A Hellish Highlander (Clan Ross Book 3) Read online

  A Hellish Highlander

  Clan Ross

  Book Three

  Hildie McQueen

  © Copyright 2020 by Hildie McQueen

  Text by Hildie McQueen

  Cover by Dar Albert

  Dragonblade Publishing, Inc. is an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc.

  P.O. Box 7968

  La Verne CA 91750

  [email protected]

  Produced in the United States of America

  First Edition April 2020

  Kindle Edition

  Reproduction of any kind except where it pertains to short quotes in relation to advertising or promotion is strictly prohibited.

  All Rights Reserved.

  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.

  License Notes:

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook, once purchased, may not be re-sold. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it or borrow it, or it was not purchased for you and given as a gift for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. If this book was purchased on an unauthorized platform, then it is a pirated and/or unauthorized copy and violators will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Do not purchase or accept pirated copies. Thank you for respecting the author’s hard work. For subsidiary rights, contact Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.

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  Additional Dragonblade books by Author Hildie McQueen

  Clan Ross Series

  A Heartless Laird

  A Hardened Warrior

  A Hellish Highlander

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Publisher’s Note

  Additional Dragonblade books by Author Hildie McQueen

  Prologue

  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 Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Kieran Ross, third-born son to Robert and Madeline Ross, often traveled with his father to check on the people who lived in the outlying lands.

  Little did they expect on this unremarkable day that the actions of madman would change their lives forever.

  The howling scream pierced Kieran Ross almost as if it were he who was sliced open with the sharp sword.

  His father’s bewildered expression, wide-open eyes and gaping mouth would be forever etched in Kieran’s mind.

  With hands outstretched toward Kieran, Robert Ross fell to the ground, his guts spilling out onto the dirt, twisting and spreading like live snakes.

  The sounds of horses whinnying, swords clanging and screams all faded as Kieran collapsed onto the soil, his knees faltering, no longer holding him upright.

  “Father…no! No!” Kieran cried out, clutching his father’s face, willing him to live.

  Somehow, strength kept the injured man conscious enough to speak. “Help me…not like this…not like this.” His father gasped out each word, fear evident in his tear-filled eyes. “I do not wish to die. Help me…Son.”

  It wasn’t possible that his father was cut down in front of him and he didn’t stop the aggressor, or defend him. How could it be that the guards who flanked the laird not see it coming? How could everyone have been so blind? So very reckless?

  “We will get ye home. Our healer will take care of ye. Do not give up,” Kieran said, believing every word. “Look at me,” he demanded when his father’s gaze moved upward. “Father, look at me.”

  “I do not want to die,” his father repeated, this time softer. “Help me, Son.” The injured man’s grip on Kieran’s tunic loosened.

  Kieran shook his father with force. “Father!”

  The laird’s gaze met his once again. He attempted to say something, but no sound came out. Desperation filled Kieran and he screamed. “Look at me.”

  His father’s gaze did not move, but remained fixed on the sky. Again his mouth moved, mimicking a fish out of water.

  “Father?”

  Boots came into view. “Kieran, we have a cart. Let us take him to the healer.”

  Whoever the man was gave Kieran hope and he lifted his father up, causing the contents of his midsection to spill out more.

  The smell was horrendous as some of the contents of his bowels had leaked, but Kieran ignored it.

  Desperation poured out of every part of him as he lowered his father to the ground and began scooping the insides back into the almost empty cavity. “Do not stand there. Help me,” he growled.

  “It is no use, he’s gone,” someone, perhaps the same guard, said.

  “No he is not,” Kieran screamed, looking up at his father’s still face. “He is not.”

  When someone placed a hand on his shoulder, it felt as if they seared his skin with a red poker and he jerked away. Continuing in what seemed an almost impossible task, he continued to push blood and guts back into his father, his bloody hands becoming crusted with dirt and straw from the ground.

  Once it seemed completed, he scrambled to take his father’s face in his hands. “Father, can ye hear me?”

  “We must load him onto the cart,” someone said and Kieran looked up to see an old farmer, a friend to his father. “Take him home, Son.”

  Kieran pulled his father against his chest as an animalistic howl erupted. He could not stop, each hoarse cry filling the air like the sounds of an injured beast.

