Scots and Lasses: Scottish Medieval Historical Romance (Moriag Book 5) Read online

  Scots and Lasses

  The Moriag Series

  USA Today Bestselling Author

  Hildie McQueen

  ©Hildie McQueen 2020

  Kindle Edition

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  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.

  Other Works by Hildie McQueen

  (In reading order)

  Clan Ross Series

  A Heartless Laird

  A Hardened Warrior

  A Hellish Highlander

  A Flawed Scotsman*

  A Fearless Rebel*

  A Fierce Archer*

  Dragonblade Publishing

  The Lyon’s Laird

  The Duke’s Fiery Bride

  The Sea Lyon

  The Sea Lord

  Standalone

  Declan’s Bride

  Ian’s Bride

  Highland Archer

  * Releasing Soon

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Other Works by Hildie McQueen

  Beauty and the Highlander

  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

  The Lass and The Laird

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  Lady and the Scot

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Epilogue

  The Laird’s Daughter

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  About the Author

  Beauty and the Highlander

  Chapter One

  Gordon Keep, Highlands of Scotland

  When the evening meal was placed before him, an annoyed Carrick Gordon plowed through the food, planning to retreat to his chambers as soon as possible. He didn’t raise his head when his father, the laird, raised a large goblet with a slurred battle cry to the clansmen who returned the gesture with cups raised and loud hollers of the same blather.

  The huge dining hall at the Gordon Keep was especially noisy this eve. It was filled with the boisterous talk of the clansmen who’d just returned from competition in the games and the clanking of plates and cups slammed onto the long tables. The noise elevated with each new pitcher of ale that was passed.

  Carrick scanned the room, noting his own guardsmen remained reserved. They’d not competed, not because he’d kept them from it, but by choice. Their alliance was with the small nearby town of Moriag, where he and they lived a quiet unassertive life where the clans coexisted in peace.

  His father’s keep was large and well protected. It was his childhood home and, admittedly, he was fond of the dwelling.

  The keep was vastly different from the more modest home where he now lived with only a small serving staff and a handful of guardsmen for company.

  Unable to live with his father and brother any longer, Carrick had moved away from his family home right after his mother’s death several years earlier, preferring the solitude and quiet of his smaller keep.

  It was not just the difference in lifestyle that kept him away. Both his father and younger brother, Declan, made his existence unbearable.

  “Avail me of more ale,” his father, Laird Angus Gordon, bellowed to a serving wench who scurried to do his bidding. Once his cup was filled, he took a long draw from the tankard and slammed it onto the table. Gritzel, the laird’s current wife, jumped when the cup cracked the thick worn wood. Her eyes darted to her husband before lowering to the table.

  Throughout the meal, she kept her gaze down, her shaky hand reaching for food and, on occasion, the goblet of wine. Studying her, Carrick caught sight of fresh bruising on the woman’s jaw.

  Carrick looked to his father who, in turn, observed the meek woman’s movements with an interest that could only be described as satisfaction. Fear fed Angus Gordon’s ego and he was adept at getting it from not only his family, but also the clan’s people as well. The laird’s penchant for cruelty to women was well known.

  When Gritzel flinched at his father’s placing his hand over hers, the food on Carrick’s plate lost its appeal. He pushed the plate away and picked up the cup of ale instead. He studied his father’s profile and the laird turned to him.

  The laird cleared his throat upon noticing Carrick’s regard. “Yer lass and her uncle arrive on the morrow. Can you attempt to behave as if you are part of this family while he is here?” The older man leaned back into the chair and focused on him, shrewd eyes lingering on his plain tunic. “Perhaps something more presentable in the way of attire?”

  Carrick could only gape at the words, at a loss for a reply. Exactly how did the laird expect him to act? If there was anyone who’d spurned him and ensured he’d never felt to be a part of the Gordon Clan, it was his father. “The agreement has been made. I sincerely doubt my way of dress will change anything. This marriage agreement was not my doing, but yours,” he retorted and stood. “I bid you good night, Father.”

  His father’s words stopped him from leaving. “It’s up to you, of course. The chit has nowhere to go. Either way, she will remain here, for her family will shun her if she is rejected by you.” He shrugged. “I suppose I can always give her to your brother.” Narrowed eyes scrutinized Carrick, taking in the scar that ran from the corner of his right eye down to his upper lip. “But then again, the woman will, no doubt, refuse you at first glance. Therefore, this conversation may be but a waste of breath.”

  His younger brother, Declan, smirked, but a worried expression flickered when he regarded their father. “I am in no need of a wife as of now, Father. The McGregors will insist on the agreed upon marriage to him.” He looked to Carrick.

