THE REBEL
By Julianne MacLean
ISBN 978-0-9868422-0-7
Copyright © 2011 by Julianne MacLean
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portion thereof, in any form. This ebook may not be resold or uploaded for distribution to others.
This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
November 13, 1715
On the field of Sherrifmuir, six miles northeast of Stirling Castle
At the sound of the bagpipes and the roaring command of his chief, Alex MacLean drew his sword and broke into a run, charging up the north face of the hill.
A wild frenzy of bloodlust exploded in his veins and fuelled his body with savage strength and determination, as he and his fellow Jacobite clansmen advanced upon Argyll’s left flank. Their lines collided in a heavy clash of bodies and weaponry, and suddenly he was thrashing about in a red sea of chaos. Men shouted and lunged, shot each other at close range, they severed limbs and hacked each other to pieces. Blood splattered onto his face as he spun around and swung his sword at one soldier, then another. Adrenaline fired his instincts. The fury was blinding. His muscles strained with every controlled thrust and strike.
Keenly aware of all that was happening around him, he raised his targe to encumber the piercing point of a bayonet. Dropping to one knee, he dirked the offending redcoat in the belly.
Eventually, in the distance, beyond the delirium of combat, the Government Dragoons began to fall back, retreating through their own infantry. The fury was too much for them. Alex raised his sword.
“Charge!” he shouted, in a deep thunderous brogue. “For the Scottish Crown!”
He and his fellow clansmen cried out in triumphant resolve and rushed headlong at the breaking enemy ranks, while the Jacobite cavalry thundered past, galloping hard to pursue the Hanoverians into the steep-sided Glen of Pendreich.
Moments flashed by like brilliant bursts of lightning. The battle was nearly won. The redcoats were fleeing….
Before long, Alex slowed to a jog and looked about to get a better sense of his bearings. He and dozens of other clansmen were now spread out across the glen with precious space between them and clean air to breathe.
It was over. Argyll’s opposing left flank was crushed. They were retreating to Dunblane.
Stabbing the point of his weapon into the frosty ground, Alex dropped to his knees in exhaustion and rested his forehead on the hilt. He’d fought hard, and with honor. His father would be proud.
Just then, a fresh-looking young redcoat leapt out from behind a granite boulder and charged at him. “Ahh!”
He was naught but a boy, but his bayonet was sharp as any other.
Rolling across the ground, Alex shifted his targe to the other hand to deflect the thrust of the blade. The weapon flew from the soldier’s hands and landed on the grass, but before Alex could regain his footing, a saber was scraping out of its scabbard, and he suddenly found himself backing away defensively, evaluating his opponent’s potential skill and intentions.
Blue eyes locked on his, and the courage he saw in those depths sharpened his wits.
Carefully, meticulously, they stepped around each other.
“Are you sure you want to do this, lad?” Alex asked, giving the boy one last chance to retreat with the others in his regiment. “I’ve done enough killing this morning. I don’t need more blood on my hands. Just go.”
But why was he hesitating? The dark fury of battle still smoldered within him. What difference would it make if he killed one more? All he had to do was take one step forward and swing. The boy was no match for him. He could slay him in an instant.
“I’m sure,” the lad replied, but his saber began to tremble in his hands.
Alex wet his lips. “Just drop your weapon, boy, and run.”
“No.”
Alex paused. “You’re a brave one, aren’t you? Or maybe you’re just stupid.”
All at once, the young soldier let out a vicious battle cry and attacked with a left-handed maneuver that cut Alex swiftly across the thigh.
He gaped down at the wound in bewilderment.
Musket fire rang out in the distance. The morning chill penetrated his senses, steeled his warrior instincts.
The next thing he knew, he was whirling around with a fierce cry of aggression. He swung his targe and struck lad in the head. The young redcoat stumbled backward. His saber dropped from his grasp.
Then, as if it were all happening in a dream, the soldier’s hat flew through the air, and long black tresses unfurled and swung about. The boy hit the ground and rolled unconscious onto his back.
Alex’s eyes fell immediately upon a soft complexion and lips like red cherries. All thoughts of war and the Jacobite triumph fled from his mind as he realized with dismay that he had just struck a woman.
o0o
Twelve hours later…
Elizabeth’s eyes slowly fluttered open. Groggy and disoriented, she blinked up at the thatched ceiling above her, while an explosion of pain erupted inside her skull and drummed against the side of her face.
Laying a hand on her swollen cheek, she attempted to wiggle her jaw back and forth. It did not appear to be broken, but her cheekbone was surely cracked.
Moaning with agony, she sat up on the cot and looked around the small room. Where the devil was she? A single candle blazed on a table by the bed. A grey woolen curtain covered the door to the rest of the cottage – if this was in fact someone’s home. She had no idea. The floors were made of dirt, the walls built of stone. It could just as easily be a stable or a prison.
Again, she cupped her cheek with her hand and winced at the pain, but she would endure it, for she must leave this place immediately and return to Argyll’s camp. She could not remain here in Scotland. She’d rather die than linger here.
Rising awkwardly to her feet, she inhaled deeply. She limped toward the curtain and dug deep for the strength and fortitude she would require to walk out of here and travel God knows how far on foot.
Oh, sweet Lord! Her entire body felt bruised and beaten. What had happened on the battlefield? The last thing she remembered was slicing that Highlander’s leg open with her saber. What had happened since then? How in the world did she get here?
Sweeping the curtain aside, doubting if she would ever know the answers to those questions, she suddenly found herself staring up at him directly.