  Whether his father was taken from him or he was the one to carry him to the cart, Kieran wouldn’t recall. All he knew was that his life was forever changed and there would be no peace within him until the man who’d cut his father’s life short died by his own
hand.

  Kieran Ross would not rest or be distracted from what, in that moment, became the most important quest of his life.

  He would make the bastard who killed his father pay for what he did.

  Ethan McLeod would pay tenfold for the actions of that day.

  Chapter One

  It seemed his enemy would live another day.

  Kieran Ross slipped sideways, his head tilting to the side and he almost fell off his steed. After two full days on horseback, it was impossible to continue.

  He tried to ride nonstop to the northern post, but the trip that would normally take a week was much too far to do so without stopping to sleep and rest. Laith, his horse, was also exhausted and had slowed to a slow trudge for hours.

  When a familiar village came into view, he urged Laith forward. It was idiotic to continue. If he ran into his nemesis at this point, it was doubtful he’d be able to muster enough energy to lift his sword.

  Seeming to sense the possibility of food and rest, his horse picked up the pace and, within minutes, they arrived at the small village on Munro lands.

  Clan Munro and Kieran’s own clan were to be united, as his sister, Verity, and their mother would travel there in a couple of days. Verity was set to marry the eldest of the Munro’s sons.

  The village stables were clean and well maintained, so he did not hesitate to board his steed there.

  The instability of Kieran’s legs reinforced, the decision to stop was a good one and he ambled to a tavern in hopes of a hot meal and a warm bed.

  It was early evening, so when he entered the tavern, it was not surprising that only one table remained empty. Thankfully, it was near a window, so he could keep an eye out in the distant possibility the bastard he sought would happen upon the village as well.

  A wench neared and he let out an annoyed breath. First her eyes would widen, and then she’d take a couple beats to formulate words. Hopefully, she’d not ask his name or any other bothersome things.

  The woman walked over, her gaze barely touching on him before she looked past him to the window.

  Ever so slowly, she looked back to him and she gasped. Not seeming to care that he took notice of what she did, her hand came over her chest. Slowing her progress, she approached slowly as if he would disappear at any moment.

  “Wh…What can I get for ye?” she asked in a breathless voice, her gaze roaming over his face. “Are ye staying the night?”

  Interesting combination of words this time he considered. “Ale and whatever stew ye have, bread…”

  “Oh, of course, right away,” she interrupted. “Anything else?” The woman leaned forward, ensuring he got a clear view of her ample bosom. “At all?”

  He gave her a flat, bored look. Much too tired to care, he shook his head. “Just a bed for the night.”

  Lips curving, she hurried away and he groaned. Did she think he’d said it because of what she obviously offered? When she returned, he’d make sure to clear things up.

  Not much later, stomach full, he trudged up the steps to a room. The woman downstairs watched him with obvious dejection until the barkeep shoved her sideways. “Stop yer gawking and see about cleaning the tables.”

  Once inside the small, but clean room, Kieran collapsed onto the bed fully clothed. The last time he’d come through this village, it had earned him a scratched face from a beautiful soap seller he’d propositioned. Both were a first for him, the proposition and the rebuttal.

  He was overly aware his attractive face brought excessive attention. However, the scar from the scratch across his cheek was proof that not all women were quick to bed with him because of his looks. He actually wished the scar would remain.

  The incident had been his fault. Not used to rejection, he’d been shocked by the quick and very decisive rebuff. Not only had a pretty lass been shocked at his crude proposition, but also slapped him across the face, hard, her sharp nails leaving a lasting reminder of his lack of decorum.

  The scar had healed, but the mark from it, although faint, still remained. His lips curved remembering the narrowed dark brown eyes blazing with fury that had met his.

  “Leave at once and take yer money,” she had screamed and thrown his coins at him. The soap seller had refused to sell to him. Thinking back on it, he didn’t blame her.

  This day, it had been too late when he’d arrived for any sellers to be in the town square. Not that he would have had the energy to stop and search for the lass.

  Kieran’s eyes popped wide. Why was he thinking about a woman? Ever since Ethan McLeod had killed his father, the only thing he’d thought about day after day was revenge.

  Vengeance motivated his every movement, the need for it fueling his every breath. Now was not the time to allow a woman to distract him from the goal.

  Ethan McLeod was mad and had no regard for the harm his actions cost his own clan or others. It could be that because of his madness that he was so hard to find and track. The last the Ross scouts had found out was that Ethan was headed north.

