of war in the Vietnam conflict. His wife never knew what happened to him and he was believed dead, until his shocking return years later. I can only imagine the feelings in her heart, and Claimed by the Highland Warrior was inspired by their true-life love story.

  There are a few additional things I wanted to note. During the early fourteenth century, the Scots did not wear kilts, plaids or tartans; these came centuries later. Also, though they likely understood English, amongst each other the Highlanders would have spoken Gaelic. This is why I’ve left out the Scottish burr that’s common to many romances, since it wouldn’t have been part of a Highlander’s speech.

  This past summer, I visited the Scottish Highlands and took many pictures that inspired my new miniseries You’re welcome to view the photos at my Facebook page, www.facebook.com/michellewillinghamfans. You can also visit my website at www.michellewillingham.com for excerpts and behind-the-scenes details. I love to hear from readers and you may email me at [email protected] or via mail at P.O. Box 2242 Poquoson, VA 23662 USA.

  MICHELLE WILLINGHAM

  Claimed by the Highland Warrior

  Praise for Michelle Willingham

  The MacEgan Brothers

  Her Warrior Slave

  “Michelle Willingham writes characters that feel all too real to me. The tortured soul that is Kieran really pulled at my heartstrings. And Iseult’s unfailing search for her lost child made this book a truly emotional read.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Willingham skillfully combines a cast of wonderfully original characters with a refreshingly different, meticulously detailed setting to create a vivid tale of love and danger in medieval Ireland.”

  —Chicago Tribune

  Her Warrior King

  “The MacEgan tales just keep getting better. With Her Warrior King, Michelle Willingham has set a new standard of excellence. We will all be impatiently awaiting the next novel.”

  —Cataromance, 4.5 stars

  The Warrior’s Touch

  “I know we all wish we could have a MacEgan for our very own but since we cannot, be sure and pick up this not-to-be-missed tale of The MacEgan Brothers, The Warrior’s Touch.”

  —Cataromance, 4.5 stars

  Her Irish Warrior

  “Willingham not only delves into medieval culture, she also tells the dark side of being a woman in that era… The bright side is that in romantic fiction, a happy ending is expected, and it’s delivered in this excellent, plot-driven, page-turner of a book.”

  —RT Book Reviews, 4.5 stars

  Surrender To An Irish Warrior

  “Two wounded souls find hope and redemption in Surrender to an Irish Warrior, a richly detailed and emotionally intense medieval romance.”

  —Chicago Tribune

  With many thanks to Sharron Gunn for her help with researching the medieval Highlands and for being willing to answer so many of my questions. Thanks to my editor, Joanne Grant, and to my agent, Helen Breitwieser, for their continued support and for challenging me with each and every book. Both of you have helped me to grow as an author, and it’s deeply appreciated.

  Available from Harlequin® Historical and MICHELLE WILLINGHAM

  *Her Irish Warrior #850

  *The Warrior’s Touch #866

  *Her Warrior King #882

  *Her Warrior Slave #922

  *Taming Her Irish Warrior #966

  †The Accidental Countess #981

  †The Accidental Princess #985

  *Surrender to an Irish Warrior #1010

  **Claimed by the Highland Warrior #1042

  And in ebook Harlequin Historical Undone!

  The Viking’s Forbidden Love-Slave

  The Warrior’s Forbidden Virgin

  †An Accidental Seduction

  Innocent in the Harem

  Pleasured by the Viking

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter One

  Ballaloch, Scotland—1305

  Bram MacKinloch couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten or slept. The numbness consumed him, and all he could do now was keep going. He’d been imprisoned in the darkness for so many years, he’d forgotten what the sun felt like upon his skin. It blinded him, forcing him to keep his gaze fixed upon the ground.

  God’s bones, he couldn’t even remember how long he’d been running. Exhaustion had blotted away the visions until he didn’t know how many English soldiers were pursuing him or where they were now. He’d stayed clear of the valley, keeping to the hills and the fir trees that would hide him from view.

  His clothing and hair were soaked, after he’d swum through a river to mask his scent from the dogs.

  Had there been dogs? He couldn’t remember anymore. Shadows blurred his mind, until he didn’t know reality from the nightmares.

  Keep going, he ordered himself. Don’t stop. Not now.