“Going somewhere, lassie?”
Elizabeth sucked in a breath. Heaven help her, it was him. The raven-haired warrior Scotsman, standing before her like a monstrous guardian.
He was taller than she remembered. Bigger and broader through the chest, and his eyes burned with savage, dangerous intensity.
“That I am, sir,” she firmly replied. “Step aside. I mean to leave here and return to my countrymen.”
She glanced down at the heavy claymore belted around his waist, and made a mental note of the dagger in his boot, as well as the pistol and powder horn he carried, which was strapped across his chest.
His green eyes flashed with a strange mixture of amusement and irritation, while he took in her soldier’s uniform from head to foot. “If you are referring to the pathetic flock of red-coated sheep that follows a German king - a king who can barely speak a word of English - then I’m afraid I cannot let you go anywhere, lass.”
Her heart began to pound,
and her mouth went dry. Quickly she looked down at his leg, curious to know how much damage she had inflicted with her sword, but his kilt cloaked any sign of injury. As far as she could ascertain, he was in perfect fighting condition, while she was ready to drop to the floor in a dead faint, on account of the pain in her head and the sheer fright induced by his intimidating presence.
“What is it that you plan to do with me?” she boldly asked. “Do you mean to keep me as your prisoner?”
He chuckled at that. She glared at him with bitter rancour, but the passion of her grimace caused her great pain. She groaned and covered the side of her face with a hand. “God in heaven, what did you do me? My face feels like it’s been smashed up against a rock.”
The Highlander glanced over his shoulder, as if to check the door for prying eyes and ears, then ducked under the top of the curtain to enter the small room. Elizabeth had no choice but to back out of his way.
She suddenly found herself trapped up against the wall, while he blocked the only exit. The curtain fell closed behind him.
“I apologize for that,” he said. “I didn’t know you were a woman.”
She raised her chin. “What difference should that make? I was trying to kill you.”
His arresting green eyes narrowed slightly, as if he was intrigued by her reply, and it was not until that moment that she realized he was impossibly handsome. He had a face that could only be shaped by an artist, with finely carved cheekbones and a rugged, square jaw. The lips were moist and full – she would almost call them beautiful – and those long lashed green eyes… They possessed a mysterious gleaming power that rendered her speechless. She couldn’t think. All she could do was stand before him like a bumbling fool and attempt to contemplate the origins of such divine physical perfection. Bestowed upon a Highlander, no less. Was there no justice in the world?
“Aye, and you fought bravely,” he said. “But what were you doing on the battlefield, lass? It’s no place for a woman. And I don’t know why you’re in such a hurry to return. I know of no British officer who would take kindly to the fact that you’re wearing a stolen uniform.”
Elizabeth frowned. “First you bash me in the side of the head, and now you call me a thief?”
He inclined his head at her. “Aye, and a damned foolhardy one at that.”
Moving further away from him along the wall, she crossed to the bed and sat down. “All right, so I stole it, but I was fighting for my country.”
He palmed the hilt of his sword. “I think you were fighting for more than that, unless you know King George personally.”
“Of course I do not.”
“Then I reckon it’s something else that got prickly under your corset, because I don’t believe it’s as simple as that. Your regiment was ordered to retreat, but there you were, leaping out from behind a rock, coming at me with vengeance in your eyes.”
Her gaze lifted. “Is that how it looked to you?”
“Aye.”
Nodding her head, feeling almost sick from the violent impulses that had plagued her on that battlefield, she curled her hands around the edge of the mattress. “I don’t suppose you have anything to numb this pain?”
He was quiet for a moment, then disappeared through the curtain and returned with a bottle of something, which he uncorked with his teeth. “Moncrieffe Whisky, the best in the Highlands.” He held it out to her.
“Do you not have a glass to offer a lady?”
He chuckled softly. “Is that what you are now?”
Their gazes locked, and all the blood in her body seemed to rush to her head.
She swiped the bottle from his grasp, tipped it up and guzzled a few deep swigs. The spirit sizzled and burned down her throat, left her gasping for air.
“That ought to numb at least something,” the Highlander said under his breath, as he took the bottle away from her.
Elizabeth waited a moment for the spirit to flow through her body, then worked hard to relax her mind. “Thank you.”
The Highlander gave no reply. For the longest time, he simply stood patiently before her.
“Feelin’ any better?” he asked.
“Yes.” Cautiously, Elizabeth lifted her eyes again and took in the finer details of his clothing – the colors and textures of his kilt, his brown leather sporran, the loose-fitting linen shirt and the plaid that was draped across his shoulder and pinned with a pewter brooch.
“Where am I exactly?” she asked. “And what time of day is it?”
There was no window in the room, so she had no idea if it was morning or night.
“Don’t worry,” he replied. “You’re safe here. This house belongs to a friend. And it’s nearly ten.”
“Ten at night?” Her heart began to race. “I’ve been unconscious all day?”
“Aye. To be honest, I wasn’t sure you were going to survive.”
“No thanks to you.” She laid her hand on her cheek again.
“You had it coming, lass. You said so yourself.”
Massaging her neck to squeeze out some tension, she had no choice but to surrender to the truth in his words. “I suppose I did.”
She was keenly aware of the Highlander’s movements as he approached the bed and sat down beside her. His nearness caused her senses to quiver and hum.
“Are you going to tell me what you were doing out there on the battlefield,” he asked, “and how you came into possession of that uniform?”
Elizabeth set both hands on the edge of the mattress, and sighed heavily. “It belonged to my brother.”
