Highlander's Kiss: The McDougalls, Books 1-3 Read online

  Table of Contents

  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

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Highlander’s Kiss

  The McDougalls, Book 1-3

  Hildie McQueen

  Pink Door Publishing

  Contents

  Highlander’s Kiss

  Copyright

  Also by Hildie McQueen

  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

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  About the Author

  Highlander’s Kiss

  The McDougalls, Book 1-3

  USA Today Bestselling Author

  Hildie McQueen

  Highlander’s Kiss

  Pink Door Publishing

  Cover Artist: Dar Albert

  Copyright Hildie McQueen 2017

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without written permission.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

  This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader.

  If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it to your retailer and purchase your own copy.

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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

  Created with Vellum

  Also by Hildie McQueen

  Moriag Series

  Beauty and the Highlander

  Lady and the Scot

  The Lass and the Laird

  The Laird’s Daughter

  Standalone Stories

  Highland Archer

  The Wolf of Skye

  Highland Mists

  The Duke’s Fiery Bride

  Highlander’s Rose

  Prologue

  Highlander’s Captive - Conor & Victoria

  Conor McDougall pulled his tartan over his head to keep the freezing rain from hitting his face. The cold didn't bother him. It was the heat of rage that kept his blood boiling. He looked to his man, who rode alongside him, sure the determined look on his rugged face mirrored his own. Neither his men nor he would rest until they witnessed life ebbing from Lord Turner.

  Conor and his guardsmen left Scotland four days earlier. His sister Cailyn had arrived home battered and broken from her fiancé’s keep.

  An Englishman, Lord Darien Turner and his men attacked the small border village where Cailyn visited her future husband’s family. The Englishmen attacked Cailyn and her maid while they'd been out at the village. Thankfully before they could harm Cailyn, her intended's clansmen defended her.

  However in the end Cailyn was returned to the McDougall Keep after her fiancé cancelled their engagement. The young Sutherland laird did not stand up for her against his clan when they assumed the English had raped Cailyn. They did not want their future laird married to someone who shamed them.

  That she was to marry a Lowlander was bad enough. After the young laird's treatment of his sister, Conor was more convinced than ever Lowlanders were almost as useless as the English. The anger quickening through his veins, Conor urged his horse forward.

  Chapter 1

  The quiet of the night was shattered by the sounds of men shouting. Victoria Westcott Turner jerked awake and bolted upright. Darien ran into her room pulling on his breeches just as screams erupted. He grabbed her from the bed and shoved a gown into her arms. "Go through my chamber and out the back woman, hurry!” he shouted.

  Her heart pounding, Victoria did as he commanded and dashed through his chamber pausing only slightly when a nude chambermaid sat in the center of Darien's bed screaming hysterically. There was no time to be concerned about what she'd already suspected. The reason he never sought her in bed.

  She kept moving until finding the back exit and made her way through a dark tunnel, her feet sinking into foul smelling muck. She didn't stop to wonder what coated the ground, too distressed at hearing more screams and the sounds of horses outside.

  Victoria crept out into the night quietly calling for Mary, her handmaid. The lack of moonlight made it almost impossible to see. Running barefoot, she grimaced when she stepped into a puddle and lost her footing, slipping down a muddy slope and landing in a small trench. Unfortunately, she lost hold of her bundle of clothing and it remained at the top of the small hill.

  Fires had erupted from the direction of the large estate. The light from the flames helped her eyes adjust to the darkness. Victoria took advantage to look for Mary. Climbing on all fours Victoria inched back up the hill.

  The pounding of the hooves echoed on the ground as she lowered back down into the muddy ditch.

  Victoria was not sure how much time passed. Other than the occasional shouts and sounds of horses moving about, she could not make out enough to know more than they'd been attacked. By whom is what she needed to know?

  When the flames arose into the night sky she was finally able to see what happened around her. Horsemen rode to and fro. Fierce looking men corralled people and loaded them onto a wagon.

  Who were these men that attacked in the middle of the night? Obviously they had to be her husband’s enemies?

  Soon after marrying, Darien Turner’s cruel personality had be
en revealed. It did not surprise her to find out he had enemies she wasn't aware of.

