Page 1 of His Secret Highland Bride

Chapter One

July, 1695 Scotland

Breathing in the scents of blooming heather and sunshine, Shane MacPherson allowed the first moments of his return home to sink in.

“Go away, you rotten whoreson!” A woman’s shout rent the clean mountain air he’d been enjoying.

Not exactly the welcome he’d been expecting after being away for five years fighting in France. Though since he was still far from the castle, he hadn’t expected any welcome at all.

“I’ll split your skull until your tiny maggot brain falls out on your boot!” The woman’s shouts were becoming more colorful in her distress.

Instincts, honed by war, had both him and his horse ready for battle as they headed toward the sound. Before he made it, the woman’s scream shattered the still air. His blood went cold as he worried what he might find.

Memories flickered through his mind. A broken body, pale skin, and dark eyes that seemed to search for him even in their emptiness. He’d let her down. He would not do the same with this lass.

Shane was out of his saddle before Hades came to a stop in the small clearing. The soldier in Shane had him pull his sword without thinking, as he assessed each threat separately. Two men, maybe only ten and seven, were being held back by a striking woman with raven hair and a large stick. The sleeve of her shabby, ill-fitting gown was torn and her dark eyes wild.

For a moment, he thought it was Maria, but he shook the thought away when she spoke again, for she didn’t speak with a lilting Spanish accent. This woman was a Scot and much taller than his Maria. Plus, his wife was dead, buried back in Spain.

Once again, he shook himself to action. He would be no help to this woman if he couldn’t get his head straight.

“Stay away from me, ye wee maggots,” she spat out while poking the closest of the men in the stomach with her crude weapon.

The man bent slightly from the strike but managed to hold on to the stick and toss it aside. With no protection, she turned to run but was grasped by the other man and hurled to the ground. That was plenty for Shane to know what they intended, and he wouldn’t allow it on MacPherson lands, especially not when he was now responsible for the clan.

He’d received word from his stepmother that his father had died. Shane wasn’t any more certain how he felt about this news now than he’d been when he’d received the letter more than a month ago. Their relationship had been strained after the laird married Deirdre, his stepmother. The older man had become obsessed with his young bride to the detriment of the clan and his relationship with his children. Shane was the oldest, but his younger sister and brother were equally ignored by their father.

If his father was indeed gone, it would be Shane’s turn to run the clan. And he wasn’t ready. But as the new laird, he wouldn’t allow these men to accost his people. “Hold!” he called, his deep voice grabbing their attention. “Unhand the woman. You are on MacPherson lands. Who are you?”

The men laughed and shook their heads. “Ye think we don’t know whose lands we’re on?” the taller man asked. “We are MacPherson guards, and ye don’t belong here. Get on with ye, and let us to our business.”

Shane hid his surprise. These vile creatures were MacPhersons? He took in their dirty clothes and thin bodies. These were warriors, these scrawny lads with no honor? Regardless, he’d not allow them to carry out their plans. “I said, you’ll unhand the woman and leave her be.”

With begrudging sighs, they pulled their blades. Though rusted and bent, there were two of them against Shane’s single sword. For the past five years, he’d had Ronan at his back as he fought. He’d parted ways with his stepbrother the day before, as Ronan had business with his grandfather, leaving Shane to finish the journey. Together, they were unstoppable, but this battle would be fought alone.

Using proper strategy when faced with a single opponent, these scoundrels split up and moved out, leaving Shane exposed on every front. He pulled his dirk from his belt and flung it into the shoulder of the first man, dropping him where he stood, his sword clanging to the ground as he cried out in pain.

With the taller man down, Shane turned toward the other one, who, after seeing his friend bleeding on the ground, spun and ran away like a coward. At the sound of a loud thwack, Shane turned back to the man on the ground to see he was knocked out, and the Valkyrie was once again wielding her large stick.

She gripped it tightly as Shane slid his sword into the sheath strapped along his back. He held up his hands, palms out, to show he meant her no harm. “Ye are safe now,” he told her, hoping it was true.

MacPherson soldiers armed with worthless weapons and no respect for women didn’t bode well for the state of his clan. The clan he would soon be in charge of. Shame roiled through him at the thought. When Shane had last stood on MacPherson lands, he’d been barely a man at twenty. Now, he felt aged beyond his years. Unlike Ronan, Shane had managed to come back much the same as he’d left. At least in body. His mind, however, would never be the same.

“Who are you?” the woman asked, still holding out the stick in what she probably thought was a threatening manner.

That was a very good question. Who was he? A laird who wasn’t ready to rule.

He didn’t know if he’d ever be ready, but he planned to take a few more days regardless, especially since the letter he’d received included even worse news than the loss of his father. Before his death, the laird had negotiated a marriage between Shane and the daughter of another clan.

His father had no way of knowing Shane had already been married to a woman who had called his heart to pounding just to look at her. He’d lost her. And with her, his own soul. He would make a terrible husband to this poor woman his father had shackled him to. Not that she would expect any less. Alliances through marriage were common in the Highlands. Shane always knew he was destined for such a fate.

Making a match to strengthen his clan was one thing. Despite wishing to be alone, he took no issue with marrying to gain cattle to feed his people or land, or even an ally. But marrying to gain more riches for his conniving stepmother didn’t sit well with him. Shane wondered who this woman was who would be sacrificed to gain coin for Deirdre’s desires.

Embarrassed by his clan and the name he’d once felt honored to own, Shane offered a shrug and answered the trembling woman. “I’m just a soldier. Ye can call me Shane.”

…

Lindsay Wallace frowned at the man. Shane.