“Your brother…” he replied with some scepticism.
“Yes.”
“Where is he now?”
She shot him an angry look. “Where do you think?”
The Highlander regarded her intently, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet and low. “I’m very sorry, lass.”
She scoffed. “Well! There it is at last - exactly what I was looking for. An apology from a Scotsman.”
“I did not know your brother, so I cannot apologize for anything. I was merely offering my condolences. And I don’t think an apology was what you were looking for when you tried to stick me with your bayonet.”
She looked down at his lips and could not escape a heavy sense of defeat. “No, I suppose not.”
“Vengeance comes with a price, you know.”
Elizabeth’s heart began to ache. She wasn’t sure how she would have felt if she had actually killed a man – Scottish or otherwise. “No, I don’t know,” she replied. “Until these past few months, I didn’t know anything about war and violence and killing, but now I’ve seen more of those things than I ever wished to see.”
He took his time before responding. “When did your brother die?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“Did you witness it?”
Her eyebrows pulled together in a frown. “Yes. I was a nurse, doing what I could for this war. Is this some sort of interrogation?”
“Aye.”
She recognized the steady purpose in his eyes and felt all the tiny hairs on her arms and legs stand on end. “What do you want from me?”
“I need to know your connections, lass.”
Elizabeth swallowed uncomfortably. “Why?”
“Just tell me.”
“Fine. Our father was an infantryman, but he died a year ago. My brother wanted to make him proud and seek his own vengeance I suppose, so he signed up to follow in our father’s footsteps and help crush this foolish rebellion.”
“Foolish. You think the people of Scotland fight for no good reason?” The Highlander stared into her eyes for the longest time, then he tipped the bottle back and took a drink.
Elizabeth accepted it when he held it out to her.
“You should get some rest,” he said, rising to his feet. “You cannot go anywhere tonight. It’s too dangerous, especially in that uniform, and if anyone finds out what you’re hiding under it, you’ll be no better off.”
She arched a
brow. “My shapely figure, you mean?”
His gaze flicked over the curve of her hip, then he turned to go. “Goodnight, lass.”
Elizabeth quickly stood. “Wait. Are we alone here, or are there others? Am I being held prisoner?”
He kept his back to her. “Aye, there are others, but for now, it’s just us. Get some sleep.”
“But I’ve been sleeping all day,” she argued, “and I’m hungry.”
He halted at the curtain, while she waited uneasily for his response, wishing she knew what he meant to do with her.
At last, he glanced over his shoulder. “Follow me, then. You may sit at the table for a while and have some supper.”
With that, he passed through the curtain and held it aloft, his eyes never leaving hers as he waited for her to join him.
o0o
“What’s your name, Highlander?” Elizabeth asked, wincing with pain as she used her teeth to tear meat off a juicy chicken leg. She had to chew slowly and with great care, otherwise she might end up rolling in agony on the floor.
“Are you all right, lass?” he asked from the opposite side of the table. “You look uncomfortable. Here. Take some more of this.”
He handed her the bottle of whisky again, and she welcomed the opportunity to wash down her supper. A moment later, however, she had to wrestle with an unbidden wave of giddiness and laughter. It was a potent spirit indeed.
“Are you trying to get me drunk?” she asked, setting the bottle down.
“Will it make you reveal your secrets?”
Elizabeth wiped her lips with the back of her hand. “I assure you, I have none. I’ve already told you everything.”
“I doubt that.”
She tore off another morsel of the tender, succulent meat. “And you still haven’t told me your name.”
He eyed her warily. “Nor have you told me yours.”
A log shifted in the grate, and bright sparks of firelight flew up the chimney while they regarded each other with challenge from opposite sides of the table.
“I am Alexander MacLean,” he said at last. “I hail from the Isle of Mull.”
“Duart Castle?”
“Aye,” he replied. “Now tell me yours.”
She sat back in the chair. “I am Elizabeth Curtis, and I hail from Portsmouth.”
His green eyes narrowed. “You’re a long way from home, lassie.”
“I have no home. What remained of my family came north to fight in this rebellion, but they’re all dead now – all except for one. So here I am. Alone and… seeking vengeance I suppose.”
“Who is this one you speak of?”
“My uncle. He is a book merchant in Edinburgh, but I have not seen him since I was a child.”
The Highlander shifted lower in a lazy sprawl, and glanced down at the knife he had given her to use with her supper. “Have you always been so bold?” he asked. “So full of daring?”
“Yes.”
The corner of his mouth curled up in a small grin of seductive allure. “I find you very intriguing, Elizabeth Curtis. No woman has ever attacked me with such… passion before.”
She couldn’t help but laugh at him. “Be careful, sir. I told you I was seeking vengeance, and if I grow weary of your questions or insinuations, I may decide to attack you again.”
He spoke with a heated grin, holding his hands out to the side. ““Be my guest, but do not forget - I saved your life on that battlefield. I carried you into the woods and stole one of your King’s horses for you, then I held you across my lap for mile after mile while we plodded through rivers and glades together. If anything, you owe me a great debt.”
Elizabeth slanted a look at him. “Are you flirting with me?”
Just then, something pleasant and unfamiliar warmed the flow of blood through her veins.
Alex leaned forward. “What if I were? Would it be enough to make you promise not to use that supper knife on me? Or heaven forbid, that razor-sharp bayonet of yours?”
“I don’t have my bayonet,” she replied, looking around for it. “I have nothing.”