  His footing slipped as he crossed the top of the hill and he stumbled to the ground. Before he rose, he listened hard for the sound of his pursuers.
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br />   Nothing. Silence stretched across the Highlands, with only the sound of birds and insects breaking the stillness. He grabbed at the grass, using it to regain his balance. After he stood, he turned in a slow circle in all directions. From the top of the hill, he could see no one. Only the vast expanse of craggy green mountains and the clouded sky above him.

  Freedom.

  He drank in the sight, savouring the open air and the land that he’d missed these past seven years. Though he was far from home, these mountains were known to him, like old friends.

  Bram steadied his breathing, taking a moment to rest. He should have been grateful that he’d broken free of his prison, but guilt held him captive now. His brother Callum was still locked away in that godforsaken place.

  Let him be alive, Bram prayed. Let it not be too late. If he had to sell his own soul, he’d get Callum out. Especially after the price he’d paid for his own freedom.

  He started moving west, towards Ballaloch. If he kept up his pace, it was possible to reach the fortress within the hour. He hadn’t been there in years, not since he was sixteen. The MacPhersons would grant him shelter, but would they remember or even recognise him?

  Cold emptiness filled him, and he rubbed at his scarred wrists. The days without any rest had taken their toll, causing his hands to shake. What he wouldn’t give for a dreamless night, one where his mind no longer tormented him.

  But one dream held steady, of the woman he’d thought about each night over the past seven years.

  Nairna.

  Despite the nightmares of his imprisonment, he’d kept her image fixed in his mind. Her green eyes, the brown hair that fell to her waist. The way she’d smiled at him, as if he were the only man she’d ever wanted.

  A restless sense of regret pulled at him, as he wondered what had happened to her over the years. Had she grown to hate him? Or had she forgotten him? She would be different now. Changed, like he was.

  After so many years lost, he didn’t expect her to feel anything towards him. And though he’d never wanted to leave her behind, Fate had dragged him down another path.

  He reached to finger the edge of his tunic, touching the familiar stone that he’d kept hidden within a seam. Over the years, he’d nearly worn the small stone flat. Nairna had given him the token on the night he’d left to fight against the English. So many times, he’d clenched the stone during his imprisonment, as if he could reach out to her.

  Her image had kept him from falling into madness, like an angel holding him back from hellfire. She’d given him a reason to live. A reason to fight.

  Regret lowered his spirits, for it was unrealistic to imagine that she’d waited for him. After seven years, likely she would have put their memories in the past.

  Unless she still loved him.

  The thought was a thread of hope, one that kept him moving forwards. He was close to the MacPherson stronghold now and could take shelter with them for the night.

  He imagined holding Nairna in his arms, breathing in the soft scent of her skin. Tasting her lips and forcing back the painful memories. He could lose himself in her and none of the past would matter.

  As he crossed down into the valley, he saw Ballaloch, nestled between the hills like a gleaming pearl. Bram sat down on the grass, staring at the stronghold.

  And then, behind him, he heard the sound of horses.

  He struggled to his feet, his heart pounding. When he glanced behind him, he saw the glint of chainmail armour and soldiers.

  No. The thought was a vicious command to himself. He couldn’t let himself be taken captive. Not again. Not after so many years of being a slave.

  He tore down the hillside, his legs shaking. But his weak body betrayed him, his knees surrendering as he fell to the ground.

  The stronghold was right there. Right within his reach.

  Anguish ripped through him as he fought to rise, to make his legs move.

  But even when he managed to run, they overtook him with their horses, dragging him up. Gloved hands took him by the shoulders, and as he fought, they dropped a hood over his head, blinding him.

  Then they struck him down, and all fell into darkness.

  ‘Something’s wrong, Jenny,’ Nairna MacPherson muttered to her maid, staring out her window into the inner bailey. Four horsemen had arrived through the barbican gate, their leader dressed in chainmail armour and a conical helm. ‘English soldiers are here, but I don’t know why.’

  ‘Probably Harkirk’s men, come to demand more silver from your father,’ Jenny answered, closing the trunk. ‘But don’t be fretting. It’s his worry, not yours.’

  Nairna turned away from the window, her mind stewing. ‘He shouldn’t have to bribe them. It’s not right.’

  Robert Fitzroy, the English Baron of Harkirk, had set up his garrison west of her father’s fortress, a year after the Scottish defeat at Falkirk. There were hundreds of English outposts all across the Highlands and more emerging every year.

  Her father had given them both his allegiance and his coins, simply to safeguard his people from attack.

  Bloodsucking leeches. It had to stop.

  ‘I’m going to see why they’re here.’ She started to move towards the door, but Jenny stepped in her way.