  Victoria refused to cry. She had to keep her wits about her. Listening intently for any familiar voice was difficult with all the noise. The horsemen spoke with heavy Scottish accents communicating with short commands and whistles. According to one of her brothers, Scots were bloodthirsty brutal men. They would probably kill everyone including her, if they found her.

  "Mistress Victoria?" Over the shouts and other sounds she heard Mary’s voice in the darkness.

  "I'm here Mary." She stood and rushed toward her maid only to trip on something.

  Mary hurried to her crying. "Oh thank goodness you are alright.” The older woman pulled Victoria to her and hugged her. Just then a horseman came upon them.

  "Who’s there?” The deep voice held a strong Scottish accent.

  "Don’t say a word milady,” Mary whispered to Victoria urgently. She then addressed the Scot, "Tis only two of us women, we are unarmed milord.”

  The huge man bent to get a closer look at the two women huddled together. He looked over his shoulder. "We missed two." He shouted as another horseman neared.

  "We've already sent the other maids and stable lads away on a wagon as you directed," the other male stated.

  "Leave them then," the first man said, turning his horse away.

  "They'll die of exposure. There’s nothing left of the house but the walls and winter is fast approaching."

  The first man grunted his reply, too low for Victoria to understand.

  "You should have kept silent," Victoria whispered to Mary who looked to be in shock.

  After being herded to their wagon, the men loaded Mary and Victoria onto the back of it. Now they bumped along behind twenty men lead by the Scot who'd found them.

  "I'm sorry milady, we would have frozen to death. Ye look positively miserable. Are ye warm enough?" Victoria remained muddy and uncomfortable. The cold dirty nightgown clung to her skin. She glanced toward an old man who introduced himself as Hamish. He sat up front driving the two mules that pulled their wagon, which was full of foodstuffs and other items they had obviously looted from the Turner estate. She whispered to Mary. "Do you think Darien is dead?”

  "Yes my sweet I saw it meself” Mary whispered back. "That large Scot killed him.” She motioned to the Scotsman. "He’s a mean one that one.”

  "What of Lady Beatrice?” She asked referring to her mother in law.

  "I believe she is dead as well.”

  Although she'd not grown fond of her cruel husband of only two months and her equally bitter mother in law, Victoria began to cry. "Why did they choose to come to attack our home?"

  "I don't know milady," Mary whispered and patted her back. "We've got to be strong. Now, now, stop crying, we have to keep calm so we can think better."

  "What will become of us Mary?” She shivered from a combination of fright and the chilly air.

  Mary cupped Victoria’s face and lifted it. "You must not tell them who you are milady. Tis best that you stay covered in mud. The fact that you fell into the muck is a blessing in disguise. I shudder to think what those brutes will do, if they get a good look at you.”

  Victoria gasped at the thought and nodded. From the corner of her eye, she eyed the two Scots who rode behind the wagon. Neither of them seemed particularly interested in Mary or her at the moment. She could tell they were on guard. Both constantly looked to the surrounding trees, ever alert. By their battle-toned awareness, she realized it would be almost impossible to escape.

  Resigned she prayed that her brothers would receive word of the attack and come to rescue her. They were her best hope. Jamie the younger of the two was a well-known privateer. Her oldest brother, Aidan, who ran the family estate, was also a decorated warrior. The Westcott’s were a force to be reckoned with. If anyone could stand up to these brutes, it was her brothers. Sending a silent prayer for her husband’s soul, she resigned herself to the fact that in a few days she would be in Scotland.

  Her future more than uncertain.

  When the group came to a stop in the light morning hours, Mary shook Victoria awake. Although she could feel the Scot's gazes, none spoke to them. They made their way to a crop of trees for privacy and relieved themselves. A Scotsman followed, but kept a discreet distance. She and Mary washed up at a nearby creek. Victoria careful to only rinse the muck from her hands and forearms ached to dunk into the water and wash off, but Mary's words kept repeating in her mind. It was best not to look attractive. She rinsed around her mouth and eyes and left her dirty hair down to cover as much of her face as possible.

  Such a contrast to the day before, the same men who slaughtered her household were now watching for their safety. When they returned to the wagon Mary automatically switched to what she knew best. She went directly to help Hamish who seemed to be in charge of feeding the men. Unsure what exactly to do, Victoria followed the woman's lead.