“Nay, lass, that’s not true. You have your wits, and you’re moderately pleasant to look at.”
“Moderately pleasant?” She laughed again. Perhaps it was the whisky. “What a charmer you are.”
The firelight reflected in the deep green of his eyes, and she ran the tip of her tongue across her lips, wondering how she could be carrying on in such a way with a man who was her enemy and captor.
“A Highlander killed my brother,” she quickly said, her tone growing serious. “So please do not look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you want to carry me back to that bed and do something savage with me.”
He chuckled. “Clearly you’ve been entertaining some wayward thoughts this evening, lassie - but I must ask you to treat me with some respect. I have no intention of becoming a slave to your lusty urges. I simply won’t have it.”
Yet again, she laughed. “You bashed me over the head today! So I quite assure you, I have no lusty urges whatsoever. Not a single one.”
“Then why do you keep bringing it up?”
She should have been offended. She should have stood up, slapped his face, and retired to the other room, but something held her spellbound. Even dressed in the tartan uniform of her enemy - the weapons a grim reminder of this Highlander’s potential ferocity and the death of her brother – he aroused her senses and sent a fever into her blood. It was the sheer might of his brawn, she supposed, and the bewildering fact that he had saved her life today, even after she tried to kill him.
“Why did you help me?” she asked. “You could have just left me to die.”
For a moment he regarded her in the quiet hush of the night, while the flames danced wildly in the hearth. Then at last he spoke. “Because you were the most beautiful creature I ever laid eyes on.”
Excitement pooled in her belly, just as the door flew open and two bearded Highlanders burst into the room with muskets cocked and aimed at her head.
Elizabeth leapt to her feet. She knocked over her chair as she backed up against the far wall.
Slowly and calmly, Alex rose to his feet and turned to face them.
o0o
“Lower your weapons,” he said, holding his hands out to ease the sudden tension in the room. “She’s not armed. She’s just hungry, that’s all.”
“She can starve, for all I care,” the taller one said.
“Aye,” the other added. “It’s worse than we thought, Alex. The battle was not a triumph.”
“What do you mean, not a triumph?” he replied. “I saw the English officers order the retreat. We chased them all the way back to Dunblane.”
“Aye, we crushed them with our right flank, but our left flank broke. Argyll’s cavalry drove hundreds into the River Allen. Many drowned, and he is calling it a victory for King George.”
Without lowering his weapon, the taller one flicked his hair out of his face. “Mar is withdrawing to Perth, and in the morning, despite our victory, Argyll will find himself master of the field.”
Alex bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “All this killing, all these weeks of marching through bogs and icy pellets of rain… What was it for? We are still without a king, without a parliament. Without freedom.”
Elizabeth dared not speak - not while the other two Scots were fuming with ire and still held loaded muskets aimed at her face.
“Did she tell you anything?” the tall one asked, eyeing her dangerously down the long barrel of his weapon.
Alex looked at her. “She told me enough, and I’ve determined she’s not a threat to us.”
“I don’t believe that. Did you ask her about the dispatch?”
Hot flames of panic burst in Elizabeth’s core. “Explain yourself, sir,” she demanded. “What dispatch? I know nothing of what you speak.”
Alex regarded her with a look of regret. “I was going to ask you about
it, lass, as soon as your belly was full. Come here.”
He waved a hand for her to approach the table, then signaled for the other Scotsman to hand over a small parchment.
“We found this in a secret compartment in the pocket of your coat,” he explained in a low voice. “Do you know of it?”
She took it from him and read the contents. “This is a note to Argyll, explaining that a detachment of rebels are on their way to Dumferline. It recommends that he send his cavalry to trounce it.”
Alex nodded. “Did your brother deliver this information?”
She glanced up. “How should I know?”
“So you are telling me that you knew nothing of it.” He slid her a look, encouraging her to nod in agreement.
“Of course I knew nothing. I stole this uniform off his back after he was killed.”
“But why did you do that, lass?” the tall one asked. “Did you mean to do some spying on your own?”
“Of course not,” she retorted. “I only wanted to fight.”
He scowled at her. “That’s a strange hankerin’ for a woman. How can we be sure you’re telling the truth?”
“She is,” Alex insisted. “I told you I interrogated her already, and I am willing to stake my life on it. She’s not a spy.”
Elizabeth’s eyes locked on his, and though she did not understand why he was defending her, she was grateful for it.
He turned his attention back to the other clansmen. “Lower your guns now lads, and fill your bellies. Tomorrow you’ll ride to Perth and find out what Mar intends to do next.”
Reluctantly, they released the hammers on their weapons and moved closer to the fire.
“What about the woman?” the short one quietly asked. “What will you do with her tonight?”
Alex’s green eyes roamed over her figure, and her heart hammered wildly against her ribcage.
“I haven’t decided yet,” he replied.
o0o
The flickering light from a single candle infused the room with a warm, golden glow while Elizabeth pulled the covers up to her chin.
“Sleep well, lass,” Alex said, as he came to stand over the bed. “I’ll not let any harm come to you on this night.”
She could hear the others on the opposite side of the curtain, speaking in low tones while they ate their supper.
“Why are you being so kind to me?” she whispered. “After what happened between us this morning…”
He sat down on the edge of the bed. “We met on a battlefield, on opposite sides of a war. I cannot fault you for fighting against me. I fought hard against you in return.”
She laid her hand on her bruised cheek. “You certainly did.”
He regarded her for a long, quiet moment while her thoughts grew heavy in her mind. “I’m sorry that I hurt you,” he said. “I would take it back if I could.”