  News of Kieran having been assigned to the northern post had probably reached the idiot and he’d headed north in an effort to hunt him down.

  Interesting, his prey thought himself to be the hunter. In this case, Kieran mused, both played equal parts, hunter and prey.

  Thoughts of a woman would have to be pushed away. He would rest and sleep until his body decided to rise. Then after a robust meal, he would continue his trek north. From the village, it was only half a day’s ride to the northern post. But he would take his time. If by some chance Ethan had slowed to plan for an attack, it was best to be cautious.

  With a plan in mind and a route mapped out, Kieran let out a breath and allowed exhaustion to carry him to slumber. However, dark brown eyes reappeared, and he grunted. Fine. He’d allow the fantasy, but only because fighting it would make it harder to fall asleep.

  And so with pictures of the brunette beauty he’d met in the market, Kieran fell into a deep slumber.

  *

  Light hit his face and he realized the sun was already high in the sky as he sat up the next morning. Kieran stretched, feeling rested and ready to head out.

  In the tavern, there was only the barkeep and an older woman, who served him without too much annoyance. Although the woman noticed him, she maintained a cool demeanor.

  After a good meal, he walked out of the tavern and headed for the stables. Unable to keep from it, he looked to the town square where sellers called out, hoping to get attention. A few people milled about inspecting the wares displayed. He didn’t spot the soap vendor and let out a breath.

  Good. Kieran ignored the slight tinge of disappointment.

  Once mounted, he guided Laith from the village and out to an open field that spread between the village and Munro Keep that stood atop a slight hill.

  The day was perfect for the long ride ahead, the light breeze blowing across his face made for deep inhales. However, not prone to such idiotic displays, Kieran grunted and urged Laith to a faster trot.

  In the distance, a woman raced across the field toward Munro Keep. Holding her skirts up past her knees, she ran as if the devil himself chased after her. Scanning the surroundings, there was no one else. Kieran could tell she wasn’t being pursued.

  She didn’t slow or look back but it was certain she was in some sort of distress. Kieran slowed his horse, not quite sure what to make of the scene before him.

  Suddenly she disappeared. Having tripped over something, she went down to the ground and, just as quickly, scrambled up, stumbled a couple steps and then once again began running.

  “What is wrong with that woman?” Kieran asked Laith whose ears twitched. “I agree, none of my business.”

  As he progressed further, he and the woman would come closer. Deciding to ignore her, he and Laith continued.

  “Ye!” she shouted, pointing at Kieran. “Help me.”

  Kieran looked behind, hoping someone else was about. There wasn’t time for dramatics. It
wasn’t the woman from the tavern, however, it was possible this woman had heard of his presence and sought a pretext to speak to him.

  Unable to ignore her, he urged Laith closer. “What do ye want? I haven’t the time for hysterics.” Ensuring a bored look, he peered down at the woman.

  Both of their eyes widened in recognition. It was the woman from the village, none other than the soap seller.

  She recovered first and scowled up at him. “Ye.”

  Not exactly a response he was accustomed to, especially from a young woman. But then again, she had slapped and scratched his face the last time they’d met.

  Kieran sneered. “Aye, me. And ye find yerself in need of assistance?”

  Looking toward the keep, she seemed to consider running again, but then looked back at him. Face flushed and chest lifting and lowering from her ordeal, she was breathtaking.

  “Can ye please take me to the keep? Just to the gates. I must get there. Tis a matter of life or death.”

  The keep was not so much of a distance that it would delay him by more than a few minutes. So finally, he nodded. “Very well. However, do not expect more than for me to lower ye to the ground and leave. I will not escort ye in.”

  The woman blew out a breath and rolled her eyes. “I do not require it. If my mother had not taken my horse and cart, I wouldn’t require yer assistance at all.”

  With that statement, she lifted her hands so he could help her up. Once she was seated before him, both of them fell silent.

  Kieran urged his mount forward and guided it toward the keep.

  He had questions. Why was the woman in such a hurry? What caused the urgency? But deciding the less he knew the easier to forget the episode, he kept quiet.

  It was the first time he’d held a woman in his arms in this manner. Not one for romanticisms, he’d never offered a lass to ride with him. As a matter of fact, he preferred no complications when it came to the fairer sex. A tryst was fine. Anything more than that was a bother.