  Angus burped without embarrassment and waved his hands in dismissal. “You are correct in that I suppose. Enough of this talk. Whether horrified or not, she will marry Carrick.”

>   Preferring to die before he’d give his father the satisfaction of a reaction, Carrick shrugged. “As you wish. It matters naught to me.” He walked with purposeful, unhurried steps toward his chambers.

  Damn them all to hell.

  How he craved to be away from the place. No sooner did the woman arrive and they were married, they’d leave without haste. The farther away from his father, the better.

  That he was at Gordon Keep was only because Analise McGregor came and he’d agreed to marry her. The clans made an agreement and he’d given his word to be present when she arrived instead of sending a proxy, which would have been his first choice. But the lass did not deserve to be disregarded in such a manner. He’d be damned before he left her in his father’s care.

  At the top of the stairs, he hesitated and tried to remember if he’d hit his head or drank too much ale on that cursed day which led him to agree to be present for the farce of a marriage.

  No. The true reason was that he felt a kinship with Analise, something in common as it were. Her clan did not want her, and they were going to marry her off in an effort to rid themselves of her. His family had done the same, practically pushed him out the door when he expressed interest in moving to Moriag, his mother’s abandoned ancestral home.

  Yet, there was a big difference between Analise and him. No matter how much his father detested him, he was the first-born and would be the next Laird of Clan Gordon. A grim smile curved his lips.

  The fact that he’d one day lead the clan is what kept him from disappearing to never return. One day he’d be Laird Gordon and there was little his conniving younger brother or father could do about it. Once that day came, he’d do his best to right every wrong Angus Gordon had ever committed.

  With a deep breath, Carrick entered the bedroom and washed his face from the water bowl and pitcher. He removed his clothing, folding the plain tunic with care over a chair. He had no servant to help him, which suited him just fine. He’d always found someone fawning over him disconcerting.

  Once in bed, he stared at the ceiling. The hand fast agreement was made in haste between his father and the McGregor, who seemed desperate to place his niece in a respectable household. No doubt, the lass was homely, otherwise she’d not be married off to a clan that gave them little in return. However, if Clan McGregor was in some kind of trouble, the Gordons with their large number of well-trained warriors were a good ally to have. A strong clan alliance was the price paid for Analise.

  Additionally, she’d one day be the laird’s wife.

  Thankfully, his father did not try to convince Carrick to remain on Gordon lands when he’d said that once the ceremony was complete, they’d return to Moriag. His wife would be safe and the mistress of her own home. In Moriag she’d not be subjected to the laird’s cruelty. Eventually he’d return to his seat as laird, but for now his life away suited him fine.

  No matter how uncomely this woman was, she did not deserve to be pawned off to Declan as a wife or worse, a bedmate. His brother was hot blooded and would not settle anytime in the near future.

  No sooner had Declan become of an age to take women, then the stories of his prowess surfaced. Maids eyed Declan when he passed, their eyes widening and lips curving in anticipation he’d take them by the arm and lead them away to his chambers. And the young man usually complied.

  Carrick exhaled and closed his eyes, unsure of how prepared he was for his betrothed’s arrival. This woman would be his wife. The faceless Analise would live out the rest of her life as his companion. What could Carrick do if the woman was, indeed, repulsed by his disfigured face? Nothing could be done about it he supposed. The jagged scar, which ran from the temple down to his lip, was too prominent to ignore or hide.

  A grim chuckle echoed in the silence. Carrick stroked the bumpy skin and considered that maybe all this was for naught. There was the possibility that after one look at him, the woman, whether ugly or beautiful, would recoil with repulsion and beg her uncle to break the agreement. If McGregor’s brother cared for her, he might comply.

  A loud knock took him from his thoughts. “Come in.”

  The door swung open and Declan leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms over his broad chest, his face impassive. “Father is none too happy at your abrupt departure from the dining hall.”

  “I’m sure his tender heart will recover.” Carrick continued to stare at the ceiling, ignoring his brother. “What do you want, Declan?”

  Only slightly shorter, Declan was a bit leaner as well. Yet, like Carrick, the young warrior was trained to be a lethal warrior. The fabric of his tunic strained over his muscular arms. “Are you going to go through with the marriage?” His brother’s eyes shifted away, scanning the room before coming back to him.

  Carrick smiled, knowing his brother hoped he’d follow through and that he would not be thrown into marriage in his stead. “Do you fear you’ll be saddled with a homely woman when the McGregor demands you step into my place after the lass refuses to marry me?”

  Declan’s hands dropped to his sides and curled into fists. “Answer the question, Carrick.”

  “I think a wife would help you settle and slow down your bedsport.”