“Because I’m a woman?”
“Among other things.”
“Such as?”
The candlelight reflected in his eyes like tiny sparks of fire. “I believe you have suffered enough, lass.”
She thought of her brother suddenly, and how she had tried to talk him out of signing up to fight in this war, but she had not been able to persuade him. So she had followed him instead.
“You are remembering your brother,” Alex whispered.
“Yes. How did you know?”
“I can see it in your eyes.”
A strange, beguiling comfort settled over her, thanks to this Highlander’s reassuring presence. Perhaps it was his intuition and his clear insight into her grief. Or perhaps it was his strength as a warrior, for she believed, with every breath in her body, that he would protect her tonight.
“Sometimes I feel as if the world has come to an end.” She studied the strong contours of his face and the line of his shoulders beneath the tartan. “Do you understand? Have you ever lost someone?”
“Aye, I have. A brother, like yours. He was too young to fight, but he was stubborn and insisted on following me, so I let him. I thought I could protect him, but since then, I have come to realize that God has his own plans. All we can do is keep living the life we are meant to live, and push through the pain.”
Elizabeth considered the wisdom in his words. “It takes courage to do that.”
“Aye, and you are very brave. You proved that this morning, so I am confident you will survive this.”
Elizabeth shifted on the bed. “But I have no family except for my uncle, and he is a stranger to me. I am alone.”
“I predict that will soon change,” he said. “One day, you will meet a good man, marry him, make lots of babies, and all this will be nothing but a distant memory.” He tugged at the coverlet and arranged it snugly over her shoulders. “Go to sleep now, lass. I’ll wake you in the morning.”
With that, he rose from the bed and exited the room, leaving Elizabeth alone to contemplate the unexpected sense of calm she felt, and her amazing good fortune at having chosen this particular Highlander to attack on the battlefield that morning.
o0o
Elizabeth woke to the sound of panicked, angry voices, and a door swinging open, banging against the outside wall.
Heart racing with alarm, she tossed the covers aside, leapt out of bed, and swept through the curtain to the front room. Alex was standing outside with his pistol trained on yet another clansman, mounted high on a horse. The gargantuan grey warhorse stomped around skittishly.
“Is that her?” the stranger asked, pointing his knife at Elizabeth, who skidded to a halt just behind Alex.
“Aye,” he replied, “but it’s no concern of yours, Angus MacDonald. I’ll thank you to be on your way.”
The rider wore his tartan up over his head like a hood. She could see his breath in the frosty chill of the morning.
“I heard you were keeping a spy here,” he growled, “and that she charmed you into letting her live. Give her to me, Alex, and I’ll take her to Perth. They’ll know what to do with her.”
“I’ll do no such thing, Angus. The lady is under my protection. Go home now, and forget about her.”
The hooded Highlander eyed her with sinister intent. “She’s no lady if she’s carrying dispatches to Argyll.”
“She had nothing to do with that,” Alex told him. “It’s a stolen uniform she wears.”
The Highlander scowled down at Alex, then turned his menacing blue eyes to Elizabeth. He studied her thoughtfully for a moment. “I can see why you were so enchanted. She’s a beauty to be sure, even in that uniform. Why don’t you let me come inside where we can talk about this. I’d like to see for myself how amiable she can be.”
Alex cocked his pistol and took a persuasive step forward. “Ride out of here now, Angus, or I’ll shoot you through the heart.”
The mounted Highlander raised both hands in the air. “Calm yourself, friend. I’ll not intrude upon your territory. If you’ve already claimed her for yourself…”
“I’ve claimed nothing, nor will you, not as long as I live and breathe. Be on your way now.”
Angus studied him with cool eyes. “You’re too much like your father,” he said in a low, gruff voice. “Swiftly conquered by a pretty face.”
He clicked his tongue and walked his horse away from the cottage. A moment later, he disappeared into the forest like a phantom, and Elizabeth let out a tight breath.
“I take it he was a friend of yours?”
“No’ a friend,” Alex replied. “He’s a ruthless warrior with a heart made of ice.” He swung around and eyed her with intensity. “Put your coat on, lass, and gather up your weapons. We need to leave here. Now.”
“Why? Will he return?”
“I can’t be sure, but if he knows of your presence here, others might have learned of it, too. I cannot promise you’ll be safe. I must take you to Edinburgh and deliver you to your uncle.”
Elizabeth needed no further bidding. She hurried to don her brother’s red coat.
o0o
For the whole of the morning, they rode together on horseback through deep forests and steep-sided glens, making their way steadily south toward Edinburgh. At noon, they stopped to rest in a private glade and eat a small lunch of oatcakes and cheese, while the horse nibbled on sweet green grass and drank from a shallow burn.
While they sat side-by-side on a fallen log, they spoke of many things – the politics of the rebellion, their families, the death of Elizabeth’s parents. She was pleased to learn that Alex’s mother and father still lived and were as passionately in love as they had been on their wedding day.
Alex was the eldest of nine children, and he adored all his siblings. He had lost only one – the younger brother who had followed him into danger.
It seemed impossible to imagine that a person could be so blessed during this time of war and rebellion. There was an abundance of love in Alex’s life. He was very lucky, for there was no such abundance in hers.
o0o
That night, under the light of the full moon, Alex and Elizabeth reached a crofter’s cottage on the edge of a fast flowing river, a few miles southeast of Falkirk. A black-and-white sheepdog barked at them as they emerged from the wood and crossed the meadow, but his tail began to wag when they were greeted a few moments later by their hosts in the stable yard – trusted friends from Alexander’s youth, a couple recently married and expecting their first child in the spring. Their names were Mary and Scott MacGregor.