  "Tis a shame to have to feed the men who killed our people without regard” Mary grumbled under her breath

  Hamish took affront and replied curtly "Tis a shame for some to judge people without knowing their motivations.”

  Victoria looked over to where the men had gathered near the creek rinsing their faces while at the same time keeping a vigilant eye to their surroundings. She wondered what motivation would bring them so far.

  After a short respite and simple meal, the party mounted their horses and traveled again for the entire day.

  Chapter 2

  At sunset, they set up camp near a creek to allow the horses to rest. Conor and his men washed up in the river’s cold water and shook the dust out of their clothes. He noticed the older of the two women carrying water back to where Hamish prepared their meal. The younger girl sat near him slicing potatoes.

  He frowned noticing she remained covered in mud except for her forearms and hands. He walked toward her, hesitating only when the older lady blocked his path.

  "Can I get you something milord?” The woman seemed nervous, but it didn’t surprise him, he knew the English thought Scots to be barbarians.

  "Why doesn’t the girl wash up? Walking around covered in mud for days cannot be comfortable.” He kept his gaze on the younger woman who paused from her chore to look over at them with interest.

  The older lady paled slightly. "She is fearful and refuses to wash in front of you and your men.”

  He strode away from the woman toward the young girl. "We are not animals who would pounce on an unwilling woman. I believe it is the English who hold no such standards.” The older woman rushed to keep up with him.

  "She will refuse milord!”

  Upon spotting him, the dirty woman froze. When he neared, she dropped the potato in her hand and ran towards the edge of the woods. It didn’t take him long to catch up with her, when he did he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder.

  Ignoring her cries of protest, he stalked towards the river while she pounded on his back screaming and kicking. The men stopped talking and watched Conor carry the thrashing woman toward the water. Without pausing at the water's edge he tossed her away from him into the creek like a sack. She came up sputtering, her hair covering her face.

  "You big oaf! How dare you. I will not be bullied by the likes of you!” She tried to move but her wet skirts wrapped around her legs and kept her from walking. She cursed and began pulling on the folds of cloth and glared through the strands at Conor who stood on the riverbank with his arms across his chest.

  "I suggest you remove the mud off yourself Lass, you won’t get past me until you do.” He told her patiently.

  Her eyes darted to either side of him and she must have realized it would be impossible to make it around him especially with her wet skirts. The woman huffed at him and then dove under the water obediently to rinse the mud from her face and hair. Finally, she dunked one last time and came up to get out of the frigid water.

  Conor’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open when she surfaced t
he last time. He could only stare at the beauty before him. To ensure she was not an illusion, Conor blinked to clear his vision.

  Her exquisite face framed by long wet auburn hair, her narrowed almond shaped emerald eyes regarded him while she trudged through the water toward where he stood. Like a second skin, the wet gown clung to enticing curves and pert breasts.

  He wondered why she was a maid and her family had not provided a dowry for her. Surely with her looks it would have been easy to find a willing husband.

  She finally emerged out of the water. His eyes wandered from her face down the length of her body. Her breasts were of a good size. The beauty had a narrow waist and lush hips that swayed enticingly in her wet skirts. With her hands fisted at her sides, she stalked directly toward him, green eyes blazing. When she stopped a few short inches from him Conor cocked a brow waiting to hear what she had to say. Instead, his reward was a blinding shot of pain when the heel of her hand connected with his nose.

  Conor grabbed in her direction with one hand, while trying to stop the blood flow with the other. She was quick and darted around him, picking up her skirts and running back toward the wagon.

  Ignoring the guffaws of his men, he held his head back and pinched the bridge of his nose to stop the bleeding. The lass was a spitfire, he stalked after her. It was best to speak about her actions and let her know it was not at all acceptable.

  The older maid ran to the lass and hurried her to the wagon. Conor neared and overheard the older woman chastise her. "What are you thinking Victoria? The man will leave us both on the side of the road. Wild beasts will kill us before we make it very far.

  Victoria huffed "I would rather take my chances with wild animals than with that insufferable brute.”

  "Milady, you must curb your temperament. It's for the best." The woman referred to her with a title. It seemed the woman, Victoria, was not who she portrayed to be?