  His brother glowered, but remained silent, his jawline muscle bunching.

  A yawn escaped and Carrick propped his upper body from the bed onto his elbows. “I will be there tomorrow. I agreed to the marriage. It matters naught to me who I am tied to.”

  When Declan visibly relaxed, Carrick continued. “Of course, like Father stated, she may be repulsed by my disfigurement and beg off. If her uncle has a soft heart, she may still end up with you.”

  “Women do not get a choice,” Declan sneered. “If I ever marry, I will choose my wife. Someone who brings power, not shame, to this clan. I need to marry a woman who will bring coin to my pocket. I do not have my own title to fall back upon like you.”

  Carrick shrugged. “Like I said earlier, it matters naught to me.”

  “Just ensure you are there.” A thump sounded as his brother closed the door behind him.

  Carrick chuckled.

  Chapter Two

  Looking up at her intended’s clan’s home, Analise McGregor shook so hard her teeth chattered. She pulled her horse to a stop and took in the unfamiliar surroundings. The Gordon Keep was immense, the austere, gray walls of the building blending with the eerie mist of the Highland mountains that surrounded it.

  The imposing structure loomed over them as they neared, and she closed her eyes and prayed. Please let my intended be a kind man. And if there is some way to not have to go through with the marriage at all, let it happen.

  The sense of dread refused to leave no matter how much she recited prayers over and over in her head.

  God help her, if only there were a way to escape, to live out her life as a common villager. All she desired was a cottage of her own where she’d make a living as a seamstress. Anything was better than losing her freedom. How had it come to this? The unraveling of her life to end in marriage to a stranger far from everything and everyone she’d ever known?

  A tear slipped down her cheek, which she wiped away with the back of her hand. She looked to her uncle to ensure he did not notice her weeping. The last thing she wanted was to worry the kind, elderly man.

  As if on cue, a heavy drizzle began to fall as they rode up to the thick, daunting gates and Analise pulled her heavy cape tighter around her shoulders.

  “Lift that chin child, all will be well.” Although intended to be comforting, her uncle’s words fell hollow by the drawn brows over his warm eyes. “Once yer married and with a wee one hanging on yer skirts, this day will seem more like dream.”

  A nightmare would be a more apt description. Not wanting to worry him more, Analise nodded and gave him what she hoped was a brave smile. “Aye, Uncle, may your words come to pass.”

  His lips curved. “Ye want wee ones do ye not?”

  In spite of the dread, she couldn’t help but relax just a
bit. “True, I do, Uncle. Bairns are God’s gifts and bring joy.”

  The heavy gates groaned open and the small party was allowed into a sizable, well-kept courtyard.

  Analise kept her attention on her horse, clutching the reins until they were taken from her hands. Too soon, she was assisted down from her mount and young lads went off with their horses. Analise couldn’t help but look after her mild-mannered mare, wishing she’d dashed for freedom when she’d had a chance.

  The laird neared and greeted them. Tall and barrel-chested, the male’s eyes raked over her, hesitating at her breasts. Analise made sure to keep her chin lifted, her eyes straight ahead. In spite of the shiver of repulsion that crept up her spine, she did not stir. Was his son to be as lecherous?

  Whatever the men spoke of did not reach her ears. She was far too busy searching for any possible escape.

  “I welcome you both. I am Angus Gordon.” Once again, the laird studied her, a cruel twist to his lips as if he found her distasteful.

  “My thanks,” she replied, only meeting the man’s gaze for a second.

  If the son was anything like the father, she’d run away. There had to be other exits besides the large gates. She’d take flight before marrying anyone that would mistreat her.

  The thumps of her heart echoed with each place her eyes landed. The walls were dense, the guardsman who stood atop the towers huge, and the logs set to secure the gates once closed, immense. The Gordon Keep seemed virtually impenetrable. Not an easy target for enemies to invade or for someone to steal away from.

  There was movement past where the laird and her uncle stood talking. A lone man descended the steps. The tartan colors he wore identified him as a Gordon. Long, dark brown, burnished hair fell forward concealing his features, yet his presence had an immediate effect on her. Analise followed the man’s progress as he neared.

  Broad shouldered with an expansive well-formed chest that tapered to a trimmer waist and hips, he commanded attention. He moved closer, his gait sure and fluid. At her study of him, breathing came easier and she was able to control her troubling heart rate only to lose it again when the amber eyes lifted and locked to hers. Dark slashes for eyebrows, his mouth tight, the exquisite man studied her. He exuded raw power. With chiseled cheekbones and an aristocratic nose, he seemed more masterpiece than human. If not for the jagged scar that distorted his right cheek and full upper lip, she’d think a more flawless creature did not exist.