Alex embraced them fondly and introduced Elizabeth, assuring them that her soldier’s uniform was not a reason for concern. They seemed to trust him completely and invited Elizabeth, without hesitation, into their home.
A short time later, they were all gathered around the table before the fire, enjoying a hearty supper of rabbit stew and dumplings. Alex arranged for a trade with the MacEwens: Elizabeth’s uniform for a plain homespun skirt, a light shift, and stays. By the end of the evening, she could have passed for any typical Scottish lass, born and bred in the Highlands. As long as she kept her mouth shut, no one would ever guess that she was born in England and had crossed the Scottish border a few short weeks ago as a nurse with the British army – carrying a dark cloud of vengeance in her heart.
o0o
“Will we reach Edinburgh tomorrow?” Elizabeth asked in a quiet whisper as Alex approached to say goodnight. He would sleep in the stable, while she would enjoy a soft pallet by the fire.
“Aye, he replied. “We will reach your uncle’s shop by late afternoon.”
“But I don’t know where it is, exactly.”
He chuckled. “How many book shops can there be in Edinburgh, lassie? I would guess only one or two.”
In the glow of the firelight, his eyes shone with vitality, and his hair fell in thick, shimmering waves onto his broad shoulders. She felt rather intoxicated by his chivalry. How remarkable, that they had met on a battlefield only two days before and had tried to cut each other in half. It seemed impossible to imagine - for in all the unforgettable moments since, Alexander MacLean had revealed himself to be a gentleman in every way. She had never felt more safe and protected.
Suddenly she realized that everything she’d ever believed about Scotland and its savage breed of Highland warriors meant nothing to her now. All she saw before her was a courageous and decent man who loved his family and wished to live honorably.
A man who sent a heady rush of desire and yearning into her blood.
She gazed wondrously at the beautiful pewter brooch that was pinned to the tartan at his shoulder, and reached out to touch it. How would she ever say goodbye to him? She was not ready for that.
“Sleep well,” he said, then leaned forward to kiss her lightly on the lips.
The startling sensation of his mouth upon hers compelled her forward, and what began as a tender kiss goodnight exploded into a powerful rush of unexpected passion. Her lips parted, and he responded by sweeping his tongue into her mouth, sending ripples of pleasure straight down to her toes. His hand slid around to the small of her back and he tugged her closer, roughly, crushing her breasts up against the solid wall of his chest as he groaned deeply and devoured her mouth with his own.
Gripping the fabric of his shirt in both fists, she held tight, fearing that her knees might buckle under the dizzying onslaught of her emotions. She had never been kissed like this before, and she had no idea how to manage it.
Quickly, he brought the kiss to an exquisite finish and took a step away from her. They stared at each other in dazed bewilderment. Heaven help her. She did not know what to say. There were no words.
“That was… unexpected,” he whispered.
Her heart began to race. What was happening between them? She was losing sight of all propriety and wanted to pull him closer and drag him down to the floor. She wanted to feel the weight of him on top of her. She wanted it with a primal madness she could not begin to comprehend.
Swallowing uneasily, she loosened her grip on his shirt and dropped her hands to her sides. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.
He chuckled. “No need to apologize, lass. Your lips were sweeter than anything I’ve tasted in years.”
She blushed and dropped her gaze to the floor.
“I’ve never met a woman quite like you before,” he said, “and for that reason, I must leave you now, because you look too pretty in that frock, and you smell good, too. I fear that if I don’t back away now, I may do something far worse than just kiss you goodnight.”
Elizabeth shivered with longing. “Would that be so terrible?”
His eyes smiled at her, then he toyed with the hair over her ear, sending delightful waves of desire across her flesh. She turned her cheek into the warmth of his wrist and let her eyes fall closed. All the hardships of the world seemed to float away like dust on a summer breeze, as she breathed in the musky scent of his skin…
“I really must go now,” he whispered in his deep Scottish brogue.
She did not try to stop him, for what she loved most about him was his integrity, and she did not wish to tempt him into doing something he might later regret.
“Goodnight,” she said.
He paused at the door and spoke in a quiet, husky rumble. “Good night, Elizabeth.”
She let out a soft sigh of besotted rapture, and then he was gone.
A moment later, still greatly aroused from the intimate encounter, Elizabeth settled down on the soft pallet by the fire, pulled the woolen blanket up to her shoulders, and watched the flames dance in the grate for quite some time before she finally managed to fall asleep.
That night, she dreamed only of Alexander MacLean’s handsome face in the firelight, and the irresistible magic of his touch.
o0o
It had been almost ten years since Elizabeth saw her Uncle Charles, and she was not entirely sure he would recognize her when she walked into his shop. In the years since her mother’s passing, they had exchanged very few letters, for he and her father did not agree on much of anything. Her uncle had the “unmitigated gall” to marry a woman from the Scottish Lowlands, and for that reason they never shared the same political opinions. Hence, over the years, Elizabeth’s connection to her uncle slowly dwindled away to nothing. To be honest, she was not completely certain he still lived.
It was late afternoon by the time they rode into the crowded streets of Edinburgh. As they trotted through the tight congestion, past the street vendors who were shouting to sell their wares, the stench of stale rubbish assaulted Elizabeth’s nostrils. Alex enquired about the bookshop, and they had to ask four people before an older man in spectacles and a tricorne hat was able to point them in the proper direction.