  The old woman’s brown eyes softened with sympathy. ‘We’re going back home this day, Nairna. I don’t think you’re wanting to start a disagreement with Hamish before ye return.’

  The arrow of disapproval struck its intended target. Her shoulders lowered, and she wished there were something she could do to help her father. They were bleeding him dry, and she loathed the thought of what he’d done for his clan’s safety.

  But Ballaloch was no longer her home. Neither was Callendon, though she’d lived there for the past four years while she’d been married to the chief of the MacDonnell clan.

  Iver was dead now. And though she’d had a comfortable life with him, it had been an empty marriage. Nothing at all like the love she’d known before.

  A tendril of grief slipped within her heart for the man she’d lost, so many years ago. Bram MacKinloch’s death had broken her apart, and no man could ever replace him.

  Now, she was mistress of nothing and mother of no one. Iver’s son and his wife had already assumed the leadership of the clan and its holdings. Nairna was an afterthought, the widow left behind. No one of importance.

  The unsettled feeling of helplessness rooted deep inside. Loneliness spread across her heart with the fervent wish that she could be useful to someone. She wanted a home and a family, a place where she wouldn’t be a shadow. But it felt like there was no place that she truly belonged. Not in her father’s home. Not in her late husband’s home.

  ‘I won’t interfere,’ she promised Jenny. ‘I just want to see why they’re here now. He’s already paid the bribes due for this quarter.’

  ‘Nairna,’ her maid warned. ‘Leave it be.’

  ‘I’ll listen to what they’re saying,’ she said slowly, feigning a nonchalance she didn’t feel. ‘And I might try to speak with Da.’

  Her maid grumbled, but followed her below stairs. ‘Take Angus with ye,’ she advised.

  Nairna didn’t care about a guard, but as soon as she crossed the Hall, Angus MacPherson, a thick-chested man with arms the size of broad tree limbs, shadowed her path.

  Outside, she blinked at the afternoon sunlight and saw the English soldiers standing within the inner bailey. Across one of the horses lay the covered body of a man.

  Her heart seized at the sight and she hurried closer. Was it a MacPherson they’d found?

  Their leader was addressing Hamish, saying, ‘We caught this man wandering not far from Ballaloch. One of yours, I suppose.’ The soldier’s mouth curled in a thin smile.

  Nairna’s hand gripped the dagger at her waist. Her father’s face was expressionless as he stared at the soldiers. ‘Is he alive?’

  The man gave a nod, motioning for the other soldier to bring the body closer. They had covered their c
aptive’s face with a hood.

  ‘How much is a man’s life worth to you?’ the Englishman asked. ‘Fifteen pennies, perhaps?’

  ‘Show me his face,’ Hamish said quietly, sending a silent signal to his steward. Whatever price they named, Nairna knew her father would pay it. But she couldn’t even tell if the prisoner was alive.

  ‘Twenty pennies,’ their leader continued. He ordered his men to lift the captive from the horse and hold him. The hooded prisoner couldn’t stand upright, and from his torn clothing, Nairna didn’t recognise the man. The long dark hair falling about his shoulders was their only clue to his identity.

  Nairna drew closer to her father, lowering her voice. ‘He’s not one of ours.’

  The soldiers gripped their captive by his shoulders, and another jerked the man’s head backwards, baring his throat.

  ‘Twenty-five pennies,’ the Englishman demanded, unsheathing a dagger. ‘His life belongs to you, MacPherson, if you want it.’ He rested the blade at the prisoner’s throat. At the touch of the metal against skin, the prisoner’s hands suddenly closed into fists. He struggled to escape the soldiers’ grip, twisting and fighting.

  He was alive.

  Nairna’s pulse raced as she stared at the unknown man. Her hands began shaking, for she understood that they would show no mercy to the stranger. They were truly going to execute him, right in the middle of the bailey. And there was no way to know if their captive was a MacPherson or one of their enemies.

  ‘Thirty pennies,’ came her father’s voice, reaching for a small purse that his steward had brought.

  Their leader smiled, catching the purse as it was tossed at him. The soldiers shoved the prisoner to the ground, but after he struck the earth he didn’t rise.

  ‘Go back to Lord Harkirk,’ Hamish commanded.

  The English soldier mounted his horse, rejoining the others as he fingered the purse. ‘I wondered if you were going to let him die. I would have killed him, you know. One less Scot.’ He tossed the bag of coins, his thin smile stretching.