Exhausted and hesitant about her future, Elizabeth locked her arms around Alex’s waist and rested her cheek on his shoulder. With silent assurance, he steered them through the narrow, winding streets.
At last, they came to a tiny bookshop on a busy lane with a sign out front that said Morrison’s Books. She knew they must be in the right place, for
that was her mother’s maiden name.
“I believe this is it.” Elizabeth dismounted and stood on the walk for a moment, glancing over all the books in the paned window.
Alex tethered the horse to a post and came to stand beside her. “I give you my word that I will not leave you,” he said, “until I am satisfied that you are in good hands.”
A young boy ran by in a panic, cradling a chicken in his arms. Elizabeth jumped, and realized she felt rather panicked herself. She turned her eyes to Alex and felt a terrible pang of dread in her belly, for she was not yet ready to leave him.
While the cold November wind lifted his long dark hair off his tartan-clad shoulders, he did not speak a word. Elizabeth shivered in the chill.
“It’s time to go inside,” he finally said, then took a step forward and opened the door.
o0o
“Elizabeth! My word, is it really you?” Her Uncle Charles came bounding down a creaky set of stairs with an open book in his hand. “What are you doing here?”
He was still as tall and slim as she remembered, but he had aged since she saw him last. His hair was bone white and pulled back in a queue, his skin had grown wrinkled, and he wore spectacles perched on his nose.
Carefully he navigated his way around tables piled high with dusty books and approached her. “You look so much like your mother.”
Elizabeth’s heart swelled with a mixture of sorrow and joy as her uncle pulled her into his arms and embraced her.
“I am so happy to see you,” he said.
“And I you,” she replied, weeping and laughing at the same time.
Eventually he stepped back. “I learned of your father’s death,” he said, “fighting for King George. I am deeply sorry, Elizabeth.”
“Thank you, but I am afraid there is more bad news. James was killed as well, three weeks ago. I am the only one left of our family – alone now.”
Charles laid a hand on her shoulder and shook his head. “No, Elizabeth. You are not alone. You have family here.”
She clung to her uncle’s steady gaze. He tapped her nose with the tip of his finger, just as he used to do when she was a child. Then he glanced toward the door where Alex was waiting.
“Who is this man?” her uncle asked. “And why does he carry such a big sword into my bookshop?”
Alex strode forward. “My apologies, sir. I am Alexander MacLean of Duart Castle, and I fought in the battle at Sherrifmuir. That is where I met your niece.”
“He has been my protector, Uncle,” she quickly explained. “I was lost and alone after James was killed. Alex found me on the battlefield and saved my life. He has delivered me here safely, so I owe him a great debt.”
“As do I, it seems.” Charles reached out to shake Alex’s hand. “Thank you for bringing my niece home. I should like to repay you somehow.”
Alex shook his head. “There is no debt, sir.”
“My wife is upstairs tending to our children,” Charles replied. “Will you at least stay for supper?”
Elizabeth’s heart began to pound, for she knew what Alex’s answer would be. The time had come. He was going to leave her now, and she would have to say goodbye.
But she was not ready. She did not want him to go…
Alex paused. “I’m afraid I must return to Perth as soon as possible.”
Every breath in her body came short. Her knees went weak under the weight of her anguish.
His eyes locked with hers, and neither of them spoke for what seemed an eternity. He palmed the hilt of his sword, and she wet her lips, feeling as if someone was slowly ripping her heart out of her body. She should say something. She should beg him to stay, just one more night…
“I wish good fortune to you both.” Alex bowed slightly, then turned and headed for the door. It opened and closed with the tinkle of a bell, and before she could work out what to do, he was gone.
The whole world fell silent, except for the beating of her heart in her ears, like thunder over her head.
No…
Picking up her skirts, she dashed around the tables piled high with books and ripped the door open on its hinges. She hastened out into the street. Her eyes darted left and right. His horse was already gone. Crowds of people and carriages obstructed her view in both directions. Where was he? And why hadn’t she told him how she felt? How could she have let him go?
“Alex!” She rushed down the street, shouldering her way past hordes of people who blocked her way. Reaching the corner, she stood up on her toes. “Alex!”
But he was nowhere. He had left to return to his home in the Highlands, and it was not likely she would ever see him again.
She laid her hand on the side of a building, rested her forehead against it, and closed her eyes. A flash memory of the first moment she saw him on the battlefield came hurling back at her, and she remembered the frightening sound of their steel blades clashing, and the fury in his eyes before he struck her down with his targe...
Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined the battle would turn out quite like this. She had not expected to surrender so completely to her enemy - in heart, body and soul.
o0o
Five months later
It was a particularly wet spring in the Highlands, and by the end of April, Edinburgh was a sea of muck.
Elizabeth had spent the winter mourning the death of her brother while helping her uncle in his bookshop, assisting customers and organizing his inventory. Her cousins – two boys and one girl, all under the age of ten – lifted her spirits with laughter and games, but each night, after she read them stories, she retired to her own chamber and whispered a quiet prayer for the safety and happiness of the Highlander who had rescued her from her vengeance. He never ventured far from her thoughts, and she often wondered what he was doing at any given moment during the day. While she was gazing out her window at the moon and stars, was he, too, admiring the night sky from somewhere on the Isle of Mull?
She liked to imagine him riding his horse through a lush green glen, his dark hair blowing in the wind, his tartan pinned at his shoulder with that exquisite brooch she had once touched and admired. Eventually she began to think she was idealizing his memory, turning him into some sort of god-like, mythical hero, and she tried very hard to push him from her mind.
Then one day, on a clear afternoon at the end of April, while she stood on a stool dusting the books on the highest shelves, the door of the bookshop opened and closed. The hanging bells chimed with their familiar hollow sound, and she heard light footsteps across the plank floor as she so often did, but she did not look away from her task, for her uncle was out front.
Something, however – something she could not begin to explain - caused her heart to beat a little faster. All the tiny hairs on her arms stood on end.
Lowering the dust cloth to her side, she stepped down from the stool and peered around the tall bookshelf. A dark-haired Highlander stood with his back to her while he spoke to her uncle. He wore a kilt, with a sword sheathed at his side.
Was it Alex? A hot fireball of excitement dropped into her belly, and she sucked in a breath to steady herself.
Do not be foolish, Elizabeth. You’re dreaming again. Surely it could not possibly be…
Then he turned and met her eyes, and her heart exploded with a burst of radiant bliss. It was him! Her handsome, heroic Highlander!
What was he doing here? What did he want?
Struggling to contain the juddering thrills that were dancing up and down her spine, she swallowed hard and smoothed out her skirt, before taking a few tentative steps forward to say hello.
They met in the center of the shop, where sunlight streamed in through the windowpanes, creating a sparkling beam of hazy, dreamlike rapture.
“Alex.”
She could think of nothing else to say.
His eyes filled with joy. “Ah, lassie. I’m pleased to see that you did not forget me.”
Elizabeth laughed out loud. “Forget you? Are you m
ad?”
They regarded each other with affection and a familiar sense of calm.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed her uncle quietly disappearing up the stairs.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, careful not to get her hopes up. Perhaps he had simply walked into the shop to purchase a book.
“Can you not take one look at me and answer that for yourself?”
There was such hope in his expression. It was contagious, and she experienced a wild, kicking desire to throw her arms around his neck and dance a reel around the room.
“You came to see me?”
Oh, how ridiculous it was to speak with such casual curiosity, when her heart was practically beating out of her chest!
He flashed a smile that dazzled her witless, then laid a hand on the side of her neck, his thumb brushing lightly over the sensitive flesh behind her ear. The touch of his huge warrior hand sent a flood of desire through her entire body.
“Of course I came to see you, lass,” he replied. “I’ve thought of nothing else all winter long but your bonnie face and feisty nature. I could not live another day apart from you. I had to see you again.”
“Is that all?” she asked. “You just came to see me? To say hello again? And then goodbye?”
He ran the pad of his thumb over her parted lips and shook his head. “So stubborn, as always. Can you not accept that I am in love with you and that I mean to ask you to be my wife?”
All the thoughts in her brain toppled. It was a terrible calamity of epic proportions. “I… What are you saying?” She was completely breathless.
He laughed. “Don’t play innocent with me, lass. You know very well what I am saying. This is a proposal. But if it’s too quick, I’ll settle for courtin’ you for a short time, at least until you can make up your mind whether or not you wish to love me.”
Her need for him erupted out of the joy in her heart. “Of course I wish to love you. I’ve loved you since the first moment I came charging after you on that battlefield.”
“Is that a yes?” he asked.
With a cry of euphoric laughter, she threw herself into his arms and knocked him backward into a stack of books that toppled off a table onto the floor. A thick cloud of dust puffed into the air.
“Or course it’s a yes!” she said with a smile, pressing her lips to his and tasting a glistening slice of heaven in his kiss. “I am so happy.”
He held her close and buried his face in the crook of her neck. “As am I, lass. My heart is yours, and I promise to love you and make you happy for the rest of my days. I will protect you and give you everything that is mine to give.”
She hugged him tight, with knew without doubt that he would keep his word. “And I make the same pledge to you.”
Then at last his mouth covered hers, and the world was suddenly, miraculously, peaceful and perfect.
-o0o-
Author's Note
Dear Readers,
I hope you enjoyed my short story, The Rebel. It is a prequel to my Highlander trilogy, though I wrote it after the completion of all three of those novels.
The first book in the trilogy is Captured by the Highlander, which takes place a year after the Battle of Sherrifmuir. (The battle was a true historical event, though the characters in these stories are fictional.)
In Captured by the Highlander, Duncan MacLean sets out on a path of vengeance following fictional events that occur during and after the battle. The character of Angus MacDonald, who appears in The Rebel in a villainous role, is an important secondary character in Captured by the Highlander, and it may surprise you to learn that he is the hero in the second novel, Claimed by the Highlander. Sometimes the darkest characters are the most interesting to write about and redeem.
For more information about my Highlander trilogy, please visit my website at www.juliannemaclean.com. I enjoy hearing from readers and can be contacted directly through my website.
Thanks for reading my Scottish tale! And please read on for an excerpt from my time travel romance Taken by the Cowboy!
Sincerely,
Julianne MacLean
o0o
Author Bio
USA Today Bestselling author Julianne MacLean is a three-time Rita Finalist and winner of numerous awards, including the Romantic Times Magazine Reviewers Choice Award, the Colorado Romance Writers Award of Excellence, and the Greater Detroit Romance Writers Booksellers' Best Award.
She has written more than 15 historical romances for Harlequin and Avon/Harper Collins, and is currently writing more books for St. Martin's Press.
She is a devoted wife and mother, and loves to travel. She has lived in New Zealand and Ottawa, and is now settled happily in Nova Scotia, while working on her latest historical romance.
Prologue